bts fic recs

sideblog ♡ just here to reblog my favorite fics ♡ 24

[ggukiebar]

sacred desire | j.jk

pairing: priest jungkook x sinful reader

word count: 20.6k

genre: smut

summary: desperate to see if a man devoted to god will unravel, you test his faith with your sweet, deceptive innocence—seducing fr. jeon until his devotion no longer belongs to god…but to you.

warnings: priest jungkook x sinful reader, explicit sexual content, forbidden relationship, candle wax play, rosary choking, edging, clit rubbing, filthy sexual desires, spitting, degradation, mock sympathy, pussy eating, condescending dirty talk, blow job, cum eating, usage of whore & slut, praising, cum eating, m. masturbation, manipulation, multiple orgasms, rough sex, overstimulation, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie.

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Temptation, they said, was the devil's favorite weapon…subtle, patient, and often disguised as something beautiful.

Your beauty was the kind that invited sin. Like a priceless painting in a museum, admired by many but forbidden to touch, existing only to test the restraint of those who stood before it.

Yet despite the effect you seemed to have on everyone else, Fr. Jeon remained frustratingly untouched by it all. Men had always looked twice, their attention lingering long enough to make their interest known. But his eyes never lingered on you. They would meet yours for a fleeting moment before moving on, calm and unwavering, carrying the same gentle warmth they offered every soul that walked through the church doors.

Pathetic.

Wearing a long white virginal skirt, a matching conservative blouse, and your hair falling neatly down your waist, you grabbed your purse before heading downstairs to meet Sana.

“Glad you finally wore something decent,” Sana commented with a sheepish smile when she saw you stepping out of your house.

You pouted, looking down at the modest skirt fluttering around your ankles. “My cute dresses are decent too, you know.”

You weren’t a very religious person, but when your friend Sana told you she wanted to join the church choir, you were more than happy to come with her. 

Between the two of you, she was the religious one—always carrying a small pocket bible in her purse, always reminding you to watch your words and actions because God was watching.

A lot of your friends were confused about how the two of you became so close. You were playful, rebellious, and bratty—more of a bad influence beside someone so polite and devout. But despite your mischievous nature, you were very sweet, friendly and charming. At university, you were one of the popular students, with plenty of friends and a reputation as a social butterfly.

When you first met Sana, you hadn’t expected the two of you to get along. She was a new student, still adjusting to the unfamiliar environment and trying to find her place among the other students. Being the friendly social butterfly that you were, you became the first person to approach her.

Your personalities couldn’t have been more different. Sana was calm, reserved, and quiet, while you were bold, bright, and loud. 

Despite being complete opposites, the two of you grew unexpectedly close. You liked Sana because she was a breath of fresh air. Her calmness grounded the chaos within you, while your playfulness brought balance and excitement to her peaceful life.

Ever since you became best friends, you often accompanied her to church. Although you looked somewhat out of place trailing behind her while she helped with various church duties, volunteer work, and parish activities...you still enjoyed spending time with her.

You liked how she always listened to your rants and endless rambles. Following her around while she busied herself carrying boxes and helping wherever she could, your kitten heels clicked softly against the church’s marbled floors, and the longest dress you could find in your closet swayed gently with every step. As unusual as it felt to be dressed so modestly, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed these moments with Sana.

Your usual style of dressing didn’t exactly align with the church’s dress code… you had to trade your short skirts, midriff-baring tops, tight dresses, and cute spaghetti-strap tops for something more... demure.

At first, you tried to argue against it, but Sana quickly reminded you that those clothes weren’t appropriate for church. And of course, you had no choice but to listen unless you wanted another lecture about being a poor instrument of the Lord.

“Since when did you become a singer?” you teased as the two of you entered the church alongside a few parishioners and choir members.

Sana was dressed similarly to you, wearing a long skirt paired with a flowy long-sleeved blouse. In her right hand, she carried a small booklet filled with choir songs.

She pouted. “I can sing a bit, you know.” she opened the booklet and flipped through its pages. “As long as I’m serving the Lord, then no voice shall sound bad.”

You chuckled, already accustomed to her holy little remarks.

“If you say so,” you sang back playfully, following her up to the choir loft. You offered a polite smile to the other choir members, who were already busy practicing.

Since you weren’t actually there to join the choir, you let Sana focus on rehearsal while you wandered around the church on your own. Normally, you would have spent the entire time chatting her ear off, rambling about anything and everything, but today you let her concentrate.

A few parishioners were arranging fresh flowers around the framed images of saints, while others carefully dusted and polished the statues lining the church walls. The distant voices of the choir drifted through the air, blending with the soft murmur of prayers and quiet conversations, creating a peaceful atmosphere that settled gently around you.

When Sana first invited you to come with her to church, you had agreed out of nothing more than curiosity. You traded your usual weekend night outs for sunday mass, wanting to see the world through her eyes and understand why this place, with its quiet prayers and solemn rituals, meant so much to her.

The church offered a kind of quiet that rarely existed in your everyday life. Away from crowded parties, endless conversations, and the glittering chaos of your social circle, there was something unexpectedly comforting about this place. It gave you a chance to slow down, to breathe, and to simply exist without needing to be the loudest person in the room.

“Good morning, Fr. Jeon.” a few choir members and parishioners greeted.

You turned around absentmindedly, your head tilting curiously when you saw a priest entering through one of the church's side doors. Dressed in a long black cassock, he offered everyone a warm smile and a slight bow as he stepped inside.

A new priest?

“Are you here for the charity blessing, Fr. Jeon?” someone asked.

The woman approached him and received a gentle pat on the head in return.

He smiled. “Yes, I stopped by to gather a few materials for the blessing.”

Your head tilted slightly as you watched him, finding yourself taking an unconscious step forward.

A handsome fucking priest.

For the past few months that you'd been spending time at the church with Sana, this was the first time you'd seen him, and unfortunately for your soul, he was ridiculously attractive. 

You found yourself shamelessly staring, almost in awe as he greeted everyone with effortless kindness. 

He bowed politely, acknowledged each person with a warm smile, and listened attentively whenever someone spoke to him. It should've been a crime for a priest to be that good-looking. 

Sinful.

The long black cassock he wore looked attractively sinful wrapped around someone so impossibly holy, the stark contrast only making him harder to ignore. His sharp jawline became more pronounced whenever he turned to greet someone with a kind smile, and a pair of thin-framed glasses rested neatly on his nose, lending him an air of quiet intelligence that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. His eyes were dark and warm behind the lenses, attentive whenever he listened to someone speak, and his jet-black hair was styled neatly, though a few stubborn strands had fallen across his forehead. 

Everything about him looked composed, dignified, and entirely inappropriate for the thoughts currently running through your head.

You almost let out a dramatic gasp when Fr. Jeon finally waved his goodbye and turned to leave. A curse nearly slipped from your lips as you watched him make his way toward the church doors. 

Everyone else had managed to greet him and earn one of his warm smiles, some even receiving a fond pat on the head. Meanwhile, you had spent the entire time standing near the altar, staring at him like an absolute creep, too mesmerized by his existence.

Internally rolling your eyes at yourself and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, you watched him disappear through the church doors. And then, because apparently your dignity had already left the building before he did, you immediately made your way back to Sana, who was still busy practicing her choir lines.

“So...” you began, trailing behind Sana as she walked around with her booklet, quietly memorizing her choir pieces.

“Is Fr. Jeon a real priest?”

Sana lowered the booklet and stared at you, her brows knitting together as she caught the suspicious wiggle of your eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“I mean...” you hesitated. “Is he a real priest or, like… an intern priest?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you realized how stupid they sounded. 

Was there even such a thing as a priest internship?

Sana blinked. Then she burst out laughing. “He's a real priest, Y/N. What do you mean, intern priest?”

Your cheeks immediately warmed. You looked away while she continued laughing, lifting the booklet back up as you followed after her.

You pouted. “Well... he looks young.” And hot. “And I've never seen him before. Every time I've attended mass with you, he wasn't the presider.”

You tried to think back to the past few months but came up empty. No handsome priests. Because if there had been one, you definitely would've remembered.

In fact, you were pretty sure you would've started sitting in the front row.

“Yeah, because he only got appointed recently,” Sana answered, her attention back on the booklet. “A few months ago, I think.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, almost groaning when you haven’t met him before he got appointed. 

What the fuck, Y/N. Are you seriously eyeing a priest?

Absolutely not. That was...unholy!

For the following weeks, you found yourself clinging to Sana more than usual.

At first, you convinced yourself it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Going to church with her wasn't exactly new. 

You just weren't nearly as consistent as she was.

There were plenty of sundays you skipped altogether, choosing late nights with your friends over early mornings in church. Besides, you figured there would always be another mass to attend, while convincing Sana to show up at one of your parties was practically impossible.

That was why you never attended as regularly as she did.

Lately, however, the situation seemed to have reversed. Now, you were the one volunteering to come.

Party invitations sat unanswered in your messages. Night outs were declined without hesitation. Instead, you found yourself asking Sana about choir practice, church activities, and whether she planned on volunteering for any upcoming events.

It was becoming a little concerning.

Wearing one of your now-usual long skirts and a modest blouse approved by church standards, you applied an extra layer of lip gloss in front of your mirror. Excitement bubbled inside you as you remembered what Sana had told you earlier that week—a charity event was coming up, and the church needed volunteers to help organize donations.

There had been plenty of charity events before, many of which you had skipped. Sana would usually spend the entire day helping sort donations and assisting the parishioners, leaving little time for the two of you to actually spend together. As much as you enjoyed tagging along with her, wandering around the church by yourself for hours wasn't exactly appealing.

This time, however, you were genuinely excited to come.

It wasn't as though you couldn't visit the church on your own. Nobody would stop you if you decided to drop by one afternoon.

The problem was that it would be… strange.

Ever since you started coming to church, it had always been because of Sana. Everyone knew you as her friend, not as someone particularly devoted to the church.

If you suddenly started showing up by yourself every weekend, people would notice. You weren't exactly known for your devotion. 

Especially when the answer involved a certain priest.

It was already strange enough that you were beginning to resemble a devoted Christian.

False piety.

When you arrived at the church, your heartbeat picked up immediately. Volunteers moved in and out of the building carrying boxes and supplies, conversations blending into a lively hum that filled the grounds.

“You can help with the boxes, Y/N. I'll just talk to the choir members,” Sana said with a smile.

You nodded a little too eagerly, grateful she didn’t question your sudden burst of interest in coming with her to church. It helped that you had accompanied her before—enough for it to not feel completely out of the blue.

“Okay! I'll help with the boxes!” you smiled brightly.

The moment Sana wandered off to join the other choir members, you immediately began looking around for ways to help.

“Let me carry those,” you offered with a bright smile, reaching for a volunteer struggling with a stack of old toy boxes meant for donation.

The woman thanked you and asked if you could bring them outside, where a small truck was parked to collect everything.

You happily agreed.

“I hope he comes today,” you muttered under your breath as you carried the boxes toward the truck, your eyes drifting toward the church entrance every few seconds.

According to Sana, Fr. Jeon frequently stopped by to check on donation drives, visit the parish office, or help coordinate volunteer work.

You had already carried nine boxes, then… ten. With every trip back and forth, you found yourself slowly losing hope that Fr. Jeon would show up at all. You were starting to regret wearing your cutest pink skirt today, and the growing disappointment was beginning to settle in alongside your irritation.

Just as you were about to accept that all your effort had been wasted, Fr. Jeon finally appeared, walking into the church hall.

Your eyes widened.

“Fuck—” you immediately winced, biting your lip the moment the word escaped. Mentally apologizing for cursing inside the church.

With a fresh box of donations balanced in your arms, you hurried toward the entrance, trying your best to look useful, helpful and responsible. Like the kind of person who volunteered here regularly and wasn't secretly waiting for your handsome priest to show up.

Your heart hammered against your ribs when he finally glanced in your direction.

“Good day,” he greeted with a smile and a polite nod, raising his right hand to gently pat your head.

Your cheeks immediately flushed, almost dropping the boxes when he touched you.

He patted my head!

Today, he was dressed in a fitted black long-sleeved shirt tucked neatly into black slacks, a simple brown cross necklace resting against his chest. His jet-black hair was styled neatly away from his face, exposing a heart-shaped forehead that made him look unfairly handsome. He wore his usual pair of glasses, the thin frames resting on the bridge of his nose and softening the sharpness of his features. Behind the lenses, his round eyes looked steady and attentive, always observant, as if he noticed everything without ever needing to say so. 

Goodness gracious.

Your gaze drifted lower, almost shamelessly staring…only to pause on his right hand.

You frowned slightly, you wanted to take a longer look, but his sleeves hid the rest of his arms from view, making it impossible to tell how far they extended.

Was that a tattoo?

For some reason, that discovery stunned you more than it should have. Priests and tattoos weren't exactly a combination you'd ever imagined together.

You were so distracted staring at his hand that you didn't realize he had already walked past you and moved on to greet the other volunteers.

You didn't even greet him back! Oh God.

Panic immediately settled in your chest. Adjusting your grip on the donation box, you hurried after him, determined to salvage the interaction somehow. You just needed a reason to talk to him. 

A simple religious question, maybe?

Unfortunately, your brain had chosen this exact moment to stop working.

You couldn't exactly walk up to him and ask if priests were allowed to have tattoos. Nor could you suddenly start quoting bible verses when the majority of your religious knowledge came from Sana lecturing you every other week.

You wanted to sound natural and virginal.

The problem was that you had absolutely no idea how to start a holy conversation without sounding fake about it, like you were trying too hard to be someone you weren’t.

When you saw him entering the church office, you frowned and stomped your foot against the floor in irritation.

Pity.

You were a bit disappointed when his gaze didn’t even linger on you. You were used to boys in college always noticing you…showing their interest, getting swayed by your pretty face and charming personality. But here, inside the church, you were nothing more than another kind volunteer in his eyes—someone he greeted with the same calm respect he gave everyone else.

Importunate.

At this point, it had become a routine. You would come to church with Sana after school, grateful she had joined the choir because it gave you an excuse to be there almost every day instead of only on weekends.

While she attended rehearsals, you spent your afternoons helping with volunteer work and assisting the parishioners...all while discreetly searching the church grounds for your future boyfriend.

You even started dressing for it—slipping into the most “virginal” outfits your closet could offer in hopes of blending in. Long skirts, conservative blouses, dresses that covered everything they possibly could. It was almost laughable how much effort you put into looking like the perfect church girl, when a few months ago you would’ve rather died than be seen in half of these outfits.

The worst part was that it wasn't even guaranteed to work.

There were days when your timing simply didn't align. You would arrive at the church only to hear that Fr. Jeon had already stopped by earlier, or spend the afternoon helping around the parish before finding out he had come and gone while you were busy elsewhere. Sometimes you would leave just before he arrived, missing him by mere minutes.

You would come home without seeing even a glimpse of him, staring at your ceiling later that night and wondering why you felt so deflated over someone you barely knew. 

Then there were the good days—when your schedules happened to align and you finally saw him. Your eyes would immediately light up the moment you spotted him across the church grounds, your smile growing brighter despite your attempts to act normal, your cheeks burning whenever he greeted you with that gentle smile and absentminded pat on the head.

Transgression.

At first, seeing him had been enough. Now, however, you found yourself expecting more. Not much...just a conversation that lasted longer than a few seconds. Something beyond charity drives, donation boxes, retreats, and volunteer work.

But Fr. Jeon was frustratingly...polite.

He greeted everyone with the same kindness, smiled at everyone with the same warmth, and spoke to everyone with the same respectful attentiveness. Whenever you managed to stand near him long enough for a conversation, he would ask about the charity, the donations, the volunteers, or whatever church event happened to be coming up next. 

The discussion always remained firmly within the boundaries of church matters, and before you knew it, he would excuse himself to continue helping elsewhere.

You couldn't even ask him anything personal. Every question that came to mind sounded ridiculous the moment you imagined saying it out loud. Are those tattoos real? How old are you? Why are you so handsome for a priest? 

None of them exactly sounded appropriate for church conversation.

So you remained stuck in this strange little cycle of yours, coming to church almost everyday with hopes far bigger than the interactions you actually received. And despite how ridiculous it felt, despite how much you scolded yourself for it, the highlight of your day was still that brief smile and the weight of his hand resting atop your head for a few seconds.

Shameful.

A shame that you had never actually talked to him. 

Not beyond a few good afternoons exchanged in passing and the occasional greeting whenever your paths crossed around the church. 

You didn't want to be too bold, afraid that he would notice your embarrassingly obvious attempts to get his attention. As someone who wasn't particularly religious, you found yourself in an absurd predicament. 

Should you start reading the bible? Memorize a few scriptures? Learn enough about church teachings to hold an intelligent conversation with him? 

The fact that you were even considering studying scripture just to impress a priest made you question every life decision that had led you to this point.

You wanted his eyes to linger on you. Wanted him to look at you a little longer than everyone else. Wanted to feel special in some way. But every time your gaze met his, he would simply smile and move on, his attention never staying in one place for too long. 

Sometimes you wondered if the only thing capable of holding his complete devotion was God himself.

Which was unfortunate for you. Because you were used to being noticed.

You were pretty, and you knew it. Attention had always come easily to you, yet the one man whose attention you wanted most remained completely out of reach.

A man who was distant, unattainable, and forbidden in every possible sense of the word.

Standing in front of your mirror that afternoon, you smoothed down your floral dress and examined your reflection one last time. The modest dress fell neatly against your figure, paired with white kitten heels that made you look far more innocent than you actually were. You dabbed a little extra blush onto your cheeks before adding a touch more glitter to your eyelids, your excitement growing as you remembered what Sana had told you earlier that week.

Fr. Jeon would be presiding over today's mass.

It would be the first mass of his that you would be attending, and as you stared at yourself in the mirror, unable to stop smiling, you realized your excitement felt dangerously close to the kind of anticipation one would have before a date.

Sana had noticed that you were coming with her far more often nowadays, but being as naive and obedient as she was, she only took it as a good sign. In her eyes, your heart was simply getting closer to God, closer to faith, closer to something pure and meaningful.

Closer to Fr. Jeon, rather.

“You look excited,” she said with a soft smile, her eyes twinkling when you mentioned wanting to sit in the front row. The thought only made her happier, convinced that your devotion was finally deepening in the way she had always hoped for you.

Oh, you were devoted. 

“Excited for the Mass, you know,” you replied with a small giggle, clasping your hands together as if to sell the image. “Wonder what bible chapter will be discussed today.”

Of course you were gonna listen, be a good little church girl and have your eyes and attention to him.

Your eyes were practically shining when you stepped into the church, making a beeline for the front row without hesitation. You sat down shamelessly, smoothing your skirt as if you had done this every sunday of your life.

Sana only smiled at your eagerness, completely oblivious to the fact that your decision had nothing to do with spiritual focus and everything to do with proximity. Sitting at the front felt less like devotion and more like VIP seating for the sole purpose of seeing Fr. Jeon up close.

When the bell finally rang, the entire church rose to its feet. Your heart kicked up immediately as the sacristans entered in procession, one of them carrying a smoking thurible that swung gently with each step. And right at the center of it all was him.

Your future boyfriend.

Your lips parted slightly, eyes widening as Fr. Jeon walked slowly down the nave with calm, deliberate steps. His hands were clasped together in front of him in prayer, and he wore the full liturgical vestments—a long white linen robe beneath a green chasuble, a thin stole draped over his shoulders, and a cincture tied neatly at his waist. The fabric moved softly as he walked, making him look almost unreal under the church lights, like something out of a painting you weren’t supposed to stare at for too long.

He greeted people with gentle smiles along the way, bowing his head politely, even pausing to pat a few children on the head as he passed the pews.

By the time he reached the altar, your attention was fully locked in. 

Disingenuous.

You nodded a little too eagerly when responses were required, your voice coming out brighter than necessary during the choir parts, as if enthusiasm alone could prove your devotion. Every time he spoke, your focus sharpened, hanging onto his words a little too intently, even when you were supposed to be blending in with the rest of the congregation.

He was wearing his usual pair of glasses, slowly turning the pages of the bible with precise, practiced movements. His voice was steady and clear as he read, each word delivered with a calm authority that made it clear this role suited him completely. There was nothing rushed about him, nothing uncertain.. only a quiet certainty in the way he stood at the altar, as if it had always belonged to him.

By now, you had started mirroring him without even realizing it. Whenever he closed his eyes to say the prayers, you would close yours too, hands folded a little tighter than necessary, breathing in sync with the rhythm of the mass.

You were fucking crazy.

When it was time for the holy communion, you stood up almost too quickly, your heart thudding loudly in your chest as you joined the line forming in the aisle. Each step forward felt heavier than it should have, not because of the sacrament itself, but because of who was waiting near the altar.

“Are you alright?” Sana commented quietly when she noticed your flushed expression after the bell rang.

You let out a small, awkward laugh and instinctively smoothed down your long hair, trying to compose yourself. “Just thinking about my prayers,” you said lightly, as if that explanation made any sense at all.

She gasped, like you were really serious about your prayers, when all you could think about was—

He’s gonna feed me the host!

You were almost sweating as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling the moment inch closer with every step in the line. Sana’s voice was still beside you, something about God always listening and having faith in his timing, but her words barely registered anymore. Your mind was elsewhere entirely, stuck on the growing realization that you were seconds away from facing him directly.

Preparing your hands in a prayer position, your brain almost short-circuited when you finally faced him, his right tatted hand holding the host up for you.

“The Body of Christ,” he said in a soft tone, almost detached in its reverence.

You wanted him to recognize you—the obedient good girl who always volunteered at the church. But fuck, he was too absorbed in God and the communion.

Your lips parted. “Amen…”

When he finally fed you the host, you almost choked when you felt the slight, accidental brush of his index finger against your lips as he withdrew his hand. You were left completely flustered, while he remained composed and focused on the ritual, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on you.

To you, it felt intimate. 

To him, it was simply the Eucharist…a sacred duty, a practiced motion repeated countless times.

When you returned to your seat and lowered yourself to kneel again, you pressed your hands together a little too tightly. In your head, you immediately apologized to God for every impure thought, questionable intention, and shameless moment you had done.

Then, without even a full second of self-reflection, you proceeded to ask if he could somehow let you be a little closer to Fr. Jeon.

Your priorities were clearly a work in progress.

“Sana, are you gonna visit the church this week?” you asked with a small smile, falling into your usual habit of checking with her.

For the past few weeks, your afternoons and weekends had quietly reshaped themselves around her schedule. 

It had become something strangely comforting… helping wherever you could, spending hours in a place that once felt unfamiliar but was now slowly turning into routine.

But of course, you couldn’t deny that recently, there was another reason woven into it too.

“Nope,” Sana replied as she hugged her books closer to her chest. “I have to study this week. Finals are coming up, and I still have a chemistry exam to review for before vacation starts.”

You groaned softly and walked beside her as the two of you left the campus. “Then why don’t we just stop by for a bit? To pray for good grades?” you suggested, lifting a brow as if it was the most logical solution in the world.

Please. Please. Please agree with me.

Sana pouted, clearly considering it for a moment, and your heart almost stopped in anticipation. Then she shook her head slowly, and your excitement deflated instantly.

“You’re right,” she said gently, “but it’s a long test, Y/N. I need to review all week. God would understand.”

She smiled softly and slipped her arm through yours. “Let’s just pray at home and do the rosary before reviewing.”

You forced a small smile, though your shoulders sagged slightly at the realization. It wasn’t just a missed church visit—it was a missed chance, even if you kept telling yourself it wasn’t supposed to be about that.

Sure, you would probably still see Fr. Jeon at sunday mass. He was the new presider in the city now, after all.

But it still wasn’t the same.

You almost groaned when you found yourself at the church that saturday morning. You were wearing a cream-colored dress, kitten heels, and a rosary necklace you had recently bought for the sole purpose of impressing Fr. Jeon. You had no idea whether he would even notice it, but in your mind, it felt like the kind of thing a good church girl would wear.

Preposterous.

Sashaying your way inside, you took in the usual parishioners and volunteers already busy arranging boxes for the charity drive.

You bit your lip. This was your first time visiting the church without Sana. Still, as you walked in, you were relieved when a few volunteers recognized you.

Thank God and all the saints.

You smiled and bent down to help with the boxes, already familiar with the routine—carrying them to the truck, sorting old clothes and toys, or helping with the lists.

If any of your uni friends saw you here alone, they would be completely confused. Without Sana, your sudden appearance at church would make absolutely no sense.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon.” someone greeted, and your ears immediately perked up. You turned just in time to see him entering the church halls in his usual black long sleeves and slacks.

You were only on your third box today! He was early!

Your lips curled into a small, excited smile as you instinctively stepped closer, box still in hand, already anticipating the familiar greeting and gentle pat on the head.

“Good day,” he said as expected, offering a polite nod before his hand lifted to pat your head.

Your eyelashes fluttered.

But instead of letting him move on to greet the others…for the first time in the past few weeks, you actually gathered the courage to stop him.

“Uh, Fr. Jeon?” you called softly just as he was about to turn away.

He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Yes, sweetheart?”

Jesus– God in heaven.

Your cheeks instantly reddened at the nickname, fingers tightening around the box. Still, you forced yourself to breathe, and finally blurted out the question you had been rehearsing all night.

“Just wondering if you have any c-chapter recommendations? I’m currently reading the bible and I don’t know where to start,” you said shyly.

There was a brief flicker of pleasant surprise on his face, quietly impressed that you were asking about the bible in the first place. It wasn't often that someone approached him with genuine curiosity about scripture.

He was about to answer when, suddenly…his attention shifted.

His gaze drifted downward, landing on the rosary hanging around your neck—the small cross resting between your breasts.

His lips pursed. “Sweetheart…rosaries are not meant to be worn as necklaces,” he chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on the rosary before looking back at you.

Your eyes widened. “I-It’s not…?” you asked, your ears and neck already heating in embarrassment.

Fuck. You didn’t know that! 

Fr. Jeon exhaled gently. “It’s a prayer tool,” he explained, his tone patient and calm. “Meant to be held in the hands… used in prayer, not displayed like jewelry.”

You blinked. “I-I didn’t know,” you admitted quickly, almost defensively. “I just really… like rosaries.”

Deception.

Fr. Jeon sighed softly, then lifted a hand to gently pat your head. “It’s okay…if you want, you can still wear rosary bracelets.” he offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You almost melted at his kindness. “R-Right, that would be better,” you said shyly, barely keeping yourself together.

He chuckled softly at your reaction, adjusting his glasses before finally returning to your original question. “If you’re reading the bible,” he added at last, “start with the gospels. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”

You nodded quickly, smiling up at him as he returned a warm, genuine smile of his own.

“Noted, Fr. Jeon.” you smiled, unconsciously stepping a little closer. “...Uhm, d-do you have a bible in your office, Father?” you asked shyly, doing your best to sound innocent and academically curious. 

The moment the question left your mouth, you almost mentally slapped yourself.

Of course he has a bible in his office!

You opened your mouth, ready to rephrase the question, to save yourself from the embarrassment of sounding so foolish—but Fr. Jeon answered before you could.

“I do have a few bible collections in my office…would you like to see them?” Fr. Jeon offered, gesturing gently toward the church office.

You dropped the boxes. “Oh, my-”

Your plan actually worked!

Your eyes widened in horror. Mortified, you immediately bent down to pick them up, only to find Fr. Jeon already reaching for them.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he chuckled softly, lifting the boxes with ease as if they weighed nothing. “Let me carry these.”

“S-Sorry, it was kinda heavy,” you reasoned out, your neck already turning red. You still couldn’t believe you were actually having a full conversation with him.

And now he was even taking you to his office!

The Lord had truly answered your prayers.

With a polite smile, Fr. Jeon handed the boxes to the truck before gesturing for you to follow him toward the office.

“I can let you borrow a few scriptures if you’d like. I have the new version of the bible—would you want that?” Fr. Jeon asked as he reached into his pocket for his office keys.

You nodded immediately, hands clasping together behind your back. “Uh, yeah. That would be heavenly!”

Heavenly? For Christ’s sake, Y/N.

Fr. Jeon only smiled at that, unlocking and opening the office door as if he were letting you step into a space you had no right to be so excited about.

Pious.

You had done your research last night—it had been difficult since he was such a private person, but you had managed to learn a few things.

Fr. Jeon had been ordained only six months ago and was now officially assigned as the priest of your city’s parish, something you were embarrassingly looking forward to.

He was twenty-eight. He had studied arts before eventually pursuing theology. There were only a handful of photos of him online…mostly seminarian group pictures, a few formal ones where he wasn’t wearing his usual cassock, though he was always in long sleeves.

You had even found one rare image where he had rolled his sleeve slightly during a group photo, revealing part of a tattoo on his arm beneath a white long-sleeve shirt and a cross necklace.

“Fuck… he’s hiding all that under his sleeves?” you had muttered to yourself last night, squinting at the screen and trying to find more…only to realize there was barely anything else. No social media, no casual photos, nothing.

“Take a seat here. I’ll get the books for you,” Fr. Jeon said now, smiling as he gestured toward the small couch in front of his desk.

You nodded and sat down obediently, trying very hard to look like a good parish girl. 

His office was quiet and orderly in a way that immediately made you straighten your posture. The walls were lined with wooden bookshelves filled with thick religious texts, bible editions, theological commentaries, and neatly stacked parish documents. A simple desk sat against one side, organized and uncluttered, with a few folders, a pen holder, and a small lamp.

In the center of the room, mounted on the wall above the desk, hung a large crucifix—christ on the cross—watching over everything in silent stillness. The soft light from the window fell across it gently, making the entire room feel even more solemn, almost sacred.

Yet your thoughts were nowhere near sacred. You were here to attempt a very dangerous, carnal sin.

Seduction.

Masked in your perfect good-girl appearance, wondering if you could crack that unshakable composure he wore so effortlessly—if you could make his calm, holy restraint finally slip.

You slowly stood up from the couch while his back remained turned, focused on his bible scriptures. Your head tilted slightly as you tried to make it look as innocent as possible…to enter his space without revealing your true, sinful intentions.

“Fr. Jeon,” you called softly, standing too close behind him.

You needed to converse, to interact with him, to get him interested—to show him how much you adored God as much as he did.

“Hmm?” He didn’t glance at you, still focused on the scriptures.

You pouted, slowly taking a peek at what he was doing. “I was wondering if I could just read the bible here instead of borrowing it….” you attempted softly. “That way, if there’s something I don’t understand… I can ask you about it right away.” you said in a sweet, suggestive tone.

Fr. Jeon glanced at you, subtly stepping back when he realized you were right behind him, your vanilla scent brushing his senses.

He paused for a moment, looking into your hopeful eyes. 

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, a small smile appearing on his face. “That's actually a good idea. Understanding scripture is easier when you can discuss it with someone. If I'm here, feel free to ask me anything you're confused about.”

Providence.

You smiled brightly, feeling your relationship with him finally take another step forward.

“That would be great! Thank you, Fr. Jeon,” you said, tilting your head and giving him one of your most charming smiles.

It was absurd.

After your finals, you were granted a two-month semestral break, and instead of using that time to party, travel with friends, or go on night outs, you had spent nearly all of it at the church. 

Sana, unfortunately, never questioned your growing interest. She was too kind to question your faith.

Over the next few weeks, your afternoons were spent in the parish office, reading scripture, flipping through commentaries, and waiting for the familiar sound of the office door opening.

During those weeks, you managed to have a few small talks with him whenever he stopped by. You learned that he visited the church every day…sometimes to pray, sometimes to help with ongoing charity work, hear confessions, or simply check on the church office before moving on to his next responsibility.

Hearing about his schedule made you quietly adjust your own, ensuring you arrived at the office around 3 p.m.—the time he usually came in to check mails and paperwork at his office.

Today, you were wearing a baby blue dress that flowed nicely around your ankles, trimmed with delicate lace at the hem. Your hair was tied in a half ponytail with a blue ribbon, your makeup subtle, and your kitten heels matching the softness of your outfit.

Sana didn’t come with you every day anymore—she had other “holy” activities outside the church, like charity visits, helping at retreat houses, touring other churches, and even climbing mountains to visit shrines and statues. 

You had politely declined most of those invitations, telling her you found comfort in staying within your church’s city.

Disingenuous.

The rhythm between you had become almost routine. You would come to the office in the afternoons, sit down with a bible, and quietly read while asking him occasional questions whenever something didn’t make sense. 

Fr. Jeon would remain at his desk, either going through papers or reading his own scripture in silence. The room would stay mostly quiet, filled with the soft turning of pages and the steady presence of his focus, as if the world outside didn’t quite reach either of you in that space.

Sometimes you would try to steer the conversation a little further, testing small openings beyond scripture, but it always naturally circled back to the same things—bible passages, God, charity work, church matters… anything within that same unspoken boundary of the holy.

Yet, that alone felt like a privilege—being allowed into the quiet rhythm of his office, as if you belonged there too.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon. I brought some snacks for you,” you said with a smile as you entered the church’s office.

As usual, he was sitting at his desk, wearing his framed glasses while reading some papers.

You walked toward him and held up a small box of cookies you had gladly baked. “I made these…kind of like a thank-you gift for letting me stay here in the office,” you said proudly.

During your free time, you had spent the entire afternoon baking cookies for Fr. Jeon, thinking it would be a nice thank-you gift for him. At first, you had even wanted to decorate them with cute frosting faces of Jesus, convinced it would make you look extra devoted in his eyes.

Unfortunately, after staring at your frosting bag for ten minutes, you realized it might look a little too....performative.

So, with great reluctance, you abandoned your tiny Jesus-face cookie idea and settled for regular chocolate chip cookies instead.

The result sat neatly inside the box you now held out to him, carefully packed and decorated with far more effort than necessary.

Fr. Jeon looked at the cookies, his head tilting slightly when he noticed the box was covered in heart stickers. A soft smile formed on his lips, quietly touched by your kindness.

“That’s very kind of you, sweetheart.” he said softly, taking the box before looking up at you from his swivel chair. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Your cheeks flushed, making you feel like a schoolgirl finally noticed by your crush.

“No worries, Fr. Jeon… besides, I really like reading the bible here! it feels comforting,” you said, leaning in slightly as if to emphasize your point. “And thank you… you really help me understand it better when I get confused,” you added softly, fluttering your lashes at him.

He blinked slowly, clearly caught off guard by your sweet smile and the way you leaned in, his usual composure faltering for a brief moment as he paused.

“No...no problem sweetheart.” he said with a small smile. “I’m… glad you find comfort here. God will always find a way to comfort our souls.”

You smiled sheepishly and sat down on the small couch in front of his desk. “Hmm, I know…I always pray whenever I’m overwhelmed, somehow talking to God really helps me.” you said thoughtfully, even if you had only learned those kinds of phrases from Sana.

Fr. Jeon nodded quietly, he didn’t expect you to be this devoted.

You were very pure, kind, and charming. He had always noticed you volunteering at the church with your friend Sana—you would help with the boxes, sit around during her choir sessions, sometimes simply sit in the pew as if the presence of the church alone was enough for you.

It wasn’t hard to notice you. You were pretty and graceful, always smiling at everyone, carrying a soft, composed presence whenever he saw you at the church in your long skirts and modest blouses—like a quiet image of devotion itself. 

Despite that, his eyes never lingered. 

Always composed, always measured…because anything longer than a passing glance felt like something he shouldn’t allow himself.

Ever since you asked him about the bible that day, he had been quietly amazed. Nowadays, very few people showed genuine interest in scripture, let alone someone your age. 

Seeing your devotion—or what he believed was devotion…filled him with a warmth he hadn't expected. It was rare to meet someone so eager to learn more about God.

What he didn't realize was that your sweet, holy little plan had been working all along.

And what you didn't realize was that your sweetness, your smiles, your carefully built innocence—had been working from the very beginning.

You were so focused on the fact that his eyes never lingered, so convinced that he remained untouched by your presence, that you failed to see the subtle effect you had already left behind.

“What do you do during your free time, Fr. Jeon?” you asked casually one friday afternoon, trying your best to sound merely curious rather than interested. 

You had spent weeks keeping your questions safely within the boundaries of scripture. Careful not to reveal how badly you wanted to know the man behind the collar. 

So you kept your tone light and innocent, as though it were nothing more than a harmless question that had happened to cross your mind.

Fr. Jeon's head tilted slightly. He was sitting across from you at the small coffee table inside his office, a bible resting in his hands just like yours. 

“I visit charities,” he answered lightly. “I usually stay there for a while and spend time with the children.” a fond smile crossed his face at the memory.

Your lips parted. Oh! still religious.

“How about you, sweetheart?” Fr. Jeon asked.

You quickly searched for a suitably holy answer. “Umm, I-I sometimes climb mountains to visit shrines and blessed statues,” you said, biting your lip as you recalled one of Sana's favorite religious activities.

Fr. Jeon nodded thoughtfully, visibly impressed…his expression softening as if genuinely moved that you spent your free time in service of the Lord.

“What a good girl you are,” he said softly. 

His eyes lifted to meet yours for a brief moment—just long enough to make your heart stumble…before he looked away first, a small smile forming on his lips that he quickly hid as he lowered his gaze back to the bible.

Your lips parted slightly, warmth rushing to your cheeks at the compliment.

Good girl. Oh to be called his good girl.

Even though Sana had been busy lately with her other holy activities, you didn't mind attending mass alone. In fact, you were more than happy sitting in the front row. 

Your eyes would sparkle whenever Fr. Jeon spoke, your heart thumping whenever his gaze swept across the congregation and briefly met yours.

It always felt like a small victory, as though he was finally acknowledging you, finally noticing you.

“The Body of Christ.” Fr. Jeon held up the host.

“Amen,” you replied softly.

Unlike before, however, his gaze briefly lowered to meet yours. It lasted only a moment, accompanied by a small smile, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Enthralled.

Little by little, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The walls around him no longer felt quite as impenetrable as they once had.

Overtime, you had finally managed to crack through the edges of his usual reserve. What started as strictly scripture and charity talk had slowly, almost imperceptibly, begun to shift into something more personal. 

You learned how he first became interested in the priesthood, how his mother had served in the church, and how deeply devoted his family was to their faith. You even found the courage to ask about his tattoos, discovering they came from his love for art long before he pursued theology.

In return, you had shared little pieces of yourself as well—your hobbies, your favorite things, your likes and dislikes. Of course, you were careful to sprinkle in a little extra holiness whenever you could, always eager to impress him and maintain the image he seemed to have of you.

Fr. Jeon enjoyed your presence. It was refreshing to converse with someone who seemed to share the same interest and devotion that he held so dearly.

As the weeks passed, he found himself quietly looking forward to your visits, anticipating the familiar sound of your voice drifting into his office each afternoon. After all, you had always been naturally playful and talkative, and somehow… your constant babbling had become a welcome part of his routine.

It had been a month since you started spending your afternoons in his office. Upon entering, you found him sitting at the coffee table instead of his desk. Scattered across the table were several small boxes in different colors.

Curious, you stepped inside, your usual box of homemade cookies in hand—the same kind you brought him every week.

“What’s that, Fr. Jeon?” you asked, taking a seat across from him and placing the cookies on the table.

Fr. Jeon looked up and smiled. “When's your birthday, sweetheart?”

You blinked, a question that was out of the blue—like you were on a date, and he was casually getting to know you.

Your cheeks immediately flushed, you told him your birth date, unable to hide the slight confusion in your voice.

Fr. Jeon nodded thoughtfully before reaching for one of the small boxes on the table.

There were twelve of them in total, each a different color. Pink, purple, green, blue, yellow, and several others.

“This would be your birthstone color then,” he said with a fond smile, handing you the box that matched your birth month.

Confused, you picked up the box and slowly opened it.

A small rosary bracelet rested inside.

Your heart began thumping so loudly you could hear it in your ears as you remembered the conversation from weeks ago…when he had gently corrected you and told you that rosaries weren't meant to be worn as necklaces.

“T-This is for me?” you asked, eyes wide and sparkling.

Fr. Jeon smiled softly. “Yes, sweetheart. I didn't know your birthday, so I bought all twelve colors,” he admitted with a small chuckle, glancing at the remaining boxes on the table.

It was such a simple gift, yet your heart fluttered stupidly in your chest. Somehow, this meant more than the flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, and expensive jewelry your admirers had given you before.

Before you could stop yourself, you rose from your seat and threw your arms around him.

Fr. Jeon froze in surprise, his eyes widened as you suddenly closed the distance between you. The force of the hug nearly made him lose his balance in the chair as your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

“Thank you, Fr. Jeon...so sweet of you.” you murmured, overwhelmed with happiness.

He gulped harshly. It had been a long time since he had been touched by a woman.

Not accidentally in a crowded place. Not a polite handshake after mass. Not a brief greeting exchanged out of courtesy.

A long time.

His heart raced against his ribs as your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Your hot breath fanned softly against his collar, carrying the familiar scent of vanilla that had become impossible for him not to recognize. The closeness was overwhelming in a way he hadn't expected, making him painfully aware of how little physical affection existed in his life.

His hands hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment before gripping the edge of the table instead. Every instinct told him to return the gesture, to place a comforting hand against your back and reassure you, but he remained still, forcing himself to hold onto his composure.

“You're welcome, sweetheart.” Fr. Jeon rasped, his voice coming out rougher than usual.

When you finally pulled away, you smiled brightly and sat back down in your chair, immediately slipping the bracelet onto your wrist.

Meanwhile, he remained frozen for a moment, trying to swallow away the lingering awareness of your closeness. The warmth of your embrace, your breath against his collar, the brief press of your breasts against him.

The hug had been innocent, sweet and harmless.

Which only made it worse.

Because he had no reason to be affected by it at all. He found himself quietly unsettled by the fact that he had needed to restrain himself in a moment that should have been nothing more than simple gratitude.

Temptation.

The next day, you proudly wore the rosary bracelet he had given you. You had even chosen a dress that matched its color, complete with a ribbon in your hair to tie everything together.

When you entered his office, you found Fr. Jeon standing by the bookshelves, a scripture in one hand. His glasses rested low on his nose as he read through a passage.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon,” you greeted happily, practically sashaying toward him.

His attention lifted from the page.

Immediately, you raised your wrist and showed off the bracelet. “Look,” you said with a grin.

Fr. Jeon glanced down, you were already twirling in place, eager to show him how the bracelet matched your dress.

Pretty.

The thought came so naturally that he frowned at himself.

“Good day, Y/N.” he replied, forcing his attention away from the observation.

You smiled brightly and wriggled your wrist. “I matched the bracelet with my dress and ribbon, see?”

Turning in a small circle again, you proudly showed off the entire outfit.

Fr. Jeon watched for a brief moment before lowering his gaze. Lately, he had become far too aware of things he shouldn't be noticing.

How pretty you looked whenever you walked into his office, how your face lit up whenever you talked to him, how easily your excitement filled the room.

Even your long dresses—soft fabric falling gently to your ankles, lace details tracing along the edges…began to feel distracting in a way he could not fully explain or justify. 

Turning innocent things into distractions. The modesty that should have protected his thoughts was beginning to have the opposite effect, making him painfully aware of the woman hidden beneath layers of fabric and lace.

Perhaps it was because it had been so long since he had allowed himself to be this close to a woman. Years spent in seminaries, rectories, church offices, and ministry had made him accustomed to a life of distance and discipline. He had grown comfortable in it.

Until you.

“Glad you like it, sweetheart,” he said at last, forcing a small smile before returning his attention to the scripture in his hands.

It was easier to focus on the page than on the way you were still standing there, smiling at him as if he had just given you the greatest gift in the world.

You giggled and stepped a little closer. “You know, I didn’t remove the bracelet yet… I’m planning on wearing it forever.”

Fr. Jeon raised a brow at that, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Really?” he asked, unable to hide the delightfulness in his voice.

“Yes! I didn’t even remove it when I took a bath,” you giggled, smiling at him with pure adoration.

His brows furrowed slightly at what you had just said, but before he could stop himself, a faint flush crept across his cheeks.

Test of faith.

His mind betrayed him for a brief second, wandering toward the image of you showering while still wearing the bracelet he had given you, carefully keeping it on even then. The thought was so sudden and inappropriate that he immediately felt ashamed.

He gulped harshly, disappointed in himself. He would have to repent later and ask the Lord for forgiveness for allowing such a crude thought to cross his mind.

Fr. Jeon could not entertain that desire. It was forbidden, a temptation that needed to be buried and forgotten before it could take root.

Yet despite the turmoil quietly unfolding inside him, he weakly reached over and gently patted your head.

His heart immediately thumped against his ribs when your eyes lifted to meet his, shining with unmistakable adoration at the simple gesture.

You beamed at him...letting out a small, delighted giggle that softened the moment even further.

Craving.

The past few weeks had been exhausting. As the city's new presider, he had been buried beneath paperwork and responsibilities. The church had also been flooded with parishioners seeking confession, and the lines seemed to grow longer with each passing day.

Hundreds of voices had passed through the confessional since then, each carrying their own sins, burdens, and regrets. Most of them faded from memory the moment absolution was given.

Yours hadn't.

Fr. Jeon leaned back in his chair and stared at the crucifix hanging on the office wall. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the room.

He had spent years strengthening his faith, disciplining his mind, and dedicating himself entirely to the Lord. Yet lately, all it took was a sweet smile, an innocent touch, or the sound of your voice to shake that discipline.

Closing his eyes, he lowered his head.

"Lord, forgive me," he murmured quietly.

A threat to his devotion.

-

“Ouch, fuck,” you groaned, pulling the tray of cookies out of the oven.

You were baking a fresh batch for Fr. Jeon today, trying out a larger baking tray than usual so you could make more cookies at once. Unfortunately, the experiment immediately backfired.

As you bent down to take the tray out, the hot metal edge accidentally brushed against your inner thigh. You winced, pouting as you watched your skin slowly turn red.

“This looks so bad,” you murmured, setting the tray of cookies down on the counter.

Luckily, you had been wearing long skirts these days.

Prepping the boxes of cookies you had baked, you decided to wear a purple long lacey skirt paired with a cute ruffled top. Your hair was styled into low pigtail braids, each tied with a ribbon at the ends. Holding the box carefully, you frowned slightly when you felt the bandage rubbing against your swollen skin.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon, I got you cookies!” you beamed.

You noticed he had become even busier after being appointed as the city’s official presider, though you didn’t realize he had been deliberately drowning himself in paperwork—anything to keep his thoughts from drifting where they shouldn’t.

“Good day, Y/N,” he replied, glancing up for only a brief moment to return your smile before his attention went back to the documents in front of him.

You frowned slightly and placed the box of cookies on the table in front of him. “Got you a different flavor! It’s red velvet this time,” you said, pointing at the box with a small, proud smile.

Fr. Jeon glanced at them, warmth flickering in his chest before he quickly pushed it down.

“Thank you, Y/N… that’s very kind of you,” he said gently, his tone careful, as though he was trying to place distance even while accepting your kindness.

You pouted almost immediately. The response felt far too brief for someone who had spent the morning baking for him.

Wanting his attention back on you, you shifted your weight and played with the ends of your braid, searching for something that would pull his focus away from the paperwork on his desk.

“You know… I even got burned earlier because I used a bigger tray and it hit me,” you said with a small chuckle, watching him carefully for a reaction. “But it’s fine, I’m just worried it might leave a mark,” you added with a light giggle, unable to hide the hopeful note in your voice as you waited for him to look at you again.

That got his attention immediately.

His brows furrowed as he looked up from the papers, concern breaking through the careful distance he had been trying to maintain. His eyes instinctively moved to your hands, searching for any sign of injury.

“Where is it? Let me see,” Fr. Jeon said, the concern in his voice unmistakable. His gaze lingered on your fingers and wrists, unable to find the burn he was looking for.

You had to fight the smile threatening to appear.

Slowly, you made your way around the table until you were standing beside him. From his swivel chair, he tilted his head back to follow your movement, his attention still fixed on your hands.

“It’s not there, Fr. Jeon…” you said softly. “Here...”

A small giggle escaped you as you gently lifted the hem of your long skirt. 

His eyes widened instantly, panic flashing across his face before he could hide it. Before you could lift your skirt any higher, his hand shot forward on instinct, wrapping around your wrist to stop you.

“W-What are you doing?” he asked, nearly choking on the words.

The reaction was immediate, almost alarmed, as though the sight of you standing there with your hands on your skirt had caught him completely off guard. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm enough to halt your movement, his composure visibly rattled.

“I burned my thighs, Fr. Jeon… see?” you said innocently, lifting the fabric just enough to reveal the bandage wrapped beneath.

His lips parted at the sight, momentarily stunned.

The bandage sat against your soft thighs, the realization of how close he was to something so private making his mind go blank for a second. 

He had never seen so much of you like this before—not this close, not this exposed in such an unguarded, unexpected way.

Your thighs looked so soft, pink and smooth… faintly marked by the redness around the bandage, drawing attention to how tightly you had wrapped it. 

“It hurts a little,” you pouted, pointing at it.

His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, his gaze immediately faltering. Behind his glasses…his pupils were dilated, his ears and neck flushing red. His hands gripped the sides of his swivel chair tightly, as though grounding himself in place.

“Y-You wrapped it wrong,” he managed to say at last, his voice strained. He cleared his throat and forced his attention elsewhere, brows furrowing as he tried to recover his composure.

You tilted your head. “I did?” you looked down, trying to check your bandage when he suddenly stood up.

“I-I have a first aid kit in my cabinet. Sit in my swivel chair...I-I’ll wrap it for you,” he said quickly, already turning away from you as if creating distance would steady him. Without waiting for another reaction, he walked toward the cabinet near the bookshelves.

You bit your lip. “Okay…”

You obediently sat down in his swivel chair, a small, satisfied feeling flickering in your chest when you noticed how concerned…and slightly flustered—he seemed.

When he returned, he was holding a small first aid kit. Your breath caught slightly when he suddenly knelt in front of you.

“L-Lift your skirt, please.” he said, his tone firm but strained, his brows drawn together as he deliberately avoided looking too directly while waiting for you to comply.

Your heart stammered, green thoughts flowing inside your filthy brain.

With shaky, anticipatory hands, you lifted your skirt up to your inner thighs, purposefully raising it a little higher than necessary.

When he looked at your exposed thighs, his breath hitched. He tried to remain as calm as possible, forcing himself to focus. Slowly, he reached for the bandage, almost flinching when he felt the softness of your skin beneath the rough pad of his fingers.

“It’s too tight,” he said breathily, his hands trembling as he unwrapped the bandage from your thigh.

“Is it?” you said softly, watching the way his lips were slightly parted, his expression focused and controlled.

When the burn was finally exposed, his brows furrowed. “You should be more careful, Y/N.” he said quietly.

He took a small tube of ointment from the kit, applying a bit to his index finger before carefully spreading it over the burn.

You winced slightly at the contact, while his attention remained fixed and steady as he worked.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice lower than usual as he briefly checked your reaction before focusing back on the injury.

You bit your lip. “J-Just a little bit.”

He sighed harshly at that, gently rubbing the ointment in with steady movements, though you could see beads of sweat slowly forming on his forehead.

“Just a little more,” he murmured almost under his breath, applying another layer of ointment. His control was thinner now, each movement more deliberate than the last, as if he was carefully holding himself together.

When he took the new bandage, he wrapped it carefully around your burn with precise, practiced hands. Once he was done, he immediately adjusted your skirt, smoothing it down with controlled efficiency…perhaps a little too quickly, as though creating distance from the moment itself.

When he stood up, you could see it more clearly now: the restraint in his posture, the tension in his jaw, the way his composure wasn’t as effortless as before. He looked like he was actively holding himself back from something, grounding himself before it showed too much.

“Thank you,” you said warmly, smiling up at him.

He looked down at you, tilting his head slightly at how innocent you appeared with your ribbons and braids.

Forbidden.

That night, Fr. Jeon fell into the forbidden temptation he had been trying so hard to resist.

It was ten o’clock, yet he remained inside the church office, refusing to leave the premises until his mind and soul were free of guilt.

Frustrated, he buried himself in scripture, but his thoughts kept drifting back to your soft, beautiful thighs and the rosary bracelet on your wrist that had stirred such sinful thoughts within him.

“Forgive me,” he muttered under his breath, his tattooed hand sliding down his slacks to palm his hardening cock.

His lips parted. It had been a very long time since he had touched himself...he had almost forgotten how good it felt. With a shaky breath, he slowly stroked his growing erection, murmuring apologies and curses beneath his breath.

He nearly rolled his eyes back at the sensation. It felt far too good. His cock hardened with alarming ease at the mere thought of you.

Lust.

With trembling hands, he slowly pulled his cock free from his slacks. It was thick and pulsing, a bead of precum already forming at the swollen tip.

When his tattooed hand squeezed the base, more fluid gathered at the head, coating his throbbing shaft.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered under his breath, a groan escaping him as he rediscovered how good it felt to touch himself after so long.

It was sinful. Dirty.

He was still inside the church office, dressed in his usual black clerical shirt with its roman collar. Scripture lay open on his desk, and his glasses had begun to fog from the heat of his breath.

It had been years. He could no longer remember the last time he had touched a woman, nor the last time he had thought of one this way. When he devoted himself to the Lord, he had promised never to indulge in such acts again.

The longer he had restrained himself, the better it felt to finally release that tension after so many years. His cock almost ached. Thick and veiny, it twitched whenever he rolled the foreskin down.

“God, help me.” Fr. Jeon moaned shamelessly, jerking himself in slow, deliberate strokes, determined to savor every second of it.

He gathered spit in his mouth and let it trickle down his aching shaft. The added lubrication drew a groan from him. He bit down hard on his lip as the realization struck him once more—how good this felt, how much he had missed touching himself.

His thoughts drifted to you.

He imagined your sweet confession about still wearing the rosary bracelet he had given you... even while bathing. The thought lingered longer than it should have, unfurling in his mind as he pictured your small, delicate hands gliding a bar of soap across your soft skin. The rosary would brush against your chest with every movement, the beads shifting and sliding as you washed your nipples.

And then his thoughts wandered further, painting one image after another—your inner thighs, the way the beads might accidentally graze your soft skin as you shower. Each vision arrived unbidden, more vivid than the last, and far more difficult to suppress.

A sacred desire.

He was leaking more and more with every thought of you. The only sound echoing through the office was the wet rhythm of his hand jerking along his hard leaking cock.

Curious, he gathered a bead of precum between his thumb and index finger and brought it to his lips. The taste was salty, thick, and strangely addicting.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, collecting more of it only to taste himself again.

Your forbidden thighs.

The softness of them. The way he had been close enough to imagine burying himself in their warmth. The way they flushed pink beneath his touch. The way they looked so plump and beautiful, tempting thoughts he should never have entertained.

He imagined pressing kisses along your legs, lingering there as though each touch were an act of devotion. He imagined how soft your pussy would feel beneath his lips, how he would part your folds just to stare at your glistening cunt, worshipping it with the reverence of a prayer.

Fr. Jeon was close to climaxing, using memories of your past interactions to fuel his sinful fantasies. His hand was slick with saliva and precum, his thighs tensing as he struggled to hold himself back. He tried to edge himself, to prolong the moment, because the sensation felt far too good after so many years of restraint.

Your body. Even beneath your long dresses and modest blouses, he could tell you were beautiful.

It shamed him that it had been one of the first things he noticed when he saw you wearing that rosary. The way your chest filled out your modest clothing. The way your waist appeared so delicate beneath layers of fabric. The way he found himself wondering what was hidden beneath all that lace and decency.

It was a sin he was terrified to acknowledge. A sin he was terrified to put into words.

But you were beautiful, kind, gentle, and devoted in your faith.

He wanted to fuck you.

When the shameful thought finally broke free from the restraints he had placed upon it, he came hard, his release staining the dark fabric of his slacks.

A deep groan tore from his throat as he continued to stroke himself, milking every last wave of pleasure from his body. His thumb brushed along the underside of his cock, chasing the lingering sensitivity.

“Fuck, I’m still hard,” he muttered, biting his lower lip as he glanced down at himself.

It was understandable.

After years of abstinence, it wasn't surprising that his body responded so eagerly. The restraint he had maintained for so long seemed to have shattered all at once.

Yearning.

All night, instead of losing himself in scripture, he gave in to temptation. His hand jerked shamelessly over his cock as his thoughts returned to you again and again. To every forbidden desire he had tried to suppress. To every impulse he had buried beneath prayer, discipline, and devotion.

Hours passed unnoticed.

He had so much pent-up desire, so much neglected hunger, that he remained awake until dawn, caught in an endless cycle of pleasure in jerking his insatiable cock. The office grew quiet around him while the darkness slowly gave way to morning light, yet his thoughts never strayed far from your face, your kindness, and the feelings he had spent so long denying.

And the fantasies that filled his mind were so sinful that he feared they had carried him beyond forgiveness.

“This should do it,” you giggled to yourself, wrapping the bandage poorly on purpose so he would have an excuse to fix it for you again.

Your box of cookies was already prepared, resting neatly on your lap while you held a bible in your hands and waited for Fr. Jeon.

Unfortunately, hours passed with nothing but the sound of turning pages accompanying you. You flipped through scripture after scripture, occasionally glancing toward the door, expecting him to appear at any moment.

Yet he never came.

Confused, you eventually stepped out of the office to look for him yourself. Perhaps he was outside helping with the donations or speaking with parishioners, as he often did. But after wandering around the church grounds and checking every place you could think of, you still couldn't find him anywhere.

“Where is he?” you pouted to yourself, a disappointed sigh slipping past your lips as you made your way back to his office.

By the time you returned, the warm glow of sunset had already begun spilling through the stained-glass windows.

Realizing he wasn't coming, you reluctantly decided to leave the cookies behind along with a small handwritten note. The thought alone made your chest feel strangely heavy.

“I miss him already,” you murmured, frowning at your own words.

It wasn't as if you could simply call or text him. Despite spending weeks at the church, Fr. Jeon had never given you his number, and you had never found the courage to ask for it. Perhaps it was because you preferred seeing him in person.

The idea of receiving his answers through a text message whenever you had questions about scripture felt disappointing somehow. You liked sitting across from him, listening to his voice as he patiently explained things to you. You liked the little smiles he gave you, the way his attention never seemed rushed, and the comfort that came with simply being around him.

That day left you unusually sad. It was the first time you hadn't seen him at all. Even when he was busy, he always managed to stop by, if only for a minute. No matter how much work he had, he never missed the opportunity to check on you.

Avoidance.

You came back today...hopeful that you would finally see him again and finally ask where he had been yesterday, you were instead met with confusion when he didn’t appear again. You pouted when you noticed the box of cookies you had left behind was still untouched, exactly where you had placed it.

“That’s odd, he can’t miss a bible reading,” you murmured to yourself, already accustomed to his usual routine. He always visited the church at a certain time to pray quietly and read scripture before continuing his day, and you had grown used to waiting for him during those moments.

But days passed, and he was still nowhere to be seen.

The cookies you had prepared for him began to lose their freshness, and the papers he usually kept neatly on his desk started to gather dust. A strange sense of unease settled in your chest as you tried to understand what had changed.

You asked around the church, speaking to parishioners and volunteers, hoping someone might have seen him or could explain where he had gone. But what you learned nearly broke your heart.

He was still coming to the church every day. He just arrived earlier now.

You had always known his schedule well—he used to visit his office around three in the afternoon, which was why you were always there waiting at that time. You never thought he would suddenly change it without warning.

“T-Thank you,” you managed to say, forcing a small smile when one of the parishioners finally informed you that he had been seeing Fr. Jeon every morning. You were lucky this particular parishioner stayed at the church throughout the day, otherwise you might never have learned the truth.

Still, the information left you disappointed and strangely hurt.

The fact that he was visiting every day but never acknowledged your cookies. The fact that he never even left a note to explain. The fact that you had been waiting for him all this time, dressed in your usual modest dresses, as if your presence alone meant anything to him.

Tears slowly began to gather in your eyes for reasons you couldn’t fully understand. It felt almost like being rejected without a single word, like a quiet heartbreak you hadn’t been prepared for. It seemed as though he was suddenly avoiding you.

“What did I do?” you pouted softly to yourself, walking home with slumped shoulders as you tried to wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks.

On the way, your thoughts turned over your last interaction with him. Had you been too bold? Had he noticed something in you that you thought you had hidden well? Had he finally realized that your devotion wasn’t as pure as it appeared?

The more you thought about it, the more desperate you became to see him again. And instead of wanting to reveal your true ill intentions, you found yourself wishing the opposite—that he would see how devoted you were, how deeply you admired him, how willingly you would sacrifice your dignity just to remain close to him.

Restraint.

You didn’t know that he had been avoiding you all along, because your sick plan had finally taken effect, his careful restraint crumbling like a rock under pressure.

Fr. Jeon couldn’t bring himself to face you. Even the slightest eye contact felt like it would burn through his skin, your presence alone eating away at whatever remained of his guilt until there was nothing left but discomfort and temptation.

Desperate.

You woke up early that day, preparing yourself carefully so you could see him. The constant overthinking had become unbearable, and you were convinced that seeing him would finally calm your thoughts.

Slowly, you walked through the church halls, your kitten heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Your wandering gaze passed over parishioners and silent figures lost in prayer, the morning air gentle and warm as it settled over your chaotic mind. The scent of the church—fresh flowers and holy water—was oddly soothing as you moved deeper inside.

But as you went further in, you nearly lost your balance when you noticed his office door slightly ajar.

Your heart began to pound in anticipation as you carefully approached. And when you finally looked inside, your eyes widened.

There he was.

In his usual black clerical long-sleeved shirt and roman collar, Fr. Jeon stood looking down at the box of cookies you had left a week ago.

Your heart sank at the realization that he must have seen the box of cookies days ago—and still chose to ignore it.

Taking a steadying breath, you stepped inside and gently closed the door behind you, locking it without hesitation.

“Fr. Jeon,” you said softly.

He looked up immediately, his eyes widening as though he had seen something he shouldn’t have. For a brief moment, he looked almost like he had seen a ghost. His entire body stiffened, tension tightening in his posture as he forced himself upright.

“What are you doing here?” His tone came out sharper than intended, almost accusatory, as he tried to regain control of himself by straightening his clerical collar and adjusting the bridge of his glasses.

You frowned at the reaction, slowly taking a step closer. Something in your chest cracked when you noticed how his expression shifted with each movement you made—his brows tightening, his gaze dropping as if he couldn’t bear to hold it steady on you for too long.

“You didn’t get the cookies I got you,” you said with a small pout, glancing between the box and him as if the answer should have been obvious.

Fr. Jeon bit his lower lip and closed his eyes for a moment, as though needing time to steady himself.

“I was… busy,” he said, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard. He almost stepped back when you moved closer.

You tilted your head at him. “Am I taking too much of your time, Father?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a sad little pout.

Patience.

Fr. Jeon exhaled slowly and heavily, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as if trying to ground himself. Your presence alone seemed to shut down every carefully built wall he had been maintaining.

He looked down at your sad pout, and something in him nearly cracked at the sight of your sadness. For a moment, his composure faltered as fantasies surged back in, uninvited and overwhelming.

For the past few days, he had been deliberately avoiding you. He had started arriving at the church earlier, knowing you always came in the afternoon, carefully timing his routines so he would not run into you. He avoided his office as well, because every corner of it reminded him of you.

But this morning, he had come in anyway.

And the first thing he saw was the box of cookies you had left behind… along with a small note that said you missed him.

Desire.

For the past few nights, he had been jerking his cock non-stop. Ever since that first time, he couldn’t shake the feeling, couldn’t resist the urge to return to it again and again—groaning your name under his breath like a sacred prayer.

“No, sweetheart… I’m just—”

“I’m sorry… I just really like it here, and I love talking to you,” you said in a soft tone, stepping closer until he could smell your vanilla perfume, your pleading eyes pulling him deeper into your orbit.

Fr. Jeon swallowed harshly, his pulse quickening at how sweet and beautiful you looked for him.

“Sweetheart—”

“Would you like me to leave?” you asked quietly, biting your lower lip.

His eyes dropped to your lips. His hands curled into fists, every passing second testing his hard-earned faith and devotion.

But no...he would rather endure the torment alone, rather than risk touching your beautiful, tempting soul.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you much of my time right now. I’ve been really busy—” Fr. Jeon said with finality.

Suddenly, you rose onto your tiptoes to meet his height and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“It’s okay, Father… I understand,” you whispered, your lips lingering dangerously close to his.

Succumbed.

Before you could pull away, his hands slid to your waist, steadying you—holding you in place more firmly than expected. You were about to look at him in confusion when he suddenly crashed his lips into yours.

Your eyes widened, your body nearly falling backward, but he held you firmly in place. His kiss was harsh and desperate—like a man starved, and you were the only water in a burning desert.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth, and the sound of his low groan sent shivers down your spine.

His brows were furrowed tightly, every bit of pent-up frustration spilling into the kiss. It was rough, consuming—his control slipping as he pulled you deeper into it, saliva beginning to spill messily between your mouths from how intensely he claimed your lips.

When he finally pulled away, his pupils were blown wide. His lips were red and swollen, his chin damp with both of your saliva.

He released your waist almost instantly, as though you had burned him.

Swallowing hard, he stared down at your flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

Oh God. What had he done?

“W-What—” you stammered, bewildered, still in shock at how easily Fr. Jeon—a priest with such a good reputation….had fallen into your lips like a man undone by weakness and lust.

Surrendered.

When you saw him step back, his brows furrowing as if he had just realized what he had done, you immediately grabbed his arms.

“I—I’m sorry, this is blasphemous, I—”

You pulled him back and kissed him again, softer this time. “I like you, Fr. Jeon. Please don’t avoid me,” you almost pleaded, tugging him down so you could reach his lips again.

His eyes widened. He shook his head immediately. “Y/N, n-no… this is wrong,” he blurted weakly, trying to grab your wrists as you pulled him closer.

Hearing those words from your mouth struck something deep in him, shaking his resolve. He couldn’t fall for you, he couldn’t kiss you, he couldn’t touch you...he couldn’t even think about you.

The only solution was to stay away—to pretend none of this had ever happened.

You shook your head. “Please, I want you so badly… there’s nothing wrong with this,” you insisted, trying to kiss him again, but he turned away. His eyes were heavy-lidded, weakened, the air in the office suddenly suffocating.

“You make me happy, Fr. Jeon… please,” you pleaded.

He shook his head firmly. “I am a priest, Y/N. This is forbidden,” he said weakly, his voice low and rough—like every word cost him something, like it was painful to say.

“But...why did you kiss me?” you pleaded.

Fr. Jeon groaned under his breath, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

“Do you like me too, Fr. Jeon?” you pushed further, stepping closer, watching how much it seemed to strain him.

“Y/N, this is wrong—”

Your lips parted. “You...you like me,” you concluded when he didn’t deny it.

A small smile formed on your lips at the confirmation. Suddenly, the past few weeks made sense—the distance, the avoidance, the restraint. Everything clicked into place.

When he weakly let go of your wrists, you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, as if he had finally surrendered to you. His lips parted, his eyes clouded and hazy.

“Since when, Father?” you whispered, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He shut his eyes tightly. The feeling of your hands on him was already enough to send him spiraling. His lack of physical affection was becoming obvious in the way his body reacted—his restraint slipping under something as simple as your soft, shallow touch.

“The first time I saw you at the church,” he whispered so low you almost didn’t catch it, as though even admitting it was a sin.

You gasped, your eyes widening at the revelation that he had noticed you from the very beginning.

“I-I thought… you didn’t recognize me. Y-You were always so busy and—”

“I did,” he cut in softly, his voice rough. “But it’s impure of me to stare at such beauty. I cannot do that.”

His gaze dropped to your lips again, weak and conflicted.

You gasped, a fond grin forming on your beautiful face. “Indeed, that’s very impure of you…Father,” you giggled.

Fr. Jeon groaned, attempting to step back again, but this time you pulled him closer and kissed him without hesitation. When you tried to part his lips with yours, you felt him shake his head, his hands gripping your waist to hold you back.

“N-No… we can’t—”

“Shh... it’s okay, Father… we’ll keep this a secret,” you whispered like a little devil in disguise, your pouty lips brushing against his again. “No one will know…”

Fr. Jeon groaned, your words sending shivers down his spine. The tension between restraint and desire tightened further.

“No, sweetheart, this is wrong… we should—”

“Please, Father…I’m already so wet.” you mumbled softly, looking at him with pleading eyes.

His eyes widened. It had been a long time since he had heard such crude words—especially coming from a pretty mouth like yours.

“T-That’s—” he stammered, his composure slipping further under the weight of you.

“Unholy?” you giggled, taking his right hand and guiding it beneath your long skirt.

His lips parted when his fingers brushed against the wet fabric of your underwear. His cheeks and ears burned red at the realization of how aroused you were.

You bit your lip, rising onto your tiptoes to whisper against his ear.

“No one will know.” you dragged your tongue along the shell of it, smiling when you heard him let out a soft, broken sound.

Blasphemous.

His lips grazed your inner thighs as his once devout, God-bound gaze now fixed on your bare, wet pussy. He knelt before you like you were some immaculate saint.

“Y-You’re so beautiful,” he said breathlessly, his fingers parting your folds and gently pulling back your hood to expose your sensitive clit.

You gasped loudly when he spat onto your center, his soft lips immediately wrapping around your clit, sucking in both his saliva and your wetness.

“Oh, God,” you moaned.

Fr. Jeon looked almost sacred between your thighs. Your skirt was bunched at your waist just enough for him to fully indulge in your pussy, while his black clerical shirt began to stain from how much you were dripping onto him. His glasses had grown slightly fogged from the heat of his breath against your body and the warmth between your legs.

He ate your pussy like a starving man, unable to get enough. His tongue pushed inside your tight cunt in search of more, drawing more juices from you, while the obscene sounds of his mouth filled the room. His throat worked with every swallow, adam’s apple bobbing as he greedily took in every drop you gave him.

“You taste so good,” he mumbled between your thighs, the vibration of his voice sending pleasure straight to your core.

You bit your lip, giggling softly while trying to keep your balance—you were leaning against his desk.

“Do you like how wet it is?” you asked, looking down at him as if amused by how much he was enjoying himself.

Fr. Jeon nodded against your cunt. “So wet and pretty,” he mumbled, sucking your clit until his cheeks hollowed, his dimples showing each time he latched on harder.

The way he ate you out was wet and messy, continuously spitting as his lips stayed locked around your clit. You gasped when he pinched your folds together, trying to eat your entire pussy into his warm mouth.

Every time you squirmed, he tightened his grip on your thighs, groaning under his breath as if he wanted to drown himself in you completely.

Whenever he pulled back to breathe, he took a moment to stare at your swollen, messy cunt—admiring it like something sacred, something almost holy in its beauty. He whispered how ethereal it was before spitting on it again and diving back in hungrily.

“H-How come you’re so good at that?” you moaned, looking down at his mouth as he remained relentless, your juices dripping down his chin.

Fr. Jeon looked up at you, adjusting the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I’ve fantasized about this,” he said with a smile. “I imagine devouring your cunt while I jerk off my cock.”

He pressed a light kiss to the top of your clit before burying his face against you again.

Your eyes rolled back at the confession, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Hmm... really? That’s ungodly, Father.”

Fr. Jeon only groaned, pressing his face deeper until you were certain he could barely breathe. “I’m only willing to surrender myself to you.”

You gasped. The way he said it felt so wrong, so forbidden, and your pussy throbbed at the thought of him willingly committing such sinful acts, of him literally being on his knees for you.

When he felt your wetness growing, he lifted his head slightly to look at your cunt. Using his index and middle finger, he spread you open, watching as more of your milky-white juices gathered.

Fr. Jeon groaned, swallowing hard at the sight of how wet and horny you had become.

“You like that, sweetheart?”

He gathered your juices, the pads of his fingers sliding down your slit and making you flinch. Your breath caught when you watched him scoop your cum onto his fingers and bring them to his mouth, tasting your sweetness. "You got so much wetter."

“Fr. Jeon, oh my—”

He continued gathering the excess wetness, scooping up your cum until he was satisfied that you were no longer dripping. His brows furrowed as he sucked the collected juices from his fingers, unwilling to let any of it go to waste.

When he finally gathered the last drop, you frowned as he rose to his feet.

For a moment, you thought he was done. Then he brought his fingers, coated with your cum, up to your mouth.

“Open up, sweetheart.” he whispered, his gaze lowering to your lips, swollen from how hard you had been biting them.

You slowly opened your mouth, moaning when he slid his fingers inside so you could taste your own juices mixed with traces of his saliva.

“You taste like sin, don’t you?” he said softly, his fingers twirling inside your mouth, nearly making you gag.

You sucked on his fingers, your cheeks hollowing eagerly as you looked up at him with expectant eyes. “Mhm. I want to taste how pure you are, then,” you said softly, sucking his fingers the way you imagined sucking his cock.

His cock twitched inside his slacks, precum already gathering at the swollen tip.

He immediately shook his head. “Want to make you cum first, sweetheart.”

Before you could protest, he was already kneeling again, his tongue out as he buried his face between your thighs as though his life depended on it. His nose brushed against your swollen clit while his tongue alternated between slow, deliberate licks and eager suction, determined to draw every reaction from you.

The moment he sensed you were getting close, he pushed his tongue deeper, determined to suck every drop. You were about to push him away from the sudden wave of oversensitivity, but his grip on you tightened.

"I wanna swallow it, please."

You bit down hard on your lip, whispering curses beneath your breath as your body tensed. Your pussy pulsed uncontrollably, heat rushing through you as release overtook your senses.

He groaned at the way your body responded to him, your pussy throbbing vigorously against his tongue.

“I-I want to pleasure you too,” you almost cried.

He didn't stop eating you, even after you came he was sucking your pussy again. He had already made you cum several times just by eating you out. Even after your fifth orgasm, he still hadn’t stopped—still devouring you, drawing out every last drop before spitting it back down onto your slit, pulling your folds apart just to watch it drip, then catching it again with his tongue as if he couldn’t get enough.

You were already overstimulated, your thighs burning from his tight grip, but every time you looked down at him, another wave of arousal surged through you. His brows were furrowed, his eyes closed, almost as if he were praying.

“Please, I want to eat your pussy more.” he mumbled, looking up at you through his glasses, his tongue teasing slow circles around your very swollen clit.

It had been hours. His knees were already red from kneeling, and your back ached from leaning against his desk, yet he still had the stamina to continue, again and again. His cheeks and chin were slick from your cum.

You could see his slacks straining…his arousal obvious beneath the fabric—but he remained focused, almost pleading when you tried to push him away, his mouth still following your spent pussy as if he couldn’t let go.

“Please… one more, sweetheart,” he begged, his thumb soothing along your inner thighs.

When you shyly nodded, he parted your legs further, scooping up what remained of your release as it dripped down. His face pressed in close, his nose brushing against you as he worked, the carpet below you already damp with a mixture of saliva and your arousal.

Unholy.

The once-simple afternoon bible sessions had turned into something far more profane.

The moment you arrived at his office and locked the door behind you, his hands were immediately around you. He would drop to his knees, pushing your panties aside so he could press his face against your wet slit, sniffing your cunt before his tongue slipped out to taste your wetness.

“Hmm… do you like my pussy, Fr. Jeon?” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair as he indulged you.

He groaned against you, burying his face deeper. “Like it so much.”

He was always so desperate—needy, almost whiny. It was obvious how deeply his years of abstinence had affected him, how long he had denied himself even the thought of such intimacy.

Every touch carried the weight of that restraint, as though all those years of self-denial had finally found an outlet. The way he ate your pussy for hours without stopping, the way he would suck your breasts until they turned swollen and red.

Every time you tried to touch him, he would pin your hands down instead. You had never really touched him yet—he always insisted on giving first, on worshipping you instead. He would say that pleasing you was enough,that eating your cum was enough for him, that devoting himself to your body was what satisfied him most.

“Shh, sweetheart… please be quiet.” he pleaded, his middle and index finger pushing inside your cunt, knuckles deep while massaging your spongy spot.

You were certain his fingers were already wrinkled from how long he had been fingering you, your nipples swollen and sensitive from how harshly he had been sucking them while rubbing your clit.

You bit your lip, tears almost forming in your eyes from how good it felt. “S-sorry, it’s just so good,” you mumbled incoherently.

Fr. Jeon groaned. “Yeah?” He spat down where his fingers met your pussy. “Hear that, sweetheart? You’re so wet for me.” he muttered, biting your nipple harshly while his fingers continued going in and out of your wet cunt, the sounds echoing inside the church office.

You were always a whining mess. Even if he hadn’t fucked you yet, your body was constantly left exhausted from how intensely he made you cum repeatedly. Your legs were always wobbly and shaking after each round, and you would always come home with new hickeys and bruises left by his harsh mouth.

He had the stamina to go on for hours and hours, until the entire afternoon was filled with nothing but wet sounds and your filthy moans echoing through his office.

You wanted to return the pleasure so badly, but every time he begged you to eat your pussy, your knees would go weak. You always gave him what he wanted, opening your legs and spreading your cunt for him.

It was one afternoon when you decided that you wanted to please him.

He was busy sucking on your nipples when you noticed how hard he was beneath his slacks. Your eyes rolling back when you saw him almost humping the air.

With a determined groan, you gently pushed him away from you. Your nipples were already pink and swollen.

“Let me taste you,” you pleaded, pressing a kiss to his cheek before trailing down his jaw.

He protested again, trying to guide you back against the couch.

“Sweetheart—”

“Please, Father.” you begged. “You always make me cum so good. I think I’d cum even harder if I got to taste your cock.”

You couldn’t deny that he always left you more than satisfied, constantly pushing you to the edge of overstimulation. Every time it happened, you could see just how hard his cock was. Sometimes, you would even catch the subtle movements of his hips while he was buried between your thighs, completely consumed by pleasuring you.

Fr. Jeon licked his lower lip, as though contemplating whether he could truly accept the idea of you being on your knees for him. It felt like too much to bear, as if he wasn’t ready for it yet. Shamefully, he was certain he would cum the moment your lips touched his tip.

But seeing you like this—begging, your lips drawn into a sweet pout—made his resolve weaken. His eyes fluttered shut helplessly as you eagerly knelt in front of him.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, swallowing hard.

You looked up at him before slowly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss against the bulge beneath his slacks.

A harsh groan escaped him. His cock throbbed beneath the fabric, and that simple, innocent kiss was almost enough to make him stumble.

When you pulled down his zipper, you gasped audibly at the sight of his black boxers, already soaked with a large patch of wetness from his precum.

“You’re leaking, Father,” you said with a pout, looking up at him with sparkling eyes.

He sucked in a breath, his hands curling into fists as he struggled to compose himself. You looked beautiful and completely undignified at the same time, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to resist.

Slowly, you tugged down his boxers...just enough to tuck his balls and free his hard cock.

Your eyes widened.

He was huge and pretty, twitching on his own and curving upward. Thick veins ran along his shaft, and his swollen pink tip glistened with precum.

You licked your lower lip, unable to hide your anticipation at the sight of him. Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to the wet tip.

A strained whimper escaped him.

His hands immediately grabbed the sides of his clerical shirt, as though physically restraining himself from losing control over something as simple as your lips touching him.

“Look at me when I suck you, Fr. Jeon.” you said, raising a brow when you noticed him avoiding eye contact.

He bit his lower lip, trying to look down at you.

You gasped when his cock twitched the moment you made eye contact.

With a teasing look, you slowly sucked his mushroom tip while keeping your eyes on him, fluttering your lashes as you took him into your warm mouth.

He groaned harshly. He was about to close his eyes, but you shook your head immediately.

“Eyes on me, please.”

“Oh, God,” he whimpered, looking down at you through heavy-lidded eyes as you eagerly sucked his leaking tip.

You swirled your tongue along the underside of his cock, his eyes rolling back every time you repeated the motion. When you finally pulled away, you spat on the tip, your fingers immediately spreading your saliva and his precum along the shaft, leaving him even wetter and messier.

“Do you like how I kneel for you?” you asked before taking his tip into your mouth again, trying to take him deeper until his mushroom head brushed the back of your throat. The upward curve of his cock dragged against the roof of your mouth, drawing another whimper from him.

“Y-You look like a slut,” he blurted out through a moan, his jaw repeatedly tensing, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was fisting his shirt.

You looked up at him and nodded obediently...like a good girl seeking praise.

He bit his lower lip. “My pretty slut.”

Fr. Jeon was trying so hard not to come. He wanted to savor the feeling of your tight mouth around him for as long as possible, wanted to hold on to it, to prolong it, but you were simply too much..too pretty, too warm. Every time you took him deeper, his resolve weakened a little more.

Your eyes were already beginning to redden, your throat struggling to accommodate his thickness. Drool slipped messily down your chin, and the wet, obscene sounds coming from your mouth only pushed him closer to the edge. Each swallow, each desperate attempt to take more of him, made his chest tighten with pleasure, his restraint slipping further and further away.

Whenever you pulled back to catch your breath, you would stroke his cock quickly with your hands and spit messily onto his tip.

Before the saliva could slide down his length, you would take him back into your mouth, licking along his shaft and tracing the prominent veins with your tongue before returning to the swollen underside of his head with soft, teasing kitten licks.

Using your free hand, you reached up to cup his balls gently, applying just enough pressure to make him whimper. The movement only made it harder for him to hold himself together, especially as you continued gagging on his cock like a good little slut.

The moment you noticed him clutching his shirt again, you immediately grabbed his hand.

“Use my mouth, Father,” you whispered, guiding his hand to your hair, silently urging him to take control.

Fr. Jeon groaned and shook his head, but your eagerness never wavered. You paused, waiting patiently for him, your eyes fixed on his face.

The moment you placed your hands obediently behind your back, he nearly cursed the Lord himself.

He weakly dragged a hand through your hair, gathering it away from your face before pulling you a little closer. His jaw tightened as he looked down at you, every ounce of restraint tested by the sight of your quiet obedience.

Grabbing your hair with both hands, he guided your face toward him before finally rolling his hips, slowly thrusting into your waiting mouth.

“God, you really are a slut,” he moaned, his composure unraveling a little more with every passing second.

Whenever he pulled back, you would twirl your tongue around the underside of his crown, earning a shaky whimper from him. Then, he would push you down forcefully onto his cock, your nose hitting his pubic hair as he lost whatever restraint he had left.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he whimpered.

Your mouth was already growing tired, but you remained determined, refusing to pull away. Tears gathered in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks as you struggled to keep up with him, yet you stayed exactly where he wanted you.

When he saw the tears in your eyes, he almost stopped. 

But you eagerly took him deeper, deliberately pushing forward until your face was pressed flush against his pubic hair. Your mouth struggled to accommodate his thickness, soft gargling sounds escaping despite your efforts to suppress them, yet you took everything he gave you.

“God, fuck.” his eyes rolled back as he released hot, thick cum into your mouth.

He was about to push you away when your hands tightened around the backs of his thighs, holding him firmly in place...determined not to let a single drop of his cum go to waste.

“Sweetheart,” he said weakly.

When you finally pulled away- his cock slipping from your lips, you stuck out your tongue to show him his thick, milky cum. Your lashes fluttered as you held his gaze for a moment, letting him take in the sight before you swallowed.

Delirious.

“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

Fr. Jeon stood before the congregation, one hand resting lightly against the pulpit as he prepared to proclaim the gospel.

“A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Matthew.”

“Glory to You, O Lord,” you whispered under your breath, your sparkling eyes lifted up toward him.

You were in your usual favorite spot—in the front row, like his favorite little church girl—your hair tied with a white ribbon, a long modest dress hiding the sinful image beneath.

Every time he spoke, his eyes never lingered on you. He looked over the crowd like a devoted priest, delivering his words slowly, with quiet passion. And whenever he did happen to find you in the congregation, he would only glance past you, as if you were anyone else.

You smirked inwardly. Who would’ve known that this same priest was literally begging on his knees to eat your pussy inside the church office?

When Holy Communion came, you made sure to open the first few buttons of your dress, revealing the rosary necklace you were wearing—the small cross resting between the plush curve of your cleavage.

“The Body of… Christ,” Fr. Jeon said slowly, his eyes drifting down to the rosary wrapped around your neck, the cross sitting dangerously above your breasts.

“Amen,” you said softly, parting your lips for him.

You almost smiled in quiet victory when you saw his jaw tighten—his composure slowly, subtly fracturing beneath the weight of your sacrilegious act.

When he placed the host on your tongue, you leaned in just slightly too far, letting your tongue brush against his thumb in a fleeting, deliberate touch. So small it could be denied. So intentional it could not be mistaken.

A soft hum escaped you as you pulled back, watching the shift in him—the way his body stilled, the way his breath caught. You were already turning away when his voice followed you, low and controlled.

“Meet me after this.”

You looked up at him, briefly thrown, but his gaze had already returned to the ritual at hand, as if nothing had happened.

Delight curled through you at the sight of him unraveling so carefully in public, holding himself together by force alone while you watched the cracks form in real time.

And when you returned to your seat, you could still feel it—the difference. His voice had deepened into something sharper, more distant. His posture stiffened as he finished the mass, each word now measured, restrained, as though he were forcing himself back into place one line at a time.

Wicked.

Sitting properly on the couch in his office, you waited patiently for Fr. Jeon. It was the first time you would see each other up close after mass, and the thought alone made a soft, bubbling excitement bloom in your chest.

You even brought a small box of cookies for him, carefully balanced in your lap, as if sweetness alone could disguise the anticipation curling beneath your ribs.

When the office door finally opened, you looked up at once and smiled.

He stood there still in his liturgical vestments. Over his white alb, he wore a flowing chasuble that draped heavily over his shoulders, embroidered gold catching the afternoon light that spilled through the glass windows like something almost sacred in itself. A white stole rested beneath it all, marking him clearly as the celebrant of the mass, a figure meant to be untouchable.

He looked absolutely breathtaking—so holy, so distant, so unreachable.

And yet, you already had him like a servant—willing, obedient, on his knees for you.

When he walked toward you, his expression was serious and unyielding. You stood up quickly, excitement lifting you, holding out your small gift for him.

“Good afternoon, Fr. Jeon. I got you cooki—”

The cookies slipped from your hands as he suddenly closed the distance, his hand wrapping around your throat. The rosary beads pressed sharply into your skin.

“I told you...that rosaries are not meant to be worn around your neck, didn’t I?” he said in a mocking tone, his voice low and controlled. His eyes looked darker behind his glasses.

His liturgical vestments suddenly felt overwhelming in this close space, no longer distant or ceremonial, but imposing, almost suffocating, as if you were only now realizing the weight of him in this proximity.

You gasped as his fingers tightened slightly around your throat, not enough to hurt—just enough to demand an answer.

“Y-You did, Father.”

“Mhm. I did,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Didn’t I?”

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the shift in him—how his composure had snapped so suddenly, as if the thin thread of his restraint, stretched in the presence of the Lord, had finally given way.

Dominance.

You gasped when he kissed you hard, cutting off your breath in an instant. His other hand bunched up the long skirts of your dress, hot palms slipping beneath the fabric to cup your warm pussy.

“You’re so impure,” he chuckled darkly, his fingers tracing over your clothed clit.

A soft moan escaped you as you tried to wriggle in his hold, but his grip at your throat kept you firmly in place.

“Sit on my desk and spread your legs,” he commanded, releasing you all at once—both your throat and your pussy.

With shaky legs, you moved toward his desk, climbing onto it and bunching your long skirt up around your waist before slowly spreading your legs wide for him.

Fr. Jeon walked toward you, his gaze fixed on the sight of you—so openly willing for him. The rosary cross rested between your breasts like a sin made visible, the white ribbons in your hair now looking almost tainted, your dress bunched up enough to expose your wet cunt to him.

His fingers closed around the rosary you were wearing. Your breath hitched as he slowly pulled it, forcing your neck to tilt forward with the motion.

“You’re such a whore, wearing this around me,” he said in a condescending tone, drawing you closer until he pressed a shallow kiss to your lips.

“I-Isn’t it pretty?” you asked weakly, still trying to tease him.

He let out a humorless chuckle. Without another word, he reached for the scripture on his desk. “I’ll show you what’s pretty.”

You gasped as he pulled the rosary again, forcing you forward while his other hand held the bible. “Open your mouth.”

Confused, you slowly obeyed, your eyes widening when he suddenly placed the book between your teeth.

“Hold still and bite the scripture,” he commanded sharply before spreading your legs wider.

You bit down hard on the book as he suddenly slapped your cunt.

“Mhmp!” you whimpered, eyes watering from the intensity of it.

Fr. Jeon raised a brow. He lifted his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, his gaze locked on you as he slowly dragged his tongue over them. You bit down harder on the book when he used his saliva-coated fingers to slap your cunt again.

“Shh, quiet, sweetheart… there are other people outside- praying,” he said mockingly, tugging lightly on the rosary around your neck.

You bit down harder when he slapped your cunt again, pulling harshly on the rosary around your neck whenever your whimpers escaped.

“Poor baby… you want me to finger you?” he cooed, slapping your cunt once more. Your panties were already soaked, your arousal building from the relentless stimulation.

You eagerly nodded, drool spilling past your lips and onto the scripture beneath you. Your neck was beginning to ache and swell each time he tugged on the beads.

“Do you deserve it?” he asked, twirling the rosary between his fingers, playing with it slowly.

A tear slipped down your cheek when he slapped your cunt again. Your thighs tried to wriggle on the table, but he only pulled harder on the rosary in response.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m finally going to give you what you want,” he said, letting go of you.

Your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him kneel.

You drooled messily against the book when he flipped your panties aside, three of his fingers immediately slipping inside you to stretch your cunt.

“So tight, sweetheart,” he chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your clit while his fingers continued to thrust inside you.

Each time his fingers pulled back, a fresh gush of wetness spilled out, revealing just how needy and aroused you were.

Looking down, you saw how godly he looked—kneeling so close to your pussy, lips parted as he watched his fingers disappear in and out of your tight hole.

“Mhmph,” you whimpered, his fingers knuckles deep inside you, brushing against your spongy spot and leaving you wriggly and tingly.

“You’re so soaked, sweetheart. It’s so hard to rub you properly like this… so, so wet.”

When he saw how restless you were getting, he suddenly removed his fingers. You were about to frown when he stood up, your eyes widening as he began removing his chasuble and slacks.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he taunted, finally revealing his hard cock.

It was already thick and hard, twitching on its own before he even touched it. Prominent veins pulsed along the girth, and his mushroom tip looked swollen and flushed. Using his fingers, he squeezed the plump head, drawing out more precum before spreading it along the shaft. He slowly rolled the foreskin down, his gaze fixed on your helpless body.

“Do you want this cock inside your tight little pussy?” he said breathily, jerking his hard cock in his hand…his eyes were heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted.

You nodded eagerly, tears spilling down your cheeks from anticipation. Your pussy pulsed hard, leaking more of your arousal down onto the table beneath you.

He chuckled, gripping both of your thighs and spreading them wider for him. “Hold your skirt up, sweetheart,” he murmured, as your long skirt kept drifting down while he positioned you.

With weak hands, you slowly bunched your skirt up. Your jaw was already aching from biting down on the book, but you were determined to be a good girl for him, biting down harder as your eyes turned red and your cheeks flushed, warm and swollen.

When he positioned his mushroom tip against your slit, you almost dropped the book. The feeling of his wet cock against your folds sent a sharp jolt through you.

“Gonna fuck you now, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your teeth nearly ached from how hard you bit down when he suddenly pushed inside you. Your tight walls immediately sucked him in. You watched his lips part in shock, his eyes rolling back for a moment—before he could even thrust, you felt him spilling inside you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he cursed under his breath, trembling as he suddenly came so hard inside you, his lips parting at how good your pussy felt.

You were so warm and tight that he was already convulsing. His grip on your waist tightened so hard it was almost painful. You were shocked—you hadn’t expected him to cum that quickly, but then again, it had been so long since he’d done anything like this. The pent-up frustration was overwhelming, and the moment he felt you, he was already shaking.

When you saw him trembling, you slowly removed the book from your lips. Your jaw ached, but you still managed to give him a small, weak smile.

“Mhm, am I tight, Fr. Jeon?” you whispered weakly, feeling him twitch inside you, filling you with so much cum that it had you feeling completely full.

"T-Too tight." he groaned.

His arms were growing weaker, still trying to push his cum deeper and deeper into your cunt. His cock was already overstimulated and softening, but he still wanted his cum buried deep inside you, some of it already dripping down your thighs.

He groaned, pushing his cock deeper until he was finally hard again. You could feel his mushroom tip swell once more, your pussy stretching around his thickening girth.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, eyes heavy-lidded as he looked down at you. He had come so hard he had nearly forgotten about the book he made you bite down on, his rational thoughts slipping away completely, leaving only the heat and the feeling of you.

You bit your lip, opening your legs wider. “Yeah? Do you miss having such a warm pussy around your cock?”

His lips parted...his right hand returned to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat.

“What a dirty mouth you have,” he whispered breathily, like he was only just remembering why he was fucking you so hard in the first place.

He squeezed your throat, earning a loud whimper from you.

Before you could coo at him, he was already flipping you over, bending you against his desk. He immediately grabbed the book, shoving it forcefully into your mouth.

“You think I’m done, huh?” he taunted, kneeling down behind you.

You groaned, biting down on the scripture again, whimpering loudly when you felt him spreading your wet pussy from behind.

“Push my cum out for me,” he said, opening your folds and waiting for you to push it out.

You contracted your pussy, and a gush of his milky white cum spilled from your used hole. Before it could even drip onto the floor, his tongue was already there, scooping it up and swallowing everything until no trace was left.

When he stood up, you were left a trembling mess. Your eyes widened as he pulled on the rosary necklace, the beads wrapping around your throat like a collar. He used it as leverage before pushing his cock back inside you.

“Shh… bite down on the scripture. Let it silence your impurity,” he murmured behind you, thrusting deeper and harder until your body was nearly bouncing against the table from the force of it.

You wanted to moan so badly. The way his mushroom tip kept brushing against your g-spot felt so overwhelming. When he angled his hips in slow circular motions, your weak lips finally dropped the book, and you gasped as it hit the floor with a dull thud.

The moment he felt you slipping out of control, he stopped—only for you to immediately reach for the book. Before you could even grab it, he flipped you onto your back again.

“Fucking whore, can’t follow simple instructions while my cock’s deep inside you, huh?” he taunted, ripping the buttons of your dress just enough to expose your breasts.

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

You shrieked loudly when he suddenly slapped your nipples, the area turning immediately pink.

“Stay there,” he commanded.

You went still at once, your weak eyes following his movements as he reached into the bottom cabinet of his desk.

When he stood up again, he was holding a candle and a box of matches. “Hold this, sweetheart.”

He usually used those candles during scripture readings, letting the flame illuminate the pages.

You held it for him as instructed, watching as he struck a match and lit it, the small flame flickering to life before he set the match aside.

You turned slightly, glancing toward the window. There was still daylight outside—enough to see clearly. Before you could ask what he needed it for, he took the candle from your hand.

“Fr. Jeon, w-what are you—”

Your eyes widened when he tilted the candle downward, the wax threatening to drip onto your breasts. You gasped sharply when it finally landed on your nipple.

“Does it feel good?” he whispered, lowering the candle toward the other bud.

When the hot wax fell onto your other nipple, you moaned loudly, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as pain and pleasure collided.

It was hot and shocking—yet, for some reason, the sting felt addictive, almost intoxicating.

“Y-Yes, Father.” you bit your lower lip hard, watching as the candle was now directed toward your inner thighs.

He raised a brow, your nipples already covered in white wax. “Yeah? Does this get you wet?”

Before you could answer, he was already pouring hot wax onto your left inner thigh. The pain there was sharper, more intense—like the skin was far more delicate and sensitive. When you instinctively tried to close your legs, he held them open, spreading you wider as he moved the candle to drip more wax onto your right inner thigh.

“Oh, God,” you moaned loudly, the hot wax dripping dangerously close to your wet pussy.

You were already trembling. The mix of heat and pain felt overwhelming yet addictive, tears falling uncontrollably down your cheeks.

Fr. Jeon chuckled at you. “What a pretty little pain slut… I’m supposed to punish you with this, but you’re dripping like a whore.”

He grabbed your cheeks, raising the candle up toward your face. “Make a wish,” he whispered.

You looked up at him with weak eyes, your nipples and inner thighs still burning and oversensitive from the wax. With a faint, shaky smile, you told him your wish.

“Fuck me like a slut, Fr. Jeon." you said breathily.

He growled harshly, stepping back a little to admire his work on your body, how the wax was covering your skin like a sin, how your pussy was so swollen and red, yet your hole was still eagerly twitching to be used.

He tilted his head. “You want that, sweetheart?” he said sweetly, his tone contradicting what he had just done to you.

You nodded eagerly. "Please, use my body like a whore, cum inside me until I’m dripping full of your cum, abuse my tight little pussy until I’m all loose and gaping, release all your forbidden frustrations and destroy my dignity.” 

Fallen.

You couldn’t count the number of times you came around his cock that night—his cock thrusting so hard and deep inside you that you could feel how stretched your pussy was.

Every time you tried to fight him, he would push your body down onto the desk, threatening to silence you with scripture whenever you tried to break free from his hold.

When you thought he was done, he would maneuver your body again, spreading your legs wide so he could fuck you hard. His cross necklace would dangle in your face with every thrust. Whenever you moaned too loudly, he would punish you by dripping hot wax onto your inner thighs.

He would always condescendingly praise you, telling you what a poor little girl you were, letting him use you for his own sick pleasure.

"God, you'd let me use you whenever I want wouldn't you? Letting me fuck this tight pussy inside the church, like a good little christian." he would whisper.

It was so lewd when he asked you to touch yourself using the hand that wore his birthstone bracelet, urging you to part your lips for him, watching how the beads would brush over your clit every time you fucked your fingers inside your used, swollen hole.

"That's right...stretch your pussy, sweetheart. I want you nice and gaping when I fuck you again."

Then he would pull your body up, forcing you to bounce on his cock while pressing the beads deeper into your throat. He held both of your cheeks with his free hand so he could continually spit into your parted mouth, watching it drip messily down your chin like a cheap filthy whore. "I love how sinful and dirty you are...so perfect for me."

Capitulated.

You never forgot him, after that night he vanished like a wind.

When you heard that he had suddenly been appointed to another city, it felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath your feet. Overnight, he was simply gone. The weekly sunday mass was no longer presided over by him, and no matter how many people you asked, nobody seemed to have a clear answer as to why.

All you heard were rumors.

Some said he wanted to experience ministry in a different city. Others claimed he had become so busy that he was constantly traveling between churches, handling responsibilities in several places at once. Every explanation sounded vague, rehearsed, and unsatisfying.

You wanted to believe them. But you couldn't.

For months, you carried that bitterness inside you. A part of you convinced yourself that he had simply left. That perhaps everything you shared had meant far less to him than it had to you. The thought hurt more than you cared to admit, especially because, between the two of you, you had been the dishonest one. You had been the one who approached him with hidden intentions, who slowly seduced him, who carefully led him into your snare while pretending to be an innocent church girl.

Yet somewhere along the way, things had changed.

For all your lies, for all your schemes and carefully crafted devotion, you couldn't deny what had happened to your own heart. You had fallen in love with his kindness. Not because he was a priest. Not because he was forbidden. Not because winning his attention felt like a challenge.

But because it was him.

It was the way he remembered small details about you. The way he listened whenever you spoke. The way he always treated people with patience and warmth. Somewhere between the scripture lessons, the afternoon conversations, and the countless boxes of cookies, your feelings had become real.

Then, one afternoon, a letter arrived.

Your hands trembled as you opened it, your heart pounding with a mixture of hope and dread. As your eyes moved across the page, tears immediately gathered in them.

All this time, you had believed he left because he wanted to.

The truth was far worse.

Someone had noticed. Someone had seen the way he treated you differently from everyone else—the way his gaze lingered a little too long, the way his voice softened whenever he spoke to you, the way he always seemed to make time for you no matter how busy he was. And eventually, they had discovered what happened behind the closed doors of the church office.

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you continued reading, your vision blurring with every line. For the first time since he disappeared, you finally understood why he had left.

The moment the parish discovered what had happened, he immediately apologized—to the church, to his superiors, and most of all, to the Lord. He had even offered his resignation, believing he was no longer worthy of his position.

But they refused. The parish forgave him.

They told him he was too kind, too devoted, too valuable to lose over a mistake. Instead of removing him from the priesthood, they gave him a chance to start over in a different city, far away from the rumors and whispers. They told him that what happened was a test of faith. A temptation. That God would always be stronger in his heart than any earthly attachment.

You were the temptation they spoke about.

You never wrote back, you never tried contacting him again. Because if he had truly wanted you, he would have resigned. He would have walked away from the collar, from the church, from the life he had chosen long before you entered it. 

He would have chosen you.

Instead, when forced to decide between you and God, he surrendered himself to God. And that answer was enough.

With a deep breath, you entered the confession booth. You wanted to confess your sins, you wanted to move on.

It had been two years, and somehow you were still holding on to him. 

Whenever Sana mentioned his name, your eyes would sting with unshed tears. Whenever you heard stories about him…how successful he had become, how respected he was as a priest now…an ache would settle deep inside your chest.

You could no longer step inside a church without thinking about him.

The stained-glass windows, the scent of incense, the quiet hum of prayer before mass. Every sacred thing had become tangled with the memory of him, until devotion and desire were no longer things you could separate.

So, with a heavy heart, you finally decided to let him go.

Sitting inside the confessional that afternoon, your fingers twisted nervously in your lap as you gathered the courage to speak.

A thin wooden partition stood between you, a barrier meant to separate priest from sinner, confession from judgment, devotion from temptation.

“Bless me, Father…. for I have sinned.” you said softly, behind the confession grille.

Your voice…soft and unforgettable, echoed through the small confessional booth. 

The familiar scent of vanilla wrapped around him like a memory he had spent years trying to forget. 

“Sweetheart.” 

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

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[joonjuul]

hii im the same person who said i refresh ur page everyday idk if u remember 😭 idk if this is something u would be into doing but a req id love to see is like maybe kidnapped.. stockholm syndrome dom!(whoever) x sub!reader i think itd be so cute and i love ur writing so much <3 pls lmk if this is too much i can req smth else..

bound2. jjk

pairing: kidnapper!jk x victim!reader

wc: 5.4k

warnings: obsessive!jk, possessive!jk, soft&harddom!jk (he’s a little bit of both), slightlysadistic!jk, sub!reader, desperate!reader, they’re both down bad, kidnapping, oc sleeps in a grungy basement, slight choking, slight manipulation, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), creampie, oral (f receiving), jk is a munch, overstimulation (f receiving), pet names, (pls lmk if i missed anything!)

a/n: tysm anon for requesting !!! i love this idea so i hope i did okay executing it for you !!! this was a hot mess to write but god am i a mess rn after writing it phew, PREPARE YOURSELVES

he was a good man, that was what he told himself when he looked in the mirror each morning.  he was protecting you, loving you, providing you with all the attention and care you deserved.

or at least that’s what he thought.

it’s been two years now, but things felt different.  when jungkook first saw you, he was intrigued, almost as if it was love at first sight.  you were at home, spending time in your garden as you often did in the spring, and he happened to be driving by.

everything about you was special, unlike any other.  the way your hair carefully trailed over your shoulders, your perfectly smooth skin.  he had never seen a woman quite like you, and he needed to know more.

each day he found a way to get closer to you, whether that be by finding out which grocery stores you shop at, or sitting beside you on the train.  never once did you notice that his face became slightly more familiar with each ‘coincidental’ bump into each other.

it wasn’t until the day he spoke to you did he realize that you needed to be his.  girls didn’t smile at him, nevermind speak to him so kindly and softly.  it was so simple, yet it changed the course of both of your lives completely.

but it’s been two years now.

it was scary at first, being away from home, unsure of whether or not you’d survive, but he cared about you.  he always made sure to feed you, bring you water, spend time with you.  and with each passing day you only became closer, and closer.

and when he wasn’t around, you started to notice a strange feeling inside of you — almost like a sense of anxiety.

it was almost like after all this time, there was a sort of attention he gave to you that you subconsciously craved, it was like you couldn’t live without it, and as strange as it was, it didn’t feel wrong.  after all, jungkook was a good man.  he never laid a hand on you, nor touched you without your consent, in fact he rarely touched you at all unless you initiated it.  it was like after all this time, you knew that he could be trusted, and that he simply cared about you in ways that were different from others.  in some ways, his love was beautiful.

“y/n?” you heard the softness of his voice as he opened the door to your room, the warmth of the main house seeping into the surrounding concrete as he shut the door behind him and approached your fragile frame.

you turned to face him, eyes lighting up as your gaze fell to his hands, carefully holding a small box perfectly wrapped and topped with a bow.

“kookie!  what’s this?” you lunge forward to grab the box only to watch his hands quickly retreat.

“ah ah ah!  not so fast, little one.  now tell me, do you know what today is?” he softly falls down to your level, his knees meeting the cold floor as he watches you rearrange your stance on the flimsy mattress.

you nod your head excitedly, “it’s been two years!  i marked it on my calendar every day!” your eyes flick to the small calendar taped to the wall, each day crossed off with a blue crayon as they were the only objects he let you have when you first arrived.

“yes that’s right, baby!  happy anniversary!” he extends his hands to you and watches as you excitedly grab the box, peeling the paper off quickly until you’re met with what seems to be a box made for jewelry.

“listen, before you open it any further.  i want you to know that i think you’re ready for this.  i feel like we’re strong enough, and i think you’ve finally come to your senses about what’s good for you and what’s not, yes?” his tone is gentle, but you can feel the seriousness through his voice as you look up at him.  the way his brows furrowed tightly together made you nervous.  he’s never gotten you a present so formally before.

your fingers fumble with the box briefly until you’re able to lift the top.  your eyes widen as your heart pauses in your chest briefly, your breath immediately becoming shallow.

“what is this?” your voice is shaky as you wrap your hand around the small metal object.  it was certainly a metaphor, or maybe even a bluff, he couldn’t be serious.

“your freedom, if you so choose, darling.” he smiles at you reassuringly before tucking a hair behind your ear.  you tighten your grip on the key, realizing now how serious this truly is.

he was letting you go?

“i don’t understand, kook.”

he lets out a small sigh before sitting on the mattress beside you.

“i think you’re ready to choose whether or not you want to stay.  you know now how much i love you, how well i’d take care of you, adore you, in any way i possibly can.  you have me wrapped around your finger, sweetheart, but i no longer feel obligated to keep you wrapped around mine if it’s not what you want.” he places gentle pats on the back of your head as he speaks, the small smile on his face reminding you that he’s being truthful, yet still you were unsure.

“do you not… want me anymore?”

his eyes widen at your question as he uses his hand on your head to pull you against his chest.

“of course i do, baby.  this is something i’ve been thinking about for a while, i wanted to simply show you how much i love you, never bring any harm to you.  sure i may have became a little overzealous, but at the end of the day, i want you to be safe and happy.  if that’s with me, you can come upstairs and join me the way you deserve.  if not, i’ll let you go.” you pull away from his chest, cheeks feeling warmer than before as you listen to his words.

you missed your home, your family, your life.  but you knew if you left, you’d miss him even more.  your body was screaming at you to run, use the key and finally escape, but your heart was begging you to stay.

your eyes flicker between his for a moment.  you’d never even seen the rest of his house.  what if it was cozier than yours?  what if it was better than home?  he did take awfully good care of you, and you were beginning to enjoy his company, his endless affection.

you gripped the key tighter momentarily before holding it back out to him, placing it gently in his palm without a word.

he looks at you, his eyes filled with surprise as he wraps a hand around yours.

“are you sure?” his voice is soft, laying over you almost like silk as you carefully nod your head in return.

“i’m sure.  i want to stay.  i want to be with you.” you watch as his eyes light up, his reassuring smile now turning into a huge grin as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him tightly.  his breath is warm against your neck as he inhales your scent in deeply, his fingers tightening against your waist before letting you go completely.

“i knew you were the one, the second i laid eyes on you.” he brings his hands up to the sides of your face, cupping it gently, the feeling of his hands against your cheeks making your stomach flutter.  if there was one thing about jungkook, it was that he was a gentleman.  within the two years you’d been ‘held captive’, he never once made any advances towards you.  you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish he would at times — the nights where you find yourself with your hands between your thighs, imagining what it would feel like to have him there instead, what his perfectly tattooed arms would look like on either side of your head, or his skilled fingers inside of you.  even the slightest touch from him could drive you into a frenzy, especially since the last time you’d been with a man was well over three years now.

you quickly shake the thoughts from your mind and send him a gentle smile, feeling him engulf a hand within yours as he walks you to the door of your bedroom.

“are you ready, sweetheart?” he turns back and looks at you carefully, examining your expression for any signs of discomfort or uncertainty, but there was none.  he was your person now, it just took you being kidnapped to realize it was him all along.

“i’m ready.”

you follow behind him, practically stepping on his feet with excitement as he travels throughout the house, letting you look at every nook and cranny you wanted, before you finally landed on his bedroom.

“this is my room, our room, darling.” he opens the door carefully, allowing you to enter freely as you slowly walk in.  it was simple, yet dark.  the walls were painted black, bed littered with blankets and various instruments scattered throughout the room.

you approach a guitar leaning against the wall, leaning down to examine the stickers plastered on the wood.

“do you play?” you ask, your voice gentle as you trace the pads of your fingers against the strings.

“sometimes.  not as much anymore.” he takes a seat on the bed behind you, watching you carefully.  he’d never seen you so intrigued in something before, not something related to him, it was almost vulnerable.

“why’d you stop?” you turn your head slightly, landing on his built figure sitting on the bed calmly.

he shrugs, leaning forward so his arms were resting on his knees.  “something came up.” he smirks, and you can feel your cheeks blush at the thought of him putting his life on hold to take care of you.

you stand up, approaching the edge of the bed and sitting beside him.

“kook, can i ask you something?” your eyes are wide as you face him, somehow still filled with innocence and he can feel his dick twitch at the sight of you sitting so politely on his bed, what would now be both of yours.

“of course, darling.”

you gulp slightly, subconsciously fidgeting with your fingers as you build up the courage to talk to him in what feels like such an intimate setting.  it was different like this, without the safety of your concrete bedroom.

“how much of your life did you put on hold for me?”

jungkook chuckles slightly at your question, but tries to respond as best as he can.  “well, most of it, baby.  i still work obviously, but you’re kinda time consuming.”

“do you have like… friends?”

“i have you.” he reaches up and tucks a hair behind your ear as he speak, causing another wave of butterflies to rush through your stomach.

you pause for a moment, gaining a little bit more courage as you speak again.

“do you have like, girl friends?”

jungkook quirks a brow at your question.  “what are you getting at, baby?”

you continue to fidget slightly as you speak.  “well you must’ve… dated girls, right?  i don’t know you don’t talk about stuff like that.”

jungkook smiles at you, admiring your cuteness, “i’ve dated women, yes.  but none like you.  and none since i met you.”

“did you… do this with them too?”

his cheeks flush at your question, slightly embarrassed at the situation he got himself in by meeting you.

“no, you’re the only one.  and honestly, i didn’t really plan for it.  i just had to have you.” his voice is laced with desperation as he speaks, recalling the moments leading up to your kidnapping.  he knew there was no avoiding how you made him feel, it was like his desire for you overpowered every moral and every fiber in his body.

“why are you asking all this, love?” his voice is soft as he places a finger under your chin, lifting your face to his level.

“i don’t know.  it’s just— it’s hard to explain— when you’re down there— i don’t know— sometimes i get—“

“needy?”

you feel a heat rise between your legs at his voice, the words falling past his lips, the closeness of his skin, all of it.  you’re only able to send a small nod to him in response.

“i know, i understand.”

your eyebrows furrow together, “you do?”

“well you didn’t think i would leave you in that room completely unattended, did you?  i gotta keep an eye on my girl.” you feel a sense of confusion wash over you at his words, until it’s followed by a wave of realization.

cameras?

all those times you laid atop your blankets, fingers between your legs, forehead covered with a sheen of sweat, moaning out… moaning out for him.

you feel your cheeks flush as you pull away from his touch in embarrassment, causing him to chuckle slightly, moving closer to you in response.

“don’t be embarrassed, baby.  it’s normal, i mean you were down there for so long, you had to do something to keep yourself busy, hmm?”

“why didn’t you tell me?  why didn’t you… help me?” the twiddling of your fingers has intensified now, your skin practically burning up as you avoid his gaze.

jungkook smiles at you, even if you didn’t see it, and takes your fumbling hands in his reassuringly.

“because i knew you’d stop.  i wouldn’t take away the only thing you could do to keep yourself satisfied.  and i didn’t want to touch you until you were ready, until you asked for it.” as comforting as his words were, knowing that he cared about you enough to respect your boundaries, you wanted to scream at him.  all those nights that you were writhing in desperation, and he was simply watching upstairs?

he watches as your eyes dart aggressively, your mind wandering and he taps your hands gently, pulling them closer to him.

“hey.  i know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re in control.  you always have been.  trust me, it was hard for me too.”

“how did you do it?  how did you not come in?” jungkook remembers every time like it was engraved in his mind.  he always checked up on you throughout the day, he had motion alert notifications, and the first time he saw it, he almost went breaking down your door.  he never missed an alert after that.  every time you were moaning downstairs, he was moaning upstairs.  the thought of you both gaining pleasure from each other, at the same time, without the other knowing drove him more wild than the fact that he wasn’t the one being able to satisfy you.  but jungkook was a patient man, he never wanted to rush you nor make you feel pressured into doing something you didn’t want to.  he knew when the time was right, you’d be begging for him the same way he begged the universe to let you fall into his life.

“good self-control?” he responds carefully, gauging your reaction as your face contorts with confusion.

he places another hand under your chin, gripping it slightly and holding it to face him.

“i didn’t want it to be like that.  you deserve more.  you deserve all of me, all i have to offer, and that definitely isn’t it.” he speaks again.  you were unable to distinguish your emotions.  why did your body crave him so bad?  crave his comfort, his validation?  you constantly ached for his touch, his attention — it felt almost sinful.

“i want all of you, kook.  i have for a very long time.” you place your hands on his chest for what might be the first time ever.  his shirt tight against his muscles, you wanted to roam every inch.

he lets out a groan, your words and touch making his pants tighten.  he didn’t lie when he said he hadn’t been with anyone since long before he met you.

“you don’t know what you’re asking, baby.” his voice is strained, his hands falling to his sides as he pulls away from your touch.

“tell me you don’t want me, and i’ll stop.” your hands begin to travel, running over his taught muscles, down to his stomach.  every inch of skin untouched, the tension only growing thicker with each passing second.

“if i start i won’t be able to stop.” his restraint was frustrating, but it only made you want him more.  your hands continue to fall before landing on the waistband.  he tosses his head back quickly before grabbing your hands.

“then don’t.  you don’t have to be gentle with me, i don’t want gentle.” you lean forward, your face only inches away from his as you wait for him to release your hands, to allow you to finally become one.

“you don’t have to hold back anymore.” your voice is nearly a whisper as you slowly close the distance between the two of you, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.  you pull back briefly, eyes scanning his carefully before you feel him release your hands, bringing his up to your face before pulling you into him — your lips meeting passionately.

he was consuming, his lips feverishly fighting against yours as his hands fall to your waist, pulling you closer towards him.  everything about him was hot, his skin, his mouth, his breath, it was all too much, especially after so long.

he brings a hand around your neck, gripping it slightly before pulling you off him.

“i tried to be patient.  i tried to be good.  but you?  you don’t want good, do you?” his voice is low as he uses his hold on your throat to push you against the bed, your back meeting the soft mattress gracefully as you watch him bring his hands to the neckline of his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders swiftly.

he was… beautiful.

the tattoos scattered perfectly along his arm, his sensually toned stomach, the shaggy hair sat atop his head — he was indescribable.

he smirked playfully and leaned down above you, ducking into the crook of your neck to place gentle kisses on your skin.  you could feel yourself go red, a heat overwhelming your body from your face to your core.

“i need to feel you, taste you, make you mine in every way possible.” his voice is husky, but barely a whisper as his mouth travels down to your collar bone, his hands easily finding the hem of your shirt to tug it over your head quickly.

“so beautiful.” he breaths, his mouth latching onto any piece of skin he can find, his hands roaming your body skillfully as your eyes wire shut, your panting and whining the only sounds filling the room.  he made you wait so long, how could you possibly contain yourself now?

“kook, i can’t — think…”

“then don’t.  just let go.  i’ve got you.” he brings his hands to the waistband of your pants, carefully bringing them down almost as if he could break you, a deep contrast to his roughness before.  your mind is completely lost, totally consumed in his every movement that you don’t even realize his gaze fixated on your core.

“fuck, baby.  you’re soaked.” he falls between your legs, his grip on your knees spreading you apart even further as he inhales your scent, watching as your body quivers.  he runs his hands along your legs, a small attempt to soothe you as he drops his face eye level to your core.

“shh, i know, baby.  it’s a lot, isn’t it?  but you can take it.” he places a small kiss on your clit and watches your body jolt in response, a small grin appearing on his lips as he realizes just how sensitive you really are, his hands falling to your waist to hold you down as he licks a stripe up your core.

you’re unable to contain the moan that escapes your throat as your hips buck up involuntarily, his hold barely doing anything to keep you in place.

“look at you—so sensitive, so perfect for me.  you can take it, right baby?” his eyes meet yours for a moment, your chest heaving as you nod in response, your hands falling to his hair as you grip it tightly, admiring his cheeky grin before his face disappears between your thighs, his mouth immediately latching onto your core.

“ooh—fuck.” you moan out, his hands fighting against your hips as you attempt to grind against his tongue freely.  every lick sending shots through your body as your mind begins to spiral.

it made you drunk—he made you drunk.  it was like you could feel every bump on his tongue, the pressure of his finger tips in your sides, the feeling of his soft hair twisted between your knuckles.  it was perfection, and you were wasted on him.

you can feel yourself begin to melt into him, his tongue endlessly working on your core, slipping between your clit to your center as his grip on your sides loosen as he feels you begin to relax.

“k-kook—fuck—please.” you mumble nonsense, the feeling of his hand gliding from your side to your stomach as he presses down gently making you almost dizzy, his mouth never once fumbling as he keeps up a persistent pace, your movements now less rutty and more intense as you ride his face softly.

your legs begin to tense, a coil in your stomach building as you clench around his head tightly, causing him to gently pry your knees apart as he pulls away from you, his chin dripping with your juices as he wipes it with the back of his hand.

“that’s my girl.” he coos, his hands landing on his boxers as he begins to peel them off.  “you’re doing so good for me… think you can take a little more?” his question rings aimlessly through your head as you watch his cock spring free, the tip red and angry as it leaks precum.

he was big.  i mean you hadn’t been with anyone in a long time so you didn’t have much to compare him to, but he was certainly bigger than you were used to.

jungkook notices your hesitation and leans down, his lips meeting yours in an intimate kiss, your mouths moving together skillfully before he pulls away.  his eyes are soft, almost reassuring as you feel the head of his cock press softly between your legs.

“look at me, baby.  i need to hear you.” he nudges your chin with his finger to redirect you.

your body is humming, on edge, oversensitive yet somehow you still crave more.  it’s like he could never give you too much, you just want him completely and fully, whether it hurts or not.

“i don’t know if i can take it all.” your voice is shallow as you feel a sense of shyness take over, your nervousness getting the best of you.

he smirks darkly and brings his tattooed hand up to your face, soothing the stickiness of your skin with his simple touch.

“my sweet girl, i’d never give you more than you can take.  i’ve got you, baby.  just let go.” his voice is sweet, the sound almost sending you into coma as you feel the head of his cock nudging at your core.  his hands carefully fall to either side of your head, his mouth dipped into the crook of your neck as he peppers gentle kisses on your hot skin, the dull burning in your core barely noticeable behind the mindless praises he whispers into your ear.

“that’s it, baby.”

“so perfect for me.”

“fuck—you’re so tight.”

“just a little bit more, sweetheart.” 

before you’re able to fully respond or digest his words, he’s already bottomed out.  his forehead buried in your neck as his breath is unsteady.  he’s practically panting as his hips stall, the silence filling the room as he tries to regain his composure.

“kook—“ you whine, wiggling your hips slightly until he quickly brings his hands down to hold you in place.

“fuck—i need a second, baby.  don’t move.” his voice is laced with desperation and tiredness as his cock twitches inside you, making your stomach nearly flip.

your movements become restless now, your body fighting against his hold as you beg for some sort of friction.

“please… i need to feel you.” your voice is a whimper as your breath quickens.

“stop fucking moving, or i’ll take my dick out of you.” he snaps, his tone no longer a warning as you fight the urge to grind up into him.  you’d never seen him so mad before, and it was only making you want him more.

your body trembles as you fight the urge to hold still, your hips shifting involuntarily as hushed whimpers fall from your lips.  you wanted so bad to be good for him.

“kook—please.” you beg.  he lifts his face to meet yours, his eyes hooded and low as he sees how fucked out you look, he wanted nothing more than to destroy you right then and there.

“if you don’t stop, i’ll take you how i want you, right now.” he shoots you a glare, but it’s not one of dominance, but rather a warning, one of his slipping self control.

“i don’t care… take me, just please don’t make me wait.” you beg, and with one last rut of your hips, he’s pushing you deliberately further into the bed as he pulls his hips back and begins a rough pace on your cunt.

the speed takes you by surprise as you double over, your arms instinctively gripping his back as your nails drip down his skin, his cock prodding the lower half of your stomach with his length.

“you just don’t know how to shut that pretty little mouth of yours, do you?” he grunts, the feeling of your nails in his back only spurring him on more as he continues his tireless pace.

“oh-fuck-jungkook.” the feeling of his cock stretching you completely is nearly painful, it’s like he was punishing you, the roughness of his thrusts sending shockwaves through your body.

“this is what you wanted, isn’t it?  you wanted me to lose control, to fuck you like this.” he wraps an arm under your knee as he pushes it against your chest, the new position sending your head spinning as his cock drills directly against your g-spot.

“t-too much, kook—“

“aww my pretty baby.  you were practically begging me to fuck you like this, and now you can’t take it?” his tone mocks you, mocks your state and your eyes widen as you feel him begin to slow his hips.

“come on, i want to hear you beg for it again.  you wanted it hard, remember?” he smirks down at you as his hips nearly come to a complete stop.

you’re now a whimpering mess, your lower body squirming as you whimper out to him.

“what is it baby, hmm?  do you want more or not?” he leans down, his head in the crook of your neck again as he breathes out, his cock slowly stretching your walls as he awaits your response.

“ugh—kook.  please.” he smiles into your skin as he hears you fall back into a vulnerable state, losing any sense of control you thought you might have as he begins to pick up his pace again, moving your legs to wrap around his waist as he rolls his hips up into you sensually.

“such a whiny little brat.  is this better for my baby?” his voice is deep, the raspiness of it sending a shiver down your spine as your body naturally meets his movements, the two of you moving perfectly in sync as he molds into you, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

every thrust, every roll of his hips, random kiss on your neck or whisper into your ear, it was all deliberate.  it was like he knew your body perfectly without ever touching it, like he knew exactly what buttons to press that made you want to claw the skin off his back, and it wasn’t long before you felt the coil in your stomach return.

your moans are falling freely now, your grip on his shoulders tightening as you find anything to ground you, but your mind was completely lost in the moment, spinning nearly a million miles an hour, and it wasn’t long before jungkook noticed your dilemma.

“that’s it, just like that… you’re close, aren’t you, baby?” he rasps into your ear, his kisses falling down to your collarbone as he brings his hands up to your head, soothingly pushing the hair out from your face, and it only made the coil in your stomach tighten more.

you were a moaning mess, everything falling freely from your lips without any sense of reasoning.

“look at you, so desperate for it.” he speaks carefully, pulling away from your chest.  he brings a hand to the back of your head before pulling you into an intense kiss, his hips still holding their pace perfectly as you finally topple over the edge, your body convulsing around him as your legs shake relentlessly, causing him to bring his other hand to the legs around his waist to stabilize them quickly.

before you’re able to fully grasp how hard you came, you feel him gently lay your head back down before bringing his body up above you, admiring the mess between your thighs as his pace begins to get rougher again.

“you have no fucking idea how good you feel, do you?” he feels his balls twitch at the sight of your legs, covered in a mixture of your juices, shaking relentlessly as you try desperately to recover from your high, blissfully unaware of his quickening pace.

“ahh-kook.” you squeal, your mind finally returning as you feel his cock nudge your already sensitive g-spot with every thrust.

he leans down once more, gripping your hands in his as he brings them over your head to hold you in place, your body fighting involuntarily from the dull pain building inside of you.

“fuck, i don’t want to hurt you baby, but i need you so bad… just hold out a little longer.” his thrusts are messy as he feels himself begin to reach his high as well, the tightening of your cunt only making it harder for him.

“i can’t—too much.” you squeal out, your arms wiggling harshly in an attempt to escape his hold, but it’s no use, not when he’s so close, not when you feel so good.

he feels his cock twitch at your resistance, a sadistic side of him brewing, one that he’s fought to keep hidden.

he stifles a groan, his head dipping down as he fucks into you rougher.

“fuck—please don’t beg, you’ll just make it harder.” 

his hips are now at an inhumane pace, your body going completely numb as his cock drills into you relentlessly.  it seems like it’ll never end, your cunt only getting tighter with each thrust as every nerve inside of you begins to tense.

“fuck—close baby.” he barely whispers before you feel his hips bottom out inside of you, his cum filling you up completely as it seeps into your walls with ease.

he ducks his head down, catching his breath for a moment before realizing the intensity of the situation.  he brings his hand down to his cock and pulls it out carefully, trying his best not to fixate on how perfect your cunt looked when it’s pulsing red and spitting out his cum.

he quickly addresses the state of your body, shaking under his touch as he wraps an arm around your back and pulls you close to him.

“you did so well, baby.  are you okay?” the gentleness of his voice pulls you back to reality and you find yourself quickly falling into his arms, his touch consuming you indefinitely. 

you nod against his chest, your frame feeling slightly more fragile than normal as he swiftly picks you up and carries you to the bathroom, cleaning you as best as he can.

“my sweet girl, you’re mine, you’re safe.” he coos, peppering affectionate kisses and touches on your skin with every piece he cleans.

it was like you were meeting him all over again, a different side of him that you had yet to experience.  even if it was scary at first, you knew that you couldn’t live without him, even if you wanted to.  you were his whether you liked it or not.

[ggukiebar]

gun play | j.jk

pairing: police officer jungkook x thief reader

word count: 16.9k

genre: dark smut

summary: trying to steal the gold necklace around his neck, you didn’t realize that the man you were stealing from was a high-ranking police officer.

warnings: officer jungkook x thief reader, explicit sexual content, dead dove, cnc/dub-con, gun play, belt choking, usage of handcuffs, primal play, free use/rape, public sex, heavy degradation, manhandling, daddy, dom jk, clit rubbing, spitting, mock sympathy, condescending dirty talk, cum eating, pussy eating, blow job, usage whore & slut, praising, multiple orgasms, manipulation, rough sex, overstimulation, fingering, cum eating penetrative sex, creampie.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

Desperation has a way of rewriting your morals. It convinces good people to cross lines they once swore they would never touch, somehow making it feel like the only choice left.

"Let's check out the beer house tonight." Hanni said, wiggling her eyebrows as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "I heard it's packed with rich people on Fridays."

Your brows knitted together. "A beer house?"

A knowing smirk tugged at Hanni's lips. She swept her dark hair into a messy bun before pulling out the chair beside the table, giving the seat a light tap as she gestured for you to sit.

The moment you settled across from her, she propped her elbows on the table and leaned in…There was a familiar gleam in her eyes—the kind that only appeared whenever she had a new scheme brewing. 

"It's one of the most popular beer houses in the city," she explained. "The drinks alone cost more than what we spend on groceries in a week. People who go there don't think twice before throwing money around, which means they're exactly the kind of people we're looking for."

You couldn't help but picture it.

Crowded tables, loud music and half-empty bottles scattered across polished wooden counters. Men laughing far too loudly, their faces flushed from alcohol, expensive watches gleaming beneath the dim lights while thick leather wallets bulged inside the pockets of tailored trousers.

You frowned, unease settling in your chest.

"I'm pretty sure it'll be full of drunk old men, Hanni." you rested your chin against your palm. “Doesn't that sound a little... dangerous?”

Hanni dismissed the concern with a careless wave of her hand.

"They'll be too wasted to notice us," she said with a shrug. "Besides, those are the guys with money. A few missing bills won't even cross their minds."

She leaned even closer, lowering her voice as though she were about to reveal the greatest secret in the world.

"Just give them a sweet smile," she said, the corners of her lips curling into something dangerously playful. "Make them think you've taken an interest in them. Laugh at their terrible jokes, let them believe they're charming..." 

She snapped her fingers between the two of you. "And before they even realize what's happening, you've already walked away with their wallet—or better yet, their credit cards."

A life built on stolen fortunes, calculated manipulation, and carefully crafted deception.

The words no longer sting the way they used to. They've become as familiar as your own name, each one another thread woven into the person you've become. What once filled you with guilt now slips through your fingers as though it was never yours to carry.

Perhaps that's what desperation does.

It doesn't ask you to become someone else. It simply teaches you how to live with the stranger you've become.

Earlier that evening, you and Hanni gathered everything you had stolen throughout the month, laying each piece across the small wooden table between you.

"We only gathered six hundred dollars this month, Y/N... This won't be enough."

A phone, a handful of jewelry, two wallets, and a watch clattered against the worn wood before settling into a messy pile.

"This won't cover this month's rent..." she let out a weary sigh, her manicured nails tapping absentmindedly against the tabletop as she stared at the stolen valuables and the few crumpled bills scattered between them. "And we still have enrollment next month."

Your lips fell into a pout. "But the jewelry I stole is real gold."

You reached for the bracelet, turning it beneath the light. The polished links gleamed against your fingers.

Hanni only sighed again, the exhaustion in her expression deepening.

"It's low-karat gold, Y/N. And there's barely enough of it to be worth anything." she rubbed her temple before glancing at the rest of the pile. "If you manage to steal more next time, maybe we'll actually get something decent for it."

You looked back down at the bracelet, the weight of her words settling heavier than the gold resting in your palm.

You weren't born into wealth…from kindergarten until the day you graduated high school, scholarships carried you through your education. Without them, you doubted you would've made it that far. 

College was different.

Moving out had seemed like the responsible decision at the time. Renting a small apartment near the university was cheaper than spending money on transportation every day between your hometown and campus, and you couldn't bring yourself to ask your parents for more than they were already giving. 

So you packed your clothes into two worn-out bags, hugged your mother goodbye, listened to your father's endless reminders to eat properly, and promised them you would be fine.

Your father spent his days baking homemade bread before the sun had fully risen, while your mother worked quietly as a bookkeeper, carefully balancing numbers that never seemed to balance in your own household. Together, they earned just enough to keep food on the table and a roof over your heads.

Needs always came first.

Wants became something you learned to admire from a distance.

Yet, strangely enough, you never felt deprived.

Your home was small, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood where everybody knew everybody, but it was always filled with warmth. 

While your classmates spoke about family vacations abroad, arrived at school carrying luxury handbags, and replaced perfectly good shoes simply because a newer pair had been released, you found comfort in simpler things. 

The smell of freshly baked bread lingering in the kitchen before sunrise. The sound of your father humming while kneading dough. Your mother's gentle voice reminding you not to skip breakfast, even when she knew you were running late.

You loved that life.

More importantly, you loved the people who gave it to you.

Which was why, when college came, you couldn't bear the thought of asking them for more. Every dollar they handed you felt heavier than the last, weighted by sacrifices they never spoke about but could never hide. 

You watched your father work longer hours. You noticed your mother's tired eyes after another day spent staring at ledgers and receipts. They never complained…not once—but love has a way of revealing exhaustion long before words ever do.

So you promised yourself that you would become lighter.

You moved out. You searched for part-time jobs. You told yourself that no matter how difficult life became, you would survive without asking your parents to carry you any farther.

You really believed honest work would be enough.

Finding a cheap apartment hadn't been easy, and if there was one stroke of luck you could still thank the universe for, it was meeting Hanni.

You found her through a post looking for a roommate. She needed someone to split the rent, and you needed somewhere you could actually afford. 

The apartment sat only a few minutes away from the university, saving you the transportation costs you had spent countless nights calculating over and over again.

Hanni turned out to be easier to live with than you expected. She wasn't the type to spend recklessly or chase after things she didn't need. Like you, she stretched every dollar until there was nothing left to stretch. 

For the first few months, you lived off your savings.

Each rent payment made the envelope thinner. Each grocery trip reminded you that numbers disappeared far quicker than they were earned. You searched for work every chance you got, walking into cafés, convenience stores, restaurants—any place with a "Now Hiring" sign taped to the window.

When a fast-food restaurant finally hired you as a server, you thought things were finally looking up.

You couldn't remember the last time you had been so relieved. The excitement, however, didn't last very long.

The paycheck barely reached your hands before it already belonged somewhere else. Half disappeared into rent. Another portion went to groceries, transportation, and the endless expenses college quietly demanded. 

Scholarships covered your tuition, but not everything else. There were laboratory fees, books that professors insisted were mandatory, printed materials, projects, uniforms, and countless little payments that no one ever warned you about.

The money came in. It left even faster.

And no matter how carefully you budgeted every cent, by the end of each month, you always found yourself staring at the same conclusion.

It still wasn't enough.

Hanni, however, never seemed to struggle the way you did.

For reasons she never fully explained, she always had money tucked away somewhere. Not enough to live lavishly, but enough to ease the constant pressure that settled on your shoulders every time rent was due. 

Naturally, you asked where all that money came from. Hanni would only shrug, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as though the answer amused her.

"I have a lot of sidelines," she'd say, never bothering to explain any further. 

It was vague enough to end the conversation, yet suspicious enough to keep your curiosity alive.

Eventually, you stopped asking…but you never stopped noticing. 

One afternoon she'd come home carrying the newest phone model, casually placing it on the kitchen counter while she searched the refrigerator for something to eat. 

The following day, it would already be gone. 

Sometimes it was a watch. Other times it was a gold necklace or a designer wallet. The items constantly changed, disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared, but you never questioned her. 

It wasn't until the two of you had grown close enough that she finally trusted you with the truth. 

You remembered expecting disgust to settle in your stomach the moment she confessed. Instead, all you felt was curiosity. 

Hanni told her story so casually, as though she were recalling an ordinary childhood memory instead of admitting to a crime.

She learned how to steal when she was still a little girl. Whenever she picked up a toy at a store or tore open a packet of snacks while trailing beside her mother, no one questioned her. People rarely suspected children, and Hanni learned that long before she understood the weight of what she was doing.

What started as childish curiosity slowly became instinct. Instinct became skill, skill became confidence, and confidence eventually became survival. 

By the time she reached adulthood, stealing was no longer something she occasionally did—it was simply how she made a living. 

She wasn't born into comfort either. Her family had struggled just as much as yours, if not more, and perhaps that was why you found it difficult to judge her. 

You knew what it felt like to lie awake at night wondering how another month would pass. 

You knew what desperation looked like because you had seen it reflected in your parents' exhausted smiles, hidden behind reassuring words they never truly meant. Maybe that was why her confession never horrified you.

Desperation has a peculiar way of changing people.

Because somewhere deep inside, in a place you refused to acknowledge, you understood exactly why she had chosen this path.

"You should blend in. Don't wear those ridiculous jackets or black caps." Hanni chuckled, uncapping the marker in her hand before turning to the small whiteboard hanging beside the refrigerator. 

She drew little stick figures and arrows as if she were giving a university lecture instead of teaching you how to commit crimes. There were circles around the words confidence, timing, and exit, each one underlined twice before she tapped the marker against the board. 

It sounded embarrassingly simple…but it wasn’t.

Your first theft had been nothing more than a granola bar from a convenience store, yet your hands had trembled so violently you almost dropped it before reaching the exit. Your heart pounded against your ribs with enough force to convince you everyone around could hear it.

Every customer who glanced in your direction felt like security in disguise, every beep from the cashier sounded like an alarm, and by the time the automatic doors slid open behind you, your palms were slick with sweat around the tiny snack bar you had risked so much to steal.

Hanni, meanwhile…walked out carrying a bottle of wine, two bags of cheetos, and three packs of mini m&m's tucked somewhere beneath her oversized cardigan. She looked utterly unbothered, stopping only to ask whether you wanted to eat at the nearby park before either of you went home. 

You remembered staring at her with your mouth slightly open, unable to understand how someone could steal so much and still have the composure to worry about dinner.

She only laughed. "It gets easier."

You hated how right she was.

Over the following weeks, your trembling hands gradually learned to stay still. You learned that people rarely questioned someone who acted like they belonged. 

Confidence, Hanni often said, was the greatest disguise anyone could wear, and manipulation was nothing more than convincing people to believe the version of you that benefited them most. 

You practiced smiling at strangers. You practiced maintaining eye contact. You practiced walking away without looking back.

Little by little, it became easier to silence the guilt.

Two months later, you could finally say you were improving. Your movements were steadier, your excuses more believable, your lies smoother than they had ever been before. 

Even so, whenever you compared yourself to Hanni, you still felt like an amateur watching a professional at work. She stole with an ease you doubted you would ever possess.

"Hanni, I'm not good at seducing people... you know that." you let out a groan, dropping your forehead onto the table with a dull thud. 

For all the confidence you had slowly learned to fake while stealing, anything involving men was an entirely different story. 

You have no experience.

Your thefts still involved people, but you always kept your distance…especially from men. You waited for moments of carelessness, slipping valuables from unattended bags, distracted shoppers, or pockets left carelessly exposed before disappearing into the crowd.

It was safer that way. The rewards were smaller, perhaps, but it meant you never had to charm, distract, or make someone lower their guard just to steal from them.

After all, you were still an amateur.

Romance had always seemed like a luxury you couldn't afford. 

While your classmates spent their weekends going on dates or gossiping about their newest crushes, you spent yours calculating expenses and wondering whether instant noodles could count as dinner for the fourth night in a row.

Hanni had pointed it out countless times before.

According to her, manipulating people wasn't always about lying. 

With men, it was about making them believe they had a chance with you. 

The problem was…you had no idea how to do that. 

You didn't know how to flirt, how to bat your eyelashes, or how to laugh at someone's terrible jokes without making it painfully obvious you were pretending. The thought alone made your stomach twist into nervous knots.

Hanni rolled her eyes, dismissing every excuse before you even had the chance to finish making one.

"Oh, stop it." she waved a hand dramatically. "You're very pretty, Y/N. Don't give me that bullshit! Just smile at them…one cute little smile and I guarantee they'll be tripping over themselves to impress you."

You buried your face deeper into your arms."But, Hanni—"

"No buts." she sprang to her feet before you could protest again, practically skipping toward her bedroom. A moment later, she returned with two shopping bags swinging from her hands, the grin on her face growing impossibly wider.

"Besides, I already bought us dresses for tonight." she giggled.

Oh, you were doomed.

"This is so short," you complained, tugging at the hem of the black spaghetti-strap dress for what had to be the tenth time. Every time you managed to pull it down another inch, it simply rode back up the moment you took another step, as though the fabric itself was determined to embarrass you.

Hanni had insisted on doing everything herself. Your hair fell in loose, natural waves over your shoulders, soft enough to hide the nervous rise and fall of your breathing. She had done your makeup too, dusting the slightest touch of glitter across your eyelids that shimmered every time the streetlights caught your face. 

Even before you reached your destination, your feet were already protesting against the thin, strappy heels wrapped around your ankles, each step reminding you that beauty demanded sacrifices you had never volunteered to make.

Hanni glanced at you before letting out an amused laugh. "I can't see your panties from here, so you're fine."

You shot her an unamused look, earning another laugh from her.

Unlike you, Hanni looked completely at ease. 

Her dark green off-the-shoulder dress hugged her figure effortlessly, paired with matching heels that clicked confidently against the pavement. Her hair was swept into a messy updo that somehow looked intentionally elegant rather than rushed, and with the confidence she carried herself, no one would ever guess that the two of you struggled to pay rent every month.

Together, you looked exactly like the kind of girls who had never worried about money a day in their lives.

Which was almost funny.

Because hidden beneath expensive-looking dresses and carefully applied makeup were two women desperately hoping to walk away with someone else's wallet, watch, jewelry—or anything valuable enough to buy another month of survival.

"Okay, let's order a drink first and look around," Hanni said, her voice barely audible beneath the chatter spilling out from inside the beer house as she pushed the heavy wooden door open.

You followed closely behind, your heartbeat already beginning to pick up.

You had spent the entire walk convincing yourself that the place would be filled with loud, drunken old men slumped over tables, too intoxicated to notice a missing wallet or an expensive watch. Instead, your expectations dissolved the moment your eyes adjusted to the dim amber lights.

The place was crowded…not just with old men, but with all kinds of people. Groups of friends occupied long wooden tables, raising glasses every time the football match playing on the massive television reached an exciting moment. Couples sat tucked away in quieter corners, talking over bottles of beer, while businessmen who looked as though they had come straight from the office loosened their ties and laughed with colleagues over overflowing pitchers.

Your gaze drifted toward the long wooden bar stretching across one side of the room, shelves behind it neatly lined with bottles you had only ever seen locked behind glass displays. The smell of grilled meat and fried food lingered in the air, mixing with the bitter scent of beer, while a small band adjusted their instruments on the stage, preparing for the night ahead.

You quietly took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous flutter building inside your chest. 

You had been stealing for two months now, yet every new place made you feel like it was your first all over again. The fear of getting caught never truly disappeared—it only learned how to hide beneath your smile.

Hanni walked through the crowd without a hint of hesitation, weaving between tables before claiming two empty seats near the stage. When the server approached, she greeted him with an easy smile, the kind that belonged to someone who had come for nothing more than a quiet drink after a long week.

"Two draft beers, please."

The server nodded before disappearing toward the counter.

Hanni waited until he was out of earshot before her eyes swept across the room once more, lingering only for a second before the corner of her lips slowly lifted.

"I found your table." Hanni raised a brow, the corner of her lips curling into a knowing smile.

You pouted, instinctively following her gaze as your eyes wandered across the crowded beer house. Round wooden tables filled nearly every corner, occupied by groups of men laughing over clinking bottles, scattered glasses, and the remnants of another round.

Of course she'd choose men. You had long grown used to Hanni's reasoning.

Men were easier to distract…and according to her, far easier to manipulate than women.

"Which one?" you asked, squinting as you searched through the sea of unfamiliar faces.

Hanni let out a quiet laugh before leaning closer, her perfume briefly overpowering the scent of beer lingering in the air. "The third table near the bar," she whispered, careful not to draw attention. "They look a little older than us. Not too old, though." 

She grinned mischievously. "I'd say they're giving daddy vibes."

You frowned at her. “Ugh, Hanni!”

Slowly, your gaze followed the direction she had subtly pointed, finally landing on the group she had been watching.

There were seven of them gathered around one of the larger tables, completely absorbed in their own conversation. They couldn't have been much older than Hanni had guessed, perhaps somewhere in their late twenties or early thirties. 

Dressed in simple shirts, rugged jeans, and jackets carelessly draped over the backs of their chairs, they looked more like friends unwinding after a long week than the wealthy businessmen you had imagined on your walk there.

At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about them. Yet the longer you watched, the easier it became to notice the details.

A watch that caught the light every time one of them lifted his beer. A phone left face-up beside an overflowing ashtray without a second thought. Car keys, wallets, and cigarette packs lay scattered across the wooden table between bottles of beer and half-finished baskets of bar snacks, abandoned in the comfort of good company.

They laughed loudly, occasionally teasing one another, while wisps of cigarette smoke curled lazily into the air above them. They were so engrossed in their own little world that they never once looked your way.

"What do you think?" Hanni asked, her eyes never leaving the group near the bar."I say you target that table while I take the one near the door."

Your gaze lingered on the men for another moment before dropping to the table between you. Almost as if on cue, the server returned with your drinks, carefully placing two glasses of draft beer in front of you. Tiny bubbles rushed to the surface beneath a thick layer of foam, the chilled glass immediately collecting beads of condensation.

Hanni thanked him with a smile before wrapping her fingers around her glass. She looked... excited. There was always a certain spark in her eyes before a job, one you had grown familiar with over the past two months. 

While your stomach twisted itself into knots, hers seemed to settle. The closer she came to danger, the calmer she became.

Your fingers traced the condensation gathering around your own glass as you quietly stared into the golden beer. The thought of walking up to a table full of strangers, pretending to be interested in one of them, was enough to make your stomach tighten. 

You had spent the last two months learning how to steal, how to lie without stumbling over your words, how to smile convincingly enough for people to lower their guard. 

But flirting? That was something entirely different.

Still...

You glanced down at the dress hugging your figure before absentmindedly smoothing the fabric over your thighs. Hanni had spent her own money buying it for you. She had curled your hair, done your makeup, and patiently convinced you that you looked like you belonged in a place like this. She had done everything she could to make tonight successful.

The least you could do was try.

The numbers flashed through your mind before you could stop them, reminding you how little time you had left before another payment was due. 

You drew in a slow breath before finally looking back at Hanni, offering her a small smile that carried far more determination than confidence.

"Alright," you said with determination. "I promise I'll do my best."

Her face immediately brightened. "That's my girl!"

She lifted her glass toward yours with a grin so wide it was almost contagious.

"Cheers to that, baby."

The soft clink echoed between you, disappearing almost instantly beneath the laughter, music, and the constant hum of conversations filling the beer house.

Easy…smile, flirt and steal.

After a couple of minutes spent nursing your drinks and quietly familiarizing yourselves with the beer house, Hanni caught your eye from across the table. She gave the slightest nod—a silent signal the two of you had long grown accustomed to. 

It was time.

You rose from your seat, smoothing the wrinkles from your dress before letting your fingers comb through your hair, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear. Hanni disappeared into the crowd without another word, already making her way toward her own target, while you headed in the opposite direction, forcing yourself to wear the kind of smile she had spent weeks teaching you. Soft enough to seem approachable…confident enough to belong.

The barstool closest to their table sat empty.

You slipped onto it, offering the bartender a polite smile as he passed by before pretending to study the rows of bottles displayed behind the counter. From the corner of your eye, your attention never truly left the table behind you.

Your heartbeat steadied, not because you were any less nervous…but because your mind had finally begun doing what Hanni had trained it to do.

Observe.

A few wallets lay carelessly on the wooden table, abandoned without a second thought by men too engrossed in conversation to notice their surroundings. Your fingers twitched ever so slightly.

Tonight, maybe two wallets would be enough. Any more than that would only invite unnecessary attention.

Your gaze lingered for another second before drifting higher, carefully studying each of the men one by one. 

If you were going to approach someone tonight, it couldn't be just anyone. You needed the one who looked the wealthiest, the one whose watch alone could cover next month's rent, whose jewelry might be worth more than everything you and Hanni had managed to steal over the past few months combined.

You couldn't flirt with all of them. So if you were going to take the risk, you might as well choose the wealthiest one.

Your eyes drifted from one man to another, careful not to linger for too long. 

One wore a pair of silver earrings that matched the chain resting against his chest. Another—the one with dimples that appeared every time he laughed—had an elegant silver watch wrapped around his wrist, the polished metal glimmering beneath the warm lights whenever he reached for his beer. The man beside him looked much simpler, dressed in an ordinary black shirt without a single piece of jewelry to catch your attention, and you dismissed him almost immediately.

You kept looking.

Until your gaze landed on a tattooed hand lazily wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.

Silver rings adorned nearly every finger, each one different from the next, and just above them rested a watch that looked far too expensive to belong in your world. Your eyes followed the slow movement of his hand as he lifted the bottle to his lips, only to notice the gold chain disappearing beneath the collar of his dark shirt. 

His ear was adorned with several silver earrings, each one catching the amber light whenever he turned toward one of his friends. When he tilted his head back for another sip, the small silver ring through his lower lip glinted just as brightly.

Then your gaze wandered lower…a pair of Porsche keys hung carelessly from the belt loop of his black jeans, swinging gently whenever he shifted in his seat as though they were nothing more than an ordinary keychain.

You quietly looked away before he could catch you staring, your heartbeat quickening as your fingers curled around the wooden counter.

Target locked.

You immediately order a shot of tequila, not to get drunk, but to act drunk.

Hanni had told you that people lowered their guard around someone who seemed tipsy. A little laugh that lingered too long, a gaze that wandered a little too often, movements just clumsy enough to look believable. It made approaching strangers easier.

You thanked the bartender with a polite smile before resting your elbow against the counter. From the corner of your eye, your attention drifted back to the table.

His back was mostly facing you, making it difficult to study him without being obvious. Every now and then he'd turn toward one of his friends, giving you a brief glimpse of his side profile before looking away again, and somehow those fleeting seconds were enough for you to notice far more than you intended.

His jaw was clean and sharply defined, catching the amber glow whenever he tipped his head back to drink. A straight nose balanced his features effortlessly, while soft strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, shifting every time he ran a hand through them. Every so often, you caught sight of his dark round eyes, softened by the alcohol he'd been drinking, their usual alertness replaced by a lazy heaviness that made them unexpectedly... pretty.

Your brows knitted together. 

You were supposed to be memorizing his belongings Y/N! Not his face!

The bartender slid your tequila across the counter. You murmured a quiet thank you before lifting the glass to your lips, taking only a small sip. The burn barely had time to settle in your throat before your eyes sneakily wandered back toward the table.

"Huh?"  

His seat was empty!

Your brows furrowed as your eyes searched the group, confusion replacing the confidence you had spent the last several minutes trying so hard to build.

"Looking for me?” a deep chuckle sounded from behind you.

Your eyes widened, you turned so quickly you nearly knocked your drink over.

Even with you sitting down, he towered over you with ease, one side of his body leaning casually against the polished wooden counter. Up close, the details you had only managed to steal glances of moments ago became impossible to ignore—the silver rings decorating his fingers, the tattoos stretching over his right arm, the small hoop piercing his lower lip, and those heavy-lidded eyes now looking directly into yours.

The corner of his mouth curled upward…amused.

As though he'd caught you doing something you weren't supposed to.

"H-Hi!" you greeted, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended as you struggled to hide how badly he had startled you.

What the fuck.

For a split second, every lesson Hanni had drilled into your head disappeared. Your carefully rehearsed smile, your excuses, the confident persona you had spent two months trying to build—they all vanished the moment he caught you off guard.

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

"May I help you?"

Your own brows drew together before you could stop them, your smile faltering for the briefest moment.

"Hm?"

"You kept looking at me." he chuckled, low and amused.

There wasn't even a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as though he'd caught you staring several times already and had simply decided to humor you instead of calling you out for it. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks almost instantly, your mind scrambling for something—anything…that would keep your act from falling apart before it had even begun.

Trying to save yourself, you immediately gave him a flirty smile.

"Oh..." a soft giggle escaped your lips, "Was I that obvious?"

You tilted your head ever so slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before looking back up at him through your lashes exactly the way Hanni had told you to. 

When he took a step closer, your breath hitched. 

His thick black boots brushed against the legs of your stool, and with the way he positioned himself, his broad frame nearly shielded you from the rest of the room. It wasn't intentional…or maybe it was—but suddenly the chatter of the beer house seemed much farther away than it had a second ago.

"Uh-huh," he murmured, the single sound barely above a whisper.

The faint scent of mint lingered beneath the beer on his breath, close enough to make your thoughts blur for a moment. Up close, the gold chain resting against his collarbone shimmered softly, layered alongside several silver necklaces that framed the base of his neck. 

Before your courage had the chance to abandon you…you slowly lifted a hand and rested it around the back of his neck, your fingertips grazing the cool metal chains lying against his skin.

"You're cute," you whispered, biting lightly on your lower lip as your fingers idly toyed with one of the necklaces. Every movement had been rehearsed in your head a dozen times before tonight, yet none of them felt natural now that they were happening. You only hoped he couldn't tell.

Fuck, he’s so handsome up close!

His head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face before his gaze slowly drifted downward. It lingered far longer than you were prepared for, tracing the exposed skin above your dress before continuing lower. Instinctively, you fought the urge to tug at the hem that had ridden higher on your thighs.

Don't. Fake it until you make it.

"I am?" he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting into the faintest smirk. His tongue swept across the silver ring piercing his lower lip before he leaned even closer, his lips hovering just beneath your ear.

"Yeah," you breathed, forcing confidence into your voice despite the frantic beating of your heart. "Want you."

The words felt foreign leaving your mouth. Still, they had the desired effect.

As his attention remained fixed on the spot where your pulse fluttered, your fingers subtly found the clasp hidden beneath the chains around his neck. 

One careful movement...that was all it would take.

You had barely begun to unhook it when his hand closed firmly around your wrist.

Your heart stopped. For one horrifying second, you were certain he'd caught you.

"Let's go to my car."

What?

"H-Huh? I..."

He lifted his head just enough for your eyes to meet his. The lazy amusement from earlier had disappeared, replaced by something darker. 

"I can't fuck you here."

Your eyes widen, fucking was your limit!

Your gaze drifted to the thick gold necklace resting against his chest... the leather wallet tucked carelessly into his pocket... and the sleek black car waiting only a few steps away.

Fuck it.

You followed him in silence, the cool night breeze brushing against your exposed skin and reminding you just how short your dress was. 

Your gaze remained fixed on his broad back as he unlocked the car, your throat tightening around a nervous swallow.

Earlier, when you had walked past Hanni, you had nearly burst into tears at the sight of her giving you an approving nod, silently cheering you on while she remained at her table, busy charming the men around her.

You couldn't back out now. Not after she'd placed this much faith in you.

The parking lot was quiet, a little farther from the beer house…the music fading into the distance. When he turned around, you gathered every ounce of courage you had left and greeted him with the sweetest smile you could muster.

Your mind raced, thoughts crashing into one another until only three remained.

First, find a way to slip the gold chain from around his neck. The wallet would come next, once he finally let his guard down.

Second, you were not going to fuck him. 

It didn't matter how broad his shoulders were, how unfairly handsome he looked, or how pretty his eyes became whenever he smiled.

Your hormones could cry about it later.

Third, whatever happened tonight... for the love of God, do not get caught.

He looked down at you, one brow lifting ever so slightly when he noticed the faint tremble in your legs.

"Get in."

He pulled the backseat door open for you, and you offered him a small, flirty smile before carefully slipping inside. 

The leather seat gave beneath your weight with a quiet creak, and for the briefest moment, you convinced yourself you'd have a second to steady your breathing, to gather the scattered pieces of your thoughts before facing him again.

The hope didn't last.

The car shifted as he climbed in after you, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound that seemed to swallow the last bit of space inside the cabin. 

Your pulse faltered, the hem of your dress had ridden higher than you'd intended, exposing far more of your thighs than you were comfortable with, the fabric inching dangerously close to revealing the lace of your panties. Every instinct urged you to smooth it back into place, but you stopped yourself.

Focus, Y/N! You need to seduce him!

You had barely opened your mouth, ready to deliver one of the corniest pickup lines Hanni had relentlessly drilled into your head, when his hand suddenly pulled your hair. 

Your lips parted in surprise as he tugged you toward him, leaving no room for hesitation before his lips crashed against yours.

A breathless whimper escaped you, your eyes widening for only a second before they fluttered shut. His fingers tightened around the hair above your nape, angling your head exactly how he wanted it, his kisses deep, hungry, and impatient.

The bitter trace of beer lingered on his tongue, flooding your senses until your thoughts blurred at the edges. Your body yielded without resistance, melting effortlessly against his as he drew you closer, the strength behind the movement making you feel almost weightless in his hold.

For a fleeting moment, you forgot your mission.

His tongue slipped against yours with practiced ease, stealing every coherent thought from your mind before instinct finally caught up. 

You slowly lifted your arms around his neck, your fingers threading through the softness of his hair as though simply indulging in the kiss. Then, careful not to rush…they drifted lower, brushing over the warm skin of his nape before gliding toward the necklace resting against his neck.

“Open your mouth wider,” he rasped, pulling away just enough to speak. A string of saliva stretched between your mouths as his other hand slid around your neck…his long, tattooed fingers wrapping firmly around your throat in a possessive grip.

Your eyes widened…one of your hands remained tangled behind his nape, your fingers still toying with the chain around his neck, desperately searching for the tiny clasp hidden beneath his hair. 

Too distracted to obey his request… he suddenly tugged your hair harder.

A startled gasp escaped your lips, and he seized the opportunity—his tongue slipping hot and messy into your parted mouth, kissing you with a hunger that left you no chance to catch your breath.

You barely kissed him back, surrendering to the pace he set as your mind gradually emptied. Somehow, through the dizziness clouding your head, your fingertips continued their quiet search along the cool metal resting against his skin, praying to find the clasp before he noticed.

“Mmph!”

A soft whimper caught in your throat when he bit down harshly on your lower lip. The hand around your neck tightened, his fingers pressing deeper into your throat until your breath hitched, the pressure almost choking you.

“What are you doing?” he groaned, pulling you away from his lips before effortlessly lifting your entire body onto his lap. 

Large hands settled on your hips, guiding your legs to either side of him until you were straddling him completely, your dress riding embarrassingly higher over your thighs in the process.

“Hmm?” you murmured, blinking up at him through hazy eyes, your lips swollen and glistening from his relentless kisses.

He tilted his head, studying you in silence. 

The intensity of his gaze made something tighten inside your chest. Your confidence, already hanging by a thread, began to unravel beneath his eyes alone, and without thinking, your hands abandoned the necklace altogether, drifting back into his hair as though that had been your intention from the very beginning.

“Kiss me back,” he rasped.

A quiet breath of relief nearly escaped your lips. He hadn't noticed.

You offered him the sweetest smile you could manage before leaning in again, your heart pounding so violently you were certain he could feel it through your chest. You kissed him as carefully as you could, trying to mimic the way he'd kissed you only moments ago, parting his lips with hesitant eagerness, hoping it looked natural enough to fool him.

To your surprise, he let you…he didn't take control or deepen the kiss. Instead, he simply let you explore him at your own pace.

Heat crept up your neck and settled across your cheeks, embarrassment blooming beneath your skin as the realization slowly dawned on you. 

He wasn't following your lead. 

“Baby...” he chuckled between kisses, his tattooed hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, holding your face steady with a firm grip. “You're not kissing me properly.”

Embarrassment rushed through your body so quickly it almost made you dizzy, your inexperience laid bare after only a few clumsy kisses. 

Determination quickly swallowed the humiliation. 

Before you could think twice, you leaned in again, kissing him with far more urgency than before, desperate to prove that you knew exactly what you were doing.

The moment he finally kissed you back, a breathless whimper nearly escaped you. 

He kissed you effortlessly, guiding the rhythm while you struggled to keep up, your breaths already turning shallow enough that you were certain you looked seconds away from hyperventilating.

Determined not to lose yourself completely, you bit down on his lower lip, earning a low, gravelly groan that vibrated against your mouth. The sound alone made your stomach flutter. Taking advantage of the distraction, your trembling hands drifted back to the chain around his neck, fingertips carefully searching beneath his hair for the tiny clasp.

Your eyes fluttered shut when he sucked on your tongue, warmth rushing across your ears and down your neck so quickly it almost burned. It was your first time being kissed like this—his kisses were shamelessly lewd, all heat and desperation. Saliva glistened between your mouths whenever he pulled away, only to capture your lower lip again with another lingering suck that stole the air from your lungs. 

Before long, the only sounds filling the car were the quiet, wet presses of your mouths and the uneven rhythm of your breathing.

You couldn't tell whether he was simply that good at kissing or if your lack of experience made every touch feel overwhelming. Either way, the way his hand remained wrapped around your jaw, firmly angling your head exactly where he wanted it, sent a shiver running down your spine.

A soft, helpless moan escaped your lips when you felt him spit into your mouth without breaking the kiss. The sensation sent heat unfurling through every inch of your body, your knees threatening to weaken even from where you sat on his lap. 

Your thoughts dissolved into a haze, and before you realized it, the fingers that had been so carefully searching for the clasp of his necklace had gone slack, your mission slipping further out of reach with every slow, lingering pull of his mouth.

“Grind on me.” he groaned.

Your eyes widened, before you could even process his words, both of his hands settled around the curve of your hips, guiding your body into a slow, deliberate roll against his lap.

“W-Wait—” 

His mouth found your neck, scattering soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin. Goosebumps rippled across your body as his lips traveled lower, his grip never once leaving your hips as he slowly rocked them back and forth, drawing helpless whimpers from your lips.

Heat rushed to your cheeks the moment you felt the firm outline of his hard cock pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.

“Roll your hips, baby.” he grunted.

His teeth grazed your neck before his tongue soothed the sting, the cool metal of his lip piercing dragging lightly over your throat.

Your eyes squeezed shut…losing yourself completely as you followed the guidance of his hands, the subtle throbs of his cock impossible to ignore through the layers separating your bodies.

“That’s it,” he praised, looking down at your rolling hips.

“Oh, gosh…” you moaned.

You couldn't comprehend how dirty and lewd this was, grinding against a stranger's cock while convincing yourself that you wouldn't fuck him.

His clothed mushroom tip grazed the apex between your thighs as he guided your hips through another slow rub, drawing a startled gasp from your lips. A wave of warmth unfurled low in your stomach, spreading until it settled heavily between your legs.

Fuck, you were getting so wet.

Your body burned with a growing tension you didn't know how to quiet. The fabric of your panties clung uncomfortably against your cunt. When his hands finally cupped your breasts over the thin fabric of your dress, a shaky breath caught in your throat. 

Your fingers instinctively clutched at his shoulders for balance as he continued to maneuver your body with effortless ease.

“Oh my-”

His lips trailed lower…you sucked in a sharp breath when they reached the swell of your cleavage, your heart stumbling the moment you caught sight of his tongue slipping between the soft curve of your breasts, tasting the narrow valley created by the tight fabric hugging your chest.

“Hmm... so soft,” he murmured.

Before you could even process the praise, he leaned back just enough to gather saliva in his mouth, his cheeks hollowing before he leaned down and let a warm bead of spit fall between your breasts. It slowly trailed down the center of your cleavage, disappearing beneath the neckline of your dress.

A startled gasp escaped you, the shamelessness of it sent another rush of heat coursing through your body.

“Spread my spit, baby.” his voice dropped into a teasing murmur as he brushed a lingering kiss against your cheek. “I want you messy.”

He never stopped guiding your hips, slow, patient rubs against his lap while he watched you expectantly.

You swallowed thickly. It felt as though your body had slipped into a trance, your thoughts muffled beneath the haze he'd wrapped around you. 

Almost absentmindedly, your fingers found the warmth between your breasts, gathering the wetness before slowly spreading his spit across the soft skin of your cleavage, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes following every hesitant movement.

Your gaze drifted downward, landing on the gold chain resting against his collarbone.

The necklace!

For a split second, you wanted to slap yourself. 

You'd become so hopelessly lost in him that you'd nearly forgotten why you were here in the first place.

Trying to keep up the act, you smiled and gathered the warm trace of his spit onto your fingertips before slowly bringing them to your lips. A flicker of nervousness stirred in your chest as you parted your lips, letting your tongue glide languidly over your damp fingers, never once breaking eye contact with him.

His lips parted. “You like it?”

You nodded. “Hmm…”

“Want more?” he cooed, his voice rough with satisfaction. 

Your cheeks heated, a little self-conscious under the way he stared at you before leaning in to kiss you again. You whimpered when he spat into your mouth while kissing you, trying to focus as your hands finally found the chain around his neck. Your fingers worked quickly beneath the curtain of his hair, your heart pounding so violently you feared he would hear it.

Then—the clasp gave. 

Relief crashed over you.

You carefully eased the necklace free, letting the chain slip from your fingers onto the leather seat beside you with a faint clink before your hands returned to brace against his chest. 

Your pulse hammered in your throat, so distracted by stealing the jewelry that you didn't feel his fingers hooking beneath the thin straps of your black dress until they were already sliding down. Cool air kissed your skin a second before you realized the straps had fallen from your shoulders, the dress bunched at your waist, your bra laid bare beneath his dark, hungry stare.

"Ohh—" a moan ripped from your lips when his hands grabbed your tits through the bra, his palms kneading the soft flesh as his fingers pinched and rolled your stiff nipples through the thin lace. 

"So pretty," he praised, his eyes never leaving the swell of your breasts spilling over the cups.

His hand slid behind your back, his fingers flicking the clasp open. Your bra sprang loose, your tits bouncing free, your nipples peaked and aching.

“Keep grinding, baby.” he rasped.

Your hips moved before your brain could catch up, rolling against his lap. His hard cock formed a thick ridge beneath his pants, pressing right against your soaked panties. 

The delicious friction made your cunt leak, slick pooling in the gusset as each slow roll of your hips rubbed your clit across his length until your panties clung to your wet, chubby slit.

“Mhm,” you whined as his mouth locked onto one nipple, his tongue lapping at the bud before sucking hard, his teeth scraping lightly while his other hand squeezed your breast, his fingers twisting the neglected nipple until it throbbed.

Wet sounds filled the car—the slurp of his mouth around your nipple and the squelch of your dripping cunt rubbing against his cock through the fabric. 

You forced yourself to look down, your heavy-lidded eyes searching for anything that might help you finish what you had come here to do. Then your thigh brushed against the square outline beneath the fabric of his pants.

His wallet.

You drew in a shaky breath before rolling your hips against him with a little more desperation. A low groan vibrated against your nipple the moment he felt the change in your rhythm, the sound sending another wave of heat through your body. 

A helpless whine slipped from your lips as your own hands wandered over him, trying to appear just as consumed by the moment. Your palms skimmed over his shoulders, down the firm planes of his chest, and lower still, making you swallow hard at the realization of just how toned he felt beneath your touch.

“Ouch,” you whimpered when his teeth suddenly bit into your nipple.

He only chuckled against your skin.

The sting disappeared beneath a lingering kiss before he lifted his head just enough to murmur.

“Slow down, baby. You're gonna make me cum.” 

The teasing words had barely left his lips before his attention shifted back to your breast, his mouth closing around the swollen nipple with harsh, eager suction that made your thighs instinctively tense around him.

Even through the layers of his pants, you could feel how big and hard he was beneath you, the firm outline of his thick cock pressing insistently against your soaked panties with every shallow movement. 

Fuck, focus Y/N.

His wallet had shifted dangerously close to the edge of his pocket, almost slipping free from the constant movement of your bodies.

You rolled your hips against him again…another soft moan escaping your lips as the friction sent a dizzying pulse of pleasure through you. 

“Oh my…” 

For a fleeting second, you almost forgot the wallet, your body threatening to lose the battle your mind was still desperately trying to win.

“Baby…” he groaned harshly.

His hands tightened around your waist, pinning your hips firmly in place before you could move against him again.

Confused, you instinctively tried to move again, but his hand beat you to it. It slipped between your thighs before firmly cupping your pussy over your soaked panties, his palm pressing against your wet cunt as his fingers slowly dragged against the damp fabric. A soft, unmistakable squelch filled the quiet cabin, and your breath caught in your throat.

“I said stay still, fuck.” he whispered, mercilessly squeezing your pussy through the thin fabric until another helpless moan spilled from your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct, your mouth falling open as his slow, deliberate touch only made you wetter, the soaked fabric sticking embarrassingly to your folds with every movement of his hand.

A startled gasp escaped you when his free hand suddenly rose to your face, firmly squeezing your cheeks together. 

“Keep your eyes open. Look at what I'm doing to you,” he commanded, his thumb finding your clit through the damp fabric and rubbing slow, lazy circles that sent a violent shiver through your body.

“Oh... gosh,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a breath. 

Your thoughts were beginning to dissolve all over again until something caught your eye.

His wallet had finally slipped free from his pocket, landing quietly on the leather seat beside him. Relief surged through you, and you almost smiled in triumph, the sight nearly distracting you from your mission's success.

Before you could dwell on it, he hooked a finger beneath the damp gusset of your panties, flipping the fabric aside just enough to expose your slick pussy. His fingertips returned, meeting your bare cunt directly, and the sudden skin-to-skin contact tore another breathless gasp from your lips.

Your eyes rolled back as his long fingers slowly rubbed against your sensitive cunt. The cool metal of his rings grazed your slit with every stroke, sending a sharp shiver through your body and drawing another helpless whimper from your throat.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Enjoying yourself?"

You could only nod, slow and breathless, your chest rising and falling beneath uneven breaths. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, your face burning from every filthy thing you had let him do to you.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a whisper. "You like my fingers, baby?"

Before you could answer, his middle finger slowly pressed into your tight, untouched hole.

A broken whimper escaped you, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as your body instinctively tensed around the unfamiliar stretch. For a fleeting second, your hand nearly came up to push him away, your inexperience heightening every overwhelming sensation. But he caught your face first, his fingers tightening around your cheeks, forcing your gaze back to him.

He inhaled softly before hollowing his cheeks, gathering saliva in his mouth, then leaned closer and messily spat between your parted lips.

"Swallow."

You obeyed without hesitation, your throat bobbing as you swallowed, your walls fluttering tightly around his finger at the command.

His hand slipped lower, lifting the hem of your skirt before his gaze settled between your thighs. He watched with quiet fascination as his finger slowly disappeared inside your virgin hole before drawing back out again, only to repeat the motion at an unhurried pace.

"You're so tight, baby." he tilted his head, his eyes never leaving your pussy. "When was the last time you fucked?"

The question alone nearly brought tears to your eyes, embarrassment burning through you just as intensely as the confusing mixture of pain and pleasure his touch continued to pull from your body.

“L-Long time ago.” 

As if Y/N! 

He licked his lower lip, a quiet whimper slipping past your lips as the pad of his middle finger reached deeper inside your warm tight hole. His movements remained slow until his fingertip brushed against your spongy spot, the sharp ache of the stretch gradually melting into a pleasure so warm it made your body soften around him.

"Aww, is that why you're so tight, baby?” he whispered.

God, this was so wrong.

“Maybe you need me to stretch your hole again, hmm?" he cooed, lowering his head until his lips wrapped around your swollen nipple, sucking gently while his finger continued to work deeper into your tight cunt.

"Y-Yes," you mumbled incoherently, your rational thoughts dissolving as your hips instinctively rolled forward, chasing the slow rhythm of his finger.

The moment he felt you move, his free hand settled firmly around your waist, stilling you with ease. He released your nipple with a soft pop before a quiet chuckle escaped him, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours with unmistakable amusement.

"Patience, baby. I'm still having fun."

A pout tugged at your lips, ready to answer back, but the words never came. His left hand slipped between your thighs instead, slowly parting your folds before drawing back the hood revealing your glistening clit, exposing it completely beneath his dark gaze.

"Wanna suck this clit so bad," he whispered, his gaze fixed between your thighs as your clit pulsed beneath the weight of his stare.

He leaned down and spat over it, a slow trail of saliva slipping down your slit until it met the middle finger buried inside your hole. A helpless whimper caught in your throat, your eyes squeezing shut as he spread the saliva over your exposed clit with slow, pressured strokes, every messy rub sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

Both of his hands were devoted to you now. His tattooed fingers continued to work your tight hole with an unhurried rhythm while his other hand circled your swollen clit, spreading your growing wetness together with his saliva. His eyes never left your cunt, watching every tiny twitch, every shiver that rippled through you as though he wanted to memorize your pulsating pussy.

"You wanna cum?" he asked, lifting a brow as he watched your chest rise and fall with uneven breaths. His middle finger emerged coated in a thick ring of your white milky juices before disappearing back inside you, while your legs trembled uncontrollably beneath every slow sweep of his thumb across your swollen clit.

You nodded desperately, “Y-Yes…”

He pursed his lips, studying you for a long moment.

"You sure?"

"P-Please," you pleaded, your hips instinctively rolling in search of more.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" a small smile tugged at his lips, though there wasn't a trace of humor behind it.

Confusion barely had the chance to settle before he slowly inserted a second finger into your cunt.

A loud moan tore from your throat as the sudden stretch stole the air from your lungs. His fingers paused only briefly, allowing your body to adjust before they began to move together, scissoring you open with slow, rhythmic strokes while his other hand never stopped rubbing your clit.

The lingering ache of the stretch gradually melted beneath the mounting pleasure, your body surrendering to it completely. Your thighs quivered uncontrollably around his hand, your back arching as your orgasm crashed through you. Your eyes rolled back, your walls fluttering helplessly around his fingers while wave after wave of pleasure left your entire body trembling.

“Well done, baby.” he praised.

Even after the intensity began to ebb, your cunt continued to pulse around him, your legs still shaking from the aftershocks.

Only when your breathing had become nothing more than uneven gasps did he slowly withdraw his fingers from your hole, drawing another helpless whimper from your lips as the sudden emptiness met your lingering sensitivity.

Then he leaned in, his teeth grazed the shell of your ear in a soft bite before his lips brushed against it.

"I’m so proud." he whispered.

As your gaze drifted downward, it caught on the slight opening of his wallet, the sight striking you like a quiet reminder of why you had approached him in the first place.

Your fucking mission.

You bit down hard on your lower lip, gathering what little composure remained before forcing the words past your throat.

"C-Can I drink some water? I'm kinda thirsty," you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your thighs were still trembling from your release, your heart pounding so loudly against your chest that you were certain he could hear it.

You expected him to refuse…Instead, he simply nodded.

"Hmm sure, baby. Let me get it for you."

His tongue swept across his lower lip before he gently tucked a few loose strands of hair away from your flushed cheeks, his touch unexpectedly tender as his eyes lingered on yours.

You swallowed hard, relief flooding through your body so quickly it almost made you dizzy.

"I'll wait for you here," you said with a small smile, leaning forward just enough to steal a quick kiss from his lips before he stood.

His eyes narrowed, smiling a little, but there was something in them that you couldn't quite pinpoint.

The moment he climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him before disappearing into the noisy beer house in search of a bottle of water, you sprang into action. 

You quickly fixed your dress before reaching for the thick gold necklace that had slipped onto the leather seat during everything that had happened between the two of you. Your fingers wrapped around it before darting toward his wallet, still resting exactly where you had dropped it after deliberately sitting on it when you asked for water. 

Your pulse thundered in your ears as your gaze frantically swept across the interior of the car, searching for anything else of value. It didn't take long before your eyes landed on a small, heavy bag tucked beneath the passenger seat. 

Without wasting another second—or even bothering to look more....you snatched it as well, clutching the necklace, the wallet, and the bag tightly against your chest before quietly pushing the car door open.

With shaky, trembling hands, you slipped out of the vehicle and hurried toward the nearest sprawling tree beside the parking lot, its thick trunk shielding you from anyone who might glance in your direction. Only then did you allow yourself to stop, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as you hugged your stolen belongings close, desperately trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart. 

The necklace alone felt expensive in your hands, its weight unmistakable, and you couldn't help but admire the rich gleam of the gold beneath the parking lot lights. 

This has to be high-karat. 

Your eyes practically sparkled at the thought, relief and triumph swelling inside your chest as you silently congratulated yourself. You had actually managed to steal from him without getting fucked... and without getting caught.

Almost.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you slipped the thick gold necklace into your pocket, the reassuring weight of it pressing against your thigh. 

Your attention soon drifted to the heavy bag you had grabbed from beneath the seat, curiosity getting the better of you. You crouched beneath the tree and slowly pulled the zipper open, your brows knitting together at the sight of something black and metallic nestled inside. 

Frowning, you reached to get a better look, only for your breath to catch in your throat.

It was a gun. 

What the fuck?

Your hands instantly began to shake. The bag slipped from your grasp, hitting the ground with a heavy thud that echoed far louder than it should have in the quiet of the parking lot. 

You stared at it in horror before your gaze darted to the wallet still clutched tightly against your chest, your pulse pounding so violently it made your fingers numb.

"Oh God... this is a bad idea," you whispered to yourself, panic clawing its way up your throat.

For one reckless moment, you considered running back, returning the necklace, the wallet, the bag….everything—and pretending none of this had ever happened. 

Maybe you could leave them inside his car before he noticed. Maybe you could still walk away.

But it was already too late.

If there was one thing Hanni had drilled into your head from the very beginning, it was this: once you stole something, you never gave it back. Going back wasn't bravery—it was stupidity. 

And stupidity was exactly how thieves got caught.

With trembling hands, you slowly opened his wallet, your brows immediately knitting together when an identification card tucked behind a gleaming gold badge came into view. 

Your stomach dropped. This wasn't a wallet at all—it was a badge holder. 

A cold chill crept down your spine as your fingers shakily flipped the leather, your eyes scanning every detail printed across the identification. The words blurred together at first, your racing heart making it impossible to focus, until your gaze landed on the line that mattered most.

CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT

Rank: Captain  | Name: Jeon Jungkook

For a long, terrifying second, your mind went completely blank, your pulse pounding so violently it drowned out every sound around you. 

"F-Fuck! Oh God—fuck!"

The words tumbled out in a frantic whisper as your hands shook so violently you could barely keep hold of the badge holder. 

Your breathing grew shallow, your mind racing through every possible escape, each one ending worse than the last. 

You stared at the polished badge in horror, your heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest, when the sound of approaching footsteps suddenly reached your ears.

Panic surged through your body, and you instinctively turned, ready to run for your life, but a firm hand wrapped around your wrist before you could take a single step.

"Where are you going?" he asked with a quiet chuckle from behind you, amusement lacing his voice.

You froze.

Your gaze remained fixed straight ahead, too terrified to look back at him. Cold sweat trickled down your spine as your heartbeat thundered in your ears. 

The heavy bag still lay on the ground at your feet. The gold necklace weighed against your pocket. And clutched tightly between your trembling fingers was his badge holder, still opened to the identification that had shattered every ounce of confidence you had only moments ago.

You had been fucking caught.

Not just by any random stranger. 

But by a goddamn police captain.

"I got your water, baby," he said, his voice coated in quiet amusement. You flinched the moment the cold bottle brushed against the back of your thighs, the chill a cruel contrast to the heat of your panic.

"O-Officer, I—"

"You forgot something, didn't you?" he whispered against your ear, his grip never loosening around your wrist. 

The bottle of water lazily traced the length of your trembling thigh, as though he had all the time in the world.

Your eyes squeezed shut, your legs threatened to give out beneath you, hot tears gathering until they spilled freely down your cheeks. Every frantic thought crashed into the next, leaving you unable to form a single coherent sentence.

He leaned in even closer, his warm breath ghosting just below your ear.

"You forgot my wallet, baby." his voice dropped into a slow drawl. "That's my badge holder."

A broken sob caught in your throat. Your future flashed before your eyes in vivid, terrifying fragments. 

You could already see the cold metal of handcuffs locking around your wrists, the flashing red and blue lights, the backseat of a patrol car, a holding cell, your family finding out, your future slipping through your fingers before you had even been given the chance to fight for it. Everything you had worked so hard for, every dream you had stubbornly clung to despite your circumstances, all of it seemed to crumble into pieces in the span of a few unbearable seconds.

You had just thrown your entire life away.

“P-Please, I-’’

"Is my poor baby too dumb, or does that pretty little head of yours just want to get fucked?"

You shook your head frantically, tears spilling faster down your cheeks. "N-No, no, Officer, please... I'm sorry. It was a mistake—"

A startled gasp escaped you when he suddenly spun you around, your back pressing against the rough bark of the tree. Your tear-clouded eyes instantly met his dark ones, the amusement lingering in them only making the panic clawing at your chest grow worse.

He raised a brow, studying your face for a long, agonizing moment.

"Aww, look at you…so scared, baby." he cooed.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Want me to give you a chance?’’ he tilted his head.

Hope bloomed inside your chest so suddenly it almost hurt.

Jungkook took another step forward, his broad frame caging you against the tree until there was nowhere left to run. Your entire body trembled beneath his gaze, your heart pounding so violently you could barely hear yourself think, and you looked up at him with desperate, pleading eyes, clinging to the smallest possibility that he might actually let you go.

"P-Please, Officer… I-I'm sorry..." you stammered, the words tumbling over one another in your haste. "I-I know it was wrong, a-and that—"

‘’Run.” 

Your lips parted in disbelief.

"W-What?"

He slowly licked his lower lip, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that carried no warmth whatsoever. Stepping closer until there wasn't even a breath of space left between you, he brushed the pad of his thumb across your trembling lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Run, baby. Run as fast as you can.” his voice dropped into a low murmur, his tone as though he were talking to a child. "And when I catch you, I'm gonna take you to prison. I'll fuck you every day behind those rusty metal bars. I'll use your tight little pussy until your hole is gaping and leaking. Maybe I'll even let my comrades fuck you too. We'll take turns fucking that slutty, manipulative pussy of yours."

Desperation made people do reckless things. 

It silenced reason, drowned out fear, and left nothing behind but the instinct to survive.

You spun around and bolted before your mind had the chance to catch up, your legs carrying you as fast as they could through the dimly lit streets. Instead of following the brighter roads, you veered into the narrow, shadowed alleyways, your panicked thoughts convincing you that the light was far more dangerous than the dark. 

People could help you—but the moment they learned why you were running, they wouldn't see a terrified woman. 

They would see a thief.

A criminal…and they would hand you right back to him.

Your lungs burned, each desperate breath sharper than the last, your feet throbbing against the unforgiving pavement as you forced yourself to keep going. When a tall chain-link fence came into view, fear surged through your exhausted body. You stumbled toward it, your shaking hands already reaching for the metal, frantically searching for a way to climb over it.

You never got the chance.

A powerful hand suddenly seized both of your wrists from behind, wrenching them backward before you could react. A startled cry tore from your throat as your body was dragged away from the fence, only to be slammed against it a heartbeat later.

 “L-Let me go!” you cried.

The rough metal dug painfully into your cheek, your breath knocked from your lungs as he forced your arms higher behind your back. Then you heard it—

A sharp metallic click…cold steel closed around your wrist.

You were handcuffed.

He secured the other cuff around the metal fence, leaving your wrists restrained above your head. The cold steel bit into your skin as you instinctively struggled against it, your cheek pressed harshly against the chain-link, the rough metal scraping your flushed skin every time you tried to pull away. The handcuffs refused to budge, each desperate tug only making them dig in deeper.

"N-No... no, please," you cried, your voice breaking into helpless sobs.

Instead of hurting you, he reached up and gently combed a few loose strands of hair away from your face, the unexpected tenderness making your entire body flinch. His fingers lingered for a moment, idly twirling a lock of your hair around them before giving it a soft tug.

"Shh, it’s okay…" he said in a mocking tone.

"I-I’m sorry, please…I’ll do anything—"

The plea died on your lips when you felt him lower himself behind you.

“Anything, baby?” he whispered.

He settled onto one knee before slowly gathering the hem of your dress, inch by inch, until your damp panties were fully exposed beneath the cool night air. His large hands slid down to your thighs, spreading your legs apart with an effortless firmness that left your body trembling against the restraint. 

Your eyes widened as you pulled uselessly at the handcuffs, your legs instinctively trying to close, but there was nowhere to go. A warm tongue suddenly pressed against the fabric between your thighs, dragging slowly over your sticky panties.

His nose remained buried in your tight hole, drawing in a slow, deep breath as though savoring every scent of you. His tongue dragged languidly along your slit from behind, the damp fabric of your panties doing little to dull the sensation.

"O-Oh gosh-" you cried, fresh tears spilling down your flushed cheeks as you felt him inhale against your clothed cunt again. His tongue swept over you once more, leaving your panties even wetter than before.

“Let me play with you.” he murmured before diving in.

You bit down hard on your lip, another wave of warmth pooling between your thighs despite yourself. More tears slipped from your eyes, the overwhelming pleasure tangling with the fear coursing through your body.

I am not enjoying this, I am not-

A low groan rumbled behind you as he spread your legs farther apart. His pointed nose brushed against your puckered hole, inhaling deeply. 

You craned your neck to look around, but there was no one in sight. Only the lonely yellow glow of a streetlamp stretched across the empty street, casting long shadows around the two of you.

When he flipped your panties aside, you instinctively tried to close your legs, but a startled gasp escaped your lips as his palm suddenly came down against your inner thigh with a sharp smack, the sting urging your legs back open for him.

“Open up for me, baby. Let me taste your little pussy,” he murmured, giving your thigh another light tap as he silently coaxed you to spread yourself wider.

You were getting wetter, but the thought of someone's tongue directly against your pussy was beyond your virgin imagination.

When you still didn't move, a quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest.

You felt him rise behind you, the warmth of his body disappearing for only a brief moment before the unmistakable click of metal made your breath hitch. Before you even had the chance to turn your head, the cold barrel of the gun was pressed against your temple.

A broken cry caught in your throat, your entire body trembling. 

“W-What-”

"Spread your legs."

His voice was firm, leaving no room for hesitation. The barrel pressed more insistently against your temple, and with another shaky sob, your knees slowly fell farther apart.

A satisfied hum vibrated from his chest. Only then did he pull the gun away, tucking it back into the holster at the back of his belt before lowering himself between your thighs once more. His hands wrapped around them, holding you open exactly how he wanted, and the moment he buried his face between your legs, a deep groan escaped him.

“Oh, gosh!” you moaned.

You were already leaking, his broad tongue dragged slowly up and down your chubby, swollen folds before slipping between them, teasing your slit as it delved deeper, massaging your inner walls with slow, deliberate strokes that only left you wetter.

“Pretty.” he leaned back and spat onto your cunt, watching the thick strand of saliva mingle with your slick wetness. “Do you regret what you did, baby?”

His fingers hooked beneath your outer lips, spreading them apart just enough to watch his saliva disappear deeper into your cunt. He spat again, his gaze fixed on the way it slipped between your folds, leaving your sensitive inner walls glistening.

“Y-Yes,” you moaned shamelessly, the torture only making you wetter.

“Would you let me do anything I want?” he asked, staring at your fluttering cunt.

You bit your lip, feeling your milky juices drip from every degrading thing he'd been saying to you.

“Yes.” you said in a tiny voice.

He chuckled, “You wanted to be used like this, didn't you?” 

He leaned in, his tongue flattening as he licked from your perineum to your clit in one slow, vulgar stroke, spreading his spit until his own drool began to trail down his chin. 

“You wanted this…you sat on my lap, ground your filthy cunt against my cock, acted like a good little decoy so you could rob me. But your hole's been thanking me the whole time, hasn't it?”

You shut your eyes tightly when you felt him continuously spitting on your cunt, your pussy was getting so wet that you felt it dripping on your inner thighs down to your ankles.

He held your folds apart, leaving you completely exposed for his hungry gaze. Leaning back, he watched the way they trembled and pulsed beneath his eyes before leaning down again, his tongue already darting out to lap up every drop of your juices. Each time he swallowed, he would only spit over you again, coating you until you were slick enough for him to start all over.

Your eyes widened as the muzzle of the gun pressed against your inner thigh, cool, unforgiving steel sending a shiver through your body. It slowly slid higher until it settled against your entrance, the tip quickly growing slick with your wetness.

"O-Officer—"

“Shh, you wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? To rape your thief little pussy.” he mocked, his eyes fixed on the way the tip of the gun glistened with your milky juices as he slowly dragged it up and down your chubby slit.

Desperation was a frightening thing. 

It stripped away reason piece by piece until all that remained was the helpless anticipation of whatever came next.

When you didn't answer, too absorbed in the feeling of the foreign gun against your pussy, he pressed it harder against you, drawing a pained whimper from your lips as tears stung your eyes.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you," he said firmly, applying just a little more pressure.

"Y-Yes," you whimpered.

He tilted his head. "Yes, what?"

You bit your lip. "Y-Yes, O-Officer."

He hummed in approval before pulling the gun away. His tongue darted out to taste the tip, sucking your wetness from the cold metal before releasing it with a soft pop.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as he buried himself between your thighs once more, diving back into your exposed pussy with relentless hunger. The obscene sounds of slurping, sucking, and the occasional spit echoed through the place, each one making you feel weaker, more helpless beneath him.

You bit down hard on your lip as you felt your orgasm creeping closer. You tried to hold it back, to keep control, but your body betrayed you. 

Every flick of his tongue, every slow suck, every warm trail of spit sent another wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your pussy convulse beneath his tongue. 

“F-Fuck-” you whimpered.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your arms ached against the restraints, and your eyes rolled back as the pulsing sensation deep within you grew stronger with every passing second. You wanted to pull away from his mouth, to escape the overwhelming pleasure, but his grip remained firm, holding you exactly where he wanted as he sucked out every last tremor, refusing to let you move even as the overstimulation left your body trembling.

“Mhm, you taste so good, baby,” he whispered, leaning back just enough to pinch your folds together, as though squeezing every last drop of your milky white juices from your pussy before leaning in again to catch it on his tongue.

A helpless whimper escaped your lips. Your legs were on the verge of giving out beneath you, your arms still held captive by the restraints while your pussy throbbed with overwhelming sensitivity. As he rose to his feet, his palm landed against your cunt in a careless slap, making you flinch before he lazily wiped the sheen of your juices from the corner of his mouth.

His hand found your hair again, fingers threading through the strands before tightening into a firm fist. He tugged until your head tipped back, exposing the line of your throat, and his lips brushed against your tear-dampened cheek.

“Wanna steal more, baby?”

His grip twisted tighter, pulling your head back until your neck arched painfully. 

He slowly dragged his tongue along the salty trail of your tears, licking your cheek with slow strokes, savoring the taste of your cries as another quiet hum of approval rumbled in his chest.

You whimpered, your body trembling as you felt the hard outline of his clothed bulge press against the plush of your ass. He slowly ground his erection against you, a low grunt vibrating beneath your ear while his hand kept a firm hold on your hair, tugging your head back just enough for him to suck and leave harsh bites along your neck.

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered, grinding his cock more firmly against your bare ass. “My money? My jewelry?”

“O-Officer-”

His fist tightened in your hair, forcing another helpless whimper from your lips as he dragged his tongue along your throat, feeling the way you swallowed hard beneath him. “You wanted all of it, didn't you?”

His teeth sank into your neck once more as his clothed bulge rutted harder against the cleft of your ass, the seam of his pants catching against your skin with every slow roll of his hips. At the same time, his free hand slipped beneath your dress, yanking the fabric higher before grabbing a full handful of your bare ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

"My pretty, pretty thief," he praised, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his hips rolled against you with even more force.

He wrenched his pants open just enough for his hard cock to spring free, the heated length slapping against one ass cheek before the other. Pre-cum glistened over the swollen tip as he slowly ground the shaft along the plush curve of your ass, coating your skin with every deliberate roll of his hips.

"Feel that? I'm so hard for you, baby."

A helpless mewl slipped past your lips as you weakly shook your head, your entire body trembling while he continued rubbing against your ass.

“Fuck, you make me so fucking horny.” he grunted.

Your cheeks burned crimson, the same flush spreading across your neck, and another whimper escaped you when he suddenly jerked your head back by the hair. 

"Grind back, baby, or I'll fuck this tight little ass of yours."

You cried harder, your body trembling as you reluctantly began to move your ass against his cock. A deep groan escaped him, his right hand settling firmly on your hip as he looked down, watching the way his hard length slid slowly through the cleft of your ass with every hesitant grind.

He spat over the curve of your ass for added lubrication, and a helpless cry caught in your throat when you felt the warm saliva land against your puckered rim. Despite the humiliation, your pussy only grew wetter.

His tattooed hand suddenly snaked around your waist, trailing lower until it reached your cunt. You gasped as his fingers cupped your pussy before hooking between your folds, spreading your lips apart into a lewd V-shape for him to admire.

“Look down and watch your clit, baby.” he rasped, tilting your head down so your gaze fell between your legs.

“P-Please...” you croaked, your body growing weaker by the second, your pussy aching for more even as the rest of you threatened to give out.

“Wanna be fucked so bad, huh?”

You gasped as his middle finger suddenly pushed between the V-shaped hold of his fingers, slipping inside your tight cunt. Your walls fluttered helplessly around the thick digit as he slowly worked it deeper.

“Oh! Mhmp!” you screamed.

His cock left your ass, the slick tip dragging slowly down until it notched against your entrance, smearing pre-cum and his spit over your swollen folds.

“Gonna fuck you good, baby…you’ve been a very bad girl.” he yanked your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue traced a slow path from your neck to the shell of your ear. “Need to fuck some sense into you, hmm?’’

“Mhmp!” you whimpered.

“Shh... moan for me, baby. It'll feel good.” his finger pressed deeper one last time, stretching your walls before he slowly withdrew it. The emptiness lasted only a heartbeat before he replaced it with the thick, leaking head of his cock, nudging its way against your entrance.

“Ahhh!” you screamed at the sudden stretch, his thick cock forcing its way into your tight pussy until you could feel every pulsing vein dragging against your walls as he pushed deeper.

He thrust halfway, then stopped, watching your cunt spasm around him, a thin ribbon of milky white release clinging to his shaft like a ring. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” he slowly pulled back before driving into you harder, bottoming out in one deep thrust, his pelvis slamming against your ass hard enough to make the fence rattle.

“Need to use this cunt every day. Maybe I’ll let my comrades fuck this tight little cunt so they can loosen you up for me, yeah?” he grunted, pushing even deeper until his balls rested snug against your cunt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against the curve of your ass with every shallow grind.

“U-Ugh, p-please...” you screamed, trying to wriggle, but he only answered with a low grunt against your ear. Then, without warning, he withdrew his cock completely.

For one fleeting moment, you thought he was finally going to let you go.

But your eyes widened the instant you heard the unmistakable clink of his leather belt being unclasped.

Your eyes widened as you felt him wrap the leather around your neck, fastening it just snug enough for him to tug whenever your cries grew too loud, cutting off your words with every sharp pull.

“Behave, baby.” he chuckled, easing himself inside you once more while keeping a firm grip on the belt for leverage. Every now and then, he gave it another deliberate tug, silencing your screams as his hips continued to drive into you.

The moment his hips began to roll against yours, your eyes fluttered back, pleasure blooming beneath the sting until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. 

“O-Oh, O-Officer!” a shaky sob escaped your lips, born as much from the humiliation as the sensation itself. Your pussy ached for more, clenching helplessly around his thick girth, betraying you with every pulse.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from behind you. His arm slid around your waist, holding you firmly against him as he circled his hips into yours, each relentless thrust threatening to lift your body off your feet.

“Is my baby enjoying this?” he whispered, giving the leather another measured yank, just enough to cut your sob short. The strap bit into the flushed skin of your throat as his hips snapped forward again, his balls slapping wetly against your cunt with every forceful thrust.

“This is turning you on, huh?”

You shook your head, but your pussy only grew wetter, your cries slowly dissolving into helpless moans as he continued to fuck you from behind.

“Want me to stop?” he whispered.

“N-No, Officer.” you whimpered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you gave a slow, trembling shake of your head.

“Yeah? You like getting used?”

He gave the belt another sharp tug, cutting off your whimpers before loosening it just enough to let a broken moan spill from your lips. Then he drove into you even deeper, his mushroom tip grinding against your spongy walls until you could feel your own milky juices coating his shaft.

"Gonna lock you up in a cell, baby… you'll be the precinct's little fucktoy."

The moment his thick head brushed against your g-spot, your entire body spasmed around his cock. A harsh groan tore from his throat as your walls clamped down on him, forcing him to pull out almost immediately. His movements turned urgent, one hand fumbling for the keys clipped to his belt while the other steadied you. Your hazy eyes fluttered shut as you felt the handcuffs finally come undone from your wrists.

You thought he was done.

A weak gasp escaped your lips when he suddenly flipped you over to face him, your exhausted arms falling limply to your sides as he stripped away the rest of your dress. Without a word, he lifted you with effortless strength and pinned you against the cold metal fence before guiding his hard cock back inside you. A broken whimper slipped from your throat at the oversensitivity left behind by your previous orgasm, your body instinctively tensing around him as his mouth found your exposed nipples, sucking them greedily while he chased his own release.

Your body bounced helplessly with every powerful thrust, like a toy being used exactly as he pleased. Your tongue nearly lolled from your parted lips, your mind reduced to nothing but scattered pleasure as his larger frame manhandled yours with ease. Low grunts and strained moans vibrated against your swollen nipples, each sound muffled by the way his mouth refused to leave them.

A rough growl tore from his throat as his climax finally overtook him. You felt the thick warmth of his release spilling deep inside your already used hole, his hips continuing to roll against yours in slow, deep motions, as though determined to push every last drop of his cum even deeper. 

“Fuck, baby,” his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your breast, the sharp sting blending seamlessly with the lingering waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Some of it trickled down the insides of your thighs, warm against your skin. Your eyes fluttered, barely able to stay open…your body hanging limply in his grasp.

When he finally set you back on your feet, your legs nearly gave out beneath you. Before you could steady yourself, he was already kneeling between your thighs again, firmly spreading them apart as though he hadn't just reduced them to trembling. 

“W-Wait-” you panicked.

A helpless cry escaped your lips when his mouth found your swollen pussy once more, lapping up the mixture of his release and your milky wetness, slurping every drop with relentless hunger. The overstimulation sent your body reeling, your clit already so unbearably sensitive that the moment his tongue slid upward to wrap around it, your pussy pulsed against his mouth, another orgasm crashing through you before you could stop it.

He looked up at you with heavy lidded eyes, watching every twitch and shudder that overtook your body as you came around his mouth. 

You could see the way his cheeks hollowed with every slow suck on your clit, and somehow the sight of his discarded gun and badge lying carelessly on the floor beside him made the moment feel even dirtier—

A police officer on his knees, devotedly eating out the very thief he had caught.

Only when he was satisfied did he rise to his feet. His hand slipped into your hair, gently tugging you toward him until his lips claimed yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he kissed you with greedy desperation. Your eyelids grew heavy, your knees threatening to buckle again, your body barely able to remain upright.

You flinched when you felt his hardened cock brush against your inner thighs even as he continued kissing you, a wave of panic surging through your exhausted body. Your pussy already felt swollen and unbearably sensitive, every nerve still humming from the relentless orgasms he had pulled from you.

As though sensing the fear creeping into your expression, he let out a low chuckle, slowly pulling away from your lips to study your face.

"Aww, is my baby tired?" he cooed, the words dripping with mock honey as he nudged your chin upward. 

You shook your head, your body instinctively yielding to whatever he was going to do next.

The corner of his mouth twitched before he bit down on his lower lip, your quiet submission enough to make his cock throb.

"Kneel for me."

Your knees trembled beneath you as you slowly lowered yourself, a startled gasp escaping your lips the moment the swollen tip dragged a lazy streak of pre-cum across your cheek.

"Open up, baby…daddy's not done." he gathered your hair into one hand with a gentleness that belonged to a lover rather than the man standing before you, tilting your face toward his groin, a smile tugging at his lips that never quite reached the darkness in his eyes.

"Clean up the mess you made, hmm? Open wide for Officer."

The swollen head nudged past your lips, and a mock-pitying sigh slipped from him as your mouth slowly yielded around his cock, your tongue flattening instinctively beneath the weight before a helpless gag caught in your throat.

"There, there," he murmured, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your hair. "Suck nice and slow, pretty girl."

He began to rock his hips into your mouth in slow, shallow thrusts, while his free hand continued to pet your hair with a tenderness so painfully at odds with the degradation spilling from his lips.

"That's it, baby," he praised softly. "Tongue flat, like the dumb, cute slut you are."

He pushed his cock deeper until the swollen mushroom tip nudged the back of your throat, the prominent veins along his shaft dragging against the roof of your mouth with every slow thrust, the upward curve making each movement reach even deeper.

"I can give you everything you want, baby," he whispered, a groan slipping past his lips as his thrusts gradually became sloppier, his grip on your hair tightening with every push. Saliva gathered at the corners of your mouth as you fought the urge to choke, wet, muffled gargles escaping your throat each time he buried himself deeper. Your eyes burned, quickly turning red as tears pooled along your lash line.

He cradled your hair once more, the tenderness of the gesture clashing with the relentless pace of his hips.

"I can provide for you... spoil you with all of my money," he murmured, easing himself forward until your nose brushed against the coarse hair at his pelvis. 

He held your face snugly in place for a brief moment before slowly rolling his hips, then gently pulled you back just enough to let you catch your breath, his saliva-slick cock dragging across your flushed cheeks.

"Do you want that?" he asked, tilting his head as he lazily ground his cock against your swollen cheek.

You nodded eagerly, your tear-filled eyes never leaving his.

He chuckled, giving your cheek a light tap with the head of his cock. "Do you understand me, baby?"

You pouted…your cheeks burning red, your eyes swollen, your lips wet with his precum. 

“Mhm..” 

“Mhm?” he chuckled.

He bit his lower lip as he stared down at you, quietly admiring the mess he'd made. “Cute.” 

Without warning, he yanked your head forward until he was fully seated inside your mouth, your nose pressed into his pubic hair as his balls slapped against your chin with each shallow roll of his hips.

"Gurk—gurk—"

You choked around him, tears immediately spilling down your cheeks, but the only response he gave was a deep groan as he slowly began to fuck your face, each thrust forcing another muffled gargle from your throat.

"Fuck, baby...I'm gonna cum."

He pulled out just enough to lean down and spit onto your tongue before pushing his cock back into your mouth in one smooth thrust, the loose belt still hanging around your neck, its end dragging through the dirt every time your head was forced forward.

You gagged helplessly around him, your cheeks hollowing as your eyes rolled back, your head rocking back and forth with every relentless thrust while he used your mouth however he pleased. And when you felt his rhythm begin to falter, his thrusts growing rougher and increasingly sloppy, he suddenly pulled free with a low groan. Before you could even catch your breath, he hauled you to your feet, one arm wrapped firmly around your body as he guided his cock against your cunt, his other hand positioning himself before pushing his hard cock back into your tight hole.

“I’m gonna cum inside baby, a reward for being a good little toy for daddy.”

A broken cry escaped your lips as he buried himself to the hilt, his body shuddering the moment he came. Thick, warm spurts filled you one after another while your body trembled from the lingering overstimulation, his hips continuing to jerk and roll against yours as he emptied every last drop inside you.

"These are worth thousands, Y/N! Oh my God."

Hanni's eyes widened in utter disbelief, her gaze sweeping across the worn wooden table as though she couldn't decide which stolen treasure to look at first.

A thick leather wallet, its compartments stuffed with crisp bills. Heavy gold necklaces lay tangled together beside matching rings, each piece gleaming with the unmistakable richness of high-karat gold. A limited-edition watch rested nearby, its polished face catching the kitchen light with every slight movement. And a duffel bag overflowed with expensive perfumes, bottle after bottle worth more than most people's monthly salary.

A slow smile tugged at your lips as your gaze wandered over Jungkook's belongings scattered across the table.

You never told Hanni that you'd gotten caught. 

Instead, you let her believe everything had gone according to plan.

Desperation has a way of rewriting your morals. It convinces good people to cross lines they once swore they would never touch, somehow making it feel like the only choice left.

He had given you far more than you had ever planned on stealing.

Tucked beneath your bed, hidden inside an old shoebox, were stacks of cash and signed checks worth enough to keep you comfortable for a long while—buying you the time to find a better path for yourself.

You hadn't even told Hanni about them.

Not because you didn't trust her, but because you knew the moment she saw that kind of money, questions would follow. Questions you couldn't answer without admitting where it had come from. So you kept the cash hidden, the checks tucked safely beneath it, and carried the secret alone.

He still hadn't turned you over to the authorities, even though it was painfully obvious he'd known exactly what kind of person you were from the very beginning.

From the moment he'd let you reach for the clasp of his necklace, he'd already known.

No high-ranking police officer—especially not a captain…would've failed to notice what you were trying to do. He had seen through you from the very beginning, long before you'd ever managed to slip a single thing into your hands.

Why did he let you?

You smiled seductively, slipping the watch and wallet beneath your dress before taking another sip of your now-warm beer, your gaze lingering on your target, who was far too drunk to notice the way your attention had never truly been on him.

Perhaps you hadn't changed.

Because here you were, stealing again…chasing the same thrill, the same rush, while somewhere beneath every excuse you made for yourself, another reason quietly waited.

Maybe you wanted to see him again.

You left the crowded club with the stolen watch and wallet hidden beneath your dress, weaving through the lingering crowd until the music faded behind you. The cool night air greeted your flushed skin as you made your way toward the smoking area, where you and Hanni had agreed to meet.

You had been stealing for six months now. 

You managed to steal from a shopping mall, a restaurant, a boutique, and even a high-end store—your usual targets where men were rarely involved.

Tonight, you decided to try flirting again…attempting to seduce someone despite the fact that your only experience had been with him.

Before you could even pull out your phone to text Hanni, someone pushed you against the cold brick wall.

Familiar dark, round eyes stared back at you, the same pierced lips curled around a cigarette as smoke drifted lazily into the night. Tattooed arms caged you in on either side, leaving nowhere for you to go.

Your eyes widened.

Seeing him dressed in the crisp navy uniform of a police captain stole the air from your lungs. 

Gold captain's bars gleamed from the epaulets on his shoulders, while a polished metal badge rested proudly over his chest. His duty belt sat low around his waist, crowded with the familiar weight of handcuffs, a radio, holster, and the rest of the equipment that came with his authority. The neatly pressed fabric, the black tie tucked beneath the collar, the nameplate pinned above his pocket—it all transformed the man you remembered into someone far more intimidating.

Power looked infuriatingly good on him.

Before you could utter a single word, his left hand slipped under your dress. Your breath caught as his fingers found the watch and wallet strapped against your thigh with effortless precision.

“Looks like my baby didn't learn her lesson, hmm?”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

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[layover-mp7]

Nectar — Kim Taehyung

// 𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮’𝓼 𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓢𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵 //

a/n: i conjured this up just for you for vday and it is unholy but also so sweet and my heart is racing, enjoy ౨ৎ ⋆word count: ~2.7K theme: tae x fem!reader, spitting, choking, dom!tae, oral m receiving, roughness/forcefulness, male overstimulation (he fucks you through his orgasm until you cum asdfhjklll) sweet aftercare, forbidden romance? + other good stuff

Summary: after several drinks on a night off, Tae snuck over to your hotel room to see you. The two of you were a strict secret, but his drunk self couldn’t help himself.

౨ৎ⋆ ｡⋆𐙚⋆.˚₊⊹♡

You rolled over, scrolling your phone aimlessly. 11:44pm, February 14. You glanced over at the bouquet of flowers anonymously delivered to your room and smiled. You knew who they were from, though it came with no note. It was a sweet gesture, though you and Taehyung have only been seeing each other for about a month.

You were laying in your hotel bed in only your PJ shirt when there was a knock at your door. It took you by surprise, you weren’t needed at work until early tomorrow morning and the boys were still drinking and hanging out in Jimin’s room. Through the peephole, you saw Taehyung with his arm leaned against the doorframe, glancing down the hall as if to make sure nobody saw him arrive at your door.

You pried the door open just enough to talk to him, aware of your half-dressed state.

“Taehyung? What are you—,”

“Y/N,” he murmured as he pushed the door open and welcomed himself inside. “Baby.”

Before you could ask him, he stumbled towards you and grabbed your face with both hands, smashing his lips into yours. His mouth danced against yours out of rhythm, a clear symptom of his inebriation, but the force of his kiss was strong, imposing. His mouth tasted like beer and soju.

“You looked so good today,” he murmured into the kiss. “Left too soon.” He picked you up and guided your legs to wrap around his waist as he carried you to the bed.

“Tae, it’s so late—“

“I know, the most romantic day of the year and I couldn’t even get you alone for a minute”, he mumbled, kissing you between words. His one hand held your thigh against his waist while his other held your lower back, dipping you slightly with every kiss.

“The flowers were sweet,” you pulled back for a moment with a smile, stroking his cheek. “You didn’t have to come sneak ou—“ He cut you off, muffling you with a kiss.

“This isn’t for you. This is for me,” he said, voice heavy. He was quick to glide a hand under your shirt, giving your breast a tight squeeze. His grip on your wrist tightened as he brought your hand to the button of his jeans.

“I’ll keep it quick. Just wanted to get a glimpse of my favourite view before the night was over.” His words slurred but he spoke with conviction, his eyes glazed over. He placed you on the bed before roughly tearing his button fly open. He slid his jeans down, and the tip of his already hard cock peeked out from the waistband of his boxers, glistening with pre cum. He lowered his boxers enough to reveal himself completely. Your mouth watered and he noticed, letting out a scoff as he pushed his hair back to look down at you.

“Come here,” he commanded, pushing your head down towards his cock, the warmth radiating off of his hard on. “Let me fuck that pretty mouth.”

You hardly had time to process before your lips parted forcefully, his thick cock filling your mouth. Despite being caught off guard, you moaned as he pushed himself in. Your tongue glided over the vein that ran along the underside of his dick, and he let out a guttural groan. He watched you as you swirled your tongue over his tip, letting it hit and poke at your pouting lips, just to tease him a little bit. Your eyes held his gaze as you batted your eyelashes, cooing at the tip of his dick.

“Mmm, none of that.” He put his hand on the nape of your neck, securing a firm grip on your hair and forced your head down onto him more. You gagged at the size of him, and it only fueled him more. He snapped his hips towards you, forcing himself down your throat, each thrust going a few centimetres deeper. Tears quickly formed in your eyes as all you could do was hold your mouth open and take it: he left you with no way out. The sound of you choking was bliss, Tae dropped his head back, enjoying the sloppy sensation and the feeling of control.

“Mmm yeah. That’s it.” He spoke up towards the the ceiling, his eyes closed and head back, biting down into the corner of his bottom lip.

You felt like you were going to gag—hard. A hand flew up to press against his bare stomach, a cry for help, a signal to stop. He looked down at you, head tilted to one side, and gave you a few more deep face fucks before he pulled out. Saliva dribbled out of your mouth as you coughed, gasping for air. You could barely catch your breath when you felt a firm hand around your neck. Taehyung’s grip tightened on your neck as he commanded you to sit up on your knees, pulling you around like a dog. He licked your dripping saliva up from your chin, before glaring at you.

“Who said you get to stop?” He growled. He raised his hand and gave you a firm but commanding smack across your cheek. You yelped, not in pain but in pleasure. Tae knew you loved being manhandled and he loved doing it for you. His hand on your cheek slid down to your neck and held you firmly as his thumb pressed firmly on your chin, prying your mouth open.

He leaned in, hovering over your face and studied your lips for a moment, before spitting his warm saliva directly into your mouth. He licked your lower lip, before letting you close your mouth. “Swallow.”

You moaned and swallowed his warm saliva, before instinctually opening your mouth again. Tae’s hand on your neck tightened as he held your mouth open, groaning at the view.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, before opening his mouth and letting another pool of saliva drip slowly into your mouth this time. “You love all of me, don’t you baby. Even my fucking spit. You dirty girl.” Tae’s mouth crashed down onto yours, his tongue granting itself entry into your mouth, licking you out like it was your trembling, wet pussy. His strong jaw opening and closing against your mouth like he was a feral animal feasting.

“Mm, I’m going to fuck you now.” He grabbed your hips and forced you down on your back, crawling over you. “You’re going to take it all until I’m done with you, huh?”

“Yes, Tae.” You opened your legs wider for him to enjoy, looking up at him like the obedient girl you are.

Taehyung held your thigh open as he guided himself in. The head of his cock just barely dipped into you, and you let out a preemptive gasp. He looked up at you.

“Let me hear you beg for me.” His thighs and v-line were flexed as he looked down at you, those eyes melting all senses of control in you.

“Please, just—“

“Beg for it or I’ll leave you here like this.”

You let out a sweet sigh. “Taehyungie. Please.”

He pressed his hips forward, going in another inch.

“Mm, go on.”

“Mmm, more please, please,” you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him slowly enter your warmth.

“Speak up,” he said with a nod. He slid himself in another inch, watching you tense up at the sensation.

“Tae, please, I want you so badly.” Your desperation thrilled him. He pulled his lips into a coy smile.

“You’re my little secret, aren’t you? You act so polite and sweet at work, but look at you.” He stretches you out with another inch.

“Tae, yes, mhm, I’m all yours,”

“You’re my dirty girl, no one else does this for you, huh? Nobody else gets to wreck you like I do.”

“Nobody ever could,” you said sweetly, coaxing him to give you more.

Satisfied, he delved into you fully, all his length stretching you out like he was trying to break you. The two of you let out a breathy moan, and he began to pick up the pace. You whined as he filled you completely, knocking your sensitive spot with ease.

“Nobody could, huh?” He smirked as he continued to fuck you.

He took both your hands in his and held them above your head, pinning you down with his strong arm. He nudged your head to the side, licking and kissing your neck. His lips gently suckled on the skin above your collarbone, pausing with little wet licks in between. You moaned louder, lifting your neck more towards his mouth, begging for more suction.

“Hnng, no evidence, angel,” he said with a smirk. “We both know better than that.”

You whimpered at the denied request, his cock still sliding in and out of you at expert pace. With a raised eyebrow, Tae pulled out for a moment before flipping you over. The cold sheets pressed against your stomach as his hand gave your ass a smack.

Taehyung tangled his fingers in your hair and wrapped it around his hand, holding you firmly as if you were tied by a rope. He pulled your hair to get a glimpse of your face, contorted in pleasure as he continued tormenting you. You couldn’t even open your eyes, you were so focused on the sensation of him railing you, every groove and vein of his cock imprinting itself inside you. You saw stars as he rocked his hips against yours, ramming your g spot mercilessly. Your moans grew louder as the room was filled only with sounds of you, him, and the crude slapping sounds of him abusing your cunt.

“That’s right, let me see how good I make you feel,” he rasped. His lower core tightened on the brink of orgasm. “I’m going to cum soon, baby. Now tell me how you want it.”

You cried out in desperation. “Oh, please, I want you to cum in me, fill me up, I’m yours Tae.”

He let out a cocky laugh.

“Yeah, huh? Want me to fill your sweet pussy with my cum? My pretty little slut wants it?” His voice came out sharp almost mean.

Through tearful eyes, you turned your head just enough to look at him directly.

“I’m your little cum dumpster, Tae, please please use me up,” you cried.

Those words were enough for him to release. His grip on your hair tightened as he let out a low, pornographic moan, and you felt him twitch inside of you before a warmth washed over your insides. His pace faltered as you felt his ropes shoot inside of you, pulsing, twitching inside of you.

“Hnng, you’re so fucking hot,” he groaned, as he picked up pace again. You thought he would slow down and stop so you could breathe, but he persisted.

“Great job, baby. But I’m not stopping until you cum.” You whined as he continued fucking you. His middle and ring finger slid through your wet folds, finding your swollen clit so easily.

You turned your head and laid your face down into the duvet so you could get a glimpse of him. And what a fucking sight.

Taehyung’s eyes were shut, brows furrowed, very clearly fighting back against his own overstimulation. His lower lip was pinched under his teeth, chewing his lower lip desperately as he almost winced at how good you were milking him. A few boyish, desperate whines fell from his lips as he dropped his head forward, like he was struggling to finish a set at the gym.

You were mesmerized, watching him whimper like a dog as he fucked you through his own climax to let you approach your orgasm, his fingers working quickly against your clit, his toned abs and v-line glistening with sweat. That was all you needed to see to finish.

“Tae, I’m—i’m cumming,” you spluttered before euphoria ripped through your whole body. Your toes curled as you screamed out in pleasure, your limbs turning to jello. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, the pleasure was too much that a few tears escaped your eyes. It wasn’t until you desperately tapped at his thigh behind you before he relented, slowing down the pace and eventually stopping his torture.

Your body couldn’t hold itself up, you collapsed your top half into the mattress as your chest rose and fell heavily.

“Good girl, you did so well.” Tae breathed heavily, sweat stuck to his forehead. His arms wrapped around you and he laid over you, careful as to not crush you. His fingers stroked your hair slowly, thumb gently petting your temple. He gently rolled the two of you over so he could reach the tissue box on your nightstand.

“Let’s clean you up princess,” he smirks, placing a soft kiss on your spine. You fluttered at the sensation. He propped himself up, slowly sliding his semi hard cock out of you. A waterfall of white, sticky fluid dribbled out of you, running down your thigh and dripping onto his awaiting fingers. He collected the nectar on his finger tips, and swiped his fingers slowly through your fold once more. You trembled at his touch.

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” His eyes were focused on the mess he made, like you were a juicy ripe fruit. You crinkled your nose in embarrassment, turning your face away from him as he expertly wiped you clean, careful to not overstimulate you again. When he was done with you, he gave himself a quick wipe before standing up off your bed.

Taehyung pulled his jeans back on, then his shirt, curtaining his delicious body again. You watched him in the dim light, desperate to drink up the sight of him like this before morning came.

Taehyung walked over and took a bottle of water out of the mini fridge before uncapping it and pressing it to your lips.

“Drink,” he requested with his head tilted to one side. “I don’t want you getting light-headed.”

You obliged, letting him bottle feed you a few sips of chilled water, the sensation instantly soothing your semi sore throat.

You laid sprawled out under the covers, the pillows sinking in around you, cocooning you in the sheets. You watched quietly as Taehyung walked over to your desk, his back to you.

“Nice flowers,” he says, with a proud little smile on his face. He sets something down next to the vase with a soft thud.

“What is that?” You mumbled, and lifted your head off the pillow slightly, squinting through the dark at what looked like a small jewelry box on the desk.

“Never mind that, baby. Open it tomorrow,” Taehyung chuckled as he turned back towards you and picked up your hand. He placed a sweet kiss against your knuckles.

“See you tomorrow, darling. Don’t worry about meeting me in the morning anymore, I’m just going to go work out. Get enough rest, sleep well”, he said softly, stroking his thumb lightly over your knuckles.

“Stay the night”, you murmured, squeezing his hand. You knew it wasn’t a smart idea, but you were too sleepy and blissed out to care about real world consequences.

He paused for a moment, and then removed his shirt again and lifted the covers. You hummed as he slid in next to you, pressing his warm bare chest into your back and wrapping his arm around your waist. He peppered soft kisses on your shoulder and pushed your hair out of your eyes. The two of you laid there in calm silence, the air feeling warm but safe.

Outside of this room, you two were colleagues, more so, he was like your boss. You two were friendly, but strictly professional. He wouldn’t dare touch you, stand too close to you, or stare at you for too long.

But now, in this bubble, he was your protector, your guardian, and you could be vulnerable around him. These thoughts floated through your mind as you let out a soft sigh in peace. Tae laid next to you but his eyes were half open, watching you rest.

“You’re so special to me, pretty girl. Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered softly into your neck, planting a sweet kiss behind your ear. A soft smile remained on your face as you drifted off to sleep, feeling warm, hazy, safe.

You were almost completely asleep about twenty minutes later as you heard the door click shut, as Taehyung slipped out of your hotel room, back into the real world.

౨ৎ⋆ ｡⋆𐙚⋆.˚₊⊹♡

please I’m SCREAMING into my pillow this is all I’ve ever dreamed of

[cherrygkoo]

정국 - RAW | oneshot

the one where you convince your boyfriend to try that stupid tiktok trend - eating sushi off his bicep - only for the sushi not to be the rawest thing caught on camera that night.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: established relationship au, porn with plot, smut, fluff (mdni!)

word count: 8,089

warnings/tags: 18+, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie!, multiple orgasms (like... three), dirty talk, praise kink, degradation, recording/filming (the phone is basically a third character), food play (sushi on nipples, sushi on biceps, sushi everywhere), oral sex (f. and m. receiving), breast play (he fucks her tits and it's messy), clit stimulation (so much blowing on it, rubbing, tonguing), fingering, grinding and dry humping, squirting (she literally gushes everywhere), cum play (eating sushi mixed with cum, sucking her own fluids off him), hair pulling/fisting, lip biting, hickies/marking, second person pov, rich miami aesthetic, tiktok trends gone wrong (or right), that lip ring doing damage, "i fucking love you" ending, soft aftercare

a/n: I was in the process of writing chapter 3 for my jungkook series "purple tears I cry," and a certain sushi scene made me think of this that I just had to write a whole separate oneshot smut for it. this is genuinely nasty, please read at your own risk! hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think of it... don't forget to reblog <3

The Miami humidity clings to your skin the moment you step out of the Uber, but the restaurant's AC hits like a wall of relief, crisp and expensive-smelling, all yuzu and polished wood and money. Nobu. Of course he chose Nobu. You catch your reflection in the dark glass doors, your teal dress catching the neon glow from the street, the silk clinging to the curve of your hips in a way that makes Jungkook's hand tighten at your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you who you belong to tonight.

Your hair is up, mostly, a messy twist that took you forty minutes to make look effortless, two strands curling against your collarbones like they have a mind of their own. Your skin glows, sun-kissed and dewy, and you feel his eyes on you, always on you, as the hostess leads you to the corner booth. You make sure to sway your hips a little more than necessary because you know he's watching, know his gaze is fixed on the way the silk shifts over your ass.

He's wearing a white button-up - one that should look innocent, corporate, boring, except he's left the first five buttons undone, and the fabric gapes open to reveal the hard plane of his chest, the ink that spills over his shoulder and disappears beneath the cotton. His lip ring catches the low light when he smiles at you, silver glinting against his mouth, and something low in your stomach tightens because you know exactly how that metal feels against your throat, your breastbone, the inside of your thigh. You know how it feels when he drags it down your stomach, when he looks up at you with those dark eyes while he tongues you open.

You slide into the booth and immediately pull out your phone, propping it against your water glass, angling it just so. The red recording light blinks to life. Jungkook raises an eyebrow but says nothing, just settles across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table, his foot hooking around your ankle to pull you closer.

"Documenting the experience?" he asks, his voice low, rough, the kind of voice that makes you think of hotel sheets and sweat and the way he sounds when he's inside you.

"Memories," you say, but your eyes drop to his mouth, to the silver ring there, and you know he sees it, knows exactly what you're thinking. You adjust the phone slightly, making sure the frame catches both of you, the candlelight, the way his shirt falls open when he leans back.

The server arrives with menus you don't need because you already know what you want, what you always want here. But Jungkook takes his time, asks questions about the omakase, the wine pairings, his voice smooth and deliberate while his shoe slides up your calf beneath the table, pushing the silk of your dress higher, higher, until it brushes the back of your knee and you have to bite your lip to keep from making a sound.

"Spicy tuna," you manage, your voice breathier than you intended, and Jungkook's eyes darken because he knows, he always knows what he's doing to you.

"Two orders," he says to the server, not looking away from you. "And sake. The good stuff."

The sake arrives in a ceramic flask, and he pours for you, his fingers brushing yours as you take the cup, and you make sure to let your tongue linger on the rim when you drink, watching his jaw tighten, watching his gaze drop to your mouth. You set the cup down and lean forward, the neckline of your dress gaping just enough, and you see his eyes flick down, see his throat work as he swallows.

"You're playing with me," he murmurs, and his shoe presses harder against your leg, insistent.

"Maybe you're playing with me," you counter, and you kick off your heel under the table, let your bare foot find his thigh, slide up, up, until you're pressing against the hard outline of him through his trousers, and he hisses, his hand gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white.

"Careful," he warns, but his hips shift, pressing into your touch, and you smile, sweet and dangerous.

"Or what?"

The spicy tuna arrives like art, ruby-red and glistening, arranged on black slate with edible flowers you won't eat. You take the first piece with your fingers because fuck the chopsticks, and Jungkook's gaze tracks the movement, watches your lips close around the fish, the rice, the wasabi that burns just enough. You moan, deliberately, because you know what it does to him, and his jaw tightens, that muscle jumping beneath the skin, his hand disappearing beneath the table where you know he's adjusting himself.

"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked already, ruined, and you haven't even started.

"So good," you say, and you take another, and another, each time making sure to lick your fingers after, slow, obscene, your eyes locked on his. You can see the flush spreading up his neck, can see the way his chest rises and falls faster than it should, the open shirt showing too much skin, the tattoo peeking out, and you want to trace it with your tongue, want to mess up his hair and ruin his composure right here in this restaurant full of people who think they're being subtle about watching you.

You lean back, your foot still working him beneath the table, and you reach for your phone, checking the angle, making sure it's still recording. You tilt it slightly to catch more of him, the candlelight catching the silver in his lip, the way his eyes look black with want.

"Say hi to the camera," you tease, and he does, his voice rough, his smile sharp and predatory.

"Hi, camera," he says, and then, lower, just for you, "Can't wait to see what you do with this footage later."

You take another piece of tuna and hold it out across the table, an offering, a test. He leans forward, never breaking eye contact, and takes it from your fingers with his teeth, his tongue brushing your fingertips, hot and wet, and you feel it everywhere, feel it between your legs where you're already aching, already soaked through your underwear.

"Jungkook," you breathe, and he catches your wrist, holds it, sucks your fingers into his mouth one by one, cleaning them, his tongue swirling around each digit while the restaurant noise fades to nothing and there's only him, only this, only the wet heat of his mouth and the promise of what comes after.

"You're killing me," he murmurs against your palm, his lips brushing the sensitive skin at your wrist, and you shiver, your foot still pressed against his hard length, feeling him throb even through the fabric.

"Good," you whisper. "Suffer."

You eat slowly, deliberately, drawing out every bite, every sip of sake, every moment of his foot tracing patterns on your calf, his knee pressing between your thighs under the table. You talk about nothing, everything, your voice light while your body screams for him, while you watch the sweat bead at his hairline, watch him shift in his seat, uncomfortable and hard and yours.

By the time you're full, stuffed, the silk of your dress feels tighter across your ribs, and you lean back with a groan, hand on your stomach, your foot finally retreating from his lap. He exhales, shaky, and adjusts himself again, not subtle, not caring who sees, and you love him like this, undone, desperate, ready to drag you out of here and fuck you in the Uber if he has to.

"I can't," you say, patting your stomach. "I'm gonna burst."

Jungkook smirks, that dangerous smirk that means trouble, that means you're in for it the second you get back to the hotel. "Shame. I like watching you eat."

"Pervert."

"Your pervert."

You flag down the server, ask for a takeout box, and Jungkook pays without looking at the check, just slides his card across the table like the amount doesn't matter, because it doesn't, not to him, not to either of you tonight. You pocket your phone, the recording still running, capturing everything, capturing the way he stands and offers you his hand, the way he pulls you against him in the elevator, his mouth at your ear.

"You're going to pay for that," he whispers, and you shiver, feel his hand slide down to grip your ass, squeezing hard.

"Promise?"

The hotel suite is all white and marble and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, dark now, just a black expanse beyond the glass. You kick off your heels, your feet sinking into carpet that probably costs more than your first car, and you collapse onto the sectional, pulling out your phone, scrolling through the footage while he pours himself a drink at the mini bar, his back to you, the white shirt pulling across his shoulders, the tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve.

TikTok. Endless, brainless TikTok to wind down.

A couple on a beach. A dance trend you don't care about. A recipe for something with feta cheese.

Then: a girl, pretty, blonde, sitting cross-legged on a bed in what looks like a generic hotel room. Her boyfriend beside her, shirtless, flexing his bicep. The girl grins at the camera, then at him, and unwraps a sushi roll, places it on the hard curve of his muscle, and leans down to take it with her teeth. The comments are screaming. The views are in the millions.

You stare at the screen.

You stare at the takeout box on the coffee table.

You stare at Jungkook, who's pouring himself a drink, his back to you, the white shirt still open, showing too much skin, the lip ring catching the light when he turns his head.

Enlightenment.

You set your phone down. Stand. Cross the room on bare feet, silent, predatory. He hears you, turns, glass halfway to his lips, and you pluck it from his hand, set it on the marble counter with a clink that sounds like a promise.

"Take your shirt off," you say.

His eyebrow arches, that lip ring catching the light again. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." You reach for the takeout box, open it, the spicy tuna still perfect, still glistening, and you can feel him watching you, confused and curious and already getting hard because he always gets hard when you use that tone, that minx tone, the one that means you're about to ruin him.

He sets the glass down. Undoes the remaining buttons slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours. The shirt falls open, then off, and he's bare in front of you, all golden skin and ink and muscle that makes your mouth water. You step closer, close enough to feel the heat coming off him, and you press your palm to his chest, right over his heart, feeling it thud against your hand.

You set your phone down on the marble counter, angling it just so, the red recording light blinking like a heartbeat in the dim room. You want this captured, want the lens to swallow every moment of what comes next, want to watch it later and feel the heat crawl up your neck all over again. Jungkook's eyes flick to the device, understanding dawning dark and dangerous in his gaze, and when he looks back at you, something has shifted. The playful tension from the restaurant has evaporated, replaced by something heavier, hungrier, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You lean in, your hair falling forward, those two dark strands brushing his shoulder like silk curtains framing the moment. You don't go for the sushi yet. You press your mouth to his throat first, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to make him groan deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your lips. His hand comes up to tangle in your updo, disheveling it further, fingers tightening in your hair until your scalp sings with the sting of it. You lick the salt from his skin, taste the cologne at his pulse point, the musk of him underneath, and you feel him shudder beneath your mouth, feel the sushi roll shift against your cheek as he breathes ragged and wrecked.

"You're insane," he murmurs, but his voice is already ruined, gravel and velvet, and you smile against his neck, teeth grazing his tendon, feeling his cock twitch against your hip through his trousers.

"Wait until you see what comes after the appetizer," you whisper, and finally, finally, you turn your head and take the sushi between your teeth, your eyes locked on his, watching him watch you, watching the way your lips close around the rice and fish, the way your throat works as you swallow, and the sound he makes is animal, guttural, something torn from deep in his chest that makes your thighs clench together with nothing but air between them.

He moves before you can even taste the wasabi. His hands find your waist and he's lifting you, setting you down on the cool marble counter like you weigh nothing, like you're something to be arranged, positioned, consumed. The stone bites against your bare thighs where your dress rides up, and you gasp, but the sound is swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours, the metal of his lip ring pressing hard into your flesh, cold and burning all at once. He tastes like sake and want and the promise of destruction, and you open for him, let him take, let him plunder your mouth with a desperation that makes your head spin.

"Look at you," he breathes against your jaw, his teeth dragging down your throat, sharp and claiming. "Look at you, playing with fire, recording this, thinking you're in control."

His hands find the thin straps of your teal dress, silk whispering against your skin like a secret. He doesn't rush. He takes his time, sliding the straps down your shoulders with agonizing slowness, his eyes tracking every inch of exposed flesh, his pupils blown wide and black with desire. The silk catches on your nipples for a heartbeat, clinging, teasing, and then it falls, smooth as water, pooling at your waist, and you're bare for him, your breasts heavy and full, nipples tight and aching in the cool hotel air, no barrier between his gaze and your skin.

He stares. The silence stretches, thick and electric, and you feel beautiful, powerful, laid out like a feast on this marble altar. His throat works, his hand coming up to cup you, weigh you, his thumb dragging across your nipple so slowly you whimper, arching into his touch.

"No bra," he observes, his voice rough, almost reverent. "You were planning this. Walking around that restaurant with nothing under this dress, teasing me, letting me wonder."

"I wanted you to wonder," you admit, your voice breathless, broken. "I wanted you to think about it all night."

"Evil," he murmurs, and then he's bending his head, his mouth closing over your nipple, hot and wet and devastating, and you cry out, your hands flying to his hair, gripping tight as he sucks, as his tongue circles and flicks and drives you mindless. He moves to the other breast, giving it the same worship, the same relentless attention, and you're squirming on the counter, your hips rolling, seeking friction, seeking him.

He pulls back with a wet sound that makes you blush even as you moan for more. His eyes are dark, predatory, the playful boyfriend from the restaurant gone, replaced by something that looks at you like you're prey, like you're his to ruin.

"Bed," he commands, his voice leaving no room for negotiation, no room for anything but obedience. "Now. On your back."

You slide off the counter, your legs shaky, the silk of your dress catching on your hips as you move. You cross to the bed, each step feeling like you're walking through honey, through heat, your body thrumming with anticipation. You climb onto the white sheets, the fabric cool against your heated skin, and you lie back, your breasts falling to the sides, heavy and aching, your hair spilling across the pillows in waves.

He follows you, stalking across the room with a predator's grace, all bare chest and ink and the hard outline of his cock straining against his trousers. He stops at the foot of the bed, his eyes raking over you, devouring you, and then he reaches for your phone still sitting on the counter, brings it with him, sets it on the nightstand angled perfectly to capture everything, the red light blinking like a third heartbeat in the room.

"Keep it recording," he says, not a request but a decree. "I want you to watch this later. I want you to see what you look like when you're being fucked properly."

He undoes his belt with slow, deliberate movements, the leather hissing as he pulls it free, the metal clinking as he drops it to the floor. His trousers follow, and his underwear, and then he's naked, glorious, his cock thick and heavy and curving up toward his stomach, the tip already wet with arousal, the veins along the shaft prominent and pulsing. You can't help but stare, can't help but lick your lips at the sight of him, at the thought of taking him inside you, anywhere, everywhere.

He climbs onto the bed, crawling up your body like a storm rolling in, all dark intent and coiled power. He doesn't touch you where you want him most, not yet. Instead, he straddles your chest, his knees settling on either side of your ribs, his hands bracing on the headboard above you, caging you in, trapping you beneath him. You can smell him, musk and sweat and something uniquely Jungkook, can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the weight of him hovering above you.

"Look at you," he breathes, his hand coming down to grip himself, to stroke once, twice, the sight obscene and mesmerizing. "Look at these perfect tits. Do you know how many times I've thought about this? About fucking them? About painting you with my cum?"

You whimper, arching up, and he takes that as invitation, as permission. He leans forward, guiding himself down, the hot, heavy weight of his cock settling into the valley between your breasts, skin against skin, velvet over steel. He groans, long and low, his head falling back, the column of his throat working as he begins to move.

He starts slow, rocking his hips, sliding himself through your cleavage, the friction making him hiss, making his abs tighten and flex with each thrust. You press your breasts together, creating a tighter channel for him, and he groans your name like a prayer, like a curse, his pace quickening, his hips snapping faster, harder. The head of his cock peeks out from between your breasts with each forward thrust, glistening and flushed, and you crane your neck, wanting to taste, wanting to lick the salt from his skin, but he pulls back just enough to deny you, a wicked smile playing at his lips.

"Greedy," he pants, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm, his control fraying at the edges. "So fucking greedy for it. You want this? Want me to cum all over you? Mark you?"

"Yes," you gasp, your own arousal spiraling tight and hot between your legs, the sight of him using you, losing himself in your body, driving you wild. "Yes, please, Jungkook, please-"

He breaks. His hips stutter, his hand gripping the headboard so tight his knuckles go white, and he comes with a shout that sounds torn from his soul, thick ropes of cum spilling across your chest, your throat, marking you, claiming you in the most primal way. He keeps thrusting through it, milking himself, his cock twitching against your skin, until he's spent, until he's trembling above you, his chest heaving, sweat gleaming on his inked shoulders.

The silence that follows is broken only by your ragged breathing, by the wet sounds of him still sliding against your cum-slicked skin. He looks down at you, at the mess he's made of you, and his eyes flash with something dark and satisfied, something possessive.

"Beautiful," he whispers, his hand coming down to smear the evidence of his pleasure across your breasts, your nipples, making you glisten with him. "So fucking beautiful."

He reaches over to the takeout box still sitting on the counter, forgotten until now, and retrieves another piece of spicy tuna, the fish still cool, still perfect. He brings it to your chest, and you watch, breathless, as he places it carefully on top of your nipple, the sushi resting there like an offering, like sacrilege.

He bends his head, his eyes locked on yours, and takes the sushi between his teeth, his tongue dragging across your nipple as he does, hot and wet and filthy, sucking the fish and your flesh together, the combination of sensations making you cry out, making your back arch off the bed. He chews slowly, savoring, his hand coming up to palm your other breast, his thumb circling your nipple, spreading his own release across your skin in obscene patterns.

When he swallows, he surges up, his mouth crashing against yours with a ferocity that steals your breath, his tongue thrusting deep, sharing the taste of tuna and salt and him, his teeth catching your lower lip, the metal of his piercing dragging against your sensitive flesh. He kisses you like he's starving, like he wants to consume you whole, like the camera isn't even there, like the world has narrowed down to just this, just you, just the wet heat of his mouth and the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

"Mine," he growls against your lips, the word vibrating through your chest, through your bones. "Say it."

"Yours," you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging crescents into his inked skin. "I'm yours, Jungkook, I'm-"

He cuts you off with another kiss, deeper, harder, his hand sliding down your body, beneath the silk of your dress still pooled at your waist, finding where you're wet and aching and ready, and you know this is only the beginning, know that the night is long and the camera is still rolling and he's nowhere near finished with you.

He pulls back from the kiss with a wet, filthy sound that echoes in the quiet room, his eyes dark and glittering with intent. His hand is still between your legs, his fingers spreading your wetness in slow, teasing circles, and you arch into his touch, desperate, needy, your hips rolling to chase more friction.

"Give me the phone," he commands, his voice rough as gravel, as velvet, as something dangerous wrapped in silk.

You reach for it with trembling fingers, the device still warm from where it sat recording, and you hand it to him, your breath catching as he takes it, as he adjusts the angle, as he points the lens down at you like he's directing a film where you're the only star.

"Look at you," he murmurs, the camera capturing everything, capturing the flush spreading down your chest, the way your breasts rise and fall with each ragged breath, the sheen of sweat and his release still glistening on your skin. "Look at this fucking body. Do you see what I see? Do you see how perfect you are?"

He shifts back on his knees, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, and he hooks his fingers in the silk of your dress still pooled at your waist. He pulls slowly, agonizingly slowly, the fabric sliding down your hips, your thighs, leaving you completely bare, completely exposed to the lens, to his gaze, to the hungry darkness in his eyes.

"Spread your legs," he orders, and you do, your knees falling open, your thighs trembling as the cool hotel air hits your heated core. You feel exposed, vulnerable, the camera recording every inch of you, the way your pussy glistens with arousal, swollen and pink and aching for him. He zooms in, the lens close enough to capture the details, the way you pulse with need, the way your thighs are already shaking with anticipation.

"Beautiful," he breathes, the word almost reverent, almost profane. "Look at this pretty pussy. So wet for me. So fucking ready."

He sets the phone down on the mattress, angled up at you both, the red light blinking steady and watchful. But then he's reaching for your hand, pulling you up, placing the device in your trembling grip.

"Hold it," he instructs, his voice dropping lower, filthier, his eyes locked on yours with a command that brooks no argument. "Record me. Don't you dare stop filming, understand? I want you to capture every second of this. I want you to watch later and see exactly what you do to me."

You nod, your throat too tight to speak, and you angle the camera down, your fingers shaking as you focus the lens on him, on where he's settling between your thighs like he belongs there, like he's coming home.

He looks up at you through his lashes, that silver lip ring catching the light, and he knows, he always knows what that piece of metal does to you. He runs his tongue over it slowly, deliberately, letting you watch the way it moves, the way it glints, and your breath hitches because you can feel it already, can imagine the cool metal against your overheated flesh.

"You like this?" he asks, his voice a purr, a promise, a threat. "You like watching me? Like knowing I'm about to wreck you with this mouth?"

"Yes," you whimper, the camera trembling in your grip as you hold it steady, as you capture every moment.

He starts at your knee, his mouth hovering, his breath hot against your skin. He blows, a gentle stream of air that makes you gasp, makes your leg jerk in his grip. He holds you steady, his fingers digging into your thigh, and he drags his lips up, up, not touching, just breathing, just letting you feel the ghost of him, the promise of him.

He reaches the crease where your thigh meets your hip and he pauses, his eyes flicking up to the camera, to you, holding your gaze as he blows again, right there, right where you're throbbing, where you're aching, where you're dripping for him.

"Please," you beg, your voice breaking, the camera shaking in your hand. "Please, Jungkook, please touch me-"

"Shh," he soothes, his breath washing over your clit, hot and cool and devastating. "I've got you. Be patient, pretty girl. Be good."

He blows again, directly on your clit this time, the sensation shocking, electric, making you cry out, your hips bucking off the mattress. He holds you down with one hand on your stomach, pinning you, controlling you, and he leans closer, closer, until you can feel his breath fluttering against your most sensitive flesh, until you're trembling, until you're sobbing with need.

"Look at the camera," he commands, his voice vibrating against your thigh. "Don't look at me. Look at the lens. Show them how pretty you are when you're desperate."

You force your eyes up, staring into the small black circle of the phone's camera, your vision blurred with tears, your mouth open, your chest heaving. You look wrecked, you know you do, you can see your reflection in the dark screen, can see the way your hair is tangled and wild, the way your lips are swollen and red, the way your body is flushed pink with arousal.

"Good girl," he praises, and then he finally, finally, touches you.

His tongue drags through your folds in one long, slow stroke, hot and wet and perfect, and you scream, the sound tearing from your throat, your hips bucking against his mouth. He groans against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and he does it again, and again, lapping at you like he's starving, like he wants to taste every drop of your arousal, like he could spend hours here, drowning in you.

He focuses on your clit, circling it with the flat of his tongue, then the tip, then flicking it, relentless, merciless, driving you higher and higher until you're panting, until you're chanting his name like a prayer, like a curse, until your thighs are trembling on either side of his head.

"So fucking loud," he murmurs against you, the words muffled, filthy. "Let them hear you. Let the whole fucking hotel hear what I'm doing to you."

He pulls back just enough to speak, his chin glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark and wild. "Keep recording. Don't you dare stop."

You nod frantically, your hand cramping around the phone, but you hold it steady, you keep the lens focused on him, on where he's watching you with predatory intensity.

He slides one finger inside you, slow and deliberate, curling it to find that spot that makes your vision white out, and you moan, long and loud, unable to help yourself. He adds a second finger, stretching you, filling you, and he starts to pump them in and out, his wrist twisting, his knuckles dragging against your walls in a way that makes you see stars.

"More," you gasp, your head falling back, but he clicks his tongue, sharp and reprimanding.

"Eyes on the camera," he reminds you, his voice stern, commanding. "Look at me through the lens. Show me that pretty face."

You force your head up, your neck trembling with the effort, and you stare into the camera, your eyes wide and glassy, your mouth open as you pant. He adds a third finger, the stretch burning so perfectly you sob, your hips rolling to meet his thrusts, and he starts rubbing your clit with his other hand, circling it in tight, relentless patterns while his fingers work inside you, while he crooks them to hit that spot, that perfect spot, over and over and over.

"You're taking three fingers so well," he praises, his voice dripping with filth, with pride. "Look at you, stuffed full, dripping down my hand. You love this, don't you? Love being watched, love being used, love being my little porn star."

"Yes," you cry out, the camera shaking as your orgasm builds, coiling tight and hot in your belly. "Yes, yes, Jungkook, please, I'm gonna-"

"Not yet," he cuts you off, his fingers stilling, his hand pulling away from your clit, leaving you hovering on the edge, desperate and whining. "Not until I say. Keep holding that camera. Keep recording. I want to see your face when you cum all over my tongue."

He dives back in, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue thrusting inside you, fucking you with wet heat while his thumb presses hard against your clit, rubbing in furious circles. The dual sensation is too much, overwhelming, devastating, and you're screaming now, loud and unrestrained, your voice raw as you chant his name, as you beg, as you plead for release.

"Jungkook, please, please, I can't, I need to-"

"Cum," he commands, the word vibrating against your core. "Cum for me now. Let me taste it. Let me drink you down."

He sucks your clit into his mouth, the metal of his lip ring pressing hard against the sensitive bud, and you break. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, like a storm, like something violent and beautiful and earth-shattering. Your back arches off the bed, your thighs clamping around his head, your hand spasming around the phone as you cry out, loud and broken and his, completely his.

He doesn't stop. He keeps licking, keeps sucking, drawing out your pleasure until you're shaking, until you're sobbing, until you're pushing at his shoulders because it's too much, too sensitive, too everything.

He finally pulls back with a wet, obscene sound, his chin dripping with your release, his eyes dark and satisfied and wild. He looks at the camera, looks directly into the lens where you're still recording, still capturing every filthy moment, and he licks his lips, slow and deliberate, savoring your taste.

"Delicious," he murmurs, the word dripping with innuendo, with promise. "My favorite meal."

He crawls up your body, his skin hot against yours, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that tastes like you, like him, like everything dirty and perfect and yours. The camera is still recording, still capturing, still blinking its red light in the dark room, and you know, you know this is a night you'll be watching back for years, a night that will never stop making you blush, making you ache, making you want.

"Good girl," he whispers against your lips, his hand tangling in your hair, his body heavy and warm above you. "You did so well. You held it the whole time."

He takes the phone from your trembling grip, checks the recording, a smug, satisfied smile playing at his lips. "Perfect angle. Look at you, pretty thing. Look how beautiful you are when you cum."

He shows you the screen, and you watch yourself, watch your face contort with pleasure, watch your body arch and shake, and you feel the heat crawl up your neck even as you feel yourself getting wet again, already wanting more, already wanting everything he has to give.

He pulls you up, his hands rough at your waist, flipping you until you're straddling him, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands braced on his inked chest. The sweat-slick slide of your skin against his is electric, devastating, and you can feel him hard and thick beneath you, pressing against your thigh, leaving wet trails of pre-cum against your skin.

"Come here," he growls, his hand fisting in your hair, pulling you down until your mouths crash together, teeth clicking, tongues tangling in a messy, desperate dance. He tastes like you, like sake, like the lingering spice of tuna and salt and sex, and you moan into his mouth, your hips rolling instinctively, grinding your soaked core against his rigid length.

"Fuck," he breathes against your lips, his hips bucking up to meet you, the friction making you both gasp. "Fuck, baby, you feel so good."

You reach for the takeout box still within arm's reach, your fingers trembling as you unwrap another piece of spicy tuna, the fish cool and glistening in the dim light. You break the kiss, sitting back on your heels, and his eyes track your movements, dark and questioning, until you lean forward and place the sushi directly on his nipple, the pink flesh peeking through the dark ink of his chest tattoo.

"Christ," he hisses, his head falling back against the pillows, his throat working as you bend down, your hair creating a curtain around you both.

You take the sushi between your teeth first, biting down, the flavor bursting across your tongue, but then you keep going, your mouth closing over his nipple, sucking hard, laving it with your tongue, the combination of cool fish and hot skin making him arch off the bed, his hand flying to your head, gripping tight.

"Oh fuck," he groans, long and low, the sound vibrating through his chest into your mouth. "Oh fuck, baby, fuck-"

You suck harder, your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, and he cries out, his hips jerking up, his cock sliding through your folds, bumping against your clit with each thrust of his hips. You release his nipple with a wet pop, looking up at him through your lashes, your lips swollen and glistening.

"You like that?" you purr, your voice dripping with filth, with power. "Like me eating off you? Like being my plate, my meal?"

"Yes," he pants, his eyes blown wide, his chest heaving. "Fuck yes, anything, everything-"

You start grinding in earnest, rolling your hips, sliding your soaked pussy along the length of his cock without letting him inside, teasing, torturing, your clit dragging against his rigid shaft with every movement. The friction is delicious, maddening, and you're both moaning, the sounds filling the room, raw and unfiltered.

"Oh fuck, baby," he chants, his hands gripping your waist, your hips, guiding your movements, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Oh fuck, just like that, just like that-"

You lean down, your breasts pressing against his chest, your mouth at his ear. "Feel how wet I am?" you whisper, your voice a dirty secret. "Feel how much I need you? I've been dripping for you all night, Jungkook. All fucking night."

"Shit," he groans, his hips stuttering, losing their rhythm. "Shit, you're gonna make me cum like this, make me-"

He reaches for the phone, his hand trembling as he angles it up at you, capturing the way you move above him, the way your body undulates like a wave, like something primal and ancient and devastatingly beautiful.

"Look at this," he murmurs, his voice wrecked, his eyes flicking between the screen and your face. "Look at you, grinding on me like a little slut, so desperate for it. You want this cock, baby? Want me to fill you up?"

"Yes," you whine, your movements becoming erratic, desperate. "Please, please, I need it, need you inside-"

He drops the phone to the mattress, the camera still recording, still capturing everything, and he grips your hips hard, lifting you, positioning you above him. You reach between your bodies, your hand wrapping around his thick length, guiding him to your entrance, and you sink down slowly, inch by inch, your head falling back, your mouth open in a silent scream as he stretches you, fills you, completes you.

"Fuck," you gasp, your hands braced on his chest, your nails digging crescents into his skin. "Oh fuck, Jungkook, you're so big, so-"

"Move," he commands, his voice guttural, his hands guiding your hips. "Ride me, baby. Show me how good you are."

You start to move, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles, feeling every inch of him drag against your walls, hitting places that make your vision blur. He keeps one hand on your hip, guiding you, controlling the pace, while the other reaches for your breast, palming the heavy weight, his thumb dragging across your nipple.

"The sushi wasn't the rawest thing tonight," he breathes, his eyes locked on yours, dark and possessive. "This is. You and me, like this, nothing between us. Just raw, filthy fucking."

You moan, your movements speeding up, your hips snapping down harder, taking him deeper, until he's hitting your cervix with each thrust, the stretch bordering on pain but feeling so perfect you can't stop. He grabs the phone again, angling it up at you, capturing your face contorted with pleasure, your breasts bouncing with each movement, the place where your bodies join, wet and obscene.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice reverent and filthy all at once. "Look at you, taking me so well. My perfect girl."

He flips you suddenly, his strength shocking, his movements fluid and predatory. You're on your back before you can process the shift, him settling between your thighs, his cock still buried deep inside you, his hands bracing on either side of your head.

"Recording," he commands, pressing the phone into your trembling hand. "Don't stop. I want you to see this. Want you to watch later and see exactly how I fuck you."

You hold it up, the lens focused on where your bodies meet, and he pulls out slowly, agonizingly slowly, until just the tip remains inside you, glistening with your combined arousal. He hovers there, teasing, and you whimper, your hips bucking up, seeking more.

"Quiet," he orders, his voice sharp. "Be quiet and listen. Listen to how wet you are for me."

He thrusts back in, hard and deep, and the sound is obscene, wet and filthy, your arousal squelching around him, the slap of skin against skin filling the room. You bite your lip to keep from screaming, your hand shaking as you hold the camera steady, capturing the way he pulls out and thrusts back in, over and over, the rhythm building, the sounds growing louder, wetter, more desperate.

He pulls out completely, his cock slapping against your stomach, wet and heavy, and he drags the head through your folds, bumping against your clit, circling it, teasing it with short, sharp jabs that make you cry out despite your best efforts to stay quiet.

"Please," you beg, your voice breaking. "Please, Jungkook, please fuck me, please-"

He lines himself up and thrusts back in, but this time he doesn't stop, doesn't slow, doesn't tease. He starts pounding into you, hard and fast and merciless, his hips snapping forward with a force that moves you up the bed, your head hitting the headboard with each thrust. He's fucking you like he hates you, like he loves you, like he wants to crawl inside your skin and never leave.

"Scream," he commands, his voice ragged, his hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, just reminding you who you belong to. "Let me hear you. Let the fucking city hear what I'm doing to you."

You scream. You can't help it, the pleasure is too intense, too overwhelming, building and coiling tight in your belly, your orgasm approaching like a freight train. He's recording your face, the camera capturing your mouth open in a silent scream, your eyes rolled back, tears streaming down your temples into your hair.

"That's it," he pants, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm as he chases his own release. "That's it, baby, cum for me, cum on my cock, let me feel you-"

You break. Your orgasm crashes through you, violent and beautiful, your pussy clamping down on him, milking him, and he groans, long and loud, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and thick and endless. But as you come, as your body convulses around him, something else happens, something wet and shocking, and you're squirting, actually squirting, your release gushing out around his cock, mixing with his cum, creating a mess of fluids that soaks the sheets, his thighs, drips down your ass.

"Holy shit," he breathes, his eyes wide and wild, the camera still recording, capturing the obscene flood of liquid, the way it glistens on his skin, the way your body continues to shake and convulse. "Holy fucking shit, baby, look at you, look at this-"

He pulls out slowly, his cock still half-hard, dripping with your combined release, and he holds it up, angling the camera to capture the mess, the way his cum mixed with your arousal drips from his shaft, thick and white and obscene.

"Suck it," he commands, his voice rough, his hand tangling in your hair. "Suck your cum off my cock. Clean me up, kitten."

You scramble down, your body still trembling from aftershocks, and you take him into your mouth, tasting yourself, tasting him, the mixture salty and musky and filthy. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard, your tongue swirling around his sensitive head, and he groans, his hand tightening in your hair.

"Fuck, yes," he pants. "My balls, kitten, suck my balls."

You pull back, your hand wrapping around his shaft, and you duck down, taking one testicle into your mouth, then the other, rolling them on your tongue, sucking gently while your hand works his length. He pulls your hair, guiding you, his hips bucking slightly, and then you pull back, kitten licking him, small, teasing laps at the head of his cock, your eyes looking up at him through your lashes, innocent and filthy all at once.

"Perfect kitten," he breathes, his voice wrecked, his eyes dark with renewed desire. "My perfect little kitten. Look at you, so eager, so good for me."

He starts fucking into your mouth, his hand guiding your head, his hips snapping forward, pushing his cock deep into your throat, and you relax, let him use you, let him take what he needs. He's relentless, his stamina shocking, and you can feel him swelling, feel him getting close again.

"I'm gonna cum," he warns, his voice strained. "Gonna cum again, baby, gonna-"

He thrusts deep and holds there, his cock pulsing, and he spills down your throat, hot and thick, more than you thought possible, more than should be human. You swallow, your throat working, your eyes watering, and when he finally pulls out, spent and trembling, you collapse back onto the pillows, laughing, the sound breathless and beautiful and disbelieving.

"I can't believe you had all that cum inside you," you marvel, your voice hoarse, your lips swollen and glistening. "That was... that was the third time?"

He collapses beside you, his chest heaving, his skin flushed and sweaty and marked by your nails, your teeth, your possession. He pulls you into his arms, his hand cradling your head against his chest, and you can hear his heart hammering, feel the rumble of his laughter.

"For you," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your hair. "Only for you, pretty girl. You drain me completely. You ruin me."

The phone is still recording somewhere on the bed, still capturing the aftermath, the sweat-slick mess of your bodies, the way you curl into each other like survivors of some beautiful storm. But for now, you just breathe, just exist in this moment of shattered, perfect aftermath, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest, his hand stroking lazy circles on your back.

He doesn't ask. He just moves, shifting off the bed with a grace that seems impossible for someone who just spent himself three times over. You hear water running in the bathroom, the sound of a cloth being wrung out, and then he's back, kneeling between your thighs with a warm, wet towel in his hand.

He cleans you slowly, carefully, his touch reverent where it had been ruthless before. He wipes away the mess of your combined release, the sweat, the evidence of everything you did together, and his eyes follow the path of the cloth with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He presses kisses to your inner thigh, your hip, your stomach, each one soft and lingering, worshipping you in a different language than the one he used when he was inside you.

When he's finished, he tosses the cloth aside and crawls up your body, his weight settling over you again, but different now, protective, cocooning. He finds your mouth, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that tastes like salt and love and exhaustion. He bites your bottom lip, catching it between his teeth, pulling slightly until you whimper, and then he releases you with a laugh, low and warm and vibrating against your skin.

"Beautiful," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw like he's memorizing you, like he's trying to commit every inch to memory. "You're so fucking beautiful. Do you know that? Do you know what you do to me?"

You smile, your hand coming up to tangle in his hair, still damp with sweat. "Show me," you whisper back.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you, his eyes dark and endless and full of something that makes your breath catch. He cups your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing over your swollen lips, and when he speaks, his voice is rough, stripped bare, nothing but truth.

"I fucking love you," he says. "I love you so much it scares me."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and real and perfect, and you pull him down, kiss him deep and slow, pouring everything you can't say into the movement of your lips against his.

The camera is still recording somewhere, still blinking its red light in the dark, but neither of you reach for it. Some moments are just for you. Just for this. Just for the two of you, tangled in white sheets in a Miami hotel room, sweating and spent and in love, the rawest thing either of you have ever known.

[kooklovee]

Uncut - JJK (m)

Jungkook’s newest obsession with vlogging turns into the two of you making your first sex tape together.

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - 18+ established relationship au, smut MDNI

wc -3.3k

Warnings - filming sex ofc, lotss of kissing, pet names, big d jk, marking, biting, oral f. and m. receiving, dom jk, fingering, breast play, unprotected sex, crying, praises, riding, missionary, cumming on body, rough sex, overstimulation, some filthy cum play, they're jst really cutee ((

a/n - every time I think I’ve already written the most filthiest thing I could, I somehow come up with something even more ridiculous 😔 oh n I also plan to post one more fic by this week hopefully!!

M.list | kofi☕

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The staff guides you to Jungkook’s room and leaves after opening the door for you. You gently push the door open and step inside to find Jin walking out from the living area. He breaks into a smile greeting you before telling how impatient Jungkook’s been waiting for you all day.

Your excitement dims a little when you realize your surprise clearly isn’t a surprise anymore making him laugh. He explains that Jungkook found out you were coming earlier in the morning from one of the staff.

You end up laughing while Jin leaves dramatically rambling about being fed up of Jungkook's camera. Needless to say that the world has been witnessing Jungkook’s current obsession in real time. For the past week he’s been recording absolutely everything.

Once the door clicks shut, you take off your shoes and sit on the edge of the bed.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opens. Jungkook steps out wearing a black tank top and black shorts. His hair is a little damp, water droplets slide down his neck and toned arms.

He holds his camera in his left hand absentmindedly checking the screen.

The moment his eyes land on you, you stand up and practically run to him. Jungkook drops the camera onto the nearby couch and catches you as you jump into his arms wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Fuck baby, I was waiting for so long,” he breathes against your neck inhaling your scent.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you pout lightly. “Jin oppa told me you already knew I was coming today.”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh and pulls back to look at your face.

“I can still act super surprised if you want."

You roll your eyes and your pout fades as he leans in and kisses you. The kiss quickly turns hungry as his lips move against yours with weeks of built-up longing.

Jungkook moves carrying you in his arms. One hand reaches out to place the camera on the stand in front of the bed, adjusting it quickly until it faces both of you properly.

A giggle slips from you immediately.

“New vlog?”

Jungkook grins against your lips.

"With your cameo.”

You shake your head fondly while he sits down on the edge of the bed with you straddling his lap. His hands slide down to grip your waist as the kiss grows nothing but more messier.

“I missed you so fucking much."

You pull back to reply the same. “I missed you too,” you take his cheeks between your hands before placing so many more of your kisses.

His hands roam around touching you everywhere. sliding down to grip your ass, then moving back up. “Your tour’s going really well,” you try speaking in between. “Everyone’s doing so good.”

Jungkook hums against your mouth, clearly distracted. His lips trail down to your neck sucking and biting hard enough to leave marks. you throw your head back, letting out a breathless moan.

His thumb brushes over your breasts, making you shiver.

and your eyes suddenly drift to the side.

“kook...” you breath out. “your camera..”

Jungkook slides his tongue deep into your mouth before pulling back to speak against it.

“What about it?”

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest. You both know exactly what’s happening. although you trust Jungkook with your entire soul, the idea of being recorded like this makes nervousness and arousal swirl together inside you.

“You want me to stop it?”

His fingers remain under your top as he waits for your answer.

You bite your lower lip with a little hesitation, but the heat in his eyes and the way your body is aching for him takes over and you slowly shake your head. Jungkook’s smirk is pure sin as he bites your earlobe.

“Good girl."

His hands pull you down harder against his growing erection. mouth crashing back onto yours. you kiss him back just as desperately, your hands sliding up to grip his biceps, feeling his new muscles flex under your fingers.

You start grinding slowly on him. the thin fabric of your pants rubs against him and you can feel everything.

You know he isn’t wearing anything underneath because you can feel the outline of his cock rubbing perfectly against your clit through your clothes.

“fuck... I missed you,” Jungkook’s words come out husky against your lips. “missed you so fucking much, baby.”

wet sounds fill the room as your tongues slide together. his palm is hot against your waist. the other squeezes your ass harder, encouraging you to grind down on his cock.

Jungkook pulls back to tug your top up. You lift your arms for him and he yanks it off. His eyes drop to your chest and his dick twitches at the sight of you wearing his new design.

He curses deeply as his eyes darken the more he takes you in. “You planning to kill me, princess?”

Your breathless laugh quickly turns into a surprised gasp as Jungkook flips you over—caging you in with his arms like you're his prey.

His mouth finds your neck much rougher this time. marking across all over your throat and collarbones.

You squeak with a small laugh when he bites a little too roughly on your shoulder.

“Koo—!” you gasp, half-laughing, half-moaning.

Jungkook chuckles darkly against your skin but doesn’t stop. He soothes the bite with his tongue while his hands slide up to squeeze over your covered breasts.

“You look so fucking good in my design,” he speaks with dripping need. “But I want it off soon.”

He palms your pussy roughly through your pants, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit. The pressure makes you jerk against him.

“jungkoo—” your voice already breaks.

He hums in satisfaction while kissing down your body. His lips trail open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, tongue dipping into your belly button before moving even lower. His fingers hook into the waistband of your pants and tug them down.

“Look at this mess,” he eyes the large wet patch soaking through your panties. He leans down to press a torturous kiss right over your aching pussy.

“Tell me how much you missed me, baby.”

You whimper desperately. “so much, kook... please… I missed you so much.”

Just as the words leave your mouth, Jungkook rips your panties down your legs before diving in immediately like a starved man.

The first long lick from your entrance to your clit makes you moan loudly. his tongue laps at your soaked folds before sucking your clit into his mouth. The metal of his piercing adds a delicious sensation sending shockwaves through your body with every flick.

Jungkook eats you like he’s addicted. pushing in his tongue inside you. your thighs shake around his head as his deep groans vibrate against your core.

your eyes suddenly drift to the side and rush of embarrassment hits you but this time it only makes you wetter.

you almost whine at the loss of his mouth when Jungkook pulls back with lips and chin glistening with your arousal.

He returns back with his camera, placing it in your hands and adjusting it so the lens faces him between your spread legs.

“Hold it steady for me,” he instructs you before settling back.

your hands tremble slightly as you grip the camera. your pussy clenches visibly under his gaze.

Jungkook smirks at your nervousness before diving back in. his mouth latches onto your pussy again with a new vigour.

He circles his tongue over your swollen clit slowly while he looks straight into the camera lens. and you make the mistake of looking down at the filthy scene. the sight only makes your pussy gush fresh slick onto his tongue.

You moan loudly, struggling to keep the camera steady. The pleasure is too intense as your arms start shaking.

Jungkook pulls back slightly before growling at you, “I told you to hold it steady, baby. I need good footage of me eating this pretty pussy.”

He slaps your thigh lightly as a teasing punishment before pushing two thick fingers inside you, curling instantly against your g-spot while his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit.

A few tears slip down your eyes.

“Kook— ahh— I can’t— fuck!”

“Yes you can,” he chuckles darkly against your fold.

As his fingers pump faster, your thighs tremble violently around his head. you’re barely able to keep the camera focused on him with the pleasure making your vision blur. your back arches sharply off the bed, pussy clenching hard around his fingers. Jungkook groans in satisfaction completely lost in your taste.

He laps at every drop of your release drinking you down greedily.

You try to close your legs.

“koo— too much—”

Jungkook lets out an almost angry groan against your pussy and forcefully spreads your legs wider. his mouth continues making sure he gets every last drop.

Tears gather in the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure as broken moans keep spilling from your lips. Only when your body starts twitching hard does Jungkook finally pull back.

He places one last tender kiss on your sensitive clit before lifting his head.

He rises onto his knees between your spread legs and tugs his black tank top off before wiping his chin with it and tossing aside. You try focusing your teary eyes on him.

Jungkook takes the camera from your shaky hands and places it on the bed for a moment. He leans down to kiss you deeply.

“You good, baby?” he asks softly against your lips.

You hum weakly in response. your hands roam over his bare torso, feeling the hard ridges of his abs.

“You’ve gained more muscles…” you whisper out.

Jungkook hums darkly and you feel him flexing his body under your touch.

“You like it?” his eyes locks on yours.

You bite your lip and lean up to biting his jaw in response. “so much..”

Jungkook chuckles as his hands work to remove your bra leaving you completely bare for him. Jungkook’s hands are back on the camera as he sits on his heels between your legs and angles the lens towards your flushed face.

“Is this good, my love?”

You suddenly feel extremely exposed under the camera’s gaze. Your cheeks heat up instantly. You give him a weak nod unable to speak properly.

Jungkook’s expression softens with pure fondness while his eyes stay dark on you.

“You’re really shy about the camera, huh?”

He reaches out with his free hand and gently strokes your flushed cheek with his thumb then drags it to press against your bottom lip, slightly pulling it down.

“So cute,” he murmurs almost to himself.

Jungkook can't resist but place some loving pecks on your cheeks making you both giggle.

“Say hi to my vlog, baby,” he teases.

You whine shyly, trying to turn your face away. Jungkook breathes out a laugh before cupping one of your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh before his fingers find your already hardened nipple. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.

Your eyes flutter shut instinctively, teeth sinking into your lower lip to trap the moan threatening to spill out.

“Don’t hide those pretty eyes from me.”

You eyes lift to meet his intense stare, the moment you do—he brings his hand to his mouth spitting onto his fingers letting a generous amount of saliva coat them before returning his hand to your chest. He spreads the slickness over both buds, coating and tugging them between his wet fingers making your back arch off the bed.

Your legs squirm restlessly beneath him, thighs pressing together as fresh heat floods your core.

His eyes flick down between your legs, watching the way your pussy glistens under the light.

“You like how I ruin you, don’t you?” he rasps with dark satisfaction.

His thumb eventually leaves your nipple and slides up to your mouth. He presses the pad of it against your lips.

You part your lips as he pushes his thumb inside and immediately start sucking on it—swirling your tongue around the digit like you would his cock.

“So fucking greedy for me,” Jungkook hisses.

The sight of you sucking so eagerly on his thumb while your nipples are shiny and swollen from his spit has his cock throbbing painfully in his sweats.

Your eyes drift down his body to his bulge straining against his shorts.

with a needy whimper, you pull him down by his broad shoulders onto the bed. He lets out a surprised chuckle and you climb over him kissing down his body. Your lips press against his warm skin. You trail wet kisses over his chest, paying extra attention to the beautiful tattoos decorating his skin.

Your tongue traces the lines of his ink, tasting the faint salt of his sweat.

God, you wish you could mark him the way he marks you — leave dark hickeys and bite marks all over his perfect body for everyone to see. but for now, you make up for it by worshipping him with your mouth, determined to make him feel as good as he made you.

Jungkook’s free hand comes to rest in your hair as you move further down.

finally, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his shorts and tug them down impatiently. His cock springs free, slapping against his toned stomach. The pink tip glistens with precum.

You wrap your lips around the leaking head and suck, too impatient to tease him. Jungkook curses sharply. Your favourite musky taste of him explodes on your tongue and you moan louder around his cock.

You take him deeper right away, hollowing your cheeks as you bob your head, working the top half of his length with eager sounds.

Jungkook’s head falls back for a second, momentarily forgetting about the camera in his hand. But he quickly recovers, lifting it again and angling it perfectly to capture the sinful sight of his beautiful girlfriend sucking his cock so greedily.

“shit, baby.. look at you,” he groans. “always fucking hungry for my cock.”

His praises only makes you take him deeper until he hits the back of your throat.

Jungkook’s hand tightens in your hair guiding you as he pushes your head down a little more. The pressure makes you gag around him.

“that’s it.. fuck — just like that,” his abs clenching as he watches you through the camera. “my good girl. looking so pretty crying on my cock.”

He starts to thrust up gently, fucking into your warm mouth.

your tears mix with the spit dripping from your chin onto his balls but you don’t stop — you can’t. You want all of him.

Jungkook’s cock twitches in your mouth, the veins pulsing against your tongue. you can feel him getting dangerously close.

but he pulls your head back firmly. a thick string of spit connects your swollen lips to the shiny head of his cock as you gasp for air.

“I need to feel you, baby.. get up here.”

You don’t need to be told twice. while he quickly reaches over and places the camera on the nightstand beside the bed, angling it perfectly to capture both of you, you're already climbing over him.

Your hand wraps around his spit-slick cock, stroking him once before you sink on him. you both moan in unison. Jungkook hisses through gritted teeth biting onto your shoulder.

you whimper, feeling every thick inch stretch you open. He’s so big — always so fucking big that it burns in the most delicious way.

Impatience and pure need take over as you start bouncing on his cock with a desperate rhythm. The slick smack of your soaked pussy taking his cock over and over fills the room.

He pulls you down harder against him, pressing your chests together until your bodies are completely stuck — skin against sweaty skin, your hard nipples rubbing against his chest.

“Give me a kiss.”

You lean in messily, crashing your mouth onto his. moans spill into each other’s mouths. Jungkook thrusts up hard from below, meeting your bounces with powerful strokes that make you cry out into the kiss.

He fucks you like that, reaching you so deep while you ride him like you’re starved for his cock.

Jungkook’s hands slide down to grip your ass, spreading your cheeks as he helps you bounce harder.

He bites into your bottom lip.

“My beautiful baby.. keep riding my cock, princess.”

You clench hard around him, a loud broken moan ripping from your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes through you. The way he’s stretching you and filling you so perfectly just makes your mind go hazy.

Jungkook growls at the feeling and he flips you over with ease. your back hits the mattress before your boyfriend intertwines your fingers and resumes with his rough thrusts.

Your legs wrap weakly around his narrow waist trying to pull him even deeper.

“This pussy is made for me. You are made for me... only for me.”

Your heels dig into his back as he fucks you straight into oblivion.

Jungkook swallows every single moan that spills from your lips. His tongue dominating yours while he rails you into the mattress.

“Tell me, baby,” he demands hotly. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Kook—” you sob. “Only for you... only yours—”

“That’s right.”

Your nails dig desperately into the back of his hands. His free hand slides between your bodies finding your swollen clit.

Your eyes roll back as you fall apart again. Your pussy throbs with creamy arousal gushing around his length with a broken scream of his name.

His thrusts become more erratic as he chases his high.

Jungkook blindly reaches for the camera with one hand angling it down at your stomach.

“Fuck.. look at that." He presses his free hand over the bulge in your lower belly feeling his own cock moving inside you. “So pretty, baby. so fucking pretty with my cock inside you.”

He records himself sliding in and out of you slowly glistening with your arousal.

The overstimulation makes you whimper and squirm heavily underneath him. only then does he finally pull out of you.

He kneels between your spread thighs, wrapping his hand around his cock. He strokes himself roughly eyes locked on your fucked-out face.

with a husky groan thick ropes of his warm cum shoot across your stomach and tits — painting your skin in sticky white.

You barely have time to process the filthy sight while Jungkook films himself dragging the swollen head of his cock through his own release, spreading it messily over your skin.

He rubs his cum into your nipple and across your belly — dipping the tip of his cock between your sensitive folds to smear some over your clit.

You watch him with hazy eyes and a heaving chest.

Sometimes you forget just how nasty your boyfriend can really be.

“Such a pretty canvas." Jungkook finally looks up at you through the camera lens with a wild smirk.

“Should I include this in my vlog, baby?”

[ggukiebar]

sex tape | j.jk

pairing: videographer jungkook x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: looking for a decent job, you stumbled upon jungkook’s job posting on instagram, what could go wrong?

warnings: playfuldom!jungkook x fem reader, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, pussy eating, edging, spitting, degradation, dirty talk, multiple positions, detailed smut, jk is very playful in a degrading way, oral sex, camera sex, pussy slapping, choking, praising, usage of slut, cum eating, marking, multiple orgasms, rough sex, crying, overstimulation, fingering, nipple spitting, penetrative sex, creampie.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“How about being a barista again? There’s a job opening at Moonlit Cafe down the street,” Hari suggested while you sat hunched over your laptop, endlessly browsing through job postings.

You were still a student, graduating next year with bills clawing at your throat. When college started, you wanted independence so badly it ached beneath your skin. An apartment near the university. Your own keys. Your own groceries. Your own life.

Your parents had offered to cover everything without hesitation, gentle and loving as always, but guilt settled heavily in your chest whenever you thought about it. They were already paying your tuition fees. You wanted them to live comfortably too, without worrying about whether their daughter had enough money for rent or food. So you smiled and told them not to worry, drained your savings account for the apartment, and picked up multiple part-time jobs just to prove to yourself that you could survive on your own.

And for a while, you did.

The first two years of college went smoothly enough. You found decent jobs, saved enough money to live comfortably, and even bought yourself a flat-screen TV after months of careful budgeting. Your days blurred into exhausting routines—classes in the morning, shifts at the coffee shop at night, and weekends spent organizing shelves as a bookstore assistant.

You were tired all the time, but it was a satisfying kind of tired. The kind that made you feel accomplished. 

Independent. Adult.

Until the coffee shop let you go.

Budget cuts, they said apologetically, avoiding your eyes while handing you the notice. Part-time workers were the first to go.

You still had the bookstore job, but the pay barely stretched far enough to cover groceries, let alone rent, electricity, and university expenses. Asking your parents for help would’ve been easy—too easy—but stubbornness rooted itself deep inside you. There were thousands of job postings online. Surely one of them would take you.

Only they never called back.

Two months had passed, and your savings were bleeding out faster than you could stop them. Every day followed the same suffocating routine: school, assignments, cheap instant dinners, and hours of doom-scrolling through applications until your vision blurred from the brightness of your screen.

You groaned quietly, rubbing your tired eyes before glancing over at Hari, who sat cross-legged beside you on the couch with a milk tea in hand. She had shown up at your apartment earlier carrying takeout bags and your favorite boba, worry written plainly across her face after noticing how little you’d been eating lately.

“I already applied there,” you muttered with a pout, dragging your gaze back to the laptop. “But they want someone full-time.”

Hari sighed dramatically, setting her drink down on the coffee table. “You seriously need to rest. You’ve been staring at that thing for hours.”

Before you could protest, she grabbed your boba and pushed it into your hands. The cold plastic pressed against your palms pleasantly.

“Drink,” she ordered. “And let me do the scrolling before you spiral into another existential crisis.”

A laugh bubbled out of her as she pulled the laptop from your lap, and despite the anxiety twisting endlessly inside your chest, you felt your shoulders loosen just a little.

You pouted lightly, sipping your boba while Hari busied herself with your laptop. Your brows slowly furrowed when you noticed her opening tab after tab with alarming confidence.

“Why are you on Facebook?” you asked with a quiet chuckle, watching her click somewhere else before another page loaded. “And now Twitter? Instagram too?”

Hari rolled her eyes dramatically, her face illuminated by the screen’s pale glow. “Because the jobs on LinkedIn are painfully boring,” she scoffed. “There are tons of part-time job offers on social media. I swear I saw one yesterday.”

She narrowed her eyes at the laptop suspiciously, scrolling with the intensity of a detective solving a murder case.

A laugh escaped you as you leaned against her shoulder, chewing on the tapioca pearls you had missed more than you cared to admit. You’d been saving every spare dollar lately, cutting out small comforts one by one until even buying boba started to feel irresponsible.

“But you don’t even know if those are legit,” you pointed out, tilting your head at her. “The sites I applied to are safer from scams and stuff.”

“I know,” Hari replied instantly. “That’s why we’re looking for jobs with a pay-first policy if it’s online.” She clicked onto another account before adding casually, “And if it’s onsite, we’ll bring a gun in case things go wrong or something.”

You burst out laughing at that, nearly choking on your drink.

“Hari!”

“What?” she laughed too, grinning shamelessly. “I’m just being prepared.”

You shook your head at her usual nonsense, warmth blooming faintly in your chest despite the stress that had been suffocating you for weeks now. Hari always had a way of dragging you out of your own head, even if only for a little while.

The apartment suddenly felt less heavy with her around.

You were honestly relieved that semester break had finally arrived. One whole month without classes. No early morning lectures. No deadlines. No professors piling work onto your shoulders.

But instead of resting like a normal person, you had thrown yourself deeper into job hunting.

Hari hated that.

As your closest friend, she had spent the last week trying to convince you to take a break—to go shopping with the girls, take an out-of-town trip, do literally anything that didn’t involve staring at job applications until three in the morning.

You declined every single invitation.

Your friends understood your situation, but they also thought you were driving yourself insane. Which, honestly, you probably were.

That was exactly why Hari showed up tonight carrying your favorite food and overpriced boba tea, determined to drag you away from your spiral. She kept trying to tempt you into going on a girls’ trip with them, insisting that one weekend away wouldn’t kill you.

But every time you thought about relaxing, all you could picture were your bills piling quietly on the kitchen counter. So instead, you stayed curled up on the couch beside her, stubbornly searching for a job you desperately needed.

Hari was beginning to look almost as desperate as you. Maybe not for herself, but for you—for the way your shoulders had slowly grown heavier these past few months, for the exhaustion permanently shadowing your eyes. She wanted you to land a job already so you could finally breathe again without worrying about rent and unpaid bills swallowing you whole.

Which was exactly why she was now doom-scrolling through Twitter with frightening determination.

“I really don’t think you’re gonna find a job there,” you muttered skeptically, watching her open an alarming amount of random threads. “Most of those look like scams.”

“Wait, wait—look at this!”

Hari suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to the screen, quickly setting her milk tea down beside her like she was preparing for something serious.

Her eyes widened.

“Okay, this one actually looks promising.”

You leaned in slightly as she read aloud.

mnijungkook on ig posted: i’m looking for someone who can take insanely good videos and photos [of me]. i’ll somehow figure out the equipment myself..! please somehow reach out to me! lol, looking for someone to film for me, seriously. and if you’re good at editing too? let’s go on tour together

“There are so many likes and retweets,” Hari said immediately, already opening another tab to search for the original Instagram post. “This has to be legit.”

The second you recognized the username, you nearly choked on your drink.

Laughter burst out of you uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as you clutched the cup tighter. Hari blinked at you in confusion while your eyes watered from laughing too hard.

“Hari,” you wheezed out, “That’s Jungkook.”

She stared blankly. “Huh? The boss?”

Another laugh escaped you.

Hari genuinely knew almost nothing about K-pop or Korean artists in general, and moments like this always reminded you just how different the two of you were.

Meanwhile, you had once been painfully obsessed.

You used to stay up until dawn watching livestreams, memorizing lyrics, collecting photocards you definitely couldn’t afford, and keeping up with every tiny update posted online. Back then, being a fan felt like a second full-time job.

But life eventually became busier.

School consumed your mornings, work consumed your nights, and somewhere in between surviving deadlines and paying bills, your fangirl phase quietly faded into the background. You still listened to their music almost daily, still smiled whenever one of their songs shuffled into your playlist, but you no longer kept up with every post or appearance the way you once did.

You guessed you had simply grown up.

Even so, seeing Jungkook casually asking for a videographer and editor on Instagram felt surreal enough to make you laugh all over again.

Not updated enough to know that Jungkook was apparently posting job offers on Instagram now. Or that he was even on tour.

“No,” you laughed, shaking your head as you finally calmed down a little. “That’s Jungkook. From BTS. They’re, like… insanely famous, Hari. This is probably some kind of joke or publicity thing.”

Hari’s brows knitted together in confusion before realization slowly dawned across her face. She clicked onto the Instagram profile, eyes widening at the blue verification check and the terrifying number of followers sitting beneath his username.

Nearly thirty million.

“Ohhh, BTS,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Wait—I think I’ve seen him before.” She squinted at one of the photos. “Wasn’t he in a Calvin Klein ad or something?”

You snorted. “Yeah. That’s him.”

Honestly, you expected her to laugh it off after realizing who posted it. Maybe call the idea ridiculous and move on to another job listing.

Instead, Hari clicked onto his Instagram story again with alarming seriousness.

“That means…” she trailed off.

“It’s probably a joke,” you interrupted immediately.

“This is good pay,” she said at the exact same time, eyes practically glittering now.

Before you could stop her, she pressed the reply button beneath the story.

Your lips parted slightly. You genuinely couldn’t tell if she was being serious or completely delusional right now. Probably both. But either way, you let her continue typing because there was absolutely no chance Jungkook himself would ever see it.

He probably received thousands of messages every minute. Millions, even.

The thought alone felt ridiculous.

“Whatever,” you muttered with a helpless chuckle, giving up entirely. “I’m heating up the rice bowl.”

Hari waved you off distractedly, already multitasking between your laptop and her phone like this had suddenly become her personal mission.

You shook your head fondly before standing from the couch, grabbing the takeout container she bought earlier. The apartment filled with the quiet hum of the microwave a moment later, warm light spilling across the tiny kitchen while Hari continued aggressively applying for a job that definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent was never going to happen.

-

You woke up to the shrill sound of your alarm, already preparing yourself for another long day of job hunting.

Hari went home late last night after spending an absurd amount of time DMing Jungkook and scrolling through social media for more “opportunities,” as she called them. Somewhere between laughing at ridiculous job listings and sharing takeout on your couch, the two of you ended up watching an old Disney movie to help you relax.

She still tried convincing you to go on the girls’ out-of-town trip. You still refused.

No matter how badly you wanted a break, your priorities were painfully clear right now. You needed stability first. A stable paycheck. A stable life. Then maybe you could afford to breathe.

After showering, you made yourself a decent cup of coffee and opened your laptop with a tired sigh, mentally preparing to send out another batch of applications that probably wouldn’t get answered.

Then your phone buzzed beside you. An Instagram notification lit up the screen.

You snorted softly to yourself. “This must be Jungkook,” you joked under your breath, absentmindedly opening the app.

What the fuck.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the message sitting in your inbox. The coffee suddenly tasted bitter in your mouth.

What the actual fuck?

“Hari!” you practically shrieked the second she answered your call. “Fuck! I don’t even edit videos! I only know basic stuff! I can’t even record properly without my hands shaking!”

You paced around your apartment while panicking into the phone, one hand gripping your hair as you reread the messages over and over again in disbelief.

Sometime after you went to the kitchen last night, Hari had apparently taken it upon herself to completely ruin your life.

She sent Jungkook your entire curriculum vitae.

Not only that—she also wrote and attached a full cover letter explaining why he should hire you.

The realization alone nearly made you pass out.

And when you discovered she had changed your insta profile picture into a formal-looking one while you weren’t paying attention?

You almost laughed and cried at the same time.

It genuinely looked like you had desperately prepared for this opportunity your entire life.

Your eyes skimmed through the cover letter again, horror slowly mixing with something embarrassingly emotional. Hari had written your entire backstory in there—about struggling financially, balancing school and work, trying to stay independent despite everything.

And then she started lying. Blatantly.

Apparently, according to Hari, you were “highly skilled in video editing” with “experience in cinematography.”

Cinematography my ass.

“Hehe… well,” Hari giggled shamelessly through the phone, completely unbothered by your spiraling. Noise echoed behind her, voices and music blending together enough for you to realize she was already with the girls on their trip. “You have to fake a few things to get accepted sometimes, right?”

“Ugh, I can’t do this!” you cried dramatically, pacing back and forth around your apartment while gripping your phone tightly. “I literally don’t know anything about filming! And what if he sues me for faking my skills? He’s famous and influential, Hari!”

Your eyes darted back toward your laptop sitting open on the table, Jungkook’s message glowing on the screen like a ticking time bomb ready to ruin your entire life.

Hari only laughed harder through the call.

“Girl, just try!” she said between giggles. “Watch a tutorial on YouTube or something. Besides…” her tone suddenly turned suspiciously persuasive, “It’s really good pay.”

“Hari!” you screamed again, horrified.

“God, I still can’t believe he actually replied to you,” she continued teasingly. “You must’ve impressed him with your amazing cinematography skills.”

You groaned so loudly you nearly scared yourself.

The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong about the pay.

Your eyes had nearly bulged out of your skull when you saw the amount attached to the offer. There were so many zeros that your brain genuinely short-circuited for a moment.

That was exactly why you couldn’t let it go.

Out of everyone who probably replied to his story, Jungkook somehow answered you. 

You. The probability alone felt absurd.

Thousands of people would kill for this opportunity right now, and meanwhile you were pacing around your apartment like you were preparing for a court trial instead of a job offer.

At first, the teenage fangirl buried deep inside you nearly exploded from excitement. The situation dragged you back to years ago—staying up until four in the morning streaming music videos, binge-watching funny compilations, memorizing choreography you could never actually dance, spending money you absolutely shouldn’t have spent on albums and photocards.

Back then, BTS had practically consumed your life. But time passed.

Somewhere between work shifts, college deadlines, and trying to survive adulthood, you slowly stopped keeping up with them. You still listened to the music, of course, but you no longer knew where they were, what they were doing, or how much they had changed over the years.

Curiosity eventually got the better of you. So you stalked Jungkook’s Instagram a little.

And oh.

Oh, he had changed.

A full sleeve of tattoos now wrapped around his right arm, dark ink decorating skin that used to be bare. Silver piercings glinted against his face in ways that somehow suited him unfairly well. His frame had broadened too, shoulders stronger, body lean and built with the kind of maturity that made him almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered.

You were used to soft brown hair, oversized hoodies, black skinny jeans, clean arms, and those wide doe-like eyes that made the entire internet lose their minds.

Now he looked mature. Sharper. More dangerous somehow.

A man instead of a boy. And annoyingly enough, it looked really good on him.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, finally realizing you’d been staring at a motorcycle video he posted for far too long.

You immediately locked your phone and pressed it dramatically against your forehead.

“I cannot fangirl right now or I’m seriously gonna lose it.”

Hari kept telling you to just go for it. “You literally have a whole month off from school,” she argued over the phone while you spiraled for the hundredth time. “This is basically the perfect sideline job.”

Sideline job. As if working for Jungkook of BTS was equivalent to tutoring kids after class.

Your stomach twisted anxiously as you stared at the message again. Every second that passed made you feel like the opportunity was slipping farther away. With the amount of people probably flooding his inbox right now, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t change his mind the moment someone actually qualified replied to him.

Your eyes skimmed over his message again, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast.

mnijungkook: hey, i saw your cv ㅎㅎ you really didn’t have to explain everything, but i’m glad you did. i can tell you’re being genuine about this. even without samples, the way you talked about cinematography/editing made me feel like you actually care about it and pay attention to details. sometimes that matters more to me than someone trying too hard to look “professional”

also i get the whole semester break thing. a month is still enough time to try something fun and see if we work well together

don’t stress too much about equipment either because i barely know what i’m doing there yet lol

for payment, don’t worry. if you end up coming with me, i’ll make sure you’re paid well — probably around $20-30k usd for the month depending on the schedule + travel and hotel covered. 

send me your contact info? we can talk more properly :))

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I am not passionate about cinematography,” you nearly whimpered to yourself, dropping your face into your hands. “To hell with cinematography.”

The amount of lies in Hari’s cover letter was genuinely evil.

And now Jungkook thought you were some hidden creative genius with an artistic eye and a deep love for filmmaking when in reality you barely knew how to stabilize a phone camera.

You felt sick.

But then your eyes drifted back to the payment offer. Twenty to thirty thousand dollars. Travel covered. Hotels covered. Your bank account practically screamed at you to shut up and take the opportunity.

So with trembling fingers and the overwhelming sensation that you were actively ruining your own life, you began typing a reply. A reply that dug your grave even deeper.

You agreed with him. You agreed that you were a “good editor.”

You added your contact details while simultaneously praying that YouTube tutorials could somehow transform you into a professional videographer overnight.

Your fingers hovered above the send button before you forced yourself to press it.

You: thank you so much for even considering me :D i really do believe i’m a good editor, especially when it comes to making things feel natural and cinematic instead of overdone. 

i’d genuinely love to work for you if you’ll have me. i’m willing to learn fast, adjust to whatever style you want, and work hard during the whole month of my semester break.

my contact details are below, thank you so much!

The message was sent instantly.

You stared at the screen in silence afterward, horror slowly settling into every inch of your body.

Yeah. You were doomed.

-

“Wow, what the hell.” Your eyes widened the second you stepped into the hotel room Jungkook had booked for you.

The past few days had moved so fast it almost gave you whiplash. After you sent your contact details, Jungkook immediately messaged you about schedules, filming dates, locations, and travel arrangements as if hiring strangers from Instagram was a completely normal thing for him to do.

Everything had already been prepared before you could even panic properly.

Your plane ticket? Booked.

Hotel room? Paid for.

Transportation? Arranged.

Food allowance? Included.

All you had to do was pack your bags and somehow learn how to film and edit professionally before embarrassing yourself on an international scale.

Easy.

“I am so spoiled,” you muttered in disbelief, slowly stepping farther into the room. It was huge.

Bigger than huge, honestly. The hotel suite looked almost the size of your apartment back home, warm lighting spilling across polished floors and neatly arranged furniture that looked far too expensive for you to even breathe near.

Then your attention landed on the large table sitting near the windows. And your soul nearly left your body.

Equipment. So much fucking equipment.

Two massive black cameras rested neatly beside a smaller handheld one. There was an iPad, a laptop, tripods, microphones, chargers, lighting equipment, and cables so intimidating they looked like they belonged inside a spaceship instead of a filming setup.

Your luggage slipped from your fingers onto the floor with a dull thud as you walked toward the table cautiously, like the devices might explode if you touched them incorrectly.

Your eyes widened even more.

For the past several days, you have been desperately teaching yourself how to edit videos and film cinematic shots. Watching tutorials until sunrise. Memorizing transitions. Learning random camera terms you barely understood.

But you had been practicing with your phone. Your fucking phone.

Meanwhile these cameras looked expensive enough to pay your rent for the next ten years.

You carefully picked one up with both hands, terrified you’d somehow damage it through sheer incompetence alone.

Honestly, you were still shocked Jungkook never asked for samples of your work.

If he had, your career would’ve ended immediately.

The only thing you could’ve shown him was a mediocre CapCut edit with dramatic black-and-white filters slapped over it to make it look “cinematic.”

You groaned loudly, dropping your forehead against the edge of the table.

“Oh my God,” you whispered into the expensive wood. “I’m actually a fraud.”

You nearly lost balance holding the enormous camera in your hands, quickly tightening your grip before your entire future shattered onto the hotel floor in high definition. “Woah, this is heavy.”

Your eyes stayed locked on the equipment nervously as you adjusted the strap around your wrist, trying your best to look like someone who actually knew what they were doing. Because if Jungkook realized how painfully inexperienced you were, he might personally send you back to your country on the next available flight.

You wouldn’t even blame him. The past few nights had been brutal.

You barely slept at all, surviving almost entirely on instant noodles, caffeine, and pure fear while desperately teaching yourself editing techniques through YouTube tutorials. Your laptop had become an extension of your body at this point, constantly running sample footage you filmed around your apartment just so you could practice transitions, lighting adjustments, stabilization, and color grading.

You even studied Jungkook’s editing style specifically.

The pacing of his vlogs.

The soft cinematic filters.

The random zoom-ins.

The casual, natural feeling of the clips.

You analyzed everything like your life depended on it because technically, your rent kind of did. You were getting paid for this. A ridiculous amount, too.

And there was absolutely no way you could afford getting exposed now.

“Okay…” you muttered slowly while fiddling with the camera settings. “This is kinda… easy?”

You said it more like a question than a statement. Still, you forced yourself to keep going.

You searched up tutorials for the exact camera model, watched setup guides, practiced adjusting focus and lighting, and filmed random clips around the room like an aspiring film student fighting for survival.

At some point, you even started taking artistic shots of your coffee cup near the hotel window. For practice, obviously.

Tomorrow was your first official filming day.

According to the schedule Jungkook emailed you earlier, you’d be accompanying him to a golf activity before the concert. He wanted behind-the-scenes footage for the fans—small moments throughout the day, casual interactions, preparations before performing.

And apparently that was only the beginning. Over the next few days, you’d also be filming soundchecks, backstage moments, errands, workouts, rehearsals, and random snippets of his daily routine while on tour.

Basically, your entire existence now revolves around documenting Jungkook’s life aesthetically.

No pressure.

You used his latest vlog as your main reference while practicing, pausing every few seconds to study angles and editing choices carefully. Honestly, the style itself wasn’t impossible to recreate. It leaned more natural than overly polished, which helped calm your nerves slightly.

The problem was you. You weren’t skilled.

And the more you thought about his expectations, the more your stomach twisted itself into knots.

But backing out wasn’t an option anymore.

Not after the cover letter.

Not after the hotel.

Not after the plane ticket.

Definitely not after seeing the paycheck.

So instead of panicking yourself into quitting, you threw every ounce of energy into learning. Practicing. Training.

Like you were preparing for the Olympics instead of secretly faking your way into being Jungkook’s videographer.

You almost had a heart attack when your phone suddenly buzzed while you were testing the cameras.

The heavy device nearly slipped straight out of your hands as Jungkook’s name flashed across the screen.

Your pulse instantly skyrocketed.

Jungkook: hey, i left all the equipment on the table in your hotel room because i had to leave early for rehearsal. camera batteries are charging already, memory cards are inside the small black case, and i think i accidentally tangled all the wires together so… good luck with that honestly ㅎㅎ

there’s also a pass hanging on the chair for backstage access. don’t lose it or my manager’s gonna kill me lol

take your time checking everything first before we head out tomorrow. and if anything’s confusing just call me :))

You stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary, a smile unconsciously pulling at your lips.

His personality somehow translated perfectly even through text messages alone—easygoing, playful, ridiculously approachable despite being one of the biggest celebrities in the world.

It reminded you exactly why he used to be your ultimate bias years ago. There was something naturally charming about him. Something warm.

You quickly typed a reply before you could overthink it too much.

You: yes! i am checking them out hehe.. the batteries are currently charging, the cards are safe, and i’m currently fighting for my life trying to untangle these wires hahaha

good luck with rehearsal!! see you tomorrow!

The second you pressed send, immediate regret flooded your body. You stared at your message in horror.

Why did I sound like that?

Your cheeks burned violently as you reread the multiple “hehe’s” and unnecessary laughter typed into the conversation like a teenager texting her crush for the first time.

You physically covered your face with your hands.

“Oh my God,” you groaned into your palms. It wasn’t like you were trying to flirt. 

Or maybe… just a little bit.

Which honestly made the situation infinitely worse.

You used to be an incredibly dedicated ARMY once upon a time, and frankly, this entire situation was making your heart malfunction.

Working for Jungkook.

Texting Jungkook.

Meeting Jungkook.

It all felt unreal in the most dangerous way possible.

But you forced yourself to set the fangirl part aside before it completely consumed you. You needed to stay professional. Calm. Composed.

Otherwise, you were genuinely convinced you’d suffer a stroke before filming a single decent piece of content for him.

So instead of spiraling, you spent the entire night practicing.

Testing the cameras.

Learning the settings.

Adjusting lighting.

Checking the microphones repeatedly to make sure the audio sounded clean.

You edited random sample clips until your eyes burned from exhaustion, determined to familiarize yourself with the equipment enough to at least fake confidence tomorrow.

And somehow, by pure fear-driven determination alone, morning arrived faster than expected.

You woke up early to practice filming one last time before leaving, moving around the hotel room with nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. You were oddly dedicated now—almost desperate—to prove that hiring you wasn’t a mistake.

After showering, you dressed carefully in clothes that screamed “professional videographer” despite the fact that you absolutely were not one.

A black long-sleeved polo, dark slacks and black shoes. You even tied your hair back neatly, staring at yourself in the mirror afterward like you were about to infiltrate the FBI instead of filming golf content.

A knock sounded at your hotel door.

“Good day, Ms. Y/N. Are you ready?”

You immediately straightened up before opening it, greeted by one of the bodyguards Jungkook assigned to escort you. His black shades reflected your visibly nervous expression back at you.

“Yes,” you answered quickly, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Before leaving, you double-checked everything one last time—the batteries, memory cards, laptop, chargers—making sure nothing important was missing before following the bodyguard downstairs.

Outside, a sleek black car waited for you.

Your heartbeat quickened the moment you stepped inside.

You were scheduled to arrive an hour earlier than Jungkook so you could prepare the equipment and set everything up properly before filming started. Which meant you had an entire hour alone to panic in peace. 

The ride itself was painfully quiet. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the car while city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Your hands rested stiffly over your bag, fingers nervously tapping against the expensive camera inside while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.

You swallowed hard. “I can do this,” you whispered quietly to yourself.

Though honestly, you sounded unconvinced. The moment the golf course entrance came into view, your stomach twisted so violently you almost gagged.

Oh God. This was actually happening.

The bodyguard escorted you inside shortly after, guiding you toward the smaller private golf area before leaving you alone to prepare your setup.

The silence that followed felt enormous.

You slowly placed the equipment down, inhaling deeply as the morning breeze brushed against your face. The golf course stretched beautifully beneath the early sunlight, calm and expensive and intimidating all at once.

And somewhere in the middle of unpacking tripods with trembling hands, one horrifying realization settled heavily into your chest.

Soon, Jungkook was going to arrive.

You looked around quietly, taking in the golf course while trying to calm the violent beating of your heart.

The place felt tucked away from the rest of the world somehow—small, peaceful, almost unreal in its stillness. Unlike the massive championship courses you usually saw online, this one felt more intimate. The holes were laid out closer together across smooth fairways trimmed so perfectly they looked like green velvet beneath the morning sun.

Small sand bunkers curved around the landscape, soft hills rolling gently beneath clean white flags planted in the distance.

No screaming crowds. No cameras flashing endlessly. Just the distant rustling of trees, the muted hum of golf carts somewhere farther away, and every now and then, the satisfying thunk of a golf club striking a ball cleanly through the air.

Though, it would’ve been relaxing if you weren’t moments away from throwing up from anxiety.

Your hands were already sweaty as you unpacked the equipment carefully, trying not to look like you had absolutely no clue what you were doing. You adjusted the camera repeatedly, searching for decent angles while silently thanking every higher power possible that there weren’t many people around.

Only a few locals occupied the course, minding their own business.

Good.

Less witnesses for your downfall.

You became so focused on testing camera movements and practicing steady shots that you completely failed to notice someone approaching behind you.

It wasn’t until you angled the camera upward during practice that your soul nearly exited your body.

Jungkook stood directly in frame, smiling right into the lens. Your heart stopped.

“Hi,” he greeted warmly, amusement flickering across his face as he glanced at the camera in your hands. “Looks like you’re having fun already.”

A black sports bag rested beside your equipment now, meaning he must’ve walked over while you were too busy pretending to be a professional filmmaker to notice.

Your eyes widened instantly. “Oh my God—”

You almost tripped over your own feet while hurriedly lowering the camera, panic rushing through your body all at once.

“I was just, um—checking the angles,” you explained nervously, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward. “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N.”

You quickly wiped your damp palms against your slacks before offering your hand to him politely.

Up close, he somehow looked even more unreal. Tall, broad-shouldered, with beautiful tattoos curling around his arm, silver piercings catching the sunlight softly whenever he smiled.

And unfortunately for your sanity, he was even more handsome in person. Ridiculously so. The kind of handsome that made it difficult to think properly when he looked at you for too long.

He chuckled softly before taking your hand in his. His grip was warm. 

Your brain short-circuited immediately.

Dressed in a fitted white polo shirt and black Nike shorts, a black cap resting low over his dark hair in a way that somehow made him look both ridiculously expensive and effortlessly casual at the same time.

The shirt did absolutely nothing to hide how built he was.

You could see the outline of his muscles beneath the fabric every time he moved, his shoulders broad enough to almost completely block the sunlight from where you stood.

“Hello,” he said warmly, shaking your hand once. “I’m Jungkook. Nice to meet you too.” Your cheeks instantly burned.

Seeing him through a screen was one thing. Seeing him in person felt entirely different.

He was so much more charismatic up close it almost irritated you. His bunny teeth peeked out whenever he smiled, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners while he spoke in that easy, friendly tone that made it impossible not to relax around him.

His entire aura felt bright somehow. Light. Dangerously charming.

You were absolutely screwed.

“I’ll leave the filming techniques up to you,” he continued casually, walking over toward the cooler nearby. “Feel free to film me however you want. No pressure.”

No pressure.

As if your nervous system wasn’t already collapsing in on itself.

He grabbed a cold bottle of water before offering another one toward you naturally, like this entire situation wasn’t surreal at all.

“Thank you,” you answered quickly, taking the bottle before immediately setting it aside again. “Uh—I’ll start filming now!”

You lifted the camera again with almost aggressive determination, eager to gather as much footage as possible. More clips meant more editing options later. More editing options meant a smaller chance of exposing yourself as a complete fraud.

Jungkook raised an amused brow at your sudden seriousness, his gaze briefly traveled over your outfit before returning to your face.

“You sure?” he asked lightly. “You don’t wanna eat first? I still have to stretch and stuff anyway.”

You shook your head immediately. “Nope.”

Your grip tightened around the camera slightly. “I wanna include behind-the-scenes snippets too, so…” you explained, trying your best to sound professional despite your racing heart. “This would actually be good footage.”

The determination in your voice made Jungkook smile again. And for some reason, that tiny look of approval made your stomach flip harder than it should have.

Jungkook chuckled softly. “Alright,” he said easily. “Just tell me if you need specific details or angles.”

Then he walked toward the side of the golf course to begin stretching.

You immediately followed after him with the camera clutched in your hands exactly the way you practiced all night, quickly pressing record before your nerves could stop you.

At first, things seemed to be going surprisingly well. You filmed everything.

His warm-ups were slow, deliberate—like he was already in control of everything around him.

The way he adjusted his gloves with quiet precision. The subtle flex of his arms as he set up his iron, muscles shifting beneath fabric like something effortless and practiced. The clean, confident swing of the club cutting through air before striking the ball with a sharp, satisfying sound. The soft crunch of grass beneath his shoes as he shifted his stance, grounding himself between each shot.

Then the stillness between it all.

Him sitting down beneath the shade, momentarily retreating from the sun. Him lifting a bottle of water to his lips, throat moving as he drank, the back of his hand brushing sweat away from his neck without much thought.

You practically documented his entire existence.

At one point, you even almost followed him toward the restroom before your brain caught up with your body at the last second.

You genuinely thought you were doing an amazing job.

From your perspective, more footage meant more options later during editing. You didn’t want to miss a single moment that could potentially look cinematic or useful.

But from Jungkook’s perspective… It was a little concerning.

At first, he simply watched quietly. He noticed the small mistakes immediately—the way you held the camera too stiffly sometimes, the awkward adjustments of the lens, the shaky transitions between movements.

Still, he tried convincing himself that maybe you were just getting comfortable with the equipment. Maybe you simply needed time.

But as the day continued, realization slowly settled in. Especially when he caught you aggressively zooming into completely unnecessary details before quickly rotating the lens too fast, creating footage that would probably look dizzying when played back.

Beginner.

The word settled into his thoughts almost instantly. You followed him everywhere with unwavering focus, constantly checking the framing, adjusting settings, filming from different angles even when your hands visibly started struggling beneath the camera’s weight.

By the time he returned from the restroom later that afternoon, he paused slightly at the sight of you near the equipment table.

You were rotating your shoulders carefully with a tired grimace, trying to ease the soreness from carrying the camera all day. Sweat clung lightly against your forehead beneath the heat of the sun, and your fingers looked faintly red from gripping the equipment for hours.

Still, the moment you noticed him approaching again, you instinctively reached for the camera.

“I think you have enough footage for today,” Jungkook said quietly before you could pick it up again.

His voice carried something firmer now. Your hands froze mid-motion.

You blinked at him in confusion. “Huh?” you asked, adjusting your grip on the camera. “But you’re not done yet.”

He was still in the middle of playing. There were still shots left, more footage you could take, more angles you could practice.

But instead of continuing, Jungkook simply placed the iron back onto the rack with a quiet sigh.

Something about his body language had changed. Subtle, but noticeable.

The playful brightness from earlier dimmed slightly, exhaustion settling into the slope of his shoulders as he rubbed the back of his neck.

And suddenly, anxiety crept beneath your skin.

Was he disappointed?

The answer was yes. Not angry—he wasn’t angry. But disappointed enough to realize the truth little by little throughout the day.

You don’t have any clue on what you were doing.

The way you handled the camera, the inconsistent framing, the random zoom-ins, the awkward adjustments every few seconds—it was painfully obvious that you were inexperienced.

And for a brief moment, ugly thoughts crossed his mind despite himself.

He trusted you.

Even without polished sample reels or impressive portfolios, he still chose to trust you. Your cover letter had been painfully sincere, especially the part about wanting independence. Wanting to do things on your own so you wouldn’t burden your parents. Wanting to make them proud. Wanting to stand on your own feet.

That part stayed with him longer than it should have.

A lot of people sent him impressive applications. High-quality edits. Cinematic videos. Professional portfolios crafted carefully to catch his attention. Thousands of direct messages flooded his account constantly, most of them blending together into meaningless noise after a while.

But yours stood out somehow.

Maybe it was the formal profile picture that made him laugh- looked strangely earnest among the endless stream of unserious messages. Maybe it was the desperation hidden between your carefully written sentences. Or maybe it was simply because your letter resonated with him more than he expected it to.

He understood that kind of desperation.

That overwhelming need to prove yourself to the world.

He had been independent from a young age too, forced to grow up far earlier than most people ever had to. He knew what it felt like to carry pressure so heavy it started shaping the person you became.

But still—

Maybe you lied just to get close to him.

Maybe you wanted the money.

Maybe you were just another person trying to take advantage of him somehow.

God knew he had already met far too many people like that.

But every time those thoughts surfaced, they disappeared almost instantly the second he looked at you again.

Because you were trying so hard. Too hard, honestly.

The determination written across your face all day felt painfully genuine, from the way you followed him around with aching arms to the sweat gathering near your forehead while you forced yourself to keep filming despite your obvious exhaustion.

You looked less like a manipulative opportunist and more like someone desperately trying not to fail.

Still, disappointment lingered quietly beneath his ribs. A dull ache he couldn’t quite shake away no matter how sincere you looked trying to impress him.

And instead of sending you home immediately, another thought slowly crept into his mind.

Something dangerous.

Something mean.

Something dirty enough to make his pulse slow.

He wanted to punish you for it.

Not enough to truly hurt you—never that—but enough to make you understand exactly what happened when you lied to him. Enough to leave you breathless beneath the weight of his attention, overwhelmed by the consequences of trying to fool him so boldly.

Jungkook had always been competitive for a reason.

He hated losing, hated being made a fool of.

And now that you had managed to slip past his guard so easily, there was no way he was letting you walk away untouched by it.

Oh, he was going to have so much fun with you.

“I wanna film something,” he finally said instead, voice quieter now. More serious.

Your breath caught slightly at the sudden change in tone. The warmth from earlier had faded into something calmer. Harder to read.

“Oh,” you answered softly, momentarily caught off guard. “Okay! What kind of content?”

You quickly stood up and began fixing the equipment into your bags, noticing him grab his car keys from beside his sports bag.

“You’ll see,” he said simply, before turning toward the exit.

Your own brows furrowed in confusion. The schedule he sent clearly stated golf content for today. Nothing else.

Still, you followed him quietly anyway. When he told you to ride with him instead of the escort vehicle, your confusion deepened even more, though you didn’t question it aloud. Maybe he wanted driving footage or some cinematic clips for the vlog.

That had to be it.

Your heart thumped nervously as you climbed into his car beside him, immediately noticing how sleek and absurdly expensive the interior looked. The soft scent of fresh mint lingered in the air, clean and comforting somehow.

The realization that you were sitting inside Jungkook’s car with Jungkook himself nearly made your soul leave your body.

Your hands instinctively reached toward the camera bag.

“No,” Jungkook chuckled softly the moment he noticed. “You’re not gonna film here, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl.

Your entire brain stopped functioning. Heat rushed violently into your cheeks as you slowly pulled your hands away from the bag.

“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Okay…”

You bit your lip afterward, turning slightly toward the window to hide your expression while curiosity twisted tighter inside your chest.

Where exactly was he taking you?

The moment you saw the familiar hotel building come into view through the windshield, confusion settled deeper into your chest.

You followed Jungkook quietly through the lobby, nerves buzzing beneath your skin with every step.

He had gone strangely quiet after golf. Still calm, still composed—but not as bright as before. The easy smiles disappeared, replaced by something heavier lingering beneath his expression, and it made your stomach tighten painfully.

“Uhm…” you started carefully while standing beside him inside the elevator. “Are you gonna get a few more cameras or something?”

The elevator doors slid shut. Jungkook glanced at you briefly, his doe eyes half-lidded in a way that made your throat suddenly feel dry.

“Take a guess.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. Something about his tone made nervousness crawl violently through your body. And when the elevator finally opened onto your floor, Jungkook grabbed your wrist without warning.

You gasped softly, he dragged you out impatiently, long strides carrying the two of you quickly down the hallway toward your hotel room. His grip wasn’t painful, but firm enough to make your pulse race uncontrollably beneath your skin.

By the time you stopped in front of your door, your mind was already spiraling. Jungkook looked down at you expectantly, his pupils dilated, still holding your wrist while waiting for you to unlock the room.

Did he figure it out? The thought struck so hard your chest physically tightened.

Your fingers trembled slightly while pulling out the keycard. Guilt flooded your system all at once, thick and suffocating.

You were scared.

Scared he’d yell at you. Scared he’d confiscate the equipment. Scared he’d have you booked on the next flight home before you even had a chance to explain yourself.

Completely unaware of the way his dark, playful mind worked. Completely unaware of how badly he wanted to punish you.

“Jungkook, I—”

But the words died immediately when he walked past you instead.

He took the camera bag from your hands and moved straight toward the table, pulling out the camera you used earlier before checking the rest of the equipment you left behind.

You blinked in confusion. Huh?

Jungkook grabbed another camera calmly before setting up one of the tripods with practiced ease. The way his fingers moved across the equipment was fast and precise, adjusting settings effortlessly while rotating the camera into position like second nature. His shoulders flexed beneath the white polo each time he lifted the tripod, veins bulging faintly along his tattooed forearms while he fixed the lighting behind it.

Your lips parted slightly without meaning to. He looked ridiculously good doing something as simple as setting up cameras.

“W-What are you doing?” you stammered, confused.

Jungkook glanced back at you over his shoulder while tightening something near the tripod head.

“Sit on the bed for me.”

Your stomach flipped violently. “H-Huh? I mean okay,” you answered quietly, swallowing hard before slowly moving toward the bed.

You sat carefully near the edge while watching him continue adjusting the setup.

With one hand alone, Jungkook lifted the heavy tripod effortlessly and positioned it directly in front of the bed, angling the camera downward toward where you sat.

The veins along his arms flexed again beneath the strain.

Your throat went completely dry. The room suddenly felt much smaller than before.

Hotter too.

You watched silently as he grabbed another tripod, this time placing it to the right side of the bed. Both cameras pointed directly at you now. And for some reason, the sight made your heartbeat pound harder than ever before.

He looked through the camera lens carefully, head tilting slightly as he adjusted the angle. “Lay down on the bed.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “What—”

“Lay down.” he commanded sharply.

This time, his tone came out firmer. Serious. Leaving absolutely no room for argument.

And somehow, the way he looked at you through the camera lens sent a sharp shiver crawling down your spine.

To your own horror, excitement slowly started mixing with the fear curling inside your stomach.

You almost wanted to slap yourself for it.

You swallowed hard before slowly slipping your shoes off, awkwardly climbing farther onto the bed until your back rested against the headboard.

Every movement suddenly felt painfully self-aware beneath the cameras pointed directly at you.

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek thoughtfully while studying the frame through the viewfinder, eventually stepping forward again to move the tripod closer.

Before you could shift yourself lower against the mattress, he suddenly walked toward you instead. Your breath hitched the second he crouched down in front of you holding the clip-on microphone.

He leaned in close enough for you to catch the faint scent of mint lingering on him.

“You forgot these earlier,” he said lightly, though there was something mocking beneath the softness of his voice now.

“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Uhm… I was in a rush, so…” Your cheeks burned instantly from embarrassment. 

Of course you forgot the microphones!

Jungkook raised a brow slowly. “You were in a rush?” he repeated with a quiet chuckle before standing back up again.

Then he walked toward the table and grabbed the smaller digital camcorder, casually aiming it toward you.

The amount of cameras pointed at you now made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Instinctively, you tried sitting up straighter, but Jungkook stopped you immediately.

“Stay still,” he said calmly. “I wanna test the cameras.”

“Test the cameras?”

“I think you need a little demo, baby.” Your heartbeat stopped. “You weren’t doing a very good job earlier.” The teasing mockery in his tone hit you like a truck.

And suddenly everything crashed down at once. Your eyes widened in horror.

Fuck. 

He knew.

Of course he knew!

Heat rushed violently into your face and neck, humiliation crawling across your entire body so intensely it almost hurt. Your chest tightened painfully while tears burned behind your eyes before you could stop them.

You looked away instinctively, shame flooding every inch of you.

God, this was so embarrassing.

“J-Jungkook, please,” you stammered quickly, panic slipping into your voice. “I’m not trying to scam you or anything, it’s just that—”

He stepped closer until his knees brushed against the edge of the bed.

And somehow, that almost satisfied look on his face made your stomach twist even more.

You looked so shy. So cornered. Like a poor little thing unknowingly walking straight into his hands.

His gaze lingered on you with dangerous amusement, as though you had already become his favorite test subject for the cameras.

Dark lazy eyes dragged slowly across your body, taking their time, shamelessly roaming over every inch of you while his imagination sparked vividly to life. You could almost see the thoughts forming behind his eyes—every filthy thing he wanted to do to you, every position he wanted to bend you into, every sound he wanted to force out of your mouth while the cameras kept recording.

And somehow, what excited him even more was the thought of filming it all. Editing it afterward. Watching you fall apart for him frame by frame.

“Shh,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay.”

Your watery eyes lifted toward him immediately. “I’ll teach you how to film, hmm?” he said mockingly.

“W-What?” Your lips parted in disbelief.

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, dark eyes fixed on yours with an unreadable expression.

“Gonna show you the right angles, baby,” he cooed. “What do you think?” He smiled without humor.

The contrast made you shiver. “B-But…”

“Will you cooperate with me?” he asked, voice smooth and almost condescending, like he was speaking to a child. His fingers tapped lightly against one of the cameras beside him. “We wouldn’t want these cameras to go to waste, would we?”

Your throat tightened. Part of you wanted to disappear completely. To book the next flight home, apologize profusely, and somehow repay every expense he wasted on you.

But another part of you—the younger version buried deep inside your chest, the girl who once stayed up all night watching his videos and smiling at her screen—couldn’t let go of this moment.

Because despite everything, Jungkook still hadn’t thrown you out.

He wasn’t yelling at you.

He was giving you another chance.

And maybe that meant you still had an opportunity to prove yourself.

Thousands of people probably wanted your position right now. Yet somehow, he was still here. Patient enough to teach you himself.

Completely unaware of how dangerous that patience actually was.

Because the lessons Jungkook had in mind were nothing like the ones you were expecting.

So slowly, you nodded.

Hope flickered weakly beneath your embarrassment while your thoughts tangled themselves around one desperate need: to impress him somehow.

“Okay,” you whispered nervously. “I—I learn fast when someone’s teaching me and…”

Jungkook raised a thick brow at you. “Pretty girl’s a fast learner, huh?”

Your cheeks immediately reddened again. You nodded shyly despite the obvious teasing in his tone, unconsciously pouting a little from embarrassment.

His eyes went down to your lips, eyes darkening. “Can you count the cameras for me?” he asked a bit impatiently.

You glanced around quickly toward the setup.

The two cameras mounted on tripods.

The camcorder in his hand.

“There’s three,” you answered softly.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “Good job, baby.” he slowly lifted the camcorder higher, zooming the lens closer toward your face.

“Now look here.”

You shyly looked into the camera lens, your cheeks dusted with pink beneath the warm lights.

The way Jungkook stared at you through the camcorder made you shrink into yourself slightly, suddenly aware of every little movement you made on the bed.

He tilted his head slowly. “So pretty.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Heat crawled up your neck as you shifted uncomfortably against the mattress, fingers curling slightly into the sheets. The entire situation suddenly felt strangely intimate, and for a second your thoughts drifted somewhere dangerous before you quickly forced yourself to focus again.

This is just a demo.

He’s teaching you.

Nothing else.

“Open the first few buttons of your top,” he said, voice quieter now as he continued looking at you through the camcorder.

Your eyes widened instantly.

Did I hear that right?

“W-What?” you nearly choked out, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast despite how badly this entire situation could end for you.

And somehow, against all logic, excitement started curling through your stomach.

“Need you to cooperate, baby,” he answered smoothly. “Come on, do a nice show for me.”

The teasing edge in his tone made your stomach twist nervously.

You hesitated for a moment before slowly bringing your shaky fingers toward your top, feeling painfully aware of the cameras pointed at you from different angles.

Jungkook watched carefully through the lens, adjusting the focus ring slightly while observing the framing.

“That’s it.” he encouraged.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, fingers trembling as you slowly undid the first few buttons of your blouse. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, burning the tips of your ears as the reality of the situation settled deeper beneath your skin.

He’s filming a sex tape.

You were so fucking stupid because instead of panicking properly, instead of running or completely losing your mind, you were following him blindly. Worse—you were getting excited.

Fuck, you should’ve been crashing out right now.

But the way he looked at you— God.

It felt like he wanted to devour you whole. His dark eyes dragged over every inch of exposed skin with quiet hunger, liquid heat pulsed embarrassingly between the gap of your thighs before you could stop it.

“Open your eyes baby, stare at the camera.” he said firmly, an obvious edge underneath it.

You slowly opened your eyes. Your cheeks were already burning, breath uneven as you finished unbuttoning the last one, revealing just enough of your chest to make your thoughts scatter. The camera lens felt heavier now, more invasive, like it was watching you breathe, waiting for you to make the wrong move.

“Hmm…touch your breasts baby, give it a nice squeeze for me.” he whispered, still holding the camcorder, directing it with the ease of someone who knew exactly what every angle captured.

Completely under his control, you obeyed, your hands moving hesitantly at first before you held yourself through the fabric, giving a light squeeze that made your breath hitch. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to stay steady, trying to keep your eyes locked on the camera like he told you, even as your vision softened at the edges and your body betrayed your focus.

The room felt smaller now. Heavier.

You were getting so wet.

Jungkook let out a low groan, eyes still fixed through the lens.

“Remove your top, wanna see your pretty nipples.”

Your ears burned red at the filthy undertone. With shaky hands, you slowly pulled your top off, revealing the white lace bra beneath. The delicate fabric hugged the soft swell of your breasts perfectly, and the moment Jungkook’s eyes settled on them through the camera lens, another wave of heat rushed through your body.

You slowly tugged at the first strap, then the second, freeing your breasts as your nipples hardened, flushed and sensitive against the cool air.

“That’s it,” he instructed, voice steady. “Roll those pretty nipples for me.”

You obeyed, pinching them gently before rolling them between your fingers. Your lips parted at the rush of sensation that followed, breath catching as your panties got more stickier with your arousal.

When your gaze dropped, you noticed the strain in his black shorts—the obvious tent pressing against the fabric. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization that despite his composed, professional expression as he filmed you, he wasn’t unaffected.

He groaned, zooming in on how you were rolling and pinching your nipples, his cock throbbing at the sight, precum leaking from its mushroom tip.

“Bring your hand to your mouth,” he ordered, directing the camera at your face. “Now, spit on it.”

You whimpered. Like a good girl, you gathered your saliva and spat thickly onto your palms, showing it to him after.

He bit his lower lip, his cock getting so hard from your submissiveness. “Good girl, now rub it on your nipples—make it nice and wet for me,” he rasped.

You rubbed the spit on your breast, the warm, sticky fluid on your nipples feeling so raw and dirty, spreading the saliva messily as he watched you through the lens with hooded eyes.

You were getting so horny, the dirty act turning you on so much that you could feel your panties sticking to your core.

“Look at you,” he chuckled, slowly reaching toward you. “I bet you’re so wet right now.”

You looked so pretty—your neatly done hair now slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed from all the things he’d been instructing you to do, pebbled nipples glistening under the camera lights. Your legs trembled slightly, aching to be touched, your lips parting every now and then as your breath turned uneven, eyes hazy and unfocused.

The sight made Jungkook’s cock throb painfully hard.

His pretty little doll.

He handed you the camcorder. “Hold this, baby. Show them who’s making you this wet.”

With shaky hands and glossy eyes, you took the camera and tried to point it toward him, your eyes rolling back when he removed his white polo shirt and black shorts, leaving him in his gray Calvin Klein boxers.

You whimpered as you could see the outline of his huge cock, precum leaking at the tip, wetting the center of the cloth.

“Your angle is wrong,” he raised a brow, noticing how your shaky hands were failing a bit at holding the camera properly.

You panicked. “I’m sorry,” you rushed out, trying to straighten it, ignoring the painful pulses between your legs—your body begging to be touched.

He chuckled, leaning over you. “It’s okay, baby. That’s why we have another camera.”

His hands came up to your cheeks, gently holding and angling your face to the right so you could look toward the second camera set up by the side of the bed. “I bet you’d look so good getting fucked from that angle,” he whispered.

His grip on your cheeks tightened slightly, squishing them just enough as the camera captured everything—the way your eyes fluttered, the way your nipples hardened under his gaze, the way your legs shifted restlessly, searching for any kind of friction.

You gasped loudly when his free hand went down to cup your pussy through your pants, your eyes rolling back as he felt the wetness through the fabric.

“Fuck, let me see how wet you are, yeah?”

With one hand, he unzipped your pants, pulling them down in one forceful motion while his other hand remained on your cheeks, keeping your gaze fixed on the camera. Your other hand trembled as it tried to capture what he was doing below.

“Capture this, baby,” he breathed, guiding your hand holding the camcorder to angle it downward, towards your wet pussy.

You almost dropped the camera when he suddenly slapped your cunt, your panties nearly see-through from how wet they were with your arousal.

“Jungkook~” you whimpered.

He sat up and held both of your legs, spreading them wider until your ankles were almost on either side of the bed.

“You’re so wet, I can see your cute little slit through your panties baby.” He chuckled, leaning down and hollowing his cheeks to spit right above your clothed clit, making it even messier.

You whimpered, your toes curling at the sensation, gripping the camcorder tightly as you felt him crouch down, spreading his spit over your panties. His warm tongue then licked along your pussy through the fabric, slotting between your folds, the wet material pressing inside your slit.

“Make sure the camera can see how good I’m gonna eat this pussy.” He whispered while looking at you, flipping your panties to the side and groaning when he saw how wet and pink you were, his jaw slackening as he took almost your whole pussy into his warm mouth.

It was so wet and messy, and you could see him through the mini screen of the camcorder, maintaining direct eye contact with the lens while eating you out, making sure to pull back your hood so the camera could capture how his lips would wrapped around your swollen clit.

He suctioned around it, spreading more spit, sucking as if his life depended on it, then moved down to gather your juices before sliding his hot tongue inside you, coaxing more from you. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, showing you how he drank every bit of your wetness.

“That feels so g-good.” You moaned, trying to zoom in on how his tongue played with your folds.

He hummed, the vibrations making you twitch in pleasure.

“Yeah? This feels good?” he asked, sucking harshly on your clit as your eyes rolled back, your release building up fast. Your pussy throbbed, your clit growing more sensitive with every passing second.

“I’m gonna-’’

You moaned loudly when he buried his face deeper, never letting go of your throbbing clit, his head moving from side to side as he groaned low against you. When he finally let go of your clit, you gasped as he gathered a thick amount of saliva, hollowing his cheeks to spit harshly down on you, then leaning back in with his tongue out to spread it in slow, kitten-like licks.

When he looked up again at the lens, you exploded, your orgasm so intense you could feel your pussy pulsating so hard you almost saw stars.

‘’Stop, please!” You whined, overstimulated as he kept licking your cunt, your legs shaking from the oversensitivity.

His chin and nose were soaked, his lips slightly red and pouty, his dark locks messy, and his pupils dilated. You gasped when he suddenly removed his boxers; his cock was hard and pretty, curving slightly upward, decorated with thick veins and a red, swollen mushroom tip.

Jungkook took the camera and angled it towards you, wide glossy eyes looking up at him weakly.

“Say… thank you for making me cum, Jungkook.” He breathed, his other hand gripping his cock as he spread the precum along his shaft.

“Thank you for m-making me cum, Jungkook.” You croaked, your legs still trembling from your intense orgasm.

He smiled proudly. “My smart girl, very good at following instructions,” he praised, placing the camcorder down beside you and angling it so it could capture how his mouth leaned down to suck your nipples, while his free hand squeezed and rolled the other bud between his fingers.

“Jungkook—” you moaned as his tongue twirled and sucked around your breast, just like he had done to your clit—messy and pouty with saliva.

He bit your nipple playfully, earning a soft whimper from you, his tattooed hand reaching down to cup your swollen pussy.

You gasped when he inserted his middle finger, your walls tightening around the intrusion.

“You’re so tight and warm.” He murmured against your nipple, letting it go with a soft pop before moving to suck on the other one.

You whimpered, your pussy growing wetter from the way he sucked and played with your nipples, the pad of his middle finger brushing against your spongy spot, making you writhe in pleasure.

“Please- too much.” You moaned, his middle finger going so deep that his knuckles were hitting your ass, his finger curling in a “come here” motion inside you, rubbing your spot deliciously as your tight hole produced more juices, the feeling of your previous release being pushed inside you making you tremble.

He let go of your nipple and leaned in immediately, pouty lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, messy and demanding, tangling with yours as the kiss deepened and turned overwhelming.

At the same time, his other hand moved up to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around the column of your neck, giving it a light squeeze as he held you in place.

Your lips parted in response, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue deeper, exploring every corner of your mouth, sucking on your tongue and swallowing your whines and protests.

His hard cock pressed against your inner thigh, impossibly close to your wet pussy, grinding lightly as he shifted. You could feel his precum, warm and slick, and the firm pressure of his mushroom tip against your skin made you bite back a shaky breath, a mix of pleasure and nerves twisting together inside you.

Your walls tightened around his finger, making it almost impossible for him to move it from how tightly your pussy gripped him.

He groaned, biting your lip and nudging your thighs wider with his legs, inserting another finger and making you gasp from the mix of pain and pleasure. He swallowed your moans, almost bruising your tongue from the way he was kissing you, the air in your lungs growing limited every time he squeezed your throat.

“Shh, behave for the camera.” he whispered, his thumb caressing your throat while his middle and ring fingers rubbed your spongy spot in slow circles.

Tears fell from your eyes, the overstimulation and edging making you cry from pain. You had already come, but you wanted to cum again so badly, your pussy aching and throbbing for another release, his fingers brushing your g-spot in a teasing, ticklish way, making you shake and move your legs in protest.

“Let me cum again, please, please…” you pleaded, fat tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

He gripped your throat a little tighter, making you gasp for air. “Aww, you wanna come again?” he cooed.

You nodded desperately, moving your hips to meet his fingers. “Yes, please.”

He chuckled at you. “So polite.” he said, lazily grabbing the camcorder from the side and angling it down towards your spent pussy. “Spread wide, baby.”

You immediately held your ankles, making yourself completely open for him, desperate for release, your body aching from denied pleasure.

He angled the camera at your twitching hole, filming how your wetness dripped down the sheets. He held his hard cock, spitting down onto his shaft and pumping it a few times before angling himself towards your wet cunt.

You gasped loudly when his blunt head entered your hole, biting your lip harshly at the foreign intrusion, the stretch nearly overwhelming you from his swollen mushroom tip alone.

“So big…” you whimpered, holding your ankles tightly as a new wave of tears gathered in your eyes.

Your breath hitched, trembling as you tried to adjust, the sensation stealing every coherent thought from your mind.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, zooming in on your wet cunt to capture how your walls were sucking him in.

“Your pussy looks so good on camera baby, so tight and pretty.” He grunted, pushing halfway in and earning a loud moan from you.

His bangs stuck to his forehead, his lip ring catching the light as he bit down on his lower lip. His broad chest rose and fell heavily, veins tracing along his neck, flushed and taut with effort. Even like this, he held the camera with unnerving steadiness, like nothing about the moment could shake his focus.

So steady and professional at producing sex tapes.

When he bottomed out, you almost fainted, the stretch overwhelming—painful yet intoxicating—as he pressed fully against you. His balls settled deep, his pelvis flush with yours, the soft trim of hair brushing your clit each time he rolled his hips.

He groaned harshly. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his jaw clenching as your walls enveloped him.

“Relax, baby—you’re gripping me,” he groaned weakly, this time angling the camera toward your face.

You whimpered, trying to cover your face with your small hands, but he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. His sudden hard thrusts made your body bounce slightly with every movement, leaving you breathless.

“Don’t be shy, baby—show your pretty face to the camera,” he drawled lazily, angling it towards your flushed expression.

“Show them how good I’m making you feel.” He grunted, rolling his hips against you. The curve of his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly, buried so deep that he barely pulled out at all—only circling his hips, grinding in a way that made it feel like he wanted to push even further. The sensation drew a sharp arch through your back.

His gaze stayed locked on you through the screen, lips parted, breath uneven—like he was caught between control and losing it. The way your pussy gripped him made his cock throb, his expression darkening with something possessive and unspoken. 

“Look at you, whimpering like a pretty little slut.” he said in a condescending tone.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You pouted, your walls tightening around him at his degrading tone.

He raised a brow. “Oh really? You think a lot of people won’t agree once I upload this?”

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your flushed face as his thrusts turned harsher and sloppier, the rhythm giving away how close he was getting. You were almost impressed that he was still managing to keep the camera steady.

“N-No, you are not gonna do that,” you panicked, your eyes wide and glossy, your small hands trying to push the camera away.

He grunted, his cock throbbing as he felt your pussy tighten around him. He shifted just enough to avoid the camera when you reached for it, tightening his grip around both your wrists so you couldn’t move.

“You like that, huh? Come on, pretty—let me film you properly.” He snapped his hips harder, angling the lens toward you while your bodies met in sharp, rhythmic collisions.

The friction made your breath hitch, your clit brushing against his pubic hair in a way that sent jolts of pleasure racing through your body. His grip tightened around the camcorder, breathing uneven as he watched you come apart through the screen, completely drunk on the sounds you were making for him.

“Moan louder.” he commanded.

You moaned loudly, your chest rising and falling as his harsh movements made your body react against him. His eyes rolled back slightly from the way you kept pulsating around him, every drag sending him deeper into overstimulation.

He bit his lip. “My dirty girl, getting fucked on film.” he rasped.

Then, abruptly, he let go of the camcorder and set it aside.

A soft sound escaped him as he pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Before you could fully register it, he was already moving you—pulling your body forward and repositioning you in front of him.

He settled behind you, guiding you into place so that you were now facing the cameras on the tripod, your body fully on display while his broad chest and hard cock pressed close from behind.

“You see those two cameras baby?’’ he whispered behind your ear, spreading your legs wide.

“Yes.” you replied weakly.

You gasped loudly when he entered you from behind, your body settling against his lap as his thighs kept your legs spread wide, positioning you so the camera could clearly capture the way he entered you.

“Smile for them baby, need some footage from this angle.’’ He cooed softly, thrusting his hips upward while his other arm circled around your waist to keep you steady.

You moaned, trembling so badly when you saw how the lights caught both of your bodies—the glittering sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup, and his tattooed colored arms all captured in high definition under the harsh glow.

"My pretty pretty girl, should I post this? show them how I fuck?" he murmured against your skin before pressing a kiss to your cheek, his tongue brushing lightly over the dampness left behind by your earlier tears.

The tenderness of it contrasted so badly with the hunger in his voice that it made your breath hitch. His hand cradled your face carefully, thumb stroking beneath your eye as though he was soothing you and provoking you at the same time, and the way he looked at you through half-lidded eyes made heat rush straight to your chest.

He suddenly grabbed the clip-on mic from your necklace, your eyes widening as you realized he was angling it downward—towards where his cock met your pussy.

“Need to test the mic baby, let the viewers hear how much of a nasty slut you are.”

The mic was so close that every sound was picked up clearly—the wet, obscene squelches echoing as he pushed and pulled inside you, the way he dragged against your tight heat sounding even more intense through the recording. The noise alone felt almost sinful in how loud and wet it was.

“I bet they can hear how tight your pussy is.” he grunted, putting the mic closer to your cunt.

He could feel how slick everything had become, wetting his balls each time he pushed, your arousal makes each movement messier.

“Gonna cum, oh gosh.” You moaned, your body growing hypersensitive as your clit throbbed with the pressure of an approaching orgasm.

He grabbed both of your cheeks when he noticed your head starting to fall back from pleasure, forcing you to look straight at the camera in front of you. “Be a good girl and look at the lens, don’t want my content to be bad quality.’’

His other hand clipped the mic back onto your necklace before sliding down again, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You moaned loudly, your back arching as your orgasm edged closer and closer.

“Cum for me baby, show them your cute little juices.” 

Your legs were shaking when you finally reached your orgasm, your clit throbbing so intensely, your limbs giving out as your body hit its peak. Your swollen bud pulsed uncontrollably in fast, erratic heart beats, your walls clenching around his cock as he was still thrusting inside you.

Your eyes rolled back into your head when you felt your orgasm stretch further from his deep thrusts, his mushroom tip brushing against your g-spot and dragging you straight into another wave. You came again, consecutively, your body twitching as overstimulation took over, your legs instinctively trying to close.

"J-Jungkook I can't anymore."

Jungkook forced your legs to stay open, his index and middle fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for the camera, showing how your clit pulsed beneath the warm lights while his cock remained buried deep inside you.

''Mhm.. spit on your clit baby, make it extra wet before I use you." he whispered.

You squirmed, obediently leaning down as his fingers kept you spread open. With trembling breaths, you gathered saliva on your tongue before letting it drip down onto your clit, both cameras capturing the filthy sight in sharp detail.

A low curse slipped past Jungkook’s lips at the view, his grip tightening instinctively as he watched you, completely consumed by the way you willingly put yourself on display for him.

He quickly flipped your body down to chase his own pleasure, entering you again and sloppily thrusting into your wet used walls, pushing your cum deeper and deeper inside you. You were so weak, your heart still racing as you weakly reached for the camcorder to film him.

When he saw what you were doing, he groaned harshly, his grip on your hips tightening so hard it bordered on bruising as he held you down.

“My smart girl, you learned well huh?” He praised you, thrusting fast and hard, the camcorder shaking in your grip as you tried to capture his deep strokes.

"Your little brain functioning well with my cock deep inside you.'' he muttered darkly, thumb brushing against your cheek as he watched your expression unravel for him.

“A-Am I doing a good job?” you asked softly, biting your lip as you adjusted the camera to capture his face this time.

He let out a low growl in response, movements losing their rhythm slightly as pleasure started pulling him apart at the edges. “Uh-huh,” he breathed heavily. “You can be my personal little porn star. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

A loud moan escaped you at the thought, heat rushing instantly to your cheeks as you tightened your grip on the camcorder, suddenly far too eager to keep filming him.

“Gonna fuck you anytime I want,” he breathed, dilated eyes locked on you through the lens. “Film it however I like.”

With a harsh final thrust, he came inside you, grunting as he pushed through the last of it, staying buried as he finished, his body still tense with the release. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, warm cum spilling and pooling, some of it leaking out and staining the sheets beneath you while he stayed balls deep.

The camcorder slipped from your grip, forgotten as you breathed heavily beneath him. You were completely spent, still sensitive as his hips gave a few slow, instinctive movements, as if trying to push his cum deeper despite his softening cock.

“Jungkook?” you asked weakly, fingers absentmindedly playing with the soft ruffles of his hair.

“Hmm?” he hummed against your neck, lips pressing lazy kisses there, his cock still buried deep inside you. The red recording lights on the cameras kept blinking steadily in the background.

“A-Are you really gonna post this?” you bit your lip, glancing back at the two large cameras perched on the tripod.

Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, teeth grazing your skin in a teasing bite. “Mhm. I still need to edit it though.”

“Jungkook!” you squealed, panicking again.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and sharp with need, still carrying that lingering haze of desire. “Do you even know how to edit?” he asked, eyes squinting in playful doubt.

Your eyes widened. “I can edit,” you insisted quickly. “I learned a few things… I kinda know the basics.” Your voice softened at the end, almost uncertain.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he slowly pulled out, earning a shaky breath from you before he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

“Hmm. Okay…” he murmured softly, lifting the camcorder slightly between you. “Edit this video for me, then.”

“What, r-really?” you blinked, surprised that he was letting you work for him.

“Uh-huh,” he said casually. “Then we’ll see if I have to keep you or not.”

You pouted instantly at that, but he was already shifting away from you, looking at the camcorder and checking the footage with the ease of someone far too experienced at this.

The screen’s glow reflected faintly against his handsome face as he replayed a few clips, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Even now, completely relaxed, he somehow still looked annoyingly professional.

“Okay…” you mumbled softly, a little disappointment slipping into your voice before you could hide it.

He noticed immediately. Of course he did.

A smirk pulled at his lips as he lifted the camcorder slightly, teasing you with it. “Make sure you include your pretty moans, baby,” he drawled. “Or else we’ll have to retake this again.”

He stood up then, completely unbothered, removing the cameras from their tripods like the decision had already been made long before you realized it.

Retake.

Oh. He was definitely keeping you.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

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[jeonette]

what do you mean? — 정국

in which you’re in a “situation ship” with a guy that pushes you away with his words but pulls you back in with his touch. your “relationship” is practically a cycle of blurry, misunderstood late night calls and unread texts that always ends with him pounding on your front door. he's never clear with what the both of you are, and he’s never transparent with the way he feels. so, the only thing that's left to wonder... is what the fuck does he actually mean?

warnings : jungkook is a manipulative bitch. ( slightly though ) vulgar language. oc has like zero self respect. ( STAND UPP ladies ) unprotected sex. nipple play. breeding kink. bigdick!jk. he’s way too big for her and he makes sure she knows. he cums in her. he uses another girl to make oc jealous. ( kinda?? )

a/n: hi... okay so while writing this I may have gotten carried away with the whole concept and changed A LOT of stuff, so some of the description may be different from the one from my teaser. ANYWAYS IMPORTANT : do play the two songs requested when mentioned because those songs curate the whole vibe and will a 100 percent make you're reading experience more enjoyable and you WILL feel your heart ache, ( or at least I hope ), this was originally not supposed to be mainly focused on plot, but your girl got too carried away and well... here we are! I so so hope you enjoy!! thank you for being so patient and waiting for me. happy reading! <33

jungkook: come over

here we go.

you roll onto your side, thumb hovering over the glass. your chest feels tight, that familiar ache of wanting to give in and wanting to scream at him at the same time.

you: no.

the bubbles appear instantly. he’s hovering. he’s waiting.

jungkook: why are u being so difficult?? just come over

you sit up, the sheets pooling around your waist. you think about the instagram story you saw three nights ago.

the loud music you could practically fucking hear through the screen, the way some girl's arm was brushed against his shoulder while he laughed at something his friend said.

he looked like he didn't have a care in the world while your "where are you?" texts went unread for hours.

you: how am i being difficult when you barely could explain what happened a few nights ago??

jungkook: for fucks sake. i told you nothing happened, and i was going to come over later that night. shit just got carried away.

you: yeah but you didn’t. so until you tell me the truth, i ain’t coming over for shit. goodbye.

you toss the phone face down. you know what comes next. he’ll call. he’ll say he got carried away, again. he’ll say his friends made him stay, and then beg for me to forgive him.

it’s the same cycle. he pushes you away with his silence, leaves you wondering where you stand, and then the second you start to build a wall, he tries to kick it down.

he wants you close enough to touch, close enough to have, but never close enough to actually hold onto.

your phone buzzes again. then again.

you pick it up. it isn't a text this time. it's a picture.

it’s a blurry picture of his calvin klein sweatpants that you bought for him.

his length clearly hard, his hand just barely placed right above it.

then a voice note follows.

you press play, and his voice is low, scratchy with sleep or maybe something else.

"don't be like that," he mutters, the sound of a lighter flicking in the background. "i'm literally begging. just let me come over. please."

well, fuck.

the "please" is what actually kills you.

it’s the only time he sounds like he belongs to you, and you hate how easily it works.

he acts like he doesn't care if you stay or go, but the moment you actually head for the door, he’s blocking the damn exit.

you look at your front door, then back at the phone. what are you even fucking doing?

you: I’m upset, jungkook. can’t you tell?

jungkook: I know. so let me make it up to you, baby. I’m coming to yours rn. leave the lock open.

you : fine.

he doesn't ask. he never asks. he just decides. that’s the problem.

and of course. of course, you're already reaching for the remote to buzz him in.

the sound of his heavy boots echoing in the quiet hallway makes your stomach flip.

knock. knock. knock.

"open up, baby.” he mumbles, his voice vibrating through the door. "know you’re there."

you pull the door open just a crack, and he doesn't even wait. he pushes his way in.

he kicks the door shut with his heel and immediately crowds you into the wall, his large hands coming up to cup your face before you can even get a word out.

"hey," he whispers, his nose brushing against yours. his eyes are dark, searching yours with a look that’s so soft it feels like a lie.

"jungkook, stop," you say, your voice coming out way weaker than you wanted.

you put your hands on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart through his hoodie. "we need to talk. you didn't even explain about the other night and i'm not just gonna—"

"shhh," he breathes, cutting you off with a lingering kiss on your temple. "don't do that. not right now, hm?”

he starts kissing the side of your face, his lips grazing your jawline, moving slow and deliberate.

every time you try to turn your head away, he just follows, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your cheeks. it’s so frustratingly gentle.

it’s the jungkook that makes you forget all the red flags.

"i'm still upset," you whisper, even as your eyes flutter shut. "you can't just come here and act like everything is fine. i need communication, jungkook. i need you to actually tell me what happened."

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb catching your bottom lip and tugging it down. "i know, i know baby. i’ll tell you everything you want to know, okay? just... not now."

he leans down, finally capturing your lips in a kiss that tastes like a promise he probably won't keep.

it’s deep and slow, his tongue slicking against yours until your knees feel like they’re going to give out. your hands, which were supposed to be pushing him away, are now fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

"i know you're mad," he murmurs against your mouth, his hands sliding down your back to hook under your thighs, lifting you up so you have to wrap your legs around his waist.

"why don't you take this off for me? let me take care of you. make you feel good.”

you let out a shaky breath, your resolve crumbling into a million pieces. he carries you to the bedroom, the room only lit by the dim light of the streetlamps outside.

he lays you down like you’re something precious, hovering over you while he watches you struggle with the hem of your shirt.

"that's it," he praises, his voice dropping an octave as he watches the fabric fall away. "so pretty for me. you have no idea how much i thought about this while i was out."

he doesn't rush. he spends forever just worshiping your skin, his mouth exploring every inch of your neck and collarbone. he’s a talker, just like always.

"you like that, don't you? can feel your heart racing," he whispers, his hands moving down to unbutton your jeans. "tell me you missed me. tell me you wanted me here."

you just groan, your head hitting the pillow as he works his way down. he's so focused, so intent on making you feel every single thing.

when he finally moves between your legs, his hands are firm but careful, spreading you open.

"look at me," he commands softly. you open your eyes, seeing him look up at you from between your knees. "gonna make you forget why you were even shouting at me earlier, hm? gonna make you feel good. that’s what you deserve, yeah?”

and he does. his tongue is precise, findng exactly what you need, his fingers working in perfect sync.

he’s talking the whole time, multiple praises and dirty whispers that make your toes curl.

"yeah, just like that— fuck, you’re so wet for me, baby. keep making those sounds, i love hearing you moan f’ me.”

by the time he finally moves back up, you’re a mess.

you're calling his name, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he sinks into you.

it’s not fast or rough, not like the usual.

this time it’s slow, and incredibly intimate.

but it’s on purpose.

he keeps his eyes locked on yours, murmuring about how good you feel, how much he missed the way you fit together.

fucking asshole.

you knew this was his way of saying “sorry”, of trying to avoid the questions you’d bombard him with.

and for a moment, everything is perfect.

but then, the moment he releases in you, the feeling passes.

the room goes quiet except for your heavy breathing as you both collapse onto the tangled sheets.

you’re waiting for him to pull you into his chest, to kiss your forehead and stay in this bubble for just a little longer.

instead, you feel the bed shift.

jungkook reaches over to the nightstand and grabs his phone. the bright screen lights up his face, casting a glow over his features. he’s scrolling, his thumb moving fast, and a small, amused smirk plays on his lips.

the silence in the room suddenly feels heavy again.

you hated this part.

you hated that he’d talk like how he did just to get into your pants, and then he’d completely act as if you didn’t exist right after.

it had you overthinking most of the time, which led to arguments, and arguments led to a prolonged lack of communication. which would then be fixed by him knocking at your door again, and fucking you, again.

and the cycle repeats.

you try to talk, hoping that something would change this time.

"that felt ... felt really good, kook," you say softly, trying to catch his eye. "missed you.."

"mhm," he hums, not looking up. his eyes are glued to his screen. “me too.”

"maybe we could, i don't know, cuddle and watch a movie?" you suggest, reaching out to trace the tattoos on his arm. "or we could just stay like this for a bit."

"yeah, down for that," he says, but his tone is totally flat. he’s still typing something out, his focus a million miles away from the bed you’re currently sharing.

you watch him, the ache in your chest returning.

he’s right here, his skin still warm against yours, but he’s already gone.

he’s back to being this version of himself, the one who treats you like an option once his needs are met.

you ponder what you are to him. and it doesn’t help with the already lingering questions and thoughts in your head.

you shift closer, resting your head on his shoulder, trying to force the intimacy back into the room.

he doesn't pull away, but he doesn't drop the phone either. he just shifts his arm slightly so he can keep scrolling.

"who are you talking to?" you ask, trying to sound casual, even though your heart is sinking.

"just the guys," he mutters, finally locking the phone and tossing it face down.

he sighs, a long, tired sound, and finally rolls over to face you. he looks at you for a long beat, his expression unreadable.

"c’mere."

he pulls you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin. it’s exactly what you asked for, but it feels different now.

"we're good, right?" he asks, his voice muffled by your hair.

you want to say no. you want to bring up the girls, the ignorant fucking texts, and the fact that he was supposed to be over a few days ago, but bailed and has yet to give you an explanation.

but you’re tired, and his arms are warm, and the scent of him is already drugging your brain again.

"yeah," you lie, closing your eyes. "we're good."

the next morning, you expected him to be gone.

you expected to wake up with a note on your bedroom table, but you see him awake, and staring at the ceiling

you can’t help but smile, thinking that maybe things were changing.

but oh were you fucking wrong.

"hey, morning.” you mumble.

“didn’t think you’d still be here.” you whisper, and his head turns towards your direction.

“just don’t have anywhere to be today.” he replies.

you simply nod, trying to not think much of it.

“m’ gonna shower," you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.

"i'll join you," he says. he doesn't look at you, but he stands up and follows you into the bathroom.

you feel a tiny spark of relief in your chest, a little smile tugs at your lips. maybe last night actually meant something. maybe he's actually staying present this time.

right?

the shower is steaming up fast. you step under the water, waiting for him to pull you close, to continue that sweetness from a few hours ago.

but he just stands there.

the silence is deafening, punctuated only by the aggressive spray of the water against the tiles.

he’s washing himself without even looking at you, his eyes occasionally looking up at the bottle of soap.

he looks like he’s a million miles away, like he’s already mentally left the apartment.

fuck, you hated this.

"kook?" you say.

"you okay? you’re like... unusually quiet."

"i'm fine," he mutters, not looking up. "could you pass me the soap."

you hand it to him, your fingers brushing his, but he doesn't grab your hand or even acknowledge the touch. he’s dry and he’s cold.

the warmth from last night has been completely drained out of him.

you try one more time, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "did you sleep okay? i was thinking maybe we could go grab some—“

he sighs, cutting you off.

he fucking sighs.

"don't really feel like talking right now," he snaps, rinsing the soap off his chest. "just wanna get clean."

he finishes before you, stepping out of the glass stall without a second glance.

you stay there for a few more minutes, the hot water turning cold, feeling that familiar knot of frustration twisting in your gut.

your mind is racing with thoughts, you quickly do what you need to do, and within minutes you’re out.

and you don't even bother with a towel.

you throw on a tiny tank top and your underwear, your hair dripping wet and sticking to your back, and you march out into the living room.

he’s sitting on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, fully dressed in his jeans and hoodie like he’s already halfway out the door.

"jungkook. did i do something?" you start, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

"was it something i said? or did i suddenly become invisible the second you fucked me last night?"

jungkook doesn't even look up from the screen. "no. what are you even talking about?"

"then why the fuck are you acting like this?" you raise your voice, stepping into his line of sight.

"last night you were literally begging to come over. you were so sweet, so gentle, acting like you actually gave a shit about me. and now? you’re acting like i’m some stranger you just happened to wake up next to!"

he finally looks up, and his expression is so blank it makes you want to scream. "i don't know why you’re yelling so early in the morning. i’m literally just sitting here."

"no!— you’re not 'just sitting here,' jungkook! you do this every single time!" you’re pacing now, your wet hair spraying droplets on the floor.

“whenever you mess up, you turn into this perfect version of yourself. the perfect version for me. you use the sweetness to get back in my fucking bed, and the second you get what you want, you shut down, you shut me out! you treat me like a fucking convenience."

he scoffs.

"you’re reaching," he says, his ego flaring up as he stands to face you. he looks down at you, towering over you with a nonchalant shrug that drives you fucking insane.

"i came over because i wanted to see you. i made it up to you. what more do you want?"

"i want you to actually be here! and i want to know what we actually are for fucks sake." you shout, poking a finger into his chest.

"i want to know who the real you is. is it the guy who calls me baby and kisses my forehead, or is it this cold, selfish jerk who can't even look at me over breakfast?"

jungkook scoffs, shaking his head like you’re the one being crazy. "what do you mean?" he asks, his voice sounding genuinely confused, which only makes it worse.

holy shit you’re about to break.

"i'm right here. i'm staying, aren't i? you’re the one creating a problem out of fucking nothing."

"nothing? you think this is nothing?" you’re practically vibrating with rage, the tears starting to prick at your eyes but you refuse to let them fall.

“you lie to me all the time, you bail on me for like— the 60th time, and then you come here and act like you own me. you use me to feel better about yourself and then you check out.

i’m so fucking tired of guessing what you want from me."

"you know what, I’m not doing this with you," he says, his jaw tightening.

he’s already reaching for his wallet and keys on the coffee table.

"you’re being way too much right now. you’re always searching for some deep meaning behind everything. this isn’t fucking third grade literature y/n! sometimes a shower is just a shower."

you cannot believe those words just flew out of his mouth.

"fuck you! leave then!" you scream, your voice cracking.

"because i'm done trying to translate your bullshit signals. you’re a coward, jungkook. you can’t even handle one real conversation without running away."

he stares at you for a long beat, his eyes cold and hard. he looks at your messy hair, your shaking hands, and he just sighs like you’re an inconvenience.

wow.

"fine. have it your fucking way," he says, shoving his phone into his pocket. "you’re confusing as shit, you know that? one second you’re pulling me closer and the next you’re screaming at me. i can't keep up with this. i'll see myself out."

he doesn't even look back. he grabs his jacket, throws it over his shoulder, and walks out.

the door slams.

the sound of the door hitting the frame echoes through the empty apartment, final and sharp.

the silence that follows is deafening. you stand there in the middle of the room, the dampness of your hair making you shiver. the adrenaline drains out of you all at once, leaving you empty and hollow.

you collapse onto the couch, the same spot where he was just sitting, and finally, the first sob breaks through.

you hate him.

you hate how he makes you feel like the crazy one just for wanting the truth.

you hate that even now, with your heart breaking, you're already wondering how long it'll take before he sends the next "can I come over? let me make it up to you." text.

and the worst part is you already know what your fucking answer will be.

——

the silence in the apartment is literal torture.

it’s been seven days. seven days of you staring at your phone, checking his "last seen," and then getting mad at yourself for even caring

your room is a fucking mess. clothes on the floor, empty take out containers on the desk, and the curtains are drawn shut like the time you mourned the death of that one dinosaur that was left behind in jurassic park for a week.

you’re laying facedown on your bed, scrolling through your old photos, when you hear aggressive banging on your apartment door.

"y/n! open the door! i have a safety pin and a clip and i'm not afraid to use them!" yunjin yells through the wood.

you groan, dragging yourself up. you look in the hallway mirror and wince.

your skin is pale, your hair is practically a bird's nest, and you’ve got dark circles under your eyes.

you open the door just as she’s about to kick it.

"finally," she snaps, pushing past you. she stops in the middle of the living room and gag.

"oh my god. girl. it smells like literal sadness in here. when was the last time you opened a window?….. or showered?"

"i don't know. leave me alone, yunjin," you mumble, walking back to the couch and burying your face in a pillow.

she doesn't leave. she starts opening the curtains, letting in the blinding sun.

you hiss, clearly irritated.

but she does not give one fuck. she sits on the edge of the couch and pulls the pillow away from your face.

"okay, talk to me. seriously. what’s up with you? it’s been a week. you’ve been ghosting the group chat and you didn't even post for jimin’s birthday. is it him?"

you feel the lump in your throat getting bigger.

“so it is him, isn’t it?”

"he just... he left, yunjin. like, for real this time. we had this huge fight after he stayed over. he was being so sweet that night, like actually gentle, trying to make up for the shit we fought about a few nights ago.” your voice trails.

“and then the next morning it’s like he flipped a switch. he was cold and dry and when i called him out on it, he just walked out. he slammed the door so hard i thought the frame broke."

yunjin’s expression softens. she reaches out and rubs your arm. "did he say anything after? a text? a call?"

"no. nothing," you whisper, and your voice cracks.

"and that’s what hurts the most. i thought after everything... after the way he was looking at me that night... i thought he’d care enough to at least check if i was okay. but he just went back to his life. he’s probably out right now acting like i don't even fucking exist."

“it hurts, yun. it really…. fucking hurts.” your voice softens, tears threatening to fall as you can feel your heart physically being stabbed.

"oh, my poor baby… you know what he is? he’s a coward," yunjin says firmly.

"he uses that nonchalant act because he’s scared of actually being real with you. he’s acting like he doesn’t care because he’s too scared to have any real feelings."

"i just feel so stupid," you say, a tear finally escaping.

"i just… i ponder what i even am to him, yun.”

“like, am i just someone he calls when he’s bored of his friends? am i just a backup? i hate that i let him back in every single time. i hate that i'm sitting here crying and he's probably totally fine."

yunjin pulls you into a hug, letting you just leak into her shoulder for a minute. she lets you cry it out, not saying anything until you’ve gone quiet.

"oh baby. you’re not stupid," she says, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

"you’re just human. and you deserve to feel the way you do right now….. but you’re also a bad fucking bitch, and you’ve forgotten that because you’ve been rotting in this apartment for a week.” she says firmly.

“you’re not gonna sit here and cry over a guy who can’t even send a text. you're way too hot for this."

she stands up suddenly, clapping her hands. "get up. go to the bathroom. exfoliate. shave. and for gods sake, take a fucking shower. I love you, but you reek.”

"why?" you ask, wiping your eyes, looking up at her.

"because we’re going to the club tonight. jimin and taehyung are already texting me. hara is coming too. we’re gonna go out, get some drinks, and remind you that the world doesn't start and end with jeon mother fuckin’ jungkook."

"yunjin, no," you groan, falling back onto the cushions.

"i look like a literal zombie. my hair is a mess, i have nothing to wear, and i just want to sleep for another ten years.

"fuck no. you’re not sleeping," she says, heading for your closet and tossing clothes around.

“i’ll pick the fit and do your makeup. we are going to get you a vodka soda and you’re going to dance until you forget his name. blackout, if you must. anything to have your mind away from him and his circumcised dick.“

you look at her, seeing that look in her eyes that means she’s serious. you look around your depressing apartment, then back at your reflection in the glass of the tv.

"fine," you mutter. "but if i cry in the middle of the dance floor, it’s your fault."

"I can work with that, we have a deal." she chirps, pointing toward the shower.

"hit the shower. now."

by the time yunjin is done with you, you actually

look… not disgusting. she put you in this tiny, tight black dress and did your makeup so good you barely recognize yourself.

the club is completely packed when you guys get there. the bass is thumping so hard you can feel it in your chest, and the air smells like perfume, sweat, and expensive drinks.

you follow yunjin through the crowd, trying not to trip over everyone, until you see the booth in the corner.

jimin, taehyung, and hara are already there, sitting around a table full of drinks.

"holy shit! look who’s alive!" jimin yells over the music, jumping up to pull you into a massive hug.

"i thought you actually died, you’ve been so quiet on everywhere."

"yeah, well. blame yunjin, she dragged me out," you laugh, sitting down next to him. taehyung hands you a shot of tequila immediately, and you down it, feeling the burn hit your throat.

the club gets a bit drowned out after a couple more drinks.

you lean closer to jimin, since you guys have always been close but haven't really caught up in forever. you start telling him a little bit about what happened last week.

"he’s just so exhausting, chim," you shout over the loud music, holding your drink tight.

"one second he’s literally begging to see me, being all sweet, and the next he acts like i’m a stranger. i don't even know what we are. and he always avoids that exact question or tries to push me away when i bring that topic up."

jimin nods, looking all sympathetic. "he’s always been like that, babe. he doesn't know how to show emotion. he thinks that the only way he’ll get through life is by being this— closed off version of himself. we’ve tried telling him it never ends well. but does the fucker listen? nope."

“you’re doing the best you can, y/n. don’t beat yourself up about this too much, okay?” he finishes, rubbing your shoulder slightly.

“now, what shall offer m’lady? perhaps a highball? or maybe a—“ suddenly, jimin stops talking. his face goes completely blank, and his eyes shift toward the entrance.

"holy fucking shit," jimin mutters, his grip tightening on his glass. "look who just walked in."

you turn around, and your heart literally drops straight into your stomach.

jungkook.

well, shit.

he’s walking in with two of his guy friends. he’s wearing an all black fit, his hair is messy, and he looks entirely too good.

he looks completely fine, like he hasn't lost a single second of sleep over you.

"fuck. holy fucking shit. i— i shouldn't have come here," you whisper-yell, instantly panicking. you grab your clutch, ready to bolt. "yunjin, we have to go— if not, i’m leaving right now."

"are you phsycotic?! stay down! don't be so dramatic!" yunjin hisses, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into the seat.

"are you seriously going to let this jerk ruin your night? what did we talk about on the way over here? live your fucking life y/n. it’s about time you have some self respect! besides, you look way too hot to run away like some coward. just ignore him."

"ignore him? yunjin, he’s right there!" you’re literally hiding behind jimin’s shoulder, trying to peek through his arm like an absolute psycho.

it’s kind of funny how bad you're freaking out, and taehyung is just sitting there laughing at you.

jungkook doesn't notice you guys yet. he moves over to a table across the VIP section. and within minutes, a couple of girls in low cut tops slide right into his booth.

you feel that annoying pang of jealousy in your chest, but you somehow force yourself to keep watching.

the girls are doing the most, leaning in close and trying to talk to him. but jungkook just looks... bored. or just, out of it. you guess.

he’s in his own little bubble, sipping his drink and staring at the floor. he nods when they speak, but he isn't really laughing or entertaining them like that.

his friends are trying to hype him up, forcing him to take shots and enjoy the vibe, but he just looks totally closed off.

"see? babe, he looks miserable," yunjin whispers in your ear, nudging you. "he’s literally ignoring them."

"whatever, that means nothing." you mutter, but you can’t look away. it’s actually kind of funny watching these girls try so hard while he just sits there looking so nonchalant and annoyed.

after another hour of watching him from a distance, the tequila finally kicks in. you stand up, telling yunjin you need another drink.

"i'm going to the bar, need another drink.” you say, as she simply nods.

you walk toward the bar, making sure your hips swing just a little bit more. you can feel eyes on you. you don't look at his table, but you know he’s watching. you can literally feel the back of your neck tingling.

you reach the bar and order a vodka soda.

you’re waiting for the bartender when you hear a familiar voice right next to you.

you turn your head slightly, looking at the big mirror behind the bar.

and there he is.

jungkook is standing three feet away from you, ordering a drink for his friend. he looks over, catches your eye in the reflection, and his expression cracks for a split second.

he looks surprised, then his eyes darken as he takes in your dress.

you don't say a word. you just grab your vodka soda from the bartender, take a sip, and turn around to walk straight back to your booth.

you walk right past him. your shoulder brushes against his chest. it feels like a literal electric shock. you keep your face completely blank and don't stop.

but just as you step away, you hear his voice.

it’s low and rough. you haven’t heard it in awhile.

“nice dress.” he whispers.

fuck. fuck fuck fuck!

you hide your expression well, you don't even give him the satisfaction of looking back. you just keep walking, but inside, your brain is melting.

you get back to the booth and yunjin is basically vibrating in her seat. "oh my god we were watching! he saw you! what did he say? did he say anything?"

"he said he liked the dress," you mutter, trying to act cool but your face is definitely red.

"and? what did you do?" jimin asks, leaning in.

"nothing. i just ignored him and walked away."

jimin laughs, raising his glass. "nice one!”

you glance back over to his table one last time. jungkook is back at his booth, but he’s not even pretending to listen to his friends anymore.

he’s just sitting there, his chin resting on his hand, staring directly at your table with his dark eyes.

he looks completely wrecked that you just brushed him off, and for the first time in a week, you finally feel a little alive.

you finally feel the way he’s been feeling all the times when he’d act like this to you. and you’re fucking loving it.

you get back to the table and try your best to just keep yourself busy by engaging back into the conversation, laughing at whatever stupid jokes your friends are making.

you’re trying so hard to be unbothered. you want him to see that you’re perfectly fine, that your life didn't stop just because he decided to go ghost for a week.

but for the next hour, it’s just a straight up fucking mind game with him.

every couple of minutes, your eyes just automatically drift back to his table.

and every single time, he’s already staring. you quickly snap your head away, pretending like you were just looking at the lights or the crowd, and a few minutes later, you catch him doing the exact same thing.

he looks away the second your eyes lock. it’s exhausting. and your chest feel like it’s being squeezed.

( whip out spotify or apple music right the fuck now and put on “every breath you take” by the police!! — and I’d recc you to read it & follow the lyrics but do whatevaa!! x )

you take another drink just to make the knot in your throat go away.

and then, the bass dies down.

the loud club music fades out, and this familiar, soft intro starts playing through the speakers.

“every breath you take... every move you make..”

your entire body just freezes. your cup stops halfway to your mouth and you genuinely feel yourself stop breathing.

oh? oh.

“every bond you break, every step you take. I’ll be watching you.”

the dj comes on the mic, his voice sounding way too cheerful. "alright guys! let’s slow it down a little bit. grab your partner, or someone special to you and bring them out to the dance floor."

you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. a big fucking truck. of all the songs in the world, it had to be this one.

“every single day, and every word you say.”

this was your guy's song. it wasn't even a romantic thing at first— you just remember the exact night you both watched season 2 of the stranger things finale.

you both fell in love with the series and that exact scene of the ball, and from then on, it was just your thing.

“every game you play, every night you stay.”

whenever it came on randomly on shuffle, in a car, or in a store in public. jungkook would grab your waist and spin you around, both of you laughing without a care in the world. it was the only time things felt simple with him.

the only time things didn’t feel complicated, or rushed. time always stopped the moment the two of you moved your bodies against each other to that song. you felt almost… loved?

so yeah, horrible fucking timing.

slowly, you look back over at his booth.

“I’ll be watching you.”

only he isn't looking away this time. he’s staring straight at you, completely ignoring the noise and the people starting to stand up around him.

and his face isn't cocky. there's no smirk, no anger, nothing. his eyes look so heavy, almost... emotional. it’s a face you’ve literally never seen him make before.

you see his jaw tighten, not like he’s pissed off, but like he’s trying to hold something back. his eyebrows descend downwards, looking almost sad. completely wrecked.

your mind goes totally foggy. the crowd is moving, couples are walking past your booth to go to the dance floor, but it feels like the room is in slow motion. you’re just staring at him, trying to figure him out while trying to keep yourself from bawling right there and then.

“oh can’t you see?”

and then, of course, the worst thing possible happens.

one of the girls from earlier reaches down, grabs jungkook’s arm, and pulls him up.

you see his face look startled for a split second, like he was snapped out of a trance.

your mouth drops open a little bit, your stomach twisting into a sickening knot. because instead of shaking her off, instead of sitting back down, jungkook actually follows her.

“you belong to me.”

he lets her lead him right onto the dance floor. but he’s looking at you.

the second you see them start to move together to your song, you completely lose it. you couldn't believe what you were watching.

it felt like a literal slap to the face. the tears just start spilling over, hot and fast, blurring your vision.

“how my poor heart aches.”

you can see him looking over the girl’s shoulder, his dark eyes locked onto you the entire time he’s moving with her, but that just makes it a million times worse. it feels malicious.

“with every step you take, every move you make. and every vow you break.”

it feels like he’s doing it just to hurt you, just to prove he can.

"babe? hey, what’s wrong?" yunjin’s voice cuts through, her hand coming onto your shoulder.

jimin leans in, his face looking all worried. "hey, why are you crying? did he do something?"

you can’t hear shit. their voices sound like they’re underwater, completely drowned out by the lyrics of the song playing in the background.

your black mascara is already running down your cheeks, burning your eyes. you can't sit there for another second watching them.

you just grab your purse off the table, knock your chair back a bit, and rush out of venue.

you’re practically pushing past people, your head down, stumbling in your heels as you run toward the exit.

the music is still echoing in your ears, following you out of the main room, somehow getting louder the further away you go from the club.

you burst through the heavy doors and run into the bathroom located right outside the club entrance.

thankfully, it’s empty. the faint sound of the song is still vibrating through the walls.

you let yourself sink straight down against the back of the bathroom door, your knees pulling up to your chest. you’re sobbing so hard your chest hurts, horribly, the sound of your crying echoing against the walls.

your hand fists into your messy hair, pulling at the roots because you just want the pain in your chest to stop.

"you're such a fucking asshole!," you choke out, your voice breaking into tiny, pathetic sobs. "i h-hate you. i f-fucking hate you."

without even thinking, you unlock your phone with a shaking thumb. your eyes are so blurry from tears you can barely see the screen. you open your contacts and scroll down until you hit his name.

you click on his contact. right at the top is the profile picture you set for him.

a photo booth picture of the two of you from months ago. you’re biting his cheek and he’s laughing, everything looks so happy, and perfect.

your heart completely breaks into pieces looking at it. it feels like that boy doesn't even exist anymore.

with a shaky breath, you scroll all the way to the bottom of his contact page. you don't hesitate this time. you press the red text that says block this caller.

the pop up asks if you're sure. you press block contact.

you slide the phone face down onto the dirty bathroom floor, burying your face in your knees as a fresh wave of sobs hits you. you blocked him. it’s done.

but as you sit there in the quiet stall, listening to the muffled music outside, you just feel completely empty, and as the song fades out, so do you.

you wake up and your head is literally pounding so fucking bad it feels like it’s about to explode.

everything is a total blur.

you try to squint your eyes open against the light, and the first thing you see is yunjin and jimin’s faces right above you, looking down like they’re inspecting a corpse.

they’re whispering, but because your head hurts so bad, it just sounds like something’s stuck in your fucking head.

"i told you she's waking up, stop poking her arm," jimin mutters, swatting yunjin’s hand away.

"i'm not poking her, i'm checking if she's alive! she's been out for like 14 fucking hours," yunjin whispers back, sounding all annoyed.

"well, don't yell! you're gonna give her a headache."

"i’m literally whispering!”

you let out a weak groan, and they both instantly snap their heads down, their expressions softening the second they see your eyes are fully open.

"hey, hey," jimin says, his voice getting super soft as he reaches out to pat your shoulder.

"how are you feeling? you okay?"

"water," you croak out, your throat feeling like actual sandpaper.

yunjin immediately runs to the kitchen and comes back with a glass, lifting your head up slightly so you can sip it.

"what happened?" you mutter, rubbing your eyes. you look around and realize you're back on your own couch, wrapped in a fluffy blanket.

"how did i get here? the last thing i remember is... the bathroom."

yunjin scoffs, sitting on the edge of the couch.

"girl, we called your phone like a thousand times. we were literally panicking thinking you got kidnapped or something. then i remembered we have our locations shared on find my iphone, so i tracked you. it led us straight to the bathroom outside the club."

"we found you literally blacked out on the floor,"

jimin adds, shaking his head. "yunjin was about to call a whole fucking ambulance, but then we realized you were just completely out and asleep from the tequila and the crying. so i just carried you out through the back exit and we brought you home, and stayed the night so you wouldn’t wake up to nobody.”

you try to process everything they're saying, but their voices start to drown out as little snippets of last night start flashing in your head. the music. the song.

your, song.

jungkook looking at you. and then... that girl grabbing his arm and pulling him onto the dance floor to your song.

the memory hits you like a physical punch to the stomach.

"hey," yunjin says, noticing your face change.

"what actually happened last night? why did you run off like that? you can talk to us, babe. you know that right?”

you look at the two of them, and that fuckass of a lump in your throat comes back, twice as big this time.

"it was t-the song," you start, your voice trembling. "that slow song the dj played. it was our song. we used to dance to it all the time.”

you feel the hot tears start spilling over your cheeks again, your chest tightening. "and he was staring at me, yunjin. he looked so sad, like he actually felt something for once. but then this girl... this girl just grabbed his arm and pulled him to the dance floor. and he went. he actually went and danced with her while looking straight at me."

by each word, you get visibly more upset and hurt, the pain from the past week just bubbling over until you can’t hold it back anymore. you start bawling, completely sobbing as you just spew and rant everything you’ve been bottling up.

"fuck! i hate him so much!" you scream, cry, fisting the blanket in your hands.

"how does he— how can he, treat me like I’m fucking nothing. he ignores me for a week, acts like i don't exist, and then the second i try to have a little bit of fun, he has to ruin it. he has to show me that he can just replace me in front of my face. i blocked him. i blocked his number on the bathroom floor because i just can't do this anymore. i’m so tired of feeling like i’m losing my mind over someone who doesn't even care about me.”

“but why, why can’t I make this feeling go away. why… do I still yearn for someone who doesn’t yearn for me?” you question yourself, teary eyes looking up at your friends.

jimin and yunjin just move closer, wrapping their arms around you while you just lose it. they let you scream and cry for a long time, just listening to you let it all out.

"I’m so sorry my love. he’s jjust a piece of shit, babe," yunjin reassures you, wiping a tear from your cheek.

"you did the right thing by blocking his entitled ass. he doesn't deserve to have access to you if he’s gonna play with your feelings like that. you need space to actually breathe without him constantly messing with your head."

"exactly," jimin says softly.

"you gotta stop letting him dictate your mood. he only pulls those stunts because he knows you're watching. the best thing you can do now is just stay strong and not.. unblock him. let him see and feel what it’s like to actually lose you."

after like an hour of just sitting on the couch and talking it out, you’ve finally stopped crying, though your eyes are still completely puffy and your face feels raw.

suddenly, three sharp knocks appear on your front door.

"is that taehyung?" yunjin asks, looking at jimin.

"probably," jimin nods. "he knew we were coming here after the club and he said he might drop by if he got off from work early."

"i'll get it," yunjin says, standing up and walking over to the door.

she unlocks it and swings it open, ready to greet taehyung. but the second she sees who’s standing there, the smile completely vanishes from her face.

it’s not taehyung. it’s jungkook.

the moment yunjin realizes, she slams her weight into the door to close it, but jungkook is faster. he shoves his hand into the gap and forcefully pushes it open, stepping right into your apartment.

he looks a complete mess. his hair is all wild and unbrushed, and his eyes are heavy and droopy, like he hasn't slept all night. he’s just wearing a baggy black hoodie and gray sweatpants.

the second his eyes scan the room and land on you— wrapped in that blanket, with your eyes all red and puffy.

you can see his expression shift. it’s like his heart literally squeezes just looking at you.

your eyes widen, and you feel completely paralyzed. you can’t move a single muscle. you genuinely do not want to see him right now, not after last night.

"get the fuck out, jungkook," yunjin yells, putting both her hands on his chest and trying to push him backward out the door, but it’s completely useless.

he’s way too strong. he doesn't even budge. he’s just standing there, staring directly at you, and you’re staring right back at him, the room going dead silent.

jimin suddenly gets up from the couch and steps right in front of you, blocking jungkook’s view.

that’s when jungkook finally snaps out of his trance, his face twisting into a slightly annoyed expression as he looks at jimin.

"why the fuck are you here?" jimin asks, his voice low as he steps closer to jungkook. "get the fuck out of her apartment. she clearly doesn't want to see you."

jungkook scoffs, his ego flaring up despite how tired he looks. "i didn't come here to talk to you, jimin. move out of my fuckin’ way."

"i’m not moving shit," jimin says, matching his tone, his jaw tight. "you think you can just show up here after the shit you pulled last night? you wrecked her, and we had to be there for her because your ass couldn’t man up and comfort her for shit. so, walk away before i make you."

jungkook scoffs.

"you won't do shit," jungkook talks back, stepping closer until they’re practically chest to chest. "this is between me and her. you guys need to leave."

"she blocked your number for a reason. you’re a fuckin’ asshole and you need to take the fucking hint." jimin shouts, getting right in his face.

"you’re nothing but a selfish loser who uses her when you’re bored. you don't care about anyone but yourself."

that completely snaps jungkook’s patience. before anyone can even react, jungkook’s arm flies out and he punches jimin straight across the jaw.

"jimin!" yunjin screams.

jimin stumbles back a step, but he doesn't back down. his face goes completely dark.

he gets right back up and launches himself at jungkook, punching him square in the face, sending him stumbling back against your dining table.

the sudden violence completely breaks you out of your shock. what the fuck was happening?

you rush off the couch, dropping the blanket, and run toward them.

"can you two fucking stop!— stop it right now!" you’re yelling, completely upset as you and yunjin try to break them apart.

yunjin grabs jimin around his waist, pulling him back with all her strength, while you jump right between them, throwing your hands onto jungkook’s chest and shoving him backward toward the door.

"jungkook! stop— fuck! let go please!— fucking let go of him!" you scream.

when you finally manage to pull them apart, you keep your hands pressed against his chest, pushing him away.

you’re looking at him, so close to him for the first time after this entire horrible week. your breathing is heavy, and you find yourself whispering, "stop... please just stop."

jungkook finally looks down at you. he doesn't even acknowledge the fact that he just got into a literal fistfight, or that there's blood starting to smear across his face. his dark eyes are just searching yours, looking completely desperate.

"i need to talk to you," he whispers, his voice rough and low.

"are you fucking crazy?" you whisper-yell, your eyes burning with fresh tears. "you come to my house, force your way in, and fucking fight my best friend after everything that happened this week? after what you did last night?"

"i don't care," he says, his voice cracking slightly. "i don't care about any of that. i just need to talk to you. please."

just as he says that, a dark drop of blood drips from the corner of his swollen lip, sliding down his chin.

your heart completely winces. no matter how much you hate him, no matter how much he hurt you, seeing him bleed makes your stomach turn. you feel this horrible wave of guilt, like this is somehow all your fault.

without even thinking, your hand automatically moves up, your thumb gently wiping the blood away from his lip.

the second your skin touches his, jungkook’s hand flies up and grips your wrist abruptly. his grip is tight, firm, but his fingers are trembling against your skin. he holds your hand right there against his face, awaiting your answer.

"please," he whispers again, his voice literally breaking this time.

your eyes burn into his, and you slowly gulp, your mind completely spinning. you look at his messy hair, his droopy eyes, and the desperation practically oozing off of him.

slowly, you pull your wrist out of his grip. you turn around and walk over to jimin, who is leaning against the kitchen counter while yunjin checks his jaw.

"are you okay?" you ask softly, throwing your arms around jimin’s neck and hugging him tightly. "i'm so sorry, jimin. i'm so sorry— this is all my fault."

"hey, stop, it's fine," jimin mutters, hugging you back just as tight and patting your back. "it's not your fault. the guy’s a fuckin’ psycho.”

he pulls back and looks at you, then glances over your shoulder at jungkook, who is just standing by the door watching you hug him with a totally miserable expression.

jimin sighs, smoothing down your messy hair.

"look, me and yunjin are just gonna go for a drive around the neighborhood. we’ll give you guys some space to talk this out."

he raises his voice, speaking way louder so jungkook can hear every single word. "call us if anything happens. immediately. i don't care what time it is, you call and we’ll be back here in two minutes, alright?”

yunjin steps up and gives you a tight squeeze, whispering in your ear, "don't let him bullshit his way out of this, okay? stay strong."

you nod weakly.

they walk toward the door, and as jimin heads out, he purposefully slams his shoulder into jungkook’s, a hard, petty bump.

but jungkook doesn't even flinch. he doesn't even care at this point. his eyes are completely glued to you, waiting for the door to click shut so he can finally have you alone.

the door clicks shut, and the sudden quiet in the apartment is almost too heavy to breathe in.

you just stand there for a second, your hands shaking as you cross your arms over your chest.

a few fresh tears slip out of your eyes, hot and quiet, running down your puffy cheeks.

you take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice, and turn around to face him.

"talk." you say, simply.

jungkook takes a step closer to you, his eyes drooping and looking completely broken. he looks down at you, his hands twitching like he wants to reach out but he’s too scared to touch you.

"i'm so, so fucking sorry," he starts, his voice rough and cracking. "i don't even know what came over me last night. i don't know why the fuck i chose to follow that girl and dance with her. but i swear to god, i was only thinking about you. the whole time, i was just looking at you. i didn't even realize what i was doing until you stormed out of there, and then it hit me. i immediately pushed her away and ran out to chase after you, but you were just gone. i didn't know where you went, i couldn't find you anywhere."

he rubs a hand over his face, leaving a smear of jimin’s blood on his skin, but he doesn't even care.

not right now.

"i know we're not— exclusive. and we’ve never talked about it," he murmurs, his eyes burning into yours.

“but i know there's something here between us. i feel it, every single time. every time you hold me, touch me. but i'm scared. i'm so fucking scared because i've never felt like this before."

you just stare at him, the tears running down your face heavily.

"when i was young, in my first ever relationship... that girl broke me," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"i loved her so much, and she hurt me so fuckin’ badly. and even though it's been like fifteen years since that happened, and i'm completely moved on from her, a part of me still feels like the only way i can live my life without feeling that type of pain again is by just... not letting myself feel anything. especially love. i thought if i didn't care, i couldn't get hurt."

your heart aches hearing him say it, and you do sympathize with him, you really do. but the anger and the pain from the past few months is still too raw. too… painful.

"that still doesn't give you a reason to act the way you did," you say, your voice trembling as you look up at him.

"just because some girl broke your heart when you were younger, that doesn't mean you get to do the exact same thing to me. because whatever you felt back then? that’s exactly how i’m feeling right now. that’s how i’ve been feeling for months, kook. and i’m s-so tired. my chest physically hurts whenever i look at you. my heart literally squeezes whenever we have fucking sex, and then you just act like it means absolutely nothing the second it’s over."

"no— I, baby. y-you don't get it," he cuts you off, shaking his head and stepping even closer until he’s right in your space.

"i feel so amazing when i'm with you. I feel so good. but the only reason why i act like that afterwards is because i just feel like you wouldn't want me close to you. feel like if i do get too close, you’ll find me too fucking clingy or annoying or whatever, and you’ll just push me away. and i can't s-stand the thought of you pushing me away. i c-can’t stand being away from you."

you let out a bitter laugh. "you can't stand being away from me? then what about the entire week that you fucking ghosted me after we fought?"

"i didn't know what to do!" jungkook yells softly, his voice full of frustration and desperation.

"i felt so fucking s-shit, b-baby. felt like a fucking jerk because i knew it was entirely my fault, but i just... i couldn't face you after that. i know we fight a lot, there’s been so many times where we’ve messed up. b-but i couldn't face you after this specific fight. i don't even know why, but i think it’s because everything just came rushing to my head at once. whatever i was doing, how bad i was treating you... it just all hit me and i felt like i couldn't face you."

"i don't even know what to believe anymore," you sob, shaking your head as you look away from him. "every single time i ask you what we are, or even try to bring up the topic, you just push me away."

"i know, i know. fuck— I know baby. and I’m so sorry.” he rambles, his hands finally coming up to grab yours. his palms are warm and shaking.

"but it was never fully intentional, i always just had second thoughts about everything, i was just overthinking, but i knew that i wanted you. only you. because i love you and i just—"

he stops mid sentence. his breath hitches, and he just stares at you, his eyes slightly wide.

you freeze, your heart stopping in your chest.

"wait... what did you just say?"

( turn spotify the fuck on and play ‘iris’ by the goo goo dolls right now!! )

jungkook shuts his mouth, looking at you for a few seconds.

and then, a tiny, genuine smile touches the corner of his bleeding lip.

"i love you, y/n.” he says, his voice steady and soft this time. "i really fucking do."

he pulls your hands up to his chest, bringing himself so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

"and i'm so sorry i didn't get to tell you sooner. i'm so sorry it took me this long to realize it. but i swear, i promise you i will be better for you. i’ll change for you. i’m never gonna make you feel this way ever again, and i will never let another tear come out of your eyes because of me."

that completely breaks you. you’re fucking bawling now, as you lift your weak hands and start lightly hitting his chest.

"you're so f-fucking stupid," you sob, your forehead pressing against his hoodie. "you're so fucking stupid.”

you sigh, looking up at him. “i love you too."

"f-fuck. say that again," he whispers, his hand coming up to gently lift your chin so you have to look at him.

his eyes are bigger now, burning into yours.

and for the first time, in forever of knowing him, his eyes are not full of lust, but full of love.

and then he smashes his lips onto yours.

it’s not like before. it’s not fast or desperate. it’s deep, passionate, and so full of emotion it makes your whole body ache.

you’ve never kissed like this before, ever. your hands grip his neck, pulling him closer as his tongue slides slick against yours, tasting the faint copper of his blood.

his hands roam your body, pulling you flush against his chest as he moves his mouth down to your jaw, whispering against your skin. "you're s-so beautiful... so fucking beautiful. i'm so sorry, baby. for everything. gonna show you how much i love you."

he handles you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, guiding you back toward the bedroom.

your clothes are discarded on the floor, leaving nothing between you but the heat of your skin.

when he lays you down on the tangled sheets,he hovers over you, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulls off your clothes slowly.

his mouth lands on your left nipple, enveloping your bud into his mouth as he sucks on it lightly.

swirling his tongue around your bead as his eyes never leaves yours.

“t-taste so fucking good, so fuckin’ full for me.” he whispers, mouth attaching itself to your other nipple, giving it an equal amount of attention.

“k-kookie! mm— fuck!” your voice cracks, hands gripping his brown locks tightly.

“fuckin’ love your tits, the most beautiful pair in this whole fucking world. so soft. so mine.” he whispers, his mouth trailing kisses down your stomach, stopping above your pubic bone.

he brings himself back up, parting your legs.

his middle finger slides across your already drenched cunt, feeling the pool of wetness.

“you’re so fucking wet, all f’ me?” he whispers, coming closer to press a soft kiss onto your quivering lips.

“h-has— always only been for you.”

“y-yeah?” his voice breaks, looking into your eyes as he pushes two fingers inside of you.

“you’re so fucking tight, needa— needa prep you for my cock or else, I’m gonna nut the moment I’m in you, baby. fuck.”

his fingers move skill fully, curling inwards as he hits the spot that makes you squirm underneath him.

“mm— kook! I’m gonna— fucking. c-cum!!!” you yell, as he quickens his pace, before pulling out.

he hears you whine, and uses it as a chance to press another kiss onto your lips. whispering an “I love you.” in between the kiss.

he pushes himself up to quickly remove his sweatpants, hovering over you immediately to attach his lips onto your neck.

“gonna mark you, angel. make sure everybody knows you’re mine. all— all fuckin’ mine.”

his lips devour your neck like he was a vampire that was incredibly parched, sucking and biting on every single spot of your neck.

by the time he was done, your whole neck, once an empty canvas, was painted with sweat and faded purple.

his face hovers above yours, looking into your eyes as he smiles softly.

“s-so sorry, baby. gonna— gonna fuck you so well, m’kay? make sure you cum s’ fuckin hard and make you feel so good.” he whispers, positioning his dick at the entrance of your cunt.

“k-ookie..” your voice trails out.

“what is it, baby?”

“love y-you, s’ much.” you were barely able to let out, eyes filled with tears, unable to see.

“fuck.”

his lips crashes onto yours, once again. and he finally, finally. pushes inside of you.

“nghh— fuck. angel, you’ve gotta unclench. please, baby. I’m gonna fuckin’ nut if you don’t. please—“ he whines, as he pushes his cock deeper inside of you.

“feels so b-big, koo. I can’t— can’t take it, mmf— wait.” you cry out, he’s never felt this big before. not like this.

you wonder whether if it was the intense amount of emotion that was making the both of you feel this way.

“you can take it, yeah? you were made to take my cock. just mine. only mine. fffuckkkk— can feel your cunt just swallowing me whole. feels, so fucking good, baby.”

"you’re mine," he murmurs, his thumb catching a tear on your cheek.

"tell me you're mine. tell me you’re mine while im fuckin’ you. you feel so good, baby. i love you so much. so much."

and right at the peak of it, when he’s deep inside of you and your breathing is completely shattered, he pauses for a split second, his chest heaving against yours.

"may I be your boyfriend?" he whispers pleasingly, his voice breaking as he pushes deep again. "please. be mine for real. let me treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

"k-kook…yes," you sob, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down into another bruised kiss. "yes, jungkook, yes."

he groans, his pace getting a little faster, more intense but still so incredibly gentle.

you look up at him through your blurry vision, and you see it. small tears are actually falling from his own eyes, landing directly onto your already tear stained cheeks.

he’s crying with you, completely stripped of his armor, letting you see every single raw emotion he’s been hiding for months.

you couldn’t fucking believe it. couldn’t believe this was happening right now.

he keeps repeating it like a mantra against your lips, your neck, your shoulder. "i love you. i love you so much, baby."

“gonna fill you up so good. gonna put a ring on your fuckin’ finger. give you kids. buy you a fucking house. make sure you never have to lift a finger to work ever again. gonna do everything for you. build a whole life with you, you want that? baby?” he lets out, pulling himself slightly higher to slam into you harder.

“nghh— kookie! yes— mm! want— wanna have your kids!”

“yeah? gonna make that happen baby, gonna cum s’ deep inside of you until it sticks. make sure it doesn’t leak out of you.”

his hands held your legs apart as his pounds into you uncontrollably.

“I love you. love you so fuckin’ much. gonna fill you up so good. give you what you deserve. yeah?” he whispers.

“mmhh— please! please..!” you cry out, absolutely losing it the moment his fingers rub circles around your sensitive clit.

when he finally finishes inside of you, he pushes his cock deeper inside of you, refusing to let any of his seed leak out of you.

his forehead resting against your shoulder as he lets his weight settle over you for just a second.

after a few long minutes of just catching your breath, he pulls out slowly, wiping your tears when he hears you wince.

he lays down next to you, but jungkook doesn't reach for his phone this time.

instead, he immediately pulls you close against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you and tucking your head securely under his chin.

he pulls the blanket all the way up over both of your shoulders, holding you so tight like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go.

his fingers are tracing slow, lazy circles on your bare shoulder, his chin resting right on top of your head.

you lay there for a long time, just listening to him breathe.

you… can’t believe this is happening. it feels like a fever dream. you’ve only dreamt of this ever happening to you with him.

"kook?" you whisper, your hand resting flat against his chest.

"yeah, baby?" his voice comes out soft.

"did you mean it? like, everything you said before?"

jungkook stops tracing your shoulder. he shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at you.

the dim light from the window hits his face, showing the slight bruise forming on his jaw and the tiny cut on his lip. his eyes are so soft, so entirely full of emotion it makes your chest ache all over again.

"every single fucking word," he whispers, his thumb gently wiping away a dry tear track on your cheek.

"i've never been more sure of anything in my life. i know i fucked up. i know i put you through so much bullshit because i was too much of a coward to face how i felt about you."

you look up at him, your eyes burning a little bit.

"i just... i spent months feeling like i was crazy, jungkook. i thought i was the only one feeling this. it hurt so bad."

"i know. and i hate myself for making you feel that way," he says, his voice cracking a little. he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

"i was just so scared that if i let myself love you, you’d realize i’m a mess and leave me. but watching you walk away last night? seeing you look at me like you completely hated me? that was way worse than any fear i had. i can't lose you, not now. not ever.”

you let out a soft breath, your fingers tangling into the hairs at the back of his neck, pulling him just a little bit closer. "you're not gonna lose me. i'm right here."

jungkook lets out this long, shaky sigh, like a massive weight has finally been lifted off his chest.

a tiny, breathless smile forms on his lips, and he kisses you.

"say you love me again," he murmurs against your mouth, his eyes burning into yours.

"i love you," you whisper.

"i love you." he says, his voice so thick with affection it completely melts you.

you laugh slightly, “why don’t you ever say ‘too’?”

he stares at you slightly, “I don’t love you because you love me. I love you, because I love you. because, you’re you.”

he drops back down onto the pillow, pulling you right back into his chest and wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck.

you close your eyes, not wanting to say anything back. you feel so content it’s scary.

you can finally go to sleep in his arms without wondering if he’s going to be here in the morning

you can finally go to sleep without waking up earlier just to be able to get a glimpse of him before he leaves.

you can finally go to sleep without having to leave out an extra note pad so that he’d be able to leave you a letter in case he left in the middle of the night.

you can finally, go to sleep. knowing he’s yours. knowing he’s staying. and knowing that you both are exactly, where you guys want to be.

; teehee! lmk what you thought!! 🥹 lowk sleep deprived and about to go sleep for the next 24 hours

[milk-moonbunnies]

After Hours [Yoongi x reader]

synopsis: Yoongi, the quiet and awkward finance guy of your company, has a crush on you.

warnings: mdni, 18+, nerd! Yoongi, lowkey loser! Yoongi, dirty talk, riding, teasing, praise, unprotected, oral (m rec), kitty! Tang, office romance, Yoongi lowkey perv, cowgirl position, a little dumbification, multiple orgasms, a little rough, creampie, Yoongi big, Yoongi cocky behind closed doors, both are down bad, mentions of m-st-rb-t--n, mention of semi-public smuttiness, etc.

shout out to @catiekayy for being my soundboard and reader as I wrote this

wc: 4.7 k+

[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]

If someone were to ask Yoongi, he would say he's exactly where he wants to be, and that's under you.

His head falls back into the cushion of the couch, and his pupils dilate, focusing solely on you as you keep him pinned to the sofa with a hand to his chest.

You're absolutely gorgeous with glossy lips, half-hooded eyes, and a flush in your cheeks. Sweet little moans keep slipping from your mouth each time you lift your hips before slamming them back down, taking Yoongi's cock to the hilt over and over again.

You didn't plan for the night to go like this - bouncing on Yoongi's cock too far gone on how good it felt when his fat tip hit the back of your drooling cunt, but Yoongi did. Yoongi had been in love with you since the moment he saw you across the office. You were all sweet smiles and polite bows of introduction to your new co-workers, cheering a little, "happy to be on the team!" You were too cute.

You always worked in little heels with a pencil skirt, making Yoongi watch as you passed his cubicle, heading to lunch with one of your friends in the same department - Jimin was it? Your eyes sparkled as you yapped to the younger man, something about a project you were excited to be a part of. You were so new, so eager, and Yoongi's cock twitched, hardening before you even rounded the corner.

It was right there, in that office, that he formed his little crush on you. He looked forward to seeing you in the office from afar, watching you bend over to pick up a pile of papers that fell from your desk when you accidentally bumped into them. Or the way you seemed to become friends with everyone in less than three minutes.

You were so pretty, so nice, it was almost too much to bear. He'd have to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and then excuse himself to the bathroom to lock himself in a stall, fumbling with his zipper before he could finally free his aching cock.

His eyes would close again just as he gave his cock the first stroke, squeezing his hand around his shaft, jerking his cock to the image of you. He would daydream about bending you over his desk, or sneaking you into the supply closet so he could have a taste of you, wondering if your pussy was just as sweet as you were. But he never acted on it; he was in finance, you were in sales, the only time your two departments came together was either in the quarterly meetings or an office party.

Plus, he didn't stand a chance. You were gorgeous, beautiful, and charming, while he wore black-rimmed glasses and had photos of his black cat framed at his desk. He knew society had a hierarchy, and he knew his place in it. So, he kept his head down, his eyes focused on the computer until the day you hummed behind him, unsure of yourself, leaning on his cubicle wall as your eyes flickered from him to the photo of Tang, his cat. "Can you help me?"

Yoongi blinked, and blinked again, taking a moment to process that you were talking to him before he jolted up, stumbling to stand from his rolling chair, and nearly knocking over the photo of Tang in the process. "Y-yeah! I mean, yes, sure, yes."

It took Yoongi less than two minutes to realize you had mistaken him for IT support. You seemed to be having some issues with your laptop, your teeth nibbling into your bottom lip as you waved your hands at the monitor vaguely. "I'm not really good with this thing." You confessed with a soft blush to your cheeks.

Luckily for you, Yoongi was adept enough to be in IT if he wanted. He nodded his head softly, and with a quiet, "May I?" He leaned over you, his chest warming up your back as he reached for the keyboard. He never imagined being this close to you while you were sitting in your chair, but now with him so close, he was wrapped up in your pretty smile and sweet perfume, and he knew he was down bad for you.

It took a few taps here and a few clicks there before Yoongi was able to get your monitor screen where you needed it. And he was caught off guard by your happy squeal in delight, your arms wrapping around him in a celebratory hug as you thanked him over and over again.

It made Yoongi flush, awkwardly clearing his throat and waving his hand in dismissal as he felt your soft body move back, already turning around to click on a few tabs to verify it truly was fixed. Yoongi figured his need was done, and he'd slip back to his desk when you quickly turned around and grasped his wrist to stop him. His world flipped when you flashed him a dazzling grin, your eyes sparkling as you asked, "Hey, do you want to grab lunch sometime?"

From then on, you made a point of saying hello to Yoongi. It was always accompanied by a soft touch on his shoulder or arm, squeezing his bicep as you called his name. And with the more interactions he had with you, the more his crush developed, and the more he couldn't get you off his mind.

At one point, it was early morning, the skies still dark, as he stepped into the elevator to head to the office. No one was around, the city was still half-asleep, and he expected to be one of the few earlier ones in the office when you slipped into the elevator just before the doors closed. You flashed him a beaming smile, standing close to him in the small space, and Yoongi was still sleepy enough that his mind immediately went to the gutter.

You were standing in your heels, your tight skirt, and your perfume that made his mouth water - and for a moment, he wondered what you would do if he pinned you to the elevator wall. If you'd be wet when he brushes his hand up your inner thigh, bunching the skirt up higher so he could see the pretty panties you wore today. If you'd say his name with a breathy moan or whine when he placed a knee between your thighs to keep your legs open for him.

When the elevator dings to announce the arrival of landing on the twentieth floor, you're stepping out none the wiser to Yoongi's perverted thoughts, and he's covering his lap with his briefcase as he walks the walk of shame to his desk.

Something had to give, and it did when three weeks later, Yoongi found himself working late one night, finishing up some reports he'd present the following Monday. It was late, really late, late enough to need to call a cab to get home late, and he was tired.

He packed up his stuff, turned off his light for his cubicle, and started to head to the elevators. He had made a habit of looking over at the sales department to get a glimpse of your desk, even if you weren't there, before heading home. But tonight, you were there.

The yellow glow of the light for your desk even made you more beautiful in Yoongi's eyes, which is saying something because they were cheap lights. You were running a hand through your hair, mumbling to yourself as you went from looking back and forth between your two monitors, and Yoongi didn't even think about it. His feet moved on their own accord, bee-lining straight to you before he could mentally talk himself out of it. And you didn't even know he was there until he spoke up softly, "You're here late."

You jumped a little in your seat, whirling around to meet Yoongi's gaze, and both Yoongi and you sported soft pink cheeks towards one another. "I- yeah." You let out a tired laugh before you nodded your head towards him, "but I could say the same for you. Are you heading out?" You looked up at him expectantly, and Yoongi knew he should leave, grab some takeout, and head home, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He wanted to spend time with you, anyway he could.

"No, I uh, I'm waiting for an email to come in." His lie is barely believable. I mean, he had his coat over his arm and his briefcase in his hand, but you don't say that. Instead, you nod, an amused smile on your lips, as Yoongi stands there awkwardly.

"Well, instead of sitting alone at your desk, you could just sit with me while I finish some work on my computer." You offer, nodding to the rolling chair next to you, it's from the cubicle next to yours, and he takes it before he says something stupid, like I love you or something.

And that's how the rest of the night goes, you working, him sitting fiddling on his phone waiting for an imaginary email as you two fill up the space with small talk and getting to know each other better. When you wrap things up, you turn to him with a cute little stretch and ask if he wants to grab some food, and Yoongi could never deny you.

Over late-night ramen, he finds out you are staying late the entire next week of work, and by the time he convinces you to share a cab with him, claiming he doesn't live far from you (you're across town from him), he plans to find an excuse to keep you company that entire week you need to stay late.

The first excuse he comes up with is that he forgot a report that is due soon. He stays at his desk, clicking on things randomly, and peeking over his cubicle to see if you're still there. And when he thinks it's a good time to come over, he does so with a drink from the vending machine as a peace offering.

By the third night, when Yoongi finishes up work, he just walks right up to your desk and takes a seat next to you - forgoing making up excuses. He's armed with your favorite drink from the vending machines and a soft smile that you return as he sits on the empty rolling chair next to you. Neither of you commented on the new closeness you two have, your knees bumping into his every once and while as you typed away on your keyboard. Yoongi does his best to hide his smile behind his phone, refusing to acknowledge that he bumps his knees into yours in response, making his heart flutter in his chest.

And like the past three times you two stayed late at the office, you two share a cab ride home. Yoongi has the taxi driver stop at your place first and refuses to take your half of the money for the shared ride, waving it off with a shake of his head even when you try to insist. He only gives you a flash of a grin, claiming, "See you tomorrow."

So when Friday comes around, it seems like Yoongi isn't the only one finding themselves looking over at the other from across the office. You had become close to Yoongi in the time you two spent together, and it showed in the way you found yourself gravitating towards him with any flimsy excuse you could come up with. During a break, you saw Yoongi at the copier machine, and you couldn't help yourself. You walked up to him, your shoulder brushing his bicep as you hummed a little, "having a good day, Mr Min?" Your smile teasing as you batted your eyelashes up at him.

At lunch, you wave at Jimin, asking for a rain check. You were going to eat alone today, or that's what you told the man before making your way to the spot you had seen Yoongi liked to eat at. It was outside, more secluded, and a lot quieter than the cafe in the lobby. It was exactly where you found him, too, and you couldn't stop the smile from forming on your face. "Fancy seeing you here," you teased as you sat next to him on the bench. He was balancing his lunch on his lap as he quickly looked over at you.

His glasses were on the tip of his nose, his cheeks a soft pink, and the urge to kiss him caught you by surprise. You had liked Yoongi the moment he saved your computer from whatever you did to it months ago, and you were happy that this friendship had evolved from then on. You found comfort being near him, and you weren't blind; he was handsome with his warm eyes and gummy smile, which you seemed to pull from him easily. You just never really realized how much you liked him until now.

And maybe that's why, on your last night of staying late at the office for this project, you're a little jittery. Without fail, Yoongi is sitting beside you, reading something on his phone, and you can't concentrate. You had been in your head all day, mulling over Yoongi and your newly discovered feelings. You hadn't meant to form a crush on him, but how could you not?

It's why you decide to jump, take a leap, and tell the cab driver when you and Yoongi get in, to head to Yoongi's place. You turned to your co-worker expectantly, your cheeks flushed at being possibly too forward, but smiling nevertheless as you nudged Yoongi to tell the cab driver his address.

You didn't really plan how you wanted this night to go. It was the weekend, and you figured maybe Yoongi and you could hang out in a more intimate setting, but nothing prepares you when seconds after his apartment door closes behind him, he's pulling you into a kiss.

Yoongi had always given shy and awkward vibes around you, something that internally made you want to push his buttons just to see his blush sneak up to his ears, but this Yoongi wasn't like that now. He didn't kiss you like he had never done it before; in fact, he kissed you as if it were your last. His warm hands are pulling you in close, one hand sliding up your back and up to the back of your neck as the other holds onto your hip, like you might disappear otherwise.

It made your head spin from the contrast of him, your moan eagerly swallowed by him as his lips slotted with yours, and your back met his front door as he caged you in. He pressed his hips against yours, keeping you pinned, and his tongue caressed your bottom lip, coaxing you to open up for him. When you do, he groan soft and low, one of his hands slipping down your thigh and hooking your knee over his hip to press closer to you.

And that's when you feel something soft brush your calf, followed by a chirpy, "me-ow!"

Both of you are still; your mind is still reeling as Yoongi takes a second to pull his head back. You immediately miss his lips on yours, and you notice how plump his lips look as he looks down at the ground to see the black void brushing against both of your legs as it lets out another meow, demanding acknowledgement.

Yoongi's fingers squeeze the underside of your thigh that he still has hooked on his hip, and he takes a moment to take you in. Your lips are darker from the kissing, and your eyes are a little hazy, which makes him grin, and all he wants is to keep going. And he will, but another meow from Tang has him mumbling, "one second," before he's taking a step back, giving you space to breathe. "Make yourself at home," he smiles, and you finally process that you're inside his apartment.

Yoongi heads to the kitchen after stealing another quick kiss from you, and Tang circles you like a mini shark, chirping another greeting that makes you squat so you can pet his soft coat as he headbutts your hand with soft purrs. You grinned and scratched Tang's head until he heard Yoongi open a cabinet door. It must be Tang's designated cabinet for his food because the black cat flies to the kitchen, and you head deeper into the apartment with a curious gaze.

The apartment is cozy. A loft with one wall filled with floor-to-ceiling windows that looks over the city. It's breathtaking, and his apartment is high enough to still feel private until you are on his balcony, but you decide to stay in the living room, softly touching the books on his bookshelf as Yoongi leaves Tang to eat alone. "Anything catch your eye?" He asks, and you spin around to see him flash you another smile as you join him on the couch.

"Maybe," your answer is coy, but it's because your heart is fluttering and your eyes keep looking down at his lips, thinking back to your kiss by the front door. You're sitting closer to him, watching him in a new light that makes your stomach flutter. The tension is humming, soft under your skin, and when Yoongi's eyes flicker down to your lips, you move without hesitation when he asks you to come here.

Your thighs straddle his hips, and your weight settles over his lap as he slides his hands up your thighs. He's gorgeous, his hair tousled, his glasses magnifying his dark eyes as he tilts his head back to look at you. He doesn't even speak before he's pulling you in for another kiss, this one slower than the first. One of his hands stays on your hip, squeezing and stroking as his other hand cups the side of your jaw, quickly reducing you back to a soft, whimpering mess.

You don't know when you start rolling your hips during the kiss, but you moan when you feel him twitch underneath you. He feels big, and the thought alone has you pulling back with stars in your eyes, while his smile turns into a knowing smirk. "You okay, baby?"

Baby, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, liking the little pet name, and your hips roll forward to feel him again.

Oh.

Yeah.

He's big.

"Can I?" Your words slip out before you can even process them, and Yoongi's leaning back on the couch with flushed cheeks as your hands map their way down his chest.

"Can you what?" His hips press upwards, and the gasp leaves your mouth in awe, jumbling your thoughts further as your arousal seeps onto your panties. "What do you want, baby? Use your words," his laugh is a little teasing as his fingers caress your thighs, "or you could use your mouth."

Your mouth waters, and your eyes glaze over just a bit, thinking about it. And it isn't much longer before you're sliding off his lap and onto your knees between his legs, reaching for his belt.

Yoongi's heart leaps, watching your eyes glimmer with a hunger he seems to always have for you, and he's helping you unbuckle his belt and push his slacks down with his boxers until his aching cock is freed.

His cock is big, slapping up to reach just under his belly button, and it's pretty too. His tip is a darker shade of red, flushed with need, and drooling with precum that makes you lick your lips, hungry. Just the look of him makes your jaw ache, and you're already reaching for him - guiding him to your mouth as he lets out a breathless curse.

Your fingers wrap around his length, feeling the veins that throb down his shaft, and the moment your mouth swallows the tip, you both groan at the feeling. He's warm and big, and you can only take him halfway before you bob your head back up, swirling your tongue around his tip to collect the precum. He tastes a little salty, and it only makes you moan more as you try to take him deeper with each wet slurp.

You suck his cock until he's nudging the back of your mouth, and you can feel another wave of your arousal drench your panties as you do it again and again, losing yourself in the feeling of him filling your mouth so deliciously. Your eyes flutter shut, and the hand that's not pumping the rest of his length that doesn't fit in your mouth moves to his balls, squeezing them in your palm as you moan around his cock filthily.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good." Yoongi groans, and his hand rests on the back of your head, putting a little pressure each time your head moves down, making you take him deeper and deeper. "Does it feel good when I hit the back of your mouth? I bet your mouth isn't the only thing wet, huh?" The whimper you make in response makes Yoongi smirk, his thighs spreading as he lifts his hips towards your warm mouth.

He holds you still, fucking up into your mouth as you slobber on his cock, using your drool to slide in deeper. You're doing so well for him, looking so pretty as his cock stretches your mouth open, and then he triggers your gag reflex - sinking his cock down your throat and making your throat squeeze around his shaft as he groans low from his chest.

"Yeah, just like that. Your mouth feels so good, Baby." He praises, and when he guides your mouth off his cock to give you a moment to breathe, a string of saliva connects your lips to his tip, making his eyes roll back as he pushes you back down onto his cock. "Just a little more - yeah, that's it - always knew your mouth was made to take my cock."

Heat flushes from your cheeks and down your neck from his words, your nails digging into his thighs, and it's almost embarrassing how turned on it makes you. When your nose hits his pelvis, his cock pulses down your throat, and your pussy clenches pathetically in need. All of your thoughts are of him. On the way, his head falls back, his pretty neck exposed as he lets out little pants when your tongue licks up the underside of his cock. The way his thighs tense when you play with his balls, he has to be close, and he proves it's true when he pulls you off his cock again when you suck on his tip like you're trying to make him cum too quickly.

"I'm not cumming down your throat," he huffs, pulling you up until you're back on his lap, "If I cum, it'll be in your pretty pussy, okay?"

He pushes your skirt up around your waist, exposing your panties glued to your wet folds, and your face burns as his fingers drag up the laced material, feeling just how wet you were for him.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs, and when he pulls your panties to the side to tease the tip of his cock around your puffy clit, you whine.

"Please," your hips twitch, and Yoongi's eyes sparkle as he taps your clit with the head of his cock again and again.

"What was that?" He hummed and notched his cock to your entrance, putting only a bit of pressure so you could feel what was to come. "Please, what? Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you." His thumb is tucked between your wet folds, finding your clit with ease, and short-circuiting your brain with the little swirls he gives it.

Your eyes roll back, and your hips move on their own, sinking yourself onto his cock with a broken whine. Taking what you want instead, as your hands rest on his chest, and your thighs tremble from the stretch of him. You move halfway down before moving back up, letting his cock split you open with each movement you make.

If you thought he felt good in your mouth, nothing compares to when he's bullying his way inside your pretty pussy. His thick shaft stretches your gummy walls apart, carving him a path deeper until your ass meets his thighs, and your mouth drops open stupidly.

When he moves his hand from your clit to push on your lower stomach, your cunt throbs, feeling his fat tip rub on a spot you didn't even know existed. Your eyes water, your toes curl, and Yoongi's grabbing a handful of your ass to swirl your hips around, keeping pressure on your stomach to truly make you see white. "Yeah, does that feel good? Do you feel me nice and deep inside?"

He's going to ruin you, you just know it, because your tongue feels too heavy to reply, so you lift your hips, leaving just the tip of his pretty cock inside before your sliding back down, picking up the pace so you can feel him hit the back of your cunt over and over again.

And Yoongi lets you. He gives you the control to set the pace, enjoying the way you bounce on his cock like he was your toy to use. He thinks you're so pretty looking fucked out, and whimpering like it too. And he tells you so, murmuring, "Yeah, show me how well you take my cock." "Got your pussy and mouth drooling, you needed this, didn't you?" "Yeah, take what you want, Baby. I'll take care of you."

It's not a surprise when not long after, your pussy squeezes his cock tighter, and your body tenses up as you have your first orgasm of the night. You fall forward, quivering in his lap, and he coos as he tilts your hips up, fucking up into you to make your orgasm drag out longer. He relishes in the way your face tucks into his neck, and how sloppy your pussy sounds as it gushes wet and hot on his cock.

He takes care in prolonging your high, praising you, as he moves you up and down his cock. He makes your brain shut off, building your second orgasm right after the first as the wet sounds of your pussy resonate louder in the apartment with each thrust his hips give. And you don't even realize you're meeting each of his movements until he teases you. "Such a needy thing, aren't you? Already fucking yourself back onto my cock - heh - you want to cum again, Baby? Let me see you make a mess."

His arms wrap around your back, keeping your chest against his as he bucks his hips forward, smacking the tip of his cock into the sweet spot that makes you see stars behind closed eyelids. He abuses it, and you're thrown into your second orgasm with a wail, crying his name as you clutch onto his shoulder and the couch as you cum hard.

Your cunt spasms, milking his cock, and he groans as he keeps you seated on his lap, his cock swelling at the tip as he cums moments after you. His cock twitches, filling your pussy with his warm cum, and your moan is broken as you feel it overstuff your pussy, forming a creamy ring around his base as you two try to catch your breath.

The reality of what you two have done begins to form as you start to think about it. You two are coworkers, and an office relationship wasn't unheard of, but wasn't really encouraged either. Did Yoongi even want a relationship? Or was this just tension relief after surviving a long week in the office?

Before you can properly spiral while sitting on his cock, he hums, caressing your back with mindless swirls from his fingertips. "I must have done something wrong," he muses, and that's when you feel his cock, it's still hard, and twitching against your velvety walls. "I can feel you thinking too hard when you should have been fucked stupid by now." He teases, and your pussy clenches wantonly, making him groan as he moves his hands back down to your ass. "Yeah, I think I need to fill your pussy up again. I don't need you thinking about anything other than how your pussy was made for me. And I'll prove it, all weekend if I need to."

대박 - you made it to the end!

Tell me about it. Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated ♡ . Tumblr is based on reblogs, not likes, and they help writers like me to get a better reach. Thank you for your support!

my bts mstrlst - svt mstrlst

[lovelyspring7]

Cede to Madness | Jin x Reader

Preview: You were never supposed to fall apart. The perfect grades. The perfect future. The perfect, empty life. But perfection has a cost. The pills helped, until they didn’t. Your parents had a solution. Dr. Kim. A composed, disciplined psychiatrist. A man who demands obedience. Because in his world, the only choices that matter are his.

Word count: 25k

Genre: Yandere, Psychological Thriller.

Pairing: Psychiatrist Jin x Bratty University Student (F!Reader), Boyfriend Enhypen Sunghoon (Minor Involvement)

Warnings: MDNI 18+, Yandere, smut (forced orgasm, fingering, edging, spanking, daddy kink, power imbalance, overstimulation, praise kink, forced dependency), stalking, obsessive behavior, manipulation, coercion, controlling & emotionally abusive behavior, drugging, substance abuse, forced caretaking, brat-taming, medical control, gaslighting, psychological abuse, unaliveing, blood, panic attacks, 10+ year age gap.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviour. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Author's note: I’m so happy to finally share this!It’s been in my drafts for so long. I’m not completely happy with it and wish I had spent more time on it, but I felt like it was time to let it go. I hope you enjoy it, and I’d really appreciate your thoughts.💜✨

Banner Credit: By the amazing, talented, and incredible! @eerieedits

Your vision blurs, the words on the exam paper twisting out of focus. You blink, hard, but the fog won’t clear. The clock ticks louder, slicing through the silence, drilling into your skull. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time slipping away.

You’ve prepared for this, nights without sleep, Adderall keeping you sharp when your body begged for rest. Highlighters bled across pages, notes underlined frantically, but now, under fluorescent lights, nothing sticks. The questions you’ve memorized a thousand times slip through your fingers.

Your chest tightens. The air is thick and suffocating. Your hands tremble coated in sweat, as the pen is slipping in your grip, leaving dark smudges on paper. It’s too hot. Too loud. The whispers of scribbling students, the scratch of pens, the relentless ticking, it all crashes into you at once.

Focus. Breathe. Focus. But the air won’t come. Your pulse pounds, erratic, drowning out everything else. The letters blur, ink smearing into shapeless nothing. Have you answered anything? One question? Ten? None?

Nausea twists through you. You grip the desk, but the room tilts. The lights sear into your skull. The roaring in your ears grows louder.

Then, the pen slips from your fingers. A sharp clatter. And just like that, everything goes dark.

————-

Your eyes flutter open, and the world slowly comes into focus. Harsh, sterile lights blind you momentarily, and you squint, trying to make sense of where you are. The last thing you remember is the exam, the words blurring, your heart racing, the pen slipping from your hand. Now, everything feels distant, like you’re waking up from a bad dream.

You hear the faint beeping of a monitor nearby, steady and rhythmic. Voices murmur softly around you, clinical and detached. You blink, forcing your eyes to adjust, and see the nurse standing over you, checking your IV. “You’re awake,” she says, offering a polite, professional smile. “How are you feeling?” You open your mouth to speak, but your throat feels dry. “Where… where am I?” you finally manage to croak out.

“You’re at the hospital,” she replies, her tone gentle, “you had a bit of a scare during your exam, and they brought you in. You’ve been under a lot of stress, haven’t you?”

Your mind spins, trying to piece everything together. The panic, the pressure, the Adderall you took before the exam…gosh the exam. “Where are my parents?” you ask, your voice cracking. The nurse hesitates, and you see it in her eyes before she even speaks. “They were notified,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “But they weren’t able to come. I’m sure they’ll check in with you later.”

You should have expected it, but that doesn’t make the sting any less sharp. Of course, they didn’t come. They probably had meetings, clients, something more important than showing up for you.“I’m fine,” you say, even though your voice is barely above a whisper. “I just… I need to get out of here.”

“We need to make sure you’re stable first,” she replies, still smiling, but it feels forced, like she’s trying to keep you calm. “The doctor will be in soon to talk to you. They just want to make sure everything is okay.” You lie back, staring at the ceiling. A moment later a doctor walks in, flipping through a chart as he approaches your bed. “I’m Dr. Lee,” he says, not looking up at first. “How are you feeling now?” You force a smile, even though it feels like your face might crack. “I’m okay. Can I leave?”

He finally looks up, his expression unreadable. “We need to talk about what happened. Your professors mentioned you’ve been under a lot of pressure, and the initial tests indicate you’ve been using Adderall. Are you prescribed this medication?”

Fuck. “I must've taken it by mistake, I meant to take ibuprofen,” you lied, your voice small. He nods, almost disappointed. “Taking medication without a prescription can be dangerous, especially if you’re using it regularly. We’re concerned about your well-being, and we’d like to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

You feel your heart start to race again, panic bubbling up inside you. “I’m fine. I can handle it,” you insist.“I’m sure you’re trying your best,” he says, his tone soft but firm. “But stress, lack of sleep, and using unprescribed medication can lead to serious health issues. We’re going to keep you here for a little while longer, just to make sure you’re stable.”

“What does that mean? How long?” you ask, panic creeping into your voice. “Just overnight, for observation,” he replies. “And then we’d like to set you up with a psychiatrist who specializes in cases like yours. Dr. Kim is very experienced in treating stress, anxiety, and… substance use. We think he can help you get back on track.” You want to argue, but the words die in your throat. You nod like you're on board. For now that's enough.

————-

Early the next morning, a nurse gently taps on your arm to wake you. Another round of blood pressure checks, a perfunctory nod from the attending physician, then you’re free to go. No fanfare, no concerned parents at your side. You gather your things in a plastic hospital bag, feeling more exhausted than ever.

As you push open the hospital’s double doors, a brisk breeze hits your face, making you shiver. A sleek, black sedan idles at the curb. You ignore your driver, not feeling like having a conversation. Your boyfriend Sunghoon is still busy with lectures or something else he hasn’t bothered explaining. The last text you’d sent him about your meltdown and hospital stay got a half-hearted “Shit babe. You ok?” You scroll past it quickly, having no energy bothering. 

Your home is a grand, meticulously manicured house that stands like a monument to success, a shiny cage that feels emptier with each step you take. A lone housekeeper greets you at the door with a polite nod, then disappears into the kitchen. No one asks how you’re doing. You head straight for your room. It’s neat, borderline sterile, just how your parents like it. The queen-sized bed remains perfectly made, a glossy row of trophies and certificates line one wall, testimonies to past achievements. 

A stack of study notes and textbooks dominates your desk, reminding you of the exam you never finished. A lump forms in your throat, but you choke it down. Focus. You open your notebook, only to find the pages swimming again, the words meaningless. That same rising panic claws at your chest, but you slam the notebook shut. Taking a shaky breath, you tell yourself it’s just the aftershocks from the hospital stay, nothing more.

Later that evening, there's a soft knock at your door. The housekeeper’s voice follows. “Miss? Your mother is on the phone.” You swallow, steadying yourself before responding. “Okay.” The door opens just enough for her to slip the phone into your hand. Your fingers tighten around it as you lift it to your ear, heart already sinking. “Hello?” 

“Finally,” your mother’s cool, precise tone crackles over the line. “I’ve been hearing about your little…outburst.” You flinch at her choice of words. “I’m- I’m fine,” you say, forcing composure. “Where are you?”  

“Tokyo,” she answers briskly, as though one word is enough to explain everything. “Your father and I have important clients to entertain. We’ll return next month, once this expansion deal is finalized.” Your pulse drums in your ears. Next month. Of course. “That’s…good,” you manage, hollow words sticking to your tongue. “But I’m really okay. The hospital just wanted–”

“I spoke with Dr. Lee,” she cuts you off, “and I know they’ve sent you to some psychiatrist, Dr. Kim, is it? If this is what it takes to keep everything under control, fine. But you must understand, this sort of behavior draws attention, the wrong kind of attention. Have you thought about how this might look for our family?” Your heart clenches. Of course. It always comes down to the family name. “Mom, I–”

“We’ve all had rough patches, dear,” she interjects, voice dripping with a thin veneer of sympathy. “But you need to be more discreet. There’s no need to make a spectacle of yourself.”  

Heat floods your cheeks, anger, humiliation, shame all tangling together. “I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you say, biting back the words you really want to hurl at her. A slight pause, then, “Your father doesn’t want this overshadowing our business deals. It’s unacceptable. Do whatever you must, therapy, medication, just keep it under control.” Her tone softens by a fraction. “If you need anything–”

“I’ll ask, thanks” you say flatly, already knowing how this dance goes: polite concern, empty promises, no real action. “Yes, of course dear. Take care.” The line clicks off, leaving you with the echo of her disapproval. You place the phone on your desk, your throat tight with the realization that no one is going to swoop in and fix your life for you, especially not the people who care more about their public image than your well-being.

————-

You walk into Dr. Kim’s office with your arms tightly crossed, half-wishing you’d never woken up this morning. The waiting room was bad enough, some soft instrumental music and a bunch of motivational posters about “hope” and “resilience” that make you want to gag. 

He rises from behind his mahogany desk. He’s tall, with a neat haircut, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and the kind of warm smile you’d personally immediately want to distrust. A crisp white coat drapes over his tailored charcoal suit, making him look more like a sharply dressed businessman than the psychiatrist he is.

“Good morning,” he says, gesturing for you to sit. “I’m Dr. Kim. You must be–”

“Yeah,” you cut him off, collapsing into the chair. “Let’s skip the intros. You already know who I am.” He blinks once, unfazed. “Very well. How are you feeling today?”

“How am I feeling?” You force out a short laugh. “Well, I was doing great until my parents decided I needed to see a shrink.” You toss your hair over your shoulder. “But hey, guess it’s your lucky day. You get me as a client.” Dr. Kim doesn’t rise to the bait. He simply takes a seat across from you, flipping open a sleek notepad. “I understand you had a health scare recently, passing out during an exam?”

“Anxiety, dehydration…whatever.” You wave a dismissive hand. “They’ll call it anything as long as it sounds dramatic.” You roll your eyes. “I’m fine now.” His calm gaze settles on you. “Are you, though?” You shrug. “Does it matter? My parents want me ‘fixed’ so I don’t embarrass them again, so here we are. Let’s get this over with.” You hate that the question pokes a sore spot, but you won’t show it. 

He jots down a note. “That must feel quite pressuring, having to live up to certain expectations,” he says. “Wow, you’re good,” you say sarcastically. “Is that your professional opinion?” He sets the pen down and meets your eyes. “I’m here to help you, not to judge or label you. I’d like to understand what leads you to feel so overwhelmed that you–”

“I told you, I’m not overwhelmed,” you cut in, sinking further into the plush chair. “I just…had a bad day.”

“Mm,” he hums noncommittally, flipping to a fresh page on his notepad. “Well, if you’re open to it, I’d like to talk about some strategies that might help with stress, so that these ‘bad days’ don’t catch you off guard again.” You snort. “Strategies? Like what, bubble baths and journaling my feelings?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “There are many approaches. Sometimes it’s breathing techniques or short mindfulness exercises that help you regain control when you feel panic creeping in.”

“Mindfulness, huh? Because the solution to a meltdown is apparently inhaling and exhaling.” You tap your nails on the arm of the chair, letting your sarcasm drip. “Genius.” Dr. Kim doesn’t flinch. Instead, he leans forward slightly. “I understand your skepticism. But in my experience, these methods can be surprisingly effective, if you give them a fair shot.”

Your gut reaction is to roll your eyes again, but something in his steady voice makes you hesitate. Instead, you clear your throat. “Yeah, well, I’m only here because I was basically threatened with more hospital visits if I didn’t show. So, sure, let’s hear your miracle cures.”

He nods once. “For starters, I’d like you to try a simple grounding exercise each day. It might feel silly at first, but it’s a way to calm down when stress builds up.”

“Right. Calming down. Cool,” you say flatly, gaze drifting to the office clock. There’s still twenty minutes left of this session, an eternity. “Anything else, Doc?”

“We’ll also discuss your academic load. Dr. Lee mentioned you’re taking advanced courses?” You glare. “Yeah, all the advanced midterms, plus some super-fun extracurriculars I don’t even like. Gotta make Mom and Dad proud.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility,” he observes, making another note. “How often do you get any time to yourself?” You give a short laugh. “I don’t. My free time is basically caffeine-fueled cram sessions. I’m a well-oiled machine, apparently.” He meets your gaze again. “Until the machine breaks down.”

“Wow, so wise,” you say with a theatrical sigh, though his words strike a nerve. “This session is a blast, Dr. Phil- I mean Dr. Kim. Can I go now?”

He checks the time politely. “We still have a few minutes. Tell me, are there any hobbies or interests you have outside of your studies?” Your nostrils flare in annoyance, you just want to be done. “I like to sleep, which I haven’t done in forever. But sure, maybe I’ll pencil in ‘find a hobby’ between courses.”

He offers a small, understanding smile. “Sleep is important, too. We’ll work on helping you find more balance.” You open your mouth to lob another snarky remark, but he’s already rising from his seat. The session is ending, whether you like it or not.

He hands you a small paper with “Mindfulness Tips” printed on it. “Please consider trying these at least once a day. Even five minutes can make a difference.” You take the paper with exaggerated reluctance. “Thank you,” he says, and he actually seems sincere. “We’ll pick up from here next time. Same day and time next week.” You scoff. Unless you find a way to skip out you thought, heading for the door.

As you head toward the exit, your gaze flicks to the reflection on the glass door behind you. There he is, Dr. Kim, standing in the threshold of his office, one hand lightly resting on the doorframe. He’s watching you leave, his posture poised, his expression unreadable. You jerk your head away, quickening your pace as though that can wipe the image from your mind. You hate it. You hate that he’s so calm. You crumple the mindfulness handout in your grip and toss it into your bag, already planning to ignore it.

Once you’re outside, the late afternoon sun hits you like a spotlight. Your phone vibrates in your pocket. A quick glance reveals a text from Sunghoon:

hey babe, heard ur out of the hospital.

this lecture is boring. kill me now.

A small, involuntary smile tugs at your lips. That’s just so…him, dramatic, offhand, almost clueless. But the fact that he reached out again after you had ignored his previous text sparks a little warmth in your chest, a reassuring reminder that he’s still there. Sure, it’s not the most heartfelt check-in, he’s trying to keep it light in his own way. And right now, you’ll take it.

You clench the phone, thumb hovering over the screen as you contemplate how to respond. You’ve missed a ton of schoolwork in the time you were hospitalized, there’s no way you can let that pile up any further. You text back:

I’m out early. Meet me at your place? Need to catch up on uni stuff. Do you still have some of it?

Sunghoon’s reply is almost instant:

yeah, sure see u soon.

You allow yourself a small smile. You need this. At least, you’ve convinced yourself you do. Between the exam you fainted during and all the lectures you missed, there’s no way you can keep up without a boost. Your driver, stoic as always, hardly says a word when you tell him you’ve got a new destination. In the backseat, you drum your fingers on the armrest. The bag on your lap is heavier than usual, thanks to the textbooks you insisted on taking with you. Each one is a bitter reminder of the time you’ve wasted in therapy and in the hospital.

Sunghoon answers the door in his hoodie and sweats, casual, but you still catch the glint of an expensive watch on his wrist. He’s pacing with a textbook under his arm, hair slightly tousled, giving him that rich-kid-trying-too-hard look you know all too well.

“Hey,” he greets, stepping aside so you can come in. “You okay?” You force a light laugh, shrugging off your bag. “Never better.” You glance at the messy dining table, papers, flashcards, and half-empty coffee cups. “Someone’s been busy.”

He rolls his eyes, dropping his textbook onto a chair. “Midterms are coming. My mom’s already breathing down my neck.” You nod grimly. “Yeah.  My parents won’t settle for anything less than perfection, and I’ve already lost too much time.”

Sunghoon grabs a fresh cup of coffee from the counter, still steaming, and hands it to you. “Here. This might help.” You take a sip, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. But coffee alone isn’t enough anymore, and you both know it.

He clears his throat, glancing at your bag. “So… You asked if I still had some of it?” You hesitate, studying his face. “I didn’t want to assume,” you say quietly, “but I’m behind. Really behind.”

Sunghoon nods. “I’ve got a couple left.” He pulls a small orange bottle from a side table drawer. “We can split them, if that helps you catch up.” Your heart thuds in your ears. You shouldn’t feel relieved, but you do. “Yeah,” you breathe. “I'll just have one for tonight.” He presses a capsule into your hand, and you swallow hard. Guilt churns in your gut, but you can’t deny the spark of hope flickering in your chest. This will get me through.

The two of you collapse onto the couch, textbooks spread across your laps. For half an hour, there’s an almost peaceful silence, broken only by the scratch of pens and the occasional rustle of pages. Sunghoon quizzes you on missed lectures, summarizing bullet points faster than you can jot them down.

Despite the caffeine and the buzz in your bloodstream, your focus wavers. Hospital flashbacks… Dr. Kim’s too-calm voice… your parents’ disapproving silence. You force your eyes back to the text. Eventually, Sunghoon rubs at his eyes. “I’ve still got a paper due tomorrow. You okay if we call it here?”

You glance at the clock on your phone. Hours have passed, and your body vibrates with restless energy. “Sure,” you say. “I’ll keep going at home.” He gives your hand a quick squeeze. “Text me if you need more. Or… y’know, to talk about stuff.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. By the time you trudge through your front door, the pill Sunghoon gave you is coursing through your veins. Your mind feels sharper than it has in days, and you’re determined to make the most of it.

You race up to your room, flick on the desk lamp, and spread out your notes. On the way home, you had already been skimming through your textbooks in the car, mouthing key terms under your breath, flipping through flashcards with shaking fingers. But it wasn’t enough. Sleep can wait. You’ll cram until you’ve made up for every second lost.

Hours blur as you tear through lecture outlines, highlight textbooks, and scribble frenzied notes. Adrenaline and desperation fuel your pen, your pulse pounding in your ears. It’s only when your eyes burn and your fingers cramp that you realize you can’t go any further.

4:42 AM.

Your vision flickers, and your head droops toward the desk. You fight the urge to close your eyes, but exhaustion wins. The last thing you remember is the textbook pages swimming in and out of focus, your pen rolling out of your grip.

————-

Light filters through your curtains, too bright and too soon. You jolt awake at your desk, neck stiff, papers sticking to your cheek. Your phone alarm blares, merciless. A quick glance at your reflection in the mirror reveals dark circles under your eyes. The room tilts for a moment as you stand and your heart hammering. You grit your teeth, ignoring the dull ache in your temples.

You gather the scattered papers into your bag, trying not to notice how many are unfinished. In the back of your mind, you can feel a creeping dread, another day of lectures, another exam you’re not ready for, but you swallow it down. At least I got some work done, you tell yourself. At least I’m not wasting time. And with that, you hurry out, adrenaline spiking at the thought of facing another day of school, alone, exhausted, and no closer to escaping the pressure that put you in the hospital in the first place.

You stare blankly at your phone in the university hallway, the screen lighting up with a calendar notification:

Appointment with Dr. Kim at 4:30 PM.

Just seeing his name makes your stomach twist. You can picture his unwavering, calm smile and feel the weight of his clinical gaze. Not today, you decide, tapping “Dismiss” a little too aggressively.

You shove your laptop into your bag. You tell yourself you can’t waste any more time sitting in an office listening to breathing exercises. You’ve got papers, projects, exams, real problems that won’t wait. You shouldn’t feel guilty for skipping, but part of you can already imagine the look on his face if he finds out.

At last, the car pulls into your driveway. The house looms large and quiet, as it always does. You let yourself in, ignoring the echo of your own footsteps across the polished floors. Your housekeeper is nowhere to be found, probably running errands or lost in some other part of this cavernous place. You hurry up the stairs, heading straight for your room, the only space that feels even halfway yours. 

You shove your bedroom door open. Dr. Kim is there. Perched on the edge of your bed, white coat draped neatly over his lap, like he belongs there. Like this isn’t completely insane. Your breath catches, a sharp, choking gasp that barely makes it out. 

“What the hell are you doing here!?” you demand, your voice cracking as you shout. “This is my room, get out!”

He stands, expression measured and calm in a way that makes your skin crawl. “I was concerned,” he says softly. “You missed your appointment.”

You place both hands on your hips, trying to hide how badly they’re shaking. “Concerned? So you break into my house, in my bedroom!? What’s next, rummaging through my underwear drawer?”

His lips curve in that maddening half-smile. “Your housekeeper allowed me in. I asked to speak with you in private.” He nods toward your desk, cluttered with textbooks and crumpled notes. “It seems you’ve been under significant stress.”

You exhale, rolling your eyes. “No kidding. Now, out. Or should I call the police?” He lifts a small plastic cup from his coat pocket, the kind used in hospitals. “Before I go, we need to address your continued Adderall use.”  

Your heart skips a beat. “Continued? I told you, I’m not taking anything.” A lie that stings on your tongue, but you brazen it out. “You got no proof.” His gaze remains unflinching. “I wanted a urine test before, but considering the circumstances at the clinic, it wasn’t the right time. Now, given your symptoms and previous hospital records, I have to ensure you’re not putting yourself in danger.” 

He holds out the cup as if it’s the most normal request in the world. “Please provide a sample.” You scoff, loud and derisive. “Are you insane? No. Absolutely not.” You swat his hand away, glaring daggers. “I’m not peeing in a cup for you.”

Something dark flickers behind his eyes, but his voice remains eerily calm. “It’s part of your treatment, and you did consent to a full evaluation when you were first admitted. If you have nothing to hide–”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “This is harassment. My parents may have signed some forms, but I sure as hell didn’t.” You cross your arms over your chest, jutting your chin out. “So, do me a favor and get out. Or is this how you run your practice? Trespassing and forcing girls to--”

He sets the cup down on your nightstand, cutting you off with a deceptively gentle tone. “Let’s not be melodramatic. I’m concerned about your health, nothing more.”

Blood roars in your ears. You want to scream, to call the police or your parents, but you know exactly how that would go: they’d side with him. He’s the professional, after all. The mere thought fuels your fury.

“If you’re done creeping around,” you bite out, “leave. Take your stupid cup with you. I’m not doing a drug test like some addict.” He regards you for a moment, as if weighing his response. Then he steps closer, and you instinctively step back, refusing to give him any more ground than necessary.

“Skipping therapy is a mistake,” he says calmly. “You’re on a dangerous path, and I won’t be able to help you if you keep lying about your situation. And I won’t let you end up like the others.” You fold your arms tighter, nails digging into your skin. “Who said I want your help?”

For a second, you swear disappointment flits across his face. Then, without another word, he takes the cup from the nightstand, slipping it back into his coat pocket. He heads toward your door, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder. “I’ll be expecting you at the next session,” he says, voice as smooth as ever. “And if you refuse again, I’ll have to consider more… formal measures.”  

You maintain your scowl. “Is that a threat?” He doesn’t answer. He only pushes open the door and leaves with slow, measured steps, like he has all the time in the world.

The instant he’s gone, you slam the door and throw your bag against it for good measure, your heart banging against your rib cage. You’re furious, humiliated, shaken. Who does he think he is?

You collapse onto your bed, the imprint of his presence lingering. Your breath comes in short, angry bursts. You should study, or do something, anything. But all you can focus on is the empty space where that plastic cup sat, and the lingering echo of his final words. More formal measures. Just how far is he willing to go?

————-

The lecture finally ends, and a wave of relief rushes through you. You just finished the makeup exam that landed you in the hospital. You’re not entirely sure how you did, but at least it’s over. Sunghoon catches you on the campus staircase, a lazy grin on his face. “Hey, how’d it go?” You shrug, trying to sound casual. “Fine, I guess. Better than fainting in the middle of it.”

He laughs, though there’s a concerned edge in his eyes. “I bet. Hey, some friends are throwing a thing tonight, just a small get-together.” He tosses the phrase out like it’s no big deal, but you both know what “get-together” means among your crowd, booze, drugs, and the illusion of being invincible for a few hours.

You hesitate. A small voice in the back of your head reminds you that you’re due for another session with Dr. Kim today. Last time you skipped, he turned up in your bedroom, insisting on a drug test. But you shove that thought aside. You’ve got a right to celebrate, damn it, especially after everything. “Yeah,” you say finally. “I’m in.”

Your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen to see a new message from an unknown number: 

Don't forget your session at 4:30 PM. It's important for your well-being. - Dr. Kim

You raise an eyebrow, irritation flaring. What’s wrong with him? Is he stalking you now? He needs to back off. He can’t make you come in. The memory of him sitting on your bed, demanding a urine sample, still makes your skin crawl. No. You won’t bend to his rules. You silence your phone entirely, letting Sunghoon drag you toward the parking lot. He’s already texting people, finalizing directions to the lavish penthouse party in the wealthy part of town.

By the time you arrive at the penthouse, the sun is sinking low, painting the skyline in pink and orange. The place is massive, floor-to-ceiling windows, designer furniture, an expensive sound system blasting music loud enough to rattle your bones. A mix of your peers mingles about, dressed in trendy outfits, downing drinks from crystal cups like they’ve done it for years, probably because they have.

Some people greet you by name, offering half-hugs and cheers.

“Congrats on finishing that exam!”

“You look great!”

“Long time no see, heard you were in the hospital?”

Sunghoon steers you toward a corner sofa, where a makeshift bar is set up on a low table, a lineup of imported liquor bottles, along with an assortment of pills scattered in small dishes. Your stomach flips, but you force a confident smirk. A friend, Yunjin, presses a shot glass into your hand, her eyes glazed with that too-familiar party glimmer. “Drink girly!” she says, tossing her own shot back.

You clink glasses with Sunghoon and knock it back, the burn in your throat strangely exhilarating. Somewhere in your mind, a warning bell rings about mixing substances, but the temptation to let go for once is too strong. If you can handle Adderall, you can handle this…right?

Time slips by in a haze. The music thrums beneath your feet, and you catch fragments of conversation. People bragging about upcoming spring break trips, complaining about private tutors, flaunting expensive new gadgets. It’s the same old scene, entitled kids with too much pressure and too many resources.

At one point, you’re slumped next to Sunghoon on the sofa, a champagne glass in your hand. You don’t even remember what number drink this is. The Adderall in your system sharpens your focus just enough to keep you aware that you’re definitely crossing a line tonight, but your rebellious streak won’t let you slow down.

A girl drops beside you, giggling as she hands you something. “Try this,” she slurs, eyes half-lidded. “Relax… you deserve it.” You peer at the pills in her palm. Not Adderall, something else, stronger. For a moment, logic battles curiosity. The memory of Dr. Kim’s pointed questions, the looming threat of more tests, flickers through your mind like a neon warning sign. Then you down it anyway, chasing it with a sip of champagne.

It’s well after midnight when the party takes a turn. You’re seated on the kitchen floor, of all places, head buzzing, vision swimming. Sunghoon’s leaning against the counter, looking equally out of it, while some guy tries to call for more deliveries of food or drinks.

Then you hear it, a heavy bang on the front door, followed by shouts. For a second, your fuzzy brain thinks it’s the police. That alone makes your heart skip. As the party roars on, the door suddenly swings open without hesitation. Your pulse skyrockets. How did he find me? The rush of fear momentarily drowns out the alcohol coursing through your system.

Dr. Kim strides in effortlessly, exuding an air of authority that commands immediate respect. There’s no building manager or security to impede his entrance, like he owns the place. He spots you, and his face sets into a grim mask. He zeroes in on you, eyes dark with anger or concern? You can’t quite tell. “You missed our session again,” he states, low but audible. “I’m taking you home. Now.”

The next thing you register is being bundled into a car, you don’t recognise it. He gets in and you vaguely sense motion as he pulls away from the curb. “Let me go,” you slur, trying to push yourself up. But your limbs feel heavy and uncooperative. “Fuck…off, you…”

His gaze flicks over you, clinical, detached, yet somehow triumphant. “You’re in no condition to make decisions,” he says quietly. “I’ve already informed your parents. They've already signed.” You don’t fully grasp his words. The world tilts, and your eyelids droop. Signed? Signed what?

————-

The world swims back into focus in slow, disorienting waves. Your head throbs, and your mouth tastes like stale liquor. You blink your eyes open, only to realize you’re in your own bedroom, not the penthouse from last night’s party, and not some hospital ward either.

Sunlight spills through the curtains you forgot to close, forcing you to squint. Gradually, you become aware of a faint beeping sound. You shift your head and see an IV drip on a stand beside your bed, connected to your arm. Panic flutters in your chest. What is this?

A familiar voice speaks up, smooth and controlled. “You’re awake.” You turn, and there he is, Dr. Kim, sitting in a chair by your window, one leg casually crossed over the other. He’s not wearing his usual white coat, but a neatly pressed shirt with sleeves rolled up, revealing the faint sheen of a watch on his wrist. He offers a half-smile.

“Wh- what are you doing in my house?” you croak, pushing yourself up against the pillows. Your head spins, stomach lurching. He rises, moving closer with an unhurried grace. “You don’t remember?” He tilts his head as if addressing a difficult child. “You skipped your session. Again. Instead, you ended up at a party, highly intoxicated and… let’s just say other substances were involved.”

Heat floods your cheeks as hazy flashes of the party, loud music, potent drinks, pills, it all stabs through your memory. "I removed you from that environment," He continues, his tone even, matter-of-fact. "Your parents have been fully briefed on the situation, and they have entrusted me with overseeing your care moving forward."

He glances at the IV drip. “That’s just a saline solution to help with your dehydration. Nothing more sinister, I assure you.” You try to tear the IV line from your arm, but he’s at your side instantly, his grip surprisingly firm. “You need fluids,” he says quietly, “so be still. For now.” Anger burns in your chest. “Why are you the one doing this? Where’s my mom and dad?”

“They’re not here,” he says, unbothered by your fury. “Business, as usual. They agreed it’s best if someone… qualified monitors you closely. In fact, they’ve signed all the necessary documents to ensure I can do just that.”

Your heart races. “What the hell does that even mean?” His eyes narrow, but his tone remains frustratingly calm. “It means your parents believe you need a more structured environment for the foreseeable future. You’ve been placed on medical leave from university. All your coursework will be completed at home, under my supervision.”

A suffocating sensation grips your chest. “I’m not… you can’t… it’s my house!”

“Yes,” he concedes, “and I’ll be here, too, for as long as it takes.”

“Excuse me,” you snap, yanking the blanket aside. “I can leave anytime I want.”

“Actually,” he says softly, “until I deem you stable, you won’t be going anywhere. Your parents gave me full discretion over your care.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a document, offering it to you. The official letterhead, your parents’ signatures, the words medical guardianship jump out at you. Your vision blurs, frustration and betrayal tangling in your gut. “They had no right-”

“They had every right,” he cuts in gently. “You’ve been technically hospitalized twice, you’re abusing stimulants, not going to your therapy sessions, and now you’ve added drinking and illicit substances. They’re concerned, and they’re trusting me to help you.”

Swallowing the panic clawing at your throat, you ball your fists. “I’m not letting you control my life. I’ll- I’ll call the cops.”

He arches an eyebrow, nodding toward your bedside table. Your phone is there, sure, but when you grab it, the screen shows no service, it’s been turned off or disabled. He shrugs. “Feel free to contact them if you like. But the minute they see the signed paperwork, they’ll understand I’m acting with their full support. No laws broken.”

Rage sparks hot tears at the corners of your eyes. You grip the sheets in frustration. “You think this is helping me?” He presses his lips together, as though considering. “I think you need structure,' he says smoothly. I’ll make sure you’re safe, well-fed, and keeping up with your coursework. You’ll still follow your curriculum, just here, under my supervision.”

He steps closer, pointing to the desk, where a new folder and some binders sit, neatly labeled with your courses. “You’ll have access to uni work provided by your professors. I’ll monitor your study hours. And if I even suspect you’re using Adderall or any other substance, I’ll administer tests on the spot.” Your stomach lurches at the memory of him demanding a urine sample in your own bedroom. “This is insane,” you say, voice trembling with anger and a flicker of fear.

His response is maddeningly calm. “It’s for your own good. You’ve proven you can’t handle the freedom you’ve had, so we’re stepping in to protect you from yourself.” He adjusts the IV drip, an unsettlingly competent motion for a psychiatrist. “Rest for now. When you feel steadier, we’ll start the new schedule.”

Despite your racing thoughts, your body is worn out from the party’s aftereffects. You slouch back against the pillows. “When I’m better,” you hiss, “I’m leaving.”

He exhales as if slightly disappointed by your rebellion. “You can try,” he says, “but we both know you won’t get very far. Your parents aren’t going to back you on this. The staff here has been instructed to follow my orders.” You stare at him, blood pounding in your ears. “So I’m just… stuck here with you?”

He offers a faint, almost sympathetic smile. “That’s one way to look at it. Another way is that we’re taking a much-needed step toward your recovery. I suggest you see it that way, life will be easier.”

He leaves you alone then, shutting the door softly behind him. A cold knot settles in your stomach as you take in your room, now a twisted parody of the sanctuary it once was. The IV in your arm is a tangible reminder that you’re no longer in control.

Your parents. Your home. This man you barely trust. All working together to keep you under control.

Though your mind screams at you to fight, the weight of your exhaustion presses down. You doze off once more, haunted by the knowledge that when you wake, nothing about your life will be the same for a while.

————-

The room feels colder as he sits beside you, the official documents laid out meticulously on your desk. His calm demeanor contrasts sharply with the storm of emotions brewing inside you. You glare at the papers, your frustration barely contained.

“Sweetheart,” he begins softly, using the nickname that both infuriates and unnerves you, “we need to set some ground rules to ensure your well-being and academic success.”

You scoff, crossing your arms defiantly. “Ground rules? What, are you trying to turn my room into a prison?” He sighs gently, understanding the resistance in your tone. “Not a prison, think of it as a structured environment to help you regain control over your life. Your parents and I agree that these measures are necessary.”

He points to the first document. “First and foremost, phone usage is restricted. Your phone will be under my supervision, and only authorized calls are permitted.”

You roll your eyes, feeling the sting of his control. “So, I can’t even have a simple conversation with my friends unless you say it’s okay? Typical.” He remains unfazed, maintaining steady eye contact. “It’s not about distrust. It’s about creating an environment conducive to your recovery.”

He moves to the next document. “Next, a bedtime routine. Lights out by 10 p.m. This ensures you get adequate rest, which is crucial for both your mental and physical health.” You snort, crossing your arms tighter. “Great, more rules to make my life miserable. What’s next, a curfew?”

He nods thoughtfully. “A curfew isn’t necessary since you’re under supervision here. However, waking up at 7 a.m. sharp is mandatory. Consistency helps regulate your body’s internal clock and improves overall productivity.”

He gestures to the following page. “Your study schedule is designed to balance academic work with necessary breaks. Overworking can lead to burnout, which we want to avoid. Each subject has designated times, and there are built-in breaks to relax and recharge.”

You sigh heavily, feeling the weight of the schedule pressing down on you. “So, you control every minute of my day. What about my friends? My boyfriend?” His expression softens slightly, but his tone remains firm. “Social interactions are important, but they need to be managed to ensure they don’t interfere with your recovery. We can discuss structured social activities that are supportive and healthy.”

He points to another rule. “No unauthorized visitors. If you wish to have someone over, it must be approved by me first.” You bite your lip, the sting of humiliation rising. “So, no more hanging out with my friends unless you say it’s okay? You’re seriously crossing boundaries.” He leans forward, his gaze unwavering. “It’s a temporary measure. Your parents and I believe it’s in your best interest. Trust me, this is for your own good.”

You push the chair back, standing abruptly. “Temporary? How long am I supposed to be your little project? I’m not a lab rat you can experiment on.” He remains calm, his expression composed. “This isn’t about experimentation. It’s about providing the support and structure you need to overcome your challenges. Resistance only prolongs the process.”

You glare at him, feeling a surge of anger and helplessness. “I don’t need your support. I need my freedom back.” He stands quietly, holding the stack of documents in his hands. “You have two choices, comply with these rules and work towards your recovery, or continue down this path of self-destruction, which will result in more severe consequences. Your parents are deeply concerned, and they trust me to guide you.”

You take a step closer, defiance burning in your eyes. “Yeah right. So what, you force me to follow your ridiculous rules? You’re nothing but a controlling freak.”

His expression remains composed, though his eyes reveal a flicker of disappointment. “I understand your frustration, but these measures are non-negotiable. It’s time to prioritize your health and future over immediate rebellion.”

Seeing the resolve in his eyes and the weight of the situation pressing down on you, you let out a bitter laugh. “Fine.” He nods, accepting your compliance without further comment. “That’s all I ask. Let’s start by reviewing your study schedule and setting up a plan for your first week.”

————-

Your door creaks open. You hear it before you see anything, and instinct kicks in. Your eyes snap open, darting to the alarm clock on your nightstand, 7:00 AM on the dot. Your alarm was set for 7:30.

Your brows knit together, confusion laced with irritation, as you bury your face deeper into the pillow. Maybe if you ignore it, it’ll go away. But the presence in the room is impossible to dismiss. You feel it, the weight of his gaze, the silent expectation pressing down on you.

“Time to wake up.” Your eyes barely crack open, a deep frown settling on your face as you roll onto your side. He stands near the doorway, dressed in his usual pressed attire, not a single hair out of place. He doesn’t look like a man who should be in your bedroom first thing in the morning.

Your voice is thick with sleep, irritated. “Do you seriously think this is normal? Waking me up like a damn five-year-old? I have an alarm.”

He doesn’t flinch at your hostility. If anything, he looks vaguely amused, like he expected this exact reaction. “You do,” he agrees. “And yet, I’m here.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, blinking at him. “Why?” His head tilts slightly. “Because I expect you to be dressed and ready for breakfast in thirty minutes.”

You stare at him, lips parting in disbelief. “Are you serious?” His expression doesn’t waver. “Deadly.”

A slow, infuriated breath hisses through your teeth. You look at your alarm clock on the nightstand, your alarm still set for 7:30, right where you left it. You were supposed to have thirty more minutes. But of course, that doesn’t matter to him. Your schedule is his now.

“You know, normal people just knock,” you say, voice dripping with annoyance. “Or, here’s a wild idea, let people wake up on their own.”

His lips curve in the faintest, most condescending smile. “We’re not working on your version of normal anymore.” You glare at him, fingers twitching against the sheets. “This is so inappropriate.” He doesn’t bite. “You have twenty-eight minutes.”

And with that, he turns, walking out with the ease of someone completely unbothered by your frustration. The soft click of the door shutting feels like a slap to the face.

You fall back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, the reality of it all sinking in deeper. He’s really going to control everything. And this is only the beginning. Your alarm was set for 7:30. You were supposed to have thirty more minutes. Thirty minutes of peace. Of control. But he took that from you. A slow, deep breath hisses through your teeth as you sit up, kicking the blankets off a little harder than necessary. Fine. If he wants you up, then you’ll get up. But not on his terms.

You move sluggishly, deliberately. Not rushing. Not scrambling to meet his demands. If he wants control, he’ll have to wait. Dragging yourself into the bathroom, you take your time washing your face, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Tired. Hollow-eyed.

Your hair is a mess, but you don’t bother fixing it quickly. You let the seconds tick by, each movement unhurried. When you finally step into the shower, you turn the water to the hottest setting, standing under the scorching stream until your skin is flushed and your muscles are loose.

You towel off slowly, running your fingers through damp hair. Pulling on the most comfortable clothes you can find, you drag your feet back toward the door, taking another slow breath. The act is small, petty even, but it’s the only thing that feels like yours right now.

When you step into the hallway, you half-expect him to be standing right there, waiting. Ready to scold you. But he’s not. The house is quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes downstairs. By the time you reach the dining room, he is already seated at the table, a plate set neatly before him. Another one sits across from him.

He doesn’t glance at the clock. Just gestures toward the seat across from him. “You’re late,” he says casually, sipping his coffee. Your jaw tightens. “By a minute.” His calm gaze lifts, “and yet, you’re still late.”

You sink into the chair, gripping your fork a little too hard. You won’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Breakfast is simple, oatmeal with nuts, fruits and honey, yuck. He eats with quiet precision, every movement deliberate, like even his chewing is something he’s mastered.

You don’t eat right away. Your spoon idly stirs the oatmeal, dragging through the softened fruit, but you don’t take a bite. You’re waiting. Will he say something? Will he push you to eat?

But he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers his coffee cup and looks at you, his voice calm. “You’ll have study sessions from eight to twelve,” he begins, as if this is a normal conversation. “Break for lunch. Then another session until four. After that, we’ll go over your progress.”

You scoop up a spoonful of oatmeal and let it plop back into the bowl with a dull splat, unimpressed. “Do I get a say in any of this?” 

His lips curve slightly, not a smile. A reaction just enough to say, you already know the answer to that. “I think we both know your choices haven’t been particularly effective,” he says evenly. “That’s why we’re here.”

You set your fork down with a soft clink, leaning back in your chair. “Right. Because I’m such a disaster that I need a babysitter now.” He exhales slowly, as if he expected this conversation. “Because you need structure.” You scoff. “No. I need freedom.” He tilts his head slightly. “You had that. Look where it got you.” Your fingers tighten around the spoon. “Gosh, you sound like my parents.”

“They entrusted me to make the right decisions for you,” he reminds you, calm and steady. “That includes this schedule.” You glare at him, something hot twisting in your chest. “You think you can just...control me into getting better?” For the first time, something flickers behind his eyes, something deeper, something you can't make out. He leans back slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin itch. “You’ll come to understand that this is what’s best for you.”

A shiver down your spine. He doesn’t just believe he’s controlling you. He believes he’s saving you. And that is somehow so much worse.

————-

By the time you reach the designated study room, a sleek, minimalist space that he arranged for you, the clock reads 8:02 AM. You make sure to glance at it, just so you can tell yourself, two minutes late. A tiny, invisible rebellion. 

But he doesn’t react. He’s already seated across from you, a thick leather notebook in front of him, pen poised between his fingers. Like he’s ready to observe. Your textbooks are neatly stacked on the desk. A fresh planner, not yours, is open beside them, a strict hour-by-hour study schedule written in his neat, clinical handwriting.

Revised Schedule

8:00 - 9:30 AM: Microeconomics Review 9:30 - 11:00 AM: Mathematical Economics & Calculus for Business 11:00 - 12:00 PM: Case Study Analysis & Financial Modeling 12:00 - 1:00 PM: Lunch 1:00 - 2:30 PM: Macroeconomics & Global Trade 2:30 - 4:00 PM: Investment Analysis & Risk Management 4:00 PM: Dr. Kim’s “Progress Review” 

No room for distractions. No flexibility. Just rigid, controlled structure. You drop into the chair with pointed sluggishness, flipping open your Microeconomics textbook like it’s a burden. His eyes track your movements, but he says nothing.

Fine. If he’s going to hover like some clinical stalker, you’ll just ignore him. You skim over market elasticity equations, but your brain refuses to cooperate. You’re supposed to be able to focus, but your body feels sluggish. Slower than usual. Too much sleep? No stimulants. His fault.

You frown down at the page, trying to force the numbers into place. The silence is suffocating. Then, his voice. “You keep hesitating.” Your fingers tighten around your pencil. “I’m thinking.” He hums, the sound so calm, so condescending that your jaw clenches. “No,” he says, flipping through his own copy of your textbook, “you’re frustrated.”

You exhale sharply, not looking at him. “Wow, thanks for the deep psychological insight.” He doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he reaches across the desk and tilts your notebook toward himself. Before you can react, his fingers ghost over the problem you were stuck on. “You made an error here,” he murmurs, tapping the equation lightly with the tip of his pen. “And here.”

You hate how easily he finds your mistakes. How effortless it is for him to point them out, like he’s proving a point about your incompetence. “I was getting to that,” you mutter. “Of course,” he agrees, voice infuriatingly smooth. “But your frustration gets in the way. It always does.” You snap your notebook back, shooting him a glare. “You don’t have to sit here and babysit me. I can handle it.”

His gaze drags over you, slow and intentionally invasive. He leans back slightly in his chair, tilting his head, studying you with that same unsettling patience. “Can you?” Your breath catches, because that tone, that quiet, knowing taunt, doesn’t sound like he’s just questioning your academics.

Your grip on the pencil tightens. You don’t look at him, forcing your eyes back onto the textbook. Silence settles again, but this time it’s heavier. Like he’s waiting for something, like he’s amused and it makes you itch. You shift in your chair, uncomfortable, but his voice cuts through the quiet before you can settle. “You’re restless.” Your stomach tightens. “Maybe because you’re staring at me.”

A slow, almost lazy blink. He tilts his head slightly, the motion slow, deliberate, studying you. Then, with the faintest smirk curving his lips, he asks, “Am I making you uncomfortable?” Yes. You swallow, jaw clenching. “You’re making it impossible to concentrate.” There’s a beat of silence. Then, he exhales, a low chuckle beneath his breath.

Your eyes snap to him in disbelief. He’s full on smirking. A shiver runs down your spine. “What’s so funny?” He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he taps his fingers idly against the table, gaze never leaving yours. “You keep pushing back,” he muses, “but your body betrays you.”

The words send a sharp pulse through your veins. You freeze. “What the hell does that mean?” you snap. His smirk doesn’t waver. Instead, he leans forward slightly, voice dropping lower. “Every time you resist, I can see it.” His fingers trail the edge of his pen, slow and deliberate. “The tension. The frustration. The way you react to my presence.” Your mouth runs dry. “That’s called annoyance.” His head tilts. “Is it?” There’s something different about the way he’s looking at you now. Less clinical. More intense? And you realize, he enjoys this. The push and pull. The fight. The fact that you’re so easily affected by him.

You push back your chair abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor as you stand. You need air. “I’m taking a break,” you mutter, already turning for the door. But before you can move, he’s already there. He doesn’t grab you. Doesn’t block you. He just stands, positioned just close enough to force you to stop. Your breath catches.

“You have another hour,” he reminds you, voice still too calm, too smooth. You swallow hard, looking past him. “Move.” He doesn’t. Instead, he leans in slightly, just enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne, the smell clean and crisp. “I wonder,” he murmurs, “how long you’ll keep pretending you don’t like this.” Your stomach drops. A sharp pulse shoots down your spine, your fingers twitching at your sides. No. No, he’s wrong. You don’t like this. You hate this. You hate him.

He knows that your pulse is racing. That your breath is shallow. That your body, despite every logical part of your brain, is too aware of him. And somehow, that makes him even more patient. Like he knows he doesn’t have to rush this. Because he’s already winning.

————-

By the time lunch rolls around, the tension from the morning has barely faded. The dining room is just as pristine as before, silent, controlled, suffocating. He is already seated when you walk in, a plate of steamed rice, grilled chicken, and vegetables set neatly at your spot. Boring. Predictable. Just like him.

You drop into the chair without a word, grip tightening around the fork as you push the food around your plate. Your appetite is nonexistent, but you don’t test him by refusing to eat. Not yet. Instead, you let the silence stretch. Let the minutes tick by, waiting. And then, without looking up, you say it. “How did you find me?” He doesn’t react right away. He finishes cutting a piece of chicken, lifting it to his mouth with calm precision, chewing slowly. Then, he finally speaks. “Find you where?”

You exhale sharply, dropping your fork with a little too much force. “At the party,” you clarify. “How did you know where I was?” He tilts his head slightly, wiping his mouth with a napkin before resting his elbows on the table. “You were at a party?”

Your glare sharpens. “Don’t do that. Don’t play dumb.” He exhales, leaning back against his chair. You keep your expression blank. “So what?” you push. “You just magically guessed where I was?” A slow blink. A small, knowing curve of his lips. “Your parents informed me.” Your stomach drops as you stare at him. “What?”

“They were notified that you hadn’t returned home,” he continued smoothly. “Your driver was waiting, but you never showed.” You freeze. Shit. You forgot about the driver. “They assumed you were at a party,” he added. “And given the list of events you and your friends have attended in the past, it wasn’t difficult to find the most likely location.” Your fingers tighten around your fork. “That’s insane.” He tilts his head slightly, as if considering. “Is it?”

You scoff. “You mean to tell me my parents just, what, handed you a list of places I might be?” A slight smirk plays on his lips. “They’re concerned about you.” You laugh, a dry, bitter sound. “They’re concerned about their image.” He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he sets down his utensils, folding his hands neatly in front of him. “Regardless, their concerns led me to you.” Your pulse ticks up. You look away, pushing your food around the plate. “So what?” you mutter. “You tracked me down, dragged me home like some runaway child? You don’t see how creepy that is?”

He leans back slightly, studying you. “Would you rather I hadn’t?” The question is too calm. Too certain. You swallow, your throat suddenly dries. Because he’s waiting for an answer. Waiting for you to admit that maybe, just maybe, he had a point. You hate that you don’t have one. Instead, you exhale sharply, stabbing at a piece of chicken. “Next time, don’t bother.”

He hums. A sound of amusement, not agreement. Then, he gestures toward your plate. “Eat.” You hold his gaze for one more second. One more silent act of defiance. And then, you take a bite. Because, for now, it’s the only battle you can win.

————-

By the time the last study session ends, you’re beyond exhausted. Gosh do you miss taking the pills. Hours of microeconomic theory, financial analysis, and investment modeling have left your brain feeling like mush. You were hoping for a break. Maybe some alone time in your room, text Sunghoon, pretend you still have a life outside of this house. But of course, he has other plans.

“You’ll be spending the next hour engaging in a structured activity,” he informs you, as if he’s handing out some divine decree. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “What kind of activity?” He doesn’t answer right away, just motions for you to follow. He leads you into another empty room in this empty house, a sitting area, pristine and untouched, like it’s only there for decoration. A chessboard sits on the table, the pieces perfectly aligned, as if no one has ever played. 

You stare at it. “You’re kidding.” He takes his seat across from you, cool and collected. “Chess stimulates critical thinking. It will help improve your problem-solving skills.” You blink at him. “I’ve been solving problems all day. I’m not playing chess with you.”

His gaze lifts, slow, steady, unwavering. “I wasn’t asking.” The words sit heavy between you. You cross your arms, glaring at the board. “Fine,” you mutter, sinking into the chair. “But I’m not going to make it easy for you.” His lips curve slightly. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”

The first few moves are silent. The sound of pieces clicking against the board fills the air. At first, you play recklessly. Intentionally chaotic. Just to mess with him. He doesn’t react. He simply moves his pieces with calm, practiced efficiency. Every move is calculated and controlled. It’s infuriating.

Finally, after a few minutes of quiet strategy, he speaks. “You haven't texted Sunghoon.” You stiffen.Your hand hesitates over a piece. Slowly, you lift your gaze. “Excuse me?” His expression remains neutral, but there’s something lurking beneath it. Something satisfied?

Your fingers tighten around your knight piece. “Well I don't exactly have my phone, do I? Also, did you check my phone?” You ask accusingly. He tilts his head slightly, the movement as lazy as it is intentional. “I wouldn’t call it checking.” He picks up his queen, placing it in a dominant position on the board. “Your screen lit up. It was hard to miss.”

He hums, not denying it. Instead, he leans forward slightly, voice dropping low. “Your move.” You shove your knight forward aggressively, knocking one of his pawns off. He barely spares it a glance before speaking again. “You seem… distracted.”

You scoff. “Yeah, maybe because you’re talking about my boyfriend while playing chess like some psycho in a movie.” A low chuckle. “You’re entertaining when you’re agitated,” he remarks, amused, unbothered. “But I meant what I said.”

You exhale, forcing yourself to stay calm. “What, that I’m distracted?” He leans back, fingers tapping lazily against the table. “Yes. You lose focus easily when your emotions are involved.” You roll your eyes, making another move. “Is this the part where you psychoanalyze me again?” He moves his queen. Check. He meets your eyes, gaze sharp, assessing. “No,” he says smoothly. “This is the part where I win.” You stare at the board, blood boiling. He’s right. You let yourself get distracted. You push away from the table, standing abruptly. “We’re done.” He watches you, expression unreadable. “You don’t like losing.” 

“No,” you snap. “I don’t like this.” His lips curve slightly. He hands you your phone without a word. The weight of it in your palm is almost unfamiliar after an entire day without it. You unlock the screen immediately, scrolling through your notifications, your heart picking up as you scan for Sunghoon’s name. Nothing. Your breath hitches for just a second, barely noticeable, but the disappointment sinks in faster than you can stop it. You blink, double-checking. No missed calls. No texts. Not even a reaction to the last message you sent him. That’s… weird. You tell yourself it’s fine. He’s probably just busy. Maybe he fell asleep early. Maybe he thinks you’re the one ignoring him. 

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard, debating whether you should send something first. Just a simple hey. A test. But something about it feels off. If you text him now, you’ll be the one reaching out. You’ll be the one who noticed. You’ll be the one who cares. And you do, of course, you do, but letting that show somehow makes it feel worse. You swallow the frustration building in your throat and press the power button, shutting off the screen before you let yourself overthink it any further. You set the phone down and push it back toward him. He watches you, his fingers tapping against the desk, slow and rhythmic. "Nothing?" You shrug, forcing nonchalance. "Guess not."

A beat of silence stretches between you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t pry, just picks up the phone and slips it back into his pocket like it belongs to him, like it wasn’t even yours to begin with. “You’ll have another ten minutes tomorrow.” You nod, walking out too quickly, eager to get out of this room, away from him, away from the sinking weight in your chest that you refuse to acknowledge as sadness. It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s just one day. But the quiet part of your mind whispers that Sunghoon always texts you, even if it's half assed. Maybe he feels bad about how things got out of hand at the party? Or maybe he doesn’t? 

————-

The soft glow of the TV screen flickers across the dimly lit living room. You’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, mindlessly watching something simple, something easy. Something that doesn’t require focus. For the first time today, you’re not thinking about anything. Not his rules. Not the suffocating schedule. Just the low hum of the TV, filling the empty space around you. It almost feels… normal. Until it doesn’t.

The screen suddenly blacks out. Your body tenses, a sharp inhale cutting through the quiet. You blink at the blank TV, disoriented, before slowly turning your head, and there he is. Dr. Kim stands beside the couch, remote in hand, his expression calm yet expectant. “It’s bedtime.” Your brows knit together, disbelief flickering across your face. “Are you serious?” He doesn’t answer. Just sets the remote down on the coffee table, his gaze never leaving you. A sharp, irritated breath escapes you. “I’m not a child.”

He tilts his head slightly, a small, knowing motion that only makes your frustration grow. “You need proper rest,” he says, voice steady, unshaken by your attitude. “Overworking yourself isn’t productive.” You scoff. “It’s just TV.”

“And now, it’s off.” You stare at him, waiting for him to budge. To roll his eyes, sigh, maybe even let you have this one thing. But he doesn’t. He just watches you, waiting for you to comply. And maybe that’s what’s most frustrating of all, he’s not fighting you. He’s not raising his voice, not snapping back. He’s just waiting. Like he already knows you’ll listen. Your jaw tightens, hands balling into fists against your lap. “This is ridiculous.” 

He hums softly, like he’s considering your words. “You’re free to feel that way. But you still need to sleep.” Your muscles tense, the heat of defiance burning under your skin. You don’t want to listen to him. You want to stay right here, keep the TV on, pretend you still have some control over your own life. 

But another part of you, the one exhausted from today’s battles, the one weighed down by everything you refuse to acknowledge, knows you won’t win this one. Slowly, grudgingly, you push yourself up from the couch. You don’t look at him as you move past him, don’t acknowledge the quiet satisfaction in his posture.

The walk to your room feels heavier than it should. By the time you step inside, you expect him to leave, to disappear behind a closed door like your parents always did, cold, distant, uninterested beyond the rules they set.

But he doesn’t. He follows you in, pauses near the doorway. His hand reaches for the handle, but he doesn’t shut it. Instead, he leaves it slightly open. Ajar.

Your stomach knots. “What, you don’t trust me to stay in bed either?” His gaze meets yours, something softer there, something you can’t place. “It’s not about trust.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Then what is it about?” A pause. A beat of silence just long enough to make you uncomfortable. “You’re not used to having someone that makes sure you’re okay.” Your breath catches. It’s such a simple statement. Too simple. Like he’s voicing something obvious, something already known.

But it sits heavy in your chest, pressing against the hollow places you never let yourself acknowledge. You should snap at him. Should tell him he’s wrong, that you’re fine, that you don’t need someone watching over you like this. But the words don’t come. You glance at the open door instead, swallowing down whatever emotion threatens to surface. “I don’t need someone like that.”

His expression remains unreadable. “Goodnight.” The words are final, no space left for argument. He turns and steps out, his presence lingering even after he disappears down the hall. The door stays open. And for reasons you don’t understand, you don’t get up to close it.

————-

Time has started to blur. Days bleed into each other, structured and rigid, each one identical to the last. The housemaid stopped coming, it was just you and him. The rules have become second nature, and the fights you used to put up? Less frequent. Not because you agree, but because resistance became exhausting.

And then there’s Sunghoon. Or rather, the absence of him. No calls. No texts. Nothing. At first, you convinced yourself he was just busy. That he’d reach out eventually. But now, days have passed. You’ve checked your phone during your allotted ten minutes, stared at the empty notifications, felt the quiet, creeping disappointment settle in your chest. You try to ignore it. Try to push it down. Sure, Sunghoon wasn’t head over heels for you. But he was your boyfriend. And somehow, that should mean something.

The only message you’ve gotten, the only thing from the outside world at all, is from your parents. Not a phone call. Not even a voice message. Just a text. "Hope you're adjusting. Listen to Dr. Kim." That was it. Nothing more. No warmth, no real concern, just a reminder. Behave. Follow the rules. Because if you don’t, if you fight, if you refuse to comply, there will be consequences. The implication is clear. If you push too far, you’ll be cut off. Financially. Entirely. Completely.

You read the message twice, let the weight of it settle in. And then, without another thought, you lock your phone and place it back on the table. Because really, what’s the point? You wake up on time. You eat when he tells you to. You study for the exact hours he sets. And every night, your door stays ajar. Somewhere along the way, his presence stopped feeling temporary.

The first time he picked out your outfit, you thought he was joking. “I’ll decide what I wear,” you had snapped, arms crossed as you stared at the neat selection of clothes he’d placed on your bed. He remained unimpressed. “You lost that privilege when you were late.”

“One minute,” you had argued, voice laced with frustration. “I was late by one minute.” He had only hummed, stepping closer, gaze steady as he reached for the blouse he chose. “Then next time, be on time.” It’s a ridiculous rule, but you still wear what he picks out every morning. Because even though you tell yourself you don’t care, it’s easier than starting a battle you already know you’ll lose.

He’s also physically closer to you know. At first, you thought his touches were accidental. A brief hand on your shoulder, a light press against your back when he stood behind you, reading over your notes. Small things. Easy to ignore.

But then it became more frequent. His fingers ghost along the curve of your shoulder when he corrects a mistake in your notes. His palm lingers against the small of your back when he guides you to your desk. When you start to fidget, his hand finds your wrist, pressing down lightly as if to calm you.

It should bother you more than it does. But the worst part? It works. You don’t want to admit it, but there’s something calculated, practiced in the way he touches you. Something designed to soothe. Like he’s figured out exactly how to wear down your resistance.

His nicknames also became frequent. You remember the first time he called you sweetheart when discussing the rules. It had been offhand, casual, like he barely even thought about it. You had bristled, waiting for him to correct himself. But he didn’t. 

The next time, it was darling. Another time, angel. Each one more natural, more seamless than the last. The worst part is how easily it slips into conversation now.

"Focus, sweetheart."

"You’re overthinking again, darling."

"Eat, angel. You’ll need your energy."

And you hate it. You hate that he says it like it’s natural, like it belongs. You hate that no one else has ever called you these things, not your parents, not even Sunghoon. You hate that sometimes, when he says it in just the right tone, it makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t understand.

————-

Dinner is different tonight. It’s not just another scheduled meal, another quiet, structured moment where you eat because it’s expected of you. The table is set more carefully than usual, two polished plates, silverware perfectly aligned, the dim glow of the chandelier casting soft shadows. Everything feels…intentional.

You notice immediately. It unsettles you, but you don’t say anything. Maybe it’s another one of his tests, another way to see if you’ll react. Or maybe it’s a reward? The thought makes something curl in your stomach, something ugly, something you refuse to name.

He sits across from you, perfectly composed. He doesn’t acknowledge the change in atmosphere, doesn’t point out the way you eye the setup with quiet suspicion. Instead, he just lifts his glass, takes a slow sip of water, then nods toward your plate. “Sweetheart, eat.”

You don’t argue, but something about the command grates on you. The food looks better than usual, a perfectly cooked steak, roasted vegetables arranged like something straight out of a five-star restaurant. It’s intentional. All of this is. You cut into the steak carefully, bringing the first bite to your lips. The moment it touches your tongue, your body reacts before your mind can catch up. It’s perfect. Rich, tender, seasoned just right, juices melting over your tongue in a way that has your shoulders instantly relaxing. It’s the best thing you’ve tasted in, God, how long has it been? And then, before you can stop it, a sound slips out. Soft, breathy, a quiet, satisfied moan. Your breath catches. Your spine stiffens immediately. Silence. You realize what you’ve done the same second you feel his eyes on you. Slowly, hesitantly, you look up.

He isn’t eating, he isn’t even moving. His fork rests against his plate, untouched. His fingers tap idly against the stem of his glass. He watches you with quiet intensity, his expression unreadable, except for the smirk. It’s like he’s amused. Pleased. Heat crawls up your neck, mortification seeping into your bones. You clear your throat, forcing past the moment as quickly as possible. “How do you know so much about my coursework?”

His gaze flicks up, calm and unsurprised, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Because I studied the same things.” You frown, swallowing. “You’re a psychiatrist.” His lips twitch slightly, like he finds your skepticism amusing. “And before that, I was exactly where you are now. Economics. Business strategy. Finance.” He pauses, tilting his head just slightly. “I was expected to take over my family’s company. Until I didn’t.”

You go still, your fork pausing midair. Something about the way he says it, smooth but edged with something sharper, makes your stomach tighten. “So, what? You just decided one day that you’d rather screw with people’s minds instead of their money?” He exhales a soft, almost amused breath as he sets down his knife. “Something like that.” You scoff, stabbing at your vegetables. “Sounds like you and my parents would get along.” The amusement in his expression fades. “I think you know that isn’t true.”

Your grip tightens around your fork. There’s something too heavy in his voice, something that makes you feel exposed, in a way you don’t like. “You’re here, aren’t you?” he continues, voice smooth but cutting. “Because you think they don't want to deal with you anymore.” The words land heavier than they should. You force a smirk, pushing through the way they settle in your chest like a stone. “Gee, thanks for the reminder.” He watches you, his gaze steady, patient. Too patient. “Does it bother you?”

You lean back in your chair, feigning nonchalance. “Why would it? It’s not like it’s the first time.” He doesn’t respond right away. He simply lifts his glass again, taking another sip, letting the silence stretch.

You look down at your plate, at the steak still waiting. You cut another piece, bring it to your lips and the moment it touches your tongue, everything else fades. He’s just sitting there, watching you, smiling at how you're enjoying the meal he cooked for you.

You swallow hard, shifting in your seat, forcing yourself to look away. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he says. You glare, gripping your fork a little too tightly. “Like you’re enjoying this.” He leans back slightly, tilting his head. “And if I am?” The air feels different now. You can’t place it, can’t explain it, but something has shifted. You force out a scoff, desperate to move past it. “Yepp. You and my parents would get along perfectly. You’re all obsessed with control.” He breathes a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “If I wanted control over you darling, you wouldn’t even realize it.” The way he says it, so soft, so certain, it sends a shiver curling down your spine.

You exhale sharply, dropping your fork against your plate with a clatter. “Well, at least I know you have other skills.” You gesture vaguely toward the food, grasping at anything to redirect the conversation. “Didn’t take you for someone who could cook.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “Since I learned how to take care of things properly.” The phrasing makes your stomach twist. It shouldn’t sound like a warning but somehow, it does.

You pick at the last remnants of your meal, the conversation still lingering in the air. His words sit heavy in your chest, pressing down, reminding you that you're here because your parents didn’t want to deal with you. You hate how easy it is for him to cut through you like that. How effortlessly he makes you feel exposed. But he’s not gloating. He’s just watching.

That same calm, unreadable expression, the slight tilt of his head as if he’s waiting for something, for you to react. You exhale sharply, tapping your fork against the edge of your plate. “So, what? You’re gonna sit there and psychoanalyze me over steak?” His lips curve, the barest smirk, “Would you prefer I psychoanalyze you over dessert?” You roll your eyes. “Hilarious.” His gaze doesn’t waver. Still waiting. Still watching over you.

The weight of it makes something hot and frustrated twist in your chest. You want to break the tension, want to push back, want to tip the balance. And then, on impulse, you say it. Not Dr. Kim. Not even Seok-Jin.

Just–

“Jin.”

The shift is instant. His eyes darken. Not in anger, but in something deeper. You shouldn’t have said it. You know you shouldn’t have. But now you can’t take it back.

A slow, unnerving silence stretches between you. Then, he exhales, the corners of his lips twitch, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Jin, huh?" His voice is low, amused, but there’s something else beneath it, something heavier. Like he’s tasting the way it sounds, rolling it over in his mind, keeping it. “You’ve never called me that before. You barely address me as Dr. Kim."

Your stomach twists, but you refuse to let it show. You force a small smile as you lean back in your chair. “Would you rather I stick with Dr. Kim?” His head tilts slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “No,” he says, soft, certain. Then. "I like the way it sounds when you say my name." Your breath catches. Something shifts between you. Something thick, unspoken, dangerous. Your fingers tighten around the napkin in your lap, but you force yourself to hold his gaze, to pretend like it doesn’t affect you. Like the way he’s looking at you right now doesn’t make your heart pound just a little too fast. Jin. You shouldn’t have said it. But now, you think, he won’t let you stop.

Dinner is finished, but the tension lingers. You can still feel the weight of his gaze from across the table, his smirk. So you move. For once, without being told, you reach for the dishes, gathering them in your hands before he can stop you. Maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s the tiniest rebellion, something normal in a situation that’s anything but.

You make it to the sink, rolling up your sleeves, fingers brushing over the faucet. The sound of running water fills the space, grounding you. It’s just a plate, just soap and water, just something to do with your hands. 

Then, heat. A slow, creeping warmth against your waist. Not imagined. Not accidental. His hand. Firm. Steady. Claiming.

A slow inhale gets caught in your throat as you freeze, your fingers gripping the counter, your body locked tight. You don’t turn around. You don’t have to. You know who it is. His touch is light, just enough to guide you. A slow, press of fingers against the fabric of your shirt, the warmth of his palm bleeding through as his breath ghosts the back of your neck. Too close, too much.

"Go rest." His voice is low, even. Deceptively soft, but there’s something beneath it, something that doesn’t leave room for argument. Your pulse skips. “I can do the dishes.” A hum. Low, deep, amused. "I know you can," he murmurs, closer now, the warmth of him pressing just slightly more into your back. “But I’d rather you didn’t.”

You swallow hard, knuckles going white where they grip the counter. This, this isn’t normal. This isn’t how a psychiatrist handles his patient. But he isn’t moving. And neither are you. His fingers press just slightly, just enough, before the warmth of his touch disappears, leaving your skin too aware of its absence. You force yourself to move, stepping back from the sink, willing your breath to stay even, to pretend like this isn’t affecting you. But the second you turn away, you feel it, the weight of his gaze on your back, tracking your every step as you leave the kitchen. You don’t look back. You can’t.

By the time he comes into your room, you’re already in bed, or at least, you’re pretending to be. A book rests in your hands, your eyes scanning the words without absorbing a single one. It doesn’t help. You still feel it, the warmth of his touch, still imprinted on your waist.

Then, movement. You don’t even have time to react before the book slips from your grasp. Not snatched, not forceful. Just taken. Your breath stutters as he plucks it from your hands, his fingers grazing your own for a fraction of a second, just long enough to make your stomach clench. He doesn’t even glance at the title before setting it on your nightstand, his movements fluid, composed, controlled. Like he’s done this before. Like it’s routine. You don’t know what to do with your hands now that they’re empty.

He stands beside your bed, watching you. The dim glow of the bedside lamp catches the sharp line of his jaw, the slow rise and fall of his chest. He isn’t touching you, isn’t crowding you, but he’s there. He’s always there. Then, a small, quiet smile. "Good night."

Your throat tightens. You don’t respond. He tilts his head slightly, and when he speaks again, his voice is even softer. "Sweet dreams." The words slip through the cracks, sinking into your skin before you can stop them. The door stays ajar as he leaves, his shadow shifting, stretching against the hallway light. You don’t move. You barely breathe. Even long after he’s gone, long after the silence swallows the room whole, you still feel him.

————-

The warmth is all-consuming, deep, suffocating in the sweetest way. It stretches through every inch of your body, pulling you under, making you heavy, making you needy. The world around you is blurred, distant, nothing but the press of heat, the slow burn of something thick, inescapable, forbidden.

And he’s here. Jin sits at the edge of your bed, his presence undeniable, the weight of his gaze sinking into your skin like it belongs there. He looks relaxed, knowing, like he’s been watching you for a while. Like he’s been waiting. You should ask him why he’s here. You should move. But you don’t. Because his hand is already on you. It starts at your ankle, the softest graze of fingertips, teasing, testing. Your breath stutters, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

Then he drags them up. Slowly, as he’s tracing over your calf, your thigh, higher. Spreading the heat. Spreading the tension. Spreading you. A breathy sigh escapes you, your thighs parting instinctively, your back arching the tiniest bit. He chuckles. Low, pleased and amused. And then he leans in. His breath skims your throat, warm, tantalizing, just close enough to send a shudder rolling through you. "You're so easy to tame, angel."

The words melt into your skin, his voice like something dangerous and possessive and inevitable. Then, his mouth. Soft lips press against your pussy, teasing, trailing, tasting. A slow, lingering drag, a teasing bite, a soothing lap of his tongue.

Your fingers grip the sheets, your body betraying you. A soft, helpless noise escapes, a needy little whimper that only makes him press harder. "That’s it, sweetheart" he hums against your skin, his voice rougher now, heavier. "Let me hear you."

The pleasure spikes, unbearable, unbearable, unbearable.

"Jin–" The name slips from your lips, breathless, pleading.

And then.

Your whole body jerks up. Your chest is heaving, your skin flushed, damp with sweat. Your thighs are pressed together, aching, throbbing. Your hands tremble where they grip the sheets, your breath ragged, desperate. It takes too long for reality to sink in. Everything feels too real. His touch still lingers, his voice still in your ear, still on your skin. And then it hits you. It was a dream. Just a dream.

“Jin.” The name is still on your tongue, breathless, needy. And then your bedroom door creaks open. Your stomach plummets and your breath stills as your entire body locks up. You snap your head toward the doorway. Jin steps inside. His gaze sweeps over you, the way you’re gripping the sheets, the way your chest still rises and falls too fast, the way your skin is flushed from something that has nothing to do with the temperature.

His lips curve. Not a smirk. Something deeper, something too knowing. Your pulse slams against your ribs. "Sweet dreams, princess?" 

Your breath hitches. Your chest is still rising and falling too fast, your skin too warm, too sensitive. But you force yourself to breathe. To calm down. Because it was just a dream. Just a dream. And he doesn’t know. He can’t know.

You force a scoff, tilting your head just enough to feign annoyance. “Seriously?” Your voice is still a little rough from sleep, but you ignore it. Push through. “You wake me up early every day and now you’re asking about my dreams?”

Jin leans against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes sweep over you once, slow, assessing. And then, he smiles. Not his usual soft smirk. Something mocking, almost like he’s entertained. "Just curious."

You exhale, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, well, nothing worth remembering.” The lie is smooth, automatic, easy. Too easy. And you swear, just for a second, his smirk deepens. Like he doesn’t believe you. Like he knows exactly what you were dreaming about. But no. He doesn’t. He can’t. You won’t let him.

You clear your throat, shifting under the sheets like you’re just stretching. “What do you want?” Jin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he steps forward, setting a neatly folded outfit at the edge of your bed. “I picked out your clothes for today.” His voice is smooth, composed. Just like always. Just like nothing is different.

Your fingers twitch at the sheets, clutching the fabric a little too tightly. Another test. Another way to remind you, his rules, his control, his world. You take a slow breath, steadying yourself, keeping the act together. “Great. Looking forward to it.” Jin watches you for a moment longer. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he steps back toward the door. "Get dressed, sweetheart. I'll see you downstairs."

And then, he’s gone. The second the door clicks shut, your whole body collapses back against the pillows. Your hands shake. Your heart pounds. Because he doesn’t know. You played it off. It’s fine. You push the sheets off your body, exhaling sharply as you force yourself up. 

It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. But the second you stand, the discomfort between your thighs makes you freeze. You shift your legs slightly, and, oh. It’s wet. Uncomfortably wet. You blink, stomach twisting, pulse spiking with something unfamiliar. What the hell? Are you– is this your period?

You rush to the bathroom, pulling down your underwear frantically. And then, you see. Not your period. Something worse. Your breath catches, mortification crawling up your spine. No, no, no, this has never happened before, at least not while you were asleep. Your body has never reacted like this. You wipe yourself clean, hurried, almost frantic, as if scrubbing the evidence away will erase the shame burning in your chest.

You shove your ruined panties deep into the laundry basket, burying them beneath a pile of clothes. You don’t have time to deal with it. You have to get dressed. You reach for the outfit Jin picked. Of course. A preppy pleated skirt, just long enough to be appropriate but short enough to remind you who chose it. And a soft, knitted sweater that fits too well. It makes you feel smaller. Like a high schooler. Like something he dressed up exactly how he wants. 

You exhale sharply, shaking off the thought, focusing on fixing your hair, making yourself look composed. Like nothing happened. Like you didn’t just wake up a mess from a dream about him. Because he can’t know. And he never will.

————-

You walk to the kitchen, trying to appear normal. Jin is already there, standing at the counter, his sleeves rolled up as he plates breakfast. He moves with his usual calm precision, like nothing is out of place, like he hasn’t been waiting for you. Except he has. The moment your footsteps hit the kitchen floor, he glances over. His gaze drags over you, slow, controlled, too knowing. Something in your chest tightens.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” His voice is smooth, collected, and almost pleasant. “How do you feel?” Your stomach plummets. There’s something wrong with the way he says it. You don’t know how, you don’t know why, but it feels pointed.

Your throat is suddenly dry, but you force yourself to act normal. “Fine,” you say, sitting down carefully. His lips twitch amused. “Fine?” Your pulse jolts. Why does he keep repeating things? Why does it feel like he’s waiting for something? You swallow. “Yeah.”

Jin hums lightly, his fingers tapping against his coffee cup, watching you. You focus on your plate. Just eat. Be normal. But the second you shift, you feel it. The lingering wetness between your thighs, the tension still inside you. The dream never ended properly, you never really came.

The tension is still there. Your body tightens involuntarily. Your thighs press together. You don’t even realize you’re squirming until–

“You’re restless.”

Your breath catches. You snap your head up, but Jin is already looking at you. His gaze is calm, observant. His tone is clinical, detached. Like he’s just making an observation. You try to freeze, try to stay still, but it’s too late. “I’m not,” you mutter, shifting in your seat, willing the discomfort to disappear.

Jin lifts his chin just a little, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “You are.” Your jaw clenches. “Maybe I just don’t like sitting still.” Jin doesn’t blink. “Or maybe you’re uncomfortable.” Your stomach twists. “I’m fine.”

A pause. A slow, stretched-out silence. Then–

“Are you on your period?”

Your entire body stiffens. Your fork nearly slips from your fingers as you stare at him, heat crawling up your spine, mortification creeping in. “What?” Jin sets his coffee down, completely unbothered. “You’re shifting in your seat, avoiding pressure on your lower half. It’s common when experiencing cramps.” 

Your heart is pounding. “I–” You shake your head, gripping your fork. “No. That’s not–”

“Urinary tract infection?” He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the counter. You nearly choke on air. “Excuse me?” Jin exhales softly, like he’s being patient. Like he’s dealing with someone being difficult for no reason. “You’re tense. Your thighs are pressed together, and you keep adjusting like there’s discomfort.” His voice is perfectly neutral, but you can hear the amusement lingering beneath it. 

Your hands curl into fists under the table. “I don’t have a UTI.” Jin hums, nodding slightly, tapping his fingers against the table. “Then it must be something else.” Your breath shakes. “It’s nothing.” Jin raises a brow, gaze flicking over you slowly. “You’re sure?” You hate this. You hate the way he’s watching you, pretending like he’s just asking logical questions, like he’s not deliberately making you suffer.

Your thighs clench again, desperate to relieve something, and you swear, you swear, his eyes flick downward for just a second. But when he looks back up, his expression is unreadable. You force yourself to breathe, staring at your plate. “I’m sure.”

Jin watches you for a long moment, too long. Then, finally, he leans back. “Alright, sweetheart.” Jin sips his coffee, watching you from across the table, still too calm. The conversation should be over. His gaze flicks over you once more, slow, assessing, like he’s piecing something together. Like he’s still waiting.

Then, he exhales softly, shaking his head, as if something has just occurred to him. "Darling," he says smoothly, "I think I know what’s wrong."

Your heart skips. You don’t want to ask. You don’t want to know. But the way he says it, so certain, so confident, like this is just another problem he’s already solved, makes your skin prickle. You force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. “What?”

Jin taps his fingers against the counter, casual, unbothered. But then he speaks. “You need relief.”

Your entire body locks up. The room shrinks. The air thickens. The fork clatters against your plate, hands going clammy, chest tightening with something visceral. Your voice barely works. “W-what?” Jin leans forward slightly, his tone gentle, like he’s explaining something obvious. “Your body is holding onto tension. It’s normal.” His eyes flick downward, a flicker of amusement, a silent acknowledgment that he knows exactly where the tension is. 

You can’t breathe. Your mind's racing, stumbles, crashes. “I don’t–” He hums softly, cutting you off. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, angel. Persistent arousal without release can cause discomfort, muscle strain, even headaches.” He tilts his head, like he’s being helpful. “And judging by the way you keep squirming, I’d say you’re feeling it already.”

Your thighs clench involuntarily, a reaction you wish you could control. Jin sees it. His eyes darken just slightly. You force yourself to snap out of it. “I’m fine,” you bite out. “And I don’t need ‘relief,’ thank you very much.”

Jin doesn’t blink. “Are you sure?” Your stomach drops once more. Because he’s not letting it go. He’s testing you. Pushing. Waiting for you to admit something, or break first. His voice dips lower, calm but pointed. “You’re struggling to focus, aren’t you?” Your fingers dig into your lap. “No.”

“You’re tense.” His eyes drop to your lap, watching the way your fingers tighten against the fabric of your clothes. “Restless.” His lips press together for a beat, as if weighing his next words. Then, his gaze lifts, locking onto yours, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Irritable.”

Your pulse jumps. “I am not!” His lips curve slightly. “And yet, you can’t sit still.” You want to scream, to shove your plate away and leave, pretend like this conversation never happened. But he’s got you. He knows it. You know it.

The silence stretches. The air is unbearable. Then, softly, so gentle, so calculated, he speaks again. "Sweetheart, if you keep ignoring it, it’ll only get worse." Your body betrays you again, a sharp little twitch of your thighs, an unconscious clench. What the fuck is wrong with you today?!

Jin sees. He hums like it’s exactly what he expected. “That’s what I thought.” Your throat closes. You hate him. You hate that he’s right. You hate that your body is still aching, still throbbing, still desperate for something it shouldn’t want.

You shake your head, voice weaker. “This is fucked up.” Jin exhales. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice smooth and patient. “Everything feels fucked up when you’re resisting what you need.” His gaze never wavers, it’s steady and sure, like he’s already won. Then, he tilts his head slightly. “Do you trust me?”

Your breath catches because that’s the trap. If you say yes, you’re giving him permission. If you say no, you’re denying the one person who’s supposedly ‘taking care of you.’ Your lips part, but the words won’t come out. 

Jin leans forward slightly, voice softer, coaxing, careful. "Let me help you, angel." Your entire body burns. You shouldn’t even consider it. But your pulse is pounding, your skin is hot, your body is still aching, needy, desperate. And the worst part? You want to say yes. Jin doesn’t push. He doesn’t move. He just watches you patiently.

The tension in your muscles, the way you can’t keep still, the lingering damp heat between your thighs that refuses to fade. You know he sees it. You know he’s been watching the way your breath hitches, the way your fingers twitch like you don’t know what to do with them.

And worst of all? He’s right. It is getting worse. Jin exhales softly. "You understand what I’m offering, don’t you?" You swallow thickly, you can’t meet his eyes, but you nod, just once, small, barely there. But he doesn’t accept that. His fingers drum lightly against the table, thoughtful. “Use your words, angel.” His voice is calm and coaxing. “Tell me what you need.”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your sweater, gripping the soft knit like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Your throat feels tight, your skin hot. Every part of you is wound so tight it’s painful. You close your eyes, inhale shakily, and finally, finally, mutter the words that seal your fate. "I…need help."

The corner of Jin’s lips twitches, satisfied. He pushes his chair back, rising with the ease of someone who already knew this was inevitable. Then, he extends his hand. "Come here, sweetheart."

Your stomach tightens and your pulse jumps. Your breath shudders as you push your chair back, legs unsteady beneath you. Every step toward him feels heavy, irreversible, like crossing a line you can never uncross. Jin watches you the entire time, his expression is calm, like this is just another routine part of your schedule.

You stop in front of him, pulse thrumming against your ribs. He doesn’t move right away, just takes you in your hesitance. Then, he reaches out, slow and precise. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs pressing lightly against the waistband of your skirt. The touch itself is innocent, barely there, barely anything at all. But the way he does it? It’s not. It’s measured, intentional, possessive in a way.

His voice is low, soothing, but there’s something darker lurking beneath it. "You don’t have to be nervous," he murmurs. "I told you sweetheart, I’ll take care of you." Your stomach flutters. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? You want to believe him. 

Jin’s hands move slower than necessary, his touch measured, guiding you exactly where he wants. One hand glides up your back, pressing firmly between your shoulder blades. With effortless control, he eases you down until your stomach and chest meet the cold, smooth marble of the counter. The contrast of warmth and chill sends a shiver through you. A flicker of confusion crosses your mind. Here? In the kitchen?

Jin’s hands rest against your hips, firm and steady, like he’s guiding you into place. The warmth of his palms sinks through the fabric of your sweater. “Think of this as purely medical,” he assures, his voice smooth. “A necessary examination. That’s all.”

Your breath catches. Your body is still tight and on edge from the dream, from the restless, unsatisfied heat thrumming beneath your skin. You shouldn’t be considering this, shouldn’t even be standing here, but the words, his words, make it sound so reasonable.

Like this isn’t something twisted or forbidden. Like it’s something you need. You shift slightly, barely perceptible, but Jin notices everything. “You’re still tense,” he notes, almost like he’s diagnosing a symptom. “You understand the risks of prolonged sexual frustration, don’t you, darling?”

Your entire body goes stiff. He hums, interrupting you like he already knows what you were going to say. “Arousal without release can cause discomfort, which affects concentration..." His voice is lower now, softer, as if he’s concerned. “That’s why you were squirming so much earlier, wasn’t it?”

Heat flushes through your body, embarrassment crawling up your throat. “I wasn’t–” 

Jin lets out a small sigh, almost sympathetic. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, fingers pressing just slightly against the waistband of your skirt, a silent reminder of how easily he could fix this. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. This is simply your body’s natural response to unresolved tension.” Your nails dig into the counter. His touch is so light, barely there, but your body is already betraying you, reacting to him, desperate for anything more. 

He steps closer, his chest nearly flush against your back. His breath brushes against your ear as he speaks. “You need relief.” His voice is smooth and persuasive.“And if you won’t take care of it yourself…” His hands slide a fraction lower. “I will.”

The warmth of his body pressing just close enough to remind you that you have nowhere to go. His hands remain steady on your hips, thumbs brushing slow, measured circles just beneath the waistband of your skirt.

Your breath is shaky, uneven, but he remains perfectly composed, voice low, calm, rational. He waits, to see if you’ll stop him. And when you don’t, he moves. His hands slide lower, his fingers lifting the hem of your skirt, inch by inch. The air hits your exposed thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling between them. You shudder and Jin notices. The fabric gathers around your waist, completely out of the way now. 

His fingers drift lower, brushing against the waistband of your panties. A slow, thoughtful hum vibrates in his chest. “You really shouldn't neglect yourself,” he murmurs, mock disappointment laced in his voice. 

His fingers trace over your clothed pussy, gliding over the thin fabric of your panties before pressing lightly against the damp spot. He exhales, pleased. "Sweetheart," he muses, his voice dipping into something indulgent. "You're absolutely soaked."

Your whole body locks up in shame, mortification… something else. His fingers hook around the delicate fabric, giving a slow tug. Like he’s testing you. You don’t know if you’ve passed or failed. But you don’t stop him, so he keeps going. 

The panties slide down, slow and torturous, the damp fabric dragging along your slick folds, clinging for a moment before peeling away. There’s nothing between you now. Nothing stopping him, or you... 

A low gasp escapes you, your body tensing, thighs clenching instinctively, but there’s nothing to hide behind now.

And then, he sees.

A soft, low exhale leaves him, almost thoughtful as he’s fixed between your legs. His hands don’t move, not yet. He just stares. Eyes locked on your bare, swollen pussy, on the way your wetness glistens in the dim light. 

Seconds stretch unbearably long as he simply looks, his thumb lazily stroking your inner thigh, slow, absentminded circles against your heated skin.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice low, even, assessing.

Your stomach tightens, your hips shift, just barely, an instinctive, needy movement, but his hands immediately tighten on your thighs, keeping you right where he wants you.

A single finger trails through your folds, parting you, spreading your slick, dragging through the wet heat before he finally pulls away, inspecting the glistening strings of arousal stretching between his fingers.

Your breath hitches, your pulse pounding in your ears, but you can’t look away from him. He hums, as if pleased with the results, voice smooth and measured when he finally speaks.

"All this for me? What a good girl," he murmurs, voice drenched in quiet approval, his eyes still locked on you, watching the way your entrance flutters, clenching desperately around nothing.

Jin doesn’t rush. His hands slide back up, gliding over the curve of your bare thighs. His fingers drift along the soft skin of your inner thighs, teasing. You tremble, breath shaky, hands gripping the counter like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And he notices. “Still so tense,” he murmurs, voice smooth, patient. “I told you, sweetheart, it’s not good to hold this in.” His tone is steady, measured, as if this is nothing but routine. As if he’s simply following medical necessity.

Then, finally, he moves again. His fingers slide between your folds, parting you with effortless precision. You gasp. He exhales softly, almost as if confirming something. “You’re already throbbing,” he hums, his fingers gliding in slow, teasing strokes along your pussy.

“Poor little thing.” Your whole body tenses, your legs threatening to close around his hand, but he doesn’t allow it. His grip tightens, his other hand pressing to your waist, grounding you, controlling you. 

Jin doesn’t rush. His hands hold your hips steady, thumbs pressing into your skin, anchoring you against the counter. The warmth of his breath ghosts over your shoulder, close, too close. His fingers move slowly, dragging over your drenched pussy just to watch you twitch. “No, sweetheart,” he soothes, voice low, patient. “Let me do this properly.” Then, he starts.

A low, breathy “Fuck” slips from your lips as his fingers slide through your slick folds, spreading you open. He finds your clit with effortless precision, rubbing smooth circles over it. The stimulation makes your legs tremble, and your thighs press together, seeking more.

Your hips shift, instinctively chasing the pressure, but he doesn’t allow it. He pulls back, teasing, withholding.

“Shh,” he soothes, voice like silk, like you’re being difficult, like you need to be corrected. “I need you to be a good girl and stay still. Can you do that for me?”

The cold surface of the kitchen counter presses against your stomach, grounding you, but nothing prepares you for the way he handles you, pinned down, ass on display, legs spread just enough for him to take his time. You nod, breath hitching, thighs trembling as the pleasure builds too fast, too much. 

Then, suddenly, he pushes a finger in slowly, stretching you open as he continues rubbing circles over your clit.

“Ah–” A choked, breathless moan spills from your lips, your body trembling against the counter. It’s too much, too new, stretching, filling, making your thighs tremble as another whimper escapes you.

The intrusion is foreign, unfamiliar, your walls tightening instinctively around him as he pushes deeper. He groans at the way you squeeze his finger, his free hand smoothing over the curve of your hip, keeping you exactly where he wants you. “Fuck,” he mutters, his tone laced with something dark, something possessive. “You’re gripping me so tight, angel.”

A desperate, broken moan escapes you as his finger presses deeper, curling slightly, making your body jolt against the counter. Your breath stutters, high and needy, hips instinctively twitching as another gasp leaves your lips.

“Shh,” he soothes, amusement threading through his voice as his thumb circles your clit, coaxing another helpless moan from you. “I know, sweetheart. It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

Your hands clutch the edge of the counter, knuckles white as your breath hitches again, a whimper slipping free when he starts moving, slow, deep, stretching you open with every thrust of his finger.

“Such pretty little sounds,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re doing so well.”

Then, without warning, he pushes a second finger in.

"Ahh!" A sharp, helpless moan rips from your lips, your body jerking against the counter at the sudden stretch. It’s too much, deeper, fuller, making your legs almost give up.

Fuck, you’re so soaked, so wet that his fingers sink into you effortlessly, the slick sound obscene in the quiet of the kitchen. His free hand presses against your lower back, keeping you pinned in place, while the other works you open, your slick coating his fingers, dripping down his knuckles, pooling at the base of his palm.

"Messy little thing," he muses, dragging his fingers out just enough to hear the way your arousal slicks against him before pushing them back in, slow and deliberate. "Listen to that, do you hear how wet you are for me?"

Your breath stutters, a choked whimper slipping free as his fingers curl inside you. "Ngh- please." Your voice is barely a whisper, shaky and breathless, your hips instinctively pushing back, desperate for more.

He clicks his tongue, tutting softly, like you’re being difficult. His fingers press deep, the wet squelch of your arousal only growing louder, filthier.

"So impatient," he murmurs, thumb spreading your slick over your swollen clit, circling it slowly. "But since you asked so nicely."

Heat crawls up your spine, shame and desire tangling as your body betrays you, trembling with every slow, devastating thrust of his fingers.

"That’s it, angel" he praises, calm, controlled, like he’s guiding you through it. "Don’t fight it.”

His fingers work you faster now, pushing in deep, rhythmic thrusts, each curl of his fingers perfectly timed with the pressure against your clit. The sensation is overwhelming, dizzying, sending your body teetering right on the edge.

"I’m gonna-" Your words shatter into a desperate sob as your pussy tightens around him, your entire body locking up as the pressure inside you finally bursts.

A high, broken moan spills from your lips, wrecked and needy, as your walls clench and throb around his fingers, sucking them deeper like you never want to let go.

The wetness gushes between your legs, soaking his fingers, dripping down his knuckles, pooling at the base of his palm. The slick, obscene squelch fills the quiet kitchen, the sound of it only making your body jolt harder as the waves of pleasure keep rolling through you.

"Oh?" His voice is low, teasing, fingers still deep inside you, curling lazily as he lets you ride it out. "What was that, angel?"

Your hips jerk, your body betraying you, grinding helplessly against his hand, but it only makes him chuckle.

"You made such a pretty mess for me," he murmurs, voice dipping lower, more indulgent, like he’s savoring every second. "Dripping all over my hand like that."

His fingers slow but never stop, working you through it, drawing out every last tremor until you’re nothing but a panting, overstimulated mess against the counter.

"That’s my good girl," he coaxes, dragging one last teasing stroke inside you, making you whimper, oversensitive and spent. "Didn’t even know you could come this hard, did you?"

His free hand smooths over your back, soothing and grounding you, but his fingers stay buried deep, lingering, possessive, still playing with your soaked, fluttering walls just to feel you shiver.

"Mmm, let’s get you cleaned up," he murmurs, but there’s amusement laced in his tone, like he has no real intention of stopping just yet.

He adjusts his stance, his other hand pressing against your lower belly, feeling the way your walls still flutter weakly around his fingers.

"You’re still so sensitive," he notes, almost to himself, slowly pressing his fingers deeper like he’s checking something. "A little overstimulated… but that’s normal. Everything feels just as it should."

"Nnnh–!" A shaky, broken whimper rips from your throat, your body tensing up immediately as the sudden pressure makes your overworked walls clamp down around him.

"T-too much." Your voice wavers, high and wrecked, but there’s no real resistance, just a helpless, desperate quiver beneath him.

He hums, his free hand smoothing down the curve of your spine in something almost reassuring. Almost.

"Shh," he soothes, his voice a steady, professional calm against your shaking, overstimulated mess of a body. "You’re alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you."

And then he starts again, curling his fingers, massaging every tender, overstimulated spot inside you, coaxing out more of your release. His movements are measured as he’s stretching you open wider, forcing more slick to spill out onto his knuckles.

The squelch is obscene, loud, your slick coating his fingers, dripping down onto his wrist.

"There we go," he murmurs, his tone calm, clinical, like he’s simply taking notes on your body’s reactions. "Still so sensitive. But I need to know, sweetheart…"

His fingers ease out, dragging slowly, purposefully, letting you feel every inch as he pulls them free. A messy trail of arousal follows, wet and glistening, connecting you to his hand.

"Do you taste as good as you feel?"

You barely get a second to process his words before you feel it, his fingers spreading you open, pressing against your swollen folds, smearing your slick over your aching clit just before his tongue licks a slow, filthy stripe up your drenched pussy.

A high, wrecked cry spills from your lips, body jerking, but he just hums, soft and thoughtful, his tongue flicking lazily over your sensitive entrance, collecting every last drop he worked out of you.

His tongue moves with calculated precision, each slow stroke gathering every trace of slick left behind. He is cleaning you up, just not in the way you expected.

"Mm, there we go," he hums against you, lips brushing over your overworked clit as he speaks. "Can’t leave you like this, sweetheart. Need to make sure you’re taken care of properly."

A sharp, broken gasp rips from your throat as his tongue flicks, lingers, tracing slow, thorough circles around your aching, swollen bud before dipping down again, lapping up every bit of your release.

Your thighs twitch violently, body jerking, but his hands are steady, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, holding you open effortlessly.

His tongue dragging up your folds, savoring every drop like it’s his duty to leave nothing behind.You whimper, not knowing how long until he’s done. 

"Shh, sweetheart," he soothes, his lips gliding over your sensitive, overspent cunt, punctuating his words with leisurely, unhurried licks. "I know you’re sensitive. But I need to be thorough." His tone remains calm, clinical, as though this is simply a necessary part of your care.

His tongue pushes deeper, parting your folds as he gathers the last remnants of your slick, lapping at you like he’s ensuring nothing is wasted.

A whimpering sob spills from your lips, your breath ragged, body shaking beneath him, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even falter.

"Almost done," he murmurs, reassuring, as if this is nothing but routine. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, tilting you just enough to clean you properly.

"You’re being such a good girl for me," he praises, punctuating the words with a slow, indulgent lick, collecting what’s left of you.

Then, as if to make absolutely sure, his tongue swipes over your clit, a soft, lingering stroke that makes your body jolt violently.

Your hips buck, another high-pitched gasp slipping free, but he merely hums in satisfaction, his fingers pressing into your hips to steady you.

"There," he exhales finally, pulling back just slightly, though his warm breath still ghosts over your swollen pussy. "All clean."

A moment of silence. A pause that should feel like relief, but it doesn’t.

Because then, with a low, satisfied hum, he licks his lips, drags his thumb over your entrance one last time, and murmurs "Perfect."

Your body stays stilled against the counter, breath still coming in short, uneven pants, your limbs feeling boneless, wrecked, your mind blank with too many emotions to process.

Then, the shift.

He moves with practiced ease, hands smoothing over your bare thighs, his touch calm, routine, like he’s simply adjusting your posture during lessons. The skirt he had bunched up around your waist, the one he moved aside without hesitation, he pulls it back down, smoothing out the fabric like nothing ever happened.

But your panties? The ones ruined, damp, stained with the mess he coaxed from you?

He keeps those. With a quiet, effortless motion, he slips them into his pocket, tucking them away without hesitation, without a word. And then, just as quickly, he’s back to normal.

"You did well," he says smoothly, praising you like it’s just another part of a medical check-up. "Your body’s response was completely natural. Everything’s functioning just as it should." A beat of silence. Then, with the same calm professionalism, he continues, "Our session will start a little later than usual today." 

Like nothing happened. Like this was just another routine assessment. You nod numbly, your head still spinning, your body still trembling, but you don’t say a word. You can’t. Your voice wouldn’t work even if you tried. You adjust your posture, fixing your stance, still feeling unbearably exposed despite your skirt down. 

And then you turn, moving toward the door with shaky, uneven steps, your thighs damp, your heart pounding with a mixture of confusion, shame, and something else you can’t name.

That’s when his voice stops you one last time.

Soft. Amused. Possessive.

"Darling," he calls lightly, making your stomach flip, your breath hitch before you even turn to face him.

You do, barely managing to meet his gaze, your cheeks burning.

His eyes flick down, not at you, but at your trembling legs. At the way you press them together, still sensitive, still wrecked from what he just did.

A smirk tugs at his lips. His tone is softer now, smooth, almost mockingly gentle when he murmurs, "from now on… I’ll be the one to clean you up."

Your stomach drops, something deep inside you twisting at the implication in his voice. Because it’s not just about this moment. It’s about the dream you had. The one where you woke up wet, breathless, shaking, your pussy sticky with evidence of something you didn’t want to name.

He knew all along, fuck he must have heard you.

Your breath stutters, your body flushing with mortification as he walks up to you. You try to avoid his gaze, but his fingers find your chin, tilting it up with gentle insistence until you have no choice but to meet his eyes. Shame burns through you, settling deep in your chest. He hums, voice low and knowing. 'Try to stay focused during our lesson, hmm?'

And just like that, he walks away to do the breakfast dishes. Like you weren’t just panting against the counter, thighs trembling from overstimulation. Like he hadn’t just stripped you bare, licked you clean, and taken your panties as a souvenir.

————-

The day continues as usual, or at least, it’s supposed to. You had quickly changed into white pantyhose. Even though your skirt is long enough to hide your panties, you're not taking any more chances. Lessons start, structured and rigid, the way they always do. But today, you can’t focus. Jin is still the same, still suffocating, still watching, still controlling everything. 

He hovers behind you as you study, correcting the way you hold your pen, smoothing a hand over your shoulder when you hesitate too long on a problem, calling you nicknames like this morning never happened. Like nothing has changed. But for you, everything has. Your thoughts are scattered, disjointed, looping back to the way his voice sounded when he coaxed you through it, the way his fingers and tongue felt, how effortlessly he took control of you, of your body.

And the worst part? You let him. You let him touch you, take care of you, break you apart. And now, you don’t know what that means. Your stomach twists, a slow creeping anxiety settling in your chest, festering, suffocating. You think of Sunghoon. It’s the first time you’ve let yourself think of him, really think of him, since this whole thing started. Since Jin.

You haven’t heard from him. Not in weeks. Not a single call, not a single text. But does that matter? Would it have mattered if he had? Would it have stopped you from gasping Jin’s name this morning? From letting him push you over the edge with nothing but calculated touches and gentle orders?

Your hands tremble slightly as you flip the page of your textbook. You don’t know what this is anymore. Jin isn’t just your psychiatrist, your guardian? You don’t even know what to call him. The thought makes your skin crawl.

You’re grateful when dinner comes around. A distraction. Something else to focus on. But when you sit down at the table, when Jin slides a plate in front of you, when his fingers ghost against your wrist for just a second too long, the anxiety creeps right back in.

Because he still looks the same. Still calm, patient, and so unbearably in control. And you hate that you don’t know if he’s waiting for you to acknowledge it. Or if he already knows you won’t.

Jin has prepared a warm, steaming bowl of kimchi jjigae, paired with fresh rice and a side of vegetables. It’s supposed to be comforting, homey, something you like but do not get to have often. It’s something you should be able to enjoy, but can’t seem to. Not when your body still remembers what he did to you this morning. Not when your mind won’t shut up, won’t stop replaying how it felt, how you let him do it. And worst of all? Not when he’s sitting across from you like nothing happened.

Jin eats with his usual calm, methodical pace. You, however, are restless. You poke at your food, tapping your chopsticks against the bowl, shifting in your seat. Every little thing feels too much. The silence stretches too long. You hate that he’s so at ease. So unaffected. It makes you feel like you’re the only one suffering, the only one drowning in whatever the hell this is. So, naturally, you lash out.

“Dinner was later than usual,” you say suddenly, feigning casualness as you lift a spoonful of the broth to stare at. “That wasn’t very responsible of you, Dr. Kim.”

His gaze flicks up at the name, and for a brief second, something sharp flashes in his eyes, displeasure, kinda like a warning. “I had a call,” he says sternly, “a necessary one. Eat your food, sweetheart.”

You hum, dragging your spoon through the broth, barely acknowledging his words. And then, just to push him further, just to see how far you can go. You sigh dramatically, rolling your eyes. And then, under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Wouldn’t want to disobey, right?” You say it sweetly, batting your lashes mockingly. You don’t even think about it, don’t process what you just said until it’s already out there, hanging in the air between you.

Jin’s chopsticks pause midair. When his expression hardens, that’s when you realize your mistake. A slow, unbearable silence stretches between you. He sets his chopsticks down carefully, folding his hands on the table, his gaze steady as he studies you. 

“What did you say?” he muses, his voice too calm. You swallow as your confidence is already slipping. But you double down. Because you don’t want him to know how much you regret saying it.

You lean back, shrugging, playing with your spoon. “I mean, isn’t that what you want, Daddy?” You drawl, mocking. “Since you’re the one making all the rules.”

His eyes darken. His fingers tap against the table, slow and controlled. 

"Stand up."

Your stomach drops.

"What? No."

His lips curve, but there’s no amusement. Just expectation.

"Now."

You hesitate, but your body betrays you.

Because the weight in his voice, the sheer command of it, leaves no room for argument.

You rise, slowly, warily.

And the second you get closer to him.

He moves.

Jin grabs your wrist, swift and effortless, pulling you toward him with calculated force.

Before you can even process what’s happening, you’re dragged across his lap, pinned down over his thighs, stomach pressed against his legs.

You yelp, hands grabbing at nothing, struggling instinctively, but he’s already got you trapped beneath his grip.

And then, he moves your skirt, gathering the material at your waist. 

"White, hm?" His voice dips into something almost pleased, almost mocking, his palm gliding over your pantyhose-clad ass, the thin, sheer fabric stretched tight over your skin.

His touch is calm, measured, spreading over the delicate material, testing the way it hugs you, the way it clings, the way it does nothing to shield you from him.

His fingertips glide along the soft nylon, barely-there touches that make you shiver. "You want to act like a brat?" he murmurs, voice low, smooth, brushing against the shell of your ear. 

"Then you’ll be treated like one."

And then, the first slap.

Sharp. Sudden. Loud.

The sting cuts through the sheer fabric, making you jolt forward, gasping.

"Count." He orders. 

Your breath stutters. "W-what?"

Another sharp slap. Harder.

Your legs tremble.

"Start counting, sweetheart."

Your fingers curl into fists, your whole body burning.

"T-two."

His hand lands again.

"Louder."

Your thighs clench.

"Three."

"Good girl," he praises, voice dark, smooth. His other hand presses against your lower back, keeping you still.

Another slap.

Your hips buck. Your knees wobble.

"Four."

The pain blends with something else, something worse, something humiliating.

Again. And again.

"Five." 

"Six." 

The heat spreads, sharp at first, then dull and throbbing, radiating through you.

"Seven."

"Eight."

Your voice shakes.

"Nine."

The final slap. Harder than the rest.

"Ten."

You’re panting, your thighs shaking beneath you.

Then, he pauses.

His palm rests against the burning skin, fingers smoothing over the lingering sting like he’s soothing you, but you know better.

Because then, without warning, a sharp squeeze, fingers digging into the tender flesh of your ass, forcing a choked gasp from your lips.

Fuck– it hurts.

"Manners, angel," he murmurs, voice smooth, expectant, his grip tightening just slightly, like he’s reminding you who’s in control.

His thumb presses deeper, tracing over the sheer nylon stretched taut over your skin, testing the warmth he left behind, feeling how swollen, how tender you’ve become under his hand.

Your face burns when you realise he’s going to make you thank him. 

“…Thank you,” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

A beat of silence.

His thumb presses again, circling the spot where the burn is deepest, sending a fresh wave of heat flooding through you.

"Use that pretty little name you called me earlier, angel."

Your stomach twists, heat creeps up your neck, you don’t want to say it. But you know better.

You swallow hard, "Thank you… Daddy."

The approving hum that rumbles from his chest makes your thighs clench together instinctively. It does something to you, something humiliating and hot all at once.

Then, just as you brace yourself for another punishing squeeze, his hand smooths over your ass instead, fingers gliding over the delicate white pantyhose stretched tight against your skin. 

"So fucking pretty," he murmurs, voice thick with something dark, something possessive. His palm drags over the fabric slowly, like he’s savoring the way it hugs your curves, the way you tremble beneath his touch. 

Then, without warning, he grips the thin material at the seam and rips it apart. The sharp tear of fabric fills the room, and a shocked gasp escapes you as cool air kisses your newly exposed skin. 

His breath hitches, just slightly, but it’s enough. "Look at that," he groans, spreading the ruined nylon further to admire the soft, pink flesh underneath. His fingers skim over the freshly exposed skin, his touch maddeningly light. 

"Knew you’d be this pretty under all that." You shiver, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over you. But he isn’t done. One firm hand settles on your bare ass, squeezing, massaging, reveling in the way your flesh gives under his grip. 

"Now," he murmurs, voice softer, teasing, but still entirely in control. "Are you done being difficult," he breathes, his lips just near your ear, "and ready to be my good girl again?"

Your stomach flips. Because you don’t know, but you nod, because you don’t think you can handle any more.

Jin’s lips curve, satisfied. He presses a small, fleeting kiss to the nape of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. Then, finally, he pulls back.

With deliberate care, he smooths your skirt down over the mess, covering the evidence of what he’s done to you. The ruined pantyhose still cling to your legs, torn and stretched, a reminder of just how easily he’s unraveled you. He adjusts the fabric gently, as if tucking you back into place, like nothing happened.

His hands slip to your waist, steadying you as he helps you stand. "There you go, angel," he says approvingly, fingers brushing over your trembling thighs. "Such a good girl for me."

Then, as if he hadn’t just wrecked you beyond repair, he straightens, smoothing out his sleeves. His voice is effortless, smooth as silk.

"Finish your dinner, darling."

————-

You sit at the edge of your bed, brushing out your hair, trying to shove down the unease curling in your stomach. The sting from earlier still lingers on your butt, a dull reminder of his discipline. Your thoughts are spiraling until you hear the soft creak of your door. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him.

"Sweetheart." His voice is smooth, too soft, like he’s being careful with you. Like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. You exhale through your nose, feigning disinterest as you set down your brush. "Yes?"

A small, pleased hum. Then, the rustle of fabric. You glance over just as he pulls a small white pill from a container, holding it out between two fingers. "Here, take this," he says simply.

Your stomach twists as you eye it suspiciously. "What is it?" His gaze is steady. "Something mild. To help you sleep and ease your mind." Your pulse skips. The way he says it, it sounds so reasonable and normal. 

"I don’t need it," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "You do," Jin corrects gently, stepping closer. "You’ve been restless, overthinking and tense." Your fingers tighten in your lap. He’s not wrong, your head has been a mess. Too many conflicting emotions, too much guilt, too much…everything.

You don’t say anything. You just stare at the pill, hesitation thick in your chest. Then, he reaches out. His fingers brush against your chin, tipping your face up. The touch is light, almost affectionate, but his grip is firm. His thumb strokes the hinge of your jaw as he watches you closely.

"It’s mild," he murmurs, repeating himself. "Just enough to help." You know you shouldn’t take it. But…Your body is still weak from earlier, your mind is too clouded, and overwhelmed.

You part your lips. He hums in approval and places the pill on your tongue. His hand lingers, fingertips grazing your bottom lip, watching as you swallow. 

"Good girl." The words make something in your stomach twist. You don’t respond or look at him. Instead you turn over and lie down, pretending not to feel his eyes lingering on you. "Good night, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice smooth, unwavering. Of course the door doesn’t close. Instead, he leaves it slightly ajar.

Your bedroom is silent, leep should come easily, but it doesn’t. Your body still aches faintly from earlier, from his hand. It lingers, even now. You shove your face into the pillow, trying to ignore the way your skin still tingles where he touched you.

Your mind drifts in and out, floating somewhere between waking and dreaming.

And then–

Tap.

Your brows furrow.

Tap. Tap.

Your breathing evens out, almost dismissing it.

Tap.

Your eyes snap open. For a moment, you just stare at the ceiling, confusion settling in. Then you hear it again. A small sound, a pebble hitting glass. Your window. You sit up, heart pounding as you look toward it, mind still sluggish from whatever Jin gave you. Your limbs feel oddly weighted, but you push the blankets off and stumble toward the window. Your hands tremble slightly as you press your fingers to the glass. And then you see him.

Your stomach drops.

Sunghoon.

Standing outside, pebbles in hand, eyes locked on yours. Your breath catches. What the fuck is he doing here? You fumble with the lock, shoving the window open, cold air rushing in. Your heart is still racing, still struggling to keep up.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you hiss, voice hoarse. "What the hell are you doing here?" Sunghoon looks frantic. His eyes scan over you, taking in the pajamas you’re wearing, the dazed look in your eyes.

"I’ve been trying to reach you!" he whisper-shouts, voice urgent, desperate. "For weeks! What the hell is going on?" Your pulse pounds. Your fingers tighten on the window frame.

Now he’s showing up? After a whole month of silence? "Bullshit," you snap. "You didn’t even try." His face twists in frustration. "Are you serious?" His breath is ragged, his shoulders tense. "I left you over a hundred messages! I even went to your house!"

You blink. "What?"

Sunghoon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration barely contained. "Your parents told me you were fine, that you were focusing on school, that I should stop bothering you." His jaw clenches. "But when you weren’t answering. I knew something was wrong." Your stomach twists, your parents, of course.

"But I kept calling and texting you," he continues. His voice shakes a little, his fists clenching at his sides. "I swear."

The weird gaps in your messages. The way Jin always handed you your phone for only ten minutes at a time. The way Sunghoon’s name never showed up. Your body goes cold. Jin had been deleting his messages and calls. He’d been filtering everything, controlling everything.

Sunghoon sees your expression shift. His face hardens. "Tell me the truth. Are you okay?" No. No, you’re not okay. You swallow hard, your throat suddenly tight, your fingers gripping the windowsill. "Come down," he pleads, voice softer. "Please."

Your body moves before your mind can stop it. You shove your sneakers on, heart hammering, your hands shaking as you climb out onto the ledge. Your limbs still feel too heavy, too sluggish from the pill, but you push through it. Because for the first time in weeks, you’re making your own choice. You drop down, landing a little too hard on the ground, breath uneven. And then Sunghoon’s arms are around you. He pulls you in, crushing you against his chest, exhaling sharply. "What the fuck is going on with you?"

You feel his warmth. The way he’s solid, real. The way he smells like home. For a second, you want to cry. But you push it down. "Not here," you whisper. "Just, take me to your place." You don’t look back because you know that Jin is probably asleep, or worse, awake and waiting.

————-

The drive to Sunghoon’s place is a blur, your mind is racing. Your heart still pounds from the adrenaline of sneaking out, of running through the cold night air, of stepping into his car and telling yourself you made it. Sunghoon doesn’t speak much during the drive. His grip is tight on the wheel, his jaw clenched, his gaze flicking to you every few seconds. Concerned or maybe suspicion? But he doesn’t push.

When you step inside the apartment, something inside you loosens. It’s messy and lived-in. His parents are barely around, leaving a university student to manage the chaos on his own. Clothes are draped over a chair, half-empty cups sit forgotten on his desk, and his hoodie is tossed carelessly onto the bed, carrying the familiar scent of him. It feels so painfully normal.

Sunghoon watches you carefully. Then, after a beat, he picks up the hoodie and hands it to you. “Here,” he says simply. “You’re probably freezing.” You take it without thinking, slipping it on, the second his scent surrounds you, you suddenly feel like crying. You missed being yourself. You sink down onto his bed, fingers gripping the sleeves, stomach twisted in knots. Sunghoon sits beside you, watching. And then, finally, he speaks. "What’s happening? You’re scaring me."

Your throat tightens, you want to tell him. You want to spill everything, every twisted, fucked-up thing that has happened since your parents handed you over to him. And so, you do, at least, most of it. You tell him about the rules. The schedules. The punishments. You tell him how Jin has slowly taken every ounce of control away from you, how your parents barely checked in, how you haven’t even been able to contact him. But you don’t tell him about the other things. About Jin’s hands. About his voice in your ear, his breath on your skin. You can’t. The guilt is too thick, the shame crawling under your skin like a parasite. 

Sunghoon listens in horrified silence. And when you finally stop talking, he looks furious. “That’s fucking insane.” His voice is sharp, unsteady. “You’re leaving. Tomorrow. You’re staying here.” But the second he says it, you snap. Because he makes it sound so easy. Like you can just walk away. Like you can undo everything with one night away. Like he understands what you’ve been through.

Your frustration creeps in, clawing up your throat. You shove your hands into your lap, gripping the fabric of his hoodie. "I need something," you say suddenly. Sunghoon frowns. "What?" You hesitate. Then, carefully, "The pills. Do you still have them?" His expression darkens immediately. "Babe, no. You don’t need that shit. Not after everything you just told me.”

"Please, Sunghoon." Your voice shakes. “Just this once. I just need to clear my head.” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Are you serious right now? After everything he’s done to you, you want to–”

"You don’t understand!" You snap. Sunghoon freezes, blinking at you. "You think this is easy? You think I can just leave and pretend like nothing happened? That I can just go back to normal?" He looks at you, pained. “I’m trying to help you!” 

"No, you’re not! You’re just like everyone else, you don’t get it. You weren’t there. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re not even–" You choke on your words. Sunghoon reaches for you, softer now. “Babe, please, just breathe.” But you jerk away. "You’re not listening to me!"

He grabs your wrists, firm but careful. "Stop," he says, voice low, desperate. "I won’t let you do this to yourself." But it’s not the help you need. It’s not what you asked for. Your vision blurs. Your body feels too tight, too hot. You just need something to stop it. You wrench away, voice cracking. "You’re just like him!" The second the words are out, you regret them.

Sunghoon’s entire face changes. Hurt. Shock. Betrayal. For a moment, he doesn’t speak. He just stares at you, his jaw tight, his breath shallow. Then, his expression hardens. "You don’t mean that," he says quietly. But you do. Because he’s keeping you from what you need, just like Jin did. The room feels too hot, the walls closing in.

"Fuck this," you breathe, pushing yourself off the bed. You turn away, stepping out of his bedroom, trying to get air. Sunghoon follows immediately, his footsteps heavy behind you. "Babe, wait! Just stop for a second!" But you don’t stop.

The anger, the frustration, the suffocating weight in your chest, it’s too much. It’s clawing at your ribs, burning at the edges of your vision. You move past the kitchen, your fingers barely grazing the countertop as you steady yourself, your head pounding.

Sunghoon grabs your wrist, desperate. "Listen to me, please, just calm down!" His voice is distant, blurred. Your body feels too hot. Your vision swims, flickering between black and red. Sunghoon’s grip tightens, trying to ground you. "You’re not okay. You need to sit down, babe please."

But you wrench away. And then–

Darkness.

————-

The first thing you register is the cold.

The second is the weight in your hand.

Your fingers are stiff, wrapped around something hard, slick.

A knife?

Your pulse skips. Your breath is ragged, uneven. The world is a blur of dull yellow light and shadows.

And then you see him.

Sunghoon.

Lying on the kitchen floor.

Still. Silent. A pool of red spreading beneath him.

Your stomach lurches violently, nausea slamming into you.

Your grip on the knife tightens, a fresh streak of warmth slipping between your fingers. Your hands, your hands are covered in it.

Blood. His blood.

Your pulse pounds against your skull, your mind fighting against itself, against the scene in front of you.

No. 

No, no, no.

You were arguing. You were angry. And then, darkness.

And now. Sunghoon is dead.

The knife is in your hand. Your vision tunnels, a sharp ringing in your ears as the weight of reality crashes down.

Did you? Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, your body shaking so violently it hurts.

You stare at him, unblinking, willing him to move. To wake up. To breathe. But he doesn’t. He never will again. Sunghoon’s blood is on your hands.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps. Your body is trembling, your heart slamming against your ribs, your vision blurring from the sheer force of your panic. Your mind screams at you to fix this, to undo it but you can’t.

Because it’s real, it’s happening. Because you did this.

Your stomach churns violently. A sob claws up your throat, strangled and sharp, but you clamp your hand over your mouth, suffocating it before it can break free.

You can’t think, can’t breathe, and your entire body is locked in place, frozen, broken, unable to comprehend what you’ve done.

A shuddering breath rips through you, your hands trembling so violently you can’t even lift them properly. What do you do? What the fuck do you do?

This will ruin you. This will destroy your life. Your family’s reputation. Your future. You were already a screw-up. A burden. A disappointment. But this? This is irreversible.

The only person, your boyfriend, the one you had a real relationship with, is dead. Because of you.

Your frantic gaze flickers around the room, searching for anything. And then, your eyes land on Sunghoon’s pocket. His phone. Your throat tightens, and your breath stutters. You reach out, your fingers barely cooperating, slick with blood. You have to force yourself to dig into his pocket, ignoring the way his body feels wrong, lifeless, and unnatural.

You pull out his phone, your breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. Who do you call? Who could possibly–

Your hands shake violently as you swipe at the screen, barely able to focus. You don’t even process the number you’re dialing, your brain malfunctioning, glitching, operating on pure survival instinct.

The line rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then–

A click.

A deep, smooth familiar voice. 

"Hello?"

You suck in a sharp breath as your vision is blurring.

Your body breaks. Your lips part, and when you speak, your voice is nothing but shattered glass.

"Jin…"

A sob threatens to swallow you whole.

"I need help."

The words slip out before you can even process them. There’s a long pause.

And then, his voice. 

"Sweetheart where are you?" He calmly asks. 

You choke back another sob, your fingers tightening around the phone.

"S-Sunghoon’s," you whisper. "I- Jin, I think I–"

You can’t say it. You won’t say it. But Jin doesn’t ask. "Stay where you are." The line goes dead. And you do nothing but sink to the floor, your body curling in on itself as the reality claws at your throat. You don’t move for what feels like an eternity, frozen until the door finally creaks open, you already know it’s him.

Jin doesn’t hesitate. Not when he sees the blood, not when he sees Sunghoon’s lifeless body. Not even when he sees you, broken, shaking, drowning in your own guilt. He kneels in front of you, movements measured, deliberate. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp cheek. Gently and carefully. 

"Oh, sweetheart." His voice is so soft. Too soft. Like he’s comforting a child. Your breath shudders, your pulse erratic, your entire body frozen. Your hands stained with blood, Sunghoon’s body cooling beside you. Your mind spins, scrambling for reason, for a single explanation that makes sense but there’s nothing. Just pieces that don’t fit, memories that won’t come together. 

“I, I don’t–”

"Shhh." His hands find your wrists, firm but not forceful, enough to still you, enough to make you look at him. His eyes are steady as he’s pulling you in, swallowing you whole. "Do you trust me?"

The question slams into you. It shouldn’t be hard to answer. You should say no. You should run. You should fight. But you don’t trust yourself. Your gaze drops to your bloodstained hands, to the mess on the floor, to Sunghoon lying still, his face frozen in something between shock and horror.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

Your throat tightens, nausea curling in your stomach. Slowly, weakly, you nod. "Yes." Jin exhales, relieved, like he already knew what you’d say. His fingers smooth over your skin, grounding you, coaxing you further into his grip. "Good girl."

He tilts your chin up, his thumbs pressing into your jaw, keeping you still, keeping you his. "Listen to me, sweetheart. He was going to kill you."

Your chest tightens. Your lips part, but you don’t deny it. Because Sunghoon wouldn’t let you leave. Because Sunghoon grabbed your wrists. But Sunghoon wouldn’t have killed you. Would he?

"Say it."

Your voice barely scrapes past your lips. “He was going to kill me.”

Jin nods, pleased.

"He was obsessed with you."

The texts, the calls, the pleading, the way he kept trying to reach you, through your parents, through Jin. You thought it was love. Maybe it wasn’t. But you know it wasn’t like that. But if you don’t say it, if you don’t repeat it, if you don’t let him rewrite it, then you’re left with the truth. And the truth is worse.

“He was obsessed with me.”

Jin leans closer, his voice softer, soothing, the final push.

"It was self-defense, angel."

Your stomach twists. Your body sways, unsteady, unraveling. You know it wasn’t.

"Say it."

The blood on your hands. The fight. The darkness. The emptiness. You don’t remember. You don’t know what’s real anymore. If you don’t say it, then the only truth left is that you killed him. 

“It was self-defense.”

Jin smiles, slow, approving. His hands slide to your shoulders, solid and reassuring.

"You had to do it."

Your pulse pounds.

"I had to do it."

His thumb grazes your bottom lip, a fleeting touch, a reward.

"That’s my good girl."

Something inside you fractures. You should feel horror. You should fight the weight settling over you. But his words sink in too easily. They make sense. They fit.

Because if they don’t, if none of this is true, then you are something so much worse.

And Jin looks proud. Like you’ve given him exactly what he wanted. Like you belong to him, now more than ever. And deep down, in the darkest, most twisted part of you, you know you owe him everything.

————-

Jin’s penthouse is grand, perfectly arranged, the kind of luxury you've always known. Your mother sits across from you, a glass of wine cradled in her manicured fingers. Your father stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, swirling his whiskey, gaze distant, detached. Their presence should be comforting, but it never has been.

Jin sits beside you, silent, composed, present. His warmth is closer than it should be, his leg pressed subtly against yours. His hand rests on your thigh, fingers curling just slightly, a touch you didn’t ask for. A quiet reminder that you belong here, that this moment is already decided.

Your mother exhales, shaking her head, her lips pursed. "How did it come to this?" She’s not talking about you. She’s talking about him. About Sunghoon. "That boy was always…unstable." She tilts her glass, watching the liquid swirl before lifting it to her lips. "But this? This is disgraceful." Your stomach twists. Disgraceful, not tragic, or heartbreaking. Just inconvenient.

Your father sighs, finally turning towards you. His expression is unreadable, cool. "This is why we trusted Dr. Kim." He gestures vaguely in Jin’s direction, as if his presence alone explains everything. "We knew you needed guidance. That boy was a distraction. A liability. You’re lucky we acted when we did."

Lucky. Your fingers clench in your lap. Jin’s grip on your thigh tightens. Just enough to warn. "It’s a shame," your mother continues, voice smooth, apathetic. "But what matters is that it’s handled. Dr. Kim, you’ve been… invaluable."

Jin finally speaks, his tone calm, assured. "I only did what was best for her." His fingers stroke your thigh, slow and possessive, hidden beneath the table. Your mother nods approvingly. "And what’s best for our family." Your father hums in agreement. "We can’t afford another scandal. This was a close call." A close call. Your chest feels tight, your breath shallow.

"We’ll be returning to the city tomorrow," your mother announces, setting her glass down with a quiet clink. "There’s no reason for us to linger." No reason to stay. Because they weren’t really here for you. They never have been. 

You swallow, voice hoarse when you finally speak. "And me?"

Jin’s thumb presses on your thigh, just a little, just enough. Your father raises a brow, like the question itself is ridiculous. "You’ll stay here, of course. Under Dr. Kim’s care." Of course. The words sink like a stone in your stomach. "We’ve already made the necessary arrangements," your mother adds, giving you a placating smile. "He has done such a wonderful job, hasn't he? You wouldn’t want to… regress."

Jin hums beside you, low and indulgent, the sound curling around your spine like silk. He slightly smirks at you.“No,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing absent patterns against your thigh, pressing in just slightly. “She wouldn’t.”

Your throat tightens because you understand. This isn’t just an arrangement. It’s a decision that was never yours to make. This is final and there’s no escaping it now.

Your mother stands, brushing invisible dust from her dress. "I trust you’ll be good for Dr. Kim. Don’t cause him any trouble, dear." You nod, a mechanical motion. Jin smiles beside you, fingers trailing just a little higher, a silent promise. 

Your parents leave without a second glance. And then, the door clicks shut. Silence. Jin exhales slowly, like he’s savoring the moment. Like he’s been waiting for this. "Alone at last." Your breath shudders, because now, there’s nothing left between you and him. No distractions, no witnesses. Just the lie, the truth, and him.

You should run. You should fight. You should do anything other than just stand here as he steps closer, as his warmth sinks into you, as his fingers softly trail up your arm, making your breath catch. "You did so well, darling." His voice is softer than it should be. Gentle. Coaxing. Like he’s rewarding you. His fingers trace higher, brushing over your jaw, tilting your chin up. The movement is slow, deliberate, a reminder that you don’t belong to yourself anymore.

"You’re home now," Jin murmurs, his thumb stroking lightly over your bottom lip. "And you’ll never leave again." The words sink into your skin, into your bones, seeping through every crack until there’s nothing left untouched by him. His touch is so warm, so careful, so unlike anything you’ve ever been given before from anyone.

"Look at you," he murmurs, and there’s something so indulgent in his tone. His fingers tighten, pressing just enough to make you feel small. "You’re already melting for me."

Your breath shudders, your pulse is too fast. Jin hums, pleased. "Good girl." Then, he kisses you. Soft and slow. Like he has all the time in the world to break you apart. His lips against yours, teasing, coaxing, tasting. You shouldn’t let him. You should fight, should push him away, but you don’t. Your fingers twitch against your sides, your body betraying you, wanting something you don’t understand.

Jin feels it. "You’re still tense," he murmurs against your lips, his hands gliding down, finding your hips, pressing down. "That’s okay, sweetheart." His fingers slip beneath the hem of your sweater, tracing over bare skin, smoothing over the small tremble in your body. "I’ll take care of it." 

His hands move slower than they should, like he’s savoring every second, every reaction. His fingers dance up your sides, memorizing the way your breath hitches. "Tell me you need me, angel." His voice is a whisper, a command in disguise.

Your throat tightens, you shouldn’t. But the way his fingers curl against your waist, the way his breath skims the shell of your ear, warm and patient and devastating. You break. "I need you."

Jin exhales, satisfied. "That’s my good girl." Then, he pulls you into him completely. His arms wrap around you, firm, trapping you in a cage of warmth and control. His lips press to your temple, then your cheek, then your throat, slow and possessive, like he’s marking you.

"You belong to me now, darling," he murmurs against your skin. "And I’m never letting you go." His hands gliding down, finding your hips, pressing down, controlling you.

His fingers slip beneath the hem of your sweater, tracing over bare skin, smoothing over the small tremble in your body. He loves this. The way you shudder under his touch. The way your breath catches in your throat, like you already know there’s no escaping him. Like you don’t even want to. "It’s okay sweetheart, I’ll take care of it," he soothes, voice low and indulgent. 

Then, he shifts. Before you can react, Jin moves, smoothly sinking into his office chair. And he takes you with him. His hands find your waist, pulling you back against him, trapping you in his lap. Your body presses against the solid warmth of his chest, his arms wrapping around you, keeping you right where he wants you. The leather creaks beneath you, a quiet sound swallowed by the weight of his presence. The position is intentional. 

One of his hands drags up your thigh, hooking it over his own, spreading you open. A quiet, helpless sound slips from your lips. He exhales, deep and satisfied, lips brushing against your temple. "There we go." His fingers glide lower. Slow. Teasing. Until he reaches your core. Your breath catches. Your body stiffens. But Jin? He just smirks. Because you’re already soaked. 

His fingers slowly graze over your folds. And when you shudder, thighs trembling against him? He chuckles. A low, pleased sound that sends a sharp pulse of heat curling through you. Jin tilts his head slightly, his lips grazing your ear, his voice dipping into something darker, something cruel. "You’re already so wet, sweetheart."

His lips drag down, pressing slow, possessive kisses along the curve of your jaw, down to your throat. His breath is warm and patient. "Such a needy little girl." Another kiss. Deeper this time. His tongue flicks out, tasting you, branding you.

"Good thing you have daddy here to help you." His free hand tightens around your thigh, spreading you further, ensuring you feel just how helpless you are against him. His lips ghost over your pulse point, feeling how fast, how desperate it beats just for him.

He exhales a quiet "hmm," letting the moment stretch, savoring your helplessness. Then, with a smirk against your skin, his voice dips, soft and devastating.

"How about another medical check-up, my pretty girl?"

[dreamersparacosm]

one more night ⟡ jjk

SUMMARY. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t do girls. As the first son of the Jeon family, heir to more money than God, he’s spent thirty years being perfectly fine without them. He doesn’t have any desire to engage in frivolous rendezvouses like his friends, nor enter a situationship that will distract him from the title of CEO. That is, until his best friends drag him to a strip club for his birthday and a girl in red lingerie falls right into his lap, and well… there goes that ideology.

pairing. stripper!oc x virgin!jungkook

word count. 17.2k

warnings/genre. inexperienced!koo, virgin!koo, soft dom!oc, stripper!oc, everyone’s horny, male masturbation, public dry humping???, lap dancing, mention of slutting yourself out obv, jk steals oc’s panties, strip teasing, virginity loss, oral (m receiving), titty fucking, jungkook cums a LOT help, cowgirl

note. hi my pookietons! this was supposed to be out weeks ago but unfortunately my fiancé’s mom passed away and it has been a rough time in the household. luckily, things are starting to get back to normal and i’m trying to stay optimistic about things. writing has always been my outlet for my emotions, and having this community during this time has been such a blessing. i’m so grateful for you all and hope you enjoy this diabolical read 🤍

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| playlist

banner creds | masterlist

Jeon Jungkook has been seeing black for the past 25 minutes, and quite frankly, he’s fed up with the situation.

He was under the impression that his birthday meant doing what he wanted to do, not getting kidnapped by his six closest friends and getting tossed into a Cadillac for a ‘big birthday surprise.’ If Jungkook wanted a surprise for his birthday, he would’ve just asked his assistant to book out a restaurant of her choosing. Or done absolutely nothing, which was the original plan and, truthfully, a perfect one.

It’s not that Jungkook necessarily despises his birthday—although it is tough to celebrate happily when your family is as strict and prim as his— but more that he doesn’t see the point in it. He would much rather spend money on himself, perhaps buying the new car he had his eye on. Not squeezed in the back of his car with his best friends.

They often lived a different lifestyle than he did. His friends worked hard as most people did in his circle, but they played harder. Weekends were swallowed up by clubs and bottle service and girls whose names they’d forgotten by Monday morning.

Jungkook had never quite understood the appeal. He had a company to inherit, a father who tracked his every move like a hawk and exactly zero interest in giving the man more ammunition. Jeon Wooshik had made it abundantly clear that the CEO seat came with conditions, and Jungkook had spent the better part of his twenties checking every box that his father had almost run out of things to criticize.

So, really, this whole thing is juvenile. Immature and foolish. But considering he’s blindfolded and handcuffed, he doesn’t really have a say in the matter. 

“Kook! We’re hereeee,” He recognizes Kim Seokjin’s voice, his hyung. Jin was four years his senior and had the emotional maturity to show for it exactly none of the time. He was Namjoon’s best friend first, then Jungkook’s by proximity, and somewhere along the way had appointed himself a permanent fixture in Jungkook’s life whether he wanted him there or not.

Kim Namjoon, though, he trusted unconditionally despite his laidback lifestyle. If Namjoon had signed off on this, there was a reason. Jungkook just wished the reason didn’t involve handcuffs.

“Alright, jokes fucking over. Can you take off this shit?” Jungkook asks flatly. 

He hears the car door open, and warm hands are guiding him out of the vehicle, little giggles and snickers filling the cool night air. 

“He speaks!” Taehyung cackles, arguably the most immature of them all. (Well, between him and Park Jimin.)

“What a grump,” Jimin adds, and he sounds closer, so Jungkook assumes it’s his soft hands leading him somewhere. “Look at his cutie little face.” 

“Feels kinda unfair I can’t see any of your faces.”

“Jungkookie,” Someone squeezes his cheek, and he has to fight the urge to punch the air. 

“Ugh, his pout is so cute, Jin-hyung,” Taehyung giggles again, and Jungkook sighs. He can already tell Taehyung is drunk, since he only laughs in such a way when Jimin is shamelessly flirting with him or he’s drunk too much soju. 

“I’m going to kill all of you—“

A hand finally yanks the blindfold off his face, as another undoes the handcuffs digging into his wrists. Jungkook blinks into the dark, vision swimming. When his eyes finally do adjust, six faces grin back at him, varying degrees of giddiness painted across their expressions. 

Jungkook surveys his surroundings as quickly as he can. He’s in a parking lot… it’s packed to the brim with all kinds of cars, none that are as expensive as his. Bass pounds in his eardrum from the nearby entrance, but when he cranes his neck to peer inside, he sees nothingness. A void that leaves everything up to the imagination. 

The front door is musty, worn down and guarded by one man who’s watching something on his phone. “Paradise” in flashing letters hangs off the top, flickering as though someone had forgotten to pay the bill. And underneath it, “Adult Club.”

Fucking hell. 

“What,” he says slowly, “is that.”

“Birthday surprise,” Jin jokes, and the boys giggle like schoolgirls. 

Jungkook looks over at Namjoon. Namjoon, to his credit, has the decency to look sheepish. His friends know him better than anyone. People don’t gain access to Jeon Jungkook easily—and yet they failed him so astonishingly he can’t even believe it. This goes against everything he stands for. Clubs of any kind are forbidden. Especially strip clubs, where any lone person can recognize him and report back to his father. 

As if Namjoon can smell the rebuttal on his lips, he rushes to argue, “It’s fun in there.”

Jungkook snorts, “I doubt that. If my dad finds out, I’m fucking toast.”

“Your dad’s not gonna find out,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been here like once a month and you’re not allowed to take pictures. Out of respect for the girls or some shit.”

A shiver rolls down Jungkook’s back at the word girls. The thought of them annoys him already. “This is stupid, you know? I’m not even into this kind of shit.”

“Yeah, we know,” Taehyung slaps his shoulder, trying to steer him toward the entrance, but Jungkook is fortunately bulkier than him. “You’re the king of the land, Jeon Jungkook, refuses to touch a woman because he’s better than all of them.”

“Fuck off, Tae.”

“Dude, come on. Live a little. It’s your birthday and your boys want to treat you to a night of fun. How could you say no to that?” Jin begs, and Jungkook comes up with a plethora of ways he could say no to this.

Jungkook sighs, staring at the door. On the other side of it are things he cannot get involved in. He has a board meeting Monday morning he hasn’t prepped for yet. A pristine reputation that took the better part of a decade to build. He has a father who has Google alerts set for his name. 

He really, really should not be here. 

Jungkook turns to face the six faces staring back at him expectantly. 

“It’s your birthday,” Namjoon tries feebly one more time. 

“That is not the argument you think it is—”

“Jungkook-ah.” Jin steps forward and puts both hands on his shoulders. “We love you. We have always loved you. And it is because we love you that we are telling you, as a united front, that you are going inside that door if we have to carry you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jungkook retorts, and all Jin does is raise his brows back at him. Well played. 

The silence that follows is not reassuring.

Jungkook realizes this is one negotiation he is not going to win. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I fucking hate you guys. One hour tops, and I’m out of there.”

“That’s a good boy,” Jin pats his shoulder like he’s a dog and pushes him in the direction of the entrance. “Let’s get on in there.” 

The bouncer at the front seems to finally recognize he has a job when the seven men walk up, beady eyes scanning their faces before they land on Namjoon in the back. “Joon!” he calls out, reaching over to give him a firm handshake, nearly knocking Jungkook flat on the floor. Of course Namjoon knows the fucking bouncer—he’s probably reached some kind of reward status at this club. He doesn’t bother checking anyone’s IDs, just lets all of them sidle in.

Jungkook steps through the door and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Goddamnit.

Red lights flash over the club floor, speakers blasting some RnB song he doesn’t recognize. The place is enormous, larger than he thought, with a main stage dominating the room. Two strippers dance on the two poles adjacent to each other, men perched on chairs with wads of cash stuffed in their hands. Booths line the walls, packed with men in varying states of losing their minds. All decked in suits, loosened collars and flushed faces and eyes tracking the room with an attention they probably never give their actual jobs. Private tables closer to the stage are worse. Bottles everywhere, dollar bills everywhere. 

The worst part of it all, is how many girls there are. Girls in lingerie, silk and lace that barely constitute fabric, moving through the room in what feels like slow motion. Every single one of them moves like she knows exactly where she’s going and exactly what’s going to happen when she gets there.

“Kim Namjoon?” A hostess approaches in normal clothes—thank god—and he steps forward to speak to her, all hushed whispers and suspicious glances back at Jungkook. Enough for him to know that this night will be anything but casual. Jungkook expects he’ll have an ass in his face in twenty minutes tops. 

She smiles at all of them, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Hi boys! Welcome to Paradise. I know some of you have been here before, so I’ll keep it brief. No pictures or videos allowed. If we catch you, you’re banned for life. ATMs are lined up against the wall, so make sure you take out cash beforehand so you don’t have to get up.”

She pauses to ensure everyone understands, eyes lingering on Jungkook, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes. It’s not rocket science. It’s a strip club. “I heard we’re celebrating a birthday tonight, so Joon has booked a private table for you all. Dancers will rotate by your table and you better make them feel like the shit, because they are. Got it?”

All boys nod in unison. Jungkook side-eyes Jimin and Tae, and already, they have heart eyes forming. It’s despicable. The hostess leads them through the room, weaving between tables without looking, heels silent on the floor, not once glancing back to check if they’re following. The private table is tucked a few feet off the main floor, with curved booth seating, a pole attached from the ceiling hanging right in front of them, and a clear sightline to the stage. Bottles are already sweating on ice in the center like they’d been expecting them (which Jungkook is certain is the work of his hyungs).

The boys pile in with zero decorum. Hoseok immediately reaches for a bottle, passing out glasses to pour up shots of soju and whiskey. Jungkook allows him to be overserved, because there’s no other scenario in which he gets through this night without being wasted. He doesn’t know where to look, which means he keeps looking everywhere. He’s not stupid — he knows objectively that women are attractive. He’s always known that. It’s just that knowing it theoretically and sitting in a room saturated with it are two very different things. 

Jeon Jungkook’s disinterest in women never stemmed from anything other than the fear of being mediocre. His high school life, which should’ve been filled with bad decision making and girlfriends, was instead taken over by shadowing his father at the office or learning how to use Microsoft Excel to make financial reports. College was a repeat, and he adapted easily to the hermit lifestyle he had been living. Even once he graduated, he made no attempt to date anyone. His mother, a frivolous woman who lived off the family money with ease, had once asked him if he was gay or asexual. Unfortunately for her, he is neither. 

He is just, quite literally, indifferent to what women can offer. 

That’s not to say Jungkook doesn’t get horny (hence dispelling the asexual rumors). Jungkook masturbates as often as most normal guys do, mostly when he’s frustrated by work. But instead of seeking respite in another woman’s vagina, he uses his own hand, which has worked perfectly well for him. 

And, well, there is this other… thing he’s kept locked with a key within him. Deep in his unconscious, something not even a therapist could uncover. The fear that he might be bad at it.

It sounds ridiculous when it crosses his mind for even a second. He does not do things badly. He does not do things at all until he’s certain he can do them well. That’s just how he's wired, has always been wired, the same compulsion that made him practice his father’s presentations in the mirror at fifteen until they were perfect.

It is exceedingly unfortunate that this is not something one can research into oblivion or competence. You learn by experience. And the idea of being in front of someone, exposed and vulnerable, makes him want to die. 

“Jungkook-ah, look at the girl in the pink,” Namjoon whispers into his ear, fighting to be heard over the bass. “She’s so fucking hot.”

His eyes wander over to where Namjoon is trying to subtly point. A girl in pink lingerie roams the stage, lashes batting flirtatiously as she lets the pole sit between her ass cheeks. Jungkook doesn’t have time to respond to his hyung before he’s being (rudely) interrupted by a girl in light blue lingerie, standing over their table with a smile. “Hi boys, how are we doing tonight?”

The boys, minus Jungkook, whoop and yell, and he wants to crawl into the booth and hide. They’re acting like wild vultures, and his brain is reeling trying to comprehend what’s unfolding in front of him. 

Before his mind can catch up, he feels a wad of cash slithering into his palm. 

“Just go with it,” Namjoon murmurs from beside him, already clapping.

He gulps as he peers down at the bills in his hand. The girl in blue has climbed onto the small raised platform in the center of their table, one hand wrapping around the pole. Up close she’s gorgeous—warm tanned skin, black curly hair spilling over one shoulder, a devious twinkle in her eye. 

Her hips roll in a figure eight, one hand trailing the length of the pole as the other moves down her waist. She turns, spine arching back, and the boys lose their collective minds. Bills flutter onto the platform like confetti, and a small smile contorts onto her plush lips. 

With both hands, she drops into a low squat, thighs spread, and comes back up in a languid motion. Hoseok physically slaps the table, tossing twenties to no avail. 

Okay, calm down, he thinks distantly. His heartbeat is picking up in his chest. 

She spins, one leg extending wide, the momentum carrying her around the pole in a slow arc before she hooks her knee and drops back in a hang that makes the fabric of her lingerie ride up her thighs. The light catches her and Jungkook forgets, very briefly, that he came here against his will.

Taehyung’s on his feet as fast as he can move. Jungkook can only watch in horror as Taehyung peels a bill from his stack and stuffs it right into the waistband of her panties. She giggles and turns toward him. Tae grins up at her and she leans down, curly hair falling forward, and shakes her chest right in his face.

Taehyung tips his head back and says something Jungkook cannot hear over the music, but it evokes another laugh from her. Jungkook’s mind is blank, save for the images of ass and tits flying across his vision. 

Jungkook sits very still and feels something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time shift somewhere low in his stomach.

He is not indifferent, it turns out.

He is just very, very in over his head.

The girl turns back to the rest of them, eyeing them up as though to decide her next victim. Her eyes linger on Jungkook for a few seconds, and his heart thumps out of its cage. 

He’s aware of what he looks like. He’s not a fool, after all. Tattooed arm, a body sculpted by Greek gods, multiple facial and ear piercings. The irony of it is not lost on him—all that packaging, none of the experience to back it up. 

He’s had girls lining up to talk to him, but not a single one that could hold his interest. Jungkook could care less.

But it seems she recognizes he’s not eager to talk to her, and so she focuses her attention on Jimin, who’s practically panting like a puppy left out in the sun for too long. She does a few tricks for him on the pole, all of which are rewarded with bills and yells. 

“Candy, you don’t plan on keeping these boys all to yourself, do you?”

A melodic voice, almost like a siren’s, floats into Jungkook’s ear. His body stiffens, muscles taut as his eyes avert over the table to spot a woman.

Jungkook’s not gay by any means. He’s also not fucking blind. The woman that stands before him is an angel, a goddess, a temptation for him sent from hell. Adorned in red lacy lingerie and white knee socks with red bows on them… utterly fucking delicious. 

He’s drooling. 

“They’re all yours, Angel,” the stripper, apparently named Candy, says with a grin, sliding off the platform, and just like that she relinquishes the pole like a crown being passed. In one smooth motion, you climb up, nimble fingers wrapping around the pole. Immediately, his friends turn into wild animals, even more explicit than before. Taehyung stands from his seat, eyes blanking as he observes how your thong hugs your hips and ass. 

You alternate through a series of movements—slow spin, then fast, one leg extended in a line. You hook your knee around the pole and lean back, hair falling away from your face, and the red lace catches the light. Jungkook’s higher brain functions vacate the premises. Money rains onto the platform, more than he expected. 

He realizes he’s also holding money, and it’s as though a lightbulb flashes above his head. Oh shit, he thinks. He wants to spend his entire wallet on you. 

You climb down and drop straight into Namjoon’s lap like you’ve known him for years. Kim Namjoon, the most composed man Jungkook has ever met, grins like an idiot. You lean in close to say something to him, pink, lush lips brushing his ear, and Namjoon laughs low before responding with a hushed whisper. 

Slowly, you pull away from his ear, eyes twinkling. 

And then you glance over at Jungkook. 

It’s a half-second, a flicker, the most minor redirection of your attention imaginable. A slide of your eyes that lands on him and then lifts away. 

His cock twitches in his pants. It is, quite literally, the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. In that moment, he realizes he wants nothing more than your attention, your time, you. But he just doesn’t know what he has to do to get such a thing. To be able to deserve a woman as delectable as you. 

A flutter of giggles escapes your mouth, cheeks ruddy as you get up from Namjoon’s lap.drifting around the curve of the table, all seven pairs of eyes track you like flowers following light. Taehyung fans himself with a hundred dollar bill, and you immediately gravitate towards him. 

Jungkook watches you kiss his cheek. Watches Taehyung’s hands find your waist. Watches him stuff a fistful of bills into the back of your lingerie, give your ass a playful smack that you welcome with a laugh. He wants to blow his brains out.

He deadpans at the ice bucket instead.

“Fucking hottest girl I’ve ever seen," Namjoon mutters beside him, just loud enough for him to catch, "Don’t you think, Jungkook-ah?”

Jungkook’s tongue is tied into knots. 

“She’s a sin,” Namjoon continues.

Across the table, you laugh at something Taehyung says, head tipping back, throat exposed, and the red lace shifts. Jungkook moves with it, recrossing his legs under the table and tugging his shirt down to hide the growing tent in his pants. 

Namjoon notices the movement, looking down for a millisecond before peering at Jungkook smugly. 

He claps Jungkook on the back, “Welcome,” he says, “to being a fucking man.”

“I hate you so fucking much right now.” 

“Your dick doesn’t hate me.”

He’s not technically wrong, per se. Jungkook just refuses to admit he’s right. 

Taehyung leans up to murmur something in your ear, and you pull back with a slow smile spreading across your face. 

Oh no. Oh no, no, no—your body turns to look directly at Jungkook.

Jungkook has closed deals worth nine figures, has sat across from men who built empires from nothing and held their gaze at the age of 20 without a care in the world. He has endured his father’s silent disappointment across a dinner table for 30 consecutive years.

Like a cartoon character with a fork stuck in his throat, he gulps audibly. 

You start walking toward him, your eyes piercing into it. They don’t leave his face not once, not even to check where you’re stepping or acknowledge the table erupting in cheers around you. 

Namjoon slides over calmly to make room, and Jungkook watches the space beside him open up and thinks what the fuck are you doing and means it directed at every single person in this room, including himself. 

You stop in front of him, and he peers up at you. In those heels, you tower over him, and he notices the smirk that’s curved upon your lips. Evil. You’re fucking evil. 

Trepidly, you sink down onto your knees, maintaining eye contact. 

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god —

His cock twitches so hard he has to lock every muscle in his body to keep from visibly reacting. 

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi,” he replies with bated breath. 

You already know. He can tell you already know exactly what you’re doing to him and precisely how badly he’s losing. Somehow that makes it so much worse and so much better. 

Your hand comes to land up on his thigh, snaking up and up until he swears you’re going to stick your hand in his pants. You stop right on his inner thigh, feeling the muscle. He swears he sees a twinkle in your eyes at the realization. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm every nerve ending in his body. 

“What’s your name, pretty boy?” you whisper, trying not to be heard by the group of animals that he unfortunately calls his friends. 

“J-Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

“Jungkook.” You repeat the name with so much seduction it almost doesn’t even sound recognizable to him. 

You stand up, and he exhales the deepest breath. God fucking damnit. Of course you’re done with him—he stuttered his own name like he’d never used it before. He watches you straighten up and thinks okay. okay, that’s fine. that was a normal amount of humiliation for one evening.

But instead of leaving, your knee lands on the cushion beside his thigh, followed by the other one, and then you’re in his lap. The air leaves his lungs in one swift, silent evacuation. Your lace panties settle directly over the front of his pants and you shift forward, eyes panning down between you. 

With a lift of your brows, you move again. Shit. He knows what you found. He can feel exactly what you found and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

Shit shit shit—

“Look at little Kookie!” Taehyung’s voice echoes across the table, ringing in Jungkook’s ear. “He’s pink!”

Jungkook turns to look at his alleged friends with the dead eyes of a man considering his options.

And then he feels your warm hand, two fingers catching his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Don’t look at them, baby.” Your voice is low, meant only for him. “Look at me.”

God help him, he does.

Your eyes hold his for a moment that stretches longer than it should, and then—your hips gyrate forward in a slow circle. The warm drag of your hips moves against his, and nothing, not a single thing, has ever felt like this in his years of living. 

“You’re really pretty,” you giggle, looping your arms around his neck, rolling your hips in a figure eight that makes his vision white out at the edges.

Behind you, the boys are losing their minds. Money’s flying, and Jungkook cannot process any of it because you’re shifting again, turning so that your back is pressing into his broad chest. You lean back into him, head dropping to his shoulder, and the slide of red lace against his cock is making him see actual stars. He can’t hide the groan that escapes him. 

Leaning your head back to face him, you’re close enough that your breath fans across his jaw. “You’re so tense, pretty boy. These hands doing anything useful or just decorating the couch?”

He really can’t argue, because his hands are pressed flat against the cushions on either side of him, white-knuckled and rigid like he’s bracing for a car crash. “I—” he begins. 

“Need help?”

Helplessly, he nods. 

You reach down, take his hands and settle them on your hips. The lace is soft under his palms, plush skin warm to the touch. 

“Hold on right there,” you whisper. “Don’t let go.”

An actual, audible, involuntary whimper crawls up his throat and escapes before he can catch it. With his hands on your hips he can feel every single movement now, every roll and dip and shift of your weight, and it is so much better than anything he has ever done alone in the dark of his penthouse that it almost feels like a personal insult to every year that came before this one.

“F-fuck,” he exhales. "You’re so—you’re so g-good—”

“Yeah?” You straddle him once more, knees digging into the couch, your eyes pausing to glance at his lips before meeting his eyes. Your finger comes up, tracing slowly along his lower lip, catching on the small metal ring of his lip piercing and playing with it before releasing. “What a pretty piercing for a pretty boy.”

“You like it?” Jungkook feebly asks, even though he knows you do. Every girl likes it, but none have caught his eye the way you do. 

Silently, you reach past him then, fingers closing around the forgotten wad of cash still sitting on the cushion where Namjoon pressed it into his palm a lifetime ago. He watches as you lean back in his lap and drag the bills languidly across your chest, the red lace, down over the curve of your waist.

You peer up at him from under your lashes. “You were just going to let all this go to waste?” you ask, clicking your tongue.

“I—” he swallows. "I didn't know—like the protocol—”

The dopey smile that breaks across your face sends vibrations to his cock. “You’re doing so well for me already.”

You lean forward again, closing the distance, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hips keep moving. Without a second thought, he grips your hips tighter. 

Somewhere behind you, he distantly registers that the boys are no longer watching. Other girls have materialized at the table, except for Namjoon and Hoseok, who are deep in a drunk conversation. It’s just you and him. 

Your teeth graze his earlobe. “You know, when I saw you, I thought you’d be trouble.” A soft giggle leaves your lips. “Turns out you’re harmless.”

“I—” he starts, some distant fragment of pride assembling itself. “I’m not—”

“Harmless,” you repeat, pulling back to look at him. “The sweetest thing in this whole place.”

For an irrational moment, Jungkook forgets every reason why he can’t be caught here. 

And then it’s his father’s disapproving tone, thinks about the words you represent this family everywhere you go, Jungkook, everywhere, and the Google alerts and the face his father makes when he’s upset  and how Jungkook has spent his entire life trying to prevent that specific expression. 

He could call his driver, go home, pretend this whole evening was a fever dream. After all, this is exactly the kind of situation that becomes a headline. Jeon heir spotted at—

Suddenly, your hands leave his shoulders. The warmth of your weight lifts off his lap all at once and the absence of it is so sudden that his body mourns it, an embarrassing physiological grief response he didn’t know he was capable of. Left behind with a raging boner that is apparent to the naked eye. 

You smooth down your lingerie. Roll your shoulders back. And just like that the curtain comes back up, a polished version of you, like the last twenty minutes happened only to him. “Bye boys," you say to the table and the ones paying attention halfheartedly wave. 

Then you turn to him. “Bye, Jungkook. It was nice to meet you.” With a wink, you disappear off to the next table, and all he can do is stare at the space where you were once sitting, his cock standing tall and proud in his pants. 

He becomes aware, slowly, that Namjoon is looking at him. “Don’t start.”

“Wasn’t going to.” 

“Ah Jungkook-ah, you just need to fuck a girl and get it over with!” 

Kim Seokjin, for all his years of knowledge and wisdom, is a bit of a menace when liquor enters his bloodstream. 

Jungkook has become overtly aware of two things: 1) he’s the drunkest he’s ever been and 2) the boner in his pants has yet to go down. 

He had briefly considered going into the bathroom to jerk off, but that would be too obvious and embarrassing to admit, even to himself. Instead, he would much rather subject himself to the torture of his best friends and let three other women dance on him to erase the taste of you from his mouth. 

Each woman was attractive, but they didn’t entice him the way you had. Even after an hour of sitting at this couch, throwing bills upon bills, nothing felt as ethereal as the feeling of your weight upon him, as though he had claimed you. 

“I’m not just going to fuck any girl,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, tipping his head back to take another shot of whiskey. 

“Why not?!” Jin motions wildly with his glass, sloshing amber liquid alarmingly close to the rim. “You’re 30! You’re rich! You look like… that!” He waves his hand at Jungkook’s being. “What are you saving your best years for? Soon we’ll all be pumping ashes out of our cock—”

“Jin—”

“Dust will leak from our tips!-”

“I’m going to fucking murder you.”

“He’s waiting for love,” Jimin notes, words slurred from the effects of alcohol. A black-haired girl is draped across his lap, lips peppering kisses on his supple skin. “It’s actually very romantic if you think about it.”

“I am not waiting for love.”

“He’s waiting for her,” Taehyung whispers, pointing across the room. Without even turning to look, Jungkook knows they’re talking about you. Mostly because he hasn’t been able to stop looking at you for the past hour, heat rising to his cheeks when he watches you dance on other men. 

“The red lingerie girl has him in a chokehold,” Tae continues to nobody, nodding as though Jungkook is suffering from a grave disease. “I’ve seen this before. This is a chokehold situation.”

“No one except my dad has me in anything, Taehyung,” he argues. 

“Your cock has suggested otherwise,” Yoongi snorts, not even looking up from his drink.

Jungkook tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, thinks about how peaceful his penthouse is right now. How peaceful. How completely devoid of these people.

From his peripheral, he watches as Hoseok leans over and cups his hand around Namjoon’s ear. He has known Kim Namjoon for ten years and he knows exactly what Namjoon’s listening face looks like versus Namjoon's scheming face. This is the second one. Very much the second one.

Namjoon’s eyes light up, and Jungkook’s body has a visceral reaction. Namjoon turns to Jin. Whispers something. Jin’s face splits into a grin so enormous it looks like his lips will crack in two. 

Flatly, Jungkook asks, “What is happening right now?”

Not a single one of his friends answers. They’re doing the hive thing—buzzing between each other, passing from person to person, grins multiplying like a virus. 

Jungkook clears his throat. “Excuse me.”

Namjoon ignores his words and stands up. “Where are you going,” Jungkook blurts, panic bursting in his chest. “Namjoon. Kim Namjoon. Where are you—”

But he’s already gone, sliding through the crowd, and Jungkook watches him disappear toward the back of the club where a woman in all black is standing with a clipboard. The bottom of his stomach drops out completely. He turns to the remaining members of his betrayal circle. “Whatever he’s doing, stop it now—”

“Shh,” Jin serenely says, patting his knee.

“I don’t care that I’m younger, don’t shh me.”

“Shhh.” Jungkook shrugs him off and cranes his neck toward where Namjoon is now deep in conversation with the clipboard woman, nodding, reaching into his jacket pocket. His wallet comes into view. Fuck. 

Jungkook can’t imagine whipping out a wallet at the strip club is anything but bad news.

“I’m leaving,” Jungkook announces, planting both hands on the table. The way he sees it, he has about ten minutes to escape before he either blacks out or embarrasses himself even more. 

Two pairs of hands push him back down immediately. “You’re not going anywhere, big boy,” Hoseok tuts. 

“You’re detaining me.”

“It’s a birthday gift,” Taehyung argues, “You can’t refuse a birthday gift. It’s rude.”

“Watch me.”

Jungkook abruptly feels a slap on his back, and when he looks up, it’s Namjoon reclaiming his seat beside him, a sinister grin plastered on his face. “You’re welcome.”

Sighing, he shakes his head. “For what?”

“Happy birthday, Jungkook-ah.”

“That didn’t answer my fucking question, Namjoon.”

Before Jungkook can pester further, a shadow falls over the table. The woman with the ominous clipboard and headset is standing at the edge of their booth, and she doesn’t particularly look like she’s here to refill their drinks or anything tame. 

“Which one of you is Jeon Jungkook?”

Of fucking course. 

The boys erupt like zoo animals. Clapping, hollering, hands slapping his back from every direction simultaneously. Jungkook wants to cry, maybe throw himself off the balcony of his penthouse. 

The woman smiles at him. “Follow me.”

“What—”

Namjoon’s hand closes around his arm and hauls him bodily upright. “Up you go, buddy.”

“I’m not—this is—you can’t just—”

But none of it matters—his feet are carrying him, brain several steps behind. He’s following the clipboard woman through the club in what feels like cement shoes. As he walks, he peers around the club—other men at tables, women moving through the dim light to reach their poles, money piling on the floor. 

He is the only one who looks like he’s being escorted to his own execution.

The woman stops at a door at the back of the club. It’s unmarked, flush against the wall. She pushes it open, and the first and only thing Jungkook sees is red. Everything inside is red. A plush crimson couch curved against the far wall, red LED light bleeding over every surface. 

Even the color red turns him on now. That must be your doing. 

“Wait right here,” the woman instructs, stepping back toward the door. “Your private dancer will be here to join you shortly. 

“My what?!”

He’s so fucked that he might need to use a new word to describe how utterly fucked he is. 

The door slams shut behind her, a finite ending to his arguing. There’s no going back. 

His cock jumps in his pants, and Jungkook looks down at himself in indignation. Bad, he thinks. Bad. Bad dog. We are leaving.

But he thinks that even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t. He’s thinking of you, towering over him, asserting your dominance over him. He’s spent most of his life being in charge, and for once, someone else is taking the reins and letting him sit back. 

He stands in the middle of the red room until finally, his legs give up the principle of the thing and carry him to the couch. He should have known. From the moment Namjoon’s wallet came out he should have connected the dots because Kim Namjoon does not spend money without intention, has never done anything without intention, and Jungkook has known this for years and still walked directly into it like a fool.

Pressing both palms to his knees, wiping the sweat off them, he stares at the door. It might not be her, he reasons. It’s probably not her. There are lots of girls here. It could be anyone. 

It would be foolish to assume someone like you would not be taken already by another dominant, assertive man. Sure, Jungkook probably has the money that most men in this club dream of, but he doesn’t have an ounce of the confidence that he needs to handle you. 

Jeon Jungkook is currently sweating through an expensive shirt in a red room the size of a closet because a girl in lingerie might walk through that door. 

The door swings open and the first thing Jungkook sees is—red. 

Red flashes across his vision and it’s all he can see or think about. 

You step inside and the LED light catches the lace, makes your curves look like they were designed by a Greek god. For a moment, your eyes adjust to the dim light, averting around the space to try and make sense of your surroundings. 

But when they finally land on him, there’s a dangerous twinkle dancing in your eyes. 

“We meet again.” 

Loudly, he swallows whatever drool has accumulated in his mouth. The door clicks shut behind you and you move toward him, heels marking an agonizing rhythm against the floor.

Clack. Clack. Clack. 

He cranes his neck as you approach, tracking you up until you’re standing directly in front of him and he has to tip his head all the way back to hold your gaze. Your lips are freshly glossed with red lipstick, he notes. 

“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “I was starting to think you were scared of me.”

He opens his mouth (to say what, he’s not sure of.)

“Are you, Jungkook?” You pause, lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Scared?”

Without a single reservation, yes, he is. But he’s not entirely useless—he’ll never admit that. 

Clearly, you take his non-response as an admittance of defeat. Your hand comes down, cradling the side of his face. Your manicured thumb traces his cheekbone. “Hey. We don’t have to do anything, you know. I know your friends booked this.” Your eyes are steady on his, reading him the way you’ve been reading him all night. “Or…”

He blinks like a teenage boy, saliva pooling in his mouth as you hold your words for a second. 

“Do you want me, Jungkook?”

Embarrassingly, devastatingly fast, his head bobs up and down before his brain has even finished processing the question. He wants to dissolve into the couch cushions and never be found.

Your smile breaks acros your features. Pearly white teeth come into view, the realest expression he’s seen on your face all night. “Good boy. Do you have any song requests?”

You turn toward the TV mounted on the wall, and he watches you move to it, your back to him now, and somehow that’s almost worse because he can just… look. He may be a virgin, but he’s not an idiot. Your perky ass is mere inches away from his face, and his fingers itch to reach out and squeeze the plush skin in his hand. 

With his eyes still trained on your ass, he says, “U-um. Anything. I don’t—I don’t care.”

“Hmm.” You bite your lip, scrolling. Jungkook begins to hope you never turn back around so he can relish in the shape of your ass all night. That would be well worth Namjoon’s money, he thinks.

The opening beat of a song drops from the speakers and Jungkook goes completely still. Of all the songs in the world, it’s his favorite song.

2.0 by BTS.

He’s not ashamed to listen to their music, despite them being a typical k-pop boy group. Their shit is catchy. Sue him.

You swivel back around and your hands come down onto his thighs. You lean down enough that your hair falls forward and he can smell your perfume again. His hands curl into fists at his sides.

Your eyes drag themselves down to his pants, like they’re ogling at the very unfortunate situation he’s unable to handle. Then they drift back up as if you saw nothing at all.

“You know,” you say, your voice dropping to something that would be condescending if it were anyone else. “I’ve had a lot of men in this room.”

He swallows back the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. He’d rather not think about them. .

“But none of them—” your fingers press into his thighs, just slightly, “I’ve wanted to have as bad as I do you.”

He can feel his jaw go slack, eyes widening to the size of flying saucers.

You smile. Lean in until your lips brush the hinge of his jaw, a bare whisper of contact that makes every nerve ending in his body stand at guard. “You have no idea how bad I want you.” 

Great. You must be attracted to tortured virgins who are rich and powerful but don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. “Lucky for you,” you pull back to look at him. “I’m going to take very good care of you.”

The weight on the couch shifts before he can really notice it, your knees digging into the sofa, until you’ve infiltrated every cell in his body. Above him, around him, your hands landing on his shoulders and squeezing, fingers pressing into the muscle there with a small sound of approval. 

Your full, warm body settles onto his lap as though you’re at home, and really, he doesn’t think there’s enough oxygen in the room. The thought of how little space there is between you two wrings a sound out of him that he will be taking to his grave. Your panties graze slow over the length of his cock. “Fuck—”

His head drops back against the couch, neck going loose, and he stares at the ceiling like it might offer him salvation. Potentially a trapdoor.

He can feel your eyes lingering on his face, and not a single thing can be done about it because every resource he has is currently being allocated to not cumming in his pants. 

Your clothed pussy drags over him through the thin barrier of your panties. He makes a sound that is not a word.

“There he is,” you murmur. Your hands slide from his shoulders up the sides of his neck, thumbs tracing his jaw, tipping his chin back down so he’s looking at you instead of the ceiling. “Stay with me.”

“I’m—” he tries. “I’m here. I’m very—I’m extremely here—”

The pace you set is torturing enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. Your lips curve. “You feel that?”

“I feel—” he swallows, “—yes. Yeah. I feel that.”

A hum leaves your mouth. Jungkook watches your eyes stay on his face and realizes with dawning, helpless clarity that you are observing every single reaction. Every twitch. None of it really matters, since he has no poker face left, has burned through every last reserve of composure he had somewhere around the moment you sat down.

Manicured hands slide down from his jaw to his chest, pressing flat against him, and you lean back to look at him from a new angle, hair falling over one shoulder, hips never breaking rhythm. 

“Relax,” you softly say, fingers digging into his chest. “I can feel how tense you are.”

“I’m not tense—”

You perk an eyebrow.

“I work an intense job—”

“Jungkook.”

“Fine. I’m tense or whatever," he admits, “and I would appreciate it if you didn’t hold that against me.”

You giggle, and his stomach erupts into a nest of angry hornets, bloodthirsty insects that rival those ‘butterflies’ people get when they fall in love. Jungkook doesn’t do girls. Never has. He feels the need to remind himself once or twice. 

“You’re doing so well,” you murmur, and your hips roll again, and he swears he can feel your folds against him. Or maybe wishful thinking. 

He just can’t fucking think straight anymore. 

“I-I’ve never done this b-before,” he whimpers as your ass rubs over his hardened length agonizingly slow. “I don’t r-really—fuck—talk to g-girls.”

His head falls back onto the couch again, small, erratic puffs of air escaping his lips. 

You lean into his ear, lips coquettishly brushing against the crimson, heated skin. “I know.” 

Kim Namjoon. When he gets his hands on him. It is so fucking over. 

Your hands leave his shoulders.  They move, traveling behind your back to undo the clip of your bra in one fell swoop. The red lace goes slack. You let it hang from two fingers, dangling, looking at his face the whole time. Then you let the red fabric drop to the floor.

Oh fuck. 

Everything he knows about boobs is from porn itself. But up close, he can see your hardened peaks, stimulated and perky, ready for him to suck and play with. They’re just the right size, enough to cup in his hand. You lean forward, bracing your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head, closing the distance between you inch by inch until your nipples graze his chest through his shirt.

He shivers, cock twitching beneath you. 

“Sensitive,” you note with a whisper. 

“I have—I’m wearing a shirt—”

“I know.” Your lips brush his jaw. “Imagine if you weren’t.”

He grips your hips so hard the lace bunches under his fingers. “You have no idea,” you exhale against the hinge of his jaw, “what I want to do to you.”

“Tell me.” He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when it escapes him.“Please—”

You pull back to look at him, eyes an onyx black shade, lips parted.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Jungkook?” You punctuate your question with another slow grind. He whimpers in response, and the shame of it hardly registers because his cock is twitching and pulsing against his slacks, his boxers already damp with his arousal. He has never been less in control of his own body.

“Answer me.” Your nail drags across his jawline. 

Jungkook can’t breathe. All he can do is grip the couch and try not to fall apart in front of a woman who looks like she has never fallen apart in her life.

“Y-yes.” he croaks, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I do.”

“Hm.” Your hips roll again, the lace of your panties catching against his slacks perfectly, perfectly, and his brain halts all coherent thoughts. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

He thinks about women, mostly. They’re usually abstract, faceless, nothing like you. Nothing like the warm weight of you in his lap or the way you smell. Usually the entire ordeal takes him four minutes and he goes to sleep feeling embarrassed about the whole thing.

He does not say this.

“I— I think about girls.”

“Just girls?”

Your eyes peer down at him, sparkling with wonder. Your lips graze his cheek and every single neuron in his body fires at once. He’s going to fucking pass out.

God, he’s an idiot. He should’ve been having sex years ago. What was he so busy doing? Working? He gave up this for spreadsheets and impressing his father?

“Y-yeah,” he exhales. “Just—yeah.”

A small sound escapes you, something like a moan. The thought that you could be finding pleasure from this makes his cock pulse desperately in the confines of his pants. 

“Well.” Your hand finds his, lifts it, and presses his palm to the curve of your hip. Guiding his grip, guiding your own rhythm, you turn him into an active participant in his own undoing. 

“Next time you touch yourself.” You pick up the pace, slowly but steadily. “Think about this. Think about me. And how bad I want to fuck you.”

Fucking hell. 

His eyes squeeze tight, tight, tight. Tries, desperately, heroically, pathetically, not to cum. Jungkook groans, and he feels your fingernails dig into his broad shoulders for stability as your movements become more frantic.  

“F-Fuck,” he chokes out. “That feels so good.”

“I bet it does, baby,” you purr, and your angelic voice quells the fire in his core. “Bet your cock has been hungry for female attention, hasn’t it?” 

“No.” Jungkook hastily replies, “N-No, just for you.” 

He’s so fucking close, precum leaking out of his tip incessantly as each grind gets him closer and closer to his orgasm. Your tits bounce in his face, and he opens his eyes to see the sight that will forever be imprinted in his brain. Probably stored in his spank bank for the rest of time. Your cheeks are ruddy, eyes piercing into his, hair moving wildly, lace panties hugging every curve. 

Fuck. 

He’s going to cum untouched, like the virgin he is. 

Underneath the red lights, your hand finds his, and you guide up, up, up, press his palm flat against your chest. Your eye contact doesn’t waver. “Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, I’m—”

You watch him with a faint smile on your face. Without instruction, his fingers find your nipple, toying with the hardened peak lazily. Rolling them softly, you make a small sound above him and a lightbulb goes off in his brain. 

This is good for you too. You like what he’s doing. Holy. Shit. 

He continues to massage your nipple as you rut against his thighs, and it’s only a matter of time. He is a virgin, after all. 

Jungkook feels his cock twitch in his pants once, twice, before he’s moaning and whimpering as spurts of hot cum fill his boxers. His hand tightens around you on instinct, a sound leaving his throat that he has never made in his life, not once, not like this. He rides out his orgasm, shuddering and cursing under his breath, and your hips slow to ease him through it. 

He’s not sure how long he cums for, if he’s ever even cum this hard before. But when it does finally end, he slumps back against the couch like his skeleton has resigned. Staring at his face, your own movements still. 

Jungkook doesn’t keep track of time, only cares for the loss of the feeling of your body on his. You stand up, using his thighs for leverage to steady yourself. 

Placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, your eyes twinkle as you grin at him. “Come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy.”

Jungkook sounds like a broken record everytime he reminds himself he doesn’t do girls. He’s already convinced himself that his attraction to you is some sort of rebellion against his virginity. 

That’s the only explanation as to why he’s standing outside Paradise Adult Club at 7 PM on a Monday holding an extravagant bouquet of red roses. 

Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that his Sunday night was spent wallowing in despair, cringing at how fast he came in his pants after you dry humped him for five minutes. No, that piece will live in his brain exclusively. It’s embarrassing to admit how much of an effect you’ve had on him. 

He’s never done anything nice for a girl in his life. Never took someone on a date, bought them flowers or jewelry, never held their hand just because he wanted to. He finds that shit cheesy, especially when his dad is yelling at him about some document from ten years ago. 

But then again, he can’t say a lot of girls have had the effect on him that you do. You had him throwing his truths and ideologies out the window, disappearing under red lights and red lace and just… he really fucking loves the color red now. 

The idea to stop by your place of work was a bold one, he can admit that much. It’s just that your last words to him before you strutted off ‘come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy’ didn’t leave much room for representation. When he’s ready? Ready for you? Pretty sure he was ready for that the moment you laid eyes on him. 

Or, maybe you were referring to being ready to lose his virginity. He’s certain Namjoon has set him up for failure, probably mentioned numerous times everyone thought he was gay. In that case, Jungkook was also more than ready, but only if it was to you. Only if it was to see your tight little pussy swallowing his cock whole, eliciting those same sounds you did a few nights ago. 

Fuck, he needs to have you. 

“Excuse me? Sir?” 

A brunette hostess with a mousy voice jolts him out of his daydream, his cheeks rosy as if he’s been caught sniffing your panties. Her eyebrow is raised in confusion as she eyes the bouquet of roses. Chances are slim to none she’s ever seen those around a dance club before. 

“Yes. Hi. I’m looking for—” he stops.

Oh. Jungkook comes to the very hapless realization that he, in fact, does not know your real name. He knows your stage name. Candy called you Angel. That’s what he has. Angel. Which is a stage name, obviously, not a real name, and showing up to a woman’s workplace asking for Angel with a bouquet of roses is somehow worse than what he’s already doing.

“She works here,” he starts.

The hostess blinks. “…several women work here, sir.”

“Right. Yes. She was, uh, she was working Saturday night. She had—” he gestures vaguely at his own chest, “—red. She was wearing red.”

“A lot of women wore red on Saturday too.”

Her patience is wearing thin. 

“She had pretty hair.” He’s aware of how this sounds. “And she was—” another vague gesture, this time at his own face, “—she was very. You know.”

The hostess does not know. Her eyebrows are migrating slowly toward her hairline.

“Pretty,” he finishes, lamely. “Very pretty. Like, showstopping pretty.”

“Tall? About this height?” The hostess holds her hand up.

“Yes.”

“Works the private tables?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nods. “And uh, private rooms too.”

Something clicks behind the hostess’s eyes. Her brows lift in a completely different way now, a hint of recognition mixed with amusement.

“[Y/N]?” she asks.

[Y/N.]

He turns the name over in his head. Lets it settle. What a gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl, he thinks. 

(It’s his first crush, so he lets himself be as shameless as he needs to be about it.)

“Sure,” he says. “Yes. That one. [Y/N].” Your name. He knows your name now. He likes it more than he has any reasonable right to. “Is she—can I—”

“She’s off today.” The hostess smiles at him, fake sympathy seeping through the gesture. “Sorry.”

Jungkook grips his bouquet of roses until his knuckles are white. “Oh,” he says.

“Yup.”

He looks down at the bouquet. Red roses, obviously, because he’s been colonized by a color. He’d had his assistant order them this morning and had not explained why and the look on her face had been something he’d also be taking to his grave.

“Is there any chance—” he starts.

“I can’t give out personal information, sir. Our dancers lead private lives outside of their place of work.”

Jungkook sighs, weaving his fingers through his hair with his free hand. He can’t blame the hostess for her unwillingness to help, but he can’t let you get away. “No, I know. I wasn’t going to—Could I leave these for her? Is that… is that something that’s allowed?”

The hostess looks at him for a long moment.

Then she sighs, rolling her eyes and beckoning him further into the club. “Follow me.”

Somewhere, there’s a god he’ll be thanking later. 

The hostess leads him through a narrow hallway, behind the main floor, past a few closed doors, stopping at one left slightly ajar. When she pushes it open, it’s empty, save for the scattered lingerie and perfume bottles on the floor. 

“You can just leave them there,” she says, gesturing at the vanity.

She turns to leave. He hears it distinctly, murmured under her breath as she goes, “Amateur hour.”

Jungkook chooses not to acknowledge that.

He steps inside and sets the roses down on the vanity, straightening them slightly, then immediately feeling insane for straightening them and stopping. Jungkook doesn’t mean to look around, but his ADHD gets the best of him as his eyes wander. 

Your setup feels very you, although he’s only been aware of your existence for two days. The vanity mirror is framed with warm bulb lights, surface below it an organized chaos of things he has no reference for—foundation bottles and setting sprays lined up like little soldiers, a tray of eyeshadow with so many colors he can’t identify half of them. There’s trays of lip glosses, shades of red and pink that sent his brain into a tornado of horny thoughts. 

And, yeah, that’s enough for today. 

He turns to leave, trying to avoid eye contact with any of your other belongings he might find. But on the chair by the door sits a pair of panties.

Black. Lacy. Small enough to fit in one hand.

He stares at them, and they stare back. Every single rational thought he has ever had in thirty years of living lines up in his head and says, collectively and in unison: do not.

His hand moves independently of his brain, reaches out, closes around the fabric, and tucks it into his pocket in one fluid motion. Fuck. He did not plan that. That was not a decision he made, that was a decision his hand made, and he and his hand are going to have a very serious conversation about boundaries later—

He walks quickly, practically jogging. His shoes are loud in the hallway, he just needs to be outside, needs air, needs to be somewhere that isn’t the room where he just stole a woman’s underwear like some kind of pervert. 

“Have a good evening, sir!” the hostess calls from the front.

“Yep,” he quickly retorts, not stopping.

The door swings shut behind him and the cool night air hits his face. Luckily, his car is still waiting at the curb. It’s a miracle his driver hasn’t left him for dirt, despite Jungkook telling him to not wait for him. Maybe he also thinks Jungkook is a big, fat loser and knew he would need a backup plan. 

Jungkook gets in, stares straight ahead.

“Home, sir?”

“Immediately,” he says. “Please.”

With the knowledge of the black panties sitting pretty in his pocket, his cock puffs up in his pants, poking at his boxers, begging for air. Jungkook suddenly feels sweaty, even with the aircon set to 60 degrees. 

By the time Jungkook gets home, he’s a full-on mess. His cock is leaking precum at the tip, dripping into his Calvin Klein boxers. He’s never felt like this before, never been so undeniably hungry for someone that his whole body feels like it’s on the verge of collapse. 

Jungkook stumbles into his bedroom, sitting down on his bed and pulling out the pair of panties with shaky hands. 

He recognizes this is not a defense, merely an observation—he has never stolen anything in his life. He is a man of principle, of discipline, of self-control that has served him exceptionally well for three decades. He has walked away from bad deals, bad investments, bad decisions, more times than he can count.

He cannot seem to walk away from this.

Jungkook brings them up to his face slowly. Presses the fabric against his face and inhales. The fabric is warm, floral detergent filling his nostrils, and he falls back against his mattress as though his spine has stopped working.

“Okay,” he says to the ceiling. “Okay.”

He is so far gone it’s almost funny.

Almost.

His veiny hands find his waistband. The pants go first, then his boxers shoved halfway down his thighs, and when his cock finally springs free it’s so painfully hard he actually hisses, slapping against his abdomen. 

Thirty years old. CEO-in-waiting. Multiple degrees. Fluent in three languages. Lying in his bed with stolen lingerie and the most humbling erection of his life. He rushes to sit up against his headboard, otherwise his skeleton will fail him and he’ll fall straight down on his bed again. His cock is flushed, angry and red, glaring at him. The veins on the side of his length protrude, and he quickly gathers the seed of precum that’s spurted at the top to spread it around his tip. “Fuck,” he groans, head hitting the sturdy wood behind his head. 

Jungkook lets saliva fall from his mouth right onto his cock, too desperate to search for lube or lotion. Another quick glide of his hand up and down his length, and he’s painfully hard. Your black panties are strewn to the side of his mattress haphazardly, and he makes eye contact with them for a split second. 

He grabs them in his right hand. The lace is soft in his fist, softer than he expected, delicate little scalloped edges. He wraps the pair of panties loosely around his cock, and the sensation of it sends his brain into overdrive. Against him, the lace looks improper, something immoral. 

He is a little ashamed of himself.

Unfortunately, he is also completely unable to stop.

He guides his hand up and down his length, at a pace that he normally goes at when he’s just frustrated. His brain supplies images in snapshots—the weight of you in his lap, hips rolling against his crotch. He thinks about your chest, bare in the red light. The small sounds you made when the pace shifted and you stopped being professional about it for a microsecond. He thinks about your hands guiding his, hold on right there, pretty boy. 

Your thighs bracketing his, what it would feel like if there was nothing in between them… if you were actually—if he could actually watch you ride his cock, bouncing up and down on it as your tits moved in his face. He would probably press his face into them, so perfectly plump and ready for him. 

“God, [Y/N],”  he chokes out, to nobody, to the ceiling, to the concept of you existing in the world without his knowledge for however many years before Saturday.

Jungkook jerks himself off faster, twisting his hand at the ase just how he likes it when he wants to cum fast. His hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at the way your black panties are now covered in a mix of his saliva and precum. 

He wants to see you covered in his cum, maybe on your perfect tits or those glossy lips, taking every ounce of him that your body can manage. He bets you would take it like a good girl, would do anything just to please him and suck him dry of his money. 

It doesn’t take long before his mind is spiraling down a drain and he’s on the brink of his orgasm. It was never going to take long. It bubbles in his core, the knot in his stomach unfurling, and then he’s cumming, with a loud whimper and a “Fuck, fuck. [Y/N],” staining your panties with hot, white ropes of cum. Jungkook doesn’t know how long his orgasm lasts, just that he’s never cum that hard in his entire life, not with the essence of you on your panties lingering so nearby. 

For a long time, he sits on his bed, panties still balled in his fist. He sets them down very carefully on his nightstand like they’re evidence. In some sick twisted way, they are. They’re evidence of whatever is happening to him, whatever you cracked open in that private room, whatever he has blindly been waiting thirty years to feel and was not prepared for when it finally arrived.

But Jungkook knows one thing for sure: he can’t go on like this. He has to have you, one way or another. 

Sometimes, you really fucking hate your job. 

Men over the age of 40, married with two kids, will treat you with such disregard, as though you’re a piece of meat lucky enough to be desired by them. Your boss, Natalie, is a fucking cunt who takes half your earnings some nights, just to assert her dominance. Some nights, it’s so slow that you and the other dancers watch paint dry on the wall in your dressing rooms. 

But sometimes, when the stars align and the universe throws you a bone, you really, really love your job. 

Those nights are harder to come by. Usually, they start with a man throwing wads of cash at you, or stuffing them into the hem of your panties. They end with a private lap dance in the red room, where you rake in enough cash to pay off ten months of rent in advance. 

But in the case of Jeon Jungkook, although your night started and ended the same way with him, you were utterly, completely intrigued by the harmless creature you had made cum in his pants last weekend. 

His friends had showered you with cash, but Jungkook sat back in fear, watching you with a hypnotized gaze that never wavered. It was like he was captivated by every movement, hanging on every gyration of your hips. Namjoon didn’t need to tell you he was a virgin. You could smell it on him, something you predicted with just one glance. 

And now, that virgin had infiltrated your every thought.

When you stumbled into the club on Tuesday, you saw the fresh bouquet of red roses lying on your vanity, and immediately knew who they were from. Sure, you had other older suitors at the club, some regulars, but none that would bring you flowers or shower you in anything but money. No, this was the gift of a boy, someone who wasn’t quite yet a man. 

Quite honestly, you wanted to defile Jeon Jungkook. 

So you waited. You waited and you waited, but he didn’t show up all week. By Friday, you were beginning to lose hope of seeing the aforementioned man again. You settled back into your old routine, hoping to get him off your mind with older, more forward men. It’s not like you were having sex with them. It’s a firm line you never wanted to cross, made that clear the first day you started. 

It’s also not every day a hot, buff, tatted guy with bunny teeth and puppy-dog eyes walks into your club.

Saturday begins the same way it always does. Saturday nights at Paradise run like a well-oiled machine, and you are one of its most valuable parts.

The private tables are usually packed by 9PM, main stage rotating girls every twenty minutes. Bartenders furiously make drinks for eager men with open wallets, scanning for a dancer they can claim as their own for the night. You move through it with ease, a calming sensation spreading through your limbs. At least for now, this place has become your sanctuary. Or until the number in your head for your mother’s hospital bills finally hits zero.

Candy (also known as Lisa, but no one calls her that anymore) materializes out of nowhere, falling into step beside you. Since the day you joined Paradise, you two have shared a dressing room, secrets, lip gloss, and even underwear. She’s in gold tonight, hair pinned up, already counting a wad of bills from her regular client. Her hand connects with your bare ass, smacking the firm skin hard enough to leave a mark. “Lover boy show his face yet?”

“Haven’t seen him.” You adjust your bra strap without breaking stride. “Don’t think he can handle me, honestly.”

She snorts, “Yeah, no shit. Baby, he came in his pants from a lap dance.” She tucks the bills into her garter. “He cannot handle you. That’s the whole point.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m going easy on him. Letting him come to me if he wants.”

Candy stops walking entirely to look at you. “You’ve never gone easy on anyone in your life.”

“I’m feeling charitable.” You try to walk around her, but she holds her arms out. 

“We don’t do free shit around here,” she squints her eyes at you, sizing you up. She knows you better than most people do, which is usually a positive, but has now turned into what you hate most about her. 

“Listen, the guy’s obviously a virgin.” You roll your eyes. “Not to mention, he’s fucking stacked. Like, loaded loaded. He’s also hot. Need I go on?”

She stares at you for a long moment as though she’s watching a car accident happen in slow motion. Then she opens her mouth to refute.

“CANDY. [Y/N].”

Natalie’s voice bellows across the floor. Your boss is standing by the bar in all black, clipboard tucked under her arm, wearing the expression she reserves for moments when she feels her 40% cut is not being adequately earned. “Floor. Now. Both of you. Please, for the love of God.”

Candy mouths a not-so-subtle we’ll talk later and runs off toward the main stage. You turn back toward the floor, scanning the private tables, already taking mental note of the bachelor party in the far left corner. There’s eight guys, sashes, someone wearing a veil ironically. They’d keep you busy for an hour tops, and everyone knows bachelor parties are where the money is—

Natalie’s hand lands on your shoulder, redirecting you with zero ceremony. “Not that one.”

You turn. “The bachelor party has—”

“Got it covered. I need you at table five.” She steers you firmly. “He’s alone.”

You raise a brow. “He got money?”

Natalie gives you a side eye that could scare kids on Halloween. “Yes, dumbass.”

“How much money?”

“Just enough.” She releases your shoulder and delivers a brisk slap to your ass that you choose not to comment on. “Make me proud.”

Cursing under your breath, you start toward table five, fluffing your hair as you walk, rolling your shoulders back. Chin up, gaze level, lips pouted. Table five is tucked slightly off the main floor, dim even by Paradise standards. 

As you approach the booth, you excitedly say, “Hi—”

The word dissolves in your mouth.

Because sitting at table five, in a dark t-shirt that hugs his tattooed biceps, turning a glass of whiskey between his hands nervously, is Jeon Jungkook. 

He lifts his eyes to yours. For a second, he has the audacity to look surprised, like he didn’t come here specifically. He blinks at you and his ears go bright pink. 

“Well,” you say, recovering first, “Look who found his nerve.”

His eyes rake over your figure, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. 

You don’t want to let the poor man suffer for too long. Swinging yourself into his lap, your knees straddle his thighs. A sharp inhale escapes him, hands flying up instinctively before freezing mid-air like he’s forgotten whether touching is allowed, ears going from pink to red in one second flat. “Nothing to be shy about, pretty boy,” you murmur.

He lowly whimpers. A soft and involuntary noise, his jaw snapping shut like he can take it back.

“I got your gift,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, tugging him an inch closer to you. His sculpted chest is pressed against your tits, and he doesn’t need to take his shirt off for you to decipher how buff he is. 

His eyes go wide. “Y-yeah? Did you like them?”

You tilt your head, lips brushing against his jawline. “How did you know my favorite color was red?”

(It’s not. Your favorite color is green, has been since you were seven years old. But he doesn’t need to know that, and the way his body tenses when you say it is worth every cent of the lie.)

“L-lucky guess,” he stammers, and looks so pleased with himself.

“You’re a smart boy.” You press a chaste kiss to his jaw, then to his neck, and you feel his cock twitch underneath you. He shifts a little, trying to hide it, but you press down further. 

His hands hover at your hips, still not quite landing, suspended in that same paralyzed uncertainty from the private room last week. 

“You can touch me.”

He doesn’t spare a moment. His hands land directly on your hips, curling into the fabric of your underwear that rides high. 

“Tell me why you came back,” you coyly bat your eyelashes. You know exactly why he’s here and what he wants, but you’ll let him tell you. After all, that’s what you instructed him to do. To come and find you when he was certain he was ready. Even though it was unspoken, he had to have known what you meant. 

“I–I wanted to, uh, see you,” he swallows thickly, struggling to maintain eye contact. 

“Alone?” You tilt your head. 

“My friends don’t know I’m here.”

“Ah, so I’m your secret?” you tease. 

“N-no!” He leans forward, brunette hair falling into his eyes. God, he’s so fucking cute. “No, you’re not. I just—this is new for me.”

“What is?”

Say it, Jungkook. Say it. 

“You… you know what.”

“You know,” you say, leaning in slightly so he can feel your hardened nipples through your bra, “most men who come in here alone aren’t shy about what they want.”

“I’m not shy,” he pouts. 

You roll your hips over his half-hard cock, and he exhales. “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Jungkook. You are a big, strong man.”

He owlishly blinks at you, trying to understand what mind game you’re playing on him. Not that it matters, since he’s putty in your hands. 

“So prove to me that you want me.”

You tip his chin up with two fingers, pulling his gaze back to yours. “Hey,” you say quietly. “Right here.”

Hurriedly, like he’ll lose the words, he says, “I touched myself to you. Like you said.”

“Yeah? Did you cum?”

“I did,” he pauses, mulls over his next words. “I came so hard I almost cried.”

“Wish I could’ve seen that.” You kiss his neck, teeth biting down on his soft skin before soothing it with your tongue. A sweet moan echoes in your ear as you suck on his skin, sure to leave a blooming purple bruise on him. “What did you think about?”

“You… and me.” Your lips travel to a different park of his neck, littering a new section with sloppy hickies. “You…ah, fuck… on top of me, riding me. Making me cum again. I wondered w-what it would feel like if there were no clothes between us.”

Your hands slide from his jaw down his chest, feeling him tense under every inch of movement. “And what did you decide?” you ask. “Would it feel good?”

“I think it would feel like—I think you would ruin me,” he whimpers. 

It’s written all over his face, plain and undefended, the way everything is with him, and you think about all the men who have sat where he’s sitting and uttered the complete opposite. Your hands drift lower, finding him at your hips, and you guide them up over your waist, ribcage, until his palms are cupped over your tits, fingers curling around you through the thin fabric of your bra.

He breaks your gaze. Looks down at his tattooed hands cupping your breasts. 

“Jungkook,” you say.

He looks back up like a puppy following orders from a trainer.

“Still with me?”

“Yeah,” he exhales, massaging your tits with his massive hands. “Yeah,‘m very—I’m extremely with you.”

You roll your hips forward and watch his eyes flutter. “Good,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his jaw, cheek, the soft skin below his ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

“You have?”

“Mhm. Kept thinking about how good you’d feel inside me.” Your thumb traces his lower lip, catching the piercing. His cock is hard against you now, has been since you sat down, and you roll over it slightly, enough to feel him inhale sharply through his nose and grip you. “I want you to cum inside me, fill me up the way I know you want to.”

“O-oh,” he breathes, rutting his hips up to feel more. “I want that too.”

“You’d take it like a good boy, wouldn’t you?” You tug at the piercing, running your fingers over his supple pink lips. 

“Y-yes, please. Anything.” 

His eyes are glossed over with lust, so much that you doubt he’s hearing a word you say. “I bet my pussy feels so good wrapped around your cock. Bet you’re—”

“How much?”

Huh?

Your brows furrow, and his hands halt all movements on your tits. “What do you mean?”

“H-how much for a private room?”

He eyes you expectantly, chest heaving. 

Of all the things you expected him to say in this moment, it was not that. You’re half naked in his lap, you just told him you’d been thinking about him all week, and he’s asking for a price point.

The old version of this interaction writes itself easily. You name the number, take him to the back, take his money, take what you want, and send him home by midnight. Clean cut. 

You’ve done it a hundred times. 

But then he’s looking at you with those eyes, looking like a kicked puppy. An obscenely wealthy, tattooed, jawline-having kicked puppy who brought you roses on a Tuesday and almost cried when he came. 

You genuinely, physically cannot take his money right now.

“I don’t want your money, Jungkook,” you say.

He stares at you like you’ve grown an extra head. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I—” he frowns, “—that’s not—you should take it, it’s fine, I have it—”

You shift in his lap, rolling your eyes. “I know you have it.”

“So just let me—”

“I want you,” you shrug. “Not your money. You.”

He goes still underneath you, like he’s running it back trying to find the catch. His brows pull together. “That doesn’t make any sense—”

And before he can question you any further, you kiss him. 

You don’t plan it. One second he’s trying to logic his way out of being wanted and the next your hand is at his jaw and your mouth is on his and he makes a strangled sound against your lips. A muffled noise falls from his lips, and you swallow it down. For half a second, he’s frozen, your lips guiding themselves. He clearly has no idea what to do. 

And then something gives way in him all at once and he kisses you back clumsily. His lips try to match your speed, and you cup his jaw in your hand to guide him as best you can. 

Jungkook lets out a soft moan, fingers digging into your waist so he can tug you closer to him. It feels like your body is melding into his, becoming one. The sound of misogynistic men waving cash around fades into the background, and you forget where you are. Only a mere moment, until you snap back into it. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he licks into your mouth desperately. You open your mouth a bit to let him explore, and his tongue is so soft and warm that butterflies erupt in your stomach unexpectedly. 

When he pulls away, his cheeks are red, breath escaping him in puffs. Those doe eyes of his are twinkling under the light, bunny teeth poking out underneath his top lip. 

“I—was that, um, okay?” 

Oh god. You’re going to ruin this man’s life. 

You bashfully giggle. “It was perfect, pretty boy. Are you sure this is your first time?” 

Jungkook nods a few times like a broken bobblehead. You chuckle, shaking your head. Your voice lowers an octave. “I want more of you.” 

“R-really?” He squeaks. 

Rather than answer him with words (which he seems to understand so little of), you peel yourself off his lap, taking his hand in yours and tugging him off the couch. Jungkook stands, brows stitched together in confusion. You’d forgotten how tall he was, how much of him there is. 

The floor parts around you as you move through it, the Saturday night chaos swallowing the two of you whole. You catch Natalie’s eye near the bar. She locks eyes with Jungkook and gives you an enthusiastic double thumbs up from behind her clipboard.

She’d lose her mind if she knew you were walking her highest-paying client of the night to the back for free. That’s a problem for later. 

You push open the door to the red room. The LED light bleeds warm over everything. 

Turning, you push him onto the couch with one hand flat against his chest and he plops into it with a soft exhale, hair falling across his forehead, looking up at you with those eyes. Puppy dog eyes, you think. 

“You know what I’ve been thinking about all week?” you say, reaching up to slide one strap off your shoulder. Then the other.

He frantically shakes his head.

“Taking you apart,” you murmur. “Until you don’t remember your own name.”

“That’s—” he swallows thickly, “—that’s fine. Y-yes.”

You reach behind you and unclasp your bra.

For some reason unknown to you, it’s at this moment that you remember what you’re actually doing. 

You’re standing in the red room on a Saturday night about to take the virginity of a man, a man who looked at you in a room full of women and somehow only saw you.

His eyes drop to your bare chest, perked nipples on display

The moment of clarity evaporates completely. You don’t feel bad at all.

Sinking to your knees, you crawl over to where he sits. The carpet is soft beneath your knees. You place your hands flat on his thighs and look up at him, plump, pink lips parting, hands gripping the couch cushions on either side of him. You run your hands slowly up his thighs, feeling the muscle jump under your palms, and tilt your head. “Is this okay, pretty boy?” 

“Y-yes. It’s okay,” he hurries to respond like you might rid him of this moment. 

“Have you ever been titty-fucked before?” you blink up at him, already knowing the answer. 

His cheeks turn the color of the lights. His hand comes up to cover his face and he makes a sound into his palm that is equal parts mortified and desperate. “I-no. I never-I don’t even know, like, what that—I don’t—“

“Hands down,” You tug his hands away from his face. “Use your words, pretty boy. It’s just me.” 

“No.” He finds his voice, his big brown eyes burning into yours. “I have not.” 

You hold his gaze and run your palms up the inside of his thighs. Every coherent thought he has exits his body through his eyes.

“Well,” you say. “Pay attention.”

Your hands find his zipper. The sound it makes in the quiet room ricochets off the walls. His breath goes ragged, stomach caving on an inhale, watching your manicured hands fiddle with his pants. You take your time dragging the denim down his legs until he kicks them off desperately, left in his boxers. 

Even through the fabric, you can see the outline of his erect cock. You wonder how long he’s been hard for, if it’s been before you saw him. You press your palm flat against the fabric, rubbing his bulge, and his head drops back with a groan. 

“You’re so responsive,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, pressing slightly and watching his hips shift toward the pressure. “You feel everything, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah, I really—” he stops, swallows, “—I really do.”

“That’s so good,” you tell him. “That’s exactly right.”

His fingers find the edge of the couch cushion and grip. You take the waistband of his boxers between your fingers and look up at him one more time, giving him every opportunity to change his mind.

Jungkook’s eyes say please before his mouth does.

“Please,” he whispers anyway, because he has no defenses left. You trace the outline of his cock—and holy fuck, you can’t believe your luck. You’re the first girl to bear witness to his cock, and its massive, hidden underneath a man who’s never felt the warmth of a woman, never wanted to. Through his boxers, you can feel his girth, how thick he is. 

Saliva builds up in your mouth. Slowly, you peel down his boxers, dragging them down his legs to the floor. 

His cock stands up proud, slapping against his abdomen. For a moment, your heart thumps in your chest at the size of it, how thick and veiny he is. Fucking hell. You haven’t taken a cock this big in years, but damn straight you’re willing to try. 

“I-is everything okay?” he asks, eyeing your expression. 

You wrap a firm hand around his cock and he jolts forward. Stroking upwards, you feel every ridge, every vein that outlines his length. “It’s perfect, Jungkook. I can’t wait to taste you, for you to be inside me.” 

Precum seeps from his glossy, red tip. You jerk him off a few times until he’s thrusting his hips into your hand. He’s beyond eager for anything you’ll give him, you note. Your eyes meet his, and slowly, you let spit dribble onto his cock, giving you enough slick to jerk him off properly. “Agh-fuck,” he moans, biting his bottom lip hard enough to produce blood. 

“Feels good?” you ask, smiling. 

“Y-yes, don’t stop,” he begs. Flicking your hair behind your shoulder, you hold your tits together, slipping his cock in between your cleavage. He chokes on a breath. “O-okay—okay—” he stammers, hands hovering uselessly on the couch. 

The image of his pretty pink tip sitting between your tits sends waves of arousal to your core, flooding your panties. Adrenaline pumps through you, at the thought of taking this man’s virginity. Slowly, tentatively, enough for him to feel it, to understand it, you observe his face the entire time. His head falls back against the couch.

“You’re—fuck—” he cuts himself off, fingers digging into the cushion. You tilt your head, adjusting the pressure, testing what makes him react harder. Gradually, you move your tits up and down, down to his base and back up to his tip. The slick sounds of skin-on-skin echo across the room, mixed with his soft whimpers. His body tightens under your hands, thick thighs flexing, hips starting to thrust into you without thinking. He’s losing control faster than he can handle, faster than he can pause it. “S-shit, [Y/N], I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna cum—“

But you want him to cum. Want him to cum all over your tits, paint your body with it and let himself claim you. “It’s okay, Kookie,” you let the nickname roll off your tongue. “I want you to cum. It’s okay, I won’t be mad.” 

“Y-You won’t?” His eyes bug out of his head like you’ve just spoken another language. 

You giggle. “No, of course not.” 

He shakes his head like he wants to deny it, but it’s useless. “I– I don’t know, I just— it feels—”

The words fall apart in his mouth. You slow down for a moment before leaning in and adding more slick, dragging your breasts over him again. Jungkook's head snaps back, a broken sound ripping out of him as his hands grip the couch harder. “Oh—fuck— I think I—“

Beneath your grasp, his thighs quiver, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he spurts all over your tits, white, hot liquid painting your skin. Some of it lands on your face, which you lick off happily. “O-oh, [Y/N], fuck fuck, I can’t stop—cumming,” he cries as you slow your pace down, laughing to yourself. 

You ease back onto your knees, hands resting loosely around him. Jungkook is entirely too beautiful for his own good with his chest heaving, long lashes fluttering. 

You’ve had men leave this room strutting. Buttoning their shirts before they’re off the couch, already reassembled, gone. It’s a specific kind of departure that reminds you what this is and what it isn’t.

He takes two shaky pulls of air, then a third. His eyes find yours and stay there. “I—I think you’re amazing.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have volunteered to defile the virgin, because now he’s saying things like this. 

You laugh softly,. “Yeah?”

“No, like—” he pushes himself up further on the couch, words tripping over themselves, “you’re so beautiful and you knew exactly—and I didn’t even—I couldn’t—”

He stops himself. Cheeks flooding red, and all you can do is 

look at him. “God, you’re cute,” you say.

Obviously, you’ve said the wrong thing because his ears go scarlet and his shoulders cave inwards. “Oh. Thank you”. 

Another giggle escapes you, and you hardly recognize yourself. You’re not the girl who giggles during sex with a client, let alone any man. But then again, Jungkook isn’t really your client. 

Your fingers wrap around his softened cock, and without doing much, he begins to harden in your hand, puffing up to his full potential again. He owlishly blinks, gulping. “Sorry, I’m just—“

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupt. “How do you want me?” His throat bobs when he swallows, eyes flicking down to where your hand rests on his length, then back up to your face. “I—”

He exhales shakily. “I don’t know.”

You hum, not letting him off that easy. Your thumb brushes over his tip, gathering the precum that’s begun to form and his hips twitch up. 

Your mouth curves into a sinister smirk.“That’s not true.”

Jungkook lets a small, frustrated sound slip from his lips.“I just—” He breaks off again, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to say it.”

Leaning in a little closer, he has no choice but to feel how little space you’re giving him to hide in. “Use your words, pretty boy,” you murmur, “You’ve been doing so good.”

He sucks in a breath, “I want… I want your mouth on my cock. I want you to suck me off.” 

Immediately, he turns bright red and you can’t help the delighted laugh that wracks through you. “Kookie,” you say, shaking your head a little, “I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth.”

He chuckles at that, reaching down to place his hand over yours, guiding your slow strokes. Your heart leaps into your throat at the innocent touch, betraying you entirely. 

With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and kitten lick his tip, and then drag it down his shaft. His mouth drops open on a silent moan, chest heaving. When you reach the bottom, you lick back up, following the path of a vein, before engulfing him fully in your mouth. He’s bigger than you expected, and your jaw aches at how much you have to open up to fit him in. Your tongue swirls around his tip, and he jolts forward, instinctively pulling your hair and entangling his tattooed fingers in it. 

“K-keep going.” He bucks his hips up, the tip of your nose hitting his pubic bone. You can hardly hold back your gags, choking sounds escaping from your mouth, tears seeping through your lashes as you take him to the hilt. “Feels s-so good, angel. You’re so p-pretty.” 

Your lips pop off his cock as you gasp for air, jerking him off in the meantime. “Yeah? You like how I look with your cock in my mouth, baby?” 

He nods eagerly. “Yes, please.” Jungkook pushes your head down, and then blushes as though he just caught himself sticking his hand in a candy jar. It’s not as if you mind—his cock is addicting, his precum so sweet and warm. You lower your head, swirling your tongue around his tip just so you can hear his pretty little moans again. 

You move at a steady pace, your hand working anything your mouth can’t take. His fingers dig into your scalp, almost guiding you. You don’t want to stop, never do, not until you ruin him. Not until you’ve had every ounce of him. His cock twitches in your mouth, and his thighs shake. It’s hard to hide the smile that’s curving upon your lips. After suctioning your lips around his tip a few more times, he drags your head up, practically ripping you off his body. 

Your stomach leaps into your throat, and the unfamiliar swell of anxiety bubbles inside you. Men don’t ever push you off, and you’d be lying if you said your ego isn’t taking a hit. 

“What do you want, pretty boy?” you ask sweetly. 

“I liked it when you c-choked on it.” His cheeks turn a scarlet glow, brunette hair sticking to his golden skin. “You look pretty.” 

“Want me to deepthroat your cock?” You grin, kitten licking his tip. Jungkook whimpers, and you take that as your answer. With no further instruction, you deeply inhale through your nose and take him to the hilt again, your throat full of him. Your air flow is entirely restricted, and Jungkook—the innocent virgin—pushes your head down, as if there were anywhere further to go. The feeling of being lightheaded doesn’t even scare you, just turns you on from how utterly desperate he is for you. “Shit, you’re so good at this,” he whines. “Don’t wanna cum yet. I wanna cum inside you, baby.”

You hum around him, and your mouth pops off  his cock, saliva connecting his tip to your lips. “Are you sure, Kookie?” 

You’re certain the poor boy has never been more ready for anything in his entire life. “Yes, please, please fuck me.” He begs between breathless groans, and you have to hide your own whimper from how fucked out he sounds. 

Now, you’ve done a lot of things in the red room. Bondage, roleplay, orgasm denial… but taking someone’s virginity? And that of a man who actually might be worth your time? Can’t say you’ve done that before. It excites you, and for a moment, you have to wonder if it’s because of the situation, or because of the man sitting in front of you. 

Standing up, you steady yourself despite the ache in your knees. You unhurriedly peel off your underwear, your arousal sticking to your thighs as you kick them off. Jungkook’s eyes follow your legs up, up, until he stares at your pussy with a tiny gasp. You straddle his thighs, using his shoulders as leverage. Your soaking core hovers above his erect cock, and he looks down to see just how close you actually are. “Are you sure, pretty boy?” you ask again, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Please.” His eyes snap to yours, and the sincerity behind it sends electricity through your veins. You take his fingers, placing them in your mouth before sucking on them and bringing them to your clit so he can feel how aroused you are for him. So ready and pliant above him. “O-oh, you’re really wet.”

“I am, Kookie,” you giggle. “You made me like this.” You guide his movements, little circles on your clit. Foreplay isn’t even necessary—you’re not sure you’ve ever been wetter. 

You align his length to your hole, and sinking down on him, inch by inch, you can feel every ridge and vein decorating his cock. You're deliciously full, until you’re filled to the brim, stuffed with his cock. You’d had a rough idea of what to expect. You’d done this a hundred times in this room. You thought you knew how this part went. But you were not prepared for Jungkook.

The stretch of him is slow and overwhelming and your walls have to work to accommodate his size. You hear yourself exhale, an involuntary release of air. His face finds your neck immediately and he groans. “O-oh my god,” he croons in your neck, muffled against your sweaty skin. “Is this what pussy f-feels like?”

You can hardly think long enough to form a response, and then he starts to move. Careful rolls of his hips, driving his cock up into you, checking every flicker of your expression for anything that looks like discomfort. It’s so like him. Completely, specifically him, that something in your throat tightens. 

What he finds instead is your eyes, telling him everything. He continues fucking upwards, and a borderline scream escapes you from how quickly he finds that sweet spot inside you. His fingers flex at your hips. He gasps and then he’s babbling, words tumbling out unfiltered the way everything does with him. “Your pussy feels so good. So tight and warm,” he speaks into your neck, inhaling your scent like he’s a wolf. “It’s so wet, [Y/N], so fucking wet.”

You need to get it together. You need to find the part of yourself that knows what she’s doing in this room, that has always known, that has never once lost the upper hand. Your hands come to rest on his thighs behind you, and you lift yourself up his cock, only to slam yourself back down. Each time you take him fully, your breath punches out in a grunt you can’t swallow back, your knees working against the cushions as you ride him. Your nails dig into his thighs, red, crescent moons forming. The sound of skin slapping and your wet cunt swallowing his cock fills the room. “Fuck, you feel so good, Jungkook. You’re so big, so deep inside me.”

“Yeah? You like how I feel inside you?’ His hands cup your ass, helping your movements. Despite it being his first time, Jungkook moves like he knows you.

Muscle memory takes over, and you grab a fistful of his hair and drag him towards you. You kiss him. 

Sloppy and breathless and without technique, lips catching and sliding, both of you too far gone to be graceful about it. He makes a broken sound into your mouth, hips stuttering.

“Want to make you my fucktoy. Would you like that, pretty boy?” 

He nods excitedly, eyes squeezed tight as you milk his cock with every bounce. Although you should be focused on making him cum, all of that flies out the window as the familiar coil in your stomach begs to come undone. Your walls flutter around his cock and his eyes open, looking to where your bodies join to try and decipher the sensation. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan. 

“Really?” he asks, wide-eyed with wonder. “Shit–keep going, baby. You’re gonna make me cum too, I won’t be able to last l-long.”

You switch to a back-and-forth motion, your clit hitting his pelvic bone, enough to make your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. Jungkook grips your hips tight as you whimper, falling forward and wrapping your arms around his neck for stability. He takes the opportunity to thrust up into you again desperately, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whines. “So fucking addicting. I want to be inside you forever.” The sound of those words tumbling from his lips, tone so easy, has something inside of you clenching.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum again,” he hisses, hips faltering as he coats your walls with his cum, and the warmth of him fills you up. Wrapping his arms around you entirely, you feel Jungkook press chaste kisses to your neck, jaw, and cheek, bringing you back down to earth. 

When you two finally catch your breath, you rest there, with his cock softening inside you and your nails tracing patterns down his back. Your legs remain glued to his thighs, like the rest of the club doesn’t exist, like Natalie and her clipboard and the Saturday night chaos on the other side of the door are happening on a different planet. It feels like just you two in the whole building.

14 months ago, your last relationship ended abruptly. In the parking lot of a grocery store, which is such an unglamorous setting for the end of two years that you’ve never quite been able to shake it. He was handsome, aware of it, rationing it, using it for his benefit. He never brought you flowers. Not once, not for birthdays or apologies or just because. Flowers were a waste of money in his opinion, and not to be spent on ‘cheap girls’ like you. 

You look at Jungkook’s profile. The soft line of his jaw in the red light, the flutter of his long lashes. 

There are red roses on your vanity that he left without being asked.

“Did I… did I do okay?”

You pull back to peer at him, and his eyes are sparkling, an earnest expression taut on his face. You recognize what he needs to hear. “Yes, Jungkook,” you say, combing your fingers through his hair. “You did very good.”

The relief that moves across his face is immediate. “Okay,” he nods. “That’s good.”

He ducks his head. “How do I—how do I pay you?”

The ripple of his question moves through you. You need the money more than anyone in this room. You have a number in your head that lives there rent free, that wakes you up at 3 AM sometimes, that is the entire reason you’re here in the first place.

You open your mouth to name a figure, but instead, “It’s fine,” you hear yourself say. “You don’t have to.”

He pouts. “But I want to. You should let me.”

“It’s fine,” you repeat.  

“Not even a tip?” he tries again, and you have to commend his effort. 

“No.”

And  with a calm confidence that was not there an hour ago, “My number then,” he says. “Can I have yours? Would that work?”

You laugh, dropping your face into the curve of his neck, and feel him go warm underneath you. “You have some nerve, Jungkook.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Huh?” Maybe he wasn’t expecting your compliance, but you give it anyway. You’ll give yourself this one. 

“Yeah, Jungkook.” It’s probably a bad idea. Or maybe it’s the best one you’ll ever have. “You can have my number.”

The next night, when you open your phone, you read a text from Jeon Jungkook that says: i know you said no tips, but think of this as a gift. open your door. 

Outside your door sits a bouquet of red roses, with piles and piles of cash sitting beside it. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. 

On the flowers is a note, something even cuter than his text, that reads: give me one more night? - your pretty boy 

perm 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 @qielica @Mar-lo-pap @remgeolli @Seolhyuningg @secretspam699 @Bangtansfav-7 @m4aimm @jeontylv @ot7girl4l @hoemeprazole @lovingkoalaface  @crackedby2017jungkook @taevescence @starlitkook @chwrryppie @jjkszn @junqive  @kookdollia @Mninotjungkook @odetomeringue @stargguki @lovingkoalaface @rockstarjeonjk @yeskookii @hellomynameis-jessica @lovjeongukkie @bjoriis

[ggukiebar]

NDA | j.jk

pairing: idol jungkook x f. fan reader

genre: smut

word count: 15.6k

summary: what would you do when your bias offers you an NDA?

warnings: verydom!jungkook x shy!submissive reader, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, pussy eating, blow job, squirting, edging, spitting, dom/sub dynamic, daddy, heavy degradation, dirty talk, multiple positions, detailed smut, jk is very mean, oral sex, mirror sex, slapping, choking, pussy slapping, anal, rimming, nipple play, praising, dumbfication, usage of slut/whore, cum eating, marking, mentions of oc being his toy, multiple orgasms, rough sex, mentions of sex doll, crying, overstimulation, fingering, nipple slapping, penetrative sex, hair pulling, creampie.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“Please, please, please!” you whispered to yourself, fingers crossed tightly as you stared at the three screens in front of you.

Your laptop. Your phone. Your tablet.

Your eyes were glossy with hope and adrenaline, your feet thumping uncontrollably beneath your chair, a thin layer of sweat forming despite the air-conditioned room wrapping around you in cold comfort.

This was your first time buying concert tickets. Despite being a long-time fan, this was your only chance—because you had finally gathered enough money to secure one.

You had prepared three Weverse accounts under your name and your parents’ names, carefully reserving each slot so you could slip into the presale the moment it opened. You had already studied how fast tickets sold out in other countries—the quickest being around ten minutes. Ten minutes of chaos, of people like you refreshing, praying, losing.

You bit your lip hard enough to feel it sting. You were still in the queue when the screen suddenly shifted, dragging you into a loading page that refused to move. Thirty minutes had already passed, and all three accounts were still stuck.

“Fuck!”

Your eyes widened when two of your accounts abruptly showed session timeout.

With shaky hands, you tried to navigate through it, but everything lagged—hesitating, freezing, slipping away from your control. You cursed under your breath, glancing at your laptop—the only one still holding on, still alive.

Your vision started to blur at the edges. The chances of getting a ticket were thinning by the second, dissolving right in front of you.

“Please, just this one…” you whispered to yourself, eyes locked on the screen with fragile, breaking hope.

Your eyes widened when the screen finally moved.

No Tickets Available.

Just like that, your hopes were crushed.

You slowly looked up at the posters on your walls, the albums stacked neatly on your shelves, the plushies scattered across your bed, and the ARMY Bomb you had recently bought, displayed beside your BTS McDonald’s figurines.

Tears began falling uncontrollably from your eyes, like a flood breaking through something you could no longer hold together. The realization settled in—heavy, final—that you wouldn’t get to see them.

Your lips quivered as you quickly sank onto your bed, pulling your favorite pink cooky plushie close to your chest. You cried into it, letting everything spill out with an aching, exhausted heart.

Your parents tried to comfort you. They knew how much this meant. They had witnessed your journey growing up—how you stayed up all night waiting for comebacks, how you saved every bit of money just to buy new albums, how you would drop everything the moment a Weverse Live started, how you bought multiple happy meals just to complete all the toys, how you binge-watched their content and replayed Run BTS episodes whenever you had free time.

They had seen it all.

How deeply you adored and loved your bias…

Jungkook.

You appreciated how your parents tried to look for tickets online for you, but the number of scams you’d heard about from resellers made you hesitate. Prices were tripled—far beyond your budget. You didn’t want to burden them, even when they insisted they were willing to cover the extra cost.

You were still a student, after all. You told them it was okay—that they should just save the money for your college instead.

“What if you just check in to the hotel they’re staying at? Girl, imagine!” your best friend Mina suggested.

The hot coffee you ordered had already gone cold. The concert was next month, and Mina was now throwing ridiculous ideas at you on how you could possibly see BTS. The supposed study session in the coffee shop had long been forgotten the moment you mentioned the upcoming concert.

“I doubt it. There’s usually no news about it because of their privacy… sometimes I only find out once they’ve already checked in or when they do a Weverse live.”

Mina rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there’s at least some news if you really dig into it. How many days is the concert?”

“Two days. And even if I wanted to stalk their hotel, I’m sure a lot of fans would do that too—and the next thing you know, the hotel is fully booked.” you pouted.

You were being realistic. The chances of seeing them at their hotel—or even getting a room there—were slim. With the number of fans camping out and others researching nonstop, you had almost zero chance.

“Do you want to see them or not? Come on, I’ll book a room with you!” she nudged your shoulders, wiggling her brows as she sipped her caramel macchiato.

You chuckled softly. “Of course I do, but I swear, Mina, it’s harder than you think…”

Mina groaned, stomping her feet. “Ugh, fine! But watching the concert online is really fucking boring when you know they’re literally in the same country as you.”

You sighed. Mina wasn’t really a fan, but she knew how much you loved BTS. When she found out you hadn’t secured a ticket, she had been the first to suggest the most ridiculous ideas—stalking their hotel, camping outside the arena, chasing anything that even remotely felt possible.

After a few months since the presale, it had been a hard pill to swallow—but you had finally accepted it. You wouldn’t get to see them. Even if Mina’s ideas lingered at the back of your mind, you knew better. The chances were too low. You’d rather stay at home, wear your cooky pajamas, and stream the concert online in peace.

Still… there were the sleepless nights.

The what-ifs that refused to leave you alone.

What if you had attended the concert? What if you had somehow booked the same hotel? What if you caught a glimpse of their van outside the arena?

Being a fan for almost a decade, you knew those kinds of scenarios only happened in fictional stories. Seeing Jungkook on a random day was like finding a bag of cash in a public restroom stall—completely impossible.

Though… still, a small part of you never fully stopped hoping.

“Also, isn’t our country their last stop?” Mina said, already searching for dates and details on her phone.

“Yeah… that’s why I actually had enough money and time… but I guess luck just wasn’t on my side,” you murmured bitterly, glancing around the busy coffee shop as if the noise could somehow quiet the ache settling in your chest.

Mina suddenly froze, her eyes widening. “Wait—since it’s the last stop… don’t you think they’ll stay longer? Maybe for a few more days, like… I don’t know, rest?”

You had already thought about it—but how on earth would you ever know their whereabouts? You’d only find out once they were already there, or when they went live. And since it would be after the concert, you were certain they’d want to rest, to disappear into privacy for a while.

“Mina… it’s okay. I swear, I’ll be fine.” you assured her, her ideas now more amusing than anything else.

Until your lunch break ended, Mina kept babbling—throwing out unrealistic scenarios straight out of books and fanfics. You laughed at her what-ifs, at the corny places her imagination kept taking you.

You knew she wasn’t doing it to be silly.

She was doing it because she knew you. Knew how badly you wanted to see them. Knew how quiet you’d become once the concert actually started.

So, as your best friend, Mina had decided something else entirely.

A short out-of-town trip. While BTS was in the country. A way for you both to disappear for a while, to breathe, to rest from studies, from expectations, from everything—including the concert you couldn’t attend.

“Mina! Why didn’t you tell me?” Your eyes widened in shock when you saw the cottage number and the dates.

Mina had booked a five-day beach trip, complete with daily activities that made your head spin just reading them.

“Don’t worry, you can bring your laptop so you can still stream the concert.” she snickered, handing you the itinerary.

“Mina! That’s not what I meant—this is too much,” you groaned.

She giggled, already sitting comfortably on your bed while you scanned through the list she had prepared. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun! Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve had a girls’ trip.”

You pouted at her, still in disbelief—but the resistance didn’t last. A smile slipped through as you pulled her into a hug anyway. “You and your ideas,” you chuckled.

“Bring cute clothes! Let’s take lots of pics—I want to update my IG!” she said excitedly.

You grinned. “Let’s go shopping tomorrow. My treat.”

Mina shrieked. “God, yes! Let’s go!”

The upcoming concert was still on your mind, but you were also busy preparing for the trip with Mina. You were excited—the small distraction keeping you from spiraling into a full breakdown over not being able to see BTS.

Wearing a cute sundress and brown sandals, you and Mina finally checked in. It was Day 1 of the concert. You had already set an alarm for the online stream later, a quiet kind of excitement settling in at the thought that, at the very least, you had the privilege of watching it while sipping fresh coconut by the sea breeze.

“Why the fuck are you reapplying your lip gloss?” Mina asked when she caught you touching up your makeup right before the concert started.

“To look cute while watching Jungkook,” you giggled, turning your ARMY Bomb on.

After dinner, you and Mina sat on a bench by the sand, your pocket Wi-Fi, laptop, and earphones already set up beside you.

Mina rolled her eyes. “That’s crazier than my ideas.”

You chuckled softly, eyes already fixed on the screen as the countdown began. Your heart raced like you were inside the stadium with them—like the distance didn’t exist at all.

When the concert finally started, Mina had to walk away because you were screaming too loudly, jumping from your seat and almost knocking over the coconut shake on the table.

“Girl, let me walk around and find a cute guy. Your shrieks are lowkey scaring me.” Mina laughed when she came back and saw you on the verge of tears, fanning yourself like you might actually pass out.

“Okay, oka—oh my gosh! They’re performing Dimple! Oh my gosh!” you shouted, already lost in it again.

For two days, you were completely gone in it—fangirling nonstop, fully absorbed in every moment. It was only on Day 3, when Mina had planned actual activities, that you finally stepped away from the screen. Until then, you had spent your time watching, rewatching, and reposting edits like the world outside didn’t exist.

“He’s so hot—I can’t believe he wore that gray shirt. It looked so good on him,” you babbled, telling Mina everything about the concert details and the surprise songs they performed.

The two-night concert had ended like a whirlwind, yet you were still floating on cloud nine. While Mina had been busy taking pictures and scouting for cute guys, you had been replaying everything in your head—taking screenshots, saving edits, and reliving every moment in real time like you couldn’t let it go.

Mina was just happy you enjoyed it. She even swore she almost thought you were going to have a heart attack when you shrieked so loudly after Jungkook lifted his shirt and revealed his abs. Your gallery probably had ten copies of that exact moment.

“And! Guess what!” you said, munching on your breakfast as you wiggled your eyebrows at her.

“Hmm… Jungkook showed his dick?”

“Mina!” Your cheeks burned as you nearly choked on the waffles you were eating.

Mina laughed, casually pointing her fork at you. “That would be good though.”

You shook your head quickly, your face still hot. “I mean—would want that—but guess what! He sang the chorus of Still With You in acapella!” you babbled again, as if Mina would fully grasp the weight of it.

For your third day, you and Mina were supposed to ride a yacht. You were already getting dressed when Mina suddenly squealed behind you, hurriedly tying the strap of her sandal.

“He replied! Oh my gosh, he’s treating me to dinner!” Mina said excitedly, quickly glancing at the mirror you were using to fix your hair.

“Huh? Who?”

“This guy I met while you were watching the concert! He wants to see me again!” She showed you her phone.

Your brows furrowed. “He’s inviting you to his cottage later?” you said, reading the message.

Mina’s eyes widened as she looked back at her phone. “Fuck! What should I do?”

“Wait… so you’re not going on the yacht with me?” you concluded.

Mina smiled cheekily, biting her lip. “Well… he’s cute and… hot…”

You raised a brow. “Make sure he’s really hot,” you chuckled, fixing your hair again in front of the mirror—when Mina suddenly squealed and hugged you from behind.

“Promise I’ll make it up to you! You’re the best!” she grinned, already moving back to the bed to grab her bag.

Mina had booked this trip for you, and you wanted her to enjoy it too. Even though she originally planned it as a girls’ trip, you had spent most of it absorbed in the concert. She had always supported your whims without hesitation—and now it was your turn to support hers.

“Why are you bringing that duffel bag?” you asked, amused at the amount of clothes she was packing.

Mina wiggled her brows. “Gotta be prepared, y’know.”

She walked towards the door, fixing her neckline one last time.

You grinned. “Text me when you’re heading back!”

“Yes, ma’am!” she giggled, throwing you a flying kiss before hurrying out.

The sheer amount of clothes Mina brought made it obvious—she probably wouldn’t be back tonight. You sighed softly, glancing down at your short pink floral dress, your hair tied in a half ponytail.

You still had two days left of the trip, but today was the first time it truly settled in. For the past two days, you had been completely immersed in the concert—no time to walk along the shore, no quiet moments to watch the sunset.

Now, it was finally your time to unwind.

Although you were tempted to doom-scroll edits again, you forced yourself up instead, deciding to follow the planned activity for the day and step outside.

-

“Number 9! Calling for all passengers on Yacht 9!”

You hurried over to the line, double-checking the receipt number Mina had reserved for you.

There were only a few people waiting—some couples and a small group of friends. You didn’t really mind being alone. If anything, you needed this time to unwind, to breathe, to exist without noise pressing in on you.

“Ticket, please!” the man in a white uniform said.

You handed it over, offering a polite smile before stepping onto the yacht.

A few groups had already settled in—holding bottles of champagne, chatting softly, taking pictures against the open sea. You made your way towards the main deck, where a small group of friends sat around a table filled with snacks and laughter.

Based on the crowd, you felt relieved it wasn’t too packed—maybe around twenty-thirty people scattered across the space, enough to feel lively but not overwhelming.

Soft music drifted through the air as the yacht moved gently along the waves. The salt of the sea lingered in every breath you took, calming something in you without you even realizing it needed calming.

You wandered towards a long table filled with food, your short dress and hair swaying slightly with the breeze.

There were different kinds of pastries, a large charcuterie board, bottles of wine and champagne catching the light, stacks of beer lined neatly at one end, and a few bags of chips scattered casually beside them.

Mina had definitely booked a nice yacht. You smiled to yourself, genuinely happy that you could finally relax and enjoy this moment—with good food, fresh air, and a quiet kind of peace you hadn’t realized you needed.

You grabbed a bag of potato chips and a bottle of wine, scanning the area for a place to sit until you spotted a vacant lounger on the sun deck.

“Perfect!” you mumbled excitedly when you noticed no one else had claimed that area.

Carefully placing your bag, chips, and wine down, you quickly took a photo to update Mina.

“Let’s sit here!”

You were still busy snapping pictures when a small group—maybe four or five people—settled in beside you.

You weren’t really paying attention at first, but in your peripheral vision, you noticed they had brought an impressive amount of snacks with them.

You opened your chips and leaned back on the sun lounger. When you heard the sharp crack of a beer can opening, curiosity tugged at you, and you glanced over briefly.

It was a group of Korean men, older than you—probably in their mid-30s to 40s. Some wore black shades, already laughing as they settled into their drinks, their voices easy and relaxed.

They must be on vacation. This beach was a tourist spot, after all.

You turned your attention back to your chips, letting the sun warm your skin as you sank into the view. The group beside you wasn’t loud—they mostly talked about the scenery and the food, occasionally breaking into laughter over the activities they had tried earlier.

The world felt slow again, almost suspended in that gentle rhythm of waves and wind.

You were busy sipping your wine when you suddenly felt it—an unmistakable stare.

The group beside you was still laughing, their voices blending into the soft noise of the sea, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was looking at you.

These men were older, and for a brief moment, unease crept in.

You sneaked a glance over your shoulder and noticed the broad-built man in sunglasses staring straight ahead—past you.

Does he want potato chips or—

With a slight frown, you followed his line of sight properly this time.

He wasn’t looking at you.

He was looking at your bag on the table.

My bag?

When he realized you were looking back at him, he quickly turned away, though the shift in his posture told you he was still thinking. Still aware.

Confused, you glanced down at your bag again.

It was just a simple beige tote bag. Nothing special. Nothing worth staring at.

You shrugged it off. It must’ve been a mistake. Besides, he was wearing sunglasses—maybe he was just spacing out, looking into nothing.

Munching on your chips again, you noticed him typing on his phone, suddenly more focused, as if he had detached himself from the conversation entirely.

You almost laughed to yourself, thinking he might actually be searching something about your bag online.

A strange thought—but harmless.

With a deep, content sigh, you leaned back again, the warmth of the sun and the rhythm of the waves slowly pulling you under.

And somewhere between the breeze and the quiet, you didn’t notice when your eyes finally closed.

By the time you woke up, it was already sunset.

The bottle of wine beside you was empty, and the small group that had been next to you earlier was gone. The sea breeze had turned cooler now—soft and comforting—while the sound of waves blended with the distant chatter of guests still enjoying the evening.

You stretched lightly and sat up.

Some people were still dancing, some chatting, others taking pictures against the fading orange sky. You still had a few hours left before the yacht returned to shore.

Grabbing your leftover chips and the empty bottle of wine, you frowned when something small caught your attention beside your bag.

A paper.

Leaning in slightly, you picked it up—and realized it was a calling card.

Song Hobeom [phone] **** [email protected]

“Who the fuck is this?”

Looking around, you didn’t see the group of Koreans anymore. You assumed the calling card must’ve come from them, especially given the Korean name and number printed on it.

Still… you were confused. Why would he leave his calling card?

Walking slowly along the yacht, you felt a slight dizziness from the wine lingering in your system. You tossed the empty chip bag and bottle aside, your eyes still scanning the space for any sign of the group you had seen earlier. The air had turned colder now, your short dress offering little protection against the breeze brushing against your skin.

Curiosity got the better of you—and maybe the alcohol gave you just enough courage.

You decided to dial the number.

“Yoboseyo?” a deep voice answered.

You swallowed. “Hello? I-Is this Song Hobeom?”

A brief sigh came through the line. “Yes?”

Confusion crept in when he didn’t immediately recognize you as the person from the sun lounger. You hesitated for a moment. Did he really hand out his calling card just like that?

“Uh, I was the one sitting on the sun lounger by the main deck. I think you left your calling card at my table?” you said, biting your lip as nerves slowly settled in.

You had no idea what he wanted—and yet here you were, calling him back.

“Oh, right. Thank you for calling back, ma’am. May I know when you are free? I would like to discuss something with you.” he said in a formal tone.

Huh?

Confusion was written all over your face.

You walked towards the bow of the yacht, trying to escape the soft music and distant chatter, holding the phone closer to your ear.

“Uhm… may I know what for? This is a bit confusing.” You looked around again, but there was still no trace of the group from earlier. They must’ve already left.

“It is a bit confidential, ma’am. But don’t worry, I will give you a short background once we meet.”

You groaned under your breath. “I’m sorry, but can’t you just tell me this over the phone?”

You didn’t want to sound rude, but you didn’t know this man. It was already strange enough that he wanted to meet in person to “discuss something.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we may need to discuss this face-to-face to ensure the call is not being recorded. If you prefer, you may set the time and place.” he said formally.

What the actual fuck.

You rolled your eyes. This was bullshit—it sounded like a scam. Some foreign guy trying to trick people before disappearing back to his country.

“Sorry, but I’m not interested. Thank you.”

You ended the call immediately.

You weren’t stupid enough to meet a stranger like that. You had only been curious, nothing more—but the moment he refused to explain anything over the phone, something in you clicked.

Suspicion.

And you weren’t taking that chance.

You were about to walk back to the main deck when your phone beeped with a new message. You thought it was Mina, but the moment you recognized the country code, you immediately rolled your eyes.

What does he want?

You instantly regret calling his number. Opening the message, you saw that he had sent a file.

“I swear if this has a virus,” you mumbled.

You were about to tap it when another message came in.

Song Hobeom: The file can only be viewed once. Any form of screenshot or screen recording will be detected and notified. Please contact me again if you wish to proceed after reading the contract.

Song Hobeom: Please do not share this file or inform anyone about this matter. This is strictly confidential. Thank you.

Fucking hell?

You snorted softly, finding his messages almost ridiculous. It sounded like a joke—like he genuinely believed you’d get “in trouble” for forwarding whatever this was.

With a small smirk, you already decided you’d tell Mina about it later. You were definitely not falling for some scam. You’d open it, see whatever nonsense it was, and then block him right after.

With a sheepish grin, you tapped the file anyway… your heart giving a small, restless thump as the screen began to load.

What if it’s a jump scare?

Your brows slowly furrowed when the title finally appeared in bold capital letters:

NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT

What?

You quickly scanned the document, reading faster and faster—until your eyes landed on a name that made your heart jolt.

“W-What the actual fuck?!” you gasped in shock. A few people turned to look at you, but you didn’t care. Your attention was completely locked on your phone.

You were starting to hyperventilate. You wanted to close it, to breathe, to think—but it was a view-once file. Your hands trembled as the alcohol from earlier wore off almost instantly, replaced by something sharper.

“This is not real… no freaking way,” you whispered weakly, quickly texting him back with shaking fingers.

No second thoughts—you typed immediately, afraid he might block you or change his mind.

You: I am free tomorrow at around 1 PM. Let’s meet by the coast area near the bar.

Song Hobeom: Noted, ma’am. Thank you for cooperating.

-

You never thought you would find yourself in a situation like this.

You chose a spot with very few people around. It was a nice sunny day, but your face already felt warm—nervous, alert, almost buzzing with anticipation.

Wearing a white floral dress, brown strappy sandals, and sunglasses, you called Mina beforehand and told her you’d be skipping the snorkeling activity for the day. You wanted to tell her the truth, but she didn’t question it when you said you just wanted to swim and relax by the ocean instead.

She told you she wouldn’t be back for tonight, giggling about the cute guy she had met. She kept talking, but your mind was elsewhere the entire time.

Honestly, you were relieved she wouldn’t be back soon. Given the terms written in the file, you needed time alone.

Or this opportunity—whatever it really was—might slip right through your fingers.

“Are you listening to me? You’re like… spacing out, girl!” Mina chuckled.

Your face immediately heated up. “Oh! A-Am I? I was just thinking about buying this merch, and it’s a bit expensive, so I was wondering if I should buy the whole set or just Jungkook’s edition.” you rambled quickly.

Mina laughed, shaking her head. “Just buy it all! Gosh! Anyways, so I went to this island…”

You bit your lip. She believed it.

She continued ranting, and you did your best to follow along, nodding at the right moments, forcing yourself to stay present. You had to hide this—or you’d be screwed.

“Do you want to order, ma’am?”

You looked up at the waiter and nearly froze when, for a split second, you thought it was Song Hobeom standing in front of you.

You were thirty minutes early.

Last night, you hadn’t slept at all—spending hours searching for the man behind the calling card. And what you found had hit you like a truck.

He wasn’t just some random foreign stranger.

He was BTS’s manager.

The weight of the NDA had settled in slowly at first… then all at once.

The same Song Hobeom you had seen on the yacht… was the same man now appearing across articles and videos all over the internet.

“No, thank you. I’ll order later,” you politely declined. You didn’t think you could eat or drink anything at this point.

The waiter nodded and left you alone.

You let out a quiet sigh, glancing at your phone to check the time. Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to steady your breathing—slow, controlled. You couldn’t afford to panic right now. Not here. Not yet.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

The familiar deep voice made your eyes snap open.

He was finally here.

He approached in a composed, almost professional manner, as if this were a business meeting rather than something that had your entire morning spiraling. Black shirt, gray board shorts, black shades. Calm, unreadable.

Your gaze narrowed slightly when you noticed the large iPad and brown envelope in his hands.

You immediately stood up, quickly straightening your dress before offering your hand.

“G-Good day, uh… h-have a seat, please.” you gestured, waiting until he sat down before you did.

“Have you eaten, Ms…?” he asked, pausing as if waiting for your full name.

“Oh, it’s Y/N L/N. I a-already had lunch,” you stammered, your heart racing as you finally introduced yourself.

He smiled and nodded. “That’s good to hear. I’m Song Hobeom, the manager of Bangtan Sonyeondan.”

He opened the brown envelope and showed you its contents. Like a startled kitten, you carefully took the papers.

“Have you read the file I sent you?” he asked casually, while opening his iPad.

You immediately nodded. “Y-Yes, uh… but I only scanned it quickly.”

It was true—you had replied almost instantly because you were scared he might unsend it or take it back.

He nodded. “Alright. Let me explain this to you thoroughly. Before proceeding, we require a Non-Disclosure Agreement to protect the privacy and safety of our artist. This agreement simply means that any information you may see, hear, or experience during your time with us—such as the artist’s location, conversations, or personal details—must remain confidential and cannot be shared with others, posted online, or discussed publicly,” he said in a formal, business-like tone.

You nodded quickly. “Y-Yes, I didn’t tell anyone!” you replied immediately.

He gave another nod, turning the iPad towards you to display the contract details. Then he began walking you through each section, one by one, in calm, structured explanations.

“Ms. Y/N, the NDA does not take away your rights or force you to do anything. It only ensures mutual privacy,” he stated, and you found yourself listening closely, agreeing more than questioning. The moment you had texted back was already a sign—you had chosen to proceed.

“Once signed, the confidentiality rules will remain in effect for the period stated in the document, and breaking the agreement could result in legal consequences.”

“I understand! I-I have researched how NDAs work as well.”

You bit your lip the moment you said it, suddenly realizing how desperate you sounded. You wanted to ask so many questions—why you, of all people, why this situation had landed in your lap—but you were too focused, too eager to get to the part that mattered most now.

Signing that damn contract.

That was your priority.

“Good. If you have any questions or concerns, I want you to feel comfortable asking before signing—”

“No questions! I’ll s-sign,” you blurted out, cheeks warming as excitement slipped through your tone.

Mr. Song chuckled lightly and nodded before handing you an expensive-looking pen.

“Alright, please double-check the terms and conditions. Take your time, Ms. Y/N.”

But you didn’t.

Not really.

Before you even properly reread the contract, you signed it—like your life depended on it. A shy, almost embarrassed smile formed on your lips as you finished.

He looked amused, like this wasn’t his first time seeing this reaction. As if he was already familiar with how quickly people surrendered to these documents.

Then he handed you the iPad for another copy.

Scrolling quickly, you signed again without hesitation.

Your eyes flickered over your own name—and then, for a brief second, your heart stuttered when you saw the name of the artist involved.

Jeon Jungkook.

Mr. Song explained the terms and conditions again. You listened eagerly, a little calmer now that you had finally secured the contract.

“Thank you for signing, Ms. Y/N. Please remember to keep everything discussed and experienced confidential as agreed,” he said with a polite smile, handing you another calling card. “Mr. Jeon will be the one to contact you directly after this for any further coordination.”

You stared at the calling card—Jungkook’s name and number printed on it—your eyes widening in shock.

This cannot be real.

-

“Ugh! I want to cry!”

You stared at yourself in the mirror, now back in your cottage, pacing in front of it like a maniac.

You had one night. One fucking night with him.

The date stated in the contract was after your vacation ended. You were already stressing about what to tell Mina for extending your stay, what to say to your professors, your parents—because you had clearly told them your trip only lasted until next week.

Jungkook hadn’t contacted you yet. It was still too early. You had no idea if he was even on the island already. The only thing you knew was that you were supposed to meet him in Executive Cottage 3 at 8 PM next week.

You still couldn’t believe it.

You had always thought NDAs were just myths—fantasies spun by fans who imagined idols risking everything for a single private encounter.

Sure, you had heard rumors that things like this might actually happen… but you never thought you would experience it yourself—with your own bias, Jeon Jungkook.

It felt unreal. Worse—or better—than a concert. One-on-one. Up close. No distance at all.

Your cheeks warmed at the memory of the agreement, your heart picking up speed at the thought. It almost scared you how much you didn’t want to wake up in case this was all just a dream.

Sometimes you found yourself lightly slapping your cheek, as if reality still refused to fully sink in.

For months, you had been depressed over missing the ticket, and now—out of nowhere—you had the opportunity, the privilege, to meet your bias in private.

Now it made sense.

It was their last concert. Their managers were staying here to rest… and for what? To arrange potential NDAs?

Last night, after Mina’s call, you had spent hours deep in research—so deep it felt less like curiosity and more like you were preparing a thesis you somehow needed to defend. You searched everything: how NDAs worked, how participants were chosen, what would happen if you told someone, and a dozen other questions that only made your head spin the longer you read.

There was no hesitation anymore.

The moment you confirmed that Song Hobeom was actually their legitimate manager, something in you fully locked in. Any lingering doubt that the contract might be fake—or some elaborate prank—disappeared instantly.

It was real.

And you had already signed it.

Your excitement had gone through the roof.

Even though you wanted to tell Mina so badly, your eagerness to meet Jungkook was far stronger. You couldn’t risk it.

“Huh? Why?” Mina questioned when she returned the next day and you immediately told her about extending your stay.

“I just want to relax more, you know… I didn’t realize the sea was this calming,” you smiled, trying to sound convincing.

You and Mina were now getting ready for the snorkeling activity. After dinner, you had decided you would break the news properly.

“Are you lying to me?” Mina raised a brow.

You went pale. “N-No, I j-just really wanted to sta—”

“You met a cute guy, didn’t you?” Mina accused, squinting at you.

You blinked, caught completely off guard by her conclusion. She knew you weren’t the type to extend a trip like this—especially with school starting next week—unless, of course, it was for BTS.

Or a cute guy.

“W-Well…”

Mina giggled. “Ha! That’s why we’re besties!”

Maybe a little white lie wasn’t so bad.

Mina told you she couldn’t extend her stay anyway since she had a presentation due next week. Even though she wanted to stay longer, you reassured her you’d be fine—and that you just wanted some alone time with your “cute guy.”

Yeah.

Cute guy.

-

The following days felt like a whirlwind. You enjoyed your last activities with Mina, all while quietly trying to keep it together every time the agreement flashed back into your mind and sent your thoughts spiraling.

When the last day came, you practically rushed Mina into the van just to get a proper goodbye out before she left.

Tomorrow was finally the day.

And yet, Jungkook still hadn’t contacted you.

The day before, you had already gone through a medical examination—another requirement of the NDA. You were honestly surprised at how professional it all was, how organized everything felt despite how unreal the situation still seemed in your head.

It was almost ridiculous how seriously you had started taking everything.

You shaved your entire body. Scrubbed yourself religiously every night. Applied lotion more than usual. Even started doing small morning workouts after meals, as if preparation alone could somehow calm your nerves.

“Hi, Jungkookie!” you practiced in front of the mirror, batting your eyelashes.

“Fuck! Why did I do that?” you immediately cringed, shaking your head.

You tried again, this time forcing a different tone.

“So… how was the concert?”

“I’m honored to be chosen.”

“Do I just lay here?”

“I love you. You’re my everything.”

You groaned and covered your face completely.

You had no idea what to expect. The thought of meeting Jungkook was overwhelming in every possible way—like your brain couldn’t decide whether to freeze, panic, or completely shut down.

And honestly, you were starting to worry you might faint… or embarrass yourself beyond recovery the moment it actually happened.

The contract stated “private meeting,” and you weren’t exactly Sherlock, so it wasn’t hard to conclude that it involves fucking. Especially considering they required a medical examination—surely not for a simple chat.

You almost screamed when your phone beeped with a message.

Jungkook: Hi Y/N, see you tomorrow at 8!

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” you jumped onto your bed, staring at the text like it wasn’t real.

His message was so casual, completely different from the formal, business-like tone Song Hobeom used. It almost made it feel even more surreal.

“What should I reply… oh my gosh.”

You bit your lip, carefully choosing your words so you wouldn’t mess anything up.

You: See you, Kookie!

-

The cottage was larger than yours—an executive unit reserved for upper-class guests—with soft ambient lighting, a private veranda, a small plunge pool, a carefully kept garden, a few hammocks swaying gently in the breeze, and direct access to the beach.

This area felt different. Quieter. More secluded. Tucked away from the other cottages scattered across the busy island.

You had expected to be guided by bodyguards, but there was no one. No visible security, no presence at all. It felt intentional—like the meeting was meant to be so private that even protection would disrupt it.

Wearing a lilac wrap dress, white glittery doll shoes, and your hair curled neatly at the ends, you slowly made your way towards the cottage.

Your fingers hesitated before pressing the keycard Mr. Song had given you last week. The soft beep that followed made your nerves spike instantly—a quiet confirmation that you had arrived, and that you were allowed inside.

Once the door opened, you stepped in.

You were immediately met with a spacious bedroom featuring a king-sized bed, a lounge area, a large wooden door that likely led to the bathroom, and wide tinted windows with sliding doors that opened directly to a full view of the sea.

You stood there for a moment, taking it all in with wide eyes.

Carefully, you placed your bag beside the bed and began walking around the space, your curiosity slowly building. On the table, you noticed a selection of pastries and a neatly arranged meal set waiting, untouched.

“Hey.”

You gasped, your eyes snapping towards the bathroom door as the man you only saw on screens stepped out.

Jungkook wore nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp, droplets of water trailing down his neck and collarbones as he ran a smaller towel through his hair.

Your lips parted slightly. Fuck.

He walked toward the coffee table first, casually lifting the silver cloche to check the prepared dinner as if nothing about this moment carried any weight at all.

But for you, everything had just short-circuited.

Jungkook—right there in front of you. Real. Close. Breathing the same air.

You had seen him countless times on screens, in edited clips and fan videos—but none of that had prepared you for this. In person, his presence felt heavier, more grounded. His frame looked broader, more defined. The tattoos you had only ever glimpsed before were now fully visible under the soft lighting, detailed and striking in a way that made your thoughts scatter instantly.

Even his voice—when he spoke—carried a calm, effortless depth that made your mind go blank before it could catch up.

All the lines you had practiced disappeared completely.

You were speechless.

Frozen.

He was real.

You couldn’t believe he was real.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, turning towards you while still holding the cloche.

Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. You stood near the couch like you’d been rooted in place, completely caught off guard.

A quiet chuckle left him as he noticed your reaction. He set the lid back down and began walking towards you.

Your breath hitched when he closed the distance. His fresh scent—clean, minty, just out of the shower—wrapped around you, sharpening your senses in an instant.

“Relax,” Jungkook said softly, his tone calm and steady as he gently placed a hand on your arm.

The touch was light. Grounding.

Warmth spread through your skin immediately, like your body had finally registered his presence all at once.

You nodded too quickly, blinking as if that could reset your brain. Your heart was pounding so hard you were convinced it had to be audible.

Jungkook smiled slightly, looking down at you. “Hmm, look at me.” he said when you kept avoiding eye contact.

You tried—but the moment your eyes lifted, you almost froze again.

Dark doe eyes met yours, steady and unreadable, holding you in place. His right hand lifted your chin just as you instinctively tried to look away again.

“Sit down on the couch for me, mhm?” he said gently, guiding you down with an easy, controlled calm.

You were so nervous, looking up at him like a shy deer. All the conversations you had prepared were completely forgotten—you were mentally blocked.

Jungkook tilted his head at you, still standing as he looked down at your form. “You okay, pretty girl?”

Your cheeks turned crimson at the compliment, and you nodded again like you had lost your voice.

Jungkook chuckled, crouching down to get to your eye level. “Talk to me, baby. Wanna hear you.”

“H-Hi,” you said in a small voice, almost choking on the words.

“Hmm, louder.” Jungkook whispered, raising a brow at you.

You gulped harshly, squeezing your own hands in nervousness. “H-Hi, Jungkook. Nice to meet you.” you said, a little clearer this time.

Jungkook smiled, sitting beside you. “There you go. Good job, baby.” he praised. “So polite.”

You smiled back shyly, your breath hitching when he took your hands—hands you hadn’t even realized you were squeezing so tightly.

“Baby, you’ll hurt yourself doing that…” he said gently, holding your hands and lightly tracing over the faint marks you had left on your skin.

“O-Oh, uhm…”

“Do you want to eat first? What do you want to do?” he asked softly, studying your nervous expression.

He was so calm, so composed, so sweet—it made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite explain. You bit your lip under his attention, suddenly hyper-aware of every small movement you made.

His gaze briefly dropped to your lips. He swallowed subtly, something shifting in his expression for just a moment before he looked back up at you again.

“W-Whatever y-you want to do…”

Jungkook raised a brow at you, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes…”

Jungkook straightened up, his gaze briefly dropping over your short dress, lingering for a moment before he looked back at the table.

“There’s a bunch of pastries you might want to try. Do you like sweets?” he said softly, opening the glass lids of the desserts in front of you.

You smiled shyly, eyes shifting towards the neatly arranged food. “Yes, I like c-cookies.”

Jungkook smiled, reaching for the tray of cookies with different flavors—chocolate chip, walnut, matcha, red velvet, and more you couldn’t even name at a glance.

You kept your eyes fixed on the cookies, forcing yourself not to look at him, especially with how near he was.

“I’ve tried walnut and matcha,” he said, pointing at a few of them.

You pouted and picked the flavor he suggested. He smiled when you chose the matcha, carefully placing the tray back down on the table.

“Do you want milk?” he asked, pointing at the bottle beside the pastries.

You nodded, taking a small bite while he poured a glass for you.

“Thank you…” you said with a shy smile.

He smiled back and stood up to get dressed while you focused on eating the cookies. When he came back, he was wearing a white shirt and black comfy shorts. He sat beside you and took a cookie for himself as well.

Jungkook was patient, sweet, and gentle with you. He occasionally asked about your hobbies, your likes, your favorite food, and small details that only your parents and Mina usually knew.

With a soft, hesitant voice, you slowly opened up—talking about how you became a BTS fan, how long you had followed them, and how much you liked him.

He listened closely, never interrupting, only asking follow-up questions like he was genuinely interested.

His eyes followed your lips whenever you spoke, then shifted to your eyes whenever you looked away. And every time your voice got smaller, he leaned in slightly, as if trying not to miss a single word—especially when you talked about him.

Neither of you mentioned the NDA.

It felt, strangely, like you were simply there to spend time with him.

You honestly thought he wouldn’t talk much, given how shy you were—but Jungkook was unexpectedly patient, giving you space to settle in and feel comfortable around him.

But then

You were giggling about his travel story with Jimin when you noticed his tattooed hands slowly settling around your waist.

“A-And what did he do?” you asked, a little startled.

Jungkook had been talking about some of their personal trips with the members. You were surprised by how open he was with you—the way he spoke during his Weverse lives was exactly the same in person: charming, funny, and easy to talk to.

You hadn’t expected him to answer your small, silly questions, but he was attentive, responding to everything like you had known each other for years. You felt, strangely, at ease.

He pouted slightly, suddenly distracted by the lace ruffles at the hem of your dress, his fingers lightly brushing and playing with them.

“Used all his perfume to spray it on the huge bug.” he chuckled lowly, his eyes still lowered towards your dress.

You giggled, imagining the chaos. “Did the bug get killed?”

Jungkook slowly looked at you, his eyes a little heavy-lidded, his hands still idly playing with the hem of your dress.

“Hmm, no.” he rasped.

Your eyes widened when he pulled you closer, his left arm circling your waist to steady you. His right tattooed hand lifted both your legs across his lap.

“You smell good.” he murmured closely, fingers now toying with the ribbons of your wrap dress.

You gulped harshly, your hands resting awkwardly on his arm for balance. Up close, he could see the details of your makeup—light glitter dusted across your cheeks and eyelids, pink gloss on your lips, a soft blush deepening from warmth, and lashes curled with a hint of mascara.

He lifted a loose strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear, then let his fingers trail lightly along your cheek.

“You dolled up for me?” he said lightly, tilting his head.

His tone had shifted—less careful now, more playful… almost teasing.

“Y-Yes… do you like it?” you asked shyly. It had taken you hours to finish your makeup, hours to pick a dress and style your hair. You were almost embarrassed when you saw that he looked so fresh and handsome after the shower, while you had taken an eternity to get ready.

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek. He held your face with one hand, almost squishing both of your cheeks. His touch was gentle, but the way he tilted your head to examine your face made you feel weird.

Made you feel wet.

“I do,” he said lowly. “I like the glitters.”

You smiled, a bit more confident now. “Really?” you said happily, leaning a little closer to him. “Matches my doll shoes right?” You moved your toes up and down.

Jungkook nodded, his lazy eyes staring at you, then down at your dress. His hands traced slow circles on your bare thighs, making you tingly.

“I noticed something though…”

“Hmm, what?” you tilted your head curiously.

He pouted. “Your dress has no glitters, babygirl.” He slightly held the end of your dress, as if examining the texture.

You pouted. “Yeah…” You looked down. “B-But—”

Your thoughts were interrupted when he softly kissed your cheek.

“Hmm…” He slowly held the ribbons of your dress, and with one hand, he untied the knot.

“W-Wait—” you gasped, eyes widening when you saw what he was doing.

“It has no glitters, baby… doesn't match your pretty little shoes and makeup." he said in a mocking tone, removing your dress from your shoulders.

“Jungkook…” you said softly, cheeks growing hot under his gaze.

Licking his lower lip, his gaze dropped to your body.

The soft swell of your breasts was hugged perfectly by the white bra you were wearing, matching the delicate fabric of your panties. The small white ribbon resting between your breasts and the top of your underwear caught his attention—something so simple, yet enough to make his cock tighten.

You looked… soft, so pretty, too cute. Ready to be ruined by him.

His hands slowly moved to the straps of your bra “Oh baby…” he said in a cooing tone. “This doesn’t have glitters as well.” He said it like it was a problem. His fingers hooked onto the straps before pulling them away from your skin—only to let them snap back in place, the sting blooming lightly against you.

You were speechless. The way he talked to you, the way he looked at you, the way he played with you—it made your body heat up, a quiet rush of warmth settling low in your stomach.

Your instinct was to cover yourself, but the way he raised a brow at you made you hesitate, a shiver running through you instead. You blinked slowly, caught between nerves and awareness you couldn’t quite name.

“Jungkook, t-this is embarrassing.” you said in a small voice.

You thought you could be confident—years of reading fanfictions had convinced you of that. You were certain you could fuck him better, that you could show him what you were capable of. Make him feel good. Please him. Make him happy.

You had been so sure of yourself—so full of it, even—thinking you could give him the best night of his life.

But the moment he touched you, your mind went completely blank. All rational thoughts slipped away, leaving you flustered and unsure of yourself, shrinking back into a shy, overwhelmed version of you.

Jungkook chuckled sarcastically. You gasped when he suddenly pulled your hair, his lips reaching under your ear to whisper.

“You signed up for this, didn’t you?” he rasped, his lips grazing your earlobe.

You squealed, his dominance eating you alive. His sweet, teasing tone was gone; the way he pulled your hair closer made you shiver.

“Y-Yes,” you bit your lip. You felt his lips move down your neck, his hot breath tickling you.

“Hmm… do you want me to elaborate on what we’re doing here?” he said in a tone like he was talking to a child. You gasped when he slightly bit your neck.

“Sorry, I was j-just—”

He removed your bra quickly, tossing it somewhere before his fingers grazed near the swell of your breast, teasing you.

“Use your pretty little brain, baby, come on…” he said harshly, suddenly pinching your nipples, making you whimper.

Jungkook raised his head to look at you, his pupils dilated. The way he swallowed harshly when he saw your round breast and pink nipples made him leak.

“Do you know…” he whispered under your ear. “How bad…” He slightly slapped your nipple, soothing it afterward by rolling it gently between his fingers. “I wanted to fuck you?”

“J-Jungkook-”

“Look at you… you’ll let me do whatever I want, right?”

You shut your eyes tightly…followed by a slow nod, stunned by his words and actions.

He raised a brow, eyes dropping to your nipples. Your vision almost slipped when he suddenly spat on them, using his fingers to spread it over your breast.

“Yeah? You’ll let me use you?” he said in a low voice, his hands now trailing down the garters of your underwear. “Like a pretty little, sparkly slut that your are.’’

You knew what he wanted—it had been clear from the very beginning. It had already been hours, and you were still shy and hesitant. You wanted this too, but you were scared to make the first move, scared to say or do something that might turn him off.

He, on the other hand, had been patient from the start—letting you settle in, letting you eat, letting you relax, asking you what you wanted, giving you time without rushing you.

You didn’t realize the way his eyes darkened the moment you entered his room—the way they wandered down the valley of your breasts, the way they roamed over your dress that hugged your curves— showing the swell of your hips, the way his gaze followed the pout of your lips. The way your cute little glitters and doll shoes made you look like a proper little slut for him to use.

It’s been more than a year.

Jungkook had been busy with tour, with the group’s latest comeback. He had been working endlessly—promoting their new songs, filming content for a variety of brands, updating his Instagram and TikTok daily for ARMYs, practicing nonstop to show his best on tour. His schedule had been packed for over a year since their comeback.

Now that the tour had finally come to an end, it was his time to relax and unwind.

Jungkook’s stamina was unreal. Despite his busy schedule, there were times he would ask his manager to arrange private, strictly confidential meetings through NDAs.

Unfortunately, their latest tour had been much bigger, making it harder for his manager to coordinate anything outside of his packed schedule. Because of that, for the past months, Jungkook had been letting all of his sexual frustrations by himself.

It started in 2017. At first, he was the one personally choosing and approving everything himself, but after a few years—once his fame and schedule became even more intense—his manager took over the process. It became less personal and more structured, handled carefully behind the scenes.

With his level of fame, everything had to be treated with strict confidentiality and formal documentation.

For years, all the NDAs Jungkook had been involved with stayed quiet—carefully kept private, out of fear of the consequences, but also lingering with the hope of another night with him.

He was a man, after all. With his busy schedule and global fame, there was no room for commitment or long-term relationships. Everything in his life moved too fast, too publicly, too tightly controlled.

Because of that, he relied on brief, private arrangements—carefully managed and kept out of the public eye—to relieve stress and maintain some sense of personal balance amid his packed schedule.

It was almost like something carefully curated over time. He didn’t have a specific type, but his manager knew him well enough to anticipate what he was comfortable with. Over the years, everything had become more structured—quiet introductions, formal agreements, and strict confidentiality before anything could proceed.

After the tour, Jungkook had been particularly insistent on arranging an NDA soon. The long schedule and constant pressure had built up, and he needed a way to release the pent up sexual frustration.

When the team decided to extend their stay in the country after the final stop, his manager quietly began looking into possible private, strictly confidential arrangements handled under NDAs.

It wasn’t urgent—more of a routine precaution when they had extended time in one location. In most cases, it was beneficial if the person involved was already an ARMY, since familiarity with boundaries and expectations made things easier. Over time, most of the people who signed were fans in one way or another, while others were simply individuals who happened to be in the right place at the right time and agreed to the confidentiality terms.

Jungkook himself rarely interfered with the process. He trusted his manager to handle the details, especially during tours and rare breaks when privacy mattered more than anything else. The goal was simple: rest, recovery, and avoiding unnecessary exposure.

That was why his manager moved discreetly when he saw you—subtly noting your presence, your behavior, and your isolation from the crowd before eventually placing a small calling card on your table.

When Jungkook saw you standing in front of him, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, all his rational thoughts slipped away for a moment. You looked so sweet, ready to be used.

Jungkook was unbearably horny.

He wasn’t the type to extend another night, even with a potential NDA—but he was the type who wouldn’t stop fucking you once you stepped into his space. The kind who fucked hard. The kind who took control and dominated you without hesitation. The kind who would leave marks—bruises that lingered long after the night ended. Whether you were the shy type or the bold type, you would fold once he touches you, once he pulls your hair and manoeuvres your body to his own liking.

He’s mean when he fucks, praising you in a degrading way… though he would always start off sweet, to ease the tension, with his usual kind self and bunny smiles.

But, afterwards?

He would fuck you like a dirty whore, play with you like a little toy, use you like a cum dump.

When he noticed how hesitant and vulnerable you were, he took the lead by making sure you were comfortable at first. But his patience was running thin. Your sweet scent engulfed his senses—your soft voice and small giggles, your shy smile and twinkling eyes—it all made his cock twitch.

It had been months—too long without a proper release. At first, he wanted to take his sweet time with you, but your hesitance and shy demeanor were driving him crazy. Jungkook wanted to bend you over and fuck your unused holes, wanted to wrap his hands around your neck, wanted to fuck your pretty mouth until you were gagging and crying for him, wanted to feel your warm pussy wrapped around him until he could no longer think straight.

He forcefully ripped your underwear, leaving red marks on your thighs. Your body was now fully exposed to him.

“Pretty girl,” he mused, when his gaze dropped at your pussy, you instinctively closed your legs.

He gripped your thighs, forcing them open so he could look at your cunt. “Pretty little pussy.” he whispered, staring at your cunt with a faint shine visible from your wetness. “Acting so shy yet your pussy is soaking.”

“Jungkook, p-please…” you pleaded, slightly moving your legs.

“Aww, a few moments ago you wouldn’t let me see you. Now you’re pleading, hmm?” he cooed.

Your breath hitched when his index finger traced the slit of your cunt, gathering your juices.

“Oh, t-that’s—” you whimpered. 

You were long gone.

He was making you so wet and turned on. Not that you weren’t already—your shyness was already getting the best of you—but the moment he took the lead, whatever composure you had left began to slip away. Your thoughts scattered, your attention narrowing to him alone, your body reacting in a way that made you feel both overwhelmed and helplessly aware of him.

Your eyes widened when he licked the finger that had gathered your wetness, staring at you while his tongue rolled over it.

“Hmm, you taste so good.” his finger, now wet with saliva, went back down your cunt to gather your juices again, bringing it to his mouth to taste it once more.

“Do you taste yourself?” 

“N-No, I haven’t,” you admitted shyly.

He placed his wet finger on your lip. “Open,” he said sharply, like he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

You slowly opened your mouth, his finger immediately sliding in so you could taste yourself. 

“That’s it… twirl your tongue, baby.” You obediently twirled your tongue around his finger, your saliva dripping down his hand messily. His cock twitched at the sight, he pulled his finger from your mouth with a soft pop.

“Get on the bed and spread your legs.” slapping your thigh lightly to urge you up.

You were almost dizzy, his words barely registering in your mind… you stood up, almost stumbling, but Jungkook caught your waist firmly.

“Careful, baby.” he chuckled lowly, your cheeks heating up in response.

Your legs felt weak as you made your way to the bed, Jungkook following behind. When you bent down to remove your doll shoes, he held your arm to stop you.

“Leave them.”

“O-Okay,” your brows furrowed, slowly sitting on the bed with your doll shoes still on.

Jungkook raised a brow at you. “Raise your legs on the bed.”

“But my shoes…” you pouted.

Jungkook chuckled, crouching down to level with your face. “It has glitters, baby. No need to remove it.”

You blinked slowly, the realization settling in as you recalled his earlier comment about your dress and undergarments not having any glitter details.

Raising your feet, you let your doll shoes rest on the mattress. Your legs were folded as you adjusted yourself, your wet cunt fully exposed under his gaze.

Jungkook’s hand moved absently over his shorts as he looked at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his attention fixed on your wet pussy. “Spread wider, baby. Hold your ankles for me.”

You spread your legs wider, holding your ankles, making yourself open for him. Your juices leaked down onto the mattress, giving him a clear view. Your cheeks and neck turned red from what you were doing for him.

“That’s it, wider.” he groaned, removing his shirt and shorts in one go. Your arms almost gave out when you saw him naked in front of you.

He was so huge—his cock red and veiny, precum leaking from the tip, his hand gripping himself, rolling the foreskin, pumping more wetness onto his mushroom head.

Jungkook moved closer, looking down at your cunt while palming himself shamelessly. “Do you like how I touch my cock?’’

You whimpered when his other hand went down to you, his middle finger sliding into your hole easily. The wet squelching sound filled the room.

“Slut,” he whispered. 

Using your wetness, he spread it around his cock like lubricant, mixing it with his precum. “You’re so wet baby, my good little whore.”

You whined, your arms growing tired from the position. When you tried to let go of your ankles, Jungkook slapped your pussy.

“Keep them open,” he said harshly, squeezing his cock tighter, releasing more precum at the tip. 

“Let me see your pretty holes, yeah?” His cheeks hollowed as he gathered saliva and spat onto your exposed cunt, letting it drip inside your wanting hole.

“Jungkook, p-please… I can’t anymore,” you whined, your body clenching around nothing. You wanted him to touch you.

“Shh, be a good doll and stay still, yeah?” he groaned, spitting down on his cock, spreading it along his shaft as he pumped faster while looking at you.

It was so overwhelming—the way he looked at you while touching himself made you so wet.

“P-Please, t-touch me.” you pleaded, your eyes glossy with need, whining when you felt more of your juices spill onto the bed.

Jungkook groaned, “Be a good fucking slut and watch me touch my cock.”

It was obscenely dirty—watching him touch his cock so fast, his gaze locked on your pussy. Every now and then, he’d gather your slick with his fingers, spreading it along his length, making himself even wetter, even more desperate.

And just when it looked like he was about to cum—he stopped.

His hand tightened around the tip, squeezing just enough to hold himself back, dragging the moment out, edging himself with a restraint that only made it worse.

“Fuck!” he quickly kneeled down in front of you, his face now very close to your pussy. When you looked down, your eyes fluttered when you saw him staring closely at your twitching hole.

“You look so tight,” he groaned, his finger tracing your cunt lightly.

“Koo…” you moaned, already shaking from the contact.

He kissed your inner thigh, occasionally biting the soft skin to leave marks. When you were already getting too whiny, he leaned in closer, his tongue pushing inside you.

“Oh, Jungkook—” you moaned loudly, the feeling of his hot tongue inside your hole making you quiver. He was pushing his tongue so deep, like he wanted to collect all your juices.

“Mhm,” he moaned, the vibration giving soft pulses down your clit. He collected all your juices, sucking them as much as possible, going deeper and deeper just to spit it right back up on your swollen clit.

“Oh my gosh—” you whimpered. He was making you as messy as possible. When he wrapped his lips around your clit to suck, you almost saw stars from the pleasure, the sensation pulsating through your whole body making you roll your eyes back.

“You like that?” he murmured while sucking your clit, his tatted finger going inside your hole, releasing more juices from you.

You nodded almost instantly, holding your ankle tighter. When he nipped harshly on your clit, you almost dropped your legs, shaking from how good his lips and tongue felt. He looked up at you, still sucking your clit while inserting another finger inside you, instantly brushing your sensitive spot.

The way his middle and ring finger brushed your g-spot made your clit pulse. With the pressure of his lips around your clit, you were close to cumming.

“Jungkook, I-I’m gonna…”

“Go ahead baby, wanna eat your cum,” he whispered against your cunt, sucking harder, his fingers moving aggressively inside you.

You were shaking. When you felt your high building, you almost pushed him away, letting go of your ankles to grip his hair.

“Jungkook! S-Stop,” you pleaded weakly. The pleasure was too much, too intense. His pace did not falter, his hand pressing your lower stomach down.

When he removed his fingers, you thought he was done, but he immediately rubbed your clit in circles, spitting down on your hood while holding your wriggling body in place.

You moaned loudly… his fingers, his mouth, his spit—all of it pushed you over the edge. You came so hard you almost fainted. 

He still didn’t stop- you were overstimulated, trying to push him away, but he wouldn’t let you, drawing more release out of you. The pressure of his fingers dragged you into another climax, making you squirt messily around him, splashing his face, his neck, his body.

“S-stop, please Koo…” you cried, shaking uncontrollably as you squirted again. His fingers still didn’t stop. His dark eyes stayed fixed on your swollen pussy, amusement etched across his face.

“Messy girl, good job baby.” he cooed, giving your pussy a light slap to coax out the remaining slick.

Your cheeks were wet with tears, your body weak from orgasm. He leaned down, holding your cheeks gently to make you look at him.

“Poor baby, let me wipe your tears, hmm?”

He leaned down, licking your tears slowly, his hot tongue dragging wetly across your cheeks.

You whimpered, your body barely holding itself together. His lips moved down to your nipple, sucking the hard bud softly, while his other hand caressed your other breast, pinching and rolling your nipples.

His hard cock grinds against your spent pussy, his swollen tip smearing messily against your slit, spreading his precum all over your cunt.

“Koo…” you said softly, still tired and hazy from your release.

His mouth moved to your other nipple, his teeth tugging slightly, making you gasp. You were certain you would have bruises—the way he sucked your nipple mirrored how he had sucked your clit, lingering just enough to draw a reaction, coating it in spit before taking it fully into his mouth.

“Baby, can you feel how hard I am for you?” he whispered, his cock grinding slowly against your wet pussy, his tip brushing your clit… making you wetter again. “Do you know how long I wanted to fuck a nice warm pussy?” He grabbed your neck, your lips parting instinctively. He took the chance to spit into your mouth, leaning down to slip his tongue in messily, swallowing your moans and protests. His grip tightened each time you whimpered.

“Been touching my hard cock for months baby,” His movements were slow, deliberate—drawing arousal back into your body. “Need your tight pussy so bad.” The way he rolled his hips against you, the way he silenced you with his tongue so no protests could leave your mouth.

“You wanted this?” he groaned against your lips, releasing your neck only to squeeze your breast harshly.

“Ouch, Koo—”

“Answer me,” he said sharply, tapping your right cheek.

“I w-want this,” you said with glossy eyes, small hands gripping his arm tightly.

He tilted his head at you. “Yeah? You wanted to be fucked like a slut don’t you?” he taunted, sitting up to squeeze his cock, teasing himself by twirling his index finger over his tip. “Are you a slut? hmm?”

You nodded weakly. “Would do anything for y-you.’’ you said shyly.

Jungkook raised a brow, standing up at the edge of the bed. “Come here then, crawl to me.”

It was degrading, the way he treats you like a slut for him to use… yet it makes you wetter, makes you hornier. You crawl towards him like a good whore, looking up at him with pleading, sparkly eyes. Your makeup is ruined, your hair disheveled, your doll shoes still intact, making you look like a ruined sex doll.

“Good girl, now wrap your hands around my cock.” he rasped, holding the base out for you. When your small, shaky hands felt his veiny shaft, you almost came again. It twitched in your grip, hard and flushed red at the tip.

He groaned. “Spit on it, baby. Make it nice and wet for me.”

You spat on his cock, spreading it around the base before moving your hands up and down, rolling the foreskin as you worked him. He moaned loudly, head tipping back, jaw clenched, sweat forming across the expanse of his chest.

“That’s it, what a good little whore.” he praised, caressing your hair.

You tried your best to make him feel good. You raised your other hand, spitting into your palm and spreading it together with his precum.

Jungkook groaned at the sight. Using both of your hands, you made a twisting motion along his length, looking up at him like a good girl.

“I w-want you,” you said with a bit of confidence.

Jungkook cursed under his breath. “Suck my cock.” He slapped your hands away, then pulled your hair, forcing you to take his cock into your mouth. His breath hitched when he felt you gag around him, your nose pressed against his pelvis, your eyes turning watery.

“Take it,” he groaned harshly, guiding your head up and down like you were his personal fleshlight. You tried your best to take him, even though he was so big in your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

It was sloppy and nasty. Your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock, tracing the mushroom tip while you hollowed your cheeks and sucked hard. Spit and precum was leaking down your chin, your eyes glossy and red, the way you twirled your tongue to trace the veins of his cock made him groan.

“Hands behind your back,” he panted.

You immediately did what he said, your body fully under his control. When he pushed deeper, your face pressed against his pubic hair. You choked, saliva and precum bubbling at the corners of your mouth, you want to tap his leg, the air in your lungs limited.

“You look so pretty with my cock- fuck! I’m gonna cum.” he grunted, keeping you close until you felt the liquid heat spreading inside your throat. He forced you to swallow, keeping your face snug against his pelvis so not a single drop would spill.

When he released your head, you almost collapsed onto the bed. Your eyes were red, your mouth slightly bruised, and your neck ached from the way he had angled your face. Due to exhaustion, you let him maneuver your body, pushing you down and flipping you over.

“Bend over, baby. I’m not done using you.”

He was still hard, giving his cock a few more pumps before guiding it towards your pussy.

“Open your pussy, baby. Be a useful slut and spread yourself for me.”

With weak hands, you reached back to spread yourself for him, opening your folds. Your wetness leaked down your inner thighs.

“Look at you. You just came, yet your pussy already wants more… dripping all over my sheets like a whore.” he said mockingly.

You whimpered. “P-please, f-fuck me.” You were almost crying, your arms tired and your body aching from the position, but you wanted to please him so badly, wanted him to use you till you could no longer take it anymore.

Jungkook chuckled behind you. You thought he would tease you again, but you gasped when he suddenly pushed his cock inside you. Despite your earlier orgasm, the stretch was still painful, making you scream into the sheets.

“You’re so tight, fuck.” he groaned, looking down at his cock getting swallowed by your tight pussy.

He leaned down, pressing your head down further, his cock pushing deeper and deeper, making you squirm in both pleasure and pain.

“Fucking slut, so tight around daddy.” he whispered, your face buried in the sheets.

You clenched around him, whining against the mattress.

“Oh, you like that?” he taunted, pushing deeper until he reached your g-spot.

You could feel every drag of his cock inside you—his veins, his mushroom tip. The stretch was so good you were close to cumming, clenching around him as he fucked you deeper.

“Stop that, baby, I’m gonna cum.” he almost laughed, pulling your hair up so he could see your face. “Want to fuck you for hours, baby. I’m gonna use your tiny hole till daddy can’t release cum anymore. Do you want that?”

You whimpered, “Yes, d-daddy.”

He groaned harshly; the way you called him made him even hornier. He pulled out and shifted down on his side, pulling your body snug against his chest, your back pressed against him. “Keep your legs up,” he whispered, holding his cock and directing it against your leaking hole.

You didn’t expect to be fucked by Jungkook sideways. He held your waist while driving his hard cock into you, your legs spread wide in the air as his lips nipped harshly at your neck.

“Feels so g-good, daddy.” you moaned, your body bouncing slightly from the force of the way he was fucking you.

Jungkook bit your neck, his hands moving down to rub your clit. “Uhuh, daddy’s gonna fill you with so much cum and you’re gonna hold it like a good girl.’’

You moaned, trying to bite your moans back, but Jungkook slapped your clit harshly. “Moan louder,” he groaned, his balls hitting your ass as he pushes his cock all the way out just to push it harder all the way in.

“J-Jungkook.” you moaned, eyes rolling back.

“Louder.”

“Jungkook!” you moaned louder.

“Good girl,” he chuckled behind you, his fingers coming back down to rub your clit again.

You could feel your cum dripping down your thighs, the loud squelching sound of his cock fucking into your pussy and his deep groans pushing you to the edge. When he gave your clit a good rub, you came all over his cock, your pussy clenching around his girth, releasing so much cum. You held his wrist to stop him, your thighs shaking—you were certain you almost drooled from the deep pulses your cunt was producing.

Jungkook groaned behind you. You gasped weakly when he removed himself inside your twitching pussy, your cum leaking onto the mattress, but he immediately lowered his head to catch your cum, wasting no drop.

“I c-cant, too much!” you cried.

Jungkook held your thighs firmly, slurping all your juices like a starved man. When he raised his head, his chin and nose were wet from your arousal. Using both his index fingers, he opened your hood, exposing your puffy clit. He leaned down to suck it, and you gasped when you felt your cum and his warm saliva spreading.

“Oh daddy,” you moaned, another wave of pleasure rolling through your body.

He looked up at you, his tongue giving kitten licks on your clit. “Are you daddy’s good girl?” he murmured against it, his thumb circling the bud, the dual sensation making you lose your mind. “Do you like how daddy eats your pussy?”

“Yes daddy, it f-feels nice.”

“Nice?” Jungkook chuckled, sucking his thumb before rubbing his spit all over your clit. “Is this nice?” he mocked, looking at your bud as it looked so swollen and pink.

“Describe nice for me,” he growled before standing up, carrying you with him. Your thighs wrapped around his waist as he walked beside the large mirror. Using both of his hands, he held your ass and pushed his cock inside your used hole, using almost no strength to lift your body just to push you up and down around his hard cock.

You could see your reflection in the mirror—the way he used your body to pleasure himself, the way his biceps flexed every time he pushed and pulled you against him. He carried you like a feather, your body like a used, fucked-up sex doll.

“Is this… nice?” he mocked you, his lips parted as he looked at your pleasured face. He could feel your juices dripping down his muscular thighs. He chuckled at you. “Too dumb to answer, baby? Is my cock making you feel so good?”

You squealed, gripping his arms tightly as your body bounced up and down. He was going so fast, his hips snapping against you, pushing up while forcing you down, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix.

“Gonna cum, baby. Would you hold my cum inside like what I taught you?” he panted, his thrusts getting sloppy, his eyes hazy.

“Y-Yes daddy.” 

Jungkook groaned, his hands gripping your ass hard, enough that it hurt. His cock drilled in so deep that you whimpered when he pulled your body close, forcing you down as he spilled all of his warm cum inside you. He groaned beside your ear, biting your neck through his intense orgasm, balls deep and snug against your ass. Your legs were shaking; you felt so full. You tried to move, but his grip was too strong. You could feel all of his cum filling your pussy, and it was so much that you could feel some of it dripping down your legs.

You thought he was done when he removed his cock inside you. Your legs wobbled as he quickly set you down on the bed, his hands palming your pussy as if to keep his cum inside you. Your eyes almost went out of their sockets when you saw that he was still hard.

“Raise your legs,” he rasped, gripping his cock from the base as he spread the cum that was left on his girth.

When you weakly raised your legs, he could see how much cum was inside your pussy, threatening to spill out.

“Touch yourself, push my cum deeper,” he said with serious eyes while staring at your hole.

Your eyes widened. “J-Jungkook, t-thats-”

‘’Come on baby, daddy’s waiting.” 

You gulped harshly. He was slowly rubbing his swollen cock, teasing the tip while waiting for you to move. Your small hand slowly reached down to your hole, pushing his cum deeper, but some of it spilled onto the bed. You tried your best to push it in further, but your past orgasm was still overstimulating you.

“Like this, d-daddy?’’ you said shyly.

Jungkook groaned, staring at his cum in your tight hole. “Good job baby, can you add another finger for me?” 

You added another finger. It was a lot easier to push his cum deeper, but your pussy was getting sensitive. You were whimpering—the fact that he was just staring at you while rubbing his mushroom tip made you chase another high you didn’t even realize was coming. The pad of your fingers brushing against your g-spot with his cum felt so good, forcing you into another mind-blowing orgasm. The fact that you came just from pushing his cum deeper felt so dirty.

“Oh my gosh, I-fuck..” you were convulsing. You removed your fingers, trying to close your thighs shut, but Jungkook held your legs. He quickly inserted his hard cock, you were still pulsating and the feeling of his cock replacing your fingers extended your orgasm, your wet pussy clenching and unclenching around his cock.

“Fuck you feel so good, Daddy didn’t stretch you enough huh? You’re still fucking tight.” he growled, his hips making a rolling motion as his fingers pinched your nipples harshly.

Your tongue was almost out, your pussy still quivering, your clit so sensitive that even the feeling of his pubic hair brushing against it felt incredibly intense.

“Gonna fuck that tight little pussy till your loose, so that everytime you touch yourself your fingers would be too small for your gaping hole.” he grunted, his hands holding both of your wrists above your head, his other hand gripping your throat. He was fucking you so hard that your body was bouncing up. He crouched down to lick your sweaty neck, then moved down to your underarm, licking your sweat messily. You tried to move your arms, but his hold was firm, licking your other underarm and creating a huge wet mess.

“I-I’m close,” you choked, chasing another orgasm, overwhelmed by how many times you had come—you were certain your pussy would be numb after this.

“Hold it, you slut.” he bit the swell of your breast causing you to scream.

He held your body up, then laid down on the bed while holding your waist, placing you on top of him.

“Ride my cock.”

Desperate for release, you positioned your body in front of him, but Jungkook stopped you.

“On your back, babygirl.” he tapped your thighs.

Your cheeks reddened as you positioned your body with your back facing him. When you sank down, you immediately moaned, your ass against his lower stomach. The stretch felt so good, the veins on his cock filling your spongey walls perfectly.

“That’s it, make daddy proud.” he groaned, holding your waist while you moved up and down on him. Your legs were aching, but you didn’t care. When you felt his right tattooed hand slapping your ass, you almost came.

“You look so pretty.” you heard him whisper, his hand caressing your ass, your brows furrowed when his hand went deeper.  “Lower your body for me.”

Confused and a bit dazed, you lowered your body while still riding him. You shrieked loudly when his fingers played with your exposed rim, circling around the hole. You held his thighs, squeezing them hard when he tried to push his thumb in, the stretch making you shiver.

“Would you let me fuck you here, baby?’’ he whispered, pushing this thumb deeper, your tight walls swallowing him.

You haven’t done that before—you can’t even imagine it. He was the first man who touched you there. You were in so deep that you desperately nodded, clenching around his cock as the thought excited you.

He chuckled, “You’re so dirty baby, gonna let me fill all your holes hmm?”

You nodded again. “Yes, only for you J-Jungkook.”

“Yeah? you love me that much huh? I bet you hump your little cooky plushies thinking it’s my hard cock instead.”

He removed his thumb from your ass just to insert his middle and index finger, causing you to scream at the stretch. Your movements slowed down from the sensation.

“Do you fantasize about me? Fantasize about your bias fucking your slutty holes?’’ he taunted, pushing his fingers deeper, his hips pushing up to meet your thrusts.

It was embarrassing; you didn’t answer, afraid to admit the dirty things you did every time you thought of Jungkook—afraid to admit how dirty you were behind your shy demeanor and innocent looks. You liked him so much, idolized him for years, dreamed about meeting him, dreamed about attending his concert, and in your most hidden fantasies… you dreamed about being his girlfriend, what it feels like to be loved by him, to be fucked by him.

“Hmm baby? I bet you do.” he chuckled. 

He removed his fingers, slapping your ass cheeks, then flipping you down onto the bed. You couldn’t maintain eye contact, your fingers fiddling with the sheets when he went down to grind his cock against your pussy, both of his arms beside your head.

“Aww baby, are you shy?” he cooed, pushing his cock inside you, trying to find the angle that hits your spot.

You pouted, your eyes a bit hesitant. He held your cheeks so you would look at him. “Don’t worry… daddy’s here, I’m gonna fuck you so good.” 

He spit into your parted mouth, urging you to swallow before fucking mercilessly into your tight hole. He held your thighs, almost folding you in half. Your pussy was so stretched and swollen. He leaned down to whisper moans in your ear, his movements so fast you were impressed by his stamina at this point.

“Cum with me baby,” he panted, his thrusts getting sloppy, his mushroom tip hitting the right spot.

Jungkook forced you into another orgasm. You thought you wouldn’t cum, but your pussy was pulsating so badly, his cock still drilling inside you.

He let out a strained growl, his breathing turning heavier with each passing second. When you felt him cumming, he removed his cock from your pussy… quickly inserting it into your other unused hole.

You screamed loudly, the stretch sudden and painful… you could feel his cock pushing his cum deep inside your ass, the sensation making you shake and cry. When you tried to move, he held your waist tightly, balls snug so he could keep his warm cum inside.

He kissed your cheek, “So good for me, so pretty, so tight.” he whispered.

You thought he was done, but when he kissed you hard, his tongue dominating yours, you realized he wasn’t fully sated yet. He pulled you onto the nearest table, bending you over, your hands gripping it for support.

“Lift your leg here, baby,” he instructed, lifting your other leg so you were exposed to him.

The memories were hazy—you remembered him fucking you on the table while your cheeks burned red from the way he pushed you down. You could see the reflection in the mirror, your doll shoes still intact, the table wet from your drool. After that, he fucked your breasts, urging you to suck the tip like a good little whore.

Every time you thought he was done, he would pull you back again, whispering dirty praises about how you were such a good slut for him. His stamina was so impressive, and you were also impressed that you managed to stay awake the whole time.

Even when he was washing you up, he was very sweet, washing your hair and body, yet his fingers were still trailing down your swollen pussy. You protested, but he told you not to worry, saying, “Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna rub the pain away,” while rubbing your pussy in slow circles, causing you to release another orgasm in the shower.

Before you drifted off to sleep, you felt him spreading your legs, whispering. “Last one pretty girl, let me leave you a present when you wake up, yeah? All nice and wet in the morning.” 

It felt almost unreal—like something pulled from a dream you weren’t fully ready to believe had happened.

When you woke up, Jungkook was no longer there.

Your body felt heavy, drained in a way that made even small movements difficult. You shifted under the covers, blinking slowly as reality started to settle in piece by piece.

The room was quiet. Still.

When you sat up, your gaze fell to your doll shoes placed neatly nearby. 

You stared at them for a long moment, your chest tightening in a way you couldn’t quite explain. A quiet reminder that last night had not been a dream.

You weakly stood up, wearing a comfy oversized shirt you were certain was his. Walking over to the table, you noticed a set of breakfast meals laid out—eggs, waffles, bacon, fruits, and a pitcher of orange juice.

Still a bit dazed, you sat down on the couch and stared at the food in front of you, your mind struggling to catch up with reality. Last night still felt distant, almost unreal—like something your brain hadn’t fully accepted yet. But every time you shifted slightly and felt the marks on your skin, the memory returned sharply.

It was real.

You knew the rules. You would never see him again, you would never contact him again, and anything that happened that night would stay with you—carried quietly, taken to your grave.

Your eyes grew teary, not because you regretted it, but because some part of you wished it didn’t end so quickly.

Wished it lasted longer.

You knew better—that you and him were not in a fairytale. You wouldn’t be the special girl who eventually ends up with him. You weren’t inside some ridiculous fanfiction where he would text you afterward, telling you he missed you, that he wanted to see you again, that he might even love you. Pure fiction.

Looking at the food in front of you, your eyes caught a small folded paper tucked beside the plate.

When you opened it, you had expected something sweet—maybe a cute note, maybe his number. You already knew the number he used wasn’t personal anyway, just an exclusive one-night line tied to the NDA.

“Dollshoes.”

It was written quickly, but you recognized his handwriting immediately.

You looked around and spotted a paper bag beside the bed. You stood up at once, walking towards it, your hands already shaking before you even reached it.

Carefully, you opened it.

Inside was a pair of glittery doll shoes.

You searched for a note, but there was none.

You pouted slightly, your heart still skipping at the small gesture. It wasn’t much—but it was something. At least he had left something for you.

It had been months since that night, but you would never forget it.

You told no one—not Mina, not anyone, not even in passing. You were almost afraid that speaking it out loud would make it less real… or worse, make you forget it entirely, reducing it to something that only felt like a dream.

Over the months, something else slowly clicked into place.

While reviewing your notes one day, your eyes drifted absentmindedly to your tote bag. Only then did you notice the small cooky keychain attached to it.

It had to have been what his manager saw.

A quiet sense of relief settled in you then—knowing that despite changing bags since that day, you had never taken it off.

You also tried to think harder—why did he give you a pair of doll shoes? Does he do that with all his hookups? Does he give them a farewell gift too after sleeping with them?

The thought left a strange mix in your chest. A little sadness. A little jealousy you couldn’t quite justify.

And yet, the doll shoes still felt like a strong reminder that you were once his—like he gave you something so you wouldn’t forget him.

Sometimes you would even wonder if everything that happened was only your imagination. His manager’s contact number, Jungkook’s number—gone from your phone. The NDA had included a strict no-contact clause, and everything tied to that night had disappeared with it.

Afterward, you didn’t see them anymore, and you had no idea whether they had even stayed in the country or left immediately.

The moment the marks on your body began to fade, you almost cried—like something of him was slowly slipping away from you too.

Wearing the doll shoes he gave you, you sat in a nice outdoor coffee shop with your laptop and a hot latte.

It had been almost a year.

Despite the beautiful view around you, your attention was fixed on your screen. You were writing a paper—your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment longer than necessary, like they understood something you didn’t want to admit.

You had been careful. Writing the details with precaution.

You changed the places, the countries, the names. You rewrote reality until it no longer belonged to anyone but you. Until it couldn’t be traced back—not to him, not to that night, not to the NDA that should have never felt real in the first place.

You even made sure to hide it in plain sight.

Just another fanfiction.

Just another story.

Just enough to protect yourself.

Just enough to protect him.

Your foot tapped lightly beneath the table, uneven, restless. A habit you picked up a year ago. A habit you never lost.

And then you wrote it—the memory still too fresh to feel like a memory at all.

“Please, please, please!” you whispered to yourself, fingers crossed tightly as you stared at the three screens in front of you.

And for a brief second—you wondered if anyone would believe it was just fiction.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

© 2026 ggukiebar, all rights reserved

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[jiminsafairy]

☆ my lucky star — jungkook ☆

☆ pairing : hybridBunny!Jungkook x hybridFox!Reader ☆ summary: when your best friend appears at your door begging for help, who are you to deny it? ☆ tags: hybrid au (my take on it, at least), childhood best friends, friends to lovers, unrequited love? ☆ warnings: bunny!Jungkook hybrid heat, virgin!Jungkook, DIRTY TALK, soft!dom?yn, subby!kook, heavy praise kink because jungkook loves being told he’s doing good and being called a good boy, tit play, nipple play, tit-fucking, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple positions, multiple!! orgasms, vaginal penetration, knotting, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, body worship, somnophilia (he’s needy and wakes her up in the middle of the night), cum eating, cockwarming ☆ wc: 12.7k ☆ yoru's notes: requested by the awesome @dreamersparacosm

Your friendship with Jeon Jungkook is something everyone always finds weird.

Biologically speaking, it doesn’t make sense. You are a fox. A predator. He is a bunny. Prey, soft and historically at the bottom of the food chain. In the natural order, you should be chasing him, not sharing your snacks. But life rarely follows the rules, especially not in the rough neighborhood where you two grew up.

It was a place crawling with apex predators. Wolves, bears, large cats. And then there was Jungkook.

He moved into the house next door when you were seven and he was only six. You knew from the moment you met him, hiding between his mom's legs, that he would be an easy target.

The neighborhood bullies caught on quickly, too. But they learned even faster that if they messed with the bunny, they had to answer to you. You spent half your childhood with scraped knuckles and a bloody nose, standing in front of a trembling Jungkook and daring anyone to take another step toward him.

You’re reminiscing now, scrolling through your phone on the couch, when a violent sound shatters the peace of your apartment.

It’s 9 PM, and someone is slamming into your front door. The pounding is heavy and you're on your feet in an instant with annoyance radiating off you as you march toward the entryway.

"Who the fuck is it at this hour?" you mutter. You're ready to chew out whoever is trying to break the door down. You grab the handle and yank it open, the words already flying out of your mouth. "Someone better be dying or–"

The rest of your threat dies in your throat. You were prepared to fight, but the sight in front of you brings you to a dead stop.

“Noona…”

Your best friend, leaning heavily against the doorframe, breathing as if he just ran a marathon. His skin is slick with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead.

“Jungkook?” You step forward, feeling your annoyance instantly replaced by worry. “What are you doing here? What happened?”

It’s hard to reconcile the man standing in front of you with the little boy who used to hide behind you. Back then, you were the shield. Now he towers over you. He hit a growth spurt in high school that never seemed to stop, and then he discovered the gym.

He is massive now. His shoulders are broad, tapering down to a waist thick with muscle. He’s easily a head taller than you now, a wall of solid muscle.

Over the years, tired of being seen as "cute," he did everything he could to tough up his image. You were there for all of it. He started hitting the gym religiously. You held his hand when he got his eyebrow pierced, watching the piercer wipe away the blood while you stayed glued to his side for reassurance. You were there when he got the hoop in his bottom lip, telling him he looked cool so he wouldn't panic about the swelling.

And the tattoos. God, the tattoos.

His right arm, currently gripping your doorframe so hard you’re actually worried he might leave a permanent dent in the wood, is covered in a full sleeve of colorful ink.

He even has a matching tattoo with you on his left one. It’s a small, simple star. You’d both gotten them the summer of your second year of college as a permanent reminder of the way you’ve always been each other’s lucky star.

Your best friend doesn’t look like a victim anymore. He looks like someone who could snap a predator in half, at least until someone focuses on his big doe eyes and round face, but you’d never be the one to tell him that.

Jungkook doesn't need you to fight his battles anymore. He has a good life. A solid job. A good group of friends who don’t care about his species. You like them, especially Jimin, a sweet calico cat hybrid he met in college who Jungkook became instant friends with.

But despite the muscles, the ink, the piercings, and the height, he is still looking at you with those big, brown doe eyes. The only difference now is that they’re filled with desperate panic.

“Noona,” he wheezes. “Help… please.”

Before you can get another word out, Jungkook collapses, stumbling forward and practically falling into your arms.

“Whoa!”

You brace yourself, your feet sliding on the entryway floor as you try to catch him. Or rather, as he engulfs you. He wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck, and just... lets go.

He goes completely limp against you, forcing you to stumble back against the wall so you both don't end up on the floor.

“Jungkook!” you hiss, trying to wedge your hands between his chest and yours to get some breathing room. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Stand up!”

Ignoring you, he tightens his grip, pulling you even closer against his body. He inhales sharply, dragging his nose right behind your ear.

“Mmmm,” he whimpers. “You smell so good.”And presses his lips to the side of your neck.

You freeze. Your entire body goes rigid. Heat rushes to your face so fast it makes you dizzy. You’ve had a massive, secret crush on this idiot for years and having him nuzzle your neck is doing things to your heart rate that you do not appreciate.

“Jungkook!” You shove his shoulders, using all of your strength to finally peel him off you, just an inch. “Stop that! What the hell is happening?”

You’re a fox. You know scents. And now that he’s this close, the smell coming off him is unmistakable. It’s thick, musky, and sweet.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you breathe as the realization drains you. “You’re in heat.” You stare at him, stunned. “Did you take your suppressants?”

Jungkook mumbles something, his forehead dropping to rest on top of your head, seeking your contact again.

“I forgot,” he confesses miserably, rubbing his cheek against your hair. “I forgot to refill the prescription. Thought I could... I thought I could wait a few days.”

“A few days? Kook, you’re a bunny. You don't just 'wait out' a hormonal nuke like this,” you mutter, smacking his arm lightly as you look at him. . “You absolute dumbass,” you groan, letting your head thump back against the wall.

He whimpers at your harsh tone, burying his face deeper into your hair as if trying to crawl inside your skin. "I'm sorry, noona! I'm really sorry!"

“Okay, okay, calm down,” you mutter, more to yourself than him. You need help. You need backup. “Come on, you big idiot,” you grunt, wedging your shoulder under his armpit.

It takes every bit of your strength to drag him from the hallway to the living room. Jungkook is dead weight, his feet drag on the floor as he slumps against you, mumbling incoherently about how good you smell. 

Once you get him to the couch, you practically dump him onto it. He immediately curls in on himself, clutching one of your throw pillows.

“Stay,” you order, pointing a finger at him.

He looks up at you through his messy bangs. He looks like a kicked puppy, or rather, a very sad, very horny bunny.

You need a solution, and you need it five minutes ago. Patting your pockets, only to realize you left your phone on the entryway table in all the chaos. You definitely won’t leave him alone to go get it because you don’t trust him not to follow you like a lost duckling.

You lean down to where Jungkook is curled up and start patting his pockets, your hands moving over his thighs in a way that is definitely not helping the situation.

"Noona," he whines, his body twitching under your touch. Instead of pulling away, he leans into your hands. "Please... help me, noona... please."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," you mutter, finally find his phone. You snatch it, the screen lighting up at your touch. Locked. You quickly type in the six digits of your own birthday, and the home screen slides open.

The image staring back at you distracts you. It’s a photo taken during a hike up Bukhansan last autumn. You’re leaning into his side, his arm draped comfortably over your shoulders, heads tilted together, smiling at the camera. To any stranger passing by, you looked like a happy, loving couple.

You wish.

Shaking off the thought, you scroll to his favorites. Jimin is right at the top, sandwiched between "Mom" and your own contact name. You hit call and press the phone to your ear, pacing in front of the coffee table. “Pick up, pick up, you furry little shit,” you hiss.

Suddenly, strong arms wrap around your waist from behind. Jungkook has dragged himself up from the couch and is currently pinning you against him.

“Jungkook!” you yelp, trying to maintain your balance as he pulls you against his chest.

“Hello?” Jimin’s voice crackles through the speaker, sounding amused. “Jungkookie? Are you at–” 

“It’s Y/N,” you interrupt him, trying to pry Jungkook’s arms off your stomach, but it’s to no avail. You grunt, wondering how he can be so fucking strong when his brain is clearly melting.

“Oh, hi!” Jimin chirps, sounding far too cheerful.

“I need help,” you say, your voice tight as you wedge an elbow between you and the broad chest pinning you.

“With what?” Jimin asks. “Do we need to bury a body?”

“What? No!” you huff, trying to stay upright. “It's Jungkook. He’s in heat, Jimin,” you say bluntly.

“Oh!”

“He forgot to refill the prescription,” you explain, struggling against the bunny hybrid attached to your back. “Now he’s sweating like crazy and he’s... Jungkook, stop it!” You swat the top of Jungkook’s head. He’s started licking the sensitive spot behind your jaw.

“He’s licking me!” you shout into the phone. “Did you hear that? He’s licking me! Tell me what to do! His pills? Can I go get them for him? Will they work?”

“Uh, no,” Jimin says, his voice turning apologetic. “That’s not how biology works, Y/N. The pills are suppressants. They stop the hormones from spiking. But once the spike happens… you can’t stop it.”

Jungkook groans, rubbing the front of his body against your backside.

“Sit!” you bark, spinning around to push him back towards the couch. “Jungkook, sit down right now! Bad bunny!”

He whimpers but he sits back down on the edge of the cushions. He looks up at you with those wide, glossy doe eyes.

"Don't look at me like that!" you snap, pointing a finger at him to keep him from lunging again. You turn your back on him, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck as you focus on the phone. “So what do I do?” you demand, turning back to the call. “I can’t just... leave him like this.”

“Well,” Jimin sighs. “You have two options. Option A: You lock him in a room and you let him ride it out alone. It’ll be miserable for him, bunny heats are painful if they aren't, uh, addressed.”

Unlike predators, who usually get aggressive or territorial, prey hybrids get needy. Desperately needy. It is a biological imperative for them to breed, and when a heat hits, it hits hard.

“And Option B?” you ask. You already know the answer, but you need to hear it.

“Option B,” Jimin says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “You help him out.”

You choke on air. “Jimin!”

You know exactly how to fix a bunny heat. Everyone does. It is biology 101. They need sex, lots of it. But this is Jungkook. He’s been your best friend since forever. And yes, you might have been in love with him since high school, but you push that thought violently out of your brain. Absolutely not.

“Hey, you asked! He needs release, Y/N. And not just once,” Jimin chuckles, voice low and amused. “He needs to be… attended to.” He pauses, grinning like he knows exactly what he’s saying. “And there is literally no one else on this planet he would want right now but you.” 

Then, as if he suddenly regretted saying that, he adds, “Anyways… I gotta go now. Don’t keep him waiting too long, alright?”

You frown, confusion knitting your brows. “Wait, Jimin, what do you mean he'd want to be with me? Don’t you dare–”

“Good luck, Noona! Bye!” The line goes dead.

You lower the phone slowly, staring at the black screen in disbelief. Your gaze shifts from the phone to Jungkook. He’s still pressed close, his body trembling against yours on the couch. 

"What am I going to do with you?" you ask out loud, letting out a sigh.

He's getting clingier by the second, his hands fisting the fabric of your shirt. It’s getting harder to resist. You’ve spent the last decade pushing your feelings towards him into a tiny, invisible corner of your brain, locking it away behind a heavy door with a sign that says He’s just your best friend.

But right now, that door is splintering and falling apart under the weight of his gaze. "Noona," he whimpers, nuzzling into your neck. "Please..."

You pull back just enough to cup his face. "Jungkook, what do you need? Tell me."

"I need... I don't know, it just– it hurts!”

"Where?" you ask softly, though you already know.

His eyes drop to his own lap, and you follow the movement just to see the obvious tent straining against the denim of his jeans. Heat floods your face, but you force yourself to stay calm.

Okay. Fine. Let’s do this.

You tell yourself you’re just helping a friend, a desperate attempt to keep your head on straight.

Kneeling between his spread legs, the metal buckle of his belt clinks softly as you work it loose. You grab the zipper tab and glance up. “Lift your hips,” you instruct, sounding firmer than you feel. “Come on, big boy, I can’t do this alone! Help me out here.”

He obeys, arching up with a soft groan as you tug the jeans down his thighs. You kick them aside. His legs are bare now, strong and full of muscle. Your fingers hook into his underwear and you look up at him, heart pounding. "Jungkook... are you sure? Like one hundred percent?"

"Yes, yes, please, noona," he whines, cutting you off before you can ask again. "I need it. Need you."

Pulling the underwear down, his cock springs free. It’s big. It’s thicker than anything you’ve ever dealt with. The predator in you is screaming to take charge, to climb onto those massive thighs and ride him until neither of you can breathe. 

The sweetness of his scent fills your nostrils, making you wonder if his heat is affecting you too. No. Control yourself. With a firm grip, you wrap your fingers around the base. He’s so thick your hand barely closes but you start pumping slowly, sliding your palm up to the head and back down, twisting a little at the top.

"Is this okay, Kook?"

Jungkook lets out a whine, his head falls back in pleasure. "Yes... yes!" he gasps, his hips bucking up into your hand.

You keep going, your thumb spreading the leaking pre over the head. "You're doing so good, Kook," you murmur, watching his face. "I'm  going to take the pain away, okay? Just let me take care of you."

“Tighter, noona, please. Like that... oh God, yeah.”

He’s panting, breathing hard as he watches your hand move on him. "Fuck, don't stop," he moans, his hands gripping the couch arms. The curse slipping from his lips as you twist your wrist startles you. Jungkook never swears. 

The heat must be frying his brain, stripping away that polite filter and leaving nothing but unfiltered need. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen, and it makes your own blood run hot. You speed up, your movements becoming more aggressive as you squeeze him tight.

"Noona!" he cries out. His body jerks as he cums in your hand. 

He slumps back with his eyes closed, looking calmer, but when you glance down, your stomach flips. He’s still completely hard. His cock is twitching against your palm like that release didn't even happen. 

“Are you kidding me?” you demand, letting go of him as you stare at the mess on your hands. “How long is this going to last?”

Jungkook blinks at you. “I don't know... it's my first time without the pills. With them, it's only one or two hours of discomfort. But like this... I have no idea when it’ll stop.”

He doesn't give you time to process what he just says, because he leans forward, his hands cupping your face and tangling in your hair. He pulls you in, his lips finding your neck, pressing kisses into your skin.

"More, noona," he begs, his voice muffled against your skin. "Please... it's not enough. I still need you. Don't stop now."

He keeps trailing kisses up your neck. You feel a warmth pooling between your thighs, your pussy aching, but you bite back any sound. 

But as the weight of his hands and the heat of his mouth press against you, your mind begins to shift. You’re supposed to be just helping him out, but the physical touch and his scent are doing a number on you.

You decide right then that if you’re doing this, you might as well enjoy it too. You stop fighting the pull in your gut and let yourself get just as swept up in it as he is. 

Still on your knees, firmly planted between his spread legs with your hands resting on his thick inner thighs, you pull back and meet his eyes. You’ve known him long enough to recognize that look, the one where he’s dying for something but is too shy to say it out loud.

"What do you want?" you ask. "I want to help you, Kook."

Jungkook's eyes drop to your body, then flick back up, his cheeks dark red. "More," he whispers.

"More of what?" You tilt your head as a small smile plays on your lips. “I can’t read your mind, Kook. I need you to tell me what you want.”

"More of you," he breathes, his hands fidgeting on your arms. “I want to see you, noona.”

You stare at him. Jungkook’s eyes are wide and a little desperate, like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t. It makes warmth curl low in your stomach. 

You stand up slowly, your pajama shorts riding up your thighs. His eyes follow every movement. "Okay," you say. You grip the hem of your tank top and peel it off over your head, tossing it aside.

You hook your fingers under your bra straps, loosening them before reaching back to unclip it. "Like this?" you ask. You let the straps slide down your shoulders but hold the cups in place, teasing him. "Is this enough for you?"

Jungkook's face falls into a pout, his lower lip jutting out. "No... I want to see everything, noona. Please."

With a soft laugh, you let the bra drop and Jungkook goes still. His mouth parts in silence, his eyes locked on your chest before lifting back to your face, all googly-eyed and dazed.

"Do you like the view, Kook?" you ask, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

"You have the prettiest tits," he breathes. "They're so perfect, noona."

Your face heats up at his compliment. You kneel back between his legs, wrapping your hand around his still-hard cock and start slowly dragging it from base to tip, over and over. "What do you want now?" you murmur. Your tits bounce gently with each stroke, and he can't tear his eyes away, mesmerized by the movement.

Jungkook’s gaze finally drifts up, leaving your chest to fix on your mouth instead, his lips parting slightly as he watches you. “Do you want my mouth, Kook? You want me to suck your cock?”

"Yes... yes, oh yes, please. Please, noona," he begs, his voice cracking as he looks up at you with wide, desperate eyes.

Leaning in, you part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth. Jungkook gasps sharply, his body jerking as if he's about to snap right then. "Ah!" His hips buck up, thrusting into your mouth. One hand flies to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands. "Noona, your mouth..." he whines.

You take him deeper. You slurp noisily, your free hand massaging his balls. His thrusts get messy, fucking your mouth with desperate snaps. His whole body tenses. "I'm, fuck! Noona, gonna cum," he warns. You pull off just as he's about to reach his climax. Jungkook whines, his hips chasing your mouth. "No, please! I was just about to–"

“Ah, ah,” you say firmly, shifting back just enough to look at him while adding, “I don’t trust you not to choke me because you're being way too aggressive.”

Shifting up, you press your tits together around his length and slide them up and down. You lean forward to lick at the tip. “You like that, don’t you? Such a horny bunny, fucking noona’s tits.”

“Yes... oh, yes.”

You smile, moving faster. Jungkook’s head throws back, a moan ripping from him as he climaxes. Hot ropes of cum shoot out, splashing all over your tits, coating your skin and dripping down into the valley in between.

You grip the base of his cock and drag the still-leaking tip over your nipples, smearing the mess across them. He's still hard, still twitching in your hand, refusing to soften even after all that.

Completely undone, Jungkook stays sprawled out, blinking up at you with nothing but adoration. "Thank you, noona... You're so good to me," he murmurs. "It felt so good..."

You, however, are far from fine, as your shorts are soaked through and you’re aching to be filled. You look down at yourself, then back at him.

“You really couldn't hold back, could you?” you tease, while you watch him try to catch his breath. “Look at the mess you made, Kook,” you murmur, gesturing to your chest where his seed is smeared over your skin.

His eyes follow your hand, staring at the marks of his release all over you. "Sorry, noona," he whispers, though he doesn't look sorry at all.

"Sorry won't buy you out of this one, little bunny," you say. You reach down and drag a finger through the mess on your skin, then bring it to your mouth to lick it clean while you hold his gaze. “What are you going to do about it?” you challenge, tilting your head.

Jungkook’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip. He catches his piercing between his teeth, giving it a tug as his eyes stay fixed on your chest. “Let me clean it,” he says.

“Oh? And how exactly are you going to do that?” You ask, smacking the tip of his cock against your tits. You let go of his length and plant your hands firmly on his thighs. “Tell me, big boy.”

“With my mouth,” he breathes while sitting up, his hands sliding to your waist to pull you closer. You weren't expecting him to be that direct as he adds, “I want to clean your tits with my mouth.”

With a soft chuckle, you move, climbing onto his lap and straddling those thick thighs. The moment you settle, his hard length presses firmly against your pussy, and the way he rubs against you through your shorts makes your blood boil.

Leaning forward, you press your breasts right over his face, offering them up. "What are you waiting for then? Be a good boy and clean noona's tits."

Mouth opening wide, he latches onto your nipple, tongue sweeping over the slick warmth coating your skin. Then back and forth between them, his face buried in your chest as he tastes you.

“Mmm, yeah,” you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair. “That’s it, Kook. Sucking my tits so well.”

Praise is like fuel to him. He whines into your flesh, his mouth working harder. His tongue moves in circles around the peaks to make sure he doesn't miss a spot. When he pulls back, you can see his lips glistening. “Do you like it, noona? Do you like how I'm cleaning you?” he asks with a trembling voice.

“Mmm. You're doing so good.”

He smiles, looking pleased with himself, and goes right back to your tits. As he feasts on you, his hips start to move, driving up and rubbing his hard cock against your clothed pussy.

You pull his hair tighter, forcing his face deeper into your skin while his hands slide from your waist to your ass, digging into your cheeks through the fabric as his hips keep grinding up into you. The angle shifts slightly, his cock dragging right against a spot that makes you moan loudly.

“Am I doing it right, noona?” he rasps as he looks up at you, thrusting up again. “Right there?”

“Yes, right there!” you sob, your body starting to shake as he keeps rubbing against that sensitive spot. “Just like that, Kook. Don’t stop.”

You start moving your hips in sync with him, grinding down hard to meet his moves while his fingers dig so deep into your asscheeks that you’re sure he’ll leave marks. 

“You're so sensitive, noona,” he says before latching back onto your breast and sucking even harder. You scream as you climax, and a moan tears from his throat as he slams his hips up one last time before reaching his peak too.

Jungkook stays seated with you straddled over him, hugging you tight with his face buried in the crook of your neck while he tries to find his breath. You can feel the damp heat where his release soaked into your clothes.

"Are you feeling any better, Kook?" you murmur, asking even though you can still feel him stone-hard against your pussy.

"A bit," he rasps. "But... not much. It still feels like I’m lost in a fog."

You pull back to look him in the eye and see his pupils are still huge, looking at you with a stare so heavy with lust and something more that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.

“Aww, my poor bunny,” you coo softly.

His hands are locked onto your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as if he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go. His eyes drop to your lips. "Noona," he whispers, looking incredibly needy. "Can I kiss you?"

Your brain short-circuits. "W-what?"

You can feel yourself blushing. It’s ridiculous. You’ve had his mouth on your tits for the last ten minutes but a kiss feels like a line you can't – you shouldn't – cross. 

Once you find out how he tastes, there’s no going back. You won't be able to forget how his mouth feels, or how that lip ring feels against your lips. You're basically handing him the keys to ruin you if you agree to it.

"We– we can't, Jungkook," you stammer, your voice faltering as you scramble for a reason to say no. Even as your words stumble, every part of you is screaming yes. You’re aching to feel him closer, to kiss him, to let him have you. Your hands itch to reach for him, to pull him in. "I..."

"Please... please, noona. I want to kiss you. Why don't you want to kiss me?” He whines, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. 

"I don't know!" you snap, your mind racing for an excuse.

Jungkook lets out a long, pathetic whine. He tugs you forward until your forehead is resting against his.

“If I don't kiss you right now, I think I'm going to explode. Just one. Please,” he pleads, looking up at you from under his lashes. 

Your resolve crumbles. "Fine," you breathe. "Okay. Just one."

You lean in slowly and his hands slide up to cup your jaw, tilting your head. When you can feel his breath against your lips, you stop, but Jungkook doesn't. The distance shrinks until his lips finally crash against yours.

His lips are warm, soft, plump. The cool metal of his lip ring presses against your bottom lip, and he’s teasing it with his tongue, sucking gently, dragging it over your lips. 

You can’t get enough. You want to melt into him, to drown in this moment.

Your shorts and his shirt feel like a barrier you don’t want there anymore. Every fiber of you aches to feel his skin against yours, to grind into him freely. You want to feel your skin against his. 

If this is your last and only chance to have him, you’re going to make the most of it. You’ll deal with the consequences of a broken heart later; right now, you just need him.

You’ll deal with the consequences of a broken heart later, right now, you just need him.

Breaking the kiss, you grab the hem of his shirt, peeling it over his head and tossing it. Now, he's sitting there in nothing but that silver chain you got him for his birthday, and since you gave it to him you’ve never seen him without it.

The fabric falling away reveals his chiseled abs, slick with a fine layer of sweat. Messy from your fingers, he looks devastatingly handsome. You wish you could take a picture, frame it, and put it in your living room just so you could stare at this version of him every single day.

Shifting on his lap, you rub your pussy directly against his hardness, feeling the way he tenses beneath you. “Kook,” you breathe, nipping at his neck, “I want you inside me.”

Jungkook stiffens. He pulls back, his hands freezing on your waist.

“What? What’s wrong?” you ask, your brows furrowing. “Did I say something?”

“No! No, you didn't do anything wrong! It’s just that…” He pauses, his voice turning into a hesitant whisper. “Noona, I've never…”

You blink, stunned. Your brain stutters. No way… he can’t mean what you think he means, right? 

“W-what? But I thought that with Sohee... I thought you two...”

Sohee. His ex-girlfriend. They dated for a while after meeting in his second year of college, and during that time, your "best friend" face was working overtime.

You didn't hate the girl, she was cool and nice, which almost made it worse, but you weren't about to be that cliché of the pining best friend trying to snatch a guy away from his girlfriend. You had way too much pride for that.

So, instead of sitting around moping, you went on a mission to distract yourself. It was a period of distraction, rebound after rebound with anyone who could take your mind off the fact that Jungkook was holding someone else's hand and kissing someone else's lips.

You spent every weekend out, waking up in different beds and trying to convince yourself that the variety was better than the one person you actually wanted. 

You were trying to drown your feelings in a sea of nameless faces, and for a while, it almost worked. It definitely wasn't your proudest moment, and you’re still not a fan of how you handled it, but at the time, it felt like the only way to survive watching him be with someone else.

They broke up after half a year. Jungkook never wanted to talk about it and you respected his wishes.

“No,” he says nervously. “I... I mean, we never went that far.” He looks up at you.

“Kook, it’s okay,” you say softly, cupping his face. “We don’t have to go any further. I can still help you out with my hands or my mouth.”

You start to shift, moving to climb off his lap, but his hands snap back to your hips, pulling you down hard.

“No!” he gasps. “I want to! I really want to. With you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you.”

He nods vigorously. “I’m sure. Please.”

You take a breath, trying to calm the pounding in your own chest. “Well, let me take these off first,” you murmur.

You stand up just long enough to slide your shorts and panties down your legs. Once you're bare, you climb back onto him, straddling his thick thighs. Your wet pussy presses directly against his length, and you both let out a moan at the contact.

"Noona," he gasps, his hands shaking as they find your waist. "You're so soft. You feel so good."

"You too, Kook," you whisper, leaning down to kiss him again. "Are you ready?"

He just nods.

You reach down and wrap your fingers around him, lining the blunt head of his cock up with your entrance. Jungkook’s hands are trembling where they grip your thighs.

“Noona, wait,” he gasps. He looks down at where he’s pressing against you, his face full of worry. “I don’t want to hurt you. Are you... are you sure you’re ready to take me?”

You don't even bother answering with words. Instead, you take his hand and press his fingers directly against your soaking wet folds so he can feel exactly how ready you are. 

"You're so wet..."

"For you, Kook," you whisper, and as the words leave your mouth, his eyes widen. He looks at you like you’re the only anchor he has in the middle of this storm, his hands trembling where they grip your thighs. “I’m going to be fine. I promise.”

Slowly, carefully, you begin to lower yourself down.

Jungkook lets out a moan and you hiss as the stretch starts – he is so fucking big. It feels like he's going to split you in half, but it's a good ache, so you keep going until you've forced your body to take all of him.

You let out an involuntary whine once you're fully seated. Jungkook, who had been staring at the point where you’re joined, looks up at you, his entire body freezing.

“What? What’s happening? Did I hurt you?” He starts to lift his hips, trying to pull out, but you slam your hands onto his shoulders to keep him pinned.

“No!” you pant, your eyes watering slightly from his size. “You’re just... you’re so big, Kook.”

A bit of cocky pride crosses his face at that. You see the shift in his eyes and decide to bring him back to earth before his ego gets as big as his muscles. You lean down, nipping at his earlobe until he lets out a startled huff.

His hands are gripping the couch as if he’s about to rip the fabric. “I don’t know if I’ll last long, noona,” he confesses. “You feel too good.Everything feels too good.”

“I don’t care,” you encourage as you start to move. “Just enjoy it, Kook. That’s all that matters to me.”

You find a pace, bouncing slowly at first to let your body get used to his length. Jungkook can’t do anything but moan, his eyes fixed on the way your tits bounce with each movement of your hips.

Reaching down to grab his hands and press them onto your tits, making him groan as he immediately starts pinching your nipples. "That's it," you moan, arching into his touch, "play with noona's tits, Kook... you're doing so good."

"Like this?" he asks as he tugs at one nipple.

“Yes, yes!”

You keep up the pace while he works your nipples between his fingers. When you clench your inner walls around him, Jungkook's entire body suddenly stiffens. “Noona… ah… I… I’m… oh fuck…” 

The heat inside you intensifies as you feel his release flooding you, and the base of his cock begins to swell, the knot expanding quickly until you are locked together.

“Oh,” he breathes, his eyes snapping open. His hands leave your tits, falling back to his sides. He looks down at where you’re joined, his face turning bright red. "Noona... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He keeps apologizing, looking absolutely devastated that it was over so fast.

You grab his face, making him look at you. “Kook, hey, look at me,” you say, stroking his hair away from his forehead. “It’s okay. Really.”

"Noona, this is so embarrassing," Jungkook blinks, his watery eyes searching for yours while he stays locked inside you. “I wanted to last. I wanted to be better for our first time together.”

"Shh," you whisper,  thumbing away a stray tear because seeing him this upset is more than you can handle. "You don't have to apologize."

“But I wanted you to enjoy it,” he insists, his voice cracking with a mix of frustration and shyness while his chest heaves against yours. 

“And I did Jungkook! I promise I did,” you reassure him, giving him a smile.

“But you didn't cum,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to where your bodies are joined, and you stay silent because there's no point in lying. “What can I do? Tell me what to do so you can feel like that too.”

“There’s no need, Kook,” you murmur, caressing his cheek and leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to his forehead while you try to pull him back into your space.

“Yes there is! I want to please you, noona.” He insists.

You smile at his stubbornness, taking his hand and guiding his fingers down between your bodies, pressing them right against your swollen clit. “Right here,” you whisper.

“Like this?” he asks, his touch tentative, careful. “Is this okay?”

“Mmm, yes,” you moan, letting your head fall onto his shoulder as he starts to rub. “Just like that, Kook. A little more pressure.”

He looks more confident as he watches your expression. “I want to make you feel as good as you made me.”

“You are,” you gasp when his thumb hits the spot. “You’re doing so good, Kook...”

He follows your lead. He works his thumb over you, watching your face while you melt. You move your hips again, feeling the pressure of the knot inside you.

It takes you by surprise when Jungkook leans in and latches onto your tit, drawing your nipple in. He sucks, his tongue swirling around while his thumb keeps rubbing your clit.

Your walls clamp down on his cock while you sob his name into his neck, your fingers digging into his shoulders and your voice breaking as the orgasm hits. You cry out for him not to stop, and Jungkook keeps his mouth on your breast, his thumb never stopping until you finally go limp against him.

"Was it good, noona?" he whispers against your skin, his voice sounding small and hopeful as he waits for your approval.

"It was perfect, Kook," you pant, trying to catch your breath while you melt into his touch. "You did so well."

The pressure of the knot finally starts going down, and as you look at Jungkook, he offers you a small, shy smile and reaches up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

As he gets a little smaller, you shift your weight to give him a break. But the moment you move, his length surges back to full strength inside you. You bite your lip. You might not actually survive the night if he keeps this up.

“Noona?” he rasps, his hands sliding to your waist to hold you in place. “Can we...” He pauses then, looking at you with a doubtful expression as if he’s afraid of asking for too much, before he finally whispers, “Can we do it again? It felt so good.” He leans in, pressing a series of kisses to your neck while murmuring, “I want to feel you more.”

You stare at him. You know bunnies have a reputation for high energy but this is borderline ridiculous. "Again?" you tease with a small smirk on your lips. "You're a persistent little thing, aren't you? Such a horny bunny."

Jungkook just nods and hums in response.

"Mmm," you whisper, "but we are moving to the bed. I am not letting you ruin my couch with any more of this mess."

You look at his hands on your waist, enjoying the sight of the big, buffed-up Jungkook begging you for more even though you know you shouldn't.

"And..." He pauses, biting his lip while looking surprised by his own request, but he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he asks, "Could I... can I be on top this time? Please?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." you murmur.

You slowly lift yourself off him. As you stand, you feel his release running down your skin. It’s a mess of thick, white streaks of his seed running down the insides of your thighs.

Jungkook watches the trail against your skin. His look shifts. Seeing his seed leaking out of you triggers something in him. He wants to put it back in, to fill you until you can't hold any more and plug you up with his cum.

He decides to keep the thought to himself, but his cock twitches.

You reach down, taking his large hand in yours, and tug gently. "Come on, Kook. Let's go," you murmur, guiding him toward the bedroom.

The walk to the bedroom is short. Your bed is a mess of pink cushions and soft blankets. The moment you reach the mattress, you let go of his hand and fall back onto the pile of pillows, making yourself comfortable.

“Come here,” you say, patting the mattress and offering a small, knowing smile.

Jungkook moves, crawling over you, pinning you down with his weight. He plants both hands at the sides of your head, his arms caging you in like he's making sure you can't go anywhere.

"Noona," he whispers. "Can I... can I kiss you again?"

“Mmm,” you breathe, tilting your head up and bringing your hands to his face, pulling him down to you.

“I need you,” he mutters against your lips.He begins to grind his hips. The hard, hot length of his cock rubs directly against your soaking pussy, and you can feel him twitching. “Please, noona... I need to be inside you so bad,” he whimpers, his hips snapping upward in a desperate attempt to get closer.

“You’re so impatient,” you tease, a laugh catching in your throat as you arch your back into him. “Is the big, bad bunny really that desperate? Are you going to be this whiny every time you want something?”

"Maybe," he gasps, his nose brushing against yours. “If it's you, then yes. Always.”

“You're lucky you're cute, Kook,” you murmur, watching him scramble for your approval. Sliding slightly on his lap, you let his hard length rub against your folds, teasing him just enough to make him squirm.

“I'll do whatever you want. I'll be so good, I'll do whatever you say.”

“Whatever I want... now that sounds like a good deal,” you murmur, trailing your fingers over the sharp line of his jaw. “Maybe I should make you wait just a little longer. Make you beg a bit more for it. You seem to be so good at it.”

Jungkook whines, grinding his hips even harder, the tip of him teasing your folds. He nips at your neck, hands roaming your body. 

Every motion, every teasing brush of his cock against you, makes your pulse race faster. You want him inside you so badly, but seeing him beg like this makes it even hotter.

“I'll die, noona,” he groans. “I'll actually die if I'm not inside you right now.” He continues to whine, the tip of his cock poking at your folds. “I need to be inside your pussy.”

You look at him, your own heart slamming against your ribs. You can’t take the begging anymore, not when you’re aching just as bad as he is. “Put it in, Kook.”

“Thank you, noona... thank you,” he breathes.

He maneuvers his large hands to your hips, lining himself up and pushing in, sliding back into your heat in one thrust.

“Ah, fuck! Noona! Oh God…” The moan that tears from his throat is so loud you're sure your next-door neighbor heard it. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his entire body shaking as he feels you surround him again.  “I… I can’t… So good”

“Move, Kook,” you whisper, your legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper. “Move for me.”

He starts to pump his hips. As he moves, the silver chain around his neck drapes down, the metal dancing just above your eyes. You frame his face with your hands, your thumbs tracing his cheekbones as he leans down to press sweet kisses all over your cheeks and forehead.

“Is this okay? Does it feel good?” he asks, pushing deep. 

“It feels amazing,” you reassure him,even though the slow pace is driving you crazy. “But I need it harder, Jungkook. Don't you want to please your noona?”

“I want to do everything for you,” he growls. His grip on your hips tightens until his knuckles are white. “I'll give you whatever you want.”

“Then fuck me harder.”

Jungkook shifts his weight, gripping your wrists and pinning them to the mattress, holding you completely still. His chest presses against yours, sweat slicking his skin, hair falling into his eyes as he leans in close. The silver chain around his neck swings with every slam of his hips, and your body arches instinctively, craving more of him.

He adjusts his angle, snapping his hips upward so perfectly it hits that spot inside you you didn’t even know could feel this good. "Yes! Right there! Fuck, Jungkook, yes!" you cry, fingers digging into the sheets.

Every thrust makes you shiver. His hands slide from your wrists to your sides, pressing down, making it impossible to move. You’re gasping, moaning, lost in the way he’s taking you.

“You like that, noona?” he pants. “Do you like how I'm fucking you?”

He grins against your skin, watching your body react, listening to your moans like they’re music meant only for him.

“Yes… fuck! I love it!” you cry out, your head thrashing against the pillow while you arch your back to meet him. “Harder, Jungkook! Harder!”

“I don’t want to hurt you, noona,” he rasps.

"I like a bit of pain, Jungkook. Don’t hold back." you whisper.

He bites his lip and he pulls almost all of himself out before slamming back in. Your walls clench around him. “Oh fuck… yes!”

He keeps going, pulling almost all the way out again, then smashing back in, harder this time. His cock hits so deep your stomach clenches. “Do you like it like this, noona?” he asks. “Does it feel good when I hit you this hard?”

"Yes, yes! God, Kook, it’s so good!" you sob, your fingers digging into the sheets. Since you’ve realized by now that he has a major praise kink, you lean your head back and cry out, “Your cock feels amazing, Jungkook! You’re so big...”

The words seem to electrify him, his pace becoming even more frantic as he tries to chase the high of your approval. “Really? I’m... I’m doing it right for you?”

You smile up at him, your hands sliding up his sweat-slicked chest to his shoulders as you murmur, “Mmm, Kook. The best I’ve ever had.”

“Better than Taehyung?”

The question catches you completely off guard, wondering how he could possibly know about your history with the tiger hybrid. You don't let the surprise slow you down, instead tightening your hold on his shoulders and looking him straight in the eyes. “Yes, yes... so much better than him, oh God!”

His answer is driving into you even harder. “I’m close,” he groans, letting go of your wrists to cup the sides of your face, pulling you into him. “Noona… I’m so close.”

“Me too, Kook,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his damp hair, your chest pressing into his as your own climax starts to overtake you.

He drives into you harder, each thrust sharper, faster, as if trying to memorize every inch of your body, until your muscles clamp down around him.

“Noona!” Your walls clench around him, and you both spiral over the edge together.

Jungkook collapses onto you, his weight pinning you to the bed, but he quickly recovers enough to roll the both of you over. He keeps you tucked against him, shifting until you’re draped over his chest.

The knot keeps him buried deep inside you, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you exactly where he wants you: filled and claimed.

Jungkook seems mostly like himself again. While you know the cycle isn't over yet, the release from the last few hours has granted him a window of clarity. He’s lying there, looking at you with literal googly eyes. 

You reach out to run your fingers through his damp hair. The strands are soft, falling in loose waves thanks to that perm he’d been hesitant to try. He’d doubted it at first, worried it wouldn’t suit him, but you’d pushed him, told him it would make him look even more handsome. And damn, you were right. 

“What?” you murmur with a tired smile tugging at your lips.

He leans into your touch, letting you tangle your fingers through the soft waves. “Nothing,” he answers. “Just... you're really pretty, noona.”

You huff a laugh, your cheeks warming. As the knot finally recedes, he slides out of you, almost soft now, but not quite. You know the heat is still humming under his skin, waiting for the next spike, but for now, the quiet is a relief.

A yawn stretches his jaw, and his eyelids begin to droop. The physical toll of the night is finally winning.

“Sleepy, Kook?”

“Mmh,” he grunts, already shifting.

He moves behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His thick, muscled arm drapes over your waist, his hand coming to rest firmly over your breast. “Can we sleep like this? I like having you close. I don't want to let go.”

“We can sleep like this, Kook,” you answer, settling back into him. "I'm not going anywhere.”

You can feel his half-hard length tucked between your asscheeks. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against the skin behind your ear.

Before sleep can claim you, you stare out at the shadows on the wall. You’ve crossed a line that’s been there for far too long. You’ve tasted your best friend, and you’ve let him see exactly how much you wanted him.

You feel him twitch against your back, the small jerks of his muscles telling you he’s already asleep. As Jungkook lets out a long sigh and tightens his grip on you, you push the thought away. 

That’s a problem for future you to solve. Right now, you’re warm and you’re safe, so you let your eyes drift shut.

When you wake up in the dark, you feel Jungkook hands on your body, fingers rolling and pinching your puffy, swollen nipples.

His cock is rock-hard, dragging teasingly against your ass, twitching with every tiny movement. His breathing is shallow, his lips parting as he nuzzles into your hair.

“Kook?” you mumble, tilting your head toward him, a moan slipping out as he tugs at your nipple. “Back for more already… huh?” you tease, a lazy, sleepy smirk tugging at your lips.

“I… I can’t help it, noona,” he whimpers.

“You’re being so naughty, Kook,” you tease with a smirk tugging at your lips. “Waking up your noona in the middle of the night just because you're needy?”

He nudges his face into your hair, his grip on your waist tightening. “I tried to be good, noona. I really did. I tried to go back to sleep and leave you alone, but I’m dying. I can't stop thinking about how you felt. It’s all I can see when I close my eyes.”

“Oh, really?” you murmur. “My poor, tortured bunny. You spent all that time lying here wanting me while I was dreaming?”

Reaching back, your hand finds his hard cock, fingers wrapping slowly around his length as your thumb traces over the swollen head before tightening into a firm squeeze. “Is all of this for me, Kook?” you ask.

He looks so sweet like this, a massive man reduced to a pleading mess. “Everything is for you,” he answers, his voice trembling as he reaches out to pull you closer.

“Then tell me what you want,” you whisper, idly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Shifting your weight, you guide him just enough for the tip to brush against your entrance, but stop there, denying him sliding inside. Instead, your hand keeps working on him with a firm grip, moving it slowly up and down his shaft.

“Go on,” you murmur softly. “Say it properly.”

“I want to fuck my noona,” he groans, his hands coming up to squeeze your tits as his hips twitch. “I want to feel you around me again. I want to stretch you open and bury myself in your pussy. I want to taste you too, noona. I want to eat your pussy until you’re screaming my name and then I want to fill you with my cum over and over.”

“Mmm? You want to do all of that to me? So greedy,” you murmur.

“I’m greedy for you, noona,” he pants. “I want to feel you all over me… I want to kiss every inch of you, taste you, hear you scream my name… I want to be lost inside you, noona, only inside you.”

You bite your lip, heart racing at how desperate he sounds.

“Just please, noona. Put it in. I need to be inside you.”

You move your hips, arching and opening up to give him what he wants, helping him put more of his cock inside you until you're completely filled.

A moan slips from your lips at the stretch. “God… Kook,” you whisper, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders, “that feels so good.”

Sinking his full length into your wet heat, he keeps his face pressed into the crook of your neck, his mouth pressing kisses against your skin as he pounds into you. His hips hit yours over and over, until you're both gasping.

“God, noona,” he groans, his hips moving in slow circles. “You feel so good. I can't get over how tight you are, you're so warm.”

At his words, you clench your inner muscles around him, pulling him even deeper.

He’s talking even more now. "I want to stay inside you forever," he mutters, his hand sliding down to find your clit. "I want to wake up with you still wrapped around me. I want to feel you gripping my cock all night long." He begins to grind his hips in slow circles.

"You talk so much when you're horny, Kook," you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as his thumb begins to work over your nub. "You're going to talk me into another orgasm if you keep going."

"I want to," he whispers and you feel his breath against your ear. "I want to hear you come just from my voice. I want to tell you everything I’m feeling so you know exactly what you do to me."

You turn your head slightly, catching his eye in the shadows. He looks at you with an intensity you can’t quite name, but he’s smiling at you with a softness that makes your chest ache.

"You're perfect," he whispers. You try to avoid thinking about those words and focus on him instead. "You're so good... you feel so good, noona. I never want to leave. I'm going to stay right here until the sun comes up."

He keeps thrusting, his movements getting faster and more aggressive as he leans over to kiss you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours.

"I'm close, Kook! Don't stop!" you cry out, your fingers digging into his forearms.

Jungkook only grits his teeth in response, driving into you even harder, his hips snapping against your ass with a loud, wet smack each time he thrusts forward.

A moan spills from your lips as your walls suddenly clamp down around him, your orgasm crashing through you. Jungkook follows almost instantly, burying himself as deep as he can as he fills you with his release.  "Such a good boy, Kook. You did so well for me."

At the base, his knot begins to swell, slowly expanding until it locks the two of you together in the quiet dark.

Instead of pulling away, Jungkook simply wraps his arms around you, drawing your back tightly against his chest so he can keep himself buried deep inside you. He holds you there, anchored to him, his breathing gradually slowing as sleep begins to take over again, unwilling to let you go even for a second.

When you wake later, the sun is just starting to peek through the curtains. You can still feel the stretch of him inside you, but the moment you stir, Jungkook shifts behind you and finally pulls back. 

You expected to feel relief after having him buried in you all night, but instead… it’s emptiness. You miss him. The way he fit inside you perfectly. God, what if you are addicted to this? To him? To the way he makes you feel?

"Morning, noona," he murmurs. His voice is raspy.

"What time is it?" you ask. But you don’t get an answer.

Jungkook grabs your hips and pulls you until you're flat on your back in the center of the bed. He crawls up your body, hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head as his eyes search for yours.

"You look so beautiful," he whispers, his thumb tracing your bottom lip with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He smiles, "I don't think I ever want to let you out of this bed."

"I think I'm spoiling you too much, giving you everything you want." you say back, running your hands over his shoulders and down his back.

He chuckles softly, as he leans down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His hand slides from your face down to your waist, pulling you close against him. "Can I..." He pauses, biting down on his lip ring as his gaze drops to the space between your thighs. "Can I eat you, noona? I’ve been thinking about it all night while you were asleep."

You bite your bottom lip, “Hmm… yeah” you murmur.

You watch him as he starts to move. He takes his time, keeping his eyes on yours as he leans down to kiss your tits. He swirls his tongue around your nipples, sucking the peaks into his mouth until you’re a moaning mess.

"Mmm, yes... so good, Kook," you moan. He smiles against your skin at the praise, his teeth catching and giving your nipple a playful bite. You let out a scream of pure pleasure at the sudden sting. "You told me you liked it rough, noona," Jungkook murmurs as he looks up at you.

“I did,”you breathe, arching your back toward him.

He moves lower, pausing at your hip. A smile tugs at his lips before he presses a kiss against the delicate star tattoo on your skin. He traces the points of the star with the tip of his tongue, then finally moves to kneel between your legs.

You’re swollen and soaked, his seed still coating your folds. Reaching out, Jungkook uses one finger to catch a stray drip of his cum and slowly pushes it back inside you.

"You took so much cum," he praises, his eyes locked on yours. His fingers curl around your hips to pull you just a little closer, "You're so good, noona. So perfect. I've been dreaming about doing this to you for so long." 

You blink, wondering if you heard that right, but the exhaustion is making your brain too foggy to think.

"I want to please you. I want to make you feel as good as you made me," he whispers, and leans, pausing as he hovers just inches away. 

You can feel his breath against your skin, but he seems a bit hesitant, his eyes darting to yours as you realize this might be his first time doing anything like this. 

“It's okay, Kook,” you murmur, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair and gently tilting his head forward.

His tongue is hot as he licks from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit and captures it between his lips, sucking until your hips buck. "God, yes, just like that," you moan, your head hitting the mattress while you guide his movements with your hands on his head. "A little faster, Kook... you're doing perfectly."

He plunges two fingers inside you while using his other hand to spread you wide, keeping his mouth busy and licking and sucking at you until you’re writhing against the sheets.

"Yes! Fuck, Jungkook, right there!" you sob, your fingers digging into his hair. "Are you sure this is your first time?"

Jungkook pauses, his voice muffled. “I just want to make you happy, noona,” before diving back in with even more focus.

"You're such a talented little bunny, aren't you? Using that mouth so well." You pull his hair slightly, forcing him to look up at you while he’s still buried between your thighs. His fingers pumping quickly while his tongue never leaves your clit. "Yes! Oh my God, yes!"

Jungkook keeps lapping at your clit, his tongue relentless even as you start to climax. He ignores your weak attempts to push him away, his fingers driving into you deeper and faster until your thighs finally go still and you’re left shaking.

When he finally pulls back, he looks up at you, his face smeared and wet. He wears a look of immense pride, a smug, satisfied grin on his lips as he watches you try to find your breath.

After your orgasm, you finally find your voice. "Come here, Kook," you command. 

He crawls up the bed to kneel by your head.

You look at his cock and reach out, wrapping your hand around the base before taking him into your mouth. You suck him slowly, keeping your eyes locked on his. 

Not being able to take all of him from this angle, you just focus on the head, your tongue swirling around the tip while you pump him with your hand.

One of his hands goes to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. "Noona, your mouth feels so good," he groans. His other hand finds your breasts, taking turns at them, tugging at your nipples. His touch is confident now. His fingers slide lower, grazing over your swollen clit as he starts to rub.

You keep sucking but Jungkook suddenly grips your stops. "Noona... wait," he gasps. "I- I want…"

You pull back, your lips glistening. You lean in to lick the side of his length, looking up at him. "What do you want, Kook? Tell me."

He looks away. "I... I don't know..."

"Yes, you do. Don't lie to me," you tease. You drag your tongue slowly up the side of his shaft, making him jerk. "If you don't tell me what you want, I can't give it to you. Should we just stop?"

"No!" he gasps. "I want to be inside you. I want to feel you around me when I cum."

"Good boy," you whisper, giving his cock one last, slow lick before you let him go. You give him a quick kiss, before you shift onto your hands and knees.

The bed creaks as you crawl toward the foot of the mattress. You’re facing the window now, the first light of the sunrise catching your skin as you present your ass to him. You look over your shoulder, arching your back with a provocative little wiggle. "What are you waiting for, Kook? Come here and fuck your noona the way you like it. Or do I have to do everything myself?"

He doesn't need to be told twice. He lunges, settling behind you and claiming your hips with his hands. His fingers dig in and knead the flesh of your asscheeks, making you squirm against him. He grabs his cock and rubs the head against your slit, smearing your mess everywhere until you’re whining for it.

"You're getting awfully bold, aren't you?" you chide, glancing back at him with a lazy, teasing smirk. "Thinking you can just toy with me?"

"Sorry, noona…" he murmurs, almost sheepishly as he shoves his entire length inside you. You scream as he bottoms out. He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in again.

"Do you want it harder?" he growls. "I'll give you everything you want."

You moan, surprised at how quickly he’s reading your body and how fast he’s catching every little thing that pleasures you. You can't help but wonder how he's managed to figure you out so effortlessly, as if he’s been studying you for years instead of just hours. 

“Yes… yes!” Your fingers dig into the sheets, nails leaving little trails as your hips lift to meet him. "Harder, Jungkook! Fucking hit me harder!"

He obliges, pulling nearly all the way out and slamming into you with an explosive strength that steals your breath."Oh my fucking god, Kook! Yes!"

He hits that spot again until you swear you see stars. "Does it feel good, noona?" he pants. "Tell me it feels good."

"Yes!," you moan. "You're doing so good. Such a– fuck!" You’re cut off as he delivers a thrust so deep it hits your cervix. "Such a good bunny... fucking me so hard..."

He leans down, pressing his chest flat against your back. Your hands finally give up, and you have to lay your head against the mattress. "Am I being good? Am I doing it right for you?"

"You're being perfect," you sob, your head moving against the pillows. "So good... so big... fuck."

He gets bolder with every stroke. One hand leaves your hip to grab your tit, squeezing it hard while his breath burns against your neck.

"I'm going to breed you, noona," he whispers into your ear.

You know bunnies are pre-wired to breed, and even though you're on the pill, you want to give that fantasy to him. “Yeah?”

“I'm going to put so much seed in you," he says, his voice strained. "I'm going to fill you up, noona. I'm going to make you so full of me that you can't think of anyone else. You’re going to be mine. I'm going to knot you so deep you'll never forget how this feels."

He’s relentless, burying himself to the hilt over and over until you’re nothing but a shaking mess beneath him.

"I want to see you," he mutters. "I want to see your face when I fill you up."

After pulling out, he shifts and maneuvers you gently until he’s lying on his back, then pulls you onto his lap so you’re facing him. As you settle there, you slowly lower yourself onto him, taking your time until you finally bottom out and remain still.

You look at him, and for a second, the world feels very small. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that exists right now.

"You're so pretty," he whispers. “So pretty.”

His words come out in a way that makes you think it’s not just the heat talking. You aren't able to look him in the eye right now. It’s too raw, too real. 

Suddenly hit with a wave of shyness, you duck your head and hide your face in the crook of his neck as you lean down to kiss him. You can feel him trembling beneath you, his heart hammering against your chest.

"Move, noona," he begs against your mouth. "Please move."

You begin to lift your hips, pulling up until he’s almost fully out, before slamming back down again. As you do, you watch his expression crumble, his eyes shutting while you control the way you slide against him.

He reaches for your tits, his mouth catching your nipple and sucking hard. You grab his hair, tugging his head closer to your chest while you ride him.

"I'm going to breed you," he growls again against your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak before he adds, "I'm going to put my pups inside you, noona. I want to watch you swell with my seed until you're completely full of me."

"Yes, Kook," you pant, leaning down to his ear. "Breed me. Fill me up. Be a good bunny and put all that cum inside me."

"I will," he promises, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. "I'll fill you so full it'll be the only thing you feel. You're mine... only mine." He starts bucking his hips up to meet you, gasping, "Tell me you're mine! Say it, please!"

"Yes... yes, I'm yours! Oh, Kook, I love you so much! I love you! I'm yours!"

He loses what's left of his control. His hips slam upward, driving into you with everything he has. You climax first, but you keep bouncing. You’re exhausted, your legs are shaking, but you keep moving your hips.

A loud cry rips from him as he cums deep inside you, his knot swelling and locking you together. You can feel him shivering, and you can’t help yourself and lean up and press your lips to his.

Your fingers dig into his damp hair, tugging him closer, and you kiss him like you might lose him if you stop. You want him. You want all of him. Even now, even like this, you can’t get enough.

His arms are locked around your waist, holding you against his chest when his eyes suddenly clear as he snaps back to reality. He pulls back, his brow furrowing as he searches your face. "What did you say?" he whispers. "Right before... when we were..."

Your heart stops as you realize what you let slip in the heat of the moment. I love you.

"I– I didn't say anything!" you stammer. You immediately try to scramble off his lap, your hands pushing against his shoulders, but his grip on your waist is like iron. You’re locked in place, still physically connected to him. "Kook, let me up. We need to... we should probably–"

"I heard you," Jungkook interrupts. He doesn't let you budge an inch. "You said you loved me. You said it more than once."

“Forget it!” you snap. You cover your face with your hands, a groan of pure mortification escaping you. "Just forget it, Jungkook! I was... I was out of my mind. It was the moment! People say things they don't mean when they're–"

“You're going to blame the moment?" he asks, his eyebrows shooting up. "You forget I’m the one in heat, noona? My head is the one that's supposed to be messy, not yours.”

“Well, maybe it's contagious!” you fire back, desperate to find some ground to stand on. “Just... please, Kook. Let's just act like it didn't happen. We can go back to normal. We'll get breakfast and forget I ever opened my mouth.”

I fucked it up, you think, your mind spiraling. Twenty years of friendship down the drain.

"Why should I forget it?" he asks. There’s no mockery in his tone.

"Because it's complicated!" you cry, finally dropping your hands to glare at him through watery eyes. "Because we're best friends, you're in heat and I wasn't supposed to say that! It's a mess, Kook. I messed everything up and I–"

"You didn't mess anything up," he says softly while reaching up, his large hand cupping your jaw and forcing you to look into his eyes as he whispers, "Because I love you, too."

The air leaves your lungs in a rush. You stare at him, your mouth falling open. "You... you what?"

"Why do you think Sohee and I never went further?" he asks, a lopsided smile touching his lips.

"I don't know," you breathe. "You said you weren't ready, or that it didn't feel right..."

“It didn't feel right because it wasn't you,” he confesses as his thumb traces your cheekbone. “I tried, noona. I tried with her, and I tried with others after her, but I couldn't do it. I'd be with them, and my brain would just shut down. My body literally wouldn't let me. I couldn't even stay hard for them because every time I closed my eyes, I was looking for you. I couldn't stand the thought of giving this part of myself to anyone who wasn’t you."

As he says those words, Jungkook searches your face for any sign of rejection while his heart beats like it’s going to come out of his chest. It’s a lot to process, realize how much time you both wasted being afraid.

"When I noticed I'd forgotten the suppressants, I panicked and called Jimin," he admits, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. He was the one who told me to stop being a coward and just go to your house. I was terrified, noona, but I knew it was the only place I wanted to be."

"That little traitor," you murmur with a small, breathless laugh, and even though you're calling him out, you make a mental note to send him a ball of yarn or whatever cat hybrids like as a thank you, before shaking your head and adding, "I can't believe he set us up like that."

"I'm glad he did," Jungkook whispers, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "I love you. I really do."

You’re trembling now, reaching up to tangle your fingers in the silver chain around his neck and pulling him closer until your noses brush. "You're serious? You're not just saying that because your hormones are doing things on you?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he vows, leaning in to kiss you deeply. You kiss him back, your heart racing as you finally let yourself melt into him, and he murmurs against your lips, "I love you, noona."

"I love you too, Kook," you answer, and start moving your hips again. His hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you firmly against him while you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him close, the silver chain cold against your skin as it swings between your bodies.

He leans in to kiss you again. "And…I'm sorry about... everything I said before," he mutters, looking at you. “About breeding you. My head just went completely crazy for a second. I didn't mean to go that far.”

You let out a laugh, leaning forward to nip at his earlobe while your hips keep their slow, torturous grind. “Don’t be sorry,”  you whisper against him, teasing, “Mmm… maybe not right now, Kook, but someday… who knows? You might just get your wish.” 

m.list ☆ jungkook m.list ☆ join my taglist!

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[milk-moonbunnies]

For the Rent Money

[sleazy landlord! Yoongi x plus size! Reader]

Synopsis: A power imbalance that Yoongi exploits.

Requested: Can you write plus-size girlie fics for Namjoon and Yoongi? I appreciate plus-size rep, especially when it’s for Namjoon (Yoongi too)

Warnings: mdni, 18+, dead dove: do not eat, dub/con, perv! Yoongi, depraved! Yoongi, sleazy landlord! Yoongi, plus size! reader, unknown feelings, stalking, reader doesn't know there are cameras, power imbalance, manipulation, masturbation (m.), pillow humping, multiple orgasms, dark! Love, mentally unwell! Yoongi, delulu! Yoongi, harbored feelings, toxic! Love, perv! reader?!, pet names, dirty talk, praise, unprotected smut, Yoongi big, hint at a size kink (but you gotta squint), hint of dacryphilia mentioned, dumbification, etc.

WC: 4k +

Tagging: @gottafightwhentheysaybehave

Flowers for @catiekayy, you helped reassure me that sleazy Yoongi would want cameras lmao

[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]

Yoongi starts his day the same.

He wakes up, he gets dressed, and he feeds the black cat that lingers in front of his apartment complex's leasing office.

By the time it's 7:30 am, the black cat is purring around his feet before he's had his first cup of coffee. And it's while he's lighting the first cigarette of his day that he watches you make your way across the apartment complex to catch your 8 am bus.

He stays quiet the entire time, just watching, waiting. His lips curve up into a knowing grin when you don't even realize he's leaning against the wall as you rush to the bus stop. You barely make it, and it means you'll barely make it to your job on time.

Yoongi can see the way you tense up as you wait for the bus, holding yourself tighter, trying to make yourself smaller even when you're standing alone. He doesn't know if you do it on purpose or if it's second nature to pull your shirt down every few seconds, as if it somehow will magically roll up between now and the next five seconds. It doesn't. And yet you still fidget.

He takes another drag from his cigarette, tilts his head back, and blows the smoke into the air as he keeps his eyes trained on you. He takes his time to check you out, his gaze burning from your head to your feet, and slowly back up again. You always wear something cute, teasing Yoongi with glimpses of your pretty legs, your gorgeous face, or your chubby stomach that you sometimes try to hide under a baggy t-shirt.

I mean, he could look at you all day. And he stares for a few minutes after the bus takes you away from him before he moves. He throws the cigarette onto the cement, his shoe snubbing it out before he looks down at the black cat sitting a little to his left. It stares at him, eyes dilated, and Yoongi sighs before heading back inside the office without saying a word.

Yoongi's day doesn't officially start until 9 am. That's his office hours, from 9 am to 5 pm; he goes through files, replies to emails, calls the maintenance crew for apartments that have requested it, and collects rent due from his tenants. It's not a hard job; it's honestly a little boring, but as a landlord, it has its benefits.

And one of those benefits comes from the security cameras he has placed around the complex. It's allowed him to charge rent for a higher price under the guise of security and protection, and it's a bonus for him when his day comes to a close.

By 5:15 pm, he's upstairs in his apartment, turning on his television as he sits on the couch. On his TV screen, he's got six cameras on display, all showing the inside of your apartment.

He had installed the cameras himself, personally selecting where to put them while you were away at work one day. And you had been none the wiser, the same goes for the few pairs of panties he had stolen after he finished setting up the last camera in your bedroom.

And it's like clockwork. 5:30 pm rolls by, and you enter his TV screen. His eyes focus on the way you toe off your shoes, dropping your keys onto the kitchen counter before you hang your bag on the back of one of your three bar stools. It's a routine he's learned you've had, and it still piques all of his interest while you make it further into your apartment.

Yoongi knows this is wrong. Installing the cameras without your consent and watching you in his free time, but he can't help himself.

His eyes flicker between all six cameras, following you as he leans back into his couch. You make your way through your living room, heading straight to your bedroom, and he watches as you leave a trail of clothes in your wake. This is another habit of yours.

You are completely naked by the time you make it to your bathroom, and his eyes snap to the camera that displays it all as you grab a fresh towel. He watches as you drag it back into your bedroom, and Yoongi's breaths deepen as he realizes what you're doing. His cock swells, straining against his pants as you climb onto your bed, and it's when you put a towel over one of your many pillows that he finally breaks from his trance and moves.

His fingers unbutton his slacks with ease, his eyes never leaving his television as he shoves them down. His cock is already hard, curving up to his stomach as you straddle your pillow, and when your head falls back, his cock weeps a fresh trickle of precum.

The first roll of your hips is a test. The friction you're craving is met when your pretty pussy drags along the towel-covered pillow just right. He can see your mouth drop, your eyes squeeze shut, and it's times like this that he wishes he had added audio to the cameras.

He's only talked to you a handful of times, always brief and polite, so he can only imagine how it would sound if you moaned his name. What noises would you wouuld make when your chubby cunt drools with arousal?

The thought of your pretty pussy glistening wet makes him groan out loud, his hand grabbing his cock to stroke from the base, up, until his thumb swipes his precum around the tip as your hips move with deeper rolls.

You're gorgeous, chasing your own pleasure all alone. He can see the way your body rocks, your tits moving with each hump, and he can't help but think about the first time he saw you.

-

Yoongi had first noticed you during the summer. You were already a tenant when he took over the apartment complex, and he hadn't formally introduced himself to anyone quite yet.

And to be honest, he didn't think anyone would be out this late. Summer brought the neighborhood kids to the pool from the moment the sun was up until it disappeared again. But now, it was close to midnight, no one should be awake, and yet here you were.

Yoongi had stepped out onto his balcony above the leasing office to smoke and to contemplate where his life was heading when he saw movement in his peripheral vision. His eyes flicked over to the pool that was lit up softly, giving the water a glow, and giving him enough light to see you step out of the water.

Yoongi had seen beauty before. Women who smiled with promises of more, who were wrapped up delicately like a neat bow. But it was nothing like this; his eyes landed on you, and time stopped - something inside him stirred, and all the noise in his head quieted.

His cigarette balances between two of his fingers as he watches you quietly grab your towel. Your oversized wet t-shirt clings to your body, hugging every curve and roll as you bend over to dry yourself off. He gets a perfect view of your ass, your legs, how the wet shirt rides up, and his cock twitches the longer he stares. But then you're covering up, stopping him from seeing anything more as you wrap the large beach towel around your shoulders to keep warm.

He doesn't light his cigarette; he waits, watching you lean down as he has an internal crisis. His heart stutters, his cock swells, and his other hand clutches onto the balcony rail for stability. He can barely hear you coo softly, and when Yoongi thinks he's having a heart attack, he sees a black cat saunter out from the darkness. It sits right in front of you, a little chirp coming from it as you rub its head affectionately, and Yoongi curses under his breath.

He's fucked.

-

The memory flashes quickly across his mind. His eyes are still watching you rock your hips back and forth, your pace building as the pleasure grows, and Yoongi is right there with you. He squeezes his cock, stroking to match your pace as dribbles of his precum stain his hand and roll down his shaft, filling his apartment with lewd 'schlick' noises as he tugs on his aching cock to the image of you.

This had been his routine of late. Watching you come home tense, stressed, and in need of relief. Sometimes you'd step in the shower, using the showerhead to find relief between your thighs, leaving Yoongi to stare at the outline of your figure that your shower curtain blurred. Other times, you'd bring out a pretty toy, set it up, use some lube, and give Yoongi a show (not that you knew he was watching), and Yoongi would stare captivated as you rocked back into the dildo like a cat in heat.

But this, with you humping a towel over a pillow, had been the most recent favored choice. You'd been coming home more pent up, and Yoongi was pretty sure most of your stress came financially. The inflation of the economy grew every year, but most people's income did not. It results in a lot of people living paycheck to paycheck, and it didn't help that people like Yoongi existed.

He knew the cost of living was tight. He knew that it wasn't just him but other landlords who were using the inflation of everything else to up their own prices. He knew he didn't need to; he had enough tenants to make the bills and then some, but it was all just greed in the end of the day.

And he was a greedy man.

It shows as his greedy eyes focused on the way your hips rolled erratically. The friction of the towel rubbing on your pretty clit leaves your thick thighs twitching, your head bowing as you shuddered through an orgasm alone.

Yoongi's eyes threaten to flutter closed the moment you reach your orgasm. His cock jerks as he fucks up into his fist, but he refuses to close his eyes; he doesn't want to miss a minute of you riding out your orgasm.

His legs were spread wide on his couch, his slacks shoved to mid thigh as his balls tensed up, and the first splurt of his cum landed on his stomach as he watched you. His mouth drops as he groans, rope after rope of his hot, creamy seed spilling from his mushroom tip, coating his hand and cock in white as he kept stroking.

He imagines how it would feel to cum inside you, to be the one to fuck your stress away. His cock twitches at the thought, and another splash of his cum squeezes out. And it's while he thinks about all the ways he wanted to have you, that you're getting up onto quivering legs. You grab the towel, throwing it in your laundry basket before slipping into your bathroom.

The shower switches on, and Yoongi's now watching camera four. The view inside your bathroom shows you waiting for the shower to warm up. You stare at yourself in the mirror, cupping your full breasts, turning to the side to look at your round stomach, your ass, and Yoongi might get hard again as you twist and turn to look at yourself.

But that's when he comes up with an idea.

-

Normally, when a tenant's lease is about to expire, he sends a notice to their doorstep. It's basic information regarding when their lease ends, how much it will cost to renew, how much it'll cost to go month-to-month, and that if you plan to move, he'll need a 30-day notice.

Your lease isn't due soon, but Yoongi chooses to show up personally at your doorstep on Saturday morning anyway. He knows you have it off, and he holds the folded piece of paper in one hand as he knocks on your door.

His heart races as he stands tall, and he knows this is wrong, but the depraved part of him yearns to see this flourish.

When you open the door, you don't expect it to be Yoongi on the other side. You recognize him from the leasing office, and it has you pulling your robe tighter around your soft body as you look up at him.

Yoongi was the type of handsome you'd conjure up when reading a dark romance book. His dark hair was cut in a shaggy wolf cut that grew longer in the back. He wore multiple rings on his lithe fingers, stacked silver bracelets on his wrists, and there was a noticeable scar that dragged over his right eyebrow down to his cheek.

He was devastatingly handsome, but in a way that you knew was dangerous.

And you proved yourself right when his lips curved up into a devilish grin. He doesn't say good morning or sorry for waking you up so early; instead, he lifts the folded white piece of paper up between two fingers like you had dropped it. "Just came by to give you this - new policies, inflation, we need to make sure each tenant is aware."

It sounds believable. And you ignore the tingles that race up your arm after your hand meets his. You grab the piece of paper, unfolding it in front of your landlord as you begin to read.

And Yoongi watches in real time how your mind races, your eyes rounding as you see the additional fees suddenly added onto your lease. You can barely afford rent, and if you add the new amount - you're fucked.

You can't afford to take time off from work to look for a new place, you probably couldn't find a decent place near enough to work anyway, and you definitely didn't have the money to move all your stuff either way. And you don't mean to let it slip, but your mouth moves faster than your mind as you tell him. "I-I can't afford this."

Your eyes meet dark brown ones, and you don't realize you are exactly how Yoongi wants you. Vulnerable, desperate, and looking to him for help. Fake empathy adorns his features with ease, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as your fingers crumble the paper in your hand unknowingly. "I know, it's not me, it's coming from the people above me."

Yoongi's lies come out easily. Almost like he practiced the sympathy smile before coming here. His mind swishes through multiple thoughts at once. You smell amazing up close. Your chubby thighs are on display with how your robe falls just above the middle of your thighs. And he can tell you're only wearing panties underneath that flimsy robe; it's a fact that he got from checking on his cameras before coming over.

The cold morning air blows, and your nipples peak against your silk robe as you stand frozen before him. Yoongi's mouth salivates from the sight while yours dries up at the sudden news.

Silence falls over you both as your mind reels for solutions that come up empty, and Yoongi is stepping closer. You can feel the heat that rolls off him as he runs a hand through his hair. He's acting like he is unsure, his eyes flickering from the glimpse of cleavage he gets to see from your robe before turning his head to see if anyone is outside or seeing this. Seeing him.

"I uh," his voice is softer, alluring, as he grabs your attention. You're barely registering that he is no longer outside your doorway but actually two feet inside your apartment. "I don't think I should be doing this-" he hums, and something heavy grows in your lower stomach. Your thighs rub, squeezing together as he looks you in the eye, and you catch the glint of something dark a little too late. "But maybe, maybe I could pay your fees for this month."

The air leaves your lungs all at once. If he did that, you'd be able to make rent. If he did that, you wouldn't have to worry about being evicted for at least another month.

"You-" Your lips part, your tongue wets them, and Yoongi tracks the movement with a keen eye. "You would do that? For me?" Your eyebrows furrow, your cheeks flush, and you mistake the twist in your heart as hope. "I- oh my, I would be so grateful! I don't know how I could ever repay you!"

And that's when Yoongi's lips pull up into a wolfish grin. This must be how predators feel when they catch their prey.

"Oh, well, I think we could figure something out."

-

Yoongi knew this was how it was always going to go. He has you lie on your back, your robe falling open, and giving him the perfect view of your full breasts and stomach. Your face is flushed up to your ears, your eyes all round, and innocent that it makes his cock strain against his slacks wantonly.

You were so easy to coax into showing him your bedroom. And you were so easy to agree to let him do this. He likes to think you are just as depraved as he was, selling your body to him just because he can help you with your lease.

And he's going to take good care of you. Get you to make such pretty noises as you let him do what he wants.

His palms grab your ankles, sliding up your legs until you spread your thick thighs for him. "So pretty," he hums, and your face flushes as he exposes your chubby cunt to his hungry gaze.

Your panties barely cover you, and the thin fabric is embarrassingly damp. Your panties are saturated with so much of your slick that it sticks to your puffy wet folds like a second skin. And if Yoongi were a better man, he'd take his time, give your pretty pussy a good inspection, and eat you through your panties until you were crying.

But he's too impatient.

He honestly didn't think he'd get this far, and he didn't think your body would respond to him so well. It feeds his ego, his cock throbbing with need as his fingers hook into your ruined panties. "Is this all for me?" He asks, dragging the scrap of fabric down your hips and legs until you are left in just your robe. "Fuck baby, you're dripping wet."

Yoongi's words make you hot. Your body is rising in temperature as you whimper. You don't see him shove your panties in his back pocket, but you do watch him unbuckle his belt, his fingers dragging his zipper down nice and slow for you.

"You just need a good fucking, huh? Your pretty head shouldn't have to worry about money. You shouldn't have to think about anything but cumming, huh?" Yoongi pushes his jeans down, smirking, his eyes focused on how your pussy flutters, agreeing with him.

You can see a prominent bulge in his boxers, the outline of his cock making your mouth water as he stands between your open legs. He pushes your plush thighs open wider, his multiple rings on his fingers cold on your heated skin.

Yoongi's thumbs part your wet folds, giving him an intimate view of your pretty pussy and making your eyes gloss over as he groans. "You're just perfect, aren't ya?" And before you could give him a reply, his fat thumb circles your clit, applying enough pressure to make your jaw drop in surprise.

The moan you let out is music to his ears. Your thighs are falling farther apart as his free hand squeezes your soft thigh in appreciation. He works on your sensitive clit like a toy, getting you from wet to gushing in mere minutes, your body arching and begging for more.

And again, if he were a better man, he'd prepare you. He'd have you cum first on his tongue and then his fingers a few times before he has you cream on his cock. But he's been wanting this for so long that the moment your arousal can be seen dripping onto your sheets, the last threads of his sanity are snapping.

You barely realize his hands slip away from you to shove his boxers down before you're feeling him guide his cock to your pretty pussy. There is no discussion, no time to really think about what you're allowing him to do before he's sinking the first few inches inside your chubby cunt with a low groan.

His cock is big, and he's bullying your gummy walls apart to take him deeper, inch by mouth-watering inch. The stretch makes your fingers curl into the bedsheets as he keeps pushing forward. "That's it, take all of me. So good f'me, baby." He praises, and your eyes roll back.

When he bottoms out, it's like you can feel him in your lungs. The tufts of hair at his base tickle your clit, and his balls rest on your ass as you try to adjust to his size. Drool forms on the corner of your mouth when his tip kisses the back of your cunt with ease, and your moan comes from the back of your throat. "Oh fuck," you curse, and Yoongi takes that as his cue to slide almost all the way out.

He leaves just his fat tip inside your quivering pussy, your walls spasm around the head of his cock greedily before he snaps forward. His thrust knocks the breath from your lungs and has your mind blanking as he smacks into your cervix like it was his to bruise.

And then he does it again, and again, slamming into you with enough force to make you forget everything but the shape of him he carves into your sopping cunt.

Yoongi holds your hips in a bruising grip, pulling you to meet his nasty thrusts until your eyes cross. The room fills with your cute little "ah!" and "ohs!" as he draws his name along your cervix with his tip. Your pussy squelches filthily with each deep thrust he gives, and it's better than he could have ever imagined.

Your pussy slurps his cock deeper, sucking him in like you don't want him to leave, and it's got his jaw clenching in restraint. If he doesn't focus, he'll cum too soon, and he wants to keep enjoying this. The tip of his cock smacks into the sweet spot inside you harder because of it. He builds your orgasm fast, alarmingly so, and you're scrambling to warn him or possibly run away, but he's having none of it.

"You tryin' to run, Baby?" He huffs with a lovesick grin. Your pussy is making him feel more delirious by the second as he drags you back. "No, don't do that. You can take it- want you to make a mess and cum on my cock. I can feel it, you're close. Are you going to show me how grateful you are f'me?"

Yoongi pulls your orgasm from you with a wicked grin. Your scream echoes as you cum hard. It brings tears to your eyes, your hands grabbing his wrists where he holds you by the hips to keep you in place.

And his pace never falters. He doesn't stop fucking you. Fucking you through your orgasm until it builds right back up again. He reduces you to babble, begging nonsense until you're creaming for the second time, his name the only thing you can cry out in salvation.

Yoongi won't mention that the fees are fake. That he made them up to get you just like this, teary-eyed and dumb off his cock. Instead, he plans to hold this over you. Because soon enough, you'll be all his, and you'll want to be his. It just might take a couple more orgasms until you get that through your pretty head.

But no worries, he'll take care of you.

대박 - you made it to the end.

Tell me about it.

my bts mstrlst - svt mstrlst

[pjminii]

TREAD LIGHTLY ✶ jeon jungkook

jungkook is a virgin, a big one, and believes he might not be all that interested in the act. but as he finds himself stuck with you at taehyung’s summerhouse — his body seems to be reacting strangely to yours.

⭒ pairings. jeon jungkook x female reader

⭒ word count. ish 18k

⭒ tags & warnings. summerlovin, smut, virgin!koo, sub!koo, switch!koo, i’m afraid of flagging so the smut will be sort of like unwrapping a gift on christmas day lmao (but just know there’s a creampie on the way)

notes. this is just a written fantasy i came up with as i rewatched ays season one. notice the shirt jungkook is wearing during the smut… does it sound like a familiar look? mehehe. also, i love me a subby koo. if he ain’t pussydrunk i don’t want him. wrote this in two days so eat up this slop girlies <3 also banner by @voyter who is my wife.

It has been twenty years. Jungkook has been alive for twenty years. And during these twenty years, he has never once had sex. Not even once. This cannot be stressed enough. Twenty years. Two whole decades. 

But, oh well — there’s a tiny, insignificant detail that might be the reason behind this. Jungkook believes he might not be interested in sex, like at all. 

In his defense, it has been twenty years. Twenty years of Jungkook not being all too excited about the thought of touching someone of the opposite sex. He once asked his close friend Jimin (who had dabbled a bit), if this might mean that he’s gay. Jimin responded with a snicker that left Jungkook at unease, but followed it up by telling him it might just be the strange way Jungkook’s brain moves. 

Because his brain is strange. He’s a restless boy, an overachiever, excelling at everything he does. And Jungkook does do everything. He plays the piano, he cooks, he dances, he paints, he writes, he plays video games, and he can’t keep still for more than a minute. And for some reason, he seems to be interested in every single hobby except for the one that involves sweaty bodies merging together after a night out. 

He got a handjob once. That’s something, at least. 

It was while he was still in high school, this very lovely girl named Hana, who he had been partnered up with for a science project. She invited him over to her house, while her parents were still home, and jumped his bones the second the door to her bedroom was shut. 

But Jungkook couldn’t get a hard on. Because he was actually thinking of the science project the entire time. Who in their right mind, as a seventeen year old boy, would be worrying about school while getting their belt unbuckled by a beautiful girl? 

She told her girlfriends about his softie, something that lead them to believe he was gay too. 

And after that mishap, he has not only been extremely nervous about putting himself in a similar position again — but he has simply stopped seeking out girls. He goes to clubs with his friends, joins whatever party he’s invited to, but he never really takes notice of the girls that are around. 

Even though he can appreciate their beauty, he just doesn’t feel like he has it in him to do anything about it. It’s too nerve wracking. Also, he looks very intimidating. 

Tall, dark, handsome, tattooed — everything the girls on Love Island and Single’s Inferno believe they’re looking for. But when it comes to it, they sheep out. He just kind of looks like a guy who could break their hearts with a snap of his fingers. So everything seems to be working against him. 

But that’s alright. He doesn’t care about that. He has better things to tend to. Like the trip he’s going on with Taehyung. To his parents’ beach house, which strangely enough also has a pool. 

It’s just for them to blow off some steam, to cool off before the semester starts up again. They haven’t invited anyone else, and they’re just staying there for a long weekend — Thursday through Sunday. A very relaxed vacation. A place for them to swim, cook food, drink some beers, play video games. 

But as Jungkook and Taehyung pull up into the driveway, the idyllic, solo-weekend is shattered instantly. For Jungkook, at least. 

“What the fuck—that’s Sara’s car.” Taehyung tries to mask the grin on his face as he notices Jungkook’s obvious disappointment. His poker-face isn’t all that great, and he actually manages to roll his eyes upon seeing Taehyung’s girlfriend’s shiny Mercedes. 

Taehyung bumps his shoulder, parking the car next to his girlfriend’s. “Hey, don’t sulk. She’s probably just here to steal some of my mom’s wine again.” 

“You let her do that?” Jungkook huffs, sinking further into his seat, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He just can’t help it but pout. 

With a jerk of his neck, Taehyung tongues the corner of his mouth. “With tits like that I let her do anything.”

They throw their bags over their shoulders before heading for the entrance door, stopping in their tracks as they hear muffled laughter coming from the other side of the house. The side where the outdoor pool is located. 

Jungkook throws his head back, obviously frustrated that there’s even more people here. 

Instead of taking the front door, they snake around the house, walk across the grass until they reach the pale cobblestone that surrounds the pool, the dining table, the sun-beds. 

There stands Sara, drenched in water from head to toe, only wearing a tiny bikini. Her feet are just about to lift from the ground and head for the pool, but as she sees Taehyung, they take on a new journey. She shrieks, running over to her boyfriend, throwing herself over his shoulders without caring if his shirt gets drenched. Jungkook catches some of the droplets too, landing in his eyes. He pouts yet again. 

“Finally—oh my god we’ve been waiting forever!” she cries out, lathering him in kisses. Jungkook thinks he might vomit. Also, who’s ‘we’?

Taehyung places both hands on her waist, letting his bag slip from his shoulder. He laughs for a minute, kissing her back, before he looks at her with a mildly confused expression. “That’s so… Sara sorry, wha—what are you doing here?”

As Sara answers, Jungkook hears something moving in the water. He turns his head away from the disgusting couple, and lets his eyes fall to the silhouette getting out of the pool. 

His lips part the moment he sees your face. 

You let two hands run over your head, brushing back the wet hair while stepping up on the steal ladder. The fabric of your bikini clings to your wet, glistening skin, and the line between your legs has itched its way dangerously deep inside your cheeks. 

Jungkook gulps. For some reason. His eyes widen. For some reason. 

He has met numerous of Sara’s friends. A bunch of times, actually. But he can’t seem to recognize you. Maybe that’s because his eyes are now fixated on your breasts, how full they look in that tight bikini — but he’s still sure that he has never seen you before. 

When was the last time he saw a girl in such little clothing? Except for in porn, or Sara just now. He can’t seem to remember it. And if he can’t remember it, it might’ve just not made such an impression on him. 

But you did. For some reason. 

Sara calls out your name as you step onto the stone and walk towards the three others. You have such a pretty name, it’s so fitting. Jungkook’s ears go red. Why do they do that? Has that ever happened before? 

His tattooed hand, the one free of his bag, goes to the piercings in his ear. He fiddles with them as he watches you walk across the floor, not really sure where to look. He options for your feet, something that might not make him feel all that weird inside. 

Your toenails are neatly polished, trimmed. And they look so tiny against the stone. Compared to your body, they look proportional — of course — but they look so tiny now. And cold… why do you have so many goosebumps spread across your skin? Are you cold? 

“Come meet my boyfriend and his boyfriend!” 

Jungkook snaps his head back to glower at Sara. She giggles in return, slapping a lazy palm over his chest. As the hand meets his t-shirt, his skin, he suddenly realizes how sensitive he has grown. Sensitive to touch. He clears his throat, looking down at his own feet as he listens to the wet sound of your feet padding across the floor. 

You stretch out a hand, confidently, making Jungkook’s eyes dart up again. 

“Nice to meet you.” 

Is that a real voice? It sounds like an audio recording, one of those that supposedly put you to sleep. He looks at your hand with big eyes, almost like he’s from a different planet and has never encountered this kind of greeting before. So you giggle.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You retract it, tilting your head to the side. “You don’t wanna touch me now that I’m all wet, do you?” 

Jesus fucking christ. 

Apparently, as told by Sara, you were her new roommate in college. The two of you had gotten close before even starting the new semester, meeting up during summer break to start your new friendship. Which is when Sara had the brilliant idea of bringing you along to Taehyung’s summer house. 

She knew all about Jungkook and her boyfriend’s plan — that they would stay until Sunday — which just seemed even more perfect. The perfect opportunity to wiggle you into her life, her social circle. If Taehyung loved you, Sara would love you even more. 

Jungkook wasn’t taken into consideration here. He is quite introverted, has a hard time making new friends, but Taehyung is so comfortable around him. And if Taehyung is comfortable, if he is already in a good mood around his best friend — he will for sure take a liking to you. 

What she didn’t expect was for Jungkook to like you the most. This came as a shook for him too. 

He packs out his bag, settling in his room, dragging stressed hands through his hair, pulling the fingers down to his mullet. His tongue finds his lip ring, playing with it as he debates ripping the strands straight out of his scalp. 

He’s already so nervous around girls. Sara is different, but you are not. You just might be the prime example. Confident. Beautiful. 

Why does his mind keep replaying your wet figure? Your gentle voice? How the bikini hugged you, how your waist curved inwards so beautifully, then outwards where your soft hips started. 

The sight wrecked the poor boy. 

It doesn’t help that you’re the one cooking dinner tonight. 

He tried to avoid you when him and Taehyung got settled, and he managed. But it’s hard when he runs into you again, in the kitchen. When you stand there, cutting up pieces of pork ribs, wearing a see through, white gown. A new bikini underneath. 

“I just—I’m just gonna grab a bottle.”

Jungkook reaches for the fridge, pulling the handle towards him while ignoring your eyes. It’s an easy task, as you actually don’t look at him and continue on with your cooking. 

“Would you grab me one too?” you ask casually, still not looking at him. 

He nods in response, realizing you can’t actually see it, but being too flustered to say yes out loud. 

There’s only one bottle of water in the fridge. Except for the big Fiji one which has to be Sara’s. Jungkook gulps. 

Without saying anything, he grabs the bottle and hands it to you. You’re occupied, he sees that, so he just places it on the counter, right by the cutting board. 

As he’s about to leave, maybe go drink water from the pool, you speak again. 

“Not thirsty after all?”

Jungkook closes a fist, opens it again, flexes his fingers. His mouth dries up, suddenly extremely parched. 

“That’s alright,” he says simply, almost no volume to his voice. He gulps… again. 

“I’m guessing there’s only one bottle—and you’re just being nice.” 

Trying to stay cool, Jungkook starts walking away from you. “I’m not thirsty.” 

“I only need a sip,” you call out before he’s able to exit the kitchen, still focusing on cutting the pork neatly. “You take the bottle—you’ve had a long drive. But I just need you to open the bottle for me.”

Jungkook thinks he’s about to burst into flames. It might be the heat, but the air-con is working perfectly fine. So he’s afraid it might be you. His back is facing you, and yours his. You’re not even looking at each other, but Jungkook can’t bring himself to answer. And he doesn’t want to force the bottle on you. And he is thirsty. 

So he turns, walks back over to the counter where you stand so prettily, eyes immediately falling to your back. To your ass. The polkadot print of your bikini, which shines through your gown. How your cheeks look so plump, how they look so round, like a good handful each. 

It feels invasive. He looks away, eyes going to the plastic water bottle. 

“Could you open it?” you ask again, showing him a flat palm. “I have pork on my hands.” 

Jungkook prays to god that you won’t ask him to feed you the water as well. But he does as you ask, without saying a word. He screws the lid off, handing you the uncapped bottle. 

You take it with your free hand, the plastic looking so much smaller in your grip than in his. Your fingers wrap around it, and you bring the opening to your mouth. Surely you’ll waterfall it. 

But you don’t. Your lips wrap around the bottle, touching it directly. 

And Jungkook fucking dies. Inside, that is. His inner organs seem to be rearranging, his stomach turning. And a new, strange sensation appears. Similar to the one he gets while watching… porn. 

Your throat bobs, your lips are closed perfectly around the opened cap, and you only take a few quick sips. No water drips down your chin, not like in cheap pornos. But as you let the bottle slip from you, you let out a sigh. A sigh that is music in Jungkook’s ears. Better than any home-made movie he has watched.

When finished, you put the pad of your middle finger to your lips, dabbing away what might be excess water. There is none, so Jungkook feels you’re doing this just to mess with him. You’re probably not, but it feels like it. 

“Thanks,” you say as you hand him the bottle, and you look up at him. When your eyes meet his, Jungkook drowns. He tries looking away, but for some reason he can’t. Your eyes are shimmering, big and soft. Jungkook flicks his gaze back and forth from them, not knowing where exactly he’s supposed to be looking. He hasn’t even grabbed the bottle yet. 

“Your turn,” you continue, waving the bottle in front of him. “Drink up.”

For you, he would do anything. 

Jungkook takes the plastic from your hands, wrapping his larger fingers around the bottle. He didn’t brush against your skin, which is a plus, but he kind of wishes he did. 

You continue looking at him as he takes the bottle in his hand. Expecting him to drink up. 

Are your lips usually this plump, this soft? Do you always speak in this tone? How are you so comfortable wearing such a revealing gown? Is it because you know you look good? 

A bit nervously, he puts the bottle to his own lips. He debates waterfalling the water himself, but is afraid you might think he doesn’t want your germs in his system. That’s not at all what this is, and he doesn’t want to come off as rude. So he copies you by wrapping his mouth around the plastic opening, tilting the bottle until water falls down his throat. 

Jungkook, for that matter, is sloppy, and manages to spill. Two measly droplets fall from his mouth and land on his chin, dripping down until they reach his jaw. This is simply because you won’t look away. 

It feels inherently sexual, whatever this is, something Jungkook can’t quite grasp. He has never been interested in such activities before, so why does he flush so easily just by knowing he’s under your eyes? He can feel his neck burning up with heat, his ears grow red. So he calls it quits, deciding to swallow one last time. 

“Sara told me you’re single.” 

Jungkook chokes on the water. 

Jesus christ, why are you asking him this question? Why is that important? Why right now, as he coughs up the lost water particles in his throat, eyes widening with shock. He looks like a lost sheep. 

Your lips curls into a small, almost unnoticeable smile. But Jungkook sees it, he notices everything you do, every small detail. This detail has him blushing. He removes the bottle from his mouth, coughs one last time and wipes away the droplets from his jaw. His tattooed hand moves from his chin, down his neck, trying to feel how warm it his. The pulse underneath his skin is spiking. 

With a deep inhale he answers, still a bit sore. “Uh—yeah, uh I am.” 

You huff out a breath. “I’d never guess.” 

Returning to your cooking, you look away from him. You continue cutting the pork, tilting your head to the side. Like this would be a normal ending to your conversation.

Jungkook has no idea what he’s supposed to say. Does he look like the type of guy to be in a relationship? No one has ever told him that, they usually tell him the opposite. That he looks like the type of guy to never settle. That’s before getting to know him, of course. But upon first glance, yes — Jungkook does look like a hit and run type of guy. So what do you mean? 

He asks you just that. “Huhwhatwhy?” 

The words tumble out of him, desperate to receive an explanation. 

“I don’t know—you seem sweet,” you answer, finishing the last piece of pork. You reach for the cabinet above your head, stretching tall on your tippy toes. As you do, the fabric of your gown clings to your skin, making it easier for Jungkook to see the soft shape of your ass through the see-through dress. He looks away immediately, trying to focus on your words instead. You continue while opening the cabinet, grabbing for a bottle of olive oil. “Like the kind of guy who has a girlfriend that’s a lot to handle.” 

This analogy is completely foreign to Jungkook — he has no idea what it’s supposed to mean. Also, you just met him today, exchanged only a few words with him. How do you know he’s sweet? Are you just a good judge of character? 

Jungkook rolls his shoulders once before answering, stretching his neck. “Oh, okay.” 

There’s nothing more to add to that. He has no idea what you’re talking about. He has no idea what you mean. And he doesn’t want to tangle himself into an unknown world right now, he’s too hot, too sweaty, a bit too worked up. Because upon seeing the outline — the beautiful outline of your ass — there has grown a problem in Jungkook’s black, cargo shorts. The fabric is pliant enough to give it away. He has experienced boners in public before, but only the ones explained by hormones and puberty. The ones who arrive unannounced, without any encouragement. Boners are now usually something he only gets while watching porn, something he does maybe twice a week. Maybe once. So sporting a hard-on while standing next to a girl in little to no clothing seems like a violation, and he wants to bolt away as fast as possible. 

He turns, ready to walk off. 

“Does the description fit?” 

Your words still him in an instant. His back is facing you again, but he hears a shift in your stance, knows you’ve turned around from the counter. He hears your gown move. Fuck. If he turns around, you’ll see the obvious tent in his shorts. The large bulge. Jesus christ. 

He places his hands in his pockets, stretches the fabric out, looks down to check if it’s still visible. It is, but not as prominent as before. So he decides to turn one last time. 

When he’s facing you, he gulps. The gown has slipped just slightly off one of your shoulders, revealing your collarbones and sun-warmed skin. You’re leaning against the counter now, crossing one ankle over the other while tilting your head to the side. Jungkook’s growing problem seems to be screaming in his shorts. 

Trying not to seem like a total idiot, he answers before the silence stretches further. “I don’t know.” 

“Mhm.” You nod, tilting your head to the other side. A single piece of hair falls from behind your ear and gets in your face, tickling your cheek. You don’t bother brushing it away, instead you take in Jungkook’s state of flush. His wide eyes, his tense posture. 

“I think a girl like that would suit you, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook went to bed before the others. They got a bit too drunk, and Jungkook kept looking at your tits in that gown, in that bikini. He was maybe too a bit drunk. 

But when you suggested they would all go for a swim in the pool, get a feel of the summer night breeze, Jungkook was quick to depart. He told Taehyung he was a bit tired from all the food — food coma — and that he wanted a good night’s sleep after a long day of travel. No one really questioned this, and Jungkook was free to leave the table. 

The walls are thin. The window is too, apparently. He can hear the others splashing around in the pool, shrieking, playing, laughing. 

Most of all — he can hear your laughter. He hears it so well. Your giggle, the one that sounds like tinkling glass. He tries tuning out every sound, trying to wiggle himself to sleep, tossing and turning. But that only highlights your laugher, your voice. Jungkook swears he can hear your exact footsteps on the cobblestone. Because your feet are so small. They make the cutest sound. 

While listening to you guys, he imagines what it looks like outside. When you’re playing, swimming. 

The image of you getting out of the pool, greeting him, pops back into Jungkook’s mind. The bikini clinging to your skin, disappearing between the slit of your ass, your perfect round cheeks. The slightest bounce of your breasts when you walked over to him. 

You don’t wanna touch me now that I’m all wet, do you?

Fuck. The problem is back. 

He has no idea what you do to him, but it hurts. It feels like he’s about to explode… down there. The skin feels too tight over him, the muscle is pulsating. He tries to ignore it, turn to his side, block out your voice, your laughter from outside. But as he turns, it hurts again. So he tries thinking of anything else. 

His own apartment. He’s in his own apartment. His mind drifts to the kitchen, for some reason. 

Okay. Food is good. If he’s hungry, that’s usually all he can think of. Whenever he plans to jerk off, he sometimes has to stop mid act because he feels a rumbling in his stomach. Food comes first. 

So he thinks of cooking. At home, in his kitchen. Standing there, boiling water on the stove. Waiting until the bubbles appear. He turns to the side, looking for the packet of ramyeon. But as his hand reaches out, it doesn’t go to the packet of noodles — it goes to the curve of your ass. 

Why are you there? 

In that see-through gown. In that same bikini underneath. You’re just standing there, watching him cook. And you let him feel you, let his large palm meet your ass, not even flinching or making a sound, like it’s completely normal. Actually, you push your ass back further, leaning down on the counter now, just watching the water boil. 

His hand moves around, just feeling you. And it’s marvelous. Your skin is so plump, so soft, even through the gown. 

Fuck — he’s back to square one. Why are you there, in his mind, while he’s actively trying to keep you out? Maybe it’s because your laughter is so much more prominent than the two others. Or maybe you’ve just managed to completely occupy him, never letting him think of anything else. 

There’s only one thing that will make this problem disappear, and Jungkook grits his teeth while thinking about it. He has only ever jerked off to porn, never to anyone he knows in real life. Again, it feels too invasive. 

But he knows porn won’t work this time. No, it’s you he thinks of, you who’s making him feel like this. 

Jungkook’s arm drapes over his eyes as he slips the other hand in his boxers, almost as if that would block out the embarrassment of doing something like this. He lets his fingers trace the length of him, feeling how sensitive he has grown. He teases his own cock while listening to your laughter, eyes still buried where his forearm meets his bicep. Finally, he wraps his full hand around himself. 

Pressing his lips together, he tries to imagine what you look like right now. 

You’re still in that bikini. Maybe you’re sitting on the edge of the pool with your legs in the water. Maybe your hair is wet again, slicked back like earlier. Maybe you’re leaning forward while talking, elbows on your knees, looking up at the others with those soft eyes. Or maybe you’re leaning back, with straight arms, your stomach moving in and out as you breathe. 

The vision causes Jungkook to squeeze his cock lightly, letting a breathy moan escape his lips. Your hips, your ass, spread out so nicely when you sit by the pool. The bikini only covers your most treasured parts. But he can imagine them anyways. 

What you would look like with him. You are already so small compared to him. Wouldn’t it look bizarre if you were with him? Your small hands on him, his big hands on you. His long fingers removing your thong, kissing your skin while on his knees. He would kiss you everywhere. Leave you red with bitemarks. 

Jungkook’s stomach tightens. Pleasure flows through him, and sweat starts to appear in his hairline. He bites down on the piercing in his lip, thumbing the slit of his cock to spread the beading precum over his head. The tip has grown so sensitive that he can’t help but gasp once touching it. He twists himself at the base, squeezing tightly as he pumps himself to the image of you. 

Your perky breasts. How your nipples might look. How he would love to make them go hard, to see goosebumps appear on your skin. How he would love to kiss down on them, bite them, lick them, suck until you pulled on his hair. How your fingers would feel in his hair. 

When thinking of pleasuring you, Jungkook has no idea how to do so, but imagines himself more experienced. Just in this dream scenario. 

He knows porn is nothing to compare the real deal with, he has been told so numerous of times. But for now, it will do.

Jungkook sets a steady pace, whining as he feels his balls start to tighten. 

If he had his hands on you, he would never let go. He wishes he knew how to make you beg. That he could kiss you, spread you open, give your most precious spot a harsh suck until stars appeared in your eyelids. That he could lap at you like a parched animal, even sink his tongue deep inside you, swirl it around. 

You don’t wanna touch me now that I’m all wet, do you?

Oh, how he would love to touch you. How he would love to feel your wetness. Have his fingers in it, his tongue in it, bury his cock so deep in your wetness that you’d beg him to stop. You would look so beautiful with your eyes rolled back into your skull. 

Imagining the noises you would make has him sweating more than ever before. He gasps when he imagines you gasping, he whines when he imagines you would do so. It’s a synchronized performance he’s playing out, and when he imagines your climax — he breaks in half. 

Thick ropes of cum, more than he has ever produced before, spurt heavy out of his cock, leaving his boxers a white, sticky mess. He throws his head back against the headboard, shutting his eyes completely as he strokes himself through the orgasm. Jungkook feels he has just entered the gates of heaven. Never before in his life has he climaxed this hard before. An otherworldly experience — that’s what this was. 

When Jungkook comes down from his high, he looks down at himself, at his ruined boxers, grimacing at the amount of cum. 

That will have to do, he thinks. Tomorrow is Friday, meaning there is only really two days left. He can survive two days with you, but only at a distance. He’ll have to make sure you won’t rile him up again. He’ll have to avoid you. 

Jungkook hates couples. 

He hates Taehyng and he hates Sara. Why do couples need so much alone time? This was supposed to be Taehyung and Jungkook’s trip. So why is he being pushed away? 

Better question — why is he being pushed into interactions with you? 

“I’m just gonna fuck her in the pool—so can’t you guys go grocery shopping or something?” Taehyung begs, mirroring his friend’s pout. 

Jungkook scoffs, crosses his arms over his chest while avoiding Taehyung’s eyes, acting like a sulky little kid. “No, I want to stay here.” 

“But that’s not your decision, Kook.” Taehyung curls his lips together, speaking in a whisper. “This is my house—and I want to fuck my girlfriend in the pool.” 

Fuck off. 

Jungkook fastens his seatbelt, trying to ignore the scent of your perfume. It’s hard. Lilac, lilies, something like that. 

You’re trying to pick out a song on your phone after connecting it to Bluetooth, mumbling under your breath. You can’t seem to land on anything, but you’ve forbidden Jungkook from pulling out of the driveway before you’ve found the perfect song. “What songs do you like, then?” 

Everything about you makes Jungkook embarrassed after last night. He can’t even dare to look you in the eyes, let alone hear your voice. This shopping trip will be awful. 

“Everything,” Jungkook answers simply, tapping the steering wheel with his index finger. 

“Come on—just name a song!” 

“Uh…” He has apparently forgotten every song ever. “Bennie And The Jets.” 

The sound of tinkling glass reappears. The sweet sound of you giggling. “Alright—Bennie And The Jets it is.” 

As you type the embarrassing song request into your phone, Jungkook starts driving. The car rolls down the long gravel path towards the main road, and he desperately tries ignoring your scent. 

You smell like flowers, warm skin, summer. Every time the wind shifts through the cracked window, it carries your scent straight to him. It’s almost enough to make him puke. Or maybe cry. He dares to look at you for just a second. Look at the way your hair blows in the wind, how you play with a few strands between your fingertips. The fabric of your sundress moving in waves with the wind, just like your hair. Your gentle, slender neck, the soft flesh there. How he would love to feel you. 

Jungkook hates grocery shopping now too, apparently. Walmart is too big, there are too many options. Sara has sent over a list for you guys to check off, but it’s so long that Jungkook is suspecting they’re just stalling you while the two of them have sloppy intercourse in the outdoors pool. 

And your dress is too pretty. You’re too pretty. What the hell is Jungkook supposed to do? 

He pushes the cart while walking behind you, trying not to stare too much. But the dress sways across your thighs, makes him think. His ears go red again. 

“—And I want chocolate covered raspberries. And those cola lollipops. And some popcorn. And Ben&Jerry’s—” you continue. Your list is quite long, and it seems you’ve steered away from what Sara wants you guys to buy. 

As Jungkook pushes along, he only thinks to himself: Anything for you. 

“—Also I forgot my wallet.” 

Again, he thinks: Anything for you. 

You make him carry all the bags. It’s heavy, but Jungkook is strong. You bought an insane amount of groceries for such a small person (with Jungkook’s money, that is). He wonders how you’re planning to get it all down. If you’re evil enough, you bought all this just to watch Jungkook’s neck pop with veins as he carried it over the parking lot. 

As you get to the car, you don’t even bother opening the trunk for him. You simply wait for him to unlock the door before you slip inside, hissing as the black seat has heated up. 

You seem sweet. Like the kind of guy who has a girlfriend that’s a lot to handle.

Sure enough, you are a lot to handle. 

The two of you haven’t been away for that long, probably about thirty minutes, but Jungkook hopes Taehuyng and Sara might be done with their session by the time you arrive. But as Jungkook gets in the car, you stop him before he turns the engine on. 

“We have to go see the view point by the beach.”

Get away — Jungkook thinks — I don’t have to do anything. He brushes off the hand that you’ve placed on his, starting the engine anyways. Jungkook wants to go home. He wants to listen to music in his room, try to do anything besides thinking of you. You make his whole body warm, and he’s not sure if he likes it. 

You gasp, making a grimace laced with disappointment. “You’re so mean!”

“I just wanna go home—I’m not mean.” 

“Can’t we just—”

Jungkook cuts you off mid-sentence. “Your ice cream’s gonna melt.” 

With a huff of air, you sink further and further into your seat. You don’t even bother putting on the seatbelt. Your eyes fall to the window beside you, ignoring Jungkook. But as Jungkook gives a quick side-eye, he notices how your lips have formed into a pout. How you look just like he did when he sat in that exact spot yesterday, realizing the trip with Taehyung wasn’t a solo one. 

He starts driving, trying to not look at you too much. But you seem like you want him to talk, want him to say something, as you keep huffing and puffing out irritated small breaths. 

“You’re pouting.” 

You don’t answer. So Jungkook tries again, something a bit bolder that makes his heart race. 

“You’re a lot to handle.” 

A tiny smile appears on your face, but you try masking it by pursing your lips. It doesn’t work all that well, so you cover your mouth with tiny fingers, letting them play with your lips. It’s almost like you want Jungkook to crash the car, because as you fiddle with the plump flesh, Jungkook can’t help but look at it. How plush they look, how glossy. He bets they would feel good on him. Good wrapped around him. Or just against his own lips. 

Jungkook’s mouth waters while his thoughts run wild. But as he continues driving, he notices that you still haven’t fastened your seatbelt. You might be sulking, but he can’t have you flying out the window in protest. 

Without looking over, keeping his eyes on the road, he reaches over you, grabbing for the buckle. Quickly, he traps you in, securing the belt until he hears a ‘click’. 

“How nice of you,” you mock, pitching your voice higher. 

He keeps quiet for the rest of the ride. You don’t bother putting on music this time, and just stare at your phone. For some reason, Jungkook worries. He hopes you won’t get sick. That your stomach can handle the car ride as your eyes are glued to the screen. If you feel sick, you should just tell him. He’d pull over. In a heartbeat, actually. But you don’t say a word, so Jungkook doesn’t either. 

When you pull into the driveway, Jungkook senses a smile on your face, just a tiny one. It seems like an evil one. So his neck goes red, his ears too. 

As the engine shuts down, as Jungkook removes the keys and his belt, you stay still. He looks over at you, wondering, furrowing his brows as you keep looking straight ahead. 

“Unbuckle.”

That’s all you say. 

Jungkook gathers that you want him to unbuckle your seatbelt. Just like when he trapped you in, but in reverse this time. 

He does as you tell him, pressing down until the belt flings open. As you’re freed, you turn in your seat, looking at him with narrow eyes. You skim over his face a couple of times, almost like you’re debating something. Jungkook can’t for the life of him understand what’s going on. His eyes are big and glossy compared to your glowering ones. 

“Put your seatbelt on,” you demand, speaking in a low voice. 

What are you doing? 

There’s something about you that makes it hard for Jungkook to question your words, what you ask of him. So without second thoughts, he simply pulls his own seatbelt back on, staring at you with big wondering eyes the entire time.

You press your lips together, fighting laughter. But your eyes are still fierce, narrow in a way that makes Jungkook’s pulse spike. 

“Unbuckle.” 

Again. 

Jungkook does as you say. With a click the belt pops open again, and Jungkook is still confused. But it’s like clockwork — whatever you say, Jungkook does. Except take you to the view point, apparently. He still doesn’t understand why he drew the line there. 

As the belt flings open again, you let out a breath of air, bordering on a demeaning laughter. 

“Why are you like that?”

“Like what?” Jungkook asks mindlessly, his voice gentle but breaking at the edges. You rile him up, but not so much now that he can’t take it. There’s more of a thrill to it. Something he can’t quite understand. But again… for some reason — he feels himself growing in his jeans. Horrible timing. 

“You do everything I tell you to.” With your next smile, you bear a bit of teeth. You use them to bite down on your bottom lip, just the slightest, letting them bounce back as you release them. They look so soft, so plush. 

Jungkook can’t be thinking about that right now. Not with what’s going on in his jeans. He actually can’t be here right now. Thank god the two of you have reached the house. Maybe he can just sit in the car and wait for it to pass, ask you to leave him alone for a minute. But then he would have to watch you walk away, ogle at the way your dress moves softly across your thighs. 

That doesn’t seem like a good option either. 

“I don’t do that,” he responds, shifting in his seat as he feels his whole body tighten. Maybe it’s the way you speak to him. Or maybe he likes being told what to do? Is that it? He hopes not, as that would be quite embarrassing. 

As he shifts, your eyes unfortunately go to his pants. To the bulge that’s growing there. And Jungkook has watched enough porn to know that he’s big. It’s not easy for him to hide an erection, so as your eyes meet his crotch, he gathers you know what’s going on. 

You give the bulge a devilish smile. “What’s going on down there?”

The fact that you’re so forward isn’t helping. Goosebumps cover Jungkook’s neck, and he jerks his head to the side giving you a small hiss in response. “Come on…”

“I knew I was right about you!” Your smile grows, and you lean forward a bit, resting a palm on your thigh. Jungkook can’t help but let his eyes follow your hand, where it meets the fabric of your dress. The outline of your thigh. 

You giggle again, patting down on yourself almost like you’re clapping. “Jungkook—you’d love a fiery woman!”

This conversation is not happening.

Jungkook goes white, completely white. His face loses all color, and he looks at you with a pair of mortified, black orbs. Why are you so unfazed while talking about this — while Jungkook has an obvious boner in your presence? Because of your presence?

He lets one hand go to the fabric that has tightened around his crotch, trying to cover himself up. Your eyes follow immediately. 

“Jungkook, I’m serious—it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you sigh, itching even closer. One of your legs crosses over the other, causing your dress to itch higher up on your thighs. The edge of the skirt is dangerously close to a part Jungkook definitely shouldn’t be watching in this state. Your hands fall into your lap. “If anything—it’s just flattering.” 

With a shaky inhale, Jungkook closes his eyes, preparing to tell you off. He lets out your name with the next exhale, even more unsteady than last time. “Can’t we just please go inside?”

“You have to be more open minded.” You don’t pay attention to his erection anymore, instead you lock eyes with him, something that makes Jungkook even more nervous. He blinks over and over again, waiting for the moment to pass. Jungkook doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing — the fact that you’re so forward, or that the bulge in his jeans won’t seem to go down. His entire body tightens, his stomach turning. This is by far the strangest, most uncomfortable feeling he has ever felt. 

You tilt your head to the side, lick your lips. “Do you need help, Jungkook?”

What? 

I’m sorry — what? 

Jungkook freezes. The corners of his eyes start watering, strangely enough. He blinks again, a few times more, trying to piece together the puzzle that is this conversation. 

You can’t possibly mean what Jungkook thinks you do. That can’t be right. That would at least mean you’re teasing him, for whatever reason. He hopes you don’t know about what happened last night. That would be all too much. Maybe you can read his mind. That would be a more logical explanation. Anyways — why on earth are you asking him this? 

He swallows hard, eyebrows lifting high on his forehead. “H-help?” 

The sound of tinkling glass. You smile, and don’t cover it up this time. The one leg crossed over the other nudges Jungkook’s ankle, playfully kicking him. He breathes in a shaky inhale, having grown so sensitive to any kind of touch. Especially yours. 

“Your little problem won’t go away on its own.” 

Jungkook has tried convincing himself it was all a dream. That what happened in the car didn’t really happen. That he had just imagined it, that his horned-up brain continued to make up unlawful scenarios about you. He tried his hardest. He tried so hard. 

But you wouldn’t leave his mind. The image of you looking him up and down, eyes so dark it almost frightened him. He thought he was about to be eaten alive. 

Somehow, he wasn’t. 

Because after teasing him about his erection for about five minutes, nudging him with your feet, your fingers — you seemingly had enough. Your face went back to normal, you let out a huff of air, and you reached for the door on your side. When you hopped out of the car, you didn’t even look back. You walked away, left Jungkook hard and dumbfounded behind — with a trunk loaded with groceries. 

Did you really ask him that? Better yet… were you serious? 

You couldn’t possibly be. This is real life, not a porno. It’s not like women throw themselves at boners in real life. They are usually rather put off by them. So why is it that you teased him so much about it, without seeming disgusted? 

Had Sara told you something? Or had maybe Taehyung? Jungkook knows Taehyung has a habit of telling girls Jungkook is a virgin. He knows some girls find it cute (it doesn’t happen often, but sometimes). But that’s only when they’re out drinking, usually at a club where Taehyung knows they won’t ever have to see these girls again. So why would he ever tell you such a thing?

After getting back inside, Jungkook practically ran upstairs and into the shower. He couldn’t take a minute more of his suffering, and knew he needed release. So he stripped himself of his sweat drenched clothes, turned the water on until the room filled with steam, and hopped right in. 

He came harder than the night before, if that was even possible. His vision wiped out, and he had to whine a loud ‘fuck’ in order to not call out your name. It was maybe the hardest task he had ever carried out in his life. The stream of the water was harsh enough to block out the sounds he was producing, or so he hoped, and he was far away from the others. He saw you run towards the pool area instead of going back inside, and he was certain that both Taehyung and Sara would be sound asleep after their many rounds in the pool. 

Jungkook hides in his room after jerking off. He feels absolutely mortified. There was absolutely no reason for him to get a hard-on in the car, you didn’t do anything sexual. Except maybe for that last part. But the thing is — he was hard even before that. So what’s the deal?

When Taehyung comes knocking, asking if he’s up for dinner soon, Jungkook tells him he has caught some kind of cold. Which is a statement Taehyung easily believes as Jungkook quite literally looks like shit. 

His bangs stick to his forehead, his mullet sticks to his neck, his eyes are red and his skin is white. It looks like he has got it bad, when in all fairness — he’s just extraordinarily horny… and also very embarrassed. 

He tries falling asleep, even though the time only reads seven o’clock. Maybe if he listens to some music, it might help. Grabbing for his phone, he turns to his side and feels a loud rumble in his stomach. 

No, god no. 

As stated earlier, if Jungkook is hungry — nothing else matters. If his stomach is rumbling, he needs to do something about it. But right now… he can’t. He can still hear the voices coming from downstairs, the three of you laughing and chatting. Exactly what it is that you’re talking about, Jungkook can’t hear, but he knows you’re laughing. He knows you’re having a good time. 

He wishes he was able to make you laugh like that. You only do so when he’s sporting a full one, apparently. 

Why won’t you guys just please go to bed? Jungkook has to get down there. Make himself some food. He has to. 

Tossing and turning in bed, his mind runs wild. Which is when he remembers something horrible, something so extremely unfortunate. 

He forgot the groceries in the car. 

Jungkook bolts upright in bed, almost gasping out loud at the realization. He forgot the fucking groceries. They are still in the car, all of them. Your snacks, your drinks, your ice cream. God — your ice cream. It’s all probably melted by now. 

He throws the blanket off himself and scrambles out of bed. Rushing around his room, he yanks open multiple drawers, grabbing the first pieces of clothing he can find. A blue t-shirt with a yellow crab on it, and a pair of grey cargo shorts. He pulls them on hastily, nearly getting his foot stuck in the fabric. 

“Shit, shit, shit.”

If you see the melted ice cream, you’ll be crushed. You’ll be so disappointed. All he had to do was carry the bags inside. He couldn’t even do that. You would be so sad if you found out your ice cream had been standing outside, the milk getting spoiled. You wouldn’t be able to eat it anymore. How sad you would be. 

When fully dressed, he stumbles into a pair of Puma slippers and tip toes toward his door, opening it just enough to peek out into the hallway. The house is dim, looks almost asleep, but he can still hear your laughter from downstairs. 

Is he supposed to climb out the window? Or how will he go about this?

Without really thinking more of it, he makes sure to tread as lightly as possible, not making any sound as he escapes his room. He makes his way down the stairs, trying to ignore the small creaks the wood makes. If he’s lucky, you’re all drunk by now, and woozy enough to look past the man lurking around ‘undetected’ behind them. 

Finally making it to the last step, he crouches down. The main entrance is so close, but it’s too risky — the dining area is right by. So he options for the terrace door, the one that leads to the pool. 

Carefully, he shifts his weight and begins creeping across the living room floor. Jungkook is as careful as a soldier crossing a field full of land mines, knowing that an awkward bump-in would be too much for him now. He moves slowly enough to keep most of the creaking quiet, but the boards under his slippers give in a few times. Not loud enough for you guys to take notice of it though, thankfully. 

He doesn’t dare look toward the sound of your laughter. He doesn’t know where you’re seated. You could be facing him, or maybe not. Either way, if you turn your head at any given moment, you’ll spot him immediately — half crouched, sneaking across the living room like a criminal. Jungkook gathers none of you have spotted him yet, as you would point it out. So he carries on until he reaches the door, opening it just a tad, making just enough room for his large frame to slip through the crack.

Finally being out in the open, away from the ongoing dinner inside, Jungkook hurries down the path that leads from the terrace to the driveway. His eyes find Taehyung’s car — it sits exactly where he left it, untouched and unmoved, still in the driveway. Seeing it almost gives him war flashbacks from earlier, and he tries his best blocking out the memory of your foot against his leg. How it brushed against him only for a second, then once again. The peak of his demise. 

When he reaches the car, he pops the trunk open immediately, grimacing the second it lifts. 

The bags have spilled, groceries lie scattered around. A mess, really, one he can thank none other than himself for.

He clicks his tongue. “Shit.”

His eyes go to the spilling reminders of your ice cream, the milky fluid having leaked out of its container. Poking at it once, he feels how soft it is, how the carton has fogged up and gone all wet. Fuck, it has been sitting out in the heat for too long. 

Jungkook sighs miserably and starts pulling the groceries into a pile, shoving them back into the grocery bags one by one. He grabs the plastic once fully packed and starts carefully stacking the sachets on the pavement beside him so he’s able to carry it all in one trip. 

And in the midst of all this, Jungkook is so focused on salvaging the groceries that he doesn’t even hear the footsteps approaching behind him. But he can’t help but flinch when a sudden voice cuts through his concentration. 

“Boo!”

Taken by surprise, Jungkook lets out a strangled yelp while his body jerks forward, nearly headbutting the open trunk as he whips around. He recognizes your voice before even laying eyes on you. 

You stand cross armed before him, still in the same sundress from before, looking at him with an unimpressed mine. The startled sound he just produced wasn’t a exclaim for the history books, something he can read from just the look on your face. After examining the flush on his face, your eyes drop to the grocery bags at his feet. 

Jungkook scratches the back of his head nervously. “Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Ah, I gathered that,” you respond, nodding in a belittling way with your eyebrows high on your forehead. A short laughter breaks from you as you probably play back the previous look on his face. “What the hell are you doing anyways?”

“Uh the—” Jungkook stops himself. He’ll probably have to answer why he’s not at dinner, either. Why he told Taehyung he was sick, while still prancing around outside in only a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Nothing anyone with a real cold would do. “I forgot the bags—in the car—earlier today.”

You purse your lips while nodding. Jungkook can’t help but notice the goosebumps on your skin. The straps on your dress are tiny, you’ve got no real fabric protecting you from the cold. He wishes he never set foot outside, so that you wouldn’t have to stand outside shivering because of him. On that note — why exactly are you here…?

“So you’re lurking around late at night in order to save my candies?” 

Great point you’re making, because it does sound stupid. But Jungkook would go to even further lengths to salvage what you hold dear to your heart — and since you seemed to care so much about your lollipops, your ice cream, your chips, he felt lurking around was needed. Although this might sound strange to you, since Jungkook has only known you for less than two days. So maybe he should keep quiet. 

“I didn’t want to disturb you guys,” he ultimately answers, rocking back and forth trying to keep himself from bursting into flames in your presence. 

A giggle escapes you. “You know—you could always join us…? Eat dinner with us? Maybe not hide out in your room?”

Fuck, how did you know he was hiding? 

“It’s—I’ve caught a cold.” His voice is fragile, words bordering on a whisper. “I’m not hiding.” 

“Pfft, come on,” you scoff, letting your head loll back — baring your neck to Jungkook. He can feel his mouth start watering, salivating at the view in front of him. Your soft skin, where your neck meets your chest, your collarbones, your gentle cleavage in that dress as you’ve crossed your arms tightly across your breasts. He snaps out of it the moment you straighten your neck, looking back at him with serious eyes. “Jungkook, I told you—you don’t have to be embarrassed. Not around me, anyways.” 

Now, this is exactly why Jungkook has been hiding. Why are you always so forward, why can’t you just let him suffer in peace? 

His ears go red immediately, and before he manages to answer, he swallows hard, trying to make himself look at serious and tough as possible. It’s hard for Jungkook, as he suffers from a condition called big, black puppy eyes.

“I’m not embarrassed,” he lies, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The bags around him stand still, the trunk stays open, and there’s nowhere for him to go. He’s trapped. 

“Mhm, okay.” Your eyes skim over his body, locking with the yellow crab on his t-shirt. How embarrassing. The shirt is tighter than what he would usually wear, so he suddenly feels like he’s on display. He flexes his stomach (force of habit), hoping he might look good under your eyes. You smile in response. “Okay—so you say you’re not embarrassed. But you’re nervous.” 

Jungkook can’t even manage to get a single word or sound out before you let your arms fall from their crossed position. As they slip, you take a step forward, breathing in a deep breath. Your chest rises, the outline of your soft cleavage making a strong appearance, before it falls again. 

With you walking towards him, with you in that dress, Jungkook’s eyes go wild. His eyes flick over your face, your chest, your stomach, before falling to your feet. 

Mother of god. 

You’re barefoot. 

“Could you…?” you ask, eyes going to the bags by Jungkook’s feet. 

He doesn’t even think twice. With nervous kicks, he shoves the bags out of the way, the contents spilling out and landing scattered around in the driveway. At least — it clears your path. Which is all Jungkook cares for. 

“And the—”

Jungkook won’t let you finish your sentence. Before you reach him, he hurriedly stretches his arm out, aiming for the trunk and shutting it close. It almost hits his head, but he’s quick enough to move away, holding your eyes the entire time. 

You stop maybe two feet before him, looking over at Jungkook as he nervously leans his back against the trunk. A smile spread across your face. 

“What do you study?”

Huh? 

Jungkook parts his lips, but no sound comes out. He doesn’t know exactly what he was expecting, but it most certainly wasn’t small-talk. Not when it looks like you’re about to eat him alive. 

“Uh… I—cybersecurity,” he finally manages. His eyes can’t help but flick over every single part of you, trying to ignore your bare feet. He has never before found feet attractive — he doesn’t find feet attractive. So what on earth is it that you do to him? 

“Do you like it?” 

“Well—yeah, it’s alright.” 

You step forward, watching his every reaction. His eyes dart down to yours as you close in on him. Still, you continue talking — like nothing’s going on. “Are you good with computers?” 

Jungkook’s breath hitches at he feels your breath against his skin. None of your body parts are touching yet, your knees haven’t even met his. Yet, he feels like he might fold in half where he stands. His arms shoot out behind him, bracing himself on the polished trunk, veins popping underneath his skin as he tries to restrain himself. 

“Yea-uh,” his voice cracks halfway through the word. Trying to redeem himself, he coughs once, looking up into the air above him. He breathes out, trying to steady himself. “I’d say so.” 

Your eyes are glued to him, and he even feels you huffing out a laugh against him. And suddenly, he feels skin brush against his knee. Your thigh. Your thigh still hidden behind your soft dress. Without meaning to, he gasps. 

“You play video games?” 

He can only nod, still looking up, trying to keep his cool. He might just come off even more nervous. But he can’t help it. The fabric of his shorts, his boxers, start tightening around his crotch as he feels himself growing. By how close you are, he gathers you’ll soon be able to feel it too. 

Tilting your head, you lean into him, rising on your tippy toes in order to reach the skin by his ear. “Think you could teach me once?” 

“Uh—of course. Yeah—I could do th—”

Jungkook feels a pair of soft lips against his neck before he can finish speaking. 

His entire body shudders, and the bulge in his pants continues to rise. Your lips part once, taking his skin in deeper, letting the wet part of your mouth reach him. It’s so incredibly soft, so tender, that Jungkook almost feels his stomach grow sick. Involuntarily, he lets out a whine, and your name follows.

“W-what are you doing?” 

You shush him softly, tracing his neck with your kisses, your plush lips welcoming his salty skin. Jungkook thinks his knees might buckle when he hears you give a small moan, bracing his arms behind him, trying to dig his fingernails into the car’s polish. There’s no use. 

Letting a breathy laugh leave you, you answer his question with a low voice. “I’m just paying in advance.” 

“H-huh?” 

The kisses start moving upwards, and you let one of your hands find his lap. Jungkook flinches, his thighs twitching, alongside the growing cock hidden away in his pants. You purr against his skin, soft lips meeting his jaw as you stretch taller. 

“You’re gonna teach me how to play—aren’t you?” 

Jungkook wasn’t really paying attention to your meaningless small-talk — but he’ll never deny you anything. However, he knows you’re not being serious. He feels you’re egging him on, teasing him, riling him up. 

None of that matters now that your lips are on him. They are even softer than he had imagined, and now that it’s finally happening, it feels like his cock is about to explode in his boxers. He’s so hard it’s starting to hurt, the length of him twitching every time your small hand squeezes his thigh through the shorts’ fabric. 

Fuck this — he has you now. 

In no less than a second, his hands are on you. He gives up on his quest for the stars, where he stands looking up at the sky trying to avoid you. It has been twenty fucking years, and Jungkook is yet to have had a good kiss. A great fucking kiss. 

His hands find your waist, knead the supple flesh there before he pulls you in. Your lips crash together, and he shivers at the sound of your surprised gasp. Whining into your mouth, Jungkook lets one hand find the small of your back while the other still holds onto your waist. 

You feel so unbelievably soft in his grip, so small and tender. The force of Jungkook’s kiss, the un-expectancy of it has you tumbling forwards, falling into Jungkook’s arms. But you still manage to assert some dominance, pushing on his knees in order to part them before you slip between his legs with ease. 

Holy fuck — he can feel you between his legs. You’re in between his legs. Pressing against him, pushing yourself further into him. 

“Ohh—fuck,” Jungkook whines as you roll your hips softly, simply letting him know you’re there. And he knows alright, the bulge in his pants twitches and pulsates at the feel of you. Impatient and so extremely touch-deprived, Jungkook pushes his tongue against your lips in order to part them. You let him slip in easily, the muscle rolling into your mouth messily. 

The two of you gasp, moan, whine into the wet kisses, going at each other like starved animals. Although the only starved one here is him. 

“Jungkook?” you ask in the midst of a kiss, such a soft voice that has Jungkook’s breath hitching in response. 

“Mm-hm?” He whines as you press against him once again, the bulge in his pants brushing against your crotch. It feels so fucking good — nothing he has ever felt before. It’s even better than jerking off, even though all his clothes are still on. Why is that? Are you a witch?

One of your hands find Jungkook’s cheek, brushing a gentle thumb against his skin. You give him a tiny peck before retracting, staring up at his big, glistening, wondering eyes. 

“I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.” 

Jesus christ. 

This either means: 1) you’re nasty as shit or: 2) you know he’s a virgin. 

He prays to god it’s not the ladder. Or maybe… he does. Then it would explain why he might not be so good to you, if he might do something horrible or something you don’t like. He has no idea. 

His eyes grow wider, if possible, and he wets his lips twice, wishing for more kisses. “It’s okay—I’m okay—I promise.”

The words roll off his tongue, or rather tumble out his mouth, and he eagerly leans in to kiss you again. He has felt nothing like it, how soft your lips are, how sweet you taste. He could kiss you forever, every day, all the time. 

Your tinkling laughter reappears, and you back away from his kiss. Jungkook is stronger, and still keeps you close to him, but he can’t seem to reach your mouth. So he whines yet again. 

“Shh—Jungkook, slow down—I’m not going anywhere,” you say in between your giggles, pressing both palms flat against his chest. Your cheeks flush the moment you feel his plump skin under your hands, something Jungkook can’t help but love. 

“Then kiss me—come on!”

You reach out for his erection, cupping a palm over the bulge in his pants and squeezing tight. All the air in Jungkook’s lungs is punched out, and he lets go of your waist. His hand shoots up, and he bites down on the back of his hand, trying to suppress an embarrassing moan. The others are still inside, after all. Only a few walls away. They could slip out and see the two of you, just as easily as you did just a few minutes ago. 

The palm rubs over his length as you lock eyes with him, even though Jungkook keeps trying to shut them. You lean further into him, purr when Jungkook digs his soft fingernails into the small of your back. He’s unbelievably hard. 

“We have to take it slow, Jungkook—if it’s your first.” 

There it is. Jungkook clenches his eyes shut, a harsh rumble escaping from his throat as his cock twitches in your grip. He can feel himself spilling in his boxers, leaking from the tip. He knows he’ll come harder than ever before if you continue, but he can’t wiggle out of your grip. It feels to good. Instead, he embarrassingly enough starts slowly rutting into your palm. 

You click your tongue and lean into Jungkook, your breath fanning his neck. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“S-so good,” Jungkook breathes, throwing his head back and leaning heavier against the trunk. His hips thrust into your hand, and you haven’t even wrapped yourself around him. It’s just a tease, but a tease that feels so good Jungkook is about to start levitating. 

“You know what would feel better, Kookie?”

Oh my fucking god. Jungkook sees white, the sound of the sugary nickname on your lips causing him to tremble in your grip. He pulls you tighter against him with the hand on your back, searching for your lips. When they meet, he shamelessly moans into your mouth, rolling his tongue against yours, biting and sucking down on your bottom lip.

You gasp and purr against him, cupping his erection even harder as you start applying slow strokes to him. He feels heavy in your palm, thick and long. 

Breathing hot against his lips, you kitten-lick his mouth, pulling away to tell him sweet nothings, words that leave Jungkook white. “Wouldn’t it feel better to have my mouth on you, Kookie?” 

Absolutely not. No way in hell. Nuh-uh. 

Jungkook shudders only hearing you suggest it. Of course it would feel better — he’d fuck your throat so hard you wouldn’t be able to speak for days. But he can’t, he knows he can’t. He’d come so embarrassingly fast that he’d ruin everything. On top of that, he wouldn’t be able to fuck you. To finally get laid. 

He shakes his head against your kiss, whining when you tease the tip of his cock through the shorts. You let your thumb find the slit of him, rubbing around it before pressing your palm hot over the bulge again. 

“No?” you ask, biting down on his bottom lip. “You wouldn’t want that? You wouldn’t want my lips around your cock? Wouldn’t want me to choke on you? You’re big, Kookie. You wouldn’t want your big cock in my pretty little mouth? Would it be too much?” 

Mother of god. Jungkook feels like a dog hearing all his favorite buzzwords. You’re just throwing them out there, hoping for a reaction. 

Trying not to lose his composure, or the tiny bit of it he had left, he lets go of your back. Both hands come behind him to rest on the truck, breathing out deeply as you continue lathering him with kisses. Just like him, you switch positions. Your hand lets go of his erection, but you replace the stimulation by grinding against his crotch. Jungkook’s breath hitches, and he shuts his eyes hard, actively trying not to come in his shorts. It seems fucking impossible, the combination of your kisses and the way you press against his cock has stars dancing in his eyelids. 

“You don’t want that, Kookie?” you breathe out seductively, both hands coming to play with his mullet. “You don’t want your cock in my mouth?” 

“N-yes! But—” he stutters, trembling while you rub yourself on him. Both his boxers and shorts are about to turn very wet, the precum leaking out of him ruining both fabrics. “Can’t. I can’t.” 

You pout, but kiss him nonetheless. Your tongues move in perfect synchronization, and Jungkook thinks this might be all he needs. Until something gives him away. Because as your moans die down, another sound breaks through — the sound of Jungkook’s stomach rumbling. 

Fuck that’s embarrassing. 

He wines, leaning further back, but that only invites you to press yourself harder against his cock. And as you notice his talkative stomach, you giggle. 

“Hungry, Kookie?” 

God yes. God, he’s hungry. He’s so hungry he could die. But he’s determined to do nothing about it. He wants to stay here, with you, kiss you forever. Feel you rub yourself on him, feel your fingers in his hair. Have your soft lips on his, have your sweet, sweet tongue deep in his mouth. 

But he is hungry, there’s no denying that. His stomach continues growling, causing you to scoff out teasing laughs every single time. But that’s only until Jungkook feel you smile devilishly against his kisses. And Jungkook — a fond watcher of porn — thinks he might know what you’re up to. 

You slide one hand from the back of his neck, finger finding his jugular, and you slowly wrap them around his throat — very lightly. Tickling his skin. And as you retreat from the kiss, you lock eyes with Jungkook.

“How hungry are you—exactly?”

Jungkook waists no fucking time now. He has seen this in porn too many times to want to wait. He’s fucking starving, and by what he has seen on the numerous raunchy sites, there’s only one thing that can ease his cravings. 

Suddenly, his hands find the back of your thighs, and with ease — he lifts you from the ground. 

You give a quiet squeal, pressing your lips harder against his, letting your body melt with his. He drinks is the feeling of your spread legs wrapped around him, how the dress has risen up your thighs, almost exposing your panties to him. There’s almost nothing concealing you from him, and as he has you in his arms, Jungkook feels his cock grow even more. 

He turns with you wrapped around him, backing off from the trunk in order to switch places with you. As your ass meets the cool car polish, you sigh against his kiss, and the sound makes it hard for Jungkook to let go of you. He wishes he could carry you around everywhere, all the time. That you would maybe give up on walking, let him keep you in his arms for him to work as a personal carrier. 

But he lets you go nonetheless, pushing himself in between your legs while his hands move up your back, one finding rest on the back of your neck while the other caresses the space between your shoulder blades. 

“Wow,” you tease, giving him one last peck before baring your neck for Jungkook to access the sweet skin there. He latches onto it immediately, kissing and sucking on your jugular. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Jungkook.” 

“Mhm,” he hums while lathering you in wet kisses, lips pressing down on a particular spot that has you squirming. The hand between your shoulder blades roams further, slips down your back and makes its way to your thighs. He feels your bare skin for the first time, instinctively rutting forward, his erection pressing hot and heavy against your panties. “Oh fuck.” 

Jungkook grows impatient, and in a hurry, he takes ahold of the hem of your dress, dragging it upwards until your ass is bare. You help with a compliant lift of your hips. Your bare cheeks are revealed, and Jungkook immediately lets a big palm find the firm flesh there, kneading it while still rolling his hips into your crotch. 

Both his boxers and shorts are almost ruined with his precum, the constant leak. He knows he can’t keep going like this — that he will break if this goes on for any longer. And since his stomach has been growling, since he is so hungry, he lets go of your neck and starts kissing lower. 

“Fuck—Kookie—are you sure?” you breathe as Jungkook starts applying kisses to your breasts. He’s easily distracted, and once his lips meet the soft flesh of your cleavage, he almost forgets the path he has taken on. Jungkook bites down on one of your breasts, licking and kissing the mark in order to ease the small amount of pain. “Ah—oh my god.”  

It seems like you can’t take it anymore, and you help Jungkook without him even asking. You let your head loll back as your hands go to the waistband of your panties. Hooking your fingers into the fabric, you start wiggling out of the fabric. Jungkook groans against your neck as you start undressing yourself, taking a small step back in order for you to rid yourself of your underwear. 

The fabric bunches around your ankles, and Jungkook hastily takes ahold of the hem — ripping it off you in an instant. 

“Oh my god I need you so bad,” he whines as he lets go of your neck with a slick pop, looking proudly at the red mark he has left behind. That will stay. Jungkook just marked you — for everyone to see. Holy fuck. 

You only sigh in respond, but you do it so prettily. Jungkook’s brain tangles, and he no longer sees straight. He forgets all about rutting into you like an animal in heat, and suddenly drops to his knees without warning. Jungkook shoves you further onto the trunk, the sound of it squeaky and humorous, but not enough for him to snap out of his trance. 

When met with the new view before him, he whimpers. There’s no other way to explain it — Jungkook whimpers at the sight of your bare cunt. 

Porn can’t compare, Jungkook knows this now. God why has he held himself back for so long, why hasn’t he been met with the real deal before now? Or is it just you? Is it just you and your perfect, soft, wet, glittering pussy? Jungkook has nothing to compare this to (other than the on-screen vaginas he has seen before), but he can confidently say this is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. 

He releases a moan that carries your name, eyebrows lifting high on his forehead. And what really seals the deal is when he feels your fingers in his hair. He looks up at you with big eyes, almost breaking in half when he sees the flush on your cheeks, how you press your lips together in order not to let out any sound. 

Jungkook realizes, while sitting down on his knees in front of your parted legs and dripping cunt, that he has no idea how to do this. He’s a fast learner, and he usually excels at everything he tries — but this is human anatomy. What if he’s awful? What if you don’t like it? He would never want to disappoint you, and he would most of all want you to feel good — to make you cry, scream, beg for him to keep going, beg for him to stop. 

His eyes give away all his questions before he even has to ask. You lick down on your lips, caressing his scalp as your fingers play with his soft hair. 

“Kookie, just—” you say in between a breath, almost like you know exactly what’s going on inside his head. “Just start out with a kiss—okay?”

Okay, he can do that. He gives you one single nod, his eyes tripling in size before he looks back down on the meal before him. Before actually kissing it, he moves his hand, letting his knuckles drag experimentally through your wetness. 

To his surprise, you twitch before him, letting out a whimper. And even more surprising is what Jungkook sees before him — the white slick that leaks from you. His lips part instinctively, and his mouth waters. Is this all for him? Is he doing this to you? 

Jungkook leans in, feeling your fingers tighten in his hair as he closes in on your wetness. And slowly, he closes his eyes, parts his lips even further, and kisses the soft, beautiful nub that crowns your mound. 

Holy fuck. 

Your hips jerk upwards, but there’s no use. Jungkook has just gotten the taste of something life altering. His eyes open, still kissing down on your clit, and like clockwork — he plants another kiss there. 

“Oh my—fuck,” you moan as you breathe out, fist closing around a big chunk of Jungkook’s silky hair. 

Is this what he has been missing out on this entire time? Is he a fucking idiot? Is this what he has been giving up — and for what? To play video games, get drunk and sing karaoke with his friends, refusing to get laid? What a fucking dumb idiot he is.

Now that he’s here, he gets drunk off you. Absolutely hammered. 

His hands push both your knees to the side, spreading you further apart, and he dives in yet again. This time, he does exactly like when kissing you — rolling his tongue out, this time letting it catch in your clit. He realizes this might not be such a poor method, as your writhe before him whenever he nudges the wet nub. 

“Jesus—Jungkook, right there.” 

Dingdingding — jackpot. 

He flattens his tongue, delving down and lapping at you like a parched animal. His hands spread apart your legs, fingertips digging into the supple flesh of your thighs as he goes — to — town. 

Nothing has ever tasted this good before. Your juices have Jungkook’s mind going hazy, his thoughts wiping out. His eyebrows curl together low on his forehead, concentrating to the fullest as he eats you out with the sole purpose of his own pleasure. Because it tastes so fucking good. Where have you been all this time? 

Your clit twitches on his tongue, and you try scooting away from his mouth, but Jungkook’s strong hands pin you down against the car. 

A moan gets caught in your throat. “Mrph—Jungkook, oh my god—you’re doing s-so good.”

The praise flies right above Jungkook’s head. He can’t hear or see shit. He wishes he could do what all the guys do in porn — lock eyes with you and map out every single one of your reactions, your pretty facial expressions. But he’s too far gone to be doing all that. You taste too fucking good. 

More and more juices keep leaking from you, covering his tongue as he messily eats away at you. He drags his tongue lower, gathering your slick purely because of its sweet taste, but suddenly gets a feel of a pulsating, sopping hole. 

He moans against your pussy at the new discovery, mapping out the hole with the tip of his tongue. It keeps spasming, keeps pulsating, and Jungkook’s expression only grows more concentrated when experimentally dipping the tip of his tongue into your wet center. 

Your head lolls back in pleasure, and you tug on Jungkook’s hair. You’re so incredibly taken aback by Jungkook’s skillful use of tongue, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he slowly lets the thick muscle sink into your core. “Yes—yes, Jungkook—oh my god.” 

Oh my god is right — because with where Jungkook’s tongue is buried now, he can taste all of you. His brows furrow even further, similar to the expression he makes when eating great food, and he slowly lets his tongue curl inside you, mapping out every single inch of your insides. It’s all so wet, so warm, and your sweet slick covers his entire face. His chin is dripping with your juices, and he’s nearly suffocating on your cunt. But it’s all good — Jungkook would happily choke and die here. 

As Jungkook retracts his tongue, you jump at the sensation. But he needs more, he needs to savor the taste of you. His arms move, curling around your thighs, and he shoves you against his face — his tongue entering you once again as his nose presses against your clit. 

“Kookie—please­—” you cry out, causing Jungkook’s eyes to search for yours, afraid he might’ve done something wrong. And as your eyes meet, Jungkook’s cock jumps in his shorts. 

The corner of your eyes, the top of your sweet cheeks, are covered in tears. Wet, glittering, beautiful tears that Jungkook wishes he could lick away. But his tongue might be a bit busy at the moment. Jungkook waits for you to catch your breath, continue speaking, and he watches the way your belly moves up and down, how you’re panting. 

You caress his scalp again, his hair, twirling it around in your grip. The look on your face is nothing short of pleading, and Jungkook believes he can come right here and now. 

“Please—” you continue. “Fuck me with your tongue. Fuck me s-so good.”

Point taken. 

Jungkook waits no more time, always following orders, and starts doing as told — fucking you dumb with his tongue. 

It retracts, pushes back in, repeat — repeat. When diving back in, he buries his big nose right onto your pretty clit, shaking his head a bit just to make your thighs shake. He loves when your thighs shake. He wants more of it. And they shake so beautifully, spasm so perfectly, whenever he rubs against your highpoint. So thinking no more of it, he presses a thumb against it, flicking over the sensitive area until you can do no more but cry out his name into the summer night. 

He wants you to break. Wants you to feel as helpless as he has been feeling for the past days. He wants you trembling on his tongue. And if the sounds you are producing are anything to go by — he’s almost there. 

Once feeling your thighs clamping around his head, his hands go back to pulling you further apart for him, and Jungkook’s tongue again finds your clit. The muscle has gone all slick and wet, more than before, and he uses it to repeatedly flick over the nub until you writhe against his face. 

“Fuck I’m gonna—” you start, breathing heavily as Jungkook won’t give up on stimulating your clit. He uses only the tip of his tongue, flicking fast over it, causing you to tug on his hair. “Oh my god please don’t stop!”

He won’t stop — he’s not fucking brain dead. He’s hungry, starving, loving the sweet, perfect taste of you. And trying to down it even further, he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it in order to drink you up completely. His tongue rolls with the suction, working over the nub until you can’t take it anymore. He lets go only once, in order to come up for air and gasp, but he quickly delves in again. 

You break in half. 

Your whole body locks, and even as Jungkook keeps you spread open for him, your thighs try clamping around him. You clench your fist in his hair, the other hand slamming down on the trunk, and you call out his name in a row of beautiful moans. 

As you come, Jungkook loses it completely. It’s the most wonderful thing he has ever experienced, and as you spasm in his grip, on his tongue, he just continues sucking. He won’t give this up — he wouldn’t give this taste up for anything in the world. So Jungkook sucks, moans, pants, acting out on pure instinct as you fall apart for him. 

But you try getting him to ease up, try pushing him away — something Jungkook won’t have. 

“Jungkook—fuck, stop—oh my god,” you say between moans, head lolling back in pleasure filled pain. One of your feet come up to Jungkook’s shoulder, desperately trying to kick him off. Your back arches, and you try and try and try, but Jungkook won’t let up. 

He knows you like this — knows you love it. Because why else would your core keep pulsating, clenching around nothing, producing more sweet juice for Jungkook to lap at? 

“Please, Kookie—for fucks sake, s-stop.” 

You yank his head back with the fist curled up in his hair, causing Jungkook to finally give your clit a rest, hissing as you’ve hurt his scalp. 

As he looks up at you, finds your eyes, he gasps. The tears have now fallen completely, covered your entire face, some small droplets still creasing in the corners of your eyes. You look so pretty when you’re fucked out. How is that even possible? 

His chest moves up and down as he finally comes up for air, arms still wrapped around your thighs. When drinking in the state of you, he starts worrying the tears might be a bad thing, that he hurt you. That you kicked him off because he hurt you — and he never meant to do that. He would never, ever hurt you. 

The words tumble out of his mouth. “Wha—what—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry did I hurt you?”

Still trying to catch your breath, you thankfully give him a smile. You ease the hand tangled in his hair and let it move to his mullet. “Awh—aw no, you’re so sweet,” you say, caressing him as he looks up at you like a lost puppy. “It’s just—it’s sensitive. That’s just how it is for girls. For everyone, Kookie. You did nothing wrong. You did so—so good.”

Jungkook lets out a big sigh, suddenly feeling that his chin is starting to grow cold. He let’s the back of his hand meet the skin there, noticing how slick it is, and wipes it off at once. 

“Okay, that’s good. I’m happy I did good,” he answers awkwardly, now unsure of where to put his hands. He lets them find rest on his knees, rubbing down on them while his eyes drown in yours. 

You tilt your head to the side, give him a comforting smile and reach for him with grabby hands. “Look—come here.” 

He does as told, rising to his feet and lets your hands find his soft cheeks. You pull him in for a kiss, quick and playful pecks that move from his lips, to his chin, to his jaw. 

“You’re a mess now, Jungkook.” 

“It’s okay—I kinda like it,” he says in a whisper, closing his eyes in pure bliss as your kisses move further down, finding his neck. 

You’re sensitive. You just told him you’re sensitive. That all girls are — even boys. So his hopes drop just a tiny bit. 

Maybe he won’t get laid tonight, maybe that will have to wait. It might be sad, but Jungkook at least got a taste of something borderline perfect. He got to drink you in, make you cry. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it. Maybe he can ask to do this every day. Wouldn’t you like that? It’s at least his new favorite thing ever, or at least top three. 

As his thoughts run wild, his breath suddenly leaves him. 

Because you push yourself further into him, all the while you’re kissing and licking down on his neck, tongue swirling over his Adam’s apple, feeling the way it bobs when Jungkook swallows hard at the new sensation. The feel of your bare, sopping pussy pressing ever so gently over his still hard and clothed cock. 

Jungkook has never been this hard in his life. He bets his balls have turned blue, maybe even purple. 

He gives your name in a low breath, “We don’t—ah—we don’t have to…” You grind into him once more, a moan getting caught in his throat. 

“Jungkook, take off those shorts now.” 

Holy fuck this is happening. Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck. 

Wait — aren’t you sensitive? Whatever that means. 

Jungkook doesn’t care right now, he wants to feel you. Correction — he wants to fuck you. Deep. Fuck you until Taehyung and Sara can hear, until they rush out to see why you’re screaming, see if you’re being attacked or killed, only to find out you have Jungkook’s cock shoved so deep inside you that your stomach shows the outline of him. Until you can’t fucking think, speak or walk. 

Something like that, at least. 

Anyways, Jungkook spends no more than two seconds in his ruined shorts. He pulls them off so hurriedly that you can’t help but laugh. There’s really no time to take notice of the wet patch in his Calvin Klein’s as he pulls them down just as past as the pants. Both stay bunched on his thighs, just enough for his cock to spring free. 

When it does, when he’s bared to you, a sound nothing short of a gasp leaves you.

He’s thick, long, big — and most of all leaking. The tip of him has gone dark red, flushed and angry, precum seeping from his slit every so often. And upon seeing him, your mouth waters — and you’re quite literally gagged. 

“Okay… alright—wow.” You tuck loose strands of hair behind your ears, your cheeks growing warmer by the second. 

Jungkook takes this the wrong way, suddenly a bit embarrassed by how hard he is. “Uh, yeah—well, sorry it’s just—I’ve never—”

“Fuck Kookie—you’re so big.” 

Oh. Oh, that’s why your jaw is slacking. Jungkook can’t help but smile, his embarrassment turning into pride. He feels snug as a bug, actually. He can live with this. A pretty girl just gasped at the size of him. 

“You’re gonna have to take it slow, okay Kookie? You think you can do that for me?” you ask with a gentle voice, bracing your arms behind you on the trunk as you spread your legs again, now even further to accommodate the size of him. 

Jungkook nods fast and a lot. Okay, he’ll be careful. He’ll take it slow. No problem. 

You’re still so wet, you still look so sweet, and Jungkook could possibly come just by looking at your sopping cunt. But that’s what porn is for. He has the real deal now, and he has to bury himself inside you by yesterday. 

Taking a single step forward, Jungkook reaches for his cock, but is pleasantly surprised that your smaller hand takes his place. 

He uncontrollably whines at the feel, your grip gentle but commanding, wrapping around the girth of him in order to angle his hard on directly to your entrance. You tease for a bit, letting the leaking head of him just get a feel of you first. 

“Oh my fuck holy fuck,” Jungkook gasps, even more precum slipping out of him as you drag the tip through your puffy folds, letting it catch in your clit. That last part has even you moaning, eyebrows creasing as your jaw goes slack. 

“Fuck—feels so good, Kookie.”

“Yeah?” he asks in an embarrassingly high pitch, eyes locking with how his cock slips through your wetness. He leans further forward, both hands going to your waist, caressing you before finding shelter on your ass. Jungkook grabs two handfuls of your flesh and starts kneading, his cock almost exploding when you slowly drag it through your pussy once again. “Ah—yeah? Feels good?”

“Feels so good Jungkook, just—just take it slow, okay?”

Fuck okay, okay he has to take it slow — he needs to take it slow. He can’t come right away, he just can’t. That’ll be too embarrassing. 

“Okay I’ll take it slow—I’ll be good, I’ll be—I’ll be so good,” Jungkook whines, eyes darting up to search for yours. He drowns in them immediately, how pleading they look, and immediately forgets all about his promise. 

He leans in for a deep kiss, and uncontrollably ruts forward, his cock once again sliding through your pussy, this time a bit more awkwardly, a bit messily. You gasp against his lips, but immediately reroute his shaft, pressing the head of him directly against your entrance. And with a deep breath, a wet kiss, Jungkook pushes forward. 

Jungkook whines out a deep moan of your name traced upon his lips, a moan that comes from low within his chest, maybe even all the way down from his stomach. He feels every single wet wall of yours pulsating and clenching around his skin — the feeling something he has no way to put into words. 

Do people really do this? Do people have access to this daily? Is this what Taehyung and Sara keep doing every single day?

Suddenly, Jungkook wants a girlfriend. Or maybe just to fuck everything. Everyone. Or maybe it’s just you. Maybe it’s just your pussy that has him acting this way. Because there is no fucking way, absolutely no fucking way.

“Jesus—oh my fucking god—feels so fucking good,” Jungkook moans hoarsely, pushing even further in, slowly (as you’ve told him), until he is completely bottomed out. “Ah—holy fuck.”

He buries himself balls deep inside you, his head falling to your shoulder the moment he’s all the way in. You comfort him despite the harsh fit of him inside you, hugging him tightly against your chest while drawing circles with your nails on his muscly back. 

Jungkook’s entire body shudders against you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to move even if he tries. But he feels you pulsate around him, and you feel so warm, so plush. He has to move. 

You’re so wet he almost slips out of you when retracting, holding onto your ass cheeks for his dear life in order not to come right away. And as he pushes further in, you moan so prettily that he has to shut his eyes. He wishes he could watch what’s happening, look at how your juices covers his abdomen, but he can’t. He just has to pray to every god out there that he won’t come. 

“You’re so big baby—mrph—take it slow,” you whimper, placing a kiss on the soft skin behind his ear. 

Baby. You called him baby. 

Alright that’s it — pound time. 

Jungkook moans at the pet-name, retracting from your heat then surging forward, not caring even a bit about taking it slow. Fuck taking it slow — he needs you screaming. Crying again. 

And you do, loudly. When Jungkook sets a mean pace, you scream out over his shoulder, burying wet eyes in the crook of his neck. Your whole body jumps with every thrust of Jungkook’s hips, and he lets out animalistic noises every time he feels you clench around him. He might be a bit too big for you — he feels that — as the fit is so unbelievably snug that Jungkook’s vision almost wipes clean out. 

Fuck, he has to swallow his moans. He needs to silence himself — focus. 

One of the hands squeezing your ass tumbles upwards, searching for your chest. He reaches for the fabric of your dress, happy to find you’re not wearing a bra, and simply just rips. The dress tears, the seams hanging loose across his tattooed fingers — but at least your tit pops out. 

Jungkook’s eyes widen. He has never seen such a pretty breast. So perky, round, such a cute nipple. Bite-sized. 

He wraps his lips around it without thinking twice and sucks for dear life. 

You cry out, biting down on Jungkook’s ear in hopes of something. What it is, neither you or Jungkook knows. But you bite and suck when Jungkook bites and sucks, your moans breaking with every pound that Jungkook’s heavy cock bestows upon you. 

“Fu—uu—uuck Jungkook!” you whine, resting your head above Jungkook’s, letting one hand find his hair again. You seem to have a habit of tugging and pulling on his hair — something Jungkook loves. And he loves your pretty tits. He loves the taste of your nipple. He loves the taste of your pussy. He loves your pussy. Maybe he should tell you this? 

“Love this fucking pussy,” he mindlessly rambles while biting down on the peak of your tit, sweat dripping from his forehead. Jungkook slams his hips into you, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, but only for a mere second before sliding out — then right back in. If one can get drunk of pussy, Jungkook is exactly that. Pussy-drunk, and heavily that is. His breathing goes ragged, and he thrusts into you like a madman, not even letting you get a single word out. So he fills the silence himself. 

“Love this pussy—how tight it is. How tight you feel around my cock. How it fits my cock perfectly, taking me like the slut you are.” 

You clench the moment the word slut leaves his mouth. 

Jungkook looks up at you, still near your tit, having left your nipple wet with spit. “You like that, huh? Me calling you slut?”

Apparently two can play this game. Jungkook isn’t even allowed to play big-shot for even a minute, as you suddenly pull on his hair, make him meet your eyes and bare his neck for you. 

“Awh, that’s cute,” you purr, trying to keep yourself from moaning his name. Jungkook tries stealing glances, searching for a way to ogle at your tits bouncing with the force of his thrusts, but you make him look up at you. “Try not to cum right away, Kookie—can you do that? Even with how wet I am for you? H-how my pussy sucks you in so greedily?” 

Your words might be a bit broken, a bit breathy with the way you’re taking his cock — but they send shivers down Jungkook’s spine. 

His pace wavers for a second, but he snaps right back into it as he feels his balls tightening. Fuck — what a bad timing to come. He can’t come. Fuck, he can’t look at you, watch you like this. You look so flushed, so unbelievably fucked out. And it’s all because of him — this is his doing. 

Jungkook closes his eyes and lets his head loll back, trying to uphold the thrusts but also not spurt into you after only a couple of minutes. But as his neck stretches before you, you lean into him, flinging your arms over his shoulder while whispering sweet nothings in his ear. 

“I know you w-wanna cum, Kookie,” you whisper in a seductive tone, moaning so prettily when Jungkook slams into you repeatedly. “Know you wanna cum so bad—fill me up so nice. Have me dripping all over Tae’s car. Wouldn’t you like that? Have your cum so deep inside me, make me cry all over again? Huh, Kookie?”

A load and deep moan rips from Jungkook’s throat, spilling out into the free air above him. He wants to come so bad. He wants to fill you up so nicely. And right now, he can’t exactly think straight. He bets that he’ll be crossed if he looks back at you. So he keeps his head up, jaw slacking as he slams into you again and again and again. 

Apparently, that last slam hits a spot you like. A spot you really like. You gasp, choking on a moan, before searching for Jungkook’s lips. Dear mother of god — Jungkook likes that. He likes that very much, he has to hit that spot again. 

And he does, again, and again until you cry out into his mouth. All you can produce are long, incoherent rows of his name as Jungkook hits your sweet-spot repeatedly. Fuck, the noises are too good. Your pussy is too tight. Your lips are too soft. And it’s all too much when you suddenly start clenching, gasping for air as your body spasms in Jungkook’s grip. Fuck — your pussy is milking him dry. 

With two final, deep thrusts, Jungkook buries his cock to the hilt, a long and rough moan tearing from his throat and spilling into your parted lips. The two of you gasp for air as thick ropes of Jungkook’s cum spills inside of your warm pussy. Now this is the hardest Jungkook has ever climaxed. The spillage just won’t stop, and he continues leaking, white and milky contents seeping out of your spent cunt, covering Jungkook’s abdomen. 

He lets his head find your chest, forehead resting against your skin as he catches his breath. As his eyes open, he’s met with the view of his own cum dripping out of your pussy, spilling onto his own cock. Fuck, he fills you up so perfectly. Looks like he’s made to be there. 

As the two of you come down from your high, you start caressing Jungkook’s scalp, the back of his neck. It has him shivering, your fingernails long enough to cause a slight tickle. 

“Holy shit—th-that was the best thing ever,” he embarrassingly admits, breathing hot against your chest. He suddenly remembers ruining your dress, whining at the sight. “Ah—shit—I’m sorry about your dress—fuck.”

You giggle, finally, after so long he finally hears that beautiful giggle. “That’s all good.” With trembling fingers, you play with his hair, still shuddering after your orgasm. You let out a content hum, breathing through your nose. “You’re so cute.” 

“I’m not cute—don’t say that.” 

As your fingers move, both your hands come to cup his cheeks. You pull his head off your chest and force him to look you straight in the eyes before planting a soft kiss on his lips. “Unfortunately you are, Jungkook. You are really cute.”

The next kiss is just as soft, and neither of you feel the need to use tongue, to act lustful. It’s just a simple kiss. Just a soft, simple kiss. But Jungkook’s cheeks turn pink, and he shuts his eyes while breathing through his nose, kissing you still. 

And there you stay for a while, still messy and locked, with Jungkook’s cock buried inside your warm heat, letting it soften as his cum seeps from your entrance. You’ve been loud enough for Taehyung and Sara to take notice of it — but Jungkook is guessing that they’re good enough friends to not break anything off. Even though you just fucked a girl on the trunk of Taehyung’s car. 

That’s a worry for another time. 

The worry comes earlier than excepted. 

Jungkook slept in his own bed last night — but so did you.

After tearing each other apart on Taehyung’s car, Jungkook offered to carry you inside as your legs had stopped working and your dress was completely ruined. You of course let him do so, stealing tiny kisses from him as he carried you bridal-style all the way to the second floor. But you whined the moment he started walking towards your room, and demanded to sleep in his bed. When Jungkook tried knocking some sense into your head — telling you it would be best if the two of you kept a low profile — you simply laughed in his face. 

You slept in his arms the entire night. It was a bit warm (or extremely sweaty, actually) and you tried to push Jungkook away numerous of times, but the attempts were all unsuccessful. Jungkook’s big arms caged you in, and when you tried wiggling away he locked you against his warm body by curling a thick thigh around you. 

The sounds he made when sleeping bordered on soft purrs, and he believed he had never been a happier man. He just had sex. He just had sex with a beautiful girl and now she’s sleeping in his bed. He could dance, probably, but he was a bit too tired. So he optioned for the next best thing — falling asleep to your breathing. 

But the happy, giddy illusion was all shattered when the door busted open in the morning. 

Taehyung stands with fiery eyes in the doorframe, hair wild and everywhere. 

He and Sara had apparently went to bed the second you slipped away from the dinner, and fell fast asleep with no worries in mind. They hadn’t even heard the fact that you guys had been fucking like animals outside. 

But the problem has creeped up on Taehyung now, as he just went outside into the driveway, ready to take his car for a spin before going to the gym — when he was met with a big, melting stain of old cum on the back of the trunk. As well as a big mess of spilled groceries, wet ice cream seeping into the black and hot tires of his car. 

“I hope the two of you had a great time last night, and I’m happy the plan worked, blah blah blah—whatever,” Taehyung hisses, curling his lips inward and jerking his neck. “If that car isn’t cleaned within ten minutes, I’ll castrate Jungkook and send you off to boarding school, miss.” 

You apologize immediately, covering yourself with Jungkook’s blanket, looking over at him for any signs of embarrassment, remorse, confusion. But you find none, since Jungkook simply nods, bearing a big, teethy smile.

As Taehyung leaves the room, you turn to Jungkook yet again. He doesn’t seem to have noticed anything weird in Taehyung’s words.

Until he does.

His eyebrows crease low on his forehead, and he turns his head to you slowly. “Uh—plan?”

You let out an awkward giggle, scratching the back of your head. “Okay—don’t be angry with me,” you start, tumbling over your words. “But we kinda planned everything. For me… to you know… sleep with you.”

Mhm. Okay.

Jungkook doesn’t give a fuck at all. Not a single fuck. He just had sex last night. He just had great, fucking, mind-blowing sex. Who cares about Taehyung’s car? Who cares if it was all a plot?

Without even answering, Jungkook leans in with slender eyes, smiling as he kisses you. You on the other hand look confused, not really understanding why he’s not more riled up. You don’t really kiss him back, you just sit still. However, your heart does a weird little flip. Your head tells it to stop, but somehow… it just doesn’t.

And Jungkook keeps his blissful energy, humming contentedly against your lips. The world is all butterflies and rainbows. The world is beautiful, and so are you.

Jungkook just had sex.

[ohhowjooniewept]

handyman jungkookx y/n

damsel in distress, obsessive obsessive obsessive, smutty

>20k

-

the life you lived was hardly one that many dreamt about.

you weren’t rich, successful or even remotely happy. you worked two gruelling jobs, one throughout the day and then a night shift at your local diner all whilst barely having enough money at the end of the month for basic necessities and food, all thanks to the horrible apartment you had moved into.

moving away from an abuser who had connections and knew everyone in the town you’d once lived in meant you were forced into the city - big streets, bigger prices and no safety net. you had been here for six months, still healing from the kind of trauma that lodged itself in your body as opposed to your overworked mind. the kind that made you flinch at footsteps, double check locks, keep your head down.

you weren’t sure you had ever experienced safety, and you weren’t sure you ever would.

the only building you managed to secure on such short notice was the building you lived in now - a concrete block rotting from the inside out. the water pressure was horrendous, shooting out cold water a majority of the time, with mould crawling up your walls like it was alive. you owned very little because you couldn’t afford to replace anything that broke, and the worst part of all? the rent.

triple what the apartment was worth.

you didn’t know at first, too blinded by your desperation to escape your abusive home, too tired, too exhausted - you had signed the papers without looking properly. by the time you realised, you were already trapped. you couldn’t move even if you wanted, not with all of the deposits you couldn’t afford, moving fees you couldn’t dream of paying or the even nastier landlords that somehow managed to be sleazier than your own.

and so, you endured. endured the way he would speak to you, all up in your business, breath hot on your neck and cheeks every time he’d lean in too close. sometimes he would move goalposts, forcing you to pay your rent early just to watch you scramble. you were in a constant fight or flight mode that you knew would kill you.

you woke up tired and went to sleep tired, body aching in ways that rest could never help recover. you didn’t complain, didn’t have anyone to ask for help, didn’t have the time nor the energy to believe anything would change. you moved through the world quietly, apologetically, as though your mere presence took up too much space.

jungkook had known that apartment long before you ever even stepped foot into it.

unit 4b.

as the resident’s on sight handyman, he had been inside it years ago. the building had been past saving then, but still pretending otherwise - he couldn’t even imagine what it was like now, but luckily, it had been unoccupied for so long that he had forgotten all about it thankfully.

he had fixed a pipe in there once, replaced a fuse another; every visit had left him with grime underneath his fingernails and a sour taste in his mouth. the place was a hazard waiting to happen, damp beneath the walls and faulty wiring. it was a display of neglect that didn’t show itself all at once.

when he had seen your name on the new tenants list, next to the apartment, something inside him had gone still.

he hadn’t bothered to knock on your door when you moved in. never introduced himself, that wasn’t how things were done in this place - it was rough living for rough people. you asked when you wanted something, weren’t just given it.

he, however, had met fragments of you.

coming and going whilst he fixed stair rails, brow collecting sweat as he watched you shuffle beside him to take the rubbish out. you moved like someone permanently bracing for impact with your shoulders curled in, bag clutched tight, steps uneven with exhaustion. sometimes you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up, but he could see the glassy mess of your eyes.

he doubted you had ever even seen him. that should have been the end of it, but it wasn’t.

because once he noticed you, he couldn’t stop.

it wasn’t an immediate desire - it wasn’t that simple or crude, no. it was something slower, heavier. it carried in the way his attention snagged every time he saw you stumble slightly on the stairs. the way his jaw would lock tight when he noticed how late you’d leave and come home from your night shift, or the way his chest would tighten inexplicably whenever he imagined you unlocking your door and stepping foot in that fucking apartment all alone.

he didn’t like the thoughts that manifested because of you.

they were intrusive - possessive to the core. he felt sick at the thought of you. wanted to sink his teeth into your arms and legs, anything to grab your attention so you’d notice him head on. his brain was fucked up, wrong in the way that had less to do with morality and everything to do with intensity. jungkook had always known there was something twisted about the way he wanted - not in excess but in pure depth.

he didn’t give a fuck about the idea of all of his past girlfriends leaving him - they weren’t what he craved. they weren’t the missing puzzle piece he had been looking for, all differently shaped to the specific hole in his life.

he fantasised about his dream woman. fantasised about making her stay, making her feel good, providing something he knew he yearned to give.

wanted to provide until there was nothing left for them to worry about. wanted to make money irrelevant in their brain. rest would be mandatory - he wanted to come home dirty after a long day of work to his sweet girl cooking for him, just so he could breed her all fucking night.

it didn’t stem from kindness, but mere vice.

and watching you wear yourself thin inside a place he knew should’ve been condemned made that vice burn hot and ugly in his chest.

he started recognising the patterns. the way you always opted for the stairs when the elevator had broken down, despite it being incredibly dangerous in a messed up building like this one. it was the way you paused on the landing, trying to catch your breath after a long day of not eating enough and feeling a level of exhaustion that had settled into your body like home, your fingers tightening against the very metal he had worked on prior.

you never complained, never flagged anyone down, never even asked for repairs - he was marginally cheaper than anyone else you could hire considering his contract with your building and yet still, you lived in squalor.

jungkook had never been good at ignoring the things he wanted most. especially not when they had him hardening, balls tightening at the mere sight of you - the perfect candidate for the life he wanted to build. at first, he tried convincing himself it was normal to worry about any woman like this, tired and exhausted living in a bad area but he knew his motivation was anything but innocent.

this was a fixation. a maddening, obsessive one.

he could feel his brain warping, dripping in need whenever he’d catch you walking back to your place. couldn’t help the thoughts from straying, wanted to protect you, save you, he’d do it in anyway possible.

you shouldn’t be living like this, and one day soon, something had to give.

he’d make fucking sure.

—

the stairwell smelled like damp concrete and old cigarettes.

the elevator was broken again, and this time it had been down for weeks. you didn’t know if you were allowed to complain to anyone, didn’t have half the energy the act required and frankly, neither the time. your bag dug into your shoulder as you opened the door to the staircase, sighing quietly, beginning your painful ascend to the fourth floor.

your vision swam from your shift you had just finished with, whimpering lightly as your aching legs took you to your place, so you could get dressed for your night shift.

as you climbed, your keys fell from your hand, your hair falling into your eyesight, blurring it even more.

you watched as they clattered down the stairs, another small noise of complaint leaving you at the sight. the sound was jarring in the empty space, as you stumbled down to collect them, hand darting outwards whilst you swayed.

your body lagged behind your mind, causing you to slip, a squeak escaping as you began to fall forwards, bracing for impact.

an arm caught you.

fast. firm. heavy. rough.

fingers clung to the skin on your waist like they had been there before, pulling you harshly into an equally hard chest, the contact knocking air away from your lungs.

“steady.”

a single word. low.

you froze.

your bag had slipped from your shoulder to the ground, your soft palms pressing gently against a set of shoulders, heart pounding. the first thing you noticed when looking up was how big he was, wide shoulders, large pecs, biceps bursting from the t-shirt that sat on top of his body. his grip hadn’t loosened, it had even tightened, his thumb pressing in further to make sure you were steady on your feet.

you nodded quickly, coming out of your daze. “i..i-i am so..sorry.”

he didn’t answer.

instead, he manoeuvred you to his other arm, whilst he bent down to pick up both your bag and your keys, moving in a way that felt easy, controlled. he was blocking the narrow landing, making sure you were pressed firmly against him despite it being intense. you hadn’t been this close to anyone, regardless another man, in years.

his forearm flexed when it straightened, veins standing out underneath worn skin. he held them out to you.

your eyes were hazy, a mixture of exhaustion and the heat of the situation, lips parted as your eyes met with his. you felt suffocated by his gaze, you felt completely naked, as though he as looking at every crevice you tried to hide with mere ease.

“you live here.” he said. not a question.

you shrugged weakly, nodding, shamefully looking away from his gaze, unsure of what to say and not being able to stomach his stare.

something shifted in his expression at that. not sympathy. irritation, sharp and contained. his jaw tightened.

your fingers brushed his as you took your stuff, despite being held almost intimately still. the contact was brief, and accidental, and yet it held even more weight than the heavy arm around your waist, as though it meant something else entirely.

“late.” he gruffed out.

you nodded again, hands against his chest. “yeah.”

his touch loosened, but he remained inappropriately close. tired eyes, scuffed shoes, the way your shoulders were sagging from exhaustion.

“you shouldn’t be out at a time like this,” he said.

not gently.

your stomach twisted. “i don’t really have a choice.”

he looked at you for a long moment. his gaze flicked down the stairwell, listening, calculating, and when he looked back, he stepped closer, close enough that you felt it in your chest.

“pretty thing like you,” he said quietly, “working nights in a place like this?”

your heart fluttering was a shock to you. you could feel a stampede in your stomach, curling further into the warmth he was providing without even realising it, voice tough enough to carry heat. his words weren’t necessarily a compliment, but a mere observation, one that had you reeling regardless.

you nodded for a third time, small. “i have to.”

his hand on your waist squeezed, grunting vocally in response. he could feel his cock hardening, and he knew it was fucked up, but the prospect of such a pretty damsel in distress like you? you were out of his wildest dreams, an anomaly that only came once in a lifetime.

he held you for another moment, the two of you simply looking at one another. he liked watching you cower a little, knowing that there were bad people all over in the complex, and though he evidently wasn’t one, his sheer size alone had you hesitant. knew it made his brain fucked up, but he enjoyed it regardless.

“get inside.” he muttered slowly, arm slipping away from your waist.

your too large eyes blinked up at him, uncomfortable with the feeling cold seeping in. you wanted him to touch you again.

“okay.” you nodded through a whisper, pulling your bag further onto your shoulder more firmly. he admired you for another moment before nudging his nose up to the rest of the staircase, where the door to your floor sat. “lock your door.”

your cheeks were a deep pink, as you turned and walked up the rest of the stairs, nibbling away at your lip, heading through the final door, and rushing into your apartment.

you leaned against your door, locking it exactly as he ordered you, before sliding down the cold wood, legs giving out beneath you.

who was he?

so tall and so broad, his face alone had your thighs trembling but it was more so how manly he was.

you knew it was ridiculous, but just meeting someone like that had your stomach in knots. you assumed he was just being kind, if a man like that was even able to process that emotion - he was calloused all over, rough without meaning to. the type of guy to take up as much room as physically possible because he could.

you had no idea that as you sat pooled on your floor, eyes closed and lip bitten, jungkook stood on the other side, quiet, listening to make sure you had locked it. to make sure you were safe.

only then, did the loud sound of his boots echo into the hall, cause you to gasp.

—

the knock came too early.

it was the kind of early that felt cruel - sunlight barely stretched through the thin, stained curtains, your body still sunk deep into that half-sleep where breathing ached and nothing felt real yet. the sound cut through the quiet of your apartment too harshly, your brain short circuiting despite your legs carrying you out of the little warmth of your bed.

you were startled. no one knocked on your door. people kept to themselves around here until, well, they didn’t, like your neighbour on the left. his door had banged a few weeks ago just as you had come home, and you hadn’t heard or seen from him since, a thought that was now presenting deep in your mind.

with trembling hands, and aching feet, you padded your way over to the door whilst all remnants of sleep fell from you like droplets. your toes curled against the cold floor, grabbing a cardigan on your way over to shield your indecent outfit that consisted of a too thin, too see through tank and shorts set.

by the time you had opened the door, the person behind it had already knocked three separate times, raising the level of urgency and only adding to the stress on your shoulders. you had a rare day off from your night shift, meaning you were only heading out to your day job in a few hours. this was supposed to be decompression time.

your fingers finally slid against the cool handle, hesitating at the lock before opening it up, eyebrows furrowed lightly.

you froze.

it was him.

your brain stuttered for a moment as it took in his broad frame, shoulders wider than you’d seen on any man, with muscles in places you had only ever dreamt of. his biceps were practically spilling out of his uniform, which despite being sat seamlessly, showed signs of wear, indicating he had been working all morning. boots were planted solidly against the chipped hallway tile, sunlight shining onto the highest parts of his cheeks.

daylight did him no favours - made him worse. heavier. darker. stronger. the kind of man that felt realer than anything you’d ever experienced.

the kind of man that worked to an inch of his life.

his work belt sat low on his waist, sleeves pushed up, tatted forearms already streaked with things like grease and dust, and hair still damp from his morning shower. despite the hour, he looked awake and alert, something you knew you lacked in that very moment.

his eyes flickered over you, slow. real slow.

you felt it everywhere.

jungkook met your gaze as you finally looked up, your chest tightening.

“morning.”

his voice was even rougher in the daylight, like gravel dragging over concrete. you could feel it in your stomach.

“hi.” you whispered, barely audible.

“inspection.” he lifted his clipboard whilst staring you down. the eye contact was heavy. “pipe issues in this unit.”

you frowned faintly, confusion pulling at your features. “i..i didn’t call anyone..”

his mouth twitched. you were even cuter when you just woke up. he liked that.

“i know.”

his comment should have unsettled you, should have had you closing the door in his face, locking it immediately and ignoring him.

instead, jungkook took it upon himself to set forward. the door brushed your arm as he passed, your already too small apartment feeling somewhat suffocating as it became swallowed by his mere presence.

you hovered near the door, against the wall as he began to move around with a sense of familiarity that had you stomach churning again.

first, he crouched beneath your sink before checking taps, looking inside your cabinets for any sign of water damage, inspecting the dampness that clung to certain walls. he was efficient, practised - it was clear he was good at his job. he moved like a man who knew what he was doing, as though this was another task on his list that he had to get through.

not like he had been thinking of you in this wretched apartment all fucking night.

he was in your bathroom now, writing something down whilst you continued to hover, half out of curiosity and the other half merely weary. you had every right to be given where you were, the fact you hardly knew him if at all, and of course the knowledge he had simply let himself in.

suddenly, water began sprouting from your tap the way it usually did but judging from the small grimace on his face, you knew it wasn’t something normal despite it being that way from day one.

“this place is so fucked.” he huffed, with a shake to his head. “they shouldn’t be renting this unit out. it’s a biohazard.”

your fingers intertwined together nervously; as though the problem at hand was your fault. “i keep a towel..under there..”

he paused. slowly, he turned to look at you, savouring the way your cardigan was leaving little to his imagination. your nipples had pebbled, and a better man would have looked away, but jungkook was hardly good - assessing them for a moment longer before meeting your gaze.

“you shouldn’t have to.” his voice was hard.

the way he said it, flat, certain, unyielding. it made your stomach ache and your chest tighten, as though someone was looking directly through you.

he stood taller then, raising from his once crouched position. he towered over you, a reminder of the sheer size difference between you, something both of you secretly felt aligned on.

he wiped his hands on his rag, cleaning them before moving past you to the breaker panel. his arm brushed against your shoulder deliberately, watching the way you shuddered.

“power cuts at night?” he asked.

“sometimes.” you answered honestly.

he looked over you again. “figures.”

he opened the panel, taking his time with inspecting it before closing it off. he turned back around to face you once he was done, not bothering to walk away, but instead taking up more of your personal space.

he looked at you properly.

the sag of your shoulders and the shadows underneath your eyes, the way you stood hoping not to be noticed. too small for even the cramped space of your apartment. it made his head swirl.

“you eat?” he gruffed out, a slight edge to his voice.

you were shifting from foot to foot. “what?”

“food.” he clarified with narrowed eyes. “you eat it?”

“i-..when i can.”

you weren’t sure why you were being so honest with him and yet the worlds tumbled out before you could think. you were nibbling on your lip.

he wasn’t done with his line of questioning, finding himself stepping closer to you resulting in you stepping back.

“how old are you?”

“24.”

he exhaled through his nose. he seemed angry, or something adjacent, as though your words were aggravating him. “too young to look this tired.”

you looked down with heat creeping up your neck and cheeks. “it’s fine.”

“don’t say that.” his eyes narrowed once more. he ran a hand through his hair before exhaling deeply. “i’ll be around today, gotta fix some shit around here. don’t go out.”

your mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure of what to say. you watched as he walked towards the entrance, the warmth radiating from his body suddenly gone.

he paused at the threshold, one hand braced on the frame whilst looking back at you, watching the way your chest rose and fell, your sheer pyjamas doing nothing to hide the way your body subconsciously leant towards him.

“next time something breaks, you call me.” his voice firm.

“i don’t have your number.” you weakly replied, as though it was anything to deter him. secretly, you hoped it wouldn’t.

he didn’t respond, simply running his eyes up and down you once more as though he was savouring the sheer look of you, all soft and pliant. it made that sick part of his brain swirl, the thought of you being all his, the side of him that tried to rationalise a man ten years older being with a pretty little thing like you. he’d fucking ruin you and he knew you’d be thankful for it too.

jungkook turned around, cock half hard and head swarming, veins popping out of his arm, leaving you be for a few moments.

—

working the diner on a late shift meant two things. first, it meant you would have to deal with cleaning the entire place top to bottom, which was easily your least favourite task of your entire job. second, and more importantly, it meant you would be forced to deal with the filthy, sleazy men that would come in hopes of riling you up in anyway they could.

you were pliant, too soft for a place like this, too clean, too scared. all the girls before you had been ran away with ease after experiencing a single shift, and here you were, tiny little diner dress that sat too high on your thigh as men ogled at you.

you knew it was going to be a long night by hour two when you had already been harassed by two newcomers, the cooks in the back not able to back you up as much as they wanted considering it was a busy shift. you had been fighting tears back the entire night, but this was borderline insane. it felt targeted, and you felt exhausted already - this was hardly helping.

the smell of burnt coffee and grease was all you could think about as you walked around the diner, filling coffee mugs everytime a man would smash it hard against the table to get your attention, ignoring disgusting comments like they had never even been uttered, eyes down.

you felt it before you saw it.

him.

a regular. late 40’s, unshaven, dirt under his fingernails. kind of guy to make you uncomfortable just to get him off. he made your skin crawl. made you want to hide forever and never appear again, but alas, you were a young, poor, twenty something year old fighting for the very will to live.

you felt the slow drag of attention on your legs, dragging up and settling on your tits. your dress was buttoned, and though you knew there was nothing to even ogle at, the shape of your breasts against your dress was enough for dirt like him to get riled up.

“there she is, about fucking time.” he grunted out, breath hot and legs spread underneath the booth table. “fetch me a coffee. make it good.”

you simply nodded, not trusting your voice as you grabbed him a mug before pouring it in in front of him, eyes trained on the drink.

“what time you finish tonight, sweets?”

your shoulders bristled immediately. he always did this, but it never made you feel any better.

“late.” you murmured quietly, but he was perceptive enough to hear you. didn’t like the bite in your voice.

“walking home alone again?”

your body went cold.

your stomach tightened uncontrollably, and though the line of questioning wasn’t anything new, it still messed with you more than you wanted to admit. you could feel the thin layer of threat coated in each word, and it scared you to know you were utterly defenceless.

you had been feeling watched recently too. on the staircases, when entering your home, walking through hallways. your building was shady, yes, but this was different - it felt charged. felt scary enough to notice, and paired with a line like that? this didn’t feel normal anymore.

you shake your head before you could even think it through. “no.”

“no?” he repeated with a smirk.

you swallowed nervously.

“i’ve got someone..so.”

your words surprised even you, and you tried your hardest to hide it, especially when his own was formed perfectly upon his features. he leaned back, drinking the coffee with his darkened features.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you shifted from foot to foot. he didn’t believe you, you could feel it.

“he works in construction.” you added, nervously, breathing through your words to sound firm but instead, coming out like a fawn. “does long shifts too but takes care of me and..and he doesn’t..like men talking to me..so.”

your pad suddenly looked so much more interesting, shuffling it between your fingers as he stared you down, secretly seething at the idea of the pretty plaything at the diner no longer being accessible to mess with.

“he’s protective too. big cause he works with his hands.” you kept rambling on, describing the very protector you needed.

describing jungkook.

subconsciously, of course.

the sleazy man narrowed his eyes at you, tilting his head slightly. “don’t look like you have a man like that. you sure you’re not lying to me, sweets? cause i don’t like liars.”

“i do..i really do.” you nodded immediately but you were blinking fast, almost about to burst into tears from your lie that you begged wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass.

“yeah? what’s his name?”

your throat constricted. you wanted to run away.

“he wouldn’t like me giving his name out.” your voice came out a whisper.

you knew he had you. knew he could see right through you.

he drank from his mug once more, filthy stare looking over you once more as though he had every right. his fingers tapped against the table for a few seconds before he leaned back.

“say hi for me.”

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. you simply walked away.

later, once the diner had closed and every inch had been mopped to perfection, you finally grabbed your bag and your coat with a loaded sigh. the exhaustion was heavy today, you could feel it in the way your bones screamed with every passing movement. you had been shouted at non stop all night by customers, and though you weren’t doing anything wrong, it still was never good enough.

stepping out after you had locked the doors was stark, the cold air hitting you in your face causing you to wrap your coat even tighter around you, beginning the ten minute walk to your apartment block. you had long become used to the journey, and despite the late hour being terrifying at this time of night, it was one of the only chances you had to feel the wind hit you. to remind you that you were alive.

the streets felt different tonight, with the stark lighting above flickering with each and every step. you could feel a knot begin to form in your stomach, and you knew it was anxiety, you knew you were being ridiculous but that didn’t make the thoughts go away.

it only took another 30 seconds for your thoughts to be confirmed.

you could hear it. footsteps just a few metres away from you, and considering it was the early morning, the streets were completely bare save for yourself and whatever was trailing you from behind. you felt your legs quicken despite the tiredness in your body screaming at you, openly telling you it could take no more for the night and yet you were doing a full blown run home within seconds.

you could still hear it behind you, and it was real, wasn’t a figment of your imagination - someone was trying to get you, to hurt you.

you could see your apartment, could see the heavy doors, the rubbish bins all empty and random waste littered around on the floor. the most noticeable thing of all, however, was the beaten down truck, where a tall and bulky man stood, smoking his cigarette with furrowed eyes as he leaned against it.

you recognised him immediately.

he seemed to notice you too, watching as you all but ran over to him, your eyes wide and breathing heavy, your chest heaving up and down.

jungkook’s head tilted just slightly, grabbing you with one of his arms as his cigarette sat on his lip, watching as you burst out into crushing sobs almost instantly from the feel of his touch.

it was safety personified.

his arms wrapped around you as though it was second nature, one hand on the back of your head, the other harsh on your waist.

his cigarette fell to the ground, extinguished by a heavy boot whilst you sobbed in utter fear, clutching him like a lifeline, as though he was the only thing that could protect you from the outside world.

he was.

his touch wasn’t gentle, or firm - it was mean, harsh against your skin, grabbing and forcing you to look up at him as it did exactly what it needed to. it grounded you, enough to sedate the fear, just slightly, fingers pressing into your uniform.

“what happened?” his voice was equally as rough, as though he had barely used it all day, a man used to using his hands as opposed to his words.

you couldn’t get your words out, too big eyes staring up at him almost desperately as broken sounds and wet breaths fell into his chest, your hands bundled against his pecs.

his jaw tightened. he looked past you, eyes narrowing as he assessed the street, shoulders square. it was far too quiet considering the state you were in, and he could only assume whatever had made you so scared had quickly ran away the moment they realised you had sought shelter in him. he was a pretty intimidating guy, all height and muscle, a right hook that had people passing out in seconds.

“did someone touch you?”

you shook your head fast against him, sucking in a breath.

“n-n..” hiccup. “no.”

his hand travelled from the back of your head, running through your hair until it reached the back of your neck, eyes narrowing harshly. he was grounding you still, keeping you safe in his arms as you shook violently, a mixture of the cold air and the fear of what could have been had jungkook conveniently not been stood outside.

you had no idea that he had been waiting for you, almost aggravated at how late you were coming home.

“use your words.” he uttered, fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave pressure, something you found grounding. “talk.”

“was a m-man..at the..at the diner and..but he keeps..and then..” you were choking out words, hardly making sense but it was enough for him to gather the general gist of what was happening.

you watched as his face went completely cold.

“regular?” he asked.

you nodded, not trusting your voice through your sobs.

“he fucking follow you?”

you took a deep breath, shaky air leaving your lips. “i don’t know- i think..someone foll-followed me..” hiccup. “so i ran.”

he looked angry.

you barely knew the man, but from the emotions he had given you, you could tell it wasn’t directed at you whatsoever. you could feel it in the tension of his arms around you, the warmth his body exuded - it was fury.

“alright.”

decision made.

he pulled your face back, the hand on your neck forcibly tilting your head, so he was looking down at you. you shamelessly had never felt so protected ever before. he wiped the mascara underneath your eyes, despite the constant stream of tears, making sure to rid you of the blotchiness on your skin.

“listen to me,” he began, watching you nod like the good girl he knew you were. “you’re not going upstairs.”

your lip trembled again. did this mean you couldn’t go home?

“b-but..”

“if he knows the building, you ain’t going up there alone.”

you let out another sob, this only adding to the pile of problems you were already drowning in. you couldn’t handle this. could feel your brain splitting from the stress of it all.

“i’m scared.” you admitted in a small voice, fingers curled into his work jacket so delicately. “what if he knows which one is mine?”

that fucking killed him.

jungkook rolled his shoulders before letting go of your neck, grunting lightly as he pulled you even tighter against him. suddenly, you were turned towards the entrance of the building, his heavy hold on you guiding you inside.

“where a-are we-“

“my place.” he cut you off immediately as he walked you inside, head turning back to make sure no one was following him.

“you live here?” you asked through a hiccup, desperately still clinging to him, giving him no option but to hold you intimately as he guided you downstairs instead of up, where you and the other residents lived.

everything moved so quickly as you were ushered into an apartment, your eyes hazy as they began to blink away tears to register what was in front of you.

jungkook’s place was clean, tidy, meticulous. the furniture looked expensive, everything crafted perfectly, open plan living room and kitchen with a dining table sat as though he had a family he could dine with. dark wood floors and a couch so plush you were sure it was softer than anything you had ever sat on in your life.

you heard the clink of the door behind you, even watched him lock the door, bolting it for your comfort as opposed to himself.

he turned to face you again, observing you clearly.

you stood, shaking still, body slowly calming down from the sobbing you were doing earlier and instead replaced with a string of hiccuping breaths. you looked so small, so defenceless - a sick part of his brain wanted you like this always so he could play the knight in shining armour. wanted you to need him.

he exhaled through his nose. “sit.”

you obeyed instantly, moving to the couch and taking a seat on the edge as though you were terrified to touch anything. he walked over to the kitchen, where you could still see him before he returned to you, glass of water in hand.

he handed it to you, watching you take it with both shaky hands and take small sips.

he suddenly crouched in front of you. his calloused hands took a hold of either side of you, fingers digging into the sides of your thigh as he situated you on the couch properly, your bare legs brushing against him with ease due to the position he had now put you in.

“look at me.”

and so you did.

his shoulders were tight against his work jacket, frame so large you longed to be underneath it, just to know what kind of warmth would seep into your skin and bones. his forearms were thick, veins visible and tattoos on show, with bruised and bloody knuckles showing signs of scarring display too.

“is he going to try something?” he asked you, eyes trained onto your own.

“i don’t know.” you answered honestly, and the acknowledgment of being uncertain had your anxiety spiking again visibly, causing him to hold you even firmer.

“recount the conversation for me.”

“he a-asked when i finish..and then..something about if i-i was walking home alone..”

jungkook’s jaw was ticking; his shoulders rolling as he ran a heavy hand through his hair. he met your fearful gaze, your fingers intertwined in your lap shaking.

“what’d you say?” his voice was direct, and his presence felt calming.

“i..told him i had a boyfriend.” you admitted through a sniffle, rubbing underneath your eyes. “made him sound scary.”

the silence between you became thick, jungkook’s fingers digging into your skin. not painfully, but enough to certainly remind you of his hold, with his gaze never leaving your own.

his face remained stoic, but his actions gave him away.

“yeah?” he quietly responded; to which you nodded. “mhm.”

“how’d you describe him?”

“well..” you sniffled again, making jungkook wipe under your eyes for him, the harsh skin on his hands a stark difference to the soft surface of your face. “said he works in construction..and that..that he’s big and he doesn’t like guys talking to me.”

his tongue began poking his cheek, eyes closing for a mere second before his fingers then moved to sit on your hips, pulling you into him, making sure you were much closer than you initially were sitting. your hands situated on his shoulders through hiccups, sniffling away as you tried to ignore the severity of the situation.

“construction.” he repeated.

you nodded, the intake of your breath shaky.

“don’t like men talking to you.” he repeated again, but his fingers gave him away again. he was being prodded by you and you didn’t even realise it.

you nodded again, realising then that you had just been openly describing him, a beat of acknowledgment filling the room as silence filled the empty cracks between you.

there was something dark shining in his eyes, something that wouldn’t soften no matter how hard you sat there and tried. jungkook was a hard wall, but it didn’t mean he was unfeeling. emotion swirled deep in his stomach, igniting an internal need to take you for himself, to keep the door locked and protect you forever. how could someone be so oblivious to their own nature? did you know how sweet you were? his jaw ached at the mere thought of how you’d taste, so sugary he’d get a fucking toothache just imagining it.

“you lie good?”

your stomach dropped. “i-i don’t usually..”

“did he believe you?” his gaze dropped to your mouth, before returning to your eyes, lip curled.

“i don’t think so.” you whimpered then at the memory, the feeling of suffocation running back as you remembered the implication of the situation. you weren’t safe anymore.

silence settled between you once more, a norm considering he was hardly a man of many words. his hands on your waist tightened before sliding up and down, soothing you subconsciously, your bodies so close.

“if he comes near you again,” he said, voice low and void of overt emotion, “don’t engage. don’t talk. call me immediately.”

you blinked through a hiccup.

“but i don’t have your num-“

you were cut off immediately as he stood up to his full length, towering over you as he grabbed his phone, unlocking it and opening his contacts app.

“give me yours.”

you fumbled for your bag, hands still shaky, pulling out your phone before handing it to him.

he grabbed it, inputting his number and making sure it sat at the top of your contact list. there were no frills, no emojis, just his name staring at you as he handed your phone back to you, eyes sweeping over your face.

“don’t let him scare you so easy. guys like that thrive on this shit.” his words came out gruff, and you blinked up at him quickly.

“i know, i just-“

“i know.” he cut you off again, shaking his head.

that did something to your chest. he knew. he didn’t need the details, didn’t want to hear you make an excuse for how you were feeling because you didn’t need to, he had seen enough for himself. he had watched you long enough to know you liked to pack yourself way in too small boxes in hopes you’d go unnoticed, in hopes you wouldn’t be a bother.

the intimacy of him simply cutting you off to remind you he didn’t need to hear an explanation, he understood. it was music to you.

he was still looming over you.

“you don’t eat.” his thumb suddenly pressed down on your bottom lip, as you hiccuped, big eyes staring up at him. “don’t sleep enough, work too much, walk home on your own in the middle of the night. live in a unit that should be fucking condemned.”

your throat tightened, but his thumb was firm, the tip of your tongue slightly grazing it. he liked it.

“not anymore.” he shook his head.

the way he said it wasn’t intended for romance, it was ownership. you could feel it deep in your stomach, inbetween your thighs and in the traitorous thump of your very soul.

“you’re staying here.” he suddenly dropped his thumb from your lip, your brain a buzzing mess as his words began to register in your brain, your eyebrows shooting up on your face.

“what?”

he didn’t respond, simply walking over to the kitchen area and grabbing a beer can, rolling his shoulders gently. you found yourself standing then, shaky legs taking you over to him, big eyes capturing his as he took a swig despite the late hour, his adam’s apple capturing your eye.

your smaller fingers tugged at his jacket lightly, capturing his attention as his own stomach pinged at the sight of you, yearning for him to address what he had just said.

“you eaten yet?” he simply uttered.

your mouth opened and closed, nodding your head lightly making him do the same.

“don’t want you going up. not safe. bathrooms down the hall to the left,” he put his beer down. “you can wear one of my t-shirts to bed.”

your shoulders were slowly dissipating before his very eyes. you had never been taken care of, not for a moment in your full 20 odd years of living and you were almost unsure of how to act as your fingers remained on him, large eyes still glassy from your earlier emotion.

jungkook wanted to take care of you, wanted to dominate every negative emotion in your head until you were nothing but lullabies and sweet nothings, no more echoes of stress or negativity. what he hadn’t expected was to see you utterly melt at the prospect, as though the very notion was the one thing you had always wanted.

oh.

you were perfect for him in every way - that he could see clearly.

you made no effort to move, the act alone feeling like it would take too much out of you and so jungkook took one last swig, before grabbing you by your waist. his rough hand sat low on your back, half on your ass in honesty, as he lead you there himself, dark eyes trailing over your much shorter figure against him.

within seconds, you were in the bathroom, fresh clothes given to you, and the shower already on awaiting you. the first step into it had you moaning quietly, the patter of warm water being completely foreign to you considering you were so used to cold shooting bursts that brought no comfort whatsoever. you helped yourself to his shampoo, his body wash, his products just as he intended and were taken aback by how familiar it smelled to you.

there was a sense of protection in carrying his scent that was messing with your brain, and as you washed yourself, you couldn’t help but recognise your situation properly.

you, who had only met jungkook twice before, were now naked in his shower, using his products to wash yourself, imprinting his familiar scent into your skin like it was a lifeline. you were in a stranger’s home, seeking refuge from a bad man and yet you knew secretly, the big bad wolf was merely a few metres away from you - not that it deterred you.

the protection. the safety. it felt like a drug. you couldn’t bring yourself to reason with the fact it was batshit insane to be sleeping over at his home, your handyman for goodness sake, instead of going to the police or any other normal avenue.

no, instead, you pattered out, towelling your body down before putting on his t-shirt, eyes closing at the even stronger scent of his cologne. your uniform and underwear sat in a neat pile, ready to be taken away when you woke up in the morning, leaving you utterly naked underneath the way too large top that sat just below mid thigh.

once you were completely refreshed, all remnants of fear stolen from you by the warmth of the water and the comfort of his presence, your bare feet padded back to the living room. he wasn’t here, causing your eyes to narrow slightly in confusion before hearing a noise in the room adjacent, making your way over.

walking in, you were greeted by two things.

first, jungkook’s bedroom, which like him, was as manly as you imagined it to be. clean, precise, darker in colour and void of any real personality - a nagging, desperate little voice in your head practically screaming that it needed a woman’s touch. if only you knew the thought alone would have him cumming.

the second? jungkook’s naked back, littered with scars and muscle in places you didn’t even realise one could have. to say he was big was a gross understatement, for he defined the very meaning of buff - wide shoulders, insane biceps, back rippling with every move.

you could feel yourself growing wet at the mere sight of him, a quiet little gasp leaving you, causing him to turn around, only for you to see his pecs, his abs. god, he was just massive all over, a sight for your already sore eyes indeed.

jungkook didn’t say anything immediately, but he let out a deep grunt of appreciation at the sight of you. your bare legs, your wet hair; the way your hands were shuffling together. you looked like a vision.

had he been a better man, he would have guided you to the bed and walked out, designating to sleep on the couch but he had no intention of doing so. especially not when he could see your nipples poke straight through the cotton of his shirt, no doubt suggesting you had nothing underneath. his mouth watered at the thought of the sugary nectar inbetween your legs, could feel himself growing hard at the prospect.

“where do you want me to sleep?” you softly asked him, voice so gentle he wanted to ruin you.

that broke him from his trance, realising he was half hard just from looking at you. he felt like a fucking teenager, but could you blame him? you were his dream woman, circumstances and all, dolled up in his room like a present just for him.

“bed.” he muttered, nodding towards it which made you shyly play with your hair, watching him leave the room to no doubt go to the bathroom, his body brushing firmly against yours purposefully on the way out.

you closed your eyes for a moment once you were alone, heart beating fast, before walking over to the bed. you felt bad thinking he would take the couch, a little frown forming on your lips as you settled into the plush covers. another soft moan escaped you at the feel of such softness, the mattress delicate underneath you as you settled into it, feeling more comfortable than you ever had.

jungkook was back in a few minutes, also sporting wet hair suggesting he had just showered. this time, he returned merely in his boxers, a towel running through his locks as he examined you, all curled into the covers, not asleep just yet, as though you were waiting for confirmation from him.

fuck. he liked that. liked having you wait for him so he could decide your next move, like you were a little fawn unsure of what to do unless someone told you. he’d be that someone.

he watched as your eyes instantly fell to his bulge, eyes widening at the sheer size of it, your thighs pressed tightly together under his sheets as he approached you. he watched you stare at it, cock only hardening further at the attention, before pulling back the covers.

“oh..a-are you..sleeping here?” you managed to choke out, your tshirt having ridden up to sit at the tops of your thighs, big eyes peering up.

“not sleeping on a couch in my own home.” he grunted back at you, before sliding in beside you.

a once massive bed suddenly felt claustrophobic as you realised why he needed the space, though you managed not to touch him, you shyly moved to your side, your back to him to give him his privacy, your cheeks painted pink at the implication.

you were sharing a bed with a stranger. a big, tall, tatted stranger who was currently hard as fuck, whilst you laid on your side, pussy soaked from his attention, body quivering.

he was on his back, body taking up a massive majority of the space in the bed and he was utterly shameless about it. you, however, had tried to make yourself as small as possible in the corner, body scrunched up, unable to sleep as your brain worked round and around and around and around and arou-

big, beefy arms suddenly were grabbing you, one on your leg, the other on your waist as you were suspended in the air for a moment or two. you squeaked loudly, stomach dropping at the confusion of being moved and in the air.

jungkook was grunting at you, his preferred method of communication as you were finally placed firmly onto his chest, stomach first. your t-shirt had ridden up to the middle of your back, meaning your bare ass was on display, causing jungkook to place his hand on it as though it was the most normal thing on earth.

the position also meant you were pressed against him intimately, with your wet cunt now pushed against his too large bulge, causing a soft whimper to escape you, right into his ear. your breasts we’re pushed against his chest, your head resting into his shoulder as you both settled in as though this was the most natural thing on earth.

“sleep. you’ve had a long night.” his voice was rough, coarse, as though he too was fighting something.

as though the hand on your ass and the push of his weight, making you feel him intimately in every single way, was just as much punishment for him as it was for you. it was suffocating and you needed more, yearned for it.

your hands settled on his chest, your nose nuzzling into his neck as you nodded, eyes snapping shut. you truly were the picture perfect definition of obedience.

you weren’t sure how long either of you stayed like that, unmoving, unspeaking, just the understanding you were truly no more than strangers seeping in as sleep finally took both of you.

—

the diner was equally as busy the next day, with a particular scent that wouldn’t escape your skin no matter how hard you tried.

burnt oil soaked through the cracking walls, whilst the coffee that had been brewing for far too long sat in its pot, in your hand as you walked around the dining floor, filling mugs to whoever demanded more. you had disinfected the entire place with a cheap lemon solution that morning, the scent lingering slightly, causing you to feel nauseous.

you had been out of it all day.

you had woken up still in the same position as you had fallen asleep in, only this time, jungkook’s arms were hugging you tightly to him. one hand was curled into his hair, the other pressed into his chest, whilst you both slept deeply, safely.

you had slept better that night than any other in your entire lifetime. the feeling of protection was immense, and for the first time, your brain wasn’t racing in anxiety all night - you were able to rest comfortably.

that only made it so much more jarring once you had left his apartment whilst he was still sleeping, wanting nothing more than to stay in his arms, sleep a few more hours, relish in the warmth he was so happily providing for you. you felt guilty leaving like that, but the constant thump in your head brought you back to reality.

you did not know him. he was a stranger.

that was what you were telling yourself anyway, knowing that the traitorous thump of your heart gave you away. you hadn’t been focused all day, spilling drinks, dropping plates of food - your manager had been on your case your entire shift, the cooks even shouting at you at one point. you were utterly overwhelmed with jungkook and he wasn’t even there.

your feet were aching, but you knew you only had 20 minutes left. 20 minutes and you could go home, no night shift, just a long day that would be over in less than half an hour. that gave you a sort of excitement you rarely afforded yourself, and despite the fact your cheap flats were digging into your feet, and your apron felt too tight, you couldn’t wait.

that was until you heard a voice.

“are you fucking deaf? asked for a coffee 3 times now.”

you looked up from your spot behind the counter, meeting the gaze of the horrible, sleazy regular from yesterday, your blood running cold.

he usually only showed up in the late hour, and this was the first time you had see him during the day. it felt like a confirmation of some kind, one in which you had gathered he had either been watching you or was now looking closely, something that unsettled you. how else would he be here? why else?

you swallowed the thump in your throat, shaking hands grabbing the coffee pot and filling his mug as he sat at the diner bar, your eyes avoiding his at all costs.

“you look tired.” he said through a yawn, making no attempt to hide the fact he was ogling your tits. “your ‘boyfriend’ keep you up?”

you flinched at his words, knowing the implication - he still didn’t believe you. that made you feel sick. you chose to ignore him, tending to something at the till, in hopes he’d leave you alone.

“don’t know if i believe ya, sweets. been thinking about what you said about him, construction guys don’t go for girls like you.” he mused, as though he was the smartest man in the world, watching the way your hands shook lightly. “you’re all shy and shit. what you know about pleasing a man?”

you felt heat crawl up your throat and down your spine, feeling a level of shame you couldn’t quite place. you hated it. even reacting to a man like him was giving him power, and he relished in it.

“you better be usin’ what you got.” he leaned back, hand openly palming himself as he grinned, dirty teeth on display. “tight little ass like yours? should let him use it or he’ll start lookin’ elsewhere.”

you flinched once more, this time harsher.

“that’s inappropriate.” you found your voice, though it was shaky, desperately looking over at your manager who was conveniently pretending like he couldn’t hear a thing.

“i’m helpin’ you, sweets. should be grateful.”

your eyes narrowed. “you don’t know anything about me.”

at that, he leaned forward, grin even wider. it was sinister. “yeah? know you walk home all alone.”

your heart dropped.

“i see you.” he added. “late. every night.”

you couldn’t breathe. it felt like someone had grabbed your lungs, suffocating you from the inside and out, a confirmation of your wildest fears before your very eyes.

“see, i like to watch who goes in and out of that building. got some buddies, and you know..bad area. should be careful.” he was all but fucking gleeful. “pretty girls like you, they’re the most fun to play with.”

your hands were beginning to shake violently, as one reached for your phone, clumsily putting your password in, not being able to think.

“you sure your boyfriends real?” he asked lazily. “or you just sayin’ that to throw me off the scent?”

“i have one.” you immediately interjected, panic visible in your voice, desperate to be believed. “he doesn’t like when i talk to other men, so..” you pathetically whispered, turning on your heel and immediately going into the back, where the staff room was located.

you didn’t come out for the rest of your shift, your chest in a panic, hands shaking and eyes leaking tears once more. he had been watching you? did that mean something could have happened had you returned to your unit last night, instead of staying with jungkook?

you couldn’t believe this was a reality, and the fact you knew you had no escape plan was even worse. you couldn’t move out, you didn’t have the funds, and it was a terrifying thought to know you were simply waiting to be violated. the thought alone had you crying into your hands, shakily hovering over jungkook’s contact.

you didn’t want to bother him. he owed you nothing, and you had already taken so much from him.

with that, you grabbed your things and snuck out the back, beginning the 10 minute walk back home.

jungkook had been in the same position as you all day. his work was rendered useless, and considering he had well paying clients, it was enough to drive him to the point of anger. every thought, every crevice of the world around him brought him back to you, how you’d slotted against him so easily last night, so pliant and ready. to then wake up to an empty bed and a wet patch on his boxers from where you were both pressed together was frustrating to say the least - he wanted to wake up to the sight of you.

he had every intention of sitting you down, telling you to leave your job, telling you exactly what he could offer you if you just let him. hell, he would do it against your will too if you kept this shit up, more than ready to fund a lifestyle you had only ever dreamt of.

he was outside the building now, loading up his truck with shit he had been using all day, his tools, extra pieces of wood he had no use for at the minute and what not. his hands were beyond rough, calloused from daily use but that was the payoff for working with them carelessly. he couldn’t help but remember the feel of them on your ass, squeezing all night, sometimes dipping lower subconsciously just to hear you whine in your sleep.

fuck, he was half hard again just remembering it, but half annoyed recalling the way you had just left.

he was taken out of his thoughts when he looked to his right, just as you walked into the apartment complex, not seeing him, tears streaming down your face once more and shoulders sagging as though walking alone was too exhausting for you. he felt his chest break into tiny little pieces at the sight, it was enough to anger him for a completely different reason.

he was walking towards you before he could even rationalise it, a hand slipping over your waist within seconds and pushing your back straight into his chest, his bigger frame engulfing you. you let out a strangled gasp, looking down and visibly melting fully as you noticed the tattoos on his hand, letting out a quiet whimper.

“what happened?” jungkook immediately asked, the two of you stood in front of the building.

your tears wouldn’t stop streaming, your breathing already difficult as your bag dropped from your shoulder. your hands instantly went to cover your face, as you broke out into quiet sobs, body raking in his arms. the exhaustion had finally got to you.

your brain had broken.

jungkook didn’t waste any time. he grabbed you fully, picking you up with a single arm, to which you immediately hid your face in his neck, holding onto him as you ruined his uniform with your body shaking sobs. your bag was in his other hand whilst he made his way to his own apartment, not saying anything but simply allowing you to get the bulk of your emotions out, before walking in, and settling you down onto his couch.

“talk to me.” suddenly, you were in his lap, completely cradled by the older, bigger man as though you were a little baby, and your body moved closer in hopes of more comfort.

it took you a while until you were able to speak, holding the sleeves of his jacket desperately, his large hands on your back and cupping your legs to him. he was soothing you with his presence, patting gently to get you to calm down and soon enough you did, unable to look him in the eye, feeling embarrassed enough that you had done this two days in a row now.

“the guy from the diner came..came back and..” you breathed deeply through your hiccups, his forehead now against yours, making sure you could feel him. “told me he watches..the building..knows i walk home alone and, said he knows..said he knows people from the building.”

the more you recounted, the more restless you became as you began to sob once more, your hands covering your face again. his anger was beyond anything he could describe, he could feel it coursing through his veins as though it was part of his dna, the need to protect you stronger than every other emotion.

“look at me.” he managed to say, voice strangled, causing you to do exactly as he said, despite your shaking body.

“you’re not going back upstairs, you hear me? i’m gonna go get your things, and you’re staying here.”

you startled for a moment, eyes narrowing up at him in confusion. what did he mean?

“but that’s my apartment..”

“it’s a fucking shoebox with a busted lock.” he hissed.

“jungkook, i can’t just..” you shook your head, your shaking hands piled at his chest whilst he pulled you closer, nose nuzzling yours for just a moment to gather himself. “you can. what do you need from it, and i’ll grab shit.”

you shook your head, pushing him away lightly despite it being the last thing you wanted him to do, and he knew that. your hands were now tightening against the material of his jacket, tears streaming, eyes wide and head shaking.

“this is crazy. you don’t even know me and i don’t even know you.” you said through another half sob. “i can’t stay here, okay? you’ll get sick of me, and..and i’ll annoy you, or you’ll wake up, and..and you’re gonna..you’re gonna decide it was a mistake and i..”

he simply stared at you, eyes narrowing dangerously. if he had felt anger at the situation before, now it was beginning to direct at you.

he exhaled sharply. “stop.”

you let out another shaky sob at his command, head dropping to his shoulder, the confusion in your mind so clear. it wasn’t that you didn’t want it, but you didn’t feel worthy of it. all you had ever known was abuse, from the moment you were born until this very second - happiness was foreign to you, a notion you truly believed wasn’t in the cards for you, and to have someone openly wish to shelter you felt confusing.

“i’ll bother you, i know it.” the voice in which you admitted your darkest fear had him tightening his grip on you.

suddenly, your positions had changed. you were no longer on his lap, cradled, but instead, on your back laid on the couch, with your hands positioned above your head and jungkook’s entire body hovering over you. he was rendering you useless, and you couldn’t bring yourself to fight it.

“listen to me, y/n.” his eyes were dark. “i work all day, like a fucking dog, breakin’ my back doing all this shit, fucking my body up. you think i do that for fun?”

you shook your head in a little no, still crying.

“got all this money, got a nice job, stopped doing all that bad work that gets me in trouble, no back door shit. do it so when i got myself a lady, she rests good, you hear me?” his voice was rough, almost mean. “so she don’t have to lift a fucking finger a day in her life.”

your chest tightened at the notion, and a subconscious part of you screamed inside, begging to be the very woman he was discussing; yearning.

“you move here, and you do nothing. don’t want you working, don’t want you doing anything other than lookin’ pretty. don’t want a single thought in that brain ever again, unless it’s when i take you out, or when you want something.”

his head pressed against yours, the conviction behind his voice causing you to quiver. you had stopped sobbing now, reduced to silent tears that continued to stream, your cute nose all pink and the fucked up part of him was fighting the fact his cock was hardening at the sight.

“i’m gonna go upstairs, gonna get your shit, and you don’t do nothing, understand me? don’t think about rent, or food, or sleep - you don’t stress about nothing no more.”

“but why?” you asked through a shaky breath, sucking in air as you hiccuped, a pool of wetness forming on either side of your head from how much you were crying. “you don’t even get anything out of it.”

he doesn’t hesitate. “i get you.”

at that, a strangled noise left you, your eyes shutting tightly as your heart thudded harshly in your chest. he wanted you? truly? even without the frills, even without you being able to offer anything real, or tangible?

“i get to take care of you, spend my money on you, get you in my bed every night where you can’t run off before i wake up.” he grunted down at you, grabbing one of your hands from above your head and pressing it firmly against the growing bulge in his work trousers. “you feel that? feel how fucking hard i get just thinking about it, baby?”

you nodded through your sniffles, hiccuping a few times as your hand gently massaged his cock, the layers of clothing dulling the sensation but it was enough to have him press his head against yours once more, cooing at you. his hand slid on top of your own, pushing it harder, and despite the action being intensely sexual, it felt intimate more than anything.

“couldn’t get bored of you, wouldn’t ever. look at you..fuck. were meant to be spoilt, not built to be working out there and stressin’. need to lock you up here so you never worry again.”

again, you nodded, more desperate, whining out for him as both of your hands interlocked with his. the one above your head, sweet and reassuring, and the other, massaging his cock, demanding and grounding. you were his, and it was only then that you realised it - strangers or not.

the next hour was spent with you washing up in the bathroom, having the longest shower of your life, crying all of the remnants of your emotions out whilst jungkook went upstairs, grabbing your things. considering your situation, it took him no longer than ten minutes, something deep pinging in his stomach knowing you had never even tasted luxury. he’d change that.

by the time he had come back down, he was settling your things into your now shared room, watching as you shuffled out in another one of his t-shirts, wet hair, big teary eyes and an unsure demeanour. he took his time with you then, arm around your waist so you could watch him work, putting things away like it was second nature.

he left you curled up all nice and warm on the couch, blankets covering you whilst he gave you the remote, urging you to watch something. he had shit to do.

first, he was going to cancel your lease and threaten your landlord.

second? he was going to fuck up the man who had scared you.

—

two weeks.

two weeks of living a life you were sure was never supposed to be yours.

from sleeping as much as you wanted, and eating whatever your heart desired, jungkook was spoiling you rotten. the glee in his eyes every time he could see a small smile form on your face was enough to render you a mess.

you’d wake every morning flush to his chest, with your bodies pressed together intimately, his hard cock poking against your own panties in a way that had you breathless. on one occasion, you had woken up to find yourself all but grinding against him, only aware of it once you realised you were orgasming, causing your cheeks to flush a deep plum.

he fucking loved it. finally, everything made sense, his life has purpose, tangible purpose. the sight of you on his couch, resting on your stomach with your bare ass to the door just as he would walk into the apartment was enough to drive him insane - it was the sight he’d masturbate to daily. he didn’t want to push you, he was enough of a gentleman to know it wasn’t right to push his needs on you, and he was trying. god knew he had put every bit of his restraint into his situation.

you were both dancing a fine line of evident need and want, yet one couldn’t admit it to themselves and the other didn’t want to push.

the first night was the moment you realised that jungkook wasn’t any ordinary man. all of the kindness aside, it was when you awoke from the nap on his couch to him walking back into the apartment that you realised he was indeed every bit of the man you wanted.

bloody knuckles, and a slight bruise already forming on his cheek, he had walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your forehead, telling you everything was now taken care of. your rent, the piece of shit that had been scaring you, hell, even your nasty manager who made it a habit to be rude to you.

you had washed his knuckles yourself, sniffling away your tears whilst apologising for being so weepy. he simply nuzzled his nose into your forehead, grunting something about how he liked it. liked how you wore your emotions openly and how honest you were about your feelings. it felt refreshing.

after that, he made it a habit to break any wandering thought left in your brain. he’d wake up to you all curled into his body, making him leave kisses all over your hands and cheeks whilst you slept, leaving you to go to work. he’d think about you the entire day, only to return to you with different boxes of food for you to try so you could find out what your favourite cuisines were.

in two weeks, jungkook made you feel more seen and recognised than you had ever felt in the past 24 years.

you still felt awfully shy in his presence. just yesterday, he had taken you out shopping, your hand tucked gently into his arm as you both walked up and down the high street. you shook your head vehemently as he tried to get you to go into the expensive, designer shops, your heart practically failing out of guilt just thinking about it.

“buy what you want.” he’d say to you, or, “don’t look at the price.”

you had once done so, picking out a lipstick marginally cheaper than the ones you could see in hopes that it would satiate him. he saw right through it, his eyes narrowing down at you as you shuffled from foot to foot, unable to meet his gaze.

“don’t annoy me. get something good.”

and so, you’d leave with bags upon bags of things, with flushed cheeks and a thundering heart.

his favourite shop, obviously, was victoria secret. you had clung to him almost desperately out of shyness, often hiding your face in his chest whenever he’d hold up a pair that he thought were nice. he let you browse, watching you shakily pick out a pair or two before you peered up at him, large eyes shining.

“which ones do you like?” you had whispered, so sweet, so inviting that he swore he could have came right then and there.

his arm around your waist tightened as he looked down at you, jaw clenched slightly at the way you had asked him. maybe it was the genuine curiosity that stemmed from you that had him guiding you to a cute, lacy pink pair. he bought them for you immediately, leaving you a flushing mess.

going home, eating together, curled together as you watched things, his legs spread wide whilst he played with your hair. it felt domestic. it felt freeing, and frankly, it felt like everything you had ever prayed for. something in the back of your mind screamed at you, reminding you that you still didn’t know enough about him, that he was no more than just a random man a month ago and yet here you were.

and so, here you sat, at the dining table with your legs crossed. it was 2pm, so jungkook was well within his work day, leaving you at home with a racing mind and shaking hands. you wanted to do something for him, something to show him just how grateful you were for all of the kindness he had bestowed upon you.

you grabbed your phone, embarrassment heavy in your chest as you began searching in anything that came to mind.

‘how to keep a man happy’

you frowned at the results, not finding anything that applied to jungkook in particular.

‘how to be a good girlfriend’

you flushed furiously writing that one out, but you knew it was the closest equivalent to the relationship you had with him. even then, all the results catered to people that didn’t align with jungkook’s personality. you sighed.

‘how to please a man that takes care of you’

now this, this was different. you sat up, seeing multiple different hits but the one thing you kept seeing over and over was the same line. you shuffled in anticipation, eyes reading it continuously, biting down on your lip.

“keep his stomach fed, and his balls empty.” you whispered out loud, repeating what you had read.

your cheeks flamed red as you shut your phone, setting it down like you had an audience around you, feeling a level of embarrassment creep up your neck. that..that felt fitting. you knew he loved his food, was always eating with a can of beer whenever he got a chance.

you also knew him to be hard nearly every instance he got. you weren’t an idiot, you had felt it against you to know that you probably couldn’t take him fully without prep, but the thought had your eyes shutting tight, a small whine leaving you - you wanted him just as bad.

soon enough, you had decided on your plan of action. you got changed, grabbing the card jungkook had given you and quickly made your way to the grocery store, hand shaking around your phone as you searched in popular dishes. you figured a steak would do, since you knew most men enjoyed meat, despite knowing you had never really cooked before.

you stood in front of the meat section hopelessly, shyly asking the workers there a million questions until a lovely older lady walked you around the shop, telling you how to prepare it, what ingredients to use, pushing you to purchase the more expensive options as ‘you could taste it in every bite.’

waddling home, you steadied yourself as you put everything in the kitchen, wrapping your new apron around you tight. you were determined. you wouldn’t fail, not when this was for jungkook, not when he had done so much for you.

hours had passed, and you were finishing up the last details of the dinner. the table had been set, with candles and plates positioned in a way you had seen in a youtube video. you had his favourite beer chilled and ready, even going the extra mile to have a shower, do your hair and makeup using the products he had bought you. you still had your apron on, knowing he’d love the sight of the cute frilly material around you.

your hair was clipped behind your head as you heard the door unlock, causing you to squeak quietly, gathering everything together as quickly as you could.

jungkook had had the longest day of his entire existence. from clients taking the piss, to fixing rushed jobs from other men in the industry. he had even had a phone call from an old friend, asking to stash some cash - it came with a hefty profit, but he had to decline, despite it souring the relationship. he had his girl waiting back home for him, and he had to make sure he was on the right track. no more illegal shit, no matter what that meant for the legacy he had built in his twenties.

walking inside his home, only to find you nervously smiling at him, was enough to take the wind out of his lungs. looking down, however, and seeing the full home cooked spread, was enough to have a man like him on his knees.

“hi..” you shyly grinned, hands shuffling.

“what’s this?” he asked, putting his tools down, uniform heavy as he approached you.

the sound of his keys dropping on the dish you had placed by the entrance made you jump slightly, as you nibbled away on your lip. he approached you, standing in front of you, eyes never leaving your own.

“i just..you do so much for me and, i’m so grateful and i wanna take care of you too.” your voice was no louder than a whisper, almost flushed at the admission as you immediately reached for his jacket, playing with the buttons, peering up at him. “it’s okay if you don’t like it, i just thought it would be nice for you to have something home cooked.”

he grunted, deep from his chest as his face fell into the space between your neck and shoulder, breathing in your scent. his hands were roaming all over your stomach, your hips, your waist, a soft giggle finding its way out of your lips at his reaction. it made you giddy to think he was enjoying this.

“you cooked all this?” he asked, walking towards the table, dragging you along with him, to which you lightly bounced, nodding. “went to the shops, and asked the nice lady and she told me what to get and she said that you’d like steak and she showed me what video to follow-“ you rambled.

he was enamoured by you, taking a seat at the head of the table, where you had positioned all of his plates. instead of moving towards your own seat, he grabbed your waist once more and pulled you firmly until you fell into his lap, your tiny dress doing little to provide modesty as you curled into him.

you watched him intently cut a piece, big eyes peering at him as he took a bite.

“you really made this?” he asked you, hand harsh on your thigh.

you offered him a shy nod, anxiety swirling in your stomach. it was okay if he didn’t like it, but the thought made you want to weep - this was supposed to be all for him. you didn’t want to mess it up.

“good girl.” he murmured, before cutting up a piece for you, watching as you ate from the same fork, a look of pure glee across your face.

his words had you leaning into him properly as you both ate, his grunts of approval worth a million words as you recounted how you cooked it, all whilst he listened carefully and ate. you truly couldn’t have been happier with yourself, your fingers curling into the hair behind his neck.

he had finished his plate, but was now properly feeding you, and despite a shake of your head, was making sure you finished your plate. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, your arms around him and his around yours, breathing in one another’s scent.

he was so manly all over, the faint smell of sweat alongside his cologne and skin was intoxicating and you wanted it ingrained in your mind forever.

“well done.” he murmured down at you, soft for a change, causing you to look up.

the smile that formed on your lips was enough for him to dedicate his entire life to praising you, wanting to see it every single day for the rest of his life. he couldn’t fathom how lucky he was to have the object of his desires all pretty, in a cute apron and dress; cooking for him, just so he’d feel good. fuck.

“i’m happy you liked it.” you admitted in a small voice. “i really wanted to make it good for you.”

“you don’t have to do anything, y/n.”

“i know, you always say that but i just..i wanna, okay?” you shook your head, nibbling away at your lip once again.

his thumb darted out, capturing your lip and releasing it from your teeth. god, he couldn’t get enough of how cute you were, looking up at him like that. his thumb pushed against your lips for a moment, letting it sit on your tongue, watching the way you wrapped your mouth around it.

the moment was gone within a second as he pulled back, a sudden look on his face you couldn’t decipher. before you could ponder on it, his lips finally connected with your own.

kissing jungkook was unlike anything you had ever expected. you knew him to be dominant, direct and manly, but this? he was all but devouring you. it wasn’t gentle like first kisses often tended to be, but demanding - rough. his lips moved against yours like he owned you, and you deflated immediately, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. your hands were in his hair, tugging him closer, your legs moving around him to now straddle instead of just sitting.

the second his tongue began exploring your mouth, you couldn’t hold back the moans.

he kissed like a man starved, his hands running up and down your body, cupping your ass, your breasts, before settling on your waist, chasing you every time you pulled away for breath.

by the time you had fully managed to depart from his lips, you were panting, eyes lidded and heart beating faster than you could keep up with. your hands slid from his hair down to his chest, as he captured your lips in small pecks.

jungkook could feel the day washing off of him. the dinner, your excitement, the kiss - fuck, even the thought of you paying for all of the things you wanted at the grocery shop with his card. he was visibly melting, more relaxed than he’d allowed himself to be in years and it was a sight for you too.

“go shower.” you whispered lightly to him, pecking his lips. “i’m gonna clean up.”

he simply nodded, capturing your lips in another heavy kiss that lasted far too long before letting out a grunt, setting you on your feet, and heading to the bathroom.

you stood there for a moment, eyes fluttering closed and breathing out through your nose.

god, you were so fucked.

—

later that evening, jungkook sat in front of the tv, legs spread, a can of beer in hand and the game playing loudly. he was the picture perfect image of relaxation, in a pair of sweats and a white tank, his hair still wet from his earlier shower, he truly didn’t think life could get better than this. he had jumped you the second he had gotten out, smothering you in as many kisses as he could get in before you started pushing him away, flushed pink and giddy.

his cock had been straining against his sweats for hours.

you, however, were a slight nervous wreck.

you stood near the edge of your now shared bed, nibbling away on your lip as you looked at yourself in the mirror. you had showered yourself, dried your hair, even did your makeup really nice. you were in a tank and tiny little cotton shorts, but underneath? the pink underwear he had bought you.

your only objective tonight was to make him cum.

a shaky breath left you as you ran your hand through your hair, making sure you looked okay. you wanted to make him feel good, wanted it more than anything else in the world, and you knew that once you started, the door would be wide open and your relationship would completely change.

you weren’t sure how many more times you could withstand the feeling of not quite being able to satisfy yourself. being home alone for most days, waiting for him to return with the thought of him heavy on your mind and mouth, trying to keep your hands out of the space inbetween your legs was impossible.

waking up to his boner pressing into you? unfair.

you knew he wanted this badly, maybe even more than you did, but he wasn’t about to push that on you given your strange dynamic. luckily for him, you were heeding the internet’s advice - you had fed him, now you were ready to drain his balls.

and so, you walked into the living room, his eyes completely trained on the tv as you sat beside him on the couch, not looking up at you. his hand, however, sat high on your bare thigh immediately, all whilst his cock strained against his clothes.

you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, noticing him taking a swig of his beer, attention entirely on the game playing, easing your nerves massively. you shifted, his hand dropping from your thigh as you began your plan of action.

jungkook finally looked at you, only to catch you pulling your hair up into a ponytail. he would have thought nothing of it had it not been for your outfit, your pretty lipstick, the way you looked like you were ready to be fucking used. his lips parted as he watched you drop to your knees in front of him, innocent eyes no longer feeling as naive as he once thought.

before he could even say anything, your smaller hands began reaching for his waistband, fingers hooking until you were able to push them down enough for his fat cock to spring free.

he watched you gasp. watched you take in his length and girth, a fucked up part of his brain eager to break you finally as you blinked away your visible fear. he wasn’t just big, he was monstrous. the type of cock to break you from the inside, the type to hurt and make you sore for days. the type that had you moaning just at the sight of it.

your hand finally wrapped around it, although your fingers didn’t touch and that alone had your head dropping to his thigh, mouth already drooling.

“so pretty.” you whimpered up at him, causing him to jolt in your grip, a low grunt filling the air. “gonna break yourself trying to make it fit in your mouth.” he nudged your chin with his fingers, his words condescending but they only made you wetter.

a surge of confidence ran through you as you huffed up at him, tongue laying flat as you let his cock tap against it a few times, licking up all the salted beads of precum. soon enough, you were suckling at his tip, moaning and circling your tongue.

his hand shot to the back of your head with a loud curse, his eyes closed. he hadn’t had anyone warming his bed in months upon months, and now that he had you, he knew no one else would ever be good enough.

watching you finally begin to suck and bob your head was enough to have him pushing down your head, forcing you to accommodate another inch or two. it made you gag, but the wet patch forming on your shorts was proof enough you liked it. your hands pumped the rest of his cock in unison as you eagerly sucked, whimpering against the most sensitive part of him.

“fuck, look at you.” he hissed out loud, continuing to bob your head. “wanted this from day one, didn’t you?”

you parted from his cock for air, gasping lightly as you pumped him faster, nodding despite already feeling lightheaded. god, jungkook had barely begun and you were already so needy - he yearned to know what you’d be like once he finally impaled you fully.

“wanted it so bad.” you admitted through a small voice, eyes never leaving his as you tapped his cock onto your tongue again a few times before opening your mouth and starting it again.

this time, jungkook pushed your head down further and further, watching his cock disappear down your throat until you couldn’t take anymore, pulling off for breath once more, your shattered gasps and gulps enough for him to cup your cheek.

“that’s my girl, look at you.” his coos were hardly sweet, with a clear edge to them as you bounced your head up and down, sucking him with all of your energy. he swore, throwing his head back. “should’ve done this a long time ago. look how good you look choking on me.”

your legs were quivering with want, wanting nothing more than to play with your clit in that moment but focusing on him regardless. jungkook was already close, and as much as he wanted to paint your throat in his cum, he had no intentions of cumming anywhere other than your fucking womb.

suddenly; his hands on your head were pulling at your hair, forcing you off of his cock as you panted for air, chest rising and falling. your lips were covered in spit, and yet you looked like a vision made just for him, his cock tweaking at the sight of you.

he forced you to get up, which you happily did, falling onto the couch beside him as he grabbed onto your legs, hand grabbing your shorts and harshly pulling them down only to be met with the pink lacy set he had been thinking of all day.

his silence was met with a shaky giggle from as you spread your legs once more, your panties absolutely soaked through, and yet you wanted more.

“i hope you like them.” you hummed, as he began to hover over you. “wanted to wear them for you.”

“yeah?” he groaned quietly, fingers tracing the shape of your pussy through them. “fuck, you’re tiny. i’m gonna break you, you know that?”

“promise?” you whispered back, causing his eyes to flicker back to you, his cock jolting.

you were a secret minx.

his lips were on yours within seconds, tasting himself on your tongue as he devoured you, moving against you with utter ease. instead of taking your panties off, he simply moved them to the side, pulling your tank down to reveal your tits spilling out of your matching lacy bra. pink was a colour he wanted you in every waking moment, you looked better than he could have ever imagined.

his hand was on you immediately, fingers rubbing away at your clit causing you to whimper at the feel of relief finally. you were wound up so tight anyway, to have someone touching you after so so long was a feeling you had forgotten. to be touched by jungkook was a whole other ballpark.

you both moaned into each other’s mouths as your hand began to pump him, bodies moving in unison as you focused on pleasuring one another. it only took a few minutes for you to succumb to your first orgasm, loud moans leaving your lips as you shook in his arms.

he watched you hungrily, his brain chemistry changing before for your very eyes.

this is what you looked like cumming.

oh. how had he lived? how had he survived a life without your face scrunching up, whining out his name so pathetically, legs shaking around him whilst your hand only gripped him tighter.

it wasn’t enough, though. never. he allowed you a moment or two of rest before circling your clit once more, watching you jostle in overstimulation. his fingers were inside you without any prior warning, pumping as he heard you whine loudly.

“j-jungkook!” you shrieked, hand falling from his aching cock as you grabbed onto his shoulders, grounding yourself.

“fuck, there you go. c’mon.” he was hissing down at you, fingering you deep, bigger than anything you had taken in a while.

the stretch was delicious, and you already felt so full - you couldn’t even fathom being fucked by his cock, but the thought had your hips lifting for more.

jungkook coaxed two more orgasms out of you just like that, leaving you a shaky and dazed mess, before removing his fingers, sucking on them with a loud grunt. he went to move inbetween your legs, to make good work of the slick dripping from you only to be stopped by your smaller hands.

“want you.” you whimpered with a shake of your head. “don’t wanna wait anymore.”

“need to stretch you baby, you’re still tight.” he shook his head back at you, grabbing your legs and pulling you closer.

“no.” you huffed, voice suddenly bratty. “you said you’d give me anything i want..”

he closed his eyes at that, cock throbbing. fuck, you already knew his weak spots, and he had every intention of making you feel it just as deeply as he could. he departed from you entirely, leaning back, pulling you up by your arms firmly.

“get on the bed.” he simply uttered to you, voice dark. he was so firm, so direct - his words sat in your stomach as you shakily did exactly that, leaning on the walls as you wobbled your way over.

even in moments of heightened passion, he couldn’t get over how tooth achingly sweet you were.

you laid on the bed, head plush on your shared pillows as you managed to catch your breath. jungkook walked in, hair a mess, shoulders sore from the scratches you had left behind, cock hard and against his stomach as he approached. neither of you could look away from one another, as he grabbed your hips and yanked you down closer to him, hovering over you immediately.

“give me a kiss.” he hushed down at you, causing you to lean up, pressing a sweet peck to his lips. you were so cute to him.

he lined himself up with you, rubbing his cock up and down, causing you to whine, the size of him against you already addicting. soon, he started to push in, the tip of his cock already stretching you wider than anything you had ever taken.

jungkook hovering over you, his arms caging you in other side of your head as he pushed deeper, deeper and deeper. you could feel your thighs quivering, your wide eyes shutting tight as you felt you couldn’t breathe by the time he was half way in. he wasn’t fairing any better. this was out of his wildest dreams, panting on top of you, cooing down at you.

“my good girl, so so good to me. look at you taking it so well. were born to take me, weren’t you baby?” he cooed down, causing you to whimper as you could feel the familiar sting of tears forming in your eyes.

you nodded, sucking in a shaky breath as your arms wrapped around his neck. “s-so big.”

he hissed as he continued to push inside, managing to fit his entire length in after multiple minutes. you were breathing deeply, chest rising and falling as jungkook waited for you to settle down, watching the way your stomach bulged from the intrusion.

“you can take it.” he assured, hand pressing down on your stomach, against the bulge causing you to shriek loudly, eyes closing tight again. tears were beginning to stream, and he could feel himself getting harder.

“you c-can..can move.” you whimpered out.

with seconds, jungkook began to thrust.

if you thought you had experienced pleasure before, you were sorely mistaken.

you knew then that nothing would ever feel like this, nothing could compete or compare - this was everything your body has subconsciously craved for years, given to you by the much older, stranger who had taken you in for his own.

the pain was overshadowed by the thrill and pleasure, his deep thrusts hitting a sponge part of you that was already pulling you closer and closer to the edge. your tears were streaming as he rested his head against your own.

“needed this from you, baby. been thinking about you for so long, you know that?” he grunted out loud. “now you’re all mine..all mine to fuck.”

“yours..all y-yours, kook.” you nodded vigorously, hands pulling at his hair. “feel so big.”

he hid his face in your neck as his pace began to quicken, causing you to borderline scream out his name. you didn’t care who could hear you, the feeling of being pounded into by a cock too big for you euphoric. he couldn’t get enough of you, the taste of your skin on his tongue as he sucked on your neck, leaving heavy hickeys to mark you for the entire world to see.

you couldn’t hold back on the sobs, crying out from the overstimulation; the pleasure, the stinging pain. it was too much and not enough, at one point finding yourself even beating your fists against his chest, only causing him to fuck you harder.

soon enough, jungkook flipped you around, so you were on your stomach, his chest pressing harshly on your back. you could barely move in this position, couldn’t breathe very well either, merely forced to endure the pleasure of jungkook taking care of you. your shallow breaths alongside the chant of his name were like music to his ears, as he kissed and bit on your shoulders.

“my girl. gonna make you my wife, you know that?” he promised down at you, pounding at this point.

“don’t..say that.” you gasped loudly, his words making you clench harshly around his cock, clearly liking it far too much than you wanted to admit.

you had been in house for two weeks and yet the thought of this treatment for life, belonging to jungkook for the rest of your days, was enough to make you sob in joy. your cheek was smushed into the pillow, as you grabbed onto the sheets for life, only for him to intertwine his fingers with your own from behind.

“you like that, huh..” he let out a small laugh. “wanna be my wife, pretty girl? wanna be mrs jeon?”

you were clenching uncontrollably, only edging him closer to his own orgasm.

“fuck..just like that.” he grunted. “gonna wake up to a ring on your finger one of these days. don’t give a fuck that it’s too soon, gotta make sure you get what this is.” he was picking your body up from the bed, your ass in the air suddenly as his thrusts only got more brutal. “you belong to me, you understand? every part of you, all mine.”

“wan’it.” you admitted, through a small sob. “wanna be your wife, kookie, want it so so bad.”

“yeah?” he closed his eyes at your admission. “god. need to get you a house, make sure you decorate it just how you like. gotta spoil you like my wife deserves.”

you were seeing stars, the sound of skin slapping against skin louder than either of your whines, moans or sobs. he slid one of his hands down, circling your clit once more despite the fact you were already a bundle of over sensitivity.

at that, you squealed loudly.

“gonna cum soon, gonna fill this pussy up just like you deserve. get you all nice and round for me.” his words cut through you like a knife, causing you to lose your breath.

“please, please, please.” you begged, through harsh sobs. “cum inside, kookie, please, wanna have your baby.”

you couldn’t take it any longer. the movement of his fingers, the harshness of cock, the way you could feel his entire weight on your much smaller body - you could hardly breathe as your orgasm hit you like a freight train, rendering you useless.

you completely blacked out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you choked lightly, only causing jungkook to orgasm himself. he buried himself deep inside you with a final thrust, feeling you clench and milk him for all that he had.

the shared orgasm was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. it felt the closest to euphoria you’d ever felt, and you knew the feeling was mutual with the way the usually stoic, manly man on top of you was moaning into your shoulder, fucking you both through your orgasms.

he settled on top of you for a solid minute, still inside of you, repositioning you so you could breathe freely. he was breathing in your scent, his shoulders sagging as though the full stress of the day had finally escaped you. it was like he could breathe again, having bared his entire soul to you mid thrust only for it to be reciprocated in the filthiest of ways.

your eyes remained closed, even after he pulled out, and pushed his cum back into you with his fingers, secretly praying it would stick. you were a panting, dazed mess as he picked you up and took you to the bathroom, drawing you a bath all the whilst holding you firmly into his arms, not letting you worry about a single thing.

and once you were settled in, warm bubble coated water surrounding you as you nuzzled deeper and deeper into jungkook’s chest, only then did you open your eyes, meeting his gaze with parted lips.

“did you mean it?” you whispered quietly, almost afraid of his answer.

he didn’t respond to you at first. instead, he brushed a wet thumb over your cheek, watching the way you nuzzled into his cheek gently. he was were enamoured by you, both body and soul, and if he was a man of words, he would have professed his feelings for you grandly. alas, he was not, so instead, he did the next best thing.

jungkook took a hold of your left hand, easing it to his lips and planting a sweet kiss to your ring finger, right where he promised he would decorate it with jewellery soon.

he meant every fucking word.

—

three months had passed and welcomed pure bliss into your life. you knew that life with jungkook was a pleasure in itself, but from moving into a completely new home, one he had put under your name as a testimony of his love for you, to the ridiculously expensive gifts he would come home with each and every day. you were living a reality that you couldn’t have ever dreamt would belong to you.

you looked healthier - from your long hair to your flushed cheeks, your eyes brighter and your ribcage no longer poking out. you were head over heels in love with the man who had claimed you for his own like a modern day stalker, and yet you had never felt so sure of your safety.

jungkook loved in a way that was visible, not explicit. he wasn’t one to tell you those three words, instead opting to show you any change he would get, something that had you weeping constantly out of pure joy. something he couldn’t ever get over.

you liked the dynamic you had built for each other too. you got to play house, spending all of your time being domestic, cooking meals, trying new recipes, baking, adding furnishings to the home, making it completely and entirely your own whilst he went out and worked. he was a manual labour kind of guy, coming home with sweat lined skin and grease all over him, but that only made you want him so much more.

to know he worked so hard just to provide the picture perfect life for you had you riding him most nights, giving him the love he bestowed upon you in the best possible way you knew how. through milking his cock until his cum sat deep in your womb, a favourite pastime for you both.

even now, you were stood in your kitchen, phone in hand as you read the text jungkook had sent to you only moments prior. he never texted. ever.

your stomach flipped as you reread it over and over, trying to decipher the meaning for the text, instead of him calling you, your head tilted as your stomach sat doing somersaults.

‘don’t cook. bringing you something home.’

seemed innocent enough, but this was your man. you knew him intimately in a way many could only ever dream of - he was up to no good, you were sure of it.

you stared at the screen longer than you needed to, chewing on your bottom lip, bare feet cold against the kitchen tile. the apartment was quiet, save from the soft music playing from your tv, warm lighting dancing around your shared space whilst the low hum of the city rumbled through the walls.

you were already cooking. of course you were.

you liked when he came home to food, a visual manifestation of the fact you had been waiting for him to arrive - a kiss to his soul that told him directly that you wanted him to know you were thinking of him.

regardless, you turned the stove off, forever obedient to your older boyfriend.

you were in a matching loungewear set, soft and pink, his favourite duo as the shorts barely covered your ass, your breasts bulging out of the low cut t-shirt thanks to the pretty bra you were wearing. your hair remained damp from your shower, clipped up and out of your face, skin soft and flushed.

you checked the time.

like clockwork, the door began to open, making you look up, smoothening the strands around your face. after all the moments spent together, you still felt so incredibly shy in his presence, something he would never get over.

his footsteps were heavy down the hallway, weight against hardwood, announcing his presence with every creak of the floor. the air changed the second he stepped inside of kitchen, as though the temperature warped to accommodate him and him alone.

he shut the door behind him with his foot, looking you up and down hungrily as he placed a brown bag on the dining table unceremoniously.

“you eat?”

his voice was rough from the day.

you shook your head gently. “no..waited for you.”

he glanced at the stove, noticing the cooling pan and your sheepish little smile. he tilted his head.

“told you not to cook.”

“i turned it off.” you murmured just as he grunted softly. you walked over to him, helping him out of his work jacket; watching as his veins protruded from his arms, making you trace them immediately as a small habit.

you peered up, standing on your tip toes to plant a soft peck to his lips, with blazing cheeks that flushed too pink for the occasion.

he watched you for another instance, enamoured by you as per usual but there was something unreadable in his gaze. something darker, something raw that had been left untouched for too long, like a glass of water finally over spilling after being continuously poured into. you tilted your head at him gently.

you barely noticed it at first, too busy maintaining the intense eye contact, but jungkook reached into his pocket, grabbing something.

you watched as he placed something on the counter inbetween you.

something small.

velvet.

square.

the world suddenly fell completely silent as your eyes fell on it, your mouth completely drying up as your hands travelled up to your mouth. your breath had caught so sharply it left an ache in your chest.

your pulse thrummed harshly in your fingertips as you stared, and stared and stared, unable to bring yourself to open what you assumed was insane, unable to fathom this was a reality.

jungkook didn’t say anything for a few moments, before looking down at you, observing your reaction.

“open it.”

your eyes snapped up to him, finally.

“..what?”

his jaw shifted slightly. amused. “you know what it is.”

you do. of course you did, but it felt too big to say out loud. your fingers hovered over the box, desperate to touch but almost unsure.

“you’re serious..” you whispered faintly. it wasn’t doubt in your voice but absolute disbelief, like something you had only ever dreamt about was about to take place before your very eyes.

his eyes darkened at your tone. “i wouldn’t joke about shit like this.”

he stepped closer to you now, his chest touching the side of your body, caging you against the counter, his head dropping down so you could meet his gaze properly, without having to look up.

“you think i’ve been saying this for nothing?” he continued, voice low, rougher now. “you think i’m talking just to hear myself?”

you shook your head up at him, chest rising and falling as one of your hands gripped his shirt, hand on his hardened abs to ground yourself as you blinked tears away, trying to comprehend this was really happening.

“open it.” he nudged his nose towards the box, eyes trained on you intensely as your hand finally reached out to hold it, letting out a shaky breath.

opening it up caused you to let out a soft whimper, something that had your knees almost buckling.

the light of the kitchen caught on the heavy diamond sat comfortably in the box, a vision of both taste and money - it didn’t take a jeweller to tell you that this ring was worth more than every pay check you had ever gotten. there was nothing delicate or dainty about it, he wanted you to wear the best of the best and this was exactly that.

you pressed your fingers to your lips as you tried to control your breathing, looking up to meet his gaze through a teary gaze that he was already devouring. you were such a crybaby, and he fucking loved it - you cried over everything and anything, with the only remedy being himself.

“you like it.” he murmured, fingers pressing into your waist to ground you, voice certain.

you nod rapidly, letting out a shaky, teary exhale. “kookie, it’s so..it’s beautiful..”

“good.”

silence settled between you both again, but it sat thicker now. charged. your chest felt too tight, your stomach aching as you tried to keep your tears inside, all the whilst he began peppering your neck in kisses.

“you don’t have to-“ you started softly, tears beginning to stream. “i’m already yours, always.”

the words slip out before you could stop them, as you tried to stifle your sobs to no avail, hand shaking enough where you placed the box down onto the counter gently, too in awe of it to even comprehend it being real.

he stilled.

he stopped his kisses, leaning up to his full height before cupping your cheek with his hand, making your own head lean back to stare up at him. he swiped at your tears, humming lightly down at you. “yeah, you are.”

he took your fingers in his hold then, planting a sweet kiss to each finger, to your palm, to the tops. he took hold of the ring, feeling the weight of it for a moment before sliding it onto your finger slowly, letting you experience it first hand.

his calloused fingers were warm against your own, the size difference hitting you as it often did. it was the way in which it sat on your body, the weight of jungkook’s presence settling into your own and the love you both shared blatant and on display.

you were safe.

loved.

but more importantly? jungkook had chosen you, openly, directly, without fear of scrutinisation. he knew he was a man that moved fast, but it came with an understanding of exactly what he wanted.

you.

—

ahhhh!! handyman jungkook is finally here, thank you all for your patience - if this was something you enjoyed and you want to support me and my writing, here is my kofi <33

love u guys so bad

[matchastwb]

ᯓ ➤ GAMEBOY | JJK | PART ONE

synopsis: was it weird to fall in love with someone you’ve never met? maybe. but the guy you’ve been playing video games with for the past few months was simply too charming. unfortunately for you, he was already smitten with some girl in his economics class, and it also didn’t help that he thought you were a boy.

pairing/genre: two shot, jungkook x reader (fem), fluff, smut

tags: economics student!reader (do you see where this is going), gamer!jk & reader, IDIOTS to lovers, friends to lovers, college au, mutual pining, IDIOTIC shenanigans, secret identities bc im a whore for that !! and ofc some fun, heart-racing smut because i couldn't resist gamer!jk hehe but those exact tags will be in part two! oh right, did i mention IDIOTS ?!?!!

a/n: welcome to part one!!! thank u SO SO SO MUCH for all the love on the teaser i was genuinely blown away!! hehe again, this is inspired by the many unemployed bitchless jk gamer lives recently! side note: i know nothing about gaming except for minecraft and the sims so pls keep that in mind lol! thank u so so much for all the support, hope u enjoy!!<3

taglist: comment, reblog with a note, or send an ask with the fic name if you'd like to be tagged for part 2! or join my perm taglist :)

wc: 8.7k

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main m.list | read on wattpad | part one | part two

Today was the day. You had to tell him.

A static hum from your headphones taunted you as your mouse hovered over the familiar Discord voice-changing extension that you downloaded a few years ago when you realized that gaming was a lot easier if people thought you were a guy. 

The only time it sucked was when you started crushing on one of your best friends and he still thought your name was Leo and that you had a dick.

But that was going to change soon, you hoped. 

“Dude, Sky Block has really lost its touch.” Jay’s light, airy voice tickled your ears. “Wanna play Bedwars next? Or do you want to finally download that new game on Steam?”

Minecraft was the game of choice today. While he started as a buddy to play Valorant with, some time between now and the past three months, you started joining multiplayer servers on all sorts of games with him. 

“Not in the mood for Bedwars, honestly.” Your voice changer was still on and it probably hid how shaky your words were. “What was that new game again?” 

You were stalling. Fuck.

He went on to explain this new game called Raft, but you couldn’t give two shits about it, barely listening. Instead, you plucked the courage to click on the voice-changing mod, opening the panel where you could select your voice type. You dragged until the mouse landed on “TURN OFF,” just as he finished explaining.

“So, what do you say? You down?”

You couldn’t click it. 

“Sounds interesting, but maybe not today,” you began. “I think I’m gonna log off soon.”

“Already?” You heard him huff. “You’ve been really quiet today. Something on your mind?”

“Yeah, honestly.” You sighed and leaned back, hoping that a laid-back position would calm your nerves. “I do have something I want to talk about with you, though.”

“Me too, actually.” He clicked twice, probably closing some windows. “Wanna trade some thoughts?”

This could be good. An opportunity. You just had to get your shit together. It was just Jay, you reminded yourself. He was one of your best friends—the only one who didn’t know your real name but could probably recite your Steam purchase history by heart.

Have you ever met in real life? No. Have you ever seen his face? Also no. But somehow you couldn’t help but adore him. 

Laughter tumbled out of him easily. Kids on Roblox looked up to him. Silver ranked players on Valorant hated him. And you? You had an astronomic crush on him. 

But how could you not? He was just too cute. He got just as hyped up as you whenever someone made a legendary play.  He understood all of your nerdy references, because he too, was a huge dork. He loved anime and manga to the ends of the earth but couldn’t finish a single book even if he were held at gunpoint. 

In other words, he was irresistible. This made it all the more imperative for you to tell him the truth about who you really were.

Your heart thumped against your ribcage.

“Sure,” you managed to say.

“You first?” 

You weren’t ready yet. You’d let it be the last thing you did on this call.

“Nah, you go.” 

“Alright then.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t freak out, okay? This is kind of big.”

“Don’t tell me… you finally moved up to Gold in Val?”

He laughed. “No, but man, that would be nice. I’ve been Silver for too long.” You muffled a girly giggle. He was so dreamy when he laughed. “It’s actually about like, real life.”

“Bet. Lay it on me.” 

You snatched a pillow from your bed to get comfy. Gaming with him was always fun, but late night talks were rarer. More precious.

“Okay. Aright.” He took a deep breath. “Don’t freak out but…there’s this girl.”

The air was knocked out of your lungs. You didn’t have time to mull over it, though, because he kept going.

“She’s in my econ class. She sits right in front of me, and I’ve been trying to talk to her all semester. I don’t think I’ve been doing a good job, though.” He sighed. “I know we don’t usually talk about these kinds of things but, I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty sure my friends in real life wouldn’t take it seriously.”

Your breath hitched. It was rare to talk about anything other than games, shows, or movies. 

“That doesn’t mean you’re my last resort or anything. I just feel like—I don’t know—I’m more honest with you?” He gave a weak chuckle. “I mean, dude, who else would still be friends with me after finding out about my secret Hatsune Miku obsession?”

You willed yourself to laugh, giving him permission to keep going.

“Anyways, this girl is super cute. We’ve talked a few times but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t see me as anything more than a classmate. Any words of advice?”

You forced yourself to say something. Anything.

“What’s she like?” 

“She’s gorgeous,” he immediately supplied. “Like, drop dead gorgeous. Really girly. Super smart.” He hummed in thought. “She looks like she’d be shy but she can be surprisingly feisty. I’ve talked to her a couple times, but only about school stuff.”

Every sentence punctured like a knife. All you could do was laugh. 

“Sounds like you’ve got it bad, man.” 

Why was it that the more nervous you got the more you spoke like a guy?

“I think I do,” he confessed. Your heart shattered a little. “She probably has no idea. I just don’t know how to start a conversation with her unless it’s about class stuff.”

“Maybe you could ask her out on a date.” Your voice was clipped. 

“Don’t you think that’s too forward? I mean, we’re just classmates.”

“Well if you don’t shoot your shot, you’ll never know right?” You swallowed a lump in your throat. Your mouse permanently moved off the voice-changing mod. “I’d say go for it. Just make sure she doesn’t have a boyfriend, first.”

He hummed in thought. 

“Alright. I’ll try it.” 

“Good luck.” You hated your life. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do. Thanks, Leo.” You couldn’t see him, but you had a feeling he was smiling. “What did you want to talk about again?”

Right. You were going to tell him that you weren’t Leo. That you were actually a girl and that you had been lying to him about your identity for the past three months. And that you had a massive crush on him. 

You wondered what his reaction would be. Would he be mad? Shocked? Happy?

Then, you thought about Jay—as a person, and as a friend. How late nights with him could whisk away the worries of college life. How with others you’d laugh quietly and smile softly, but with him you were unapologetically boisterous. You thought about what it meant to have him as a friend—to come home knowing that someone would be able to put a grin on your face. Then you remembered how to speak.

“I forgot.”

A moment passed before his signature delicate chuckle tingled your ear, and you hated how it made you swoon. 

“Maybe it’s a sign,” your friend Jin suggested. “What if he’s ugly?”

“I think I’d still like him, honestly.” You were walking to your morning economics lecture. Jin’s class was on the way, so he came with you. “Is that weird?”

Jin hummed, thinking. “Not really. It’s sweet, but it’s also a little… pathetic.” You glared at him. He continued anyway. “You’ve only known him for what, three months? And you’ve also been lying to his face about your gender and name. If you can fall for someone that hard under those circumstances, I think it just means that you’re down bad. I mean, when was the last time you went on a proper date? Or went out?”

Most of the time you loved Jin, but sometimes you wanted to strangle him. This was one of those times. 

Jin had been one of your closest friends since he found you sneaking out of the club a year ago at some freshman orientation party, venturing towards a nearby Burger King. You sheepishly asked if he wanted to join you, and a huge grin overtook his face as he skipped over. You were inseparable ever since. 

“I’m not the party type, and you know that.” You pouted, then sighed. “But you’re right, maybe I am a little pathetic.”

At your pitiful slouch, he slapped you on the back cheerfully. “Hey, I was kidding. You just have a soft heart. Nothing to be ashamed of!”

“Whatever,” you mumbled.

You and Jin reached your lecture hall, some students shoving you to trot into class. This class was always exceptionally full, with over six-hundred students in the lecture hall. It was a required class for several majors, after all.

“How about we go out tonight?” He pulled out his phone, scrolling for something. “There’s this club that Wendy wanted to go to, and it’s a Friday.”

You thought about it for a moment, looking at the pictures of the club Jin was showing you on his phone.

“Okay, sure. Let’s go.” It would be good to get your mind off things. 

Jin let out a mini-squeal and hugged you, obviously overjoyed that you were finally agreeing to go somewhere with him that wasn’t a cafe or brunch place. He waved you goodbye as you parted ways, then you followed the other dozen-something students trudging into the huge lecture hall, your denim tote bag slung over your shoulder and swinging into other people as you battled to make it inside.

The hall quieted down just as you found your seat, one in the back where few students ventured, opting to climb more stairs for more space. Twenty minutes into the professor’s tangent on marginal utility, someone tapped you on the shoulder from behind.

You didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

“What do you want, Jungkook?” you asked through a heavy sigh.

“I have a question,” he said, sheepish.

You turned around to face him. He was wearing a white tank top with an oversized grey hoodie that was zipped just enough to reveal the upper part of his sleeve of tattoos. His hair was styled messily as always, and his piercings seemed to glare at you.

“You always do.” You rolled your eyes. “Have you tried taking a look at the syllabus?”

Every week, without fail, Jungkook would ask you some kind of stupid question about class and then bother you with nonsense about other random stuff. Most of the time the questions could be answered if he just looked at the course manual online. How much was the final exam worth? Could he get bonus points if he submitted assignments late? Where could he access the online textbook?

At first, you gave polite answers, but after the third time, you simply told him to ask the professor if he was oh-so-curious about the number of questions on the midterm. You figured that he was just having a ball poking fun at you; the quiet, nerdy girl who liked to sit at the back of the class having to answer stupid questions might’ve made a funny sight to a cocky guy like him. 

Or maybe he was just dumb.

“It’s not about class this time.” He took his laptop and reached over, placing it next to your belongings. “Can I come down and sit with you?”

You didn’t even answer, but he was already climbing over. “Uh, sure?”

You had to admit it was a little impressive how smoothly he swung down a row and settled into the seat next to you, barely making any noise. But he was just one of those guys: effortlessly cool and kind of stuck up but rightfully so.

“Okay. So,” he started, opening his laptop to make it look like he was locked in. “I have a question.”

“You said that already.” You kept typing notes on your laptop, half-listening to the lecturer and keeping an ear out for whatever nonsense Jungkook would ask of you.

“It’s… it’s important.” His voice was softer than usual. That caught your attention.

“Okay.” You stopped typing and closed your laptop ever so slightly to show him that you were really listening now. “What’s up?”

“Um… well…”

For the first time ever, Jungkook looked nervous. He couldn’t make eye contact with you. You raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Doyouhaveaboyfriend?”

You tilted your head and leaned towards him as if it were the volume of his question that made you unable to understand. “Say that one more time?”

He took a deep breath. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You blinked once. Twice. What an unexpected question. 

“No?”

Jungkook’s face melted into relief, then flushed into an expression that could only be described as mild panic, as if he hadn’t thought about what to say next.

“Why do you ask?” 

He blubbered like a fish for a good two seconds—which you kindly did not comment on—before offering an awkward laugh.

“For a friend!” he declared. “I’m just… asking for a friend?”

“Oh.” You furrowed your brows, unsure why he sounded like he was asking a question. “Do I know him?”

“Um, no,”  he said. “He just saw you on Instagram and thought you were cute and I told him I knew you so he asked me to ask if you had a boyfriend,” he explained hastily, all in one breath. “So here I am. Asking. For a friend.”

At that moment, the professor loudly declared that he was going to go over one of the most important topics that would appear on the final exam. You averted your gaze to the board and leaned over to say softly:

“Well, I’m not really interested in dating right now. But maybe if I ever run into him I can see?”

“Of course!”

You gave an awkward smile and nodded in response. Then, the rest of your attention went back to the lecture.

Jungkook had really done it, now.

How could he be so utterly stupid? He cursed his feeble heart for making a fool out of himself.

Seriously? He couldn’t man up and tell you the truth?

He blamed it on your stupidly cute face. Why did you need to look at him like that? Head tilted and eyes wide like a deer? God, he couldn’t stand you. 

Correction: he couldn’t stand what you did to him.

This never happened before. Sure, Jungkook had some romantic adventures here and there with a girl or two. He was a good-looking young man in his early twenties after all. But no girl had ever rendered him speechless just by looking at him.

Every time he gathered the courage to tap you on the shoulder to make conversation, he’d always chicken out at the last moment and end up asking some stupid, class-related inquiry instead of saying anything meaningful enough to garner your attention. Today he was so close to making a real stride, but of course he had to fuck it up in an even worse way

If someone asked him why you had this power over him, he’d honestly have a hard time explaining.

Was it the way that you always leaned forward when you didn’t understand something? Was it how you’d scrunch your nose to pull up your glasses instead of using your hands? Or was it the way you’d quietly chuckle at the professor’s lame jokes when no one else did?

He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t have to be to know that he was absolutely whipped. And this was a big problem, because he couldn’t stop thinking about you, no matter what he was doing or where he was. 

During class. In the shower. Even at the club—where he was currently taking shots with his friend, Taehyung.

The fiery liquid stung his throat as music pulsed around him. This was his third shot, but he still didn’t feel a thing. Taehyung gestured to the bar, a tacit suggestion for a fourth. Jungkook shook his head no. 

Another friend, Jimin, decided to take it instead. 

“Only three?” Jimin asked, raising his voice over the thumping house music. 

“Maybe I’ll come back and do more,” Jungkook replied. “Gonna step outside for a bit.”

His friends nodded and shrugged, knowing that Jungkook was a free-spirit who would do whatever he wanted regardless of their opinion, anyway. 

Outside, there were a few people smoking and chatting casually. The air was cold and a puff of fog escaped Jungkook as he drew out a chattering breath. In the sea of college students, the last person he expected to see was you.

But there you were. 

Alone. On your phone. Shivering. You were wearing a short skirt and a puffer jacket. Gone were your usual oversized glasses, and your hair was pulled into a high ponytail that showed off your neck, strands flying in the wind at the side of your face. You leaned against the metal railing, facing the street as the occasional car whizzed by. 

You were absolutely breathtaking.

Okay. He could do this. Puffing his chest, he walked over to you.

“Hey there,” he called, voice slicing the frosty air in what he hoped was a suave manner.

You jumped around. “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he laughed softly. “Can I join you?”

“Um, sure.” You scooched over, leaving room for him to lean against the railing as well. He joined you, looking out onto the street and gathering the courage to say something.

“So, what brings you out here while they’re playing Doja Cat’s top hits?” 

“Oh it just… got a little too stuffy in there for me,” you admitted bashfully. “I could ask the same to you.”

He shrugged. “I’m not really the party type.”

A laughing breath spilled out of you. “Right, and I’m Beyonce. What else is new?”

Jungkook pouted. “I’m serious! I’m really not the party type.”

“Really?” You looked him up and down. 

Shit, was his hair okay? Was his face already flushed from the shots? Did his leather jacket look nice? He gulped and hoped you didn’t notice. 

“But you seem like the party type.”

He waved dismissively. “Maybe every once in a while. I’m more of a homebody than people might think, to be honest.”

“Well, that makes the two of us,” you said. “Not big on parties either. I just came out here to clear my mind, honestly.”

“Wanna get anything off your chest?”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I wouldn’t want to bother you with my stupid problems.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jungkook quickly denied. “I’m happy to lend an ear.”

You eyed him as if you didn’t believe him. “Okay,” you said slowly, nose turning red from the cold. You sniffled. “Um, thank you.” 

“Of course. So what’s up?”

He was doing good, he thought. Casual conversation. Getting to know each other. But then you sighed deeply, and said something that made his heart clench.

“It’s… it’s actually about a guy,” you admitted. “I came here to get my mind off of him, but I guess I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Oh. 

Oh shit. 

Jungkook’s guts twisted as he forced a neutral expression onto his face. You continued.

“I met him a while ago, and I guess I started liking him pretty quickly. The thing is, he only sees me as a friend. But it doesn’t feel right, being friends with him when I feel this way. It’s like I’m deceiving him, somehow, you know?”

Jungkook could only internally face palm. If only you knew how he was lying through his teeth to you, too.

“And so I was going to tell him how I feel, but before I could, he started telling me about how he likes another girl,” you snorted, a defeated expression on your face. “So now I’m trying to get over him, I guess.”

“Wow. Sounds like an oblivious idiot.” This was all Jungkook could say, because really, how could any guy who got a chance to get to know you ever like someone else? He was almost personally offended by the notion. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

You turned, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “That’s… kind of you to say. It’s really not his fault though. I’ve not been all that honest with him, actually.”

Jungkook saw this as another opening. 

He could come clean and tell you that the friend he mentioned earlier was all a lie—a fabrication that was the result of his stupid nerves. Then he’d tell you that he’d love to help you get your mind off that stupid guy by taking you out on a date, and then maybe you’d say yes. Maybe you’d say no.

But at the very least, he’d be honest.

Just as he gathered the courage, you spoke first.

“Wait, didn’t you say something about your friend?” Your back straightened. Gears were turning in your head; he could almost see them. “Earlier in class today. You said something about a friend wondering if I was single.”

“Oh.” Jungkook thought that anaphylactic shock would be less painful than this. “Right. Yeah.”

You whipped around, ponytail flying with you. “Okay, this is going to sound a little bit pathetic,” you began, slightly embarrassed. “But if your friend is cool with it, could you maybe set us up? My friends are saying that the only reason why I even like this guy in the first place is because he’s the only guy I talk to. Maybe if I just… see more of the world I can move on easier. And if your friend is cool with it, I’d love to meet him?”

You were talking too fast. He couldn’t think fast enough.

“Uh… sure.”

Fucking hell. Jungkook wanted to die.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You beamed.

“No problem.” He sounded like a robot.

You didn’t seem to notice, smiling brightly.  It was the same look you got on your face when you got an answer right, quietly celebrating the similarity between your work and the professor’s. It was the look you got when you took your first sip of coffee in the morning and it tasted just right.

Seeing it never failed to make Jungkook’s day a little better—except for this time. 

One night out was enough to drain your energy for the whole weekend, it seemed.

It was a lazy Sunday night, and you were anxiously waiting for Jungkook to text you with updates on what his friend would say to your proposition. Jungkook hadn’t even given you the contact information or the name of his friend yet.  You worried a bit; what if you seemed too desperate? 

But of course, all your worries were washed away when you saw the familiar Discord notification pop up on your screen. It was Jay. He wanted to know if you were down to play that new game called Raft. It was apparently a cozy survival multi-player game that was popular among Stardew Valley enthusiasts.

You typed out a quick message saying that you’d be on in about thirty minutes. 

After taking a shower and changing into your pajamas, you went to your gaming set up and downloaded the game, shooting him a text saying that you’d be ready soon. Jay replied instantly, starting a voice call.

“Yo. What’s up?” His voice was dreamy, as always.

“Hey.” You tried not to gush.

After getting the game all set up, you found an easy rhythm with him. It was a cozy game; all you had to do was basically fish and build on a raft that was floating in the middle of the ocean. That left room for lots of conversation.

“How are things with that girl?” You finally found the courage to ask. 

A deep sigh came from him. “I kind of fucked up. It’s embarrassing.”

You laughed, imagining Jay trying to hit on a girl. He was probably really nervous—probably also really cute, you thought, which then made you sad, since you weren’t on the receiving end of those advances. 

“What happened?” you asked, making your game character sit down on your shared raft. 

“It’s embarrassing.” In the game, Jay plopped down to watch the pixelated sunset next to you. “Promise you won’t judge me?”

“Sure, I won’t judge you,” you confirmed. “I think.”

You could practically hear him roll his eyes, if that was even possible. 

“Whatever. Don’t make me regret telling you this.”

“Sailor’s honor.” Your video game character was dressed like a sailor. 

He took a deep breath and began. “So I was talking to her the other day about whether or not she had a boyfriend, and when she asked me why… I kind of chickened out and told her that I was asking for a friend.”

You scoffed—probably harder than necessary—then bursted into unapologetic laughter.  

“Seriously?” You struggled to breathe normally. “Jesus, Jay, that’s really something else. You got nervous?”

His voice was small. “Yeah.”

He was so fucking adorable. Lord help you. 

“And that’s not even the worst of it,” he groaned. “She asked me to set her up on a date with this guy. And I said yes. Even though the guy is me. I want to die.”

At this, you stopped laughing. “Wow. That’s so stupid I can’t even make fun of you for it.”

“Thanks a lot,” he grunted. “Any other helpful comments?”

His sarcasm was usually laced with playful humor, but this time he seemed genuinely upset. Maybe he liked this girl more than you thought. You fought the ache in your chest.

“Well, do you have a plan to start with?”

“I don’t. I was hoping you could help me with that.”

You and Jay mulled over the possible options. 

Telling the truth was out of the picture, apparently. 

Jay was adamant that this was simply not feasible since it would make him look like an asshole who just wanted to play with her feelings. You argued that there wasn’t really an alternative for it, either. 

You didn’t want to help them all that much, if you were being honest. Hearing him lament on and on about how worried he was that he was ruining his chances with some girl—that was hard for you. 

But alas, you found something to suggest, although it was so stupid you doubted he’d like the idea.

“What if you asked one of your friends to go on the date for you and purposefully ruin it? Then you can come in and—I don’t know—show her how much cooler you are. Sweep her off her feet. Be the hero. Or something.”

Silence. 

You caught some tuna in the game, a fish icon popping up in your inventory as you pulled the fishing rod back. Nice. 

“Leo...”

“Hm?”

“That’s brilliant!”  His video game character stood, jumping around and emoting while circling around yours. “You’re a genius! You’re a genius!”

You forced an awkward laugh. “Thanks, I guess.” Was it actually a good idea? You didn’t even really remember what you suggested. 

“Have some goodies.” His player—who was dressed like a little boy scout—dropped a bunch of food items on the ground, gesturing for you to pick it up. “It’s my thank-you present.”

A smile found its way onto your face. He really was too cute to stay annoyed at. “Why thank you, young lad.” 

After the game’s sun started to rise, you and Jay went back to work, fishing and building on your raft until it looked more like a sophisticated island. While waiting for crops on your floating farm to grow and for great white sharks to swim away, you sent memes back and forth to each other in the chat, and at some point you went AFK for a bit to get the pizza that you had ordered. 

Things were starting to feel normal. You could almost forget about your feelings. If you could forget today, maybe you could do it again tomorrow—and the day after as well. Then hopefully, you’d get over him completely.

It was around three in the morning, and you were getting ready to log off before Jay stopped you.

“Wait,” he called out. “I may or may not have one more request.”

“Shoot,” you replied, clicking out of all your windows except for Discord and taking a sip of your Diet Pepsi. 

He hesitated for a moment. “Can you do it? The date?”

You nearly spit out your drink. Spluttering, you replied:

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

“The date. With the girl. Can you do it? Be the douchebag who ruins it all? You don’t need to be mean or anything—I don’t want to make her sad—just be cocky and insufferable. Fuckboy vibes. Someone she definitely wouldn’t like. Then hopefully I can swoop in, like you said. Show her how much better I am.”

You couldn’t find your words.

“Please, Leo. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but I promise I’ll pay you back somehow. I was thinking about it… and I don’t think I can ask anyone else. You’re the only person who would help me without making fun of me.”

What did you do to deserve this? How could you say no when his voice pinched like that? So helpless and desperate that you wanted nothing more than to help him?

“Will you?” he asked again.

Maybe a demon possessed you.

“Sure.”

Not even heaven could help you now. 

“You’re actually stupid. How will you ever date anybody like this?” Jin wasn’t even making fun of you. His face was strewn into genuine remorse, as if your miserable love life were his own. 

“I don’t know,” you lamented, groaning into your hands. “What do I do?”

Wendy patted you on the shoulder. “Maybe start by finishing your lunch,” she said softly. “Your stress looks like it's eating you from inside out.”

God bless Wendy—Jin’s girlfriend—who was always so sweet to you.

The university canteen bustled with life, which you tainted with the faint scent of death lingering all around you. You forced yourself to take a bite of an apple. 

“Don’t you also have a date with whoever that economics boy is setting you up with?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m so nervous about that, too. Jungkook hasn’t even texted me the details yet.”

“Jungkook, huh,” Wendy said, lips pursing in thought as she played with her food—something she often did when she didn’t want to eat anymore. “Isn’t he the guy who was rumored to have broken five girls’ hearts back in year one? The guy with all the tattoos and piercings, right?”

“Right!” Jin’s face lit up in recognition, discreetly putting another piece of grilled pork onto Wendy’s plate. “I’ve heard people call him the One-Date Wonderboy. They say he went on dates with five different girls in the first month of the semester—and they all came back saying that he broke their hearts after only one date.”

“I’m not sure if it’s all true, though. These are all just rumors,” Wendy commented, pulling out her phone. “But he really does seem like a fuckboy. Look.” She showed Jungkook’s Instagram.

“Phew,” Jin said through a low whistle, narrowing his eyes and pinching to zoom in on Wendy’s phone. “Red flag galore. Look at that six-pack.”

It was his only post; a picture of Jungkook at the beach, shirtless, his tattooed arm holding a green coconut as he sipped from a comically pink straw. His dark hair was slightly damp. Skin glistening with sea water. The caption read: “beach trip w da fam.” 

“What do you think?” Wendy asked, turning to you and skillfully ignoring the extra piece of meat in front of her. “You’ve talked to him before, right? And he’s setting you up on a date. Are you sure he can be trusted?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I even care about that right now.”

You barely slept these past few days, staying up late worrying and waking up early in a cold sweat. And as Wendy mentioned, you hadn’t really been eating well either, too stressed to think about anything other than the impending doom of going on a date with Jay’s crush. As a boy. 

Goodness, how in the world were you going to pull this off?

Across from you, Jin was being pouty at Wendy for not finishing her meal. She sweetly swooned him with gentle praises, saying that she could get full just watching him eat. Too ill from your own disastrous love life to watch them, you averted your attention back to your phone, which made you want to puke even more. 

A few minutes later, Jungkook texted you with where his friend wanted to take you out on a date. You absentmindedly agreed, too busy lamenting over your predicament with Jay to care about your date with this mystery friend of Jungkook’s.

Looking back, you probably seemed really pitiful to him; maybe that was why he was so nice to you. You weren’t sure if you believed the things Wendy and Jin said about him. Sure, he looked like a red flag, but you didn’t find that unnerving, necessarily.  

He was less intimidating and more… stupid. And dumb, in a dorky way.

Kind of like Jay, but cockier. And… annoying?

Yeah. Annoying.

That’s what you’d call the feeling of knowing he was going to bother you in your economics lecture every Friday morning. That’s how you’d describe your first impression of him when he tapped you on the shoulder and asked if you had a laptop charger. Because who forgets to charge their laptop to the first class of the year?

But then he was also surprisingly kind at times: like when he offered to lend an ear outside the club when all you could think about was Jay. Or when he told you he’d be happy to set you up with his friend.

So hopefully, at least this blind date would go well. 

After finishing lunch, you put away your dirty plates and started walking to your next class, Jin and Wendy bickering at your side. Absentmindedly scrolling through your phone, a realization struck you, stopping you in your steps. 

You clicked out of your chat messages with Jungkook and into your Discord chat with Jay from a few days ago.

Your heart plunged out of your ass. 

“Oh my god.”

Jin and Wendy turned to you. You showed them your dilemma, frantically shoving your phone into their faces with incoherent blubbering. 

You’d just agreed to going on two dates, each at the exact same time and place with two different people—as two different people. One as yourself, and one as Leo.

“Oh honey…” Wendy trailed off. 

Jin furrowed his brows. “Are you an idiot?”

“Yes,” you said, desperate. “I’m an idiot and I need my best friend to help me.” 

To be fair, what were the chances that both Jay and Jungkook’s friend would propose dates at the exact same time and place? 

You wanted to cry.

Jin’s face softened, and he sighed, thinking hard. Wendy as well. Then his eyes lit up with a gasp.

“I have an idea,” he began. “Get a pencil and a piece of paper. You’re gonna wanna write this down.”

Things were looking up for Jungkook. 

He had someone secured for a fake date with you, and he trusted Leo with all his heart.

Leo was the only friend Jungkook had whom he could really be his true self with. Other people mostly knew him as the guy with the tattoos and piercings who liked to break girls’ hearts—a totally exaggerated rumor, by the way.

Honestly, he was a little flattered that people thought he was such a casanova. He didn’t know that having tattoos, piercings and a six-pack equated to being a fuckboy, but he didn’t necessarily hate the attention, either.

After all, in high school he was a total nerd. A geek, some would say.

He always had his nose buried in manga, dark circles surrounding his eyes after countless nights of staying up to play video games. He always sat at the back of the class, keeping quiet, and didn’t have many friends. Some classmates here and there thought he was nice. His TaeKwonDo instructor adored him, too.

But other than that, no one really paid attention to him until the summer after high school, when he grew out of his skinny-jeans and oversized hoodies, finding a new style that showed off his hard-earned muscles and freshly inked tattoos. 

When he started university, he got more attention from the opposite sex in one month than he had in the other eighteen years of his life. He didn’t quite know how to handle it at first, but he eventually found a formula that worked: the more arrogant and conceited he seemed, the less people saw how awkward he could truly be. And people accepted that as if it were an unstoppable force of nature. 

Of course someone who looked like Jungkook would be like this. Of course! 

So it was easy to secure dates, or first dates, at least. 

But then, a frustrating pattern emerged: he had no idea how to take it further with these ladies. He couldn’t talk dirty. He had never touched a woman before in his life. And he was hopeless at carrying conversation about anything other than games—and he wasn’t going to reveal to someone on a first date that the better part of his life had been spent glued to a computer monitor.

And unfortunately for him, these particular ladies expected him to take the lead for whatever reason. Was it the persona he made for them? Or, was it simply the fact that the look of his muscles alone screamed “let me dominate you?”

He wasn’t sure, and he was always scared to find out. By the end of every date, he’d make sure to end it. No matter how good the date was going, if he felt even the slightest trepidation in going forward with the girl, he’d tell them he wasn’t interested.

Five dates. 

That’s what it took for him to realize that it was pointless to try and find someone he’d click with. Sure, his dating pool was much larger now, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he could easily find someone that struck his fancy.

Maybe he relished in his new persona a little too much—five dates might’ve been overkill. 

Nevertheless, he really wasn’t the womanizer people wanted him to be.  Not everyone knew the truth, but that was okay. He didn’t mind. 

At the end of the day, he could always go back to his games.

So with Leo—someone who hadn’t ever known the other side of him before—he felt seen, in a good way. Leo didn’t poke fun at his interests.

Instead, Leo laughed all the time and asked fun questions. What was his favorite Pokemon growing up? What did he think about the spin-off series of Naruto? Who was stronger, Gojo or Kakashi?

 Leo never judged him. 

That was why he could only ask Leo for this astronomic favor. And thank goodness he said yes.

Jungkook was at PopMart, looking for a figurine of Itachi Uchiha—Leo’s favorite Naruto character—that he could give as a thank you gift.

His phone rang, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw that it was you. You had exchanged numbers a while ago at the club when he had agreed to set you up on a blind date.

“Yo. What’s up?”

“Hi Jungkook,” you started, slightly breathless, like you were nervous or something. He wondered why. “Are you busy?”

“I’m outside right now,” he explained. “But I can talk. I can always talk.” Shit, was that too much?

“Okay, perfect. Sorry to bother you.”

You never bothered him, he wanted to say. “No worries,” he said instead.

“So… I kind of have a favor to ask of you. Another one, that is.” You let out a timid laugh. “I promise I’ll treat you to a meal or something in return. It’s kind of a big favor.”

Jungkook would do anything for a meal with you.

“Sure. What is it? ” He put down the action figure that he was admiring, stepping outside the store to focus on talking to you. “I’m sure I can do it.”

“You’re the best!” You sighed in relief. “So um, I’m kind of setting my friend up on a blind date, but her date backed out… last minute.” You sounded like you were reading a script. “She worked really hard to clear her schedule, so I was wondering if you could do me a favor and hang out with her for a night?”

Oh. He was not expecting that.

“I really owe her a lot as a friend and… she likes guys who are cocky and insufferable—wait what?” A crinkle of paper could be heard. You cleared your throat. “I mean, she likes the bad boy type.”

Jungkook opened his mouth but no words came out. 

“She’s not looking for anything serious! Just one date with a guy who’s her type so she doesn’t waste the one day she worked so hard to clear.” A shaky breath. “She wants to go to that same Italian restaurant you mentioned. I’ll meet your friend and you can meet mine. It’ll be separate dates, but at least we’ll all have a friendly face nearby. What do you say?”

He blinked a few times and looked around to make sure that he wasn’t having some fever dream. Then he sighed. 

“It’s just one date, right?”

“Yes. Just one date to not waste her day off.”

Maybe he could do it.

It would also give him a natural reason to be in close proximity to you when the date was over. He would just make it clear to whoever your friend was that he wasn’t interested in her in the slightest. That he was only there to do you a favor.

Then, he’d come talk to you after and ask you how your date went and when you’d inevitably say it didn’t go well, he’d say something cool and make you swoon. 

Yeah. That sounded good.

He’d even get to see Leo in person for the first time, albeit from a few tables away. Maybe Jungkook could also surprise him, he thought, imagining what Leo’s reaction would be seeing his dearest friend, Jay, in the flesh. He imagined texting Leo, to your left, and then giving him the biggest grin as shock painted his face. 

They’d probably laugh about it later over Discord. 

“Okay. Sure.” 

You made a noise that sounded like a squeal in response. “Thank you so much!”

Cute, Jungkook mused. He wanted to hear more of your happy sounds—as creepy as that sounded. 

“No problem,” he said, delighting in the grateful giggle that came after. He had this all figured out, he told himself. 

Really, what could go wrong?

There were many, many things that could go wrong.

You paced back and forth, stepping over piles of clothing which were laid in messy heaps throughout your bedroom floor. 

For one, Jungkook could say something about you—an off-handed remark such as: “So how did you become friends with Y/N?” or “Y/N tells me that you like edgy guys. Is that true?”

Or, Jay’s lady friend could say something like: “Nice to meet you Leo!” and then Jungkook would be like, “Oh that's not me. Y/N told me that your date couldn’t make it at first, so here I am instead.”

Then, Jay’s lady friend would wonder who the fuck this “Y/N” girl was, and Jungkook would wonder why the hell you hadn’t told your “so-called friend” that he was going to be her date instead.

At some point, Jay’s lady friend would reveal that she had no idea who you were. And then all of your lies would unravel and the date would be ruined.

Really, you should’ve just canceled or rescheduled the date while it wasn’t too late. 

But of course, your emergency contact at that moment was Kim Seokjin, the guy who dipped his fries in ice cream and learned how to cook from food science research papers instead of proper cookbooks. So instead of doing anything sensible, you went with his convoluted idea of getting Jungkook—the One-Date Wonderboy, apparently—to go in your place as Leo.

“Look, all you need to make this work is to get some guy to ruin that date with Jay’s girl crush. I do feel kinda bad for that girl, but it’ll be fine since your… game boy or whatever will come save the day, right?”

You nodded.

“Great. And what kind of guy did Jay say he needed again?” Jin didn’t give you a chance to answer. “Exactly—someone cocky and insufferable. And Jungkook? Not only is he the epitome of a fuckboy, but he also has a sparkling track record for ruining first dates, does he not?”

You nodded again.

“So take out your damn phone and make it happen!”

You started dialing Jungkook, Jin’s script in your shaking hands. Wendy sighed and turned to Jin, a worried look in her eyes. 

“You might feel bad for that girl, but I feel worse for Y/N.”

At that moment, it was a genius idea. 

Now that it was D-Day, you couldn’t help but feel like it was the stupidest thing you’d ever done. You stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Gentle curls feathered over your shoulder, and a thin sheen of makeup lightly covered your face. It was some of your best work, you’d like to say; it wasn’t often that you got yourself dolled up. You wore a simple white dress and pinned a matching bow in your hair. For some pizzazz, you chose a pair of red Mary Jane ballet flats and a red leather bag to go with it.

You looked great. Didn’t feel so, unfortunately.

The Italian restaurant was already bustling when you arrived. You stood outside the establishment, shivering from the cold. Maybe you should’ve brought a jacket. Inside, you couldn’t see any empty tables. Did Jay make a reservation, or did “Leo” need to do it? Then you wondered if Jungkook’s friend made a reservation for your date as well? 

You didn’t even know his name. Or what he looked like. Maybe Jungkook would introduce you to him before splitting off to find his own date, the girl Jay had a crush on. 

What a mess. Your head was already starting to hurt.

“Hey!” Jungkook’s voice reached you before he did. “You’re here early.”

“So are you,” you said, taking in his attire as he ran up to you from the parking lot.

His usually messy hair was contained with some hair gel, yet somehow managed to still look fluffy. He wore a sleek black button up tucked into black, straight-cut jeans. A leather jacket was slung over his shoulder, like he wanted to bring it but didn’t have any intention of wearing it. All of his piercings were in. Chunky rings on his fingers. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tattoos playing peekaboo.

Jesus. 

He cleaned up nicely, you had to admit. You took a deep breath.

“Well, I forgot to make a reservation,” he explained sheepishly. “So I tried to come a bit earlier to see if I could get on the waiting list.”

“Gotcha,” you said.  “Should we go ask?”

“It’s okay. I can ask for the both of us, since our dates will be arriving at around the same time, anyway.” 

“Okay. I’ll wait here.”

As Jungkook left, you whipped out your phone to shoot Jay a text. Did he make a reservation too? You panicked for a moment—what if you ran into Jay’s crush before you met Jungkook’s friend? How would you explain to Jungkook how you’ve never met her before when she was supposed to be your “friend?”

Jin was going to get bonked in the head next time you saw him. How did he ever convince you that this was a good idea?

Jungkook came back outside, a desperate look on his face. 

“Hey, it turns out that they only have one table left, and it doesn’t seem like they’ll be another one soon. Do you think we can turn this into a last minute double-date?”

Shit. 

That was probably the worst possible outcome. Maybe you’d have to pull Jay’s crush to the bathroom and explain to her your frustratingly unique predicament so that she’d understand. And then she’d probably hate you a little bit for making such a mess of the situation.

Or maybe she’d understand; Jay said she was nice, didn’t he? Your brain was working in overdrive.

“Sure.” 

That was how you found yourself sitting across from Jungkook in a cramped booth at an Italian restaurant, awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of your dress. You were waiting for Jungkook’s friend, and he was waiting for your crush’s crush to arrive.

You laughed internally. To anyone else, it would’ve looked like you and Jungkook were on this date together. In reality, both of your dates were ten minutes late.

“He should be here any minute now.” Jungkook brushed his hair back in frustration. He pulled out his phone and started typing away.

At the same time, your phone dinged with Jay’s reply on Discord. 

jay:  there’s a table inside for u where r u?

Furrowing your brows, you looked around for any other empty tables; perhaps there’d be one tucked in a corner with the “reserved” sign on top of it.

But there wasn’t. 

you: can’t find the table.  u sure u reserved for 7:30?

jay: r u alrdy there?

you:  yeah lol

jay: what do u look like?

You looked at Jungkook.

you: black button up shirt leather jacket i have some tattoos in case that helps your lady friend find me

jay: lady friend 💀  ok first of all fire style secondly where exactly r u ?  r u outside or inside

you: inside where is she btw is she already here?

He didn’t reply. Turning your attention to Jungkook, you saw that he was looking back and forth between his phone and the front entrance of the restaurant, as if he were waiting for someone to arrive.

“Sorry,” he groaned. “My friend said he was here but I can’t find him.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly, nervous. “I’m not sure where my friend is either.”

“I’ll call him.”

As Jungkook dialed his friend, your phone started to buzz in your bag. Jay was calling you. 

Then, you got this eerie feeling. There were too many strange coincidences. 

The way Jay and Jungkook chose the exact same restaurant and time. How they both answered calls with “Yo. What’s up?” Or the way Jungkook’s feet tapped impatiently as  Jay’s Discord avatar taunted you while your phone vibrated.

It couldn’t be, right? 

You declined the call. 

At the same time, Jungkook glared at his phone with a frustrated huff, shoving it back into his pocket.

“Sorry, he didn’t pick up. I’ll try again in a bit.” He reached for a nearby menu. “Do you want to get drinks first? I heard the Espresso Martini is pretty good here.”

You were making dangerous connections in your head. 

Jay’s economic lecture crush. The annoying guy who sat behind you on Friday mornings. Late nights playing practically every game on Steam. Staring at cars passing by outside a busy club in the early hours of the morning.

“Hey,” you started cautiously. “What did you say your friend’s name was again?”

He paused, looking up from the menu. “Oh right,” he laughed softly. “I can’t believe I haven’t told you yet.”

You forced yourself to chuckle.

“Leo,” he said, like it was the most normal name in the world. “His name’s Leo.”

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a/n pt2. thanks so much again for reading! comments, reblogs, and likes really motivate me and art always super appreciated !! much love 🫶🫶

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