𐙚🧸ྀི @luvitera - Tumblr Blog

˖⌕ ࣪ ˖cyber sex ‎ꫂ᭪݁✆

Jungkook runs a major company with a packed schedule. Y/N is a well-known YouTuber and influencer who spends most of her life online. They match on Tinder with zero expectations, just casual flirting that quickly turns intense. Between missed schedules and busy lives, they never get the chance to meet. Attraction and curiosity take over instead — late-night texts, video calls, sexting, and sending each other videos and photos from opposite sides of the screen.

pairing: ceo!jungkook x influencer!reader

genre: oneshot , age gap , online to offline , friends to lovers? , strangers to lovers , smut , VERY TINY fluff , online romance , voyeur , exhibitionism

warnings: use of online dating app , sexting , sex on camera (literally called cyber sex) , masterbation on and off camera , voyeurism (by jungkook) , dirty talk , degradation kink (oc) , tit play , cum swallowing , oral (f & m receiving) , unprotected sex (wrap b4 u tap!) , 69 , jungkook calls oc ‘kitten’

word count: 40.k

playlist: cyber sex - doja cat

sha’s note: i was listening to cyber sex and forgot how bomb this song was. i got inspired to write this 😝. also you guys voted for “cyber sex” as your most anticipated oneshot so lemme feed you. (edited) so…this oneshot took longer than expected. i really didn’t feel motivated AT ALL. but im glad its over. and LMAO i reached the maximum on this 😐

perm taglist: @afoluvztumblr , @bjoriis , @kookienooki

taglist: @bluehaven143 , @hanamgi , @jkjpg , @wonderlandxriki , @tastykookoonut , @starstruckbelieverdefndor , @kpopsmutty69 , @httpjeonlicious , @lilylikeslilies , @eyesforjungkook , @inhuno , @m4aimm

˖⌕ ࣪ ˖cyber sex ‎ꫂ᭪݁✆

Left. Left. Left.

Jungkook didn’t even know why he still had the app since it’d never done any good for him for the past year or so.

His thumb moved like it was bored of being attached to him — efficient, ruthless, already sick of the options. The same thumb that had greenlit mergers, axed entire departments, ended careers with a flick. This wasn’t new muscle memory. Just cheaper faces. Lower risk. Zero consequences.

Under the conference table, his phone rested against his thigh like a secret. Above the table, he was immaculate — black suit tailored within an inch of its life, shoulders squared, jaw locked into something expensive and unbothered. The face shareholders trusted. The face magazines loved. The face that ruined people quietly.

Another swipe.

Left.

Too polished. Corporate-hot. Eyes empty, like she’d already died a little inside.

Left.

Bathroom mirror. Topless. Boobs pushed up like a sales pitch.

Left.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Someone cleared their throat. Jungkook didn’t look up. He’d mastered the art of splitting himself clean down the middle years ago — one version present in glass rooms that smelled like money and fear, the other drifting somewhere else entirely, unreachable, unaccountable.

Left.

“Sir.”

“Yes,” Jungkook replied instantly. He had absolutely no idea what he’d just agreed to. Statistically, it would work out in his favor anyway.

Another slide clicked. Graphs bloomed across the screen, red and green arrows stabbing upward like they meant something sacred. The presenter kept talking — market reach, consumer behavior, projected growth — words stacking on top of each other until they turned into static.

Jungkook nodded once. Slow. Convincing. The nod of a man people believed.

Left. Left. Left—

He stopped. Not because she was naked. Not because she was trying. She wasn’t doing anything at all.

Her photo wasn’t trying to fuck him. No strategic lighting. No mouth parted just enough to promise something. No dead-eyed stare begging for validation. She looked like she belonged in a Vogue spread — head turned slightly to the side, hair caught by the wind like it’d been paid to behave. Effortless. Controlled chaos.

Bare face, maybe. No dramatic lashes. No aggressive eyeshadow screaming for attention. And still — stunning.

His gaze then moved down to her name and description.

Y/n. 21.

Her bio read: I talk to a camera for a living. I overthink everything else.

Jungkook frowned, thumb hovering. Annoyed at the pause. Annoyed at himself. Something in his head stalled — gears grinding, logic buffering like a shitty Wi-Fi connection.

His mouth twitched. A breath slipped out of him before he could stop it. “…huh.”

“You good, sir?” someone asked carefully.

“Yes…” Jungkook said, eyes glued to the screen. It was a lie. Interest crept up his spine like heat finding a crack — unwanted, irritating, dangerous. He scrolled.

Ah.

Influencer. YouTuber. Instagram linked.

“So,” the presenter said, voice tightening, “as you can see on slide twelve—” Josiah stopped mid-sentence when he noticed his boss. The absence.

“Sir?” he tried again, swallowing. “Sir,” he said, carefully. “Should I… pause?” The room stiffened.

“No,” he said. Calm. Still not glancing up “Continue.” His hand waving forward as permission.

Josiah hesitated. “You just— you seemed distracted.” That specific, horrible silence — the one where everyone collectively thought oh shit.

Jungkook’s thumb stilled. Slowly, he looked up. Finally. Josiah paled instantly.

Jungkook straightened in his chair, slipping the phone face-down onto his thigh. His posture shifted, something predatory clicking into place. The air felt heavier, like pressure before a storm.

“Josiah,” Jungkook said mildly. Which was worse “Are you uncomfortable presenting?” he asked mildly.

Josiah’s face drained of color. “No. No, sir. I just—”

“Then present.”

Silence. Then the click of slides resuming. Jungkook listened this time. Or enough of the time. Unfortunately for him.

When it ended, Josiah waited with a hopeful smile for an approval. Jungkook stood. The chair scraping back was obscenely loud. He buttoned his blazer with deliberate calm, rolled his shoulders like he was assembling himself piece by piece into something untouchable.

“We’ll move forward,” he said. “As proposed.”

There was a beat.

“All of it?” someone asked.

“Yes.”

“But the marketing cap—”

“Adjust it later,” Jungkook said, already turning. “Meeting’s over.”

Murmurs rippled around the table. Jungkook was already walking.

“Sir!” Mr. Song hurried after him into the hallway. “Sir—wait.”

Jungkook didn’t slow. His phone was back in his hand, screen glowing, her face filling it like a problem he suddenly didn’t want solved. He scrolled through her Instagram — captions casual, a little self-aware, written like she never expected someone like him to be reading them.

Mr. Song walked half a step behind him. Always had. Close enough to intervene. Far enough to not overstep. “You just approved everything.”

“Mm.”

“Without revisions.”

“Yes.”

“That’s… not like you.”

Jungkook didn’t answer. His shoes clicked against the floor, steady, unhurried.

“Sir,” Mr. Song continued, lowering his voice as they passed an open office, “we didn’t even discuss risk mitigation. Or timelines.”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose. “We’ve discussed them before. You guys would know what to do.”

“Yes,” Mr. Song said. “But not this.” They reached the elevators. Jungkook pressed the button once. Then again, unnecessarily. “You don’t usually end meetings early,” Mr. Song added. Not accusatory. Observational.

“That meeting was circling,” Jungkook replied. “Nothing new was going to happen in the next thirty minutes. Maybe get Josiah a presenting trainer or something.”

Mr. Song hummed, unconvinced. The elevator dinged. Doors slid open. Inside, the silence pressed closer. The doors closed. The elevator descended.

“Twenty thousand,” Mr. Song said. “You know it’s not enough.”

“It’s enough to start.”

“And if it fails?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Then we course-correct.”Mr. Song sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t usually ‘course-correct.’ You usually don’t move until you’re certain.”

The elevator slowed. Jungkook stared at the numbers ticking down like he was waiting for something to land. Jungkook stared at him. Then huffed a quiet laugh — not amused, not angry. Just… tired. “You’re worried,” Jungkook said.

“Of course I am, Mr Jeon.”

Jungkook exhaled, tired, indulgent. He patted Mr. Song’s arm like he was soothing a nervous dog.

“Relax. Your paycheck’s safe.” Then he turned away.

His thumb hovered again. This was…probably stupid. And God, he wanted it. Against instinct. Against habit. Against every rule that had ever kept him untouchable—

Jungkook swiped right.

⏮️⏸️⏭️

The building is dead quiet — the kind of quiet that presses against your skin, that makes you too aware of your own breathing.

Jungkook’s office is the only thing awake on the forty-fifth floor, lights still on like he’s got something to confess. Midnight pools against the windows. The city below flickers, restless, alive. Unlike him.

His tie loose around his neck. Jacket abandoned somewhere he can’t remember. Sleeves rolled up, forearms tight where the fabric cuts in — like his body’s been wound too long and never let loose.

He could’ve gone home. He didn’t. The monitor held him there like a bad habit.

Her Instagram glows on his desktop. Not his phone this time nor absentmindedly. Alone, finally, he scrolls without interruption, without employees asking “is this okay, sir?” or “what are your thoughts, boss?”. Nothing to pull his attention away from what he wants. Or more precisely — what his dick has already decided it wants.

Scroll.

Travel photos. Festival crowds. Recent birthday post. Club bathrooms. Hotel balconies. A photo dump, spoiling her next YouTube video.

He knows her rhythm now. When she posts. When she disappears. Her signature pose—a wink with her lips puckered. Sometimes even sticking out her tongue which damn made Jungkook feel himself stiffen inside his pants. How sometimes he’d imagine her tongue dragging up his cock from base to tip.

His shoulders ache — that dull, familiar stiffness from too many late nights and not enough release. He rolls his neck once, sharp crack echoing too loud in the empty room.

Scroll.

Then stop. Coachella. Last year. The photo hits him slow and deep, like a bruise forming.

Sunburnt confidence. Bare skin and reckless joy. Her top clinging like it’s losing a fight, skirt so short it feels illegal, like one wrong move would change everything. Tongue out like she could taste him through the screen. Wink sharp. Fingers pressed against boobs like she owns the moment — like she knows she’s being looked at.

Jungkook’s breath hitched before he can stop it. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice low, unused.

His body reacts before his brain catches up — heat pooling low, spine tightening, pulse thudding somewhere he can’t ignore. His cock throbbed against his thigh, already hard enough to hammer nails. He shifts in his chair, jaw tightening like he can physically bite the thought back.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhales, slower this time.

The room feels warmer. Smaller. His shirt clings faintly to his back. His hands curl once at his sides, then flatten against the desk like he needs something solid to ground him.

This isn’t porn. This isn’t fantasy. This is worse. This is real. A woman who exists in pixels and soundwaves and algorithms — who doesn’t know his name, doesn’t know he’s memorized the curve of her smile in less than a day.

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose. Fucking pathetic—almost-mid-thirties, ceo, jacking off to a twenty-something influencer in his luxury office like some horny intern.

He could smell his own desperation—sweat and pre-cum and the stale tang of too many long, sometimes lonely nights.

His hand lifted from the mouse. The belt buckle clanked against the armrest as he wrenched it open. His zipper snarled halfway down, caught on the bulge straining against his briefs. Jungkook swore, shoving the fabric past his hips with one rough yank. His cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach with a wet smack. Precum already beaded at the tip, glistening under the sterile office lights. Fingers wrapped around himself, calloused grip pulling a hiss from his teeth.

"Goddamn tease," he growled at the screen, hips bucking into his fist, thumb catching on the swollen vein running along the underside.

His fingers tightened around his cock—too tight, almost punishing—as he imagined dragging her back against his desk by that stupid little skirt. The one barely covering her ass. The one he'd hike up with one rough hand while the other smacked her ass pink, leaving marks she'd feel for days.

She'd whimper, he knew she would—she looked like the type.

Precum dripped down his fingers as he pictured her bent over his mahogany desk, his tie wrapped around her throat like a leash, his cock dragging wet stripes across her ass before shoving in without warning.

No foreplay, no mercy—just the choked-off cry he knew she'd make when he bottomed out, the way her nails would scratch at the polished wood as he fucked her stupid.

Bet you'd take it.

Thumb pressing against the slit, spreading the wetness down his shaft.

The monitor flickered—her tongue out, sweat glistening between her tits—and he groaned, hips stuttering. His balls tightened, the heat coiling low and vicious. Close. So fucking close.

His breath came rough, ragged. The leather creaked under his shifting weight, his free hand gripping the armrest hard enough to leave imprints.

The fantasy burned behind his eyelids—her mouth slack around him, mascara smudged, throat working as he fucked into it. The wet choke when he pushed too deep. The way her fingers would claw at his thighs, like she couldn't decide whether to pull him closer or shove him away.

"Fuck—" His wrist twisted, thumb circling the swollen head, and his stomach muscles locked. He could almost feel it—her cunt clenching around him, hot and slick, her nails raking down his back as he pounded into her. His teeth bared.

"Gonna—" The orgasm hit like a live wire, spine arching off the chair as his cum striped his stomach in thick, hot pulses.

Panting, he slumped back, chest heaving. The screen still glowed—her grin, her wink—and shame curled sour in his gut. He swiped a hand over his face, sticky with sweat.

"Fucking hell," he breathed, staring at the mess on his skin. The clock read 11:37 PM. The office’s silence and cold air returned. He reached for the tissues, crumpling them in his fist. This wasn't—he shouldn't—

His phone buzzed. A notification.

It’s a match!

For a second, he just stared. Like the words might rearrange themselves if he waited long enough. He blinked once. Then again.

Still there.

A stupid, disbelieving breath slipped out of him — half laugh, half disbelief. Of all things. The phone buzzed again, almost immediately.

“hey, handsome 💋”

⏮️⏸️⏭️

“And I’ll see you guys next week. Byeee!”

Y/N waved at the camera, head tilted just enough to be cute, smile wide and practiced — the kind she’d perfected over years of talking to a lens like it was a person. She hit the stop button, and the grin slowly slipped right off her face. Her cheeks relaxed. Her shoulders dropped.

Silence.

She stared at her reflection in the dark camera screen for a second, then scoffed softly. God, she was tired.

That was the outro. Finally. A week late, but whatever. The vlog was from Las Vegas — her twenty-first birthday trip. Neon lights, drunk laughter, too many shots, not enough sleep. Turning twenty-one felt less like a milestone and more like a quiet shift, something settling in her chest. She was an adult now. Not “legally allowed to watch horror, explicit movies” adult. Real adult. The kind with choices. Responsibilities. Freedom. And yeah — horny consequences.

Call her impulsive. Call her unhinged. But the very first thing she did when the clock struck midnight on her birthday was download Tinder. Sure, the minimum age was eighteen. But she’d still been living with her parents then, and the idea of them accidentally seeing Tinder notifications pop up on her phone, asking her whether she liked it rough or soft, made her soul want to leave her body. Now? Her apartment. Her bills. Her rules.

Like any other human being, the girl — or rather woman — was horny. No shame in it. Honestly, the older you get, the worse it becomes. Hormones with opinions. Curiosity with teeth. And what better way to meet people than an app literally designed for it?

She had briefly considered starting an OnlyFans — the thought crossed her mind once or twice — but realistically, she wasn’t that person. She liked attention, sure, but not like that. Besides, YouTube already paid her rent and then some. Normal dates? Casual hookups? Yeah. She could do that.

She set her camera aside and padded into the kitchen, glancing at the clock. 11:47 p.m.

“Fuck,” she muttered. She hadn’t eaten.

Editing had swallowed her whole — Vegas clips blurring together until she realized she’d forgotten an outro and panic-filmed one in her pajamas.

Dinner ended up being simple. Mushroom soup and garlic bread. Low effort, low expectations. One hand stirred the grey soup slowly, the other held her phone.

Swipe left…and swipe left.

Her sigh was heavy, restless. Cheeks puffing out as she exhaled.

The men were… fine. Debatably attractive. Either way too hot and clearly aware of it — asshole energy leaking through the screen — or just wildly not her type. Why was it always one extreme or the other?

Where’s all the fucking luck in the world when you need it? Lord, spare me.

Her thumb went numb, swiping left on autopilot, brain checked out. At this rate, she’d rather swallow the knife sitting next to the stove than sit through another profile that said “entrepreneur” with zero explanation. Then—She stopped.

Her thumb froze mid-swipe. Finally someone decent. Correction. More than just decent. Attractive. Hot. Handsome in a way that felt unfair.

Her gaze lingered on his photo. He had soft eyes — round, dark, almost innocent. Boba eyes, she thought stupidly. And yet, there was something under it. A pull. A look that said I could ruin you if I wanted to. Lip piercing. Silver ring at the corner of his mouth. Another just beneath his bottom lip.

Her stomach did a slow, traitorous flip. “Jesus,” she murmured. She looked down.

Jungkook. 33.

Okay. Older. She liked that.

His bio read: international playboy

“Pfft,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, okay—” she muttered, stirring the soup harder than necessary. “—Sure you are.” Still. She looked back up. Looked again. And again.

Something about him didn’t match the bio. The eyes were too calm. Too real. Like the caption was a joke, or armor, or both.

Her soup started bubbling over.

“Fuck—”

She turned the heat down, heart thumping for no logical reason, phone still in her hand.

“…annoying,” she whispered — and swiped right anyway.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. The soup simmered forgotten on the stove as she tapped out the message, lips curving like she already knew the outcome.

Y/N: hey handsome 💋

She hit send. And instantly.

Seen.

Her brows lifted. “Oh—” she murmured. “Okay.” Her phone buzzed again before she could overthink it.

Jungkook: that was fast

Y/N scoffed softly, stirring the soup again just to give her hands something to do.

You say that like you didn’t open it in two seconds, sir.

Y/N: what, no hello?

Jungkook: hello.

Jungkook: you always this bold or am i special?

She bit the inside of her cheek, suppressing a grin. Heat crept up her neck — annoying, welcome.

“Relax,” she muttered to herself. “You’re literally hot. That’s it.”

Y/N: depends

Y/N: do u always ask questions u already know the answer to or…

Jungkook: mm

Jungkook: i like you already

Y/N: that makes one of us

Lie.

Jungkook: you dont mean that

Jungkook: you wouldnt have swiped right if you didnt like something

She laughed under her breath. “Cocky,” she whispered, fondly annoyed, like she could hear his smirk from across the screen.

Y/N: maybe i was bored 🤷‍♀️

Jungkook: at midnight?

She glanced at the clock. 12:06 a.m.

Y/N: okay…

Y/N: maybe not bored

Y/N: just curious

Jungkook: thats worse

Y/N: how so?

Jungkook: ever heard the phrase “curiosity killed the cat”?

She leaned her hip against the counter, garlic bread and soup forgotten, phone warm in her palm.

Is he flirting or threatening?

Y/N: sounds like experience talking

Jungkook: very much so

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. She waited, pulse ticking louder than it should.

Jungkook: so tell me

Jungkook: what made you stop scrolling?

Y/N: u put “international playboy” in your bio. i assumed u were joking.

Jungkook: half joking. half warning

Y/N: and which half am i supposed to believe?

Jungkook: the one that makes you stay

Her breath hitched — stupid, involuntary. She stared at the screen, smiling despite herself.

“Wow,” she whispered. “No filter at all.” Her gaze drifted back to his profile photo — the eyes, the piercings, the calm confidence that felt earned. Her phone buzzed once more, softer this time — like a final nudge.

Jungkook: you still there, birthday girl?

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

Y/N: how did u know??

Jungkook: instagram

Jungkook: also, happy belated birthday.

Something in her chest softened — just a crack.

Y/N: damn

Y/N: already stalking me?

Jungkook: you were intriguing

Jungkook: your photos got me hard, baby

Jungkook: i just came but the process would’ve been much more pleasurable if it were you physically making me cum

Her throat went dry, fingers hovering over the screen. The confession was bold—no, outright filthy—but the way he delivered it felt like a challenge rather than desperation. A slow smirk curled her lips. Two could play this game.

Y/N: bold words for a guy who hasnt even touched me

The reply came instantly, a grainy video loading beneath his message—just the sound of ragged breathing and a tattooed hand wrapped around his cock, thick and flushed standing in front of his clothed body. Her breath hitched.

Jungkook: next time ill record it with you riding me and upload it

Jungkook: sound on so all your subscribers know who you belong to

Her pulse roared in her ears. She should’ve been scandalized. Instead, heat pooled low in her stomach.

Y/N: cocky bastard

Y/N: assuming there will even be a next time

Jungkook: oh there will be

Jungkook: youre already imagining it

The accuracy punched the air from her lungs. Her kitchen smelled like burnt garlic now, the soup bubbling ominously. She turned off the burner with one hand, the other typing fast.

Y/N: and if i am?

Jungkook: tell me where

Y/N: i just met u mr international playboy

Y/N: what makes u think i trust u enough to send my address?

Jungkook: valid

Jungkook: then we’ll do it through the screen

Y/N blinked. The words lingered between them—bold, ridiculous, delicious. She scoffed, shaking her head at her darkened reflection in the microwave door. She laughed to the empty kitchen, half-amused, half-aroused by the sheer audacity.

Y/N: like cyber sex?

Jungkook: haha unless you’re scared

Her thumbs flew before she could second-guess it.

Y/N: oh please

Jungkook: tell me what youre wearing baby

She hesitated, then smirked, typing one-handed while the other tugged her sweater above her chest to snap a quick tilted selfie—her neckline and below, the curve of her boob framed by her lace bra.

Y/N: wouldnt u like to know handsome

His response was instant. A voice message. She held the phone to her ear, his groan vibrating through her skull.

"Fuck. Teasing me already?" The sound of his voice—rough, impatient—sent a shiver down her spine. She bit her lip.

Jungkook: touch yourself for me

Y/N: youre awfully demanding for a man who hasnt earned it

Jungkook: then earn me

Jungkook: or are you all talk?

Y/N’s fingers twitched toward the waistband of her shorts.

"Bastard," she whispered—but she was already pulling them down to pool at her feet. The cool air kissed her ass as she tapped out a reply, hips shifting against the counter’s edge.

Y/N: bold of u to assume im not already

She pressed her fingertips against herself through the lace, exhaling sharply at the contact. The fabric was damp.

Jungkook: prove it

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she dragged the lace aside, fingertips finding slick heat. A shudder ripped through her. "Fuck," she hissed, thumb circling slow.

Y/N: happy?

She added a photo—just her hand disappearing between her thighs, the lace pushed aside, glistening.

Jungkook’s reply was a voice note. She played it, his voice darkening. "Look at you. Drenched for me already."

Her knees nearly buckled. "Cocky asshole," she breathed—but her fingers pressed deeper, rewarded by the slick slide of her own arousal and imagining it was him pleasuring her.

Y/N: ure not even here

Y/N: how could u be the reason im wet?

Another message lit up her screen—a video. Jungkook’s hand fisted around his cock, stroking slow.

"This what you wanted?" he murmured off-camera. The back of Y/N’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a moan. The wet sound of it—skin on skin, his quiet grunt—echoed in her skull.

Y/N: ure insufferable

Jungkook: and youre touching yourself to it

She couldn’t deny it. Her hips rolled against her hand, the counter digging into her back. "God," she whimpered, the word slipping out unbidden. Her breath hitched as her fingers curled—just right—and her head tipped back. "Fuck. Fuck." The words tumbled into the empty kitchen, unanswered. Jungkook’s next text glowed against the dark screen.

Jungkook: id make you scream my name

Jungkook: though, youd probably do all that by yourself already

Y/N’s laugh was shaky. “Not tonight,” she almost replied—but her fingers sped up, chasing the heat coiling low in her stomach. The idea of him—the audacity of him—wrapped around her tighter than any touch. She typed fast, pulse hammering.

Y/N: bold of u to assume i havent alr imagined it

The reply came instantly—a photo this time. Jungkook’s hand splayed against his clothed thigh, long fingers flexing. The text beneath it burned.

Jungkook: imagine these pushing in

Jungkook: slow at first

Jungkook: just the tips

Her breath caught. The specificity of it—the visual—sent a jolt through her. She pressed her thighs together, clenching her buried fingers, biting back a whimper.

Y/N: u talk too much

Jungkook: you like it

She did.

Jungkook: curling just there

Y/N: u dont know where ‘there’ is

Jungkook: dont i?

Her thumb circled faster, hips lifting off the counter’s edge. “Asshole,” she hissed—but her stomach clenched at the thought, wetness slick between her fingers.

Jungkook: youre arching right now

Jungkook: biting your lip

Jungkook: trying not to make noise

How the fuck?

She exhaled sharply, fingers stuttering. The certainty in his words—like he could see her—sent heat licking up her spine.

Y/N: lucky guesses

Jungkook: or im just that good

She rolled her eyes—but her thighs trembled.

Jungkook: imagine my mouth there next

Jungkook: my tongue flat

Jungkook: dragging up slow

Her hips jerked. “Fuck,” she gasped, the word cracking open.

Her phone buzzed again—a voice note. She played it, his groan vibrating through her: "You’re so fucking wet for me already." Her fingers slid deeper, the sound of him unraveling her.

Jungkook: cum for me

The command punched through her—rough, needing. Her back hit the cabinets, vision blurring as pleasure grew, gradual but sharp.

Jungkook’s next text was immediate—a video. Him, stroking fast. "Next time," he gritted out off camera, "it’ll be my tongue."

Her stomach flipped. Next time. The promise lingered, heavy and hot

Y/N fumbled with her phone, fingers still trembling as she adjusted the angle. The screen framed her parted thighs, the slick shine between them, the way her other hand moved—not fast enough.

She sped up, breath hitching, and hit record. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, her moans pitching higher, unchecked. A sharp gasp. Then the crest hit, her back arching away from the counter as her hips jerked, a broken cry tearing loose. The video cut off with her slumped against the cabinets, chest heaving. She sent it before she could rethink it.

One blink. Two. Her phone buzzed instantly.

Jungkook: fuck look at you

Jungkook: wanna ruin you and lick you clean

Her thighs clenched at the low groan that followed—like he was already imagining it. Like he’d drag her under the second he got the chance.

Y/N: i’ll ruin u first

She typed back, thumb hovering before sending. Bold. Maybe too bold. But the sting of her nails digging into her own hip still burned, proof she wasn’t just talking.

His reply came in bursts—deliberate. Taunting.

Jungkook: try

Jungkook: youll beg for more

The phone clattered onto the counter when she shoved it away, heat pooling low again.

God, he was insufferable. And she wanted him anyway. Wanted the way his voice dipped rough at the edges, the way he’d smirk if he saw her now—lips bitten red, skin flushed. She traced her collarbone absently, already imagining his mouth there instead.

Y/N: ure greedy.

Jungkook: for you?

Jungkook: always

A shiver ran down her spine. She bit her lip, considering—then snapped a quick photo: her legs still parted, fingers glistening. The flash caught the sweat at her throat, the messy hair sticking to her forehead.

Y/N: satisfied?

Jungkook: not even close

Jungkook: itd be much more satisfying if your cum was dripping down my cock kitten

Y/N rolled her eyes—but her stomach flipped.

Jungkook: but that’s for next time baby

The message blinked up at her—bold, presumptuous, electric. Y/N stared at the screen, fingers still twitching against her thigh. The aftershocks pulsed through her, slow and syrupy, and she exhaled a shaky laugh.

And the stranger on her phone—Jungkook, international playboy, arrogant bastard—had just wrecked her without laying a single finger on her.

She typed, deleted, typed again. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, her usual sharp retorts failing her.

What do you even say after that? After coming undone to the sound of a thirty-three year old man’s voice, after sending him proof like some desperate, panting mess? Hell she didn’t even know this man. Just that he was probably too old for her, had hot tattoos, and piercings paired with eyes that totally mismatched the vibe.

Y/N: ure ridiculous

Her thumb hovered over send—weak, deflection. She deleted it.

Jungkook: goodnight kitten

Jungkook: dont forget who got you off tonight

The message glowed on her screen like a brand. Y/N stared at it, thighs still slick, the ghost of her own fingers lingering between them. Her pulse hammered unevenly—part irritation, part thrill.

"Kitten?" she muttered, wiping her hand on her discarded sweater. "Who the hell says 'kitten'?" But her traitorous stomach swooped anyway.

She slumped against the counter behind her, the cold marble seeping into her bare skin. The kitchen smelled like sex and burnt garlic, the abandoned soup congealing in the pot.

"What the fuck just happened," she breathed.

A stranger—a glorified pixelated smirk—had just reduced her to a shuddering, gasping mess in her own kitchen at midnight.

And worse? She'd loved every second of it.

⏮️⏸️⏭️

It had been days since sexting mr international playboy. Four to be exact. Four fucking days since that last filthy message from Jungkook—since the videos that made her bite her lip raw the first time she saw them. No text, no voice note, no reaction emoji accidentally sent at 2 a.m.

Nothing. Radio silence.

YN felt stupid. Not heartbroken — that would be dramatic — but foolish in the way an immature teenager would feel when their crush rejected them.

What was she expecting anyways? The dude was thirty-three. He probably had meetings, deadlines, responsibilities. A whole adult life that didn’t involve lying on his bed with his phone in hand, waiting for her reply. Y/n found herself in her spinning chair, editing vlogs while her pussy throbs for some dick. Specifically Jungkook’s.

The pornographic videos were nailed in her head. She even still had excess to it in her tinder chat. Zero shame dressing her when she pulls them up as she pleasures herself at night with Jungkook’s voice playing in the background all grainy and echoey.

She hated how easily her body remembered something that wasn’t even real. But it wasn’t enough for Y/n. As much as she yearned for Jungkook’s touch and his inches, Y/n refused to be the girl who folded first just because she was restless and lonely. Pride mattered. Even now.

So she did what any modern twenty-something did when she needed distraction, validation, and noise loud enough to drown out her thoughts. She texted her clique.

Club tonight?

And just like that, the plan was set.

That night was Jungkook’s last in China. He returned to his hotel close to midnight, jacket shrugged off the moment the door shut behind him.

The dinner with investors had dragged longer than expected — too many toasts, too many questions, too many polite smiles stretched thin. This new market had been Josiah’s gamble, one he’d funded just barely enough to survive. If the room hadn’t been moved by Jungkook’s vision, Josiah would’ve been updating his résumé by morning.

Luckily, the concept landed. Still, relief didn’t erase exhaustion.

The past three days had been relentless — back-to-back dinners, galas that required the right laugh at the right time, store openings flooded with cameras, press interviews where every word had to be calculated. His schedule hadn’t just been packed; it had been unforgiving. There was no room for distraction. No room for indulgence.

No room for her.

Jungkook knew better than to send a casual text. A simple ‘hey’ would never stay simple. If he reached out, he’d want to mean it — to unravel the tension that had been coiled in him since that night, to let the conversation slide somewhere reckless and indulgent.

He’d want to send her details of how he’d take her. Have her face smashed into his pillow. Her bare ass up in the air as if inviting his hard dick to slide in. How he’d show no mercy and slam his cock balls deep and calling her his slut.

It was entirely inappropriate for a man running on four hours of sleep and a dozen obligations. So he didn’t text. Didn’t open the chat. Heck he didn’t even have time to wank. His work schedule straight up said ‘no cumming this week.’

Work had demanded everything this week — his focus, his restraint, his discipline. Desire would have to wait. Even if it lingered, heavy and unresolved, in the quiet of his hotel room.

Lucky for Jungkook, it was his final night overseas. His flight back to Korea wasn’t until late afternoon, which meant—for the first time all week—nothing was waiting for him. No assistants knocking. No calls lined up. No schedule breathing down his neck.

He shifted on the hotel bed, lifting himself just enough to fish his phone out from his back pocket. The mattress dipped again beneath his weight as he fell back, one arm flung over his head.

Finally. His phone—for him.

His thumb moved on instinct, tapping Instagram before he could overthink it. The feed loaded, and like the universe had been paying attention, her story sat first in the row.

Of course.

The corner of his mouth tugged upward, faint and knowing. He’d been curious—too curious—about what his kitten had been up to while he’d been shaking hands and selling futures.

He tapped. Music burst through the speakers. Low lights. Movement. Y/n, flushed and glowing, dancing at a club with—

Jungkook stilled.

“A guy…?” he muttered, brows pulling together.

It wasn’t innocent dancing. Her arm rested easy over the guy’s shoulder, familiarity written into the way she leaned into him. A drink in her other hand. The man’s fingers lingered too comfortably at her waist, brushing her cheek when she laughed. And then—just barely—his hand slid lower.

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening as he watched the clip move to the next story.

Three days. Three exhausting, sleepless days across the ocean, and this was what greeted him. As if she hadn’t been breathless on his screen days ago. As if she hadn’t undone him from thousands of miles away. As if she didn’t just sent Jungkook a video of her cumming on 4k.

He scoffed, shaking his head once. “You fucking slut…”

Still, his thumb moved—slow, deliberate—as he tapped the message box beneath her story. Not angry. Not impulsive. Possessive.

mnijungkook: i go mia for three four days and this is what i see when i open my insta?

mnijungkook: you’re begging me to punish you, kitten

He sent it before he could talk himself out of it, phone heavy in his palm as the story replayed once more.

Yeah. He was definitely back.

Within seven minutes, Jungkook was out of the shower, towel slung low around his hips, steam still clinging to his skin. He tugged on a clean shirt and sweats, barely drying his hair properly as he rubbed at it rough and careless, water dripping onto the hotel carpet.

He dropped onto the bed, mattress sighing beneath his weight, and reached for his phone with his free hand.

The screen lit up. As expected.

iamyn: hey handsome

That stupid little pet name hit him right in the chest every time. Jungkook exhaled a quiet laugh, head tipping back against the headboard, lips tugging into a smile he didn’t bother suppressing.

Thirty-three years old and reduced to this.

iamyn: u cant expect me to just stay home and wait for u

He pictured her saying it—chin lifted, eyes sharp, mouth unapologetic. His thumbs moved easily.

mnijungkook: i was on a business trip, baby

mnijungkook: back to back meetings and events

mnijungkook: i barely had time to breathe

mnijungkook: otherwise i would’ve checked in and told you exactly how much i want you

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

iamyn: business trip?

iamyn: tell ur boss i said fuck u

iamyn: how dare he stop u from making me feel good

iamyn: the screen’s already a good enough cockblock 🙄

A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it—low, genuine, echoing softly in the hotel room. He scrubbed the towel through his hair again, shaking his head.

God. She’s trouble.

mnijungkook: funny thing is

mnijungkook: i am my own boss kitten

mnijungkook: i run the company

Silence. No typing bubble. No immediate clapback. Jungkook smirked, settling deeper into the pillows.

mnijungkook: what?

mnijungkook: surprised?

The reply came slower this time.

iamyn: yeah…

iamyn: yeah actually

He could practically hear the disbelief in her voice now. The recalculation. The way her confidence would wobble just a little before snapping right back into place. Jungkook’s smile softened—dangerous, amused.

mnijungkook: dont overthink it baby

mnijungkook: im still just the guy who matched with you on tinder

mnijungkook: except now you know i’m busy

iamyn: yeah

iamyn: mr international playboy

iamyn: or better yet, mr ceo

He watched the typing bubble flicker on and off, a quiet thrill settling low in his chest.

Yeah. This wasn’t just flirting anymore.

The typing bubble appeared again. Disappeared. Came back. Jungkook watched it like a game of chicken.

iamyn: so

iamyn: ceo huh

iamyn: guess that explains the confidence

mnijungkook: confidence comes with responsibility

mnijungkook: and patience

A pause.

mnijungkook: something you seem to struggle with

iamyn: wow

iamyn: did u just psychoanalyze me

mnijungkook: a little

mnijungkook: you dont like being ignored

He imagined her scoffing, rolling her eyes even though he wasn’t wrong.

iamyn: i dont like being forgotten

iamyn: theres a difference

That one landed heavier than he expected. Jungkook sat up straighter, towel finally discarded, elbows resting on his knees.

mnijungkook: i didnt forget you baby

mnijungkook: i could never

mnijungkook: just didnt trust myself to text you halfway

mnijungkook: because i dont do half ass attention

The reply came slower this time.

iamyn: thats dangerously smooth

iamyn: do u practice this or does it come naturally

mnijungkook: you matched with me

mnijungkook: what do you think

iamyn: 🤭

iamyn: i should be fucking embarrassed

iamyn: i sexted a stranger with a corporate title

mnijungkook: and yet

mnijungkook: youre still texting me

Silence. Just long enough to make him wonder. Then—

iamyn: yeah

iamyn: cus i kinda wanna see what happens next

Jungkook leaned back against the headboard, phone warm in his palm, eyes unfocused.

mnijungkook: good

mnijungkook: because so do i

And just like that, the tension settled — not resolved, not rushed. The silence stretched just long enough for him to think about that guy again. The hand on her waist. The way she’d laughed into the camera like she didn’t belong to anyone. His jaw ticked.

mnijungkook: so…

mnijungkook: who was he

Simple. Flat. No emoji. No smile. She didn’t reply right away.

iamyn: who 😭

He scoffed softly, thumb tapping once against the screen.

mnijungkook: don’t play dumb

mnijungkook: the guy in your story

Three dots. Gone. Back again.

iamyn: mr ceo

iamyn:are u… jealous?

He smiled, slow and unapologetic.

mnijungkook: no shit

mnijungkook: youve been mine since we matched kitten

iamyn: excuse me???

iamyn: u disappear for days and now im urs?

mnijungkook: you want me to lie?

A pause.

mnijungkook: so tell me

mnijungkook: who is he kitten?

iamyn: hes just a friend

iamyn: i went out with friends

iamyn: im allowed to have those, mr ceo

mnijungkook: never said you werent allowed

mnijungkook: doesnt mean i have to like it

iamyn: youre ridiculous

mnijungkook: and honest

He shifted on the bed, tone changing—less sharp, more deliberate.

mnijungkook: listen to me

mnijungkook: i promise you this baby

mnijungkook: no more disappearing

mnijungkook: if im busy, ill tell you

mnijungkook: if i want you, youll know

Her response came quieter, stripped of jokes.

iamyn: thats a dangerous promise mr ceo

mnijungkook: i dont make empty ones

Then the line that sealed it—possessive but steady, not rushed.

mnijungkook: youre mine

mnijungkook: and im yours

iamyn: well shit

He smiled to himself.

Hooked.

mnijungkook: then its settled

mnijungkook: now, send me a pic of yourself kitten

⏮️⏸️⏭️

Three weeks passed like a bad habit no one bothered to quit.

It started filthy. Screens lighting up at ungodly hours, texts and video or photo attachments sent with zero shame and even less restraint. Words that made Y/N stare at her ceiling afterward, pulse still loud in her ears, wondering when exactly this man slipped under her skin. Sexting that blurred nights together, that made time zones irrelevant and self-control a joke. But somewhere along the way, it softened.

They still flirted like it was foreplay. Jungkook still called her kitten or baby like it rolled off his tongue naturally, like he’d earned the right. She still called him Mr. CEO or handsome just to hear the way his voice dipped when he laughed.

But they also… talked. Real shit.

Jungkook sent photos of airport windows streaked with rain, spreadsheets that meant nothing to her, hotel ceilings at 2 a.m. with captions like ‘another night babysitting grown men.’

He admitted—offhand, like it didn’t matter—that he hadn’t been in a committed relationship in nearly ten years. Not because he didn’t want one. But because work had a way of swallowing everything else whole.

Y/N told him about starting YouTube at nineteen with a shitty camera and blind optimism. About learning everything the hard way. About how weird it felt to have strangers know her voice, her laugh, her face while still feeling lonely as hell sometimes.

They send more voice notes now. Lazy ones. Sleepy ones. Sometimes even calls. Jungkook’s voice low and rough when he was tired, Y/N’s soft and unguarded when she forgot to be careful. It was comfortable. And that was the scary part.

That was how she ended up sprawled across her bed one night, phone resting next to her. Her laptop open, the soft glow of her editing software still running in the background. Midnight had already come and gone. Her room was quiet except for the hum of her air conditioner. Curiosity gnawing at her ribs.

She opened Tinder again on her phone—not to swipe, just to look. There he was. That same single photo. The only one he’d ever posted. Clean. Intentionally casual. Infuriatingly attractive.

She then opened Jungkook’s Instagram, again, on her laptop.

Still nothing.

No posts. No tagged photos. No stupid gym mirror pics on his highlights. Just a blank profile and a faceless display picture that told her absolutely jack shit.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” she muttered. “One picture on Tinder and you think that’s enough?” Her finger scrolling like the app might suddenly take pity on her.

Three weeks of hearing his voice. Knowing his humour. The way he paused before saying her name. And she still only had that one image of him. Her thumb hesitated. Then moved before she could chicken out.

iamyn: can i say something without u making fun of me

His reply came fast.

mnijungkook: i dont make fun of you kitten

mnijungkook: i tease

She rolled her eyes, smiling.

iamyn: wtv

iamyn: i tried stalking ur insta and ure literally a fucking ghost

mnijungkook: and that bothers you?

iamyn: i realized ive only ever seen that one pic of u

iamyn: from tinder

iamyn: and i kinda wanna see more of u

iamyn: is that allowed, handsome ceo?

The typing bubble blinked once. Then disappeared. Y/N stared at the screen.

“…hello?” she muttered, thumb hovering uselessly like that might summon him back.

Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Then— Her phone and laptop buzzed. She jumped.

Incoming FaceTime — Jungkook

“Oh—fuck—” she whispered, pushing herself upright so fast she dropped the phone. She caught her mirror image in the screen of her laptop—messy hair, bare face, sweater slipping off one shoulder.

Too late to care. She clicked answer. And there he was.

Familiar, but different. Real. Moving. Breathing. Up close, he was worse. Better. Sharp jaw, dark eyes that felt like they were touching her through the big screen.

Jungkook was at work. The background was dim, all glass and steel, the city lights bleeding through the windows behind him. His suit jacket was gone, white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows where Y/n could take a peak at his tattoo sleeve. Tie loosened like he’d been strangled by responsibility all day. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. He looked…tired. Still unfairly handsome though. But real in a different way.

For a second, he didn’t speak—just looked at her through the screen with his back leaned against his chair and gazing down at her, like he needed to confirm she was actually there.

“Well,” he said, voice low, amused. “You wanted more, kitten.” His lips curled.

Her heart did something stupid.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, then laughed quietly. “You’re actually…insane.”

His smile came slow. Intentional. “And you,” Jungkook said, eyes dragging over her face and grazing his chin with his fingers he was committing it to memory, “look even better than I imagined, baby.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest, spreading fast and reckless. Yeah he’d seen her pictures on Instagram. But in real time, she looked unbelievably attractive in his eyes.

Three weeks of words. Finally given depth. And suddenly, it wasn’t just voices or texts anymore.

“What are you up to, baby?” he asked, voice already warm with amusement. “Other than—you know—thinking about how good I look.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling anyway. On her screen, Jungkook was sunk into his office chair like he’d been welded to it for the past twelve hours. One arm rested lazily on the armrest, the other tapping absently against the edge of his desk, fingers inked and restless. And still, his eyes stayed on her, steady and unhurried, like he wasn’t sitting in the middle of a goddamn office—like she was the only thing worth focusing on.

“Uh… I was in the middle of some…last-minute editing,” she said, glancing at the time glowing accusingly in the corner of her laptop. “I need to upload tonight or my comments will riot.” Her brow bounced on ‘riot’.

Jungkook hummed. “And…I’m not stealing your time, am I?”

She shook her head, smiling to herself. “Never,” she murmured. She hadn’t meant for him to hear it. The mic did anyway.

His lips curved instantly, slow and satisfied. “Cute,” he said. “You’re terrible at pretending you don’t like me.”

She scoffed. “Excuse you. You’re the one who called.”

“Hmm,” he admitted easily. “And I’m glad I did.”

She tilted her head. “Oh yeah?”

Jungkook’s smirk deepened, the kind that made the muscles in his forearm flex as he adjusted his position—she tracked the movement without meaning to. His fingers drummed lazily against the armrest, his voice dropping into that low, rough register that always made her pussy tighten.

“Hell yeah. We could…start facetiming and I’d get to see you cum for me in real time, kitten.” His thumb brushed over his lower lip, slow, deliberate. “Watch your mouth drop when you realize I’m not gonna let you stop.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. God, the way he says shit like that—like it was already decided, like she wasn’t possibly halfway across the fucking world but right there in his office, pinned under that look. Her fingers tightened around her nothing.

“Bold of you to assume I’d want to stop.”

His laugh was dark, pleased. “Prove it.”

The dare hung between them, thick enough she could almost taste it. She bit her lip, considering. The editing could wait—her subscribers could deal with one night of her being distracted.

But Jungkook? He wasn’t asking. He was waiting, that lazy, knowing glint in his eyes like he already knew she’d cave.

She exhaled, slow. “You’re lucky I like you.”

His grin was all teeth. “I know.”

She rolled her eyes—but her hand was already making its way down her white cotton shorts.

“Let me see you touch yourself, baby.” Jungkook’s voice was lower than she’d ever heard, the words curling around her like smoke. It wasn’t a request. It was a command wrapped in velvet.

She exhaled shakily, fingers curling under the waistband of her shorts—his gaze pinned her in place, heavy and possessive. The fabric slid down her thighs, pooling at her knees before she kicked them off entirely. The bed dipped under her palms as she braced herself back, thighs falling open deliberately, slow, just to watch his pupils dilate. The damp lace clinging to her was obscene, the fabric sheer enough he could see the dark flush of her skin beneath, the way she was already dripping through the material.

“Fuck,” he breathed, leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees like he could physically will himself closer.

“Look at that—already soaked for me. Didn’t even need to touch you.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his voice roughening. “Such a greedy fucking slut, aren’t you? My slut.”

Heat coiled low in her belly, sharp and electric—the degradation slid under her skin like liquid fire. She arched slightly, pressing her hips up, and his groan was ragged.

His fingers flexed around nothing, jaw tight. “Like knowing you’d spread yourself open for me anywhere I fucking asked. Wouldn’t you?” His voice dropped, husky with intent. “Wouldn’t even think twice before getting on your knees, begging me to ruin you.”

She whimpered—couldn’t help it—and his smirk was predatory.

“Go on,” he murmured. “Show me how bad you want it.”

Her fingers trembled as they slipped under the lace, dragging the fabric aside to expose the swollen, glistening heat of her. The air was cool against her oversensitive skin, but it barely registered—not when he was looking at her like he wanted to devour her whole.

“No. Do it through your panties, kitten.” Jungkook’s voice was steel wrapped in velvet, the kind that made her breath hitch before she’d even processed the words.

“Want to see those pretty fingers soak through the lace first,” he murmured, tilting his head. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Show me how desperate you get.”

She whimpered, high and involuntary, as she obeyed—sliding her fingers over the damp fabric instead, pressing down where she needed it most.

The friction was deliciously insufficient, the lace rubbing raw against her oversensitive clit. Her back arched off the bed, a broken moan tumbling from her lips when Jungkook’s gaze darkened, his pupils swallowing the honey-brown of his irises.

“Fuck—look at you,” he growled, voice rough with restraint. His thumb dragged over his lower lip like he wanted to taste her. “Already fucking yourself through your panties like a slut. You’d do this anywhere, wouldn’t you? In my office? In the back of my car?”

The degradation pooled hot in her stomach, spreading like ink in water. Her fingers moved faster, the fabric growing slicker.

“Y-yours,” she gasped, hips jerking. “Only—ah—yours—”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, his free hand gripping his cock through his dress pants, the fabric straining obscenely.

“God, you’re pathetic,” he breathed, but his voice was thick with worship. His smirk was cruel, beautiful. “Imagine if I were there—bending you over my desk, tearing these fucking panties off with my teeth—”

She cried out, her fingers stuttering as the tension coiled tighter. The lace was soaked, clinging to her skin, and Jungkook’s groan was ragged.

“That’s it—ruin them,” he urged, leaning closer to the screen. His breath hitched when her hips lifted off the bed, chasing her own touch. “Fuck, you’re close. I can see it—your thighs shaking, that pretty mouth falling open—”

She nodded frantically, her moans dissolving into whimpers. The heat was unbearable, the pressure—

“Stop.”

Her fingers froze. What the hell was he thinking? She was super close. And he wanted her to stop Her entire body trembled on the edge, suspended. Jungkook’s smile was feral.

“Hands off,” he ordered softly. “Now.”

She whimpered in protest, but he tsked, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to cum until I say so,” he murmured. His gaze dropped to where her thighs clenched around nothing.

Her breath came in shallow pants. The silence stretched—broken only by the quiet creak of his chair as he leaned back, waiting. And then she cracked.

“Please.” The word slipped out before she could swallow it back—broken and needy, her voice barely louder than the rustle of sheets as she shifted. Jungkook’s grin was wicked, his fingers tapping against his thigh like he’d already won.

“Please what, baby?” he drawled, tilting his head. The office lights caught the sharp angle of his jaw, the sweat-slicked column of his throat where his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

Her cheeks burned. The lace was glued to her skin with how wet she was, the fabric twisted and useless between her thighs.

“Want—wanna cum,” she admitted, voice cracking. The admission scraped her throat raw, humiliation curling hot in her belly when his eyes darkened.

“Take them off.” His command was low, rough—the kind that made her pulse stutter. “Those fucking panties. Now.”

Her fingers trembled as she hooked them under the soaked lace, peeling them down her legs with a wet sound that made his nostrils flare. The cool air kissed her bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze—heavy, possessive, tracing every inch of her like she was his to ruin.

“Good girl,” he murmured, though the praise was edged with something darker. “Now show me how empty you are without me. Fuck yourself open, slut. Let me see.”

She whimpered, high and broken, as she dragged two fingers through her slick, spreading herself for him. The first press inside was electric—her back arching off the bed, a moan tearing from her lips as she curled her fingers just to watch his jaw tighten.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jungkook growled, his own hand palming his cock through his pants, the fabric straining. “Taking your fingers so easy—like you were made for it. Made for me.” His tongue swiped over his lower lip, hungry. “Bet you’d take my cock even better, wouldn’t you? Stretch you so fucking wide, hear you cry—”

She nodded frantically, her hips rocking against her hand, the wet sounds obscenely loud in the quiet room. “Yes—yes, please—”

“Such a desperate little thing,” he crooned, his voice thick with mock pity. His free hand gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white. “Can’t even wait for me to fuck you properly. Pathetic.” The degradation dripped like honey, sickly sweet and addictive. Her fingers moved faster, her thighs shaking.

“Not yet.” His snarl froze her in place. “You cum when I say.”

She sobbed, her body trembling on the edge, her fingers still buried inside herself—waiting, aching, suspended by nothing but the ragged command in his voice.

Jungkook's control snapped like a frayed wire. With a sharp inhale, his belt buckle clattered against the desk as he wrenched it open, his dress pants shoved down just enough to free his cock—thick and flushed, already slick at the tip. The slap of flesh against his rumpled blouse echoed through the speakers, the sound lewd and undeniable.

Y/N’s thighs twitched open wider, her gaze dragging down shamelessly to watch him fist himself in rough, punishing strokes, his knuckles white with restraint.

"Fuck—look at you," Jungkook snarled, his hips jerking into his grip. His head slammed back against the leather chair, tendons in his neck straining as he panted. "Spreading yourself open—my personal little whore." His voice was wrecked, syllables slurring with pleasure.

"You see this?" He squeezed the base of his cock, veins prominent under his grip, and her mouth watered. "All yours. Only yours. But you don’t get to cum until I say—argh just wait till I’m fucking buried inside you for real, slut."

The wet sounds from both sides of the screens were obscene—her fingers plunging, his fist pumping, the shared rhythm filthy and syncopated. Jungkook’s breath hitched when she crooked her fingers just right, her moan dissolving into a whimper.

"Please—Jungkook, I can’t—"

"Watch me," he demanded while gazing into his computer, his thumb smearing pre-cum over his cockhead, his hips canting up into his touch.

"Watch how fucking hard you make me. How bad I want to ruin you." His laugh was ragged, almost pained. "God, you’re dripping—fuck, I can hear it. That’s my good kitten, taking it so well. But you’re not my good kitten right now, are you? You’re my desperate, fucking slut."

She shook her head frantically, her thighs trembling as the coil inside her wound tighter. Jungkook’s strokes turned brutal, his voice cracking.

“I’m close, Jungkook.” The words tumbled out of her in a broken whimper, her fingers twisting inside herself, thighs shaking violently. The air smelled like salt and sweat and the synthetic raspberry of her laptop charger overheating beside her.

Jungkook’s breath hitched—sharp, audible—his fist tightening around his cock, knuckles white.

“Fucking—look at you,” he snarled, voice shredded. His hips jerked into his grip, the wet slap of skin against skin punching through the speakers. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, eyes locked on hers through the screen.

The coil in her stomach tightened—too much—but he wasn’t letting her break yet.

“P-please—!”

“Beg.” The word cracked like a whip. Jungkook’s free hand gripped the edge of his desk, tendons standing out in his forearm. His cock glistened under the dim office lights, flushed and leaking, veins straining against skin.

“Beg me to let you cum. Fucking needy slut.”

She choked on air. “Please—let me cum, please, I—I can’t—Jungkook—ahh!”

His laugh was dark, wrecked. “God, you’re dirty.” He dragged his thumb over the head of his cock, smearing pre-cum down the length. “Look at you—dripping for me, whimpering for me. My slut. Mine.” His voice dropped to a growl at his screen.

“Cum for me, baby.”

The permission snapped something inside her. Her back arched off the bed, a broken cry tearing from her throat as pleasure ripped through her. White, hot, relentless, her fingers still buried inside her as she pulsed around them. Jungkook’s groan was raw, his strokes turning punishing.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” His hips stuttered, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Cum for me, kitten. Cum all over your fingers like the filthy little whore you are.”

She sobbed, oversensitive and shaking, her thighs clamped around her own wrist as the aftershocks rolled through her. Jungkook’s pace faltered, his head slamming back against the chair.

“Yn—” Her name was a prayer, a curse, his voice splintering. “Gonna—fuck—”

The sound he made when he came was animal—a guttural groan, his cock jerking in his fist as he painted stripes across his stomach, his dress shirt rucked up to his chest. His thighs trembled, his breath coming in harsh pants. Silence. Then—

“Holy shit…” he muttered, voice wrecked. His fingers twitched where they lay limp on his stomach, sticky with cum. “You’re insane.”

She laughed, breathless and weak, her body still thrumming. “Takes one to know one.”

Jungkook’s smirk was lazy, satisfied. “Yeah,” he agreed, dragging a hand down his face. “But you love it.”

⏮️⏸️⏭️

2AM was a stupid hour to be awake. The city outside Jungkook’s penthouse was still glowing like it didn’t know how to sleep—glass buildings blinking, traffic humming faintly, Seoul stretching on like an endless exhale.

Inside, though, it was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made you hear your own thoughts a little too clearly.

Jungkook sat in the comfort of his bed, hair damp from a shower he didn’t need, dressed in nothing but loose sweatpants, entire upper body exposed to the cold. The lights were low, the expensive kind of warm, but none of it mattered.

Because his phone was in his hand. And her face was on the screen.

Y/N’s Coachella vlog.

He didn’t even remember clicking it. One second he was checking sales statistics, the next he was watching her laugh into the camera like she wasn’t the most distracting fucking person he’d ever come across.

The video was shaky, chaotic, full of neon and bass and her friends screaming in the background. And there she was. Hair down, lip gloss catching the festival lights, eyes bright like she belonged in every frame she stepped into.

“Okay, guys,” her voice came through the speaker, cheerful and teasing. “Day one. I’m already sweating like crazy. I’m fucking hot!”

Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh.

“Oh you have no idea,” he muttered to himself.

His thumb hovered over the screen, like he could touch her through it.

Stupid.

Pathetic.

He kept watching anyway.

She spun the camera toward the stage, then back to herself, grinning. “I swear, Coachella is literally a fever dream.” Her voiced vibrated in his hands under the phone.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened.

A fever dream.

Yeah. That was one way to put it. Because she’d somehow crept into his life the same way—unexpected, unreal, addictive.

A little more than a month ago she was a match on Tinder. Now she was…this. A presence. A habit. A fucking problem.

Jungkook’s thumb tapped the screen, rewinding the video without meaning to, watching her lips form the words again—I’m fucking hot—and holy shit, she wasn’t lying.

The cream top was barely a suggestion of fabric, thin straps struggling against the weight of her tits, the swell of them pressing dangerously against the hem like they might spill over any second. Her skirt—if you could even call it that—was a scrap of white lace riding high on her thighs, riding higher when she danced, and fuck, he could see the shadow where her ass met skin, could imagine the heat of her under his palms, the way she’d gasp if he dragged her back against him right there in the crowd.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, shifting against the sheets, the rough fabric of his sweats doing nothing to hide the way his cock was thickening, straining against the waistband. He could see the outline of it, the way the fabric tented obscenely, and he didn’t even bother adjusting, just let it happen, let his hand drift lower, pressing the heel of his palm against himself with a low groan.

The video kept playing—her laughter, her hips swaying to the bass, the way she licked her lips when she turned to the camera—and Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around his phone.

"Holy fuck, kitten," he breathed, voice rough, "look what you’ve done to me." His cock twitched at the sound of his own voice, at the thought of her hearing it, of her knowing exactly what she did to him.

He wanted to mark her. Wanted to press his mouth to the smooth expanse of her stomach, to bite at the soft skin just above her waistband, to leave bruises where the fabric didn’t cover. Wanted to ruin her, just a little, just enough that she’d remember him when she got home, when she peeled that skirt off and saw the marks he’d left.

But she wasn’t here. She was there, laughing under desert stars, and he was here, hard and aching and fucking pathetic. And yet—he couldn’t stop watching.

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers twitching against his phone.

Fuck it.

He shoved the sweats down just enough for his cock to spring free, already leaking against his stomach, the tip flushed and angry.

"Fuck," he muttered, wrapping his hand around himself in one rough stroke, his hips jerking up into his own grip.

The video kept playing—Y/N laughing, her hips rolling to some beat he couldn’t hear—and he let his head fall back against the pillows with a groan, his grip tightening.

"Look at you," he gritted out, thumb swiping over the head of his cock, smearing precome down the shaft. "Dancing like you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing to me." His breath hitched as she turned toward the camera again, lips parted, sweat glistening at the hollow of her throat. He could almost taste it—salt and heat and her. His strokes turned erratic, his thighs tensing.

"Fuck, kitten, I’d ruin you right there in the crowd. Let everyone see how fucking pretty you look when you come."

A whimper tore from his throat as he imagined it—her back pressed against his chest, his hand slipping under that pathetic excuse for a skirt, fingers dragging through slick heat. The video blurred at the edges of his vision, his focus narrowing to the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the way her collarbones caught the light. "Christ," he gasped, his hips stuttering.

"Just—just like that, fuck—"

His phone slipped from his grip, clattering onto the sheets beside him, but it didn’t matter. The image of her was burned into his skull—the way she moved, the sound of her voice, the fucking smell of her if he’d been there, sweat and sunscreen and something sweet underneath. He was close, so fucking close, his balls drawing up tight, his abs flexing with every ragged breath.

"Y/N," he choked out, her name mangled between his teeth, "gonna—fuck—"

The orgasm ripped through him like a live wire, his back arching off the bed, his cum streaking hot across his stomach. His hand slowed but didn’t stop, milking himself through the aftershocks, his hips twitching helplessly.

The video kept playing, Y/N’s laughter muffled now under the rush of blood in his ears, her voice distant, like she was already slipping away.

Jungkook collapsed against the pillows, his chest heaving, his skin tacky with sweat. He blinked up at the ceiling, the high fading too fast, leaving him hollow.

Fuck. He’d cum, but it wasn’t enough. It never was. Not when all he had was a fucking screen.

His fingers twitched toward his phone before he could think better of it, thumb jamming the call button before he could talk himself out of it. The line rang once, twice, thrice his pulse hammering in his throat.

What the fuck was he doing? She was probably asleep, probably—

The screen flickered to life, but it wasn’t her face. Just darkness, the faint outline of her nose, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek.

"Jungkook…?" Her voice was thick with sleep, slurred at the edges.

He grinned, breathless, his free hand dragging through the mess on his stomach.

"Hey, kitten. Did I wake you?"

Y/N hummed, nuzzling deeper into her pillow, but then—her eyes cracked open, squinting at the screen. The faint glow lit up the confusion on her face, then the dawning realization as she took in his heaving chest, the sweat still drying on his collarbones.

"Kook?" Her voice sharpened. "K-Kook—did you just …wank?"

He laughed, low and unrepentant, his tattooed arm flexing as he tucked it behind his head.

"Yeah. To you, actually." His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "I swear you’re begging me to slam my dick into you in your Coachella vlog."

Her mouth fell open, but he didn’t miss the way her thighs shifted under the sheets. "You asshole," she hissed, but it lacked heat. "It’s—god, it’s coming to three AM."

Jungkook’s grin turned wolfish. "And yet," he drawled, "you picked up."

Y/N groaned, rubbing her face with one hand, the other gripping her phone like she might strangle him through the screen.

"Because I thought it was an emergency, you fucking gremlin."

"Emergency," Jungkook repeated, rolling the word around his tongue like it was candy. "Yeah. I’d say my dick qualifies." He stretched lazily, muscles flexing under the dim light, his sweatpants still pooled low on his hips, his stomach still streaked with his own cum.

Y/N groaned again, louder this time, throwing an arm over her face like she could physically block him out.

"Jesus Christ, you’re insufferable." But her voice was thick with something else—something that made Jungkook’s smirk widen.

"Insufferably hot," he corrected, dragging a finger through the mess on his stomach, holding it up to the screen like she could taste it. "Admit it."

She peeked from under her arm, her nose scrunched in disgust—or what she wanted him to think was disgust. "You’re disgusting."

"Disgustingly into you," he shot back, grinning when she huffed.

"What do you need, handsome?" she mumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Jungkook flashed a tired smirk, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"I’m needy."

She snorted. "When are you not?"

He barked out a laugh, shoulders shaking. "I’m serious, baby." His voice dropped, rough around the edges. A beat.

"I wanna see you."

Y/N blinked.

"What…?"

"I wanna see you, Y/N," he repeated, slower this time, softer.

Her lips parted, her fingers tightening around her phone. "Wait—you mean like…meet up? Face to face?"

Jungkook hummed, nodding. "Yeah." His thumb brushed over his bottom lip, his gaze darkening. "Not only do I wanna actually feel your walls clench around my dick. I wanna take you out."

Y/N went completely blank. Not in the hot, flustered way she was used to—this was different. This was the kind of speechless that sat heavy in her chest, like someone had pressed pause on her brain.

She knew what this was supposed to be. Fun. Filthy. Easy. A little cyber sex, some teasing, some late-night messages that didn’t mean anything past the screen.

Prolonged, sure. Addictive, yeah. But… this? She never expected Jungkook to say something that sounded almost like a confession. Like he was actually considering showing up. Like he wasn’t just Mr. Playboy behind a phone, but a real man with real intention.

And it hit her all at once—sharp and stupid and terrifying. Because she could handle lust. She wasn’t sure she could handle whatever the fuck this was.

"Baby?" Jungkook called, his voice gentler now, a crack in his usual cockiness.

She jolted, blinking rapidly. "You—you really wanna meet?"

He nodded again, slower this time, his smirk fading into something earnest. "Yeah."

Y/N bit her lip, her cheeks flushing under the glow of her screen. "And…you wanna take me out? Like…on a date?"

Jungkook’s chest tightened.

Fuck. When she puts it like that—so small, so hesitant—it hit him like a punch to the gut. Because yes, obviously, but also no, not just that. He wanted everything. The dates, the sex, the stupid late-night convos where she falls asleep mid-sentence. He wanted her sleepy voice in his ear and her legs over his shoulders and her fucking laundry in his hamper.

But he couldn’t say that. Not yet. So he shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

"Sure. Or I could just bend you over the nearest surface. Whatever floats your boat."

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. "You’re ridiculous." She muttered, looking away.

"And you’re stalling."

Y/N exhaled sharply, her fingers tapping against her phone case.

"It’s just—" She hesitated, her throat working. "We’ve never even—I mean, what if it’s weird?"

Jungkook’s chest ached. Because fuck, he got it. The fear. The what-ifs. The possibility that whatever crackling between them through screens might fizzle out in person. But—

"Then we’ll be weird together," he said, his voice rough. "And if it sucks, we’ll never speak of it again. Or we can—you know—be the adults we are and…talk it out."

She huffed a laugh, her shoulders relaxing. "That’s…weirdly reassuring."

Jungkook grinned, relief flooding his veins. "So? You in?"

Y/N hesitated for one more heartbeat—then nodded.

"Yeah. Okay. I’m in."

His stomach swooped.

Fuck yes.

"Good." He dragged a hand through his hair, his smirk returning full force. "Now hang up so I can jerk off to the thought of you regretting this decision."

Y/N’s laughter burst out of her, bright and startled. "Goodnight, Kook."

"Sweet dreams, kitten."

The call ended, the screen going black. Jungkook tossed his phone onto the bed, running a hand down his face.

Fuck.

He was fucked.

⏮️⏸️⏭️

Y/N almost didn’t go.

Not because she didn’t want to.

Because she wanted to too much.

The kind of want that made her overthink her outfit three times, made her spray perfume like it could mask the fact she was fucking nervous, made her stare at herself in the mirror and mutter, “Get a grip. You’ve hooked up with strangers before.”

Yeah. But none of them had been Jungkook.

None of them had lived in her phone for weeks, in her late nights, in that stupid space between lust and something dangerously close to affection.

Her phone buzzed.

mnijungkook: I’m here.

Two words, and her stomach dropped like she was on a rollercoaster.

She stepped outside. The air was cold, biting at her bare legs, neon from the streetlights painting everything slightly unreal.

Then she saw him. Leaning against a black car like he had all the time in the world. Hands in his pockets. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. That same look — the one that always made her feel like he was smiling at a secret.

His eyes found her instantly. And his face shifted. Not smug. Not teasing. Just…real.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower than any speaker could ever capture.

Y/N swallowed.

“Oh my god,” she blurted before she could stop herself. “You’re actually real. And…way more handsome in person.”

His lips curved. “So are you, kitten.”

And suddenly the screen wasn’t there anymore. No pixels. No distance. No mute button. Just him.

His gaze swept over her, not in a cheap way—not like a man checking off a list—but like he was actually taking her in. Like he wanted to memorize her.

“Pretty as always,” Jungkook murmured, voice quieter now, almost careful.

Y/n’s eyes gleamed at his compliment before gazing back up at him. That usual glint Jungkook would always catch on his screen. The butterflies he’d get when she looked at him through FaceTime? Yeah. This was worse. This was full-body. This was holy shit.

For a second, she just stood there like an idiot, heart kicking against her ribs, until Jungkook lifted his hand. Palm open and patient. A gentleman, somehow, despite being an ‘international playboy’.

“Shall we?” he asked, chin tipping toward the car.

Y/N let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “God, you’re insane,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

Then she slid her hand into his. His warmth wrapped around her instantly, grounding and intimate all at once. And Jungkook didn’t squeeze too hard.

Just enough to remind her—He was real. And this was happening.

He guided her toward the passenger seat, and Y/N followed, still trying to convince herself her heart wasn’t about to beat straight out of her chest.

The car smelled like leather and expensive cologne, which was fucking unfair because Jungkook already looked like a goddamn crime, and now he smelled like one too.

The engine purred to life, and Seoul’s neon glow blurred past the windows as they merged into traffic. Silence stretched—thick and loaded—until Jungkook exhaled sharply, fingers tapping the wheel.

⏮️⏸️⏭️

It took at least half an hour to reach Jungkook’s penthouse. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the silence or the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel—tense, impatient—that made the ride feel longer than it was.

The elevator ride up was worse. Close quarters. His cologne wrapped around her like a goddamn trap. And that smirk? Yeah, she wanted to bite it off his face. But when the doors slid open and she stepped into his penthouse, she blinked.

The dining table was empty. No plates. No candles. No stupid single rose standing upright like a hostage in a glass vase. Just polished wood reflecting the overhead lights—and her own expectations, sitting there like an idiot.

Not that she’d been waiting for some over-the-top, five-star bullshit. She wasn’t that kind of woman. She didn’t need money waved in her face to feel impressed.

Still. Jungkook had sounded… different on the phone. Focused. Almost careful. Like this date actually mattered to him, like he’d thought it through instead of saying it on a whim between texts and dirty jokes.

So yeah. The emptiness threw her off more than she wanted to admit.

“Uh,” she said eloquently, turning to Jungkook. “Did your ‘five-star date’ plans get lost in translation, or—”

Jungkook didn’t answer. He just reached for her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, fingers closing around hers, warm and firm, and started pulling her toward the stairs.

“Patience, kitten,” he said over his shoulder. “Not everything’s about instant gratification.”

“Says the man who sends me a dick pics at two am,” she muttered, but let him pull her up the steps anyway.

His laugh was quiet, almost surprised, like he couldn’t believe she’d actually said it out loud in person.

Then, the rooftop opened up, and it hit her so fast she actually stopped for half a second. Not because it was some fairytale bullshit. Because it was thoughtful.

Candlelight flickered inside glass jars, scattered low across a wide mat beneath the night sky. Rose petals were tossed around in a way that looked deliberately careless, like someone had tried not to make it too perfect and failed anyway. And the food—Damn. Steak seared beautifully, the kind of plating that screamed expensive without trying. Wine breathing beside it, dark and serious. And—

“Kimchi?” Y/N’s eyebrow lifted before she could stop herself. “Seriously?”

Jungkook grinned, all teeth. “Gotta keep it authentic.” His hand slid to the small of her back, guiding her forward with an ease that made her stomach flip.

“And before you ask—no, I didn’t cook any of it. The perks of having a personal chef on retainer.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, but her chest did something stupid and warm.

“Yeah.” His voice dipped, rougher now, less teasing. “But you don’t hate it.”

It wasn’t pixels anymore. It was real. And she was so, so screwed.

Y/N and Jungkook sat close enough that their knees brushed every now and then, the kind of accidental contact that stopped feeling accidental after the third time.

The wind was cool, slipping under her jacket, but Jungkook barely noticed it—her perfume cut through everything. Soft and sweet.

He shifted, bending one leg up and resting his arm against it as he reached for the bottle. The wine was expensive—deep red, something he loved enough to save for special occasions, which said more than he wanted it to. He poured carefully, wrist steady, like he wasn’t hyper-aware of her watching him.

Y/N sat with her legs folded to the side, one arm braced behind her, posture relaxed but her fingers fidgeting just enough to give her away. When he handed her the glass, their fingers brushed. Brief. Electric. Stupid.

They raised their glasses.

“Cheers to…” Jungkook started, then stalled, his eyes catching hers and holding. Too long. Long enough for his brain to short-circuit and every smooth line he’d rehearsed to vanish. He cleared his throat, lips twitching. “Finally making it out from the screen.”

Y/N giggled, the sound light and real, and God—he felt it in his chest.

“And,” she added, tilting her head slightly, voice careful but honest, “cheers to… a new possible relationship.”

The word relationship landed between them like something fragile.

Jungkook didn’t move right away. His gaze stayed on her, unreadable for half a second too long, and her stomach dropped.

Fuck. Did I go too far?

The thought barely finished forming before he let out a quiet laugh—soft, genuine, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and took all the edge out of the moment. He leaned in just enough to clink his glass against hers.

“Cheers to that,” he murmured.

They drank. The wine was cold and sharp as it slid down, warming on the way, settling low in their stomachs. Y/N exhaled without realizing she’d been holding her breath. Jungkook licked his lips, eyes flicking back to her again, slower this time.

Y/N’s brows lifted once, just enough to make him notice. “So…why did you want to take me out on a date?” Her voice was casual, but the edge of curiosity—maybe even a little challenge—rippled through it.

Jungkook tilted his head, studying her as if weighing the answer. His thumb traced lazy circles on the stem of his glass, the only movement betraying the way his chest had suddenly gone tight.

“Hm,” he murmured, voice low, almost teasing. “Do I have to have a reason, kitten? Can’t I just…want to?”

Y/N smirked, but the smirk didn’t hide the quick beat of her heart. She picked up her steak knife, cutting a bite-sized piece and rolling it on her fork.

“Want to…what? Impress me? Or…entrap me in some luxurious penthouse trap?”

He laughed, quiet but warm, like a rumble vibrating straight through her.

“A little of both,” he admitted, eyes flicking to hers. He speared a piece of steak, chewing slowly as if savoring more than the flavor. “But mostly…because I got tired of having the screen in the way of your real face and realizing I wanted it in front of me. Real…Here. Right now.”

Her chest warmed, a little too fast, and she pressed the stem of her glass to her lips to hide the way her cheeks were creeping pink. She took a slow bite, trying to act casual, but her fingers trembled slightly around the fork.

“Jesus you…really think you’re smooth, don’t you?”

“I know I am,” he said, smirking. Another bite, another slow chew, his eyes never leaving hers. But then his gaze softened, darker edges melting into something just…real.

“I wanted to see if…this—”he gestured between them with a fork, just slightly, “—wasn’t just fun through a screen. I wanted to see if it felt like…me and you. In real life.”

Y/N blinked, the words settling in slower than she expected. Her chest fluttered, nerves and excitement twisting together in a messy, delicious knot. She cut another piece of steak, taking her time, pretending to chew deliberately.

“Well…fuck,” she whispered, shaking her head with a laugh. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”

“And you’re…stubborn,” he countered, his grin twitching like he knew exactly the effect he had on her. He pushed a piece of steak onto his fork, eating it as he leaned back on his elbows, savoring her reaction.

“But I like it. A lot.”

She glanced down at her plate, the wine catching the light, her stomach doing stupid flips. She chewed thoughtfully before answering,

“Okay…so that’s your reason.”

“Mhm” he hummed, retreating from leaning back on his elbows, letting the night air hit against his face. He cut another bite of steak, but his eyes stayed on hers.

“But the rest is…this. You. Me. Tonight. Fucking…whatever the hell this is going to be.”

Her lips twitched into a grin she didn’t fight. She speared another bite, letting it linger on her tongue before speaking.

“Sure. But only because I like being bribed.”

“And I’ll happily keep bribing you, kitten,” he murmured, voice low, almost a growl.

He leaned closer just slightly, letting her feel the heat radiating off him, and she felt it all the way down to her stomach. Jungkook leaned back slightly, swirling the wine in his glass.

“But I do also…” His voice softened, low and deliberate, “…wanna know you. Not just know what gets you wet or screaming my name.”

Y/N snorted, a little laugh escaping before she could stop it. “Oh, so you’re not just a horny asshole after all?”

He grinned, teeth flashing, but didn’t let the humor entirely mask the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m still a horny asshole, kitten,” he said, voice dropping a notch, “but…that’s only part of it. I wanna know Y/N. The real stuff.” She blinked, caught off guard by the honesty threading through his words.

He leaned forward a little, one elbow resting on his knees while the other palm flat on the mat, and the soft glow of the rooftop lights caught the angles of his face. His gaze was sharp, intent, like he was memorizing her.

“What music makes you sing in the shower. How long you take in the shower. What you crave when your period hits you like a goddamn hurricane.”

Y/N choked on a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “Jesus Christ, Kook…you’re…you’re really trying to embarrass me right now.”

“Nope,” he said, grinning wider. “I’m genuinely curious. And…fuck, I mean it. I don’t just want the show through a screen. I want the real, messy, human you. The you I can’t get through a screen.”

Her chest tightened in that stupid, fluttery way it did whenever he said things like that. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to act casual, all the while feeling the ridiculous pull in her stomach, her pulse spiking.

“And seriously…this?”—he gestured between them—“feels different. Not just fun or wild. I want…more. Even if I’m an asshole about it half the time.”

Y/N shook her head, letting out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” she said again, but her voice was warm, softer than before. She took a slow bite of her steak, letting the taste anchor her while she tried to process the sudden gravity in his words.

“Yeah. But I think you like it.” He leaned back, stretching his arm across the mat, letting the tips of his fingers brush hers.

Her lips twitched into a grin, but it faltered as he leaned closer, just a fraction, enough that the space between them shrank to inches. Her breath hitched, and she realized she could count the faint imperfections along his jaw, a scar at his cheek, see the way his dark lashes grazed the tops of his cheeks.

Jungkook’s eyes were locked on hers, intense, hypnotic, like he was memorizing every flicker of expression, every subtle twitch. The world around them—the candles, the city, the wine, the steak—faded until all that existed was the heat radiating between their bodies.

“Are you…fucking with me…?” Y/N whispered, her voice soft but serious, not teasing at all. Her eyes searched his, pure curiosity, unguarded. She didn’t want games. Not tonight. Not with him.

Jungkook didn’t break eye contact. Didn’t even blink for a beat. He just shook his head slowly.

“Let me court you, Y/N…” His voice dropped to a whisper, low and rough, vibrating against her skin even though it was just sound.

His gaze dipped briefly, raking over her full lips, then snapped back to her eyes, dark and unwavering.

“I want to…” He swallowed hard, the words heavy but deliberate. “…I want to learn…to love you.”

The L-word hit her like a punch, sudden and unexpected, burning hot in her chest. She blinked, her fingers tightening against her wine glass like she needed something solid to hold onto. Her stomach churned, not from the wine, not from the food, but from the raw, unapologetic intensity of him.

Jungkook’s own insides were doing gymnastics, his heartbeat loud in his ears, stomach knotting and twisting—not from the meal but from the nerve-wracking exposure of saying it. He wanted to hide his face behind his hands, to mask the vulnerability, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not when she was right there.

Then, before he could retreat, before he could even think about how exposed he felt, Y/N moved. Fast and sure. Her lips smashed against his. No hesitation. No questions. Just connection.

Jungkook froze for a split second—surprised, stunned—but the second her lips pressed to his, the world shifted. The city lights, the wine, the rooftop, all the careful planning—they vanished. There was only her, soft and warm and real, and him, desperate not to let her go.

His hands went to her waist instinctively, fingers digging in lightly as if to anchor himself in the moment. Her arms curled around his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below his ear as she pressed closer, and every nerve in his body screamed that he wanted more.

The kiss wasn’t tentative nor was it polite. It was messy, hungry, claiming. And for the first time since they’d met in pixels and whispers, everything—the teasing, the cyber nights, the late-night messages—collapsed into a single, undeniable truth: this was real life.

Y/N shifted carefully, her thigh brushing against Jungkook’s hip as she swung her leg over him, mindful of the half-empty wine glasses still precariously balanced on the table. The movement was slow, deliberate—like she was testing the weight of this moment between them.

Jungkook adjusted beneath her, his hands sliding up the curve of her back, fingers tracing the dip of her waist before gripping tighter, pulling her flush against him. She arched slightly, her fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch.

"Fuck," he muttered, the word rough against her lips as she rolled her hips experimentally, the friction drawing a low groan from his throat. She pulled back just enough to catch his expression—dark eyes blown wide, lips parted—and huffed a breathless laugh.

"You’re insane," she murmured, thumb brushing the sharp line of his jaw.

Jungkook’s grin was all teeth, predatory and pleased. "Says the woman grinding on me right now." His hands slid lower, gripping the backs of her thighs to drag her harder against him, the pressure sending a jolt of heat straight through her. "Like you weren’t thinking about this the second you saw me."

She could feel the accusation in his voice, the smugness—but he wasn’t wrong.

Every late-night video call, every stolen screenshot of his smirk, every time she’d imagined his hands exactly where they were now—it had all led here.

Her nails scraped against his scalp, eliciting another curse, and she leaned down until her lips ghosted over his ear.

"And what if I was?"

His grip tightened, and suddenly she was being flipped onto her back, the coolness of the mat pressing into her skin as Jungkook loomed over her, breathing ragged.

"Then I’d say," he murmured, dragging his teeth over her bottom lip, "we’re both fucking insane."

The city lights blurred below them, the world reduced to the slide of skin and the sharp, shared gasps between kisses. Somewhere, a utensil tipped over, but neither of them heard it. Or at least bothered to care.

The rooftop air was cool against Y/N’s exposed legs as Jungkook’s fingers hooked under the hem of her dress, hiking it up her thigh with a rough, impatient tug. The fabric bunched around her hips, and she arched into him, her breath coming in sharp little gasps as his mouth left hers to trail down her chin, her throat, the sharp dip of her collarbone. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, and she hissed, fingers knotting in his hair.

"Fuck, Jungkook—"

Her leather jacket was suddenly in the way, the stiff material blocking his path, and Jungkook growled against her neck before pulling back just enough to yank it off her shoulders. Y/N helped, the jacket hitting the mat with a soft thud. Then his hands were on her again, shoving her back down, his mouth reclaiming hers. She melted into it, her legs wrapping around his waist as he settled between them, the heat of his body pressing her into the mat.

His lips left hers again, this time to bite at the curve of her shoulder, and Y/N gasped, her head tipping back.

"You’re gonna leave marks," she warned, though her voice was more amused than annoyed. Jungkook chuckled darkly against her skin, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thigh.

"Good," he murmured, sucking another bruise into the hollow of her throat. "Then every one of your subscribers’ll know who you belong to."

"Possessive bastard," she muttered, but the way her hips rocked up against his betrayed her. Jungkook smirked, nipping at her earlobe before dragging his tongue along the shell of her ear.

"You love it though, kitten." he breathed, and she couldn’t even argue, not when his hands were sliding higher up her thighs, not when his lips were now tracing the lace edge of her underwear like he was memorizing the feel of it.

Jungkook dragged his lips back up, slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of damp kisses from the dip of her belly to the delicate curve of her ribs. Each press of his mouth was a promise, a tease—like he was savoring the journey just as much as the destination.

When he finally reached the swell of her breast, he paused, exhaling a hot breath against the lace-trimmed fabric still clinging to her skin. His fingers hooked into the neckline of her dress, tugging just enough to make the material strain.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, voice rough with appreciation as the fabric gave way, her breast spilling free into the cool night air. “Even better in person, baby.” The sight punched the air from his lungs—her nipple already pebbled tight from anticipation, the flush of her skin glowing under the dim rooftop lights.

Jungkook didn't hesitate. His mouth closed over her, tongue swirling in a slow, filthy circle that had Y/N arching off the mat with a sharp gasp. One hand fisted in his hair, holding him there while the other scrabbled at the remaining strap of her dress.

He grinned against her skin, nipping lightly his fingers making quick work of the straps. The dress pooled around her waist, baring her completely to the night—and to him.

Jungkook took his time, palming her other breast, thumb brushing over the peak in lazy, torturous strokes.

"Always knew you'd be this perfect," he admitted, the words half-groan as he dipped his head again, sucking hard enough to make her thighs clamp around his hips.

Y/N's head thudded back against the mat, a breathless laugh escaping her.

Jungkook grinned, teeth grazing her nipple. His hands slid lower, fingers tracing the waistband of her underwear with deliberate slowness. "Now let's see if you taste as good as you look."

Y/N’s fingers tightened in Jungkook’s hair just as his hand skimmed the lace edge of her panties—then she shoved him back with a sharp push to his chest. The sudden movement knocked him off balance, his hips jerking away from hers as his brows snapped together in confusion.

She didn’t utter a word. Instead, she wiggled out of the ruined remains of her dress, the fabric slinking down her hips and pooling on the mat like a discarded second skin. Her panties followed, leaving her bare except for the strappy heels still strapped to her ankles.

Jungkook’s gaze darkened, tracking the deliberate arch of her back as she stretched, the way her thighs parted just slightly, taunting him.

"Take off your clothes, handsome," she ordered, voice low but edged with something dangerous.

Her eyes never left his, and Jungkook recognized that glint instantly—unapologetic. Fucking trouble. He exhaled a rough laugh, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Oh, so now you’re calling the shots?"

"Always was," she countered, kicking one heeled foot lazily against his thigh.

"You just didn’t notice ‘cause you were too busy trying to be all”—she waved a hand—”chivalrous or whatever."

Jungkook snorted, but his fingers were already working the buttons of his shirt, popping them one by one with deliberate slowness just to watch her eyes track the movement. He shrugged the fabric off, letting it slide down his arms before tossing it aside.

Y/N’s breath hitched when his belt buckle clinked open, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet between them. She shifted her weight to her knees as she crawled toward him. Jungkook’s grin turned wolfish as her fingers replaced his on his zipper, tugging it down with a sharp rip.

"Did I do that?" She whispered, her breath hot against his ear as she palmed him through his briefs.

Jungkook’s laugh dissolved into a groan when her fingers dipped beneath the waistband, curling around him. "Fuck—you—" he managed, hips jerking into her grip.

Y/N’s smile was all teeth. "Oh, I plan to. Eventually."

Jungkook barely had time to process the shift—one second, her fingers were wrapped around him, tight and promising, and the next, she was swinging her leg over his hips again, her back now turned towards his chest.

He propped himself up on his elbows, blinking at the sudden change in position, the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the way her ass settled perfectly against his chiseled abs. His chuckle was low, breathless, as his hands automatically found her hips, thumbs tracing the soft skin there.

"The fuck kinda game you playin’?" he muttered, voice rough with amusement and want.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, catching the way his dark eyes raked over her bare skin, lingering on the swell of her ass pressed against him. She arched her back deliberately, leaning forward just enough to brush her cheek against the head of his cock, her smirk audible.

"Gotta suck each other off first. That’s how this works, right?"

Jungkook’s head fell back against the mat with a groan, half-laugh, half-exasperation. Hips rolling up instinctively, the friction drawing a hiss from both of them.

"You’re fuckin’ evil." His hands slid up her sides, fingers skimming the underside of her breasts before settling possessively on her ribs. "You’re talkin’ way too much for someone who’s supposed to be on her knees."

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and unrepentant, even as she reached back to wrap her fingers around him again, this time guiding him between her thighs instead of her mouth.

"Who said anything about knees?" she countered, squeezing just enough to make his breath catch. "I’m multitasking." Jungkook’s groan was half-growl as his fingers dug into her hips, pulling her tighter against him.

"Christ, you’re gonna kill me," he muttered, but the way his cock was hardening under the warmth of her hands, betrayed how much he loved it.

She hummed, rocking back against his abs just to feel the way his grip tightened, the way his breath hitched. "Better hurry up then," she breathed, tilting her head to give him better access. "Tick-tock, Jeon."

His response was lost against her skin, swallowed by the sharp gasp she let out when his hand slid between her thighs, fingers pressing exactly where she needed them.

Y/N’s lips brushed the tip of Jungkook’s cock—soft, almost teasing—before she pulled back, her breath hot against his skin. His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into the plush flesh of her ass, spreading her wider as if he could memorize every curve with his hands alone.

The view was obscene: her bare back arched, the dip of her spine leading down to where his cock stood thick and flushed between her thighs.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, voice rough.

Then her mouth was on him again—no hesitation this time—swallowing him down with a wet, filthy suck that had his head slamming back against the mat. A broken moan tore from his throat, his fingers reflexively squeezing her ass hard enough to leave marks.

"Shit—fuck—" The words were half-strangled, his hips jerking up instinctively, but Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she hollowed her cheeks, tongue swirling around the head in a way that made his vision blur. Jungkook’s breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, his fingers kneading her flesh like he was trying to ground himself.

"You’re—shit—gonna kill me, kitten." He gritted out, thighs trembling as her tongue traced the vein underneath. Y/N hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight to his groin, and his grip on her hips turned desperate.

The duality of it—her mouth on him, his hands on her—was fucking maddening. Jungkook’s thumb brushed her entrance, slick and warm, and he groaned at the contrast.

"God, you’re wet," he rasped, rubbing slow circles just to feel her shiver. Y/N’s rhythm stuttered, a whine escaping her as her hips rocked back into his touch.

"Don’t—mhmm—don’t distract me," she warned, but the way her lips tightened around him betrayed how much she liked it.

Jungkook chuckled, low and dark, dragging his thumb lower. "Too late," he murmured, pressing just enough to make her gasp. And fuck if that didn’t send a thrill straight through her.

The moment Jungkook’s fingers pressed deeper, Y/N’s mouth went slack around him, a muffled moan vibrating against his skin. He smirked, twisting his wrist just to feel her thighs clamp around his forearm—but she wasn’t one to surrender so easily. Her tongue flattened against the underside of his cock, dragging up in one long, slow lick before she swallowed him down again, her nose brushing his pelvis.

Jungkook’s breath punched out of him, his hips jerking involuntarily, fingers gripping her ass like a lifeline.

"Mhmm—fuck—" he choked out, the words dissolving into a groan as her nails dug into his thighs in retaliation.

She pulled back just enough to smirk up at him, lips glistening. "Distracted now, Mr ceo?" she taunted, but the hitch in her voice betrayed her when his thumb circled her clit with deliberate pressure.

Jungkook’s grin was feral, his free hand tangling in her hair to tug her head back down. "Less talking," he ordered, voice rough. "More sucking."

Y/N rolled her eyes but obeyed, taking him deep with a wet, filthy sound that went straight to Jungkook’s already-throbbing cock. His fingers worked her in tandem, matching the rhythm of her mouth—slow, teasing strokes that had her hips rocking against his palm. Every gasp she muffled around his length sent heat coiling tighter in his gut, every twitch of her thighs under his touch made his own muscles tremble.

Then Jungkook crooked his fingers just so, and Y/N’s entire body locked up, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as she came, her mouth still wrapped around him. The vibration of her moan was his undoing—Jungkook’s grip on her hair tightened, his hips stuttering up as he spilled down her throat with a ragged groan. Y/N swallowed reflexively, her lashes fluttering as she pulled off with a soft pop, her lips swollen and glistening.

The moment Jungkook's tongue dragged flat and slow over her clit, Y/N's thighs trembled violently around his shoulders, her grip on his cock faltering as a punched-out moan escaped her. She tried—tried—to focus, to reciprocate, but his mouth was relentless, alternating between sucking her swollen flesh and circling it with the pointed tip of his tongue in a rhythm that had her hips jerking uncontrollably against his face.

"F-fuck," she slurred against his length, her lips brushing his shaft uselessly as another shudder wracked her body.

Jungkook chuckled darkly against her, the vibrations rippling through her sensitive flesh as his hands clamped down on her hips to still her movements.

"Stay still, baby." He muttered before dragging his tongue lower, swiping through her folds in one long, filthy stroke that had her back arching sharply. Then, just to watch her unravel, he pressed the flat of his tongue against her asshole, licking upward with deliberate, teasing pressure.

Y/N's head snapped back at the sensation, her lips parting in a silent cry as she twisted to look down at him, her hair sticking to her sweat-slicked shoulders. Jungkook's tongue still tracing that obscene path between her cheeks, sent a violent throb of heat straight to her core.

"Oh my god," she gasped, her fingers scrabbling at his thighs for purchase as her thighs quivered around his head.

Jungkook smirked—the bastard—before diving back in, his tongue flicking over her clit in rapid, dizzying circles while his fingers spread her wider, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her inner thighs.

Y/N's moan was ragged, her hips rolling desperately against his mouth as her own grip on his cock grew lax, her focus obliterated by the way he was devouring her.

"Jungkook—please—" she begged, the plea dissolving into a broken whimper when he sucked her clit hard between his lips, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud just enough to make her vision whiten.

Her thighs clamped around his head instinctively, her body bowing as pleasure coiled tight in her belly, but Jungkook didn't relent—if anything, he doubled down, his tongue fucking into her in shallow, relentless strokes while his thumb pressed firm circles against her clit.

Jungkook’s tongue didn’t slow—if anything, it grew more insistent, lapping at her throbbing clit with rough, deliberate strokes that had Y/N’s thighs trembling against his ears. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass, spreading her wider, his breath hot and uneven against her slick skin.

"C’mon," he growled, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure up her spine. His teeth grazed her inner thigh, a sharp contrast to the wet heat of his mouth still working her over. "Wanna feel you—fuck—wanna taste you come on my face."

Y/N’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around his cock reflexively as his words registered.

The filth of it—the demand—sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her belly. She could feel the way his lips curled into a smirk against her skin, could feel the way his tongue flicked over her clit in quick, teasing circles like he already knew she was close.

"You’re—ahh—impossible," she managed, her voice breaking on the last syllable as his fingers pressed harder, urging her hips down against his mouth.

Jungkook hummed, the sound vibrating through her core as he sucked her clit between his lips, his tongue swirling in tight, relentless circles.

"So fucking hot," he murmured against her, his breath scalding, just enough to make her gasp, and Y/N’s hips jerked forward, her thighs clamping around his head as pleasure coiled tighter, hotter.

His laugh was dark, muffled against her skin. His tongue fucking into her in rough, uneven strokes that had her seeing stars. Y/N’s back arched violently, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as the first wave crashed over her, her thighs shaking around his head. Jungkook didn’t let up—if anything, he pressed, his lips sealing around her clit to suck hard as she came, her release slicking his chin, his lips, the sharp line of his jaw.

The taste of her—bitter, sweet, utterly hers—flooded his senses, and Jungkook groaned against her, his own hips jerking up instinctively into the loose circle of her fingers still wrapped around him.

"Fuck," he rasped, pulling back just enough to drag his tongue through her folds one last time, savoring the way her body twitched at the overstimulation.

"That’s…what I wanted." His voice was wrecked, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he tilted his head up to meet her dazed gaze. "Now quit teasing and put that mouth to work, kitten." Y/N’s laugh was breathless, uneven, but she didn’t hesitate.

Her lips wrapped around him again, her tongue swirling over the head in slow, filthy strokes—payback—and Jungkook’s fingers tightened at her ass, his groan echoing across the rooftop.

Y/N hollowed her cheeks with renewed determination, her lips tightening around Jungkook’s cock in a relentless rhythm—no teasing now, just raw, hungry suction. Her tongue dragged along the underside with each pull, the wet sounds obscenely loud in the quiet between their ragged breaths.

Jungkook’s grip on her ass turned bruising, fingers kneading the plush flesh before landing a sharp slap that made her gasp around him. The vibration rippled through his length, and he cursed, hips jerking up off the mat.

"Fuck—yes—just like that, baby—" His voice was shattered, his thighs trembling as her pace intensified, her fingers digging into his hips to keep him grounded.

She could feel him tensing beneath her, the way his abs flexed, the way his breath hitched—closer, so close—and she doubled down, taking him deeper until her nose brushed his pelvis.

Jungkook’s groan was guttural, his fingers twisting in her as his control snapped. "Gonna—shit—"

The warning was half-formed, cut off by the hot spill of his release down her throat. Y/N swallowed reflexively, her lips still sealed tight around him as he came in thick, pulsing waves, his hips stuttering against her mouth.

Jungkook’s head fell back with a ragged exhale, his grip on her ass slackening only slightly as he rode out the aftershocks.

For a moment, neither moved—Y/N’s lips still wrapped around his softening length, Jungkook’s breath still uneven against her thighs. Then, with a slow, deliberate lick, she pulled off, swiping her thumb over her swollen lips as she glanced over her shoulder back at him. Jungkook’s dark eyes locked onto hers, his expression equal parts wrecked and smug.

"Knew it," he rasped, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Perfect fucking mouth." Y/N rolled her eyes, but the way her thighs clenched around his shoulders betrayed her.

"Keep talking," she muttered, shifting just enough to feel the slick mess between her legs smear against his collarbone, "and I might start thinking you’ve got a thing for hearing yourself."

Jungkook’s grin was lazy, triumphant, as he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip—tasting her still.

"Oh, kitten," he murmured, fingers tracing idle patterns on her hips. "I’ve got a thing for a lot more than that."

Jungkook’s hands slid beneath her thighs, lifting her effortlessly before laying her back down on the mat with a roughness that sent the last of her breath hitching.

His kiss was bruising, teeth catching her lower lip as he fisted a hand in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the column of her throat.

"Want you around me," he growled, the words hot against her skin. "Every fucking inch."

Y/N chuckled, the sound breathless and uneven, but it died in her throat when Jungkook slapped his cock against her swollen clit—the wet, stinging contact drawing a sharp gasp from her.

"You like that, kitten?" he murmured, voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he dragged the head of his cock through her slick folds. "Can’t do that through the screen."

Y/N’s hips jerked up instinctively, seeking friction, but Jungkook denied her, his grip tightening on her thighs to hold her still.

"Patience," he chided, though his own breathing was ragged. Then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he slid into her, the stretch exquisite, the heat unbearable.

“Ngahh!” Y/N’s head fell back with a moan, her neck arching until her skin brushed Jungkook’s lips. He didn’t hesitate—his mouth latched onto the exposed curve of her throat, sucking a fresh bruise into her skin as he bottomed out inside her.

The dual sensation was maddening: the relentless stretch of him filling her, the sharp sting of his teeth against her pulse. Her thighs trembled around his hips, her nails scraping against his shoulders as he pulled back only to sink in again, deeper this time, harder.

Jungkook’s groan vibrated against her neck, his hips rolling in a slow, filthy rhythm that had her toes curling.

"Fuck," he muttered, his breath scorching against her skin. "Knew you’d feel like this." Y/N could only gasp in response, her fingers twisting in his hair as he picked up the pace, each thrust dragging a broken sound from her lips.

Jungkook’s name spilled from her lips like a prayer. His lips found hers again, swallowing her moans as his hips snapped forward, the angle just right to have her seeing stars.

"Mine," he breathed against her mouth, the word less a claim than a fact.

"Fuck! Jungkook faster." Y/N gasped, her voice ragged as her nails carved crescent moons into his shoulders, her thighs clamping around his hips like a vise.

The demand was half-broken, half-desperate—but Jungkook only chuckled darkly against her throat, his thrusts deliberately slow, his teeth grazing her pulse point in retaliation.

"Ask nicely, kitten." He murmured, the words hot against her damp skin as he dragged his cock out agonizingly slow before pushing back in with a filthy grind that made her back arch off the mat.

Y/N hissed, her fingers twisting in his hair to yank his head up, her lips brushing his in a taunt.

"Or I’ll take my time," he growled, punctuating each word with a punishing thrust that had her seeing stars. "Make you beg for it." The threat sent a violent shudder through her, her hips lifting to meet his with a desperation that betrayed her.

"Bastard," she choked out, but the way her legs locked around his waist told another story—one of surrender, of hunger.

Jungkook’s laugh was rough, breathless, as his hands slid beneath her ass, lifting her higher to drive deeper. "You love it," he countered, his voice cracking on a moan as her walls clenched around him.

Then—because he was a man of his word—he slowed again, his rhythm turning torturous, each withdrawal a tease, each penetration a promise. Y/N’s whimper was muffled against his collarbone, her teeth sinking into the muscle there in frustration. Jungkook groaned at the sting, his hips stuttering before he regained control, his lips finding her ear.

"Please, baby," Y/N whimpered, the words ragged against Jungkook's collarbone. Her thighs trembled around his hips, her nails scoring down his back in a silent plea—more, faster, now.

Jungkook smiled, slow and wicked, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness before he finally—finally—obeyed. His hips snapped forward with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs, his rhythm turning punishing, relentless.

The shift was instantaneous—Y/N's back arched off the mat, her cry swallowed by Jungkook's mouth as he fucked into her with a pace that left no room for thought, only sensation. Every thrust was a claim, every drag of his cock inside her a revelation. She could feel him everywhere—the heat of his skin pressed against hers, the sting of his fingers gripping her hips, the way his breath hitched against her lips when her walls clenched around him.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with approval as her legs tightened around his waist. "Take it. Take my big cock."

Y/N's response was lost in a broken moan as Jungkook's hand slid between them, his thumb circling her clit with ruthless precision.

"Jungkook—fuck—" His name spilled from her lips like a prayer, a curse, a surrender. He kissed her again, swallowing her cries as his thrusts grew erratic, his control fraying at the edges.

The rooftop air was thick with the sound of skin slapping against skin, their shared breaths, the occasional muttered curse or gasp. Jungkook's forehead pressed against hers, his dark eyes locked onto hers as he drove into her one last time, deep enough to make her see stars.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice raw. "Wanna see your face in real time when you cum."

Y/N couldn't look away even if she wanted to—her gaze trapped in his as pleasure crashed over her in waves, her body tightening around him like a vice. Jungkook followed with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, his name a ragged whisper on her lips.

For a moment, neither moved—only their ragged breaths and the distant hum of the city below filling the space between them. Then Jungkook's lips brushed hers, soft and slow, a stark contrast to the bruising force of moments before.

"Holy shit," Y/N exhaled against his mouth, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his sweat-slicked back. "That was better than cyber sex."

Jungkook chuckled, the sound low and rough against her throat as he rolled onto his side, pulling her flush against him. His thumb swiped lazily over her hipbone, tracing the crescent marks his nails had left there.

"Understatement of the century," he muttered, nipping at her earlobe. "And we had good cyber sex." Y/N hummed, stretching like a satisfied cat beneath his wandering touch.

The mat was cold against her bare back now, the night air prickling her overheated skin, but Jungkook's body was a furnace beside her. She tilted her head to catch his gaze—dark, heavy-lidded, smug as hell.

"Yeah, well," she murmured, dragging a fingertip down the center of his chest, "turns out your mouth works even better offline."

His grin was all teeth as he caught her wrist, pressing her palm flat against his sternum where his heart still raced.

"Funny," he mused, shifting just enough to trap her thigh between his. "I was gonna say the same thing about your thighs."

A laugh burst from her lips—bright, startled—before Jungkook silenced it with another kiss, slower this time, tasting of salt and shared satisfaction. His hand slid up her ribs, pausing to thumb at a nipple just to feel her shiver.

"Round two?" he murmured against her jaw, though the way his fingers tightened on her waist betrayed how little patience he had for waiting.

Y/N arched into his touch, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. "You’re insatiable," she accused, but her hips were already shifting, seeking friction against his thigh.

Jungkook's smirk was wicked as he pulled her closer to his glazed chest without warning, his knee nudging her legs apart. His lips brushing the shell of her ear as his hands mapped the dip of her spine.

Y/N's answer was lost in a moan when his teeth closed over the crook of her neck. Y/N laughed, breathless and uneven, but her fingers found Jungkook’s chin, tilting his face up until their eyes locked.

The air between them shifted—less frantic, more charged with something neither of them had named yet. His hands still grazed her hip, her ass, but the heat had softened into something slower, quieter.

“Before that,” she started, blinking like she was trying to clear her head. His thumb brushed a slow circle against her skin, waiting. “I wanna know.” She swallowed, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, hesitant. “Are we…you know…” The words trailed off, cowardly, but Jungkook heard them anyway.

He chuckled, but it was quieter now, less smug.

“You mean, what are we?” His voice was rough, but not from lust this time—something thicker, harder to name.

Y/N nodded, her lips tucked between her teeth like she was afraid of the answer. Jungkook exhaled, long and slow, his grip on her tightening just enough to ground them both.

“Like I said,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “Let me court you.” The word was old-fashioned, ridiculous even, but the way he said it—like a vow, like a challenge—made her chest tighten.

“Let’s not…let this just be sex.” His grin was crooked, softer at the edges. “And eventually, when you’re sick of pretending you don’t like me, we can be more.”

Y/N’s laugh was half-disbelieving, half-relieved. “Court me?” She arched a brow, but her fingers were already curling into his hair, tugging him closer. “What are you, a fucking Regency duke?”

“Nah, kitten. Just a guy who wanted to take you on a goddamn date before you start stealing my hoodies.” She rolled her eyes, but the way her thighs tightened around his hips betrayed her.

“Okay,” she muttered, kissing him hard enough to bruise. “But if you’re courting me, you better fucking mean it.”

His grin was pure trouble. “Wouldn’t dream of half-assing it.”

And fuck if that didn’t feel like a promise.

⏮️⏸️⏭️

“And I’ll see you guys next week! Bye!” Y/N clicked the camera off. The sudden silence felt loud.

She let herself fall back onto her bed, limbs heavy, staring up at the ceiling like it might give her something back. Her outro for her 22nd birthday vlog was finally done. Same old routine—Vegas with the clique, too many drinks, flashing lights, a club that smelled like perfume and bad decisions. Fun. Sure. But now she was back in Korea, back under her own blankets, back in the kind of quiet that made you think too much.

This year could’ve been different. If only he’d been there. But when you owned a massive company, “busy” wasn’t just an excuse. It was real. Meetings, flights, responsibility—life always getting in the way at the worst possible time.

Still…God, she missed him.

Not just the sex. The warmth. The way his voice softened when it was just them. The stupid little things he’d say that stuck in her head long after the call ended. She missed being held like she belonged there.

Y/N shut her eyes, letting herself sink into the memories. Until her phone buzzed. She blinked, then reached over.

handsome ceo: lets ft baby

Her lips curved instantly, like her body reacted before her brain could.

y/n: why??

handsome ceo: i wanna get freaky on camera

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