summary: Izumi Uchiha is the younger sister of Izuna Uchiha and Madara Uchiha before her death she was more sadistic than her brothers. But now she had reborn into another universe that doesn't considered charka but she still has her kekkei genkai though. Her new name in this world would be Lilith Potter.
crossover: Naruto (Warring States Era)
word count: N/A
tagged: dumbledore bashing, molly bashing, hermione bashing, ron bashing, good ginny weasley, good weasley twins, good dark side..
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13
genre: exhibitionism, daddy!jungkook, slutty!y/n, filthy sex, free use
What started as teasing the mystery man across your apartment quickly turned into you rubbing your pussy in front of your floor-to-ceiling window. Then that man, Jungkook, comes over and shows you how Daddy takes care of desperate girls. But you’re still not done teasing him so you bring out your toys and he ruins your pussy so good you’ll forget who owns it.
tags: exhibitionism, voyeurism, teasing sexual tension, shirtless jungkook, jungkook is HUNG, bending over in panties, tit slip, mutual masturbation, public masturbation, squirting, rough sex, daddy kink, degradation, praise, dirty talk, jungkook calls you whore, cockslut, darling, fucktoy, biting, bruising, marking, hair pulling, spanking, pussy slapping, ass slapping, face fucking, throat fucking, swallowing his cum, creampie, breeding kink, size difference, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, crying during sex, begging, brat taming, punishment, balcony sex, shower sex, sleep sex, cock warming, plugged with cum, exhibitionist reader, shameless reader, bratty reader, dominant jungkook, possessive jungkook, animalistic sex, free use, dildo use, double penetration (toy and cock), jungkook fucks you so rough in this one.
total words: 4.5k
this snippet: 2k words
(this snippet shows the first scene where you and jungkook are teasing each other through your window and one day he comes over and fucks you like you've been begging for so long)
The new apartment was insane. Like, actually insane. You’d sold a kidney, or at least it felt like it, for this place with its stupidly high ceilings and walls that were basically just giant windows from floor to ceiling. The view of the city was killer, but on the first night, as you were unpacking a box of plates, your eyes drifted across the courtyard to the identical building opposite yours.
And there he was.
Shirtless. Cooking something in a pan. The muscles in his back and shoulders shifted under a tapestry of tattoos that coiled down one arm and across his pecs. He had dark hair, a little long on top, and when he turned to grab something, his eyes caught yours through the glass. He didn’t look startled. He just lifted a hand in a lazy wave, a small smirk playing on his lips.
You waved back, feeling a little stupid, standing there holding a “Live, Laugh, Love” plate your mom had given you.
That was the start.
It became a weird, silent game. You’d be making coffee in the morning, and you’d see him lifting weights, sweat making his skin glisten. He’d be on a work call in the evening, and you’d catch him glancing over as you danced around your living room to some dumb pop song. It was all just glances and smirks and waves. No words. Just windows.
Then came the towel incident.
It was a Saturday morning. You’d just showered, hair wrapped in a towel, body in another. You padded out into the living area, heading for the kitchen, completely forgetting that last night you’d opened the curtains wide to let the moonlight in. You felt a prickle on your skin, that feeling of being watched. You turned your head slowly.
He was there. Standing by his own window, a glass of water in his hand. His eyes weren’t on your face. They were dragging down the length of you, from your damp hair, over the towel knotted just above your breasts, down to where it ended mid-thigh. His gaze was so hot, so deliberate, you felt it like a physical touch. A flush of heat bloomed low in your stomach, a sudden, shocking pulse between your legs. You forced yourself to keep walking, your back to him, feeling his stare burning into your back, imagining it sliding over the curve of your ass under the terrycloth. You poured your coffee with shaky hands, the entire time hyper-aware of his presence across the void.
The game escalated.
A few days later, you saw him walking around his apartment in nothing but low-slung grey boxers. The defined V of his hips leading down to a very noticeable bulge. You pretended to read a book, peeking over the top.
Another time, you “accidentally” dropped a pen and bent over right in front of the window to pick it up, knowing you were only wearing a thin camisole and a pair of tiny lace panties. You took your sweet time, arching your back just so. When you straightened up and glanced over, he was standing stock still, his hand palming himself through his sweatpants, his jaw tight.
The hottest one was when you were wearing a loose tank top with no bra, reaching for a high shelf. The movement made your breast slip completely out of the neckline. You gasped, fumbling to tuck it back in, and your eyes flew to his window. He’d seen. He was leaning against his kitchen counter, one hand slowly, blatantly rubbing the thick outline of his cock through his sweats, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t look away. You bit your lip, let your hand drift down to your own stomach, before turning away, your heart hammering.
You were both driving each other crazy. You’d lie in bed at night, your fingers slipping into your panties, thinking about his tattoos, his smirk, the way his hand had gripped himself. You were wet all the time.
It came to a head on a Friday night. You were tipsy on a glass of red wine, feeling bold and restless. The lights in your apartment were low. His were on. You saw him moving around, shirtless again. A reckless, slutty idea took hold.
You walked to your big, plush sofa, positioned right in front of the main window. You lay down on your back, your head propped on the armrest, facing him. You took a slow sip of your wine, then let your free hand drift up your body. You cupped your breast over your thin t-shirt, squeezing lightly, your thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened into a peak visible through the fabric.
You saw him stop dead in the middle of his living room. He put down the glass he was holding. His eyes were dark, unblinking.
Emboldened, your hand slid down, over your stomach, to the waistband of your sleep shorts. You rubbed your palm over the clothed mound of your pussy, applying pressure. You arched your back a little, biting your lip as you watched him.
His hand went to the waistband of his own shorts. He pushed them down just enough to free his cock. Your breath hitched. It was… fuck. It was huge. Long, thick, already fully hard, the head flushed dark. He wrapped his fist around it, giving it one slow, punishing stroke.
That was all the permission you needed. A switch flipped inside you. You were done teasing. You hooked your thumbs into your shorts and panties and shoved them down your legs, kicking them off somewhere onto the floor. Your pussy was exposed to the cool air—and to him. You grabbed a thick velvet cushion from the sofa, shoved it between your thighs, and without breaking eye contact, you lowered yourself onto it.
You started riding the cushion, grinding your clit against the rough texture, your wetness immediately soaking into the fabric. You were acting like a total slut, and you fucking loved it. You pulled your t-shirt up, freeing your breasts, letting them bounce with every roll of your hips. You closed your eyes, lost in the sensation, the image of him stroking that massive cock burned into your mind. You were getting close, so close, your moans starting to escape your lips—
The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent.
Your eyes flew open. You froze, mid-grind. You looked across the courtyard.
His apartment was empty.
Holy shit.
Your heart leapt into your throat. You scrambled off the cushion, your legs wobbly, and grabbed the silk robe you’d left on a chair, tying it hastily around your naked, dripping body. You padded to the door, peering through the peephole.
It was him.
You opened the door a crack.
He was even more imposing up close. Taller. Broader. The tattoos were more detailed, more brutal. His eyes were black pools of heat and intent. He smelled like clean sweat and something darker, spicier.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a low, rough rumble. “I’m Jungkook.”
“Y/N,” you managed to squeak out.
He didn’t wait. He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and kicked it shut behind him with a final-sounding thud. Then his hands were on your face, cradling it roughly, and his mouth was on yours.
The kiss wasn’t sweet. His tongue plunged into your mouth, claiming it, tasting the wine on your lips. You moaned into him, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. He tasted like sin and mint. He broke the kiss as suddenly as he started it, his eyes raking over the robe.
“All this time,” he growled. “Every fucking day. Teasing me. Driving me out of my mind.”
With one sharp tug, he undid the belt of your robe and yanked it open, letting it fall to the floor. You stood there, completely naked, exposed under the harsh entryway light.
“Look at you,” he sneered, his gaze hot and possessive as it swept over your body. “A little exhibitionist slut. Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, could you?”
Before you could answer, he bent, grabbed you by the waist, and threw you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. You yelped, the blood rushing to your head as he carried you effortlessly into the living room, right to the scene of your crime—the sofa in front of the giant window. He dumped you unceremoniously onto the cushions, on your back.
He stood over you, looking down at your spread legs, at your glistening, swollen pussy. “You made a mess on my cushion, you fucking tease?” he asked, though his eyes were on your core.
“It’s… it’s my cushion,” you breathed out, trying for sass but it came out as a whimper.
He smirked, a cruel, beautiful twist of his lips. “Not anymore.”
Then his hand came down. Not a caress. A sharp, stinging slap right against your wet pussy lips.
You screamed. The pain was bright and shocking, followed instantly by a wave of intense pleasure that made your back arch off the couch.
“Scream louder,” Jungkook commanded, his voice dripping with dominance. “Let the whole building know what a cockslut lives here.” He slapped you again, smack, right on your clit this time.
You cried out, your hips bucking uncontrollably. “Fuck! Daddy!”
The word just fell out of you. His eyes flared with dark satisfaction.
“That’s right,” he purred, delivering another slap, then rubbing his palm roughly over the throbbing nub. “You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you? Showing off your pretty tits and your greedy little pussy. Making Daddy’s cock ache every night.” He slid two fingers inside you without warning, curling them. “So fucking wet. All for me. You were dreaming of this, weren’t you? Dreaming of Daddy splitting you open on his big cock.”
“Yes! Yes, Daddy, please!” you babbled, humping his hand shamelessly. The combination of the slapping, the dirty talk, and his fingers inside you was too much. A coil snapped deep in your belly. “I’m gonna—!”
He pulled his fingers out and slapped your clit again, hard. “Cum. Now.”
The command, the sharp sting, tipped you over the edge. A gush of liquid heat erupted from you, soaking the sofa cushion beneath you with a force that shocked you. You squirted, hard, your vision whiting out for a second as you screamed, your body convulsing.
Jungkook watched, mesmerized, as you trembled and gushed. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at that. My little slut can squirt. Such a good girl for Daddy.”
You were panting, boneless, but he wasn’t done. While you were still twitching through the aftershocks, he flipped you over onto your stomach with brutal efficiency. He pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, ass in the air, face pressed into the velvet of the sofa, your body angled towards the window.
“Look,” he growled in your ear, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “Look out there. Anyone could be watching. Anyone could see your slutty little body getting used.” He positioned himself behind you, the broad, slick head of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance. “They’d see this perfect ass bouncing on my dick. They’d see how well you take it.”
He didn’t push in slowly. He owned you. With one powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt inside you.
You screamed again, a raw, ragged sound torn from your throat. He was massive. Thick and long, stretching you wider than you’d ever been stretched, filling you up in a way that bordered on painful. “Oh god! Daddy, it’s too big!”
“It’s not too big,” he grunted, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making you see stars. “It’s perfect for you. This cunt was made for me. Say it.”
“It was—ah!—made for you!” you sobbed, taking his punishing rhythm.
“Damn right,” he snarled, setting a brutal pace, each thrust jolting you forward. His hand came down on your ass with a loud crack. “This is for bending over in your panties.” Smack. “This is for letting your tit pop out.” Smack. “This is for riding that fucking cushion while I watched.” He punctuated each word with a thrust and a slap until your ass and pussy were on fire.
You were babbling nonsense, tears of overwhelmed pleasure streaking your face. “Fuck me, Daddy! Own this pussy! It’s yours!”
“Mine,” he growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic, deeper. One of his hands snaked around your hip and found your swollen, oversensitive clit. He rubbed rough, tight circles, and you felt another orgasm building, even bigger than the first. “You gonna squirt for Daddy again? Gonna make another mess?”
You could only nod, moaning as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.
“Do it,” he commanded, pinching your clit.
You shattered. Another torrent of release burst from you as he fucked you through it, his cock pistoning into your convulsing channel. You were screaming, trembling violently, completely out of control.
Just as the last waves were subsiding, he pulled out of your dripping pussy with a wet sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness.
Before you could process it, he was dragging you off the couch by your hair—not hard enough to hurt badly, but enough to make you yelp and follow. He sat on the edge of the sofa and pulled you between his knees. His cock was glistening with your juices, rock-hard and angry red.
“Open,” he ordered, tapping his cockhead against your lips.
You opened your mouth obediently, and he shoved himself inside, fucking your face with the same ruthless pace he’d fucked your pussy. You gagged, tears springing to your eyes again as he hit the back of your throat.
“Take it, cumslut,” he grunted, his hands fisting in your hair. “Swallow every drop. You wanted my cock? Here it is.”
He thrust deep once, twice, three more times, and then with a guttural roar, he came. Hot, bitter spurts flooded your throat. You swallowed frantically, some of it dribbling down your chin as he held you there, milking himself dry into your mouth.
When he finally pulled out, you were a wreck—used, covered in sweat and spit and cum, trembling.
He looked down at you, his chest heaving, a smug, filthy smirk on his face. He used his thumb to wipe the stray cum from your chin and pushed it back into your mouth. “Clean Daddy up.”
You sucked his thumb clean, whining around it. When he pulled it out, you found your voice, small and wrecked. “Why… why didn’t Daddy cum inside my pussy?”
Jungkook leaned down, his face inches from yours. He kissed you again, deep and dirty, sucking on your tongue before pulling back. His eyes were dark with promise. “Because you haven’t been good enough yet.” He traced your swollen lips. “You’ve been a bratty little exhibitionist slut. You need to earn Daddy’s sperm deep in that tight little cunt. Understand?”
You nodded, shivering with a mix of exhaustion and renewed, desperate arousal.
(full version contains you wanting jungkook to cum in your pussy so you tease him by using a dildo but then he fucks you alongside it and breeds you)
genre: Professor Jungkook x Student Y/n, taboo relationship
You went to the club to let loose, to be sexy and hot and irresponsible. You didn’t expect your professor Jungkook to be there, to be staring at you, and to show you what real pleasure looks like.
Tags: Age Difference, Fingering, Squirting in public, Semi-public nudity, Dom Jungkook, Dirty Talk, Loss of Virginity, Rough Sex, Spanking, Creampie, Fucking against the window, Messy, Pure PWP, Smut
Words: 4.1k
[patreon exclusive]
Preview:
Neon strobes cut through the haze of smoke and bodies, painting the writhing mass of people in flashes of electric blue and hot pink. This was your escape. The weight of impending midterms, the stack of unread academic journals, the constant, low-grade hum of anxiety that came with being a third-year student—it all dissolved here, under the pulse of the music and the warm, numbing slide of vodka-tonics down your throat.
You’d dressed to kill. The outfit was simple but hot: a skirt shorter than you were used to wearing, hugging the curve of your ass, and a top that fit a little too well, the neckline plunging daringly and the back non-existent. You were on your third drink, the edges of the world pleasantly fuzzy, dancing in a loose, uninhibited circle with some friends from your sociology seminar when you felt it.
A gaze. Not the usual quick, appreciative glances you’d been fielding all night. This was different. It was a laser, a brand. It felt heavy, possessive, and it tracked you with an unnerving precision through the chaotic strobe. You turned, trying to find the source, your eyes scanning the crowded upper mezzanine that overlooked the dance floor. And then you saw him.
Leaned against the railing, a tumbler of dark liquor held loosely in one large, veined hand, was Jeon Jungkook. Professor Jeon Jungkook. Your Advanced Cultural Theory professor. The man whose lectures you sometimes attended just to watch the way his muscles moved under his fitted dress shirts when he wrote on the whiteboard. The man with a PhD from Seoul National and a stare that could melt steel. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Professors didn’t go to clubs like this. Especially not him. He was always so… contained. Authoritative. Untouchable.
But here he was, out of his element yet completely dominating it. He’d foregone the usual blazer for a simple, tight black t-shirt that stretched across a chest you now realized was absurdly broad and sculpted. Dark jeans hugged powerful thighs and, you swallowed, a noticeable bulge. His tattoos, usually hidden, snaked down one strong forearm. His hair was slightly messy, as if he’d run his hands through it. And his eyes… they were locked on you, dark as pitch, and burning with an intensity that made your drink-induced warmth flare into a sudden, sharp heat between your legs.
You looked away quickly, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
Ignore him. He’s not here. This is a hallucination.
You took a gulp of your drink, the ice cold against your suddenly dry throat. When you dared another glance, he was gone from the railing. A wave of irrational disappointment washed over you, followed immediately by relief. Good. He’d left. This was fine.
You turned back to your friends, trying to lose yourself in the music again. But the sense of being watched persisted, crawling over your skin like a physical touch. You felt a large, warm presence at your back a moment before a deep, velvety voice murmured directly into your ear, the sound cutting through the thumping music like a knife.
“Y/N. Fancy meeting you here.”
You froze. Every nerve ending stood at attention. Slowly, you turned.
Jungkook stood so close you could smell him—sandalwood, expensive whiskey, and pure, undiluted male. He looked down at you, a faint, dangerous smirk playing on his lips. His eyes did a slow, deliberate sweep of your body, from the dangerous heels on your feet, up your bare legs, lingering on the hem of your short skirt, over the exposed swell of your breasts in the lace top, and finally back to your face. The appraisal was blatant, crude, and it left you feeling utterly naked.
“P-Professor Jeon,” you stammered, the title feeling absurd in this setting.
“Jungkook,” he corrected, his voice low. “We’re not in my classroom now, are we?” He took a step closer, forcing the crowd to part around him. His size was overwhelming. “Although, I must say, your choice of attire tonight is… a fascinating deviation from your usual seminar wear. More of a visual aid than a thesis statement, perhaps.”
The teasing, intellectual jab combined with the raw hunger in his eyes was disorienting. “I’m… just blowing off steam,” you managed, lifting your chin defiantly.
“Mm. Steam.” He repeated the word as if tasting it. “You look like you’re about to combust.” His gaze dropped to your chest again, and you saw his jaw tighten. “That top is doing a very poor job.”
Before you could formulate a retort, his hand came up. Not to touch you, but to gesture toward the quieter, shadowy corridor that led to the restrooms and a secluded, upholstered alcove. “It’s too loud here to have a proper conversation. Come.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a command, delivered with the same effortless authority he used to tell a room full of grad students to turn to page forty-two. A rebellious part of you wanted to say no, to turn back to the dance floor. But a deeper, more primal part was already following him, drawn like a moth to the lethal flame of his presence.
The alcove was dim, lit only by a single, low-voltage sconce, the sounds of the club muffled to a distant throb. It felt intimate, illicit. He didn’t sit. He stood before you, arms crossed, his biceps straining the fabric of his shirt. He looked you over again, slowly, letting the silence stretch.
“So,” he began, his tone conversational yet laced with threat. “You come here often to ‘blow off steam’? Let strangers buy you drinks? Let their hands wander?”
“That’s none of your business,” you fired back, finding a sliver of courage in your irritation.
A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Everything about my students is my business. Especially when they parade themselves in front of me like a three-course meal.” He uncrossed his arms and took the single step that closed the distance between you. Now you could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the faint scar above his brow. “You think I haven’t noticed you? Sitting in the third row, biting your pen, legs crossed so tight I can see the tension in your thigh? You think I don’t see the way you watch me?”
Your breath hitched. He had noticed. “You stare at everyone. You’re intimidating.”
“I stare,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “but I don’t look. Not like I look at you.” His hand came up, and his knuckles brushed lightly, almost reverently, down the side of your neck. The touch was electric. “I look at you and I think about all the ways I could undo you. How that smart mouth of yours would look wrapped around my c𝑜ck. How you’d sound when you cried my name, not ‘Professor’.”
The vulgarity, the sheer audacity of his words, sent a shockwave of pure lust straight to your core. You were wet, achingly so, and the thin fabric of your panties felt utterly inadequate.
“You can’t talk to me like that,” you whispered, but the protest had no force.
“I just did.” His smirk returned, triumphant. His knuckles trailed lower, over your collarbone, to the precarious edge of your lace top. “And you’re trembling. Is it fear? Or is it something else?” With a sudden, deliberate movement, he hooked a thick finger under the lace and tugged it down an inch, just enough to expose more of the upper swell of your breast. “Tell me, Y/N. What happens in this club stays in this club. Do you understand the rules of this… extracurricular activity?”
You were pinned by his gaze, by his proximity, by the terrifying want that was consuming you. You nodded, a tiny, desperate motion.
“Good girl.” The praise was a dark caress. His finger left your top and instead, his large, warm palm settled boldly on your ass over your skirt, squeezing firmly. You gasped, jolting against him. “Such a handful. All that sass in my classroom, and here you are, dressed for sin.” His hand slid around, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your outer thigh, hiking your skirt up another dangerous inch. “You want to be a good girl for me tonight? Or do you want me to make you one?”
The dual threat/promise in his words made your knees weak. “I… I don’t know.”
“We’ll start with an easy lesson,” he purred. His other hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Open.”
Mesmerized, you parted your lips. His thumb pushed in, resting on your tongue. The taste of salt and his skin was inexplicably erotic. “Suck.”
You closed your lips around his thumb, sucking gently, your eyes locked on his. A low groan escaped him, and the hand on your thigh tightened possessively.
“Fuck, you learn fast,” he muttered, his eyes blazing. He withdrew his thumb, now slick with your saliva, and trailed it down your chin, your throat, until he once again reached the neckline of your top. This time, he didn’t stop. He pushed the lace down roughly, exposing one of your breasts completely to the cool, shadowy air. Your nipple hardened instantly into a tight peak.
“Pretty,” he murmured, but there was nothing gentle in his tone. He leaned down, his breath hot on your skin, and then his mouth was on you. He didn’t kiss—he bit. A sharp, claiming nip at the sensitive bud that made you cry out and arch into him. He soothed it immediately with his tongue, laving and sucking with a ruthless rhythm that had you clutching at his shoulders for balance. His free hand, the one that had been on your thigh, slid between your legs, over your skirt. He palmed you through the fabric, finding the soaked, heated center of you and applying a firm, grinding pressure.
“Already so wet,” he growled against your breast. “Drenched for me. Is this what you think about in my lectures? Me touching you? Fucking you?”
You could only moan, your head falling back as he continued to work your nipple with his teeth and tongue while his hand rubbed you through your clothes. The stimulation was brutal, public, and unbearably arousing. Anyone could walk by the alcove entrance. The thought only made you hotter.
PROFESSOR!JUNGKOOK · STUDENT!READER · UNPROTECTED SEX · 2.8K
jungkook knew you were staring.
he didn’t mind at all; though he did sometimes wonder what was going through your head for your dimples to pop out as you grinned from ear to ear. or bite your lip and screw your eyes shut after you mouthed a swear word.
either way, jungkook couldn’t contain the smile on his lips.
“thinking about something good ?”
his voice broke you out of your daze, while he remained in his position, checking through your paper while you stood beside him, hands behind your back.
he glanced up at you, to see you blinking at him with an open mouth.
“i-“
there was no time to answer, the sound of his phone ringing somehow interrupting you but also saving your ass.
phew. no way to explain that your daydream consisted of him picking you up and fucking you on the desk he was working on.
it alarmed you seeing his eyes roll once he glanced at his caller id, although you could only wait patiently as he excused himself to leave the room.
“i’ll be a minute ____.”
you nodded at him as he rushed past you, a strained “what ?” leaving his mouth just before he shut the door behind him.
the couple minutes of you standing diligently while you could hear the definite annoyance through your professor’s voice, left you wondering if asking him to read through your essay was a good choice.
maybe, now wasn’t the right time—
a loud sigh met your ears after the slamming of the office door, turning to stumble upon the face of an obviously stressed man.
“erm…” you pressed your lips together, “would you like me to leave ?”
hands bunched into tight fists beside your body, it struck jungkook that you may have heard every second of his conversation; ultimately becoming awkward after knowing the contents.
“what ?” he slightly paused while walking, only to shake his head and carry on. “no, of course not.”
finally sitting down again with another relieving sigh leaving his mouth, jungkook picked up your papers while you noticed the tension in the silent room go from zero to one hundred.
oh fuck. you despised uncomfortable situations like these.
if only you decided to come another day, you wouldn’t haven’t encountered — what seemed like — a heated argument between husband and wife.
if only you weren’t so uncertain about your work, you wouldn’t come to ask your professor to go over it.
if only you didn’t open your big mouth, you wouldn’t be undergoing the absolutely embarrassing moment of mr jeon staring at you as if you were naked.
the words of “are you ok ?” repeated through jungkook’s ears several times before he could actually muster up a reply. to be honest, he was speechless.
“wow.” he took a second to shut his eyes before smiling widely at you.
“i don’t believe i’ve been asked about my well-being for a good three months.” he squinted his eyes while scoffing.
“i just- you…” you stopped yourself before you could make it worse, deciding to focus on the ground which you wished would swallow you up right now.
“it’s ok,” the genuine tone of his evident, “i actually appreciate it a lot. thanks for your kindness towards me.”
“don’t thank me.” it mainly came out in one whole breath — jungkook chuckling in reply when you proceeded to try and comfort him.
“things must be hard sir, but they’ll get better.”
he got the hint that you were referring to the phone call you most certainly overheard, although he couldn’t blame you.
“do things get better from finding your wife with another man in her bed ?”
the disgust on your face when he finished speaking kinda amused him, although he made sure to reassure you in not worrying.
“we’re getting a divorce anyway, but she’s just being a difficult woman currently.” he turned a page over now, paying you no attention while you were appalled.
“mr jeon, i’m so sorry.”
never had you ever actually known somebody who’d experienced such a thing, your remorse and horror towards the unfortunate event being obvious as it disturbed you how normal he was acting.
“what are you apologising for ?” gaping up at your standing self, jungkook dropped the papers in his hands only to focus fully on you now.
“because no one deserves that. especially not you sir.”
hoping he knew you were stating only the truth, it began to make total sense as to why his personality had changed in the last couple of months.
when mr jeon arrived, he was the new, hot and young professor, making both teachers and students swoon over him. not only his attractive looks, he was approachable to all while being friendly and having a great attitude towards teaching.
his sudden change of character where he turned more dismissive and less enthusiastic was spotted by anybody who paid close attention to him. you being part of anybody.
“well it gladdens me to know you care for me. at least one person does.”
watching as his small smile turned into a frown, your hand naturally reached out to him, resting on to his clenched fist.
the soft touch startled jungkook, instantly feeling at ease once he saw your comforting grin.
it wasn’t a total secret that you may or may not have had a crush on him. jungkook would just have to be totally oblivious to your sweet stares and smiles.
or the fact that he’s accidentally caught you scribble his name on the back of a piece of paper; hearts and doodles all to be seen around mr jeon.
“of course, sir.”
it was a reflex, hand wrapping around his, yet when you were just about to pull it back — realising that maybe you were overstepping a boundary — jungkook’s palm lay over yours.
the silence was loud as the pair of you refused to break eye contact.
you didn’t know what to call it, but the emotion in his gaze was hard to name. similarly, he could say the same about you; a strand of your hair beginning to bug him as he moved near to you, extending his finger and tucking the piece behind your ear.
and that was it. he’d crossed the line.
there was no time to hold back, suddenly in two minds before your lips had crashed on his after he was inches away from your face when fixing your hair.
oddly, there was no sign of reluctance as he reciprocated your passion — kissing you harder with more intensity as you had to grip on his shoulders to keep yourself steady.
“fuck.” you muttered when withdrawing, removing your hands from him when you comprehended what just happened.
you kissed your professor. and he’s married.
“shit, i’m-”
just as you were about to apologise, jungkook’s mouth was already connected to you as he hurried out of his seat to hold your cheeks in his palms, urgency on show.
your head was empty; mind only full of his eagerness towards you as he stayed smooching you.
instinctively, your two bodies moved towards a surface to lean on — the nearest his desk — as your hands latched on the edge to keep you stable.
both of you were busy snogging away, chests bumping into each other while his glasses began to become a nuisance for him.
“i’m sorry.” he grinned, withdrawing from you to remove the frames.
your mouth was open as he gaped back at you, no noise filling the other’s ears apart from the panting after the rush and excitement you both felt.
“we- i-”
“forgive me,” he’d taken a couple of steps back; ensuring there was a couple metres distance between you two, “i- i don’t know what i was thinking.”
surely, he didn’t think it was a mistake ?
yeah, it would’ve been amazing under better circumstances — like if he didn’t have a wife — however it felt good.
“do you regret it ?”
the crestfallen tone of yours immediately made jungkook jump to correct you.
“no !” he ran a hand through his hair, clutching on to the pair of glasses in his free hand before tutting.
“i’m your professor and you’re my student. i just-“
“i’m an adult. and so are you.”
jungkook was in a dilemma. sure, he’d enjoyed having your lips on his, but that’s not the point. though he knew it was wrong, it felt way too good.
“but-“
“you know what. maybe i should go.”
you didn’t know what you were doing, aware that you’d left your assignment with him and would have to come face to face with him soon anyway. but for now you didn’t want to embarrass yourself any further; brushing past him and nearly leaving till he called out your name.
“lock the door.”
the little intake of breath didn’t go hidden by jungkook.
“you sure ?”
turning, you saw his hands on his hips as he poked his tongue at his inner cheek — a small smirk on his lips along with a raised eyebrow.
that alone was all you needed to turn the round knob and ensure you heard the click of the door locking.
“come here.”
you practically ran to him, legs wrapping around him as he heaved your body up onto him.
it was as if you were hungry for one another, tongues already in each other’s mouths and hands travelling to all the right places.
you didn’t know jungkook was a moaner, however setting your ass on his desk with your pelvis directly hitting his crotch, legs wrapped tightly around his frame as you clutched onto his arms with your fingers; feeling the contact made a vibration resound from his mouth onto yours.
“____” he withdrew, hands still stuck on your hips with both of your breaths hitting the others lips while grinning at the feeling of your heartbeats increasing.
“do you really want to do this ?”
his forehead came in to contact with yours; thumb swiping across your bottom lip and eyelids shutting once your thighs clenched on either side of him.
“i do.” you breathed out, edging closer to peck him gently — teasingly dragging your lips until he held your jaw, lightly in place.
“is this okay ?”
his husky voice so near to your ear, was driving you insane but you could only nod as he continued.
“are you giving me your full consent to fuck you ?”
hearing such an explicit word from his lips had your pussy throbbing as you gulped before replying.
“yes.”
the once thoughtful gaze which turned to lust had you bite your lips when jungkook unhurriedly took off his blazer, biceps bulging through his shirt.
“i’m gonna make sure you don’t regret this.”
oh you were certain you weren’t.
watching him work with his zipper indicated to you to get started on your skirt, although the hand on yours prevented you from doing so.
“there’s no need.” jungkook muttered, inching nearer to trail a set of kisses on your neck while standing in between your legs.
he was able to unhook his cock through the unzipped part of his trousers; the pure sight of his throbbing head making you gasp from first glance.
his cocky chuckle was hot, nonetheless, as his lips along with his tongue stayed showing love to your exposed chest, the faint skim of two fingers setting aside your almost soaked panties felt so smooth to you, until the plunge of two fingers inside of your hole made you whimper.
“mmmph.”
you’d pulled him so close to you to hide your face in the croak of his neck, jungkook simply shushing you as your arms fastened around his shoulders.
he was quick to leave your puckered hole as fast as his fingers entered, smearing the wetness to make things easier for him.
you’d be lying if you said he didn’t know what he was doing though. his thumb, so effortlessly pressing on your clit at just the right pressure as his digits worked in and out of you; body becoming limp at how skilfully he had you go from mewling in slight discomfort to moaning in utter pleasure.
jungkook could feel he was fully hard merely from satisfying you and even if he wasn’t getting gratified at the same time, being able to have his eyes feast on you undoing yourself in front of him was enough.
your body was only tilting backwards, arms detaching themselves from him as you planted your palms on either side of your weak self — opening your screwed shut lids to meet his cock calling your name.
he smirked, spotting your eyes lingering up and down from his own to the show that eventually ended up taking your whole attention.
jungkook’s lips that adorned a wide grin changed to his mouth dropping open when you brought your thumb to his slit, spreading his pre-cum while keeping eye contact.
giving in, his eyes fell down to your hands fisting his length; successfully bringing him delight by jacking him off while playing with his exposed balls and adding the perfect touch of squeezing when he least expected it.
“i- i don’t want to cum yet.”
those words were the last you anticipated to hear from jungkook, his shaky breath making you go a little slower while you understood it was more of a warning when he separated both your hands from the other.
the whine which met his ears altered into a loud moan after jungkook swiftly thrusted his dick in to your desperate hole in replacement of his index and middle finger.
“fuck.”
both of you cursed under your breath when he penetrated you at ease after doing a good job of making your pussy accustomed to his large size.
“don’t you dare pull out…” you groaned through sounds of joy, “i’m on the pill.” head falling back when jungkook clutched on to the bottom of your thighs to have his cock hit you deeper.
“oh yeah ?" his thrusts increased at your words, balls smacking against your cunt as you uttered sinful words at the sensation of him pounding into you,
“i can’t wait for you to cum all over my cock baby. can you do that for me ____ ?” his breathing turning heavy only meant he was close as his nail dug into you.
the same could be said for yourself; jungkook asking you such a question snapping the orgasm in your stomach, as you screamed out in gratification.
“yes, yes !”
jungkook wouldn’t put an end to fucking you, body losing it’s balance and essentially crushing you while his dick continued to shove into you.
“that’s it, cum for me baby.”
his grunts got quieter as he gradually halted his movements, only to hover over you and steady himself by keeping his weight on his palms that rested on both sides of your head.
your body was still, pussy throbbing around his pulsating cock as all you could feel was the numbness between your legs.
“ugh.”
the two of you were a mess, jungkook also wincing when pulling out of you; the remaining juices that left your hole entrancing him for a second till he grabbed a tissue and wiped it up delicately.
flinching from the feeling, you let out a tiny whimper, letting your eyes flutter shut. you heard his zipper and an appeasing exhale — a smile appearing on your face until he clapped his hands together.
“okay, let’s get you up.”
it was clear to him you were worn out so he was understanding enough to help hoist your upper half from its previous posture until you were sitting up with your hands enclasped around his neck.
he’d sorted both your underwear and skirt out like the gentleman he was; the only jumbled thing about you, your hair.
the chuckle that left his mouth was sweet while he sorted the messy strands as you gazed at him like he was a sort of prize, a grin on your mouth.
“you must be giddy.”
jungkook acknowledged that you were probably feeling afterglow; beaming at your happy self.
“that was the best sex i’ve ever had.”
he immediately laughed, the sound bringing glee to your ears.
“thank you, i guess.” he scrunched his nose while biting his lip, squeezing on your hips.
“can i ask you a question though ?”
there was a hint of hesitation behind your words, jungkook squinting at you for a second before smiling to reassure you.
That time you got caught masturbating in your professor's classroom after hours.
Word Count: 7.531
Warning: camgirl, teacher/student, masturbation, smut, voyeurism, dirty talk, sex toys, fingering, dom jungkook, submissive reader, ass slapping/spanking, chemistry questions bc this is a jk professor fic, begging, edging/orgasm denial, cock worship, oral, deep throating, overstimulation, creampie, unprotected sex,
Taglist | Teaser
You knew doing this was risky and maybe, just maybe, that was your problem. You loved risks. The way your heart pumped outside your chest so rapidly, allowing hot, anticipated blood to flow throughout your body. Your breathing would become just as rapid, unable to hold in the energetic excitement that bursts through you.
What was the risk you were taking?
You, a camgirl, were going to go live in your professor's classroom.
Of course, something like this was insane. Incredibly heinous if you got caught.
You weren’t going to get caught - you were sure of it. Not only was the weekend, but this certain professor was never in his classroom outside of class hours.
Professor Jeon - named Jeon Jungkook - was young, close to his thirties. Most Professors are the same age as your parents or older, however Professor Jeon was no older than the students he taught.
Professor Jeon wasn’t just young, but he was also dangerously handsome. You recall when he strutted through the door 10 minutes late, glasses hanging on his shirt holding a black briefcase. He had apologized profusely about being late and admitted that he overslept - and did a dramatic bow.
When you laid eyes on Professor Jeon, dressed in a tight fitted v-neck shirt with fitted dress pants that showed just how tiny his waist was… you couldn’t concentrate in the slightest. Not when your Professor was a hot piece of ass and a total slut in what he was wearing.
The wooden door creaks when you open it. The sensor lights come on as you stroll in, closing the door behind you. Your heels click against the floors beneath you as you walk, echoing off of the empty classroom walls.
The classroom has amazing bright lighting that would do good for your cam. You go towards Professor Jeon’s desk and release a short sigh. He had a few books stacked on top of one another that caught your eye. You go towards them and pick them up, placing your cell phone - that is fully charged and ready for this moment - on top. You stroll towards the array of desks and place the books on top of one.
You throw your bag down on one of the seats after unzipping it. You’re a bit giddy at the thought of doing this here out of all places. You just know the tips that you were going to get were going to be insane - possibly the most you’d receive thus far!
When you decided for this camshow, you were going to look the part of the slutty student - a sheer white top that’s tied at the end and too tight for it to not be inappropriate in formal settings. You aren’t wearing a bra so your nipples are hard against the shirt. Your skirt is plaid and short, your ass hanging out of the bottom of it and matching thigh high socks.
Most of your “fans” have fantasies - you managed to fulfil most of them. However, you had your own fantasy. You always got wet at the idea of public indecency and the thought of being caught. You, however, weren’t a complete idiot. You knew doing this would be marking it off your bucket list. However, you understood doing it during the weekend and after hours would be best. No one would be here besides the janitors, and knowing them, they were possibly off somewhere milking the clock.
You came prepared. You were fully intended on going all out - and clean up afterwards. Your bag had more than sex toys. You had towels, clorox wipes and even multi-purpose cleaner. You didn’t want Professor Jeon to come back to your cum all over his desk - how embarrassing.
“Heelllooo.” you sing-song once the live starts. Your phone is leaning against the stacks of books. The look of you through the camera is amazing - dark desk with Professor Jeon’s desk chair in the background. A large white board with the Philosophical messages written on it; it was truly a scene right out of a porn shoot.
“I told you all I always imagined fucking myself in this very classroom.” you take a few steps back to lean against Professor Jeon’s desk. You tilt your head cutesy-like - just how your viewers like. “And today…I’m going to do just that.”
Jungkook’s dress shoes click against the marble floor as he makes his way down the long hall. His glasses are low on his nose, one hand lazily in his pant pockets. He didn’t want to be here on an off day, but he was already behind on grading and if he procrastinated any more, his grades wouldn’t be in the system in time for finals.
So, like any other professionally responsible Professor does, he goes to do his job. He passed one janitor that was playing a game of Candy Crush on high volume. It echoes down the hall even as he reaches his classroom. From underneath the closed door, he witnesses light passing through.
Jungkook furrows his eyes, but doesn’t think too much into it. Possibly another janitor is inside cleaning and actually doing their jobs.
Jungkook twists the handle and opens the door. Immediately, he stops in his tracks as his ears pick up moaning.
Jungkook stops in the doorway, his head, ever so slowly, turns to where his desk sits. You, an average student with decent grades, is sitting on his desk. You’re dressed like a modern slut that he’d see in a cheap, oversaturated porno or on Halloween night. Your head is pushed back, mouth agape and releasing such pleasurable moans that his cock twitches at just the sound of it. Your eyes are squeezed shut and for a moment, he doesn’t hear the buzzing sounds.
Jungkook shuts the door behind him slowly, his eyes zoning in on you and then glancing towards the desk where your camera lays against a stack of his books.
You were recording this? Jungkook licks his lips, a bit ashamed at how hot he thought this was. Of course, this was utterly disrespectful and unacceptable, but he was just a man himself. He watches useless porn that excites him in the moment, and disgusts it once he cums all over himself.
And now, witnessing the way the rough vibrator lays against your clit, it excites him. He feels his mouth salivate, his mind going through dirty thoughts that he shouldn’t have for you or anyone he teaches for that matter.
“Excuse me.”
Your eyes dart open and the vibrator drops from your hands. Your head snaps to the left and your soul nearly leaves your body. Your vibrator buzzes against the marble floor as your heart leaps from your chest.
“P-Prof-fessor!”
You drop from Professor Jeon’s desk, wrapping your arms in front of your chest - that was now unbuttoned and fully displaying your bare chest.
“W-What are-”
“What are you doing?” Jungkook responds, glancing from you to your phone. “You…do realize you’re being recorded right?”
You swallow, nodding shamefully. “I-I..I cam…from time to time.” you murmur sheepishly, your body trembling underneath his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Professor Jeon-”
Jungkook furrows his brows at you. So you were a camgirl. Now it made sense what you were doing here at this time and hour, dressed in such a way. But Jungkook only chuckles for a moment before shaking his head.
“No, I mean there’s a camera in this room.” Jungkook corrects. He points to the ceiling where one, circular dome sits. “It’s new. I use it to assure no one cheats.”
Your eyes follow his pointing hand. You close your eyes, feeling utterly stupid right now. It was just your luck that you would get caught - and on camera that that wasn’t the camera you intended on being a part of.
“You do realize what you’re doing could get you put on a registry?”
Jungkook begins to stroll closer to you. His steps are cool and relaxed and they do not match that of someone upset at finding one of his students being indecent in his classroom.
“I’ll go!” you plead, shaking your head. “I-I’ll clean up before I do and-”
“No,” Jungkook stops a few feet away from you. “continue.”
You're completely still after Professor Jeon speaks. He stands tall, shoulder relaxed. His eyes, ever so dark, are watching you behind those round glasses he wears that makes him look like the hottest geek you’ve ever seen. Your eyes turn towards your phone, the amount of chats and cash coming through has it buzzing up a storm. From where you're standing, the viewers can see you attempting to cover yourself, but Jungkook is out of sight.
“Professor…” you trail off, your voice low. “...I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
Jungkook tilts his head at you. He ponders how much money you make being a camgirl - maybe even more than him as a Professor. There were always men (and the occasional woman) who were willing to pay thousands for whatever fantasies you were willing to fulfil.
Jungkook knows full well that him being here as long as he is, allowing his eyes to skim over your half naked body, is wrong. He was in a position of power, after all. He was your professor and he could use this to get you to do whatever he wanted you to do - the possibilities were endless.
But Jungkook wasn’t an asshole. You're a decent student in class who does well on exams and always turns in work on time. You were a pretty girl that now has his attention that shouldn’t be on you - but it is. Especially with the way he’s positive that your pussy is wet right about now.
“Continue.” Jungkook repeats. “You do have an audience waiting, don’t you?”
Your body is hot. For a moment, you’re still. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing the entire time, messages and tips flying through. You ponder if they think this is an act or has reality hit them like it had you.
Jungkook’s eyes are intense. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, he thinks. After all, you hadn’t stopped trembling since he arrived. He doesn’t blame you - he would be highly humiliated too if someone walked in on him in such a vulnerable state that could possibly get him kicked out of college and put onto a sex offenders list. He had no intention of truly reporting you - even if you decided to end your stream now and haul ass; he would respect it.
“You…you won’t tell?” you murmur, swallowing a lump in your throat. Was it idiotic to say this when there were hundreds already watching you now?
Jungkook takes another step forward and nods his head. “I won’t tell.” he murmurs, voice calm but low. “I want to watch…you’d let me, right? It can’t be any different than what you’re already doing.”
Your heart pounds. Your body is warm and flushed with embarrassment - and flattery? This was Professor Jeon out of all people. A young professor that has all the girls (and a few boys) swooning. This was an opportunity of a lifetime - even if it was nerve wracking.
“Consider it…extra credit.” Jungkook shrugs. “Besides, no one has to know what you and I do here. It can be our little secret.”
You, his & the viewers - but they were just as perverted as you and he was. They were getting off to this; the innocently slutty student and the perverted, but sexy teacher using this all to his advantage.
“Okay.” you nod, slowly allowing your arms to fall to your aides. Your breasts are plump, nipples hardened. He doesn’t hide his gaze in the slightest, dinding you entirely enticing. “What…what do you want me to do, Professor?”
Jungkook’s cock twitches again. You got over your nerves fast. He liked that.
“Pick up your vibrator and turn it off.”
You do as you’re told, glancing at your phone screen. The comments were going rapidly - your phone chiming with tips. How were you ever going to top this live stream when it was all over?
“Place it on my desk.” Jungkook speaks, watching the way your ass sits in the short skirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice so deep that the words shoot straight to your core. “now sit on my desk and show everyone how wet you are.”
Your heart thumps so loudly out your chest, but you do ss Professor Jeon says. You would be lying if you said this didn’t excite you - to witness your own professors lust over your body. It was an ego boost.
You open your legs, your eyes staying on Professor Jeon for his next instruction.
“Touch yourself.”
You haven’t touched yourself without a toy in who knows how long. After a while, your fingers just weren’t enough. You enjoyed fucking yourself on a dildo while your audience watched - bonus if you had a vibrator against your clit in the process.
But your body is entirely hot and your pussy is wet and pulsing - this was such a turn on. You follow your instruction, placing the pad of your fingers against your clit. Professor Jeon’s eyes were so intense, full of dark lust. You almost wanted to ask what he was thinking right now - if he would ever touch you in this way.
Jungkook licks his lips, eyes trained on the way your fingers twirl against your wet clit, dampening your digits in seconds. This isn’t how he was supposed to spend his weekend. This wasn’t grading papers - but it was even better. A complete treat he wasn’t aware he needed until now - one he would have forever when he reviewed the camera footage back. Was that legal, he thinks. He didn’t tell you to come in here and get off. Besides, you also knew there was a camera in the room now and hadn’t said no so…
“You have a pretty pussy.” Jungkook blurts out, swallowing the dry lump in his throat.
“Tha…thanks.” you huff, halting for a mere second before continuing to play with your coit further. “I’m glad you think so, Professor Jeon.”
Jungkook blinks his eyes to look at your face. He tilts his head a bit and snorts. “You’re full of shit.” he says. “You’re saying whatever you think you need to in order to please me.”
“Is it working?” you ask, your fingers going closer to your entrance.
It is, but Jungkook doesn’t want to tell you that. Instead, he decides to watch the way your fingers, slowly and teasingly - to yourself, him and the audience - enter you. The way it appears that you’re stretching yourself so good that he ponders when was the last time you’ve been fucked. The thoughts couldn’t be that obscene as watching you pleasure yourself right now.
“Why my classroom?”
Your eyes, that had begun fluttering close, snap open at Professor Jeon’s words. Your free hands reach up to cup your naked breast, your hardened nipple against your palm.
“You know why, Professor.” you murmur, not saying his name.
For a moment, you forget about your phone facing you, hundreds of people watching you and hearing Jungkook. If they knew he was your actual professor, or thought this was all a skit, you weren’t sure. But you know that at the end of it all, the amount of tips you were going to get could possibly pay your bills for months to come.
“Sometimes, I think of you when I do my streams.”
You’re teasing him, but you did think of him sometimes. When he was teaching, you’d think about the way his shoulders flexed. When you sat closer to his desk, you’d oftentimes find yourself looking down at his tattooed hand, the veins in his hand tightening when he wrote something. It was hard to not imagine those same hands wrapped around you.
“I think about you…” your fingers pump inside you, your pussy making a slightly squelching noise that interests Jungkook. “...about you doing this to me.”
You can hear Jungkook breathing now. It increases the further he watches you. You were good at this, he thinks. You’re talking to him the same way you'd talk to your audience, your voice so sultry and full of intense lust that could not be fabricated in the slightest.
“You think about my fingers fucking into you?” Jungkook asks. The thought alone excites him. The act of getting to feel your wet pussy - that’s currently dripping on his desk - in the palm of his own hands has his breathing increasing even more. “And here I thought you were just interested in the lesson.”
Your fingers tug at your nipple, your thumb and index finger pinching the sensitive bud as your other hand pumps your fingers inside of you. Your thighs shake a bit just when you bite your lip.
“I can’t help it.” you continue. You know full well that you’re turning him on. You noticed the bulge in his pants, twitching to be released. You lick your bottom lip, continuing with your lewd talk. “Sometimes my thoughts get even dirtier…” you trail off, making sure to bat your lashes at him.
Swallowing, Jungkook steps closer. He stretches his shoulders and neck, his eyes darkening at you.
“...I think about you bending me over and fucking me in front of everyone.” you gasp. You tug at your nipple even harder, your thrusting fingers hitting a sensitive spot inside of you. Your head falls back a bit, eyes shutting for a moment. You think about your words - about Professor Jeon indeed doing just that. How wet you’d be for him. How powerful his thrusts must be - how well he could take you and just how vulnerable for him you’d be.
Your back arches, your walls tightening around your fingers.
Jungkook grunts. He takes a few steps closer to you. His hand wraps around your wrist and pulls out your wet fingers from inside of you.
Your eyes snap open with shock and confusion. “Prof-”
“You won’t cum.” Jungkook hisses, slapping your hand away. “Not until I say so.”
Those words shoot straight to your core. You were a whore for a man to dominate you - bonus points if it was your hot Professor who, admittedly, you had thought about fucking you from time to time. But respectfully, you hadn’t acted out on it like others had. The amount of flirting he had to turn down from fellow peers was insane.
Yet here he was with you. Of course, it was just a matter of time and place. He wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t brought yourself here.
“Yes, Professor.” you murmur.
Jungkook supposed that his cover was blown. He was now in the camera and there wasn’t a point in going back to his hidden position now.
“Turn around.”
Jungkook had to take back control - even when he technically still had it. You were far too enticing to him. Those sultry eyes followed by your words of pure submission for him. He was going to melt if he didn’t get you to turn away from him.
You do as you’re told, falling to your feet and turning around on his desk. You face the dark chalk board.
Jungkook forces your legs apart, showing the camera an amazing view of your ass and glistening pussy.
“Everytime you’re in my class, it seems you don’t pay much attention.” Jungkook says. He should’ve asked first if it was okay to touch you, but you don’t say anything when he does. He feels electricity shoot throughout him when his hand grips your bare ass, a low growl releasing from his lips. “I’m going to ask you some questions and I expect you to answer them correctly.”
The desk is cool and hard against your breast. You nod your head, slight anticipation building up.
“Let’s start off easy.”
Jungkook’s hand grips your ass once more, enjoying the way it feels in his palm.
“Are two atoms of the same element identical?”
You gasp when you feel Professor Jeon’s fingers slide past your clit. “No.”
“Good girl.” Jungkook hums, continuing to rub at your clit. “Can water remain a liquid below zero degrees Celsius?”
Your own breathing increases, wanting to feel his fingers deep inside of you. “Yes…?”
“Seems like you’ve listened to something.”
Though you found chemistry boring, you understood Professor Jeon was going easy on you at the moment. Maybe he was spewing out easy questions just to feel your wet pussy even more.
“Can you light a diamond on fire?”
“...No?”
You yelp this time, feeling a sharp strike against your ass.
“Wrong.” Jungkook sing-songs, gripping your stinging cheek. “It can be.”
You sigh.
“What determines the degree of completeness of a reaction?”
What the fuck? You close your eyes, attempting to think back into any chemistry class you had to remember - but it doesn’t dawn on you. You couldn’t remain concentrated regardless.
“Um-”
Another slap lands on your ass, this time harder. The stinging sensation feels entirely too good for you to be upset.
“You don’t know.” Jungkook tsks. “That’s because you’ve been daydreaming about me fucking you instead of paying attention in class.”
Another slap - then another, and another. Jungkook slaps both of your cheeks until your thighs are shaking with overstimulation. Your back is arched, fully anticipating more and more, and he gives it each time. You were enjoying this just as much as he was, your ass throbbing but your pussy leaking for even more of the stinging sensation.
“I’ll start paying attention more, Professor Jeon.” you moan, legs quivering. “I prom-”
Smack!
Jungkook slides his fingers between your legs, rubbing your throbbing clit. He grunts at the way your arousal pools right onto his palm and he shakes his head.
“This isn’t much of a punishment for a whore like you.” Jungkook spats. “Dripping all over my desk and the floor. Slutty pussy clenching around nothing in hopes I’d fill you up.”
Professor Jeon was just as a good dirty talker as you were. While your words were soft and sultry, his was lewd and rough - just how you liked it.
“Let’s see how easily I can get my fingers in your pussy.”
Jungkook slides his fingers slowly towards your entrance, assuring that the camera has a perfect view of you. You’re so wet and warm that he himself has to contain himself when his fingers sink inside of you.
“P-Professor.” you stutter, your pussy immediately squeezing greedily around his fingers. You couldn’t believe that you were in this position now, wrapped firmly around the same hands you’d often imagined about.
“Let’s see how much you could take.”
Jungkook begins to pump his fingers aggressively in and out of you, curling them a bit. His free hand lays on your ass, gripping and rubbing it as his fingers pound.
Your thighs open wider, your cheek pressing against his desk. Your eyes are fluttering and you don’t attempt to hide your loud squeals. The room is full of squelching noises that could surely be heard down the hall if anyone was truly paying attention, but none of the janitors were. It made this moment even more of an adrenaline rush.
“Feels so g-good!” you gasp out.
Jungkook grips your ass cheek in his palm, his knuckles slamming against your clit with how deep his fingers were pumping. “Such a slutty little thing you are.” he hisses. “Are you going to cum all over my fingers?”
“Yes!” you exhale, nodding your head. Your cheek rubs against his wooden desk. “Yes, Professor!”
“No,” Jungkook removes his fingers from inside of you, slapping his hand down onto your clit. “not until I say so.”
You let out a loud whine, eyes widening. “But…but-”
“A whore like you should be begging.”
“Please.”
Jungkook steps away. “That’s not good enough.” he snickers. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing and he makes a mental note to ask just how much you made when this was all done. Out of curiosity, but because he expected anything from you.
You manage to pull yourself off of Professor Jeon’s desk. You turn to him with pleading, glossy eyes. You were so close to cumming that the lack of it has caused your eyes to water pathetically. Your shirt, that’s already open, is pulled off of you. You throw it aside, and then go for your skirt.
Jungkook watches the way you strip for him, before getting on your knees. This had to be demeaning in a way, but you were such a whore in the moment that you didn’t care how this made you look.
“Professor Jeon…” you murmur, crawling closer to him.
Jungkook feels it - his cock twitching right in his pants. The sight of you on your hands and knees before him, those glossy, pleading eyes…
“Yes?”
You swallow, eyes slowly trailing down his body until they land on the obvious bulge. You lick your lips.
“Can I suck your cock?” you ask, eyes flashing back up at him. “Please?”
The twitching doesn’t stop this time. Jungkook is completely off guard by your request.
“You could fuck my mouth until you cum.” you suggest, a hand reaching out for his waist. “I always wanted to have your cock in my mouth, Professor.”
How could you be so submissive, but still have complete control over him? Jungkook didn’t know. He doesn’t stop your hand from tugging at his pants until they’re down, his underwear sliding with it.
This was really happening, you think. His cock, tip so pink and wet with pre-cum staring right at you. Your mouth salivates to have him in your mouth. You haven’t realized just how long you wanted him until the opportunity presented itself to you.
Your hand wraps around his shaft. Jungkook watches between unblinking eyes as your pink tongue comes out and slides against his wet slit. He shudders, mouth falling open.
“Your cock is so pretty, Professor.” you murmur, his tip against your lips. “So big…I knew you’d have a big cock for me to suck.”
Jungkook clenches his hands as you lick his tip once more, before sliding it across your face entirely. You were so filthy, he thinks, and so close. How could he have not known something as dirty as you was right in his classroom this entire time.
“You’re such a dirty little whore.” Jungkook hisses. “Rubbing my cock all over your face like this.”
You hum, your tongue sliding across his shaft. Your eyes look up at him innocently. “Want you to fuck my mouth with your big cock, Professor.”
“You do?” Jungkook allows a hand to lay onto your head, patting it slightly and further adding to the demeaning. “You’re gonna be a good little whore and let me fuck your mouth?”
You nod your head, opening your mouth and twirling your tongue onto his wet tip. You suckle on it greedily, sucking your cheeks in.
Jungkook allows you to suck on his cock, bringing it deeper and deeper into your mouth. You were so sloppy, drool trickling down the side of your lips, watery eyes staring up at you.
Your filthy sounds of your slurping bounces off the walls and high ceilings of Professor Jeon’s classroom, only adding to the obscene sight - and his excitement. His cock hits your uvula and you’re proud that all the times you’ve practiced - on live - deep throating, that you managed to not make a full of yourself.
“Look how slutty…” Jungkook trails off, a growl in his voice. His hand, that had been on the top of your head like he would have his own dog, had slid down to your cheek. His hips jerk forward. “…you’re a natural at this. How often do you suck on cocks?”
There’s a single tear that slides down your cheek, one that has Jungkookk even more excited to fuck your face. His thumb swipes the tear away, his hips continuing to jerk.
“Aha,” Jungkook chuckles. “I suppose you can’t answer me.”
Your mouth is so hot and wet, gummy-like walls inviting him entirely. More and more saliva pools into your mouth just for him and his pleasure. Though your eyesight was a bit blurred, you could see Professor Jeon’s handsome face. Dark eyebrows stretched together with concentration, plump pink lips parted slightly to let out exhales and moans.
Jungkook couldn’t wait to watch his cameras back at this. Dare he say this was the most excitement he had in months. Blood pumps through his veins,a rush going through him at getting to fuck your mouth without any hesitation from you. Your gagging noise only fuels him further.
“You’re so beautiful like this. A little whore on her knees for me. Gagging around my cock just like you’ve imagined.”
Your mouth aches and you have little motivation to continue to suck, but you allow him to use your mouth as he sees fit. Your thighs clenched together, friction shooting straight to your already throbbing cunt.
“Fuck, fuck-“ Jungkook throws his head back, eyes clenching shut. “-you stupid fucking whore. With a mouth like this I might have to live out your little fantasy. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Me stopping my lecture just to fuck your mouth open like this.”
Jungkook would never do it - you know that just as much as he does. But the fantasy still lives free in both of your minds. It’s so obscene and forbidden that the desire grows with each passing moment. You feel like the luckiest student here by just being in this position - no matter how wrong this was.
Jungkook is close. You can feel him with each passing thrust, his hands on the back of your head. Your throbbing clit is dripping all over the floor while his twitching cock assaults your throat. You whine around him, wet, blurry eyes blinking to continue to look up at him. Your nose is against his abdomen when you feel the warm, salty cum reach your throat.
A long groan comes from Jungkook’s lips, his legs twitching as he fills your throat. You’re salivating entirely, the drool pooling down your chest. You’re able to breathe again when his cock pops from your wet lips, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you together. You take several breaths, even coughing a bit.
Jungkook stumbles back a few steps, rolling his neck a bit to regain his composure.
“Professor Jeon,” you sigh out. You lift the back of your hand to wipe away the saliva on your lips. “please fuck me.”
Oh.
Jungkook blinks his eyes open to look at your pathetic position on the ground.
“Please make me cum, Professor Jeon.” you plead. “I’ll be good. I’ll do better in your class.”
Jungkook watches you crawl closer to him, those watery eyes looking up at him pitifully. Jungkook snarls, something growing in his chest at just the sound of your words.
You were already doing alright in his class. You showed up and participated only if you knew the answer - which wasn’t all the time, but it was enough.
“You’re a lying whore.” Jungkook hisses. He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks it so you’re looking at him and now his already hardened cock. As if he hadn’t already cum enough down your throat, he was ready to go again. “You just want to be fucked good, don’t you? Why should I fuck you?”
Your heart pumps with anticipation. “Because,” you whine softly.
“That’s not an answer. You couldn’t even get my questions correct. But you want to be rewarded with a good fuck?”
You swallow, eyes watching him just as he watches you.
“I’m so wet for you right now, Professor.” you whine. “It’s not my fault I have a hard time concentrating during classes.”
And it’ll just be a bit harder, you think, now that you know just how pretty his cock was.
And just how much you wanted it in you at any given moment.
Jungkook closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He can hear the faint vibrating sounds of the stream - he almost forgot just how alone you and he truly weren’t.
“I’m on birth control.”
Eyes snapping open, Jungkook gawks down at you. Eyes pleading as ever.
“Wouldn’t that be fun?” you question, a tilt to your head. “Cumming in me right where you teach all of your students.”
Jungkook’s breathing hardens - it would be fun, wouldn't it?
“Turn around.” Jungkook rushes, letting go of your hair and you away. “Ass up. Since you’re begging to be stuffed, I’ll just do exactly that.”
It didn’t take much convincing on Jungkook’s end - how embarrassing. He hasn’t cum in someone raw in he doesn’t know how long. All of this was just feeding into a fantasy he wasn’t aware he held; especially for a student.
You do exactly as Professor Jeon tells you to. Your chest is against the cool floor, thighs apart. He has a view of your glistening pussy, waiting for him.
Jungkook’s right hand slams on your ass as he comes onto the ground in front of you, then he slides it to your waist and yanks you toward him. His free hand wraps around his cock, pumping it before he slides it between your wet lips.
The stinging sensation on your ass only has your cunt growing wetter. You squirm when his wet tip rubs at your clit, only further taunting you and your pathetic whimpering.
“Let’s see how good of a fuck you are.” Jungkook says, his voice meaning to sound more demeaning than it was. His voice cracks just a bit when he begins to enter you. “I might just keep you around.”
This had to be a one time thing. He couldn't risk being caught up with you - his student. Though you and hebwere both grown adults, it was ethical.
But damn was it good, Jungkook thinks.
Jungkook enters you in one thrust, groaning at how tight, warm and wet you were. Your velvety walls are caging him in, assuring that he would be thinking about you for months to come.
Jungkook places both of his hands on your hips, sliding out just to thrust back in. His nails dig into your skin, hips continuing to rut, growing faster and faster with each pump.
Your nipples are hard against the ground, slamming into it with each thrust of Professor Jeon’s hips. He’s so deep, his cock hitting your sweet spot. Your walls tighten around him, feeling that pleasurable pressure as before - you weren’t meant to last long.
Your ass is amazing to Jungkook. The way it slams off of his abdomen as he pounds his cock into you. His tall ceiling bounces off the leed sounds of skin slapping. He doesn’t hold back his groans, needing to express just how good your pussytruly was.
“Shit,” Jungkook groans, his head hanging. “your pussy’s so wet.”
“Your cock feels so good, Professor.”
“Yeah?” Jungkook snickers. His right hand slides up your bare back, stopping at the back of your neck. “Aren’t you lucky to finally have your fantasy come to life?”
You yelp when Jungkook yanks your neck, bringing you back to him. Your completely naked body against his clothed one just adds to his dominance nature.
Sliding his hand from your neck to your chin, he juts it to look at him. This new position allows his grinding cock to go deeper. His lips are close to yours, his rushed, warm breath tickling the skin of your face.
“I would’ve fucked you sooner if I knew you felt this good.” Jungkook murmurs,
Professor Jeon’s lips are on yours before you could respond. He groans into it when your cunt squeezes around him. He lets go of your chin to reach between your legs, rubbing at your throbbing clit.
There isn’t any way you’re going to concentrate during lessons. Not when you’d look down at his hands and recall the way he’d rub your clit so possessively as he is now - or had those very same fingers deep into your pussy.
Jungkook lets go of your lips, but he doesn’t go far. He watches the way your face stretches in pleasure, your eyebrows knitted together and plump lips pulled apart.
“Are you going to cum?” Jungkook asked, his cock continuing to stretch you out.
“Yes!” you nod. You place your head against his chest, squirming with overstimulation as Jungkook’s fingers add pressure onto your clit.
Jungkook pushes you away and removes his cock - much to his own dismay. He listens to your whimpering protests and finds that he enjoys tormenting you any way he could. “Not until I say so.” he sing-songs, repeating those same wretched words from earlier. They are beginning to haunt you.
“Please!” your legs are shaking as you turn to face him, your back against the cold floor. Your mind couldn’t understand why he was being so cruel - his own cock had to be throbbing to cum right into you. He was a sadist, you think. “It isn’t fair you’re doing this to me. I’m a good student!”
You were protesting now, eyes wide with irritation. You were seconds away with just stuffing your own fingers in you and finishing yourself off - but it wouldn’t be the same. You couldn’t fuck yourself like Professor Jeon can and that realization alone was going to drive you insane.
“Are you?” Jungkook asks. Your eyes glances down at his hard cock, doused with your creamy arousal. “You snuck in here, or did you forget?”
Your bottom lips juts out in a pout.
“Come here.”
Jungkook drops onto the ground in front of you, his pants at his ankles.
Your eyes furrow, but you don’t hesitate. You get into his lap, your thighs on either side of him.
“Make yourself cum.” Jungkook says, his hands immediately settling on your waist. “Before I change my mind.”
You’re far too eager. Your arm reaches back to grasp his cock and center it at your entrance. You’re far too wet that it’s easy to slide it in.
The cry that came from Jungkook’s lips was embarrassing. You sit directly onto his cock, your soft hands on his shoulders. You begin to rock your hips back and forth, your head rolling slowly from side to side. Your walls are so tight, Jungkook thinks, completely captivating him. You know exactly what you’re doing and Jungkook ponders if you do this often - with sextoys or other men - that makes you this good at riding.
Calloused hands roam up your sides then to your breasts. Professor Jeon captures them, squeezing the mounds in his hands tightly. His thumbs play with your nipples, twirling and pinching them just right.
“Fuck, baby.” Jungkook groans, burying his face into your bosom. He peppers quick, wet kisses onto them as your hips rise and fall.
“Your cock’s so big, Professor!” you wail. Squeezing your eyes shut, your hands begin to tighten their grasp on his shirt.
Jungkook shakes his head. He pokes his tongue out, tracing your skin until they reach your nipple. He suckles on it, his tongue twirling around the bud. His left hand captures your ass, gripping the flesh harshly as you bounce on him.
You weren’t made to last long. All your frustrations had built up greatly for this moment - nor does Professor Jeon go easy on you. His hands gripping your ass with the way he sucks on your chest has you cumming in mere minutes since you started.
“-gonna cum!” you moan, both arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close.
You’re leaking onto him entirely, arousal coating his thighs. Jungkook isn’t sure how it’s possible for someone to be this wet, but he isn’t complaining. Your pussy was so perfect - and so were you. You were the right amount of filthy he never knew he needed in his life.
Popping your nipple from wet lips, Jungkook decides to take over. “I’m going to cum in this pussy, baby.” he growls, hand squeezing your ass as his hips begin to rut into you. “Fill you just like you want.”
Your body is limp against him, walls squeezing him as you are riding your high. You’re unable to say much besides soft “please”’s. Your eyes are fluttering, your insides feeling every ounce of pleasure until it becomes unbearable.
Jungkook’s cock drills you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. He doesn’t intend on being quiet - especially not now. He wants anyone that’s around to hear how good he’s fucking you - his student. Someone so off limits to him, but that doesn’t stop either of you. He wants you to remember this moment forever. To have you thinking of him every time you go live - or happen to fuck someone else.
To let you know that it wouldn’t be the same because it wasn’t him.
Professor Jeon slams his right hand onto your ass, holding you in place. He continues to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping bouncing off of the walls loudly. Juices flow out of you as your body trembles, overstimulation taking over you.
“Gonna stuff you good.” Jungkook grunts, thrust growing sloppy. Your squelching pussy is so melodic to him and he knows the sound will replay in his head over and over again. “Then send you home with my cum dripping down your thighs.”
Warm cum pools into you. You can feel Professor Jeon’s legs shaking as he cums, a soft whine in your ear. It’s so warm, you think, and weird having your professors cum stuffed in you. Your body feels heavy and you don’t move for a few moments as the both of you attempt to regain your composure.
You're not the one that stops the live. You had to admit that you do possibly look entirely pathetic crouched on the floor like this as Jungkook cleans himself up, but you weren’t used to be fucked by someone else.
“We should probably…talk.”
Now things were awkward.
You manage to come into a seated position, cum covering your clit and possibly pooling out of you.
“I won’t tell anyone.” you say.
Jungkook straightens his shoulders. “I wasn’t going to say that,” he murmurs. He wasn’t that much of an asshole. “Are you okay?”
Your cheeks are warm. You cross your arms, though it’s pointless. Your body is already exposed to him.
Jungkook hands you your revealing clothing and watches as you get dressed.
“I’m okay.” you assure, buttoning up your top. You pull your trench coat on next, feeling his eyes on you. “I’m…sorry for doing this.”
You go towards your bag where your cleaning supplies were. Coming down from your high after sex was always so awkward. Maybe this is why you avoided that and chose to fuck yourself.
“I’m sorry, too.” Jungkook says. He grabs the clorox wipes from your hands and decides that he could help, too. After all, it was his mess, too. “I hope I haven’t made things difficult for you. I am your Professor and…the dynamic is complicated.”
You bite the inside of your cheek.
“But we’re both adults.” Jungkook continues. He turns his back to wipe his desk, unsure where he’s truly coming from. “And though I may have said it at the moment, I don’t think you’re truly that way.”
“A stupid whore?” you joke, giggling to yourself. “I know. We both got way into it.”
It doesn’t take a long time for the mess to be cleaned. You grasp your phone and put it into your trench coat pocket.
“I should get going.” you say.
Professor Jeon nods his head. He’s leaning against his desk now, dark eyes watching you.
“I’ll see you in class in a few days.” Jungkook calls as you make your way out of the classroom.
“Tomorrow.” you correct, opening the door a bit. You turn to him as he speaks.
“You don’t have to come.” Professor Jeon waves off. He proceeds to go to his chair and plop down onto it. “I planned on having a surprise quiz tomorrow.”
“A quiz?”
Jungkook nods. He puts his glasses on and turns towards you.
“I’ll give you a passing grade.” Professor Jeon states. “You should rest tomorrow.”
Your eyes begin to slowly widen. “You don’t-”
“Rest.” Jungkook interrupts. He turns his eyes away from you and down on the stack of papers on his desk. “It’ll be fine.”
You clench your thighs together at his words. Your heart is pumping loudly in your chest. For some reason, you feel giddy. The familiar rush of adrenaline flows through you.
“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again, Professor Jeon.” you say, opening the door wider. You don’t wait for a response this time and maybe Jungkook is a bit too stunned to give you one before you close the door behind you.
What Jungkook did know was that he also couldn’t wait to fuck you again, too.
SUMMARY -> in which jungkook can’t resist his star student.
WORDS -> 6.8k (approx 30 min read time)
WARNINGS -> jungkook x female reader, unprotected sex, praise kink, age gap (if you squint), power imbalance (professor and student), slowburn, size kink, jungkook is kinda pathetic
now playing: silk lingerie, - kali uchis˚.⋆♪
epilogue
you had been a teacher’s pet since grade school.
all of that hard work got you into one of the most prestigious universities in your country. you were proud of your grades—the teachers and professors throughout your academic career were happy to give them to you.
professor jeon was nothing like any of them.
the first day, you showed up to class early and sat in the front (of course). you didn’t know what to expect. professor jeon was fresh meat, the newest professor in your school. no ratemyprofessors profile, no student horror stories, no face.
he fascinated you the moment he left his office and awkwardly stumbled into the lecture hall. you leaned in to take a closer look.
he was young, not that much older than you and heart achingly handsome. when his eyes met yours, a strange warmth coursed through your veins.
matters of the heart were foreign territory for you. yes, you had heard about your roommate’s various talking stages and hookups, but you never thought this would be anything like this. your heartbeat picked up. you couldn’t take your eyes off of him and he hadn’t even said a word.
he nearly dropped his laptop bag on the podium, fumbled with the hdmi cable to his slideshow, making the screen flash blue. he muttered an apology.
professor jeon cleared his throat, “um—hello. good morning. i’m professor jeon. jungkook. i mean—or dr. jeon. either is fine. not jungkook. not just—anyway.”
he laughed nervously.
silence.
you stared.
he ran his fingers through his jet black hair. “this is my first semester teaching. so, um. be gentle.”
the class laughed lightly.
you didn’t. you felt something shift in your chest. not authority, not intimidation.
but tenderness.
you were hooked.
art history became your favorite class. it met on tuesdays and thursdays from 5pm to 7pm. you heard your classmates complaining about how they were bored by the material, how the class was too long, but you just never understood why.
you could listen to professor jeon talk for an eternity. the way his eyes lit up when he saw a certain brush stroke. how he talked with his hands when he was excited. how he fumbled with his hdmi cord, always having problems with the connection before every class. you’d always get up to help him.
“you had the magic touch,” he said to you one day, “you always fix it.”
you replayed that moment in your head for days.
a week into the course, he announced a new resource for you all: homework videos. he filmed them weekly to explain core concepts.
“they’re probably unnecessary,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “but i know the content can get…intense.”
you were the first one to watch the video the night it was uploaded.
he was in his office, books stacked behind him. he stumbled over terminology, corrected himself mid sentence, and laughed awkwardly.
“okay,” he said in the video, “that made no sense. let me start over.”
you rewinded that part three times. you didn’t need the help. you have a 100%.
but you watched every video. every week. the moment they drop. sometimes twice. sometimes to hear his voice.
you wondered if professor jeon had a wife. he was young, yes, but someone like him couldn’t be single. you imagined him with a woman, looking at her with the same brightness in his eyes he has when he talks about his favorite art pieces.
it made you sick.
you wanted to be that woman.
when he sent an email to your class about office hours, you knew you had to be there.
you didn’t have any questions. you just wanted to “clarify something.” he looked surprised to see you, like he expected no one to come.
“oh! hi. it’s you—um. front row? hdmi?” he ran his fingers through his hair.
“yes, professor.” you smiled.
he gestured to a chair, “everything okay with the reading?”
you nodded. “i just wanted to ask about the emotional framing of the baroque martyrdom.”
he blinked, just staring at you for a moment.
you swallowed.
“that’s… actually a really great question.”
you talked for thirty minutes.
you noticed him relaxing with you. he smelled like fresh laundry up close, which somehow felt more intoxicating than any cologne would.
by week three, you were there every monday. he started to expect you.
・・・・・
jungkook squinted as he reread your paper for the third time.
the subject does not desire possession. only closeness. only the warmth of standing near something luminous and being allowed to witness it.
he had that part circled since the first time he read it. something about it stuck with him in ways he couldn’t describe.
he knew educators weren’t supposed to have favorites, but if he was honest, he did and it was you. teaching at this university was a very impersonal experience and you were one of the only students he’s gotten to bond with. you were brilliant, your papers a delight to read. when you answered questions in class, he felt immense relief.
when he got excited to see you at office hours, he told himself it was because you were academically engaged.
not because you sat too close.
not because you smelled vanilla and paper.
not because of how your lip gloss caught the light.
and definitely not because he let his eyes wander to how your perfect legs would cross under your desk.
you were beautiful. that was a simple, undeniable fact.
office hours with you became the highlight of his week.
you really listened to him. chin resting on your palm, eyes steady on his mouth as he explained to you, brows knitting together ever so slightly.
“so, in caravaggio’s work, the light is meant to…”
you bit your lip in concentration. his brain short circuited.
he trailed off into silence, taking you in for a moment. heat crawled up his neck.
“dr. jeon?” you asked softly.
hearing his name come from your lips made his heart skip a beat. he ran his hands through his hair.
“yes, i’m sorry. i lost my train of thought. what was i saying?”
you blinked up at him so innocently, adjusting yourself in your seat. you somehow ended up closer to him, “the light reveals what the subject can’t say.”
“that’s right.”
he stared at you for half a second too long. you made him feel smart. seen. important when he was so afraid of being seen as incompetent.
one day, he checked your name on the gradebook out of pure curiosity. you had the highest average by far. you didn’t need office hours. yet you never missed them.
that night, he replayed his conversations with you.
the way you looked at him.
it’s not normal student interest. it’s softer. lingering. he swallowed.
you’re just enthusiastic, he told himself. but he knew what a crush looks like. he’s had them.
he disregarded that thought.
it was pathetic to think that someone like you wanted him. you were brilliant, beautiful, and had a bright future ahead of you. and most importantly you were his student.
he was awkward, and you probably thought he was incompetent but were too nice to show it. he was projecting.
but a part of him wished he wasn’t.
at office hours that week, you showed him a draft of an upcoming paper. he stood behind you, scanning it over your shoulder.
he leaned down slightly, his hand gingerly rested on your shoulder.
he could smell your coconut shampoo. he swallowed. his voice lowered subconsciously.
“this line stood out to me,” jungkook said. “the way you describe longing… it’s intense.”
you just nodded.
jungkook reread it.
the tragedy is not that he is distant. the tragedy is that he believes himself unworthy of being wanted.
something about that felt too personal.
he pushed it down.
you followed the prompt, right?
it’s art analysis.
you couldn’t be writing about him.
that night, he couldn’t get the sweet scent of your shampoo out of his mind.
when he finally got your paper in his hands on a late night in his apartment, he was very impressed. you were his star student, of course.
just his star student.
not the girl he counted down the days till he saw.
not the girl who made mondays his favorite day of the week.
not the girl who bit her lip when she was concentrating.
not the girl who made his body feel things he definitely shouldn’t.
just his student.
he loved reading your papers. your syntax was perfect and your analysis was refreshing. the prompt was about longing and devotion in the assigned piece. he wanted to see what you had to say.
but something was strange.
the cruelest irony is that he fears crossing a line that has already blurred.
his brows furrowed.
what did that mean?
it was a stretch to say it was relevant to the piece.
jungkook leaned back in his chair, the paper still in his hands.
he read the line again.
the cruelest irony is that he fears crossing a line that has already blurred.
his stomach dropped.
that wasn’t about a painting.
that wasn’t about some baroque martyr suspended in dramatic lighting.
that sounded like—
no.
he shook his head and scrubbed a hand down his face.
you were just good at this. you wrote with emotional precision. that’s all. you were perceptive. intense. maybe a little dramatic.
he kept reading.
the viewer aches not because he is unattainable, but because he cannot see what she sees when she looks at him.
his throat went dry.
she.
not the viewer. not the audience.
she.
jungkook’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the page.
it was probably stylistic. plenty of critics used gendered language. it didn’t mean anything.
he forced himself to keep going.
he stands illuminated before a room full of people and still insists he is ordinary. that is the greatest misunderstanding in the composition.
his chest felt tight.
illuminated before a room full of people.
standing in front of a room.
insisting he was ordinary.
he thought about the way he apologized during his first lecture. the way he said be gentle. the way you had looked at him like he wasn’t something fragile but something worth protecting.
his pulse started to thrum in his ears.
this is ridiculous, he told himself.
he is projecting.
he is lonely.
he is reading into things because he wants to.
she didn’t mean it like that.
but then—
he flipped back a page.
devotion often attaches itself not to grandeur, but to sincerity. to the quiet way he fumbles with cords before speaking. to the nervous laugh he cannot seem to outgrow.
his breath stuttered.
that wasn’t—
that couldn’t—
he actually dropped the paper this time, the soft rustle loud in his silent apartment.
fumbles with cords.
nervous laugh.
those were details.
not abstract traits.
details.
jungkook stood abruptly, pacing once across his small living room before running both hands through his hair.
no.
you wouldn’t.
you couldn’t.
you were brilliant. careful. disciplined. you followed prompts. you didn’t blur lines.
he was the one blurring them.
he was the one noticing how close you sat.
the one replaying your voice saying dr. jeon late at night.
the one counting down to mondays.
this had to be him reading what he wanted to read.
but when he picked the paper back up, his hands weren’t steady anymore.
the tragedy is not that he is distant. the tragedy is that he believes himself unworthy of being wanted.
his jaw clenched.
unworthy.
he had said that word before. not to you. never to you. but to himself. in the mirror. in quiet moments when imposter syndrome clawed at his ribs.
how could you possibly know that?
unless—
unless you were paying attention the same way he was.
unless when he thought you were just listening, you were seeing.
really seeing.
a slow heat crept up his neck, down his spine.
shock first.
then disbelief.
then something far more dangerous.
hope.
he sank back into his chair, staring at your name typed neatly at the top of the page.
you.
you with the highest average in his gradebook.
you who didn’t need office hours.
you who sat too close.
you who bit your lip when concentrating.
you who looked at him like he mattered.
how could someone like you—
want someone like him?
the thought made his head spin.
it was impossible.
and yet the evidence was sitting in his hands in twelve-point times new roman.
he pressed his thumb lightly over the line again.
fears crossing a line that has already blurred.
a line.
between what?
student and professor.
he inhaled sharply.
this was wrong.
this was dangerous.
he should shut it down immediately. draw a boundary. grade the paper objectively. pretend he never read between the lines.
but instead, he found himself wondering—
when you wrote he, were you picturing him?
when you wrote she, were you picturing yourself?
his heart hammered harder at the possibility.
that wasn’t academic curiosity.
that was desire.
he stood again, restless, pacing a second time.
this is inappropriate.
he is your professor.
you deserve better than his loneliness.
but the image of you at that desk, looking up at him with those wide, steady eyes, wouldn’t leave him.
what if he wasn’t imagining it?
what if you really—
he stopped that thought before it could fully form.
he dropped back into his chair and grabbed a red pen.
his hand hovered over the top of the page.
for a long moment, he didn’t write a grade.
instead, almost without thinking, he wrote:
see me after class.
he stared at the words.
his pulse thundered.
he had no idea what he was going to say to you.
he just knew he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t see it anymore.
and he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t want it to be true.
he dreamt about you that night.
・・・・・
see me after class.
your heart dropped. as you reread the line on top your paper.
no grade. just that written in red pen.
what could he mean? professor jeon loved to read your papers. he told you that it was a delight to grade them.
you had tailored your writing style to fit his tastes. to get the praise and approval from him that you grew to crave. the thought of him suddenly disapproving was heartbreaking.
you knew you couldn’t have him, but at least you had his professional admiration.
did you just lose that too?
that class was the first to feel slow.
professor jeon avoided eye contact with you, directing his attention away from the front row for the whole two hours. he called on other students, and pretended as if you weren’t there.
you were addicted to his attention, and you could feel the withdrawals.
when class finally ended, you stayed in your seat, looking over your notes as everyone else filed out of the lecture hall.
he closed the door behind the last student and locked it.
you swallowed.
“professor, i—“
“one moment please,” his tone was colder than normal as he tidied up his podium and approached you.
you were silent, your heart pounding in your chest.
“i wanted to talk about your essay,” he went to sit in the chair next to you.
you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, “is it… inappropriate?” you were quieter than you wanted to be.
“no,” he said. you felts his eyes boring into you but you refused to look up. “just… very honest.”
the silence stretched.
“you write longing like you understand it intimately.”
that was when you looked up, meeting his searching eyes. your breath trembled.
“maybe i do.”
you had no idea why you said that. he slid closer. “is there… someone you’re writing about?” his eyes softened.
you couldn’t lie to him. “yes.”
his head tilted, “does he know?”
you studied his face. his skin was perfect, free from blemishes that you’d normally see from someone this close. his thin rimmed glasses slightly slipped down his face and framed his beautiful brown eyes.
you still couldn’t lie to him.
“i think he does now.”
the silence was suffocating.
your heart is slamming against your chest. heat crawled up your neck. he could probably see the slight blush on your cheeks.
professor jeon nervously laughed the way he does when he mixed up his words or lost his train of thought.
you could hear the disbelief in his voice, “you’re… you’re brilliant.” he ran a hand through his hair, “you could have anyone.”
you leaned in, “i don’t want anyone.”
he slid closer.
“why me?”
his voice was raw, honest. his professor persona was gone, replaced with something softer.
“you look at me like i matter.”
that was his undoing.
he had never been the object of someone’s longing.
he was always replaceable. invisible. occasionally admired for his usefulness.
and here you were—beautiful, bright, the top of his class, looking at him like he was sacred.
something snapped.
“this is a terrible idea,” he whispered.
“tell me to leave.”
he couldn’t.
his hand moved, almost involuntarily cupping your cheek.
it was soft against your cheek. you melted into the touch.
he inhaled sharply.
you kissed him first.
soft, uncertain. he froze for a moment, shocked.
he caved.
he kissed you back, hands hovering over your waist. it was clumsy. breathless. desperate. you pulled away, stunned. he stared at you like he just jumped off of a cliff.
“w-we can’t do this,” he muttered.
you grabbed his hands, guiding them onto his hips.
“then stop.”
he doesn’t.
you climbed on top of him, hips bracketing his.
he kissed you this time. deeper, slower, memorizing. it was overwhelming for the both of you. you had never been wanted like this.
then reality slammed back in.
you were on campus. the door was unlocked. the building was probably empty, this was a night class, but it wasn’t empty enough. if anyone saw you, he would be fired and your scholarship would be in jeopardy.
the risk seemed to process in his head as well. you climbed off of him, expecting him to push you away.
instead, he said, “we have to get out of here.”
we.
・・・・・
this was idiotic and jungkook knew it.
you walked out of the lecture hall first, and he set a five minute timer to leave after you.
you met him in the empty faculty parking lot. the air was cool, the sky was dim. he unlocked his car with shaking hands.
this was insane.
you got in the car anyways.
the moment the door shut behind you, he looked at you.
then it all started over. you gave him a kiss before buckling your seatbelt. it was urgent. his hands framed your face like he couldn’t believe you were real. he pulled back, starting his car.
he was grateful his apartment was clean when you walked in. you stepped inside like it was sacred ground. he closed the door, locked it, and shut the blinds.
he just stared at you, nervously standing in his living room.
“you deserve someone better,” he blurted, breaking the silence.
it wasn’t modesty. it was insecurity.
“i don’t want better. i want you.” you said matter of factly.
he sat on the couch. you climbed on top of him again, gingerly positioning your clothed heat on top of his crotch. his hands hovered over your hips.
“can i?”
you nodded. his hands rested on your hips, rubbing light circles that made you melt further into him. he kissed your again, his tongue curling with yours as your hips began to subconsciously rock into his. he didn’t stop it.
jungkook hadn’t done anything like this since he was in grad school, your touch making him realize how starved he’s been. he shuddered as your hips found a rhythm grinding against him.
he tilted your chin up, trying to to deepen the kiss. you did your best to keep up, and he pulled back.
he pulled back, cupping your face. “relax,” he whispered, “let me.”
and when he kissed you again, you obeyed, melting under him as you let him take control of the kiss. he smiled into it.
you were always such a good listener.
your hips began to rut into him faster and faster, clearly chasing something you didn’t fully understand. he noticed your movements were clumsy, uncoordinated, a coil tightening in your stomach that needed release.
his hands tensed on your hips, stilling you.
“easy,” he murmured, “let me help you.”
his fingers slid down, slowly inching underneath your skirt. “can i?”
you nodded, breathless. his knuckles brushed against your panties. you gasped, leaning into the touch.
“so responsive,” he made eye contact with you. “has anyone touched you here before?”
you shook your head, unable to form words. a possessive rush ran down his spine.
he slipped his hand into your panties, finding you soaked and swollen. you cried into the touch, hips bucking against his hand.
“shhh,” he soothed, his other hand coming to cup the back of your neck, “i’ve got you, just feel.”
his fingers explored you slowly, deliberately. he watched every expression that crossed your face, cataloging your responses like he studied art. when his thumb softly massaged your clit, you whimpered and tried to grind against his hand again.
“p-professor…”
he slowed down, cupping your cheek. “look at me,” he coaxed.
you obeyed immediately.
“can you call me by my first name here?” he asked, thumb rubbing circles into your cheek.
it felt wrong to you to call your professor by his first name. he was someone of greater knowledge. someone older. someone to respect.
someone with his hand in your panties as you sat in his lap.
the way he studied you melted your heart. he stared at you with a reverence that you never thought you would receive.
you couldn’t say no to him.
“j-jungkook,” you whispered.
he felt himself twitch in his pants. something about the way it rolled off your tongue had him dizzy.
he cursed under his breath. “again, please baby.” he asked with pleading eyes.
that nickname made you shudder. you obeyed, “jungkook.”
jungkook gave you a quick kiss, “good girl. just my name. only my name.”
the praise was addictive.
he circled your clit with his thumb while sliding one finger inside you. you clenched around him instinctively, your body reacting to the foreign intrusion. the sensation made you whimper.
“baby…” he rested his forehead against yours, “you’re so perfect for me.”
you whined.
something in him snapped. he added another finger, pumping them in and out and stretching you while he rubbed circles on your clit. his doe eyes stared down at you.
his bottom lip trembled. “i can’t believe i let you sit in my office hours for weeks and didn’t know you wanted this. i-i tried my best to not look at you,” he rambled between open mouthed kisses to your cheek and her jaw, “you’ve always been so good to me… so sweet. i could’ve had you so much sooner.”
you gasped as he found the sweet spot on your neck. he took a moment to suck and nibble on it. “if i tried to touch you like this right in that lecture hall, you probably would’ve let me… just spread your legs and let me take what i wanted, right? because you want this as bad as i do, right?”
you bit back a moan and nodded as the pace of his fingers picked up. the combination of the fingers and the pressure on your clit was overwhelming. your breath came out in short pants.
you came with cry, your body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you. jungkook held you through it, his movements slowing as you rode out your orgasm.
when you finally gathered yourself, you were slumped against him, your face buried in his neck. you could feel his hardness pressing against you through his slacks. he removed his fingers, the loss making you whine.
you had never experienced anything like that before.
“did you like it?” he asked, his voice rough.
you were still staring at your lap, overwhelmed. he tilted your chin up with his finger.
“eyes up,” he corrected softly.
you looked up at him with wide, yielding eyes. he wanted to devour you. he wanted to rip all of your clothes off, bend you over on the couch, and take you over, and over, and over until you couldn’t walk. until the only thing you could say was his name. you were so eager to please that you probably would’ve let him.
but you didn’t deserve that. you deserved something sweet and slow.
he smiled at you, “we’re not done yet.”
he lifted you effortlessly, body going limp in his arms as you clung to his shoulders. you were in a daze and he could tell.
jungkook didn’t waste any time. he opened his bedroom door, kicking it shut behind him with his heel.
the first thing you noticed about the room was that it smelled like him—sandalwood and old books.
he laid you out on the bed like you were something precious, his soft mattress dipping under your weight. you stared up at the ceiling, your heart still hammering against your ribs, your skin tingling all over. your skirt rode up to your waist.
“look at you,” he murmured, “so pretty.”
he crawled onto the bed. your thighs spread instinctively. he noticed, grinning.
he positioned his head between your thighs, looking up at you as his fingers brushed your waistband.
“what are you doing?” you whispered.
he looked up at you, “can i taste you?”
your breath hitched, “…yes.”
he pulled off your skirt, unbuttoning your shirt and taking off your bra for good measure, leaving you only in your panties. he pulled back for a moment to take you in. you blushed.
he pulled your panties down slowly and tenderly, letting out a soft gasp as he saw the remnants of your orgasm slipped out of your panties and dripped down your thighs.
“oh baby,” he said, “you made a mess, didn’t you?”
you whimpered. it was music to his ears.
“it’s okay,” he coaxed, taking off his fogged up glasses and setting them on the nightstand. “i’ll clean you up.”
that was when he bent down and licked a stripe against your sensitive flesh. your thighs instinctively closed against the sides of his head. he moved his hands to rest on your knees.
“keep your legs open,” he commanded softly.
the second swipe made you cry out, back arching off the bed. he groaned, the sound going straight through your core, feeling that coil tighten all over again in your tummy.
“jungkook…” you whined, hands tangling in his hair.
“just relax,” he mumbled against you, vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. “let me take care of you.”
your back arched again, and he held your hips down. the restraint made you dizzy.
he was a starving man, and you were the feast. he ate you out with desperate, enthusiastic hunger, his nose nudging against your clit as he lapped at you. he didn't just want to please you—he wanted to consume you.
you were melting into the mattress, completely overwhelmed. you wanted to grind against his face, to chase the friction, but his hold forced you to stay still. you were his to use, his to taste. you let him do all the heavy lifting, letting his tongue and his hands do the work while you just surrendered to the sensation.
you whimpered. high, helpless, embarrassingly sweet. the praise, the quiet command, it unraveled you faster than you thought possible.
he could tell.
your breathing turned ragged and your stomach started fluttering again, he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked. it was soft at first, then with steady, pulsing pressure. your whole body locked up. a broken little sob tore out of your throat as the second orgasm crashed through you, sharper and deeper than the first.
he didn’t stop.
he licked you through every aftershock, slower now, almost tender, until your whimpers turned into soft, overwhelmed sniffles. only then did he finally pull back, lips glossy, cheeks flushed, pupils blown so wide the brown was nearly gone.
he crawled up your body carefully, caging you without crushing you. his forearms bracketed your head. you could smell yourself on his mouth, on his chin, and the realization made fresh heat bloom low in your belly.
jungkook looked… ruined.
his hair was a mess from your fingers, shirt half-unbuttoned, chest rising and falling too fast. he stared down at you like you were the most devastating thing he’d ever seen.
“you’re shaking,” he whispered, brushing your hair out of your face. his thumb traced your bottom lip. “was that too much?”
you shook your head immediately, eyes glassy. “n-no… it felt so good…”
his expression softened into something dangerously fond.
he kissed you then, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you moaned quietly into his mouth, small hands clutching at his shoulders like you were afraid he’d disappear.
when he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice cracked.
“baby…” he swallowed hard. “can i… can I be inside you?”
your breath hitched.
the question hung between you, heavy and reverent.
you wanted to say yes. you did want to say yes. but the sudden rush of everything, body over yours, the damp heat still pulsing between your legs, the sheer size of him pressing against your thigh through his slacks—made your brain short-circuit.
you stared up at him with wide, dazed eyes. lips parted. no sound came out.
jungkook’s face fell the tiniest bit. misreading your silence as hesitation, he started to pull back.
“i’m sorry—i shouldn’t have—”
your hands grabbed his shirt before he could retreat.
he froze.
you didn’t speak, just looked at him—soft, overwhelmed, trusting—and slowly shook your head no. not no to him. no to him stopping.
understanding flickered across his face.
he exhaled shakily. “you want me to keep going?”
a tiny nod.
“but you’re… you’re not saying anything.”
another tiny nod. your cheeks burned. you liked this, seeing the normally composed, fumbling professor come apart. liked the way his voice was starting to shake.
jungkook dropped his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard.
“you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered. then, quieter, almost broken: “please. sweetheart, please. i need to feel you. i need it so bad. i haven’t—fuck, i haven’t let myself have anyone since i was studying for my master’s. i buried myself in books and data and—and then you walked into my class and i… i can’t think straight anymore.”
his hips rolled once, involuntarily, grinding his clothed length against your soaked core. he groaned low in his throat.
“i’ll go slow. i swear. i’ll stop the second you want me to. just… please let me inside you. please.”
the please sounded almost pathetic. desperate. nothing like the quiet authority he carried in lecture halls.
and you loved it.
you stayed silent a little longer, letting him unravel.
his breathing grew uneven. he started pressing soft, pleading kisses along your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
“i’ll take such good care of you,” he whispered against your skin. “i promise. i just… i need you. need to feel how warm you are. how tight. please, baby. please say yes. i’m begging you.”
your heart squeezed.
finally, soft, barely audible—you breathed:
“…yes.”
jungkook made a broken sound in the back of his throat.
he kissed you fiercely once, then sat back just enough to yank his shirt over his head. belt. button. zipper. he shoved everything down and off in one impatient motion.
when he settled back over you, completely bare, your eyes widened.
he was… big.
thick. long. flushed dark at the tip and already leaking. the sight made your thighs tremble.
“i—i don’t think…” you whispered, suddenly small and unsure again.
jungkook noticed immediately.
he leaned down, cupping your face with both hands.
“hey,” he soothed, voice velvet-soft. “it’s okay. it’ll fit. i promise you it will. we’ll go as slow as you need. you’re so wet for me already… it’ll be so easy. is that okay?”
you swallowed. nodded.
he reached between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance. the blunt head nudged against you—hot, slick, insistent.
“breathe,” he murmured. “just breathe for me.”
you did.
he pushed in barely an inch.
your breath caught. the stretch burned immediately. sharp. intense. you whimpered, fingers digging into his biceps.
“shhh, shhh,” he kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips. “you’re doing so good. so perfect. look at you taking me already.”
another slow inch.
the burn sharpened. tears pricked your eyes.
“jungkook—it hurts—”
“i know, baby. i know.” he stilled completely, trembling with the effort of holding back. “just stay with me. relax around me. let me in slow. you’re so tight… fuck, you feel incredible.”
he kissed you through it. soft, open-mouthed, distracting. whispered praise against your lips.
“you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.”
“so good for me.”
“taking me so well even though it’s your first time.”
“i’ve wanted this for so long.”
little by little, the sting began to melt. the fullness turned heavy, aching, good.
addictive. your hips shifted experimentally.
a soft moan slipped out.
his eyes fluttered shut. “that’s it… that’s my girl.”
he sank the rest of the way in one careful glide.
you both groaned.
he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, and stayed there—letting you adjust, letting himself feel every fluttering pulse around him.
“you’re perfect,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “so perfect. feel that? that’s us. just us.”
tears slipped down your temples—not from pain anymore, but from how full you felt. how wanted. how seen. he kissed them away.
“move,” you breathed after a long moment. “please… please move.”
he did.
slow. deep.
every drag of him inside you lit up nerves you didn’t know existed. the ache turned molten. sweet. you wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer.
he groaned your name like a prayer.
“you feel so good,” he rasped. “so warm. baby, you’re squeezing me so perfect.”
you keened at the praise, nails raking lightly down his back.
“more,” you whispered. “please.”
he gave it to you—still controlled, still careful, but deeper now. harder. the bed creaked softly beneath you.
“look at me,” he murmured.
you did.
his eyes were liquid dark, reverent.
“i’m so proud of you,” he said, voice shaking. “letting me have you like this. trusting me. you’re everything. you know that? everything.”
your eyes fluttered. the coil was building again—different this time. deeper. all-consuming.
“jungkook—”
“i’ve got you,” he promised, hips rolling in that perfect grind. “come for me, baby. let me feel it. please, baby.”
you shattered.
harder than before. clenching around him so tightly he cursed under his breath. your whole body shook, soft cries muffled against his shoulder.
he followed right after, hips stuttering, burying himself as deep as possible as he spilled inside you with a long, broken moan of your name.
for several long minutes you just held each other. breathing hard. sweaty. trembling.
he pressed the softest kisses to your hairline, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose.
“you okay?” he whispered eventually.
you nodded against his chest. smiled sleepily.
“more than okay.”
he exhaled, relieved. wrapped both arms around you and rolled so you were tucked against his side, still connected.
“stay,” he murmured, almost shy now that the urgency had passed. “just… stay with me tonight?”
you nuzzled closer, already drifting.
“always.”
the apartment was quiet in a way it had never been before.
not tense.
not forbidden.
just quiet.
the kind of quiet that settled after something life-changing.
you were wrapped in his sheets, hair messy, lips swollen, limbs pleasantly heavy. the world felt softer around the edges. unreal.
jungkook was sitting up beside you, chest rising and falling slowly, still trying to steady himself. he looked wrecked in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with disbelief.
you were looking at him like you had just discovered something sacred.
he ran a hand through his hair and let out a small, almost shy laugh.
“are you sure you okay?” he asked, voice lower than usual.
you nodded immediately. “perfect. all because of you .”
that made his ears turn pink.
he disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and came back with a warm cloth. the gentleness in his movements made your chest ache. he knelt beside you on the bed like you were fragile porcelain.
“let me,” he murmured.
he was careful. attentive. not clinical, but reverent. like this mattered. like you mattered.
you watched his face while he cleaned you up, the concentration in his brows, the softness in his eyes. he kept glancing up to check your expression.
“tell me if anything feels uncomfortable,” he said quietly.
you shook your head. “it doesn’t.”
he exhaled, relieved.
when he was done, you sat up slowly and took the cloth from his hand.
“my turn,” you said.
he blinked at you. “you don’t have to.”
“i want to.”
that softness again. that eagerness that kept undoing him.
you guided him back onto the bed, pushing him gently until he was the one lying down. he let you. completely.
there was something so vulnerable about him like that, broad shoulders against white sheets, hair falling into his eyes, chest rising steadily under your gaze.
you were just as careful with him.
your touch was slower, lighter, almost curious.
he swallowed hard.
“you’re staring,” he muttered.
“i am.”
he huffed a breath that might have been a laugh.
“why?”
you shrugged slightly. “i never thought you’d look like this.”
“like what?”
“soft.”
that made him go quiet.
when you finished, you tossed the cloth aside and crawled back toward him without hesitation. skin to skin. you pressed yourself against his side like it was instinct.
he stiffened for half a second. not because he didn’t want you there, but because he wasn’t used to it. not used to being held.
then his arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.
you rested your cheek against his chest.
he smelled like clean laundry and something warmer now. something entirely his.
“was this okay?” you mumbled sleepily.
his arm tightened around you.
“yeah,” he said softly. “it was more than okay.”
your fingers started tracing idle patterns against his skin.
that was when you noticed it fully. the ink winding down his arm.
you lifted your head slightly, eyes scanning the dark lines and shaded details of his sleeve.
“i never thought you’d have tattoos like this,” you murmured.
he looked down at you, amused. “like what?”
“like this,” you repeated, dragging your fingertip slowly along the edge of one design. “i thought you’d have, like… a tiny minimalist one. something academic.”
he laughed, the sound vibrating under your ear.
“a tiny minimalist one?”
“maybe a paintbrush,” you said seriously. “or something pretentious.”
he laughed harder at that.
“i’m not that bad.”
you hummed, tracing another section carefully. “it’s pretty.”
“pretty?”
“yeah.” your voice was soft, sincere. “i liked that it didn’t match what people expected.”
he watched you with an expression that shifted from amused to something deeper.
“you didn’t seem surprised,” he said quietly.
“about what?”
“that i wasn’t what people expected.”
you rested your chin on his chest and looked up at him.
“i’d known that since the first day.”
his fingers slid into your hair absentmindedly.
“you were full of surprises too,” he murmured.
you smiled sleepily. “like what?”
“like how brave you were.”
you flushed at that.
“i was terrified.”
“you didn’t look it.”
you tucked yourself closer into him, your leg sliding between his instinctively. he inhaled softly at the contact but didn’t move away.
“i liked being close to you,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.
his hand stilled in your hair.
“i liked you being close,” he answered.
the room went quiet again, but it was different now.
comfortable.
your fingertip continued tracing the lines of his sleeve, slowly, carefully, memorizing. you followed each curve like you were studying something important.
he watched you the entire time.
like he still couldn’t believe you were there.
like he was afraid if he closed his eyes, you’d disappear.
“don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled without opening your eyes.
“like what?”
“like i’m going to vanish.”
his breath caught.
you opened one eye and smiled faintly.
“i wasn’t.”
his arm tightened around you again, pressing a soft kiss into your hair.
“good,” he whispered.
and for the first time since the line had blurred, neither of you felt like you were falling.
you just lay there, skin to skin, quiet and tangled together, tracing ink and memorizing warmth, like you had all the time in the world.
author’s note: this took forever to write bc i got super self indulgent😭 i hope you enjoyed it, i’ve had this idea for a while. thank you for reading<333
genre: rich!jungkook, onlyfans creator!y/n, rivals to lovers, secret admirer, voyeurism
Starting an OnlyFans was supposed to be quick cash but when you found that your childhood rival and current classmate Jungkook is subscribed to you, it leads to a verbal fight and then a very physical and very public fucking. But he’s so whipped that he readily agrees to feature his huge cock in your next stream and makes you squirt so much that you almost pass out.
tags: library sex, public sex, kissing, biting, hickeys, marking, neck biting, dirty talk, teasing, bratty reader, cocky jungkook, whipped jungkook, jungkook is HUNG, confession, jealousy, possessiveness, jungkook watches your onlyfans secretly, handjob, fingering, fucking against bookshelf, rough sex, hair pulling, squirting, creampie, flirty bickering, exhibitionism, nipple play, breast slapping, spanking punishment, jealous jungkook, blowjob, deep throating, face fucking, cum on tits, cum feeding, cum marking, fingering, forced orgasm, belt bondage, desk sex, doggy style, degradation, clit slapping, jungkook makes you squirt SO much, aftercare, bathing together, lazy kissing.
total words: 6.3k
this snippet: 3k words
(this snippet contains first scene of jungkook finding your OF, crushing on you secretly and then you two fucking in the library)
The air in your shitty studio apartment smells like ramen and defeat. You stare at your laptop screen, the numbers in your bank account mocking you. Rent’s due in a week. Your part-time job at the campus café barely covers groceries, let alone textbooks. You’ve sold what you can. You’ve cut every corner. A cold, slick feeling of panic coils in your gut. There’s one option left, the nuclear one, the one that makes your skin crawl even as you type the URL into your browser.
OnlyFans.
It’s stupid. It’s reckless. But it’s also money. Fast money. You set rules for yourself immediately: a mask, always. The camera stays below the neck. No face, ever. You’ll just… show off a little. It’s just your body. You have a nice body. You’ve been told that. You have tits that are a good handful, a waist that curves in just right. It’s an asset. You’re just leveraging an asset.
The first stream is a shaky, humiliating ordeal. Your hands tremble as you adjust the webcam. You’re wearing a simple black lace bra you bought on sale, the only nice one you own. The viewer count hovers at a pathetic ‘3’. You talk about your day, about the stupid assignment Professor Kim gave, your voice thin and nervous. You don’t even mention your bra until twenty minutes in, and even then it’s a mumbled, “So, uh, this is what I’m wearing.” One viewer leaves. You feel like crying. Then, a notification pops up.
ian_ has tipped $100.
Your breath hitches. A hundred dollars? Just like that? You wait for the demand, for the creepy request. The chat box lights up.
ian_: you look pretty.
That’s it. No ‘show me your pussy’, no ‘take it off’. Just… pretty. A weird warmth, completely separate from the shame, spreads through your chest. “Thank you,” you whisper into the mic, your voice a little more solid. “That’s… really kind.”
That becomes the pattern. You stream a few times a week, sitting in your bed, in your bras. You get bolder, teasing, running your fingers along the lace edges, tracing the swell of your breasts. You never take it off. And ian_ is always there, tipping you fifty, a hundred, sometimes just ten dollars with a simple ‘hi’ or ‘you have a nice laugh’. He never asks for more. He makes you feel… seen, but not exposed. It’s confusing.
Meanwhile, your real life gets more confusing too. Specifically, the part of your real life occupied by Jeon Jungkook.
You’ve known him forever. Annoying neighbor kid who’d pull your pigtails and put bugs in your backpack. Then he moved away, and you thought you were free. Nope. First day of university, there he is, in your Introduction to Political Science lecture, smirking at you from across the room. Three years later, you’re in the same friend group—a fact that still baffles you—and your constant bickering has mellowed into a rhythm of sharp-tongued banter. Your friends call it flirting. You call it a chronic irritation. Jungkook usually responds to the ‘flirting’ accusations by playfully smacking your friend Taehyung’s head. You just scoff. You and Jungkook? Please.
But lately, something’s shifted. The bickering has dwindled. Now, you catch him staring. Not with his usual competitive glint, but with a heavy, unreadable look. Like in the library today, his eyes locked on your shoulder, of all places. You were wearing an off-the-shoulder sweater.
“What?” you snapped, self-conscious. “Is there something on me?”
He blinked, jerked his gaze to yours, and the familiar smirk was back, but it looked forced. “Just wondering how you manage to dress like that and still have the brain cells to argue with me about economic policy.”
“My wardrobe has more range than your entire personality, Jungkook,” you fired back, but your heart wasn’t in it. He’d been blushing. Jungkook doesn’t blush.
And he’s been… weirdly protective. When your study group got too rowdy in the silent library, it was Jungkook who shushed them, his eyes finding yours. “Some of us are actually trying to work,” he’d said, but he was looking right at you.
Back in your apartment, buoyed by the steady, anonymous support of ian_, you feel a surge of confidence during a stream. The mask is secure on your face. You lean into the camera, your cleavage prominent in a deep red bra.
“You know,” you murmur, your voice taking on the sultry tone you’ve practiced, “I’ve been thinking… maybe you’d like to see a little more tonight.” The chat erupts with ‘YES’ and ‘PLEASE’. You bite your lip, playing it up. “Should I? Should I show you my tits?”
The notification flashes instantly, dominating your screen.
ian_ has tipped $500.
Your eyes go wide. Five hundred dollars. That’s… that’s your rent. Before you can even thank him, a message follows.
ian_: you don’t have to force yourself. i like you just like this.
The warmth from before floods you, intense and overwhelming. This stranger, this ian_, sees you. He cares. “I’m not forcing myself,” you say, and you realize it’s mostly true. You feel powerful. “I’m wearing pasties. See? I’m comfortable. But… thank you. That’s so sweet.”
The dynamic solidifies. You tease, you play, you feel sexy and in control online. Offline, Jungkook’s intense stares and quiet actions fray your nerves. The two worlds feel galaxies apart.
Until they collide.
You’re in the university library, tucked into a deep carrel. You’d just uploaded a few spicy, but non-revealing, photos to your OnlyFans feed—a shot of your lips biting a strawberry, a picture of your bare shoulders and collarbones still damp from a shower. You’re scrolling through the comments, a small smile on your face, when you hear a distinct, soft ping from the table next to you.
You glance over. Jungkook is there, headphones on, textbooks sprawled. His phone, face-up on the table, lights up with a notification. Your blood turns to ice.
It’s a notification from the OnlyFans app. And the preview text clearly shows your creator username.
Time stops. The hum of the library fades into a roaring silence in your ears. Your stomach plummets through the floor. No. No, no, no, no.
Before rational thought can intervene, before fear can paralyze you, a white-hot bolt of rage takes over. You’re out of your seat, your hand clamping around Jungkook’s wrist like a vice. He jumps, startled, pulling one headphone away.
“What the—?”
“Shut up,” you hiss, your voice low and venomous. You drag him, stumbling, out of the study area, down a narrow aisle of old periodicals, to the very back of the library where no one ever goes. The air is thick with the smell of dust and old paper.
You shove him against a metal shelf. “You,” you seethe, your chest heaving. “You pervert.”
Jungkook’s initial shock morphs into a guarded stillness. His eyes, usually so bright and teasing, are dark, unreadable.
“What are you talking about?” he says, but his voice lacks its usual confidence.
“Don’t you fucking play dumb with me!” You’re almost shaking. “Your phone! I saw it! You’re subscribed to me! You’ve been watching me? Tipping me? What the fuck, Jungkook? Is this some fucking joke to you?” The humiliation burns, hotter than the anger. “Are you showing my videos to everyone? To Taehyung? To Jimin? Oh my god.” The rage suddenly cracks, and raw, cold fear seeps in. Your voice drops to a terrified whisper. “You’re going to ruin me.”
That’s what breaks his silence. His expression, which had been closed off, shatters into something pained, urgent. “No,” he says, firm and immediate. He reaches for you, but you flinch back. He drops his hands. “Y/N, no. Look at me. No one knows. I would never—I could never hurt you like that. Never.”
The sincerity in his voice is a physical thing, a wall against your panic. You stare at him, your breath coming in short gasps. The fear is still there, but the edge of the hysteria blunts.
“Why?” is all you can manage to choke out. “Why would you do this? To mock me? To hold it over me?”
Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. He’s blushing again, a deep red creeping up his neck. “I recognized you,” he admits, his voice rough. “The first stream. You leaned forward to adjust the lamp, and your sweater slipped. There’s a mole. Right here.” His finger hovers near your shoulder, not touching. “On your left shoulder. I’ve known that mole since we were twelve.”
You instinctively clutch at your shoulder, as if you can hide it.
“I tried to stop,” he continues, his gaze dropping to the floor before forcing itself back to yours. “I swear I did. But you… you were just so… you talk so sweetly on there. You’re so gentle with them. You have this little laugh when you get a donation that makes my chest feel tight. And I knew you were struggling. I heard you on the phone with your landlord last month in the hallway. I just… I wanted to help. Without making you feel like a charity case. Tipping you seemed… safe.”
The confession hangs in the dusty air. Your mind reels. All those tips, the kindness, the respect… it was Jungkook. Annoying, competitive, pigtail-pulling Jungkook.
“Prove it,” you hear yourself say, your voice steadier now, edged with a challenge. “Prove you’re not lying. Prove you haven’t told anyone.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He unlocks his phone, opens his messaging app, and hands it to you. It’s a chat thread with his best friend, Yoongi. You scroll up. Way up. Months back.
The messages are… staggering.
Jungkook: dude. i found her. she’s on OF.
Yoongi: who?
Jungkook: you don’t need to know. but she’s my girl.
Yoongi: …you’re a stalker.
Jungkook: SHUT UP. she’s wearing a mask but it’s her. i know it is. her voice. her laugh. fuck.
Jungkook: she just talked about having ramen for dinner again. she can’t keep eating that shit.
Jungkook: someone called her ‘babygirl’ in the chat and i almost threw my laptop. she’s not
their babygirl.
Yoongi: you’re actually pathetic.
Jungkook: i know. but she’s so pretty. she sounds so tired today. i just sent her $100. told her she’s pretty.
Yoongi: you’re a lost cause.
Jungkook: i think i’m in love with her. i’ve always been in love with her.
On and on it goes. Pages of Jungkook ranting, worrying, simpering over you. Yoongi roasting him mercilessly. It’s so raw, so embarrassingly earnest. A laugh bubbles out of you, sharp and disbelieving. You look up at Jungkook. His face is crimson, his eyes squeezed shut as if in pain.
“You,” you giggle, the tension snapping. “You’re such a fucking loser. ‘My girl’? Really?”
He cracks one eye open. “Shut up,” he grumbles, but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.
“All this time,” you say, stepping closer, the phone forgotten in your hand. “All that money. Just because you have a crush?”
“Not a crush,” he corrects, his voice dropping, his eyes opening fully to lock onto yours. The vulnerability is gone, replaced by that familiar, intense heat, but now it’s directed, undisguised. “It’s never been just a crush.”
The air between you changes. It crackles, thick and charged. The fear, the anger, the humiliation—it all melts away, replaced by something else entirely. A reckless, pulsating curiosity. You’re holding his secret. He’s holding yours. You’re standing in a dark corner of a library, and the boy you’ve fought with for most of your life has been pouring his heart out over you for months.
A boldness, born from the persona you’ve cultivated online and the power of this revelation, surges through you. You look him up and down, a slow, deliberate smirk spreading across your face. “You know,” you say, your voice a low purr, “for someone who’s been watching me for so long, you’ve been surprisingly… gentle. All that tipping. All those sweet comments.” You take the final step, closing the distance until you’re a breath away. Your hand, of its own volition, drifts down between his legs, palm pressing firmly against the hard bulge straining against his jeans. “Is that all you are, Jungkook? Soft?”
He groans, a deep, ragged sound that seems to be torn from his chest. His hips jerk involuntarily into your touch. His hands fly up to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes, his eyes blazing.
“Prove it,” you whisper, taunting him. “Prove you’re not all talk.”
That’s all the invitation he needs. He crashes his lips onto yours. It’s not a soft, exploratory kiss. It’s all-consuming hunger. His mouth is hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping past your lips to claim you. You kiss him back with equal fervor, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. He tastes like mint and coffee and pure, unadulterated Jungkook. He breaks from your lips to trail desperate, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, until his teeth find that mole on your shoulder. He bites down, not enough to break skin, but enough to make you cry out and arch into him.
“Your tits,” he pants against your skin, his hands sliding down to palm you through your thin sweater. “God, they’re so fucking perfect. I’ve wanted to see them, touch them, for so fucking long. The fucking pasties, Y/N, you were killing me.”
A thrill shoots through you. “You want to see?” you taunt, breathless. “You’ve seen so much of me for free, Jungkook. Seems unfair.”
He pulls back, his eyes wild. “What do you want?”
You look pointedly at the prominent erection tenting his pants. “Show me yours.”
A wicked, shameless grin spreads across his face. That’s the Jungkook you know. Cocky. Confident. Without a shred of hesitation, he works the button and zip of his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It springs out, thick and hard, the tip already glistening. Your mouth waters. You’ve seen cocks on your streams, in comments, but this is real. This is his.
“Happy?” he rasps, his hand wrapping around the base, giving himself a slow stroke. His eyes never leave yours.
“It’ll do,” you say with a feigned nonchalance that makes him laugh, a dark, sexy sound. You reach out, wrapping your fingers around him, mirroring his grip. He’s hot and heavy in your hand, silken skin over iron-hard flesh. You stroke him, twisting your wrist on the upstroke the way you’ve read about. His head falls back against the bookshelf with a soft thud, a guttural groan escaping him.
“Fuck, just like that,” he encourages, his hips pushing into your fist. “You’re such a quick learner, you little cockslut.”
The filthy word sends a jolt of pure arousal straight to your core. You’re soaking through your panties. “You like that?” you murmur, speeding up your strokes. “You like me touching your big cock after watching me for so long? Bet you jerked off to me, didn’t you? Bet you came thinking about my tits.”
“Every fucking night,” he admits, his voice strained. His hands leave your face to grab your waist, pulling you flush against him so your clothed heat grinds against his thigh. “Thought about these hands on me. Thought about this mouth.” He kisses you again, deep and dirty. “Need to be inside you, Y/N. Now. Can’t wait.”
The need in his voice mirrors your own. You’re throbbing, empty, desperate. “Then fuck me,” you demand against his lips. “Since you’ve been such a good boy.”
He curses, a string of profanity that would make a sailor blush. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he growls, spinning you around with surprising ease. Your hands fly out, bracing against the cold metal shelf. Behind you, you hear the rustle of his jeans, the tear of a foil packet—he came prepared, the bastard—and then the slick sound of him rolling a condom on.
His body presses against your back, his heat enveloping you. One hand snakes around to cup your breast, squeezing hard, while the other pushes your skirt up and your panties aside. “Since when,” he whispers hotly in your ear, his cockhead nudging against your soaked entrance, “did my sweet, bratty little neighbor turn into such a fucking needy slut?”
You push back against him, a wordless plea. “You don’t know the half of it,” you smirk, looking over your shoulder.
He doesn’t answer with words. He answers by slamming into you in one brutal, perfect thrust.
You scream, the sound muffled as you bite his arm. He’s big, so much bigger than you imagined, stretching you impossibly full. There’s a sharp burn that quickly melts into a flood of overwhelming pleasure. “Jungkook!” you wail.
“That’s it, say my name,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way before driving back in, setting a punishing, deep rhythm right from the start. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, sure to leave bruises. “Fuck, you’re tight. So fucking perfect for me. My perfect little whore.”
Each thrust rocks you into the bookshelf. The metal rattles softly. Someone could walk by. Someone could hear. The danger only fuels the fire. He leans over you, his chest against your back, his mouth finding your neck again. He sucks hard, marking you, claiming you. You know there will be a dark purple bruise there tomorrow. The thought makes you clench around him.
“Shit, you’re gonna milk me dry,” he moans, his rhythm faltering for a second. One of his hands leaves your hip and finds its way under your sweater, under your bra, pinching your nipple roughly between his fingers. You cry out, the mix of pain and pleasure sending shockwaves through your system.
“Harder,” you beg, your own voice foreign to you, thick with lust. “Don’t you fucking dare hold back on me now.”
He laughs, a breathless, exhilarated sound. “Bossy fucking thing.” He nips at your earlobe. “You want it harder? You want me to fuck you like the desperate little fucktoy you are?”
“Yes! God, yes, Jungkook, please!”
He obliges. His thrusts become harder, faster, more frantic. The shelf rattles louder. Books tremble. His fingers on your nipple twist and pull. His teeth scrape along your shoulder. You’re a mess of sensation, of filthy words and animalistic grunts. You feel the coil in your belly tightening, winding to an impossible degree. You’re babbling, begging, chanting his name like a prayer.
“I’m gonna come,” you sob, your legs shaking. “Jungkook, I’m gonna—”
“Come for me, darling,” he commands, his voice ragged with his own impending release. “Soak my cock. Let me feel it.”
It’s the ‘darling’ that does it. The unexpected tenderness amidst the filth. Your orgasm erupts, violent and all-consuming. You scream, your vision whiting out as you convulse around him, a gush of wetness soaking both of you. The pleasure is so intense, so sharp, it steals the air from your lungs, the strength from your bones. Your legs buckle.
Jungkook holds you up, his arms like steel bands around you, fucking you through it, chasing his own peak. “That’s it, love, that’s it,” he grunts, his movements becoming erratic. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m—!”
With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you and stills. A long, broken groan is torn from his throat as he pulses within you, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades as he rides out his own climax.
For a moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing mingling with his, the smell of sex and dust, and the faint, distant sound of someone shuffling books a few aisles over.
You’re both slumped against the shelf, spent. He slowly pulls out, hissing at the sensitivity. He disposes of the condom and quickly tucks himself away before turning you around to face him. You’re a wreck. Your lips are swollen, your hair is mussed, your neck and shoulder are a map of red bites and darkening bruises. His aren’t much better; you can see the red marks of your nails on his neck where you gripped him.
He looks at you, his eyes soft, sated, full of a wonder that makes your heart clench. He leans in and kisses you, slow and deep and sweet, so at odds with the frantic fucking of moments before.
You break the kiss, a slow, wicked smile spreading across your face as you catch your breath. You reach up and trace the bite mark on his neck. “You know,” you say, your voice hoarse, “my engagement’s been dropping lately. Could use a boost.”
Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Think you’d be up for a… guest appearance sometime?” You let your hand drift down his chest. “My viewers would love you. They’ve been asking for a male voice.”
He throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich and full and happy. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close. You can feel his heart hammering against your chest. “You’re fucking insane,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice laced with pure adoration. “And yes. Fuck yes. Anything you want.”
He kisses your temple. You stand there in the silent, dusty library, wrapped up in the boy who was your rival, your secret admirer, and now, very clearly, something much more.
(the full version contains jungkook participating in your OF stream, face fucking you, spanking you and then making you squirt multiple times before giving you aftercare)
Summary: You were always the grade-conscious type—where others would brush off a single mistake, you couldn't. One wrong answer was enough to haunt you, let alone a low mark on something you poured your heart into, like your essay. You mustered the courage to raise your concern, but your approach to Professor Jeon wasn’t exactly the best. And unfortunately for you, he wasn’t the kind of teacher to let things slide either.
pairing: professor jungkook x college student reader
warnings: unprotected sex, professor jk slapping y/n with reality, y/n thinks highly of herself, cold and strict jk
word count: 3.8k+
When you were a child, people would often tell your parents that you were destined to become a bright young woman—all because of your endless curiosity.
You asked questions so relentlessly, it could wear out even the most patient adult. And they were right. By the time you were barely in your teens, you had already collected a string of academic awards.
The most unforgettable one? The math quiz bee you joined when you were just ten. Two boys had bumped your shoulder before the contest, sneering and telling you to get lost.
You remembered clenching your fists, resisting the urge to retaliate—because you knew your mind was sharper than your fists would ever need to be.
The memory of their faces twisting into disbelief still lingered, especially when your name was announced as the winner. Just two mistakes—while the rest of them struggled.
You made sure to lock eyes with them as you walked up to the stage, proudly receiving your certificate and holding your trophy high. And, of course, you flipped your hair with just enough flair to make sure they never forgot who beat them.
Back in high school, you were practically at war with everyone—for the top spot. If it meant studying eight hours a day just to ace every exam, quiz, assignment, and seatwork, you didn’t hesitate.
You graduated as valedictorian, but even that didn’t satisfy you. It wasn’t enough—you craved more. You wanted recognition, not just from your classmates or teachers, but from the whole world.
You see, you didn’t study just because your parents expected it. You studied because you were obsessed. It consumed you. Your life revolved around grades, rankings, perfection. You didn’t care if people called you a nerd—honestly, you wore the label like a badge of honor.
There are two types of people in college: the brainy and the beauty. But thanks to your parents' blessed genes—and your relentless discipline—you had both. That’s what made you stand out.
They called you the Campus Queen and the Book Queen all at once. Boys (and even a few girls) tried to ask you out, but you always declined with a polite smile. You didn’t want distractions. Your mind was reserved solely for studying.
College was hell, and you couldn’t even argue with that. It was hell—especially when professors seemed to have a pact to assign every paper, project, and quiz all at once, sending every student into panic mode. But while others struggled to breathe, you thrived in the pressure.
No boyfriend? No problem. Your trusty dildo kept you company during those rare moments of need. That’s how far you were willing to go—grades came first, always. You would sacrifice anything, everything, just to chase those golden numbers.
You walked into the room with unwavering confidence, wearing a proud smile meant for no one in particular. As usual, you were the first to arrive. Punctuality was one of your many strengths—just like in academics, you were disciplined with time.
Every second, every minute, every hour mattered to you. You slid into your usual seat and pulled out a book from your bag. Without wasting a moment, you flipped to the page of today’s lesson and began reading ahead.
Advanced reading was one of your favorite habits. There was something deeply satisfying about answering every question before anyone else had the chance.
And on days when a classmate stumbled—palms sweaty, eyes darting in panic—you were more than happy to take the spotlight and answer in their place. It wasn’t arrogance; it was what you called ‘helping’.
Some admired you, but others despised you—and you were well aware of both. You assumed it was envy. After all, why wouldn’t they be?
You were intelligent and beautiful, the rare combination most could only dream of. But the truth was, your attitude was far from admirable.
You were the type of student who only cared about herself and her grades. If a classmate struggled to answer, you didn’t hesitate to snatch the opportunity—and the attention—for yourself.
When you did, disapproving stares followed you, and your instructors could only offer awkward scoffs, unsure whether to be impressed or uncomfortable. It wasn’t just your classmates who noticed your self-centered drive—your professors did too. Especially Mr. Jeon.
Your mind drifted into dreamland, lost in the fantasy of what was about to happen. You pictured Professor Jeon standing at the front of the class, calling your name to praise your outstanding essay.
Your classmates would erupt into applause as you stood and walked confidently toward him. You’d take your paper from his hand and beam with pride, eyes sparkling at the sight of a perfect mark scrawled in red ink.
But reality snapped back the moment students started to file into the room. Within minutes, the classroom was full—tense and silent, all awaiting the arrival of the cold, strict instructor.
The atmosphere shifted the second he stepped in. Even from across the room, you could feel the weight of his presence—sharp, disciplined, and commanding.
Every pair of eyes locked onto him, tracking his movements with caution. He strode to the desk, placed his leather bag down, and began pulling out his laptop and a thick stack of papers. Your heart skipped a beat when you spotted the red ink marking the pages.
This was it.
Professor Jeon grabbed the stack of papers and began flipping through them, eyes scanning each one with purpose—until he found that paper. With the rest in hand, he returned to the table and placed them down neatly.
He stepped into the center of the room, his gaze sweeping across every corner, surveying the students one by one. Then, his eyes locked with yours.
Your breath hitched. Was he looking at you? You glanced behind you to check if his focus might be on someone else—but your seat was the last in that row. No one was behind you.
You turned your attention back to the front—only to find that his eyes were no longer on you.
"Out of all the works submitted," he began, voice calm but firm, "one stood out the most. The choice of words was exceptional. The way the writer conveyed their imagination—they captured not just the mind, but the heart of the reader. This essay was astonishing.”
Each word sank deeper into your thoughts. Your heart pounded in anticipation, every beat louder than the last.
He was talking about yours. He had to be.
“Ms. Jang Arin, please come up to the front.”
Everyone, including you, turned toward the young woman whose mouth hung open in shock—and so did yours. You couldn’t believe what you just heard. That was supposed to be you.
Arin hesitantly made her way to the front, and to your surprise, Mr. Jeon offered her a slight smile—one of the rare times anyone had seen the strict professor display anything close to warmth.
You furrowed your brows. ‘No… that should’ve been me.’ That was one of the best essays you’d ever written. There was no way some random girl could’ve stolen the recognition that belonged to you.
You could feel the weight of the stares directed at you—your classmates waiting for your usual outburst, expecting the predictable moment when you would storm up and demand an explanation. But you didn’t give them that satisfaction.
Instead, you forced a smile and glanced back down at the book in front of you. Still, you could feel Mr. Jeon’s eyes lingering on you. You gulped and tightened your grip on the pages.
You weren’t going to make a scene—not yet. You’ll speak to him in his office later.
He began the lesson, but you couldn’t focus—not after what just happened. A mixture of humiliation and anger simmered inside you.
Your grip on the pen tightened, and your thoughts spiraled even further when you caught sight of Arin grinning to herself.
What the hell? Something’s not right.
Before you knew it, class was over in a snap. The room emptied out, but you remained in your seat, stunned. You slapped your forehead in frustration.
You hadn’t absorbed a single word of today’s lecture—your thoughts were too clouded by what had just been taken from you. Your recognition. Your moment.
No, you weren’t going to let this slide—especially if you were rigged.
You hastily grabbed your things and rushed out into the hallway. It had been buzzing with students earlier, but now it was nearly deserted—eerily quiet. That was until you heard soft giggles echoing from near the stairwell.
You stopped. Slowly and silently, you crept forward and peeked around the corner.
Your breath hitched.
There, just a few steps down, was Arin—giggling at something Professor Jeon had said. And him? He was smiling. Softly. Genuinely.
Your stomach twisted.
Your palm instantly flew to your mouth. ‘Aha! My gut was right—something is definitely off… or rather, something’s definitely going on between those two!’
Anger surged through your veins, quickly followed by the sting of betrayal.
Your moment—your dream—was stolen, all because someone decided to be a slut.
A sharp clatter made your heart stop. You looked down—your pen had slipped from your hand and hit the floor.
Your eyes widened. Shit. They must not see you!
“Who’s there?”
Mr. Jeon’s deep, commanding voice echoed through the corridor, sending chills down your spine. You heard footsteps approaching. Panic surged. Without thinking, you squeezed your eyes shut… and meowed.
Yes, meowed—like one of the college cats that roamed the campus.
A pause. Then—
“Oh, Professor. It’s just a cat!” Arin's voice chimed in, light and airy, before fading along with the footsteps. They were probably heading downstairs together.
Once you were sure the coast was clear, you stepped out of hiding and walked toward the spot where they had just been. You peered down the stairwell, jaw tight and fists clenched.
‘So the game’s on.’
They could play their little flirtations all they wanted—but you weren’t about to let either of them mess with your grades. Not now. Not ever.
After discovering what could be something more than just a student-teacher relationship between your shy classmate and the ever-strict Professor Jeon, you couldn't let it go.
Instead, you turned your attention toward them—observing from afar, collecting what evidence you could.
A week went by, and now, your study table was covered with printed photos you’d taken in secret. You sat in silence, eyes scanning each one, piecing together the story like a puzzle.
Photo 1: The two sat at a quiet café—Arin appeared to be reading something, while Professor Jeon casually sipped his coffee across from her.
Photo 2: In an empty corridor, just the two of them—laughing. Laughing. A rare expression from a man known for being cold and unreadable.
Photo 3: Arin, entering his office alone.
You only added the third photo because your so-called evidence was lacking—you needed something to fill the gaps, even if it wasn’t damning enough on its own. Still, you couldn’t help but smile proudly at the photos spread before you.
You weren’t planning to use them—at least, not unless things took a turn. You were only going to Professor Jeon’s office to raise your concern about the mark he gave you on the essay you poured your soul into.
But if he dared to brush you off or humiliate you again… well, you’d have no choice.
Now, you sat in your seat, silently counting the seconds for this period to end. These past few days, your mind was never where it should be.
It wandered aimlessly during lessons, tuning out every voice that tried to teach you. Even your classmates noticed—how your usual spark had dulled, how you weren't as relentless, as sharp, as insufferably perfect as before.
And you hated it. You hated how this situation affected you. You hated Arin’s quiet smile. You hated Professor Jeon’s unreadable face. Most of all, you hated that they were the reason you felt so... off.
If it weren’t for them, you wouldn’t be distracted. You’d still be at the top—undeniable, untouchable.
Class was over, and before you knew it, you were already walking toward his office. Each step felt heavier than the last, the confidence you had earlier slowly unraveling with every inch closer to the door.
After all, you were about to face the Mr. Jeon Jungkook—the cold, strict, respected, and damn near perfect professor.
You raised your fist and knocked.
"Come in."
His voice, low and commanding, sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. There he was—sitting at his desk, eyes fixed on his laptop, fingers dancing effortlessly across the keys.
You hesitated for a moment, the door clicking shut behind you a little louder than you'd intended. Still, he didn’t look up.
The only sounds in the room were the rhythmic tapping of the keyboard and the steady ticking of the clock above his shelf.
It felt like the silence was a test.
And you weren’t sure if you were passing or failing.
“I assume this isn’t about attendance,” he finally said, voice flat and devoid of emotion.
You cleared your throat. “It’s… about my essay grade.”
He stopped typing. His eyes slowly lifted to meet yours—sharp, unreadable. “Your essay,” he repeated, leaning back against his chair. “Right. The one that barely tapped into the prompt and read like a recycled daydream with no real depth.”
You flinched. “I worked hard on it. I just thought—”
“Thinking and writing are two different things,” he cut you off. “Effort doesn’t equal quality, Miss Y/N. You’re in college. Not kindergarten.”
Your fists clenched at your sides, the heat in your face rising. You tried to keep calm. “I know the grade is final, but I just wanted to understand why—”
“I’ve already told you why,” Jungkook said. “If you're looking for sympathy, try your classmates. I deal in facts. And the fact is, your work was mediocre.”
You paused, debating whether to say the next line.
“I just find it odd,” you said slowly, eyes narrowing, “how my classmate—who barely participates—somehow got a higher mark. A classmate I happened to see laughing with you in the hallway... quite comfortably.”
That finally got a reaction.
Jungkook’s jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened as he stood up, walking around his desk. “Are you implying something, Miss Y/N?”
You held his gaze, fingers brushing the edge of your bag—where your phone, and the photos, waited.
“No, Professor. I’m just… asking questions.” He stopped in front of you, the space between you chilling. “Be very careful with the kind of questions you ask. Because once they’re out, there’s no taking them back.”
You swallowed hard but didn’t back down. The weight of the photos in your bag gave you a false sense of power—but even then, standing this close to Jungkook felt like walking a thin line over fire.
“I just think it’s… unfair,” you said, voice trembling slightly, “how someone who barely talks in class ends up with a near-perfect score. You may not realize how that looks to others.”
Jungkook's eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking. “Arin,” he said coldly. “You’re talking about Arin.”
You didn’t answer.
He exhaled through his nose. “Her essay stood out the most, which is why I chose it and she’s on academic probation. That ‘laughing in the hallway’ was me explaining her midterm options before she fails the course entirely. But I suppose when you’re obsessed with perfection, everything looks like a conspiracy, doesn’t it?”
His words hit harder than you expected. Still, you didn’t look away.
“I just want fairness,” you whispered.
“No,” Jungkook replied, stepping even closer, voice low and sharp. “You want control. That’s why you’re standing here instead of revising your work like a real student. Because deep down, you don’t care about learning. You care about appearances. Grades. Pride.” He walked back to his desk.
You felt your pride twist into something sharper—resentment.
“And what if I showed you something?” you said, slowly reaching into your bag. “Something that might make you reconsider.”
Jungkook’s expression didn’t change. “Are you really about to blackmail a professor?”
The air in the room dropped. You paused—his tone wasn’t angry, or surprised. It was calm. Calculated. Dangerous.
“I wouldn’t call it that…” you said carefully. “Just… offering context. For your judgment.”
Jungkook crossed his arms and leaned slightly against the desk. “Then show me. Let’s see what you think is enough to challenge my integrity.”
You hesitated.
“I don’t tolerate threats,” he added coldly.
Your hand hovered inside your bag. This was it.
Jungkook didn’t say a word right away. He simply stood there, eyes unreadable as they bore into yours. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Then, he slowly walked toward you, each step unhurried, measured—predatory.
You didn’t know what shifted. Maybe it was the heavy silence in the room. Maybe it was the way his gaze dragged across your face, lingering a little too long on your parted lips.
Or maybe it was the unresolved tension crackling in the air—anger, defiance, and something else neither of you wanted to name.
“You came here thinking you could play with fire,” Jungkook finally said, voice low. “Now you're in it.”
He stopped just in front of you. Too close. His eyes dropped to the envelope in your hand—the one holding the pictures—and then back to yours.
“You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but the words died on your tongue. Your breath hitched as his hand slowly reached out—not to grab the envelope, but to brush a strand of hair away from your face. A touch too soft. Too deliberate.
“You wanted my attention,” he murmured, tone now quieter… darker. “Now you have it.”
He took one step closer. The envelope slipped from your fingers and hit the floor.
Jungkook crashed his lips onto yours as he pushed you against the nearest wall. You groaned when your back collided with the hard surface.
He slid your bag off your shoulder and immediately lifted your shirt, tugging down your bra before cupping your breast.
“Mhm,” you moaned as he gently massaged it, his tongue exploring your mouth. You started kissing him back—the kiss wasn’t slow; it was rough and desperate.
Jungkook broke the kiss and moved his lips to your neck, gently biting and leaving hickeys. His hand found the hem of your shirt, and he pulled it off, along with your bra.
He sucked your two nipples, switching back and forth. Your moans started to get loud, “Be quiet,” he said before placing his mouth back onto your breasts. You immediately clamped your lips shut.
You gasped when he cupped your clothed cunt, his eyes staring directly into yours. He slipped your pants and underwear down and carelessly tossed them onto the floor.
His gaze now fixed on your bare cunt, and every hair on your body stood on end at the realization—your professor was seeing you completely naked. The cold blast from the AC wasn’t helping either.
Mr. Jeon stared at your pussy for a full minute before kneeling down to its level, his fingers parting your folds. His tongue extended from his mouth to taste your cunt.
You moaned not only from the sensation of his warm tongue but also from the view. He began to pleasure you orally—his tongue moving in and out of your tight pussy.
Your sounds became more loud as he began to slide his fingers in, curling and twisting them within you.
You climaxed twice, and you were eager for more. You want Professor Jeon inside you at this moment. "Please, I want you inside me."
You pleaded with him, and he removed his pants and boxers, tossing them to the ground.
Jungkook wanted you to suck him, but he was equally eager to be inside your wet cunt. You nearly lost the ability to breathe when you noticed just how thick, how long and how furious his cock was—pre-cum seeping from his tip.
He grasped your waist and urged you to jump. You quickly encircled his neck with your arms as your legs rested on his hips. You expected him to take you against the wall, but that wasn’t the case.
He moved to his desk while you clung to him like a koala. Jungkook pushed his chair aside, “Sit on my cock.” You freed your one arm and held his dick—applying his pre-cum along his shaft for lubrication.
You positioned his hard dick at your entrance and gradually lower yourself—taking him in inch by inch. You breathed sharply at the penetration; he was so deep inside you.
He held the edge of the table as you encircled his neck with your one arm again. Once confirming that both of you were well-positioned and supported by his hold on the table, he gradually pulled his hip back—half of his cock slipping out your eager cunt, before thrusting his hip back in forcefully.
Both of you moaned at his movements. Mr. Jeon started to thrust in and out while you gripped his body tighter—lewd sounds filled his whole office.
“You always thought you were the smartest in the room. A little top-grade prodigy who couldn’t take a hit to her ego.” Jungkook glanced at you, expecting rage in your eyes, but all he saw was desire as you moaned in response.
“You couldn’t just accept a mark and move on like everyone else, could you?” He continued.
“No. You had to come in here with your little evidence, your little plan. Thought you were clever.”
“Let’s see how far your intelligence takes you now.” Professor Jeon was right here, slapping your face with reality while slamming his cock inside your cunt.
If you weren't in this position—him fucking you so good—you would probably slap him in the face, even if he was your professor.
Jungkook enjoys feeling your wet and tight pussy envelop his hard cock, and you can't help but moan—his dick feels way better than your dildo.
He plunged into you with a primal rhythm, you glanced at his expression—he was biting his bottom lip, his face was intensely concentrated on making you climax.
Your stomach tightens—you are close. Your hold on him tightens as his thrusts quicken when he realizes you’re about to orgasm.
You glimpsed stars upon cumming, only for your breath to be taken away when his thrusts intensified, aiming for his climax.
Professor Jeon collided his lips with yours as he cummed, both of you moaning intensely. A warm fluid filled your whole cunt as he thrust deeper inside you.
‘Was he trying to impregnate you?’
Your thought disappeared when you heard a knock on the door. Jungkook glanced at you and asked, “Did you lock the door?”
You swallowed hard and stared at him in fear—afraid of being caught fucking your cold and strict professor.
Welcome back to his bed. Office hours just got a lot more complicated — turns out your academic rival holds a grudge... and knows exactly where to put it.
warnings: smut, professor x student (uni), explicit sexual content (18+), enemies with lingering desire, angst + hate sex, power play lite
⚠️minors dni ⚠️
Your heart plummeted into the abyss of your stomach, a free-fall of dread that left you breathless. It couldn't possibly be him. The universe wouldn't be that cruel, would it? Out of every goddamn face in New York City, why him?
"My name is Jeon Jungkook," he announced, voice like honey dipped in the kind of self-assurance that didn’t ask to be liked, but assumed it. You didn’t need the name. Every cell in your body was already burning like it had been branded.
“Calling me ‘professor’ sounds ridiculous, right? I’m only four years older than most of you. I just graduated recently, but I’ll be your guest lecturer this semester.”
He laughed, the sound soft and tinged with a practiced modesty that didn't fool you for a second. Your heart remained stubbornly unmoved while the girls around you dissolved into giggles, their cheeks flushing pink. Yes, those infuriating dimples could charm the skin off a snake.
How utterly predictable. You snorted silently, contempt burning in your throat. What twisted cosmic joke had brought him here? You'd been certain he was Boston University's golden boy, so what dark bargain had landed him at NYU's doorstep?
"This semester, we'll be studying Human Conflict, Power & Ethics in Global Systems, and I'll try to..." His gaze wandered across the sea of adoring faces until, inevitably, it crashed into yours.
For the briefest fraction of a heartbeat, his face bloomed into a satisfied smile that made your blood simmer. The audacity of him, behaving like you shared some secret history, like you were anything but strangers with tangled pasts. Your fingers tightened around your pencil until your knuckles bleached white, nails carving crescent moons into your palm.
"Tell me," he said, voice shifting into something colder,the professor persona slipping on like a well-tailored suit that somehow still looked ridiculous on him. "When two countries are at war, who bears the guilt? Where does the ethical blame lie: with the soldier who pulls the trigger, the general who gave the order, or the historian who will distort everything in their texts? Or perhaps the blame lies with political leaders who shake hands behind closed doors?"
A whisper of unease unfurled, students exchanging glances. Not everyone had anticipated this abrupt tonal shift, this plunge into intellectual waters. A brave soul's hand twitched upward before wilting beneath the weight of Jungkook's expectant gaze.
“We talk about conflict as if it’s spontaneous. Like it’s a thunderstorm,” he said, voice wrapping around each syllable with deliberate precision. “But war doesn’t fall out of the sky.”
Your eyes tracked him like a predator follows prey; this wasn't the Jungkook you once knew. He'd evolved into something more dangerous, his confidence no longer a garment. And God, he knew it. Words of surprising eloquence cascaded from those infuriating lips.
"We build conflict brick by meticulous brick, in whispered agreements and handshakes exchanged in rooms where cameras dare not venture, in the rustling of expensive fabrics as world leaders embrace."
He prowled across the front of the room, Jungkook wasn’t just lecturing; he was performing, and you knew from the first word that he’d rehearsed this speech.
He'd crafted it for an audience hungry to be moved, to quote him on social media as if his words had changed the way they breathed.
“These classes,” he said, pausing near the edge of the platform and planting one hand casually on the desk as though the space belonged to him now, "won't offer neat answers tied with pretty bows. We'll wade through questions that leave mud on your conscience and dirt under your fingernails. I promise you'll squirm – " the corner of his mouth quirked upward, "– because we'll dissect the systems that cradle us while crushing others. You'll shift in your seats," he smirked, perching against the desk with casual dominance, surveying his kingdom of captivated minds.
A flicker of amusement danced across his face. “You will be uncomfortable here. And you should be. Because our comfort is paid for by someone else’s misery.”
You had to admit that the rhythm of his delivery was maddeningly effective. It had the rise and fall of something built for headlines and retweets, like the kind of TED Talk that people pretend changed their lives while they keep sipping overpriced lattes and refreshing their news feeds.#ProfessorJungkook would undoubtedly trend by nightfall. He looked out over the crowd, and you could practically hear the collective swoon, as if they’d all just been anointed into some intellectual cult, and you felt your fingers itch with the urge to smudge that perfect composure of his, to scatter his performance to the winds.
You permitted yourself a single, sharp smirk. Quiet enough to pass unnoticed by most, but just audible enough to slice through the sanctity of Jungkook's carefully cultivated moment. His eyes found yours instantly (of course they did), eyebrows lifting as something that looked dangerously like hope flickered across features too perfect to be trustworthy.
"Would you like to say something?" his voice cut through.
You smiled with the kind of smile that carries knives behind teeth, not believing at the exquisite timing the universe had handed you.
“Yes, actually. Sorry, maybe I misheard,” you batted your eyelashes with practiced innocence. “But did you say this course would be taught by someone who… graduated less than a year ago?”
You widened your eyes in theatrical shock, the gasp that rippled through the lecture hall. Jungkook's composure flickered for a heartbeat but long enough for you to catch it like a butterfly in cupped palms. The microexpression of panic that crossed his face was sweeter than any dessert you'd tasted in months.
"I completed my education and received a position here as a visiting lecturer based on..." he began, voice steady but eyes betraying him.
“Connections?” you offered helpfully, your voice all sugar-dipped politeness. “Oh, I’m sorry! Recommendations, is that what we call it now?” You tilted your head, all faux curiosity, watching his jaw flex with restraint. Your politeness was cellophane-thin, the aggression beneath it visible to anyone who cared to look.
“It’s just…” you glanced around, pretending to look for support, “some of us were expecting, you know, an actual representative of the academic body? Not someone whose biggest credential is quoting Sun Tzu on LinkedIn.”
A ripple of barely-suppressed laughter from the front row validated your performance. Watching Jungkook's jaw tighten sent a thrill through you that was almost electric, his eyes darkening to something stormy and dangerous that should have warned you away but only pulled you closer to the precipice.
"If you have concerns about credentials," he said, each word measured and careful, like someone crossing thin ice, "you're welcome to speak with the department chair."
Your thoughtful nod was Oscar-worthy. “Oh, I just might. I mean, I’m sure my parents would want a refund or at least a discount if they knew they were paying forty grand a semester to stroke the ego of a nepo baby playing professor.”
That one landed.
You'd gone too far, and the knowledge sat warm in your stomach like good whiskey. The muscles in Jungkook's jaw worked visibly beneath his skin, his bitten cheek a silent testament to restraint that clearly cost him .The room burst into hushed whispers and shifting bodies, the heat of anticipation thick in the air.
“I’ll say it again,” Jungkook bit out, voice clipped, every syllable polished with rage, “any questions or objections may be directed to the dean. Directly.”
Gone was the easy charm, the practiced charisma. He walked back to the desk, posture stiff. The presentation flickered to life on the screen, but the damage was done. His carefully cultivated aura of infallibility lay in elegant ruins at his feet. And all thanks to you.
You bit your lip, satisfaction curling through you. No one was going to ruin your fresh start. Not even him.
Four years ago.
“Don’t do this, Jungkook. Please.”
The words tore from your throat desperately hanging in the air between you like a prayer or a curse.Your chest ached with that peculiar pain that only comes from watching something precious slip through your fingers. There he stood, golden and untouchable, completely oblivious to how he was shattering your universe with each passing second.
God, it was humiliating but what did you know of anything else? What has your life ever taught you if not how to ache quietly, how to swallow back the lump in your throat and pretend it didn’t burn going down?
But this time it was different, it was about Jungkook. And he was standing in front of you, perfect in that effortless, cruel way that your fifteen year old self was head over heels for.
And he was about to ask someone else to be his girlfriend. Not just someone else but your sister! Your older, golden sister. The one the world seemed to orbit like a second sun.
"I don't understand!" Those eyes…god, those eyes! Fixed on you with genuine confusion. You remember thinking how unfair it was that he could look at you like that while breaking you. “Why?”
You could’ve laughed at that. How do you explain to someone that they’ve been your world since the first time you saw them?
Ever felt the ground beneath you dissolve into quicksand? That terrible sensation of sinking while remaining perfectly still? There you were, watching your sister steal another piece of your existence. First your parents' adoration, then your identity at school where you were only ever "Riri's little sister," and now Jungkook, the one treasure you'd foolishly believed might be yours alone.
Living in her shadow has become your default state of being. The hurt had calcified into something almost comfortable: a chronic pain you'd learned to carry with practiced indifference. Your ego had long since retreated to dark corners, curled up small and quiet like a wounded animal that knows better than to cry out.
But Jungkook? You couldn’t hand him over so easily.
And so your fifteen-year-old self, drunk on desperation and teen movies, made the kind of beautiful, terrible mistake that shapes a person forever. The butterflies in your stomach flapped violently, furious little wings threatening to break you apart as you inhaled once, twice, then took the plunge.
What if this was your movie moment? What if he looked at you and everything changed? What if the script flipped and you weren't the supporting character anymore?
“Because I like you,” you blurted, words colliding in your throat as they rushed to escape.
Usually, the mere thought of him painted your cheeks with betraying warmth.
But at that moment? Nothing but ice in your veins. A tremor starting somewhere deep and radiating outward. His face softened into that particular smile and you knew it before he spoke.
That wasn't the smile of someone whose world had just been rearranged by your confession. That was the smile of someone already looking past you, toward someone else.
“Sugar… you’re not serious, right?” He still smiled at you with the kind of smile people reserve for little kids who say silly things and don’t know any better. You wanted the floor to crack open beneath your feet, for the sky to rip wide and swallow you whole. Anything to make this moment vanish from the timeline of your life.
But the worst part was that you didn’t even feel embarrassed.
There was no room for shame in a body that felt like it had been gutted from the inside out. You were nothing but sharp pieces now, fragments of a heart too small to contain everything you felt, scraping and cutting at whatever softness was left inside of you.
“Oh God… you’re serious?” Jungkook’s voice faltered, just for a second, like he hadn’t seen this coming. Like the idea of you loving him wasn’t something that had ever crossed his mind. He took a small careful step forward like you were a wounded animal.
But you flinched away anyway, as if just the air between you hurt to breathe. Your eyes stung, the tears gathering at your lashes felt like betrayal.
“Sugar,” he said, voice low and laced with regret, “you’re like a little sister to me…”
Six ordinary words, blade met bone. He didn’t even know he was holding the knife. But he twisted it anyway.
"No, don't say that," you whispered, each word cracking like thin ice beneath a weight it couldn’t hold. Everything around you was already on fire, sinking fast into a place you wouldn’t know how to crawl out of.
“I’m four years older than you,” he continued gently, like that was enough to erase the ache. “This’ll pass, I promise.”
He reached for you again.
“I hate you,” you breathed, barely able to shape the words. Your lips trembled so hard it hurt to speak. “I hate you.”
His face fell, and for the first time, he looked like he didn’t know what to say.
“Sugar,” he tried again, softer now. “Please. This isn’t worth your tears. You believe me, right?”
But you were already turning, already running. Feet carrying you away before your heart could convince you to stay. That was the last time you saw Jungkook face to face: a moment forever frozen in time.
It was also the first time you understood with absolute clarity that in this vast, crowded world, no one stood on your side of the line you'd just drawn.
Present time.
Hatred has a color. Sometimes it bleeds into the jealous emerald of envy, that emotion you're not supposed to name, the one that burns beneath your ribcage at 3am. But you've never allowed yourself the luxury of envy, have you?
You weren’t allowed to, not as the black sheep in a house built to worship someone else’s light. Riri did this. Riri won that. Riri, Riri, Riri her name looped through your childhood like a song you never asked to learn, the chorus ringing in every quiet pause at the dinner table.
The curse of being born second is that someone always got there first, claimed everything worth having, left you nothing but scraps and shadows. No matter how bright you burn, you're always just a little too dim, a little too not enough.
Why can’t you be more like Riri? They never said it directly but it was stitched into your life with thread too fine to see, but tight enough to choke. Invisible stitches holding together the patchwork of your identity.
Here's the thing about pedestals, though: even golden things rot from the inside out. Sometimes people fall so madly in love with their favorite possession, they fail to see that it was never gold to begin with, just something shiny under the right light.
So when your older sister, after eighteen years of being the sun around which your family orbited, graduated high school and chose to stay in your sleepy town, enrolling at the local college instead of chasing some glittering dream out in the world, people blinked. Surprised, sure. But not shattered. Even your parents simply nodded, disappointed but resigned. Maybe this is just the level of our family, they seemed to think. Nothing extraordinary. Just enough.
You didn't celebrate her downfall (okay, maybe a little, in the privacy of your bedroom). She still had Jungkook, after all. Yes, you avoided him when he came home from Boston for long weekends and holidays, when he'd show up at the house to see her. You’d slip upstairs or vanish out the back door like a ghost.
But memories are persistent things, aren't they? And some wounds never quite close properly. You remembered him. Or more accurately, you remembered the precise weight of your heart as it shattered against the floor at his feet.
When it came time to apply for universities, no one really paid attention. All eyes were on Riri’s looming graduation, on the future she was supposedly about to inherit.
You worked in the shadows. Each Ivy League application is a perfectly crafted weapon, each essay a bullet aimed at the heart of your family's low expectations. Your academic profile wasn't just good—it was immaculate. But who had time to notice the quiet girl's quiet rebellion when the favorite child commanded every spotlight?
Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold. And patience is the secret ingredient. Victory isn't about winning every skirmish—it's about identifying which battles actually matter. You lost a thousand tiny wars throughout your childhood, but silently prepared to win the one that would define your future. The long game requires stillness, requires calculated moves made in the spaces between breaths.
“NYU?!” your mother shrieked, holding the thick envelope in both hands like it had caught fire.
“That can’t be right!” your father muttered, fumbling for his reading glasses to get a better look.
Riri stayed quiet, lost in her own thoughts. You knew she was genuinely happy for you, because beneath the rivalry and the comparisons, there existed this unbreakable thing called sisterhood. And even though you absolutely despised Jungkook for breaking her heart (the audacity, truly), there was this tiny, treacherous part of you that felt... relief? Satisfaction? You'd never admit it, not even in your diary.
But late at night, in those too-honest hours before the world begins to stir, and honesty creeps in through the cracks of your carefully constructed defenses... that's when you allow yourself to acknowledge it: you fucking won. You played the long game, and everything aligned exactly as it should.
Second semester at NYU, biochem major with a GPA that would make your academic advisor weep with joy. Life wasn't just good – it was intoxicating.
Victory tastes like city lights after rain, like those expensive croissants you treat yourself to before morning classes, like strong coffee that wakes up your mind. In this big city, you've become new. Your name belongs just to you now. No one says "Riri's sister" anymore.
You were the girl who made it out.The girl who left behind the town too small to hold her, and for the first time in your life, you were exactly where you needed to be.
This semester, your focus was razor-sharp: every assignment, every discussion, every line of every textbook was a stepping stone toward something bigger. You had your eyes set on an internship at the World Health Organization, a rare opportunity that demanded extra credits and a broader academic profile, which meant branching out into unfamiliar territory. So you did what any strategist does mid-battle: you adapted.
You enrolled in an interdisciplinary course far outside your comfort zone: Human Conflict, Power & Ethics in Global Systems, a class steeped in geopolitics and moral philosophy, rooted more in theory than fact, full of endless reading and open-ended questions with no right answers. You didn’t love it. But you were ready for anything now.
Or at least, you thought you were. Because no amount of prep work or ambition could have prepared you for what happened next.
Apparently the universe has a twisted sense of humor, and its name is Jeon fucking Jungkook.
“What the hell got into you?” Dery whispered sharply from the row beside you, leaning over the armrest.
It was a fair question, one you didn’t really have an answer for. Because it wasn’t like you had some solid reputation at NYU yet, not in a place this sprawling, this crowded with ambition and brilliance. But even in a sea of students, people had already begun to recognize you as the kind of girl who stayed quiet during lectures unless she had something brilliant to say. Definitely not the type to confront a guest lecturer on his first day with barbed sarcasm.
“Just felt like it,” you muttered back, waving her off with the flick of your hand as though it hadn’t meant anything.
The rest of the lecture unfolded without much tension as Jungkook regained his footing, and the classroom returned to its rhythm, but you didn’t miss the way a few students still glanced at him with a glint of uncertainty in their eyes, seeds of doubt planted about his qualifications, blooming in real time.
The rational part of your brain knew Jungkook wasn't actually terrible at this. He spoke with conviction, referenced compelling research, asked thought-provoking questions. And if it had been anyone else standing up there, any other young academic with a promising resume and a slightly self-satisfied smile, you wouldn’t have said a word. But rational thought had abandoned you approximately 45 minutes ago, right when those damned dimples made their first appearance.
You had barely gathered your notebook and slung your bag over your shoulder when his voice found you again, weaving through the crowd of students flooding toward the door.
“Miss Y/L,” he called, that signature calm barely covering the steel underneath. “Can I have a moment?”
Your brow arched instinctively, surprised not just that he spoke up but that he dared. Because if there was one thing you’d always known about Jeon Jungkook, it was that he didn’t shy away from a challenge.
“What do you want?” you asked, not bothering to mask the irritation in your voice.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice to something softer. "Why are you like this, sugar?" he asked, voice dropping to that honeyed whisper that used to make your knees weak. The endearment landed like a slap.
"What kind of fucking sugar am I to you?" you hissed, feeling heat crawl up your neck. "Haven't you figured it out yet?"
"Listen, I'm sorry about what happened with your sister," he leaned in, words meant for you alone. His cologne was different now, less boyish and more intentional, momentarily short-circuited your brain. "I didn't want to hurt her..."
"Shut UP!" The words tore from your throat with such force that a few lingering students turned to stare.
“You think you understand anything about life? You think just because you got a fancy degree and a title, you suddenly have something worth teaching? You understand nothing, Jungkook. Not about the world, not about people, and definitely not about me.”
The poison of those words left a humiliation on your tongue as you turned away, disappearing into the steady stream of students leaving the hall, letting the crowd swallow you whole.
***
You never really thought of yourself as someone particularly persuasive. That was something you only discovered in the aftermath, in the lingering glances exchanged between students during lectures, in the slight shift of the room’s energy every time Jungkook spoke and someone hesitated before nodding along.
You had managed to plant doubt. Somehow, your little performance (half impulse, half years of pent-up resentment) had actually left a mark. And sure, you weren’t proud of it exactly, but the satisfaction came uninvited, curling warm and smug in your chest whenever you caught someone side-eyeing Jungkook’s lecture slides a little too critically.
But every action has its consequence, and this one came sharp-edged and dressed in tailored black, standing at the front of the classroom with a microphone clipped neatly to his collar and a vengeance stitched into the seams of his lecture notes.
Suddenly Human Conflict, Power & Ethics in Global Systems wasn't just another class, it became your personal battlefield. While other students breezed through readings, you found yourself hunched over textbooks at 3AM, fluorescent highlighting your fingertips yellow, preparing for the intellectual ambush he'd undoubtedly set.
Because Jungkook, with those eyes that still held galaxies you refused to name, had developed quite the talent for serving your own medicine back to you on a silver academic platter.
And today you sat at the auditorium in your pleated skirt and neatly buttoned white blouse, the picture of academic obedience, perfectly framed in one of the front rows where the projector glow cast soft light over the desk, your color-coded notes spread open like a ritual. You reviewed every line until your eyes burned and the words bled into your dreams the night before.
You looked like a student whom any professor would favor. Except for Jeon Jungkook, but given your emotional burst during his first class, it was expected. Expected but still annoying for you.
And now he stood there, leaning against the desk like it was his stage, sleeves pushed to the elbows, a pen spinning idly between his fingers. Jeon Jungkook, in black slacks and quiet confidence, posture relaxed and voice low.
“Let’s look at the third case in your packet,” he says, flipping the slide, a black-and-white image of post-conflict infrastructure crumbling behind rows of civilians. “This one’s particularly tricky: UN-led food distribution under military escort, but all local leadership is compromised. Humanitarian assistance becomes an extension of the occupying force. What’s the ethical liability here?”
His gaze sweeps lazily across the room, pausing just long enough to let a few hesitant hands hover in the air before settling on you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if this choice was inevitable from the start.
“Y/N. Walk us through it.”He is so casual, but you feel that sudden, unmistakable sting beneath your fingertips, like invisible needles pricking at your skin.
“The liability depends on intent, but more importantly on perceived neutrality,” you begin, slow but clean. “Even if the UN distributes resources fairly, using military convoys undermines trust and violates the humanitarian principle of impartiality. It turns food into propaganda. Aid becomes a weapon. In that case, the UN has an ethical obligation to restructure the delivery even if it slows response time.”
You wait for his reaction with practiced nonchalance, spine straight with the confidence of someone who's memorized the textbook just to spite him. His smile blooms slow, the way that something an untrained eye might mistake for approval.
“A polished answer,” he says lightly, turning back to the whiteboard, “but not a correct one.”
Your body goes rigid, pen clutched between white knuckles. The room suddenly feels three degrees colder.
"Your analysis rests on idealism," he continues, chalk scratching across the board in elegant strokes: operational ethics. The words hang there like an accusation. "But ethics in live conflict zones are governed by function, not theory. The UN's obligation isn't to appear neutral—it's to keep people alive. If military escort is the only option, it becomes ethically necessary, not unethical."
You breathe deep, oxygen scraping down your throat while whispers flutter behind you like startled birds.
“So,” Jungkook says, turning back toward you with a calm you could rip apart with your bare hands, “while your answer sounds compelling, what you delivered was a moral argument. Not an ethical one. And certainly not a strategic one.”
"But the Geneva principles—" Your voice rises slightly, refusing surrender. The academic hill you've chosen to die on suddenly feels very steep and very lonely.
“Don’t apply here,” he says, cutting clean through your sentence without raising his voice. “This is post-resolution occupation, not an active declared conflict. You’ve applied the wrong framework entirely.”
His expression is neutral, unbothered, as if he’s correcting a child who mixed up vocabulary words.
"And this is the third time in four weeks that you've made rhetorical choices over analytical ones," he adds with devastating smoothness, returning to his desk like he hasn't just set fire to your academic reputation. "Which is probably why your last paper earned you a C-minus."
Your leg starts bouncing beneath the desk. C-minus. The grade is so foreign it might as well be written in hieroglyphics. You don't get C-minuses. You've never gotten a C-minus. The unfamiliarity of academic failure expands in your chest, your eyes widening in silent horror.
This class wasn't even supposed to matter, just a wildcard requirement adjacent to your pristine science track. But it carries strategic weight you can't ignore. Without it and an excellent grade your application for the WHO internship you've been manifesting since high school crumbles to dust.
And Jungkook, with his perfectly tailored button-downs and devastating dimples, seems determined to salt the earth where your dreams once grew.
“I’ve sent feedback,” he continues, still maddeningly calm. “You’ll need to schedule weekly consultations with me if you want to pass. Otherwise, it’s unlikely you’ll meet the minimum grade required for departmental credit.”
The final brick hurled through the stained glass window of your academic heart. You feel your nails digging into the paper. You stare at him, mouth tight, as he meets your gaze with the same even expression he wears when assigning reading, like he hasn’t just taken a wrecking ball to your semester in front of twenty-five silent witnesses.
***
You don’t wait for any official invitation or carefully arranged office hour. You storm into his office the moment your last class ends, your backpack still slung halfway off one shoulder, your chest tight with a fury that’s been simmering.
He's there, of course. The inside of his office is insultingly calm. The blinds are half-closed against the pale afternoon light, casting thin, diagonal shadows across the desk where his laptop glows quietly, illuminating the sharp angles of his face in soft blue. He’s seated in the worn leather chair behind his desk, one hand cradling a coffee cup, the other idly scrolling through something on the screen.
“What the fuck is this bullshit, Jungkook?” You don’t soften your tone, and you certainly don’t censor your language. He doesn’t deserve that. “I swear to god, if you ruin this semester for me…”
If you sabotage my academic future the way you once shattered my heart, you think viciously, though you don’t say it aloud. You won’t give him the pleasure of knowing how deep the wound still runs beneath your ribcage.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even turn to look at you. His silence is infuriating, calculated, and cold, and it makes your rage bloom hotter in your chest, rising up like heat from pavement.
You just move, crossing the floor in sharp strides, planting your palms flat against the edge of his desk with enough force to rattle the ceramic mug beside his laptop, leaning over so you’re standing directly in his eyeline, close enough to steal the oxygen between you.
Only then does he look up.
"Perhaps," he says, each syllable pressed like a bruise, "you should have considered the consequences before your little performance. The dean calls me weekly now because someone," his gaze flicks over you like you're a particularly disappointing term paper, "has students questioning my qualifications."
He’s angry too, but he’s still holding it together.
“I don’t give a fuck,” you bite back, each word sharp, your voice trembling with the effort it takes to keep from shaking with pure rage. “I need this internship. You will not destroy this for me with your petty grading."
For a second, you think you’ve said too much, that he might see how close this is to breaking you. But then he started to laugh. And just like that, the blood in your veins begins to boil.
Jungkook rose slowly from his chair, his movement unhurried yet heavy with something that made your breath catch mid-throat, and as his body straightened, you instinctively stepped back, your legs brushing against the edge of the desk behind you, a pulse of heat already rising beneath your skin before he even reached you.
He didn’t stop moving until the air between you had thinned to the width of a single breath, and his voice, low and husky now, came like smoke curling beneath your skin.
“You’ve been misbehaving, sugar,” he murmured, and the rasp in his tone made your stomach twist so tightly you almost forgot to breathe. “And you know what that means — consequences. Whether you like them or not.”
You swallowed hard, spine stiffening as your fingers gripped the edge of the desk behind you, your body pinned between the cold metal and the growing heat of his presence. There was nowhere to run.
“You can’t do this to me,” you spat, but the words came out thinner than you meant them, your voice trembling. And gods, how pathetic it felt, because suddenly, standing this close, feeling his body so near yours that your skin was already humming, it wasn’t anger that was pouring out of you anymore. It was everything you’d buried. You hated that your voice cracked like you were fifteen again, like you were still that stupid girl who once loved him blindly.
He tilted his head slightly, one brow rising in quiet amusement, and for the first time, his gaze dropped. It moved over you with maddening slowness; over your parted lips, down the delicate line of your throat, across the thin white blouse you suddenly realized was still missing its last buttons. His eyes caught on the shape of your skirt as it hit mid-thigh, and you felt your cheeks burn hot with the realization of just how little you were wearing. When his eyes returned to yours, darker now, he swallowed hard, and your stomach clenched.
“You’ve changed,”his voice was close enough to brush your cheek like velvet. “But I don’t understand the hatred, not really. We used to be close, didn’t we?”
His eyes stayed locked to yours with a kind of quiet intensity that made your knees ache with the effort to stay upright, and when you couldn’t bear it anymore, you turned your head away, eyes darting across the room, anywhere but his face, because you could already feel yourself slipping into him, and you couldn’t afford to drown.
But he saw it.
“So that’s it, isn’t it?” he whispered, more realization than question, his voice curling around the corners of your thoughts like a noose. “It’s still about that confession, isn’t it?”
Your fingers curled tighter around the edge of the desk. How dare he bring it up. How dare he take something you’d buried alive years ago and speak it aloud like it still had power over you.
“Don’t flatter yourself, asshole,” you said with a forced scoff, tossing your head back as if the memory didn’t sting. “You’re not that important.”
He raised an eyebrow, slowly, like he could smell the lie on your breath.
Then he stepped closer. And suddenly, the desk pressed harder against your hips, your back arching to avoid the full weight of him, but not fast enough, because Jungkook moved like gravity, and the heat of his body rolled into yours like a tide you couldn’t outrun. He didn’t touch you but his breath fanned across your cheek, and it made you tremble in a way that only made everything worse.
And then his hand slid down, his fingers ghosted across the outside of your thigh, just the faintest touch, like he was testing a theory, like he wanted to know exactly how much it would take to make you unravel. Your body flinched against the contact, your breath catching so fast it burned. You gripped the desk harder behind you, fighting the moan that tried to claw its way out of your throat. The humiliation was dizzying.
His hand slid higher, palm warm and maddeningly slow as it followed the line of your leg, the pads of his fingers brushing against your skin. He watched your reaction, eyes flicking between your parted lips and the tremor in your jaw.
You lifted your chin, defiantly, as if to tell him you weren’t going to break even as your thighs trembled and heat bloomed between them. Maybe you had once loved him. Maybe everything you’d done since then was colored by that stupid, impossible crush. And you hated yourself for the way your barely-there panties were already soaked from nothing more than the brush of his hands.
But you weren’t the only one affected.
You could feel now the hard press of his arousal against your stomach, thick and hot beneath the fabric of his slacks, the way his body tensed ever so slightly when you shifted your hips. He was breathing harder now, his control slipping by the second.
“Seems to me,” he murmured, low and wicked, his mouth nearly brushing your ear, “that those feelings of yours didn’t stay in the past like you wanted to believe.”
His fingers reached the damp heat of your thongs, dragging slowly along the soaked fabric stretched over your folds, and when you gasped, finally unable to hide it, he smiled against your cheek.
“Tell me, sugar,” he whispered, voice dripping, hand pressed flush between your thighs now, “do you still hate me... even when your body’s begging for this?”
“It’s just physiology,” you breathed, head tipping back as your spine arched against the edge of the desk, your voice laced with defiance, though your thighs already trembled from the weight of your own want. Everything around you felt like fire and pretending no longer served you.
There was no shame left to hide behind, no mask of resistance you could wear without it slipping. But even through the haze of heat clouding your thoughts, you still wondered, stupidly, how far he would take it.
He leaned in closer his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, the low rasp of his voice turning your skin to static.
“Is that so?” he whispered, soft and sweet like poisoned honey. “Just biology, sugart?”
You barely had time to register the way his hand dipped lower before you felt the ghost of his fingers slipping past the delicate fabric of your panties. The moment he touched you, everything inside you collapsed in on itself, your body clenching around a pressure.
His fingertip circled your clit in slow, deliberate motion, and the world behind your eyelids bloomed white-hot as you gasped, your head knocking gently back against the wall behind you, lips parting with a sound you didn’t mean to let slip.
“You like being the center of my attention, don’t you?” he hissed, and before you could even think of an answer he slid a single finger inside you, coaxing another breathless moan from your throat as your body instinctively clenched around the intrusion. “There you go, sugar. You’ve got all of me now.”
You swore you could feel the heat of his words pool low and deep, your body arching into his hand before your mind could stop it. When he pressed a second finger inside, stretching you slowly, rhythm tightening, you didn’t know whether to curse him or beg for more.
His pace picked up, fingers moving with practiced confidence, curling just enough to make your knees nearly buckle. Each slow thrust stoked the fire beneath your skin higher and higher, until you had to bite your lip to keep from sobbing out his name.
“Fuck, Jungkook!” you gasped, your voice breaking, your grip tightening against the edge of the desk.
He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your throat.
“Such filthy little words from a mouth that pretends to argue so well,” he murmured, voice silken with mockery. And before your trembling body could make sense of the shift, he gripped your waist, spun you to face the desk, and bent you forward with one sharp motion
You barely had time to gasp as your cheek pressed to the cool surface, his hand spreading across the small of your back, holding you there.
“You’ve been acting out, haven’t you?” he said low against your ear, no longer even pretending to sound kind. “Sabotaging my lectures. Cursing in my office. You think that earns you mercy?”
“My job,” he said, the words slow and terrible as his hand slid down again, now pressing firmly between your thighs, “is to correct my students when they misbehave.”
His words crackled through you like electricity licking across skin, each syllable laced with a dangerous promise that made your whole body tighten in anticipation for what might follow such a bold command.
When his finger brushed across your lips, your body responded before thought could interrupt, your mouth parting reflexively in invitation, lips closing gently around the pad of his thumb as you welcomed him.
You sucked him in without hesitation, eyes fluttering shut as your lips closed around him, tasting his skin while the other hand he hadn’t withdrawn yet kept moving lower between your thighs where you were already wet and pulsing and embarrassingly needy.
You arched your back instinctively, pressing closer to him, desperate to feel more: the firm shape of him pressed against your lower back through the thin barrier of clothing, the way your hips angled just right to rub against the heat of him as you offered yourself without a word. Every glide of his fingers between your slick folds was driving you mad with the sharp sweetness of pleasure that kept building.
“God, Jungkook,” you gasped around his thumb, your voice muffled and shameless, hips rocking into the rhythm of his hand, “please, fuck!”
You didn’t need to see his face to feel the way your voice affected him. The sudden tension in his shoulders, the way his breath hitched, the way the rhythm of his fingers grew faster, more forceful, like he wanted to drag every sound from you and then some. He pulled his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, and the air that rushed into your lungs felt too sharp, compared to the heat inside your mouth and between your legs.
“Such filthy words again, sugar,” he growled low in his throat, voice rough with restraint as he yanked the hem of your skirt up over your hips, exposing your bare skin to the chill of the air. His palm came down hard and fast — a single slap across the curve of your ass that echoed through the quiet room.
You gasped, head jerking back, but it wasn’t pain that rushed through you, but something dizzying and primal and maddening. You wanted to see him, you needed to see with your own eyes how all of this was driving him insane too.
Your body twisted before you could stop yourself, craning your neck, just to catch a glimpse of the way his jaw was clenched and the way his chest rose and fell unevenly, the way his eyes darkened when they met yours
He leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear, voice barely more than a breath now. “Go on,” he whispered, every word poured from his mouth like molten heat, “show me what you’ve got.”.
His hand slid up, fingers curling gently but firmly around your throat while the other resumed its rhythm inside you, deeper now, precise and merciless, curling just right each time he thrust into you, his touch finding that edge inside you with brutal accuracy.
You clung to the desk, body trembling, your knees barely holding as the pressure built and built and broke.
You came with a cry you didn’t recognize as your own, every muscle in your body tensing and shuddering as the wave of it washed through you, and Jungkook’s grip only tightened, one arm wrapped around your waist now, anchoring you as your body collapsed into the high. He held you like he wasn’t done, like he could keep you there for as long as he wanted.
“That’s it,” he breathed against your shoulder, his voice shaking with effort now, his lips grazing your skin. “Just like that…”
Time folded in on itself being slow and suspended, and somehow already gone. And you stood there, your body still humming, thoughts in pieces scattered across the hardwood floor, your heart racing not just from pleasure, but from the terrifying realization that this had actually happened.
You finally turned to face him, heart still thundering in your chest, and you met his drunk gaze. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted like he was still trying to catch his breath, and your eyes instinctively dropped down the line of his chest, lower, where the evidence of just how affected he was strained boldly against the front of his pants.
He was watching you with that look again, the one that made your knees ache, the one that made your thighs press together with anticipation, and the predator in him returned the moment you reached for his belt, fingers curling around the buckle as your lower lip caught between your teeth.
“You want me to help?” you asked with silky voice that was still breathing unsteadily. And you didn’t need to wait for his answer, because you already knew. The heat in your belly roared to life again at just the thought of what could happen next.
But then something shifted.
It was barely perceptible at first: just the flicker in his eyes, the way the fire in them dulled like someone poured water on the flame. And before you could register it fully, he was pulling away from you, untangling from your reach like it had never happened at all.
You blinked, confused, not understanding what just broke the air so violently between you. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps like he needed to physically shake the moment off.
“Shit,” he muttered with a tight voice, as if trying to clear fog from his mind. “I’m sorry. I don’t…I don’t know what came over me.”
He turned away completely now, and you felt the unmistakable burn of humiliation rising fast from the pit of your stomach.
“What the fuck?” you said sharply, your tone snapping like a whip through the room. “Are you kidding me, Jungkook?”
You reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward you, needing to see his face. What kind of game this was?
You knew you probably looked like a mess with hair tousled, skirt still bunched around your hips, but you didn’t care. He needed to look at you when he broke you.
“T/N, you’re… fuck, you’re Riri’s little sister.” And just like that, everything inside you stopped.
There it was again. Even now. In this goddamn room, in this city where you had fought so hard to start over, to be someone other than the shadow of the girl your parents praised and the boy you could never have chose.
You laughed but there was nothing funny about the way it felt inside your chest.
“Fuck you, Jungkook,” you spat, throat closing around the words as you saw the guilt beginning to creep over his face. But he had no right.
“Sugar, you have to understand,” he tried, his tone still soft, and maddeningly tender like he hadn’t just shattered the moment. “It’d be…fuck, it’d be weird. Don’t you see how fucking weird this is?”
He reached for you, palm open, voice almost pleading now, but you only scoffed, stepping back like the touch might burn.
“Wow,” you said, laughing without humor, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable. You had your fingers inside me not even five minutes ago, made me come on your hand, and now you remember it would be weird?”
You watched the way your words hit him and it hurt, god. Because he wasn’t wrong, and no matter how far you tried to run, your sister was always ahead of you, always waiting to remind you that there was nowhere on this earth you could be where Jungkook hadn’t already been hers.
“Sugar,” he whispered, voice breaking now. “Please don’t be mad at me. But…”
But he stopped, because he didn’t know what came after “but” .
A single traitorous and cruel tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it, and you wiped it away fast, angry at your own weakness.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Jungkook,” you said, your fists clenched at your sides. “And I hate you. Because I begged you back then. Four years ago.”
He looked stunned, like something old and buried was suddenly bleeding to the surface.
“I told you,” you whispered, choking on the memory. “I begged you not to go after her. I told you it would ruin everything. Because I knew that even if you ever realized… even if you ever felt something for me… I’d never be able to be with someone who touched my sister.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said finally, his voice flat and full of disappointment. Maybe it was disappointment in you, in this situation or in the way fate had written your names. You wouldn’t know either way. “I can’t change the past. I can’t erase who I dated and who I thought I loved.”
“Yeah,” you snapped. “Because you’ve always been an idiot.”
And maybe you were, too, for ever believing this could have gone any other way. You weren’t that fifteen-year-old girl anymore, but the wound still opened like it was fresh.
But before either of you could speak again, a sharp knock rattled against the office door, jerking you both out of the moment like a plunge into cold water.
You exchanged a look. He cleared his throat first, tugged down the front of his shirt to hide the tension still visible beneath it, and dropped quickly into his chair.
“Come in,” he called, voice gravelly but steady now, his face slipping back into the mask of authority like nothing had happened at all.
You wiped your tears on the cuff of your shirt, pretending the fabric didn’t tremble under your fingers.
The moment had shattered, but you stood anyway, straightening your shoulders, chin high, just as the office door creaked open behind you.
A young man stepped into the room, his face bright with the flush of hallway wind and something eager beneath his skin. He looked about your age, maybe a year older, and though he opened his mouth to speak, his gaze faltered the second it landed on you. He froze in place, words caught behind parted lips, his eyes trailing down the curve of your figure and then darting upward again in a panic as if he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to.
“Professor Jeon…” he managed, voice hesitant and stilted, but his expression was still hooked on you, caught between confusion and awe.
You might have been flattered by that look if the man sitting behind the desk hadn’t just broken your heart for the second time in your life.
The boy kept glancing at you, obviously intrigued.
Jungkook’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Dan,” he said, each syllable clipped and flat, “what do you need?”
Dan flinched slightly, blinking himself back into awareness and tearing his eyes from you.
“Sorry. Sorry,” he said quickly, clearing his throat and looking at Jungkook again. “I wanted to ask about the STEM partnership track. I’m having trouble finding someone for the collaborative project.”
You narrowed your eyes just a little, you had no idea what he was referring to yet, but you were already intrigued. You could feel the familiar stirring of a plan writing itself.
Jungkook waved a hand, visibly irritated now. “Let’s talk about it later,” he said. “Not now.”
But your voice rose before Dan could disappear under pressure of Jungkook’s rising rage.
“No, actually, I’d love to hear more,” you said, your tone far too sweet to be innocent, your smile sharpened at the edges just enough to make Jungkook tense. “Tell me everything, Dan.”
You turned to him fully then, giving him your full attention like a gift, while Jungkook swallowed hard behind you, clearly regretting every second of letting you in this room.
“Oh, I’m Y/N,” you added, with a slow blink and a sly smile, extending your hand before Dan could hesitate.
Dan’s face lit up like a bulb and he reached for your hand, shaking it with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary, looking like he’d just won something by accident.
“Wow. That’s perfect,” he said, clearly trying to stay composed and failing. “I’m looking for a STEM major to co-author a research paper for submission to the International Undergraduate Ethics Review. I’m in International Relations, but I’m working on a project called Capital and Cure, which searches on the Ethics of Commercial Science. I need someone with a biology background to co-analyze the pharmaceutical case data.”
Your lips curled slowly, pleasure unfurling in your chest like silk. For a moment, you just looked at him, relishing how perfectly the universe had decided to reward you the moment it had tried to break you.
This was it. This was fate, pulling you out of Jungkook’s orbit and handing you a new path lined in gold. A co-authored study. A project that could very well secure you the internship at the WHO you had been chasing.
And the best part? It would pull you away from Jungkook entirely.
“Well, Dan,” you purred, tilting your head with a soft laugh. “You might just be the luckiest man alive.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jungkook tense, his fingers curling against the edge of his desk, jaw locked.
“Because I just happen to be exactly the kind of student you need.”
“No,” Jungkook said, and his voice dropped like a stone. You and Dan both turned toward him at once.
“No?” you echoed, raising a single brow, pretending to be confused. “And why exactly not?”
You knew he had no real answer. There was nothing in the rulebook stopping you from joining the project.
His voice lost the edge of command when he answered. “It’s a serious time commitment,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes. “You’re already overloaded. You wouldn’t be able to manage both.”
You laughed at the audacity. How dare he.
“In that case,” you said with a shrug, your tone so casual it bordered on cruel, “I’ll just drop Human Conflict classes”
That made him finally look at you. His eyes widened, and you watched the panic bloom in them as the weight of your words hit him like an avalanche.
Dan was still standing awkwardly to the side, clearly trying to process the tension between you, but you didn’t care.
“Wait,” Jungkook said quickly, his voice low, almost pleading now. “Y/N, don’t make rash decisions just because you’re upset.”
You were already exhausted by his backpedaling. You turned back toward Dan, your smile softening only for him, and your voice honeyed with victory.
“I’m not being rash,” you said. “This class has never been my strength. I was struggling before, and now? Let’s be honest, there’s no saving it. But this project? A published article in a peer-reviewed ethics journal?” You laughed again, almost breathlessly. “That’s what will get me into the WHO program. Not some useless grade in a class I don’t need.”
You watched Jungkook’s face shift, watched him reach for control and come up empty.
He said your name again, softer now, but there was something dangerous behind it.
But you had already turned away. You looked back at Dan, radiant now, almost glowing from the inside, and fluttered your lashes once for good measure.
“So,” you said sweetly, “when do we start?”
Dan beamed, still caught off guard by how quickly this was unfolding, his posture straightening with excitement.“Right now, if you want.”
You nodded and turned toward the door, your spine straight, your shoulders square, your heart still bruised but pulsing with fire instead of heartbreak.
***
Unknown Number: You’ve only missed three weeks of class. You can still come back.
Another message. You let out a long, tired breath as you stared at the notification lighting up your screen, the same kind that had been arriving several times a week, always on the days when his class was scheduled. You had never saved his number as there had never been a need. Your photographic memory, once your greatest weapon, had turned against you this time, because no matter how hard you tried, you had never forgotten Jungkook’s number from four years ago. And he, for some reason, had never seen a reason to change it.
You never open his messages.
Life, for once, was moving forward exactly how you had always hoped it would. There was peace again, the kind of measured quiet that came from knowing you were exactly where you needed to be. The research project with Dan was going smoothly, maybe even too smoothly. Somewhere along the way, things with him had become more…private.
Dan: what are you up to, babe?
The message arrived just as you were thinking about him, and your lips curled before your fingers even moved. You weren’t busy. In fact, you’d been missing his hands, his teasing mouth and the way he made you forget about things like Jungkook and his unread messages begging you to come back. Dan was a perfect distraction, and more importantly, he reminded you that Jungkook didn’t have the power to control your thoughts anymore.
You reached up and unfastened two buttons from your shirt, just enough to reveal the push-up bra you had worn today, the one that lifted your cleavage perfectly, and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You looked effortlessly sexy, polished but not trying too hard, it would make a photo that wouldn’t even raise eyebrows on your feed, though tonight you didn’t want it seen by anyone except Dan. You hiked your already-short skirt a little higher, tilted your phone above you at just the right angle, and snapped a shot.
You looked it over, smiled in satisfaction, and typed out your message.
You: got any ideas? I’m free tonight ;)
With the photo attached, you hit send and tossed your phone onto the bed, the familiar flicker of confidence warming your skin. Dan would love it. And with any luck, he’d come over within the hour and erase the last remnants of Jungkook from your bloodstream.
But instead silence followed. Which wasn’t like him, normally, he responded within seconds, usually with a string of messages and a location pin. It was odd, but maybe he was busy. What a shame. Tonight's script will need rewriting – a solo performance rather than the duet you'd been anticipating.
When your phone finally comes alive with notifications – once, twice, three times – relief washes over you. There's Dan you know.
The moment you picked up the screen, your heart dropped, then began hammering violently in your chest. Your fingers went cold.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh FUCK.
Unknown number: I don't understand
Unknown number: sugar, what is this
Unknown number: Wait, fuck, I don't understand, who was this meant for?
Horror dawns you as you open the chat where Jungkook has been delivering his monologues about you returning to his class. The universe has a terrible sense of humor, and you are its punchline.
You clutched your head in disbelief, tossing the phone across the bed like it had burned you. How could you be so stupid?
More notifications came in, and with every buzz, your stomach twisted.
Unknown number: sugar, you better tell me this was for me
You read the words again and again, staring at them as if they'd rearrange themselves into something less possessive. The entitlement bled through each message.And how dare he? After rejecting you (not once, for god’s sake! but twice!) he had the nerve to act like this?
You: I’m not going to lie. It was a mistake, yes. it was meant for Dan.
You hit send with a shaking hand, your pulse drumming in your ears, and you barely had time to exhale before your screen lit up again. This time, it was a call.
You rejected it instantly. Who the hell did he think he was?
You: don’t call me. I don’t want to talk to you. it was accident.
Seconds later, the messages returned, one by one.
Unknown Number: Mercer Street. Apartment 27R.
Unknown Number: Come get what you really need.
Unknown Number: I’ll make sure Dan never even crosses your mind again.
You stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. He can’t be serious.
You: fuck you. I’d rather spend the night alone than waste another second on you.
And you meant it as you hit send. And even as the next message slid in like a threat wrapped in velvet, you felt the fury rise to your throat.
Unknown Number: Sugar, don’t piss me off. That never ends well.
You let out a breathless, scornful laugh, half in shock, half in rage, your body burning from the nerve of him. He had no right to speak to you like that. No right to want you back now that someone else had your attention.
Your hands shook as you opened your messages with Dan, determined to make sure that this time, you would not make another mistake.
🖤read part 2 🖤
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an: this was such a hard month, I literally was moving from one country to another while starting a new job but still found time for this, which surprised me too. I wanted to write something like this for so long. I really hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this. Share your feedback 🖤
For disclaimer and part -1 , please refer to ⚜️part -1⚜️
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Going to school was a student's prior responsibility, how can a place so holy can be contaminated by students like jungkook . Your thoughts wandered as you sat on the bus to go to school . You were having a mental stroke after what happened last night . Thinking about the possibilities to disappear from your life . Making way to escape as you were really coward little girl as jungkook already described you always.
Maybe it's you who was contaminating the environment cause jungkook is the best child and he is only one to make school's reputation high above the air. On the other hand you were the loser . Is it so much humiliating when a child is not good at studies , don't he or she deserves respect . What was your fault , just not grasping the concepts. Still you were being forced to be deprived of love , praise and respect .
Your eyes were blurry and heart was heavy more than it was . All the negative thoughts of you being a loser and different types of tensions came to your mind . Even the future depression . If you won't be able to escape your family then your mental health would be a ruptured feeling . No longer would you feel any better and living like a dead in a living body . And the only way to escape was studies . You felt so down that you didn't noticed someone sitting next to you on the bus.
“You have the audacity to tell him about Charlie you bitch”.Your sister roared like a tiger. You can see her blood boiling . It's been few minutes after you were awake and jungkook left . She already started spitting her anger on you . “Sister p-pls don't b-blame m-me , I d-dont know a-anything . T-trust me”. “Huh trust on you , do I have constipation or what that I would trust a stuttering bitch like you”. Words , it was not wrong when they said words are more hurtful than slap. And on top of it you can't even believe your sister whom you spent so many years together can be involved in such an explicit activity and that too with your father's friend.
“Why ?”Only these words manage to escape your mouth . While she looked at you crying pathetically. “Pathetic , listen here you coward , let's make a deal , your secret about jungkook is with me and my secret about Charlie is with you , if both won't speak then mom won't know about it understand loser ?!”. “I-its not li-like you t-think , ju-jungkook i-is not” . “Shut up hoe , do I look like a fool who can’t understand you and his secret study sessions,just keep it a secret you bitch and tell your jungkook too to keep it a secret”.
“I-”.You were interpreted by the door opening sound . “What's happening here ?”. Your mom was standing with a question mark on the face . “Momma y/n again crying over studies” .Your sister lied to protect herself . You couldn't say anything you were afraid to the core and wanted to just hung your head in shame . “Y/N you won't get anything from crying you lazy girl . You have to study ,Go”.With that you accepted your fate and nodded .
You were shivering by now . The pervert you were always afraid of sat next to you . Your time is not going well since past few days and you couldn't do anything about it . You were feeling so disgusted sitting next to him . You can feel his eyes lingering your chest all the way down to your small skirt . You felt that the skirt is going smaller and smaller by now . “Hey beautiful , How you doing”. You ignored him as you should . Next you knew he placed a hand on your thighs and came closer to ask you again . You flinched and feeling more scared by now .
You ignored him once again and tried to remove his hands from your thighs. “Ah it seems like a cute girl don't wanna talk to me”. You maintained distance with him as far as you can till you reached school. “Hey cute lady , don't worry one day I will have you and your sexy body under me just wait”. He whispered into your ears and you felt like a deer threatened by a lion. Did he just gave you a r*pe threat ?. Next you were silent and numb throughout the journey.As soon as you reached your school you immediately ran out of the bus without looking at him as you were sure he would wink at you.
School , once again . You felt like you commited such a great sin that you can't even enter that. It went out pretty smoothly if you ignored jungkook's constant state and eye fuck . Once again you didn't understood anything . Maybe if you would revise at home you would get it. With that hope the school was almost over then . “Y/N rub the board afterwards just for today pls”.Your sir said . Well it was not a big deal and beside you were happy that the school went pretty smoothly.
You got up to rub the board after all the students went out . “My baby rubbing the board eh , maybe she can rub something else too”. The deep and cracky hot voice reached your ear . You knew it was jungkook . You didn't said anything about his lewd comment and just continued. “Aww is my baby shy ? , The way your hip sway shouldn't be waste”. He came right behind you and hugged you from behind. At this point you almost lost it .
This was really sudden . You tried to free yourself but he hugged you harder. “Ehh”. It was rather your struggle sound but moan for his ear . His arms resting right below your boobs making him lusty . “You continue on your work baby , don't waste time” . You were really scared by now. In the school premises and the fact anyone can see you , would blame you only . You just mentally prayed that no one would see you .
“If you want me to leave you small one then be quick about rubbing” . You can feel his smirk . His hug and hot breath felt so wrong and scary that you just wanted to be free , and the only way was to rub the board quick . You started rubbing the board quick and between the moments you could feel something .Something that was ready lewd for you to even say and think about . A boner , jungkook got a boner just by seeing your movements toward the board . You tried not to panic and been quick. “Don't be so quick darling , you don't want me to do something I wanted to do from so long here only”.
You were shivering at this point . You didn't knew what to do . His lips went towards the your neck and started kissing you agressively , while groping your boobies from the left hand . “A-ah”, your moan encouraged him to be more violent and on the other hand you were so aroused that you couldn't even focus on rubbing the board. Jungkook pressed himself harder to you. “Eah”, to him you moaned like a small cute girl rabbit like you are . “Pl-pls sto-stop , a-ah”.He groped harder and pressed himself again . It was almost like you both were dry humping if someone saw you .
If you couldn't escape him today you won't be able to for rest of your life. You will be caged by him . God knows what was your mistake that you are going through this. So you gathered courage and hit him with your elbow and ran away without even finishing the work. Jungkook smirked holding onto his boner thinking about your lovely hips and round boobs that will soon belong to him. But as for now he has a job to be done and eliminated from his path . He smirked thinking about it .
He stalked him for hours now , God knows where he was going but he ain't a teenager if you can't see him taking a long way home , buy cigarettes and chewing gums in between. Atlast he stood at the bus stand , ready to harrass and put his hands all over someone. And this shall not happen in the presence of someone.
He was grabbed by a pair of arms much stronger than him. With a knife in his throat. H had the audacity to touch you and speak lewd with you in presence of him should be paid by him . “Any last words mister” .He said with a cunningly smile that girls die for , yet at this moment it was nothing but feeling so twisted and scary . “Stop it , pls leave me alone I-”, without he can even say anything knife plunged him and his head and throat were separated. All over blood was flowing out of his throat . His bone can be seen through naked eyes . And his eyes felt cold and numb . The cut was very deep led him to die on the spot .
A cold blood murder was just what happened. The body was so scary to even looked at it . But the one that killed him stared at it cunningly . Bastard deserved it. As he thought , it was not very much deal for him to kill someone that touched his asset. The news headlines in the paper would be cute to see tomorrow.
BREAKING NEWS: A school boy named Vicky of foothill high school was found dead very cruelly. The reporters are are finding out the criminal. His family is in pain and is ready to send the murderer to jail.
You woke up with this news flashing onto the screen while your father was watching it. You adjusted your eyes to see the innocent boy who was killed and your heart stopped beating. He was the pervert that always harrassed you.
