I genuinely LOVE getting requests because they keep me busy (even if I sometimes take approximately 84 years to actually get to them because im lazy). But seriously, I love seeing all the WONDERFUL, random, creative requests you guys send me.
So PLEASE send me your requests <3 I can write pretty much any trope, about anyone, and I'm always down to try something new. Anonymous or not, I dont care—every single inbox makes my day. :D
──── they say one night stands are fun. Well, sure is— unless the person whom you fucked up with returns in your life, and supposedly signs your paycheck from now on.
𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤYou’ve grown up barely surrounded by men. Even when there were some around, it was only your father, brother, or cousins. Girls’ school, the usual story. So men basically felt like an extinct species to you. But when you decide to hit the club for the first time—right before your new job takes over your life—would hooking up with someone be a good idea?
𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤJungkook x fem!readerㅤㅤㅤㅤ18+ smut, MDNIㅤㅤㅤㅤworkplace tensionㅤㅤㅤㅤslice of lifeㅤㅤㅤㅤprofessional relationshipㅤㅤㅤㅤCEO!JungkookㅤㅤㅤㅤChief of Staff (CoS)!Readerㅤㅤㅤㅤhurtㅤㅤㅤㅤslow burnㅤㅤㅤㅤforced proximityㅤㅤㅤㅤworkplace romanceㅤㅤㅤㅤsmutㅤㅤㅤㅤ jealousyㅤㅤㅤㅤalcohol consumptionㅤㅤㅤㅤsmokingㅤㅤㅤㅤusage of petnamesㅤㅤㅤㅤdirty talkㅤㅤㅤㅤenemies to loversㅤㅤㅤㅤavoidanceㅤㅤㅤㅤ argumentsㅤㅤㅤㅤdegradationㅤㅤㅤㅤmore tba on the basis of more chapters.
𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.
𝓛𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐒.
𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗢𝗡𝗘.
𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐏ㅤㅤㅤㅤsummary : : where you get fucked so good by a stranger that you see stars, but that stranger somehow comes back in your life a few days later. Not as a stranger anymore.ㅤㅤㅤㅤwc : : tba.
a jungkook breast play fic?? just that no lower case!! Like he's obsessed, always suggesting her to wear low neck clothes, burying his face.......
Changing Room.
Your boyfriend won a football match held on campus. What’s the worst thing he could ask for while taking you up on the offer you gave him—the offer that he can do anything to you, anywhere, anytime he wants?
Cw ; ; 18+ smut MDNI, dirty talk, kissing, sucking, biting, pinned, semi-public place, hickeys, a whole lotta breast play.
You’re grinning so hard your cheeks ache, fingers locked tight around the straps of your backpack as you half-jog, half-bounce toward the boys’ locker room.
Campus is thinning out fast. The last pockets of post-match noise are already fading into scattered footsteps, the occasional distant shout, and the soft clatter of someone kicking a stray water bottle across the pavement. The air still carries that leftover heat from the afternoon sun, mixed with the faint tang of cut grass and sweat that always hangs around after these tournaments.
Still, the win is buzzing under your skin like static you can’t shake. Your team took it. Clean. Loud. And the captain who just dragged them over the finish line? Yeah. That’s your boyfriend.
You adjust the backpack higher on your shoulders, sneakers scuffing lightly against the marble as you pick up speed without even meaning to.
The changing room comes into view and you reach for the handle without slowing down, only to stop short with your fingers already curled around the cool metal.
What if someone else is still in there?
You hesitate, shifting your weight, then knock a couple times.
“Hello?”
Silence.
You wait another beat, ear tilted toward the door, before pushing it open.
The locker room stretches out in front of you, empty. Not a single person in sight. Just rows of red metal lockers, scattered benches, and the lingering damp-air smell.
Disappointment hits you square in the chest the second the door swings wider.
You step inside anyway, taking a few careful steps forward, sneakers soft against the tile. The space feels bigger now that it’s empty.
You were pretty sure he mouthed “changing room” at you after the match. Or at least looked your way like he did.
Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re just being paranoid.
You should go ba—
Before you can even pivot toward the door, a sharp gasp rips out of you as two solid arms lock around your waist from behind and yank you back flush against a hard chest. The sudden heat presses along your entire spine, solid and unyielding, like it had been waiting in the shadows the whole time.
“Ow—”
Teeth scrape lightly over the curve of your shoulder—just enough pressure to send a quick, involuntary shiver racing down your spine and pooling low in your stomach. Nowhere near hard enough to break skin, but the sharp contrast of it against the warm brush of his breath makes your fingers twitch against the empty air.
Your eyes drop to the arm banded tight across your middle. Fully inked, dark lines wrapping from fingers, wrist to bicep in the exact same sprawling pattern you know by heart. The muscles beneath the tattoos flex once, tightening the hold just a fraction more, keeping you pinned right where you are.
“Thought you weren’t gonna show,” he murmurs against your skin, voice all rough and low, the words vibrating straight through you.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Scared to pay me back?”
“Pay you back for what?” you frown, twisting to glance over your shoulder.
He doesn’t give you the chance. In one smooth motion he spins you around and pins you against the nearest locker, one hand trapping both your wrists above your head. The cool metal presses into your back while the heat of him crowds in front of you.
Shirtless. Just low-slung sweatpants. Chest rising and falling hard, messy hair still damp with sweat. The warm, clean-masculine scent of him hits your nose—nothing sharp or off, just pure post-game heat that somehow settles deeper than it should.
“Take a picture, dove. It’ll last longer.”
His abs tighten under the weight of your stare and you snap your eyes up to meet his, caught.
“And by the way,” he adds, eyes narrowing with that slow, knowing grin, “I thought you were scared to pay up for the win.”
“I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about. Context?” you fire back, raising an eyebrow even as his hold on your wrists stays firm against the locker.
He mirrors the look perfectly, one brow arching right back at you, the corner of his mouth still tilted.
“You promised I could do whatever I want, wherever I want, if I took this match.” His voice drops lower as he leans in, the heat of his bare chest brushing yours. Soft lips graze the shell of your ear and your mouth parts on a quiet, involuntary breath. “Want me to pull the exact time stamp too?”
“I thought we were just messing around.”
“We?” You feel the shape of his grin press against your skin, warm and deliberate. “Don’t know about you, but I wasn’t.”
“Now, come on, Jungkook. Don’t be stubbor—”
“Oh, no no no. I’m not.” His free arm slides around your waist and locks tight, pulling you flush against him. “But I do need to teach you a little lesson about making promises to me. Joking or not.”
Then his mouth is on yours.
A soft “mhh” of protest vibrates against his lips, but it fades the second the cold metal of his lip piercing presses into your skin. He sucks your lower lip between his own, then catches it lightly between his teeth, biting down just enough to make your breath hitch.
You squirm against the hold, but there’s nowhere to go—wrists still pinned, body trapped between the locker and the solid heat of him.
He deepens the kiss without warning, tilting his head so the cold metal of the piercing drags slowly across your bottom lip again. The pressure of his teeth eases only long enough for his tongue to trace the same path, warm and deliberate, before he bites down once more—soft, controlled, enough to make your fingers curl uselessly above your head.
Your wrists stay locked in his grip. The locker is cool against your back while every inch of him in front of you is pure heat, bare chest rising and falling against yours with every uneven breath he takes. The arm around your waist tightens, dragging you even closer until there’s no space left, just the solid press of his hips and the faint dampness of sweat still clinging to his skin.
You try to twist again, a half-hearted attempt that only makes him hum low against your mouth. The sound vibrates straight through you. He eases the bite and kisses you properly this time—slower, deeper, the kind of kiss that feels like he’s taking his time claiming the exact promise you tried to laugh off.
Your free hand would be pushing at his chest if it weren’t pinned. Instead all you can do is feel the way his body cages yours in, the way his mouth keeps returning to that same spot on your lower lip like he’s memorizing the shape of it.
He breaks the kiss with a slow drag of his mouth, leaving your lips tingling and slightly swollen.
Without a word he tips your chin higher with the edge of his jaw and starts a path of open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw. Each one is deliberate—warm, lingering, just enough texture to make your breath catch.
He reaches the side of your neck and settles there, mouth finding the soft pulse point beneath your ear. His lips part against it, the steady thrum of your heartbeat answering every light press and drag. The arm around your waist stays locked, keeping you pinned flush while his free hand still holds your wrists high against the cool metal of the locker.
You feel the heat of his breath ghost across the same sensitive spot a second before he kisses it again, slower this time, like he’s testing how hard your pulse can race.
He stays at the pulse point only a moment longer before the kisses turn sharper.
His mouth opens wider against your skin and he sucks hard enough to pull a soft, startled sound from your throat. The pressure is deep, deliberate, leaving a dark bloom of heat that will definitely show later. He releases it with a quiet pop of air and moves lower, finding a new spot just beneath the first and repeating the same firm pull of lips and tongue.
One by one he works his way across the side of your neck, each mark overlapping the last until the skin there feels hot and thoroughly claimed. When he reaches the junction where your neck meets your shoulder he pauses, breathes once against the sensitive curve, then seals his mouth over it and sucks even harder. The dual sensation of teeth grazing and tongue soothing makes your wrists flex uselessly in his grip.
He doesn’t rush. Another mark, then another, right at the base of your throat and along the slope of your shoulder, until every place his mouth has been throbs with the same low, insistent ache.
You’re almost mute under the onslaught, every fresh mark dragging another soft, broken sound out of you that never quite forms into words. You already know talking won’t make him stop.
Heard that saying? Daddy gets what daddy wants. Something like that.
His mouth keeps working lower, sealing over random spots of your neck and shoulder again and sucking hard enough that your head tips back against the locker with a quiet thud. The arm around your waist tightens, holding you still while he marks you deeper, the heat of each new bruise blooming under his tongue. Your wrists flex uselessly above your head; the only thing you can do is feel the relentless pull of his lips and the solid press of his body keeping you exactly where he wants you.
“Shit. By the way… did you wear this on purpose?”
His eyes drop and stay locked on the low neckline of your black tank top. You’re looking at him through half-lidded eyes, still pinned, still marked, pulse thudding under every fresh bruise he left.
Intentionally? If that’s the word. You wore it because you knew he’d love it. If that counts as intentional, then yes.
“What if I did?” you whisper, a mischievous little smile curving your mouth.
He answers with the same smile—slower, darker. The arm around your waist slides upward in one smooth motion, fingers catching the hem of your top and dragging it higher until the fabric bunches over your breasts and your bra is fully exposed to the cool locker-room air.
A low gasp slips out of you. Heat floods your face.
He takes a second just to look, eyes dark and fixed, wetting his lower lip like he can’t help it.
Then his fingers slide under the band of your bra and pull that up too. The cups give way and your breasts spill free, both the tank and the bra now bunched high above them, leaving you completely exposed from the waist up.
He stares.
Not a quick glance—full, hungry focus, like he’s been waiting for exactly this. His free hand comes up and cups one breast, thumb brushing slowly across the soft weight of it, testing the shape, the warmth, the way it fills his palm. He does the same to the other, almost reverent, almost greedy, like he can’t decide which one he wants more.
A low sound leaves his throat. His eyes never leave your chest.
“Anyone can walk in here anytime,” you whimper.
He ignores the warning completely. His head drops and he buries his face between your bare breasts, pressing in deep so the soft weight of them cushions his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Hot breath spills across your skin as he nuzzles harder, turning his face side to side like he wants to feel every inch of you against him at once.
The hand that isn’t pinning your wrists squeezes both breasts inward, trapping his face even tighter between them. A low, satisfied sound rumbles out of him, muffled by your skin, while the cool air of the locker room kisses the rest of your exposed chest.
The second his hand finally releases your wrists, your fingers fly into his hair, threading deep and tugging.
Your nipples have been tight and pebbled for what feels like forever, aching from the cool air and the constant attention.
He pulls his face free from between your breasts and immediately captures one nipple in his mouth. Hot, wet heat seals over the stiff peak as he sucks hard, tongue circling and pressing flat against it while your hands stay buried in his hair, holding him right there.
Moans and soft gasps spill from your lips without permission, each one sharper as he sucks harder on the sensitive peak.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer even as your back arches off the locker. The wet heat of his mouth works the nipple relentlessly—tongue flicking, lips sealing, teeth grazing just enough to make another broken sound catch in your throat. His free hand comes up to cup the other breast, thumb rolling over the equally stiff peak so both sides stay under the same focused, hungry attention.
He switches to the other breast without warning, dragging his mouth across the soft space between them before sealing over. The same hard suction, the same deliberate swirl of tongue, pulls another shaky moan out of you. His hand stays busy on the other, squeezing and teasing the wet peak he just left behind so neither side gets a break.
Your fingers stay tangled in his hair, guiding him, holding him, while the cool metal of the locker presses into your bare back and every fresh pull of his mouth sends heat pooling lower.
A loud gasp tears out of you as his lip piercing, hard and cool presses firmly against your nipple. The sharp contrast of pressure mixes pleasure with a thin edge of pain that shoots straight down your spine and makes your knees tremble.
Your fingers tighten hard in his hair, holding him there while he keeps the firm contact, rolling the sensitive peak under the unyielding pressure until your breath comes in short, shaky bursts. The hand still cupping your other breast squeezes in time with every movement, making sure both sides stay oversensitive and aching.
He spits on your tit, spreading it out with his tongue, making everything messy and sticky.
He pulls back just enough to change the angle, then seals his mouth over the soft upper curve of one breast and sucks hard. The deep, deliberate pressure blooms into a dark mark almost immediately. He holds it there, tongue working against your skin, until the spot throbs.
Then he moves.
Another hickey forms lower, right along the outer swell. Then one beneath the nipple, the suction strong enough to make your fingers yank at his hair. He treats the other breast the same way—open-mouthed, insistent, leaving a trail of darkening bruises across the pale skin until both sides are scattered with fresh, aching marks.
Your knees keep trembling. Every new pull of his mouth draws another soft, broken sound from your throat while the cool locker-room air kisses the wet, freshly marked skin he leaves behind.
He works his way higher without pause.
Open-mouthed kisses climb the upper slope of your breasts until his lips find the delicate ridge of your collarbone. He sucks hard there, sealing over the bone and drawing a deep, dark mark that will sit right at the edge of any shirt you wear.
Another one forms just beside it, then a third farther along the line, each one firm and lingering. The skin over your collarbones heats and throbs under the attention while your fingers stay buried in his hair, holding him close as he claims that exposed stretch of skin one deliberate bruise at a time.
He drops back down to your breasts like he can’t stay away.
Soft, playful bites scatter across the marked skin—quick nips along the upper curve, a sharper one just beneath a nipple, another on the full outer swell. He doesn’t settle in one place for long, moving from side to side like he’s tasting every inch he already claimed.
Each bite is followed by the soothing drag of his tongue. His hands keep pushing your breasts together, lifting them, squeezing them, presenting them to his mouth so he never has to stop. A low, almost greedy sound leaves him every time his teeth sink in, as if the soft weight of you in his hands and under his mouth is the only thing that matters right now.
He keeps going like he has no intention of stopping.
One hand stays under your breast, lifting the soft weight so he can take as much of it into his mouth as possible. He sucks deep and slow, cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing flat against the nipple before flicking it in quick, teasing strokes. When he finally releases it, the peak is darker, wet, and aching.
He switches sides immediately, giving the other breast the exact same treatment—long pulls of suction broken by soft, playful bites that make your fingers tighten in his hair. Every few seconds he pauses just to look, eyes dark and fixed on the way your breasts move with every shaky breath you take, before diving back in like he’s starving for the feel of them.
The marks he already left darken under the new attention. His thumbs keep brushing, squeezing, rolling the sensitive skin while his mouth works, completely focused.
You don’t complain.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying this—a lot—but the fact that you’re both still in a technically public place sits right at the edge of every breath.
“You done now?” you manage, voice low and uneven. Your face is flushed deep red, chest rising and falling hard, eyes half-lidded. Fresh hickeys scatter across your neck, shoulder, collarbone, and both breasts, the skin tender and marked.
He lifts his head, grinning, and gives a short nod.
──── where the addition of a new member in the Jeon family had the both of you busy as hell. And indeed, Jungkook has kept his hands to himself for a long, long time. Until you quit doing the same.
──── ❪ 전정국 ❫ ㅤㅤ: : ㅤㅤ♱ ㅤㅤHusband!Jungkook x Wife, Female!Reader ㅤㅤ married life AU ㅤㅤ slice of life AU ㅤㅤ mention of breastfeeding ㅤㅤ somnophilia if you squint ㅤㅤ nigh drive ㅤㅤ smoking ㅤㅤ sharing a cigarette ㅤㅤ arousal ㅤㅤ dirty talk ㅤㅤ flirty ㅤㅤ teasing touches ㅤㅤchecking out ㅤㅤsexual frustration ㅤㅤuse of pet names ㅤㅤmaking out ㅤㅤ desperate ㅤㅤcussing ㅤㅤnudity ㅤㅤhandjob ㅤㅤblowjob ㅤㅤhair pulling ㅤㅤorgasm ㅤㅤsucking ㅤㅤhickey ㅤㅤfingering ㅤㅤedging ㅤㅤthe reader has slight prading kink ㅤㅤchoking ㅤㅤcar sex ㅤㅤlotus ㅤㅤblushing ㅤㅤsexual tension ㅤㅤunprotected sex ㅤㅤthe reader rides him ㅤㅤdom!Jungkook x sub!reader ㅤㅤclit rubbing ㅤㅤaftercare. ㅤㅤ ㅤwc : : 8k+.
You barely register the soft creak of the bedroom door first, that familiar low groan of hinges as Jungkook nudges it open just enough to peek inside. The dimmed lights must have tipped him off that you’d already tapped out for the night. He slips fully into the room, the cool draft from the hallway brushing your bare legs for a split second before he closes the door behind him with a deliberate, quiet click that seals the space.
Moonlight strains through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window dominating one wall, painting silvery streaks across the floor and bed, tangled up with the low, golden haze from the nightstand lamp. It bathes everything in this hazy, intimate glow that makes the air feel thicker, warmer. Jungkook takes those slow, small steps toward the bed, shoulders loosening as he peels off his suit coat, the fabric whispering when he drapes it over the back of the chair in front of your dressing table. His fingers linger on the wood a moment, like he’s grounding himself after whatever bullshit the outside world threw at him.
His eyes lock onto you immediately, dark and full of that raw adoration that always seems to hit him harder in these stolen quiet moments. You’re fast asleep on your back, oversized shirt (which belongs to him) twisted from the day’s chaos, with seven-month-old Jae nestled right on your stomach—his little cheek smushed against your skin, tiny fists curled, breathing in that deep, trusting rhythm that syncs with yours. The weight of him anchors you even in sleep, warm and solid, his soft exhales tickling your belly through the thin fabric.
The exhaustion clings to your bones in the best-worst way; days blur from early feeds to those midnight wails that rip you awake, but you handle it with this fierce, stubborn grip. Barely twenty-three and already owning the mom role like it’s second nature, your body tuned to every shift of Jae’s, every tiny sound, while still carving out space to look after Jungkook when he drags himself home wrecked. You’ve been running on barely five or six hours, eyes heavy, muscles sore from rocking and carrying, but the thought of handing any of it off to a nanny never crosses your mind. This is yours—messy, relentless, and so fucking real it hurts in the sweetest spots.
That middle-school spark you two carried through high school and into this love marriage still simmers under everything—no big fights, just this lived-in understanding where he offers help at every turn and you push back because wearing yourself down for them feels like the only right move. Well, Jungkook was just as stubborn. He did as much work as possible before going to work, like the dishes, laundry, and so on.
His breath catches a little as he watches Jae’s tiny hand flex against you, the way your arm stays curled protectively even in deep sleep. It’s all present, all consuming—the faint baby-powder scent mixing with your usual warmth, the quiet hum of the room, his own pulse kicking up at how perfectly wrecked and beautiful you look tangled in this life you built together.
He’s won in life, no contest, the thought hitting him square in the chest as he stands there a second longer.
You look so damn peaceful, features relaxed in that deep sleep only new parents steal when the baby finally crashes too. Jae’s the same—tiny chest rising and falling right on your stomach, those soft tiny snores filling the room like the world’s most effective lullaby, warm and trusting against your skin.
Jungkook’s eyes trace your face slow, carving out every detail he already knows by heart: the faint crease between your brows that’s finally smoothed out, the way your lashes fan against your cheeks, lips parted just enough for those quiet breaths that pull at something low in his gut.
He lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, movements deliberate and slow, the mattress dipping under his weight as he braces his hands beside him, careful not to disturb the perfect pile of you and Jae.
Then his gaze slips. It trails lower without permission—from the soft lines of your face down the column of your neck and collarbone, catching on the way the top two buttons of your shirt was undone probably from breastfeeding Jae, that teasing peek of cleavage rising with each inhale under the mixed moonlight and lamp glow. It follows the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips hugged by the sheets, illuminated like they’re begging for attention, all the way to the smooth stretch of your thick thighs where your shorts have ridden up. God, he would love to bury his face betwee—
He jerks his eyes away hard, suddenly hyper-focused on the curtains like they’re the most fascinating shit he’s ever seen, jaw flexing as he tells himself he wasn’t just checking out his wife while she’s dead asleep with their kid on her.
Wasn't he feeling warm-hearted a moment ago? His heart isn't the only warm thing now.
You’ve had this body that’s ruined him since forever, perfect in that effortless way that makes his brain short-circuit. Carrying Jae only smoothed everything out and emphasized those curves harder, leaving him stealing extra fifteen minutes in the shower way too often just to shake the constant pull.
Intimacy has turned into this rare, almost mythical thing since Jae showed up. The little guy is the ultimate cockblocker without even trying—tiny demands at all hours turning what used to be easy, constant touch into stolen glances and quick brushes that leave you both aching in the quiet.
Jungkook isn’t some hormonal kid who doesn’t get self-control. He’s been solid about it, the respectful type who reads the room and never pushes, even when the want sits heavy under his skin.
You let out a slow yawn, body shifting under the sheets as sleep starts to loosen its grip. He snaps his attention back to your face instantly, clearing his throat like he’s been caught mid-thought, shoulders tensing for a beat.
Your lashes flutter, eyes cracking open heavy and unfocused, the room’s soft glow filtering in as awareness creeps back in slow waves. The weight of Jae on your stomach grounds you first, his tiny snores still humming steady, then Jungkook’s solid presence right there on the edge of the bed, close enough that his warmth cuts through the sleepy haze.
“Little guy’s got better taste in pillows than I do,” he teases, voice low and rough from the long day, dragging his gaze down to Jae with a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. There’s that playful glint in his eyes, the one that always sneaks in like he’s trying to lighten the exhaustion weighing on both of you.
You blink harder, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Your frown deepens quick. “You’re home?” The words come out thick with sleep, eyes widening when the numbers hit—four whole hours had slipped by since you crashed.
He looks back up at you, that steady gaze softening around the edges as he nods. “Yeah. And don’t worry about it, I’ll hit the rest of the house chores later. You can sleep more.” His voice drops a notch, reassuring and warm.
“I don’t wanna sleep more,” you murmur, voice still scratchy from the nap. “And you sure you can handle the rest? I mean, you must be wiped from work—”
“I can and I will,” he cuts in, firm but gentle, that no-argument tone he pulls out when he’s decided.
You feel a small smile tug at your lips despite the fog in your head. “Thanks.”
“You’re always welcome, love.” The words roll off him easy, low and warm, wrapping around you like the blanket you’re half tangled in.
You move slow and careful, easing Jae off your stomach with practiced hands. His little body stays limp and trusting as you lift him, settling him down beside you on the bed. You tuck the blanket up to his chin, fingers brushing his soft cheek for a second before you push yourself up to sit, back against the headboard. The motion makes your shirt slip lower on its own, the undone buttons giving way and exposing more of your cleavage in the warm lamp light.
Respectful or not, he’s still a man at the end of the day. His eyes drop immediately, tracking the movement before he can stop himself, that familiar heat flashing quick across his face.
He drags his gaze back up with visible effort, jaw tight like it’s taking every ounce of willpower he’s got. You rub at your eyes, another yawn slipping out as you stretch your arms overhead, body still heavy with leftover sleep.
“You must be tired from doing the same grind every day,” he says, clearing his throat. “Wanna go out tonight? Like a drive or something?” The suggestion comes out casual.
You frown, head tilting. “To where?”
“Not every drive needs a fixed destination. Count on the night to take us wherever it wants to.”
“You can’t be for real,” Jungkook mutters, cutting a sideways glance at you while the car idles at the red light, city glow reflecting off his eyes. The engine hums low beneath you, mixing with the distant buzz of traffic.
You’re staring straight ahead at the empty crosswalk, mind half elsewhere. “Really, I’m not hungry. Now stop arguing about it,” you tell him, turning your head to meet his gaze while your fingers scratch lightly at the back of your head, trying to shake off the leftover sleep fog.
He sighs, long and defeated but fond, shaking his head with the smallest curve at the corner of his mouth. “Nevermind. I’d rather make you something when we get home anyway. My way tastes better than whatever greasy spot we’d hit.”
“It’s been months since we got alone time like this,” you murmur, rolling your shoulder in a slow, deep stretch that pulls a contented sigh from your chest, the tension unraveling bit by bit in the quiet car. Then worry crashes in fast, tightening your expression. “But I hope Jae’s doing okay. What if he wakes up or—”
“Shh, baby,” he cuts in, voice soft and steady. “He’ll be just fine. Kid passed out hard before we left, belly full, and we handed off every single thing he could possibly need to your friend. She’s got him covered, promise.”
“How about you focus on me instead?” he mutters, voice dropping low as his hand slides over, palm warm and deliberate, settling high on your thigh. His thumb starts tracing slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your shorts, the pressure just firm enough to pull your attention fully into the car.
“I am,” you mutter back, eyes flicking down to watch the path of his hand for a beat before lifting to meet his gaze again, the city lights flickering across his face.
“I don’t think so,” he murmurs, his tone dipping into that deeper octave that always seems to vibrate through you. His fingers inch higher up your thigh in no rush at all, drawing light, teasing patterns along the way, taking his sweet time like he’s memorizing the feel of you under his touch after too many rushed nights. The weight of his hand feels grounding and electric all at once, cutting through the quiet hum of the engine.
“You got a cigarette on you?” The question makes him jerk his head your way for a split second, eyebrows lifting in that surprised, amused way he does when you catch him off guard.
“Bad habits die hard, huh?” he asks, the low chuckle rumbling through his chest as he shakes his head.
He eases the car into a long, deserted lane, tires crunching softly over gravel before he kills the engine. Silence settles heavy around you both, broken only by the faint tick of cooling metal. Jungkook leans over and pops open the hidden compartment, pulling out the familiar pack of your favorite—Marlboro Red—and holds it out without a word.
You pluck one from the pack, the paper smooth between your fingers, and wait as he fishes out the lighter. You slip the cigarette between your lips, the filter resting familiar and comforting. You flick the flame to life, the small orange glow lighting up the space between you for a moment as you lean in, inhaling slow until the tip catches and burns steady. The first drag fills your lungs with that sharp, smoky hit, tension easing from your shoulders
You glance sideways at Jungkook and catch him staring, that dark, unreadable intensity locked on you like he’s memorizing every little shift in your expression. Grinning, you lean in closer on purpose, lips parting as you blow a slow, deliberate stream of smoke right across his face. It curls around his sharp jaw and lingers in the space between you, hazy and intimate under the dashboard lights.
To him, the whole thing is pure heat.
You pull the cigarette from between your lips and hold the filter out toward him, pinching it lightly between your ring and middle finger, the paper still warm from your mouth.
He watches you for a long second, eyes heavy, before his fingers wrap around your wrist—grip solid and warm, thumb pressing just enough against your pulse point. He leans in, takes the cigarette between his lips, and pulls a long, unhurried drag. The ember glows brighter for a moment. Then he rolls every window down, letting the cool night breeze rush through the car, carrying the smoke out into the empty lane. He drops his head all the way back against the seat, as he exhales a thick cloud.
You freeze right there in your seat, the rest of the world fading for a second. The sight hits different—his relaxed shoulders, the sharp cut of his jaw in the low light, throat exposed, neck veins popping, the effortless way he owns the moment. Your breath catches without meaning to, pulse thrumming louder in your ears. It might honestly be one of the hottest things you’ve witnessed in your life, simple as it is, leaving the car feeling smaller, the air thicker, and your thoughts a little scrambled.
You take another slow drag, deliberately turning your face away toward the open window, desperate for anything to distract from the unfairly hot man sitting right beside you. The cool air does little to settle the sudden warmth crawling under your skin.
You pass the cigarette back and forth a few times, letting each of you steal a couple drags in comfortable silence, the smoke mingling with the night breeze. Then he snatches it smoothly from your fingers, bringing it to his lips for a long, deep pull without asking.
You don’t complain. Not even a little.
Your eyes drift over him instead—his hair still a little messy and damp from the quick shower he took before you left, half-lidded eyes heavy with that post-work exhaustion mixed with something sharper. That prominent big nose you’ve always had a weakness for (whatever Doja Cat said about big noses), the full cupid’s bow lips you’ve almost forgotten the exact taste of after so many tired nights, the sharp jawline that cuts straight through your better judgment and sanity, the strong column of his neck, those muscular arms flexing casually, the broad chest and defined lines under his plain t-shirt, and the very obvious, massive outline straining against the gray sweatpan—
You freeze hard, head snapping up so fast it’s almost embarrassing. You did not just look there.
Heart hammering, you gather the nerve to sneak one more millisecond glance downward, confirming the prominent bulge the soft fabric does nothing to hide, especially in the dim lighting. Then you jerk your eyes back up to his face, only to find him already watching you, that dark, knowing look pinned right on your expression.
The gray sweatpants make everything stand out even more in the low light, impossible to ignore now that you’ve seen it. The air in the car suddenly feels ten degrees warmer.
He keeps his lips parted, slowly exhaling the smoke in a lazy, controlled stream that curls toward the open window. He taps the ashes out with a flick of his finger, then turns that heavy stare back on you—like a predator eyeing prey he’s forcing himself not to pounce on, the tension thick enough to taste.
“What?” you ask, voice coming out quieter than you mean it to. You snatch the cigarette right from his fingers and twist toward your window, staring hard at the empty lane outside. Your face feels way too warm, probably bright red, and you keep it turned away on purpose so he can’t see the flush creeping up your neck.
“Don’t look at it like that if you can’t do something about it, yeah?” he murmurs, the deep rasp of his voice cutting straight through the quiet car and sending a rush of heat straight down your body. “Gives me all kinds of wrong ideas.”
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this—the easy, skin-prickling intimacy that used to happen without thinking, back before Jae turned your nights into a constant rotation of feeds and exhaustion. The hunger is mutual. He’s desperate for you in that quiet, restrained way, and you’re every bit as desperate for him. He’s just holding back, staying respectful and patient like the man you married.
He holds the eye contact when you finally glance back, the moment stretching thick between you as you pull a long, deliberate drag from the cigarette. The smoke burns down your throat, grounding you for a second, before you toss what’s left of it out the window into the dark.
You let your eyes wander over him freely now, no more pretending. Why should you? He’s your husband—your person.
Your man.
You let your eyes drift deliberately now—down the strong column of his neck, over the flex of his arms where the muscles shift under your stare, across the broad stretch of his chest and the defined ridges of his abs visible through the thin t-shirt. His body reacts under the attention, arm tensing visibly as you keep looking. Your gaze drops lower again, settling on the prominent bulge in his gray sweatpants, and he spreads his legs a little wider on purpose, manspreading across the seat in that casual, devastating way.
Fuck, it’s stupidly hot.
It’s been so long since you’ve had this kind of uninterrupted moment, and you’d almost forgotten how perfectly you two used to fit together, like you were molded for each other in every sense.
Again— every sense.
Your hand moves almost on its own, sliding across the center console before coming to rest on his thigh, fingers settling warm and tentative right below where the fabric strains so obviously.
You hear him exhale sharply through his nose, the sound rough in the quiet car.
“Y/N,” he says, your name coming out half warning, half like he’s talking himself down from whatever pull is threatening to drag him under. His hand covers yours on his thigh, not pushing it away, just holding it there—warm and steady.
You glance up for a second, catching the raw hunger burning in his eyes—dark, barely leashed, the kind that makes your stomach flip. You look back down almost immediately, breath shallow.
Your fingers start inching higher up his thigh on their own, slow and exploratory.
“Y/N,” he murmurs again, voice strained. “You gave birth to our son just seven months ago. I don’t know if you’re healed enough. And honestly, I think it’s probably those ovulation hormones messing with you right now. I don’t think you’re ready. I’m trying to be nice here, so don’t do this.” The words come out in a low whisper, but he holds eye contact the whole time, steady and intense. You’ve known him long enough to read what he’s not saying—the need is written all over his face, screaming in the tension of his jaw and the heat in his stare.
“Jungkook…” you murmur back, barely above a breath.
“Yes, love?”
“Didn’t you just tell me to stop looking unless I wanna do something about it?” you say, a small, teasing,challenging smile tugging at your lips. “I’m working on that.” With that, you gently push his hand off yours, freeing your fingers to keep moving at their own slow pace.
Your fingers trace the hard outline of his bulge through the soft fabric, deliberate and slow, as you lean across the center console for better reach. The position puts you half out of your seat, shoulder brushing his, the console digging lightly into your ribs. He doesn’t stop you this time.
He knows you both need this—the months of careful distance cracking open in the quiet dark of the car.
You slide your hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers finding the warm, thick base of his cock. His head drops back against the headrest with a heavy, relieved sigh, throat working as he lets you explore.
He helps without a word, lifting his hips just enough to tug the sweatpants lower. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, the cool night air hitting heated skin as it rests against his stomach. The sight of him like this—laid out in the driver’s seat, chest rising faster, jaw clenched—sends a fresh wave of want through you, sharp and undeniable after so long.
You pause with your hand wrapped around him for a second, heart hammering too loud to ignore. Then you grab the collar of his shirt with both hands and yank him toward you, crashing your mouths together in a hungry, fierce kiss that’s been building for months.
He meets you just as hard, one big hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he kisses you back with raw need. He tastes like cigarette smoke and mint, the combination dizzying, making your head spin. You can feel yourself getting wetter, panties clinging uncomfortably as heat pools low in your belly.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to grab his phone, connect it to the car’s speaker, and blast some random R&B track on full volume. The deep bass fills the space as he yanks all the heavily tinted windows up, sealing you both inside, as well as turning the air conditioner in the car on. Then he looks back at you, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen.
You crash your mouths together again because once isn’t enough—you’re addicted, and so is he, tongues sliding, teeth nipping, desperate and messy. That manly scent rolling off him hits you harder with every inhale, warm skin and faint cologne and pure Jungkook, working on you like some kind of aphrodisiac drug that makes your thighs press together on instinct.
You break the kiss when oxygen becomes non-negotiable, pulling back with a sharp inhale, both of you breathing hard and fast. Your face feels flushed, lips tingling and swollen, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue.
Your hand drifts back down without hesitation, fingers wrapping snug around the thick base of his cock. You stroke him slowly at first, a few firm pumps that draw a deep, contented hum from his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into you.
With your other hand you tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, then bend down over the center console, leaning in close. You drag your tongue in one long, slow stripe from the base all the way to the flushed tip, feeling every ridge and vein under the wet heat of your mouth.
He lets out a low, guttural groan the moment you sink your mouth down onto him, lips stretching wide around his impressive girth. The fullness of him on your tongue is overwhelming in the best way, warm and solid after so much time apart.
His hands are careful but possessive, gathering your hair and twisting it into a loose ponytail at the back of your head. He holds it there like his own personal grip, fingers flexing against your scalp as you start to move, the bass from the speaker pulsing around you both in the sealed, slightly space of the car.
His hips jerk up instinctively when you take him deeper, pushing more of his thick length into your mouth. You can barely handle halfway before his tip nudges the back of your throat, making your eyes water slightly at the stretch and fullness.
His head falls back hard against the headrest, a strained “Fuck…” slipping from his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.
The raw reaction only fuels you more, heat curling tight in your belly as you work him with renewed hunger.
Your hand and mouth move together in a steady rhythm—fingers wrapped tight around the thick base your lips can’t reach, stroking in time with the way you bob your head. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip on every upstroke, tasting the salty bead of precum that leaks for you, sucking lightly as your cheeks hollow out. The car fills with the wet sounds of your mouth and his low, broken breaths, the music still thumping low in the background.
“You’re doing so fucking good,” he breathes, the words rough and strained. You lift your gaze through wet lashes and meet his eyes—half-lidded, burning down at you with that raw, unguarded hunger that makes your stomach tighten. “Good girl.”
The praise sinks straight into your bones. The second you feel him twitch against your tongue, you pour everything into it, sucking harder, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as your hand works the base in tight, slick strokes.
He groans deep in his chest and tightens his grip in your hair, using it to bob your head up and down at the pace he needs. You let him take control, relaxing your throat as much as you can, eyes watering from the stretch and the way his thick cock fills your mouth completely. Saliva drips down your chin but you don’t care, humming around him, the vibrations pulling more broken sounds from his lips.
His breaths turn ragged, groans getting louder, hips jerking up every few seconds as he twitches more frequently on your tongue. The tension coils tighter in his body until it finally snaps. His orgasm hits hard with a loud, guttural groan, head slamming back against the headrest, eyes rolling back as thick, hot ropes of cum flood your throat. His body jerks with every pulse, thighs trembling under your touch as you swallow around him, taking everything he gives you.
He keeps you there for a long moment, fingers still tangled tight in your hair, holding you close as the last tremors run through his body. His groans gradually fade into heavy, satisfied breaths that brush warm against the top of your head.
Then he tugs you up gently by the makeshift ponytail, guiding you until your mouth meets his in a fierce, claiming kiss. He doesn’t hesitate for a second, tasting himself on your tongue and groaning softly into it, the kiss turning deep and messy, filled with raw gratitude and the kind of hunger that hasn’t been fed in months.
You grab onto his shoulders for balance, but he’s already pulling you closer, strong hands gripping your waist as he maneuvers you over the center console. You end up straddling his thighs in the driver’s seat, knees pressing into the leather on either side of him, the position intimate and close in the cramped space.
“I missed this…” he murmur against your lips, voice breathy and rough.
He proved his point by trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw and along the curve of your shoulder. You tilt your head to the side without thinking, giving him better access, a shiver running through you as his lips and tongue work over your skin, hands sliding possessively up your back under your shirt.
“Mmh… Jungkook…” The gasp slips out sharp when he bites down on that sensitive spot along your shoulder, teeth grazing just hard enough to make your eyes flutter shut and your nails dig into the front of his shirt.
“Mhm,” he hums against your skin, soothing the sting with a slow drag of his tongue, the vibration sending sparks straight down your spine.
His hands are everywhere at once—one gripping your hip possessively, fingers digging into the soft flesh like he needs to anchor himself, while the other trails down your stomach, teasing along the waistband of your sweatpants. The light touch makes your breath hitch, anticipation curling tight in your core.
Your eyes fly open the second his hand slips inside your pants, palm cupping your soaked mound with confident possession. A thick finger slides through your wet folds, parting them easily, and a full-body shiver runs through you at the contact, thighs clenching around his lap as the car suddenly feels impossibly smaller.
“Fuck, you’re dripping down my hand,” he growls against your skin, pulling back just enough to look up at your flushed face. A wicked grin spreads across his lips, eyes dark with satisfaction.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding. He waits until you manage to lock your gaze with his, pupils blown wide, before he plunges two thick fingers deep inside you in one smooth thrust.
Your hips jerk hard against his hand, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat at the sudden stretch and fullness. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, capturing your mouth in another hungry kiss, swallowing every moan that tries to escape as his fingers start moving—deep, steady, curling just right inside you.
The pads of his fingers brush against that perfect spot with every stroke, making your thighs tremble around his lap, pleasure sparking sharp and hot through your body as he works you open with practiced precision.
As he pulls back from the kiss, you’re both panting hard, lips swollen and breaths mingling in the steamy confines of the car. His free hand slides up your body with purpose, long fingers wrapping around your throat in a firm, possessive grip. Not hard enough to restrict your air, but just tight enough to send your head spinning—blood pounding in your ears, a delicious dizziness washing over you that only heightens the arousal flooding your system.
His thumb presses tight, perfect circles against your swollen clit, the pressure steady and maddening, pulling whimpers and sharp little gasps from your throat with every rotation. You’re close already, core clenching around his fingers, as your eyes shut closed, thighs trembling around his lap as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter—until he suddenly stops moving entirely, fingers buried deep but still.
You groan in pure frustration, brows pulling together as you open your eyes and stare at him with heavy-lidded eyes, face burning flushed and chest heaving with every desperate pant.
“I said eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice dark and commanding, one brow arched in that teasing challenge. “Don’t you dare look away or close your eyes, or else I stop, hm?”
You nod frantically, too far gone to argue back or do anything else, cheeks blazing even hotter.
He’s reduced you to this needy, dripping mess—embarrassingly aroused, hanging on every word and touch like he owns you. And right now, he absolutely does.
“Such a good girl for me,” he hums against your lips, voice thick with satisfaction and something darker, the praise sinking into your skin like a brand.
You don’t wait for more permission. You start moving your hips again, grinding down onto his fingers, fucking yourself on them with desperate little rolls that make obscene wet sounds fill the car. He matches your pace instantly, thrusting deeper, curling those long fingers against that perfect spot with devastating accuracy.
A few more relentless strokes and the coil inside you snaps violently. You clench hard around his fingers, orgasm ripping through you with a loud, broken cry that bounces off the tinted windows. Your whole body shakes, thighs clamping tight around his lap as wave after wave crashes over you, soaking his hand and the front of your sweatpants while your vision whites out for a second.
He doesn’t stop right away. He slows his movements instead, drawing out every last tremor and pulse of your orgasm with long, lazy strokes, milking you through it until you’re a trembling, whimpering mess in his lap, aftershocks still sparking through your oversensitive nerves.
You lean your forehead against his shoulder, still breathing hard, eyes closed, the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving your limbs shaky and your mind hazy. The solid warmth of him grounds you even as your pulse continues to hammer.
“Breathless already, baby? We just started,” he teases, the grin clear in his voice as he turns his head and drags his tongue slowly over your earlobe, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you shiver.
Somehow, in the tight space of the driver’s seat, he manages to work your sweatpants the rest of the way off, the fabric sliding down your thighs with a soft rustle. His hands grip your hips firmly, angling them back so you’re positioned perfectly above him, the head of his still-hard cock brushing against your soaked entrance.
You open your eyes, swallowing hard, the lump in your throat thick, your breathing still uneven and your pulse racing under your skin. The cool air of the car hits your bare skin, contrasting with the heat rolling off his body.
He leans back, reaching down to recline the seat a little further so there’s more room, settling deeper into the leather. His dark eyes lock onto yours, voice low and rough with command as he murmurs,
“Now… ride me.”
Your eyes snap open wide the second the command hits your ear, a jolt of nervous heat racing through you. He raises a brow at your reaction, that cocky, knowing look already in place.
You gulp hard, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as your fingers tighten against his shoulders for support.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t act all shy now,” he grins, clearly enjoying the deep flush that floods your cheeks. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you down slowly, letting you feel every thick inch as he sinks into you.
The moment you bottom out, a low, guttural groan rips from his chest at the same time a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He fills you so completely it borders on overwhelming—stretching, hot, and so deep it feels surreal after months of nothing. Your thighs tremble around him, the full, heavy pressure of him inside you stealing the last of your breath.
You stay still for a second, adjusting to the overwhelming stretch, forehead pressed to his shoulder again as you try to catch your breath. He’s thick and deep, filling every inch of you until it almost hurts in the best way.
His hands stay locked on your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles over your skin. “Fuck… look at you,” he rasps, voice rough. “Taking me so well.”
You start to move—small, tentative rolls of your hips at first, testing the angle. The friction is immediate and intense, every shift dragging him against that sensitive spot inside you. A soft moan slips out of your mouth before you can stop it.
“That’s it,” he encourages, guiding you into a steadier rhythm. “Just like that.”
You plant your hands on his chest and push yourself upright, finding a better angle. The new position lets you sink even deeper, and you both curse at the same time. Your thighs burn already from the effort, but the pleasure is sharper now, building fast as you start to ride him properly—rising up until only the head remains inside, then dropping back down in one smooth motion.
The wet sound of your bodies meeting fills the car, mixing with the low bass still thumping from the speakers. Jungkook’s head falls back against the seat, eyes half-lidded as he watches you, jaw tight, every muscle in his abdomen flexing under you.
“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, hips lifting to meet your downward thrusts. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”
You lean forward again, bracing yourself on his shoulders as you pick up the pace, chasing the heat coiling low in your belly. His hands slide up your back under your shirt, then down to grip your ass, helping you bounce harder on his cock. Every time you take him to the hilt, a broken little sound escapes you—half moan, half whimper—and he drinks every one of them in like he’s starving.
The pace turns messier, more desperate. You bounce harder on him, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the sealed car. Sweat starts to dampen the back of your shirt; his palms slide over it as he grips your ass tighter, helping lift you up only to drag you back down harder each time.
“Fuck—just like that,” he groans, the words punched out of him every time you sink all the way down. His hips snap up to meet yours, driving deeper, making your breath hitch on every thrust. The fullness is almost too much, stretching you open in a way that makes your thighs shake and your nails dig into his shoulders.
You drop your forehead to his again, panting against his mouth. He captures your lips in a messy kiss—open, wet, all tongue and teeth.
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked. “Let me feel you come around me.”The underside of your thighs burns from the strain, muscles trembling as your pace starts to slow. Jungkook notices immediately. His hands clamp down on your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he thrusts his hips up hard whenever you lag, forcing himself deeper.
“Keep going,” he orders, voice rough and breathless.
Every time you sink back down, a loud, broken moan spills from your lips, the sound echoing in the small space of the car. He’s so deep it steals the air from your lungs, stretching you open with every downward roll of your hips.
You try to obey, bouncing on him again even as your legs shake. The friction is relentless—wet, hot, and perfect. His grip on your thighs stays firm, guiding your rhythm when your body starts to give out, using his strength to keep you moving.
“That’s it… fuck, look at you,” he groans, eyes locked on where your bodies meet. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.”
You drop forward, bracing your hands on his chest, forehead pressed to his as you keep riding him through the burn. The new angle makes him hit even deeper, and another loud moan rips out of you, louder this time. His hands slide up to your waist, holding you steady while he starts thrusting up to meet every downward motion, the wet slap of skin filling the car along with your shared, ragged breathing.
One of his hands slides down between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He rubs tight, firm circles over the swollen bud while continuing to thrust up into you, the dual stimulation so intense it makes your vision blur.
You’re seeing stars almost immediately.
Your hips stutter, a high, broken moan tearing from your throat as the pressure builds at a dizzying speed. Every deep thrust combined with the relentless circles of his thumb pushes you higher, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. Your thighs shake violently around him, walls fluttering and clenching around his cock as you race toward the edge.
“That’s it—come for me,” he growls against your ear, voice rough and strained.
The command snaps the last thread of your control. Your orgasm crashes through you hard, ripping a loud, choked cry from your lips as you clamp down around him. Your whole body seizes, trembling violently in his arms while wave after wave of pleasure tears through you. Your hips jerking weakly as he keeps thrusting up into you, dragging out every pulse until you’re oversensitive and gasping against his shoulder.
He groans deeply when you clench around him, the tight, rhythmic squeeze of your walls pulling a raw, broken sound from his chest. His hips stutter for a second as he feels every pulse of your orgasm, forehead dropping against yours while he rides it out with you.
“Fuck—just like that,” he rasps, voice strained and breathless. His hands grip your hips harder, holding you down as he thrusts up through the aftershocks, chasing his own release now that you’re fluttering and dripping around him.
You cling to his shoulders, still trembling, oversensitive but not pulling away. Every deep stroke sends little sparks of leftover pleasure through your body. His breathing turns ragged, muscles tensing under your palms, the wet sound of him moving inside you growing louder and more desperate.
“Gonna fill you up,” he warns through gritted teeth, the words punched out between thrusts. His pace turns short and hard, burying himself as deep as he can go with every snap of his hips.
A few more powerful strokes and he comes with a low, guttural groan, head snuggled against your neck. His body jerks with each pulse, holding you tightly against him while he spills everything he’s got, cock twitching deep as he rides out the last of his orgasm.
You both stay locked together for a long moment afterward, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat. His arms stay wrapped tightly around you, keeping you pressed against him while he softens slowly inside you. The car is quiet except for the fading bass of the music and your shared, uneven breathing.
Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your temple, then another to the side of your neck, the earlier intensity melting into something gentler. His hands stroke up and down your back in slow, soothing motions, grounding both of you.
“You okay?” he murmurs against your skin, voice still rough but softer now.
You nod weakly against his shoulder, too spent to form words yet. Your thighs are still trembling, the dull ache from riding him mixed with the pleasant, heavy fullness of him still inside you. He doesn’t rush to pull out. Instead he holds you there, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other rests warm on your hip.
Outside the heavily tinted windows, the empty lane remains dark and still. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of sex, smoke, and the faint cologne clinging to his skin. He shifts just enough to press another lingering kiss to your lips—slow this time, unhurried, tasting of gratitude and leftover hunger.
“Missed this,” he whispers against your mouth. “Missed you.”
“Thank you so much for taking care of Jae,” you say with a bright smile, glancing between Yuna and the baby now settled in your arms. He’s wide awake, tiny fingers already tugging curiously at the neckline of your shirt.
“Of course,” Yuna replies, looking proud of herself. “I was gonna stay up all night anyway, so it wasn’t a problem if you left him here a bit longer. Feel free to drop Jae off whenever you want—I honestly believe a couple deserves some time alone too.”
She worked as a babysitter for about six months back in high school, but you hadn’t expected her to be this good with kids.
“Oh, surely… only if Jae doesn’t cause you too much trouble,” you offer with a soft laugh.
“Nah, he’s chill. One of the nicest kids I’ve seen. Barely troubled me at all.” Yuna tilts her head, smiling. “But I hope you and Jungkook had a great time. Where did y’all go, though?”
Your smile drops instantly. You look down at Jae, suddenly very interested in adjusting his little onesie, trying to fight the flush you can already feel creeping up your neck and cheeks.
Of course you can’t exactly tell her that Jungkook fucked your brains out in the car.
“Somewhere,” Jungkook answers for you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on you.
You know better than to look at him right now. One glance and the heat already crawling up your neck will turn into a full-blown flush that Yuna will definitely notice.
She frowns slightly at Jungkook, then shifts her attention back to you, waiting for a better answer.
“We—… we went to a cinema,” you say quickly, forcing a casual tone as you bounce Jae lightly in your arms.
Yuna’s frown disappears, replaced by an easy smile. “Oooh. That’s great.”
At least she buys the lie. You risk a tiny glance toward Jungkook and catch the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smirk. You immediately look back down at Jae, pretending the baby’s tiny fist has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.
“Alright, I’ll take a leave then. Good luck for your exam, yeah?” you say to Yuna with a smile.
She nods and walks you both out to the car, standing on the curb and waving until the vehicle pulls away and her apartment building disappears from view. Jae remains nestled in your arms the whole time, tiny and warm against your chest.
The car is quiet for a few minutes as Jungkook drives, the city lights sliding across the windshield. You glance over at him, catching the soft, satisfied look on his face, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift.
Jae makes a small cooing sound, pulling your attention back down. You adjust him carefully, brushing a thumb over his soft cheek.
“You think she bought it?” you ask quietly, keeping your voice low even though the baby can’t understand.
Jungkook’s mouth curves into a small smirk. “Cinema, huh? Cute.” He glances sideways at you, eyes dark and amused under the streetlights. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way. Your ears were bright red.”
You huff, looking out the window to hide the fresh heat crawling up your neck. “Shut up.”
He chuckles low, the sound warm and familiar, then reaches over to rest his hand lightly on your thigh—nothing heated this time, just steady and present. “You good?”
You nod, leaning your head back against the seat, still cradling Jae. The ache between your legs is a quiet reminder of everything that just happened, but the contentment sitting in your chest is stronger. For the first time in months, the exhaustion feels lighter.
You see, perverted or not, life just feels better when you’ve got a capable—actually insane—sex partner. Like, hell yeah. Fuck anyone who claims sexual frustration isn’t a real need.
🖋️ ──── In which the man who commands courtrooms like a goddamn warlord has been white-knuckling his self-control for months, pretending he doesn’t want to ruin that sweet kindergarten teacher in every filthy way imaginable.
🖋️ ──── Summary: She’s the soft-hearted kindergarten teacher who smells like crayons and vanilla dreams, always blushing behind story-time books and sticky-finger hugs. He’s Jeon Jungkook — sharp-suited corporate lawyer, quiet storm in human form, the kind of man who makes CEOs sweat and interns trip over their own feet. They first collided in the principal’s office — him there for some sponsorship paperwork, her defending a kid’s progress report like it was a battlefield. No words exchanged that day, just a lingering glance that crackled harder than cheap static. Fate, being the chaotic wingwoman she is, threw them together again weeks later at the mall. Numbers swapped. Texts turned into 2 a.m. voice notes where her shy chuckles made his dick twitch and his cold exterior crack.
Six months of “just friends” bullshit. Six months of him swallowing every dirty thought while she rambled about finger-painting disasters and he pretended forehead kisses were enough. Until the confession dropped — raw, possessive, inevitable. Now they’re official.
The problem? She’s all sunshine and nervous giggles, soft curves and hesitant touches. They’ve barely graduated past sweet hugs, temple kisses, rare cuddles, and the occasional cheek peck that leaves him rock-hard and feral in his expensive slacks. He tries to get disgusted at himself for reacting like that as such minor actions. Jungkook’s been a saint about it… almost. But everyone knows what happens when a man like him keeps a beast caged too long. The dam doesn’t just break. It fucking explodes.
🖋️ ──── Playlist.
🖋️ ──── Author's note: Listen up, twinskis — I see yall. The way y’all devoured ‘Sick for You’ has me screaming, crying, throwing up in the best way. Turning that into a full series soon because the hype is unreal. For now, here’s something that starts softer than a fresh pack of pastel markers… but trust, it won’t stay innocent for long. Drop 50+ likes and I’ll keep feeding this series like it’s my emotional support smut. Love you freaks endlessly <3
🖋️ ──── Rating: 18+ — MINORS DNI !
🖋️ ──── Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader
🖋️ ──── Main characters: Jeon Jungkook, Kim Y/N.
🖋️ ──── Side characters: Noone.
🖋️ ──── Tropes: Corporate Lawyer!Jungkook × Kindergarten Teacher!reader, boyfriend!Jungkook, cold x sunshine, quiet x talkative, “I’ll wait” turning into “I can’t fucking wait anymore.”
🖋️ ──── Theme: Slow-burn tension so thick you could cut it with a butter knife, mutual pining that simmers into something downright obscene, the delicious moment restraints finally shatter, and the kind of love that feels equal parts tender and terrifyingly addictive.
🖋️ ────Content warning: matured, heavy smut, 18+ content, caring boyfriend!Jungkook, shy!reader, cussing, exhaustion, corporate life, sexting, flirting over texts, nudes, teasing, arousal, heavy flirting, the reader gets turned on by his caring and patient nature, inappropriate thinking and imagination, patience, dirty and suggestive talking, showering together, him washing her off, straddling, boner, kissing, grinding, humping, biting, sucking, licking, kitchen sex, bent over the counter, talking through it, edging, begging, creampie, fingering, hair pulling, and a lot more.
🖋️ ──── Word count: 20.4k+
🖋️ ──── Average reading time: 1 hour 25 minutes
Alexa, if the reader can't access the attached Spotify playlist link, play Obsessed by Zandros and Limi on loop !
sigh.
You shoved the door open with your hip, kicking your shoes off so they smacked against the baseboard like they owed you money. The latch clicked shut behind you with that final, hollow sound that always hit different after a twelve-hour grind. Coat dumped on the hook, keys tossed somewhere on the counter—you didn’t even check. Bare feet hit the cold tile and you hissed through your teeth at the jolt, the kind of sharp reminder that winter still had its claws in everything, including your tired ass.
The city outside had already gone full midnight mode, that deep navy bleed where streetlights and passing cars smeared ugly orange and blue across the windows. You flipped on a couple lamps, the warm bulbs doing their best to push back the chill that had seeped into your bones from the walk home. Bag hit the couch with a dull thump. You dropped right after it, sprawling back into the cushions like your spine was done holding up the weight of the day.
One of those soul-sucking shifts that left you feeling scraped raw.
The other teachers had dragged you out after hours to that overpriced fusion place downtown, the kind with exposed brick and playlists that tried too hard. Gossip looped nonstop—petty staff drama, nightmare parents demanding special treatment for their barely potty-trained demons, weekend plans you couldn’t fake caring about even if you got paid. Their voices still rattled around in your skull like cheap earbuds on full blast. By the time you’d escaped and stumbled through your own door, the exhaustion sat heavy in your muscles, turning every movement sluggish and your brain into static.
Your phone vibrated against your ass. Once. Twice. You almost ignored it, too drained to give a fuck, but the itch won. You dug it out, thumb sliding across the screen.
Jungkook: you home yet princess
Jungkook: tell me you ditched those loud fucks already
Jungkook: ??
Jungkook: knew they’d suck the life out of you with all that pointless yapping
Jungkook: my poor girl
Jungkook: want me to swing by if you’re still stuck
Jungkook: it’s late as hell and i don’t like you out there alone this time of night
A tired smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it. Even back when you were pretending this thing between you was strictly casual, Jungkook had this habit of sliding into your orbit without fanfare. Coffee waiting on your desk after you bitched about a rough start, laundry mysteriously folded when your place looked like a laundry bomb went off, takeout showing up exactly when your stomach started eating itself. No grand gestures. Just quiet, consistent shit that made you wonder how the hell he read you so easily.
And damn if it wasn’t hot in the most inconvenient way.
You couldn’t front about it. Jungkook was stupid attractive in that sneaky, slow-burn manner that crept up on you during random moments—sharp jaw you’d caught yourself staring at way too long, those dark eyes that seemed to peel back whatever surface bullshit you were putting up, shoulders stretching his shirts in ways that made your mind wander to how they’d feel pinning you down. The calm control he carried like second skin always left a low heat curling in your stomach, especially when his stare lingered a beat too long, like he was mentally undressing every inch of you.
Part of you still didn’t get how someone like him had stuck around this long. The other part—the one that got wet at night thinking about what those patient hands could really do if he ever stopped playing gentleman—was getting louder every damn day. Six months of soft touches and you were starting to ache in places that had nothing to do with exhaustion. How much longer before that tightly leashed side of him finally snapped and showed you exactly how dark those quiet cravings ran? The thought sent a lazy throb between your thighs even as you typed back, fingers hovering like you were half-afraid he’d somehow sense it through the screen.
You stared at the string of texts, thumb frozen over the keyboard while a low, inconvenient pulse settled between your legs. The man had a way of doing this shit without even trying—dropping casual concern that somehow always veered into territory that made your skin feel too tight.
You: yeah
You: just walked in
You: how’d your day go, counselor?
Jungkook: survived. boring as fuck without you in it. tell me about yours
You: later. I’m wiped rn, brain’s mush
Jungkook: poor thing. go rest those pretty legs then
You: about to hop in the shower real quick
Jungkook: good. let the hot water work those knots out
Jungkook: wish I was there to help loosen you up properly tho
The last message hit like a slow drag of nails down your spine. You choked on air, eyes blowing wide as heat crawled up your throat and burned across your cheeks. No emojis, no over-the-top shit—just that quiet, loaded suggestion wrapped in concern, like he wasn’t picturing exactly how his hands would feel digging into your tired muscles… or sliding somewhere much lower.
He’d been doing this more lately. Tiny cracks in that iron restraint he wore like armor. Little teases that lingered in your head long after the screen went dark, making you wonder how long the perfect gentleman act would hold before the corporate lawyer who destroyed people in depositions decided to destroy you in much better, filthier ways.
You shifted on the couch, thighs pressing together without thinking. The exhaustion was still there, heavy in your limbs, but it mixed now with something sharper, warmer. Thumbs moved before your brain could talk you out of it.
What if you pushed back just a little? Not full send, not yet. Just enough to see if that calm facade would flicker.
The thought sent another lazy throb through you, real and human and kind of embarrassing. You weren’t some bold vixen—most days you still felt like the shy teacher who hid behind storybooks—but the ache of wondering what he was really holding back had been growing louder than the voice telling you to play it safe.
You took a slow breath, thumbs moving before the usual overthinking could slam the brakes. Fuck it. Just this once.
You: yeah? then come help me relax for real
Sent. Instant regret mixed with a twisted little thrill as you locked the screen and shoved your face into the cushion, a half-muffled groan escaping. Your cheeks burned. The apartment felt smaller, the air thicker, like your own shitty bravery had cranked the heat. Heart thudding in your ears, you lay there replaying how pathetic and eager that probably sounded, thighs shifting restlessly against the couch because the low ache between them wasn’t fading. One weak moment had your body acting like it finally got permission to want more than careful kisses.
The phone buzzed hard against your chest. You cracked one eye open, pulse spiking.
Jungkook: finally talking your shit huh
Jungkook: i’d relax you alright… hands on that tired body, mouth following every sore spot till you’re shaking for a whole different reason
Jungkook: been dying to show you how deep that goes
The words hit low and heavy. You squeezed your thighs together tighter, a sharp inhale cutting through the quiet room. Raw suggestion that made your stomach tighten and your mind flash to those broad shoulders hovering over you, that calm control finally slipping into something rougher. He’d always held back, but these texts felt like the first real leak of whatever he kept chained up. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you were getting worked up from words on a screen while still half-dead from the day.
You bit the inside of your cheek, fingers flying again before the boldness drained out.
You: yeah? show me then… what exactly would those hands do first?
The reply took longer this time. You stared at the typing dots like they owed you a few million, nerves and heat twisting together in your gut.
Jungkook: actions hit different than typing them out baby but fuck if i don’t want to pin you down and work every inch of you till you forget your own name
Jungkook: too bad i’m buried in case files tonight. overtime’s kicking my ass
Disappointment crashed in fast, souring the buzz between your legs. You let out a frustrated breath, shoulders dropping as the exhaustion rushed back in. Of course. Reality always had shit timing. Still, the lingering images he planted refused to leave — dark eyes watching you fall apart, that quiet voice dropping lower while he finally stopped being careful.
You: oh… alright. don’t kill yourself on that paperwork and drink some water at least
You tossed the phone aside, rubbing a hand over your face. The ache hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it sat heavier now, a reminder of how long you’d both been circling this edge.
Jungkook: bet you’re pissed i left you hanging. here, give this something useful to chew on while i’m stuck
You squinted at the text, thumb frozen, when the photo slammed through and stole the breath right out of you.
Mirror selfie, no shirt. Face cut off, but the ink gave him away immediately — those bold, chaotic lines snaking down one entire arm and slashing across the top of his chest like they had secrets to tell. Low gray sweatpants barely hanging on, the material stretched tight over a thick, obvious shape that pushed hard against the front, heavy and unapologetic.
Your jaw slackened. A rush of heat slammed up your neck and across your cheeks as you kept staring, mouth suddenly parched, pulse kicking up in places that made the couch feel way too small. It was raw, casual, the kind of shot that screamed he’d taken it without overthinking, and that made it hit even harder. Real life didn’t usually serve up shit like this mid-text thread after a garbage day.
Jungkook: shoot these whenever the urge hits and you’re nowhere close. so what’s the damage, good or what?
Typing felt impossible for a beat. Your eyes kept dragging over the cut of his torso, the way those pants sat on his hips like an invitation you weren’t sure you could handle yet, and that blatant bulge that had your stomach clenching with a mix of nerves and straight-up filthy curiosity. Part of you wanted to overthink it, the other part — the louder, hornier one tonight — just wanted to zoom in and imagine the weight of it.
You swallowed hard, fingers finally moving.
You: didn’t like it
You: fucking loved it
Jungkook: oh yeah?
The next photo loaded before you could even exhale.
Same mirror. Same bare skin. But now his thumb yanked the waistband down on purpose, fabric shoved low enough to stop just slightly over the base of his dick, heavy where it curved out, the rest still trapped but clearly straining for attention. Your breath snagged sharp in your throat, a fresh twist of want curling low as you took it in, the sight so blunt it made your thoughts scatter into dirty, unfiltered territory — how that would look up close, how it’d feel pushing past your lips or stretching you open, the kind of messy impatience that came with finally cracking the careful script you’d both been stuck in.
You gasped, face scorching as blood flooded your cheeks in a brutal rush.
Then the next shot dropped — straight from his desk, wooden edge in frame, papers strewn like he’d barely bothered clearing space. Thighs spread in the chair, angle calculated to fuck with your head. That fat, unmistakable shape pushed aggressively against the black trousers, the thick ridge outlined so clearly it looked painful, begging to be freed.
You: NO
You: I'M OUT BYE
You: YOU HAVE ZERO FUCKING SHAME
You flung the phone across the couch like it was radioactive, snatching a pillow and smashing your burning face into it. A strangled groan ripped out, muffled and desperate, body curling in on itself while your heart jackhammered against your ribs. The room turned sauna-hot in seconds, skin buzzing everywhere, that deep, slick throb between your legs turning insistent and messy, soaking through your panties like your body had zero chill left. Just pixels on a screen, but it had you clenching around nothing, mind spinning with crude, uninvited flashes of how heavy he’d feel sliding against your tongue or splitting you open.
This kind of back-and-forth should be standard couple shit. But he was your first, and every new escalation still landed like a live wire straight to your nervous system. One half of you wanted to delete the chat and pretend none of it happened. The louder half kept looping those shots behind your eyelids — the inked skin, the cut muscle, the blatant proof he was rock hard just from texting you — feeding a restless hunger that made your nipples scrape tight against your bra with every breath.
You pushed off the couch fast, legs shaky, dragging in air that did nothing to settle the fire under your skin. The apartment pressed in too close now, every nerve ending raw and overstimulated.
Cold shower. Immediately. Before this turned into something you couldn’t ignore.
The need trailed you down the hall anyway, warm and slippery, forcing short, awkward steps as you beelined for the bathroom. Door slammed harder than intended, back thumping against it while you stood there cursing your own reactions. Pull yourself together, your brain hissed, but your pussy had other plans. The soaked fabric clinging between your thighs was impossible to pretend away, a sticky reminder that a handful of shameless photos had already turned a tired night into something far more dangerous.
On the other hand, miles away in his office, Jungkook leaned back in the creaky leather chair, a slow, filthy smirk carving across his face. He tilted his head up toward the ceiling tiles, phone loose in one hand while his thumb idly scrolled up through the chat again, rereading every panicked reply like it was fuel. His free hand drifted lower, sliding over his stomach before cupping the thick, aching length that tented his black trousers obscenely.
“Fuck, princess…” he rasped under his breath, the words rough and laced with dark amusement. He palmed himself harder, fingers pressing firm through the fabric, jaw flexing as the mental image hit — you somewhere in your apartment right now, cheeks on fire, probably stripping down fast with shaky hands because he’d gotten you that worked up.
He dragged his thumb over the swollen head trapped beneath the material, eyes narrowing with heat as he pictured the mess between your legs, how slick and sensitive you’d be trying to play it cool. The idea of you failing miserably under a stream of cold water while he sat here throbbing and ignored made a low, raspy chuckle rumble out of his chest. Real life was messy like that — him stuck at this desk with a raging hard-on, you probably cursing his name and your own body for reacting so fast.
He tapped out one last text one-handed, the other still lazily working himself over his pants.
Jungkook: enjoy the shower baby
Jungkook: try not to let the water make it worse when it slides down all that soft skin
Sent. He dropped his head back again, stroking slower now, that dark smirk deepening as he let the tension coil tighter without chasing release. He could hold out. He always did. But goddamn if these little cracks in his control weren’t getting wider every time you pushed back even a little. At the end of the day he was just a man — patient on the surface, but carrying around needs that felt sharper lately, heavier, the kind that didn’t stay buried forever.
You pushed through your front door at the usual hour, afternoon light still cutting sharp across the hallway when the lock clicked open. The jangle of your keys echoed louder than normal in the empty space, like the whole building could sense the leftover buzz still humming under your skin from earlier. You’d barely kicked the door shut when your phone vibrated again in your grip.
Jungkook: can i come over? you skipped lunch again. bringing food
You froze mid-step in the entryway, one shoe dangling half-off your foot. Him coming over? Normal on paper — random drop-ins, greasy takeout, nights where you’d both crash on the couch scrolling until your eyes gave out. But after last night’s texts and those shameless photos still burned into your brain, the idea landed heavier, charged with something that made your pulse stutter. Your stomach twisted, a messy knot of want and that same old hesitation, because part of you already knew exactly where your mind would drift the second he stepped inside.
You shoved the overthinking aside. Don’t make it weird.
You: yes please i’m starving
Jungkook: on my way
You shut the door, the latch clicking loud in the quiet, and fell into autopilot. Shoes kicked toward the mat, coat slung on the hook, bag dumped on the couch. The apartment sat still under the late afternoon light slicing through the blinds, casting long shadows that did nothing to cool the low simmer crawling under your skin. You dropped onto the cushions, exhaling sharp, then grabbed your phone and started doom-scrolling reels just to keep your hands busy and your thoughts from wandering back to gray sweatpants and thick outlines.
Halfway through some dumb video, the doorbell cut through.
A quick grin pulled at your mouth before you could stop it. You stood, tugging your sweater down out of habit, heart kicking harder as you crossed the room. Door swung open and there he was — Jungkook, easy half-smirk in place, two overstuffed takeout bags in one grip, jacket hooked over his arm like he’d rushed straight from the office. Dark hair tousled from the wind, eyes locking on you with that quiet intensity that always felt like it saw too much.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough around the edges, the smirk deepening as he took you in. “Figured you’d be running on empty. Got your usuals.”
“Oh, I’m very hungry,” you answered, the words slipping out with a playful bite that hung heavier than intended, your grin turning a shade too sharp. You reached for the bags, fingers brushing his in the handoff, and peeked inside. Sushi rolls, plump dumplings still steaming, spicy kimchi fried rice, bulgogi sliced thin, plus two chocolate milkshakes sweating condensation. He’d nailed every craving, even grabbing doubles on the shakes he barely tolerated just because you inhaled them. The smell hit hard, making your stomach growl loud enough to echo, but the real hunger twisting lower had nothing to do with food.
The suggestive edge in your reply lingered between you, thickening the air as he stepped inside, door clicking shut behind him like it sealed something neither of you had named yet.
You turned on your heel, already moving toward the kitchen. “Come in, then.”
Jungkook let out a low chuckle that rumbled behind you as he stepped inside, the door clicking shut with finality. You caught the rustle of fabric as he shrugged off his jacket and the soft thud of his shoes hitting the floor near yours. Everything felt routine on the surface — the familiar sounds of him making himself at home — but tonight each small noise landed heavier, like static before a storm, thanks to the filthy screenshots still lurking in your recent chats.
You set the takeout bags on the counter, plastic crinkling loudly while you started pulling containers out. Savory steam rose up fast, fried rice and bulgogi and dumplings filling the kitchen with mouthwatering heat. Your stomach twisted again, but the real distraction was the man at your back. You arranged the boxes with deliberate focus, trying not to let your mind slip back to those desk photos or the way your body had betrayed you afterward.
“You wiped out?” His voice came low, right behind you, close enough that the words ghosted across your shoulder.
You nodded, not turning, fingers digging into the edge of the kimchi fried rice container. “Yeah,” you muttered, the answer slipping out quieter than planned, almost swallowed by the tension.
Silence stretched for a beat. Then his tone dipped, rougher. “Shower already?”
Your hand stalled mid-reach, grip tightening on the plastic. The simple question punched straight through the casual vibe, dragging those vivid images back — water running, skin, the thick outline from his texts. Heat crawled up your throat and burned your face. You stayed facing the counter, hyper-aware of his presence, the faint clean scent of his cologne cutting through the food smells, the way he waited like he already knew the effect.
You finally set the container down, fingers lingering on the lid like it was an anchor. “Not yet. No time earlier,” you said, voice lighter than you felt, crumpling the empty bag and shoving it into the trash bin with more force than necessary. “Why?”
He didn’t answer immediately. You could sense him there, solid and quiet, filling the small kitchen until the air felt too thick to breathe easy. Then his words came, slow and deliberate, brushing the back of your neck like a dare.
“Oh. Guess I’ll take you up on that little offer from yesterday, then.” A loaded pause. “Wanna shower together?”
The suggestion dropped heavy between you, raw and unfiltered, making your pulse spike hard. Your mind flashed to steam, his hands, the way those gray sweatpants had looked — now standing right here in your kitchen like he hadn’t just thrown gasoline on the low burn you’d been carrying since last night. Real, messy want twisted low in your gut, mixed with that familiar shy panic that made you wonder how the hell you were supposed to play this cool when every nerve felt exposed.
You sucked in a sharp breath, fingers locking tight around the counter edge like it could keep you grounded. Oh fuck.
The suggestion sat thick in the small kitchen, innocent words carrying way too much weight. Your brain immediately supplied the dirty details — hot water beating down, steam fogging the glass, bare skin sliding together, his hands mapping every inch while you tried not to lose it completely. Heat flooded your face and neck in a brutal wave, pulse hammering so loud you swore he could hear it. The space between you suddenly felt tiny, charged, like one wrong move would snap whatever thin line you’d both been balancing on since those texts.
“I mean…” The words stuck, dry in your throat. Showering together meant everything on display. No hiding, no quick exits, just raw proximity and the very real chance of his body pressed against yours under the spray. Your stomach clenched hard, nerves and a filthy spike of curiosity twisting together in a way that left you unsteady on your feet.
Jungkook stayed silent behind you, giving you room, but the heavy focus of his stare burned into your back anyway.
You forced a swallow. “It’s on you, princess,” he murmured, low and rough but edged with that careful restraint. “Tell me no and it dies right here. No pressure, ever.”
That steady check-in, the way he always left the door open for you to bolt, hit somewhere deep and messy. It loosened the knot of anxiety just enough for a slow, liquid heat to pool lower in your belly, spreading warm and insistent. You hated how much that quiet control turned you on — the kind of man who could ruin you but chose to wait until you said yes.
You turned around then, throat tight as your eyes met his. He leaned casual against the doorway, arms folded over that broad chest, looking every bit the calm storm he was. Six-foot-one of quiet intensity towering over your smaller frame, shoulders taking up space like they owned it, dark gaze locked on you — patient on top, but with something darker flickering underneath.
“No, wait… I mean…” You bit the inside of your cheek hard, hesitation warring with the restless ache that had been building since last night. “Why the hell not.”
A slow, dangerous smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, not dicky, just hungry and a little stunned. He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted, but close enough that his presence wrapped around you like a dare.
“You sure about that?” His voice dipped lower, eyes searching your face for any crack, any sign you’d regret it.
You nodded, heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted out. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
That grin spread full and wicked across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made your breath catch. He reached out, palm up, open and waiting, fingers steady like he had all the time in the world to drag this out and make you feel every second of it. You glanced between his hand and those dark eyes, the air crackling with the kind of tension that promised the careful version of him was finally starting to fray at the edges.
You slipped your fingers into his slowly, feeling the rough warmth of his much larger hand swallow yours. The gentle pressure he returned grounded you for half a second before it sent another ripple of nervous heat straight down your spine.
He tugged you forward without rushing, guiding you out of the kitchen and down the short hall toward your bedroom. The walk stretched in your head — every step echoing louder than it should, the quiet apartment suddenly too small, too aware of the man moving behind you with that steady, unhurried confidence. When you reached the bathroom doorway he released your hand, his thumb dragging one last slow pass across your knuckles like a promise he hadn’t voiced yet. He stepped ahead, twisting the faucet on full blast. Water roared into the tub, loud enough to fill the thick silence while steam started curling up in lazy spirals.
You hovered near the entrance, twisting your fingers together, eyes locked on the tiles like they could save you. Your cheeks burned hotter than the rising water. This was actually happening.
You were about to climb into that tub with him — no clothes, no barriers, just skin and whatever the hell had been simmering between you since those filthy photos last night. Your mind kept flashing to the thick outline in his trousers, the way his voice had dropped when he suggested this, and it made your stomach tighten with a messy blend of dread and raw, embarrassing want.
Jungkook rummaged through the cabinet like he belonged there, pulling out your lavender body wash and squeezing a heavy stream under the running water. Bubbles foamed up fast, fragrant and thick, the scent wrapping around the small room while the steam thickened. He knew exactly where everything was. Of course he did.
He glanced back at you, catching the way you refused to meet his eyes, still fidgeting like a cornered animal. Straightening up, he turned fully, that effortless control in every line of his body as one brow arched and a slow, predatory smirk pulled at his mouth.
“Already turning red for me?” he murmured, the low sound cutting through the rush of water like it was meant to crawl under your skin.
“Shut up,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, embarrassment making your throat tight.
“Yeah? Make me.” His tone stayed deceptively light, but the rougher gravel underneath it sent a fresh pulse straight between your legs. He tilted his head, eyes dragging over you slow and deliberate, darkening with clear interest. “Now strip. Let me see what’s mine.”
Your head snapped up, eyes wide, the command hitting you like a live wire. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The calm certainty in his voice — like he’d pictured peeling every layer off you a hundred times and was finally done waiting — made your nipples tighten against your bra and your pulse hammer in your ears. You stood frozen for a beat, the reality of his words sinking in deep, filthy, and way too tempting. The air between you crackled, heavy with the kind of tension that promised he wouldn’t stay patient much longer once those clothes hit the floor.
He raised a brow at your hesitation, the smirk softening just enough to look almost kind, but the sharp edge underneath stayed dangerous as hell. “What, you planning to climb in fully dressed? Gonna soak that sweater for me?”
The teasing drawl cut through the thick steam and snapped something loose in your chest. You let out a shaky exhale, nerves buzzing under your skin like live wires as your fingers finally caught the bottom of your sweater. The material dragged heavier than it had any right to, catching on your elbows while you peeled it up inch by inch. Cool air hit your stomach first, then higher, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the man watching you like he was memorizing every new sliver of skin.
Jungkook didn’t step closer. He stayed leaned against the tub, arms loosely crossed, eyes locked on you with that unblinking, predatory patience that made your knees feel unreliable. The water kept rushing behind him, bubbles rising thick and fragrant, but the only thing you could focus on was how his gaze felt physical — dragging slow over your ribs, the dip of your waist, like he was already picturing exactly how he’d touch every spot once the rest came off.
You yanked the sweater the rest of the way over your head, hair falling wild around your face as the fabric dropped from your fingers onto the hamper. Plain white bra underneath, nothing special, just the everyday kind that suddenly felt obscene under his stare. Your nipples tightened instantly against the thin cotton, traitorous and obvious, and you fought the urge to cover yourself even though part of you — the filthy, curious part that had been wet since his texts — liked how exposed it made you feel.
You kept your eyes down, cheeks on fire, pulse hammering in your throat. His attention sat heavy on your skin, warm and unrelenting, tracing the soft curve of your belly and the way your breathing had gone shallow. It was mortifying and addictive at the same time, this slow unraveling while he just stood there drinking it in like he had every right.
Your hands moved lower on autopilot, shaky as they found the waistband of your pants. Thumbs hooked inside, you pushed them down your hips, the fabric clinging stubbornly before sliding over the swell of your ass and down your thighs. Simple white panties came into view, basic cotton that rode up slightly from the motion and left you feeling more bare than if you’d been wearing nothing. Cool air licked up your legs, making you hyper-aware of the damp spot already forming between them, the way your pussy throbbed once at the thought of him seeing it.
You stepped out of the pooled pants, kicking them aside with your toes, heart slamming so hard it drowned out the running water. Standing there in nothing but your underwear, skin prickling, you felt the full weight of the moment — shy as fuck, turned on in a way that made your thighs want to press together, and weirdly alive because of how calmly he was owning the space without even touching you yet. The air crackled between you, thick with the promise that once those last scraps came off, the careful version of him you’d known might not make it through the night.
You could feel the air thicken between you, heavy and electric, like the moment right before a storm finally breaks. He didn’t push or crowd you, never did, but that quiet intensity radiating off him made every inch of your exposed skin prickle with anticipation and a sharp edge of fear that only made the heat between your legs worse.
You forced yourself to lift your eyes and meet his stare, heart slamming against your ribs so hard you were convinced the sound bounced off the tiles. Steam drifted lazily around you both, softening the harsh bathroom light into something almost intimate, but it did zero to dull the raw hunger building in his dark gaze. Your mouth went dry as you stood there half-naked, pulse racing, caught between wanting to hide and the filthy thrill of him looking at you like this.
He held your eyes for a long, loaded beat, unblinking, before letting his stare drag downward with agonizing slowness. It felt like fingers ghosting over you — tracing the line of your throat, lingering on the way your breasts strained against the plain white bra, following the soft dip of your waist and the curve of your hips, then lower, right to the thin fabric of your panties that suddenly felt transparent. Every place his eyes touched left you burning, nipples pebbled tight, a fresh rush of wetness soaking the cotton between your thighs. You were mortified at how quickly your body responded, but the ache was undeniable, real, and growing louder than the shy voice screaming at you to cover up.
When his gaze climbed back to your face, it had turned darker, pupils blown, that careful mask he usually wore cracking just enough to show the edge of something feral underneath.
“Underwear staying on for now?” he asked, voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that scraped right down your spine and settled hot between your legs.
You nodded fast, one hand coming up to scratch nervously at the back of your neck, face flaming hotter. “Yeah… I think that’s fine. For now. Yeah?” The words came out shaky and uncertain, half question, half desperate attempt to keep some control while your mind spun with flashes of what might happen once the water hit your skin and those last barriers got in the way.
He watched you for another stretched second, something unreadable flickering across his features, before slowly shaking his head — not refusing you, but like he was committing the sight of your flushed, vulnerable body to memory. “Whatever you need, princess,” he murmured, the words soft but weighed down with dark promise, the kind that made you wonder how long that patience would actually last once you were both wet and slippery.
He straightened to his full height, shoulders rolling in a way that pulled your eyes straight to the hard lines of muscle shifting under his skin. His hands dropped to the hem of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric before he dragged it off in one smooth, unhurried motion. The move revealed miles of toned torso, those familiar tattoos snaking down one arm and across his chest, abs flexing as he tossed the shirt aside. He stood there bare from the waist up, steam curling around his frame, looking every bit like the kind of man who could ruin you slowly and make you thank him for it. Your breath caught hard, eyes tracing every cut line and inked detail while fresh nerves and raw want twisted tight in your gut.
gaze locked on you the whole time, that faint smirk playing on his lips like he knew exactly what kind of mess he was making between your thighs.
The steam kept rising thick around you both, carrying that heavy lavender scent, but it couldn’t mask the raw tension crackling in the small space. Your lips parted without permission, eyes tracing helplessly over every ridge and shadow carved into his torso. He looked like the kind of trouble that started innocent and ended with you sore in the best ways — patient on the surface, but built like he could pin you against the tiles and make you forget your own name. You drank it in longer than you should’ve, stomach tightening with that embarrassing rush of want, pussy already clenching at the thought of running your hands over all that warm muscle while water poured down on you both. Real life didn’t usually hit this hard, but standing here half-naked while he watched you stare made everything feel stupidly intense and way too real.
He caught you staring, one brow lifting slow as that signature smirk deepened, voice dropping into a lazy tease. “Go ahead and take a picture, princess. Might help you later when you’re alone and thinking about me.”
The words yanked you back hard. You dropped your gaze fast, face burning like you’d been caught stealing, a nervous little laugh escaping before you could choke it down. Fuck, he was lethal with that shit — one dicky line and your brain short-circuited while your body throbbed in response. He was going to kill you slowly, dragging this out until you were the one begging for more.
He let out a low, rough chuckle at your reaction, the sound vibrating through the steamy air and settling low in your core like a promise. Before you could pull yourself together, his hands drifted to the waistband of his pants, fingers hooking casual and confident inside the fabric. He pushed them down with that same unhurried control, the material sliding over his hips, revealing the sharp V-lines dipping lower and the way his dick strained heavy against the dark boxer briefs underneath. The move was so deliberate it felt like foreplay, leaving you standing there flushed and fidgeting, heart racing as more of him was revealed and the air between you turned thick enough to choke on. Your mind spun with filthy flashes — what he’d feel like pressed against you under the water, how little those last scraps of fabric would actually hide once things got slippery and close.
Your breath snagged hard in your throat. A fresh wave of heat crashed through you, rushing straight down to pool slick and needy between your legs as your eyes locked onto that blatant bulge for a second too long. You snapped your gaze back up to his face, eyes wide, heart jackhammering like you’d been caught doing something filthy. The sight left your mouth dry and your panties even damper, the kind of raw physical reaction that made you feel exposed and stupidly turned on all at once.
Jungkook didn’t bother hiding or adjusting himself. He just stood there, tall and completely at ease, letting you look your fill while steam curled around his frame and caught on the sharp dips of his hips. The confidence in his stance made your stomach flip — like he knew exactly how affected you were and was enjoying every second of it.
“Come here,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet, the command pulling at something deep in your gut that made your thighs want to press together.
You swallowed thickly, throat clicking, before your feet started moving on their own. Bare soles padded across the cool tiles, each step shaky with anticipation as the humid air wrapped around your mostly naked body. The short distance felt endless, your pulse roaring in your ears while nerves and that insistent throb between your legs fought for dominance.
He stepped into the tub first, water sloshing around his calves as he killed the faucet with a quick twist. Then he sank down slow against the back edge, toned body disappearing inch by inch beneath the bubbly surface until the water lapped at his chest. Droplets clung to his inked skin, tracing shiny paths over muscle and tattoo lines that looked even more sinful wet. His dark eyes lifted to yours, warm on the surface but burning with barely-leashed hunger underneath, and he patted his lap in silent invitation — simple, but heavy with everything it implied. You're glad the bubbles ain't hick enough to wipe out all the underwater vision.
You paused for a split second, stomach twisting with that messy dicktail of anxiety and filthy curiosity. Steam rose thick around you, carrying lavender that did jack shit to settle your racing heart. Then you stepped in. Warm water engulfed your legs instantly, soothing and shocking at the same time as you carefully lowered yourself onto his lap, back to his chest.
The second your bodies connected everything sharpened. His solid chest pressed hot and firm against your back, skin already slick, powerful thighs bracketing yours under the water like he was caging you in without trying. You felt the unmistakable press of his hard dick nestled right against your ass through the thin, wet layers still between you — thick, heavy, throbbing with clear interest that made your breath stutter and your pussy clench hard around nothing. Your ekt it legit twitch slightly against your skin.
The moment you let your shoulders drop even a fraction, trying to breathe through the overwhelming closeness, Jungkook’s arms slid around your waist from behind. Strong, unhurried, and possessive, they locked you tighter against him, large palms spreading wide over your stomach beneath the bubbly water like he was claiming every inch he could reach. The contact sent sparks racing across your skin, his breath warm against the side of your neck as the water settled around your joined bodies, turning the air even thicker with tension and the very real promise that this shower was about to get a lot less innocent. contact sent a fresh ripple through you — not just from the heat of his skin against yours, but from the way his hold felt like both safety and sin wrapped in one.
He pulled you in tighter until your back slotted completely against his chest, then dipped his head into the crook where your shoulder met your neck. His nose dragged first along your damp skin, followed by the hot press of his mouth. He drew in a long, greedy breath like he was trying to pull every trace of you into his lungs — the faint lavender mixed with your natural scent — and you felt the shaky exhale ghost over your neck, his fingers flexing on your waist like he was barely holding back from digging in harder.
“Fuck… you smell so fucking good,” he rasped against your skin, voice low and wrecked, the words vibrating straight through your body and landing heavy between your legs. He stayed buried there, lips teasing the sensitive spot just under your ear, breathing you in deep and slow like a man who’d been running on fumes and finally got a hit of what he really needed.
The water rippled softly around you with every tiny movement, bubbles sticking to your skin where his arms locked you in place. His heartbeat thumped steady and strong against your back, just a little faster than normal, matching the chaotic rhythm slamming in your own chest.
One of his hands started moving, sliding up from your waist with torturously light fingertips gliding over your slick, wet ribs. The touch left goosebumps exploding across your skin despite the heat of the bath, stopping just under the curve of your bra, palm hovering so close you could feel the warmth radiating from it. Your breathing turned ragged, chest rising and falling quicker under the gentle sway of the water, nipples straining tight against the soaked fabric as your mind spiraled — wondering how long that hand would stay polite before it stopped asking permission.
Steam curled thick around you both, turning the bathroom into a hazy little world where nothing else existed. The lavender mixed with the raw scent of skin and building arousal, making everything feel heavier, more intimate, and way too real.
“Can I touch you, princess?” he whispered right against your neck, lips brushing with every syllable, voice so deep and gravelly it dragged another shiver straight down your spine and made your pussy throb. The question sounded soft, almost careful, but the dark hunger bleeding through it had your core clenching hard, thighs wanting to squeeze together under the water. Part of you was still screaming to slow down, to keep some control, while the rest — the louder, hornier part that had been soaked since his texts — wanted him to stop talking and just do it already.
“Yes…” the word slipped out breathy and fast, almost desperate, like it had been clawing at the back of your throat for too long. Because it had. You needed his hands on you, needed that solid weight to cut through the dizzy spin in your head and the slick heat building low in your core that the water couldn’t wash away.
The second permission left your mouth, his palm slid higher, cupping the soft weight of your breast through the soaked bra. His thumb dragged slow and deliberate over your stiff nipple, circling with just enough pressure to pull a shaky, broken whimper from your lips. Electricity shot straight down your spine and settled heavy between your thighs, making your pussy clench hard around nothing while the warm water amplified every single touch until it felt overwhelming. Your back arched without thinking, pushing into his hand like your body had already made its choice.
“Can I take this off?” he rasped against the curve of your neck, lips dragging over your skin with every syllable. His voice had gone even rougher, velvet over gravel, still trying to sound careful but failing at hiding the raw edge underneath. “I’ll keep it innocent… just washing you. Promise.”
The words should’ve felt safe, but the hunger threaded through them made your stomach twist tight with filthy anticipation. You could feel his chest rising and falling faster against your back, the way his fingers hovered right at the band of your bra like he was one second away from losing that last thread of control.
“Of course,” you whispered, voice small and shaky, barely cutting through the soft splash of water. No real hesitation left — just burning want mixed with the shy panic that still made your face heat up like you’d been caught watching something you shouldn’t.
Jungkook let out a low, relieved exhale against your shoulder, the sound vibrating through you. One hand moved with deliberate patience, fingers finding the clasp at your back and flicking it open effortlessly. He didn’t rip it away. Instead he let the straps slip down your shoulders on their own, his palms following the path in a slow, possessive glide that left your breath stuttering. The wet bra peeled off completely and dropped with a heavy, damp plop somewhere at the side of the tub, leaving your breasts bare to the steamy air and his hungry stare.
Cool air hit your exposed skin for a heartbeat before his warmth chased it away. He reached over the tub edge, pressing closer for a moment so his hard chest dragged against your back, water sloshing around you both as he grabbed the loofah and lavender bodywash. The floral scent bloomed thicker in the humid air when he squeezed a generous amount onto the sponge, setting the bottle aside with a quiet clink.
He settled his chin on your shoulder, arm wrapping back around your waist to haul you firmly against him until there wasn’t a single inch of space left. His heartbeat thrummed steady and strong against your spine, his thick dick still pressed hot and insistent against your ass through the wet fabric, a constant reminder of how badly he was affected. You felt surrounded, caged in the best and most terrifying way, skin prickling everywhere his body touched yours while your mind raced with dirty little questions about how long that “just washing” promise would actually hold once his hands started moving again.
With slow, deliberate strokes, he dragged the soapy loofah across your collarbone, drawing lazy, swirling patterns that left thick trails of fragrant bubbles sliding down your wet skin. The soft, textured drag combined with the heat of the water created this maddeningly intimate friction, like he was mapping every dip and curve on purpose, learning how your body responded to the lightest pressure. Each pass felt heavier than it should, waking up nerve endings you didn’t even know were waiting for him.
“You’re so fucking soft,” he breathed right against your ear, lips grazing the shell as the words sank into your skin. His voice came out husky and low, almost strained, while his free hand stayed anchored at your waist, thumb tracing slow, absent circles just under your ribs like he needed the contact to stay sane.
You kept your mouth shut, too scared any reply would come out as a pathetic whimper or something equally embarrassing. Instead you sank deeper into the water and against his chest, letting the silence and the way your body melted back into him do the talking. The trust felt dangerous this close, but the ache between your legs only grew sharper with every careful touch.
His hand moved lower without hurry, guiding the loofah over the full swell of your breasts. The soapy surface brushed across your sensitive skin in unhurried circles, teasing your already hard nipples with every pass until they throbbed painfully. Tiny sparks of pleasure shot straight down to your core, making your pussy clench and leak more slick into the water. Knowing it was his hand controlling the motion turned the innocent act filthy in your head — you kept picturing those same fingers pinching instead of gliding, gripping instead of teasing.
Jungkook’s breath caught against your shoulder when he felt you react, but he kept every movement measured, circling the loofah around one breast then the other like he was worshipping the weight of them. His other arm stayed locked around your waist, holding you firmly in place while the water lapped gently at your bodies. The steam had grown thicker, turning the bathroom into a hazy trap where the only things that existed were his touch, the heavy scent of lavender, and the unmistakable press of his hard dick against your ass.
He dragged the loofah further down, gliding it across the soft plane of your stomach in lazy loops. Bubbles slid down your skin and disappeared into the water with every stroke, making your belly flutter with nerves and that deepening, restless hunger. The touch stayed gentle on the surface, but you could feel the tension in his arm, the way his fingers flexed like he was fighting the urge to press harder and pull you even closer.
Then he went lower. One of his strong hands nudged your thighs apart just enough under the water, the movement so intimate it made your breath hitch. He took his time sliding the soapy loofah along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, then the outer, reaching as far as he could without forcing anything. The warm, textured glide left your legs tingling, every slow pass sending fresh pulses of heat straight to your aching pussy. You were painfully aware of how close he was to where you needed him most, the thin, soaked panties doing nothing to hide how drenched you already were. The tension in the air felt ready to snap, and part of you — the greedy, curious part — wondered how much longer he’d keep pretending this was still just washing.
You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, each breath a little deeper, a little tighter, like he was fighting to keep his control intact. His chin stayed tucked on your shoulder, lips occasionally grazing your wet skin as he worked, sending tiny jolts straight down your spine. The difference between how carefully his hands moved and the thick, insistent press of his dick against your ass under the water turned the whole thing filthy in the best way — the heavy lavender steam, the constant soft lap of bubbles, the raw feeling of being held open and touched by him while trying to act like this was still innocent.
He didn’t cross any obvious lines with the loofah, but the slow, thorough way he dragged it along your inner thighs left you throbbing, legs trembling under the surface as more slick heat leaked out of you, mixing with the bathwater. The ache between your legs had grown stupidly persistent, almost embarrassing how quickly your body was giving up the fight.
You tipped your head back against his shoulder with a quiet sigh, eyes slipping shut as the heat of the water and the solid weight of him finally started loosening the last tight knots in your muscles. A soft, hazy hum slipped from your throat, half-relaxed, half-dazed from how good it felt to just exist against him like this.
His hands paused mid-motion, the loofah hovering like your little sound had short-circuited something in him. Then he tossed it onto the tub edge with a wet slap, clearly done pretending. Both hands came back to you instead — big, warm, and no longer hiding what he wanted. They slid up from your waist and cupped your bare breasts fully, palms molding to the soft weight like he’d been dying to do exactly this.
He started slow, massaging them with firm, reverent strokes, thumbs sweeping lazy circles over your stiff nipples until your breath hitched. The soap and warm water made every glide slick and smooth, turning the touch into something dangerously addictive. Pleasure sparked hot through your chest and straight down to your core, making your pussy clench hard and your back arch into his hands without permission.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he muttered against the side of your neck, voice rough and low, lips dragging over your damp skin with every word. His touch stayed tender for a moment longer before growing bolder — thumbs flicking and circling your sensitive peaks, fingers kneading the soft flesh with just enough pressure to pull a shaky, needy whimper from your chest. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, tugging lightly, the sensation so sharp and perfect it made your thighs press together under the water and your mind flash to how those same hands would feel lower, rougher, spreading you open.
He pulled his hands away suddenly, the loss of his warm grip leaving your skin tingling and strangely empty. The water rippled hard around you both as he shifted, the movement pressing his thick dick more firmly against your ass like a reminder that his patience was fraying fast.
You could feel the steady thump of his heart against your back, each breath coming a little rougher now, like the careful mask was starting to slip. His chin stayed tucked against your shoulder, lips brushing damp skin every so often as he worked, the contrast between his gentle hands and the thick, insistent dick pressed against your ass turning the whole bath into something dangerously charged.
“Could you turn around for me?” he asked, voice low and gravelly, that quiet hunger bleeding through and making your pulse trip over itself.
You blinked slowly, lashes heavy from the steam and the haze his touch had left in your head. The request took a second to land, your brain still pleasantly foggy. You glanced back over your shoulder, meeting those dark eyes that had gone darker, burning with something raw and patient all at once. After a shaky inhale, you nodded.
You shifted your hips just enough to twist around on his lap, water splashing softly around the movement. It took some awkward adjusting — hands bracing on his broad shoulders for balance, knees settling on either side of his thighs — until you were fully facing him. The new position pressed you chest to chest, your bare breasts dragging against the hard, wet planes of his torso with every breath. His hands settled on your waist under the water, steady and warm, droplets sliding down your skin where they touched.
Straddling him like this, nothing but soaked fabric and warm water between you, felt stupidly intimate. His thick dick nestled right against your core, heavy and throbbing, the thin barrier doing nothing to hide how hard he was. Your faces were inches apart now — close enough to see the faint flush high on his cheeks, the way his eyes dropped to your lips before snapping back up, the tight set of his jaw as he held himself in check.
Jungkook’s thumbs kept tracing slow circles on your waist, trying to play it calm, but his breathing had turned ragged, chest rising and falling quicker against yours. Steam curled thick around you both, the lavender scent mixing with the raw smell of skin and building want, wrapping the moment in a hazy little bubble that felt cut off from the rest of the world.
“Can I kiss you?” he rasped, voice rough and low, the question hitting you out of nowhere in the steamy air. His eyes searched yours with that same careful intensity, always waiting, even while the tension between you felt ready to snap.
Your lips parted, but nothing came out at first — just a soft, surprised exhale while your brain scrambled to catch up. Up close like this, water clinging to his lashes and the sharp line of his jaw, he looked almost too much. That faint playful twitch at the corner of his mouth showed up again, patient on the surface but clearly fighting whatever darker urge was riding him hard underneath. The ache between your legs pulsed stronger, your soaked panties clinging uncomfortably as you sat there wondering how long you’d both last before the careful version of him finally gave in.
“Sure,” you whispered, the word coming out breathy and shy, but raw with honesty.
The second it left your mouth, Jungkook’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb stroking along your jaw as he closed the distance. His lips met yours in a kiss that started deep and unhurried, like he’d been starving for it longer than he’d ever admit. Warm and firm, they moved against yours with a hunger he kept on a tight leash — teasing at first, then coaxing your mouth open so his tongue could slip inside, tasting you slow and thorough. The faint hint of mint mixed with something darker, something purely him, flooded your senses and made your head spin.
You sank into it completely, hands sliding up to grip his wet shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle as the water sloshed around you. He kissed like a man unraveling — patient on the surface, but growing bolder, deeper, more desperate with every second, like all those months of careful touches were finally cracking wide open. One arm tightened around your waist, yanking you flush against him until your bare breasts crushed against his chest, nipples dragging sensitive against his skin.
Your hips rolled on instinct, a small, needy grind that pressed your soaked core right along the thick, rigid length of his dick. The slippery friction through the thin fabric pulled a low, guttural groan from his throat that vibrated straight into your mouth. His fingers flexed hard on your waist, fighting the urge to slam you down harder and chase more of that delicious pressure.
You wrapped your arms fully around his neck, fingers threading into the wet hair at his nape as you tugged him even closer. That sound from him lit something wild in you. You rolled your hips again, slower this time, dragging your aching pussy along his clothed dick with purpose. The soaked material created the filthiest glide, teasing your clit with every shift and making your breath catch against his lips.
You kept kissing him through it all, tongues tangling lazy and heated while your hips found a lazy rhythm. Arms locked around his neck, fingers twisted tight in his damp hair, you moved like your body had taken over — chasing that slick friction, letting the warm water splash lightly between you with every roll. Bubbles clung to your joined skin, the steam making everything feel heavier, more intimate, as the ache between your legs grew sharper and more demanding. Part of you still felt shy as hell, but the rest was too far gone, lost in how good he felt, how badly you wanted him to stop holding back.
Jungkook’s grip on your waist turned bruising, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks as you rolled your hips again, dragging your soaked pussy along the thick, rigid length of his dick with shameless little rocks. The drenched fabric between you did nothing to dull the sensation — every slow grind pressed the fat head right against your swollen clit, the heavy throbbing vein dragging perfectly through your folds until you were panting into his mouth.
“Fuck, princess,” he groaned against your lips, the sound raw and broken, vibrating straight down to where you were grinding on him. “You keep moving like that and I’m gonna lose my fucking mind. Feel how hard you got me? This thing’s been aching for you.”
He kissed you deeper, tongue fucking into your mouth like he was already imagining something else sliding in and out of you, one hand fisting in your wet hair while the other squeezed your hip, encouraging every filthy roll without fully taking control. The steam wrapped around you thicker than before, lavender mixing with the sharp scent of arousal as your nipples scraped against his chest with every movement, sending sparks straight to your core.
You were gone — completely lost in the slick, slippery friction, the way his thick dick nestled right between your folds like it belonged there, the needy sounds he kept feeding you with every rock of your hips. Your fingers twisted tighter in his damp hair, pulling him impossibly closer as you chased that building pressure, panties clinging uselessly to your dripping pussy while the warm water splashed between your bodies.
He ripped his mouth away after a while, breathing ragged and harsh against your swollen lips, eyes so dark they looked black. Water dripped down his sharp jaw as his fingers flexed violently on your hips, tightening, loosening, fighting himself.
“Enough,” he growled, voice wrecked and strained, the word sounding like it physically pained him to force out. “Baby, you gotta stop before I-” he shuts himself up before he said something wrong.
You blinked at him, dazed and throbbing, body still humming with that cruel edge of almost-there pleasure. Before you could roll your hips again or beg for more, he pressed a rough kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your forehead, lingering there like he needed it to stay sane.
“Let’s get out,” he muttered, voice lower, rougher, almost soothing even while his dick continued to throb insistently against your soaked core. “Before I stop being such a gentleman and ruin you like I’ve been dying to.”
He stood up with you still wrapped around him like it was nothing, water pouring off both your bodies in heavy streams as he lifted you effortlessly from the tub. You gasped at the sudden cool air hitting your dripping skin, legs instinctively locking tighter around his waist, ankles crossed behind his back while your arms clung around his neck. His hard dick nestled right between your thighs, pressing hot and heavy against your aching pussy with every step, the soaked fabric doing nothing to hide how badly he wanted to sink into you. The contrast between his careful words and the obvious, throbbing need grinding against you with every movement left your head spinning and your body screaming for him to finally break.
Jungkook’s arms locked tight around your back and under your thighs, holding you up like you weighed nothing at all. Water streamed from his soaked hair onto your shoulder as he turned and stepped out of the tub with steady balance, never letting you slip even an inch. The steam trailed after you both into the cooler bathroom air, lavender and raw heat still clinging to your wet skin like a second layer.
He didn’t put you down right away. Instead he stood there in the middle of the bathroom, holding you close, forehead pressed to yours while droplets fell steadily from both your bodies onto the mat below. His breathing was rough and uneven, chest heaving against yours with every inhale, the thick, heavy length of his dick still throbbing insistently between your thighs, pressed right against your soaked panties like it was trying to find its way inside you.
One of his hands dragged slowly up your spine, fingertips tracing every bump and curve like he was burning the shape of you into memory, while the other stayed locked under your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to remind you how easily he could spread you wider if he wanted.
Your face felt like it was on fire, but you couldn’t look away from his eyes — dark, starving, and still clinging to that thread of control that was clearly fraying. The way his body screamed raw need while his hands stayed almost careful made your stomach twist with filthy want. You could feel how wet you were, how your pussy kept clenching around nothing every time his dick twitched against you, and the shame of it only made you hotter.
He finally moved, carrying you across the bathroom like it was effortless, and set you down on the cool marble counter with surprising gentleness. The icy surface hit your bare ass and thighs like a shock, making you gasp softly as goosebumps exploded across your skin. Your legs stayed parted where he’d left you perched on the edge, water and bubbles still dripping down your inner thighs, mixing with the slick arousal that had nothing to do with the bath anymore. The contrast between the cold counter and the burning heat pulsing between your legs left you squirming.
Jungkook stepped back for a second, reaching for two thick towels from the rack. The loss of his body heat made you feel stupidly exposed — topless, nipples still tight and sensitive from his earlier teasing, skin flushed and marked with faint red patches where he’d gripped you. You loosely crossed your arms over your chest, not fully hiding, but needing something while you watched him move.
He came back fast, unfolding one towel and draping it around your shoulders first. His fingers brushed the tops of your breasts as he pulled the edges together, the light contact sending another bolt of heat straight to your core.
“Better?” he asked, voice still low and rough, that husky edge making it sound like anything but a simple question.
He dragged the second towel roughly through his own wet hair, muscles flexing across his chest and arms with the motion. Tiny droplets flew from the dark strands, sliding down his shoulders, over his tattoos, and down the hard lines of his abs. The sight was ridiculous — messy damp hair, flushed skin, water running down that insane body while his dick still strained hard against his soaked boxers, the outline even more obscene now that the fabric clung completely to him.
You couldn’t stop staring. Your mouth felt dry, thighs pressing together on the counter as fresh heat throbbed between your legs. He looked like he was barely holding himself together, like one wrong move from you would have him ripping those last scraps of fabric off and burying himself inside you right there on the bathroom counter. And the worst part? A big, greedy part of you wanted exactly that.
You bit your lower lip, eyes unconsciously following one slow water droplet as it trailed down the center of his chest, slipping between the hard ridges of his abs before disappearing into the towel slung dangerously low on his hips. The sight made your cheeks burn hotter, a messy swirl of embarrassment and lingering heat twisting low in your belly. After a beat, you gave a small, shy nod, the motion coming a little delayed, like your brain was still catching up to the reality of sitting here half-dressed on the counter in front of him.
You placed the dumplings neatly beside the fried rice on both plates, fingers moving on autopilot while the rich, savory smells wrapped around the kitchen. The mindless little task gave your brain something safe to focus on after the whirlwind in the bathroom — the scorching water, the way his hands had mapped every inch of your skin, how quickly your body had melted and reacted under his touch like it had been waiting for exactly that.
After drying off, he’d quietly passed you a fresh change of clothes and stepped out to give you space. He’d changed in the bedroom, pulling on one of the oversized shirts and soft sweatpants you kept here for him now. You always made sure a few of his things were around for those nights he showed up drained from endless work, too wiped to drive home, choosing instead to crash with you tucked against him.
Your hands froze mid-motion as two strong arms suddenly slid around your waist from behind, yanking you back against a solid, burning chest. The heat of him poured through the thin fabric of your shirt instantly, overwhelming and steady all at once, making your breath catch in your throat.
He pressed his face into the curve of your neck, nose dragging along the still-sensitive skin before his teeth sank in with a firm, possessive bite. The sharp sting shot straight through you, pulling a quiet gasp from your lips as warmth flooded your chest and lower, that restless ache from the bath flaring back to life without warning.
Jungkook held the bite for a long second, lips brushing over the fresh mark as he stayed buried against you, arms locked tight like he couldn’t quite let go yet. The solid warmth of his body against your back, the faint dampness still clinging to his hair, and the quiet intensity rolling off him made the kitchen feel smaller, the air heavier. Your pulse hammered loud in your ears, a confusing rush of leftover shyness mixing with the undeniable pull low in your belly. Part of you wanted to pull away and play it cool, but the bigger part — the one still buzzing from every touch earlier — leaned back into him without thinking, caught between wanting more and not knowing how to ask for it.
He snuggled his face deeper into the curve of your neck, nose dragging along the sensitive skin before his teeth sank in hard — a possessive, claiming bite that made your breath catch sharply in your throat. The sting bloomed fast into something hotter, spreading through your veins like liquid fire as his hands roamed your sides with clear hunger. They slipped under the hem of your oversized shirt, fingers tracing the bare skin of your waist and pressing in just enough to leave faint imprints, like he was marking you in every way he could.
“Jungkook—?” you gasped softly, the name slipping out breathy and surprised, your voice catching as the heat from his bite mixed with the fresh wave of sensation rushing through you.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he sucked the bitten spot into his mouth, tongue soothing the mark while his hips rolled forward, letting you feel exactly how hard he still was, pressed firm and insistent against your ass. The low groan that rumbled against your neck sent shivers racing down your spine. Your hands flew to the edge of the counter, gripping tight as your knees suddenly felt unreliable, the solid heat of him behind you making your head spin.
“You know I respect everything about you, right?” he whispered against your neck, lips brushing over the fresh mark he’d left. One hand slowly slid higher up your side, palm cupping the soft weight of your breast through the thin shirt, thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles over your nipple until your breath stuttered.
“Y-yeah… Why?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper, shaky as heat flooded every inch of your body from his touch.
“Good.” His voice dropped even lower, rough with barely-held restraint and something much darker underneath. “Keep that in mind when I do this.”
Before you could fully process the warning, he turned you around with strong hands gripping your waist, spinning you to face him in one smooth motion. Your back met the edge of the kitchen counter with a soft thud, the cool surface pressing into your lower back. In the next heartbeat, his mouth crashed down on yours — hungry, deep, and no longer holding back any of that carefully leashed intensity.
The kiss was overwhelming from the start. His lips moved against yours with raw need, tongue sliding in to taste you like he’d been replaying this moment since the bath. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted while the other gripped your hip, pulling you flush against him so you could feel every hard inch of him pressed between your bodies. The kitchen counter dug into your back, but you barely noticed, too lost in the way he kissed you — like he was done being patient, like the thin thread of control he’d been clinging to was finally starting to snap. Your fingers clutched at his shirt, heart racing as the real weight of what was building between you settled heavy and undeniable in the charged air.
The kiss was nothing like the careful, sweet ones he usually gave you. This one hit like a dam finally breaking — all heat and raw need, his tongue sliding into your mouth the second your lips parted on a surprised gasp. He tasted like pent-up hunger and the last threads of his control snapping, one hand fisting tight in your hair to tilt your head exactly how he wanted while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, yanking you flush against him. You could feel every thick, heavy inch of his dick pressed between your bodies, throbbing and insistent through the thin layers, grinding subtly against your stomach like he couldn’t help himself anymore.
A low, guttural groan tore from deep in his chest, vibrating straight into your mouth when you arched into him without thinking, your hands fisting the front of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright. He kissed you harder, deeper, tongue stroking against yours in filthy, demanding strokes, like he was finally pouring every ounce of patience he’d forced himself to keep into this one moment. The counter dug painfully into your lower back, pinning you between the cool edge and the scorching heat of his body, but you barely registered it. You melted into the roughness, letting him take what he wanted as the kiss turned sloppy and desperate, spit-slick and breathless, your soft whimpers mixing with his quiet growls.
When he finally pulled back just enough for you to gulp down air, his forehead dropped against yours, breaths coming hot and ragged between you. His eyes were almost black now, pupils blown wide with something feral and dark, but the way his thumb stroked gently across your flushed cheek kept that thin thread of care from completely disappearing.
“Been thinking about this for so long,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low, lips brushing yours with every word. “Kissing you like I actually mean it. Feeling you lose it against me.” His hips rolled forward once, slow and deliberate, letting you feel the full weight of his hardness grinding against your core through your clothes. “Tell me if it’s too much… but fuck, princess, I need more of you tonight.”
The words hung heavy in the charged air, his body still caging you against the counter, one hand still tangled in your hair while the other slipped lower, fingers teasing under the hem of your shirt again. Your heart hammered wildly, the real, messy want in his voice making your stomach twist and your thighs press together. Part of you was still shy, still processing how fast this was escalating, but the bigger part — the one throbbing and wet from the bath and his bite — wanted him to stop holding back and show you exactly how much he’d been restraining himself all this time.
Now this was a split-second decision.
“Don’t… don’t stop.” The words barely made it out of your mouth, shaky and breathless, but they were all it took.
The moment they left your lips, something in Jungkook snapped.
His eyes darkened instantly, that last fragile thread of restraint visibly fraying as a low, almost pained sound rumbled from deep in his chest. His hand tightened in your hair, not enough to hurt but enough to tilt your head back further, and then his mouth was on yours again — harder this time, hungrier, like your permission had finally unlocked the version of him he’d been keeping locked away for months.
He kissed you like he was starving, tongue sliding against yours with filthy intent, deep and demanding. The hand on your hip slid lower, gripping your ass and pulling you even tighter against the hard line of his body so you could feel exactly how much your words had affected him. A shiver ran through you at the sheer intensity, your fingers clutching desperately at his shirt as heat flooded every inch of your skin.
He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down your jaw, teeth scraping lightly before he sucked another mark into the sensitive skin just below your ear. “You sure?” he rasped against your neck, voice wrecked and rough, breath hot. “Because once I start, I don’t know if I can be gentle tonight.”
Your heart hammered wildly in your chest. The shy part of you was screaming that this was moving too fast, that you should slow down. But the rest of you didn’t want slow. You wanted him. All of him.
“I’m sure,” you whispered, voice trembling but certain, your hands sliding up to wrap around his neck. “Just… don’t stop.”
A dark, satisfied sound left him. In one smooth motion, he lifted you onto the counter properly, stepping between your parted thighs and pulling you right to the edge so your bodies aligned perfectly. His mouth found yours again, deeper this time, while his hands roamed under your shirt with growing confidence, palms gliding over your bare skin like he was finally allowed to touch what he’d been holding back from for so long.
The kitchen felt smaller, hotter, the food on the plates completely forgotten as the tension that had been building between you for months finally started to boil over. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, ankles locking behind his back, pulling him closer until there was nothing left between you but thin fabric and pounding heartbeats.
And for the first time, Jungkook didn’t hold back.
You kissed him back without hesitation, arms winding tight around his neck as if letting go might make the whole moment disappear. Your fingers dug into the damp strands at his nape, pulling him impossibly closer while your mouth moved against his with a hunger that surprised even you. It felt reckless and right all at once, like your body had been waiting for permission to stop overthinking and just take what it wanted.
He groaned into the kiss, the sound low and raw, vibrating through his chest and straight into yours. The noise sent a fresh pulse of heat straight between your legs, making your thighs clench around his hips where you still sat perched on the counter. It was the kind of sound that made your brain short-circuit — proof that the calm, patient man who’d been holding back for so long was finally starting to unravel because of you.
He broke the kiss with a reluctant growl, only to drag his mouth lower, lips and teeth tracing a hot, messy path under your ear and down the sensitive curve of your neck. When he reached the spot where your neck met your shoulder, he bit down again, harder this time, sucking the skin into his mouth like he wanted to leave a mark that would still be there tomorrow. The sharp sting mixed with the wet heat of his tongue made your head fall back, lips parting on a soft, broken gasp as your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging without meaning to.
Your eyes fluttered shut, breath coming in shallow little pants while your mind spun with a chaotic mix of nerves and pure, dizzying want. Part of you still couldn’t believe this was actually happening — that the same guy who used to give you forehead kisses was now marking up your neck like he owned it. But the ache between your thighs and the way your body kept arching into every touch told a very different story. You wanted this. You wanted him to stop being so careful and show you the side he’d been hiding.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, a filthy smirk curling against your flushed skin when he saw the dazed expression on your face. The sight of him like that — lips wet, hair messy from your fingers, that dicky little tilt to his mouth — made something feral twist low in your belly.
Without warning, he grabbed the hem of your shirt and yanked it upward, pulling the fabric over your head in one swift motion. Cool air hit your bare skin instantly, making your nipples tighten almost painfully as he tossed the shirt somewhere behind him. His gaze dropped to your chest, hungry and unashamed.
His hand slipped behind your back with practiced ease, fingers finding the clasp of your bra and flicking it open in one smooth motion while his mouth stayed busy along your collarbone. He sucked and nipped at the sensitive bone, tongue tracing lazy, wet patterns that made your skin prickle and burn under the attention. The dual sensations — cool air hitting your back as the fabric loosened and the hot drag of his lips — had your breath coming shorter, your fingers curling tighter into his shoulders like you needed something to hold onto before you floated away.
The second the hooks gave way, he tugged the bra down your arms and tossed it aside without looking, leaving your upper body completely exposed to his gaze and the cool kitchen air. Your nipples tightened instantly under the shift in temperature, sensitive and aching, and the way his eyes dropped to them made your stomach clench with a sharp, nervous thrill. There was no hiding now. No thin layer left to pretend this was still innocent. Just bare skin, flushed and waiting, while he drank in the sight like he’d been starving for it.
He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his dark eyes flicking slowly from your face down to your breasts and back up again. The blatant hunger in his stare made your cheeks burn even hotter, a fresh wave of heat crawling down your neck and across your chest. You felt exposed in the best and most terrifying way, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. He didn’t say anything for a long second, just looked, letting the tension thicken until you were squirming on the counter.
Then he leaned back in, mouth descending slowly, kissing a hot trail from your collarbone down into the valley of your cleavage. His lips were soft but insistent, tongue flicking out every few inches like he was tasting every inch of you he could reach.
“I wish I could make our first time special and take my time with you,” he whispered hotly against your skin, voice thick and strained like the words were being dragged out of him. “But fuck… I’m not a patient man, princess.”
The confession hit you like a spark on dry tinder. Before you could even process it, he lifted you off the counter with ease, setting your feet on the floor only to spin you around in one fluid motion. Your palms slapped down on the cool surface for balance as he pressed a firm hand between your shoulder blades, bending you forward until your chest hovered just above the counter. The position left you exposed, ass pushed out toward him, heart slamming against your ribs as the cool marble kissed your skin and sent a shiver racing down your spine.
You glanced back over your shoulder, breath caught in your throat. The sight of him standing behind you — eyes dark and locked on you, jaw tight, chest rising and falling fast — made something deep in your core clench hard. There was no hiding the hunger on his face now, no more careful restraint. Just raw, barely-leashed want staring back at you, making your thighs press together instinctively even as fresh heat pooled between them.
He kept one hand pressed to your upper back, holding you exactly where he wanted while the other slid down your side, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. His touch was no longer gentle. It was possessive, impatient, like the last of his control had finally burned away the second you told him not to stop. You could feel the thick outline of his dick pressing against your ass through his sweatpants, heavy and insistent, twitching every time you shifted.
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and intense, searching your face for even the smallest flicker of hesitation or a silent plea to stop. The look was raw, almost vulnerable for half a second, like he was still giving you one last out even while his body screamed for more. When he found nothing but flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the same needy haze staring back at him, something shifted in his expression — the last bit of careful restraint cracking wide open.
A low, satisfied sound rumbled in his throat as his hands moved with purpose. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and dragged them down in one slow, deliberate pull, taking your soaked underwear along with them. The fabric peeled away from your skin with a wet cling, sliding over the curve of your ass and down your thighs until it pooled at your ankles. Cool air kissed your newly exposed pussy, making you acutely aware of just how drenched you were, how your folds glistened from everything that had built up since the bath.
He stayed still behind you for a moment, eyes locked on the sight like he couldn’t look away. His breathing grew heavier, one hand sliding up the back of your thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to where you ached the most. The position left you completely vulnerable — bent over the counter, ass out, pussy on full display — and the realization sent a fresh wave of embarrassed heat through your body mixed with a sharp, filthy thrill that made your core throb visibly.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice thick and wrecked. “You’re dripping for me already.”
His fingers traced higher, teasing along your inner thigh without quite touching where you needed him, drawing out the moment until you were shifting restlessly on your feet. The contrast between the cool kitchen air on your bare skin and the heat radiating from his body behind you made every nerve ending feel alive and oversensitive. You gripped the counter tighter, heart pounding, torn between the shy urge to close your legs and the overwhelming want to push back against him and beg for his hands, his mouth, anything.
He fully straightened up slowly, pressing his front against your back again, the hard length of his dick nestling between your ass cheeks through his sweatpants. One arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady while his other hand finally slid between your thighs, fingers gliding through your slick folds with a groan that vibrated against your shoulder.
The touch was electric, confident, and unapologetic, like he’d been imagining exactly how you’d feel under his fingers for far too long. Your knees nearly buckled at the first stroke, a soft, needy sound escaping your lips as he explored you slowly, deliberately, learning every wet inch like he had all the time in the world and none at all.
“Please…” The broken whimper slipped out of you before you could stop it, raw and needy, hanging in the charged kitchen air like a confession you couldn’t take back.
Jungkook let out a low, amused chuckle that vibrated against your back, his fingers freezing right against your soaked folds, pressing just enough to keep you throbbing but not nearly enough to give you what you actually wanted. “Please what, princess?” he teased, voice dripping with wicked satisfaction. “Please stop? Is that what you’re begging for?”
You groaned in pure frustration, the sound muffled against your arm as you dropped your head lower, eyes squeezing shut tight. Your hips jerked backward on instinct, trying to chase his fingers, desperate for any kind of friction, but he quickly clamped his free hand down on your hip, holding you firmly in place so you couldn’t move even an inch. The restraint only made the ache between your legs sharper, your pussy clenching around nothing while slick continued to coat his still fingers.
“Please…” you repeated, the word coming out smaller this time, almost pathetic, embarrassment burning through you even as the need won out.
He stayed stubbornly quiet for a moment, as he watched you struggle. His fingers twitched teasingly against your dripping entrance, giving you the barest hint of pressure before pulling back again, like he was enjoying every second of your desperation.
“Repeating the same shit won’t get you anywhere, princess,” he murmured, voice low and rough, laced with dark amusement. “I’m not a mind reader. Spell it out for me if you want something. Tell me exactly what that pretty little pussy needs right now.”
His words sent another rush of heat through you, equal parts mortifying and insanely hot. You could feel him staring at the back of your head, waiting, his fingers still resting maddeningly against your slick heat, occasionally giving you the smallest twitch like a cruel promise of what he could do if you just said the words. This stubborn bastard clearly wasn’t going to move until you gave him exactly what he wanted.
Your mind spun, shy instincts fighting against the overwhelming throb between your thighs. Part of you wanted to stay quiet out of pure embarrassment, but the bigger, greedier part knew you were too far gone to stop now.
“Please… I need you,” you whispered, the words barely audible, shaky and desperate as they tumbled out into the thick kitchen air.
Jungkook hummed low against your shoulder, the sound vibrating through your skin like a tease all on its own. “Need me?” His voice was dripping with wicked amusement, rough around the edges. “You already have me right here, princess. Gotta be more specific than that if you want me to do something about it.”
His hand on your hip slowly drifted back, palm smoothing over the curve of your right ass cheek before he gave it a firm, playful smack. The sharp sting made you gasp, a jolt shooting straight to your core as heat bloomed across your skin. He didn’t pull away, instead massaging the spot right after with slow, possessive circles, soothing the burn while making sure you felt every second of it.
You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, face burning with embarrassment that only made the ache between your legs worse. Your voice came out small and broken, barely above a whisper. “I… I need you. Your fingers… your dick… or anything. Please.”
The confession hung heavy between you, your teeth sinking into your lower lip so hard you nearly drew blood. Shame and arousal twisted together in your stomach, making your thighs tremble as you waited, completely exposed and bent over the counter for him.
Jungkook let out a low, satisfied groan, the grin evident in his voice even if you couldn’t see it. “Good girl,” he praised, the words rough and filthy, sending a fresh rush of slick down your thighs. “Finally using that pretty mouth to tell me what you want. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
His fingers slid back between your legs without warning, gliding through your soaked folds with confident strokes, teasing your entrance before circling your swollen clit. The sudden touch after all the teasing pulled a broken moan from your throat, your hips jerking forward instinctively only for him to hold you still with his other hand.
His two thick fingers pressed inside you slowly, stretching you open. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me already. This tight little pussy is practically sucking me in.” he murmured, voice thick with hunger.
He curled his fingers just right, stroking that sensitive spot inside you while his thumb kept teasing your clit in lazy circles. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers moving filled the kitchen, mixing with your shaky breaths and soft whimpers. Every thrust of his hand pushed you closer to the edge, the pleasure building fast and overwhelming while he kept you pinned exactly where he wanted you.
Your knees started to buckle hard under you, the overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing faster than you could handle because you were already so ridiculously worked up. Every nerve ending felt lit on fire, your moans spilling out completely uncontrollable now — soft, broken little sounds that echoed off the kitchen walls and made you feel mortified and turned on at the same time. Your body was betraying you completely, pussy clenching greedily around his fingers as that tight coil in your stomach wound impossibly tighter, threatening to snap any second.
You genuinely believed you were going to come in another five desperate seconds, right there bent over the counter like some desperate mess, when he suddenly pulled his fingers out without warning, leaving you painfully empty and throbbing.
A frustrated whimper ripped from your throat, raw and needy, your hips jerking back on pure instinct, chasing the touch he’d just stolen away like your body refused to accept the denial. He was faster though, both of his hands clamping down on your hips in a bruising grip, holding you completely still so you couldn’t grind back against him no matter how badly you needed it. The sudden loss left you aching so intensely it almost hurt, slick dripping down your inner thighs while your walls fluttered around nothing, desperate and frustrated.
“Jungkook,” you whimpered, the name coming out shaky and pathetic, half-plea and half-accusation as embarrassment burned through your chest. You hated how desperate you sounded, how easily he’d reduced you to this.
You could feel his dick twitch hard against your ass, the thick, heavy outline of his erection pressing insistently through his sweatpants, hot and obvious even through the fabric. He was painfully hard, clearly suffering just as much as you were, yet somehow still managing to hold himself back with that infuriating control. The realization made your frustration spike even higher. If he could keep it together for this long after all the tension that had been building, why the hell was he torturing both of you now when you were literally soaked and falling apart for him? Your mind was a chaotic mess of want, embarrassment, and that stubborn little voice wondering how much more of this teasing you could actually take before you lost it completely.
“Yes, princess?” he muttered, voice low and dripping with fake innocence as his hips gave one slow, teasing grind against your ass, letting you feel the thick, heavy weight of his dick pressing right between your cheeks through his sweatpants. The deliberate roll sent a fresh spark of frustration and need shooting through you before he stopped completely, leaving you hanging again.
You tried to catch your breath, words tumbling out in a shaky, irritated rush. “I said please and asked nicely, yet you—”
“You just said you want my fingers,” he cut in smoothly, that smug edge still thick in his tone. He kept you pinned exactly where you were, bent over the counter with your ass out and pussy exposed. “But you didn’t elaborate much about what you want these fingers to actually do for you, princess. As I mentioned before… be specific.”
His fingers hovered maddeningly close again, the tips barely brushing your soaked folds, giving you the smallest, cruelest tease before pulling back. The denial made your thighs tremble, another rush of slick dripping down as your body reacted violently to his games. You could feel him smirking against your skin, clearly enjoying how he was slowly unraveling you.
Your face burned with embarrassment, mind spinning with a chaotic mix of shame and raw, aching want. Part of you wanted to tell him to fuck off and stop playing, but the bigger part — the one throbbing painfully and leaking all over his fingers — knew you were too far gone. The words felt filthy on your tongue, but the need won out anyway.
“I… I want you inside me,” you whispered, voice cracking with raw desperation as the words finally tumbled out. “Please. Fuck me… make me come.” The admission burned on your tongue, embarrassment and pure, aching need twisting together until you couldn’t tell which was stronger. Your body was screaming for release, pussy clenching around nothing, slick dripping slowly down your thighs after all the cruel teasing. You were genuinely desperate now, past the point of pretending otherwise, every nerve ending on fire and begging for him to finally fill you up.
Jungkook let out a dark, satisfied groan that rumbled deep from his chest. It sent another helpless shiver racing through you, your hips twitching in his hold even though he kept you pinned perfectly in place.
“Fuck…” he breathed, the single word rough and wrecked, like hearing you beg again had finally pushed him past his limit. His hand moved to the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers hooking in with clear intent as he shoved the fabric down just enough to free himself. The heavy weight of his dick sprang out, thick and flushed, slapping hot against your ass cheek before he gripped the base and dragged the swollen head slowly through your soaked folds.
He teased your entrance for a torturous moment, rubbing the fat tip up and down your dripping slit, coating himself in your wetness while you trembled and whimpered. The feeling of his bare dick against your pussy — hot, hard, and pulsing — made your head spin, your fingers digging harder into the counter as anticipation and nerves collided violently inside you.
“Look here,” he said, voice low and commanding, the words brushing hot against your ear like a filthy secret. One of his hands left your hip, fingers threading through your hair before wrapping the strands around his fist. He tugged your head back with just enough pressure to make your scalp tingle, guiding you to turn and look back at him over your shoulder. The position arched your back deeper, pushing your ass out further and exposing you even more, the cool counter still digging into your hips while your body trembled with anticipation.
“Yes, like that,” he murmured, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach drop. “Eyes on me when I ruin you.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he pushed in.
The thick head of his dick breached your entrance in one slow, deliberate thrust, stretching you open with a burning fullness that stole the air from your lungs. You gasped sharply, eyes widening as inch after heavy inch sank deeper, the slick glide made easier by how embarrassingly wet you already were. He didn’t rush, letting you feel every thick ridge and vein as he filled you, bottoming out with a low, guttural groan that vibrated through his chest and into your back. The stretch was intense, almost too much, bordering on that perfect edge of pain and pleasure.
“Fuck… you feel heavenly wrapped around me like that,” he breathed, holding still for a heartbeat once he was buried to the hilt, letting you adjust to the overwhelming fullness while his eyes stayed locked on yours. The eye contact felt obscene, more intimate than anything else happening between your bodies. You could see every flicker of restraint crumbling in his gaze, the way his jaw clenched and his pupils blew wide as your walls fluttered and clenched around him.
He gave one experimental roll of his hips, grinding deep, and the new angle made you moan loudly, the sound echoing off the tiles. His grip in your hair tightened just a fraction, keeping your head turned so you couldn’t look away, forcing you to watch the raw hunger on his face as he started to move.
“Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he rasped, pulling back slowly only to thrust back in harder, setting a steady, punishing rhythm that had the counter creaking under your hands. “I want to see exactly what you look like when I fuck you properly for the first time.”
Every deep stroke dragged against that sensitive spot inside you, sending sparks shooting up your spine while his balls slapped lightly against your throbbing clit with every thrust. The wet, filthy sounds of him moving inside you filled the kitchen, mixing with your broken moans and his low, ragged breaths. The eye contact made everything ten times more intense, turning the moment into something dangerously addictive, like he was fucking your soul as much as your body.
And the worst part? You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. Not like you wanted anyways.
Your eyes rolled back the moment he hit that sweet spot so deep inside you that you didn’t even know it existed. The sudden, blinding burst of pleasure punched the air straight out of your lungs, turning your moan into something broken and shameless as your walls clamped down hard around his thick dick. Every brutal thrust dragged the swollen head right against that hidden spot, sending white-hot sparks shooting up your spine and exploding behind your eyelids until your vision blurred.
“Fuck— right there,” you gasped, voice cracking, fingers scrambling for purchase on the counter as your knees nearly gave out completely. The stretch was overwhelming, almost too much, but the way he filled you so perfectly made your head spin with filthy satisfaction. You could feel every inch of him, thick and pulsing, dragging along your sensitive walls with every punishing snap of his hips.
Jungkook’s grip in your hair tightened, keeping your head turned so you were forced to look back at him even as your eyes tried to roll again. His own gaze was wild, dark and feral, jaw clenched tight like he was barely holding himself together while he watched every reaction flicker across your face.
The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the kitchen, your slick coating his length and dripping down your thighs with every deep thrust. He didn’t let up, pounding into you with a steady, ruthless rhythm that had your breasts bouncing with the force. Every time he bottomed out, his hips ground against your ass, pressing so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.
You were a mess — moaning uncontrollably, drool threatening to slip from the corner of your parted lips, body shaking as that coil in your belly wound impossibly tighter. The eye contact made everything ten times more intense, the raw hunger on his face pushing you closer and closer to the edge while your mind struggled to keep up with how good it felt to finally be ruined like this.
“Don’t look away,” he rasped, pulling your hair just enough to make your scalp tingle.
His free hand slid around to your front, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, merciless circles that matched the brutal pace of his thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. Your thighs trembled violently, moans turning into high, desperate whimpers as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. You were so close again, teetering right on the edge, and this time it felt like nothing in the world could stop you from falling.
His hand left your hair, fingers sliding down to grip your hips with bruising force, using the new leverage to yank you back onto his dick with every powerful thrust. The shift changed the angle instantly, letting him drive even deeper, the thick head slamming repeatedly into that devastating spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. Each brutal pull of your hips meeting his forward snap created a filthy, wet slap that echoed through the kitchen, your ass rippling from the impact as he fucked you harder, faster, like he was finally done pretending he could hold back.
You kept your head turned anyway, eyes half-lidded and hazy, struggling to stay focused on him even as your body threatened to fall apart. The eye contact felt obscene, almost too intense, but you couldn’t look away — not when his face was twisted in raw pleasure, jaw clenched, lips parted with every ragged breath. The sight of him losing control because of you only made everything feel more overwhelming, your pussy fluttering and squeezing around his thick length like it never wanted to let him go.
“Shit— that’s it,” he groaned, voice wrecked and low, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulled you back onto him again and again. “Look at you. You feel that?”
The dirty words combined with the relentless pace had your moans turning into broken sobs, your upper body trembling as you fought to keep yourself braced on the counter. Every deep stroke dragged along your walls perfectly, the stretch bordering on too much but feeling so insanely good that your brain could barely form coherent thoughts anymore. All you could focus on was the burning pleasure building higher and higher, the way his dick throbbed inside you, and the filthy realization that you were getting fucked raw and desperate right here in your kitchen like some kind of dirty fantasy come to life.
You tried to keep your eyes on him, lashes fluttering, but the overwhelming sensations made them want to roll back again. Your mouth hung open, loud moans, whimpers and gasps spilling out uncontrollably as he used his grip on your hips to grind deep on every thrust, rolling his hips in a way that made sure you felt every single inch. The pressure was building dangerously fast again, your thighs shaking violently, the edge rushing toward you faster than you could prepare for.
Jungkook’s breathing was harsh and uneven behind you, his fingers flexing harder on your hips as he chased his own pleasure while dragging you right along with him. The way he kept you pinned there, bent over and completely at his mercy, only made the heat in your belly coil tighter, pushing you closer and closer to the point of no return.
“Jungkook— I’m—” The words broke off into a shattered moan as the pressure inside you became unbearable, your voice cracking mid-sentence while your walls started fluttering wildly around him.
Jungkook’s grip on your hips turned almost punishing, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh as he yanked you back onto him even harder, the wet slap of skin against skin growing louder and more obscene with every thrust. He could feel you tightening around him, that desperate, rhythmic clench that told him exactly what was about to happen.
“Yeah? You’re what, princess?” he growled, voice rough and taunting, hips snapping forward with brutal precision to hit that same devastating spot over and over, his fingers working faster on your clit.
He didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you harder, the heavy drag of his dick stretching you wide with every punishing stroke, his balls slapping against your clit and sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through your core. Your legs shook violently, knees threatening to give out completely as that coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter, the edge rushing toward you at breakneck speed.
You tried to warn him again, but all that came out was a high, broken whimper, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure became too much. Your fingers scraped desperately against the counter, knuckles white, mouth hanging open while uncontrollable moans spilled from your lips.
“Look at me,” he demanded, one hand leaving your hip to fist back into your hair, yanking your head up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze over your shoulder again. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, sweat glistening on his forehead as he watched you fall apart. “Don’t you dare look away when you come. I want to see it.”
The new angle, the raw eye contact, the relentless way he was pounding into you — it was all too much. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, crashing through your body with violent intensity. A loud, broken cry tore from your throat as your pussy clamped down hard around him, pulsing and gushing around his dick while wave after wave of blinding pleasure ripped through you. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, slick dripping down your legs as you came harder than you ever had in your life, the force of it making your vision blur and your mind go completely blank for a few blissful seconds.
Jungkook groaned loudly, the sound guttural and wrecked as your walls squeezed him like a vice, but he didn’t stop thrusting. He fucked you straight through it, drawing out every last tremor and aftershock, his dick dragging against your oversensitive walls until you were whimpering and shaking in his hold, as he removed his fingers from your clit, again gripping your hips.
“Fuck, that’s it… good girl,” he rasped, voice strained as he kept moving inside you, slower now but still deep, savoring the way you fluttered and clenched around him. “Look at you. So pretty when you fall apart for me.”
Your body felt completely boneless, slumped heavily over the cool kitchen counter as your chest heaved with ragged, desperate breaths, lungs burning like you’d just run a marathon. The orgasm had torn through you so intensely that your mind was still floating somewhere outside your body, every muscle twitching with lingering aftershocks while your pussy continued to flutter and squeeze around his thick length in weak, uncontrollable pulses. Slick was dripping messily down your thighs, coating his dick and making the connection between you obscenely wet.
Then you felt him twitch hard and deep inside you — a sudden, violent pulse of his dick that made your breath hitch sharply. He was throbbing, heavy and insistent, the thick veins along his shaft pulsing rhythmically against your sensitive walls as he fought to hold himself back. You could tell he was dangerously close too, his control finally fraying at the edges after feeling you come so hard around him. His hips jerked forward once without meaning to, burying himself even deeper as another powerful twitch rippled through his length, the head of his dick nudging right against that oversensitive spot inside you and sending fresh sparks shooting up your spine.
“Fuck… you feel too good,” he groaned lowly, the words ripped out of him like they hurt, voice strained and rough like gravel scraping against concrete.
The sound had barely left his lips when his entire body locked up behind you. His dick swelled impossibly thicker inside your already overstuffed pussy, pulsing violently as the first powerful spurt of cum flooded deep into you. Jungkook’s hips jerked forward hard, slamming flush against your ass as he came with a broken, guttural moan that vibrated through his chest and straight into your back. Thick, hot ropes of his release kept pumping into you, pulse after heavy pulse, filling you so full you could feel your lower belly swell slightly from the sheer amount. The warmth spread fast, coating your walls and leaking out around his dick with every shallow, involuntary thrust he gave while riding out the orgasm.
His fingers dug brutally into your hips, holding you pinned exactly where he wanted as his body shuddered against yours. You could feel every twitch, every throb, every single spurt as he emptied himself deep inside you, the wet, messy sound of his cum mixing with your own slick making everything filthier. Your own oversensitive pussy fluttered and clenched around him like it was trying to milk him for every last drop, drawing out more broken curses from his throat.
“Shit— fuck, princess,” he rasped, voice completely wrecked as another thick spurt shot into you. His forehead dropped heavily between your shoulder blades, hot breath fanning across your sweat-damp skin while his hips kept grinding slow and deep, pushing his cum even further inside like he wanted it to stay there. The feeling was overwhelming — the stretch, the heat, the raw proof that he’d finally lost control because of you. Your legs shook violently, another smaller wave of pleasure rolling through you just from the sensation of being filled so completely, so messily.
He stayed buried to the hilt for a long moment, dick still twitching and pulsing inside your cum-filled pussy as the last weak spurts dribbled out of him. The kitchen was dead silent except for your combined heavy breathing and the faint, wet sound whenever either of you shifted. You could feel some of his release already starting to leak out around his dick and trickle down your thighs, the evidence of what just happened making your face burn even hotter.
Jungkook pressed one last open-mouthed kiss to the back of your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin as he tried to catch his breath. His hands stayed locked on your hips like he wasn’t ready to let you go yet, dick still half-hard and nestled deep inside you like he belonged there.
“The… food. Yeah.” Jungkook’s voice came out rough and distracted, barely above a mumble as his eyes drifted lazily toward the forgotten takeout still sitting on the counter. The food had gone slightly cold by now, the once-steaming dumplings and fragrant fried rice completely abandoned in favor of far more pressing matters. A tired, almost sheepish huff of a laugh escaped him, the sound vibrating against your skin while his dick gave one last lazy twitch inside you, still buried deep like he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull out yet.
You let out a soft, breathless chuckle, the sound shaky and a little delirious after everything he’d just put your body through. The expensive takeout he’d brought over with such care now sitting there like silent witnesses while you were bent over the counter, dripping with his cum, legs still trembling from the intensity of it all.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, Jungkook snuggled his face deeper into the crook of your neck from behind, nose pressing into the warm, sweat-damp skin as if he could hide there forever. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, one hand splaying possessively over your lower stomach like he was cradling the evidence of what he’d just done to you. You could still feel him inside, half-hard and messy, every small shift sending little aftershocks through your oversensitive walls as his release slowly leaked out around him and down your thighs.
“Shit… we’re terrible at priorities,” he murmured against your neck, the words half-muffled, voice still husky from the way he’d fallen apart moments ago. His lips brushed the fresh bite mark he’d left earlier, tongue lazily tracing over it in a soothing, almost apologetic way that made your stomach flutter. “Brought all your favorites and then fucked you stupid instead of feeding you.”
You could hear the smirk in his tone even if you couldn’t see it, that playful, self-deprecating edge that always snuck in after he let the darker, hungrier side of him take over. His hips gave one last slow grind, pushing his softening dick a little deeper just to hear the small, overwhelmed sound you made, before he finally stilled again with a contented sigh. The warmth of his body wrapped around you from behind felt grounding after the intensity, his breath hot and steady against your neck as he nuzzled closer, almost like he was recharging through the closeness.
Your mind was still hazy, body buzzing with leftover pleasure and the sticky, messy reality of what you’d just done in the middle of your kitchen. Part of you wanted to tease him back, to call him out for getting distracted so easily, but the other part — the one still clenching around him every few seconds — was perfectly content to stay right here, bent over and full of him, while the food grew even colder on the counter.
“YOU are terrible at priorities, not me,” you mumbled, the words coming out muffled and breathless, still bent over the counter with his dick nestled deep inside you. Your voice was hoarse from all the moaning.
Jungkook let out a low, raspy laugh that vibrated straight through his chest and into your back, the sound warm but edged with that dark satisfaction he couldn’t quite hide. He stayed buried to the hilt, giving one lazy, possessive roll of his hips just to feel the way your oversensitive walls fluttered around him, drawing a soft, embarrassed whimper from your throat. His arms tightened around your waist, one hand splaying low on your stomach like he was pressing his release deeper inside you on purpose.
“Oh yeah?” he murmured against the side of your neck, lips brushing the fresh bite mark he’d left earlier. “You’re the one who told me not to stop, princess. Sounded real convincing when you were begging for my d—”
“Shut up!” You tried to glare at him over your shoulder, but it came out weak, your eyes still glassy and your lips swollen. The way he was still half-hard inside you, thick and warm, made it impossible to focus. Every tiny shift sent little aftershocks through your core, reminding you exactly how full he’d left you. Part of you wanted to push him away and pretend you had some dignity left, but the bigger part was already wondering how long it would take before he got hard again and bent you over somewhere else.
maybe they meant lower case as that font option that makes the letters super small???
some writers use it for aesthetic purposes, and some readers might have trouble reading since it's tiny. I mean, that's how i would interpret it lol, if it was related to the request itself, they should've been more specific with it in that case
That's VERY smart. I never really write on lower case if that's the problem 💔💔 idk man.
hi i love your stories. i was wondering if you could add the *read more* bracket to your post just so it's easier when the come on the dashboard. they're long which is not a problem whatsoever i love it, but it's a bit tedious when you're scrolling and that divider would make it easier also to avoid spoilers for those who might have to read later !
I've never felt more dumb in my life EVER. I was today years old when I figured out that we can do THIS??? omg. I'm sorry for any kind of trouble y'all faced while scrolling through my huge posts 💔💔 I THOUGHT IT WAS DEFAULT OR SMT.
If I'm not wrong (and as much as I figured it out), it's this option, right?? ENLIGHTEN ME PLS 💔💔
Omg yes I feel dumb what does no lower case mean 💔💔
TO THE ONE WHO SENT THIS INBOX, I BEG FOR ANOTHER ONE WHERE U EXPLAIN WHAT U MEANT BY NO LOWER CASE PLS 💔💔
Lmk if y'all have any idea about it!
I have two ideas in mind; either it means write the whole story in upper case/caps (which sounds weird) or it means that there should be only outercourse/non-penetrative smut or something like that.
──── where the addition of a new member in the Jeon family had the both of you busy as hell. And indeed, Jungkook has kept his hands to himself for a long, long time. Until you quit doing the same.
──── ❪ 전정국 ❫ ㅤㅤ: : ㅤㅤ♱ ㅤㅤHusband!Jungkook x Wife, Female!Reader ㅤㅤ married life AU ㅤㅤ slice of life AU ㅤㅤ mention of breastfeeding ㅤㅤ somnophilia if you squint ㅤㅤ nigh drive ㅤㅤ smoking ㅤㅤ sharing a cigarette ㅤㅤ arousal ㅤㅤ dirty talk ㅤㅤ flirty ㅤㅤ teasing touches ㅤㅤchecking out ㅤㅤsexual frustration ㅤㅤuse of pet names ㅤㅤmaking out ㅤㅤ desperate ㅤㅤcussing ㅤㅤnudity ㅤㅤhandjob ㅤㅤblowjob ㅤㅤhair pulling ㅤㅤorgasm ㅤㅤsucking ㅤㅤhickey ㅤㅤfingering ㅤㅤedging ㅤㅤthe reader has slight prading kink ㅤㅤchoking ㅤㅤcar sex ㅤㅤlotus ㅤㅤblushing ㅤㅤsexual tension ㅤㅤunprotected sex ㅤㅤthe reader rides him ㅤㅤdom!Jungkook x sub!reader ㅤㅤclit rubbing ㅤㅤaftercare. ㅤㅤ ㅤwc : : 8k+.
You barely register the soft creak of the bedroom door first, that familiar low groan of hinges as Jungkook nudges it open just enough to peek inside. The dimmed lights must have tipped him off that you’d already tapped out for the night. He slips fully into the room, the cool draft from the hallway brushing your bare legs for a split second before he closes the door behind him with a deliberate, quiet click that seals the space.
Moonlight strains through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window dominating one wall, painting silvery streaks across the floor and bed, tangled up with the low, golden haze from the nightstand lamp. It bathes everything in this hazy, intimate glow that makes the air feel thicker, warmer. Jungkook takes those slow, small steps toward the bed, shoulders loosening as he peels off his suit coat, the fabric whispering when he drapes it over the back of the chair in front of your dressing table. His fingers linger on the wood a moment, like he’s grounding himself after whatever bullshit the outside world threw at him.
His eyes lock onto you immediately, dark and full of that raw adoration that always seems to hit him harder in these stolen quiet moments. You’re fast asleep on your back, oversized shirt (which belongs to him) twisted from the day’s chaos, with seven-month-old Jae nestled right on your stomach—his little cheek smushed against your skin, tiny fists curled, breathing in that deep, trusting rhythm that syncs with yours. The weight of him anchors you even in sleep, warm and solid, his soft exhales tickling your belly through the thin fabric.
The exhaustion clings to your bones in the best-worst way; days blur from early feeds to those midnight wails that rip you awake, but you handle it with this fierce, stubborn grip. Barely twenty-three and already owning the mom role like it’s second nature, your body tuned to every shift of Jae’s, every tiny sound, while still carving out space to look after Jungkook when he drags himself home wrecked. You’ve been running on barely five or six hours, eyes heavy, muscles sore from rocking and carrying, but the thought of handing any of it off to a nanny never crosses your mind. This is yours—messy, relentless, and so fucking real it hurts in the sweetest spots.
That middle-school spark you two carried through high school and into this love marriage still simmers under everything—no big fights, just this lived-in understanding where he offers help at every turn and you push back because wearing yourself down for them feels like the only right move. Well, Jungkook was just as stubborn. He did as much work as possible before going to work, like the dishes, laundry, and so on.
His breath catches a little as he watches Jae’s tiny hand flex against you, the way your arm stays curled protectively even in deep sleep. It’s all present, all consuming—the faint baby-powder scent mixing with your usual warmth, the quiet hum of the room, his own pulse kicking up at how perfectly wrecked and beautiful you look tangled in this life you built together.
He’s won in life, no contest, the thought hitting him square in the chest as he stands there a second longer.
You look so damn peaceful, features relaxed in that deep sleep only new parents steal when the baby finally crashes too. Jae’s the same—tiny chest rising and falling right on your stomach, those soft tiny snores filling the room like the world’s most effective lullaby, warm and trusting against your skin.
Jungkook’s eyes trace your face slow, carving out every detail he already knows by heart: the faint crease between your brows that’s finally smoothed out, the way your lashes fan against your cheeks, lips parted just enough for those quiet breaths that pull at something low in his gut.
He lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, movements deliberate and slow, the mattress dipping under his weight as he braces his hands beside him, careful not to disturb the perfect pile of you and Jae.
Then his gaze slips. It trails lower without permission—from the soft lines of your face down the column of your neck and collarbone, catching on the way the top two buttons of your shirt was undone probably from breastfeeding Jae, that teasing peek of cleavage rising with each inhale under the mixed moonlight and lamp glow. It follows the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips hugged by the sheets, illuminated like they’re begging for attention, all the way to the smooth stretch of your thick thighs where your shorts have ridden up. God, he would love to bury his face betwee—
He jerks his eyes away hard, suddenly hyper-focused on the curtains like they’re the most fascinating shit he’s ever seen, jaw flexing as he tells himself he wasn’t just checking out his wife while she’s dead asleep with their kid on her.
Wasn't he feeling warm-hearted a moment ago? His heart isn't the only warm thing now.
You’ve had this body that’s ruined him since forever, perfect in that effortless way that makes his brain short-circuit. Carrying Jae only smoothed everything out and emphasized those curves harder, leaving him stealing extra fifteen minutes in the shower way too often just to shake the constant pull.
Intimacy has turned into this rare, almost mythical thing since Jae showed up. The little guy is the ultimate cockblocker without even trying—tiny demands at all hours turning what used to be easy, constant touch into stolen glances and quick brushes that leave you both aching in the quiet.
Jungkook isn’t some hormonal kid who doesn’t get self-control. He’s been solid about it, the respectful type who reads the room and never pushes, even when the want sits heavy under his skin.
You let out a slow yawn, body shifting under the sheets as sleep starts to loosen its grip. He snaps his attention back to your face instantly, clearing his throat like he’s been caught mid-thought, shoulders tensing for a beat.
Your lashes flutter, eyes cracking open heavy and unfocused, the room’s soft glow filtering in as awareness creeps back in slow waves. The weight of Jae on your stomach grounds you first, his tiny snores still humming steady, then Jungkook’s solid presence right there on the edge of the bed, close enough that his warmth cuts through the sleepy haze.
“Little guy’s got better taste in pillows than I do,” he teases, voice low and rough from the long day, dragging his gaze down to Jae with a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. There’s that playful glint in his eyes, the one that always sneaks in like he’s trying to lighten the exhaustion weighing on both of you.
You blink harder, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Your frown deepens quick. “You’re home?” The words come out thick with sleep, eyes widening when the numbers hit—four whole hours had slipped by since you crashed.
He looks back up at you, that steady gaze softening around the edges as he nods. “Yeah. And don’t worry about it, I’ll hit the rest of the house chores later. You can sleep more.” His voice drops a notch, reassuring and warm.
“I don’t wanna sleep more,” you murmur, voice still scratchy from the nap. “And you sure you can handle the rest? I mean, you must be wiped from work—”
“I can and I will,” he cuts in, firm but gentle, that no-argument tone he pulls out when he’s decided.
You feel a small smile tug at your lips despite the fog in your head. “Thanks.”
“You’re always welcome, love.” The words roll off him easy, low and warm, wrapping around you like the blanket you’re half tangled in.
You move slow and careful, easing Jae off your stomach with practiced hands. His little body stays limp and trusting as you lift him, settling him down beside you on the bed. You tuck the blanket up to his chin, fingers brushing his soft cheek for a second before you push yourself up to sit, back against the headboard. The motion makes your shirt slip lower on its own, the undone buttons giving way and exposing more of your cleavage in the warm lamp light.
Respectful or not, he’s still a man at the end of the day. His eyes drop immediately, tracking the movement before he can stop himself, that familiar heat flashing quick across his face.
He drags his gaze back up with visible effort, jaw tight like it’s taking every ounce of willpower he’s got. You rub at your eyes, another yawn slipping out as you stretch your arms overhead, body still heavy with leftover sleep.
“You must be tired from doing the same grind every day,” he says, clearing his throat. “Wanna go out tonight? Like a drive or something?” The suggestion comes out casual.
You frown, head tilting. “To where?”
“Not every drive needs a fixed destination. Count on the night to take us wherever it wants to.”
“You can’t be for real,” Jungkook mutters, cutting a sideways glance at you while the car idles at the red light, city glow reflecting off his eyes. The engine hums low beneath you, mixing with the distant buzz of traffic.
You’re staring straight ahead at the empty crosswalk, mind half elsewhere. “Really, I’m not hungry. Now stop arguing about it,” you tell him, turning your head to meet his gaze while your fingers scratch lightly at the back of your head, trying to shake off the leftover sleep fog.
He sighs, long and defeated but fond, shaking his head with the smallest curve at the corner of his mouth. “Nevermind. I’d rather make you something when we get home anyway. My way tastes better than whatever greasy spot we’d hit.”
“It’s been months since we got alone time like this,” you murmur, rolling your shoulder in a slow, deep stretch that pulls a contented sigh from your chest, the tension unraveling bit by bit in the quiet car. Then worry crashes in fast, tightening your expression. “But I hope Jae’s doing okay. What if he wakes up or—”
“Shh, baby,” he cuts in, voice soft and steady. “He’ll be just fine. Kid passed out hard before we left, belly full, and we handed off every single thing he could possibly need to your friend. She’s got him covered, promise.”
“How about you focus on me instead?” he mutters, voice dropping low as his hand slides over, palm warm and deliberate, settling high on your thigh. His thumb starts tracing slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your shorts, the pressure just firm enough to pull your attention fully into the car.
“I am,” you mutter back, eyes flicking down to watch the path of his hand for a beat before lifting to meet his gaze again, the city lights flickering across his face.
“I don’t think so,” he murmurs, his tone dipping into that deeper octave that always seems to vibrate through you. His fingers inch higher up your thigh in no rush at all, drawing light, teasing patterns along the way, taking his sweet time like he’s memorizing the feel of you under his touch after too many rushed nights. The weight of his hand feels grounding and electric all at once, cutting through the quiet hum of the engine.
“You got a cigarette on you?” The question makes him jerk his head your way for a split second, eyebrows lifting in that surprised, amused way he does when you catch him off guard.
“Bad habits die hard, huh?” he asks, the low chuckle rumbling through his chest as he shakes his head.
He eases the car into a long, deserted lane, tires crunching softly over gravel before he kills the engine. Silence settles heavy around you both, broken only by the faint tick of cooling metal. Jungkook leans over and pops open the hidden compartment, pulling out the familiar pack of your favorite—Marlboro Red—and holds it out without a word.
You pluck one from the pack, the paper smooth between your fingers, and wait as he fishes out the lighter. You slip the cigarette between your lips, the filter resting familiar and comforting. You flick the flame to life, the small orange glow lighting up the space between you for a moment as you lean in, inhaling slow until the tip catches and burns steady. The first drag fills your lungs with that sharp, smoky hit, tension easing from your shoulders
You glance sideways at Jungkook and catch him staring, that dark, unreadable intensity locked on you like he’s memorizing every little shift in your expression. Grinning, you lean in closer on purpose, lips parting as you blow a slow, deliberate stream of smoke right across his face. It curls around his sharp jaw and lingers in the space between you, hazy and intimate under the dashboard lights.
To him, the whole thing is pure heat.
You pull the cigarette from between your lips and hold the filter out toward him, pinching it lightly between your ring and middle finger, the paper still warm from your mouth.
He watches you for a long second, eyes heavy, before his fingers wrap around your wrist—grip solid and warm, thumb pressing just enough against your pulse point. He leans in, takes the cigarette between his lips, and pulls a long, unhurried drag. The ember glows brighter for a moment. Then he rolls every window down, letting the cool night breeze rush through the car, carrying the smoke out into the empty lane. He drops his head all the way back against the seat, as he exhales a thick cloud.
You freeze right there in your seat, the rest of the world fading for a second. The sight hits different—his relaxed shoulders, the sharp cut of his jaw in the low light, throat exposed, neck veins popping, the effortless way he owns the moment. Your breath catches without meaning to, pulse thrumming louder in your ears. It might honestly be one of the hottest things you’ve witnessed in your life, simple as it is, leaving the car feeling smaller, the air thicker, and your thoughts a little scrambled.
You take another slow drag, deliberately turning your face away toward the open window, desperate for anything to distract from the unfairly hot man sitting right beside you. The cool air does little to settle the sudden warmth crawling under your skin.
You pass the cigarette back and forth a few times, letting each of you steal a couple drags in comfortable silence, the smoke mingling with the night breeze. Then he snatches it smoothly from your fingers, bringing it to his lips for a long, deep pull without asking.
You don’t complain. Not even a little.
Your eyes drift over him instead—his hair still a little messy and damp from the quick shower he took before you left, half-lidded eyes heavy with that post-work exhaustion mixed with something sharper. That prominent big nose you’ve always had a weakness for (whatever Doja Cat said about big noses), the full cupid’s bow lips you’ve almost forgotten the exact taste of after so many tired nights, the sharp jawline that cuts straight through your better judgment and sanity, the strong column of his neck, those muscular arms flexing casually, the broad chest and defined lines under his plain t-shirt, and the very obvious, massive outline straining against the gray sweatpan—
You freeze hard, head snapping up so fast it’s almost embarrassing. You did not just look there.
Heart hammering, you gather the nerve to sneak one more millisecond glance downward, confirming the prominent bulge the soft fabric does nothing to hide, especially in the dim lighting. Then you jerk your eyes back up to his face, only to find him already watching you, that dark, knowing look pinned right on your expression.
The gray sweatpants make everything stand out even more in the low light, impossible to ignore now that you’ve seen it. The air in the car suddenly feels ten degrees warmer.
He keeps his lips parted, slowly exhaling the smoke in a lazy, controlled stream that curls toward the open window. He taps the ashes out with a flick of his finger, then turns that heavy stare back on you—like a predator eyeing prey he’s forcing himself not to pounce on, the tension thick enough to taste.
“What?” you ask, voice coming out quieter than you mean it to. You snatch the cigarette right from his fingers and twist toward your window, staring hard at the empty lane outside. Your face feels way too warm, probably bright red, and you keep it turned away on purpose so he can’t see the flush creeping up your neck.
“Don’t look at it like that if you can’t do something about it, yeah?” he murmurs, the deep rasp of his voice cutting straight through the quiet car and sending a rush of heat straight down your body. “Gives me all kinds of wrong ideas.”
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this—the easy, skin-prickling intimacy that used to happen without thinking, back before Jae turned your nights into a constant rotation of feeds and exhaustion. The hunger is mutual. He’s desperate for you in that quiet, restrained way, and you’re every bit as desperate for him. He’s just holding back, staying respectful and patient like the man you married.
He holds the eye contact when you finally glance back, the moment stretching thick between you as you pull a long, deliberate drag from the cigarette. The smoke burns down your throat, grounding you for a second, before you toss what’s left of it out the window into the dark.
You let your eyes wander over him freely now, no more pretending. Why should you? He’s your husband—your person.
Your man.
You let your eyes drift deliberately now—down the strong column of his neck, over the flex of his arms where the muscles shift under your stare, across the broad stretch of his chest and the defined ridges of his abs visible through the thin t-shirt. His body reacts under the attention, arm tensing visibly as you keep looking. Your gaze drops lower again, settling on the prominent bulge in his gray sweatpants, and he spreads his legs a little wider on purpose, manspreading across the seat in that casual, devastating way.
Fuck, it’s stupidly hot.
It’s been so long since you’ve had this kind of uninterrupted moment, and you’d almost forgotten how perfectly you two used to fit together, like you were molded for each other in every sense.
Again— every sense.
Your hand moves almost on its own, sliding across the center console before coming to rest on his thigh, fingers settling warm and tentative right below where the fabric strains so obviously.
You hear him exhale sharply through his nose, the sound rough in the quiet car.
“Y/N,” he says, your name coming out half warning, half like he’s talking himself down from whatever pull is threatening to drag him under. His hand covers yours on his thigh, not pushing it away, just holding it there—warm and steady.
You glance up for a second, catching the raw hunger burning in his eyes—dark, barely leashed, the kind that makes your stomach flip. You look back down almost immediately, breath shallow.
Your fingers start inching higher up his thigh on their own, slow and exploratory.
“Y/N,” he murmurs again, voice strained. “You gave birth to our son just seven months ago. I don’t know if you’re healed enough. And honestly, I think it’s probably those ovulation hormones messing with you right now. I don’t think you’re ready. I’m trying to be nice here, so don’t do this.” The words come out in a low whisper, but he holds eye contact the whole time, steady and intense. You’ve known him long enough to read what he’s not saying—the need is written all over his face, screaming in the tension of his jaw and the heat in his stare.
“Jungkook…” you murmur back, barely above a breath.
“Yes, love?”
“Didn’t you just tell me to stop looking unless I wanna do something about it?” you say, a small, teasing,challenging smile tugging at your lips. “I’m working on that.” With that, you gently push his hand off yours, freeing your fingers to keep moving at their own slow pace.
Your fingers trace the hard outline of his bulge through the soft fabric, deliberate and slow, as you lean across the center console for better reach. The position puts you half out of your seat, shoulder brushing his, the console digging lightly into your ribs. He doesn’t stop you this time.
He knows you both need this—the months of careful distance cracking open in the quiet dark of the car.
You slide your hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers finding the warm, thick base of his cock. His head drops back against the headrest with a heavy, relieved sigh, throat working as he lets you explore.
He helps without a word, lifting his hips just enough to tug the sweatpants lower. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, the cool night air hitting heated skin as it rests against his stomach. The sight of him like this—laid out in the driver’s seat, chest rising faster, jaw clenched—sends a fresh wave of want through you, sharp and undeniable after so long.
You pause with your hand wrapped around him for a second, heart hammering too loud to ignore. Then you grab the collar of his shirt with both hands and yank him toward you, crashing your mouths together in a hungry, fierce kiss that’s been building for months.
He meets you just as hard, one big hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he kisses you back with raw need. He tastes like cigarette smoke and mint, the combination dizzying, making your head spin. You can feel yourself getting wetter, panties clinging uncomfortably as heat pools low in your belly.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to grab his phone, connect it to the car’s speaker, and blast some random R&B track on full volume. The deep bass fills the space as he yanks all the heavily tinted windows up, sealing you both inside, as well as turning the air conditioner in the car on. Then he looks back at you, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen.
You crash your mouths together again because once isn’t enough—you’re addicted, and so is he, tongues sliding, teeth nipping, desperate and messy. That manly scent rolling off him hits you harder with every inhale, warm skin and faint cologne and pure Jungkook, working on you like some kind of aphrodisiac drug that makes your thighs press together on instinct.
You break the kiss when oxygen becomes non-negotiable, pulling back with a sharp inhale, both of you breathing hard and fast. Your face feels flushed, lips tingling and swollen, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue.
Your hand drifts back down without hesitation, fingers wrapping snug around the thick base of his cock. You stroke him slowly at first, a few firm pumps that draw a deep, contented hum from his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into you.
With your other hand you tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, then bend down over the center console, leaning in close. You drag your tongue in one long, slow stripe from the base all the way to the flushed tip, feeling every ridge and vein under the wet heat of your mouth.
He lets out a low, guttural groan the moment you sink your mouth down onto him, lips stretching wide around his impressive girth. The fullness of him on your tongue is overwhelming in the best way, warm and solid after so much time apart.
His hands are careful but possessive, gathering your hair and twisting it into a loose ponytail at the back of your head. He holds it there like his own personal grip, fingers flexing against your scalp as you start to move, the bass from the speaker pulsing around you both in the sealed, slightly space of the car.
His hips jerk up instinctively when you take him deeper, pushing more of his thick length into your mouth. You can barely handle halfway before his tip nudges the back of your throat, making your eyes water slightly at the stretch and fullness.
His head falls back hard against the headrest, a strained “Fuck…” slipping from his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.
The raw reaction only fuels you more, heat curling tight in your belly as you work him with renewed hunger.
Your hand and mouth move together in a steady rhythm—fingers wrapped tight around the thick base your lips can’t reach, stroking in time with the way you bob your head. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip on every upstroke, tasting the salty bead of precum that leaks for you, sucking lightly as your cheeks hollow out. The car fills with the wet sounds of your mouth and his low, broken breaths, the music still thumping low in the background.
“You’re doing so fucking good,” he breathes, the words rough and strained. You lift your gaze through wet lashes and meet his eyes—half-lidded, burning down at you with that raw, unguarded hunger that makes your stomach tighten. “Good girl.”
The praise sinks straight into your bones. The second you feel him twitch against your tongue, you pour everything into it, sucking harder, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as your hand works the base in tight, slick strokes.
He groans deep in his chest and tightens his grip in your hair, using it to bob your head up and down at the pace he needs. You let him take control, relaxing your throat as much as you can, eyes watering from the stretch and the way his thick cock fills your mouth completely. Saliva drips down your chin but you don’t care, humming around him, the vibrations pulling more broken sounds from his lips.
His breaths turn ragged, groans getting louder, hips jerking up every few seconds as he twitches more frequently on your tongue. The tension coils tighter in his body until it finally snaps. His orgasm hits hard with a loud, guttural groan, head slamming back against the headrest, eyes rolling back as thick, hot ropes of cum flood your throat. His body jerks with every pulse, thighs trembling under your touch as you swallow around him, taking everything he gives you.
He keeps you there for a long moment, fingers still tangled tight in your hair, holding you close as the last tremors run through his body. His groans gradually fade into heavy, satisfied breaths that brush warm against the top of your head.
Then he tugs you up gently by the makeshift ponytail, guiding you until your mouth meets his in a fierce, claiming kiss. He doesn’t hesitate for a second, tasting himself on your tongue and groaning softly into it, the kiss turning deep and messy, filled with raw gratitude and the kind of hunger that hasn’t been fed in months.
You grab onto his shoulders for balance, but he’s already pulling you closer, strong hands gripping your waist as he maneuvers you over the center console. You end up straddling his thighs in the driver’s seat, knees pressing into the leather on either side of him, the position intimate and close in the cramped space.
“I missed this…” he murmur against your lips, voice breathy and rough.
He proved his point by trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw and along the curve of your shoulder. You tilt your head to the side without thinking, giving him better access, a shiver running through you as his lips and tongue work over your skin, hands sliding possessively up your back under your shirt.
“Mmh… Jungkook…” The gasp slips out sharp when he bites down on that sensitive spot along your shoulder, teeth grazing just hard enough to make your eyes flutter shut and your nails dig into the front of his shirt.
“Mhm,” he hums against your skin, soothing the sting with a slow drag of his tongue, the vibration sending sparks straight down your spine.
His hands are everywhere at once—one gripping your hip possessively, fingers digging into the soft flesh like he needs to anchor himself, while the other trails down your stomach, teasing along the waistband of your sweatpants. The light touch makes your breath hitch, anticipation curling tight in your core.
Your eyes fly open the second his hand slips inside your pants, palm cupping your soaked mound with confident possession. A thick finger slides through your wet folds, parting them easily, and a full-body shiver runs through you at the contact, thighs clenching around his lap as the car suddenly feels impossibly smaller.
“Fuck, you’re dripping down my hand,” he growls against your skin, pulling back just enough to look up at your flushed face. A wicked grin spreads across his lips, eyes dark with satisfaction.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding. He waits until you manage to lock your gaze with his, pupils blown wide, before he plunges two thick fingers deep inside you in one smooth thrust.
Your hips jerk hard against his hand, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat at the sudden stretch and fullness. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, capturing your mouth in another hungry kiss, swallowing every moan that tries to escape as his fingers start moving—deep, steady, curling just right inside you.
The pads of his fingers brush against that perfect spot with every stroke, making your thighs tremble around his lap, pleasure sparking sharp and hot through your body as he works you open with practiced precision.
As he pulls back from the kiss, you’re both panting hard, lips swollen and breaths mingling in the steamy confines of the car. His free hand slides up your body with purpose, long fingers wrapping around your throat in a firm, possessive grip. Not hard enough to restrict your air, but just tight enough to send your head spinning—blood pounding in your ears, a delicious dizziness washing over you that only heightens the arousal flooding your system.
His thumb presses tight, perfect circles against your swollen clit, the pressure steady and maddening, pulling whimpers and sharp little gasps from your throat with every rotation. You’re close already, core clenching around his fingers, as your eyes shut closed, thighs trembling around his lap as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter—until he suddenly stops moving entirely, fingers buried deep but still.
You groan in pure frustration, brows pulling together as you open your eyes and stare at him with heavy-lidded eyes, face burning flushed and chest heaving with every desperate pant.
“I said eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice dark and commanding, one brow arched in that teasing challenge. “Don’t you dare look away or close your eyes, or else I stop, hm?”
You nod frantically, too far gone to argue back or do anything else, cheeks blazing even hotter.
He’s reduced you to this needy, dripping mess—embarrassingly aroused, hanging on every word and touch like he owns you. And right now, he absolutely does.
“Such a good girl for me,” he hums against your lips, voice thick with satisfaction and something darker, the praise sinking into your skin like a brand.
You don’t wait for more permission. You start moving your hips again, grinding down onto his fingers, fucking yourself on them with desperate little rolls that make obscene wet sounds fill the car. He matches your pace instantly, thrusting deeper, curling those long fingers against that perfect spot with devastating accuracy.
A few more relentless strokes and the coil inside you snaps violently. You clench hard around his fingers, orgasm ripping through you with a loud, broken cry that bounces off the tinted windows. Your whole body shakes, thighs clamping tight around his lap as wave after wave crashes over you, soaking his hand and the front of your sweatpants while your vision whites out for a second.
He doesn’t stop right away. He slows his movements instead, drawing out every last tremor and pulse of your orgasm with long, lazy strokes, milking you through it until you’re a trembling, whimpering mess in his lap, aftershocks still sparking through your oversensitive nerves.
You lean your forehead against his shoulder, still breathing hard, eyes closed, the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving your limbs shaky and your mind hazy. The solid warmth of him grounds you even as your pulse continues to hammer.
“Breathless already, baby? We just started,” he teases, the grin clear in his voice as he turns his head and drags his tongue slowly over your earlobe, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you shiver.
Somehow, in the tight space of the driver’s seat, he manages to work your sweatpants the rest of the way off, the fabric sliding down your thighs with a soft rustle. His hands grip your hips firmly, angling them back so you’re positioned perfectly above him, the head of his still-hard cock brushing against your soaked entrance.
You open your eyes, swallowing hard, the lump in your throat thick, your breathing still uneven and your pulse racing under your skin. The cool air of the car hits your bare skin, contrasting with the heat rolling off his body.
He leans back, reaching down to recline the seat a little further so there’s more room, settling deeper into the leather. His dark eyes lock onto yours, voice low and rough with command as he murmurs,
“Now… ride me.”
Your eyes snap open wide the second the command hits your ear, a jolt of nervous heat racing through you. He raises a brow at your reaction, that cocky, knowing look already in place.
You gulp hard, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as your fingers tighten against his shoulders for support.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t act all shy now,” he grins, clearly enjoying the deep flush that floods your cheeks. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you down slowly, letting you feel every thick inch as he sinks into you.
The moment you bottom out, a low, guttural groan rips from his chest at the same time a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He fills you so completely it borders on overwhelming—stretching, hot, and so deep it feels surreal after months of nothing. Your thighs tremble around him, the full, heavy pressure of him inside you stealing the last of your breath.
You stay still for a second, adjusting to the overwhelming stretch, forehead pressed to his shoulder again as you try to catch your breath. He’s thick and deep, filling every inch of you until it almost hurts in the best way.
His hands stay locked on your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles over your skin. “Fuck… look at you,” he rasps, voice rough. “Taking me so well.”
You start to move—small, tentative rolls of your hips at first, testing the angle. The friction is immediate and intense, every shift dragging him against that sensitive spot inside you. A soft moan slips out of your mouth before you can stop it.
“That’s it,” he encourages, guiding you into a steadier rhythm. “Just like that.”
You plant your hands on his chest and push yourself upright, finding a better angle. The new position lets you sink even deeper, and you both curse at the same time. Your thighs burn already from the effort, but the pleasure is sharper now, building fast as you start to ride him properly—rising up until only the head remains inside, then dropping back down in one smooth motion.
The wet sound of your bodies meeting fills the car, mixing with the low bass still thumping from the speakers. Jungkook’s head falls back against the seat, eyes half-lidded as he watches you, jaw tight, every muscle in his abdomen flexing under you.
“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, hips lifting to meet your downward thrusts. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”
You lean forward again, bracing yourself on his shoulders as you pick up the pace, chasing the heat coiling low in your belly. His hands slide up your back under your shirt, then down to grip your ass, helping you bounce harder on his cock. Every time you take him to the hilt, a broken little sound escapes you—half moan, half whimper—and he drinks every one of them in like he’s starving.
The pace turns messier, more desperate. You bounce harder on him, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the sealed car. Sweat starts to dampen the back of your shirt; his palms slide over it as he grips your ass tighter, helping lift you up only to drag you back down harder each time.
“Fuck—just like that,” he groans, the words punched out of him every time you sink all the way down. His hips snap up to meet yours, driving deeper, making your breath hitch on every thrust. The fullness is almost too much, stretching you open in a way that makes your thighs shake and your nails dig into his shoulders.
You drop your forehead to his again, panting against his mouth. He captures your lips in a messy kiss—open, wet, all tongue and teeth.
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked. “Let me feel you come around me.”The underside of your thighs burns from the strain, muscles trembling as your pace starts to slow. Jungkook notices immediately. His hands clamp down on your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he thrusts his hips up hard whenever you lag, forcing himself deeper.
“Keep going,” he orders, voice rough and breathless.
Every time you sink back down, a loud, broken moan spills from your lips, the sound echoing in the small space of the car. He’s so deep it steals the air from your lungs, stretching you open with every downward roll of your hips.
You try to obey, bouncing on him again even as your legs shake. The friction is relentless—wet, hot, and perfect. His grip on your thighs stays firm, guiding your rhythm when your body starts to give out, using his strength to keep you moving.
“That’s it… fuck, look at you,” he groans, eyes locked on where your bodies meet. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.”
You drop forward, bracing your hands on his chest, forehead pressed to his as you keep riding him through the burn. The new angle makes him hit even deeper, and another loud moan rips out of you, louder this time. His hands slide up to your waist, holding you steady while he starts thrusting up to meet every downward motion, the wet slap of skin filling the car along with your shared, ragged breathing.
One of his hands slides down between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He rubs tight, firm circles over the swollen bud while continuing to thrust up into you, the dual stimulation so intense it makes your vision blur.
You’re seeing stars almost immediately.
Your hips stutter, a high, broken moan tearing from your throat as the pressure builds at a dizzying speed. Every deep thrust combined with the relentless circles of his thumb pushes you higher, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. Your thighs shake violently around him, walls fluttering and clenching around his cock as you race toward the edge.
“That’s it—come for me,” he growls against your ear, voice rough and strained.
The command snaps the last thread of your control. Your orgasm crashes through you hard, ripping a loud, choked cry from your lips as you clamp down around him. Your whole body seizes, trembling violently in his arms while wave after wave of pleasure tears through you. Your hips jerking weakly as he keeps thrusting up into you, dragging out every pulse until you’re oversensitive and gasping against his shoulder.
He groans deeply when you clench around him, the tight, rhythmic squeeze of your walls pulling a raw, broken sound from his chest. His hips stutter for a second as he feels every pulse of your orgasm, forehead dropping against yours while he rides it out with you.
“Fuck—just like that,” he rasps, voice strained and breathless. His hands grip your hips harder, holding you down as he thrusts up through the aftershocks, chasing his own release now that you’re fluttering and dripping around him.
You cling to his shoulders, still trembling, oversensitive but not pulling away. Every deep stroke sends little sparks of leftover pleasure through your body. His breathing turns ragged, muscles tensing under your palms, the wet sound of him moving inside you growing louder and more desperate.
“Gonna fill you up,” he warns through gritted teeth, the words punched out between thrusts. His pace turns short and hard, burying himself as deep as he can go with every snap of his hips.
A few more powerful strokes and he comes with a low, guttural groan, head snuggled against your neck. His body jerks with each pulse, holding you tightly against him while he spills everything he’s got, cock twitching deep as he rides out the last of his orgasm.
You both stay locked together for a long moment afterward, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat. His arms stay wrapped tightly around you, keeping you pressed against him while he softens slowly inside you. The car is quiet except for the fading bass of the music and your shared, uneven breathing.
Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your temple, then another to the side of your neck, the earlier intensity melting into something gentler. His hands stroke up and down your back in slow, soothing motions, grounding both of you.
“You okay?” he murmurs against your skin, voice still rough but softer now.
You nod weakly against his shoulder, too spent to form words yet. Your thighs are still trembling, the dull ache from riding him mixed with the pleasant, heavy fullness of him still inside you. He doesn’t rush to pull out. Instead he holds you there, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other rests warm on your hip.
Outside the heavily tinted windows, the empty lane remains dark and still. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of sex, smoke, and the faint cologne clinging to his skin. He shifts just enough to press another lingering kiss to your lips—slow this time, unhurried, tasting of gratitude and leftover hunger.
“Missed this,” he whispers against your mouth. “Missed you.”
“Thank you so much for taking care of Jae,” you say with a bright smile, glancing between Yuna and the baby now settled in your arms. He’s wide awake, tiny fingers already tugging curiously at the neckline of your shirt.
“Of course,” Yuna replies, looking proud of herself. “I was gonna stay up all night anyway, so it wasn’t a problem if you left him here a bit longer. Feel free to drop Jae off whenever you want—I honestly believe a couple deserves some time alone too.”
She worked as a babysitter for about six months back in high school, but you hadn’t expected her to be this good with kids.
“Oh, surely… only if Jae doesn’t cause you too much trouble,” you offer with a soft laugh.
“Nah, he’s chill. One of the nicest kids I’ve seen. Barely troubled me at all.” Yuna tilts her head, smiling. “But I hope you and Jungkook had a great time. Where did y’all go, though?”
Your smile drops instantly. You look down at Jae, suddenly very interested in adjusting his little onesie, trying to fight the flush you can already feel creeping up your neck and cheeks.
Of course you can’t exactly tell her that Jungkook fucked your brains out in the car.
“Somewhere,” Jungkook answers for you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on you.
You know better than to look at him right now. One glance and the heat already crawling up your neck will turn into a full-blown flush that Yuna will definitely notice.
She frowns slightly at Jungkook, then shifts her attention back to you, waiting for a better answer.
“We—… we went to a cinema,” you say quickly, forcing a casual tone as you bounce Jae lightly in your arms.
Yuna’s frown disappears, replaced by an easy smile. “Oooh. That’s great.”
At least she buys the lie. You risk a tiny glance toward Jungkook and catch the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smirk. You immediately look back down at Jae, pretending the baby’s tiny fist has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.
“Alright, I’ll take a leave then. Good luck for your exam, yeah?” you say to Yuna with a smile.
She nods and walks you both out to the car, standing on the curb and waving until the vehicle pulls away and her apartment building disappears from view. Jae remains nestled in your arms the whole time, tiny and warm against your chest.
The car is quiet for a few minutes as Jungkook drives, the city lights sliding across the windshield. You glance over at him, catching the soft, satisfied look on his face, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift.
Jae makes a small cooing sound, pulling your attention back down. You adjust him carefully, brushing a thumb over his soft cheek.
“You think she bought it?” you ask quietly, keeping your voice low even though the baby can’t understand.
Jungkook’s mouth curves into a small smirk. “Cinema, huh? Cute.” He glances sideways at you, eyes dark and amused under the streetlights. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way. Your ears were bright red.”
You huff, looking out the window to hide the fresh heat crawling up your neck. “Shut up.”
He chuckles low, the sound warm and familiar, then reaches over to rest his hand lightly on your thigh—nothing heated this time, just steady and present. “You good?”
You nod, leaning your head back against the seat, still cradling Jae. The ache between your legs is a quiet reminder of everything that just happened, but the contentment sitting in your chest is stronger. For the first time in months, the exhaustion feels lighter.
You see, perverted or not, life just feels better when you’ve got a capable—actually insane—sex partner. Like, hell yeah. Fuck anyone who claims sexual frustration isn’t a real need.
HII I was the one who requested the jungkook dressing up the reader and it could be anything if I have to think of something maybe an angel but it doesn’t have to be a certain something but maybe just like cute ?!?! Like skirts and cute little pink stuff ＼(٥⁀▽⁀ )／ also if this isn’t to much to ask could u give the reader a shyer personality ? If not it’s oki ♡ sorry for the length
Lace & Satin.
──── where he dresses you up to his liking and eats you the fuck out— as simple as that.
❪ 엘리시안 ❫ ㅤㅤ: : ㅤㅤ♱ ㅤㅤJungkook × Female!Reader ㅤㅤshy!reader ㅤㅤdress up kink ㅤㅤcussing ㅤㅤsuggesting clothes ㅤㅤflirting ㅤㅤblushing ㅤㅤdirty talk ㅤㅤobedience ㅤㅤnudity ㅤㅤsmut ㅤㅤJungkook gets on his knees ㅤㅤeating her out ㅤㅤmirror ㅤㅤedging ㅤㅤbegging ㅤㅤarousal ㅤㅤfrustration ㅤㅤhair pulling ㅤㅤorgasm ㅤㅤcliffhanger.
As this ends on a cliffhanger, let me know if y'all want the complete smut or nah.
Jungkook toes his shoes off by the door without looking, the weight in his hands swinging once against his thigh. The paper rustles once, quiet and dry.
“Guess what I got.”
You’re already back on the couch, knees drawn up, remote still warm in your palm from turning the TV down. One eyebrow lifts.
“What.”
He takes another step into the room. The handles dig into his knuckles. “I said guess, snowflake. Don’t half-ass the one thing I’m asking.”
Your eyes drop to whatever he’s carrying. Stiff edges. Something that shifts when he moves. Your brain goes straight to takeout because that’s the safest answer and you're hungry even though you are five minutes ago.
“Food?”
He laughs under his breath, low and a little mean, “Come check it out yourself.”
Jungkook doesn’t wait for an answer. He cuts straight through the living room and into the shared bedroom like the decision was locked in before he even crossed the threshold. You push up from the couch, thumb the power button on the remote, and let it drop onto the cushion without looking. The screen dies behind you as you follow.
He’s already at the mirror when you reach the doorway, shrugging out of his suit jacket and yanking the tie free with one hand. The bag sits on the bed like it was dropped there on purpose.
“What is it?” Your voice comes out quieter than intended, bare feet silent on the floor as you drift closer.
You reach for the open top and pull the first thing free.
Soft cream fabric spills into your palms—an off-shoulder slip, the kind that looks like it was made to slip lower every time someone breathes. Delicate lace traces the edges. A tiny bow sits at the neckline, almost too sweet for how little actual material there is.
Your breath catches sharp.
“Jungkook.”
His eyes find yours in the mirror, grin already stretching wide and completely unrepentant
.“That’s… really pretty,” you murmur, thumb brushing over the lace like it might vanish if you press too hard. The fabric is softer than it looks, almost cool against your skin.
Jungkook turns from the mirror, already stripped down to his shirt with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows. Jacket, tie, and watch are gone. He leans back against the dresser, arms folded, the open collar of his shirt showing just enough skin to make your eyes want to drift lower. He watches you hold the slip like it’s something fragile.
“I could say the same about you.”
Heat crawls up the side of your neck before you can stop it. You keep your eyes on the fabric instead of his face, because looking at him right now feels like admitting something you haven’t decided you’re ready to admit.
“Yeah, shut up. Where’d you even get this? And why?”
He shrugs one shoulder, the movement slow, deliberate, like he’s got all the time in the world and zero intention of making this easy. “Where isn’t your business. Why is simple—I thought it’d look good on you.”
“Aww. That’s thoughtful.” The words come out softer than you meant, a small smile tugging at your mouth before you can stop it. You set the slip down carefully on the bed and reach for the second bag, pulling the next items free.
White fishnet stockings spill into your hands, thin and delicate. Separate white lace garters follow, soft and almost too sweet for how they look in your palms.
“A bit too thoughtful,” you murmur, eyes flicking between the pile of fabric and him.
Jungkook’s gaze drops to the clothes on the bed, then back to your face. “I wanted to dress you up.”
“Oh? I would love to—”
“Good. Strip.”
The word hits like a slap. You choke on nothing, breath catching sharp in your throat. Your fingers go tight around the stockings without meaning to.
“What?”
Jungkook doesn’t move from the dresser. Arms still folded, one brow lifting slow and deliberate. “You heard me the first time, snowflake. Strip. I’m not repeating myself. I said I wanted to dress you up. I meant every single word. You gonna do it yourself, or do I need to help?”
Heat floods your face so fast it almost stings. Your pulse kicks hard under your skin, loud enough that you’re half-convinced he can hear it from across the room.
“I can wear it on my own?” The words come out softer than you intended, almost like you’re asking permission for the question itself.
Jungkook pushes off the dresser and stands fully upright, the movement slow and deliberate. He crosses the small space between you without rushing, stopping only when he’s close enough that you have to tip your head back to meet his eyes.
His height is no joke. You’re short, he’s tall, and right now both facts feel very real. The difference sits heavy between you, forcing your chin up just to hold his gaze.
His hand finds the hem of your t-shirt, fingers curling around the fabric with quiet certainty. He starts to tug it upward, slow and steady, the material dragging against your skin as he keeps his eyes locked on yours the entire time. No rush.
You’re too stunned to push back. Your mind blanks for a second, pulse loud in your ears. When he says “Up,” your arms lift almost automatically, the movement automatic, like your body decided before your brain could argue.
Obedient, aren’t you?
Soon he tugs the shirt the rest of the way off and tosses it onto the bed without looking.
His hands move lower without pause. Fingers hook into the waistband of your sweatpants, thumbs brushing the soft skin just above the fabric. He holds your gaze again, waiting one beat longer than necessary, then starts to push them down.
The material slides over your hips, slow enough that every inch of newly exposed skin feels deliberate. You step out of them when they reach your ankles, pulse still hammering under your ribs.
At least your undergarments remain intact, for how long though?
He straightens, eyes dragging over you once, quiet and assessing, before he reaches for the cream slip.
You, without any instruction, raise your arms again for better access.
Jungkook doesn’t comment on it. He just steps in closer, the soft cream fabric gathered in his hands, and guides the slip over your head. The material whispers down your arms, cool against your bare shoulders, then settles over your chest and stomach. The off-shoulder neckline sits low, lace edges brushing your collarbones. The little bow rests right at the center of your sternum like it was measured for you.
He smooths the fabric once over your hips, fingers lingering a second longer than necessary, then reaches for the white fishnets.
He catches your wrist and pulls you forward until you’re standing in front of the mirror. His body blocks the glass completely, so all you can see is him.
Before you can process the shift, he drops to his knees in one smooth motion. Your eyes go wide.
The protest dies in your throat the second his hands find your ankle. He lifts it gently, guiding your foot through the first fishnet stocking, the thin mesh sliding up your calf with deliberate care. His fingers trail behind the fabric, smoothing it into place as he works higher, past your knee, until the lace top sits snug against your thigh.
You glance up for a second, catching the reflection over his shoulder—him on his knees in front of you, focused and unhurried.
He picks up one of the lace garters, guides your leg through it, and settles the soft band over the hem of the stocking. His fingers smooth the mesh into place, making sure everything sits neat against your thigh before he reaches for the other side.
He settles the second stocking and garter the same way—careful, precise—then pauses.
Instead of standing, he leans in. Soft, open-mouthed kisses start at the inside of your knee and travel slowly upward along your inner thigh. Each one lands warmer than the last, deliberate and unhurried, the faint scrape of his breath against the thin mesh of the stocking. Your hands find his shoulder without thinking, fingers curling tight as heat blooms under every press of his mouth.
“Jungkook.” The name leaves you on a shaky breath as you look down at him.
He glances up, eyes dark and steady, mouth still pressed against the soft skin of your inner thigh. “Yes, snowflake?”
His lips don’t stop. Another slow kiss lands higher, just shy of the lace edge of the garter, the heat of it sinking straight through the thin mesh. Your fingers tighten on his shoulder, pulse thudding hard under your skin while he keeps that quiet, deliberate path upward.
Your breath stutters when the next kiss lands even higher, right against the edge of the lace. His mouth stays there a second longer, warm and open, the faint drag of his tongue just enough to make your thighs tense.
He doesn’t ask for permission. He simply shifts closer on his knees, one hand steadying the back of your leg while the other keeps the stocking smooth against your skin. Another kiss, slower this time, presses into the softest part of your inner thigh. The heat of it sinks deeper, and a quiet sound slips out of you before you can catch it.
Jungkook’s eyes flick up again, watching every reaction like he’s collecting them.
“Sit back down.” His voice is low, almost a whisper.
You glance over your shoulder at the bed behind you. The open space of the mattress waits, quiet and close. Your pulse kicks harder under your skin as you take the half-step back and lower yourself onto the edge, the shift of weight sudden and deliberate.
Jungkook stays on his knees in front of you, eyes fixed on every small movement you make.
He pushes your thighs apart with quiet certainty, settling between them on his knees.
Your hands press into the mattress on either side of you, steadying your weight as you stay upright. Breath comes heavier now, cheeks warm, while his eyes stay locked on yours without a single break.
His hands rest on the inside of your thighs, warm and steady, holding them open. He doesn’t rush. Just looks up at you for a long second, the quiet between you thick enough to feel.
Your fingers curl into the sheets. The flush on your face deepens as his thumbs stroke once, slow, over the soft skin just above your knees.
His hand slides under the slip, fingers finding the waistband of your panties. He teases the elastic first—slow, deliberate tugs that barely move the fabric—before he starts pulling them down.
The thin material drags over your hips, then your thighs, the cool air of the room hitting newly exposed skin. You lift slightly so he can work them past your knees and off completely. He sets them aside without looking, attention already back on you.
Both hands return to your inner thighs, spreading them a little wider. He leans in, breath warm against the sensitive skin just above where the stockings end. One soft kiss lands there, then another higher, closer. Your fingers dig into the sheets as his mouth continues the path, unhurried and focused.
When his tongue finally drags through your folds, the sound that leaves you is quiet but sharp. He doesn’t stop. He licks again, slower this time, tasting every bit of the slick that’s already gathered. One hand stays firm on your thigh while the other slips two fingers between your lips, spreading you open so his mouth can work deeper.
Your head tips back for a second before you force yourself to look down again. He’s watching you from between your legs, eyes dark, mouth busy. The sight alone makes your stomach tighten. He seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently, then harder, the pressure perfect and relentless. Your hips twitch forward without permission.
He hums against you, the vibration sinking straight into your core, and slides one thick finger inside. The stretch is sudden and welcome. A second finger follows almost immediately, curling upward while his tongue keeps circling that swollen bud. Wet sounds fill the quiet room—slick and filthy—as he works you open with steady, practiced rhythm.
Your breathing turns ragged. One hand leaves the mattress and finds his hair, fingers threading through the strands and holding on. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, the grip makes him more focused. His fingers thrust deeper, curling against that spot that makes your thighs tremble around his shoulders. His tongue never stops, alternating between broad strokes and tight, focused flicks.
The pleasure builds fast and heavy, coiling low in your belly. Your walls flutter around his fingers, slick coating his knuckles. He adds a third finger without warning, stretching you fuller, and the soft sound that escapes you is half-whimper, half-moan. He looks up again, still licking, still fucking you with his hand, like he’s memorizing every reaction.
Your free hand stays planted on the bed for balance, but your body is already leaning into every movement he makes. The edge creeps closer—tight, urgent, almost painful in how good it feels. He seems to know.
His fingers and tongue work you right to the edge—tight, urgent, almost there—when he suddenly pulls back.
The loss is immediate. Your head tips back as a breathy whine slips out, frustrated and needy. He uses the back of one hand to wipe the slick from his chin, eyes still on you, calm and unhurried.
“You see, snowflake,” he murmurs, leaning in to suck a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your inner thigh, “when you’re getting something for your own benefit, you have to ask for it, no?”
Another kiss lands higher, closer to where you need him, but nowhere near enough. His fingers rest against your folds without moving, just holding the heat there, letting you feel how empty you suddenly are. Your hips twitch forward on instinct, chasing contact that isn’t given.
He chuckles quietly against your skin, the sound vibrating into the soft flesh of your thigh. “No words? Just that little sound?” His tongue traces a lazy line along the crease where thigh meets hip, then he bites gently—just enough pressure to make you jolt. “I had you shaking. One more second and you would’ve come all over my tongue. And you didn’t even ask.”
He slides one finger through your soaked folds again, collecting the wetness, but doesn’t push inside. Just spreads it slowly, teasing the entrance without entering. Your free hand tightens in his hair, the other still gripping the sheets. Breath comes short and uneven.
“Look at me.”
You force your head forward. His eyes are dark, patient, waiting. He holds the eye contact while his finger circles your clit once—light, almost cruel in how gentle it is—then pulls away completely.
The denial sits heavy between your legs. Your walls clench around nothing, slick dripping onto the sheets. Another soft, frustrated sound leaves you before you can stop it.
“Please.” The word leaves you soft and broken. “Please, Jungkook—”
He doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, thumbs still stroking those slow circles on your inner thighs.
“Please what?”
Your face burns hotter. You swallow, hips shifting restlessly against the empty air. “Please let me come. I need it—please.”
A quiet, almost amused sound leaves him. He leans in just enough that his breath ghosts over your soaked folds, but his mouth never touches. One finger traces a light, torturous line through the slick without pressing in.
“That’s it? One little please and you think we’re done?” His voice stays low, calm. “Try harder, snowflake. Tell me exactly what you want.”
Your fingers tighten in the sheets. The ache between your legs throbs sharper with every second he holds back. “I want your mouth—please. Your fingers. I need you to make me come. Please, Jungkook, I’m so close, I can’t—”
He hums, the sound vibrating against your inner thigh as he presses a slow kiss there instead. “Better. But still not enough.” Another kiss, higher this time, so close you can feel the heat of his mouth without getting what you need. “Beg like you mean it. I want to hear how badly you want it.”
A frustrated whimper slips out. Your hips twitch forward again, chasing contact that isn’t given. “Please—fuck, please. I’ll do anything. Just don’t stop this time. Put your mouth on me, finger me, make me come. I need it so bad it hurts. Please, Jungkook, please—”
Only then does the satisfied sound rumble in his chest. “There it is.”
He doesn’t tease any longer. His mouth seals over your clit and sucks hard while two fingers push deep inside you in one smooth thrust. The stretch and the sudden pressure hit at the same time. Your head drops back, a sharp moan tearing free as your walls clamp down around him.
He doesn’t ease up. Fingers curl and thrust with steady purpose, tongue working tight circles over your clit, the wet sounds loud in the quiet room. Your hand tightens in his hair, holding him there as the pleasure builds fast and ruthless, racing straight toward the edge he denied you moments ago.
He keeps the rhythm exact—deep, relentless, perfectly aimed—until the coil in your belly snaps. The orgasm crashes through you hard, thighs shaking around his shoulders, slick flooding his fingers as your whole body arches off the bed. He works you through every pulse, drawing it out until you’re trembling and oversensitive, breath coming in short, broken gasps.
Only then does he slow, pressing one last soft kiss to your clit before pulling back to look up at you, lips shiny, eyes dark with quiet satisfaction.
He rises between your legs in one smooth motion. Both hands catch your ankles and pull you down the mattress until you’re flat on your back, thighs settling around his hips. The shift is sudden, deliberate.
He leans down, one hand bracing beside your head on the bed. The other trails lower, palm sliding up the outside of your thigh before slipping beneath the soft fabric of the slip. Fingers skim higher, warm and unhurried.
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