𓄲 "Don't," Jungkook spits, moving to wipe his hands on a nearby towel, "I don't need to hear it." He bunches the fabric up between clenched fists in an attempt to channel his emotions onto the unsuspecting rag.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst (eventual) explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) oc!cassian/oc!rayne (jk's children)
⧽ word count ⋮ 7.3k
average reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
── [ ✉️ ] Oh, um, more lore in this one. Like, a possible name drop of a certain someone. I don't know how to feel about my writing in this one. It feels repetitive, I found out that there's only so many times you can write the motions of opening a present without going in circles. Anyway, things are about to actually get serious I'm so fucking scared (excuse my French), okay, yes, I love you ladies. Feedback in the comments/reblogs and asks are much appreciated <3
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chapter 23 — "Give and Take"
There were a handful of profanities waiting on the tip of Jungkook's tongue right now — funny, considering he rarely cursed. Then again, he rarely found himself cock-blocked by his five-year-old son. It wasn't his fault, of course, but Jungkook still mourns the press of your lips against his, a reality that now seemed thousands of miles away.
"Santa— Is it you?"
Cassian was half-awake at best. On rare occasions he would sleep walk, leaving Jungkook to patiently follow him up and down the stairs a couple of times as he tries to guide him back to bed without waking the boy entirely. He hopes that isn't the case tonight — God have mercy on him and this creaking house if he had to be walked like a dog on a leash behind a sleep-dazed Cassian.
Luckily, that does not seem to be the case for a moment later his son pries his heavy eyes open fully, adjusting to the kitchen lights slowly. Jungkook exhales a relieved breath as he turns back to you — well, where you had been standing a second ago. You'd already torn yourself from his grasp, and when he peers down, Jungkook finds his empty hands staring back at him as they clutch weakly at the air.
"Hi sweetie," your voice is coated in sugar and it makes his head whip in your direction. He finds you crouched in front of his son, the same hands that should've been resting on the back of his neck by now, instead cradling Cassian's small face. The corner of his lip tugs into a frown but he says nothing when approaching the two of you.
Cassian stifles a yawn as he glances around the kitchen. "I thought I heard something," he says, clearly disappointed that what he came down to find was not Santa. Their eyes meet and for a second Jungkook fears that his son might start asking question he has no answers to — thankfully you're faster.
"It was probably just the wind, old houses make noise sometimes," you tell him with a smile.
He accepts that with a sleepy nod, his gaze wandering back and forth between you and Jungkook once more as his brows furrow across his forehead. "What are you and daddy doing in the kitchen? It's night." He points an accusing finger to the window where the moon can be seen beyond the glass.
Taking another step forward, Jungkook closes the distance between you and his son. "We were just getting some water," he says, hoping that the simple explanation would be enough to put a lid on the child's curiosity.
"Hm…" Cassian hums, blinking slowly like it made perfect sense.
Not wanting to give his son room for further prying, Jungkook hauls him into his arms. "Alright, back to bed," he announces without leaving air for argument. Cassian's tiny body goes pliant in his embrace within seconds, his head becoming a warm and comforting weight where it lolls forward to rest on his shoulder.
You, too, rise to back to your full height, fingers reaching up to brush a strand of hair from the boy's face. The gesture was mindless and you probably thought nothing of it — but Jungkook's heart did. It squeezes hard in his chest and he has to pry his eyes away until your touch no longer lingers right under his nose.
"Goodnight sweetie," you say when taking a small step back, to which Cassian mumbles a tired response. It still makes your lips stretch into a grin and Jungkook hates himself for wishing that the affection had been directed at him and not his son.
He shoves the dangerous thoughts aside as he adjusts his grip on the small child. Then he gives you a quiet nod, not trusting himself to speak. His attention strays by the necklace around your neck before he turns to leave — the gold glinting softly under the kitchen lights where it rests against your skin, the taste of you a permanent mark on his tongue.
His parents' house is quiet when he makes his way up the stairs. He does not glance back to see if you've followed, but when the steps don't creak behind him, he figures that you hadn't.
"Daddy?"
Cassian's voice is a drowsy murmur against his chest, barely audible despite the reigning silence. "Yes?" Jungkook hums when he walks through the door his son had left ajar, heading toward the lower bunk where the younger slept.
It takes him a moment to respond and Jungkook uses the delay to tuck him in, arranging the duvet carefully over his smaller frame. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he waits his son out.
Rubbing his fist over his eyes, Cassian makes a sound that told Jungkook he was thinking intently about something. Finally his lips part, "Do you always hug nanny like that?"
The room drops ten degrees and suddenly he wishes that his son had been sleep walking after all. He shifts just enough for the mattress to groan and Jungkook almost does the same. At the very least, the kid had thought his father's busted attempt at a kiss to be nothing but a hug — which was more than he could've prayed for.
"Well you see…" he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, silently thanking the darkness of the bedroom for hiding the flush on his cheeks. "Grown-ups hug," shrugging, he tries to appear indifferent, "Just like how I hug your nana and papa."
"But papa and nana is your mommy and daddy," the boy quickly counters, "Nanny is just nanny."
"Right," Jungkook drags his palm down the line of his face, "Nanny is just nanny." He thinks of something else to say, something that will either bore the child or have him fall asleep in an instant. Unfortunately he's at his wits end and Cassian's eyes aren't growing any heavier as they await his response.
"Sometimes people need hugs, even if they're not family." The words are pulled out of him in a most unsure way but he deems the answer good enough.
His son frowns, "Is nanny sad?" Concern has crept its way onto his tired expression. Try as he might — and try he did — Jungkook could not for the life of him figure out what you had done to make the usually introverted and quiet boy so enamored with you.
"No," he shakes his head, "Nanny is fine." The last thing he needed was any talk of what his child had witnessed to be taking place at the breakfast table in the morning.
Silence settles over the bedroom both of his children share. In the distance the faint ticking of whatever nonsense-trinket-clock his mother had found at a flea market, can be heard. Jungkook remains seated on the edge of his son's mattress, making sure not to move a fin and disrupt the possibility of the latter falling into a deep slumber.
Minutes pass — how many? he has no idea. But the fact that his back was beginning to hurt from the hunched over position he sat in was telling enough. He listens for the faint hum of breaths, trying to gauge if the kid was any closer to sleep.
"Daddy…?"
Never mind, Jungkook sighs. He shifts enough to face him better, or as best as one could given the looming shadows of the night. "Yes?" he quires, hoping that whatever came next would be brief.
Cassian hesitates, had it been any lighter he might've caught the sight of him chewing up his bottom lip. Instead he is faced with quiet darkness — until his son finally speaks again. "Are you sad?"
The question has him glancing down at his lap, where his hands rest idly on top of his knees. He turns one of them, bending his thumb slightly. "No," his tone is certain, almost too sure of itself, he softens it before adding, "I'm fine."
When there's no response Jungkook turns fully toward the small boy. He leans forward, reaching the same hand up to brush the soft, slightly curly ends of his hair back. "I'm happy," it's not a lie, but he doesn't know if it's the full truth either.
Cassian tilts his head into his father's palm, "You are?"
Jungkook hums, then he bends down to press a gentle kiss to his son's forehead. "Of course, I have you and your sister," he murmurs against the soft skin of the boy's temple before pulling back a fraction.
"Okay," Cassian seems content with that as he snuggles a little deeper into the duvet. "Promise—" he's' interrupted by a yawn, "You tell me if you're sad." After a moment he says, "I'll make you feel better. We can hug."
Often times Jungkook found himself wondering what he might have done in a past life to deserve his own children. If he stopped to think about it for too long he knows that he will only deem himself unworthy of their unconditional love. So he doesn't. Instead he presses another chaste kiss to Cassian's forehead.
"I will," he promises, so quietly that it would have only been audible if you listened close. The moonlight bleeds onto the young boy's face, his dark lashes fluttering as his father's answer registers — then they grow heavy. Jungkook stays a moment longer, watching as Cassian's body sinks further into the matters.
His lips part, "I really thought Santa was in the kitchen," he sighs. Despite being upset over the missed opportunity to meet the white-bearded man, exhaustion was quickly winning out and a few seconds later, soft snores fill the space between them, signaling that he had passed out at last.
With a final brush to his son's forehead, then his cheek, Jungkook rises from the bed — nearly hitting his head on the top bunk where his daughter slept. Making sure to watch his step, he manages to exit the room without waking anyone, sliding the door shut behind him with a muted click.
The study he had offered to sleep in was far from comfortable. Jungkook thought that perhaps he had become somewhat picky when it came to having his bedding done. Still, he settles onto the tiny spare bed, grimacing at how the stiff mattress dug into his back before turning to his side. He's greeted with the sight of books. Books stacked on top of more books that crowd the old shelves.
Brows furrowing together, he studies the nonsensical order in which the titles were structured. His father had always been somewhat of a character. He'd probably lose track of his right arm if it hadn't been attached to his torso. So the chaos on his bookshelves should come as no surprise. It still makes Jungkook's fingers itch where they tap restlessly against the covers.
Forcing his eyes shut with a sharp inhale through his nose, he tries to think about anything else. The darkness behind his eyelids feel like a clean slate, no mess, no nothing. His sanctuary lasts for about ten seconds before images of you flood his vision. He tries to shake them at first, not that it ever worked.
Jungkook figures that there was no harm in imagining your face rather than the chaotic bookshelves in front of him, if only for a little while. So he lets it be his last thought before succumbing to sleep that night.
It had been three-hundred and sixty five days since the last time he spent Christmas at his parents house. It had been different back then, a year ago the holiday seemed bleak. The carols were too loud, the animated movies only a messy flicker of color in front of his tired eyes. He'd tried to smile for his children as they opened their gifts — it ended with his mother stepping in to do what he couldn't, as if to add onto the list of his failures.
His guilt consumed him during the weeks that followed. For a long time it was all Jungkook felt.
Christmas is different today as well, but he finds that he doesn't mind it. Rayne and Cassian are perched on the floor, the younger riffling through the mountain of presents excitedly as Jungkook and his parents watch from the couch. You sit beside them, there's still adequate space on the soft cushion next to him, but you had insisted on staying by the kids' side.
The sun had just broken the horizon and a few pale streaks of yellow managed to pierce through the windows, basking the three of you in their warm hues. Jungkook didn't have to force a smile on his lips today — that was nice.
"Hm…" Cassian scratches his chin thoughtfully, "This one." He reaches out to grab one of the neatly wrapped packages, turning it over in his hands as the struggles to read the card attached to it, probably thrown off by the cursive hand writing.
You lean forward, peering over his shoulder with a hum. "To Rayne from Nana and Papa," you nod when pointing to the card, letting him follow the tip of your finger as you read. When you're done you sit back to let him extend the gift to his sister who took it with careful hands.
The sound of paper ripping fills the living room and his mother shifts eagerly in her seat as she watches her grandchild open the first gift of the day. Rayne's fingers are gentle where they undo the red wrapping. Her eyes soften around the edges when they land on the contents inside.
"Thank you," she says when holding up the set of purple pajamas. The shirt has flowers sewn onto it, scattered across the sleeves and the chest piece — Jungkook recognizes the patterns as his mother's touch in an instant, similar to the stitches she would do whenever she mended his broken clothes when he was little.
"Now, I didn't make the entire thing because there wasn't enough time. But I thought the flowers could be a nice personal touch for—" his mother is cut off mid sentence as Rayne wraps her arms around her. Having already gotten up from her spot on the floor, she now clung to her grandmother tightly.
"Thank you, nana," she says, the words muffled against the woman's shoulder.
"Hey now," his father suddenly clears his throat, drawing attention toward himself, "I paid for it."
The corner of Rayne's lip twitches and she goes to hug him as well, letting her grandfather place a kiss to her forehead.
Jungkook watches the exchange quietly, his gaze drifting over to you without meaning for it to. But you're not looking at him, no, you sit entirely captivated by the sight of Rayne and her grandparents. The smile on your face reminds him of a time since long lost and the strange flutter in his chest doesn't help ease the situation.
Rayne reclaims her spot beside her brother on the floor and the present unwrapping continues. Jungkook is mostly oblivious to what is being said as he regards the scene with half-lidded eyes. Gifts are passed back and forth, Cassian receives a similar pajama set from his grandparents, the dinosaur Jungkook had seen you pick out at the store.
The majority of things from the humongous pile were all Jungkook's doing. Rayne especially was hard to decide on appropriate presents for, so he'd tried to compensate by getting them a large spread instead.
"Thank you, daddy!" His son crashes into his arms, the box of shiny toy cars that he still cradles gets squished between them, but he doesn't mind. Placing a kiss on the crown of his head, he then leans back as Cassian returns to shuffle through the steadily shrinking mountain.
Rayne gets a book from her grandfather — the palette of makeup that Jungkook has little knowledge on from you. He recalls the hot and stuffy air of the mall as you dragged him up and down the aisles, discussing different brands that seemed indifferent to him. Though his daughter pauses when the gift registers.
Her brows furrow before softening again, finger tracing the edge of the plastic cover as she reads the name under her breath. Then she turns to you, who'd been watching her whilst chewing on your nail — a nervous habit of yours Jungkook had realized.
"I wasn't sure about the colors— So if you want another palette we can go and have it changed but I thought that you might like your own since—"
"Thank you." Rayne interrupts you halfway through your ramble, dark eyes meeting yours as she smiles, an awkward but sincere smile that Jungkook rarely saw. "The colors are perfect," she then adds, her attention lingering by the purple shade, "I love it."
You breathe out a sigh of relief, nodding as your posture relaxes again. The moment is short-lived, mostly because her brother was far too eager to continue. He'd already grabbed another, rectangular shaped present and was now reading the card to the best of his abilities.
Rayne leans in to help out, her face going through a handful of expressions before she turns to you. "It's for you," she announces as she turns back to where you had just gotten comfortable again, "From father."
Jungkook blinks, immediately pulled from his thoughts as his attention snaps toward the gift his son was now handing you with a beaming grin. He recognizes the wrapping in an instant, the one he had spent a ridiculous amount of time choosing only to settle on a dark green with red dots.
You accept it with a tiny frown, surprised almost, at least so he thinks. He doesn't know why he feels nervous all of a sudden and he hopes no one notices the way he shifts in his seat, hands locking together across his lap as he bites his cheek. It shouldn't be any different from last night, except today he has an audience.
Your fingers linger on the card he'd written, was it not enough? Should he have said something else — maybe he should say something right now?
The paper rips before he can and Jungkook exhales through his nose as he watches you open the present he'd gotten for you. It takes less than a minute but it's enough time for him to rethink the entire thing and he can feel sweat beading on his forehead.
You, however, have not looked up from the box in your lap and when the wrapping comes off your brows shoot high on your forehead. A soft breath escapes you, then a small chuckle and his heart does a weird little skip against his ribcage.
"How did you know?" You ask when opening the cardboard lid.
The corner of his lip twitches and he shrugs, "A hunch." It was admittedly more than a hunch, not that he would ever confess to that — the grin you wear is well enough to have his head spin.
"Well go on, show us!" His mother squeals on her end of the couch, leaning forward for enough for Jaejoon to place a hand on her shoulder to prevent an unnecessary fall.
Doing as she says, you hold up the box to display the shoes inside. Sneakers, not anything extravagant — unless you peeked at the price tag, though Jungkook had been smart enough to remove that.
Your worn out excuse of footwear had bothered him since your first day, even when he'd refrained from making any comments on their state. With the current weather that itch had become almost impossible not to scratch, and your displeased grimace whenever snow managed to wet your socks was enough to have him make up his mind. He'd taken the liberty of checking for your size when arriving back home last week, taking a mental note of the color and going with something similar for these.
"Thank you," you say, and he can tell you mean it. For a second it looks as though you might just get up and hug him like the children had done. He tries not to appear disappointed when all you give is a smile. "Seriously, these are great," your gaze stays with him a moment longer, making him nod slowly.
"You needed a new pair," he says, his voice a lot hoarser than he'd like for it to be. His parents seem to approve of the message as well, though not more than his son who was taking a very close look for himself.
Cassian points excitedly to the window, "We can play outside and you can wear them later!"
You agree to his suggestion enthusiastically and Jungkook allows himself to relax back against the couch with a sigh. His eyes wander toward the snow outside, the idea of spending time getting cold and wet does make his nose scrunch, but he keeps quiet as he watches the slowly rising sun. In fact he was so focused on it that he nearly missed the way you leaned forward to whisper into the young boy's ear, pointing subtly toward one of the presents under the tree.
Without further questioning, Cassian turns to grab it and with your help he reads the card easily. "To Jungkook, from nanny," and as if it weren't obvious enough, he holds it out toward his father, "It's for you daddy!"
Jungkook blinks dumbfoundedly as he stares down at the present held out before him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a present for Christmas, no less one wrapped in shiny red with a green bow on top.
It's light in his palms and he glances over to find you with your arms hugging your legs, bottom lip bit in anticipation. Clearing his throat, he turns back to carefully undo the neat bow. He tries not to picture your own hands instead of his as he peels the wrapper apart, tries not to think about how you might have looked when you sat down to prepare this gift for him.
The living room is awfully quiet, save for the rustle of paper as he finally strips the box bare. He barely glances at the brand name, it didn't matter where it was purchased, as long as it was from you. Pausing for a second, his gaze flickers up to meet yours one last time before removing the lid.
Inside is a tie. Not like the ones he'd usually wear, the sleek black and navy ones that blended in with the rest of his wardrobe. No, this one is a deep red, it reminds him of a rich wine. He runs the pads of his fingers across the smooth fabric, the texture feels no different from the ones he already owns, this one might even be softer.
"I figured you could use a little more color," you say and Jungkook looks over to see you smiling.
The corner of his mouth curves upward as he takes in the sight of the tie once more. He imagines when he could wear it — proudly to the office — or perhaps only for you. Any other day he might've tried to pry those thoughts from his mind, tell himself that there was no point in dwelling on things he knows he shouldn't want. But right now, he lets himself think of what it would be like to take you to dinner, to spend time with you outside of his house, out in the real world.
"I definitely could," he muses as he traps the fabric between two fingers, "Thank you."
Sometimes Jungkook finds himself wanting to kiss you for no apparent reason all. This is one of those times. He wishes his family was elsewhere, despite the sacred holiday and the presents that have yet to be opened, he wishes to be with you and only you.
The fantasy is quickly interrupted by his father who leans closer to take a look for himself. "This one will suit you nicely, son," he says, turning to you with a pleasant grin, "You have good taste, dear."
The flustered giggle you emit makes his heart thunder in his chest, not quite the same way it had on your couch almost a week ago, it's fiercer now. "I'm glad," you hum when placing your chin on one knee. Jungkook feels your attention on him, it makes him warm, a nice kind of warm that he clings onto even as the conversation shifts and Cassian goes back to giving out more gifts.
The next fifteen minutes or so are spent with the children opening the rest of their presents — his parents opening their own which he had gotten them. An electrical whisk for his mother, something she had insisted on not needing though he didn't see why not since she spent more time baking than anything. A chess board for his father, under the guise of them playing together in the future, which the man seemed very eager about. Jungkook often found that it was easier to express himself through materialistic resources — words never came out right for him anyway.
Soon there was only one lonesome package left under the tree. The shape makes him frown, it wasn't soft, nor was it square or rectangular. Rayne picks it up, having taken over the role of reading the cards out loud rather than having her younger sibling struggle.
She turns the lumpy present in her hands, its wrapping was different from all the others, a pale blue with reindeer on. Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she gets her expression under control again and clears her throat. "To Cassian, from… Santa."
Her brother's head whips in her direction at that and for a little while he sits completely frozen on the floor. Then he's scrambling over to his sister, practically tearing the gift from her hands as he checks the card for himself. "Santa?!" He sounds disbelieving as he scans the room, like he was expecting the man himself to walk in at any given moment.
"Well go on, open it," Rayne urges, clearly invested too, even if she tried not to show it. Cassian wastes no time in getting to work, tearing the paper with less care than he had previously.
Jungkook frowns as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He runs through his own list in his head, but he couldn't for the life of him remember using that wrapper — and he certainly wouldn't have wrapped it like that. When glancing toward his mother and father, he finds them looking just as confused yet intrigued as himself.
It's not until he looks over at you and sees the grin you're fighting off that it clicks.
Cassian's ear piercing shriek pulls him back toward his son who'd already finished breaking through the paper that now lay scattered around him. "I told you! I told you!" he says as he holds up the box of rainbow colored crayons to his sister, "I knew Santa would read my list!"
"What are those?" Jaejoon inquires as he squints behind his glasses.
"Rainbow crayons!" The boy says, stumbling to his feet as he plops down in his grandfather's lap. "Look! Only Santa can make these, that's why I put them on my list."
Ye-seo leans forward as she, too, studies the crayons closely, her face lighting up into a grin that matches her grandson's. "Why, you must have been a really good boy this year for Santa to give you something so special," she says as she pinches one of his cheeks lovingly.
Jungkook regards them for a moment longer as he tries to piece together where you had managed to get that. Then he remembers the run-in with that Namjoon at the store. He'd just come back after acquiring the gifts he intended to give you, already tired and sick of the crowded mall to find another man chatting with you like one would an old friend.
The encounter had left a bitter taste in his mouth which he tried to rationalize over and over on his way home to little avail. He thinks he might vaguely remember you holding a colorful box of something, though he'd been too caught up on the stranger in front of him to pay it any mind.
When he turns to where you sit on the floor you meet his gaze, your head tilted to the side and a knowing look on your face. He mouths a quiet 'thank you' under his breath to which you nod.
The air inside the living room feels warmer after that and Jungkook's chest feels warmer than it had in a long time.
Tradition on Christmas Day includes an endless marathon of animated movies that Jungkook couldn't care less for. The dialogue and soundtracks were imprinted into his head by now and sometimes he found himself begrudgingly muttering them in real time as whatever film on-screen played.
The kids' channel offered a variety throughout the entire morning and afternoon. It was one of the rare times in which he'd let the children spend time in front of the TV and if they had it their way, it would be a good couple of hours.
Lady and the Tramp had already started by the time Jaejoon got the remote control in his hand and Cassian had bounced up on the couch, claiming what little space remained on the cushion alongside his sister. The sofa wasn't spacious per se, it allowed for a family of four — five if two of them were small enough to be counted as a half. That left you, still sitting on the floor as everyone else huddled up on the soft cushions.
"Dear, come up here and join us," his mother says as she beckons you over, clearly not having thought over how that was supposed to work.
You glance up, brows scrunching together as your gaze trails over the already crammed couch. "Oh— I'm fine here," you say, flashing Ye-Seo a small smile.
"You can sit here," Jungkook barely registers the fact that he's on his feet, towering over everyone in the room as he gestures awkwardly to the spot he'd just been occupying.
It doesn't fully sink in until he realizes that everyone had gone painfully quiet — even the movie playing on the TV had faded into background noise. He clears his throat, refusing to back down as he steps aside to offer up his seat for you.
You blink, eyes darting between him and the available spot on the sofa. "No—" shaking your head, "It's alright I can see well from here."
"I insist."
He knows that he's pressing the matter more than what could be considered appropriate in front of his parents and children, but he can't come to terms with you sitting on the floor while he lounged on the comfortable piece of furniture.
Jaejoon finally shifts slightly, "Alright," he says as he hauls Cassian up into his arms, easily maneuvering the boy to sit on his wife's lap. "You too kid, come here," he pats his thigh for Rayne who raises a brow but shuffles over without protest.
Jungkook watches the entire scene with his lips pressed into a firm line as his father easily solves the problem for him in a much simpler and more dignified manner. He glances to the extra space on the sofa, his mouth running dry as you murmur out a shy 'thanks' and slide onto the cushion, fitting in easily next to his family.
He waits a second before joining you, careful not to brush up too close, which was nearly impossible. His thigh ends up pressed against yours, the warmth of your body radiating through the layers of clothes, straight into his own.
"I love the girl dog," Cassian says as he points to the TV, content to be in his grandmother's gentle embrace.
Rayne scoffs, "Her name is Lady, not the girl dog."
"Lady doesn't sound like a real name," her brother retorts with a scrunch of his nose.
His sister looks ready to argue but Jaejoon diffuses the tension with a pat to her arm. "Such an insignificant detail to get hung up on, let us just enjoy the movie, hm?" he says in a cheerful voice. It does make the two of them settle down again and the topic shifts to the cruel Siamese cats instead.
Jungkook is hardly paying them any mind. He's far too preoccupied noticing each part of you that connects to him. Your joint hips, the way his knee occasionally bumps against yours when he tries to get comfortable — always to no avail. His hands are clasped together on his lap, thumbs twiddling restlessly with one another.
The movie is lost on him and he doesn't try to tune in. You are though, eyes moving in tune with the different scenes that play out, humming along softly to whatever song was playing. It makes him frown. Jungkook wants you to look at him, doesn't have any idea why, he just does.
One of his palms move across his thigh, the edge of his hand resting just a breath from yours. Everyone is preoccupied, there's no harm in letting his pinky brush against the expanse of your leg, he thinks.
The touch is light, a barely-there caress of his finger but you still tense up beside him, your gaze meeting his without turning your head. For a very short moment he believes that you might swat him away, perhaps read his innocent attempt at contact wrong and think him perverted.
But you simply turn back to the film, forcing Jungkook to swallow down the disappointment building in his throat. He shifts his attention to the animation on screen, it fails to immerse him, not when you sit just beside him — and he doesn't move his hand.
It's somewhere between the Tramp and the Lady's first meeting that he feels the subtle brush of skin against his own. His shoulders stiffen and upon glancing down, he sees your pinky resting against his own. You're still not looking at him, but the corner of your lip twitches and he knows it has nothing to do with the movie.
Lady and the Tramp wrapped up a while ago and a new movie which he did not know the name of had began playing, though Cassian and Rayne were now more invested in their presents than anything. His parents had made their way to the kitchen in order to prepare the large breakfast you were to have. Jungkook joined them, he figured he would be of more use out there anyway.
His mother was already fussing over being behind schedule, even as his father tries to reason with her by saying that it was not yet ten in the morning.
"Oh for goodness sake, don't just stand there — go on, set the table!" Ye-seo ushers her husband through the doorway, his hands filled with plates and glasses.
Jungkook for his part, remains silent as he slices two oranges to go along as sides. The knife wasn't as sharpened as he'd like but he made no comment on it to his mother who was now frantically stirring porridge on the stove. "Will you pass me the ginger, sweetie?" she asks without glancing up.
Knowing better than to make her wait, Jungkook abandons the fruits he'd been cutting with a nod. The pantry was a complete mess compared to the comforts of his own home and it takes him a good minute to find it as he scours the shelves. "Top left," she calls out when he took too long.
Finally spotting the small jar, he grabs it and heads over. His mother hums out a 'thank you' as she adds a generous amount into the pot. In the distance, the echoes of Cassian's giggles can be heard, the sound is soon followed by the familiar tune of your own laughter. Without thinking, Jungkook turns his head toward the source, trying to catch a glimpse of you in the living room.
The knife lies loose in his grip now, passively resting there as he listens to your muffled conversation in the distance. His heart does this weird leap in his chest and he tries to brush it off as quickly as it had came.
"She's quite lovely."
His mother's hummed comment makes Jungkook pause and he nearly gives himself whiplash when turning to back to the cutting board where the forgotten oranges lay. "Hm?" he tries to feign nonchalance as he angles the blade once more.
"Your nanny," she continues as she stirs the porridge, "She takes good care of Cassian and Rayne."
Jaejoon had chosen that exact moment to return, instantly tuning in to the topic as he walks up beside his wife. "She does," he agrees when placing a hand on Ye-Seo's waist, "Got her life figured out too. That's some impressive work ethic at her age, not to mention that she studies full time."
Jungkook nods, his gaze trained to the orange he slices thinly. He takes comfort in the repeated motion as he guides the knife slowly, the thud of it hitting the wooden board ringing loud in his ears. Suddenly, his mother speaks up:
"Is she not a bit too young for you?"
The sudden inquiry makes him freeze, fingers curling tighter around the knife's handle. "What?" His response comes out short and colder than he'd like but he cannot help the frown that etches its way onto his face, nor the way his jaw clenches when she continues without missing a beat.
"I mean—" she shrugs, "She's a lovely girl there's no doubt about that. But she's only twenty."
His next swallow goes down his throat thickly, he's sure they notice. "I think what your mother is trying to say," his father interjects as he shifts uncomfortably next to Ye-Seo, "Is that there are complications when it comes to certain… age differences."
The words bring out a bitter taste in Jungkook's mouth and he has to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying something he would end up regretting. He scoffs, grabbing another orange even when he'd already cut plenty as he forces the blade through it with more force than necessary. It was insulting of them to think that the matter hadn't kept him up for weeks now. That he hadn't even taken your age into consideration when it had in fact been on his mind for far too long.
"I assure you there is nothing to worry about," he grinds out, "Our relationship is nothing of the sort." The lie comes easily but he makes a point of not looking up from the cutting board — he knows that his mother will see right through him if he does — part of him fears that she already has.
In the living room the TV is still going, a dramatized sound effect from whatever movie you and the children were watching fills the dense air between him and his parents. Jungkook wills his gaze to remain on the task in front of him, even when it longs to find you.
Ye-Seo huffs under her breath, "You take your own mother for a fool?" She means to come across as scolding but her tone is far too soft for it to ever be. Giving the porridge another stir, she turns to face him fully — his father had gone quiet next to her.
Jungkook can feel her eyes on him though he makes no move to meet them as he mindlessly cuts away at the orange in uneven slices.
"You may have your own kids now, but you are still my son." She inhales a quiet breath, "I haven't seen you look at anyone like that since— since…"
There's no need for her to finish her sentence. He knows who she speaks of and it makes his lips twist into a grimace. Yet, the longer he lets the thought sit with him, the more dangerous it becomes. Jungkook hadn't allowed himself closeness for a long time, for his sake and for the children. You were never meant to be any different.
And Jungkook knows that he's being selfish. He knows that each time he kisses you he lures you deeper into a false reality that he for some reason allows himself to cling to. What he doesn't like is that his mother knows this too.
"I don't know what you're talking about." It's a pathetic excuse that shames him to the core but he utters it anyway — hoping to bury the entire conversation.
Ye-Seo stops stirring the porridge entirely, her expression growing almost solemn as she says, "I just want for you to be happy." But could she not see that was trying? That he had been trying for so long now — wasn't that enough?
"I'm worried about you," she then adds, "After everything that happened with Yelena, I—"
The knife makes a deafening sound against the tiled counter top when Jungkook slams it down, startling his mother into aborting whatever she was about to say next. He turns to his parents with his chest tied up into knots, teeth grinding against each other with an intensity that borders on painful.
"Son…" His father finally speaks in a low, cautious voice, like one would a frightened animal. He's got a hand on his wife's hip, the other on her shoulder as he hugs her close. The pity on his face makes everything worse — so does the weak attempt at comfort that he tries to provide.
"Don't," Jungkook spits, moving to wipe his hands on a nearby towel, "I don't need to hear it." He bunches the fabric up between clenched fists in an attempt to channel his emotions onto the unsuspecting rag.
His mother untangles herself from her husband's embrace, taking a couple of steps in his direction. "Sweetie," her fingers caress his tense forearm, "Your father and I only mean well. What happened between you it's…" She trails off, hesitation flickering across her features before she says, "It's still affecting you."
Jungkook knows she's right, knows they both want what's best for him. That's what stings the most. He was tired of being pitied. The month that followed at work had been torture enough. The lingering glances from his employees. The apologetic smiles and the condolences. His parents had undoubtedly been the worst — not that he ever told them. It was enough that he was hurting, he hadn't needed his mother and father's feelings on his conscience.
"I'm fine," he turns his head in the direction of the living room as the sound of approaching footsteps reaches his ears. "Don't bring her up again," he tells them both as Cassian comes barreling through the doorway with you and Rayne in tow.
Both his parents fall silent at that and Jungkook turns his back on them as his son comes up to show what he had drawn with his new rainbow crayons. "Daddy! Daddy! Look what I made!" Discarding the towel on the counter, he crouches down to come eye-level with the boy and as Cassian eagerly points to different parts of the painting, Jungkook glances up to peer at you subtly.
You're smiling from ear to ear, oblivious to the conversation that had taken place in your absence. The necklace he'd given you last night sits prettily around your neck, its golden hues shimmering softly under the kitchen lights — a constant reminder of his affections, the ones he cannot bring himself say out loud — he hates himself for his own incapability.
The uncomfortable twist of guilt in his chest returns as he regards the serene expression you wear. His parents had been right, he thinks.
Jungkook was taking more than he could offer in return — a selfish man he was.
── [ ✉️ ] Okay... Peeking out from behind my hands very nervously right now. Hopefully the quality wasn't horrible, it was even harder to write this from Jungkook's POV which I did not expect so I honestly don't know how to feel. Hopefully it is okay?
Summary: Based on the concept from the movie “Sinners,” music has the ability to shred the barrier between planes of existence and draw creatures of the underworld to the land of the living, and Jungkook’s heavenly voice ends up bringing hell right to his doorstep.
Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Demon!Reader
Genre: Fantasy in the Modern World AU, Strangers to Lovers, Angst, Smut
Word Count: 15.2k
Warnings: demons, religious lore, hell, fantasy elements, mention of lucifer, temptation, corruption, manipulation, trespassing(??), threats, going missing, mention of death, life-altering decisions. SMUT: kissing, neck kissing, hair pulling, doggy, dick riding, oral sex (both receiving), spitting, titty play, cum feeding, cum eating, choking, crawling, slapping, body worship, sub!Koo 🤭, mild degradation, use of the term “good boy,” scratching, gagging, orgasm denial, creampie, okay I think that's it?
Author's Note: y'all I’m so sorry for making you wait so long. I lost motivation during bts ticketing season bc I was so damn stressed, but I managed to secure tix AND finish the story lol. all I have to say about this one is that it's basically pure smut. there is an underlying plot but the whole point of this fic is to see Koo get his shit rocked, I'm not even gonna lie. plus my time Jungkook is literally my favorite Jungkook ever. speaking of, I highly recommend watching the performance before reading this bc it gives you a very nice visual for the story 😏 also if you haven’t seen sinners you better go watch that too bc it’s the best movie of 2025 (after you read this lmao). all in all, I hope you enjoy this one and thank you for being so patient while I finished it! ilysm :)
-> 201010 Jungkook “My Time” Performance
“There are legends of people... born with the gift of making music so true, it can pierce the veil between life and death, conjuring spirits from the past and the future.” — Sinners, 2025
The sound of your heels clicking against the cold, marble floor is commonplace. You walk down this corridor daily to reach your private quarters at the end of the hall. Not all demons are awarded such a luxury, but after hundreds of years, it only makes sense for you to have your own lavish suite to reside in.
As a demon of desire, you take your job very seriously. Whether tempting mortals with erotic visions or sensual prose, you’re one of the best at soiling their virtue and turning them towards a life of sin. Of course, all of this occurs from your home in the underworld.
Demons are unable to visit the mortal realm unless a human creates a tear in the barrier between worlds, thus allowing one to enter. It’s extremely difficult to accomplish and only a small percentage of humans even possess the ability to do so. The last time you remember it happening was decades ago when a young man named Michael Jackson tore a hole through the metaphorical fabric.
You’ve been waiting your entire existence for the chance to see the human world for yourself and hopefully bring one back with you. That is the ultimate goal for demons, after all. Sure, messing with them from Hell is plenty enjoyable, but there’s nothing more fulfilling than stealing a mortal from their own realm to stay with you for all eternity.
Lucifer must be smiling up at you today, because the sound of your shoes kissing the floor suddenly ceases when you hear a melodic voice overhead. Glancing up, you notice a ripple in the deep red sky above you. It’s nothing more than a shimmer at the moment; a trick of light dancing like waves on a shore.
The music grows louder and the tear widens until you can faintly see the human on the other side.
His voice entices you much more than his image, which is to be expected when his alluring timbre is what’s creating the hole in the first place. It sounds refreshing like drinking a cool glass of water or applying lotion to dry skin; some of life’s simple pleasures. Although, his tone also possesses a slight sensuality like he wants the listener to believe he’s singing just for them. You suppose it’s this illustrious combination of sweet and seductive that’s shredding the barrier.
Once you do focus on his appearance, you’re pleasantly surprised to find he’s quite handsome for a human. He has a soft, round nose, plush lips, a sharp jawline, and big, captivating eyes. His hair is wavy, black, and long; ending just above his high cheekbones. Best of all, he’s wearing black leather pants and a matching jacket. Both of which are bordering a sheer black shirt that he untucks halfway through his performance to reveal a sculpted torso. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s trying to summon a demon.
“Well, well, well. Aren’t you just delectable?”
Truth be told, you’re completely hypnotized by him and can’t wait to sink your claws into his pretty, tanned skin.
You’re shamelessly smirking to yourself by the end of his song as you imagine all the different positions and angles you two can accomplish together. Even if he is only a mortal, a man like that is bound to bring you pleasure.
The hole begins to close following the completion of his ballad, but the damage is already done. He’s gotten your attention, unknowingly given you permission to enter his world, and now all you have to do is reel him into your clutches.
You proceed to skip down the remainder of the corridor so you can find the perfect outfit for formally introducing yourself to your prey. In a thousand years, you don’t believe the sound of your heels has ever been so cheerful.
After donning a little black dress, styling your hair like human women do, and applying just enough makeup to highlight your features, you descend the grand staircase leading to the human realm. The winding marble steps only appear if you’re able to pass through the barrier and as such, the guards look rather surprised when they notice you coming down.
“Miss Y/N, we didn’t expect to see you here,” one of them proclaims.
“Today’s my lucky day, boys,” you explain. “A talented little human decided to sing for me.”
“Well, of course, he did,” the other replies. “Who could ever resist you, Madam?”
You smile and blow the guard a gracious kiss before waltzing straight through the translucent archway which separates the two worlds. The portal spits you out precisely where you need to be; inside what you assume is the dressing room of your scrumptious mortal.
It’s cozy and looks similar to the man himself, with multiple lush blankets and all black furniture. You peruse the space while running your fingers across the all different couches and artwork. Besides the charming decor, there’s also a masculine, floral scent wafting in the air that leaves you wanting more.
After sitting on the large sofa across from the door, you cross your legs and examine your manicure as you wait patiently for your prey to arrive.
What you presume is his name hangs on a plaque near a desk with makeup and haircare products strewn about. It’s written in Hangul, although you already deduced he’s Korean since it’s what he was singing in earlier. Language barriers aren’t an issue for demons and you automatically begin sounding out his name so you can taste the letters on your tongue.
“Jun…gkook… Jung…kook?” You shake your head at yourself. “Jungkook… yeah, Jungkook.” A smile forms on your lips. “A pretty name for a pretty mortal.”
It isn’t long afterwards that the man of the hour walks through the door. He’s still in his outfit from earlier, although up close you can see he’s drenched in sweat from exuding so much energy throughout his performance. The scent from earlier becomes far more potent with him in the room and you eagerly inhale to get another whiff.
He doesn’t notice you right away because he’s busy combing his fingers through his damp hair so it doesn’t stick to his forehead. The vigorous dancing and singing clearly drained him because his chest is rising and falling while he attempts to recoup his lost oxygen. It provides you with a gorgeous view of all his muscles working as one to return his body to baseline.
It isn’t until he glances up that he stops dead in his tracks and his already large eyes widen like a cartoon character. He looks rightfully confused and even takes a gander around the room as though he might be in the wrong place. When he realizes he isn’t, his expression turns inquisitive and he clears his throat.
“Uh, can I help you?”
You smile while shaking your head and uncrossing your legs. A silent signal that you mean him no harm. You’ve learned over the years that humans often rely on body language even more than what someone is telling them.
“No,” you nonchalantly answer.
His responding chuckle is undoubtedly awkward as his eyes flicker around the room again in search of an explanation.
“Well, then may I ask what you’re doing here?”
“You can ask, doesn’t mean I’ll tell you.”
Whether it’s the lick of prowess in your tone or the sly words themselves, his intrigue becomes obvious when he smiles with a slight tilt of his head.
“How did you even get in here?”
“You let me in,” you state.
“I did?”
He points to his chest and you can’t help but laugh at the adorable look of confusion that crosses his face.
“Well, not directly, but I am here because of you.” Before he gets the wrong idea, you throw your hands up in surrender. “Don’t worry, I’m not some crazy fan or anything.”
As a demon, you don’t need to ask humans any questions to learn about them. Their personality, likes, dislikes, hobbies, and career are attributes you gain knowledge of immediately upon meeting them so you’re able to more accurately bend them to your will.
Which is how you know that Jungkook is a beloved idol who’s been singing and dancing for fans all across the globe since he was just a teenager.
“If you’re not a fan, then…”
His voice trails off, but it’s clear what he’s trying to ask.
“Why don’t you sit, Jungkook?”
You gesture to the chair across from you with a warm, polite smile. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t oppose the suggestion and strolls over to take a seat.
Once he’s comfortable, you lean forward and cross your legs again. It allows for your cleavage to make an appearance and Jungkook’s eyes momentarily flicker down to your chest. His cheeks flush and pupils dilate, which is par for the course of a mortal man. All it ever takes is a single glance.
“Obviously, you know my name. Am I allowed to know yours?” He asks.
“Y/N.”
Just a hint of a smile appears before he repeats the syllables to himself.
“It’s beautiful,” he tells you.
“Why thank you.” The blush on his face deepens. “I’ll be sure to tell my maker you said so.”
“Your maker?”
“Mmhm.” You watch while the gears in his pretty little head twist and turn to decipher the new information. “I don’t have parents as I’m sure you do.”
“No?”
“Nope. Just dear old dad Lucifer.”
“Lucifer?”
His pitch skyrockets as his muscles flex and you can even smell the intense spike of anxiety within him from across the room.
“That’s right. I am a demon, after all.”
Jungkook’s eyes expand into massive saucers, but it’s only for a brief moment before they become a pair of crescents when he starts laughing. If you weren’t already expecting this exact reaction, you would be offended. Alas, not many humans can comprehend your existence right off the bat.
“I’m sorry, I really tried humoring you, but that’s just ridiculous,” he explains. “Look, I’m sure you’re a very devoted fan, but there are a lot better ways to meet me than breaking and entering.” He stands to walk towards the door. “If you would be so kind, I just finished a pretty exhausting concert and need some rest, and I really don’t want to have to call security on you.”
You paint on a fake smile before making yourself comfortable and pointing at the chair again.
“Jungkook, I suggest you sit back down.”
“Listen —”
“Jungkook.” Since verbal instructions are failing, you flash your natural red eyes in his direction. “Sit.”
That certainly garners his attention. His expression is a perfect mixture of shock and horror as his hand falls from the doorknob and he turns to march back to his seat. You wait until he’s situated again before clearing your throat so you can continue.
“I know it can be hard to believe, but it isn’t possible for me to lie to you,” you declare.
His brow creases in confusion, but it seems his nervousness is slowly wavering.
“What do you mean?”
“Demons don’t possess the ability to lie. Our life’s purpose is to tempt and corrupt humans, but true corruption comes from a mortal making a bad decision for themself. If we’re untruthful in our approach, then it isn’t technically an act of free will since the person was deceived.”
Jungkook thoughtfully purses his lips while nodding his head.
“How do I know that isn’t a lie?”
The question makes you smirk.
“Such a smart boy,” you mumble under your breath. After sliding down the couch so you’re sitting on the edge, you rest your hands on your exposed thighs and rhythmically tap your nails against your skin. “Well, I don’t have a way to prove myself to you, but hopefully, you’ll let me convince you to trust me.”
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” He poses.
“Of course, you do.” He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Again, my entire existence relies on you deciding to defy your own morals. I’ll never push you into doing something you don’t want to do.” You lean in to seductively whisper your next remark. “I want you to want it.”
If him licking his lips and drinking you up with his eyes is anything to go by, he already does. Ever since returning to his seat, Jungkook’s body has been tense with an indisputable sexual urge. Not only are you witnessing it with your own eyes, but you can smell the arousal in his blood and hear the erratic beat of his heart.
Although he’s showing clear signs of neediness, he remains calm while changing the subject.
“I never would’ve expected a demon to look like you.”
You shrug and lean back into the couch.
“I’m a demon of desire, so I was made to look like what you deem attractive.”
“What I do?”
“Not you, specifically, but human beings,” you clarify.
He hums in acknowledgement.
“And your ability to speak Korean, is that for the same reason?”
“Oh, I’m not speaking Korean.” His face contorts, so you explain. “Think of it like automatic translating. I’m speaking in my language, but you’re hearing me in Korean, and similarly, you’re speaking in Korean while I hear my own language.”
“Demons have a unique language?”
“Of course. We predate the existence of any verbal human language, after all.”
Your efforts seem to be working because the more he learns, the more his demeanor shifts towards comfortable. He’s now mirroring your own stance by relaxing in his chair and his breathing is completely level as he maintains eye contact.
“So, how long have you been around, then?” He inquires.
“Since the dawn of time,” you answer. “Well, not the dawn of time, because those two humans had to eat an apple first or whatever.”
Jungkook chuckles.
“And what does an ancient demon want with little ole me?”
“Like I said, you invited me here, Jungkook.”
He shakes his head in disbelief.
“How?”
“A small population of talented humans have the ability, through music, to shred the barrier between realms and allow creatures of the underworld to cross over.” You flash him a saccharine smile. “As it turns out, you happen to be one of them, and your lovely performance earlier brought me here.”
His eyes flicker back and forth as he thoughtfully observes the pattern on the floor. You know all this information can be hard for a mere human to grasp and you’re quite impressed with his comprehension so far.
“Brought you here to do what?”
He meets your gaze and you can’t resist frowning when you sense his fear peaking again. His chocolate brown eyes are full of inner turmoil, but it only makes them look prettier.
“I’m not here to hurt you, if that’s what you're asking,” you reassure him.
“No, you’re here to corrupt me. Is that right?”
You giggle and shrug your shoulders.
“Precisely.” Your laissez-faire attitude causes him to smile despite his nervous system still being on high alert. “You should really be more careful about what you do with those enticing hips of yours. One day, they might beckon the wrong company to your doorstep.”
You may be unable to lie, but you can still leave things out. Like the fact that he won’t ever have another visitor, at least not here on earth.
The teasing seems to dispel most of his anxieties since he chuckles and leans forward in his seat. You naturally match his movements to bring your faces closer together.
“And what are you? Good company?”
There’s a hint of mischief in his eye that makes you even more excited about how tonight will proceed.
“I’m the best company,” you counter. “The kind that provides you with more pleasure than you ever thought possible.”
Jungkook’s eyes sharpen and grow darker until they're almost black. He shifts in his chair and your attention is drawn down to the evident bulge straining against his pants. The sight fills you with pride and you aren’t able to refrain from smirking.
“Why would you want to bring me pleasure? Surely, a human can’t do what a demon can for you,” he argues.
“Mm. No, you can’t.” Sitting back, you slowly cross your legs again so Jungkook gets a faint glimpse of your inner thighs. “But the thing is, I was made for the benefit of humans, not other demons or myself. This is true fulfillment for me.”
You can hear the blood in Jungkook’s veins rushing down to his lower half.
“If that’s the case, who am I to stop you?”
This little human just keeps surprising you. Not only does he ask all the right questions, but he’s effortlessly following your every move.
Since he’s obviously buying into what you’re offering, you decide to shift the conversation to the actual focal point of the evening.
“Have you ever eaten pussy, Jungkook?”
The poor man damn near chokes on his own saliva.
“Of — of course, I have,” he defends himself.
You raise your hands in surrender.
“Just asking,” you sing-song before continuing your line of questioning. “Are you any good at it?”
Jungkook’s expression turns boastful.
“I haven’t had any complaints.”
It’s along with a head tilt and taunting smile that you respond.
“Well, that’s not a very high standard. Now is it?”
The vision of his face twisting into someone with something to prove ignites your ambition. You’re well aware of his competitive nature and using it to your advantage seems to do the trick because he stands up like a man on a mission.
Before he’s able to close the distance, you raise your hand to halt his movements.
“On your knees,” you command.
“Pardon?”
“Get on your knees for me, Jungkook.” You feign innocence by tilting your head again. “Isn’t that a sign of respect in your culture?”
He obeys without another word, maintaining your sharp gaze as he kneels down before you. His eyebrows rise afterwards to silently request further instruction, which you provide by smirking and pointing at the ground with your forefinger.
You watch with heat in your irises while he bends over until he’s deeply bowing to you. It gives you a gorgeous view of his back muscles and triceps rippling beneath his leather jacket. He’s such a good little mortal, and you truly can’t wait to tear him to shreds with your teeth. Metaphorically, of course.
Once he returns to his previous position, he rests his hands on his knees to await your next move.
“Crawl.”
The demand causes his brow to scrunch, but he doesn’t open his mouth to argue. He just moves to all fours while staring you down as though to confirm this is what you want. When you nod, he begins crawling across the floor like a predator to its prey. Ironic, given that it’s quite the opposite.
Witnessing him on his hands and knees, slowly moving closer, is quite the sight to behold. Especially because his eyes are boring into your own with an intense, sexual fire. He even seems to be purposely crossing the room at a snail’s pace to prolong the journey and leave you waiting.
You gotta hand it to him, he certainly knows how to be seductive.
Once he’s close enough, you lift your leg to stop him by driving your stiletto into his chest. He hisses, but the sound goes contrary to the avarice light that flickers awake in his eyes.
Your foot keeps him still while you take the time to survey all his features up close. It’s impressive how seamlessly he’s able to switch between demure and devious. On stage, during his performance, you could’ve easily confused him for one of your own, but upon entering the dressing room he looked boyish and pure.
You use your heel to open up his shirt a little more, allowing you to see the hard lines of his collarbones and chest. From there, you drag your foot down until it pops open all the buttons and unveils his salacious abdominal muscles.
“My, my. You really are striking for a human,” you compliment him.
There’s a faint red line down his torso from where your shoe scraped his skin and it makes you want to trail your nails down his body in the exact same manner. Maybe your tongue, too.
Alas, you’re a temptress, and these things take time. If he’s ever going to agree to join you in the underworld for all eternity, you’ll need him totally wrapped around your finger.
“And you’re the most gorgeous being I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he parries.
That’s certainly a start.
“Oh, aren’t you just sweeter than candy?”
His eyes look like miniature galaxies as he admires you from below, full of both wonderment and inexplicable desire.
“Can I touch you?” He whispers, as if he’s afraid to shatter the tension in the air.
You pretend to think it over by pursing your lips before inevitably sending him a masterful grin.
“Beg for it.”
Jungkook doesn’t waste any time before lurching forward so he can kiss your skin beginning at your ankle and then up your calf. He even delicately holds your knee in place while traveling one smooch at a time up your leg. Feeling his soft lips on you is foreign since no demon has ever granted you such gentle affection, but you can’t deny how enjoyable it is.
“Please.” He stops near your knee to gaze up at you with huge, pleading eyes. “Let me taste you, Y/N.”
Oh, he’s good.
“You better not disappoint me, Jungkook,” you respond.
His lips form a sinister smirk.
“I can assure you, it’s not in my nature. I put my all into everything I do.”
“Then be my guest.”
Your approval opens the floodgates of Jungkook’s determination and his lips return to kissing along your inner thigh inch by inch. While his mouth caresses your skin, his hands slowly push your dress higher to reveal more of you.
The novel presence between your legs is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You’re certainly no stranger to intimacy, both physically with demons and mentally through your job tempting humans. But feeling Jungkook’s warm, wet mouth grazing your skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake is uniquely intoxicating.
As his head nears your center, it forces your thighs apart and you naturally sink deeper into the couch and open your legs wider. Jungkook makes himself comfortable in the space as his hands grasp your hips so he can yank you closer.
His face is just about to reach your core and contrary to your nature, you find yourself holding your breath in anticipation. He’s still mouthing at your inner thighs, even using his teeth to nibble on your supple skin. You know this game of taunting all too well, but it’s vastly different being on the opposite side of the pitch.
You hear him inhale once he reaches your cunt and the sound is followed by a low, eager groan.
“Fuck, you smell divine,” he mumbles into your underwear.
The irony of that statement isn’t lost on you in the slightest.
Jungkook quickly curls his fingers around your panties to roll them down your legs, but he takes his time pulling the fabric completely off. Following just behind where the lace is brushing against your skin, he kisses back down your opposite leg until the underwear are finally gone. He sticks them in his back pocket afterwards and when you teasingly click your tongue at him, he just smirks at you.
He dives right back in by shoving your dress past your hips so he has enough room before tugging you to the edge of the couch again. With your cunt now on full display and close enough to reach with his mouth, he takes a single lick up the entirety of your slit.
His response to finally tasting you is not only an amorous, raspy moan, but to immediately start fiercely eating you.
While his tongue moves through your folds, your head falls back and your eyes flutter shut because even though he’s only just begun, he’s unexpectedly bringing you immense pleasure already.
His mouth works tirelessly to swipe across your hole before he licks along your inner walls. When he does, the tip of his tongue brushes against the spongy spot inside you and you latch onto his hair in response. The fingernails of your opposite hand bite into the arm of the couch, steadying you as he repeats the same motions over and over again.
After a while of him collecting your essence in his mouth and swallowing it with content hums, he moves up to flick your clit with his tongue before slowly circling it. As your fingers tighten their hold on his hair and your thighs press against his ears, he flattens the muscle and moves his head side to side to provide you with even more friction. It causes a low moan to pass through your lips while your back arcs off the couch.
Jungkook’s clearly humble, because what he’s doing to you is worthy of much more praise than simply “not having any complaints.” Perhaps it’s due to him being a singer and regularly using his mouth as an instrument. Whatever it is, consider yourself impressed with this little human.
When he leaves your clit alone to sloppily kiss your pussy, you open your eyes and glance down at him between your thighs. It’s such a gorgeous view; you can see his biceps flexing from him holding your legs wide open as well as his head bobbing with each lick. Witnessing a human completely submit themselves to temptation, passion, and desire is every demon’s dream and you can’t help but let out a sigh of accomplishment.
“You’re doing so well, Jungkook,” you whisper.
He enthusiastically moans into your cunt and you can hear more blood rushing down to his cock. You almost laugh out loud at the reaction, having forgotten just how easy mortals are to please.
Your fingers still intertwined in his hair slowly push the soft, black locks away from his face so you can admire how his brow creases with sheer determination.
“Do I taste good, baby?”
Jungkook practically growls in affirmation. In fact, the sound is so visceral you can feel the vibrations in his chest against your thighs. He pauses afterwards and presses his forehead to your hip as he attempts to catch his breath through deep, heavy pants.
“So… so fucking good,” he answers. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
“It’s a demon thing.”
His head shakes along with a disbelieving chuckle.
“I won’t ever be able to enjoy another woman the same way again.” He glances up and you expect his expression to be remorseful or crestfallen following such a declaration, but his eyes don’t show a single ounce of regret. It’s a good thing, really, given that he’ll never touch someone other than you again. “Can I keep going?”
You snicker and trail your hand down his profile so you can tilt his chin up. The bottom half of his face is glistening with your arousal and the sight is so sinful you know even Lucifer would be proud.
“Of course. Just don’t tire yourself out, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
He doesn’t respond besides a devilish smirk as he returns to your center to continue eating you out. The short reprieve seems to have given him a second wind because his fingers clutch your thighs even tighter and he forces his face into your cunt like he wants to drown in you.
It leaves you readjusting your own grip on the couch and in his hair as he ravenously feasts on your pussy. Not only do his noises of enjoyment return, but he also starts nodding so his nose brushes your clit while his tongue is busy deep inside your hole.
Just when you think he’ll keep going just like that, he releases one of your legs and reaches up to grope your breast. Despite you being the epitome of desire, aka having perfect tits, Jungkook’s hand is big enough to completely engulf one of them. His fingers massage your flesh at a much slower tempo than his tongue and after fondling you for some time, his pointer and middle finger begin tweaking your nipple through your dress.
Your head lulls back again as the dual ministrations bring you endless satisfaction. His mouth feels unbelievable lapping up all essence pouring out of you while his digits roll your nipple between them until it’s almost painfully hard. He eventually switches to your neglected breast, all without missing a beat between your legs.
Never has a human being astonished you quite as much as Jungkook. You suppose it makes sense given his ability to tear a hole in the barrier between worlds. But there’s still one thing you need to test him on and that’s obedience.
After releasing the couch, you wrap your fingers around Jungkook’s wrist and remove his hand from your chest. You lace your digits together instead and he doesn’t seem to mind; even humming in acknowledgment at the same time his lips move to your clit again.
“Slower, baby,” you instruct. He immediately heeds the demand and stops sucking on your pearl, switching to lazy circles with the pointed tip of his tongue. “That’s a good boy.”
Jungkook continues at the same pace, alternating between merely teasing your clit and smothering it with the flat of his tongue.
His hand on your thigh seems to be a tool for restraint because his fingertips are creating divots in your skin. Meanwhile, your free hand is still combing through his sweaty curls and he obviously enjoys the sensation because happy hums and moans keep meeting your sex.
“Think you can make me come, Jungkook?” He whimpers while vehemently nodding his head just as his mouth encases your clit to suck on your nerve endings again. You let go of his hand so it can return to your thigh while your own joins its twin on his head. “Go ahead and give it a try.”
In an act that shocks even you, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to use his leverage to push your legs into your chest as he starts going to town on your pussy.
You’re bent in half like a pretzel, which is a position you never expected a mere human to put you in, but you certainly don’t mind. It allows Jungkook’s mouth to reach every inch of your cunt and he takes full advantage of that by seamlessly fluctuating between fondling your clit and fucking you with his tongue.
He was already leading you closer to the precipice of ecstasy, but his new rhythm and vigor have you racing towards the finish line. His efforts even prompt you to drive your fingers deep into his hair and scratch at his scalp while your eyes close and your chest heaves with adrenaline.
His tongue is currently working with expert precision to lap up all your arousal, but when it seems like he’s about to move to your clit, you push his head down with both hands.
“Don’t move,” you snap.
As always, he abides by the instruction and continues without reprieve.
It doesn’t take long before you feel a familiar pressure coiling in your gut and Jungkook must realize because he ramps up his force again while groaning and clawing at your thighs. Less than a minute later the sensation snaps like a rubber band and you moan as cum paints the bottom half of his face.
Jungkook reacts instantly by wrapping his arms around your thighs so he can bring his head closer and swallow your release. He moans and whines throughout your entire climax while his tongue continuously curls your essence into his mouth. It feels phenomenal and you simply relax against the couch as he licks your cunt as if it’ll be his final meal.
In the end, you have to literally shove his face away from your center just to stop him before he runs out of air. If he suffocates, your whole plan is shot.
“Fuck,” Jungkook rasps while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sits back on his heels and attempts to steady his breathing. “I don’t even like eating pussy all that much, but you? I swear, I could do that forever.”
The comment makes you smirk. You’re more than happy to hear it considering that’s what eternity has in store for him if all goes well tonight.
With his body out of the way, you lower your legs and readjust your dress to its original position before returning to the couch.
“After a couple more lessons, I might just let you,” you confess.
You adore how Jungkook’s eyes light up at the notion and you have to refrain from celebrating too soon, but it certainly seems like everything’s going according to plan.
“How would that even work?”
Along with his question, he stands and brushes any dirt off his leather pants before pointing to the spot beside you to silently ask if he can sit. You respond affirmatively by patting the furniture and sliding over to create more room for him.
“We can talk about that later.”
Once he’s sitting, you reach out to tuck some hair behind his ear with a warm smile. He practically melts into your touch by leaning his head against your palm, reminding you yet again just how easily humans fall for you. Even smart ones like Jungkook.
Another reminder follows soon after when he begins encroaching on your space with pursed lips. It sets off multiple alarms in your mind and you quickly cover his mouth with your free hand to halt him.
Jungkook’s brow creases in confusion before he retreats with a pout.
“I can’t kiss you?”
Holy hades, you never expected him to be so damn endearing. Especially after what he just did to you.
“Not yet,” you inform him while dropping your hands to your lap.
“Why not?”
He’s still pouting and his eyes are sparkling with longing for you. If you were any weaker of a demon, you might actually give in.
His question is still a problem, though, because you can’t lie to him, but you also don’t want to reveal too much yet.
“It’s complicated.”
That is the truth, albeit missing all the details of the real reason. Thankfully, Jungkook doesn’t pry any further.
“Then how else do you plan to corrupt me, Y/N?” He asks instead.
Gone is the lovesick puppy as his sensual demeanor returns with a vengeance. His eyes trace over all your pretty curves on display across from him while he licks his lips and leans back on his palms.
Your view is equally as enticing because his shirt is still ripped open to show off his toned stomach and pecs. Plus his semi-hard cock is obviously suffocating in his pants and with his legs spread, you can tell how big he is.
Rather than answering, you lay your hand on his upper thigh before tauntingly inching towards his crotch. You hold his gaze the entire time until your fingers finally graze his dick and he closes his eyes with a wanton moan.
“Probably like this,” you tease.
Jungkook throws his head back when you begin rubbing him over his pants as one of his hands clutches the back of the couch for support.
“Holy shit.” The poor thing must be touch starved if he’s this reactive. “Pl… please.”
“When’s the last time someone touched you, Jungkook?”
He grimaces and lifts his head to catch your eye.
“It isn’t exactly easy… being an idol and all,” he explains. “It’s — fuck. Fuck, that feels so good.” You notice his fingers digging into the material of the couch so he can focus on talking. “It’s too risky to hook up with non-idols because they might tell someone or run to the press. That leaves you with no choice but to fuck other idols, but everyone’s either too busy or already messing around with someone else.”
Well, that explains why he barely put up a fight after finding out what you are. All his sexual prowess is going to waste here in the mortal world. It’s a good thing you showed up when you did.
“Oh, my poor baby.” Jungkook’s heavy-lidded eyes widen when you kneel on the couch and rest your opposite hand on his thigh. “I’ll make it all better, okay?”
“Wait.” His free hand grabs your own, but conveniently not the one still on his dick. “Are you seriously about to suck me off?”
His innocence makes you giggle.
“I wouldn’t be a very good demon of desire if I didn’t give you precisely what you desire. Now would I?”
You wink at him before bending over and replacing your hand with your mouth. As soon as your lips caress his bulge, Jungkook’s hips buck towards your face and he groans so loud he has to muffle himself with his palm.
It elicits a smirk as you kiss him through his pants and run your hands all along his thighs. His responsiveness is downright addictive, both when he provides pleasure and receives it. Especially when he squeezes your hand every time your mouth makes contact with the leather covering his twitching cock.
While your other hand moves to undo his belt without ceasing your actions, Jungkook whines and you hear his fingernails scraping the couch.
“Oh, God,” he rasps, but it’s barely audible. Nevertheless, you halt and peer up with a daunting head tilt and once Jungkook notices, his eyes bulge. “Right. Sorry.”
All you grant him is a few disapproving clicks of your tongue before you finish removing his belt and pull his pants down past his knees. There’s a wet spot on his boxers that fills you with satisfaction as you trace the shape of him through the material. He looks big, even obstructed, and you’re eager to witness every inch of him with your own eyes.
“Would you look at that,” you note. “You keep surprising me, mortal.”
You can’t see the grin behind Jungkook’s hand, but it’s clear there is one because his eyes light up in response to your praise. Although, the brilliance flickers into something much darker when you slip your fingers into his waistband. He automatically lifts his hips so you can yank the material to the floor without ever breaking eye contact.
Once his cock is free, it springs up and causes you to smile in delight. Not only is he both long and thick, but it’s honestly one of the most gorgeous dicks you’ve ever seen. His skin looks so soft, is the perfect shade, and the large veins running down his shaft are pulsing with need. Plus it curves just enough where you know he’ll hit the right spot every time.
Demons have the same external anatomy as humans, so this certainly isn’t a new sight, but he also gives some of your previous partners a run for their money. Even though most of them were created to be the “perfect” man.
“You’re just pretty all over. Aren’t you, Jungkook?”
He isn’t able to respond before you flatten your tongue across his head to slurp up the precum pooling there. Jungkook damn near screams while tipping his head back and exposing his throat. The veins in his neck even make an appearance from the strain on his voice.
You don’t give him any reprieve and immediately begin circling his sensitive ridge with the tip of your tongue. It leaves him helplessly gasping into his hand as his thighs shake under your palms.
“Ahh, fuck,” Jungkook cries when you slowly lick down his entire shaft.
There’s a harsh scraping sound from his nails biting into the leather as he attempts to remain in control and the amount of pride it brings you is boundless. You would love nothing more than to just listen to him lose himself in ecstasy all night long.
“Does that feel good, baby?”
Jungkook aggressively whines and nods his head.
“Please, Y/N… please don’t stop.”
Luckily for him, you’re more than ready to feel the weight of him inside your mouth and down your throat. But you do still take some time to tease him.
It begins with a light flick of your tongue across the delicate skin at the base of his cock, where his balls are already fraught with tension. From there you drag the wet muscle upwards inch by inch while tracing the veins pumping blood into his dick and making him agonizingly hard.
Upon returning to his tip, you give him a couple chaste kisses until he whimpers for more. The sound is music to your ears.
He’s sweating now; you can smell it on him as well as see droplets on his forehead and running down his pecs. It gives him a glistening appearance as the light catches and highlights all the stunning valleys of his body. You decide then and there you want to trail your tongue over every inch of his muscular torso. That’ll be the first item on your to-do list once you return home.
“If you want this, you have to ask me properly,” you instruct.
His needy eyes meet your own in a silent plea, but your expression remains sinister and sultry. When he realizes he has no choice but to appease you, his hand falls to his stomach and his stare softens even more.
“I’ll do anything you ask, just please suck my dick. I wanna feel how warm and wet your mouth is; see how deep you can take me.” He sighs as his focus flickers down to his rock hard shaft. “I think I might actually die if you don’t.”
“Hmm. Well, we wouldn’t want that.” You pretend to ponder the request while drawing nonsensical shapes on his thighs. “But I think you need to be more specific.”
Jungkook looks like he’s about to burst into tears of frustration. It causes his eyes to shimmer and you can’t help but admire how pretty they are like that.
“Please… I can’t…”
His desperation is truly exhilarating, but you still help him out by breaking down the request.
“Do you want me to use my tongue?” He nods like he’s in a trance. “Yeah? Want me to lap up all this precum and soak your cock in my drool?”
“Fuck,” Jungkook whines.
“I know you’ve got a larger vocabulary than that, Jungkook. Use your words.”
“Yes. Yes, I want that.”
A smirk appears the longer you witness him teetering on the edge of insanity.
“Good boy,” you respond. “Do you want to feel my mouth around you?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want me to do with it?”
You feel his leg muscles tensing with restraint and his blood even starts pumping faster through his veins when his heart rate skyrockets.
“I… I want you to… to swallow my cock as far as it can go down your throat; over and over again.”
“What else?”
He grinds his teeth together as a pained growl passes through his lips, but he still manages to answer you.
“Want you to choke on my cum when it spills inside your mouth.”
If that isn’t precisely what you were hoping to hear, you don’t know what is.
You’re quite proud of your little human; he’s doing so well considering how far gone he is. You can sense adrenaline overpowering his nervous system as his body yearns for your touch. Most people wouldn’t even be able to utter a single coherent sentence in this state.
“And how bad do you want me to do that, Jungkook?”
The submission seems to snap out of him as his eyes turn into thin slits full of determination. Just as planned, you're clearly pushing him right up against his breaking point.
“I would kill for it,” he declares.
Shit, you’re about to have him so corrupted by the end of the night he’ll practically be part demon.
Rather than continue to question him, you finally cease your torment by kissing and kitten licking his slit so you can swallow his precum, just as you said. He must be healthy because the taste makes you moan in appreciation while your tongue glides across his skin. Once you’re satisfied with how shiny his cockhead is, you wrap your lips around his tip and hollow your cheeks.
Jungkook officially loses it and literally tears a hole in the couch. His other hand creates thin, red streaks on his own abdominal muscles as he screams, his jaw clenches, and the veins in his neck pop out again. It’s genuinely one of the sexiest sights you’ve ever witnessed and you momentarily admire him deep in euphoria before moving further down his shaft.
With every inch you take, Jungkook’s body reacts tenfold. You can hear his blood coursing through his veins like ferocious rapids, his heartbeat thumping like a beast in a cage, and his lungs attempting to push as much oxygen out as possible. Not to mention the potent scent of his arousal, exhilaration, and pure testosterone infiltrating your nostrils.
By the time your lips are entirely stretched around his girth and your nose is buried in his pubic hair, it seems as though his sanity is holding on by a threat. He’s endlessly moaning and panting while all his muscles flex and his skin flushes a deep red.
“Holy fucking shit,” he groans and throws his head back until all you see is his sharp jawline.
Demons don’t have gag reflexes because you’re crafted with human desire in mind. So, it’s easy to hold your position even with his big cock stuffed deep down in your esophagus.
You suction your lips to make a tighter hole and then swallow so your throat constricts around his tip. It causes Jungkook to choke on air while the hand on his stomach instinctively flies to your head. He desperately latches onto your hair until the strands knot around his fingers, using the brutish grip to ground himself.
Once you sense his body relaxing, you slowly rise and lay your tongue out so it caresses the underside of his dick as you go.
“Fuuuck.”
Jungkook’s nails scratch your scalp when you reach his head again and suckle on it before swallowing his entire length once more. You begin bobbing at a leisurely tempo as your tongue keeps him lubricated and applies pressure to the sensitive ridges of his cock. All while your lips remain in a taught circle so the friction is just right.
It’s obviously exactly what he needed because he’s still reacting like you’re sucking the very soul out of him. Each time his tip sinks down your throat he cries out and tugs on your hair, producing a sinful melody of sloppy, wet movements and nonsensical whines.
“Y/N, you’re… you’re killing me.”
Your responding giggle sends vibrations down his shaft and elicits another gasp from above. You free him so you can reply, but Jungkook whimpers at the sudden lack of warmth.
“I’ve only just begun, baby,” you retort.
He blows air out of his mouth and releases the tattered couch to push his hair away from his face.
“I know. I need more.”
“More?”
The demand sends your eyebrows up your forehead. You were going slow for his benefit because you know he’ll be embarrassed if he blows his load in less than five seconds. Which is precisely what’ll happen if you pick up the pace. But if that’s his wish, who are you to deny him?
“Mmhm,” he reaffirms. “I want you to do your worst.”
Your head tilts as you silently challenge his request, but Jungkook holds firm and doesn’t sever your eye contact. Impressive.
“It’s your funeral, dollface.”
Without another word, you completely encompass his dick again and return to your previous endeavor, but at a much quicker pace. It’s clear Jungkook didn’t realize what he was asking for because almost immediately his noises double in volume and his opposite hand joins the one on your head.
His fingers fumble around your skull for something to grasp, but it takes him a moment to secure your hair in his fist because your head is rising and falling too fast.
“Ah. Ah, fuck.”
Not only are you rapidly bobbing, but your mouth’s tension is tighter and you purposely swallow whenever he’s stuffed down your throat. You keep your tongue flat as well so you can taste all the precum spilling from his slit due to him nearing a climax.
As if that isn’t enough, you also let go of his thigh to cradle his balls. That one touch alone is all it takes for Jungkook to wail and force your face down as he comes in your mouth in violent spurts of white.
You enthusiastically moan while his cock twitches and drenches your throat in his seed, but you don’t swallow. Instead, you wait until his orgasm ends to lift your head before crawling over his shaking torso. Upon reaching his face, you tug on his chin so his jaw drops open and hover as close as possible to spit the warm liquid into his mouth.
“Swallow,” you order while forcing his lips closed again. His throat bobs when he instantly obeys and eats his own cum, bringing a devilish smile to your face. “Mm, my baby’s such a good listener.”
Jungkook is still panting as his mind and body settle into normalcy, but he manages to nod in agreement.
“Could never… say no… to you,” he confesses.
“Is that right?”
His head moves up and down again, but you can tell it’s totally mindless. You sit back on your heels in the space between his knees and wait for his return to earth, which takes another couple minutes.
“Holy shit.”
He pushes his hair back a few times before shaking his head like he's trying to right his brain. His eyes eventually land on you just ahead of him and a spark of desire flickers in the dark brown pools. His natural reaction makes you grin again, albeit far less mischievous than your last one.
“How are you doing?”
Jungkook chuckles in disbelief.
“I’ve never experienced something so intense in my whole life,” he claims.
“Told you.”
You reach out to trace the scratch marks on his abs and his eyes follow the movement, but then he surprises you by catching your wrist.
“I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy a blowjob from someone else again.”
Well, of course not.
“I know,” you respond with a faux sympathetic frown. “But that can be easily solved.”
“How?”
Both the unease that crosses his features and the anxiety radiating from him prompt you to comfort him by straddling his lap.
When you sit on his thighs, your bare pussy lands right on his cock that’s still partially hard. The contact makes him groan as his hands find your hips and he starts drawing lazy circles with his fingertips while your own trail up his chest.
“By coming with me.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen and his hands cease their expedition as he digests your answer.
“Come with you where?”
It seems like he already has an inclination.
“To Hell, of course.”
With his suspicions confirmed, his fear spikes and you feel his fingers flexing at your sides. You attempt to soothe him by caressing his collarbones and shoulders, which at least causes his heartbeat to slow down a little.
“Could I come and go?”
“No, baby. It would have to be forever.”
“Can’t you just stay here?”
His gentle optimism tugs at your heart strings, even if just a little bit.
“Unfortunately not. The tear you caused only allows me to pass through for one night. If I’m here any longer than that, I’ll cease to exist,” you explain.
He compulsively chews on his bottom lip while his eyes follow the motion of his own hands along your waist.
“But what about my fans, my family, my… my members?”
Before answering, you tilt his chin up so you can see his eyes which are swimming with indecision. You then paint a pout on your lips and allow a wave of hurt to overtake your face.
Just because you can’t lie, doesn’t mean you can’t manipulate.
“Don’t you want to be with me, Jungkook?”
“Of course, I do,” he immediately assures you.
“Then what’s the problem?”
Feigning ignorance is always a good trick for making human men fall straight into your clutches. It also helps that Jungkook’s already deep in your web and all you have to do is spin the silk.
“I would be giving up my entire life; my career, my loved ones.”
You thoughtfully hum for a moment before leaning in so you can whisper in his ear. As your lips graze his cartilage, he shivers beneath you and you’re certain you’ve got him.
“But you would have me.” Jungkook moans when you softly bite his earlobe while digging your nails into his chest. “It could be just you and me for all eternity, baby. Just like this.”
To amplify your point, you grind down in his lap so he can feel your wet cunt gliding across his dick.
“Fuck, I…” He pauses at the same time his hands grip your waist tighter. “I want that. I swear, I do, but I need to think about it.”
“Of course,” you concur and lift your head to meet his gaze. “I would never expect you to make such a big decision without plenty of consideration first.”
Jungkook hums in approval as he traces your curves until his fingers are gently resting on your neck.
“Can I finally kiss you now?” When you shake your head, he aggressively pouts. “Why not?”
His expression unintentionally brings a smile to your face. You never expected to feel so charmed by a mere mortal, but Jungkook seems to be one-of-a-kind.
“Kissing me is your one-way ticket to Hell.”
“How?”
“If you kiss me, we’ll both be instantly transported there. So, I suppose it’s really up to you.”
For a split second it almost seems like he’ll say “fuck it” and plant his lips on yours, but he inevitably just nods.
“Can I still… can we keep going? Even though I haven’t decided yet?”
The question makes you smirk and playfully tilt your head.
“Can you handle that?”
You grind against him again, causing his head to tip back in ecstasy while his cock grows harder underneath you. As you continue pulling yourself across his thighs, Jungkook’s hands creep up into your hair before he tugs hard to expose your throat. His lips attach themselves to your skin where he sucks and licks across your neck with a possessive growl.
Although you know feeling your pussy on his dick is driving him wild, it’s just as wonderful for you. He’s fully erect again and the friction caused by your fluid, repetitive movements feels incredible, especially on your clit. You could definitely make you both come just like this, but you’re dying to have him buried deep inside you already.
His lips are relentlessly painting your throat in saliva while his fingers roam your scalp and knot your hair. He’s clearly the type of person who wants to touch you everywhere and you’re more than willing to let him. Similarly, you spend your time mapping his pecs and abs before eventually shoving his shirt and jacket off to reveal his upper body.
Jungkook takes the hint and releases your head so he can finish removing his clothes, all without pausing his kisses on your neck.
“Wanna see you,” he whispers into your skin.
“Be my guest.”
There isn’t an ounce of hesitation when he snatches the bottom hem of your dress to yank it over your head. He sits back to admire you in your entirety for the first time and he must like what he sees because his eyes expand into massive, starry globes.
“Damn.”
His hands reclaim your waist so he can slowly traverse your body. He glides over your hips and up your ribs until he reaches your breasts and cups them in his big hands. You moan in tandem as his fingers squeeze and massage your flesh, with Jungkook seemingly hypnotized by the sight.
He’s gentle with you despite the fact that you’re still lackadaisically humping each other. If you didn’t know any better you would think he’s never seen a pair of tits before based on how adorably curious he looks. But perhaps it’s just you he’s so entranced by.
“Am I everything you were hoping for, Jungkook?”
You already know the answer. No human could ever disagree with that statement, but you want to hear his response regardless.
It takes him a second to process the question since he’s still hyper focused on the way your supple skin pops out between his digits, but he eventually blinks and returns his gaze to your face.
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re more. So much fucking more.”
The next thing you know his head dips so he can encase one nipple in his mouth while tweaking the other between his thumb and forefinger. On instinct, your hand rises to his hair where you sink your fingers into the sea of curly, black strands. He hums in appreciation while his lips and teeth work together to turn your nub sensitive and hard. Once he’s satisfied, he switches sides to repeat the motions.
He then kisses across the swell of your breasts while his hands continue to caress your skin. Puffs of air created by his pleasurable groans tickle the wet spots he’s leaving on you until he finally returns to kissing your neck.
It feels like he’s worshipping you and although you’re used to humans being in awe of you, this is something else entirely. You can’t tell if it’s because you did such an amazing job reeling him in or if Jungkook is just a naturally devoted person. Either way, you’re more than willing to let him keep going uninterrupted. It isn’t everyday you get to take a backseat in these situations.
“You’re perfect, Y/N,” he notes following a final smooch to your jugular. “Just absolutely fucking perfect.”
You chuckle.
“That’s the whole point, dollface,” you counter.
Jungkook parrots your laugh at the same time he lifts his head to look at you again. His eyes are so expressive and he doesn’t hold back in using them to show his obvious reverence for you.
Upon witnessing his affectionate gaze, you smirk and shove his shoulder so he falls back into the couch. He grunts in surprise before the sound morphs into a lighthearted giggle.
His hands automatically find your hips to continue guiding you back and forth across his lap. By now, his cock is practically coated in your arousal and it would be far too easy to sheath him inside your warm walls.
Alas, he’s still human, and you don’t want to break him before you buy him. Figuratively speaking.
“Are you sure you can keep going? I know that blowjob really drained you.”
Your fingertips are absentmindedly tracing the crevices of his abdominal muscles and Jungkook smiles at the tickling sensation.
“I rehearse my songs while running on a treadmill. Trust me, I’ve got plenty of stamina.”
“Well, I sure hope so.” While bending down so you’re nose to nose, you slide your hands up and over his chest until they land on his shoulders. “Because we’re not stopping until I’m completely satisfied.”
His grin grows to the point his eyes turn into little crescents.
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
Following his reply, he pitches his hips up to send his cock straight into your clit. The friction forces your eyes into your skull and Jungkook has the nerve to giggle at your expense.
He’s quite the enigma; flipping from begging to taunting at the drop of a hat. It intrigues you more than you care to admit, but you suppose that’s a good thing if he’s going to be yours forever.
Before he can pull another stunt, you use his shoulders to push yourself upright again. Jungkook’s eyes follow the movement with a flicker of heat and you even feel his dick twitching. It’s an adorably human trait of his. You barely have to do anything to make him all starry-eyed.
One of your hands slides down his chest for support while the other sneaks between your bodies. You kneel so you have enough room to wrap your fingers around his shaft, allowing you to stroke him into the perfect seat.
When you start lowering your body, Jungkook moans with his eyes fixated on the sight of you nearing his cock. Then once his tip kisses your entrance, the sound becomes a deep groan and he slams his head into the couch.
“Oh, shit,” he hisses.
Nothing more than his cockhead is inside you, but you can’t really blame him for losing it already. Human women are downright incomparable to you, and the farther he slips inside your velvet walls, the louder and more strained his voice becomes. Plus his hands are desperately clawing at your waist like he won’t survive without touching you.
“Shh.” You pacify him by running your fingertips all along his pecs and collarbones. “Just breathe, baby.”
“I don’t know if I can. You’re so fucking tight.”
“Well, it isn’t just me.” With a smirk, your fingers dance up to his neck where you apply the lightest amount of pressure. “You’re so big, Jungkook.”
He chuckles and lifts his head to meet your gaze. There’s a proud smile gracing his lips, but it vanishes when you finish sitting on his thighs so his entire length is suddenly nestled inside your cunt.
“Ahh, God!”
“Hey!” You squeeze the sides of his throat, causing him to gasp and arch his back. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“I’m sorry.”
His big, puppy eyes are staring up at you and it’s almost enough to make you relent.
“God’s not here, baby. Quite the opposite.”
Just to prove a point, you turn your eyes crimson again. But much to your surprise, Jungkook looks more aroused than scared. He proceeds to genuinely shock you by moving his hand from your hip to your cheek before gently running his thumb back and forth across your skin.
“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”
For a split second you actually feel your heart flutter inside your chest, but then you notice the mischievous gleam in his eye.
“Are you trying to distract me?”
Jungkook’s lips form a smirk to match his playful irises.
“Is it working?”
Rather than responding, you use your free hand to remove his own from your face and force it above his head. He grunts and pushes against your grasp with a determined expression, but you don’t let him budge an inch.
“Not even close,” you sneer.
“No?” Jungkook wraps his opposite arm around your waist and thrusts up, sending his cock into your g-spot and pulling a low whine from you in the process. When he laughs at your reaction, you can’t help but admire this more devious side of him. “You know, you’re not as scary as you seem.”
Now that just won’t do. Sure, you’ll admit you have a soft spot for this particular mortal, but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to believe he has any real power. To rectify his perception, you tighten your grip around his throat until he gasps again and his eyes roll back from the pleasure.
“You don’t think so?” He moans as you continue to apply pressure. “I could do so much to you, Jungkook. Your precious little life lies entirely in my hands.”
“Then take it,” he grunts before his eyes fly open so he can stare you down. “I’m yours, anyway.”
Oh?
Well, you’ve clearly succeeded in tempting him past the point of no return. Either that or he’s an exceptional poker player who knows when to call a bluff.
You decide to match his energy by bending over until your lips are only centimeters apart. Even the slightest movement from either of you could end Jungkook’s life as he knows it.
“Just one kiss and your days as a human end right here, right now.”
Jungkook merely smiles in return before pursing his lips, causing you to hold your breath in anticipation, but all he does is kiss the tip of your nose.
“Can’t wait.”
Fuck. As if he couldn’t get any damn hotter. There's nothing you love more than clear and utter devotion.
A pregnant pause passes over the room while you rise to your previous position. Jungkook tightens his arm around your waist to keep you perched in his lap, but you don’t let him leave it there for long.
“Nuh uh. Other hand, too.”
You press down on his trapped palm to illustrate your instruction, causing Jungkook to pout.
“But I wanna feel you.”
“You can touch me once you make me come. If you make me come,” you explain.
A resolute fire burns in his irises as he raises his opposite arm and lets you cross his wrists so you can keep him pinned to the couch with one hand.
He honestly looks unbelievable in this position. The drastic dichotomy between his big biceps and tiny waist is perfectly showcased for your admiration. If only you had more hands to explore his every vein and muscle while you fuck.
Jungkook must take notice of where your focus is because he tilts his hips up again to catch your attention.
“Like what you see?”
You tsk at him and shake your head. His confidence is undeniably sexy, but it’s also about time he remembers his place.
After moving your hand up from his neck, you force your two middle fingers into his mouth. Jungkook initially yelps in shock, but soon enough he hollows his cheeks and starts sucking on your digits.
While he zealously follows your command, you slowly push and pull your appendages in and out of his mouth. It leaves his chin shiny with spit as it dribbles out past his lips.
“Now I like what I see.”
Jungkook hums in approval while his tongue twirls around and in between your fingers. You have him right where you want him now; totally restrained by one hand and gagged by the other. If there were ever a time to fuck him into submission, it would be this moment.
So, you kneel far enough to leave only his tip inside you before slamming back down.
A muffled shriek is all you hear besides the wet squelch of your pussy sucking him in once again. His hands flex in your grasp as the rest of his body tenses and writhes in pleasure. Best of all, you don’t allow him to fully recover from the overwhelming ecstasy before you begin bouncing on his thighs.
Following just the first couple strokes, your pussy vehemently pulses and contracts because of how phenomenal riding Jungkook’s cock feels. Not only is his head seamlessly hitting your cervix, but he’s the perfect thickness to provide friction everywhere you need him to. You also grind against his pelvis on every downward thrust, stimulating your clit exactly how you like.
Jungkook’s own enjoyment is quite obvious, given that he hasn’t stopped shouting and his entire body reacts to every little thing you do. He’s sweating like a racehorse, his chest and neck are bright red from all the blood rushing through his veins, and you can smell the scent of exhilaration coming off of him in waves.
Even so, he still manages to meet each of your thrusts with one of his own from below. It seems he wasn’t exaggerating about putting his all into everything he does.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” you encourage him.
He moans at your praises while staring at you with those big, obsidian eyes you can’t get enough of. The comment must ignite something in him because he ramps up both the force and speed of his movements until he’s almost doing all the work. In fact, his actions are so harsh you have to pull your fingers from his mouth so you can hold onto his chest for support.
You hear him gasp once your digits are gone, but it quickly becomes a whimper when you start bucking your hips to match his pace. It creates a ferocious, sensual clapping sound of skin meeting skin that reverberates off the walls along with your tandem whines.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Jungkook’s head is pointed towards the ceiling now as he mindlessly chants, but you want to witness his handsome face contorting with pleasure. So, you grab his chin and pull his focus back to you.
“Speechless, huh?”
All he can muster is a weak nod.
Before the ability to speak returns to him, you lean over and lick up the side of his neck. The tip of your tongue traces his jugular while the large vein erratically pulses beneath his skin. Afterwards, you nibble on his earlobe and trail your lips back down via wet kisses along his throat.
The sensation of your hot lips dancing across his skin produces a growl from deep within his chest. You can tell he longs to return the favor, too, because he keeps thrashing against your hand that’s still holding his own hostage.
“I won’t… I won’t last,” he confesses. “You feel too damn amazing.”
“Excuse me?”
Within a split second, you sit upright again and use your free hand to slap him before harshly clutching his face; letting your fingertips dig into his round cheeks.
“Oh, fuck!”
“I don’t fucking think so,” you snap. “You don’t come until I say you do. Got that?”
“Ye… yes.”
Despite agreeing without any hesitation, it’s easier said than done, and you can feel him clenching his abdominal muscles in an attempt to control his release.
“Atta boy.”
You return your hand to his neck again and Jungkook moans while his eyes roll back. It’s stupidly attractive how much he enjoys being treated like your very own sex toy, including having his air supply severed.
After successfully stopping himself from letting go too soon, his disastrous tempo from before returns in full force. It feels fucking exquisite, and the melody of synchronized cries filling the room certainly proves that.
Although Jungkook’s working hard beneath you, the credit isn’t solely his own. You’re still expertly riding his dick like it’s the last thing you’ll do. Since you don’t ever get tired or feel any aches, it’s all too easy to continue bouncing up and down in his lap while grinding your hips together.
Truthfully, you didn’t think a human could ever provide you with such ecstasy, but fate must have played a large role in Jungkook being the one to break the barrier between your worlds.
Even so, it seems he’s still willing to give you more.
“Let me go so I can fuck you like you deserve,” he breathlessly pleads.
You aren’t normally one to go back on your word, but you’re intrigued to see what he can accomplish with the use of his hands.
“Don’t make me regret this, Jungkook.”
As soon as you release his wrists and hold onto his chest instead, he gropes your hips and plants his feet against the couch. He proceeds to ruthlessly pound into you while using his newfound grasp to force your body down, making his dick reach entirely new depths inside you.
The adjustment is so abrupt and animalistic you have no choice but to drive your nails into his pecs to keep yourself steady. There’s no longer anything for you to do besides hang on for the ride, although you keep contracting your muscles so your pussy squeezes Jungkook’s cock every time he sinks into you again.
“Oh, just like that,” you keen as your head lulls back.
“I wanna feel you let go. Want you to fucking soak my cock in cum.”
You chuckle and press down on the sides of his throat.
“Then you better make me.”
Jungkook takes your words to heart. Somehow, in complete contrast to what a human should be able to do, he escalates his efforts even further until the couch beneath you starts rattling and creaking like it’ll combust if you keep going any longer.
It leaves you speechless, to be quite honest. Not even a demon has fucked you so ferociously before and they don’t have any physical limitations.
Your body usually requires an excessive amount of stimulation to reach a climax, but you can already feel an orgasm looming just off the horizon with how hard Jungkook is working to break you off.
“Feels so good, Jungkook.”
“Come for me,” he pants. “Please, Y/N.”
There’s no point in holding back from giving him what he wants. Besides, his dick furiously moving in and out of your cunt and rubbing against your swollen walls feels too damn good to even attempt it.
When your muscles brutally constrict before relaxing around Jungkook, not only does it pull a low moan from your lips, but he gasps and throws his head back. Your pussy drowns his length in sticky arousal that makes it effortless for him to keep fucking you throughout the high. Additionally, his fingertips create deep divots in your skin as he refrains from following you straight into the pool of euphoria threatening to drag him under.
Just like everything prior, the sensation is undeniably amazing. Your climax erupts in your core and spreads through your entire body, seeping into every vein and nerve like a tsunami of pleasure. It unintentionally causes you to scratch Jungkook’s chest and tighten your grip on his throat, something you only realize when you hear his breathing turn shallow and ragged.
You quickly remove your hand from his neck for a reprieve and Jungkook takes a sharp inhale to refill his lungs. Meanwhile, you paint more red streaks on his tender skin by dragging your nails all the way down his abs.
“Fuck,” he sighs before finally halting the avid movement of his hips.
“Mm.” After sitting up in his lap, you start drawing little shapes along the taut ridges of his stomach. “You were great, baby.”
A tired, smug grin forms on Jungkook’s lips.
“Thank you.”
The genuine gratitude in his voice makes you smile.
“In fact, you did such a wonderful job that I think I’ll let you come next time,” you offer.
Your comment makes Jungkook’s eyes light up as he wraps an arm around your waist so he can lean against the armrest and still keep you seated on his cock.
“You mean it?”
“Well, you have to keep up the good work, but I’d argue you deserve it.”
Jungkook’s expression morphs into a proud smirk as his eyes flit around your face.
“How do you want me?”
“Now that’s a tough question.” It takes you a minute to ponder a response and you glide your fingertips back up his chest while you decide. “Because I would love for you to take me from the back, but then I don’t get to see this handsome face.”
You clutch his jaw and wiggle his head back and forth to make your point, causing Jungkook to blush and squeeze his eyes shut with a sweet laugh.
It’s still surprising how much you adore his mannerisms considering you thrive on sin and corruption, but what’s downright jarring is how easily he can switch between different personas. He’s clearly talented in the bedroom and can keep up with your wit and flirtations, all while being one of the most adorable humans you’ve ever encountered.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to overcompensate by fucking you as hard as I can,” he parries.
Exhibit A.
“Don’t go making promises you can’t keep, dollface.”
Jungkook gets a twinkle in his eye at your challenge and before you know it he’s laying you back on the couch, earning him an eyebrow raise.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” You don’t get a chance to continue your banter because Jungkook shocks you by flipping you over onto all fours and yanking you towards him until your ass meets his crotch. It’s quite the bold move for a mortal and you find yourself gawking at him over your shoulder. “What?” He thrusts forward so his hard cock slides between your folds and teases your clit. “You want it rough, don’t you?”
“I think you’re becoming a little too comfortable,” you note.
That damn shimmer in his eyes just grows until the whole galaxy is taunting you in a deep shade of brown.
“Confident,” he corrects you.
You click your tongue at his response before reaching back to steal one of his hands resting on your hipbone.
“Then put your money where your mouth is.”
When you place his palm on the crown of your head to imply what he should do, Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He recovers quickly, though, and soon enough heeds your demand by forcing your face into the couch cushions at the same time his other hand pushes down on your waist to make your back arch.
“My pleasure,” he grunts across another thrust that sinks his cock deep inside you again.
Despite experiencing this mere minutes ago, the new position and his entire length entering you at once elicits a guttural moan from you both. His dick fills you up so impeccably and from behind his tip is already kissing your cervix. He makes you feel so warm and full, but what you truly can’t wait for is the sensation of his cum seeping into your cunt.
Jungkook still hasn’t moved since sheathing himself within your satin walls because he’s too busy savoring the moment. You can hear him groaning behind you and his grasp on both your head and hip are becoming bruising.
“You doing alright back there?”
He produces a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff.
“I didn’t think it was possible for you to feel any tighter, but this angle is fucking insane.”
His hips rear back before you can respond and suddenly he’s fucking you with the force of a thousand men again. Due to your face being smushed against the leather, you can’t do much but moan and maintain your position while Jungkook relentlessly abuses your g-spot.
It feels phenomenal and you know without a shadow of a doubt that bringing home with you is a nonnegotiable. There’s not a chance in Hell you’ll ever let this be the last time he stretches you apart on his cock.
“Holy fucking shit,” Jungkook curses under his breath. “Feels so fucking good.”
Along with his mindless ramblings, he pushes down harder on your head while gripping your ass with his opposite hand until your flesh bulges out between his digits. A moment later, a stinging sensation follows the loud clap caused by him spanking you.
“Shit, do that again,” you moan.
Jungkook instantly obeys and smacks you as hard as he can, making you lurch forward until he grabs the meat of your ass again to yank you back into him.
“So even a demon likes being fucked like a slut, huh?”
His statement causes you to snicker and turn your head so you can see him.
“Only when the person’s doing it right,” you counter.
The last thing you witness before Jungkook shoves your face back down is a proud grin.
His attention returns to the main event afterwards and you have to admit both the strength and tempo of his strokes are beyond ambitious. He’s railing into you as though he’s the immortal being and it sends your eyes rolling straight into your skull.
You’ve always loved this position, but doing it with Jungkook is an exceptional experience. Between his pelvis repeatedly meeting your ass, his balls slapping your clit, and his big cock molding your walls into his shape, you can’t fathom a more erotic combination.
In fact, it’s so immaculate you can already feel another climax building in your gut. All you need is just a little more effort from the man currently spearing you on his dick. Not because it’s necessary to make you come, but because you want to know how far he’ll push himself.
“Harder, baby.”
Poor Jungkook chokes as his hips momentarily falter.
“Ha — harder?”
“What?” You rise from your elbows so you can twist your neck enough to make eye contact with him. “You can’t handle that?”
Jungkook’s face of pure determination lights a fire in your belly that you’re dying to have him quench.
Rather than replying, he twirls your hair around his fingers and tugs until your head is so far back you can almost count the paint chips on the ceiling. Then he plants his other hand atop your own on the leather before falling forward so his chest is resting on your spine.
With his lips right beside your ear now, he nibbles on your cartilage while slotting his digits between yours.
“I can handle anything, baby,” he snarls.
The new angle provides him with more stability that he utilizes to give you precisely what you’re asking for. Without another thought, he retreats until only his cockhead remains inside, just past your tight circle of nerves, and holds the position for an irritating amount of time.
“You trying to tease me?”
Jungkook chuckles as his head dips so he can venerate your neck.
“Something like that.”
When he begins again, you genuinely experience what it’s like to be a human.
He immediately starts pounding into you so mercilessly the couch nudges closer to the wall every time he enters you. You can’t feel pain or suffer a bruise, but if you could, you imagine you would be black and blue from how hard his hips are slamming into your ass. Not to mention the severe headache he’d be giving you from how firmly he’s clutching and yanking on your hair.
“Fuck… Jungkook…” you mumble between thrusts.
Another deep laugh tickles your ear.
“Hard enough for you?”
His hand totally encompasses your own, his fingertips pressing down on your palm, as he uses the leverage to maintain his inhuman pace.
It’s the most embarrassing moment in your entire thousand-year-long existence because you can’t find the wherewithal to answer him. You’re too awestruck by his sweaty, taut chest rubbing against your back and his cock ravaging your pussy.
Your lack of response tells him everything he needs to know, and you can practically smell the immense pride wafting off him.
Another orgasm is dangerously close to overpowering your senses, but you want to feel him paint your cunt in his seed before then. Plus he really deserves to bust his load after what you’ve put him through tonight. So, you focus on speaking rather than the myriad of sensations he’s providing.
“Can you feel me pulsing around you?”
“Fuck, of course I can.”
“Then come with me. Not a second before or after, got it?”
Jungkook nods where his face is still buried in your neck, but you also sense a hint of nervousness on behalf of him not wanting to disappoint you.
Cute.
As both your highs approach, Jungkook’s moans grow louder and his breathing becomes nothing more than short, erratic puffs of air. It’s obvious how close he is and you clench your core to give him that final push.
In response, he whines into your skin as his harsh strokes shift to just grinding against your ass because the ecstasy is too overwhelming.
“Please, baby, I can’t…”
“Don’t you dare,” you warn him.
“Y/N,” he cries in desperation.
After only a couple more penetrating thrusts, your pussy convulses and drenches Jungkook’s cock in essence, and just as instructed, he comes at the exact same time with a loud, broken sob.
His hot cum floods your cunt as he whimpers and continues to roll his hips into you. In turn, your orgasm makes you unabashedly moan and fall forward onto your elbows. Both your bodies shake while intense euphoria surges through you until all you can feel is one another.
By the time your climaxes end, the only sound in the room is you two panting and the wet squelch of Jungkook still lazily fucking you.
“I… damn,” he rasps.
You chuckle.
“Good job, dollface.”
With that, you collapse onto the couch and involuntarily pull Jungkook down with you since he’s still nestled deep inside your walls. The two of you lie there just catching your breath and letting your bodies relax until he eventually releases your hair and peels himself off your back.
You’re too exhausted to pay attention to his movements, but you can hear him stumbling across the room. Then all of the sudden he’s rolling you over and gently running a soft towel between your legs to clean you up.
His natural attentiveness makes you giggle.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Jungkook weakly shakes his head.
“I’m nothing if not a gentleman.” Once he’s done, he tosses the rag aside and crashes into the armrest. A silent moment passes before his expression turns inquisitive. “You can’t… you can’t get pregnant, right?”
“No,” you laugh. “I don’t have reproductive organs.”
“Oh, good.”
“What? You don’t want to raise a half human, half demon baby with me?”
He smiles and tilts his head to and fro like he's actually contemplating it.
“I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
Following an affectionate shake of your head, you sit up so you’re mirroring his position across from him.
Even after everything you’ve already done tonight, you notice his eyes drinking you up from head to toe. It fills you with accomplishment and reminds you of the task at hand.
“So, you made up your mind yet?”
Jungkook’s eyes tilt down while he fiddle with his fingers.
“I have. Think I did before my dick was even inside you,” he admits. “Is that pathetic?” He glances up and you can see all the different emotions swimming in his eyes. “I mean, shouldn’t I have some more respect for my mortality?”
“No.” Your casual response earns you a questioning look. “You want what you want. There’s no shame in that.”
Your answer seems to satisfy him somewhat because his hands fall to his sides and he sits up straighter.
“What will it be like for the people I leave behind?”
“It’ll be as though you vanished without a trace.”
He hums in acknowledgment.
“I guess I should leave a note then.”
Jungkook doesn’t wait for a response before standing and rummaging through his desk to find a pen and paper. While he does, you scoop your dress up from the floor and shimmy into it. You also grab his clothes and place them on the couch for him.
Once he’s done, he takes a deep breath and turns in your direction. You gesture towards the pile of black material and he graciously bows his head before throwing the different articles of clothing back on.
You situate yourself on his desk where the note now lies as you wait for him to finish, sitting on the edge so your feet dangle just off the ground.
Curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself glancing down at the small piece of paper taped to the wood so it doesn’t get disturbed.
It’s surprisingly short, but you suppose it states everything it needs to. Written in Korean, it reads:
Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. I love you.
It could be addressed to anybody, which you’re positive is the reason he kept it so vague. His final words will bring comfort to everyone from his family, band members, and multitude of fans all around the world.
You wish you could say you feel bad he has to leave such a wonderful life behind, but you honestly don’t. No matter how much you adore your little mortal, you still have an agenda as a demon and you’re getting precisely what you want.
After hopping off the desk, you contemplate how to go about actually sealing the deal. Even though Jungkook agreed to come with you, humans often hesitate on big decisions at the last second. You don’t want to kiss him by force, since that could cause resentment, but you do want to return home soon.
Your worries end up being for naught, because when you turn towards Jungkook to ask him a question, you hear him exclaim under his breath.
“So, how do you —”
“Fuck it.”
Everything happens so fast you don’t even realize what’s occurring until you feel Jungkook’s lips pressing against your own. The foreign taste and sensation initially shocks you, and you even squeak when he passionately slots your mouths together as his fingers rake into your hair.
On instinct, your fingers curl around the fabric of his torn shirt to tug him closer and Jungkook contentedly hums. No doubt because he’s finally making up for all the times he wanted to kiss you throughout the night. He’s a damn good kisser, too. His lips are soft, warm, and move in perfect harmony with your own.
You aren’t certain how long you two make out, but you know it’s enough time to be transported back home together. Especially once you can feel the familiar heat of your humble abode swirling around you.
Jungkook pulls away first, but his eyes stay closed for a moment while you admire his features in the hazy, red ambiance of Hell for the first time. He’s sporting a blissful smile as though he didn’t just bid farewell to the only life he’s ever known and it causes you to giggle with pride.
When his eyes do fly open, they land on you before something over your shoulder catches his attention. The already large spheres widen dramatically as he observes the unfamiliar space. You hear his heartbeat speed up and sense waves of anxiety and fear washing over him, but you think you know a decent remedy.
While he’s still busy surveying his new surroundings, including the grand pillars, ornate decor, and high ceilings of your home, you slowly walk backwards down the hall.
“Welcome home, Jungkook,” you chirp. “To Hell, that is.”
With a seductive wink, you turn on your heel and strut away from him. Once you’re a few feet ahead, you twist around to make a come hither motion with your pointer finger.
His eyebrows rise like he’s almost surprised you’re talking to him, but then his nerves seem to settle as a smirk grows on his lips.
“So, you coming or not?”
You continue towards your room after turning around again and just like magic, you soon hear a chuckle followed by the sound of Jungkook jogging to catch up with you.
I know, I know, I know I took way too long to post this even though I said I’d upload it last night, but life happened (ahem, work) and I didn’t have the time. But now I’m finally super free and really excited to share the Jungkook fanfics that have stayed with me the most.
P.S. I read a lot of these stories a long time ago, but! I still love them just as much as the first time <3 Also, feel free to tell me in the asks or in the comments which member you’d like to see next (or if you’d prefer a specific trope!).
One-shots:
THE PROPOSAL by @hansolmates
-> Summary: Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can’t refuse.
-> Review: Have you ever watched The Proposal and wished you could find a fanfic inspired by that movie? Well, you don’t have to keep searching anymore! This is THE The Proposal-inspired fanfic (and don’t lie, I know you thought about it too, we all did). As you can see from the summary, the roles are reversed here, and Jungkook is the boss this time (grrr). It’s obviously not a super faithful adaptation of the movie — it’s an adaptation, not a copy — but it’s incredibly fun, keeps all the elements that make that rom-com one of the greatest ever, and has a super satisfying ending <3
ROCK GOD by @venusjeon
-> Summary: You’ve got one year left to either finish your novitiate and become a nun like your parents always wanted, or leave the order and live a secular life like you’ve always wanted. but the fact that a sister’s flirty nephew is staying in the convent for the summer provides a perfect distraction to such headache.
-> Review: Do you know that empty feeling you get when you finish reading something too good and suddenly have no idea what to do with yourself afterward? So you just sit there staring at your phone screen, trying to process what the hell just happened? That’s exactly how this fic made me feel when I read it two years ago (uff, time really flies). I’m not gonna lie, my relationship with this version of Jungkook is… complicated, but! That doesn’t change the fact that I absolutely adored this fic from beginning to end, and I’d read it all over again just to experience that feeling one more time.
ACCIDENTAL ROOMMATES by @jjkeverlast
-> Summary: Moving apartments is stressful and difficult enough as it is. all the planning and packing and multiple moments of rearranging furniture; all you crave is peace. yet it seemed like peace was far within reach as the owner of the apartment had left out one tiny crucial detail from the ad — a ripped tattooed adonis, coupled, with a tiny baby daughter will come as your roommate.
-> Review: I have to confess that dilf aus are way too powerful for me, so finding this fic, with a tattooed Jungkook, father of an adorable baby girl, who also happens to be oc’s neighbor? It genuinely felt like striking gold. I really loved the relationship between these two, and obviously the baby as well. Also, the little touch Nam brings to this fic is chef’s kiss. It was brief, but perfect, and it gave me one of my favorite scenes.
Series:
HOT BOT by @httpjeon
-> Summary: Purchasing a Hot Bot wasn’t exactly something you ever really planned on. when you do, however, it sends your life down a path of convoluted government schemes and dark secrets.
-> Review: Okay, so, this series actually includes several members, but I only read Jungkook’s part (it had my favorite plot, and I am weak). It’s only four parts long, and all four of them are wonderful. Android aus are genuinely fascinating to me. I’ve read a few over the years I’ve spent here, and I still remember this one fondly because not only was it the first one I ever found, but I also feel like it does an amazing job showing the android’s evolution and, at the same time, the consequences that can happen if their system gets reset or damaged (I still get anxious thinking about that chapter). Seriously, I’m begging you guys to give this series a chance, it’s really, really good.
FLESH AND BLOOD by @kinktae
-> Summary: You are living in a society that is just now picking up the scraps that the Great Outbreak left behind after the government killed off the majority of the zombies. Still, some remain, and fear still lies within society’s walls. So imagine your surprise when the very thing you’ve been taught to fear ends up saving your life, showing you that maybe two beating hearts aren’t always required when it comes to love.
-> Review: Guys. Guys, this one? This one is PURE GOLD AHHH. So, I’m actually a huge fan of monster romance (sue me!), which means that when I look for apocalypse aus, I’m not looking for survivors, I’m looking for zombies, because why not? And somehow, in the middle of my nearly impossible search, I found this absolute gem right here. Three parts. A Jungkook who slowly starts learning how to be human again. And smut (because I know you all love that ;)). This is one of the very few stories on here that I recommended to friends outside of Tumblr because that’s how much I loved it. It’s the kind of story that leaves this warm feeling in your chest and makes you want to come back and read it all over again someday.
SHATTER WITH ME by @colormepurplex2
-> Summary: Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem—happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure.
-> Review: The amount of anxiety this story gave me is honestly not normal. I still remember how uncomfortable I felt every single time Jiyoon showed up or whenever there was a tense moment between Jungkook and OC because, duh, he was a married man. Anyway, I’m completely in love with this story and its characters. I love stories that make me anxious, that make me unable to stop reading, that force me to keep going until I finish the first part because UGHHH I LOVE when authors make me absolutely devour their stories by sheer force of how good they are. And this is definitely one of those stories. You’re going to eat this up in one sitting, trust me.
-> Review: Just like with Hot Bot, this series has side stories for other members too, but Jungkook’s is the main one (also the longest lol) and OH. MY. GOD. AHHHH. I love it, I adore it, it’s one of the very few series where smut is kind of the “main theme” (in the loosest way possible) that I genuinely really enjoy. The whole concept surrounding this universe is fascinating to me. Like, the Club LaRouge?? Absolute genius. The author is a genius, seriously. And the side stories are incredible too (you have no idea how excited I got when I saw they uploaded Jimin’s). You need to read this one, no excuses. Pure art.
THE WIFE TRAP by @wintrbears
-> Summary: There are two boys but only one girl, leaving Jungkook hopelessly in love with someone he can never have, and doesn’t want to have, because that would mean taking you away from the person he loves most. Then suddenly there’s only one boy and one girl, but it’s the wrong one.
-> Review: This space was way too small for me to give you my full review, so here’s the link to the reblog where I talk in depth about this incredible ongoing story.
Jungkook is your brother’s stupidly hot best friend who has been around since you learned how to read and write. He has always known where the line is when it comes to you. The problem? You don’t.
PAIRING: brother’s bsf!jk x fem!reader
GENRE: smut w plot
WC: 13k
WARNINGS: biker!jk, brother!jaehyun (my fics mean nothing wo him), 3 year age gap, jealousy, reader’s a TEASE, she’s also so horny it’s stupid, don’t let the banner fool you it’s very summer in this, smut wise: uhh, they have sex on his bike, dry humphing (a lost art), m masturbation, riding, he has a thing for her tits, so he fucks her tits, BIG D JK AGENDA, dirty talk
NOTES: im aware this is long overdue but hear me out here!! this was going to be like 6k words max but things just…kept happening…anyways this is pure filth and self indulgence. i lost my mind after that fucking tiktok his slutty ass posted and ofc it led us here. i hope this satisfies your fantasies the way it did mine, enjoy <3
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Jeon Jungkook is so unbelievably hot.
Though it’s not the kind that makes your eyes linger and your heart flutter. No, it’s nothing like that. He is so ridiculously attractive it leaves your pussy aching, clenching so hard around nothing you wish it’s him you bounce on until sunset blurs into sunrise. You almost feel your muscles physically hurt by how he’s always so close yet so far away when the only thing you desire is for the space between you to become a rhythm and draw you in until distance doesn’t really exist anymore.
But that doesn’t happen, that never happens when it’s Jungkook.
He’s Jaehyun’s best friend– your older brother who loves you more than anything. Your brother who still babies you because you fell off your bike and broke your arm that one time when you were sixteen. Your brother who trusts Jungkook in that effortless, unquestioning way that only comes from years of knowing someone too well– because they’ve known each other since Jungkook knocked on your door when they were nine and you were six. He’d looked up at your parents with those big brown eyes of his and asked, so politely your mother still gushes about it at family gatherings, if he could play with your brother.
That was all it took for Jungkook to stay. You remember how at first, it started with the small things. His shoes left by the door like the spot had been assigned to him, his voice echoing through the walls so often it soon blended into the background…Those little moments stretched into something bigger and bigger before you could even notice. And suddenly, he was there for everything. Anywhere from holiday dinners to summer getaways, Jungkook was always there.
But he never gave you anything.
Jaehyun is the kind of brother who treats every man like a problem, like a timed bomb ticking in the corner, patiently waiting for the right time to blow up into flames. He’s the kind of brother who lectures you about never trusting a guy, the kind who would show up at his door with something burning behind his eyes and a fist ready to throw. Not asking for questions, not looking for answers.
If anything was to ever happen between you and Jungkook, Jaehyun wouldn’t just be mad. He’d fucking lose it.
So Jungkook has always kept his distance from you.
He makes sure it’s not anything obvious, but it’s never enough for you to not notice either. The way he never stands next to you for too long, the way his hands stay to himself even when it’s not convenient, the way he looks at you just enough to acknowledge your presence, yet never enough to let it mean anything. He has always been controlled around you, way beyond measure and annoying as hell.
Because you’ve seen him with other people. You’ve seen how he talks and how he laughs. He lets himself be less careful, less contained. Just more…him. And what bothers you the most isn’t that he ignores you, he never ignores you.
Jungkook does notice you. You know it, he knows it, he definitely knows you know it too. But what’s so infuriating is the fact that he actively chooses not to react, not to acknowledge anything that comes in his way from you. It’s like he’s decided long ago that whatever line existing between the two of you is one he’s never willing to cross. Which would be fine if he wasn’t so damn irresistible.
But he is.
And tonight, you’re a little more aware of it than usual. Maybe it’s the tight little dress that’s framing your body so well you had to twirl in front of the mirror more than once just to take it in, because it just looks that good. Or maybe, it’s something else entirely; one of those nights where whatever he usually holds so carefully contained inside sits a little closer to the surface than it normally does.
You don’t think too much of it as you step out of your room, walking down the hallway barefoot as you fix your earrings. A voice drifts away from the living room until it reaches your ears. You know the voice belongs to Jaehyun, he’s home, that’s not surprising. What’s surprising is that he’s not alone.
You round the corner with your mind elsewhere, the only thought lingering on your mind being whether the shade of your lipstick is a little too dark or not. You’re already halfway into whatever you were going to say when you briefly pause by the mirror to smooth down your dress.
“Hey, do you mind if–” You start, but you cut yourself off, because when you finally drift your eyes away from the hem of your skirt and lift them up, Jungkook’s reflection stares right back at you from behind.
He’s leaning back against the couch comfortably, legs spread wide like he’s been there for so long his body has melted and molded into the cushion. One of his arms is thrown over the backrest as the other is holding a can of beer he’s not really drinking from. Jaehyun isn’t there with him for some reason, probably whipping something up in the kitchen even though he can't cook to save his life.
And when you turn around to face him fully, there’s a beat where his eyes move over you, all the way from the very top of your head to the bottom of your feet. You swear his eyes linger for a second too long on your chest before he drops them down and lets his mind register you properly.
“Going somewhere?” He asks, one brow raised as he spreads his legs even further.
You nod once, pretending to be mindless and nonchalant about it. “Just for drinks with some friends.” Technically, you’re going out with a friend. But before you can even think of elaborating on that further, Jaehyun walks in. And that’s all it takes for Jungkook to look away like it doesn’t mean anything.
“Finally.” He scoffs before taking a large sip from his beer. “You take longer than anyone I know to get ready.”
It takes half a minute of consecutive swift blinking for you to drag your attention away from Jungkook and pull yourself back together. “Relax.” You mutter when you’ve recollected your senses, rolling your eyes. “You’re not even coming with me.”
“As if I’d want to.” He responds immediately. “I don’t want to deal with your friends.”
“Hey!” You exclaim, pulling your browns together. “You like my friends.”
“When they’re sober and quiet.” He corrects.
You huff out a laugh, stepping further into the room, grabbing your purse from the table. “Liar.”
“I never lie.” Jaehyun responds, making his way over to the couch before dropping himself down next to Jungkook. You shake your head with a light scoff, barely listening anymore, because Jungkook’s gaze is fixed on you once again and you don’t know if you can continue holding up this stupid act of nonchalance if he doesn’t tear his eyes away from you soon enough.
“Text me when you get there.” Jaehyun reminds you for the third time today, and you nod along halfheartedly, checking your purse one last time for good measure.
“Yeah, okay. Promise.”
“You better.” He mutters.
You sling your bag over your shoulder, turning slightly just to sneak one last look at the man who’s managed to get your pussy tingling with so much as one look and two careless words. But when your gaze finds him and you realize he’s still looking at you, you think that maybe, he isn’t as untouchable as he makes it out to be.
He shifts under your presence, like your eyes weren’t something he expected to land a certain way yet did anyway, setting his drink down on the table as you move past him. The motion brings you close just enough, and his hand brushes against yours in passing. It’s light and fleeting, the kind of contact that normally would be dismissed in seconds. But you feel it all too clearly, so much that even after he pulls away, his fingertips linger on your skin in a way that burns until it leaves a permanent trace.
Because he doesn’t pull away immediately, not fast enough like he usually does. There’s a fraction of a second where his fingers stay there before he retracts like he remembered it a little too late.
And when you finally leave, Jungkook finds himself drowned inside the drunken haze of your sweet scent and the warmth of your presence– so strong that he physically feels the way it’s begging for him to follow.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The place Jaemin picked is one of those upscale cocktail bars where the wine is just so mediocre you’re forced to order overpriced cocktails instead. The lighting is warm and dim, because it always is in places like this– casting everything in a golden glow so that the glint makes it easier to ignore what doesn’t quite live up to the price tag. It’s busy just the way you like, filled with enough people to feel alive without being crowded.
Jaemin is already there by the time you reach the table that's reserved for you, leaning back into his seat like the air around him bends so intently that the place belongs to him. His legs are spread just a little wider than what’s acceptable, and the drink in his hand swings lazily from side to side like it’s been there for long with the sole purpose of giving him something to fidget with.
He smirks immediately when you walk in. “There she is.” He sings, dragging his gaze over you before continuing. “You look…happy.” He says, cocking a brow like he’s questioning his own choice of words.
You slide into the seat across from him, setting your bag onto the one next to you. “When am I not happy?”
“This is like, when your hot friend from statistics called me cute, kind of happy.”
You scoff, reaching for the menu before letting your eyes scan through the list of beverages. “You threw a chair and got banned from the cafe you took her to.”
Jaemin rolls his eyes. “I moved a chair.”
“You threw it and it hit someone’s leg.”
He pauses. “Not the point.”
You giggle, placing the menu back onto the table. “Exactly the point, she got back together with her ex two days after your date.”
He watches you for a second, then shakes his head. “God, you’re exhausting.”
“And,” You start, dragging the word. “You still text me every day.”
“What can I say, you’re a part of my routine.” Jaemin winks at you before turning his head to call over a waiter. When he comes by, you order a cocktail too pink to be taken seriously, and Jaemin asks for a kind of whiskey you’re sure tastes even worse than its name. Because no one really enjoys whiskey, it’s just for show. A whole performance created by men trying to match up to their fragile egos. Not that you're saying Jaemin fits the profile.
He leans forward when the waiter walks away. “Alright.” He says. “What did you do?”
You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I didn’t exactly do something.”
He gives you an unimpressed look. “And you expect me to believe that?”
“Yes!” You exclaim. “I really didn’t do anything. He just…slipped.”
“Who?” He pulls his brows together. “Don’t tell me this is about Jungkook again.”
You lean back into your seat, unable to help the mischievous smile spreading across your face. Jaemin groans when it clicks, realizing exactly what you’re talking about. “No he didn’t.” He says matter of factly.
You met Jaemin your freshman year of high school, and you slipped in each other’s spaces so easily you don’t even remember how. Just that by the time it mattered, he was already there. In your messages at ungodly hours, in the best parts of your worst days, in the middle of things he had no reason to involve himself in but did anyway.
And at some point, without either of you really saying it out loud, you built something strong enough to stay and fight for.
So naturally, Jaemin knows Jungkook. How he moves, how he talks, how careful he is without making it obvious— only when it comes to you. He knows the version of him that exists around your brother; easy, controlled, and distant just enough to never cause any problems.
So when you say that Jungkook slipped, he knows exactly what you mean, even though he would never grant you the pleasure of being right. But most importantly, he knows that if you're bringing it up like this, something has actually shifted.
“He did.” You say without an ounce of hesitation. “He looked at me like he…forgot everything. Like there was a feeling he’d been suppressing and he forgot why for a second." You pause, sipping your drink. "And!" You exclaim like you forgot to add something so crucial. "His hand brushed mine and he didn't pull away." You argue.
Jaemin sinks deeper into his seat. “Can we please move on from that man? Jungkook doesn’t slip, that’s literally his thing. I can set you up with Mark, if you want. Saw his dick once in the lockers and let me tell you, he’s huge.”
Your lips pull into a pout. “I don’t want Mark, I want Jungkook.”
Jaemin exhales through his nose before taking a large gulp from his drink. “Let’s say you’re right, Jaehyun would fucking kill you.”
You shrug, mindlessly tracing your nail along the rim of your glass. “We’ll figure that out, I just wanna see how far it goes. What it takes for him to lose control."
“You’ve liked him way too long for this to end well.”
You scoff. “I do not like him.”
Jaemin deadpans. “You used to sit on the stairs just to watch him and your brother play video games.”
“That's because I wanted to hop on his bones.” You argue.
He lifts a brow accusingly. “When you were fifteen?”
You pause for a second, tongue poking the inside of your cheek as you watch over your friend. “Fuck you.” You mutter under your breath.
You breathe again before leaning forward slightly, lowering your voice just enough. “You’ve seen him, Jaemin. He’s always so– so put together. Like nothing touches and sticks to him enough.”
“Yeah.” Jaemin nods. “Because he’s not stupid.”
The corner of your mouth twitches. “And it’s my duty to fuck up his morals.”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You’re gonna drag me into this, aren’t you?”
“You’re already in it." You smile at him innocently, bating your eyelashes. “You’re gonna sit next to me and look pretty."
“Wow, the way you love me.”
You wink at him, sipping your drink and letting the bitter taste of alcohol burn in your mouth. "Always."
“God,” He mutters. “You’re gonna fuck this up.”
Your lips twitch. “I’ll snap you a pic when he spreads his legs for me.”
“Please don’t.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The opportunity presents itself on a silver platter.
You’d be stupid to not take it. Not when you’ve gotten him somewhere hot, wet and messy without even meaning to, as if the universe already knows exactly what you’re about to do with it.
You're stretched out on one of the chez-longs by the pool, body wrapped in the tiniest set of white bikinis in your wardrobe. That was definitely a lucky guess— a hot one to say the least. You're laying on your stomach with a book resting open in your hands with the sole purpose of being there, because you've read no more than two or five pages during the whole hour you spent here.
You had set the day aside and spared it for yourself— silenced your phone, shut everyone out, forced your mind into a kind of quiet that had no way out unless you tried hard enough. You had cleared everything until there was nothing to think about, nothing pulling at you from somewhere with something you didn't choose.
But it doesn't last.
The sliding door cuts through the quiet when you expect it the least, and when it opens, it brings Jaehyun with it. He walks in a way that's loud, careless, and already mid conversation with a couple of his friends trailing behind him.
And Jungkook too, of course.
You lower your book, push yourself onto your elbows, and then lift your sunglasses up into your hair. The exasperated breath you huff out goes unnoticed by both your brother, and his ridiculously loud friends as their voices swallow it up without wasting a second.
"Wow," You mutter, tilting your head to take a look at them. "Great."
Jaehyun spots you immediately. “Oh, you’re here.”
You scrunch your face a little, blinking up at him, shielding your face from the sun with a help of your hand even though it doesn't exactly work wonders. “I live here.”
“Right.” He says mindlessly. “Didn’t think you’d be outside.”
You scoff. “Clearly.”
After your exchange, Jaehyun walks over the lounge chairs across from you, tossing his towel onto one of them like there isn't enough for everyone and they're something to call dibs on. When in reality, they aren't. One of his friends, one you only vaguely recognize, blows out a low whistle as he walks by.
"Damn," He says, not even trying to be subtle about it. "Didn't know he had a sister like that."
Luckily, Jaehyun doesn't hear it, too busy arguing with Mingyu about sunscreen brands like either of them know what they're talking about.
But Jungkook does.
His head turns— maybe not immediately, maybe you're giving yourself too much credit and your imagination has started playing games on you— but you swear it does. His eyes narrow at his friend for a second too long before landing on you. And this time, you're sure there's something there. You're sure that if you were exaggerating and reading too much into every small detail last week, you aren't now.
His eyes linger on you as the oil you had put on catches the sunlight in a way that's impossible to ignore. The soft sheen traces every line and every curve of your body, shifting with movement until it reflects straight into his eyes.
Jungkook really doesn't mean to look. But the way the light hits your body— which he swears is literally the epitome of beauty— pulls in his attention without asking for permission. Suddenly, he's seeing too much and the tent in his shorts is growing and growing until the fabric tightens around his length and he can't bear doing nothing about it.
Though what really gets him isn't only how good you look— because that has always been a problem. It's how you exist in it so easily, so comfortable in the artwork dressed as your body. As his gaze dances over you, his head keeps spinning and spinning and suddenly, words he can never say out loud build at the tip of his tongue.
You're a fucking temptation.
You’re in the middle of flipping a page you haven’t been reading when his voice cuts in. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”
You glance up again. “And I didn’t know you were coming over.”
He shrugs. “Jaehyun asked.”
You nod slowly, pursing your lips. “I figured.”
There’s a beat filled with silence, one that stretches a little too long, one that leads you to realize he won’t be the first one to break it. So you turn over and sit up fully, setting your book aside. “Are you gonna get in or keep standing there?” You ask lightly.
But it takes him longer than a minute to hear the question. Because as you sit up and your front faces him, Jungkook feels the air knocking out of his lungs.
Your tits.
They sit so round and perky under the thin fabric of your bikini top. The white colour extenuates the soft swell of your boobs perfectly and Jungkook can't help but wonder what else would paint them white like this. As if things couldn't get worse for him, your tits bounce slightly when you move, and Jungkook fucking loses it.
He huffs a quiet breath in hopes of masking the ethical dilemma he's got going on inside. “Don’t really feel like it.”
You hum softly, dragging your gaze over him. “Well,” You start. “That’s too bad.”
His brows pull together. “Why?”
You give him a calculated smile, letting the moment sink in before answering. “You’d be fun to watch.”
You see the way your words land immediately– that almost-reaction he covers before it reaches too far. “Yeah?” He says, voice lower now, unable to help himself. “You watch everyone like that?”
You shrug. “Only the ones nice to look at.”
He huffs out a soft scoff under his breath before reaching for the hem of his shirt, then pulls it off in one swift motion. You try to keep your expression neutral. And you swear, you really do. But when he looks like that, it’s impossible.
Because Jungkook looks ridiculous like this, chest toned and bare and so fucking hot. He looks like someone who jumped out of your dirtiest fantasies and landed straight in your aching pussy. Your muscles grow sore despite having laid down all morning and you have to physically stop yourself from drooling and licking along the lines framing his abs.
At the end of the day, you're just a girl who knows what she likes. Sue you.
You exhale softly through your nose, shaking your head mindlessly like it doesn’t matter, like you don’t want to jump and bounce on him until his shape is permanently engraved in you. “Real subtle.”
He glances at you, cocking a brow. “You asked.”
You tilt your head. “I wouldn’t say asked is the correct word.”
“You’re welcome anyway.” He says, tossing his shirt beside you.
You laugh, pushing yourself up from the sunbed. “You’re so annoying.” So annoyingly hot.
When you’re finally standing, he’s so close you don’t hear whatever bullshit Jaehyun yells from the pool. Shut up, brother. Your girl is standing on business.
You step forward towards the edge of the pool when the lack of distance starts feeling like you want to drop down to your knees and take him into your mouth until he's whining and crying. Because it's one thing to be aware of his presence, but a whole another thing to feel the warmth of him sizzling through your bones.
You crouch down, dragging your hand along the water. "You getting in?" You ask, glancing up at him.
Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, gives you one final look, and before you know it, he's jumping straight into the pool. Water rises fast the moment his body drops in, splashing and hitting your skin in cool droplets.
Jungkook shakes his head, dragging a hand over his face. "Happy?" He asks, looking at you behind wet curls as he brushes them away from his face.
Oh the sight he is.
You tilt your head, looking down at him as you narrow your eyes teasingly. “A little.”
Before you can move, his hand catches your wrist and pulls you forward. You lose your balance and a sharp splash cuts through your body, skin burning with the unexpected hit. And suddenly, all you can feel is the cold chill of water rushing up your spine mixed with the warmth of his body.
Shit.
When you open your eyes, you realize you're fully pressed against him. Your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders and your legs around his waist before you have the chance to realize what's happening.
For a second, it's like the earth stops rotating— like it forgets to revolve around the sun and time forgets to move along with it. The water ripples slowly until it calms down, the noise around you fading into something so distant and irrelevant. Because right now, all you can feel is him. The way his broad chest sits solid against your soft boobs and the warm touch of him on your skin that's suddenly everywhere.
Jungkook goes completely still the exact way you do, like he didn't expect this either yet can't bring himself to do anything rational about it. The rush keeps you away from registering his hold around your thighs until he shifts slightly, securing your place in his arms.
Your faces are so close that his breath is hitting your skin in that warm, intimate kind of way you don’t share with just anyone. But the intimacy slips over your head just like that and all you can focus on is the way his hardened length presses against you beneath the water.
“Fuck.” It slips under his breath, barely audible even for you considering the lack of distance between you and him. But of course, you hear it. You'd be a fool to miss a slip like that, because you'd notice that kind of desperation from a mile away
He pulls back abruptly, like the warmth becomes too much and suffocates him all at once, so much that he can't feel oxygen reaching his lungs anymore. Distance folds itself into something necessary for him to function properly again, and just like that, your arms slip away and your legs drop back into the water.
Then you give him a smile, teasing and knowing, like this was all you needed to have him all bare and figured out in the middle of your palm. "This is new." You murmur. "You're getting reckless."
His jaw tightens. “I’m not.”
“You just pulled me into the pool.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.
“You were standing too close.”
You laugh softly. “That’s your excuse?”
“It’s the truth.”
You tilt your head to study him with a little more care. The way he's been holding onto the tension between you like his life depends on it just so that it doesn't crack, the way restraint sits so uncomfortably on his face even though he has no choice but to keep it together a little longer— it's all a bit more clear now.
"Right." You say lightly, then turn away like nothing about what just happened is worth digging further. But on the inside, you're already thinking about the phone call you'll have with Jaemin. Because you were right from the start, that wasn't nothing, not even close.
You just got what you wanted.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Jaehyun absolutely loves Jaemin. He just won't ever say it like that.
It shows in other ways— been there since the day you came home all giddy and giggly, talking too fast about the first ever friend you made in high school, barely able to get his name out properly out of excitement. Jaehyun remembers it anyway. He remembers the day you said Jaemin like it already meant something, like the way the letters rolled out of your tongue was enough to know he was going to stay.
He didn't question it then, he doesn't question it now.
So when Jaemin shows up unannounced at your door and lets himself in without asking, Jaehyun doesn't tell him to leave. He complains with a roll of his eyes, but offers him a can of beer anyway. Because accommodating an uninvited Jaemin has become a given way too long ago.
Jaemin exists in the space the same way Jungkook does, even though he slipped into it a few years later, like they both carved out a place for themselves in the dearest corners of your lives and never really left.
The difference is, Jaemin doesn't really have to keep his distance.
After inviting himself inside, he stretches across your couch, fetches the drink straight out of Jaehyun's hand before your brother gets to offer it properly, then reaches for you absentmindedly the way he always does.
Jaehyun notices it sometimes, just enough to be bothered by it. He isn't exactly a fan of seeing a man touch you like that, even if it's Jaemin. He rolls his eyes, tells him to stop being annoying, but Jaemin just nods along with that loose, careless grin; pulling you closer regardless.
You lean into him just enough to make things worse for your brother, your shoulder pressing into his chest as you reach past him for the small bowl of nuts Jaehyun was about to hand you, until Jaemin beats you to it.
"Can you not steal everything that's mine?" Jaehyun mutters. Already huffing, already annoyed.
Jaemin doesn't even look at him, stuffing his mouth with a handful of peanuts. "Relax. You were literally handing it out."
Jaehyun deadpans. "Well, not to you."
You laugh, grabbing a few of the almonds. "You're both insufferable."
"You're one to talk." Jaehyun shoots back immediately. "You encourage him."
"I don't encourage him." You argue, but the lack of distance between you and your friend is still questionable.
Jaemin glances down at you, eyes grazing over your bare legs draped across his lap before lifting a brow. "You definitely do."
You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes. "You're very impressionable, that's not my fault."
"I'm not impressionable."
"You walked in uninvited and stole a drink in under thirty seconds."
"Eh," He squints his eyes, pretending to think. "You offered it though."
"So you wouldn't have gone ahead and taken one if he didn't?" You ask, cocking a brow.
Jaehyun points at him in victory, ecstatic at the newfound support from you. "Exactly."
Jaemin ignores him completely and turns to you, his arm still draped over your shoulders. "You weren't complaining five minutes ago."
"Suddenly I'm feeling a little wiser."
Jaemin rolls his eyes. "No, you're not."
You pause mid sip like you're considering putting up a fight, but you change your mind as you gulp down the drink, dropping your shoulders. "Fine, I'm not."
Jaehyun exhales sharply, dragging a hand along his face like he's already exhausted. "See, this is exactly what I mean. You two are unbearable together."
"You're the one who keeps letting him in." You say lightly.
"I don't let him in." He argues. "He just shows up."
"You'd shut the door in my face if you wanted to." Jaemin says.
"You'd climb in through the window."
Jaemin nods with a serious look on his face, like what he's agreeing to is a reasonable solution. "Yeah, I would."
You're still laughing when the bell rings, and Jaehyun mutters a quiet finally under his breath as he pushes himself up from the couch. Jungkook and Mingyu walk in one behind the other, Jaehyun holding the door open by the corner.
"Took you long enough." He complains, unimpressed.
Mingyu scoffs lightly. "We're not late."
"You always are. I'm the only one with a sense of urgency here."
Mingyu doesn't argue further, he heads straight for the kitchen instead. As he's busy opening and closing cabinets one by one like he owns like place, Jungkook lingers a little longer at the entrance before following Jaehyun inside.
He looks good, he looks so fucking good it takes everything in you to not spread your legs right then and there. So you lean more into Jaemin, letting your skirt ride up with the movement. Because you'll get this man in your bed one way or the other and right now, there's nothing you can do besides rile him up a little and pray your brother doesn't notice.
He does.
Jaehyun's eyes flick between the two of you before he looks away again, jaw clenching just slightly. "Can you sit normally for once?"
But you don't move. You can't move when Jungkook's already looking at you like he's trying so hard not to slip. Not again. "Are we not sitting normally?" You ask, glancing down at yourself, pretending to be confused.
"No." He says flatly.
Jaemin shifts just enough to make it worse, his arm tightening around you even though it's completely unnecessary. "Feels pretty normal to me."
"That's because you're the problem."
You hum softly, clearly entertained now. "I think you're overreacting."
Jaemin nudges you with his elbow. "He's jealous."
"I'm not jealous of you."
"Wow." Jaemin says as he brings a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. "That hurt."
Mingyu laughs from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his drink in hand. "He's definitely jealous."
“I’m not jealous.” Jaehyun repeats, louder this time.
Mingyu shrugs as he drops onto the singular couch beside him. “Sounds like it.”
You laugh again, and it still sounds light and careless. But it doesn't really feel like it. Not when you can feel Jungkook's eyes digging holes into your exposed skin, like he's trying to do with his eyes what he can't with anything else. Because neither one of his fists have the privilege of breaking Jaemin's jaw right now.
He's not even trying to hide it now. Maybe because something bigger already slipped last week and there is no point in trying to recollect it back together, or maybe because Jaehyun has fallen into another pointless argument with Mingyu and a small glace or two won't hurt anybody. Doesn't really matter when he keeps giving you exactly what you're looking for.
Regardless, you're adamant on not giving in. You're a girl on a mission and you're going to compromise it for nothing.
So you shift closer, letting your hand slide further along Jaemin's arm before curling your fingers around his bicep like there's no other place you'd rather it be. Like this is nothing new, nothing worth paying attention to.
But it is.
Jungkook's eyes drop down to your legs— bare and unapologetic on Jaemin's lap. He lets them linger on the poor excuse of a skirt that's sitting uselessly on your hips, and then trails lines along your exposed legs all the way to the tip of your feet.
You don't have to look up to know he's watching, but you do anyway, just to see the way he's starting to break. Because this time, there's nothing careful about the way he's looking at you. The control is still there, but he's holding onto it for his dear life— barely.
The conversation around you keeps moving in a way that's constant and habitual— Jaehyun complaining, Mingyu laughing, Jaemin saying something in your ear you don't fully catch…Everything is safe and practiced.
Besides him.
Jeon Jungkook is not safe. God, he’s terrifying. Terrifyingly sexy and thoroughly unsafe.
You reach for your drink, take a slow sip, then set it back down like you've suddenly lost all interest and nothing is as entertaining anymore. "I'll be back." You say, pushing yourself up from the couch before anyone can question you about it.
"Don't disappear." Jaehyun mutters mid-conversation, barely glancing at you.
You hum something about him asking too for many things at once before turning away, making your way out of the living room fast so that no one has the chance to hold you there longer.
You take your sweet time walking down the hallway, hips swaying from side to side just in case a certain someone decides to follow behind. But you know he will, so you don't look back. Luckily, life smiles at you for another day and the sound of a second set of footsteps reaches you in no time.
The corner of your mouth lifts in satisfaction as you reach the bathroom door, letting your hand linger on the handle for half a second too long before pushing it open, like you're giving him time to catch up.
You don't bother closing the door, leaving it open as Jungkook steps in a beat or two after you, not forgetting to lock it after him.
"Stop it." He mutters finally, voice low and rough like he doesn't fully trust it to come out louder without giving something away.
Too bad he already has.
You tilt your head, looking up at him like you don't quite understand what he's talking about, lashes fluttering innocently even though you're far from it. "Stop what?"
When your gazes meet, it's like his eyes are whispering to you, telling you to come closer and let yourself melt into his touch until your breath is completely blown away. But instead of doing anything about it, instead of tugging you closer into him and ending this stupid game that has left both of you aching and soaring; he drags a hand down his face and does everything in his power to pull himself back into the control he had once mastered.
"You know what." He says, exhaling sharply through his nose.
You take a step closer, fed up with the distance he's forced you into. "I wanna hear you say it."
His jaw tightens as he looks at you, trying to figure out how far you're willing to take it. "You've been pushing this all night."
"Well then, let me remind you." You murmur, stepping even closer, until there's barely any space left between the two of you. "You followed me." You say, placing your index finger on his chest.
Your words land a certain way, you watch his reaction all the way through its birth and death. In the way his breath stutters audibly, in the way his eyes flick briefly down to your lips, in the way something between light and lust flashes across his features before he can lock it back down again.
He scoffs as his eyes drift away from yours. "You're out of your mind."
You shrug mindlessly, like nothing about this is as serious as he makes it out to be. "I've been told once. Or twice." You give him a smile, light and flirty.
He drops down his hand, then snaps his head towards you like he suddenly remembered something. "Do you think this is funny?" He asks,
You let your gaze drag over him slowly, completely unapologetic, taking your time with it before meeting his eyes.
"I think it's hot."
And you're met with silence. Oh, Jeon Jungkook, the fucking pussy you are.
That does it, you see it the second it lands, the second that suppressed urge in him slips past the point of recovery. It's still there— but thinner, frying, barely holding on. Like it's waiting for someone to cross the line first and it sure as hell won't be him.
So you do.
You close the space completely this time, your hand finding him again until it settles on his shirt and fists the fabric enough to pull him in. You're not testing the waters, not anymore. Everything is visible no matter how hard he's trying to pull it through and you're not going to let him slip past your fingertips when you've gotten him like this.
Jungkook inhales sharply, quick and uneven, like air catches in the middle of his chest before he can do anything about it. His hand moves instinctively, and just as you think he's going to push your hand away, he settles his hold on your waist.
He calls your name, voice dropping in a way that's raw and desperate. His body goes rigid as his brain tries being reasonable one last time, but he fails terribly, miserably.
Your hands trail along his chest, traveling down until you decide to let them settle on his waist. Your hands don't rush him, they move like you've already decided how this ends on his part. Your fingers slip just past the waistband of his jeans, but still not fully, tugging with his belt.
"Fuck." He mutters under his breath as your hips hit his roughly, head falling back beyond his control.
Jungkook just stands there and takes it, lets it happen, lets you happen.
That's what gives him away. He doesn't grab your wrists, doesn't step back, doesn't do anything he should be doing. So with the newfound confidence, you sink down to your knees, slow enough that each passing second aches and tortures and stings his skin until it burns and leaves your trace.
He freezes.
His body hasn't caught up to what's happening yet, even though you're taking your sweet time to make sure every second of your touch registers to the point where it's lingering and all he sees and feels is you when he closes his eyes.
No matter how bad you're trying to let him keep up, he feels as though his brain has stopped working long ago and parked itself outside of the constellation named his fucking morals.
"You still there, Jungkook?" You ask looking up at him, voice low and sultry, bating your eyelashes with feigned innocence. As if you aren't his best friend's little sister who's about to suck the life out of him.
He's barely able to get out a reply and you're already pulling his jeans down. You fiddle with the waistband of his boxers, then move along to palm him over the fabric. Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath, hands finding their way to your hair like he's trying to ground himself.
You give a squeeze to his base, hard and thick just like you expected. You're sure whatever he's hiding inside is even better than your imagination, but there's still a minute or two before you can figure that out.
"Ah, fuck, yes—" Jungkook breathes, almost stuttering, completely lost in a daze. "Keep going." He says as his hold tightens in your hair, locks tangling between his fingertips as he tries steadying himself. You slowly drag your hand over to his tip, flicking your index finger somewhere over his slit before moving it back down. You're about to pull down his boxers and then—
A knock.
Jaehyun calls out your name from the other side of the door, and the sound reaches your ears in an instant, forcing you out of whatever fantasy you've lost yourselves in. It's so sudden that Jungkook jerks, his hold on you slipping away as panic flashes across his features. But you? You don't even move.
"Give me a second!" You call back with a voice so impressively steady even Jungkook believes you're alone for a second.
Jungkook exhales like he's just been dropped back into a body he hasn't been in for years, fists closing and opening by his sides like he doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore. But what gets him— what gets him the most is how calm and unbothered you look, like you didn't just bury his body and bring it back to life in under a minute.
Jaehyun calls your name again. "Be quick, seriously."
But you're still not rushing, still not scrambling. Hell, you're not even shifting the way anyone else would in this situation— enter Jungkook. You just tilt your head slightly as you slowly rise back up to your feel, like you're mildly inconvenienced at best.
"I said give me a second!" You reply, and Jungkook watches over you like you're insane. Because you don't look panicked, you don't look caught, you don't look half he's feeling right now.
You look…fine.
He doesn't like that.
Right when Jungkook was considering running the bath and drowning himself in boiling water, another door opens.
"You can use this one." Jaemin says casually, thoroughly aware of whatever stunt you're pulling unlike your brother. Jaehyun mutters something under his breath, a few curse words and complaints about how annoying you are, but he's already moving.
It's silent again when the door locks shut, and Jungkook exhales like he has been holding the entire universe in his lungs. "Jesus—" He runs a hand down his face, shaking his head like he's trying to rid himself of everything but it doesn't work. "What the fuck was that?"
You melt into every second in a whole minute, smoothing your skirt down, fixing your lipstick, running a hand along your hair like those are the only things that need a fixing and nothing about this requires any urgency.
You look at him, completely calm. "What?" You ask lightly, not even making an effort to look at him, glancing at his face from its reflection through the mirror.
His jaw tightens. "You have no idea what game you're playing and it's a problem."
You finally turn to look at him, then glance down to his crotch before lifting your eyes back up, the corners of your mouth lifting. "I think you've got a bigger problem going on." You say, then walk through the door just like that.
Just like that.
Jungkook is losing his fucking mind.
He hates you, he hates you so goddamn much right now. He hated you that day by the pool when you were in that stupid little bikini, hated you when you had your perfect legs over some boy's lap— God, he really is just some boy. What the fuck is a Jaemin? He swears he's so much hotter and bigger and sexier but he can't even try and make himself feel better now that his pants are tightening and his cock is aching.
He knows he's got a bigger problem going on, he didn't need you to say it, he doesn't want to hear you say anything at this point. Because it seems as though he has the self restraint of a fucking rabbit and his dick gets hard with so much as your breathing.
Jungkook is the boy here. He knows he is. There is nothing left for him to do besides hoping you don't. But god, he's desperate. He can't help but think about the what ifs. What if Jaehyun didn't knock, what if you actually pulled down his boxers and took him in your sweet little mouth. He'd give anything right now. Anything to see your mouth full with his cock, stuffed to the brim. He'd do anything for you to fold beneath him and do as he says, he'd bend you over this stupid counter and take you right fucking here. He'd fuck you so good you'd never be able to walk properly again. He'd put you in your place and shut that sweet mouth of yours forever.
But he can't. He knows he can't. So he does the second most stupid he can do today— the first being letting you take him in your mouth. He pulls his jeans back down after making sure the door is locked again, then frees his cock out of the fabric that has been suffocating him since the moment he laid his eyes on you today.
He starts stroking himself after spreading the precum over his tip, then lets his hand run down his aching length. He's so horny it's stupid. He can't believe a girl he has known since he was nine has gotten his dick rock hard with so much as a few reckless words and light, taunting touches. But who the fuck is he kidding? This isn't the first time he's thought about you like this, not the first time he's caught himself a way the shouldn't have.
He's just been better at hiding it before.
He had always been the version of himself that knows where the line is and doesn't even think about crossing it. Because for the longest time, you had a single purpose, a single title in his life— Jaehyun's little sister. A kid who used to hover around the edges of everything she had no part in, who'd sit too close and talk too much even when she didn't have to. There was never a reason to think about it longer than necessary.
Until you made it impossible to ignore.
It didn't happen all at once, not in a way he could point to and say this is where it changed. It just…happened. You stopped asking to be included, stopped looking at him like he was someone above and untouchable. You built your own life, your own circle, yourself.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, he started noticing things. The way you carried yourself differently, the way your voice grew into something low and sultry, the way you started looking at people with eyes that knew exactly what you were doing, thoroughly aware of the effect you had.
So as he keeps dragging a hand along his length, he thinks about every time you'd bent over in front of him with a skirt way too short to be acceptable, every time you'd given him those eyes while asking for things as simple as a glass of water, every time you'd call a man late at night thinking your voice couldn't be heard when he'd lose hours of sleep over it— he thinks about it all.
He cums with a breathy trail of moans and your name on his tongue, body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. And as he struggles to find the line between his imagination and the reality, he realizes that the worst part about what he has done today isn't Jaehyun or the post nut clarity.
It's that he wants more.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The club is brazen without trying to be subtle about it. It's the kind of atmosphere that doesn't prepare you for the worst before settling deep into your skin, right in the middle of something you can't erase no matter how hard you try scrubbing it off, because the agitation is just that heavy. The lights hang low, glowing in a distant hue that's maybe a little too deliberate for a club like this. The air is thick and full without being suffocating, but it's lived in. Like it's been used over and over again and simply refuses to empty out, carrying the remnants of conversations, the cluttered echo of laughter, and things that are said too loud yet meant too lightly.
You're not sure if it was the best pick for a birthday night out, but who are you to say anything— you wouldn't be here without Jaehyun anyway. Not that you want to leave, but the party doesn't matter all that much either. Although you do like Haneul— one of Jaehyun's college friends who also became yours overtime— she's sweet in a way that's safe and makes it easy to forget she's the center of attention tonight.
The music is starting to feel too loud and it feels as if the club is getting smaller and smaller as time goes on, but it's still a little early to leave, at least by yourself. Because leaving alone would mean you aren't enjoying yourself and staying long enough keeps everything in place, keeps you exactly where you need to be without drawing attention to the fact that your mind has been completely elsewhere for the entirety of the night.
Jungkook has been avoiding you. Definitely, irreproachably, unmistakeably.
You've been in this club for three hours now, with your body pressed against the crowd in a way that doesn't allow distance to exist, caught between people who move like proximity is a choice rather than an inconvenience, and still— Jungkook hasn't looked at you properly. Not even once.
Jaehyun finds you sometime around the final minutes of your fourth hour here, fully drunk now as if he hasn't been halfway gone for the majority of his time here. His words are looser, his voice is louder, and his arm is slinging around your shoulder like everything about his balance depends on you.
"There you are." He sings, stretching the words sloppily. "I'm done."
You laugh, head tipping back in his arms. "You've been done for like, what? An hour now?" You tell him, steadying the drink in his hand before it spills.
"I mean it this time." He leans into you, then immediately leans away like something far more interesting suddenly caught his attention. "I'm leaving— or, no. I'm staying. I don't know."
"That sounds about right."
He exhales dramatically, then glances over your shoulder until he spots what he was looking for. "Jungkook!" He shouts over the music.
Jungkook turns his head slightly before fully facing your brother, then moves towards you like rejecting was never really an option.
"Can you take her home?" Jaehyun asks, placing a hand on the small of your back. But it doesn't sound like a question, it sounds like a decision that's already been made before it even reached Jungkook.
"You are." Jaehyun cuts him off, waving it away like the argument doesn't exist, doesn't matter. "I'll stay a bit longer, or all night, just— make sure she gets home safe, please."
Your eyes wander away to Jungkook, because watching him is far more interesting than dealing with your drunk brother. There's a pause before he exhales through his nose, a beat that's enough to feel like he's weighing something in his head, like there is a version of this he so badly wants to refuse but knows he can't— knows he won't.
"Fine." He says finally, not exactly willing.
Jaehyun grins, satisfied with the outcome even though he won't remember achieving it by the time he wakes up. He disappears into the crowd after patting Jungkook on the shoulder, leaving the two of you standing in a space that suddenly feels quiet despite being the complete opposite.
Jungkook walks alongside you in silence as you make your way out of the club, his pace controlled and calculated like that's the only thing he's concentrating on right now. The music gets swallowed up by a wave of soft wind and the distant hum of the city when you step outside, fading slowly as you get further and further away from the club.
You glance at him as you walk, trailing your eyes along the sharp line of his jaw beneath the warm glow of the streetlights. He's dressed too nicely for the bike waiting at the curb, painted in dark clothes and silver rings along with the kind of face that makes people stop and turn their heads twice without even realizing they're doing it. For a short second, you wonder if he knows how unfair he looks tonight. But jokes on you, he probably does.
Because Jeon Jungkook is one cocky bastard, even though he doesn't show it a lot.
"You could've said no, you know." You say lightly when you reach the bike. "If it's impossible for you to be alone with me without glaring like you want me dead."
Jungkook exhales through his nose, pulling the spare helmet from the handle and holding it out to you before responding eventually. "I would've said no if i wanted to."
You look down to the helmet, crossing your arms on your chest."You can act a little less miserable, then."
His jaw tightens slightly at that, like he's annoyed with both you and himself. "Put the helmet on." He says, ignoring your claim.
You roll your eyes, but take it from him anyway, not forgetting to let your fingers brush against his on purpose. He shifts under your touch, shoulders tensing beneath his jacket. You're sure he notices the way you're doing it on purpose too, but prefers not to comment on it. Not yet, at least.
"You're quiet tonight." You say, slipping the helmet on.
"You talk enough for the both of us."
"That's not true. You talk plenty when you're…engaged." You say slowly, dragging your gaze over him before settling them back on his face. Jungkook looks at you properly for the first time tonight, and he makes sure to look at you with purpose. Enough to let you know he's still thinking about it too.
The bathroom, everything you did that day, everything he did after you left. Not a single second of it has left his mind ever since.
"Get on the bike." He says, tongue poking the inside of cheek before he speaks.
You do, but you do it so slowly Jungkook thinks he wants to dig his grave right then and there. You place your hands on his shoulders before sliding them over his chest as you move behind him, taking your time in a way that feels cruel. By the time you finally sit, there's barely any space between your bodes. Your knees press against his thighs, your arms wrap around his waist, and your chest leans onto his back.
"You know," You murmur near his ear, and it takes so much in him to not go still at the lingering heat of your breath. "For someone who keeps telling me to stop, you never actually do anything."
His grip tightens around the handles. "You don't listen."
"Maybe i'd listen if you were better at hiding how much you like it."
You feel how his body stiffens immediately as he inhales sharply before starting the engine. "Hold properly." He says, completely dismissing your words.
When the bike finally pulls away from the curb, you settle against him even closer than before, letting your body melt into the warmth of his. You smile to yourself beneath the helmet, because this time, you know exactly how tonight is going to end.
Your hands wander all over him throughout the entirety of the ride, tracing lines starting from his chest all the way down to his thighs. Jungkook has no idea how the hell he's survived when he rolls the bike into your garage, but he definitely knows the tension between you has turned into something so physical he feels like he's going to burst.
Neither of you can move when the engine cuts off, because the air is still vibrating from the ride. Because your body stayed pressed against his the entire way home like you were trying to test how much restraint one could realistically have before it gave out completely.
And judging by how Jungkook is handling it all— not much.
"You should go inside." He says eventually, back still turned to you.
You slowly let go of his waist, leaning back slightly as you take off your helmet. "I don't really want to."
Jungkook lets out a breath through his nose, then hops off the bike as he takes the helmet from your hand and places it back on the handle alongside his own. When he's back on the bike, he's facing you, legs placed on both sides of the vehicle.
He calls your name, but it sounds completely ruined in his mouth now, rough and raw around the edges by weeks of restraint and the complete lack of it sitting underneath. He shakes his head in frustration, dragging a hand along his face.
"Look, you— this, whatever you've been trying to do all night. No, scratch that, you've been doing this for weeks now. It's not going to happen, it can't happen."
"You wanna know what i think?" You ask instead, tilting your head.
"No."
"I think you liked avoiding me."
Jungkook's eyes darken at your words, sharp enough to slice through your skin that's ravaged with desire. And as the dawn slowly breaks, you see the walls crumbling down beneath his feverish, agitated gaze. Because you've already stripped him out of his armor and he hates how naked and vulnerable he might look to your eyes.
"You liked it because it gave you an excuse to think about me all the time." Your voice softens slightly, just enough to feel intimate. "Every room i walked into, every conversation you avoided, every time you looked away before i caught you. You liked it because that was the only way to fill your mind with me without feeling guilty."
Jungkook laughs quietly, but there's nothing amused about it. The sound comes out frayed, disbelieving, like he's hearing his own thoughts being spoken back to him in your voice and hates how accurate they sound.
"You think this is easy for me?" He asks, and the shift in his tone catches you off-guard. It's not softer, not gentler either— but it's honest. Raw in a way that sits somewhere so deep in his chest, so much more than he has been willing to show until now. "You think i enjoy walking into a room and having to pretend i'm not thinking about you?"
At his confession, your breath stutters without waiting for permission. Because suddenly, every letter rolling out of his tongue feels heavy. Because this is the first time he's admitting it out loud, even if it sounds like it's being dragged out against his will.
His eyes dip briefly to your lips before lifting again, but it's slow, as if the movement costs him something he can't pay for. "You keep looking at me like that." He mutters, so low that you think it's not meant for you.
"Like what?" You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.
"Like you already know i'm gonna give in."
You tilt your head slightly, pushing yourself further into his embrace. "Are you?" You ask, voice laced with a honeyed amusement.
He exhales sharply with closed eyes, and for a second, you think he's actually going to walk away. You see the glimpses of conflict flash across his features, shoulders tensing like he's forcing himself to hold onto the last scraps of control he has left.
But then his hands find your waist, firm and certain in a way that makes you believe he won't let go this time. Whatever was left of Jungkook's self-control gives in completely, and his lips are on yours in an instant.
A mix of gasps and moans falls from your lips, and he swallows them without wasting a second. Your fists find his jacket, tugging onto the fabric as you close the remaining bits and pieces of distance between your bodies.
His hands drop drown to your hips, moving them to the rhythm of your lips until you're fully on his lap. His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, searching for permission to be let in even further into your mouth. You grant him the access immediately, his tongue clashing against yours in a way that's hot, wet, and so fucking desperate.
You draw circles with your hips on his lap, his already hardened length pressing into your clothed core. The friction feels so good it blows your breath away, and your stomach flutters every time his skin touches yours in a way that's rather vulnerable and intimate instead of sole lust.
Jungkook feels his cock pulsing beneath the fabric of his jeans, and he swears he's going to cum on the spot if you keep moving your hips like that. Your wetness leaves filthy stains on the course denim, marking him with your arousal.
"This dress," He breathes into your mouth, voice laced with fever as he tugs onto the thin fabric. "You wore it for me?"
You smirk into the kiss, not forgetting to continue moving your hips. "Wouldn't you like to know." You sing softly.
He scoffs, hand sliding in through your dress to settle on your bare ass, giving it a hard squeeze, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Oh, i already do."
The moment a soft trace of streetlights spread inside from the corner and chase away the darkness, Jungkook knows it's his cue to pull away. A final opportunity to let him fix everything he has broken and lost himself inside, a weak excuse to allow him wake up to a brighter morning without the weight of betrayal and regret and burnt desire he hates himself for not being able to keep hidden.
But he doesn't, he's so lost in the drug called you and as your body searches his further and further, there's almost nothing left in him that's holding him back from being gone completely.
Your movements on his lap grow into something more and more desperate, pussy aching with need as his hands wander all around your body, feeling you up beneath your dress. He lifts the skirt over your hips, exposing it to the cool air of the garage and your breath hitches at the feeling of being so bare all of a sudden.
"Shit— stop, stop." He nearly begs, pulling his lips away from yours. You look back at him, momentarily thrown. Because what does he mean stop? He can't, not right now, not when he's got you all hot and bothered on his lap.
"What's wrong?" You ask softly, brows pulling together.
"I'm— I'll cum if you keep doing that. Wanna be inside you."
The words mean so much more to you than just lust. Because this isn't only want, not at all. It's ravishment, the breakage of suppression that has been dressed up as a boundary for way too long. Jungkook has spent weeks— no, scratch that. He has spent years holding himself together so tightly you almost started believing he was actually capable of resisting you.
But now, he's sitting beneath you, looking completely unraveled by your body against his. Nothing more, nothing less.
You did that. The thought alone makes you dizzy.
You take a moment to let your gaze drift over his face; taking in the spent rise and fall of his chest, his red lips that are swollen from kissing you, the frustration and desperation tangled together beneath his darkened gaze…He looks wrecked in a way that doesn't suit him at all. Because Jeon Jungkook has always been a man of precision and there isn't a single ounce left of it in his being tonight.
He was always guarded in a way that kept every ugly thought locked somewhere private, somewhere no one else could reach, could touch. And now, Jeon Jungkook is falling apart right in front of you— because of you.
"Yeah? You want to fuck me, Jungkook?" You ask slowly, voice low and sultry as your nails trail lines along his inner thighs.
Jungkook lets out a low groan before speaking. "Come here." He says, pulling you back onto him. You laugh with the movement as your hands work on the zipper of his jeans, and he lifts his hips enough to assist you pull them off just enough.
Once his boxers are pulled down and his cock is all bare and exposed for you to see, you can't help but let your lips part in shock. You feel yourself nearly drooling over his size because fuck, he's huge.
You shouldn't be shocked, you've already felt him up and you expected nothing less. But seeing it like this, thick and long and leaking for you— you think you're going to pass away.
"See something you like, baby?" He smirks, all cocky and confident.
"That's not going to fit." You reply immediately, gaze flicking up and down consecutively.
"We'll make it fit." He says, eyes stuck on yours as he gives himself a few strokes. "And you're going to take every inch like the good girl you are."
You just stare at him, utterly in shock, almost scared. Because what the actual fuck is he talking about? You've never taking anything this big, and you're not sure if anyone ever has either.
"You were begging for me to fuck you. Weren't you, princess? Were so desperate for my cock and now what? Cat's got your tongue?" He says, a loose grin on his face as his thumb swipes over the head and spreads the precum.
"I'll take it." You say obediently.
"Yeah?" He breathes, lifting your hips so that your entrance is lining up with his cock.
"I'll take all of it. Need your big cock so bad. Fuck me, Jungkook. Please, need it." You beg, trying to push yourself down to take him into your cunt but he tightens his hands around your hips to hold you in place.
He guides your hips down slowly, letting you feel every line and every vein that's painting his pretty length. You whine at the stretch, but there's still half of him you haven't taken yet.
"Fuck," He groans, letting his eyes close and his head fall back as you sink down further. "You're so tight."
You both moan loudly as he presses your hips down fully, your wet cunt swallowing him wholly. He watches as his cock disappears between your folds, so wet and creamy with your slick that's already obnoxiously overflowing. Once all of him is inside you, you let out a high pitched whimper, feeling the way your walls burn with how good he's stretching you, because he's just that big. So fucking massive it's insane. And you swear you've never felt this full in your entire life.
"Holy shit." You gasp when he lifts his hips to meet you halfway, balls hitting your ass with the movement.
"How does it feel, princess? Anything like you imagined?" He asks, thrusting up into you as he guides your hips down, hands squeezing the flesh of your plump ass. "Use your big girl words, i know you can."
"So good, Jungkook. I'm so full, you're so— so big." You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders.
He pushes down the top of your dress, exposing the lace fabric of your red bra. He pulls it down just enough to bare your boobs, breath hitching the moment they bounce free right in front of his eyes.
Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath the moment you find your pace, your tits bouncing up and down as you hop on his cock, riding him to chase your own high. One of his hands lift to massage your tit as the other keeps digging into the flesh of your ass. You whimper when he takes your hardened nipple into his mouth, bouncing on his cock in a pace that slowly grows into something sloppier as the hot feeling of your orgasm starts building low in your stomach.
"Kook, i'm cumming. Shit."
"Yeah? Let it go, baby. Cream all over my fat cock."
His words do it for you, and you fall apart on his cock after a few more thrusts. Your legs start shaking and you bury your head in his neck for support, panting into his skin.
"You okay?" He asks, head tilted as he tries looking at your profile.
"Yeah…just," You breathe, straightening your posture to pull away and take a proper look at him. "Wanna make you feel good."
Jungkook groans loudly, letting his head fall back at your words. Because how can he act normal, how can he hold it together when your mouth keeps reciting filthy words so casually like you're talking about the weather?
He can't believe this, he still can't believe he's just fucked you on his stupid bike. Because this is you. Jaehyun's little sister. The girl he spent years forcing himself not to look at for to long. And now, he's got you all naked and completely spent on his lap, touching him like the yellow light that's filling up the void of control he'd built for himself, warming him up so intimately without even realizing you're doing so.
He's a goner. He's so irreversibly fucked and completely gone.
But what worsens it for him is, that you don't look too different from the state he's in. You've fallen apart right in front of his eyes, skin flushed, sounds breathless, movements desperate. They tell him you're just as gone as he is. There is something so dizzying about it, about seeing the exact effect he has on you after weeks of wondering whether he imagined it all or not.
He didn't.
Thank god, he didn't.
As his eyes wander all over you, desire burning through him so intensely it almost feels violent, he thinks about the one thing he has been dying to ask you.
Because if he doesn't ask now, when will he ever?
"Can i—" Jungkook cuts himself off with a quiet curse, dragging a hand down his face before looking back at you. "Fuck, can i fuck your tits?"
The corner of your mouth twitches upwards immediately, amusement curling through your face despite how breathless he left you just minutes ago. The overhead light catches against the flush spreading across your skin, showing off the mess he's made of you.
Your fingertips move onto the hem of your dress, pausing there long enough for anticipation to sizzle in his lungs before you slowly pull the fabric upwards.
Jungkook watches every movement, so so carefully. Like he's afraid that if he blinks, he'll miss something. And when your dress is completely off, he thinks that he might actually die right then and there.
The breath that leaves him when you unclasp your bra and let it fall down to the ground is sharp. His gaze drags over you with a kind of raw hunger he stopped trying to hide a long time ago tonight. There is nothing composed about him now, nothing careful. Just pure, unadulterated want.
"Jesus Christ." He mutters under his breath, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.
You tilt your head slightly, watching him through your lashes, a small and seductive smile playing on your lips. "You look overwhelmed."
"You think?" He argues, a rough laugh slipping out of his lips. "Press'em together for me, baby." He says, hands braced behind him as he leans into the handlebars.
You press your tits together, then lean forward onto him to take his cock between the soft flesh of your boobs. Jungkook's eyes flutter shut in an instant, a low groan escaping his lips as you start moving your chest up and down. His dick is already so wet, sliding between your boobs seamlessly.
"Love your tits, princess. Gonna paint them with my seed." He moans, long gone in the bliss. Jungkook's hips jerk beyond his control, and he starts fucking your tits as you move along with his pace.
He cums all over your chest not long after with low grunts of curses and your name on his tongue.
The garage still feels warm, still thick with tension and the aftermath of everything that just happened, everything that was boundto happen for weeks. But there isn't an edge to it anymore. Because Jungkook isn't looking at you the way he was just a few hours ago. Because now, there's no frustration behind his gaze. Instead, he looks wrecked.
He leans back against the handlebars as he tries catching his breath, one hand still on your thigh. You sit sideways across his lap, completely naked, hair messy, lips swollen.
Your fingers drift absentmindedly along the collar of his shirt as he tries catching his breath, smoothing the fabric. "You know," You murmur, eyes dancing over him. "You're a lot softer than i thought you'd be."
Jungkook laughs lightly. "You literally spent weeks trying to ruin my life."
"Mhm." You tilt your head, pretending to think. "You survived tho."
He snorts, thumb drawing circles on your thigh. "Barely."
You smile, then lean into his chest when his hand slides higher along your waist without really thinking, skin calloused and a little rough on your soft skin. But for some reason, it comforts you in a way nothing ever has.
Because for a second, it doesn't feel complicated at all. It doesn't feel like boundaries or guilt or Jaehyun or years of years of knowing each other but never doing anything about it. It just feels like Jungkook's hands on your body and the quiet look in his eyes that says he's still trying to process how badly he wanted this.
How badly he still wants it.
"I really tried not to." He says suddenly.
You look at him, brows pulling together faintly as you try to figure out what he's going to say. "Tried not to what?"
His eyes flick down to your lips before lifting again. "Want you."
Your stomach flips when he says that. Because they sound real. There is no teasing in them. No temptation, no flirtation. Just raw, unadulterated truth.
You lift your head to look at him properly, suddenly a little too aware of how close the two of you still are. How his hand hasn't moved from your waist, how your legs are still tangled with his on the bike like neither of you has figured out how to leave.
"You sucked at it." You say softly.
That earns you a real laugh this time. It's quiet and tired, yet warm around the edges in a way you've never heard him before. Even if you have, it was never for you. But now it feels so intimate that every breath he takes, every word he says, every single thing he does is in honour to you.
"Yeah, i know." And for one dangerous moment, everything feels easy.
Then the front door slams open upstairs.
"I'm home!" Jaehyun's voice echoes through the house; loud, drunk and completely unaware. "Why the fuck is the garage light on?"
SUMMARY. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t do girls. As the first son of the Jeon family, heir to more money than God, he’s spent thirty years being perfectly fine without them. He doesn’t have any desire to engage in frivolous rendezvouses like his friends, nor enter a situationship that will distract him from the title of CEO. That is, until his best friends drag him to a strip club for his birthday and a girl in red lingerie falls right into his lap, and well… there goes that ideology.
pairing. stripper!oc x virgin!jungkook
word count. 17.2k
warnings/genre. inexperienced!koo, virgin!koo, soft dom!oc, stripper!oc, everyone’s horny, male masturbation, public dry humping???, lap dancing, mention of slutting yourself out obv, jk steals oc’s panties, strip teasing, virginity loss, oral (m receiving), titty fucking, jungkook cums a LOT help, cowgirl
note. hi my pookietons! this was supposed to be out weeks ago but unfortunately my fiancé’s mom passed away and it has been a rough time in the household. luckily, things are starting to get back to normal and i’m trying to stay optimistic about things. writing has always been my outlet for my emotions, and having this community during this time has been such a blessing. i’m so grateful for you all and hope you enjoy this diabolical read 🤍
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banner creds | masterlist
Jeon Jungkook has been seeing black for the past 25 minutes, and quite frankly, he’s fed up with the situation.
He was under the impression that his birthday meant doing what he wanted to do, not getting kidnapped by his six closest friends and getting tossed into a Cadillac for a ‘big birthday surprise.’ If Jungkook wanted a surprise for his birthday, he would’ve just asked his assistant to book out a restaurant of her choosing. Or done absolutely nothing, which was the original plan and, truthfully, a perfect one.
It’s not that Jungkook necessarily despises his birthday—although it is tough to celebrate happily when your family is as strict and prim as his— but more that he doesn’t see the point in it. He would much rather spend money on himself, perhaps buying the new car he had his eye on. Not squeezed in the back of his car with his best friends.
They often lived a different lifestyle than he did. His friends worked hard as most people did in his circle, but they played harder. Weekends were swallowed up by clubs and bottle service and girls whose names they’d forgotten by Monday morning.
Jungkook had never quite understood the appeal. He had a company to inherit, a father who tracked his every move like a hawk and exactly zero interest in giving the man more ammunition. Jeon Wooshik had made it abundantly clear that the CEO seat came with conditions, and Jungkook had spent the better part of his twenties checking every box that his father had almost run out of things to criticize.
So, really, this whole thing is juvenile. Immature and foolish. But considering he’s blindfolded and handcuffed, he doesn’t really have a say in the matter.
“Kook! We’re hereeee,” He recognizes Kim Seokjin’s voice, his hyung. Jin was four years his senior and had the emotional maturity to show for it exactly none of the time. He was Namjoon’s best friend first, then Jungkook’s by proximity, and somewhere along the way had appointed himself a permanent fixture in Jungkook’s life whether he wanted him there or not.
Kim Namjoon, though, he trusted unconditionally despite his laidback lifestyle. If Namjoon had signed off on this, there was a reason. Jungkook just wished the reason didn’t involve handcuffs.
“Alright, jokes fucking over. Can you take off this shit?” Jungkook asks flatly.
He hears the car door open, and warm hands are guiding him out of the vehicle, little giggles and snickers filling the cool night air.
“He speaks!” Taehyung cackles, arguably the most immature of them all. (Well, between him and Park Jimin.)
“What a grump,” Jimin adds, and he sounds closer, so Jungkook assumes it’s his soft hands leading him somewhere. “Look at his cutie little face.”
“Feels kinda unfair I can’t see any of your faces.”
“Jungkookie,” Someone squeezes his cheek, and he has to fight the urge to punch the air.
“Ugh, his pout is so cute, Jin-hyung,” Taehyung giggles again, and Jungkook sighs. He can already tell Taehyung is drunk, since he only laughs in such a way when Jimin is shamelessly flirting with him or he’s drunk too much soju.
“I’m going to kill all of you—“
A hand finally yanks the blindfold off his face, as another undoes the handcuffs digging into his wrists. Jungkook blinks into the dark, vision swimming. When his eyes finally do adjust, six faces grin back at him, varying degrees of giddiness painted across their expressions.
Jungkook surveys his surroundings as quickly as he can. He’s in a parking lot… it’s packed to the brim with all kinds of cars, none that are as expensive as his. Bass pounds in his eardrum from the nearby entrance, but when he cranes his neck to peer inside, he sees nothingness. A void that leaves everything up to the imagination.
The front door is musty, worn down and guarded by one man who’s watching something on his phone. “Paradise” in flashing letters hangs off the top, flickering as though someone had forgotten to pay the bill. And underneath it, “Adult Club.”
Fucking hell.
“What,” he says slowly, “is that.”
“Birthday surprise,” Jin jokes, and the boys giggle like schoolgirls.
Jungkook looks over at Namjoon. Namjoon, to his credit, has the decency to look sheepish. His friends know him better than anyone. People don’t gain access to Jeon Jungkook easily—and yet they failed him so astonishingly he can’t even believe it. This goes against everything he stands for. Clubs of any kind are forbidden. Especially strip clubs, where any lone person can recognize him and report back to his father.
As if Namjoon can smell the rebuttal on his lips, he rushes to argue, “It’s fun in there.”
Jungkook snorts, “I doubt that. If my dad finds out, I’m fucking toast.”
“Your dad’s not gonna find out,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been here like once a month and you’re not allowed to take pictures. Out of respect for the girls or some shit.”
A shiver rolls down Jungkook’s back at the word girls. The thought of them annoys him already. “This is stupid, you know? I’m not even into this kind of shit.”
“Yeah, we know,” Taehyung slaps his shoulder, trying to steer him toward the entrance, but Jungkook is fortunately bulkier than him. “You’re the king of the land, Jeon Jungkook, refuses to touch a woman because he’s better than all of them.”
“Fuck off, Tae.”
“Dude, come on. Live a little. It’s your birthday and your boys want to treat you to a night of fun. How could you say no to that?” Jin begs, and Jungkook comes up with a plethora of ways he could say no to this.
Jungkook sighs, staring at the door. On the other side of it are things he cannot get involved in. He has a board meeting Monday morning he hasn’t prepped for yet. A pristine reputation that took the better part of a decade to build. He has a father who has Google alerts set for his name.
He really, really should not be here.
Jungkook turns to face the six faces staring back at him expectantly.
“It’s your birthday,” Namjoon tries feebly one more time.
“That is not the argument you think it is—”
“Jungkook-ah.” Jin steps forward and puts both hands on his shoulders. “We love you. We have always loved you. And it is because we love you that we are telling you, as a united front, that you are going inside that door if we have to carry you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Jungkook retorts, and all Jin does is raise his brows back at him. Well played.
The silence that follows is not reassuring.
Jungkook realizes this is one negotiation he is not going to win. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I fucking hate you guys. One hour tops, and I’m out of there.”
“That’s a good boy,” Jin pats his shoulder like he’s a dog and pushes him in the direction of the entrance. “Let’s get on in there.”
The bouncer at the front seems to finally recognize he has a job when the seven men walk up, beady eyes scanning their faces before they land on Namjoon in the back. “Joon!” he calls out, reaching over to give him a firm handshake, nearly knocking Jungkook flat on the floor. Of course Namjoon knows the fucking bouncer—he’s probably reached some kind of reward status at this club. He doesn’t bother checking anyone’s IDs, just lets all of them sidle in.
Jungkook steps through the door and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Goddamnit.
Red lights flash over the club floor, speakers blasting some RnB song he doesn’t recognize. The place is enormous, larger than he thought, with a main stage dominating the room. Two strippers dance on the two poles adjacent to each other, men perched on chairs with wads of cash stuffed in their hands. Booths line the walls, packed with men in varying states of losing their minds. All decked in suits, loosened collars and flushed faces and eyes tracking the room with an attention they probably never give their actual jobs. Private tables closer to the stage are worse. Bottles everywhere, dollar bills everywhere.
The worst part of it all, is how many girls there are. Girls in lingerie, silk and lace that barely constitute fabric, moving through the room in what feels like slow motion. Every single one of them moves like she knows exactly where she’s going and exactly what’s going to happen when she gets there.
“Kim Namjoon?” A hostess approaches in normal clothes—thank god—and he steps forward to speak to her, all hushed whispers and suspicious glances back at Jungkook. Enough for him to know that this night will be anything but casual. Jungkook expects he’ll have an ass in his face in twenty minutes tops.
She smiles at all of them, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Hi boys! Welcome to Paradise. I know some of you have been here before, so I’ll keep it brief. No pictures or videos allowed. If we catch you, you’re banned for life. ATMs are lined up against the wall, so make sure you take out cash beforehand so you don’t have to get up.”
She pauses to ensure everyone understands, eyes lingering on Jungkook, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes. It’s not rocket science. It’s a strip club. “I heard we’re celebrating a birthday tonight, so Joon has booked a private table for you all. Dancers will rotate by your table and you better make them feel like the shit, because they are. Got it?”
All boys nod in unison. Jungkook side-eyes Jimin and Tae, and already, they have heart eyes forming. It’s despicable. The hostess leads them through the room, weaving between tables without looking, heels silent on the floor, not once glancing back to check if they’re following. The private table is tucked a few feet off the main floor, with curved booth seating, a pole attached from the ceiling hanging right in front of them, and a clear sightline to the stage. Bottles are already sweating on ice in the center like they’d been expecting them (which Jungkook is certain is the work of his hyungs).
The boys pile in with zero decorum. Hoseok immediately reaches for a bottle, passing out glasses to pour up shots of soju and whiskey. Jungkook allows him to be overserved, because there’s no other scenario in which he gets through this night without being wasted. He doesn’t know where to look, which means he keeps looking everywhere. He’s not stupid — he knows objectively that women are attractive. He’s always known that. It’s just that knowing it theoretically and sitting in a room saturated with it are two very different things.
Jeon Jungkook’s disinterest in women never stemmed from anything other than the fear of being mediocre. His high school life, which should’ve been filled with bad decision making and girlfriends, was instead taken over by shadowing his father at the office or learning how to use Microsoft Excel to make financial reports. College was a repeat, and he adapted easily to the hermit lifestyle he had been living. Even once he graduated, he made no attempt to date anyone. His mother, a frivolous woman who lived off the family money with ease, had once asked him if he was gay or asexual. Unfortunately for her, he is neither.
He is just, quite literally, indifferent to what women can offer.
That’s not to say Jungkook doesn’t get horny (hence dispelling the asexual rumors). Jungkook masturbates as often as most normal guys do, mostly when he’s frustrated by work. But instead of seeking respite in another woman’s vagina, he uses his own hand, which has worked perfectly well for him.
And, well, there is this other… thing he’s kept locked with a key within him. Deep in his unconscious, something not even a therapist could uncover. The fear that he might be bad at it.
It sounds ridiculous when it crosses his mind for even a second. He does not do things badly. He does not do things at all until he’s certain he can do them well. That’s just how he's wired, has always been wired, the same compulsion that made him practice his father’s presentations in the mirror at fifteen until they were perfect.
It is exceedingly unfortunate that this is not something one can research into oblivion or competence. You learn by experience. And the idea of being in front of someone, exposed and vulnerable, makes him want to die.
“Jungkook-ah, look at the girl in the pink,” Namjoon whispers into his ear, fighting to be heard over the bass. “She’s so fucking hot.”
His eyes wander over to where Namjoon is trying to subtly point. A girl in pink lingerie roams the stage, lashes batting flirtatiously as she lets the pole sit between her ass cheeks. Jungkook doesn’t have time to respond to his hyung before he’s being (rudely) interrupted by a girl in light blue lingerie, standing over their table with a smile. “Hi boys, how are we doing tonight?”
The boys, minus Jungkook, whoop and yell, and he wants to crawl into the booth and hide. They’re acting like wild vultures, and his brain is reeling trying to comprehend what’s unfolding in front of him.
Before his mind can catch up, he feels a wad of cash slithering into his palm.
“Just go with it,” Namjoon murmurs from beside him, already clapping.
He gulps as he peers down at the bills in his hand. The girl in blue has climbed onto the small raised platform in the center of their table, one hand wrapping around the pole. Up close she’s gorgeous—warm tanned skin, black curly hair spilling over one shoulder, a devious twinkle in her eye.
Her hips roll in a figure eight, one hand trailing the length of the pole as the other moves down her waist. She turns, spine arching back, and the boys lose their collective minds. Bills flutter onto the platform like confetti, and a small smile contorts onto her plush lips.
With both hands, she drops into a low squat, thighs spread, and comes back up in a languid motion. Hoseok physically slaps the table, tossing twenties to no avail.
Okay, calm down, he thinks distantly. His heartbeat is picking up in his chest.
She spins, one leg extending wide, the momentum carrying her around the pole in a slow arc before she hooks her knee and drops back in a hang that makes the fabric of her lingerie ride up her thighs. The light catches her and Jungkook forgets, very briefly, that he came here against his will.
Taehyung’s on his feet as fast as he can move. Jungkook can only watch in horror as Taehyung peels a bill from his stack and stuffs it right into the waistband of her panties. She giggles and turns toward him. Tae grins up at her and she leans down, curly hair falling forward, and shakes her chest right in his face.
Taehyung tips his head back and says something Jungkook cannot hear over the music, but it evokes another laugh from her. Jungkook’s mind is blank, save for the images of ass and tits flying across his vision.
Jungkook sits very still and feels something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time shift somewhere low in his stomach.
He is not indifferent, it turns out.
He is just very, very in over his head.
The girl turns back to the rest of them, eyeing them up as though to decide her next victim. Her eyes linger on Jungkook for a few seconds, and his heart thumps out of its cage.
He’s aware of what he looks like. He’s not a fool, after all. Tattooed arm, a body sculpted by Greek gods, multiple facial and ear piercings. The irony of it is not lost on him—all that packaging, none of the experience to back it up.
He’s had girls lining up to talk to him, but not a single one that could hold his interest. Jungkook could care less.
But it seems she recognizes he’s not eager to talk to her, and so she focuses her attention on Jimin, who’s practically panting like a puppy left out in the sun for too long. She does a few tricks for him on the pole, all of which are rewarded with bills and yells.
“Candy, you don’t plan on keeping these boys all to yourself, do you?”
A melodic voice, almost like a siren’s, floats into Jungkook’s ear. His body stiffens, muscles taut as his eyes avert over the table to spot a woman.
Jungkook’s not gay by any means. He’s also not fucking blind. The woman that stands before him is an angel, a goddess, a temptation for him sent from hell. Adorned in red lacy lingerie and white knee socks with red bows on them… utterly fucking delicious.
He’s drooling.
“They’re all yours, Angel,” the stripper, apparently named Candy, says with a grin, sliding off the platform, and just like that she relinquishes the pole like a crown being passed. In one smooth motion, you climb up, nimble fingers wrapping around the pole. Immediately, his friends turn into wild animals, even more explicit than before. Taehyung stands from his seat, eyes blanking as he observes how your thong hugs your hips and ass.
You alternate through a series of movements—slow spin, then fast, one leg extended in a line. You hook your knee around the pole and lean back, hair falling away from your face, and the red lace catches the light. Jungkook’s higher brain functions vacate the premises. Money rains onto the platform, more than he expected.
He realizes he’s also holding money, and it’s as though a lightbulb flashes above his head. Oh shit, he thinks. He wants to spend his entire wallet on you.
You climb down and drop straight into Namjoon’s lap like you’ve known him for years. Kim Namjoon, the most composed man Jungkook has ever met, grins like an idiot. You lean in close to say something to him, pink, lush lips brushing his ear, and Namjoon laughs low before responding with a hushed whisper.
Slowly, you pull away from his ear, eyes twinkling.
And then you glance over at Jungkook.
It’s a half-second, a flicker, the most minor redirection of your attention imaginable. A slide of your eyes that lands on him and then lifts away.
His cock twitches in his pants. It is, quite literally, the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. In that moment, he realizes he wants nothing more than your attention, your time, you. But he just doesn’t know what he has to do to get such a thing. To be able to deserve a woman as delectable as you.
A flutter of giggles escapes your mouth, cheeks ruddy as you get up from Namjoon’s lap.drifting around the curve of the table, all seven pairs of eyes track you like flowers following light. Taehyung fans himself with a hundred dollar bill, and you immediately gravitate towards him.
Jungkook watches you kiss his cheek. Watches Taehyung’s hands find your waist. Watches him stuff a fistful of bills into the back of your lingerie, give your ass a playful smack that you welcome with a laugh. He wants to blow his brains out.
He deadpans at the ice bucket instead.
“Fucking hottest girl I’ve ever seen," Namjoon mutters beside him, just loud enough for him to catch, "Don’t you think, Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook’s tongue is tied into knots.
“She’s a sin,” Namjoon continues.
Across the table, you laugh at something Taehyung says, head tipping back, throat exposed, and the red lace shifts. Jungkook moves with it, recrossing his legs under the table and tugging his shirt down to hide the growing tent in his pants.
Namjoon notices the movement, looking down for a millisecond before peering at Jungkook smugly.
He claps Jungkook on the back, “Welcome,” he says, “to being a fucking man.”
“I hate you so fucking much right now.”
“Your dick doesn’t hate me.”
He’s not technically wrong, per se. Jungkook just refuses to admit he’s right.
Taehyung leans up to murmur something in your ear, and you pull back with a slow smile spreading across your face.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no—your body turns to look directly at Jungkook.
Jungkook has closed deals worth nine figures, has sat across from men who built empires from nothing and held their gaze at the age of 20 without a care in the world. He has endured his father’s silent disappointment across a dinner table for 30 consecutive years.
Like a cartoon character with a fork stuck in his throat, he gulps audibly.
You start walking toward him, your eyes piercing into it. They don’t leave his face not once, not even to check where you’re stepping or acknowledge the table erupting in cheers around you.
Namjoon slides over calmly to make room, and Jungkook watches the space beside him open up and thinks what the fuck are you doing and means it directed at every single person in this room, including himself.
You stop in front of him, and he peers up at you. In those heels, you tower over him, and he notices the smirk that’s curved upon your lips. Evil. You’re fucking evil.
Trepidly, you sink down onto your knees, maintaining eye contact.
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god —
His cock twitches so hard he has to lock every muscle in his body to keep from visibly reacting.
“Hi,” you smile.
“Hi,” he replies with bated breath.
You already know. He can tell you already know exactly what you’re doing to him and precisely how badly he’s losing. Somehow that makes it so much worse and so much better.
Your hand comes to land up on his thigh, snaking up and up until he swears you’re going to stick your hand in his pants. You stop right on his inner thigh, feeling the muscle. He swears he sees a twinkle in your eyes at the realization. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm every nerve ending in his body.
“What’s your name, pretty boy?” you whisper, trying not to be heard by the group of animals that he unfortunately calls his friends.
“J-Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”
“Jungkook.” You repeat the name with so much seduction it almost doesn’t even sound recognizable to him.
You stand up, and he exhales the deepest breath. God fucking damnit. Of course you’re done with him—he stuttered his own name like he’d never used it before. He watches you straighten up and thinks okay. okay, that’s fine. that was a normal amount of humiliation for one evening.
But instead of leaving, your knee lands on the cushion beside his thigh, followed by the other one, and then you’re in his lap. The air leaves his lungs in one swift, silent evacuation. Your lace panties settle directly over the front of his pants and you shift forward, eyes panning down between you.
With a lift of your brows, you move again. Shit. He knows what you found. He can feel exactly what you found and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.
Shit shit shit—
“Look at little Kookie!” Taehyung’s voice echoes across the table, ringing in Jungkook’s ear. “He’s pink!”
Jungkook turns to look at his alleged friends with the dead eyes of a man considering his options.
And then he feels your warm hand, two fingers catching his jaw, turning his face back to yours.
“Don’t look at them, baby.” Your voice is low, meant only for him. “Look at me.”
God help him, he does.
Your eyes hold his for a moment that stretches longer than it should, and then—your hips gyrate forward in a slow circle. The warm drag of your hips moves against his, and nothing, not a single thing, has ever felt like this in his years of living.
“You’re really pretty,” you giggle, looping your arms around his neck, rolling your hips in a figure eight that makes his vision white out at the edges.
Behind you, the boys are losing their minds. Money’s flying, and Jungkook cannot process any of it because you’re shifting again, turning so that your back is pressing into his broad chest. You lean back into him, head dropping to his shoulder, and the slide of red lace against his cock is making him see actual stars. He can’t hide the groan that escapes him.
Leaning your head back to face him, you’re close enough that your breath fans across his jaw. “You’re so tense, pretty boy. These hands doing anything useful or just decorating the couch?”
He really can’t argue, because his hands are pressed flat against the cushions on either side of him, white-knuckled and rigid like he’s bracing for a car crash. “I—” he begins.
“Need help?”
Helplessly, he nods.
You reach down, take his hands and settle them on your hips. The lace is soft under his palms, plush skin warm to the touch.
“Hold on right there,” you whisper. “Don’t let go.”
An actual, audible, involuntary whimper crawls up his throat and escapes before he can catch it. With his hands on your hips he can feel every single movement now, every roll and dip and shift of your weight, and it is so much better than anything he has ever done alone in the dark of his penthouse that it almost feels like a personal insult to every year that came before this one.
“F-fuck,” he exhales. "You’re so—you’re so g-good—”
“Yeah?” You straddle him once more, knees digging into the couch, your eyes pausing to glance at his lips before meeting his eyes. Your finger comes up, tracing slowly along his lower lip, catching on the small metal ring of his lip piercing and playing with it before releasing. “What a pretty piercing for a pretty boy.”
“You like it?” Jungkook feebly asks, even though he knows you do. Every girl likes it, but none have caught his eye the way you do.
Silently, you reach past him then, fingers closing around the forgotten wad of cash still sitting on the cushion where Namjoon pressed it into his palm a lifetime ago. He watches as you lean back in his lap and drag the bills languidly across your chest, the red lace, down over the curve of your waist.
You peer up at him from under your lashes. “You were just going to let all this go to waste?” you ask, clicking your tongue.
“I—” he swallows. "I didn't know—like the protocol—”
The dopey smile that breaks across your face sends vibrations to his cock. “You’re doing so well for me already.”
You lean forward again, closing the distance, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hips keep moving. Without a second thought, he grips your hips tighter.
Somewhere behind you, he distantly registers that the boys are no longer watching. Other girls have materialized at the table, except for Namjoon and Hoseok, who are deep in a drunk conversation. It’s just you and him.
Your teeth graze his earlobe. “You know, when I saw you, I thought you’d be trouble.” A soft giggle leaves your lips. “Turns out you’re harmless.”
“I—” he starts, some distant fragment of pride assembling itself. “I’m not—”
“Harmless,” you repeat, pulling back to look at him. “The sweetest thing in this whole place.”
For an irrational moment, Jungkook forgets every reason why he can’t be caught here.
And then it’s his father’s disapproving tone, thinks about the words you represent this family everywhere you go, Jungkook, everywhere, and the Google alerts and the face his father makes when he’s upset and how Jungkook has spent his entire life trying to prevent that specific expression.
He could call his driver, go home, pretend this whole evening was a fever dream. After all, this is exactly the kind of situation that becomes a headline. Jeon heir spotted at—
Suddenly, your hands leave his shoulders. The warmth of your weight lifts off his lap all at once and the absence of it is so sudden that his body mourns it, an embarrassing physiological grief response he didn’t know he was capable of. Left behind with a raging boner that is apparent to the naked eye.
You smooth down your lingerie. Roll your shoulders back. And just like that the curtain comes back up, a polished version of you, like the last twenty minutes happened only to him. “Bye boys," you say to the table and the ones paying attention halfheartedly wave.
Then you turn to him. “Bye, Jungkook. It was nice to meet you.” With a wink, you disappear off to the next table, and all he can do is stare at the space where you were once sitting, his cock standing tall and proud in his pants.
He becomes aware, slowly, that Namjoon is looking at him. “Don’t start.”
“Wasn’t going to.”
“Ah Jungkook-ah, you just need to fuck a girl and get it over with!”
Kim Seokjin, for all his years of knowledge and wisdom, is a bit of a menace when liquor enters his bloodstream.
Jungkook has become overtly aware of two things: 1) he’s the drunkest he’s ever been and 2) the boner in his pants has yet to go down.
He had briefly considered going into the bathroom to jerk off, but that would be too obvious and embarrassing to admit, even to himself. Instead, he would much rather subject himself to the torture of his best friends and let three other women dance on him to erase the taste of you from his mouth.
Each woman was attractive, but they didn’t entice him the way you had. Even after an hour of sitting at this couch, throwing bills upon bills, nothing felt as ethereal as the feeling of your weight upon him, as though he had claimed you.
“I’m not just going to fuck any girl,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, tipping his head back to take another shot of whiskey.
“Why not?!” Jin motions wildly with his glass, sloshing amber liquid alarmingly close to the rim. “You’re 30! You’re rich! You look like… that!” He waves his hand at Jungkook’s being. “What are you saving your best years for? Soon we’ll all be pumping ashes out of our cock—”
“Jin—”
“Dust will leak from our tips!-”
“I’m going to fucking murder you.”
“He’s waiting for love,” Jimin notes, words slurred from the effects of alcohol. A black-haired girl is draped across his lap, lips peppering kisses on his supple skin. “It’s actually very romantic if you think about it.”
“I am not waiting for love.”
“He’s waiting for her,” Taehyung whispers, pointing across the room. Without even turning to look, Jungkook knows they’re talking about you. Mostly because he hasn’t been able to stop looking at you for the past hour, heat rising to his cheeks when he watches you dance on other men.
“The red lingerie girl has him in a chokehold,” Tae continues to nobody, nodding as though Jungkook is suffering from a grave disease. “I’ve seen this before. This is a chokehold situation.”
“No one except my dad has me in anything, Taehyung,” he argues.
“Your cock has suggested otherwise,” Yoongi snorts, not even looking up from his drink.
Jungkook tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, thinks about how peaceful his penthouse is right now. How peaceful. How completely devoid of these people.
From his peripheral, he watches as Hoseok leans over and cups his hand around Namjoon’s ear. He has known Kim Namjoon for ten years and he knows exactly what Namjoon’s listening face looks like versus Namjoon's scheming face. This is the second one. Very much the second one.
Namjoon’s eyes light up, and Jungkook’s body has a visceral reaction. Namjoon turns to Jin. Whispers something. Jin’s face splits into a grin so enormous it looks like his lips will crack in two.
Flatly, Jungkook asks, “What is happening right now?”
Not a single one of his friends answers. They’re doing the hive thing—buzzing between each other, passing from person to person, grins multiplying like a virus.
Jungkook clears his throat. “Excuse me.”
Namjoon ignores his words and stands up. “Where are you going,” Jungkook blurts, panic bursting in his chest. “Namjoon. Kim Namjoon. Where are you—”
But he’s already gone, sliding through the crowd, and Jungkook watches him disappear toward the back of the club where a woman in all black is standing with a clipboard. The bottom of his stomach drops out completely. He turns to the remaining members of his betrayal circle. “Whatever he’s doing, stop it now—”
“Shh,” Jin serenely says, patting his knee.
“I don’t care that I’m younger, don’t shh me.”
“Shhh.” Jungkook shrugs him off and cranes his neck toward where Namjoon is now deep in conversation with the clipboard woman, nodding, reaching into his jacket pocket. His wallet comes into view. Fuck.
Jungkook can’t imagine whipping out a wallet at the strip club is anything but bad news.
“I’m leaving,” Jungkook announces, planting both hands on the table. The way he sees it, he has about ten minutes to escape before he either blacks out or embarrasses himself even more.
Two pairs of hands push him back down immediately. “You’re not going anywhere, big boy,” Hoseok tuts.
“You’re detaining me.”
“It’s a birthday gift,” Taehyung argues, “You can’t refuse a birthday gift. It’s rude.”
“Watch me.”
Jungkook abruptly feels a slap on his back, and when he looks up, it’s Namjoon reclaiming his seat beside him, a sinister grin plastered on his face. “You’re welcome.”
Sighing, he shakes his head. “For what?”
“Happy birthday, Jungkook-ah.”
“That didn’t answer my fucking question, Namjoon.”
Before Jungkook can pester further, a shadow falls over the table. The woman with the ominous clipboard and headset is standing at the edge of their booth, and she doesn’t particularly look like she’s here to refill their drinks or anything tame.
“Which one of you is Jeon Jungkook?”
Of fucking course.
The boys erupt like zoo animals. Clapping, hollering, hands slapping his back from every direction simultaneously. Jungkook wants to cry, maybe throw himself off the balcony of his penthouse.
The woman smiles at him. “Follow me.”
“What—”
Namjoon’s hand closes around his arm and hauls him bodily upright. “Up you go, buddy.”
“I’m not—this is—you can’t just—”
But none of it matters—his feet are carrying him, brain several steps behind. He’s following the clipboard woman through the club in what feels like cement shoes. As he walks, he peers around the club—other men at tables, women moving through the dim light to reach their poles, money piling on the floor.
He is the only one who looks like he’s being escorted to his own execution.
The woman stops at a door at the back of the club. It’s unmarked, flush against the wall. She pushes it open, and the first and only thing Jungkook sees is red. Everything inside is red. A plush crimson couch curved against the far wall, red LED light bleeding over every surface.
Even the color red turns him on now. That must be your doing.
“Wait right here,” the woman instructs, stepping back toward the door. “Your private dancer will be here to join you shortly.
“My what?!”
He’s so fucked that he might need to use a new word to describe how utterly fucked he is.
The door slams shut behind her, a finite ending to his arguing. There’s no going back.
His cock jumps in his pants, and Jungkook looks down at himself in indignation. Bad, he thinks. Bad. Bad dog. We are leaving.
But he thinks that even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t. He’s thinking of you, towering over him, asserting your dominance over him. He’s spent most of his life being in charge, and for once, someone else is taking the reins and letting him sit back.
He stands in the middle of the red room until finally, his legs give up the principle of the thing and carry him to the couch. He should have known. From the moment Namjoon’s wallet came out he should have connected the dots because Kim Namjoon does not spend money without intention, has never done anything without intention, and Jungkook has known this for years and still walked directly into it like a fool.
Pressing both palms to his knees, wiping the sweat off them, he stares at the door. It might not be her, he reasons. It’s probably not her. There are lots of girls here. It could be anyone.
It would be foolish to assume someone like you would not be taken already by another dominant, assertive man. Sure, Jungkook probably has the money that most men in this club dream of, but he doesn’t have an ounce of the confidence that he needs to handle you.
Jeon Jungkook is currently sweating through an expensive shirt in a red room the size of a closet because a girl in lingerie might walk through that door.
The door swings open and the first thing Jungkook sees is—red.
Red flashes across his vision and it’s all he can see or think about.
You step inside and the LED light catches the lace, makes your curves look like they were designed by a Greek god. For a moment, your eyes adjust to the dim light, averting around the space to try and make sense of your surroundings.
But when they finally land on him, there’s a dangerous twinkle dancing in your eyes.
“We meet again.”
Loudly, he swallows whatever drool has accumulated in his mouth. The door clicks shut behind you and you move toward him, heels marking an agonizing rhythm against the floor.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
He cranes his neck as you approach, tracking you up until you’re standing directly in front of him and he has to tip his head all the way back to hold your gaze. Your lips are freshly glossed with red lipstick, he notes.
“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “I was starting to think you were scared of me.”
He opens his mouth (to say what, he’s not sure of.)
“Are you, Jungkook?” You pause, lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Scared?”
Without a single reservation, yes, he is. But he’s not entirely useless—he’ll never admit that.
Clearly, you take his non-response as an admittance of defeat. Your hand comes down, cradling the side of his face. Your manicured thumb traces his cheekbone. “Hey. We don’t have to do anything, you know. I know your friends booked this.” Your eyes are steady on his, reading him the way you’ve been reading him all night. “Or…”
He blinks like a teenage boy, saliva pooling in his mouth as you hold your words for a second.
“Do you want me, Jungkook?”
Embarrassingly, devastatingly fast, his head bobs up and down before his brain has even finished processing the question. He wants to dissolve into the couch cushions and never be found.
Your smile breaks acros your features. Pearly white teeth come into view, the realest expression he’s seen on your face all night. “Good boy. Do you have any song requests?”
You turn toward the TV mounted on the wall, and he watches you move to it, your back to him now, and somehow that’s almost worse because he can just… look. He may be a virgin, but he’s not an idiot. Your perky ass is mere inches away from his face, and his fingers itch to reach out and squeeze the plush skin in his hand.
With his eyes still trained on your ass, he says, “U-um. Anything. I don’t—I don’t care.”
“Hmm.” You bite your lip, scrolling. Jungkook begins to hope you never turn back around so he can relish in the shape of your ass all night. That would be well worth Namjoon’s money, he thinks.
The opening beat of a song drops from the speakers and Jungkook goes completely still. Of all the songs in the world, it’s his favorite song.
2.0 by BTS.
He’s not ashamed to listen to their music, despite them being a typical k-pop boy group. Their shit is catchy. Sue him.
You swivel back around and your hands come down onto his thighs. You lean down enough that your hair falls forward and he can smell your perfume again. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
Your eyes drag themselves down to his pants, like they’re ogling at the very unfortunate situation he’s unable to handle. Then they drift back up as if you saw nothing at all.
“You know,” you say, your voice dropping to something that would be condescending if it were anyone else. “I’ve had a lot of men in this room.”
He swallows back the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. He’d rather not think about them. .
“But none of them—” your fingers press into his thighs, just slightly, “I’ve wanted to have as bad as I do you.”
He can feel his jaw go slack, eyes widening to the size of flying saucers.
You smile. Lean in until your lips brush the hinge of his jaw, a bare whisper of contact that makes every nerve ending in his body stand at guard. “You have no idea how bad I want you.”
Great. You must be attracted to tortured virgins who are rich and powerful but don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. “Lucky for you,” you pull back to look at him. “I’m going to take very good care of you.”
The weight on the couch shifts before he can really notice it, your knees digging into the sofa, until you’ve infiltrated every cell in his body. Above him, around him, your hands landing on his shoulders and squeezing, fingers pressing into the muscle there with a small sound of approval.
Your full, warm body settles onto his lap as though you’re at home, and really, he doesn’t think there’s enough oxygen in the room. The thought of how little space there is between you two wrings a sound out of him that he will be taking to his grave. Your panties graze slow over the length of his cock. “Fuck—”
His head drops back against the couch, neck going loose, and he stares at the ceiling like it might offer him salvation. Potentially a trapdoor.
He can feel your eyes lingering on his face, and not a single thing can be done about it because every resource he has is currently being allocated to not cumming in his pants.
Your clothed pussy drags over him through the thin barrier of your panties. He makes a sound that is not a word.
“There he is,” you murmur. Your hands slide from his shoulders up the sides of his neck, thumbs tracing his jaw, tipping his chin back down so he’s looking at you instead of the ceiling. “Stay with me.”
“I’m—” he tries. “I’m here. I’m very—I’m extremely here—”
The pace you set is torturing enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. Your lips curve. “You feel that?”
“I feel—” he swallows, “—yes. Yeah. I feel that.”
A hum leaves your mouth. Jungkook watches your eyes stay on his face and realizes with dawning, helpless clarity that you are observing every single reaction. Every twitch. None of it really matters, since he has no poker face left, has burned through every last reserve of composure he had somewhere around the moment you sat down.
Manicured hands slide down from his jaw to his chest, pressing flat against him, and you lean back to look at him from a new angle, hair falling over one shoulder, hips never breaking rhythm.
“Relax,” you softly say, fingers digging into his chest. “I can feel how tense you are.”
“I’m not tense—”
You perk an eyebrow.
“I work an intense job—”
“Jungkook.”
“Fine. I’m tense or whatever," he admits, “and I would appreciate it if you didn’t hold that against me.”
You giggle, and his stomach erupts into a nest of angry hornets, bloodthirsty insects that rival those ‘butterflies’ people get when they fall in love. Jungkook doesn’t do girls. Never has. He feels the need to remind himself once or twice.
“You’re doing so well,” you murmur, and your hips roll again, and he swears he can feel your folds against him. Or maybe wishful thinking.
He just can’t fucking think straight anymore.
“I-I’ve never done this b-before,” he whimpers as your ass rubs over his hardened length agonizingly slow. “I don’t r-really—fuck—talk to g-girls.”
His head falls back onto the couch again, small, erratic puffs of air escaping his lips.
You lean into his ear, lips coquettishly brushing against the crimson, heated skin. “I know.”
Kim Namjoon. When he gets his hands on him. It is so fucking over.
Your hands leave his shoulders. They move, traveling behind your back to undo the clip of your bra in one fell swoop. The red lace goes slack. You let it hang from two fingers, dangling, looking at his face the whole time. Then you let the red fabric drop to the floor.
Oh fuck.
Everything he knows about boobs is from porn itself. But up close, he can see your hardened peaks, stimulated and perky, ready for him to suck and play with. They’re just the right size, enough to cup in his hand. You lean forward, bracing your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head, closing the distance between you inch by inch until your nipples graze his chest through his shirt.
He shivers, cock twitching beneath you.
“Sensitive,” you note with a whisper.
“I have—I’m wearing a shirt—”
“I know.” Your lips brush his jaw. “Imagine if you weren’t.”
He grips your hips so hard the lace bunches under his fingers. “You have no idea,” you exhale against the hinge of his jaw, “what I want to do to you.”
“Tell me.” He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when it escapes him.“Please—”
You pull back to look at him, eyes an onyx black shade, lips parted.
“Have you ever touched yourself, Jungkook?” You punctuate your question with another slow grind. He whimpers in response, and the shame of it hardly registers because his cock is twitching and pulsing against his slacks, his boxers already damp with his arousal. He has never been less in control of his own body.
“Answer me.” Your nail drags across his jawline.
Jungkook can’t breathe. All he can do is grip the couch and try not to fall apart in front of a woman who looks like she has never fallen apart in her life.
“Y-yes.” he croaks, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I do.”
“Hm.” Your hips roll again, the lace of your panties catching against his slacks perfectly, perfectly, and his brain halts all coherent thoughts. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”
He thinks about women, mostly. They’re usually abstract, faceless, nothing like you. Nothing like the warm weight of you in his lap or the way you smell. Usually the entire ordeal takes him four minutes and he goes to sleep feeling embarrassed about the whole thing.
He does not say this.
“I— I think about girls.”
“Just girls?”
Your eyes peer down at him, sparkling with wonder. Your lips graze his cheek and every single neuron in his body fires at once. He’s going to fucking pass out.
God, he’s an idiot. He should’ve been having sex years ago. What was he so busy doing? Working? He gave up this for spreadsheets and impressing his father?
“Y-yeah,” he exhales. “Just—yeah.”
A small sound escapes you, something like a moan. The thought that you could be finding pleasure from this makes his cock pulse desperately in the confines of his pants.
“Well.” Your hand finds his, lifts it, and presses his palm to the curve of your hip. Guiding his grip, guiding your own rhythm, you turn him into an active participant in his own undoing.
“Next time you touch yourself.” You pick up the pace, slowly but steadily. “Think about this. Think about me. And how bad I want to fuck you.”
Fucking hell.
His eyes squeeze tight, tight, tight. Tries, desperately, heroically, pathetically, not to cum. Jungkook groans, and he feels your fingernails dig into his broad shoulders for stability as your movements become more frantic.
“F-Fuck,” he chokes out. “That feels so good.”
“I bet it does, baby,” you purr, and your angelic voice quells the fire in his core. “Bet your cock has been hungry for female attention, hasn’t it?”
“No.” Jungkook hastily replies, “N-No, just for you.”
He’s so fucking close, precum leaking out of his tip incessantly as each grind gets him closer and closer to his orgasm. Your tits bounce in his face, and he opens his eyes to see the sight that will forever be imprinted in his brain. Probably stored in his spank bank for the rest of time. Your cheeks are ruddy, eyes piercing into his, hair moving wildly, lace panties hugging every curve.
Fuck.
He’s going to cum untouched, like the virgin he is.
Underneath the red lights, your hand finds his, and you guide up, up, up, press his palm flat against your chest. Your eye contact doesn’t waver. “Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, I’m—”
You watch him with a faint smile on your face. Without instruction, his fingers find your nipple, toying with the hardened peak lazily. Rolling them softly, you make a small sound above him and a lightbulb goes off in his brain.
This is good for you too. You like what he’s doing. Holy. Shit.
He continues to massage your nipple as you rut against his thighs, and it’s only a matter of time. He is a virgin, after all.
Jungkook feels his cock twitch in his pants once, twice, before he’s moaning and whimpering as spurts of hot cum fill his boxers. His hand tightens around you on instinct, a sound leaving his throat that he has never made in his life, not once, not like this. He rides out his orgasm, shuddering and cursing under his breath, and your hips slow to ease him through it.
He’s not sure how long he cums for, if he’s ever even cum this hard before. But when it does finally end, he slumps back against the couch like his skeleton has resigned. Staring at his face, your own movements still.
Jungkook doesn’t keep track of time, only cares for the loss of the feeling of your body on his. You stand up, using his thighs for leverage to steady yourself.
Placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, your eyes twinkle as you grin at him. “Come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy.”
Jungkook sounds like a broken record everytime he reminds himself he doesn’t do girls. He’s already convinced himself that his attraction to you is some sort of rebellion against his virginity.
That’s the only explanation as to why he’s standing outside Paradise Adult Club at 7 PM on a Monday holding an extravagant bouquet of red roses.
Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that his Sunday night was spent wallowing in despair, cringing at how fast he came in his pants after you dry humped him for five minutes. No, that piece will live in his brain exclusively. It’s embarrassing to admit how much of an effect you’ve had on him.
He’s never done anything nice for a girl in his life. Never took someone on a date, bought them flowers or jewelry, never held their hand just because he wanted to. He finds that shit cheesy, especially when his dad is yelling at him about some document from ten years ago.
But then again, he can’t say a lot of girls have had the effect on him that you do. You had him throwing his truths and ideologies out the window, disappearing under red lights and red lace and just… he really fucking loves the color red now.
The idea to stop by your place of work was a bold one, he can admit that much. It’s just that your last words to him before you strutted off ‘come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy’ didn’t leave much room for representation. When he’s ready? Ready for you? Pretty sure he was ready for that the moment you laid eyes on him.
Or, maybe you were referring to being ready to lose his virginity. He’s certain Namjoon has set him up for failure, probably mentioned numerous times everyone thought he was gay. In that case, Jungkook was also more than ready, but only if it was to you. Only if it was to see your tight little pussy swallowing his cock whole, eliciting those same sounds you did a few nights ago.
Fuck, he needs to have you.
“Excuse me? Sir?”
A brunette hostess with a mousy voice jolts him out of his daydream, his cheeks rosy as if he’s been caught sniffing your panties. Her eyebrow is raised in confusion as she eyes the bouquet of roses. Chances are slim to none she’s ever seen those around a dance club before.
“Yes. Hi. I’m looking for—” he stops.
Oh. Jungkook comes to the very hapless realization that he, in fact, does not know your real name. He knows your stage name. Candy called you Angel. That’s what he has. Angel. Which is a stage name, obviously, not a real name, and showing up to a woman’s workplace asking for Angel with a bouquet of roses is somehow worse than what he’s already doing.
“She works here,” he starts.
The hostess blinks. “…several women work here, sir.”
“Right. Yes. She was, uh, she was working Saturday night. She had—” he gestures vaguely at his own chest, “—red. She was wearing red.”
“A lot of women wore red on Saturday too.”
Her patience is wearing thin.
“She had pretty hair.” He’s aware of how this sounds. “And she was—” another vague gesture, this time at his own face, “—she was very. You know.”
The hostess does not know. Her eyebrows are migrating slowly toward her hairline.
“Pretty,” he finishes, lamely. “Very pretty. Like, showstopping pretty.”
“Tall? About this height?” The hostess holds her hand up.
“Yes.”
“Works the private tables?”
“Uh, yeah,” he nods. “And uh, private rooms too.”
Something clicks behind the hostess’s eyes. Her brows lift in a completely different way now, a hint of recognition mixed with amusement.
“[Y/N]?” she asks.
[Y/N.]
He turns the name over in his head. Lets it settle. What a gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl, he thinks.
(It’s his first crush, so he lets himself be as shameless as he needs to be about it.)
“Sure,” he says. “Yes. That one. [Y/N].” Your name. He knows your name now. He likes it more than he has any reasonable right to. “Is she—can I—”
“She’s off today.” The hostess smiles at him, fake sympathy seeping through the gesture. “Sorry.”
Jungkook grips his bouquet of roses until his knuckles are white. “Oh,” he says.
“Yup.”
He looks down at the bouquet. Red roses, obviously, because he’s been colonized by a color. He’d had his assistant order them this morning and had not explained why and the look on her face had been something he’d also be taking to his grave.
“Is there any chance—” he starts.
“I can’t give out personal information, sir. Our dancers lead private lives outside of their place of work.”
Jungkook sighs, weaving his fingers through his hair with his free hand. He can’t blame the hostess for her unwillingness to help, but he can’t let you get away. “No, I know. I wasn’t going to—Could I leave these for her? Is that… is that something that’s allowed?”
The hostess looks at him for a long moment.
Then she sighs, rolling her eyes and beckoning him further into the club. “Follow me.”
Somewhere, there’s a god he’ll be thanking later.
The hostess leads him through a narrow hallway, behind the main floor, past a few closed doors, stopping at one left slightly ajar. When she pushes it open, it’s empty, save for the scattered lingerie and perfume bottles on the floor.
“You can just leave them there,” she says, gesturing at the vanity.
She turns to leave. He hears it distinctly, murmured under her breath as she goes, “Amateur hour.”
Jungkook chooses not to acknowledge that.
He steps inside and sets the roses down on the vanity, straightening them slightly, then immediately feeling insane for straightening them and stopping. Jungkook doesn’t mean to look around, but his ADHD gets the best of him as his eyes wander.
Your setup feels very you, although he’s only been aware of your existence for two days. The vanity mirror is framed with warm bulb lights, surface below it an organized chaos of things he has no reference for—foundation bottles and setting sprays lined up like little soldiers, a tray of eyeshadow with so many colors he can’t identify half of them. There’s trays of lip glosses, shades of red and pink that sent his brain into a tornado of horny thoughts.
And, yeah, that’s enough for today.
He turns to leave, trying to avoid eye contact with any of your other belongings he might find. But on the chair by the door sits a pair of panties.
Black. Lacy. Small enough to fit in one hand.
He stares at them, and they stare back. Every single rational thought he has ever had in thirty years of living lines up in his head and says, collectively and in unison: do not.
His hand moves independently of his brain, reaches out, closes around the fabric, and tucks it into his pocket in one fluid motion. Fuck. He did not plan that. That was not a decision he made, that was a decision his hand made, and he and his hand are going to have a very serious conversation about boundaries later—
He walks quickly, practically jogging. His shoes are loud in the hallway, he just needs to be outside, needs air, needs to be somewhere that isn’t the room where he just stole a woman’s underwear like some kind of pervert.
“Have a good evening, sir!” the hostess calls from the front.
“Yep,” he quickly retorts, not stopping.
The door swings shut behind him and the cool night air hits his face. Luckily, his car is still waiting at the curb. It’s a miracle his driver hasn’t left him for dirt, despite Jungkook telling him to not wait for him. Maybe he also thinks Jungkook is a big, fat loser and knew he would need a backup plan.
Jungkook gets in, stares straight ahead.
“Home, sir?”
“Immediately,” he says. “Please.”
With the knowledge of the black panties sitting pretty in his pocket, his cock puffs up in his pants, poking at his boxers, begging for air. Jungkook suddenly feels sweaty, even with the aircon set to 60 degrees.
By the time Jungkook gets home, he’s a full-on mess. His cock is leaking precum at the tip, dripping into his Calvin Klein boxers. He’s never felt like this before, never been so undeniably hungry for someone that his whole body feels like it’s on the verge of collapse.
Jungkook stumbles into his bedroom, sitting down on his bed and pulling out the pair of panties with shaky hands.
He recognizes this is not a defense, merely an observation—he has never stolen anything in his life. He is a man of principle, of discipline, of self-control that has served him exceptionally well for three decades. He has walked away from bad deals, bad investments, bad decisions, more times than he can count.
He cannot seem to walk away from this.
Jungkook brings them up to his face slowly. Presses the fabric against his face and inhales. The fabric is warm, floral detergent filling his nostrils, and he falls back against his mattress as though his spine has stopped working.
“Okay,” he says to the ceiling. “Okay.”
He is so far gone it’s almost funny.
Almost.
His veiny hands find his waistband. The pants go first, then his boxers shoved halfway down his thighs, and when his cock finally springs free it’s so painfully hard he actually hisses, slapping against his abdomen.
Thirty years old. CEO-in-waiting. Multiple degrees. Fluent in three languages. Lying in his bed with stolen lingerie and the most humbling erection of his life. He rushes to sit up against his headboard, otherwise his skeleton will fail him and he’ll fall straight down on his bed again. His cock is flushed, angry and red, glaring at him. The veins on the side of his length protrude, and he quickly gathers the seed of precum that’s spurted at the top to spread it around his tip. “Fuck,” he groans, head hitting the sturdy wood behind his head.
Jungkook lets saliva fall from his mouth right onto his cock, too desperate to search for lube or lotion. Another quick glide of his hand up and down his length, and he’s painfully hard. Your black panties are strewn to the side of his mattress haphazardly, and he makes eye contact with them for a split second.
He grabs them in his right hand. The lace is soft in his fist, softer than he expected, delicate little scalloped edges. He wraps the pair of panties loosely around his cock, and the sensation of it sends his brain into overdrive. Against him, the lace looks improper, something immoral.
He is a little ashamed of himself.
Unfortunately, he is also completely unable to stop.
He guides his hand up and down his length, at a pace that he normally goes at when he’s just frustrated. His brain supplies images in snapshots—the weight of you in his lap, hips rolling against his crotch. He thinks about your chest, bare in the red light. The small sounds you made when the pace shifted and you stopped being professional about it for a microsecond. He thinks about your hands guiding his, hold on right there, pretty boy.
Your thighs bracketing his, what it would feel like if there was nothing in between them… if you were actually—if he could actually watch you ride his cock, bouncing up and down on it as your tits moved in his face. He would probably press his face into them, so perfectly plump and ready for him.
“God, [Y/N],” he chokes out, to nobody, to the ceiling, to the concept of you existing in the world without his knowledge for however many years before Saturday.
Jungkook jerks himself off faster, twisting his hand at the ase just how he likes it when he wants to cum fast. His hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at the way your black panties are now covered in a mix of his saliva and precum.
He wants to see you covered in his cum, maybe on your perfect tits or those glossy lips, taking every ounce of him that your body can manage. He bets you would take it like a good girl, would do anything just to please him and suck him dry of his money.
It doesn’t take long before his mind is spiraling down a drain and he’s on the brink of his orgasm. It was never going to take long. It bubbles in his core, the knot in his stomach unfurling, and then he’s cumming, with a loud whimper and a “Fuck, fuck. [Y/N],” staining your panties with hot, white ropes of cum. Jungkook doesn’t know how long his orgasm lasts, just that he’s never cum that hard in his entire life, not with the essence of you on your panties lingering so nearby.
For a long time, he sits on his bed, panties still balled in his fist. He sets them down very carefully on his nightstand like they’re evidence. In some sick twisted way, they are. They’re evidence of whatever is happening to him, whatever you cracked open in that private room, whatever he has blindly been waiting thirty years to feel and was not prepared for when it finally arrived.
But Jungkook knows one thing for sure: he can’t go on like this. He has to have you, one way or another.
Sometimes, you really fucking hate your job.
Men over the age of 40, married with two kids, will treat you with such disregard, as though you’re a piece of meat lucky enough to be desired by them. Your boss, Natalie, is a fucking cunt who takes half your earnings some nights, just to assert her dominance. Some nights, it’s so slow that you and the other dancers watch paint dry on the wall in your dressing rooms.
But sometimes, when the stars align and the universe throws you a bone, you really, really love your job.
Those nights are harder to come by. Usually, they start with a man throwing wads of cash at you, or stuffing them into the hem of your panties. They end with a private lap dance in the red room, where you rake in enough cash to pay off ten months of rent in advance.
But in the case of Jeon Jungkook, although your night started and ended the same way with him, you were utterly, completely intrigued by the harmless creature you had made cum in his pants last weekend.
His friends had showered you with cash, but Jungkook sat back in fear, watching you with a hypnotized gaze that never wavered. It was like he was captivated by every movement, hanging on every gyration of your hips. Namjoon didn’t need to tell you he was a virgin. You could smell it on him, something you predicted with just one glance.
And now, that virgin had infiltrated your every thought.
When you stumbled into the club on Tuesday, you saw the fresh bouquet of red roses lying on your vanity, and immediately knew who they were from. Sure, you had other older suitors at the club, some regulars, but none that would bring you flowers or shower you in anything but money. No, this was the gift of a boy, someone who wasn’t quite yet a man.
Quite honestly, you wanted to defile Jeon Jungkook.
So you waited. You waited and you waited, but he didn’t show up all week. By Friday, you were beginning to lose hope of seeing the aforementioned man again. You settled back into your old routine, hoping to get him off your mind with older, more forward men. It’s not like you were having sex with them. It’s a firm line you never wanted to cross, made that clear the first day you started.
It’s also not every day a hot, buff, tatted guy with bunny teeth and puppy-dog eyes walks into your club.
Saturday begins the same way it always does. Saturday nights at Paradise run like a well-oiled machine, and you are one of its most valuable parts.
The private tables are usually packed by 9PM, main stage rotating girls every twenty minutes. Bartenders furiously make drinks for eager men with open wallets, scanning for a dancer they can claim as their own for the night. You move through it with ease, a calming sensation spreading through your limbs. At least for now, this place has become your sanctuary. Or until the number in your head for your mother’s hospital bills finally hits zero.
Candy (also known as Lisa, but no one calls her that anymore) materializes out of nowhere, falling into step beside you. Since the day you joined Paradise, you two have shared a dressing room, secrets, lip gloss, and even underwear. She’s in gold tonight, hair pinned up, already counting a wad of bills from her regular client. Her hand connects with your bare ass, smacking the firm skin hard enough to leave a mark. “Lover boy show his face yet?”
“Haven’t seen him.” You adjust your bra strap without breaking stride. “Don’t think he can handle me, honestly.”
She snorts, “Yeah, no shit. Baby, he came in his pants from a lap dance.” She tucks the bills into her garter. “He cannot handle you. That’s the whole point.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going easy on him. Letting him come to me if he wants.”
Candy stops walking entirely to look at you. “You’ve never gone easy on anyone in your life.”
“I’m feeling charitable.” You try to walk around her, but she holds her arms out.
“We don’t do free shit around here,” she squints her eyes at you, sizing you up. She knows you better than most people do, which is usually a positive, but has now turned into what you hate most about her.
“Listen, the guy’s obviously a virgin.” You roll your eyes. “Not to mention, he’s fucking stacked. Like, loaded loaded. He’s also hot. Need I go on?”
She stares at you for a long moment as though she’s watching a car accident happen in slow motion. Then she opens her mouth to refute.
“CANDY. [Y/N].”
Natalie’s voice bellows across the floor. Your boss is standing by the bar in all black, clipboard tucked under her arm, wearing the expression she reserves for moments when she feels her 40% cut is not being adequately earned. “Floor. Now. Both of you. Please, for the love of God.”
Candy mouths a not-so-subtle we’ll talk later and runs off toward the main stage. You turn back toward the floor, scanning the private tables, already taking mental note of the bachelor party in the far left corner. There’s eight guys, sashes, someone wearing a veil ironically. They’d keep you busy for an hour tops, and everyone knows bachelor parties are where the money is—
Natalie’s hand lands on your shoulder, redirecting you with zero ceremony. “Not that one.”
You turn. “The bachelor party has—”
“Got it covered. I need you at table five.” She steers you firmly. “He’s alone.”
You raise a brow. “He got money?”
Natalie gives you a side eye that could scare kids on Halloween. “Yes, dumbass.”
“How much money?”
“Just enough.” She releases your shoulder and delivers a brisk slap to your ass that you choose not to comment on. “Make me proud.”
Cursing under your breath, you start toward table five, fluffing your hair as you walk, rolling your shoulders back. Chin up, gaze level, lips pouted. Table five is tucked slightly off the main floor, dim even by Paradise standards.
As you approach the booth, you excitedly say, “Hi—”
The word dissolves in your mouth.
Because sitting at table five, in a dark t-shirt that hugs his tattooed biceps, turning a glass of whiskey between his hands nervously, is Jeon Jungkook.
He lifts his eyes to yours. For a second, he has the audacity to look surprised, like he didn’t come here specifically. He blinks at you and his ears go bright pink.
“Well,” you say, recovering first, “Look who found his nerve.”
His eyes rake over your figure, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
You don’t want to let the poor man suffer for too long. Swinging yourself into his lap, your knees straddle his thighs. A sharp inhale escapes him, hands flying up instinctively before freezing mid-air like he’s forgotten whether touching is allowed, ears going from pink to red in one second flat. “Nothing to be shy about, pretty boy,” you murmur.
He lowly whimpers. A soft and involuntary noise, his jaw snapping shut like he can take it back.
“I got your gift,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, tugging him an inch closer to you. His sculpted chest is pressed against your tits, and he doesn’t need to take his shirt off for you to decipher how buff he is.
His eyes go wide. “Y-yeah? Did you like them?”
You tilt your head, lips brushing against his jawline. “How did you know my favorite color was red?”
(It’s not. Your favorite color is green, has been since you were seven years old. But he doesn’t need to know that, and the way his body tenses when you say it is worth every cent of the lie.)
“L-lucky guess,” he stammers, and looks so pleased with himself.
“You’re a smart boy.” You press a chaste kiss to his jaw, then to his neck, and you feel his cock twitch underneath you. He shifts a little, trying to hide it, but you press down further.
His hands hover at your hips, still not quite landing, suspended in that same paralyzed uncertainty from the private room last week.
“You can touch me.”
He doesn’t spare a moment. His hands land directly on your hips, curling into the fabric of your underwear that rides high.
“Tell me why you came back,” you coyly bat your eyelashes. You know exactly why he’s here and what he wants, but you’ll let him tell you. After all, that’s what you instructed him to do. To come and find you when he was certain he was ready. Even though it was unspoken, he had to have known what you meant.
“I–I wanted to, uh, see you,” he swallows thickly, struggling to maintain eye contact.
“Alone?” You tilt your head.
“My friends don’t know I’m here.”
“Ah, so I’m your secret?” you tease.
“N-no!” He leans forward, brunette hair falling into his eyes. God, he’s so fucking cute. “No, you’re not. I just—this is new for me.”
“What is?”
Say it, Jungkook. Say it.
“You… you know what.”
“You know,” you say, leaning in slightly so he can feel your hardened nipples through your bra, “most men who come in here alone aren’t shy about what they want.”
“I’m not shy,” he pouts.
You roll your hips over his half-hard cock, and he exhales. “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Jungkook. You are a big, strong man.”
He owlishly blinks at you, trying to understand what mind game you’re playing on him. Not that it matters, since he’s putty in your hands.
“So prove to me that you want me.”
You tip his chin up with two fingers, pulling his gaze back to yours. “Hey,” you say quietly. “Right here.”
Hurriedly, like he’ll lose the words, he says, “I touched myself to you. Like you said.”
“Yeah? Did you cum?”
“I did,” he pauses, mulls over his next words. “I came so hard I almost cried.”
“Wish I could’ve seen that.” You kiss his neck, teeth biting down on his soft skin before soothing it with your tongue. A sweet moan echoes in your ear as you suck on his skin, sure to leave a blooming purple bruise on him. “What did you think about?”
“You… and me.” Your lips travel to a different park of his neck, littering a new section with sloppy hickies. “You…ah, fuck… on top of me, riding me. Making me cum again. I wondered w-what it would feel like if there were no clothes between us.”
Your hands slide from his jaw down his chest, feeling him tense under every inch of movement. “And what did you decide?” you ask. “Would it feel good?”
“I think it would feel like—I think you would ruin me,” he whimpers.
It’s written all over his face, plain and undefended, the way everything is with him, and you think about all the men who have sat where he’s sitting and uttered the complete opposite. Your hands drift lower, finding him at your hips, and you guide them up over your waist, ribcage, until his palms are cupped over your tits, fingers curling around you through the thin fabric of your bra.
He breaks your gaze. Looks down at his tattooed hands cupping your breasts.
“Jungkook,” you say.
He looks back up like a puppy following orders from a trainer.
“Still with me?”
“Yeah,” he exhales, massaging your tits with his massive hands. “Yeah,‘m very—I’m extremely with you.”
You roll your hips forward and watch his eyes flutter. “Good,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his jaw, cheek, the soft skin below his ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about you all week.”
“You have?”
“Mhm. Kept thinking about how good you’d feel inside me.” Your thumb traces his lower lip, catching the piercing. His cock is hard against you now, has been since you sat down, and you roll over it slightly, enough to feel him inhale sharply through his nose and grip you. “I want you to cum inside me, fill me up the way I know you want to.”
“O-oh,” he breathes, rutting his hips up to feel more. “I want that too.”
“You’d take it like a good boy, wouldn’t you?” You tug at the piercing, running your fingers over his supple pink lips.
“Y-yes, please. Anything.”
His eyes are glossed over with lust, so much that you doubt he’s hearing a word you say. “I bet my pussy feels so good wrapped around your cock. Bet you’re—”
“How much?”
Huh?
Your brows furrow, and his hands halt all movements on your tits. “What do you mean?”
“H-how much for a private room?”
He eyes you expectantly, chest heaving.
Of all the things you expected him to say in this moment, it was not that. You’re half naked in his lap, you just told him you’d been thinking about him all week, and he’s asking for a price point.
The old version of this interaction writes itself easily. You name the number, take him to the back, take his money, take what you want, and send him home by midnight. Clean cut.
You’ve done it a hundred times.
But then he’s looking at you with those eyes, looking like a kicked puppy. An obscenely wealthy, tattooed, jawline-having kicked puppy who brought you roses on a Tuesday and almost cried when he came.
You genuinely, physically cannot take his money right now.
“I don’t want your money, Jungkook,” you say.
He stares at you like you’ve grown an extra head. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“I—” he frowns, “—that’s not—you should take it, it’s fine, I have it—”
You shift in his lap, rolling your eyes. “I know you have it.”
“So just let me—”
“I want you,” you shrug. “Not your money. You.”
He goes still underneath you, like he’s running it back trying to find the catch. His brows pull together. “That doesn’t make any sense—”
And before he can question you any further, you kiss him.
You don’t plan it. One second he’s trying to logic his way out of being wanted and the next your hand is at his jaw and your mouth is on his and he makes a strangled sound against your lips. A muffled noise falls from his lips, and you swallow it down. For half a second, he’s frozen, your lips guiding themselves. He clearly has no idea what to do.
And then something gives way in him all at once and he kisses you back clumsily. His lips try to match your speed, and you cup his jaw in your hand to guide him as best you can.
Jungkook lets out a soft moan, fingers digging into your waist so he can tug you closer to him. It feels like your body is melding into his, becoming one. The sound of misogynistic men waving cash around fades into the background, and you forget where you are. Only a mere moment, until you snap back into it. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he licks into your mouth desperately. You open your mouth a bit to let him explore, and his tongue is so soft and warm that butterflies erupt in your stomach unexpectedly.
When he pulls away, his cheeks are red, breath escaping him in puffs. Those doe eyes of his are twinkling under the light, bunny teeth poking out underneath his top lip.
“I—was that, um, okay?”
Oh god. You’re going to ruin this man’s life.
You bashfully giggle. “It was perfect, pretty boy. Are you sure this is your first time?”
Jungkook nods a few times like a broken bobblehead. You chuckle, shaking your head. Your voice lowers an octave. “I want more of you.”
“R-really?” He squeaks.
Rather than answer him with words (which he seems to understand so little of), you peel yourself off his lap, taking his hand in yours and tugging him off the couch. Jungkook stands, brows stitched together in confusion. You’d forgotten how tall he was, how much of him there is.
The floor parts around you as you move through it, the Saturday night chaos swallowing the two of you whole. You catch Natalie’s eye near the bar. She locks eyes with Jungkook and gives you an enthusiastic double thumbs up from behind her clipboard.
She’d lose her mind if she knew you were walking her highest-paying client of the night to the back for free. That’s a problem for later.
You push open the door to the red room. The LED light bleeds warm over everything.
Turning, you push him onto the couch with one hand flat against his chest and he plops into it with a soft exhale, hair falling across his forehead, looking up at you with those eyes. Puppy dog eyes, you think.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about all week?” you say, reaching up to slide one strap off your shoulder. Then the other.
He frantically shakes his head.
“Taking you apart,” you murmur. “Until you don’t remember your own name.”
“That’s—” he swallows thickly, “—that’s fine. Y-yes.”
You reach behind you and unclasp your bra.
For some reason unknown to you, it’s at this moment that you remember what you’re actually doing.
You’re standing in the red room on a Saturday night about to take the virginity of a man, a man who looked at you in a room full of women and somehow only saw you.
His eyes drop to your bare chest, perked nipples on display
The moment of clarity evaporates completely. You don’t feel bad at all.
Sinking to your knees, you crawl over to where he sits. The carpet is soft beneath your knees. You place your hands flat on his thighs and look up at him, plump, pink lips parting, hands gripping the couch cushions on either side of him. You run your hands slowly up his thighs, feeling the muscle jump under your palms, and tilt your head. “Is this okay, pretty boy?”
“Y-yes. It’s okay,” he hurries to respond like you might rid him of this moment.
“Have you ever been titty-fucked before?” you blink up at him, already knowing the answer.
His cheeks turn the color of the lights. His hand comes up to cover his face and he makes a sound into his palm that is equal parts mortified and desperate. “I-no. I never-I don’t even know, like, what that—I don’t—“
“Hands down,” You tug his hands away from his face. “Use your words, pretty boy. It’s just me.”
“No.” He finds his voice, his big brown eyes burning into yours. “I have not.”
You hold his gaze and run your palms up the inside of his thighs. Every coherent thought he has exits his body through his eyes.
“Well,” you say. “Pay attention.”
Your hands find his zipper. The sound it makes in the quiet room ricochets off the walls. His breath goes ragged, stomach caving on an inhale, watching your manicured hands fiddle with his pants. You take your time dragging the denim down his legs until he kicks them off desperately, left in his boxers.
Even through the fabric, you can see the outline of his erect cock. You wonder how long he’s been hard for, if it’s been before you saw him. You press your palm flat against the fabric, rubbing his bulge, and his head drops back with a groan.
“You’re so responsive,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, pressing slightly and watching his hips shift toward the pressure. “You feel everything, don’t you?”
“Y-yeah, I really—” he stops, swallows, “—I really do.”
“That’s so good,” you tell him. “That’s exactly right.”
His fingers find the edge of the couch cushion and grip. You take the waistband of his boxers between your fingers and look up at him one more time, giving him every opportunity to change his mind.
Jungkook’s eyes say please before his mouth does.
“Please,” he whispers anyway, because he has no defenses left. You trace the outline of his cock—and holy fuck, you can’t believe your luck. You’re the first girl to bear witness to his cock, and its massive, hidden underneath a man who’s never felt the warmth of a woman, never wanted to. Through his boxers, you can feel his girth, how thick he is.
Saliva builds up in your mouth. Slowly, you peel down his boxers, dragging them down his legs to the floor.
His cock stands up proud, slapping against his abdomen. For a moment, your heart thumps in your chest at the size of it, how thick and veiny he is. Fucking hell. You haven’t taken a cock this big in years, but damn straight you’re willing to try.
“I-is everything okay?” he asks, eyeing your expression.
You wrap a firm hand around his cock and he jolts forward. Stroking upwards, you feel every ridge, every vein that outlines his length. “It’s perfect, Jungkook. I can’t wait to taste you, for you to be inside me.”
Precum seeps from his glossy, red tip. You jerk him off a few times until he’s thrusting his hips into your hand. He’s beyond eager for anything you’ll give him, you note. Your eyes meet his, and slowly, you let spit dribble onto his cock, giving you enough slick to jerk him off properly. “Agh-fuck,” he moans, biting his bottom lip hard enough to produce blood.
“Feels good?” you ask, smiling.
“Y-yes, don’t stop,” he begs. Flicking your hair behind your shoulder, you hold your tits together, slipping his cock in between your cleavage. He chokes on a breath. “O-okay—okay—” he stammers, hands hovering uselessly on the couch.
The image of his pretty pink tip sitting between your tits sends waves of arousal to your core, flooding your panties. Adrenaline pumps through you, at the thought of taking this man’s virginity. Slowly, tentatively, enough for him to feel it, to understand it, you observe his face the entire time. His head falls back against the couch.
“You’re—fuck—” he cuts himself off, fingers digging into the cushion. You tilt your head, adjusting the pressure, testing what makes him react harder. Gradually, you move your tits up and down, down to his base and back up to his tip. The slick sounds of skin-on-skin echo across the room, mixed with his soft whimpers. His body tightens under your hands, thick thighs flexing, hips starting to thrust into you without thinking. He’s losing control faster than he can handle, faster than he can pause it. “S-shit, [Y/N], I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna cum—“
But you want him to cum. Want him to cum all over your tits, paint your body with it and let himself claim you. “It’s okay, Kookie,” you let the nickname roll off your tongue. “I want you to cum. It’s okay, I won’t be mad.”
“Y-You won’t?” His eyes bug out of his head like you’ve just spoken another language.
You giggle. “No, of course not.”
He shakes his head like he wants to deny it, but it’s useless. “I– I don’t know, I just— it feels—”
The words fall apart in his mouth. You slow down for a moment before leaning in and adding more slick, dragging your breasts over him again. Jungkook's head snaps back, a broken sound ripping out of him as his hands grip the couch harder. “Oh—fuck— I think I—“
Beneath your grasp, his thighs quiver, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he spurts all over your tits, white, hot liquid painting your skin. Some of it lands on your face, which you lick off happily. “O-oh, [Y/N], fuck fuck, I can’t stop—cumming,” he cries as you slow your pace down, laughing to yourself.
You ease back onto your knees, hands resting loosely around him. Jungkook is entirely too beautiful for his own good with his chest heaving, long lashes fluttering.
You’ve had men leave this room strutting. Buttoning their shirts before they’re off the couch, already reassembled, gone. It’s a specific kind of departure that reminds you what this is and what it isn’t.
He takes two shaky pulls of air, then a third. His eyes find yours and stay there. “I—I think you’re amazing.”
Maybe you shouldn’t have volunteered to defile the virgin, because now he’s saying things like this.
You laugh softly,. “Yeah?”
“No, like—” he pushes himself up further on the couch, words tripping over themselves, “you’re so beautiful and you knew exactly—and I didn’t even—I couldn’t—”
He stops himself. Cheeks flooding red, and all you can do is
look at him. “God, you’re cute,” you say.
Obviously, you’ve said the wrong thing because his ears go scarlet and his shoulders cave inwards. “Oh. Thank you”.
Another giggle escapes you, and you hardly recognize yourself. You’re not the girl who giggles during sex with a client, let alone any man. But then again, Jungkook isn’t really your client.
Your fingers wrap around his softened cock, and without doing much, he begins to harden in your hand, puffing up to his full potential again. He owlishly blinks, gulping. “Sorry, I’m just—“
“Don’t apologize,” you interrupt. “How do you want me?” His throat bobs when he swallows, eyes flicking down to where your hand rests on his length, then back up to your face. “I—”
He exhales shakily. “I don’t know.”
You hum, not letting him off that easy. Your thumb brushes over his tip, gathering the precum that’s begun to form and his hips twitch up.
Your mouth curves into a sinister smirk.“That’s not true.”
Jungkook lets a small, frustrated sound slip from his lips.“I just—” He breaks off again, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to say it.”
Leaning in a little closer, he has no choice but to feel how little space you’re giving him to hide in. “Use your words, pretty boy,” you murmur, “You’ve been doing so good.”
He sucks in a breath, “I want… I want your mouth on my cock. I want you to suck me off.”
Immediately, he turns bright red and you can’t help the delighted laugh that wracks through you. “Kookie,” you say, shaking your head a little, “I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth.”
He chuckles at that, reaching down to place his hand over yours, guiding your slow strokes. Your heart leaps into your throat at the innocent touch, betraying you entirely.
With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and kitten lick his tip, and then drag it down his shaft. His mouth drops open on a silent moan, chest heaving. When you reach the bottom, you lick back up, following the path of a vein, before engulfing him fully in your mouth. He’s bigger than you expected, and your jaw aches at how much you have to open up to fit him in. Your tongue swirls around his tip, and he jolts forward, instinctively pulling your hair and entangling his tattooed fingers in it.
“K-keep going.” He bucks his hips up, the tip of your nose hitting his pubic bone. You can hardly hold back your gags, choking sounds escaping from your mouth, tears seeping through your lashes as you take him to the hilt. “Feels s-so good, angel. You’re so p-pretty.”
Your lips pop off his cock as you gasp for air, jerking him off in the meantime. “Yeah? You like how I look with your cock in my mouth, baby?”
He nods eagerly. “Yes, please.” Jungkook pushes your head down, and then blushes as though he just caught himself sticking his hand in a candy jar. It’s not as if you mind—his cock is addicting, his precum so sweet and warm. You lower your head, swirling your tongue around his tip just so you can hear his pretty little moans again.
You move at a steady pace, your hand working anything your mouth can’t take. His fingers dig into your scalp, almost guiding you. You don’t want to stop, never do, not until you ruin him. Not until you’ve had every ounce of him. His cock twitches in your mouth, and his thighs shake. It’s hard to hide the smile that’s curving upon your lips. After suctioning your lips around his tip a few more times, he drags your head up, practically ripping you off his body.
Your stomach leaps into your throat, and the unfamiliar swell of anxiety bubbles inside you. Men don’t ever push you off, and you’d be lying if you said your ego isn’t taking a hit.
“What do you want, pretty boy?” you ask sweetly.
“I liked it when you c-choked on it.” His cheeks turn a scarlet glow, brunette hair sticking to his golden skin. “You look pretty.”
“Want me to deepthroat your cock?” You grin, kitten licking his tip. Jungkook whimpers, and you take that as your answer. With no further instruction, you deeply inhale through your nose and take him to the hilt again, your throat full of him. Your air flow is entirely restricted, and Jungkook—the innocent virgin—pushes your head down, as if there were anywhere further to go. The feeling of being lightheaded doesn’t even scare you, just turns you on from how utterly desperate he is for you. “Shit, you’re so good at this,” he whines. “Don’t wanna cum yet. I wanna cum inside you, baby.”
You hum around him, and your mouth pops off his cock, saliva connecting his tip to your lips. “Are you sure, Kookie?”
You’re certain the poor boy has never been more ready for anything in his entire life. “Yes, please, please fuck me.” He begs between breathless groans, and you have to hide your own whimper from how fucked out he sounds.
Now, you’ve done a lot of things in the red room. Bondage, roleplay, orgasm denial… but taking someone’s virginity? And that of a man who actually might be worth your time? Can’t say you’ve done that before. It excites you, and for a moment, you have to wonder if it’s because of the situation, or because of the man sitting in front of you.
Standing up, you steady yourself despite the ache in your knees. You unhurriedly peel off your underwear, your arousal sticking to your thighs as you kick them off. Jungkook’s eyes follow your legs up, up, until he stares at your pussy with a tiny gasp. You straddle his thighs, using his shoulders as leverage. Your soaking core hovers above his erect cock, and he looks down to see just how close you actually are. “Are you sure, pretty boy?” you ask again, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Please.” His eyes snap to yours, and the sincerity behind it sends electricity through your veins. You take his fingers, placing them in your mouth before sucking on them and bringing them to your clit so he can feel how aroused you are for him. So ready and pliant above him. “O-oh, you’re really wet.”
“I am, Kookie,” you giggle. “You made me like this.” You guide his movements, little circles on your clit. Foreplay isn’t even necessary—you’re not sure you’ve ever been wetter.
You align his length to your hole, and sinking down on him, inch by inch, you can feel every ridge and vein decorating his cock. You're deliciously full, until you’re filled to the brim, stuffed with his cock. You’d had a rough idea of what to expect. You’d done this a hundred times in this room. You thought you knew how this part went. But you were not prepared for Jungkook.
The stretch of him is slow and overwhelming and your walls have to work to accommodate his size. You hear yourself exhale, an involuntary release of air. His face finds your neck immediately and he groans. “O-oh my god,” he croons in your neck, muffled against your sweaty skin. “Is this what pussy f-feels like?”
You can hardly think long enough to form a response, and then he starts to move. Careful rolls of his hips, driving his cock up into you, checking every flicker of your expression for anything that looks like discomfort. It’s so like him. Completely, specifically him, that something in your throat tightens.
What he finds instead is your eyes, telling him everything. He continues fucking upwards, and a borderline scream escapes you from how quickly he finds that sweet spot inside you. His fingers flex at your hips. He gasps and then he’s babbling, words tumbling out unfiltered the way everything does with him. “Your pussy feels so good. So tight and warm,” he speaks into your neck, inhaling your scent like he’s a wolf. “It’s so wet, [Y/N], so fucking wet.”
You need to get it together. You need to find the part of yourself that knows what she’s doing in this room, that has always known, that has never once lost the upper hand. Your hands come to rest on his thighs behind you, and you lift yourself up his cock, only to slam yourself back down. Each time you take him fully, your breath punches out in a grunt you can’t swallow back, your knees working against the cushions as you ride him. Your nails dig into his thighs, red, crescent moons forming. The sound of skin slapping and your wet cunt swallowing his cock fills the room. “Fuck, you feel so good, Jungkook. You’re so big, so deep inside me.”
“Yeah? You like how I feel inside you?’ His hands cup your ass, helping your movements. Despite it being his first time, Jungkook moves like he knows you.
Muscle memory takes over, and you grab a fistful of his hair and drag him towards you. You kiss him.
Sloppy and breathless and without technique, lips catching and sliding, both of you too far gone to be graceful about it. He makes a broken sound into your mouth, hips stuttering.
“Want to make you my fucktoy. Would you like that, pretty boy?”
He nods excitedly, eyes squeezed tight as you milk his cock with every bounce. Although you should be focused on making him cum, all of that flies out the window as the familiar coil in your stomach begs to come undone. Your walls flutter around his cock and his eyes open, looking to where your bodies join to try and decipher the sensation. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan.
“Really?” he asks, wide-eyed with wonder. “Shit–keep going, baby. You’re gonna make me cum too, I won’t be able to last l-long.”
You switch to a back-and-forth motion, your clit hitting his pelvic bone, enough to make your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. Jungkook grips your hips tight as you whimper, falling forward and wrapping your arms around his neck for stability. He takes the opportunity to thrust up into you again desperately, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whines. “So fucking addicting. I want to be inside you forever.” The sound of those words tumbling from his lips, tone so easy, has something inside of you clenching.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum again,” he hisses, hips faltering as he coats your walls with his cum, and the warmth of him fills you up. Wrapping his arms around you entirely, you feel Jungkook press chaste kisses to your neck, jaw, and cheek, bringing you back down to earth.
When you two finally catch your breath, you rest there, with his cock softening inside you and your nails tracing patterns down his back. Your legs remain glued to his thighs, like the rest of the club doesn’t exist, like Natalie and her clipboard and the Saturday night chaos on the other side of the door are happening on a different planet. It feels like just you two in the whole building.
14 months ago, your last relationship ended abruptly. In the parking lot of a grocery store, which is such an unglamorous setting for the end of two years that you’ve never quite been able to shake it. He was handsome, aware of it, rationing it, using it for his benefit. He never brought you flowers. Not once, not for birthdays or apologies or just because. Flowers were a waste of money in his opinion, and not to be spent on ‘cheap girls’ like you.
You look at Jungkook’s profile. The soft line of his jaw in the red light, the flutter of his long lashes.
There are red roses on your vanity that he left without being asked.
“Did I… did I do okay?”
You pull back to peer at him, and his eyes are sparkling, an earnest expression taut on his face. You recognize what he needs to hear. “Yes, Jungkook,” you say, combing your fingers through his hair. “You did very good.”
The relief that moves across his face is immediate. “Okay,” he nods. “That’s good.”
He ducks his head. “How do I—how do I pay you?”
The ripple of his question moves through you. You need the money more than anyone in this room. You have a number in your head that lives there rent free, that wakes you up at 3 AM sometimes, that is the entire reason you’re here in the first place.
You open your mouth to name a figure, but instead, “It’s fine,” you hear yourself say. “You don’t have to.”
He pouts. “But I want to. You should let me.”
“It’s fine,” you repeat.
“Not even a tip?” he tries again, and you have to commend his effort.
“No.”
And with a calm confidence that was not there an hour ago, “My number then,” he says. “Can I have yours? Would that work?”
You laugh, dropping your face into the curve of his neck, and feel him go warm underneath you. “You have some nerve, Jungkook.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Huh?” Maybe he wasn’t expecting your compliance, but you give it anyway. You’ll give yourself this one.
“Yeah, Jungkook.” It’s probably a bad idea. Or maybe it’s the best one you’ll ever have. “You can have my number.”
The next night, when you open your phone, you read a text from Jeon Jungkook that says: i know you said no tips, but think of this as a gift. open your door.
Outside your door sits a bouquet of red roses, with piles and piles of cash sitting beside it. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that.
On the flowers is a note, something even cuter than his text, that reads: give me one more night? - your pretty boy
You thrive off habits and patterns, building quiet rules to keep everything simple and casual. Because to you, unfamiliarity is eerie and evasion is easy. But between late nights and sloppy kisses; silence becomes too loud, rules blur into secrets, and deceit soaks up clarity.
ᯓ★ series m.list
PAIRING: basketball player!jk x law student!reader
GENRE: strangers to fwb to lovers, college au, smut, fluff, angst
CHAPTER WC: 10k
CHAPTER WARNINGS: lots of confrontation and talks about feelings, mingyu's a little upset :( but he'll be fine, angsty jk and angsty oc, they're stupid and in love and obsessed with each other, jk is YEARNING, good old love making, praising
NOTES: okay this is SO unedited!!! i hope it’s readable!!!anyhow, i wanted to finish this fic for so long but the inspiration just wasn’t coming to me for some reason. i also couldn’t focus on anything else knowing i had this to finish so i went into some stupid loop. but it’s finally done!!! i feel kinda sad now that it’s over but i hope i could’ve touched some parts in you with this fic bcs i hold both oc and jk so dear to my heart. i hope you like it <3
v. Never ask them to stay
This is all Hyorin’s fault.
You don’t like vodka– no, you absolutely despise it. It tastes like regret and poor decisions and the fucking hand sanitizer you keep in your bag just in case something goes wrong.
And something has already gone wrong, but unfortunately, it’s nothing even remotely close to something your hand sanitizer can fix. The lights flash too fast, cutting through the room in vibrant colors that are probably terrible for your eyes. They catch on skin glistening with sweat, on drinks made with alcohol way cheaper than their price, on glitter that reflects in a way that’s more ugly than pretty.
It’s like nothing matters enough by the end of the night.
Everything overlaps and nothing lasts. Your lipstick is smudged around the corners, your hair is falling out of place, your skirt has ridden up your thighs from too much movement– safe to say you blend in very well.
You gulp down the rest of your drink anyway, letting the alcohol burn all the way down your throat, because your ability to register its taste disappeared long ago. The burn feels like something you deserve, like something that’s been sitting in your way for too long and you’ve never had the courage to face. Because tonight, you need something to overweigh whatever it is that’s lingering in your chest. The feeling that has been stabbing around the edges until your bones ache and your skin tingles– you need it to disappear.
But alcohol doesn’t help well enough, it never does.
“Slow down.” Hyorin says from beside you, grabbing the glass in your hand before you get the chance to settle it down. Her hand closes around your wrist before you can reach for the bottle again, fingers firm as if it wasn’t her who dragged you here in the first place.
But in her defence, she didn’t think it would go like this. She thought loud music and a moderate– and I repeat, moderate alcohol would fix it. Or at least, thin it out for a night. She didn’t expect you to lean into it, to lose control until you became someone she couldn’t recognize if she was a foot or two away.
“I am.” You complain, pulling your hand back with enough force so that she lets it go.
“You’re not.” Hyorin scoffs, trying to hand you a bottle of water. “You’re not even trying.” She mutters under her breath.
You laugh, voice sloppy and breathy. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic, you’re drunk out of your mind.”
You roll your eyes, pouring yourself another shot. “That’s a reach.”
Hyorin sighs, trying to calm herself down. Because at least one of you has to stay sane. “Baby, you’re drunk and you won’t even tell me what happened. I don’t know how to help you.”
You slow down for a second, setting the shot you were about to take back on the table. You look at her properly for the first time since you got here, her eyes too genuine for a place like this, sparking something in your chest you can’t quite bring yourself to say out loud. It sits right there at the tip of your tongue, ready to be spilled if you let it pass by. Everything you heard, everything you felt…But the longer you think about it, the more stupid it sounds– the more humiliated you feel. Because as the words keep floating around your head, they twist more and more into something embarrassing, something you wish you never let matter this much.
So you shrug instead, drifting your eyes away from hers as if you might break if you hold it for a second longer. “Nothing happened.”
But the words don’t sound convincing enough. Not to you, not to her, probably not even to the bartender who has been watching you since the moment you arrived.
“It’s about him, isn’t it?”
You groan. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.” She says with a voice that’s a little louder, just enough to indicate she’s fed up with you.
“Then stop implying things!” You snap. “It’s not about him, there’s not a single fucking thing to say about him.”
“Don’t do that.” Hyorin says softly, tilting her head. “I’m not trying to make you upset or pressure you into anything. I just,” She pauses, exhaling in between her words. “I hate seeing you like this.”
And suddenly, everything feels harsher. The lights, the music, the fucking vodka you hate yourself for drinking– everything feels harsher until the weight of it sharpens so much it slices through your skin.
“He said it was nothing.” You say quietly, barely audible in a place this loud.
Her expression shifts, eyes softening as her grip tightens around her purse. “Did he say that to you?” She asks carefully, voice slow and calculated.
You exhale the breath you’ve been holding. “I heard him talking with Taehyung.”
A silence settles between the two of you, the kind where she takes her time, turns things over in her head, and chooses her words so carefully so that she doesn’t say anything that might hurt you even a little. It’s ugly and heavy and so fucking humiliating, because you can see it happening. Because you know she’s filtering everything, running a hundred versions through her mind before letting anything slip past her lips. All because she doesn’t want to hurt you and whatever she’s thinking right now will hurt you so much more than she’s willing to risk.
Hyorin sighs, dragging a hand through her hair. “Okay, are you sure you heard everything,”
You let out a laugh, but there’s no humour to it. “I heard enough.”
She calls your name. “That’s not the same thing.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” You say, reaching for the bottle, but she beats you to it.
“You’re done.” Hyorin says. “Come on, we’re going home.”
You don’t argue this time, setting the glass down harder than necessary. There’s a beat where you stare at her quietly, like the reality of everything snaps into you all at once. So you nod silently. Because if you say something, if you stay here any longer; you might actually start thinking.
You don’t really remember the ride home. You don’t even remember arguing about whose home you were going to. Just the streetlights that blurred into bright stripes, Hyorin’s arm that was draped over your shoulders throughout the whole ride, and the quiet that felt a little too loud after everything.
The apartment is dimly lit when you step in, the only source of light being the TV screen and a table lamp that’s too small to be useful. The room is filled by the sound of a game that sounds too familiar for your liking, because when the fuck did you get used to this enough to pick up habits and preferences? Swift clicks and muted curses under someone’s– Mingyu’s breath accompanies what’s happening on the screen. He’s stretched on the couch like he’s been there for hours, because he probably has, one arm thrown over the backrest as the other flicks over the controller.
He doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on whatever that’s happening in the game. It takes the sound of the door closing, just a little louder than necessary, for his attention to switch onto you. He turns his head slightly, eyes landing you in a way that feels like it carries more weight than it should.
You take off your heels by the door, holding lightly onto the wall in order to not stumble and trip over your feet. You walk further without thinking, swaying barefoot, body already sinking into something that’s familiar and easy to exist in.
Because you know this place so well. How long it takes for the water to warm up, where the plates go and where the cups don’t, when the sunlight slips in and from which window– you have it all memorised somewhere in your head, somewhere you can’t forget no matter how hard you try.
And honestly, you’re not even sure you want to.
“Sit here, I'll get you water.” Hyorin murmurs, guiding you towards the couch. You let yourself drop onto the cushion, body settling right next to Mingyu as your head falls back without too much control.
You hum in response, eyes drifting shut for a moment before opening again. Mingyu puts down the console after pausing the game, head flicking between you and Hyorin. “What happened?” He asks, brows furrowed in confusion.
Hyorin exhales, hanging her coat. “She’s been drinking.”
He turns to you. “I can see that.”
You roll your eyes, leaning back into the couch. “You’re both very observant tonight.”
Mingyu switches back to Hyorin, ignoring you. “How much did she have?”
“I lost count after the third.” She says, walking towards the kitchen.
Mingyu huffs out a quiet laugh, head tilting sideways in acknowledgement, like that tells him everything he needs to know. His gaze flicks back to you, taking in the way you’re slouched on the couch, messy and ruined in a way that’s not usual when it comes to you.
And he realizes how much he doesn’t like seeing you like this.
“Great.” He mutters.
You roll your eyes again, dragging your head up just enough to look at him. “You’re both acting like I’m dying.”
“You’re not so far off.” He replies dryly.
You scoff. “Stop being so dramatic.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m not–”
You cut yourself off when you shift in order to get up, your balance slipping just enough to make you grab the edge of the couch and plop yourself back onto the cushion. Mingyu eyes you in a way that says I told you so, one brow raised as he watches over you.
“Yeah.” He says, unimpressed. “You’re perfectly fine.”
“Shut up.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.
Hyorin reappears from the kitchen, setting a glass of water down on the table in front of you. “Here, drink.”
When she sees how you don’t budge, she repeats herself, nudging your knee from the side. After letting out a sigh, you reach forward and grab the glass, taking a few slow sips like you’re being forced to.
Hyorin nods in victory, looking between the two of you, calculating something in her head. “I’m going to bed.” She says.
You glance up, the glass still in hand, halfway full. “Already?”
“Yes.” She says pointedly. “Because one of us needs to be functioning tomorrow.”
Mingyu nods once. “I’ve got her.”
Hyorin turns to her cousin, gaze lingering for a second longer. “Don’t let her do anything stupid. Don’t do anything stupid either.” She says, pointing a finger towards him.
Mingyu resists a roll of his eyes. “I won’t.”
“Hey–” You straighten your posture, placing the glass of water on the table, ready to protest. But she’s already walking down the hallway.
Something settles inside the apartment when her door closes– something heavy and quiet, like it’s hiding something both of you are afraid of saying out loud. Because the moment she’s completely gone, it’s like both of you forget how to speak. Or worse, like you forgot how to exist around each other.
You lean back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling like it’s supposed to figure out something you can’t. Mingyu shifts a beat after you, grabbing the controller from the couch before reaching over and placing it on the table. He angles his body towards you, placing his elbow on the backrest of the couch. Then he shifts, setting the controller aside completely, turning his body slightly toward you.
“So.” He starts. “You gonna tell me what happened?”
You shake your head immediately. “No.”
He pokes his cheek. “Right.” He then exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “You show up like this and I’m not supposed to ask?”
“Nothing happened.” You say, looking everywhere other than his eyes.
“You forget how well I know you sometimes.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then stop acting like I’m stupid, for fucks sake.” Mingyu exclaims, voice a little louder than what you would’ve preferred, what you were used to. But it’s okay, everything’s fine, nothing’s wrong.
A beat of silence fills the room again, the kind that feels too long and too loud, and you realize it feels even worse when it’s with someone you’ve never had to sit like this before. You shift on the couch, tucking one leg under as your eyes stay stuck on the floor. Because if you look at him directly for even a second, you might speak before you can get the chance to think.
“Do you still hate him?” You ask abruptly, head snapping towards him despite everything.
Mingyu glances at you, brows furrowed “Who?”
You roll your eyes. “You know who.” You say, then after a pause, you add. “Jungkook.” But it sits somewhere under your breath, somewhere beneath your chest. Your voice just isn’t steady when it’s his name that’s leaving your lips, and you hate that, how easily it gives you away. Because now, his name tastes bitter on your tongue.
He leans back slightly, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “Hate is a strong word.”
You squint your eyes. “You literally punched him.”
“He punched me first.” He snaps back quickly.
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “So what, you just…decided you don’t like each other forever?
His lips play out a small smile at your laugh. “Something like that.”
“Over basketball?” You tilt your head, looking back at him. “That’s chilidish as fuck.”
He lets out a small breath through his nose. “You’re one to talk.”
“Excuse me?” You scoff, sitting up a little, brows raised whether you realize it or not. “I’m not petty like that.”
“Yeah.” He says dryly. “Definitely not.”
You stare at him for a second, then let out a soft laugh. But it doesn’t last, fades into a frown before you can stop yourself.
“He doesn’t even–” You start, though you stop yourself halfway through the sentence. Mingyu doesn’t rush you, just like how he doesn’t interrupt you either. He just sits, watches, waits. Until your breath steadies and you can exist around him without drifting your eyes away, he waits.
“He doesn’t take anything seriously.” You mumble. “I mean, obviously. Why would he?” You add quickly, waving your hand like you’re dismissing your own point.
You breathe. “He said it was nothing.” You add, but your voice is even lower this time. Because it feels like saying it out loud makes it too real, and lowering your voice might erase parts of it from your memory.
But it feels like every inch of his being is already carved in your brain.
Mingyu shifts beside you, and the couch dips a little with his weight. His jaw tightens slightly, but it’s not subtle enough for you to miss. It never is.
“It’s fine.”
Mingyu snorts softly. “You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m being like, Fleabag level honest right now.”
He laughs thoroughly this time, head tipping back with the movement. A smile also forms on your lips despite yourself, and it happens in a way you don’t even realize.
“Fleabag level honesty doesn’t really ease my worries, you know.” He says lightly.
You look away, fingers fidgeting on your lap. “I don’t even know why I care.” You mumble. “It’s not like we’re anything.”
“God, that sounds awfully stupid out loud.” You huff a laugh under your breath, a little bitter. “I don’t like how he makes me feel.”
“No?”
You shake your head slowly. “He makes me feel…too much. It’s like I have to overthink every word he says and every little thing he does. My stomach does that stupid thing when he replies late or is too busy to see me. I hate how much I like it when he kisses me a little differently or holds my hand when he doesn’t have to.” You close your eyes for a second, trying to steady your breathing.
“You weren’t like that.”
He raises a brow. “Like what?”
“Confusing.” You say immediately. “I knew what you were. I didn’t have to guess with you, I didn’t lose my mind over the little things, I just didn’t…feel like that.” You squint lightly, trying to line up your thoughts properly. “I just couldn’t be what you wanted.” You say, looking down at your hands.
He exhales slowly, gaze dropping for a second before coming back to you. “I know.”
You glance up, a little surprised. “It doesn’t bother you?.”
“It did.” He says casually, but you catch the past tense.
Your expression softens at his confession. “I didn’t mean to…You know I didn’t mean to. I tried, I really did. I just…couldn't get there.”
“I know.”
The silence that settles is softer this time. You take notice of how he doesn’t judge you, how he doesn’t push further even though you just keep listing things he probably doesn’t want to hear. No matter what, he stares back at you with the same, longing eyes and it somehow makes you feel worse than if he didn’t.
You lean back into the couch, closer to him without really thinking about it. “I like you, I always did.” You say suddenly.
He huffs out a breathy laugh. “I'd hope so.”
You nudge his arm weakly, chuckling lightly yourself. “No, I mean,” You frown. “I really like you. You’ve always been good to me, I’ll never not be grateful for you.”
Mingyu doesn’t respond right away.
For a second, he just looks at you. And it finally hits him, everything he has been trying to ignore, everything he has been telling himself didn’t matter, how easily you say it. How lightly the words leave your mouth when they’ve been sitting so heavily in his chest for so long. He remembers every version of you he has known, every time you leaned into him without thinking, every time he almost said something and didn’t. Because it was always easier to stay where you were– somewhere safe and familiar.
He’d spent so long convincing himself that this was enough, that being the one you came to when things got a little too difficult, the one you trusted, the one who got to stay…He thought it meant something, it had to mean something.
But hearing you say it like this, grateful and careful and already drawing a line, makes something tighten in his chest.
Still, he doesn’t stop you. Because he never has. Because he would always rather stay here than risk losing you entirely.
“And I don’t want to lose that. I know I might be asking for too much, and wherever you want to place me in your life, I understand. But I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself if I lost you over something like this.”
“You won’t.”
You turn your head, studying his face like you’re trying to make sure if he really means it or not. “You promise?” You ask, holding up your pinky.
He laughs lightly, linking his finger with yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That comforts something in you. Whether it’s the guilt that’s only just started blooming somewhere you still can’t quite reach, or the kind of loneliness you’d never say out loud– none of it matters. It just steadies whatever that’s been sitting too heavy in your chest to ignore.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Jungkook isn’t entirely different from you, minus the alcohol.
He hasn’t really moved in a while, has been sitting in the same spot with his elbows on his knees, phone in his hand like it’s supposed to do something other than sit there and prove you haven’t texted, like it’s supposed to do fix something all by itself and not take anything and everything in him to take a step forward.
Taehyung keeps on talking in front of him, pacing around Jaehyun’s living room like it’s him who’s spiralling and not the other way around.
“I’m just saying,” He goes on, dragging a hand through his hair. “If you technically didn’t lie, then–”
Jungkook cuts him off. “I did.”
Taehyung stops mid step, standing still in the middle of the room. “Okay, but like…morally speaking–”
“I said it was nothing, you were there, for fucks sake.”
Jaehyun exhales from where he’s leaning against the table, arms crossed, watching the two of them with a look that’s too calm considering the situation. “And it’s not?” He asks with a raised brow, tone a little more accusing than Jungkook would like, yet knows he deserves.
Jungkook lets out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped inside for too long. “Of course not.”
Taehyung groans, dropping onto the armchair. “Okay, but why would you say that? Like, genuinely. I’m trying to understand your thought process and I can’t.”
Jungkook laughs shortly, but it has no humour to it. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Taehyung scoffs. “No shit.”
“I didn’t think she’d hear it.”
Jaehyun’s gaze sharpens slightly. “That doesn’t make anything better.”
Jungkook looks up at him, jaw tightening. “I know it doesn’t, you’re not helping.”
“Then what?”
Jungkook looks down at his hands, fingers flexing slightly. “I thought that was what she felt like.”
Taehyung frowns. “What does that mean?”
Jungkook exhales, leaning back into the couch like he’s trying to put distance between himself and the words. “I mean she was always like,” He stops, shaking his head once, trying to line up his thoughts properly. “She never treated it like it was anything else.”
Jaehyun watches him carefully, then lifts a brow. “And you did?”
“I don’t know.” Jungkook mutters. “I was confused.”
“She acted like it was nothing, like it was just something physical, like…like she had no expectations for anything that would mean more.” He huffs out a breath. “So I went with it.”
Taehyung blinks at him. “Dude, you were talking to me, why the fuck would you lie like that?”
“I knew I was feeling something, I just didn’t know if she was too. I couldn’t admit to that when I didn’t know what it meant for her.”
Jaehyun tilts his head slightly. “So you didn’t ask?”
Jungkook huffs something between an empty laugh and a scoff. “Ask what? ‘Hey, are we really in love or am I the only one losing my mind here?’”
Taehyung winces. “Okay, when you say it like that–”
“And Mingyu was always there.” Jungkook adds suddenly, cutting him off.
The mention of him shifts something in the air. Jaehyun's expression changes, like he knows something they don’t. Perhaps he doesn’t really want to be talking about his friend like that. Taehyung, on the other hand, goes quiet for the first time tonight.
But it doesn’t last long. “What does he have to do with anything?”
Jungkook scoffs under his breath. “Fucking everything.” He leans forward again, placing his elbows back on his knees, staring at the floor. “She keeps going back to him. Like he’s always just– there.” His jaw tightens. “You think I didn’t notice that?”
“I didn’t know where I stood.” Jungkook says, a little quieter now. “Not with him around, not when I kept seeing her next to him after nights I thought meant something to her the way they meant something to me.” He exhales through his nose. “And now she heard something she didn’t like and she’s going to decide what it means before I even get the chance to explain.”
“Because you said something stupid and aren’t doing anything to fix it.” Jaehyun says, voice a little louder, exhaling in frustration.
Taehyung points at Jaehyun. “Okay, see, this is why you’re her friend. That was harsh.”
“He’s right.” Jungkook mutters, letting his head fall onto the backrest of the couch. His chin tips up towards the ceiling, eyes closing for a second like that might stop the way everything keeps replaying. The way he couldn’t even see how you looked, the way you walked away– no, ran away. And that fucking sound of the cup hitting the ground…It echoes in his head, over and over again, until the coffee spreading across the floor feels like it’s pooling right at his feet like something he should’ve stopped but didn’t, couldn’t.
“Do you blame her?” Jaehyun asks carefully, but the question is a little sudden, causing Jungkook to flinch. Because he never thought about it like that.
Jungkook swallows. “No? I don’t think so. Maybe at first, a little. But like, fuck, I don’t know.” He knows he’s rambling, he knows he did blame you. About Mingyu, about the way you acted like it didn’t mean anything, only to get mad when he did the same. But now, all of it feels smaller next to the ache sitting in his chest. Like it’s enough to look past everything else, enough to make him try to get it right for once– be the man he should’ve been from the start.
Jaehyun watches him for a second longer, then sighs softly. “Are you scared she won’t listen?”
Jungkook exhales, the ache in his chest loosening just a little at being seen. Because that’s exactly what he’s scared of. “She won’t.” He says
“You don’t know that.” Taehyung argues.
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
After a short pause, Jaehyun adds, voice softer this time. “You shouldn’t decide that without trying.”
Jungkook looks at him, something shifting in his expression. “And I’ll say what?” He asks quietly.
Jaehyun shrugs. “The truth, whatever you’re feeling.”
Taehyung leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, angling his head towards Jaehyun. “Which is?”
Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze drops to his hands, fingers clenching against his lap like he’s trying to hold something in place, but it feels like everything has slipped long ago– he’s lost the control long ago. But for the first time since it happened, it feels like he might have his hold on something a little tighter than before. It’s not clarity– not completely. But it’s enough for now. Enough to move, enough to stop sitting here pretending he doesn’t already know.
“I love her.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The locker room is exactly as he remembers, as if he would ever forget what it feels like to be here, like this.
Music, of course, is blasting from someone’s speaker, like they have enough time to enjoy anything. Because they definitely don’t. The dull thud of a ball hitting the wall, sneakers squeaking against the tile as people move too fast in a space that isn’t meant to hold this much movement, loud curses and last minute tactics echoing off the walls– it always goes the same way.
Taehyung is talking loudly, animated as always; already halfway through a story no one really caught, yet they’re laughing anyway.
Jungkook is sitting on the bench next to Jaehyun, who’s standing and putting on much more deodorant than necessary. Not that he would ever complain about that. His elbows rest on his knees, phone loose in his hand, swaying slightly in a way that looks more careless than it actually is.
Everything is normal, it should feel normal.
But it doesn’t.
His phone stays silent, his message sitting somewhere on the screen, small and simple in a way that almost feels embarrassing now.
jungkook: we have a game tonight
jungkook: you should come
It’s delivered, has been delivered for hours. It’s not even seen, for fuck’s sake.
But he knew it would be like this, he knew he would just make a fool out of himself and not get a single reaction from you. He doesn’t deserve that, he doesn’t deserve the time of your day just because he suddenly gathered up the courage to send you one stupid message.
Well, in theory– two.
He glances back at his phone, thumb hovering over the screen like he might type something else. Something that might fix it, soften it, make it sound less like what it actually is. Desperate.
But there’s nothing else to say that wouldn’t make it worse. Or maybe there is, but he’s pretty sure he’d ruin that too. Because Jungkook is just that bad at this.
So he locks his phone and drops it beside him onto the bench, deciding not to look at it again. At least until after the game.
“We’re starting in ten!” Someone calls out.
Taehyung nudges his foot with his own. “You look like shit.”
Jungkook glances up. “I feel great.”
Taehyung scoffs. “Definitely.” He says, nodding sarcastically.
“Shut up.” Jungkook argues, standing up from the bench.
Taehyung studies him for a beat, then leans his back against the lockers, stretching his arms over his head. “She’s not gonna come back running from one message, you know.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t respond further. They walk side by side until they reach the court, and when they do, the lights hit a little too harsh. They reflect off the floor and straight into his eyes, forcing him to blink a few times until his vision clears again. The crowd is already loud, already full, filling in the space before they get the chance to step into it.
Jungkook steps onto the court, rolling his shoulders once, eyes lifting before he even realizes he’s doing it. He scans through the crowd, starting from the lower left and moving all the way to the top right.
Nothing.
Of course you’re not here. Why would you be?
He tells himself it doesn’t matter, that this doesn’t mean anything, that he still has time to fix things later.
But when the first whistle blows and the game starts, he’s not even sure he can make it through the first quarter.
At first, it’s fine. Or at least, it looks fine from the outside. Jungkook moves the way he always does, letting muscle memory take over so that he doesn’t have to think too much about everything else. The ball fits into his hand like it belongs there, his feet find their place on the court without an ounce of hesitation, his body follows the same old rhythm it has repeated a thousand times before.
Until it doesn’t.
By the time the second quarter rolls in, someone has already told him to focus. And he nodded like it meant something. But right now, the noise around him is starting to blur and somehow, the game is not even the last thing on his mind.
He knows he shouldn’t, but he looks through the crowd again. And for a second, something in his chest does lift. There’s a girl two sections over, wearing one of those coats you wear all the time, leaning forward the same way you do when you’re focused on something.
But it’s not you.
By the third quarter, Jaehyun has thrown a water bottle at his head, telling him to get his shit together. But it doesn’t help, he completely stops pretending it’s just a bad start and accepts that something is thoroughly wrong with him. He misses another shot, one he could make in his fucking sleep, and this time he doesn’t even bother reacting. He doesn’t curse, doesn’t try and shake it off himself; just turns and runs back into position like it didn’t happen, like none of this is happening.
By the last quarter, he’s no longer on court. Because coach changes him with Jaemin– a fucking freshman. But even that doesn’t really bother him, because he has already stayed in the game longer than he should’ve.
They’re behind, of course they are. Maybe not by much, but it’s enough. Enough that every mistake matters, enough that every second counts, enough that he is the one to blame.
And when the buzzer cuts through for the last time, they lose, officially.
The locker room feels different this time. Yes, it’s the same place, the same people. But they’re all stripped out of everything that made it loud before the game. Conversations are shorter, movements are harsher, like no one wants to stay here any longer. Someone swears under their breath, someone else kicks at the leg of a bench…but he’s used to this too, because this is exactly what losing is like.
Jungkook doesn’t sit, he doesn’t really slow down either. He just grabs his jacket after quickly changing out of his jersey. Because he feels like the sooner he leaves, the less he has to deal with this part of his life.
When he walks out, the hallway is quieter. The sound of the game fades with every step, and soon, it’s completely gone; leaving him alone with his thoughts. But when he’s finally alone and rid of everything else busying his mind, he realizes he feels worse. Because suddenly, everything feels too real.
“Hey.”
He stops.
Jungkook closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, then exhales harshly through his nose before turning back his head. Mingyu is leaning against the wall a few steps behind him, arms crossed loosely on his chest, watching.
Jungkook looks him over once, an unimpressed expression forming on his face. “You’re following me now?”
Mingyu shrugs, a cocky smirk growing on his lips. “Just enjoying the aftermath.”
Jungkook huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re insufferable.” He says, fully turning this time.
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
A short pause settles between them. It’s not entirely uncomfortable, just…familiar in a way that sits somewhere between annoyance, and something else they for some reason collectively decided to not name.
Mingyu tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking over him. “You were terrible.”
Jungkook clicks his tongue. “The fuck are you trying to do?”
“I’m serious,” Mingyu adds, pushing himself off the wall. “You missed shots you don’t miss. That one in the third quarter? I almost felt bad for you.”
He raises his brows. “Almost?”
“Don’t push it.”
Jungkook lets out a small laugh despite himself, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, call it a bad night.”
Another beat passes before Mingyu speaks again. “How did you manage to mess up that badly?”
Jungkook lets out a short breath, something between a laugh and a scoff. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
Mingyu laughs, actually laughs this time. “Yeah, not so fun when it’s you on the other end, huh?”
Jungkook looks away, gaze dropping to the floor as he shifts his weight. “I said something I shouldn’t have.”
Mingyu raises a brow, pretending to think. “And that narrows it down to…every time you speak.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Can you not?”
“I’m helping.”
“You’re not helping.”
Mingyu’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t push further right away. He just watches him for a second, expression settling into something that’s harder to read. A terribly annoying part of him does get quite the sense of satisfaction out of it. Seeing Jungkook like this, a little off-balance, a little less untouchable than he usually is; feels much more enjoyable than he would ever admit out loud. Because somehow, it feels fair now.
“She didn’t show up.” He says after a beat.
Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Yeah. I noticed.”
Mingyu gives him a slow nod. “Though you might.”
There’s something in the way he says that, something ugly and possessive– it reminds Jungkook a little of back when it all started, when Mingyu had everything he could only wish for. And that makes him glance back up.
“What, you knew?” He asks, a little sharper now.
Mingyu doesn’t flinch. “I saw her earlier.”
Jungkook straightens slightly, because that gets his attention. “And?”
“And she wasn’t exactly in the mood for a basketball game.” Mingyu replies, tone still easy. Yet Jungkook catches the way his words sound a little more measured now. “Shocking, I know.”
Jungkook exhales, something tight settling in his chest again. “Right.”
Mingyu watches the way his words land, the way Jungkook tries not to react and fails miserably even though he’s still adamant on not slipping.
But he already has.
Because Mingyu recognizes the glimpse of light in Jungkook’s eyes– something he knows a little too well. Because he has been carrying that glint with himself, for maybe even longer than he realizes. He knows that look, he knows those eyes. And seeing it on Jungkook, someone he has known every part of since they were seventeen. Someone he’s spent years competing with, pushing against, sharing countless hours of practice and nights filled with fights and promises– that does something to him.
It’s still not enough to soften him, but it’s enough to make him pause and take a moment to think, to make him realize this isn’t as simple as he would’ve liked it to be. Because Mingyu knows whatever Jungkook is feeling better than anyone else.
Which makes it harder to hate him for it.
“You really screwed up, huh.” Mingyu mutters, a fraction more genuine this time.
Jungkook lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“Oh yeah?” Jungkook glances at him again, defensive.
Mingyu sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, a little frustrated. “Look, I don’t like you.”
Jungkook nods. “Yeah, me neither, we’ve established that.”
“And I think you’re a stupid asshole.” Mingyu continues.
“Also established.”
“But,” Mingyu adds, gaze hovering over his. “She likes you, for some reason.” He says, and it sounds softer than Jungkook expects.
“Don’t make her regret it.” He finishes, a little quieter now.
Jungkook lifts a brow despite the tightness in his chest. “You’re really giving me advice right now?”
Mingyu shrugs. “Maybe I’m praying on your downfall.” He says lightly, a loose smile pulling at his lips. Jungkook scoffs, but Mingyu cuts in before he can respond.
“Go.” He says, shoving him off with his hands.
Jungkook glances down the hallway, then back at him. “Yeah.” He mutters. “I’m going.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The knock comes sometime between your latest crisis of having way too many approaching deadlines and the voice memos from Hyorin you occasionally listen to on how her first proper date with Taehyung went by. She’s in the middle of explaining the way his thumb was tracing lines along her jaw before he kissed her when you realize you aren’t imagining the sound of your door. And when you do, your body freezes beyond any knowledge.
It’s like you already know who it is before your brain actually registers anything, because your body seems to have every inch of him– from the way he speaks to the way he fucking breathes– carved somewhere deep, somewhere that has been long above your reach.
For a second, you don’t move. You just sit there on your bed, letting Hyorin’s voice fill in the silence of your apartment, but your mind has already blocked her from your consciousness, and it’s him and him only you see beneath the darkness of the world when you close your eyes, like everything else fades away when he drifts through the universe and and holds out his heart until it finds you.
You exhale slowly when another knock comes along, dragging a hand through your hair before walking to the door. You walk past the mirror without checking yourself, because there is no point to it anymore, because you’re already way past the stage of pulling yourself back together when it comes to him. Because it already took everything you were holding onto for you to recollect yourself and you don’t think you can bear putting on a show for anyone else any longer.
When you open the door, Jungkook looks worse than you expected. Not that you expected anything anyway. But still, seeing it all too clearly like this, right in front of your eyes, does something unfamiliar to you.
How his hair is tangled into soft, messy curls, how his hoodie is half zipped like zipping it up would mean losing the little amount of time he had. And his eyes– fuck, his eyes that you loved so much. How they’re red and heavy and tired like the weight of you drew him in until it swallowed him wholly, to the point where he couldn't bear keeping them open in a place where he would be left alone to linger around the roughest edges without you– it awakens something a little vicious in you, something a little cruel.
Because a part of you wants to see him like this, longing and undone and a little ruined, like everything finally caught up to him all at once. So taut and hollow that he found himself begging for reality to wrap itself in a dream, so thick and suffocating that he has nowhere to hide anymore.
“You didn’t come.” Jungkook finally says after a full minute of silence, still standing outside the door, still aware that he’s not being let in.
You lean your shoulder against the doorframe, crossing your arms on your chest as if you might fall down and break if you did nothing to physically hold yourself together a little better. “Did you really expect me to come?” You say, brows raised accusingly.
His jaw tightens slightly. “I mean, I asked you to.”
You huff out a scoff. “Yeah, you did. So what? I usually ask for a lot of things.”
He lets the silence stretch before adding anything. Maybe because he needs a second to calm himself down and line up his thoughts, maybe because he just doesn’t know what to say. “You could’ve at least replied, said no, something.”
You tilt your head slightly. He has some real fucking audacity. “Would that have made you feel better?”
“I would’ve known.”
“Known what?” You ask, voice sharper now. “That I didn’t want to be there? That I was hurt and angry and so fucking upset? Would that make you feel better about yourself?”
He exhales harshly through his nose, then calls out your name. “I didn’t mean any of it, I said it all wrong. Let me explain, please.” He follows you inside when you turn him your back and step back inside your apartment, trailing behind you like it might help him change your mind.
“I don’t want to hear it, Jungkook.” You breathe, then turn your body to face him, standing across each other in the living room. “Look, you said it was nothing, you said we were just hooking up. And yes, you were right! That’s literally all it was, I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation right now.”
“Don’t do this.” Jungkook says, a little quieter now, voice breaking slightly even though he does all it takes in him to not let it slip.
“I’m not doing anything, you said it yourself!” You exclaim.
“You heard one sentence and decided that was enough.” He shoots back, harsher now, because it seems as though he’s also getting frustrated, also losing the tiny amount of composure he had.
Your gaze snaps back to him. “Oh, so it’s my fault now?”
“I’m not saying it’s your fault;” He argues, running a hand through his locks. “I’m saying you didn’t exactly make it clear either.”
You blink, taken aback. “What?”
Jungkook breathes, taking a step closer to you. “You acted like it was just sex. Like it was easy, no expectations, no– nothing.” He lets out a short breath, shaking his head. “So I went with it. And then, there was also Mingyu. Always.”
He continues before you can cut in. “I knew I was feeling something, I just didn’t know if you were too. I know I was wrong, but I said that because I couldn’t admit it meant more to me when you made sure it was just casual.” He pauses for half a second, closing his eyes to steady his breath. “And now you’re acting like it doesn’t matter when you already ran off like it did.”
You let yourself fall onto the couch, visibly tired with everything. “What are you trying to say, Jungkook? Why are you here?”
“You really want me to spell it out?”
You don’t respond to that, you just look at him. With your lips parted slightly and your chin tipped upwards until the back of your head presses against the backrest. You look a Jungkook with eyes that are filled with something that looks a lot like longing, the same kind he carried in his when he first showed up at your door.
It’s obvious you don’t want to do this anymore. That tonight out of all nights, it’s too much. But it’s not easy for him either. If this is new for you, if you’ve never felt anything like this before, then neither has he. And somewhere beneath everything, beneath the frustration and the things you keep on getting wrong, he just wants you to meet him halfway. To understand him the same way he has been trying to understand you.
“You think I’d come here like this if I didn’t–”
“If I didn’t love you?”
He lets out a quiet laugh in disbelief right after, because the words catch him off guard too. It’s one thing to admit that to his friends, a whole another thing to say out loud in the first place. But to say that directly to your face when he has already pushed so far into your lines? That’s fucked up.
“Fuck,” He mutters under his breath, gaze dropping down to his feet as he shakes his head. “I’m–” He starts, but nothing follows for a beat or two. He just takes a step back, trying to distance himself from the words as if your presence itself isn’t suffocating enough.
He runs a hand through his hair, then drags it over his face. He’s frustrated now, embarrassed even. “I”m sorry.” He adds quickly. “I didn’t…I shouldn’t have–”
He exhales sharply.” I’m overstepping, I know I am.”
“I should go.” He says before you can process anything enough, already turning his back before you can respond.
For a second, nothing makes sense, it’s like you’ve finally gone completely insane and started imagining things. You don’t register the words, you don’t register the way your body reacts so intensely it feels like your heart is trying to rip through your chest. All because it’s desperate to escape reality before it has to face anything that’s too real.
You swallow, hard. Your heart does that stupid thing again, the one it always does when you’re around him, the one that happens even when it’s not him you’re around but the mention of his name only.
You hate how much sense it makes, you hate how you’re starting to understand him, you hate how you’re suddenly not mad anymore. The way he’d look at you like he was memorising, the way he’d touch you like it wasn’t a habit but a need– everything you told yourself didn’t mean anything that actually meant too much.
“Stay.” You say before you can stop yourself, voice so quiet it’s barely above a whisper. Your eyes are glossy and heavy with tears threatening to fall down the corners when Jungkook’s hand stills on the handle. He has to take a moment to breathe and blink a few times before he can turn back and face you again.
“Don’t go.” You add when he fully turns to you, even softer this time.
Jungkook exhales slowly, then takes a few steps until he’s standing right in front of you. His fingers lightly graze your hair, then your jaw, and then your cheek before he closes his eyes and presses his forehead onto yours.
“I’m sorry.” He says, voice breathy and quiet. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Your close your eyes too, letting yourself melt into him. “I know.” You reply.
You pull back slowly when his breath calms, opening your eyes to take in his features properly. “I’m still mad at you.” You say, tilting your head slightly.
“Yeah.” He says softly. “You’d be right to.”
“I hate you.” You mutter, your eyes softer and less guarded.
His lips twitch. “No, you don’t.”
He lets his hand fall down, then settles it on your waist, pulling you a little closer. And this time, when you lean into him, it’s intentional. There’s no hesitation to your actions, no doing it without realizing. You move because you want to– because you want him.
His other hand lifts to lightly brush off the hair sitting on your collarbone, then cups your cheek. There’s a beat where he stays like that, as if he’s asking for permission. You give him a little smile, and the next thing you know, his lips are on yours.
Jungkook kisses you so gently, like he’s afraid you might pull away if he slips the slightest. You won’t, you know you won’t, but you let yourself enjoy the intimacy of it. The intimacy you’ve been craving for so long yet couldn’t say out loud.
You kiss him back just as slowly, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating. It’s beating a little too fast, and you smile into the kiss at the realization.
“Let me make it up to you.” He whispers into the kiss, sweeping you off your feet until both your legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s carrying you to your room. You let out a small yelp as he rushes through the corridor, opening the door with one hand before he gently drops you onto the bed.
You giggle when your head hits the pillows, because Jungkook wastes no time to climb over you. He hovers over your figure and kisses you lovingly, so sweet and longing you almost forget where you are entirely. Your hands slide into his shirt, nails running along his abs. He reaches for the hem of his shirt, then tugs it over his head quickly so that the access is completely granted to you.
You let yourself take your time, tracing over the lines and moles until you have everything memorised– as if you haven’t already. Jungkook pulls down your sweatpants as you’re busy feeling him up, yet you still lift your hips without being told, like he already has all the permission he needs without having to ask, like you’ll let him in no matter what.
His lips are on your bare chest the moment he sees you’ve also taken your shirt off, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses until he reaches your stomach. He pulls your pink, lace panties down while continuing to place gentle kisses through your inner thighs. But no matter how gentle he is, his lips burn on your skin.
“Shit, Jungkook, please.” You whimper, eyes fluttering open when he completely ignores your aching pussy and goes straight down to your calves.
“Please what, baby? Talk to me.” He says, looking up at you from the edge of the bed. And you swear this image of him must belong to a museum or something. His doe eyes take all of you in like he’s been yearning for this, for you.
“Touch me,” You breathe out eventually, hands tangling loosely in his hair, just the parts where you can reach. Jungkook gives you a satisfied smile, then wraps his hands around your thighs to spread them apart. You comply immediately, giving him the space yourself before he actually has to do anything about it.
You try sneaking in parts of him you can see as he sits between your legs, but he soon dips his head and disappears completely. You moan loudly at the first, wet lick he gives you, working slow at first.
Your moans grow louder as he picks up his pace, tongue flicking between your folds so expertly you’re sure you’ve lost your mind. Your hold in his hair tightens, and you pull him in deeper whether you realize it or not. Jungkook moans at the way you’re holding onto him, and the warm feeling that has been sitting somewhere lower in your stomach rises and rises until you lose everything in you that has been holding pieces of your wrecked self together.
You cum hard, with a shake of your legs and his name on your tongue. Jungkook licks you clean as you ride out your high. When he pulls away, shifting to hover over you again, anywhere from his lips and his chin is glistening with your arousal. Something possessive and animalistic awakens you at the sight– so raw and messy and yours.
You can’t help but try to reach and touch him when he straightens a little to remove his shorts. Jungkook lets a light chuckle slip past his lips at the sight, pulling down then tossing away his shorts along with his boxers.
“You ready, baby?” He asks softly, lining himself up with your entrance. You nod eagerly, reaching forward to grab his shoulders and pull his body on top of yours. Jungkook tries to slide in slowly, to give you time to adjust, but you make it so hard with the way your wet folds are swallowing him up right now.
Jungkook hisses loudly and unashamedly at the feeling, eyes closing shut as for a moment, he lets the feeling of your tight, warm walls around him be the only thing on his mind.
You cry out in high pitched whimpers as he starts moving faster and faster, finding his pace as he sees you getting used to his size. Your hands wrap tightly around his shoulders, nails digging and scratching everywhere until your hands meet somewhere in the middle of his back.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby.” Jungkook says when he feels you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in. He catches your lips in his to ground himself when you clench tightly around him, sending him all the way over to the edge as you chase your high yourself.
He moans your name. “I love you, fuck, love you so much it hurts.” He whimpers longingly, movements growing sloppier with every hard thrust he gives you, because he’s so fucking close.
His confession sends you over the edge. Your eyes roll back and your legs begin to shake exceedingly as your back arches and your orgasm takes over you so hard you see starts. Jungkook reaches his right after, but he doesn’t stop, keeps pounding until he’s fucked you full of his cum.
It takes a second for your mind to catch up with the world.
Jungkook doesn’t collide next to you immediately. He lets his head fall, just enough so that his forehead lightly presses against yours. His breath is heavy and unsteady, matching yours in an uneven rhythm. The weight of him above you, the warmth he wraps you inside– everything still feels too raw and too present.
But this time, you’re willing to risk yourself if it means having him.
Your fingers loosen slightly on his shoulder, sliding down just a little before settling again. Jungkook pulls out of you slowly before lifting his eyes to look at you. And it almost makes you look away. Because he’s still here, right within your reach, so open and vulnerable for someone like him.
He’s looking at you with eyes that are searching yours, like he’s trying to figure out if he pushed too far, if he ruined something before he even got the chance to fix it, if you’re about to pull away and tell him this doesn’t mean anything.
You don’t.
When he drops his body beside yours, you turn to your side, then lift your hand without thinking? Your fingertips brush over his cheek, then settle to caress it softly.
“I–” You start, then cut yourself off to let out a small, breathy laugh. “God, I have no idea how to do this.”
Jungkook places his hand over yours, then tightens his fingers. “You don’t have to.” He says quietly, placing a soft kiss onto the inside of your hand. “I’ll wait, until you’re ready.”
“No.” You say suddenly, straightening yourself a little. “I think I’ve been feeling it for a while. I just didn’t know how to face it without scaring myself off.”
“I thought if I didn't name it, it wouldn’t get this big.” You exhale slowly. “But it kept growing no matter how much I tried running away.”
You take another look at Jungkook, a final one in hopes of finding something to confide in. And you realize, you find so much more than you’re searching for. Because it’s all there. In the way he’s looking at you like he’s not trying to hide it anymore, like he’s done playing whatever stupid game you’ve both been pulling on each other for way too long.
And the way his hand stays on your waist– fuck, it’s so much more than just a small touch, so much more than something that grounds you only in the moment. It’s sitting on your waist in a way that’s so steady, like he’s willing to stay through everything and share his breath with yours even if you don’t need it, even if you don’t ask for it.
“I love you too.”
Jungkook huffs softly under his breath, a laugh full of disbelief slipping through before a small smile pulls at his lips. “Yeah?” He murmurs.
You roll your eyes lightly, but the corner of your mouth is twitching. “Don’t push it.” You say, poking at his chest.
“I’m not, I’m just glad my girlfriend loves me back.”
You laugh a little louder now. “Your what now?” You ask, lifting your brows.
“What? You’d rather be my friend? My fuckbuddy–”
You push his chest lightly. “Okay, stop, oh my god. You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re my girlfriend.” He replies easily, rolling onto his back.
I’ve wanted to do this for a while, so here it is! It took some time, but it was necessary for me to better organise everything. It will keep being updated. I hope it can help anyone find fics they like. Also, I would like to thank all those amazing authors for giving us such amazing stories! Happy reading🫶🏾
SUMMARY. in which you’re paired with your insufferably charming ex-academic rival turned coworker to cover a congressional scandal, and suddenly, professional boundaries becomes the only thing holding you two apart.
word count. 10.7k
warnings. well. nipple play, oral (f recieving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, oral (m recieving), marking, praise kink kinda?, choking, cum eating, jungkook is a simp, avoidant oc, 29 positions.
note. finally. only took about 100k words but finally, we have gotten to their breaking point. now before y'all become freakbobs in my inbox, please know that this is more than just your regular degular smut. we use smut round here as a literary device, not just for funsies! oc and jungkook needed to get to this point to learn things about each other that matter. and yes they also needed to fuck but that's neither here nor there. they're also incredibly kinky (because, like, duh. oc the overachever and jungkook the cocky fuckboy? what did you expect?). i hope you all enjoy, as i'm sure you will, and do not scream at me about the ending. you should've seen this coming (or not. idk. no spoilers round here partna!!!! hehehe)
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| right here by chase atlantic
banner creds | masterlist | playlist | series index
“Why is your apartment so weird?”
The question leaves your mouth as Jungkook tugs you by your waist through the threshold, lips pressed to your own, messily touching anywhere he can get his hands on.
You both did a terrible job at keeping your hands off each other in the car, up the stairs to his apartment, the doorway. It’s disgusting, you think, but the sheer thrill of doing this with Jungkook Jeon has sent your brain in a spiral. And god, you want it, you want it bad, because you know that it’s just one time and then you’ll be free of him.
Just this once.
“God,” he chuckles, shaking his head. His front door slams shut behind you and he presses your spine against the door, your work bag dropping to the floor with a thud. “Why do you always do that?” Another kiss is pressed to your jaw. “Can’t stop chastising me for even a second?”
Your neck keens to allow him to gingerly press more kisses down your pulse point, your throat. “No,” you bite back a moan as he sucks on your skin, stopping to inhale your scent. “I can’t let your ego get too big, Jeon.”
“Too late,” he mutters against your skin, and you can feel the shit-eating grin spreading across his lips. His hands find your jacket, sliding it off your shoulders, dropping it somewhere near your work bag. No one cares where it lands.
“You probably have a mirror on your ceiling, don’t you?” Threading your fingers through his hair, you tug on the strands, a low rumble escaping his mouth.
His eyes are darkened when they pull back to look at you, pupils completely blown. You’ve never seen him so disheveled, so utterly lost in someone. The familiar feeling you’ve felt around him bubbles tenfold, grows like a living thing inside you. “You’re about to find out.”
Fuck.
His lips mesh with yours, backing you further into his apartment. Even as you stumble through it, he’s there to catch you, hands firm on your waist, pads of his thumbs pressing into the bone of your hip like they were always meant to be there.
“Jesus Christ, how many shoes do you own?” you ask mid-kiss. You’ve basically tripped over his third pair of sneakers lining the hallway. It’s literally absurd. And you plan to bully him about this even more, just maybe not when his hands are running up and down your sides.
“Stop looking at my floors,” he nips at your bottom lips, “And start looking at me.”
“Hard to do when your apartment’s trying to kill me,” His thumbs brush just under your shirt hem, and your breath catches on its next inhale. Your eyes avert from his, from how good he’s already making you feel, from how undeniably bad you need this—
“Is that a Funko Pop collection?”
Jungkook laughs against your jaw. “You’re killing the mood here.”
“Am I?” You cock an eyebrow, hand wandering down, down to his pants, where his bulge is protruding. Your mind reels at how just kissing you could make him feel like this. His cock twitches against your touch and his eyes flutter closed for a second. “Seems like you’re doing just fine.”
“Fucking hell,” he exhales, hips pressing forward into your palm. Then he’s walking you backward again, faster this time, urgent. “Bedroom. Now.”
“So bossy.” You roll your eyes but your stomach coils with excitement. There’s something so forbidden about Jungkook Jeon—maybe it’s because you’ve spent years detesting his work and him, or because he was always this tangible thing that everyone got to experience except for you. Now he’s in your hands, and it’s not that you ever expected to have it, but he’s here. You’re here with him in his bedroom.
You get approximately two seconds to take in his bedroom—and yes, there’s thankfully no ceiling mirror, but there is an alarming amount of gym equipment in the corner —before he’s spinning you around and walking you backward toward his bed. “Your room looks like a frat house and a sports store had a baby,” you manage to get out one final joke before the back of your knees hit his mattress.
No turning back now.
He hums, thumbing the hem of your blouse, fingers dancing along the skin of your stomach. “You’re standing in my frat house sports store baby room about to let me fuck you.”
Heat runs straight your core at his brash wording. You hate that you want this so badly you can barely think straight.
“Don’t get used to it,” you shoot back.
“I wouldn’t dare.” He pulls your blouse up and over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind him. His eyes drop to your chest, to the red bra you’d worn this morning without knowing this would happen. “Though I gotta say… I’ve thought about this a lot. Maybe more than I should have.
“Yeah?” You refuse to let him see how affected you are by that admission. “Did it live up to the fantasy?”
“Haven’t gotten to the good part yet.” His hands cup your breasts through the padding, thumbs brushing over your nipples with enough pressure to make you gasp. “But we’re getting there.”
Your back arches into his touch, head tilting back while he continues his teasing ministrations. He watches, ever so focused, takes note of every single reaction you have. “You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself, almost like you’re a figment of his imagination. One hand slides around to unclasp your bra—one-handed, the show-off—and then that’s gone too. Cool air hits your skin for a moment before his hands return, palming your bare breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they’re pebbled and peaked under his attention.
It’s been a while since anyone has even touched you there.
“Ah fuck.” Your head lolls back, little puffs of air falling from your lips. You don’t normally enjoy men playing with your tits, especially since they’re mostly doing it for the pleasure of themselves. But Jungkook knows just how to caress, how to hold them, all the right spots to make your breasts yearn for him.
“Yeah, baby?” The pet name rolls off his tongue and then you’re back to being utterly sick to your stomach.“What do you need?”
Whatever.
You’re just getting laid. This is what you needed to do, anyway. This is what Rosalie implied was good for you. A necessary evil to survive on this planet. In fact, you’re sure if Jenna could tell you without violating HR policies, she would also argue you that you need to be fucked.
“Less talking,” You reach for his shirt. “More doing.”
His tongue traces the column of your throat, hands roaming wherever they can. His lips spread thin across your skin, and you can feel a smile pressing into your skin. “Stop enjoying this too much,” you say between a moan that negates your original point.
Jungkook pinches your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Stop thinking so hard. I can literally hear the wheels turning in your pretty head.”
“Maybe if you were better at this, I wouldn’t be able to think at all.”
He darkly chuckles, pushing you back onto the bed until you land with a soft bounce on his mattress. He crawls over you, cages you in with his bulky arms on either side of your head. “Last chance to take that back,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone.
“No way.”
“God, you’re such a fucking brat.” His wet, hot mouth makes its way to your breast, tongue circling your nipple. Your back arches clean off the bed, profanities escaping your mouth in a way that can only be described as carnal desire. He takes his time, lavishing attention on one breast while his hand works the other. His tongue flicks over your nipple before he draws it into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, teeth grazing the sensitive bud just shy of painful.
“Still thinking?” he asks, pulling back to blow cool air over your wet skin, nipple tightening further.
All you can focus on is the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his fingers, the weight of him hovering over you. His skin is silky soft, warm to the touch. He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention, and your hands can’t help but travel to his hair yet again, tugging at the strands.
A litany of moans escapes past your lips, tumbling before you can stop them. You want to fight it, tell yourself not to engage, not to enjoy too much of this before you know it’s ripped away from you like most good things in life sometimes are, but he suckles your breast as though he’s trying to collect sweet nectar from you. “There she is,” he mutters, “I knew you’d stop running that pretty mouth eventually.”
“Ah—fuck—you’re so—” Whatever insult you had planned dies in your throat when he sucks harder, teeth grazing your pebbled nipple.
“I’m so what?” Releasing your nipple with an obscene pop, he looks up at you with disheveled hair and swollen pink lips. The sight alone is enough to make your core throb around nothing. God, you’re so fucking pathetic. “Finish your sentence.”
“Despicable,” You force out unconvincingly. Your head feels like it’s screwed backwards.
“Mm, try again,” He dips his head back down, trailing kisses along the curve of your breast, toward your collarbone, and his lips part wider to take in your supple skin.
Absolutely the fuck not.
“Jeon, don’t you dare,” He ignores your plea, sucking hard at the junction of your neck and shoulder, tongue soothing and teeth scraping. You shove at his shoulder. “No. No one from work can know.”
There’s a flash of frustration in his eyes as he peers up at you. “Fine,” he concedes, hands sliding down your ribcage, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your bottoms. “I’m leaving marks somewhere, though.”
Your core thumps again. Silly little thing. Why can’t she just shut up?
“Somewhere that only I know about.” He pops the button on your pants, dragging the zipper down. He doesn’t remove them entirely, unfortunately, but he exposes the edge of your red panties. Great. He’ll leave a fucking hickey on your thigh that you’ll see everytime you so much as pee and then you’ll be reminded of—
He kisses his way back up your sternum, and then reaches the soft underside of your breast. A place that’s never seen the sun, that no coworker would ever catch. He bites down gently before sucking hard. “Jesus–fuck,” Your hands entangle in his hair.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, tongue dragging over skin until you can practically feel the blood vessels pop. He then moves to your other breast, leaving another mark that blossoms purple and pink hues across your chest, screams Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook until you’re certain he’s imprinted on you.
He moves back up, capturing your nipple in his mouth again, and he’s the equivalent of a man starved—sucking, licking, the barest scrape of teeth that has electricity zinging down your spine. Jungkook’s tattooed hand palms your neglected breast, matching the rhythm of his tongue, pressure boiling low in your belly. It’s never felt like this before—never felt heat creeping up your limbs, toes curling as he succumbs to whatever you want. “Jungkook—”
“Tell me what you need, baby.”
But you can’t tell him that you’re close to falling apart from his mouth and hands on your tits. Can’t admit that there’s a world in which he might know your body more than anyone else ever could. He switches breasts again, tongue circling your nipple in tight circles while his fingers pluck and tease the other one. Your hips are moving of their own accord now, seeking friction that isn’t there. Your panties stick to your folds, dampened and ruined.
“Oh god,” you gasp, mind reeling. What the fuck is happening. How is he this good. “Oh my god, I—”
Maybe you needed to get laid more than you thought.
He moans against your skin, the vibration traveling up your throat.
God, right there, right fucking there, if he just flicks his tongue one more time—
You shove at his shoulders. He pulls back in a daze, eyes glazed over. His lips are red and swollen, and there’s a wetness on his chin that makes heat pool deeper in your core.
“What—” he sputters, “Did I hurt you?”
The absolute opposite, actually.
“No, no, I just think… just, we need to slow down.”
“Oh…” he trails off, settling back on his heels. From this angle, his jawline looks sharper, eyes look more cutting, and you feel a wave of desire crash over you. His features morph from concern into understanding. “You were about to cum, weren’t you?”
“Pfft,” you scoff. “No I wasn’t.”
“Just from me playing with your tits.” The bastard sounds delighted. “Holy shit.”
“Shut the fuck up, Jeon.” You sit up, reach for him. You need to gain some semblance of control. “Take your shirt off.”
He complies, yanking it off and tossing it aside. It dawns on you how agreeable he is to anything you say when you’re not in a press room. Hm.
Your eyes can’t help but wander over his build. You always knew he had defined shoulders, strong shoulders, a sleeve of tattoos. But now the forbidden fruit that everyone has been dying to see is displayed in front of you, and a fluttering feeling erupts ferociously in your stomach.
You push him backward on the bed. “My turn,” you declare, straddling his hips. His large hands fly to your waist, giving you all the power as though to keep you steady.
“Yeah? What are you gonna do to me?”
Leaning down, your lips brush his ear, “Make you regret being so cocky.”
Slowly, you roll your hips against his hardened length. It’s experimental, but the groan that exits his mouth is anything but. You work your way lower, hands sliding over the ridges of his abs, feeling them contract under your touch. When you reach the waistband of his jeans, you undo the button, maintaining eye contact as you drag the zipper down tooth by tooth.
The innate desire to win boils inside you. You can’t help but want it. It’s the same feeling you get when you’re the first to break a story, when you see his article go up an hour after yours and know you beat him. You’ve been competing with him for so long that you don’t know how to not turn this into a contest.
Hooking your fingers into his waistband, you prepare to pull his boxers and pants down in one go, and then suddenly, without preamble, your world is being tilted upside down.
You feel your back hit the mattress, and his face comes into view, ears red and lips plump and wet and god, has he always been this beautiful?
“Jeon, what the fuck—”
“Still my turn,” he argues, kissing his way down to your stomach.
“Okay, no, I was—” You try to sit up, struggle against him, but he plants a hand firmly on you, pushing you back down.
“You were taking too long.” He pauses, stares at your red underwear for a moment too long. His breath catches in his throat for a second, and then he yanks your underwear down your legs, flinging somewhere across his room. “I’ve been patient enough. Don’t you think I’ve been good, [Y/N]?” His obsidian eyes follow yours, a plea behind them.
But still, he can never have the upper hand. You can’t let him see behind the facade you’ve managed to uphold for years. “You can’t just—”
“Can’t what?” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, inhaling your skin. Letting himself relish in your pheromones.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, and you tug once, twice, trying to regain dominance. “Let me—”
“No.” He catches your wrist, pinning it against your hip. “I’ve been thinking about this for eight fucking years. You can wait five minutes.”
“Okay, first of all, I’m not gonna cum in five minutes, and second of all, that’s not fair—”
“Life’s not fair, sweetheart.” His teeth graze the side of your thigh, and you jolt backwards at the sensation, a whimper falling from your parted lips. “Now stop arguing with me and let me taste you.”
And without another word, his mouth is on your cunt.
His tongue flattens over your folds, collecting as much arousal as possible before swirling circles over your clit. You’re not sure where the fuck he learned this—whether it’s natural talent or years of practice you don’t want to think about—but holy shit, the man eats pussy like he’s got something to prove.
His lips encircle your clit, sucking, milking you dry, tongue working underneath in rapid movements that have your thighs clamped around his head like earmuffs.
“Been waiting to taste you for so fucking long.” He licks a thin stripe up your slit, pausing to let his tongue swirl around your sensitive nub. You jolt forward, gripping onto his hair for dear life.
Why does he talk so much during sex? Vocalizes every damn thing, every word in his brain, and it sends shivers down your spine that reverberate in your stomach, those butterflies you thought were gone back tenfold.
“Shut up,” you say through a moan, “and make me fucking cum, Jeon.”
He looks up from between your legs, juices coating his lips and the tip of his nose. There’s a cocky smirk on his expression you want to slap off (and you really, really would if he wasn’t eating you out like his life depended on it). “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”
He wraps his arms around your thighs until you’re certain all he’s able to breathe in is your scent. Like most girls, you’ve always been in your head during sex, cataloging insecurities, wondering if you’re taking too long or if you taste okay or if the person between your legs is getting bored.
But with Jungkook, he hasn’t stopped moaning into your glistening pussy, lapping you up eagerly as though he’s the best thing you ever tasted.
The tip of his nose rubs against your clit, and “Fuck, right there, Jungkook,” leaves your mouth before you can stop it. He speeds up, and then your hips are bucking into his face until you’re grinding against him, taking and taking, chasing the friction of his nose while his tongue words inside you. And he fucking loves it—encourages it with his hands on your ass, pulling you closer, harder, like he wants you to suffocate him.
“That’s it,” he mutters, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. “Use me. Take what you need.”
Hunger overtakes every nerve-ending inside you. Threading your fingers through his hair, you hold him there, rolling your hips against his face in desperation. You can feel his smile against you, can hear the obscene wet sounds of his mouth and tongue working you over, can feel the way he’s completely given himself over to this.
Your mind is scrambled, words falling limp on your tongue.
“You’re so—ahh—shit—”
“So what?” He inserts two fingers into your sopping entrance, and you clench around them. “Finish your sentence, baby.”
“Annoying,” you gasp, “Fucking annoying.”
It’s not true, you think, none of it is true, could never be true, not when he can unravel me like this.
“Yeah?” He pumps his fingers faster, finding your sweet spot, and your back arches clean off the mattress. “Tell me more. Love it when you insult me while I’m knuckle-deep in your pussy.”
You’re close, so close, and he knows it. It all crashes into you, so suddenly that it takes you a moment to know it’s coming. Years and years, months and months, minutes and minutes of tantalizing, teasing him, and your entire body melts into him naturally. Your core throbs around his fingers, sucking in him and he groans. “Fuck, come on baby. Let me feel it. I want to taste your cum. Bet it’s so fucking sweet.”
“Oh god—I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish the sentence before your orgasm washes over you, stealing oxygen from your lungs and making your legs shake. White-hot relief floods over your body, sweat dripping down the valley of your breasts. Your walls practically suck his fingers in, and you can hear him groaning at the situation.
You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum that hard with a man.
Jungkook tentatively pulls his fingers out, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back on his heels. He’s pleased with himself, so much so that you want to dropkick him.
His eyes look over at the clock on his nightstand. “Four minutes, by the way.”
You’re too exhausted to throw a jab, too lost in the clouds to ever be brought back down.
“Good?” He cocks a brow, tongue licking over his lips to lap up at the remaining juices coating them, then moving on to his fingers. Maybe having sex with him twice isn’t such a bad…you abandon that train of thought before it can fully form. There’s nothing good down that line.
“Don’t look so fucking smug, Jeon,” You prop yourself up on your elbows, eyeing him down. It would be a lot easier to hate him and his abilities if he wasn’t so good at everything, if he didn’t look ethereal with his disheveled hair and sculpted chest.
He crawls back over your body, “I can’t help it. You should see yourself right now. All fucked out and pretty.”
With horror dawning upon you, you realize that once isn’t going to be enough.
Not even fucking close.
“Your turn,” you murmur, nimble fingers reaching out for his buttons. A soft smirk rests on his features as he lets you, and you take the opportunity to shove him onto his back. He’s willing, eager, pliant under your hold as you straddle his thighs. They sit underneath you like a rock, and you have to beg the question what his workout routine is, because no one can be this bulky. He hasn’t skipped leg day once.
“God, you’re such a dick, Jeon,” you mutter to no one but yourself before you fully yank down his bottoms.
“Rich coming from you,” he retorts as he lifts his hips to help you. “You’ve been busting my balls for fucking years.”
“Because you deserve it,” you point out. Tossing his jeans aside, the tent in his Calvin Klein boxers glares back at you. It’s disgusting how quick your mouth waters with need, a craving to see what’s underneath and take him whole. There’s already a wet spot forming on the fabric, and those little flutters return in your belly with a vengeance. “Someone needs to keep your ego in check.”
His laugh hits like a slap to the face, “My ego?” He shakes his head. “Hilarious. You fucking walk around like you’re god’s gift to journalism.”
“I am god’s gift to journalism.”
“And I’m supposed to be the one with the ego problem?” he scoffs. “You’re delusional.”
“You’ve gotta be compensating for something. We all are.” You palm his erection through his boxers, squeezing softly. His head falls back, abdomen muscles taut. “Wonder what that could be.”
“Fuck you,” he says through gritted teeth, but his hips roll into your hand.
Hooking your fingers into his boxer briefs, your heart beats an erratic pattern that echoes in your brain. There’s no going back, no undoing the damage of what you’ve already done.
But it was always inevitable, wasn’t it? Written in the stars, fated, destined. All those romance novel words you’ve always rolled your eyes at because real life doesn’t work like that… except apparently it does, because here you are, about to fuck your rival in a scene so cliche that some Tumblr author is definitely writing this exact scenario right now.
What’s that trope Rosalie always talks about? Enemies to lovers? Rivals to lovers?
But despite the predictability of it all, it doesn’t really feel frivolous at all.
In fact, it feels as though you’ve been tiptoeing this line with him for eight years without realizing it.
You lean down a little to tug his boxers even further, and the scent of his cologne wafts by your nose as you do.
Bergamot and cedar.
Smells like him, smells like every press conference you’ve sat through trying not to notice when he’s near, like every accidental brush in a crowded hallway, like every college lecture where you got forced to pair up with him.
Weirdly enough, you think you would be okay if you were to smell like that too.
Want his scent on your skin like a claim, want to go home tonight and catch traces of bergamot and cedar on your sheets and remember this.
But if you think about that too much, you’ll leave.
“You wish,” you snort, continuing to drag his boxers down until his hardened cock slaps against his lower stomach. “Actually, wait—you have been wishing that for eight years, haven’t you? That’s kind of pathetic.”
“You’re one to talk. You’re the one who—shit—”
His words cut off as he realizes he’s leaking precum onto his skin, the tip flushed and crimson.
Yeah, he’s got nothing to compensate for.
“I’m the one who what?” you blink innocently, wrapping your hand around him, giving him one slow stroke from base to tip. “Cat got your tongue?”
“You’re the one who’s been—fuuck—been eye-fucking me across press rooms for years,” His voice cracks on the last syllable. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about this too.”
“I haven’t,” you lie. “Not even once.”
“Bullshit.”
You lick a stripe up the underside of his cock, across a vein that protrudes, one kitten lick from base to tip, and his body shivers underneath you. “Holy shit,” he exhales, tendons in his neck poking out. “Holy shit, wait—”
But you don’t listen to his protests. You take him into your mouth, tip first, swirling your tongue around the head and tasting the salt of his precum. His fingers thread through your hair, gripping the strands as best as he can without hurting you. “Fuck,” he groans, “Fuck, right there—your mouth is perfect—”
You take him deeper, deeper, hollowing your cheeks and letting his tip brush against the back of your throat. A moan almost escapes you at how blissful you feel being in control of him.
“Wait, wait, stop—” The grip in your hair tightens, and he;s actually tugging you off him, which—what?
With a pop, you release his cock from your mouth, brows furrowed. “What?”
“I’m gonna cum,” he bluntly blurts, “Like right now. If you keep going, I’m done.”
You laugh. He’s joking, surely he is. This is part of some evil plan. But his face doesn’t change, lips don’t twitch like they always do when he’s lying.
Oh gosh. He’s serious.
Now you do snort. “Oh my god. Are you serious? One lick? That’s all it took?”
“Shut up,” he mutters, and is he—is he blushing? Jungkook Jeon is blushing, splotches of red painting his neck and cheeks.
“No, this is amazing,” you smile. “The great Jungkook Jeon, laid low by a single lick of a blowjob. Should I call Fox News? This feels like breaking news.”
“I said shut up.” He grabs your waist, hauling you up his body. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. So yeah, excuse me for being a little too into it.”
You don’t really want to think about how long he’s been fantasizing about you.
“A little?” You raise a brow, planting your palms on his toned chest to steady yourself. “Jungkook, I barely touched you. What are you gonna do when we actually fuck? Cum the second you get inside me?”
His jaw clenches. “You wanna find out?”
“Honestly?” You tilt your head, pause for a moment to let your eyes meet his gaze. “I’m a little worried you won’t last long enough for me to enjoy it.”
“Always gotta get the last word in,” he grunts, and you feel his hands shift onto your hips, flipping you onto your back again.
“Jeon!” you squeal.
“I’m giving myself a second,” he says, reaching for the nightstand drawer and pulling out a condom. “And making sure when I fuck you, you remember it for the rest of your life.”
He rips open the packet with his teeth, rolling the condom onto his length. He moans as he does it, then strokes himself a few times, hair falling into his eyes.
“Big talk from someone who almost blew his load from a kitten lick,” you can’t help but point out.
He looks down at you, and the intensity in his gaze makes your heart thrash in your chest wildly. “Keep talking shit. See where it gets you.”
“Where’s it gonna get me, Jeon?”
He leans down, hot breath against the shell of your ear. “Fucked until you forget every insult you’ve ever thrown at me.”
He positions himself at your entrance, head of his cock sliding through your folds, slipping easily from how aroused you are. Your own body can’t help but betray you. The slow movements send your eyes rolling back into your skull, and you squirm underneath his weight.
“Impatient?” he tuts.
“Bored,” you lie. “You gonna do something?”
“There she is,” he murmurs. “Can’t even let me have one moment without being a brat.”
“You’d miss it if I stopped.”
“Yeah.” He pushes the head of his cock in, and you already feel so fucking stuffed, so full beyond belief. Your nails dig crescent moons into his biceps. “I really fucking would.”
And then he slides his entire length in, painstakingly slow, enough that you can feel every vein and every ridge of his cock. Your folds suck him in greedily, wanting more and more and more. You both let out a gasp in unison, and his teeth nibble at his lip piercing as he bottoms out in you. “Fuck,” you moan, eyes closing to bask in the pleasure.
“You good?” He stays still inside you, allowing you to get used to his size, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how full you feel.
“Move,” you demand, because you’re not about to admit how good he feels, how perfectly he fills you. “Jesus Christ, Jungkook, just—”
He pulls out until just his tip is buried in you, and then slams back in, with a force that sends you a few inches back on his mattress. “Like that?” His rhythm is punishing, fingertips bruising your hips as he holds onto you. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes—fuck—yes—” you blab. Every coherent thought you own shrivels up with each thrust of his cock.
“Always bossin' me around,” he grunts, hips moving faster, hitting your sweet spot with each movement. “Always gotta be in control, don’t you?”
“Someone has to be—oh fucking shit—” Your nails rake down a crimson path down his biceps. That’s just about the only jab you can give, because then his hand is coming to wrap around your throat.
“Not tonight, baby. Tonight, you’re gonna take what I give you.”
Your head swims below water, your senses overwhelmed. All you can smell is his familiar scent, letting it overtake you completely.
Jungkook’s thumb presses against your throat, and your pussy clenches around him. “Oh, you like that,” he grins, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “Course you do. Bet you’ve been wanting someone to shut that pretty mouth up for years.”
“Fuck you,” you spit, and he chuckles breathily.
“Already doing that, sweetheart. Try again.”
You grab onto his wrist, not to pull his hand away, but to encourage him.
“Harder,” you command, and you don’t even know if you mean his hand or his thrust, but he gives you both. He’ll give you anything you want, you think.
His hips piston faster, fucking into you with a harshness that has your body writhing underneath him. Your pussy squelches, the bed rocking back and forth in tandem with his thrusts. “Oh fuck, right there, right fucking there,” you squeal, making a soaked noise at the back of your throat.
“Eight years..” he grunts, hiking your leg higher up on his waist. “You fucking know what eight years does to a guy? My cock shriveled up into itself. Everytime I looked at you for too long, I had to look away.”
Your walls twitch around his length, a natural instinctive thing you try to ignore even though you know he won’t let you. Jungkook brushes the hair out of your face, taking your jaw in his hand and ensuring your fucked-out eyes meet his. “You like that, hm? Like knowing what you do to me, what you’ve fucking done to me for years? Not so tough now, hm?”
You need him to fuck into you without abandon, need his cock to fill you up until it feels like the only thing you can feel is him. Until his DNA mingles with yours, until you’re suffocated by every part of him. “Fuck you, Jeon. If I wanted to be chastised by you, I would’ve shown up to the Fox press room, not your apartment.”
His mouth surges into yours, a sloppy kiss full of saliva and teeth clanging but your lips find him just as easy. You melt into him. When he pulls away, his eyes are swallowed whole by black. “Your mouth…” he laughs to himself. “Your mouth always gets you in trouble, doesn’t it?”
You smirk. “That’s what they say.”
You’re almost certain your juices are coating the bed below you. Your hands scramble to drag more marks down his biceps. Little puffs of air escape your mouth, something between a moan and a groan, all you can muster when he’s so fucking deep inside you, deeper than any man’s ever been. “Well then, how about we shut that pretty little mouth up?”
His hips buck wildly, balls slapping against the mounds of your ass. Your breasts bounce with the force of it, and your mouth drops open, sounds pouring from you that you’re not sure you’ve ever made before. “This what you need?” His voice strains to get the words out. “Need me to fuck you like you’re mine?”
“I’m not yours,” you say, but your body is telling a different story. Arching into him, meeting him thrust for thrust, keening for him.
“Yeah?” He releases the grip around your jaw, hand traveling south to your throbbing cunt. “Then why are you so wet for me?”
“Shut up—”
“Make me, baby.” His thumb traces your clit. “Oh wait, you can’t. Too busy taking my cock.”
You’re completely at his mercy, reducing you to nothing but carnal desire and need.
“Just keep going,” you moan, “Right fucking there, Jungkook.”
“Here?” He rolls his hips again, his pelvic bone meeting your clit. Your vision whites at the edges, blurs with each movement. “Yeah, I know. Been paying attention, baby. I know exactly what you need.”
You cum with a strangled whimper, clenching around his cock, the only thing keeping you tethered to earth is his hand on your clit and his weight above you.
“That’s it,” he encourages, “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cum.”
His thrusts slow, grinding against you enough to prolong your orgasm until you’re shaking and pushing at his chest to get him away.
“Knew I could make you feel good.” He’s still hard inside you, but you feel his length twitching, affected even if he hasn’t cum yet. “I knew you’d be perfect.”
“Aghh—don’t—” you weakly protest, although you don’t know what for.
“Can’t handle me being right for once?” He experimentally rolls his hips, and even oversensitive, it feels blissful. “Admit it. This is the best you’ve ever had.”
You can’t admit it. But fuck, it’s so true it makes your throat tight and your eyes sting.
You’ve never felt pleasure like this. Other men never learned how you liked to be touched, even if you were to draw a diagram for them. They fade into a blur of adequate-at-best experiences that you told yourself were good enough because you didn’t know it could be different. Jungkook can read your body, and can denote every sound you make. Can understand you even with just the noises your body can make.
He loved studying, you were sure of it. You just had never thought that maybe, all this time, his favorite subject to study had been you.
“You haven’t even cum yet,” you point out instead of answering. “Little premature for victory laps, don’t you think?”
He scoffs, and, well…that’s the breaking point for you.
Planting your hands on his chest, you push him off, and he curiously lets you. You use the momentum to flip your positions, straddling his hips with his cock still buried inside you. “Fucking hell,” he exhales, hands flying to your waist to steady you. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and for the first time tonight he looks caught off guard. “What are you—”
“My turn.” You roll your hips, and both of you groan. In this position, it feels like he’s hitting your cervix, feels like you could die of bliss right here at this very moment.
His fingers dig into your skin. “Fuck, [Y/N].” His gaze drags over every detail of your body, pausing where your walls engulf his length entirely. “You’re so fucking gorgeous like this.”
Those weird flutters in your stomach return, and so you mutter, “Stop talking,” but there’s no real bite behind it.
You move yourself up and down, slowly at first. His cock glides in and out of you with ease, your cunt clenching around him, your body unable to relinquish its hold on him. "Can't help it,” he grits out, hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured this. You riding me, these perfect tits bouncing, how fucking tight and wet you’d be for me.”
“God, you’re a pervert,” you chastise as you lean back, palms planting themselves on his large thighs for stability.
“Yeah, and you fucking love it.” He thrusts up to meet you. “Don’t even deny it. Your pussy gets so tight when I talk dirty to you.”
“That’s just—physiological response—” You’re all but slamming yourself onto his cock now. The frantic slap of skin on skin fills the room, his little moans sending another wave of arousal coursing through your veins.
He’s grinning at you like the asshole he is. “You really can’t just admit you like something, can you? Always gotta be so fucking difficult.”
You lean forward, tits bouncing in his face, and his eyes nearly roll back into his skull. “I’m the easiest person in the world. You’re just incompetent.”
“Oh, right,” he chuckles. “Cause I just made you cum twice with my incompetence.”
“Beginner’s luck,” you retort.
“Yeah?” His hands slide to grip the plush skin of your ass, controlling your movements, making you take him deeper. “Let’s test that theory.”
Jungkook firmly plants his feet into the mattress, fucking up into you with a brutal force that has you screaming, holding onto his headboard as though you might fall off. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he moans, “Love watching you take my cock like this.”
He sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist to hit a different angle, one that lets him finally take the control back that you had tried to steal from him. You can feel him getting harder inside you, breathing ragged, and there’s something intoxicating about having him.
“Fuck,” he grits out, “Fuck, your pussy is insane, I’m gonna—”
“Already?” You force yourself to focus through the haze of pleasure, seizing the opportunity to torture him. “Seriously? We just started, Jeon.”
“Shut the fuck up, no we didn’t,” His head lolls back, bottom lip tucked underneath his front teeth. His cock twitches inside you. “You feel too good—fuck—I can’t—”
“Eight years of alleged pining and you can’t even last five minutes?” You would feel bad about how mean you’re being if he didn’t look so wrecked, if the desperation on his face wasn’t so satisfying. “That’s embarrassing for you.”
“I swear to god, [Y/N],” His sentence is cut off by his desperate thrusts upward one, two, three more times before his body goes rigid. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
Jungkook groans and tenses, emptying into the condom. His cock pulses inside you, bicep muscles straining. The vein in his neck pops out, a blush creeping across his neck. Okay—fine—it’s kind of hot watching him orgasm. But you’re not about to tell him that.
Your movements slow until they’re almost stagnant, and all you want to do is kiss him silly but you can’t, so you settle on what you do best with him. “That was fast. I mean, I’ve had guys last for thirty minutes tops—”
Before you can finish the aggravating sentence, his hands are on your waist, lifting you off him. A yelp of surprise escapes you as he maneuvers you onto your knees beside him on the bed. “Jungkook!”
“Stay on your knees,” he orders, and his tone forces you to comply without a second thought.
His hand is in your hair, gathering the strands and pulling your head back so you’re forced to look at him. His face is flushed with a crimson glow, hair disheveled and eyes hungrily awaiting for more. “You think you’re so funny,” he says. “Running your mouth, making fun of me.”
“It was kinda funny—”
“Open,” he interrupts. Hesitating, you don’t move. He tugs your hair. “I said open.”
Your mouth falls open wide, and he guides your head down toward his cock. The condom has been disposed of, and he’s still half hard, leftover cum leaking from his tip.
“Clean me up.”
You would probably tell him where to shove his orders under normal circumstances, but you find yourself leaning forward, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up his length. He hisses, grip in your hair tightening. “That’s it, baby. Get me hard again.”
“You’re so bossy,” you say as you jerk him off, his cock already beginning to harden once more. You take him into your mouth whole, tasting the saltiness on your tongue.
“You fucking love it,” he counters, running his thumb over your cheek. “You love being told what to do, don’t you?”
Your response is to take him deeper, cheeks hollowing and tongue swirling over his tip. You can feel his length taking up square footage in your palm and mouth. Cupping his balls, you roll them gently, and his hips desperately buck forward. “Shit,” he curses, “Should’ve known you’d be good at this.”
With a pop, you release him to say, “Good at everything, actually,” before taking him back in your mouth.
“Cocky,” he hums. “Even with your mouth full of my cock.”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You can feel him getting harder with each pass of your tongue. Your hand jerks off the parts of him that can’t fit in your mouth, and his cock twitches in excitement. Each time you hollow your cheeks, he lets out a whimper that sounds like he might cry, “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, head thudding against the headboard. “Yeah, just like that, baby.”
A flutter arises in the center of your sore cunt. You move faster, and let your saliva fall down to his balls, spreading to any dry skin. His breathing shallows, chest rising and falling with each pump. “Okay, okay, stop,” He tugs your hair, pulling you off him. It takes you a few moments to regain your composure, to wipe the tears brimming your eyes and the saliva off your lips. “I’m good, more than good.”
And when you look down, his cock is standing tall, the tip flushed and angry.
“Show off,” you smirk.
“Says the woman who just sucked me hard again in under two minutes,” he snorts, slowly beginning to stroke himself. “Lay down. I’m finishing what I started.”
You comply, which is a shock to you and him both. But really, you can chalk it up to how undeniably soaked you are, how two orgasms wasn’t enough. It’s just been a while since you’ve had sex, not for any other reason in particular. It’s most definitely not because Jungkook Jeon is some kind of sex god (which, by all means, you should’ve seen coming).
He moves to position himself between your legs again, and you watch as he lines himself up at your entrance. His thumb collects the juices gathering between your folds, letting himself taste it before looking back at you.
Suddenly self-conscious, you ask, “What?”
“I want…” he trails off, as though he’s trying to find the right words in his brain. “Fuck, I want to feel you.”
It takes your sex-fogged brain a second to understand what he’s asking. “You want to go raw?”
“Yeah.” His hand slides up your thigh, thumb tracing patterns on your skin. “I’m clean. Got tested last month. And I know you’re on birth control, I heard you mention it to Emma once.”
“You fucking creep.” You roll your eyes but your heart is pounding. “You pay attention to my choice of contraceptive?”
“I pay attention to everything about you.”
You probably shouldn’t. Jungkook isn’t someone you should be having raw sex, because somehow, that complicates things more than it already is. You’re already operating at quadratic equation levels of messy.
But you’re so turned on you can barely think straight.
“I’m clean too. I got tested two weeks ago,” you admit.
His eyes are fixated on your face, finger dragging a long line from your hip down to your thigh. “That’s not a yes.”
“Yes,” you blurt, and yeah—there’s the begging he predicted, “Please, Jungkook. I want to feel you too.”
“Fuck,” you both gasp in unison as he pushes into you bare, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein on his cock.
He leans over you until you can feel his hot breath puffing against your neck, forehead falling to your shoulder. “Holy shit—you feel so fucking good—”
“Move,” you moan, legs wrapping around his waist. “Please move.”
He doesn;t hold back, fucking into you relentlessly. The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, and you distantly hope his neighbors aren’t home because there's no way they wouldn’t hear this. “Oh, fuck, fuck yes,” you babble. He feels so good, too good, and without the condom you can feel the heat of him, the way his length pulses inside you. His lips nip at your shoulder, teeth grazing over your collarbone.
He groans into your ear and the sound reverberates in your brain. “Did you know I used to jerk off after our debates in college? Used to get me so fucking hard the way you used to run your mouth.”
No, no you didn’t know that at all. You’re starting to think you don’t know a lot of things.
He angles his hips to hit your g-spot, and you’re shaking all over, so far gone you can’t even feel your own muscles anymore. “Let me hear you, baby. Want everyone to know who’s fucking you this good.”
“Arrogant… asshole,” you struggle to speak, your brain a pile of mush.
“Yeah?” His hand navigates to your clit, rubbing circles. You muffle a scream into his neck, and you catch a whiff of his woodsy scent again, and it feels like you’re drowning in him, drowning in Jungkook. “But I’m your asshole right now, hm? Aren’t I? Say it.”
“Fuck off.”
“Say it,” he grits through his teeth, his tongue sucking a purple bruise onto your collarbone. Your toes curl in anticipation, your orgasm creeping up on you. “Say you’re mine. Just for tonight.”
“Jeon.”
“Say it or I fucking stop.” He stills his hips, rhythm slowing, and you want to rip his head off.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” His cock twitches inside you, betraying how much he needs this, needs you too.
“Fine, fuck—fine, I’m yours," you force out, and you remind yourself it doesn’t mean anything, that you’re just saying what he wants to hear. “Just for tonight. Now fucking move.”
The kiss he plants on your lips is equally as sloppy as his thrusts, filled with yours and his moans. His thumb stays steady on your clit, and you can feel yourself hurtling toward that familiar edge. “Gonna cum,” you warn, nails digging into his shoulders, lips swollen against his. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum on my cock, baby,” His voice cracks, face buried in the crook of your shoulder. “Gonna make me cum too. I’m gonna—shit, where can I cum?”
Your mind is a whirlpool of thoughts, a tsunami of sensations overtaking you. Your pussy clenches around him, sucks him in as your entire body spasms for the third time tonight.
You know just where you want it.
“Inside,” you gasp. “Cum inside me.”
That’s all he needs to hear. He buries himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, and you feel him pulse as his cock fills you with his warm seed, painting your walls.
Jungkook nearly falls on top of you, both of you breathing hard. Sweat trickles down your back in steady tracks. For several minutes, or what might be hours, neither of you move. You lay there in the silence, hearts thrumming erratically, basking in what you had just done.
Jungkook inevitably pulls out, lies beside you, staring up at his ceiling. His cum leaks out of you, drop by drop, and you let it.
“Jungkook,” you quietly begin, and he turns to face you. You think he might tell you to get out, or maybe grab tissues or head to the bathroom to do any of the normal post-sex things people do.
But he does none of those. He kisses your cheeks, your jaw, back down your body like he’d never left it.
“What are you—” you start, but he suckles your nipple between his lips.
“Not done with you yet,” he finally murmurs against your skin.
“I came three times, I can’t take anymore.”
Or, well, maybe you can, you’re just not really sure. You’ve never gotten to this point with a man before.
“Just wanna clean you up,” he mumbles in response, almost incoherent. He sounds drunk.
“That’s disgusting,” you say, and your voice wavers because he’s already pressing kisses to your inner thighs, getting closer to where you’re sopping wet and messy and dripping with evidence of what you just did.
“Is it?” he hums. “Or are you scared you’ll just like it?”
“I won’t—oh fuck—”
Jungkook Jeon is not allowed to be right this many times, but then his tongue is on you, licking a stripe up your slit, tasting the mixture of yourself and him. Your hips lift to meet his mouth, and the thought dawns on you: he is right. That you do like it. That there’s something about the depravity of it—about him being so eager to taste both of you, so unbothered by what should be a boundary—that makes butterflies simmer low in your belly all over again.
“Tastes so good,” he slurs, “Tastes like us.”
“Nghhh—shit, I’m too sensitive, Jungkook—ahhh.” You wriggle under his grasp.
His tongue circles your clit before dipping into your entrance to lap at the mixture seeping out of you. “Want you oversensitive. Want you to feel this next time you’re sitting across from me in the press room.”
He curls two fingers inside you, gathering the last of the cum dripping out of you. Your fingers scramble for purchase, bunching his blanket into your fists. Once he finally deems you clean enough, he presses a few more kisses to your thigh.
Tiredly, you lift your eyes to meet his. His face is a mess, lips slick and chin glistening with your arousal. He looks so satisfied with himself you want to be annoyed but you’re too wrung out to manage it.
“You good?” he asks, plopping his body beside you.
“Yeah.”
In the aftermath, there’s nothing but a quiet buzz in your brain.
Your mind likes to move. Fight or flight has been your default setting for so long.
But a pleasant hum has settled in your bones, one that is terrifyingly blissful. No contingency plans. No exit strategies.
It’s as though you’re at the edge of a cliff, that moment where your brain chooses flight and screams at you to step back, to choose safety, and yet, it does the opposite.
In the corner of Jungkook’s wall, there’s a water stain shaped like a star. Reminds you of the stars you told your mom you always wanted to see in DC.
“Your ceiling has water damage.”
“That’s what you’re thinking about?” He snorts. “You gonna do a home inspection right now?”
Thinking about the water stain is better than thinking about a lot of things. “The ceiling could cave in. You don’t wanna recreate the Titanic, do you?”
“It was a good movie. I wouldn’t mind it.”
“It was an okay movie. Not worth reliving, in my opinion.”
“You told Jenna and Emma you cry over it everytime you’re on your period.”
Your body stiffens. “Another bullet on the list of creepy things you remember about me.”
“Everything about you is worth remembering.”
You can’t bear to look at him. The reality of it all is catching up. Up until a few weeks ago, you didn’t even know sex with Jungkook Jeon was something you wanted. It was so far-fetched you would laugh even if a psychic predicted it themselves.
And now, all of a sudden, it’s all very real, very undeniable.
“You should get that fixed,” you sigh. “Water damage can lead to mold.”
“I’ve been meaning to. I will soon,” he replies.
This was supposed to be just sex. A one-time thing to get it out of your system. A recommendation from Rosalie, a way to take the edge off. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, like something you could get used to and then lose.
Panic claws up your throat. You bolt upright, moving off the bed. “Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”
He blinks at you, eyebrow cocked in confusion. “What?” His hair is unruly, eyes glazed over. The sight ignites something soft inside you.
“A shirt. T-shirt. Whatever.” Your eyes survey the room. “I need to pee. And drink some water, maybe.”
“Yeah, hold on,” He gets up, naked and completely unselfconscious about it, and rummages through his dresser. He pulls out an oversized black t-shirt with some faded band logo. “Here.”
With shaky hands, you take it and put it on. It’s loose on your frame, hugs you like a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer. It smells just like him, just as everything else he owns. Smells like his Columbia sweatshirt. Smells like New York. Smells like things you need to stop fucking thinking about.
“You better not get a UTI on my watch,” he jokes, tugging his boxers on and flopping back onto the bed. “That would be bad for my reputation.”
“Your reputation as what? A walking sex health ad?”
“As someone who takes care of his partners,” he corrects, and the word ‘partners’ makes your insides turn to goo. “I can’t have you going to the doctor next week explaining how Jungkook Jeon gave you a urinary tract infection. Fox would have a field day.”
“Fox would throw a parade.” You roll your eyes.
His eyes soften. “Do you need anything? Water? I can run you a bath if you want.”
Your stomach sinks to the ground.
Taking care of yourself has never been something you let others do for you. Growing up, there was no one else to do it. Your mom worked to keep the lights on; you learned to pack your own lunches by age seven, do your own laundry by nine, navigate the bus system alone by eleven.
You got good at it, prided yourself on never needing anyone, never asking for help. After all, it's what makes you an intense journalist. You’ll do whatever it takes to get the story.
Jungkook, though, has offered you as much help as he can possibly give. In tiny ways, he shows up for you. He orders Ubers, carries you on his back, remembers your coffee order, your favorite alcohol.
Holds your worries the same as his own, even when those worries involve him being the enemy.
“Bathroom’s the second door on the left.” He breaks your spiral. “Yell if you need me.”
“Thanks,” you swallow thickly. “I’ll just—yeah.”
You flee the bedroom, rushing down the hallway, passing his bathroom. You just keep running and running, bare feet padding against hardwood. You need water and distance and time to shove all these feelings back into the box where they belong.
His kitchen is aesthetically pleasing, like something straight out of a Martha Stewart catalogue. It’s spotless, nothing like the frat house decor you anticipated. The counters are built from expensive quartz you see in renovation shows, a soft grey that catches the light from the pendant fixtures hanging overhead. He has an impressive collection of dishes, glassware, everything neatly organized.
Oh god.
Opening the fridge, you search for the water. He’s stocked with vegetables, meal-prepped lunches, bottles of fancy European water. You grab one at random and crack it open.
But even then, the water doesn’t alleviate the tightness in your chest.
Your feet carry themselves further into his apartment, water bottle gripped tightly in your hand. To your left, the living room opens up, and it still doesn’t match the minimalist bachelor pad you conjured up in your head.
On the wall, there are family photos. Jungkook as a kid, gap-toothed and grinning. His two front teeth resemble those of a bunny, even now. Another of him with what looks like an older brother, both of them in soccer uniforms, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. One of his whole family at what might be a wedding, everyone dressed up, his mom’s hand on his shoulder.
Glimpses of a life you never wanted to know about.
On a desk in the far corner, he has an impressive gaming system. PlayStation 5, Nintendo Switch, high-end headphones, the works. There’s another desk beside it, which you assume is his work space if the pens and highlighters are anything to go by. There’s books on the shelf above, so many books. Political theory, Klein, authors you’ve spent your own nights reading and annotating. Congressional records and policy analysis, books on media bias and the history of American journalism. Jungkook has always been intelligent—you’ve never been able to deny that, even at your most competitive. But this is different. This is seeing the architecture of his mind laid bare, and it’s... it’s like looking in a mirror.
“How to Win Friends and Influence People” by Dale Carnegie, wedged between Machiavelli’s “The Prince” and a biography of Walter Cronkite. You softly snort, chuckling to yourself.
There’s Orwell and Hemingway, literary fiction you wouldn’t have pegged him for. A book on the history of the Korean War, several on economic policy. One on attachment theory that makes you pause—why the hell does he have a psychology book about relationships?
Your eyes drift to the top shelf. There’s more picture frames, family photos, pictures from graduation, him with some other guys you don’t recognize.
But on the far right, turned at a slight angle, there’s a frame you can’t quite make out.
Curiosity sparks within you, and you reach up, standing on your tiptoes to bring the frame down.
Your mouth becomes so dry your tongue sticks to the roof.
It’s you.
You and him in New York, Monroe’s press conference. You two are sitting together, smiling at each other.
Your brain has checked out a while ago, just feelings bubbling up inside, emotions coursing through your veins.
The photograph captures everything. His body is angled towards you, his smile radiant. You mirror his expression, eyes twinkling.
How long has he been looking at you like that?
It all comes flashing back in snapshots now, pieces of that day you didn’t pay attention to at the time. The photographer, some guy with too many cameras, weaving through the crowd, snapping photos of everyone. Jungkook lingering by the photographer, talking to him, gesturing at the camera display.
He wasn’t networking, or doing that thing where he becomes friends with everyone with disgusting charm. He was getting this picture, asking for a copy of this specific moment, getting it printed and framed. Putting it on his shelf where he sees it everyday.
Why the fuck would he do that? Why would he want a photograph of you, of all people? His rival. His competition.
Your hands are shaking as you place the frame back on the shelf, trying to position it exactly how it was. Your heart is hammering so hard you can feel it in your throat.
Your feet carry you back to his bedroom, and he’s on his phone when you push the door open, propped up against his headboard in his boxers. When you enter, he immediately glances up, phone tossed aside without another thought. “You okay?” he asks.
“Fine,” You force a smile. Your eyes scan the room for your clothes. Your underwear is by the foot of the bed, bra somehow ended up on his desk chair. Your blouse is crumpled on the floor near the door. “Where did my pants go?”
“Uh… by the window?” He stands up, looking around. “You heading out?”
“Yeah.” You find your pants, clutching your clothes to your chest. “I’ve got a busy day. You know how it is.”
“Oh, cool,” he quietly says.
“Never stops, right? The news cycle waits for no one,” you nervously chuckle, clambering to put yourself together,
“Right.” You can’t tell what he’s thinking as he watches you. “Do you need a ride?”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s late at night.” He raises a brow.
“People Uber at night all the time, Jungkook. It’s not like I’m going to get murdered in America’s great capital.”
“I’m happy to drive you or order you a car,” he says nonchalantly, like it’s water sliding off his back.
“No, no it’s fine. You should sleep. I’ll be okay.”
There’s a long pause. You’re still not looking at him, too busy trying to figure out how to put your bra back on while holding all your other clothes.
Once you’ve finally got your shirt back on, you say, “This was fun. We got it out of our systems… cleared the air. We can go back to normal now.”
Jungkook looks at you with real resignation scrunching up his face, and you feel like an idiot. “If that’s what you want.”
You don’t know what the fuck you want, but you know that staying here in his apartment with his books and his photos and his picturesque kitchen will make you want things you can’t have.
You feel the need to keep going. “This was—it was good. Really good. But we work together, kind of, and it would be weird if—we can’t—”
“I get it,” he interrupts, “No need to explain.”
But you feel like you do need to explain, need to make sure he understands that this isn’t about him—except the entire thing is about him.
“Don’t treat me any different now that you’ve seen me naked,” You try to crack a joke, but neither of you laugh.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
At the threshold of his bedroom door, some part of you is screaming that you’re making a mistake, that you should turn around and… what? Confess that seeing that photo made your heart stop? Admit that the way he takes care of you terrifies you because you’ve never let anyone do that before? Ask him what the hell he was thinking?
But you don’t do any of those things.
Instead, you tightly smile and say, “See you around.”
synopsis: need a shoulder to cry on or someone to get you off late at night? fear not, because boyfriend hotline is a brand new app that will match you with someone who is more than happy to fulfill any of your boyfriend-related needs.
tags: explicit sexual messages and images. male masturbation (aka jk fucking his fist, again). female masturbation (pillow humping, fingering, etc..). warning: IDIOTS. jealousy.
wc. 4.8k
notes. WE ARE SO BACK!! sorry it's taken an EON to post this! it both thrills and saddens me to say that this is probably going to be the second to last chapter :( the next one will probably take a whileeee bc im planning for it to be HUGE (like 12-15k) so... please stay tuned until the final session!! i love u all so much and im so grateful for your patience <3 hope u enjoy this one!!!
previous. series masterlist. main masterlist. next
Jungkook is jerking off again.
He really shouldn’t be doing this. The bar’s grand opening is only a few days away, there’s a lot of work to do, and he’s already fifteen minutes late to a meeting with his friends. But alas, here he is in his bathroom, dick throbbing in his fist as he lets himself go to the thought of you for the third time this week.
You have to be a witch of some sort. Whatever kind of otherworldly magic that has allowed you to render him a whining, pining puddle of goo every time you talk to him is a mystery.
Since the first session, you’ve found a way to worm into his heart, message by message, making him smile at his phone like a fool—something he hasn’t done since he was thirteen.
At first, he was just having fun. Getting to know a new client was always fun at first. But as he got to know you more, he realized that there was something about you he just couldn’t get out of his mind.
You were awkward, but charming. Honest, but secretive. Nervous, but flirty. A total contradiction all wrapped up into a small circle profile picture at the top of his phone, coming to life one random Tuesday night when he got on a call with you and realized that you were real.
Now, he can’t stop thinking about it. Correction: he can’t stop thinking about you.
Your gentle sighs—how they spilled from your glossy lips, how you watched him with desperate, watery eyes, rolling them to the back of your head as you softly moaned his name.
He can’t look at the color purple the same. Sharpies make him shudder.
He spits on his hand and coats his cock with saliva, grip tightening. Fire courses through his veins, and obscene, sticky sounds melt together with his low grunts as he fucks his fist while thinking of you.
The memory morphs into a vivid fantasy, one where you’re trembling beneath him in real life, shuddering with every time he touches your soft, supple skin. You challenge him with some bratty quip, push his buttons with teasing touches, and then beg him to spoil you after he fucks you so good you can’t help but want more.
You’d piss him off and laugh about it. Get slapped in the face and look back at him with a stupidly lovesick smile. His dick throbs almost painfully.
Yeah, he’s a real piece of shit, alright. But fuck it, he can’t stop.
“Fuck,” he heaves, eyes screwing shut as his breaths grow more laboured. He picks up the pace.
He dreams slamming you against a wall, smashing your body against some hard surface where you have nowhere to escape, pulling your hair back as he snaps his hips forward and rams his cock into your dripping cunt from behind.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grunts, sticky squelches echoing in the empty bathroom.
Shit, he’s already close. But he doesn’t want this to be over yet. One hand pumps up and down his spit-coated length, the other is propped against the white wall, trembling.
You know, if he had to choose a color to describe you, it’d be white, he thinks—as a futile means of temporary distraction.
White—sometimes almost translucent, sometimes blindingly opaque.
Translucent in the way you wear your heart on your sleeve, opaque in how you try to hide your true thoughts with sharp words and strained laughter. White, because he wants to stain your color with his. Preferably with the color from his—
Fuck.
His hips buck forward, his vision goes hazy, and all he can recall is the sound of his name tumbling out of your mouth as he reaches his high, white ropes spewing out of him and splattering all over his bathroom sink.
The aftermath is a warm, sticky hand, a dirty bathroom, and a dejected sigh. His reflection, clammy and flushed, stares back at him.
What a loser.
He’s winded. How do you manage to take his breath away even when you’re not there? The weight of reality settles in on him as he takes a few moments to catch his breath, dick softening and curling into its pathetic, normal, shameful self.
Jesus Christ. He really shouldn’t have done that. He’s going straight to hell.
You’re a client; he’s a service provider. This is totally unprofessional, and probably unethical of him to do.
But then again, he’s already crossed so many lines with you…
What’s one more?
“Earth to Jungkook,” Taehyung sing-songs, waving a hand in front of his face.
Jungkook snaps out of his daze, shaking his head. “Uh, sorry, what were we talking about again?”
From across the room, Jimin rolls his eyes. “The invite list.” He points to a white board that stands in the middle of the room. “For the grand opening party.”
Right. Today, they’re planning the grand opening of the bar they’ve been working on for the past few months. The three of them have pooled their savings together, just enough for a down payment, and one of their friends who’s a lawyer helped them negotiate a pretty nice lease contract. It’s been a few months since they’ve gotten the place, and it’s mostly furnished now. They already have a couple job applications rolling through for bartenders and waitresses, too.
In essence, practically all of the preparations are completed. All that’s left is actually opening the place. And to do that, Taehyung had the idea of hosting a grand opening party and inviting friends from all over town.
“Let’s just tell our friends to bring their friends who’ll bring their friends and so on. ” Jungkook shifts forward in his seat, leaning to take a closer look at the whiteboard. “Do we need to invite more?”
There are currently about twenty names listed on the board. Realistically, that’s not a whole lot for an establishment with a capacity of eighty.
“I don’t know, man. I’m just worried that no one’s going to show up.” Jimin chucks a whiteboard marker into a small basket, trotting over to a booth to plop down dramatically with a sigh. “Why do we have no friends?”
“Because we’ve spent the past year either working on this bar, or telling girls how to touch themselves,” Taehyung helpfully supplies.
“Need I remind you that it was your idea?”
Jungkook snorts.
Many months ago, when the three of them had just quit their day jobs and were in desperate need of cash, Taehyung had come to them with an amazing new discovery: Boyfriend Hotline. He said it was an easy way to make extra cash, and for lack of better options, Jungkook and Jimin decided to try it out.
It ended up being… very effective. Guess all those years hoe-ing around in college paid off. Soon, the three of them climbed up the ranks, becoming some of the highest paid service providers in the system. Some of their other friends started doing it too. In fact, he’s pretty sure that Hoseok is considering doing it full-time since it pays so well.
However, just because it pays well doesn’t mean that it’s easy, though. Like any other job, there are ups and downs, but as time goes on the work becomes more…tiring. Like an endless cycle of listening to people’s worries and being treated like an on-demand lover.
They’ve seen it all; widows who are mourning their dead husbands and expect them to become an immediate reincarnation of their buried lovers, women who have had generational runs of bad luck with shitty men who just want to be loved, and people with odd kinks—ones that they can’t share with the partners they have in real life.
It’s fulfilling work, but not viable long-term. Frankly, the three of them are more than ready to leave that career behind.
But somewhere inside Jungkook’s heart, lodged deep within the tissue of said organ, he thinks he’ll miss it. Specifically, he’ll miss you.
He’ll miss your sense of humor and bratty attitude. He’ll miss the way you say his name. The way you’d say the dirtiest things with the softest voice. And most importantly, he’ll miss talking to you—simply being in your company.
Taehyung and Jimin, however, do not hold such sentiments, and it’s clear in the way they react to any notification from the raunchy app—like it’s actually draining work, and not a fun little side hustle anymore. Jungkook isn’t so sure when that shift happened.
At that very moment, Jimin’s phone buzzes. He tugs the phone from his back pocket and stares at the screen for a moment, before sighing in the way an old man with back problems would.
“Chat client,” he supplies, standing up and making his way to the bathroom. “I’ll be back.”
Taehyung chuckles, a playful taunt at his lips, “If you’re just texting, why do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“Yeah, Jimin.” Jungkook joins in. “Gonna rub one out?”
The bathroom door clicks open. Jimin turns back, eyes narrowed towards Jungkook playfully.
“Nope.” He sticks out his tongue, far too childishly for his age. “I’m not like you, Jungkook.”
“Oh fuck off,” Jungkook grumbles, snatching a whiteboard marker from a nearby table and chucking it at him.
Jimin evades with a satisfied giggle, ducking behind and closing the door just in time, and the marker falls to the floor with a pitiful clunk. Taehyung snickers, which earns him a venomous glare. Taehyung’s gaze remains insistently teasing nonetheless.
“Come on, you have to admit it’s pretty funny.”
“What’s funny?”
“The way you got banned from the app just to talk to a pretty girl.”
He crosses his arms. “It was worth it. I stand by that.”
Taehyung lets out a low whistle, leaning back onto the booth and watching Jungkook with careful eyes.
“You really like her, huh?”
Jungkook pauses. He considers.
It’s true that you haven’t left his mind for several days now. It’s true that he can’t get turned on by the thought of anyone but you. It is also true, however, that he’s only talked to you a handful of times, and that you probably only see him as… well, a service provider. Because that’s what he is.
So even if he does entertain the thought of liking you—really liking you, as Taehyung is suggesting—what’s he going to do about it?
It’s not like you’d ever like him back, right?
…right?
“She’s a client,” is what he settles on saying.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Menace, Jungkook’s brain whispers.
It’s no secret that he violated several contract clauses for you. The other day, when they had asked Jungkook why he was so free lately, he couldn’t come up with a plausible excuse and ended up revealing everything to them, including getting temporarily banned. Since taking up the Boyfriend Hotline thing, none of them have seriously dated in a while, so it was a pretty big deal, and Taehyung can be surprisingly pushy about these kinds of things.
“Okay, fine. Maybe I’m a bit sweet on her,” he admits. “Happy?”
Taehyung chuckles, “That’s quite the understatement.” Jungkook really doesn’t like that. Taehyung continues anyway. “You’re like a thirteen year old boy when it comes to her.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. Maybe he should try talking about it. Taehyung, at the end of the day, is one of his best friends.
“I think she’s a witch or something,” he confesses. This earns him a hearty laugh. “I’m serious.”
Taehyung snorts. “Sorry, sorry, go on.”
Jungkook glares but quickly returns to his dramatic storytelling.
“Anyways, she’s really hot, I guess.” Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose, recalling all the times he’s talked to you. “She’s also really annoying.”
“Annoying?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook confirms, laughing softly as he remembers moments where you’ve riled him up like no other. “She pisses me off. Never says anything nice to me.” He thinks some more. “Well, sometimes she does. But more often than not she’s just mean.”
Taehyung blinks twice. Weirdly, Jungkook’s eyes practically have hearts in them.
“She’s trouble.” Jungkook sighs, but he doesn’t seem all that upset. “Big, big, trouble,” he repeats. “Maybe I do like her a little bit more than I should.”
Taehyung tries not to laugh. His friend is screwed. Really fucking screwed. Jungkook leans back, shrugging nonchalantly.
“But what can I do? It’s not like she likes me or anything.”
The moment of silence that follows is so long that Jungkook almost thinks that Taehyung is having a stroke. Then, Taehyung scoffs once, his face returning still for half a second, before erupting into an obnoxious fit of cackling.
“You’re so whipped,” he wheezes. “I never thought I’d see Downbad Jungkook in the big 2026.”
And now, Jungkook is back to glaring.
“I pour out my heart to you and this is what I get?”
“Sorry man.” Taehyung tries his best to recover—he really does—but his voice still quivers with laughter when he speaks. “It’s just that you’ve never looked so pathetic for a girl before. Usually you’re all fuckboy vibes instead of pining loser.“
“Wow.” Jungkook takes a moment to stare, blinking in shock. “That’s refreshing. I’ve never been called a pining loser before.”
Taehyung smiles, finally not actively guffawing. “You should go for it.”
Jungkook snickers. “Go for what?”
“The girl, duh,” he replies. “You clearly like her a lot, and we’ll be too busy with the bar to do the hotline thing anymore. So you should go for it while you still can.”
Now this is something that Jungkook hadn’t even realized was a possibility. Him? Pursue you? But the more he thinks about it, the more he starts believing it could happen. From the little that he’s talked to you, he’s been able to gather that:
You want a relationship.
You think he’s attractive.
This epiphany is evident in the way his face lights up—and Taehyung notices it too.
Yeah, why the hell not? He’ll find a way to tell you his Instagram or phone number or something next time. He’ll tell you that he’ll be leaving Boyfriend Hotline, and that soon—he’ll be all yours. Perhaps then, you’d consider him. Surely, you would, right?
“Maybe I will.”
Taehyung smirks, satisfied. Leaning over to grab a can of beer from the cooler on the floor, he tosses one to Jungkook. An air of thrill fills the air, the kind that is entirely unspoken—far too sappy for men like Jungkook and Taehyung to acknowledge, but one that buzzes with excitement. The start of something new. After all, Jungkook hasn’t pursued anything serious in ages.
They talk mindlessly about other things for a little while before Jimin exits the bathroom, slowly chuckling to himself.
Curious, Jungkook tilts his head. “Funny client?”
“Hilarious,” Jimin snorts dryly. “Check this out.”
Scurrying over to the other two, Jimin whips out his phone and faces his screen towards them. Jungkook scooches closer, leaning forward. Taehyung does the same.
Between the three of them, Jimin often gets the weirdest clients since he’s marketed himself as someone who specializes in roleplay. He really does enjoy it for the most part, as a matter of fact, but sometimes client requests can get quite extreme.
He tries to not tell them about the weird kinks he encounters—client confidentiality and all—but sometimes he can’t help but share the particularly wild stories. Like, someone once asked him to pretend to be their favorite sports car model, and he had to make engine noises the whole time—only to get scolded when he didn’t get the revving noises “right.”
“Don’t tell me you had to be a Chevrolet Corvette again,” Taehyung teases.
“I told you to never mention that again.” Jimin lightly smacks him on the head. “She was pretty chill, actually.”
Jungkook laughs, eyes flickering to the phone for a short second before he urgently covers the screen with his hand.
“Wait, are you sure you should be showing us the screen?” He gestures to Jimin’s phone. “I don’t need to see the face behind the kink, you know.”
Jimin rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not that she has a weird kink.” He removes Jungkook’s hand. “She just humiliated the fuck out of me,” he chuckles dryly. “Look.”
Cautiously eyeing his friend, Jungkook decides to take a peek simultaneously with Taehyung.
He knows he should be focusing on the messages—where a particularly funny quip sends Taehyung laughing so hard he rolls onto the floor. Messages that, in any other circumstance, would’ve earned an impressed snicker at most before being forgotten for the rest of the day.
But instead of the messages, he can’t help but notice the tiny little circle profile picture at the top of the screen. The girl who has been sexting Jimin—in essence, sexting other men—and the owner of the admittedly charming personality who managed to make his friends almost die of laughter.
It’s you.
And his stomach drops.
It was a stupid idea in the first place.
Your phone thumps onto your pillow as you flop down with a sigh. Your head hurts and your body aches. How could you think that these sext-chat boyfriends would really work?
It scares you, really, how far gone you are. Pathetically requesting another service provider as if that would get you out of your slump instead of locking in and getting a job, or actually doing something productive instead of moping around over men who get paid to text you.
God, you have to look so stupid right now, wearing nothing but your panties as you lay on your bed, dejected.
But it’s over. You’ve deleted the app. There’s no going back.
However, a single fact remains true: you’re still horny.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you mutter into your side pillow. You cross your legs around it, squeezing tight as you groan dejectedly. “I’m the worst.”
The pressure of the pillow against your crotch feels nice. Too nice. You grind into it once, still not fully committed to masturbating after a failed sex chat attempt. How was it so easy with Jungkook, again?
Jimin wasn’t a bad service provider, per se. He was really cute and he didn’t say anything wrong. But perhaps, he was simply too… clinical? Transactional? It was like he saw you as a customer rather than another person. As soon as he “figured out” what kind of service you wanted, he changed his texting style—it just felt weirdly inauthentic.
Or maybe, he just wasn’t Jungkook—who is apparently the only person who can turn you on these days.
With Jungkook, you’d forget that you were paying him to talk to you or that you were even on an app to begin with.
Jungkook’s voice fills your head, low and gravelly and teasing, so charming that just the recollection of it sends a tingle down your spine.
“Never gonna say a nice thing to me?”
“Give me a show, princess.”
You whimper, your panties shifting against the pillow as you hump it like a bunny in heat. When did you start moving faster? And why the hell can’t you stop?
“Fucking brat. You’re dripping all over the place for me.”
“Goddammit,” you sigh, now far too horny to give a shit about being pathetic.
Your hands come up to play with your nipples, drawing slow circles around them—just like how Jungkook would tell you to.
He’d watch you push yourself to your limit with those dark, dark, eyes, and chuckle cockily when you’d beg him to let you touch yourself.
For a moment, you imagine that he’s the one touching you. How would his hands feel? Would they be callused from his time at the gym? Because he definitely has to go to the gym—otherwise, wouldn’t have those washboard abs or those beefy biceps.
Oh fuck—his biceps.
You want them to crush your head. You want them flexed as he hovers above you, hand around your neck as he rams his cock into you while calling you a dirty little whore.
You can’t take it anymore. Gone is the pillow, discarded somewhere on the floor as you push it away to sit up and pull your panties off.
“I fucking hate him,” you groan, your hand coming down to feel the wetness between your folds.
You immediately shudder as you slip in your ring and middle finger. Your other hand tweaks at your nipples, pinching and pulling as your other hand slowly pumps in and out, stretching out your embarrassingly drenched cunt and putting pressure on your sensitive nub in the process.
He’d do it better, you can’t help but think. His cock was huge—massive, really. He’d stretch you out so good.
You wonder if he’s the type to push in slowly, always checking in on you to make sure that you’re okay, or if he's the type to slam himself in one go, balls slapping against your skin as bucks his hips forward, cackling wildly when you cry out.
Fingers scooping against your walls, a sudden bolt of pleasure runs through you at the thought of him being here. Without realizing it, you’ve soaked your bedsheets again, and you haven’t even finished yet.
The next thing you imagine is him going down on you. His face between your thighs, fluffy hair tickling your skin, eyes boring into you as you can’t help but lose yourself.
“Ju-Jungkook,” you whimper, lost in the fantasy.
Oh screw it. You can’t stop—in your mind, he’s here with you, tongue dragging through your folds and fingers digging into your hips.
He has a lip ring, your brain supplies. You wonder if it’d feel cool, or if the smooth metal would blend in with his soft tongue as he laps against your folds. You’re not too sure—you’ve never gotten head from someone with a lip ring before.
But God, you really really really want to find out.
Just as you’re about to finish, you imagine him looking up at you, face dripping with your wetness and a cocky smile after he pushes you to the edge and denies you an orgasm. He’d get up and look down on you, all muscle and smooth skin, and use those big strong arms to haul you up and flip you over so that you’re on your knees.
He’d slap your ass and call it pretty or something, then lean over and whisper into your ear that you’re still a stupid little brat, and that he’s going to give it to you so good that you won’t remember your own name.
And yeah. He’d totally be the type to slam himself in one go, you decide.
He’d grab your hair. Pull it back. Bite your shoulder—especially if he’s close.
There is much more you want to imagine. How he’d fuck you in your bedroom and force you to watch it all happen in the mirror. The way he’d cover your mouth and muffle your moans while giving it to you in a bathroom. How he’d leave marks all over your body—to both worship and ruin you.
But you don’t get to ignite all of these fantasies because you orgasm at the mere thought of his cock being in you for the first time.
Your toes curl and your fingers are working faster and more aggressively than ever before. Wet squelches spray out of you, pussy throbbing as you chase your high with desperate moans. Your whole body writhes.
When it’s all over, you’re a panting, sweaty mess. A few moments pass—just enough for you to regain your grasp on reality.
You can’t believe you just did that.
It’s all real now. Your soaked panties, the drenched bedsheets, the clammy feeling you always get after sex.
Fuck. You’re staring at the ceiling as if cement could give you answers on why you’re so pathetic. The ceiling, obviously, does not supply you with any answers.
You sit up and check your phone. It’s 12 PM. You’ve spent far too many hours today just trying to cure your insatiable horniness, and that was way too early in the morning to be jerking off. Really, how could you allow yourself to get to this point?
Okay, you need to get to work.
Fuck men. Fuck boyfriends. Fuck love.
Fuck this weird, catatonic emotional state where you’re far too passionate for a situationship, too traumatized for commitment, and just miserable enough to yearn.
And look at where the hell that has gotten you: here. Panties and fingers soaked from the memory of something that didn’t actually happen, pining for a man who probably wouldn’t care if you died tomorrow.
Like seriously, you need to get a life.
So, work you go.
It’s the normal routine. Quick shower. All black outfit. A fifteen minute walk from your apartment.
Soon, you’re welcomed with the smell of coffee and sugary pastries, accompanied by the gentle hum of lofi-beats. You clock in at the register and tie the cafe’s signature brown apron around your waist.
It’s a textbook cafe, one so ordinary you’re sure anyone else would forget it if they walked past, but for you, it’s been a safe haven these last few months.
Located at the corner of a long mall strip, tucked away after several boutique stores and small restaurants, it’s just exactly the kind of place you need to be. Peaceful. Predictable. Quiet.
Your boss, an old lady with far too many cats waiting for her at home, greets you as soon as you finish prepping the storefront.
“Oh great! I was just looking for you!”
You laugh softly. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Kim?”
She smiles, trotting over with a card in her hand.
“You know the building across from ours?”
You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes at the store across the street. There’s been a lot of movement there for the past few weeks, with furniture people moving in furniture and business people doing business in there, or something. You haven’t been paying much attention, but yeah, you know it exists.
“Yeah?”
She giggles. “Well, a few hunks came here earlier saying that they are opening a bar there soon and they want to do a grand opening party! And we’re invited!”
You laugh, trying to share her excitement. “Oh really?”
She hands you the card. On it is what you assume to be the name and location of the new bar: Stirred and Co.
“The thing is…” She grabs onto your arm with an insistent hold, a dramatic, teary look washing over her eyes. “I’m already an old lady… I don’t think this kind of thing is for me. And I definitely don’t think my husband is too keen on me attending a party with all of those young studs!” She pauses to laugh, “Goodness, you should’ve seen the look on his face when they walked in!”
“Oh, uh,” you chuckle awkwardly, “I’m not sure if a party is—”
“Come on, sweetheart,” she whines, tugging on your arm. “I know that you’ve had it rough recently. Why not do something fun?”
You pause. After your big break with Jackson, you asked if Mrs. Kim could schedule you for twice as many shifts as usual, which led to her asking why, and of course, you spilled the beans because oversharing is an integral part of who you are, obviously.
“And those men…” she trails off, a mischievous look in her eyes, “I’ll go ahead and tell you that they are some fine young fellows, alright. They’d look real nice with a pretty girl like you.”
It’s not a bad idea, you think. If they’ve invited Mrs. Kim, they’ve probably also invited all the other store owners around the block, too. You already know Mr. Lee, who owns the vinyl shop next to the cafe, and there’s also the sweet couple who recently had a son that runs the flower shop across the street, too. You’ll definitely know some people and you wouldn’t mind getting some eye candy, if these bar owners are the hotshots Mrs. Kim claims them to be.
So sure, why not live a little?
Mrs. Kim seems to notice you giving into the idea. It would also make her happy, you think, and you do owe her a lot given that she’s been an exceptionally great boss to you.
“It’s a week from now,” she adds. “And they said you could invite a friend, if you want.”
Maybe Jennie can go with you. She loves free alcohol and parties, and it’d make everything less nerve-wracking, too. The more you think about it, the more you realize that maybe you actually, truly, deep down in your heart, want to go.
Maybe you want a distraction. Maybe you want to have fun. Or maybe, you just like a good party.
So, you politely smile, relenting.
“Okay. I’ll go.”
mei's extended note. phew i know this was a shorter chapter but it sure knocked the life out of me. many things are brewing... hehehe. tell me your predictions and what you want to see! i love to serve my customers (wink wink)... so if you want to see something SAY SOMETHING! maybe it will happen :) thanks for reading! i love you all! <3
thank u sooo much for the mention 🫶🏻 i’ve been loving your every single rec list sooo bad and i appreciate you so much for the effort and attention you always put in them 🫶🏻 forever honored to be included 🙂↕️🩷
hello!! the f2l list is here. i’ve tried to include as many fics as possible, covering all kinds of f2l, from childhood friends to best friends and everything in between. if you have any more recs, please feel free to reach out. my inbox is always open :3 and let’s make it a little ritual. before every list, we take a moment to thank all the wonderful authors for their incredible writing, creativity, and the time and effort they put into sharing these stories with us for free. you guys are literally blessing us. love y’all so much <33
note: the dividers used here are not mine. they’re taken from this post by @chrisssiren :3
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your new neighbor is just numbingly cute, but it’s hard getting his attention. so when you find out he’s handy, you decide to sabotage every single item in your home, trying to lure him in.
⌗ pairings. jeon jungkook x female reader
⌗ word count. 20k
⌗ warnings and tags. idiots to lovers, idiot!oc and idiot!jungkook, voyeurism, just pure insanity, a lot of dumb jokes, dumbbb inner monologue, a room with a view, m!masturbation, more idiocy, fingering, oc has an inner thigh tattoo, f!masturbation, dryhumping (kinda), teasing, subby!koo, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), cowgirl, creampie.
notes ! alrighty guys, she’s here. i’ve been working on her for two months now, and i’ve grown stupidly fond of these two characters, so i couldn’t help but write a bit of a sugar-sweet ending. also, i’ve kept the synopsis kind of vague cuz i’m not spoiling shit. this wraps my part of the press rewind collab, but ana’s ‘taste the crush’ is still on the way so don’t go crying in the corner, now! it will blow ur minds <3
banner by my gf @voyter
The moving-truck pulls up at exactly 7:15 am. You know this why? Well, because the excruciating noise of the car backing up, that repetitive beep outside your window, is practically ringing in your eardrums by now.
And on a Saturday for christ’s sake. Can’t a girl sleep through the morning anymore? Are we past that point?
These last weeks have been nothing but large stacks of paperwork and overtime at the office, so you really do cling to the weekend like your life depends on it. But today, this exact morning, it doesn’t look like you’ll be getting it your way.
You roll over in bed, pulling the covers over your head before screaming into the pillow. Screaming so overwhelmingly loud that your head starts pounding. Or it might be the actual tinnitus you’ve received from this fucking monster of a moving-truck that has rolled up and ruined your entire day.
The pillow gets covered in both spit and what seems like actual tears before you breathe out, trying to calm yourself. But as your scream dies down, the sound of the truck returns, and with it comes loud noises which are seemingly two men speaking to each other. Screaming at each other might be a better description, since they can’t possibly hear a word either of them are saying over the loud beeps.
“More to the right!” one of them yells, a deep and desperate voice.
“It won’t fucking go more to the right!”
Your face is actually hurting from how hard you’re frowning, your expression turning into an exaggerated crying-face. You fold your hands together, and you actually pray to God, something you haven’t done in a while. Last time was when you forgot to pay your phone bill, and you begged to higher powers every time you had to make a phone call. It feels nice getting in touch with God again, even though you’re not much of a believer, it’s good to know he’s there. Like a free therapist.
“You have more room!” the first voice screams out, and your prayers get cut short.
After this loud exclaim, the street outside your window turns into complete mayhem. Overbearing voices layering over each other, cursing and complaining, while the repetitive sound of the truck backing up continues throughout the two men’s heated argument.
“I want my mom,” is all you’re able to cry out into the pillow, so incredibly tired and defeated that the thought of waking up at this hour has your stomach turning. Maybe you should go puke.
The noise is apparently never-ending. The guys continue to scream and shout while the truck is in park, and now comes the loud screech of the rolling back-door being opened. It sounds like metal grinding on metal, high-pitched enough to make your teeth ache.
That’s it. You’ve had enough. If these idiots are planning on waking the whole neighborhood, fine by you, but they are not about to ruin your sleep. Your oh-so-precious sleep.
You lift your torso off the bed so abruptly that your covers fly off your body. The cowlick in your hair is so prominent now that your scalp actually feels sore. A bed head so crazy that it hurts. But that’s not of importance right now, not when these morons are still loose in the street. They should be happy you don’t carry weapons in your home.
With a groan that reverberates off the walls, you get out of bed and hurry your way out of the room, down the stairs and to your hallway. In a frenzy, you search for something to cover your silken nightgown, and ultimately pull on a long, fuzzy coat, arms hugging your frame as you step into your shoes.
You fumble with the lock before the door evidently opens, and as you step out, your eyes lock with the humongous moving-truck. It’s parked outside the house facing yours. Great, you already hate your new neighbor, it’s just wonderful that they’re this close.
Your lips curl as you close in on the truck. You can’t see the two men, but you can still hear them arguing. They’re probably hidden behind the large frame of the vehicle. So you prepare yourself to scold them, without really knowing where to aim your aggression.
“Good morning to you too! Are you guys that—”
Your words die in your throat. Because as the greeting leaves your lips, one of the men step forward from behind the truck. And you think you’re about to have an aneurism.
“Sorry, sorry—I know. It’s a lot of noise.” The guy sticks his neck out, slightly bowing before you. He’s stupidly hot. Like earth-shattering attractive, the kind of guy you usually only see in magazines at the kiosk. He’s in a buttoned-up denim jacket, and it looks like he’s wearing nothing underneath, the neckline revealing just a sliver of skin. Enough for you to go mute, anyways.
Your eyes widen, and your lips curl inwards to suppress any kind of sound that might escape you. Unfortunately you’re not properly dressed for this meet, as you’re in nothing but a satin pajama set and an open coat, one you immediately wrap around yourself by crossing your arms tight over your chest. Who is this guy? Please dear god let him be your new neighbor and not just some boy helping with the unloading, some guy who works for this awful truck’s company. He’s so cute.
He stretches tall before you, his broad figure blocking out the morning sun that should be covering your face. And you stand there like some kind of idiot in a white, fuzzy coat, unable to form words. It’s fortunate that it’s early enough for you to brush this off as morning-fog, and not you actually going dense over seeing an attractive person of the opposite sex. You’ve already forgotten why you’re here, why you decided to bother this man.
“D-did I wake you?” he asks, and you almost miss his question entirely as you keep drifting away, ogling at the piercing in his lip. It’s so delicately placed, just a small silver spiral on the left side of his bottom lip.
Okay you have to speak before you come off as either incredibly creepy, or very dense. The first option is what motivates you the most. “Well… kind of—but it’s all good,” you lie. You wish you could’ve slept through the morning, at least for another hour. But hey, if you weren’t awake by now, you would’ve maybe never met this mysterious man (who please, please, please might be your new neighbor).
The truck driver steps out of the vehicle, an older man with a snap back and a fat stomach. You don’t really have the same reaction seeing him as you did the stud standing before you. “Need help?” He gestures towards the boxes inside the back of the van.
The boy turns from you, shaking his head at the driver, “No-no, I can manage.”
“Let me at least help you unload it—you’ve got a lot of shit.”
Your new neighbor laughs awkwardly, his eyes darting towards you before immediately looking away again. Awe cute, he’s having trouble keeping eye contact. You flush involuntarily, and as you’re about to speak — ask him if he does need help, if he’s moving here alone — he rolls up one of his sleeves, and you forget all questions. Dear mother of god. His forearm is covered in tattoos, a sleeve so detailed you can’t help but squint, trying to make out what they read. Not only is his arm inked, but his knuckles are covered as well.
What a beautiful man. Is it weird you want to lick them? Maybe, let’s not go there just yet.
He chuckles, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his head, “Fine you unload it, so I can apologize to this nice lady.”
Oh my god that’s you. Hello! You swallow hard, almost choking on your own saliva, eyes widening with something between surprise and flush. Trying to redeem yourself, trying not to look fucking dense, and you giggle. Fuck that might not help at all. You crease your eyebrows, straightening your posture, and try speaking.
“No, no, I was serious, don’t apologize. I needed a waking up, anyways!”
He laughs, one of his hands moving up to fiddle with the silver hoop in his ear. “I feel like I made a shit first impression.”
First impression. Oh my god — he is your new neighbor. Cue the fireworks, this might be the best day of your entire life. He’s moving into the home just above the street, and that only means one thing. His bedroom window overlooks yours, vice versa. This had up until now been quite the problem, as your past neighbor was an old unmarried woman. It was upon catching a glimpse of her through your window late one evening that you realized everything starts to sag when getting older.
So you’ve grown a habit of drawing the curtains. Maybe you don’t need to, now. Or maybe it’s even more important you do, as seeing this man undress — or maybe with another girl — might not be all that great for your sanity. But let’s not discuss voyeurism already, you should maybe start by answering him.
“You really haven’t—but if it helps I can think of many ways for you to redeem yourself.”
Why did you say it like that? It feels like someone has just spilled a bucket of ice over your shoulders, your entire body tensing after the sentence leaves you. You were just trying to sound cool, casual maybe, but instead you’ve ended up sounding like someone straight from a porno. The driver who is still standing just by the two of you, eavesdropping, chuckles as he shakes his head, turning to get back in the truck — finally leaving the two of you alone.
Eager to change the subject and flee your own embarrassment, you give him your name in a haste, trying to steer away from whatever nonsense you just told him. He nods quickly, parting his lips, about to give you his name. You on instinct bow, arms flat by your sides… which is something you should have never done.
“I’m Jungkook, nice to—”
You don’t know which one of you misread the situation, but as you bow, Jungkook stretches his hand out, presumably to shake yours — but this ends in his flat palm grazing the side of your boob. Your coat is unfortunately open, and his hand slips past the fabric as you bend, long fingertips brushing against your soft pyjamas.
Apparently you’re not very good at this ‘welcoming’ thing. Fuck.
Alright. It’s been a week since Jungkook moved in. He’s been living in the house just before yours, you’re literally facing each other.
So where the hell is he? Hopefully he hasn’t moved away out of sheer embarrassment. That would’ve just been too horrific.
You’ve been checking your mailbox a bit more often than usual, you’ve been mowing your lawn for the first time in years, you’ve found any old excuse to exit your home and move out into your yard… seemingly all for nothing.
Because every time you’re out there, every time you look out your window, every time you drive by — his lights are off.
And you’re pretty sure he’s not living some kind of nocturnal life like a creature who despises the sun, or any kind of light whatsoever. So is he hiding? Or has he just not moved in yet? After your first (and only) meet, you ran back inside just to watch him carry all the heavy boxes through his front door. Drool was practically coating your chin as you saw the way his jaw tightened with every heavy lift, how his eyebrows creased. His jean jacket was covering his muscles, but that was probably for the best… you don’t know what the sight of his biceps would do to you.
This was of course after the both of you apologized after the unfortunate boob-graze. That’s an interaction you can’t seem to forget, as it’s literally eating you alive. You have to see him again, you have to make sure he’s not sickeningly embarrassed by your presence.
Anyways: you saw him carry all his belongings into the new home… so you would assume he has moved in? He has moved in. But where on gods green earth is he?
Your glass of water overflows, coating your hand as you’ve forgotten to turn off the faucet. You click your tongue, screw the handle shut, and tip your head down. You’ve been standing by the sink, the one by the window, drifting away as you stare at Jungkook’s house.
A loud sigh escapes you. A week ago, you thought you’d finally have something exiting to focus on, a new crush in the midst of your horrible everyday life, which sadly only consists of work, work, and more work. You need a distraction, so badly it hurts… so where the hell is the cute boy-next-door?
A week and two days. Jungkook has been ‘missing’ for a week and two days. You could cry. You should’ve never gotten your hopes up, you fucking idiot.
You’ve now taken comfort in loud music, trying to drown out your thoughts after a nine hour shift, the bass in your car speaker vibrating as you’ve cranked the volume up as far as it goes. Donna Summers. She’s the only one that’s helping right now.
You’re nearing your neighborhood, singing along to Donna’s vile lyrics about pleasure and men, kind of crying on the inside. It’s been so long. Work is consuming you, and all the men around you are fucking dumb in their brains. Mushy brain activity. So you haven’t had the time… and you haven’t wanted to either. And now, you think you might’ve forgotten how to do it. Every part of it. It’s been, what, four months now? Jesus.
The next turn leads to your street. You lower the volume just a bit, as you don’t want to disturb the neighborhood. You slow as you’re about to enter your driveway… when everything inside you turns to liquid.
He’s here.
There, in his driveway, carrying a large speaker out of his trunk, is Jungkook.
As your whole body is tuned to him, you have to be careful not to run him over as excitement takes a hold of you. So you pretend you’re fine, slowly driving by as you turn in your driveway, parking your car. Your whole body is vibrating, trembling as you cut off the engine. You have to really prep your mind, calm down, before you step out.
He’s just across from you when you’re out the door, walking carefully across his yard not to drop the heavy stereo. And he’s dressed so cutely that you could cry… he’s in a beanie. Just a thick, black beanie with a small, white logo in the middle. He looks like a marble, actually. A boy with a very wide, large frame, who just happens to have a very round head, and a set of very kissable cheeks.
Okay let’s not go there, let’s clear our heads. You take a deep breath, and you swallow a scream as Jungkook locks eyes with you when you step out of your car, a tiny smile stretching across his face.
Alright, he’s smiling. He’s not hiding from you. He might’ve not let your last interaction eat him alive. You have to speak first, seem casual.
“Well, hi there, neighbor.” You hope it sounds casual, flirty. Not weird. Maybe even a bit seductive.
Unfortunately, you caught him at a bad time… the stereo is really heavy. You see him form his mouth around the word ‘sorry’ before lowering the large piece to the ground with a grunt. He wipes away a glisten of sweat before placing a hand on his hip, steadying his breathing. “Oh, hi… look who it is.”
He remembers you. If you weren’t doing everything in your power to stay cool right now, you could probably run up and down the walls of your house. But you don’t, obviously. Instead, you slowly cross the street, ready to converse (casually) with your neighbor.
“I think that’s my line,” you answer as you’re closing in on him, finally crossing the curb of his driveway. “Thought I’d lost a perfectly good neighbor.”
You’re finally back to your true self, not that sheepish, brain-dead girl from your first meet. You tiptoe your way over to him, and to your surprise he responds by scrunching his nose. His eyes narrow, and a tiny almost unnoticeable smile forms in a small line across his face.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he coos, now leaning on the tall speaker.
“Where’ve you been?”
His hand comes up to scratch the back of his head, the beanie falling slightly into is eyes, something he fixes right away with a quick tug. “Had to postpone my move… uh the—” he stops himself to chuckle, “The plumbing system needed a bit work.”
Ohhhhh. You realize you’d gotten yourself worked up over nothing, when in reality he just stumbled upon some hardship in his new home. A soft giggle escapes you, but you snap out of it, optioning for calm and collected. “Sorry, jesus, doesn’t that cost like a ton?”
Jungkook shrugs, “Not when you do the job yourself.”
Okay, so he’s handy. That’s good to know. It’s almost primal, but knowing a man is good with his hands… could it really get much better than that?
After Jungkook’s official move in, you see him more often. You engage in light conversation when the two of you leave for work, seemingly at the same time every day, around 7:30 am. Apparently, he works at a hotel, but exactly what it is he does is something you haven’t gotten to ask him yet. But you know his days are longer than yours, you can hear the sound of his car pulling up in his driveway at six o’clock.
About two weeks pass, and your relationship doesn’t move along with time. It just stays kind of still, just casual chatter. And you think you’re about to lose your mind.
That’s when you have the brilliant idea of summoning him. He said himself he was handy, that he could fix things. So why not fix shit at your place?
The problem is that nothing in your home needs fixing, everything works annoyingly smooth. But you can fake a leakage, fake a power-out. Anything, really, if you put your mind to it. So you strut down from your bedroom one cool and dark Sunday morning, and make your way to the radiator. You look at the screw-handle, look at the temperature.
With one quick and kind of painful pull, you twist the knob off entirely, and the temperature drops.
Tihi — oh no! How will you manage without a heater during this cold weather? How ever will you fix this?
It’s eleven in the morning, not too early that you’ll be a disturbance. You slip into a pair of slippers, let your hair stay a bit ruffled (it’s better if it looks unplanned, and not like you’ve cleaned yourself up), and wobble out the door in your large fuzzy coat.
A tiny, borderline evil smile stretches across your face when you see his lights are turned on. He’s awake. Your small slippers sink into the newly fallen snow beneath you, leaving a trail of your evil plan behind you. And as you reach his doorstep, you brush your soles off on the doormat, because you never know if he might invite you inside and kiss you and ask for your hand? You can’t rule anything out here, it’s better to be safe than sorry. After your feet are all clean, you ball up a fist, breathe in deep… and let your knuckle meet his door in a row of rhythmic knocks.
It takes a while before the door opens, so while you wait — you prepare a distraught and helpless expression, Bambi on ice, chased bunny, anything to make you look adorable and unprotected. Something that might invite him to take care of you. If this sounds insane, do not worry! You are checking yourself straight into a mental facility after this.
The door opens.
“Oh, hi.”
You have to try your hardest to keep face, to hold onto your helpless expression, but it’s not easy… because before you stands bed-head-Jungkook. A sight that is wild enough to send you straight into psychosis. His hair is kind of everywhere, a large piece of loose strands sticking straight up from his dark, thick locks. His eyes appear smaller than they usually are, sleep coated over his glowering expression. It could seem like you caught him at a bad time as he doesn’t smile, doesn’t bother asking why you’re here… but you gather he might just not be fully awake. The lights coming from inside his house deceived him, betrayed him, he might’ve been napping.
“Sorry,” you whisper through grit teeth, almost winching. Your eyebrows curl gently as you form your mouth around a pout, wanting him to feel bad for you. It immediately works, thank god, as his eyes widen and posture straightens. “I’m so sorry to disturb, but I’m kinda in a crisis.”
“Wait, what?” he takes a step forward, his bare feet meeting the cold of the doorstep. His arms wrap tightly around himself, shielding the exposed skin from the cold. He’s only in slacks, a pair of sweatpants that you can’t bring yourself to look at, and a white, all-too-tight t-shirt. “What’s wrong?”
It’s like a slot machine goes off in your brain, hitting jackpot once you know he’s in your trap. Your nostrils flare as you try imitating a subtle cry, and your hidden hand retracts from your pocket. In your palm lies the free knob of your radiator, which you show Jungkook, almost like you’ve come bearing a gift. And with a sharp intake of breath, you continue.
“It was really cold, so I wanted to turn up the heat, but the handle was stuck—like really stuck—so I twisted too hard, I think… and the whole thing just—” you lift the knob higher, almost shoving it in Jungkook’s face… which fortunately looks completely consumed by your story. You continue with a whine, “—it just poof, flew right off.”
You tell him you remembered he said he fixed his plumbing system, that you had pissed off your every electrician before, that you’d pay him if necessary: anything, trying to sound desperate. He immediately brushes off your suggestions, and with a hand on your shoulder, he tells you: Of course I’ll take a look at it. Don’t worry.
It feels almost surreal finally having him in your home. You haven’t cleaned or anything, everything feels unprepared, you should’ve maybe thought this through a bit further. But he’s here, and that’s all that matters.
As he crouches down before your broken radiator, you walk in a slow trail back and forth behind him, studying everything he’s doing. Looking at the way his muscles strain underneath his tight tee, the white fabric almost going sheer as he stretches further down. It feels almost illegal watching it, so you let your thumb fly to your mouth, and you bite down at the tip of your soft fingernail.
“Uh, that knob is useless,” he tells you, letting his fingertips brush underneath the radiator, chuckling. And with that, he gets to his feet. You frown, look down at the temperature reader, and frown even harder. It’s back on… just like that. He fixed it in under a minute — he might be a wizard. Jungkook turns to you, brushing off imaginable dust off his knees. “There’s a tiny wheel underneath your radiator, you can use that until I figure out how to get you a new screw-handle.”
Completely defeated, you huff, eyes darting down to your feet, “No, that’s okay—you’ve done… so much.”
Jungkook laughs, “I haven’t really done anything, you asked for my help. I can still help, there’s just not a lot to do right now.”
First attempted seduction: Unsuccessful.
Jungkook came over two days ago with a brand spanking new radiator. He hadn’t told you about it, he just rang your doorbell and there he stood: with a humorously large box in his arms. Also, he was wearing that beanie again, which didn’t help. All you could focus was on the pair of black marbles he had for eyes, which were now way more prominent as everything else way more or less hidden. But the thing was, the new radiator seemed more like a friendly act of service rather than something suggestive. He told you installing it would be easy, so after he left, he let you do that yourself (although it took about three hours and an absurd amount of tears… turns out it wasn’t so easy after all).
Of course you Venmoed him, but if he was trying to flirt… he’d tell you: no, no, my treat, or don’t worry about paying me back, I’m just glad I could help. But he gladly took your money (that’s not what made you so mad, you obviously didn’t expect him to spend hundreds of dollars on you… you’re not that insane), the thing was — he fled your home like his ass was on fire. Like, fully power-walking out your door. He almost forgot to say his goodbyes.
And it doesn’t get any better. That same night, you caught your first glimpse of him through your bedroom window. You’d tried to stay away from peeking, keeping your curtains closed, but you were careless that night, you’d forgotten completely. And you have now become victim of your own, self-inflicted hell. You didn’t see much, he was out of frame before you knew it, almost like he dodged your eyes. But you saw enough.
You had been on the phone with one of your girlfriends, conversing about nothing and everything… when you turned your head to see the curtains undrawn. What worried you first was the fact that you were fresh out the shower, so you tiptoed over your floor, quicky reaching out for the draperies to shield yourself from the outside street — when you saw him. Just a flash of him, a flash of torso, a flash of chest. You drew the curtains right away.
There was already a part of you that was already insane about him, but having seen him, just a flash of him in the window, seemingly facing you… it sent you into a spiral. The way his tattoos curled perfectly around his bicep and up to his chest, that plump, big chest. And why was he looking at you? He disappeared immediately, before you could draw your curtains. You were certain you imagined it, especially when you told your girlfriend who was still on the other line. Because when you described what you just saw, you realized you sounded schizophrenic.
“My hot new neighbor who I’ve been plotting on for weeks was just in his window naked waist up and he looked at me.”
But even if it was just your imagination running wild, nothing can stop you now. You’ve gone completely insane. You have to have him, it’s all you can think of. So now, you’re standing by the bathroom sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You’ve done your make-up prettier than usual, you’ve coated your eyelids in a shimmering, pearly shadow, just something to make you look a bit more glistening. Your hair frames your face perfectly, softly, you look cute. It’s all a ploy.
You crouch, getting down on your knees, resting on the warm bathroom tiles as you open the small cabinet underneath the sink. There, built into the wall, is a long pipe, a few screws, all kinds of stuff you have no idea how works. You’ve unclogged the drain before, so you know you can screw the pipe open, get your hands dirty, stuff them far down to fish for whatever’s stuck at the bottom. But right now, you’ve planned to do the inverse. In your left hand rests a tiny lipliner, something so small it could’ve easily slipped in your hands and through the narrow drain in your sink. At that thought, you wrap your hand around the pipe, turning and twisting on the screws until it pops open… and you shove the lipliner inside.
Oh no!
You cover up your tracks, slip into a very revealing, white-lace dress, a pair of kitten heels, and run down the stairs. Hehe.
Once again you pull on your fuzzy coat and make your way out the door, barging out on a journey you know all too well now. You don’t care that your heels dig into the muddy snow, you’re walking too fast to take notice of it. His lights are on, and this time it’s the evening — if he’s napping now, then that’s his problem.
He opens the door right away this time, you only get in about two good knocks before the surface is removed from underneath your knuckles. Jungkook’s breath comes out a bit staggered as his eyes land on you: you in that teeny-tiny dress, your coat hanging open to reveal your soft breasts pressing together with every intake of breath, the gentle, untouched skin of your thighs blooming with goosebumps. And just as you’d like, it seems like a lump gets stuck in his throat as he’s about to swallow, his primal, man-brain going blank at the sight of a pretty girl.
“You won’t believe what just happened!”
You lie your way through it all, tell him you were getting ready (what for, you don’t say, mainly because it’s all an act, but also because you want him to ask), that you were touching up your makeup before the mirror when the lipliner just slipped, swoosh, just like that! Fell down the drain. And you have to have it back, it’s the only one you’ve got, so could he please help you?
If you were Pinocchio, your nose would by now be long enough to reach out for the doorhandle, do Jungkook a favor and slam it shut. Thankfully, you’re not, and of course Jungkook abides, although he seems to hesitate a bit.
He's even weirder this time than he was the last, the time he bought you a new radiator and ran out your door. He’s having a hard time holding eye contact. And as you slip past him, walk before him up the stairs, you hear him actually trip in his steps. Him being nervous just makes you bolder, so you turn to check up on him.
“Oh my god, do you need a hand?” you say as you see him bracing one arm on the step before him, the other on the handrail. His head is tipped down, dark strands of hair covering his face before he lifts his gaze just a bit, looking up at you through the silken fringe. Those eyes show absolutely no mercy, they’ve gone dark, making him look something between furious and humiliated.
“I think I’m the one that’s here to help you, not the other way around.”
You almost chuckle at his response, but you keep your cool, raise your eyebrows to remain that effortless, innocent expression, before you return to your journey up the stairs. Jungkook does the same… that is after breathing out a loud sigh.
There’s no telling why Jungkook is acting like this. He went from very sweet and helpful boy-next-door to seemingly being extremely annoyed by your demands. But he carries them out, nevertheless.
“You think it’s stuck at the bottom?” he asks, now down on his knees on your bathroom floor, crouching to get a better look at the pipe. You nod behind him before answering.
“I hope so—or it’s long gone in the ocean,” you joke, but Jungkook doesn’t laugh. He just carries out his task, never looking back at you, staring straight ahead while twisting on the screws. It’s again over in just a minute, he reaches down for the lipliner and his fingertips find it immediately.
“Got it.”
He braces his hands on his thighs to straighten and raise from the bathroom floor, still not facing you, but moving forward to turn on the sink, washing both your lipliner and his hands. You try not to look disappointed as Jungkook can easily lift his gaze and see you behind him in the mirror, so you try smiling instead. Your reflection stares back at you, and you cringe… it doesn’t look like the most convincing smile out there. So you option for verbal praise instead, “Now, what would I do without you?”
Jungkook tongues his cheek, giving his head a single jerk while still washing his hands. Still not looking at you.
This is getting annoying, you didn’t dress up, fake a crisis, drag him over here — for his eyes to be glued to the god damn sink. You sigh, pouting as you’re about to speak, “Isn’t it weird using a lipliner that has been down the drain?”
“Don’t know.”
Ugh, he’s giving you nothing. Still, you don’t give up.
“Maybe I don’t need more liner, what do you think?”
“Don’t know.”
“Come on,” you reach out, grabbing his wrist, droplets splashing over the edge of the sink, onto both you and Jungkook, but it doesn’t matter. You angle him so that he’s facing you, his nostrils flaring when his eyes finally meet yours. You poke your chin further out, instigating for him to study your lips, your lips which are coated in pink, shimmering lip-gloss… your lips who look very inviting. “What do you think, do they need any lip-liner?”
Jungkook’s eyes flick frantically over your face, unsure of where to look, but knowing exactly what you want. And before you know it, your hand is suddenly empty. Your fingers unclasp around his wrist, because Jungkook rips free of your grip, stepping back with a groan, “Stop it, please. I beg you.”
What? Your eyes widen.
Oh my god, you fucking idiot. What have you done. You’ve scared him shitless, just because you have a stupid crush on him. Oh my god. Embarrassment rushes through your veins and appears as dark flush across your soft cheeks. And before you, Jungkook stands with a heaving chest, looking over at you with wide eyes like you just tried eating him alive… which in all fairness you kind of did. But his breath wavers, and his eyebrows crease, and it looks like something’s breaking inside him.
“I’m embarrassed by it enough as it is… it was awful and I’m sorry… but stop. Stop fucking playing with me. It’s mean.”
Huh? Okay it seems as if he’s gone completely off the rails here, because what on earth is he talking about? What was so awful? What is he sorry about?
Your face changes, going from embarrassment to just pure and utter confusion, your eyebrows knotting while your mouth hangs open, “… What are you talking about?”
This seems to have caught Jungkook off guard, his eyebrows lifting high on his face. He seems just as lost as you are, but something behind his expressions reminds more of humiliation rather than shock. “What?” he asks, his voice a higher pitch than usual, obviously stating his flush. “You mean you didn’t—” he stops himself before he can get any further, a mortified look blooming on his face.
You just stand completely lost before him, because what the fuck is he talking about? So you ask him just that, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Everything just got very, very, extremely weird. Also very confusing. The two of you look at one another like lost sheep, trying to search for answers in each other. And ultimately, with a loud sigh, Jungkook speaks.
“Fuck.”
Jungkook loved the thought of finally living alone.
He had been living in a cramped apartment with three buddies of him for what felt like an eternity, so finally being able to have some peace and quiet seemed almost surreal. Finally being able to use the bathroom without disturbances, to watch whatever he’d like on the television without being interrupted or getting the remote control hogged… finally being able to bring girls over.
It had been a while since he had gotten his hands on someone of the opposite sex — it was kind of awkward bringing them over when all the guys were there (which they always were). They seemingly had no problem with this whatsoever, and Jungkook suffered many sleepless nights while some girl got her world rocked in whatever room was available.
Jungkook wasn’t like that. He felt sex should be more private, more intimate, not something for others to tune into. He never bothered listening to any of the ‘conquests’ his friends talked about, it didn’t concern him.
But, he was still a man, he had his urges… he just hadn’t indulged in them lately. And he wasn’t all that good with women either. He looked good, it wasn’t that — girls were practically flinging themselves at him. But he got nervous, didn’t know what to say, where to put his hands, the usual worries. So he was hoping to maybe channel a different man within him for his quest to find a woman to sleep with… finally.
It was then rather unfortunate that the quest got cut short day one of moving in.
“Good morning to you too! Are you guys that—”
Jungkook flinched at the sound, a young woman, a gentle voice straining with anger. He immediately popped out from behind the moving truck, and was at first pleasantly surprised.
There you stood, in a long fuzzy coat, arms hugging your frame. You were easy on the eyes, to downplay it. Soft where it mattered, a face so enchanting he was sure you knew it yourself. Therefore, Jungkook had a hard time composing himself. He could tell you were mad, probably because of all the noise he and the driver were causing, so he immediately apologized, wanting to make a good first impression.
Within probably five minutes, he had already made a name for himself as the noisy new idiot neighbor who also managed to grab the-girl-next-door’s boob.
He of course didn’t mean to, you moved when he moved, his hand accidentally brushing against the side of your breast. It wasn’t like he felt anything, he removed his hand at once, and his entire body got scorching hot. His ears turned this tomato-y color, which only made him all the more embarrassed. He had only one mission moving into a new home — getting a girl back to his place. But he had within a day managed to sexually harass his neighbor, so he shelved the idea as he felt he needed to redeem himself as a man.
He spent the whole first night overthinking the graze. His fingers against your body (involuntarily, not on purpose, he cannot stress this enough). He was all alone, which just sent him further into a spiral than necessary. Maybe living alone proved to be way more difficult than he had imagined. So the boxes remained unpacked, as he pranced around his living room, thinking of you the entire day. After a while, when the thoughts were growing loud enough to eat him alive, he picked up his phone and dialed the number of one of his old roommates.
“What?” Yoongi responded after a few rings, his voice husky.
“I’m kinda going crazy over here, think I can come over for a bit?” Jungkook immediately folded, searching comfort in what’s familiar, wanting to get the hell out of this neighborhood and run from his humiliation.
“Miss us already?” Yoongi teased, but ultimately gave Jungkook what he wanted.
He stayed at his old apartment longer than he intended, trying to muster up the courage to face you again. It was also kind of scary living all alone, he didn’t really know how the new washing machine worked. But he was kicked out after a week, since Taehyung decided it was time for Jungkook to grow some balls and quote “just fuck his neighbor senseless”.
So he had been prepped, how to act cash around you, maybe apologize again. And as he was moving his new speaker from his car to his door, you pulled up into your driveway.
Okay, stay calm. Speak before you think, unless what you’re going to say is stupid. Then don’t say it.
He was surprised when you stepped out of your car and immediately went to him, lightly running over the street in your tiny, polished shoes to reach him. That it didn’t seem like you were planning on ignoring him. And he was even more surprised by the fact that you had taken note of his absence. You didn’t hate him: he had been going insane for nothing. It calmed him, and he managed to actually converse normally, even make you smile. But he was caught off guard.
“Where’ve you been?”
Shit, he hadn’t planned a response to that question. Okay, stay calm. Speak before you think, unless what you’re going to say is stupid. Then don’t say it.
“Had to postpone my move… uh the—” Jungkook stilled, trying out his speak-before-thinking-system, but having a hard time, “The plumbing system needed a bit work.”
He had no idea where that came from. Also, it sounded like a gross excuse, mentioning plumbing to the pretty girl who stood wondering before him. He was an idiot. Speak before you think, unless what you´re going to say is stupid. What he said was stupid, he wished he could take it back.
“Doesn’t that cost, like, a ton?”
Another question he wasn’t prepared for. He actually had no idea, he had never had any pluming work done before, and he especially hadn’t paid for it. So once again, he spoke without thinking, trying to brush off any more questions, also sound a bit manly and cool.
“Not when you do the job yourself.”
He was a fucking dumb idiot. Why on heavens earth did he tell you he did the job himself? He had never even held a screwdriver. And fixing the entire plumbing system of a new and unknown home was probably a task he could never carry out… ever. It was probably that he was so nervous around you, and all these questions made it even worse.
Okay, that was a dumb slip up. He just had to make sure you never took him up on it… ever, until he had lived there long enough to maybe one day joke about it. And it went smooth at first, he only saw you when he headed to work, and fortunately you were already home when he pulled into his driveway — so he didn’t have to pain himself through any more small talk that made his brain go foggy.
Unfortunately, his stupid lie followed him, haunted him. Because one Sunday morning there was a knock on his door. And to his surprise, there you stood, in that same fuzzy coat, completely mortified. Jungkook was shocked, worried that something might’ve happened to you, immediately wanting to help.
Of course your radiator broke. What the hell was he supposed to do about that? He could of course tell you he was busy… or even better tell you he lied earlier, and that he quite frankly knew nothing about handiwork. But your eyes were so doe-like, staring up at him, begging for his help. His gaze darted to your parted lips without him even noticing, the way they quivered after speaking. He couldn’t bring himself to turn you down. Who would ever turn you down?
So Jungkook ended up in your home. He looked for signs that would reveal you lived alone, and he immediately found them. The shoes in your hallway: tiny, mostly heels and hopefully yours. Your interior was everything he expected, soft colors and old, personal decoration. Some child-like drawings postered on the refrigerator, hopefully yours from when you were young. It would be rather unfortunate if you had kids, he didn’t even know how to take care of himself, how would he manage with children?
Maybe already fantasizing about step-father-hood was a bit optimistic.
You stood behind him as he studied the heater, thankfully. He had no idea what he was doing down there, brushing his fingers both over and under the radiator to maybe detect a magic button. Weirdly enough… he actually stumbled upon one. There, on the bottom, just a tiny little wheel. He screwed it more to the right, saw the temperature rise, and thanked god. Beginners luck, probably.
But he knew it was just a temporary fix, and he had absolutely no idea how to get that ‘handle’ or whatever back onto the radiator. He told you he would figure it out, because he was stupid and you were so pretty. You were so pretty. When you lead him through your living room, towards the door, he watched the way your hair fell over your back, the way your shoulder blades poked through your thin sweater when you reached for the door. Everything you did looked so elegant, so graceful, even when you let him slip past you in the doorframe, pressing your back against the hardwood while holding in a small breath.
As he worked as a bellhop at a hotel a bit outside town, his days were boring, not a lot going on. So he had all the time in the world to think. Think about how the hell he would fix your radiator. He could maybe have you leave the house, then pay for an actual electrician to take action… but that would be too risky. He could of course just glue the handle back on — but then the whole thing would probably just break again and he’d be called right back to fix the stupid heater once more.
He ended up just buying a brand new one, showing up at your door with a big box in hand.
Why did you have to wear those jeans? Those light-washed jeans that cut right where your tiny, white t-shirt ended. Those jeans that hugged your frame so precisely. He imagined how it would feel to have his hands on you, to wrap his fingers around your waist, just where the jean fabric stopped, and curl his fingertips inward to feel your soft skin on his.
“That’s too kind, I can’t accept that,” you gasped upon seeing the big box.
“It’s nothing,” Jungkook lied, this was everything. He had wracked his brain over this, he had done everything in his power to help you. He didn’t know what else to do, so a new radiator might just be fair… he had no idea what women liked, but a kind gesture could never hurt, right?
You turned, walking back into your hallway to make room for Jungkook, letting both him and the box enter your home, and Jungkook couldn’t keep his eyes off you. It might’ve been those jeans. The way the tight fabric hugged your butt when you walked, the way they creased under your cheeks with every step you took. It didn’t help when you turned to face him, finally un-crossing your arms, and he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. This rattled his brain so badly that he forgot taking off both shoes, jacket and beanie once fully inside your home.
He couldn’t stay there for a minute longer, this was a bit overwhelming. So he told you installing it would be an easy task (it probably wouldn’t) and when he ran out your door, you yelled out your gratitude along with a promise of payment. He couldn’t even hear what you were saying as his feet carried him at a speed so frantic he almost tripped on the icy pavement.
And that’s the night it happened.
It was probably all the pent-up tension. He had gone straight to the gym after your interaction, staying there all night while sweating out all his worries, all his thoughts, everything that was eating him up. But it didn’t work. His mind stayed fogged. He knew what would work, he had known for weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would feel to shameful… and he would probably think about you the whole time, which made it even worse, even more humiliating.
But he broke. It was something primal in him, something in his body telling him to just give in. Let go.
Because when he got home, late at night, getting ready for bed, he realized something striking. The window across the street, facing his, the one in your house, the one that was always draped, always covered, was now somehow… not. And there, opposite of him, were you. In your own little world, on the phone, completely clueless, pacing around in your bedroom — wearing nothing but a towel.
Fuck.
He knew how disgusting this was, how creepy he was, but it was an organic reaction. And in a matter of no time, stopping completely in his step, watching over at you, he could feel himself hardening in his boxers. So much that it was starting to hurt. You had been doing this to him for weeks, so this had to have been some sort of breaking point, Jungkook just losing it completely.
He didn’t even think about drawing the curtains, not even turning off the lights behind him. He was frozen, no glued to the floor in front of his window, as though the ache between his legs had hijacked his entire body, whispering don’t move don’t you dare look away. His heart was pounding in his ears, his blood hot and thick in his veins… he was utterly lost in you. The way you tucked the towel tighter around your chest, shifting your phone between your ear and your shoulder, left him paralyzed.
You were smiling, those pretty teeth of yours flashing brightly when revealed, talking to someone. Laughing a little too loud as you reached over to your vanity… and that slight reach caused the towel to slip just a teeny tiny inch, revealing the curve of your breast. How could anyone be so beautiful?
Everything worsened when you decided to sit. The towel rose dangerously high on your thighs as you perched at the edge of your bed, knees falling slightly open as you continued your conversation: oblivious to the desperate, possibly insane man across the street, living and dying with every shift of fabric.
His cock throbbed inside his boxers, heavy and angry, twitching against the waistband. It didn’t take long, as you tipped your head backwards with your next laugh, baring your sweet, wonderful neck to poor Jungkook.
That was it, he needed relief. And with his jaw clenched, his hand already inside his briefs, he gave in. Guilt filled his bloodstreams as his fingers wrapped tight around his length, starting out with slow strokes from the sensitive tip and all the way down to his girthy shaft. Each drag of his palm over hot, pulsing flesh matched to your every movement.
He had to steer away from all the shame, how illegal this was, so he let his mind wander. And with that, you took over. He could imagine your skin under his touch. How soft your thighs would be, how warm you’d feel against his mouth. The exact pitch you’d make when he’d finally taste you. How your breath would stutter under him, hips writhing, fingers clenching the sheets when his tongue reached a spot so deep within you that your vision blurred.
As his strokes turned more frantic, his abs moving in ripples on his torso, a deep pleasure building low in his stomach, Jungkook’s mind played every fantasy he’d ever had about you in perfect clarity. The way you’d sigh his name when he finally breached you. How tight you were. The way you’d ride him, how his hands would grab onto the silky-smooth flesh of your ass, let you fuck yourself silly on his cock. The way you’d grab his hair, clench around him, bite into his shoulder just as you came, your sweet juices coating his cock, his thighs, the sheets.
Just the thought of you was enough to send him off the edge, but as you sat just a few feet away, locked away from him, looking so fucking cute — Jungkook couldn’t hold it in anymore, so his eyes shut close, and he let go.
His hips jerked forward as he came hard, all over himself. The first spurt hit his stomach, warm and slick, and he gasped for air as he stroked himself through it. His legs trembled slightly as he milked every single drop that was still leaking from his cock, his eyes clenched shut as soft moans started escaping his throat.
Once he was finally emptied out, he collapsed against the side of the bed. A heavy silence filled the room, the air now thick with shame and sweat. Fuck, what a fucking creep he was. What a fucking awful human being he was. This was possibly the worst post-nut-clarity he had ever experienced. He shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t deserve that.
With guilt still curling deep in his chest, he rose to his feet again, reaching for the tissue box by his bedside table… when he once again laid eyes on you.
Shitshitshitshit. You had gotten up from the bed, and you were fucking facing him now, your fingers curling around the curtains. Oh my god. Oh my god. How long had you been standing there? Did you see? What did you see?
Jungkook’s face turned white before he threw himself away from the window, stilling in the corner of his room, his chest heaving as panic took ahold of him. Holy fuck.
Hopefully you didn’t see. You hadn’t come over later in the evening, you hadn’t called the police. Thank god, maybe you hadn’t seen enough of the act to make you realize what was going on. Still incredibly embarrassed, Jungkook let the days pass. But he tried steering away from you, leaving for work earlier to not run into you.
It worked perfectly, he managed to stay clear of you, and the humiliation started withering. That was of course until he heard a knock on his door late at night.
The first knock came about five minutes ago, and Jungkook has now been standing completely still in his kitchen, hoping whoever’s out there might go away. But they don’t. He almost trips down the stairs to answer the door, already knowing who’s on the other side.
And, okay, you’ve decided to be a bitch tonight. You’re fully entitled to, of course… Jungkook had violated your privacy so viscerally you could probably file some sort of lawsuit. But showing up at his door with your coat hanging open… with those sweet breasts of yours on full display in your all-too-revealing dress. Bitch move.
After about a minute into the conversation, Jungkook gathers alright, you know. Because there’s a shift in you, you’re teasingly seducing him. You ask for his help yet again, but Jungkook knows it’s not about handiwork this time. But he begrudgingly follows you, agreeing to take a look at your sink. And you keep being a fucking bitch.
Of course you take off your coat, you’re in your own home, but you remove it differently than you’ve done before. The fuzzy fabric slips off your bare shoulders, sliding down your soft arms before you catch it with one hand, caressing it before threading it over a hanger. You’re teasing him. You like that, Jungkook? Want to touch yourself again, you sick pervert?
He can just imagine the scolding, the humiliating confrontation. He’ll have to move, because of the obvious restraining order you’ll file for. This was a good run. He has lived an alright life, but it ends here. He has to go die, this is too embarrassing.
And when you take him to the bathroom, when you walk up the stairs, Jungkook’s eyes have a hard time finding a constant to focus on as he’s just a step behind you. The tiny skirt of your dress rides up with every single step you take, and as his eyes follow, he catches a glimpse of the pink lace between your thighs. Fuck. He tries looking away, but as his eyes roam, his feet knot together — and he fucking trips behind you.
“Oh my god, do you need a hand?”
Fuck you.
You make him get down on his knees on the bathroom floor. What is this, some kind of humiliation ritual? Maybe you’re just as sick, getting off at the sight of this poor boy before you, crouching down and trembling beneath your gaze. Jungkook sticks his hand out underneath the sink, deep inside the cabinet, and tries to get a feel on what he’s working with here. You haven’t said anything revealing yet, so he tries acting normal, although he’s a bit more cautious than usual.
He manages to fish out your lipliner, glad this whole thing is finally over. But you won’t give it a fucking rest. You force him to turn, teasing him by shoving your lips in his face, so close he can feel your breathing. Jungkook can’t take it. The way they’re coated in an inviting gloss, your lips plush and soft (imagine how they’d feel against his body), your lips parting and the bottom one giving a tiny quiver in the motion. This is just mean, he knows your agenda, he knows you know. So those stupid, delicate lips of yours are what makes Jungkook break.
But as he cries out for you to stop it, for you to quit terrorizing him… he realizes you in fact don’t know… you hadn’t seen. Fuck. And as he’s just so exhausted, so tired by all the secrecy: faking an occupation as handyman, pleasuring himself to the sight of you... he just can’t take it anymore. He has been stressed out for weeks, unable to rest. He has to get it off his chest.
So, with a loud sigh… he tells you everything.
Well… this was quite the revelation… to say the least.
You’re practically gaping before Jungkook, who after coming clean about his sins is having a hard time meeting your eyes. It might also not help him that you’re breathing so hard that your breasts are pressing together in a soft cleavage with each intake of breath. So he keeps his eyes glued to the bathroom tiles.
“You—you’re—” you try, not knowing what the hell you’re about to say… because what does one say to this piece of information? Not only had he faked being handy just to help you, just to be near you… but you had him so out of his mind that he had resorted to pleasuring himself to the sight of you. And here you thought you were insane. Jesus, you’re both nut-jobs, maybe you’re made for each other.
“Yeah… I’m sor—”
You interrupt him right away, “You like me?”
He finally meets your eyes, this is to say it’s not very romantic… he kind of frowns, actually. Because is this really what you have to say about this horrific story? That’s all you got from him lying his way into your home, jerking off to you from several feet away? What about stranger danger?
Yeah, there’s no warning signs flashing off in your eyes, there are instead big, red, cartoon-like hearts pulsating in your pupils. It’s like you’ve suddenly grown wings. Your hands come up to cover your mouth as you can’t seem to stop your jaw from hanging open, as you can’t stop grinning like a madman. It looks kind of like you’ve just entered the doors to Disneyland.
“I—” Jungkook starts, his hand flying to scratch the back of his head, his eyes shutting closed as he thinks of what to say. He can’t really understand why this doesn’t seem to put you off. “I kinda feel like y-you’re still fucking with me.”
“Gosh no!” you gasp, throwing your hands out and waving them in front of Jungkook, trying to visibly tell him you’re not just playing in his face. When you’re done waving off the accusation, your right hand begins rubbing circles to your temple. “I mean—obviously you’re crazy—like, a very bizarre boy—really… very weird—” You swear you’re going somewhere with this, although it all comes out very fast and Jungkook now frowns so hard that it looks like he might cry really, incredibly ugly tears all over your bathroom floor. So you make sure to finish your sentence just as fast as you’ve started it. “—but so am I!”
Jungkook can’t seem to wipe the utterly confused look off his face, staring at you with a pair of lost, black-marble eyes that take up almost his entire face. He sticks his neck out, “Huh?”
“Just—look,” you giggle, snagging the lipliner from Jungkook’s grip before getting down on your knees. This almost makes Jungkook’s own knees give out, but thankfully you make your way to the pipe underneath the sink and not somewhere sinister. Your eyes leave him as you once again unscrew the drain, but you look back when there’s enough room for you to shove the lipliner right inside the tiny slit — and you do just so, while your eyes are glued to his. “See? All just a big plot.”
His mouth hangs open as he realizes you’ve sabotaged your own drain just for his presence, just for his help, and he has a hard time forming words, “What—so… huh?” His voice is a bit higher in pitch now, cracking halfway through his botched sentence.
“I’ve been luring you into my home like the witch in Hansel and Gretel—I don’t think you have to worry about coming off as creepy here.”
“So… the radiator?”
You shake your head, “Ruined it myself and ended up paying you 175 bucks for a new one.”
A disbelieving chuckle escapes Jungkook as he continues scratching the back of his head. If there was anything he expected, it was sure as hell not this. His eyes never leave yours as you get up from the bathroom floor, pulling down your dress a bit as you rise to your feet. You’ve almost forgotten how inappropriately dressed you are in the midst of Jungkook’s confession, so feeling your skirt itching up your thighs really pulls this absurd situation together.
“You…” Jungkook starts, his hands falling down his sides while he continues watching you, his cheeks blossoming with flush. “… like me?”
You nod, “And you like me.”
Thank god you’ve gotten that out of the way, it was only a matter of time before the both of you moved out of the neighborhood out of sheer embarrassment. And finally, everything just goes quiet. The two of you stand with only a few feet between you, both with heaving chests and no words left to say. The silence goes on for a little while, and as you shift a bit in your stance, Jungkook tucks his bottom lip in with his top one, not showing teeth, just nibbling at it while his eyes glisten in your direction. He breathes through his nose.
“I’m still so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking at the ends.
Your smile tugs on only one side of your face, “Don’t be—I weirdly enough find it kind of flattering.”
Jungkook laughs in return, but not for long. You can tell he’s having a hard time, processing everything that just happened, his mind working overtime, so you decide to be a bit bolder than him — taking just a few steps towards him. Your kitten heels click gently against the tiles as you walk in his direction, stopping right as you see Jungkook’s breath coming out as a shaky exhale. He straightens his posture while looking down at you, stumbling back just an inch, not necessarily because he’s trying to get away, but purely because his nerves are taking over.
“I won’t bite you,” you chuckle. It’s cute seeing him like this. Before, you thought he might be pushing you away because you were clinically insane, but now that you know he’s just nervous — it’s all the more admirable.
He smiles, although it seems a bit forced, “I know that but—” his eyes flick over your dress, that napkin you’re wearing, and they quickly move back up to your face. “Don’t you have some place to be?”
Oh, he’s so slow… cute. You tilt your head as your eyebrows almost reach your hairline, your way of saying: After all this, you really think me dressing like this isn’t just for show? But since Jungkook might need a little push, you smile comforting, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Jungkook breathes out through his nose, trying his hardest to keep eye contact, but it’s hard as your almost completely exposed chest keeps moving in heaves right underneath his gaze. Okay, you quickly understand you have to be the one who takes action here — otherwise the two of you will stand in this tiny bathroom staring at each other all night.
“You know, Kook—is it okay if I call you that?” you ask, letting your hand lift, just so your fingertips can brush over his shoulder, down the curve and trace gently over his biceps. You have to hold back a squirm as you feel his skin quiver under your featherlight touch, his entire body freezing as you caress him. And just to be extra mean, you widen your eyes, looking up at him like a lost puppy. “—You have me all to yourself now.”
There seems to be no one home. Jungkook has left the building. What stands in front of you is simply his soulless body, because he can’t for the life of him produce any word or sound whatsoever.
You try again, arching your toes to better meet his height, leaning in to repeat yourself with a whisper in his ear, “I’m all yours.”
The sweet warmth of your breath brushes against his cheek, and his knees nearly buckle. And just as you suspected, it’s enough for him to give in — but not all the way. You feel him shift, his arms lifting only to hover near your waist, fingers curling inwards as he trembles, trying to compose himself but failing miserably.
Oh, playing with a boy this gentle will be fun.
So, seeing how far you can go before he cracks, you lean in further, parting your lips, letting them meet the salty skin of his neck. And boy, oh boy, the reaction it pulls from Jungkook is enough to cause a blackout.
He breathes in, his entire chest rising in a quivering motion, and as he exhales, the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard escapes from him. It’s something between a moan and a whimper, a sound Jungkook is immediately terrified by, pressing his lips together and shutting his eyes closed as you continue lavishing his neck in wet, open-mouthed kisses.
It’s adorable, the way he acts, almost like he can’t believe this is happening. And when you start tracing higher, your lips traveling towards his sharp jaw — he beats you to it.
His hands finally attach to your waist, soft fingernails digging into your skin, and his head turns, just so that his lips meet yours. You gasp as you feel him against you, kissing you with such a hunger that you have to cling to him in order to stand upright, your arms flinging over his shoulders.
He pulls you further into him, arching your back and letting your body melt with his. And you fit him like a glove actually, his large frame swallowing you, letting you slip perfectly in between him, bending your neck as far as it can go just to meet his kisses.
“Mm—thank you,” Jungkook blurts out in a breath, lips quivering against yours. He’s almost whispering, but you catch his words anyways, pulling back slightly to look at him. His brows are drawn, lips parted and quickly searching for yours again as you retreat. God, he’s adorable. You could just eat him up — and you intend to.
Your lips meet his again, and now there’s no stopping you. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he feels your fingers come up to cup his neck, pulling him tighter against your wet lips as you start walking, backing him up and guiding him out of the tiny, cramped bathroom. He clings to you, fingertips digging into your sides as if there’s even the slightest possibility of you leaving him.
It’s a clumsy road you embark on, shoving this large man out the narrow door, into the hallway, trying to turn and twist him as you’re about to lead him into your bedroom. His back hits the staircase, “Ah—”
“No—m-more to the right,” you giggle, having a hard time speaking as he swallows every word you say. One of the hands on your waist brushes upwards, and soon his large palm cups your cheek, his thumb stroking your soft skin. You almost can’t breathe with the way you’re so tightly pressed against him, his heavy chest pushed so neatly against yours, making you feel every breath he takes.
The two of you continue your little dance until you’ve made your way to your bedroom, and as he trips backwards over the doorframe, the hand on your cheek moves out to the side in order to steady him. He lets his palm slide across the wall until there is none, as you keep shoving him further and further into the room.
Alright, you have him exactly where you want him now, and with a last, wet kiss, one last roll of your tongue, you shove him backwards. His ass meets the soft mattress of your bed, confusion blooming across his face as he wonders how on earth he ended up here this fast… and why you just pushed him away.
“You saw me here, didn’t you?” you ask, trying your best to sound sultry even though you have to catch your breath after the heavy make-out-sesh you just indulged in.
Jungkook beams at you, his puppy-dog-eyes glistening and pupil-swallowed. His ears have already gone red, and you wonder what might happen when you finally let him have what he’s been aching for. As you take a step back, then another, Jungkook shifts on the bed, his hands falling to his lap, before moving to steady him flat on the mattress, unsure of what to do with himself. So he just sits before you, breathing unsteadily as your eyes sink into his.
You giggle as you see his throat working, “Me, in just a towel.”
He gulps once again, almost as if every single word you say, every single move you make, is enough to drive him off the edge. He’s literally holding himself back, now shifting to sit down on his fingertips. Jesus, he’s actually restraining himself. Let’s see how long he’ll be able to keep this up.
“Imagine if I was naked.”
“You weren’t—” he snaps back, still trying to ensure you of the fact that he didn’t mean it, that it was a fragile break, something within him snapping at the sight of you barely dressed.
“I could’ve been,” you say, voice low. You’re still trying to see how much he can take, and as cruel as it might seem, you detect anticipation alongside the obvious flush in Jungkook’s cheeks. You push further on, “My towel could’ve slipped.”
Your hand slowly brushed up your side, before coming up to your chest, and at last, you let your thumb hook the thin, almost invisible strap of your tiny dress. Jungkook’s breath hitches as you toy with the white fabric. He gulps, letting his eyes roam quickly over your body, unsure of where to look because everything is just so fucking good right now.
He’s about to have a naked girl in front of him (he hopes), and the naked girl is you. That’s something he only thought could happen in his dreams, his sick and sinful dreams.
“Like this,” you continue, and with a short, quivering breath, you let your other thumb hook the opposite strap. With a quick pull, the two strings fall off your shoulders. It’s not an extremely promiscuous move, but your dress is loose. Very loose, and just like that, with just the removal of two straps, the entire piece slips off your frame and pools at your feet.
You’re left standing before Jungkook in just a strapless bra, and a matching pair of panties, your dress a tangled mess around your kitten heels.
Poor Jungkook. That poor, poor boy. He has no idea how to react to this. So without speaking, trying to repress any kind of sound, he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, fiddling with his lip ring while scanning over your almost bare body.
He wants to cry, kind of. It’s all too much for him — the way your waist curves inward right above your smooth hips, hips he can’t wait to have his hands on, hips he hopes you’ll let him touch. The way the pink lace, the only barrier left, hugs your sweet curves, how the fabric stretches, stops just above the part that aches for him. He presses his lips together and lets out a low hum slash whine, it’s a muffled and broken sound.
You’re having a hard time breathing as well, your exposed chest moving in heaves as you’re now on display before the boy you’ve been pining after for weeks. He looks so adorable in his seat, shifting on top of his fingertips, unsure of what to do with himself. And with a last, long heave, you step out of the dress that’s circled around your feet, along with your heels, moving your bare feet across the carpeted floor.
The two of you have gone radio silent. It’s probably the nerves, both of yours. You try breathing through your nose as you make your way over to him, biting down on your bottom lip, brushing your tongue over it, finally leaving it alone. Your heart is hammering in your chest, but you try keeping your cool, imagining him being just as nervous, if not more.
And you’re right about that. Jungkook is a flustered mess. But to your surprise, as you’re just a breath away from him, he manages to get out a few words. Or, they rather slip for him.
“You’re—you’re so pretty.”
You flush instantly. “Did I meet your expectations?” you tease, already knowing his answer. But before he speaks, his hips lift, and his fingers slip out from underneath him — to stretch out. His eyes flick away from yours, and move along with the path his hands take on, hovering around your waist, before finally attaching to your bare skin.
He gulps… again, this time actually making a sound. His hands travel upwards, brushing against your side until his palms reach the lace fabric of your bra. One of his thumbs brushes underneath the curve of your breast, and his eyebrows lift high on his forehead.
“You have…” he starts, slowly and almost unnoticeably shaking his head, breathing in once again. “… no idea.”
Well, the thing is — you kind of do. It’s not hard to tell, as your eyes keep falling to where his pants crease in his lap, to the bulge straining against the jean fabric. He must be big, you say to yourself, as his jeans are more on the baggy side, but you’re still able peep the outline of him. Especially when he shifts, the fabric clinging to his muscular thighs, enhancing the aching shape of him.
Okay, here’s the deal. He has watched you before, although you didn’t know that time. You didn’t put on a show for him. So, you kind of feel like you owe him that much.
“Did you think of anything while watching me?”
Your hands come up before you, gently brushing down Jungkook’s biceps through his shirt.
He nods in return, looking up to meet your eyes. They glisten, like two black pearls, taking up most of his face. He’s so cute you could eat him whole. You nod with him, pouting, “Yeah? What did you think of?”
“You, of course.”
You giggle, letting one of your hands meet his cheek for the first time, finally cupping the soft skin, “I kinda got that part—what did you imagine?”
This is too hard of a question for Jungkook. His eyes flick from one side of your face to the other, then back, frantically sweeping over your features.
Your free hand grabs ahold of his, the hand that’s still placed on your waist, pushing it lower, letting him caress the soft curve of your hips before traveling lower. His eyes are glued to how you move his hand, and they flutter shut as you position his palm on your bare ass. You’re standing between his knees, so close to him that you’re aching with anticipation, aching for him to touch you.
“Did you think about what you’d do to me?” you ask, batting your lashes at him, trying to appear unaware of the effect you have on him. “Or maybe what I’d do to you?”
Jungkook licks his lips, now removing the hand caressing the side of your bra, only for it to cup your other butt cheek — and as both hands are on you, he boldly pulls you closer to him. “All of it,” he breathes.
Showtime.
You can tell he’s about to stick his neck out, kiss your stomach, lick your stomach, do whatever he can — but you have another idea. So you slowly turn your back to him… and sink into his lap.
He breathes out heavily in your ear, his hands roaming all over you, one ending up spread flat across your stomach, the other brushing hair away from you neck to make room for his lips. He deliciously attaches to the free area of skin, licking, sucking, biting and kissing down on the sensitive spot that has you squirming.
His legs are spread wide, so you’re sitting perched on one of his thick, rock-hard thighs. And as he so perfectly nips and sucks down on your neck, you can’t help but shift in your seat. The friction is just enough, his thighs are muscular enough to provide pleasure, and in no time you start rocking back and forth, feeling your panties cling to you with slick. You’re probably making a mess out of his jeans, but neither of you care right now.
“I’ve thought about you too,” you blurt out, a breathy row of words that almost go unnoticed. But it doesn’t, and upon hearing this, Jungkook whimpers into the skin of your neck, biting down on the bruise he’s been working on, hard enough that it makes you moan in his lap. “Your arms—your hands—your lips,” you breathe, letting your head fall to his shoulder.
“You’re insane,” he moans. With the way you’re rocking back and forth on his thigh, you keep brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans, and it’s enough for him to lose his mind. You’re so close, yet so fucking far. He needs to touch you, he needs to feel more of you, anything. He needs to make you cry for him, beg him for more, beg him to stop. He wants everything you’ll give him, and right now he’s just one big pussy-drunk boy.
You gasp when you suddenly feel one of his hands on your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra — although only for a moment, as it pops open almost instantly. Well well well, boy-next-door, you might not be as innocent as you seem.
As the lace slips from your chest, Jungkook immediately palms your breasts with both hands, kneading the soft flesh. He moans at the feel of your warm, supple skin, how it fits so perfectly in his palms, and his head tips backwards as his eyelids flutter shut. But he doesn’t let them stay closed for long, as he has to actually see what he’s doing to you. He lets his chin meet your shoulder, and he almost comes in his pants at the sight before him.
Your legs are spread on each side of his thigh, and there, on your own thigh, the right one, is something that looks like a scribble. Holy fuck. An inner thigh tattoo. He almost forgets that he’s pinching and rolling your hardened nipples with his fingers, as he has completely lost himself in the sight of your soft, tender thighs. The way you rock yourself back and forth, the way you’ve left a wet patch on his jeans, the way your hips roll so delicately.
As you seem to be lost on top of him, just a big mewling mess, Jungkook squints, trying to work out the cursive words that curl right besides your covered heat.
𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒮𝓅𝑜𝓉
Straight to it. Okay… alright. That might just be the hottest fucking tattoo he’s ever seen.
“Don’t—don’t you wanna touch me, Kookie?” you gasp, as you’ve been continuously rubbing your clothed clit against the rough fabric of his jeans, and you quite frankly can’t take it anymore. Your panties are sticking to your skin, completely ruined and soaked through, so slippery that the friction isn’t even helping anymore.
Kookie. He pinches your nipple between his index and middle finger, making you choke on your next moan. Fuck, what a sweet-talker you are. It’s driving him insane. Of course he wants to touch you, it’s all he wants.
“Mhmm—so bad,” he whines, kissing his way up your neck until he meets the gentle skin behind your ear. He bites down on your earlobe, breathing heavily. And in a haste, he lets go of one of your breasts, searching for the hem of your panties.
Unfortunately, you beat him to it.
You grab ahold of his wrist, still rubbing yourself dumb on his thigh, turning your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Ah, but Kookie—I thought you liked to watch… isn’t that right?”
Fuck off, what do you mean?
His eyebrows knot together, and he’s practically breathing like a raging fucking bull behind you. But he’s not left in the dark for long, because as you let go of his wrist, as you stop rocking back and forth, your fingers move to your panties. And with a single slide, you rush the fabric to the side, finallybaring your sweet, dripping cunt to Jungkook.
“Ohhfuck,” he blurts out, voice low and nothing above a raspy whisper. His mouth waters at the sight. You’re fully on display now, your bare pussy leaking onto his pants, just begging for attention.
Since you’ve finally let go of him, he reaches out once again — this time without any resistance. His middle fingers slips easily through your folds, something that has the two of you moaning simultaneously.
“Oh my fuck you’re wet,” Jungkook gasps, sliding his finger further down, gathering your slick before tracing upwards again. You twitch in his lap as the pad of his finger teasingly circles your clit — but as you have something else planned entirely, you once again reach for his wrist.
“Baby…” you breathe, lifting his hand. At first, he tries his best not to move, resisting your grip, but gives in with a groan at last. You once again turn your head, locking your eyes with his. “I said watch.”
He whines behind you, but obeys, watching as you let go of his hand, as your fingers move further down.
And with your pointer and middle fingers, you spread your folds, letting Jungkook watch the way you glisten and drip all over him. His chin drops to your shoulder, and he whimpers when seeing your clit completely exposed, pulsating like a tiny heart. Oh how he wants to taste you, how he wants to lick, kiss, suck and drink in your juices until you spasm around him, until tears run down your face and ruin your pretty makeup.
“Think you can replace my fingers, baby?” you ask, giving him a tiny peck, just a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Fuck yeah.”
His fingers actually shove yours out of the way, just for him to feel you, even though all he’s allowed to do is keep you open, spread before him. The two fingers form in a ‘V’-shape as he parts your lips, letting your juices stick to his digits, letting your warmth wrap around them.
You continue with your kisses, letting your soft lips trail along his temple, right by his ear, everywhere you can reach with your neck bent towards him.
Just when Jungkook thinks you’ve got no more tricks up your sleeve — that you’ll just let him have this, just feel your wetness on his fingers — you start taking matters into own hands.
His jaw slacks, and a broken noise escapes from him, because as he watches you over your shoulder, he sees your fingers make their way to your dripping pussy. And with a slow stroke, you let your middle finger drag all the way from your sopping core to your tiny, neglected clit.
“Mmpf,” your head tips backwards, falling to Jungkook’s shoulder while he rests on yours.
“Jesus christ,” Jungkook sighs, completely spellbound by the way you’re playing with yourself in his lap, the way your smaller fingers bump against his with every single long and painfully slow stroke. You skillfully flick the pad of your finger over your twitching nub, adding in another as you start applying slow circles to your highpoint.
You’re so incredibly wet, so pliant, that every single stroke draws pornographic moans from you — which works quite well in your favor right now.
Behind you, Jungkook has lost all ability to speak. He’s so fucking lost in you, eyes glued to the way your fingers have started to glisten with your own juices. Completely tuned to the noises that both you and your cunt make. And all he’s allowed to do is be the fucking middleman. The fucking doorman, who just stands there all day, opening the door without ever entering himself.
He’s still allowed to hold your tits, to cup them, knead them, pinch your nipples — whatfuckingever. He’s on the verge of getting very, very whiny here. He wants to touch you, make you moan himself. When he rolls your nipple in between two of his fingers, you whimper, of course, but he wants to make you sob. This is ridiculous.
“Like what you see, Kookie?” you sigh deeply, panting against his chest.
“Mm—yes, b-but—” he mumbles, biting down on his bottom lip, almost crying at the sight of your pretty fingers circling your clit so precisely. How more and more of your juices continue to seep out of you, forming in wet streaks that trail down the slit of your still covered ass, and down onto his thigh. “—but I want—”
He’s cut off by one of your moans, a sound so pretty he wished he could swallow it whole. By now, his cock is practically screaming your name, crying, hidden away in his pants. He’s so hard it physicallyhurts him.
Fuck it.
He removes his hand from your breast, wraps his arm around your waist, and hikes your body higher up into his lap — all the while his fingers keep you spread, open. You gasp at the new position, as Jungkook has placed you directly on top of his hardened length, a cock you already know is big enough to fucking wreck you.
“Oh my god, Kook,” you cry, still working yourself over with your soft fingertips.
Jungkook buries his forehead into your shoulder blade, looking down at the way you curve on top of him, the way you’re placed so perfectly over his cock. He feels everything, even through the rough and thick jean fabric, his cock a leaking mess in his boxers.
And as his arm is still wrapped around your waist, he slowly starts rocking you back and forth in his lap, your dripping, pulsating and bare pussy dragging over his clothed cock.
You cry out at the new stimulation, the pace of your fingertips faltering as you’re being slid back and forth in Jungkook’s lap. Your hips instinctively roll down to better meet his bulge, and as you feel the fabric slip through your folds, your eyes roll into the back of your head.
“You feel—ah—so big—” you gasp, Jungkook now dumbing you down to a moaning, breathy mess with only the outline of his dick.
His head plops back onto your shoulder, almost crying as he once again lays eyes on the way you rub your own clit. He grinds up to meet every roll of your hips, his breath stuttering with every single drag, gasping and sighing as he continues watching you play with yourself so delicately.
He can’t fucking take it anymore. He has to feel you, he has to have you drip all over his fingers. Your name falls from his lips.
“Please—” he sighs, almost out of breath from all the withholding he’s been doing. Poor guy. “Please—just let me touch you.”
Thankfully, with the way you’ve been edging yourself — with the way Jungkook’s clothed cock keeps sliding through your folds — you’re now downright drugged. There’s actually no restraint left in your body, and hearing Jungkook beg behind you… actually beg to have his hands on you… there’s nothing to do but grant his wish.
“Y-yes, please—need your fingers so bad,” you cry, removing the hand from your clit to place a firm grip around one of Jungkook’s thighs.
Jungkook lets out the most broken sound you’ve ever heard. It comes from deep in his chest, a throaty gasp that dissolved into a soft moan as he surges forward, wrapping both arms around your waist to pull you flush to him. He’s shaking with anticipation and want, every primal thing that’s been clawing at him since the day he saw you in that fuzzy coat for the first time. You’re in his arms, all his — holy shit.
His thumbs hook the waistband of your soaked through panties, and he yanks them off you in a hurried motion, not caring if the fabric might rip.
One hand slides down immediately, and you arch into him, spreading your legs a little wider to give him space. His fingertips are hesitant for half a second, brushing delicately between your folds, like he can’t believe that you’re actually allowing him to touch you, before they dip in. Two of them, pressing into your dripping cunt with an ease that makes the both of you cry out in tandem.
Your entire body jolts against him, mouth falling open, hands flying up to grab at his shoulders, nails digging through the fabric of his shirt. “F-fuck, Kook—”
“Holy f-fuck—how are you this wet?” he gasps over your shoulder, eyes glued to the way your slick covers his fingers, the way you greedily suck him in with every deep thrust he bestows upon you. He has never seen anything like it, anything so beautiful. You’ve bewitched him, body and soul.
You can’t even answer him properly — you just mewl against him, jaw slack and lips parted, every breath now a high-pitched moan. You’re gasping, twitching in his lap, your hips already rolling to meet his strokes as his fingers retract, starting to apply circles to your clit. He pinches the nub between his middle- and ring-finger, rubbing you with such precision you can do nothing but tremble against him, mindlessly let out his name in a row of breathless moans. Maybe it’s the wait that has you coming undone so easily for him, or maybe he’s just that good — but as he works you over with his fingers, you swear your brain activity cuts short.
“Kookie—please—just like that—” you cry out, back arching against him, your head falling to his shoulder. “Keep going, don’t stop—god, don’t stop!”
Only an idiot would stop upon hearing such wonderful pleas. And as of now, Jungkook is no idiot, just completely drunk on the feel of you, the sound of you, the way you writhe and tremble in his lap. One hand stays locked around your waist, holding you tight to his chest, while his other hand works between your thighs, rubbing tight, perfect circles against your clit as your wetness coats his fingers, his jeans, everything. He couldn’t care less.
If he wasn’t so nervous about pleasuring you, he’d throw you off his lap, lay down flat on the bed and have you straddle his face. He’d happily suffocate on your pussy, drink in all your juices, suck down on your clit until your legs trembled so hard that he’d have to hold you upright. But as stated, he is a bit flustered, and won’t do anything rash — so his fingers will have to do for now.
“Shhit,” he whispers, his forehead falling to your shoulder as if this, him working your clit over, is pleasuring him somehow. He musters up the courage to call you a gooey pet-name. “Is that good, baby?”
There’s no way you can find words in the state you’re in, especially not when he calls you baby. Your hips buck in response, and Jungkook feels the way your thighs begin to shake, the way your breath comes in ragged gasps, the way you’re pulsating beneath his fingers — he knows you’re so close, oh so close.
His words come out pathetic, like a whimper. “You gonna cum for me? Ah—cum all in my lap?”
You nod again, whimpering, unable to do anything else as your body builds toward the edge. The pressure between your legs is unbearable, every nerve ending begging, every muscle tightening. And when Jungkook rolls your clit while pinched between his fingers, so agonizingly so that your eyes go to the back of your head — you have no idea how you’re going to survive this.
Behind you, Jungkook still can’t lift his forehead from your shoulder. His eyes are shut tight, and he’s panting like he’s already buried balls deep inside you, although he doesn’t need to be. He’s quite frankly about to cum right there, in his pants, just by hearing the pretty moans that leave you, by hearing you beg for him with words that don’t even make sense. He can’t fucking believe it — he’s the one making you feel like this. He’s about to make you cum, he’s about to have you cum all over his fingers, spasm in his lap, arch into him and roll your hips over his aching cock, hidden away in his jeans.
He chokes on a moan when he hears you speak again. “Oh my—fuck, Kookie—don’t you dare stop—I’m—”
Jungkook rubs tighter, faster, the hand on your hip starting to rock you back and forth in his lap as his hips follow, chasing the wetness that drips over his jeans. Suddenly, he feels your entire body lock.
You come undone with a row of sharp gasps, gentle inhales, completely wiped out, eyes fluttering shut. Your thighs clamp around his hands, and your body jerks in his lap as wave after wave crashes through you. In a haste, your hands fall from his shoulders and to his lap, your long nails digging into his thighs, your breath stolen from your lungs and your voice tangled in a moan that you couldn’t even stop if you tried. Because Jungkook keeps rocking you back and forth, keeps rubbing you through the orgasm and out on the other side until stars and sparkles appear in your eyelids.
He feels so big in his jeans, that’s really all you can think of as you keep gliding so easily over the bulge that’s hidden underneath you.
As you came, Jungkook managed to lift his head from your shoulder and look at your face in awe as you leaned against his shoulder — where you now still lie. Your eyebrows crease gently on your forehead, your lips parted just slightly as small and broken gasps make their way out. He can’t make his fingers stop, not until he’s sure he has managed to squeeze out every drop of pleasure you have left. With his eyes glued to you.
“Fuck,” he whispers as he looks at you resting on his shoulder. “You—you look so pretty when you cum.”
You whimper something that’s almost a laugh, dazed and gasping as you feel his heart hammering against your back. His fingers finally slow down, and he looks at the view of them leaving your dripping and overstimulated cunt, how your slick sticks to his digits, how it glistens. He looks so spellbound, you can’t contain yourself.
So you stretch your neck and fight every tremble in your body to plant a kiss on his soft cheek. He hums in response, turning his head immediately to meet your lips. His hands go to your waist, not even bothering to wipe away your slick, and with your help he manages to turn you fully, have you straddle his lap.
His skin is so warm, he feels so soft and gentle — it drives you fucking nuts. You smother him in tiny pecks, leaving his lips to eagerly mark his entire face with wet kisses. “You did so good,” you purr, still coating him with what’s left of your shimmering lip-gloss. Even though you didn’t intend it, it does sound like a ‘good boy-comment’, something Jungkook isn’t all that familiar with.
“Thank you?” he says a bit shyly, but thinks no more of it when he feels your hands starting to fiddle with his belt-buckle. Fuck. His hips jolt upwards with surprise, absolutely dying for you to rid him of his clothes. He actually can’t wait anymore, so he catches one of the kisses you’re about to plant on his nose with his lips and rolls his tongue into your mouth. Both his hands go to the hem of his shirt, crossing them to pull the fabric over his torso.
You don’t stop kissing him, even as he lifts his arms to tug the shirt over his head. You chase his mouth, starving kisses, all tongue and lips and the soft, desperate gasps of a man coming undone. You catch the groan he releases when your teeth graze his bottom lip, when your nails drag slightly over the now bare skin of his chest. He’s chiseled to perfection, you feel to under your fingers who now drag down his torso, the pads running over his rock-hard abs. What a man.
Your hands move lower, and you tug at his belt again while your lips stay locked to his, fingers fumbling with the buckle, and he’s so helpful about it. He shifts his hips to assist, letting you slide the leather free from its loops, and the second you pop the button of his jeans, he breaks the kiss to pants softly into your cheek. “I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”
“Haven’t we already established you’re a bit crazy?” you purr, pushing his jeans down his thighs.
He huffs a breathless laugh, but chokes on it when you decide to cup him through his boxers. His cock jumps at the contact, the wet fabric clinging to every line of him, and his head tips back with a soft gasp. He whines when you lift yourself off his lap, fingers trying to tug you back, but helpless as he’s so damn horny he could die.
You stand before him as he sits back on the edge of the bed, jeans pushed down his thighs, abs moving in waves as he breathes in and out. His eyes are wild, locked to your, praying that you might give him some attention now.
“Take these off,” you murmur, looking down at the jeans. “And scoot back.”
“Yes—fuck—yes,” he nods too quickly, lifting his hips to peel off his jeans. You help him kick them down his legs, your hands sliding over the taut muscle and soft skin, and the moment they’re off, he tugs off his socks with rushed, shaky hands. He does exactly as asked, and scoots back until his back hits the plush headboard, shoulders pressed to the padding, legs spread open in the most inviting way. His thighs flex as he settles, every muscle rolling and tightening underneath his thick and golden skin. He looks painted by the gods, unbelievably beautiful, built like something out of a dream. You went crazy over him by just seeing his face, his height, so now seeing him undressed, straining in his boxers, all for you, has your thighs going slick as more arousal seeps out of you.
“Like this?” he asks with one brow cocked, arms resting on his thighs. He asks as if he’s nervous, pressing harder down on his thighs, rubbing over them twice with his eyes getting lost in yours. He looks delicious enough to eat up, you could gobble him up whole. Still watching you, he bites down on the skin in his cheek, eying your bare body, the way there’s still glisten lingering between your legs. How your tits perk in his direction, how there seems to be goosebumps by your nipples. What a fucking view — and he’s got this all to himself?
You start moving to the bed, crawling forward slowly, and soon your naked body settles above him until you’re climbing back into his lap. His breath hitches, and his hands hover, waiting for permission until you take ahold of his wrists and guide them to your hips. “Hold me there,” you whisper. “And don’t move yet.”
He moans at that, eyebrows knotting high on his forehead as his fingers squeeze your skin. How can he not fucking move? You settle in his lap, your bare heat meeting his cock which now pulsates and twitches in his boxers. He moans yet again, which only spurs you on. So you grind once over his cock, arms resting on his chest, letting the clothed bulge slip in between your wet folds.
Jungkook’s head thuds against the headboard, his jaw slack. “Fuuck me.” His eyes nearly roll back, and he grips your hips harder as you rock yourself back and forth over his cock. Your clit grinds directly against the ridge of him, and your breath catches when he twitches beneath you. And when you look down, you see a new, dark patch starting to form, as he leaks against his stomach, through his boxers.
“Oh fuck—please—” he whines, his voice unraveling as you rub yourself over his hard length. His neck goes back to its upright position, and he locks eyes with your puffy folds, how they slide back and forth over his erection, how it makes small, wet sounds with every delicate roll of your hips. “Holy fuuck—you’re gonna make me cum.”
His thighs start to tremble under yours, his grip tightening again, and suddenly, without warning, he sits upright. His spine leaves the headboard completely as he surges forward, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest, mouth brushing against your shoulder. He moans into your skin, “I need—need to feel you,” he chokes. “I can’t—need to move, please—”
There’s no way you can say no to that, so you invite his request by wrapping your arms around his neck, continuing the move of your hips. Jungkook meets the rolls this time, grinding up into you, matching your rhythm as his breath goes shallow. He rocks beneath you with a choked groan, his boxers soaked through and clinging to your slick folds as you both set a perfect and messy pace. Chest to chest, sweat-slicked, already fucked out.
“Fuck—Jungkook—” you gasp, nails digging into your shoulders. You’re so close again, your clit catching with every press of his cock. Fuck, this can’t be happening, how easy can you be? Get it together, woman. “You feel—s-so good—”
He nods frantically against your neck. “You’re perfect—oh my god—you’re so wet and soft and perfect.”
His hips start bucking up into you with in a more desperate pace, gasping for air as he feels himself tightening, every nerve in his body ready to be ignited. You feel too good, he can’t fucking think. Although he wants nothing more but to bury himself deep inside your pretty cunt, he can’t seem to stop whatever it is he’s doing now. Because you feel too good. His arms tighten, one hand splaying across your back, the other dragging down to cup your ass, shoving you down harder against him. His hips snap upwards, rutting into your soaked heat like he’s praying for release.
“Fuck—ah—I’m gonna cum—” he gasps, his head moving to your chest, nuzzling his face in between your swell, perfect, soft, wonderful cleavage. He could live there probably, although now he can’t seem to breathe. “I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum—”
You’re both gasping for air, moving in perfect desperation, caught in a rhythm none of you dares to break, slick friction and wet, breathless please.
But you’re stronger than him — you don’t want him to cum anywhere but inside you, deep inside you. So you stop. Right at the height of it, when his cock is throbbing beneath you, twitching in his boxers, when your hips are already grinding out trembling whimpers, you still yourself. You hug him tighter against your body, holding him in place as you freeze.
Jungkook jolts, his breath catching like you’ve stolen it right out of his lungs. “W-what—no—why’d you—”
You tug on his hair, lifting his face from where its pressed against your tits, and you lean in, brushing your nose against his, lips ghosting his mouth. “You’re not cumming in your boxers tonight.”
Jesus fucking christ, if Jungkook wasn’t completely spellbound by the way you speak so seductively, the way his cock is still nuzzled between your folds, he would be running up and down the walls. He almost completely forgot about the fact that he could actually fuck you, like for real — he was too lost in pleasure.
His eyes flicker, wide and absolutely lost in you, suddenly kissing you with such desperation that you have to gasp for air.
“Take them off,” you manage to breathe into his mouth.
He shifts beneath you as his eyebrows twitch and his breath stutters. He shifts just enough to hook his thumbs into the waistband off his boxers, lifting his hips. You lift too, just barely, your knees bracing the mattress as he shoves the last fabric down and off, kicking it frantically off with his feet, something that has you giggling against his lips. His cock springs free, completely soaked. The tip glistens, already beading at the slit, twitching helplessly as it rests against his stomach.
You both groan. Your hips are still hovering above him, your heat just barely brushing the length of him. This is enough to kill you, actually. But you need him so bad you almost can’t think — you’ve been needing him for weeks now.
“Are you clean?” you ask, your fingertips dragging slowly down his chest, the barest tease.
Jungkook swallows hard, looking right into your eyes while his hands clench the sheets, too nervous to actually touch you. He’s clean, of course, he tests himself every time he has slept with someone. It has been months now, but his last test came out negative, so he can’t possibly have caught something in any other way. He doesn’t really sit down naked in public places, so he has to be clean. “Yeah. Yeah—you’re the first I’ve touched in months.”
“Good—same here,” you confess with a giggle. A beat passes, and you push him further down, letting his back meet the headrest again, watching as his tongue fiddles with the piercing in his bottom lip. This is finally happening, dear god. You’re so unbelievably thankful for the fact that the two of you are both insane, that you’ve both been spiraling for weeks. Because now you have him at your mercy, after all this time.
The room is quiet for a minute, up until Jungkook lets out a desperate whisper. “Then please—please let me feel all of it. I’ve never needed anything more.”
You’d scream out ‘me neither’ if it weren’t for the fact that you’re trying to keep your cool, assert some kind of dominance here. So instead you rise slightly onto your knees, one hand reaching between your bodies to wrap around his cock, which instantly twitches in your grip. Jungkook curses low in his throat, his eyes locked on yours, completely still beneath you as you guide him to your entrance. So you lower yourself, and the moment the swollen head pushes past your folds, both of you gasp.
Your walls stretch to accommodate him, inch by inch, taking him in with a slow ache that feels has your thighs trembling. He’s incredibly thick, but your body opens for him anyway, desperate to take him whole.
His head drops back against the headboard with a thud as his lips part beautifully. “Oh my god,” he groans with a wrecked voice, fists buried and clenched in the sheets. “Shitshitshit—you’re tight.”
You keep sinking deeper, biting your lip, nails dragging down his chest as your pussy stretched tight around his cock. He’s shaking under you, knuckles white where his hands grip the duvet, breath coming in short, punched-out gasps. And when you’re finally seated, flush against him, both of you let out a loud moan. You’re both completely still, trembling and panting as the fit is obscenely snug. When Jungkook looks up at you, his eyes are heavy-lidded. “Oh my god,” he says the moment he lays his eyes on you. What a wonderful view, he thinks. How can anyone look so beautiful while taking his cock. Your mouth is parted in such a gentle way, your lips swollen for all your shared kisses. Your arms look so delicate as you straddle him, soft muscles spasming slightly underneath your skin.
As you try keeping eye contact, you settle fully in his lap with trembling thighs, the weight of him buried so deep inside you it feels like you might never be able to walk again after this. His cock pulses thickly within your heat, and he shudders visibly beneath you.
“Holy fuck…” Jungkook breathes out, his head now tipped back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in shaky gasps. His throat bobs as he swallows, his lashes flutter shut as he can’t for the life of him look at you for too long. He’s going to come right away if so.
“You okay, baby?” you purr, fingers brushing up his chest in featherlight strokes.
He nods desperately with his eyes still clenched shut. “Mm-hm,” he hums in response, not daring to look at you for even a second more. Fuck, he’s going to come so hard.
You smile softly, grinding your hips in the smallest, slowest circle. The movement makes him gasp, hips jerking helplessly upward before you pin him back down with your thighs. He shudders and twitches, hands still not touching you, but clenching the fabric of the sheets so hard it looks as if it might hurt. He just fucking lays there, terrified that he might come embarrassingly quick if he lets himself go, so he stays still, choking on his own moans as you once again roll your hips.
The rhythm you’ve built is smooth, just enough to leave him gasping, trembling underneath you as he lets out small, broken moans. His cock fills you perfectly, every slow drag inside you grazing nerves that make your toes curl and your walls clench around him. Whenever you roll forward, your clit brushes against his abdomen, and you can’t help but gasp.
Jungkook’s head is tipped back, his throat bared, chest heaving as he’s barely keeping it together. His eyes, fuck — they’re still closed. His beautiful, dark eyes who you could spend hours looking into.
You stare down at him, straddling his hips, the slick sound of your bodies echoing in your bedroom, and it kills you that he isn’t looking at you. Not even for a second. His eyes are actually shut closed ridiculously hard, his eyelids creasing with the effort of not looking at you. He keeps gasping for air, especially when you start lifting your hips, only for them to roll down and forward again, a move which rips all the air from his lungs.
“Jungkook,” you whisper, still grinding down in perfect circles. Your voice is soft, nothing more but pleading. “Look at me.”
He shakes his head weakly, brows drawn tight, breath hitching with every thrust. “I can’t,” he breathes in desperation. “Can’t—I can’t.”
You grind down deeper, letting your walls squeeze around him, making his whole body jerk. “Baby,” you murmur again, letting your hands trail down his chest to his stomach, your voice turning sugar-sweet. “Please? Just for a second? I wanna see you. Wanna see those pretty eyes, Kookie.”
He swears under his breath, biting down on his lip. His fists tremble where they grip the sheets. He’s fighting it, really fighting it. Of course he wishes to look at you, grip you, make your pretty tits bounce as he makes you ride his cock. Oh how he’d love the sight of it. But it would only last a second, as he would come so unbelievably fast. Instead, he options for defiance… but you know he’s seconds from giving in. You can see it in the way he his eyelids un-crinkle.
So you say it again, looking down at him with heavy-lidded eyes as his cock keeps hitting the delicate spot buried deep inside you. “Please, Jungkook… look at me, baby.”
Oh my god. Jungkook shudders, lashes fluttering — and then he cracks. His eyes open, and fuck, the look in them nearly has your knees giving out over him. They’re blown wide with lust, flicking over your flushed face, your chest, the way his cock keeps disappearing inside your puffy folds. How they suck him in so greedily, how his entire abdomen is coated in your slick.
“Fuuck,” he whispers, and just like that, he decides to let go. Fuck it.
His hands shoot up to your hips, grabbing you hard and pulling you down onto him with a strength he’s been holding back for too long. He’s been dying to fuck you, thought he never would, so he won’t go easy now that he’s finally been granted his one true wish. You gasp, pleasure jolting through you as his grip anchors you against him. Finally, he starts thrusting up into you, matching your rhythm, reaching so much deeper than when you were doing all the work yourself. And oh god, it feels so incredible. He feels like a dream.
“Oh my god—” you choke out, your head tipping back. The new pace is punishing, but so unbelievably perfect. You’re so full, every thrust slamming his cock into you at just the right angle, so deep you can’t breathe. All you can do is splay flat palms over his sweat-slick chest, trying to steady yourself as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “Yes—yes—oh god, Jungkook, don’t stop—”
Jungkook groans, holding your hips, fucking into you with a madness that punched the air out your lungs. “You’re gonna—ah—” he gasps, eyebrows creasing, eyes flicking over you as he has no idea where to look. It’s all too good, the wonderful expression on your face, the perfect bounce of your tits, how your cunt keeping sucking him in with every thrust. “You’re gonna make me cum so hard—fuck, fuck—”
There’s no way you can answer him right now. Your moans come out broken, each one hitched around the feeling of his cock pounding into you, his hips slapping against your ass, your thighs, your slick dripping down his length as he fills you over and over. And when he shoves you down onto his cock, your swollen clit nudges against him, just enough for it to provide pleasure. Your mouth falls open on a gasp, hips stuttering as the pressure inside you coils tighter, white-fucking-hot.
Jungkook moans high-pitched, completely losing control, one of his hands sliding up your back with awe, the other gripping your hip with bruising force as he keeps you locked in his rhythm. “You’re perfect—so wet—you feel so—ah—soft—” The praise tumbles out of his parted lips, something he soon shuts up by biting down on his lips. His nose crinkles, as does his eyebrows, and he keeps his eyes locked on where his cock keeps disappearing inside you.
Your entire body twitches upon hearing his words, your head falling forward as you brace yourself with both hands on his chest. Your nails dig into the swell skin there, and you swear you can feel his heart hammering through his ribs. Fuck, it makes it even hotter, and you clench around him uncontrollably.
“Jungkook—” you gasp, a high and choked moan following the way he hits your sweet spot again and again and again. Your whole body jerks, with every thrust, thighs shaking, mouth hanging open as heat spreads through your belly like wildfire. You don’t even notice how bad you’re trembling until he suddenly presses his forehead to yours.
He gasps, “I’m gonna cum.” The hand running up your back comes to your neck, which he grabs to shove you against his lips, muffling both your outcries. You moan into each other’s mouth, sweat and spit mingling on your tongues as they tangle together. He lets up from the kiss for only a second, a moan breaking in his throat, “A-ah—baby, I’m gonna cum—please cum. You’re clenching so hard—fuck, baby, are you gonna cum?”
You nod erratically as all words are lost on your tongue, the pleasure pulsing though every inch of your body. Desperate to find both your releases, you grind down harder, chasing pleasure and all of him. His hand shoves your lips back onto his, and he gasps into your mouth as he feels you clenching viscerally around him. After a few more grinds, you come undone all over him, crying out in pleasure, grabbing onto his neck to release your moans into his mouth. You walls flutter and spasm around his cock as your thighs give in, unable to move or do any work yourself.
Jungkook lets both hands move to your back instead, pushing you flush to his sweat-slick body, lifting his hips off the bed to take matters into own hands instead. He thrusts harder and faster, hugging you against his chiseled frame. “Oh my god,” he chokes out, his hands holding you down tight as he fucks you through your orgasm, the way your walls squeeze around him, dragging him over the edge right behind you. “I’m cumming—I’m gonna cum so hard—I’m—”
He slams up into you one last time, hips jerking as his cock throbs deep inside you, spilling into you with a groan that sounds almost painful. He fills you, heat spreading inside you as he comes hard, gasping your name continuously, completely wrecked.
As the two of you pulsate, gasp for air pressed flush to each other, he wraps his arms around your back as you both shake from the aftershocks. His cock twitches inside you one more time, still buried deep, and you both let out weak, breathless sounds as the last of it fades. Your foreheads are pressed together, and your eyes are both shut as you catch your breaths. The room is quiet, but your heart pounds in your ears.
What makes you tingle is when his hand starts running slowly up your spine. Holy fuck. This was definitely worth the wait, worth going insane over.
You hear him breathe out his name, and your eyes open, so close to his that his two eyes blend together. You blink, leaning in to press a lazy kiss to his lips, so tired that you actually just stay there, gasping against him as he kisses you back. The hand cradling your back moves, coming to brush your wild hair out of your face, stroking the back of your head. “Thank you,” he breathes, kissing you once more.
So subtle you almost don’t notice it, he turns with you still pressed flush to him, rolling the two of you over to your sides all the while he’s still buried inside you, his release seeping out from you and ruining your sheets. You don’t care, you can fix it later. He’s here now, and he’s hugging you, tugging you closer so your head can rest against his chest. He gives a small kiss to the top of your head, breathing out heavily, repeating his words. “Thank you.”
You fall asleep like this, still intertwined and utterly exhausted, him hugging you while he listens to the way your breathing settles.
Jungkook had one mission when moving for himself — finding a girl to sleep with. He did so, not without struggle that is, but what he didn’t imagine was finding a girl to fall in love with. Finding a girl he would love with all his heart, so deeply it would hurt whenever she wasn’t around.
But he did. He met a girl who made him go crazy.
There’s an unwritten rule that goes something like this: Do not fall in love with your roommate, do not get involved with your roommate in any way. It will ruin the relationship that you are financially bound to. You will have to move.
Thankfully, Jungkook has found a loophole. He has fallen in love with his neighbor, a girl who he practically lives with now. Because you can’t keep your hands off each other. Not even for a second. He hates it when he has to work on weekends, he hates when he has to leave you while you sleep so peacefully in whatever bed the two of you slept in the night before.
He tries making up for it while leaving you small notes around the house, pink post-it notes filled with what could be just meaningless scribbles. But you love his drawings, you love it when he leaves a weirdly drawn bunny on the fridge. And what Jungkook doesn’t know is that on your bedside table, there’s a small, porcelain casket, where you pocket all his post-it notes. There are probably about a hundred of them now, buried in the casket. You look at them when he’s away, smiling by yourself, wondering how you could ever get so lucky.
One night, while you were laying in his lap over the sofa, you found out he knew how to braid. You felt a slight tug on your hair as your eyes were glued to the television, and stretched your neck to see what was going on with the man behind you.
Nothing in particular was going on, actually. Because there he sat, watching TV, just like you, only with your hair in his hands, braiding a perfect fish-tail without even needing to look at it. Your hand came up to get a feel on it, and your cheeks flushed. Without tying it, you turned your entire body and leaped forward, kissing him all over until he started giggling.
What did the two of you do in your past lives, to be this insane — but somehow find each other in all the chaos?
pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader genre. paperboy!jungkook. fuckboy!jungkook. milf!reader. age gap. infidelity. smut. college au. 2000s au.
getting a new job as a newspaper delivery boy to earn some extra cash wasn't exactly ideal for jungkook's busy college schedule. but the MILF he delivers papers to every wednesday? absolutely essential.
word count. 11.4k words warnings. big age gap .. click out if ur uncomfortable. jungkook 20. oc 30. so much flirting and sexual tension its sickening. pure erotica. indications of oc not being in a happy marriage. HORNY WOMEN EPIDEMIC. scenes where he has sex and kisses other girls SMFH. mention of jk and tae having threesomes together. smut. switch!jungkook. dry humping. jk cums in his pants. oc watching jk jerk off. handjob. titty fuck. unprotected sex. cowgirl. rough doggy. cum swapping + cum eating.
✭ PART OF THE PRESS REWIND COLLAB !
ana’s notes. hello girlies ! welcome to the first baby of the press rewind collab hehe .. THE PRESSURE IS ON. i hope i dont disappoint too much while we wait for the absolute masterpiece jen holds until tomorrow. this is just a bunch of porn without plot idk i was horny. anyway ! we are so excited to share this with you guys hehe ♡
Ever since he started this job, Jungkook’s schedule had been nothing but brutal to him.
Work began at four in the goddamn morning, forcing him to cut hours out of his already fragile sleep schedule just so he could get out of bed earlier and send out newspapers while everyone else was still dreaming. By the time he was wrapped up around seven, he didn’t even have time to get coffee — let alone breakfast — before rushing back to campus, trying to get to his first class on time.
It’s not like his job was the hardest job in the world. But still, the hours were inconvenient, and the exhaustion was real. And hell, Jungkook had been so fucking busy he hadn’t had sex in two months.
Two whole months.
He was usually having sex twice a month. A respectable amount, nothing outrageous, just enough to keep him sane. But now, he felt like he was dying. He was losing himself. Is this what celibacy feels like?
He went through his roster — the girls he usually hooked up with.
Evelyn stopped calling him, cold out of nowhere. He sure as hell wasn’t going to call her first. Vanessa had called it quits the second she got a boyfriend. Fucking dweeb. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she came crawling back, begging him to fuck her the way she actually liked.
As for now, the only girl he could think of who was both available and interested was also the one he least wanted to touch. What was her name again? Myra? Maia? Who fucking knows. She was clingy, annoying, and always talked to him like he was her boyfriend. Quite frankly, he didn’t have the time — or patience — for all of that.
Whatever, his hand will have to do.
He exhaled deeply. All that walking, legs burning, blood pumping through his veins like he’d just run a damn marathon — and yet, he still felt like collapsing. His body was moving, sure, but his brain was dead. Gosh, he was so glad he didn’t have classes today.
Rubbing at his heavy eyes, he trudged forward, shoes scraping against the pavement as he made his way to the last house on his route. Just one more.
He was so ready to throw this stupid fucking paper at this persons door, call it a day, and crawl back to his bed for a much needed nap. His arm was already mid-swing, prepared to launch it and walk away without a second thought.
But the door opens.
And… oh. Hello.
“Ah, perfect timing,” you said with a soft smile, all bright-eyed and cheerful like it wasn’t eight-something in the morning.
Jungkook blinked. Once. Twice. Maybe even a third time, he lost count.
Maybe it was your face that caught him off guard — pretty in that effortlessly annoying way, your hair pulled back with a clip that made your features stand out more. Or maybe it was the fact that you were very clearly wearing absolutely nothing underneath that silk robe, stepping out onto the porch like it was no big deal.
So casually. So revealing.
You tilted your head, reaching out for the paper. “Thank you,” you said, fingers brushing against his for a second.
Jungkook blames it on his lack of sex — or hell, just the physical touch in general — for the way a shiver shot down his spine.
“Yeah. No problem,” he said, clearing his throat, but not even bothering to be subtle as his eyes dragged up and down shamelessly.
You didn’t seem to notice the way he was checking you out, or maybe you did, but you didn’t mention it. Either way, you just smiled, glancing down at the front page of the paper, skimming the headlines.
“Having a good morning?” he asks, noting the complete lack of exhaustion or irritation on your face this early.
You chuckled, clearly amused by the contrast between you and him. “I slept well. You caught me on a good day.”
Jungkook smirked, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders loose and relaxed. “Must be nice. I haven’t gotten more than four hours of sleep these days.”
“Poor thing. Guess someone’s been working too hard.” you said, your voice dipping into something teasing, almost sultry as you pouted at him playfully.
Jungkook liked that. Oh, he liked that a lot. His tongue darted out to licks his lips, his gaze locked dead on you. Jungkook had always been such a flirt — never the type to get shy when it came to hitting on a girl. It’s no different with you, a beautiful, grown woman. But he does find it a little more exciting.
“You pay for these newspapers?” he asked, titling his head, still ogling you.
You shook your head, “No, my husband does. But it gets pretty lonely when he’s off to work and my kids are at school. These keep me busy until it’s time to make lunch and pick them up.”
Jungkook nodded slowly, lips twitching like he was holding back a smirk.
Husband. Kids.
Should’ve been enough to put him in check.
Should’ve been enough for him to back off.
But instead, Jungkook found himself even more intrigued.
“You know,” he said, voice low and a little rough, “if it gets that lonely… I wouldn’t mind keeping you company.”
You raised an eyebrow, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “You flirting with me, paperboy?”
He chuckled under his breath, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Depends,” he said, eyes glinting with something mischievous. “Is it working?”
Your eyes dropped into a warning glare, but the smile tugging at your lips told a different story.
“How old are you?” you asked, voice light but edged with curiosity.
“Twenty-one, ma’am,” he said. “In nine months… but basically twenty-one.”
You blink slowly, clearly unimpressed. “So… twenty.”
“Not in nine months,” he says back, that cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You scoffed. “You’re just a baby.”
“I’m not quite sure babies can drink legally,” he said looking up, brows furrowed in mock confusion.
“You can’t,” you pointed out.
“I can in nine months,” he repeated, grinning.
You exhale, glancing off to the side like maybe the breeze would carry this boy away. “You in college?”
“Yup,” he said proudly. “Heading into my third year,”
You nodded slowly, sizing him up. “So, you’re young, probably have plenty of girls your age lining up...”
“What if I don’t want girls my age?”
You tilt your head at him, narrowing your eyes just slightly. “And what is it exactly that you want from me?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just smiled, slow and unapologetic, eyes dragging down your figure for the briefest moment before flicking back up to your face.
“I don’t know,” he said, voice low. “But I wouldn’t mind finding out.”
He stares at you, that flirt still dancing in his eyes, tongue pressing into his cheek as he waits for your response.
But you don’t give him one.
Instead, you turn, stepping back toward your doorway.
“See you next Wednesday,” you teased, your words light and playful, floating over your shoulder as the door clicked softly shut.
Jungkook bit his lip, a slow grin spreading across his face.
Yeah. Wednesday might’ve been his favorite day of the week now.
With the semester coming to an end, Jungkook was drowning in final exams. Studying was all he knew. Ask him how his day was, and he’d reply with something he learned in his fucking English course. Still, somewhere buried beneath all the notes and reading, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
He continued delivering newspapers to regular subscribers, and even though you weren’t due for another until Wednesday, he still found himself walking past your house anyway.
Maybe he’d catch you coming back from dropping your kids off at school. Maybe you’d be standing near the large windows in nothing but that silk robe. But he didn’t see you — not once.
The wait for Wednesday was unbearable, and the rest of the week was torture.
But eventually, the day came.
For the first time ever, Jungkook didn’t hate the sound of his alarm. The annoying beep from his bedside table felt almost like a victory bell. He was up before it could go off a second time, out of bed and getting dressed with more enthusiasm than he’d shown all semester.
He threw on a bomber jacket — dressing much nicer than he had last Wednesday — and stepped out into the chilly morning air. The streets were still quiet, the cold air nipped at his cheeks, and his stomach was already growling, but his mind was only focused on one thing. One house. One door.
And one woman who had no business looking that damn good so early in the morning.
Wanting to be considerate of everyone else’s time before he lingered on your doorstep and took his time hitting on you, he rushed through the rest of his deliveries — saving the best for last.
By the time he turned the corner onto your block, it was nearing ten. He slowed his pace as he walked down the familiar sidewalk, the excitement jittering in his stomach as your house came into view.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about someone else perhaps opening the door… or worse, you not answering at all.
Because there you were — in the driveway, back turned to him, bent slightly as you grabbed a few paper bags from the trunk of your car.
“Let me help!” he called out, jogging up the driveway.
You straightened, looking over your shoulder — unintentionally robbing him of the very nice view of your ass he was enjoying. But the smile that curled on your pretty glossy lips more than made up for it.
“Ah, paperboy,” you teased, voice warm and teasing. “Perfect timing again… you have my schedule written down somewhere?”
Jungkook chuckles, taking the bag from your arm before reaching into the trunk for the rest. “Name’s Jungkook,” he says with a grin. “And yeah, I named it Pretty Woman in the Silk Robe.”
You giggle, closing the trunk and locking your car. “Sounds like a porno.”
“Could be one,” he says with a shrug, smirking. “I’m pretty good with a camera.”
You shoot him a look, cheeks feeling warm despite yourself. “You really shouldn’t flirt with me.”
Jungkook shifts the grocery bags in his arms, no signs of struggle. “C’mon, you don’t like it?”
“You’re twenty,” you reply, but your tone is more amused than scolding.
“That doesn’t answer my question though, does it?”
You roll your eyes, lips twitching into a smile as you turn and head toward the house. Jungkook trails behind closely, eyes shamelessly glued to the sway of your hips. Damn, those jeans were doing it for you — and him.
“Oh, c’mon, I gave you my name!” he whines, a pretty smile tugging at his lips.
You glance over your shoulder, your voice soft as you finally offer yours — slipping from your tongue just as smoothly as the silk robe you wore last week. Pretty, Jungkook thinks. Real pretty.
“You flirt with other customers like this?” you ask, brow arched, tone teasing.
“Only pretty ones like you,” he flirts again without a second wasted.
You let out a soft snort, shaking your head as you push the door open. “Set the bags down on the counter and don’t get comfortable.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters, following you in.
He steps in further, eyes roaming with quiet curiosity. The scent of vanilla lingers faintly in the air, cozy and homely. There’s a pair of small sneakers by the door, a doll under the coffee table, a sweatshirt draped over the arm of the couch. Signs of your life when you aren’t home alone.
You’re a mother.
He has to remember that. He needs to remember that.
“Kitchen’s this way,” you say over your shoulder, motioning with a tilt of your head.
He follows you down the hall, the sound of your footsteps leading him into the open kitchen. Sunlight spills from the windows, reflecting against the tile floors and countertops. The space feels lived-in, but clean and comfortable — just like you.
He sets the bags down on the counter, watching as you move with ease, starting to unpack the groceries and restock the refrigerator. There’s something oddly domestic about it. Something strangely intimate.
Jungkook lingers, unsure if he should take the hint and head out — or wait to be dismissed. But you don’t say anything, and the silence stretches just enough to feel like an invitation.
“So…” he starts. “How many little ones we talkin’?”
You glance back at him over your shoulder as you shut the fridge. “Three. A girl and two boys.”
He lets out a low whistle, settling onto the stool at the kitchen island. “Damn. Busy house.”
“Too busy,” you reply, leaning your elbows on the other side of the counter. “Why do you think I don’t wanna put up with you?”
“Well,” he chuckles softly. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
You raise a brow. “Only because you won’t back off.”
“I do when I’m told.”
There’s a pause. Your gaze lingers on him for a second too long.
“And I haven’t…” you say, voice quiet.
His smile grows, slow and knowingly. “Exactly.”
You lift your left hand, slowly, deliberately — the diamond glinting in the sunlight. “You forgetting I’m married?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just tilts his head, eyes locked on yours. “Are you?”
Jungkook wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t exactly drawn a line. Hadn’t shut him down when he flirted. Hadn't told him to stop calling you pretty, or stop looking at you like that. You’d let him in — quite literally — and you hadn’t made it hard for him to do so either.
But he wasn’t right in this situation either. Jungkook knew exactly what he was doing. Knew you were married. Knew there were kids in the picture. And he was still sitting there, shooting his shot like none of it mattered.
But then again… you hadn’t told him to stop.
And maybe, deep down, you didn’t want to.
You clear your throat, inhaling deeply as if that’ll cool the heat crawling up your neck. “Alright,” you say, tapping the counter. “You’ve been here long enough.”
Jungkook raises a brow, smirk already pulling at his lips. “Kicking me out already?”
“You weren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” you say, walking away from the counter gesturing for him to follow. “Come on,”
He whines dramatically, throwing his head back playfully. Nonetheless, he follows — reluctantly, like a well-trained dog — eyes fixed on your hair bouncing with each step behind you, the sway of your hips, down to your ass in those jeans. God, he loved those jeans.
You open the door, letting the morning breeze waft in, but he doesn’t walk away right away. He lingers, standing close. You lean your head against the side of the door, meeting his gaze.
“So,” Jungkook starts, sporting a troubled grin, “when can I come over again?”
You chuckle softly. “This isn’t happening again. I told you… I’m married.”
“Happily?” he asks, bold, the cocky tilt of his head showing he already knows the answer.
You don’t deny it. You don’t say anything at all — and that alone tells him everything.
“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you sing, closing the door.
It shuts with a soft click — the familiar scent of vanilla still lingering in the air, your voice echoing in his head, your lips and figure burned into his memory.
Fuck… he’s so down bad, it’s not even funny.
Jungkook can’t stop thinking about you. You’ve clouded his mind like the damn plague.
And even now, as he pounds into Katarina Rose — insufferable, snobby princess with a trust fund and a daddy who buys her the world — you’re all he can think about.
His hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat, strands falling into his eyes. His hands clamp around her waist hard enough to bruise as he holds her down and drives his hips into her. She's already, somehow, been on her third orgasm.
Meanwhile Jungkook hasn’t even gotten close.
He loves pussy. Loves tits. Loves women! He’s never been ashamed of that — never had a reason to be. And still, here he is, fucking the girl that every fraternity would sell their souls to get inside of… and he feels nothing.
He’s never been this turned off in his life.
Maybe it’s her obnoxiously loud moaning.
Maybe it’s the way she keeps screaming daddy instead of his actual name.
Whatever it is, Jungkook can’t drag himself anywhere to his release.
His mind slips — not to the feline arch of Katarina’s body beneath him — but straight back to you.
He thinks about the last time he saw you — the effortless seduction you carry without even trying, the glittery gloss shining on your lips, the little heart necklace resting just above your cleavage, your ass hugged tight in those jeans. And your voice… soft, feminine, sultry — the kind of sound that could get him hard without you even having to touch him.
Then his memory drifts further, to the first time he ever laid eyes on you.
That pink silky robe. Nothing underneath. Your nipples pressing through the fabric. You didn’t bother covering up, not for him, a complete stranger standing on your property. Your husband must have a hard time dealing with a woman like you.
Jungkook’s certain he wouldn’t. He could handle every last bit.
And the thought alone makes his fingers dig harder into Katarina’s hips, knuckles whitening as he drags her back into him. His thrusts pick up, sharp and punishing, the wet slap of his pelvis against her ass echoing through her tiny dorm room. Her moans somehow get louder than they already are — loud and dramatic — but he can’t hear a damn thing.
Because he’s thinking about you while he’s fucking another girl.
And as messed up as that is, he doesn’t even try to stop it. He doesn’t acknowledge it. Not when fantasizing about you is finally pushing him towards his edge.
He yanks out at the last second, mouth gaped open, hand wrapping around his length. He strokes himself fast, desperate, chasing the only thing that’s made him feel anything all night — you.
And you weren’t even here.
A moan escapes his throat as warm ropes of cum shoot across Katarina’s bare back, coating her skin. His entire body tightens, shudders, your face burned behind his eyelids with every pulse of pleasure until the very last drop leaves him.
Katarina squeals, snapping Jungkook back into reality. He swears he feels himself soften the second her voice hits his ears.
“You know you could’ve came inside… I’m on birth control, remember?” she purrs, glancing over her shoulder at him.
Jungkook forces a polite expression onto his face. He tries — really tries — not to grimace while she’s looking at him.
“I told you. I don’t do that,” he mutters, planting his feet on the ground as he scans the floor for his jeans.
And it’s true. Jungkook doesn’t cum inside of girls he’s not dating — especially not randoms… or girls like Katarina.
She’s been throwing herself at him for months. The only reason he finally caved tonight was because he hadn’t had sex in forever and needed something — anything — for that release. This was actually his first time hanging out with her — if you could even call it that. And he already regrets it.
He doesn’t even bother handing her a towel, doesn’t even glance at the mess he left on her back. Post-nut clarity hits him like a slap in the face, and all he knows is that he needs to get the fuck out of here.
Jungkook fumbles for his boxers on the floor, yanking them up in one swift motion, the waistband snapping hard against his hips. He drags his jeans on right after, not even bothering to tighten his belt — that would take too much time, and he’s already halfway out of the moment.
“You’re not gonna stay?” Katarina asks, still on all fours on the bed like she’s waiting for another round.
“Nope,” Jungkook mutters, already pulling his hoodie over his head, smoothing his beanie down after. He doesn’t look at her.
“Why not?” she presses, genuinely confused.
“Can’t. Gotta go.” His voice is flat, emotionless — exactly how he feels towards her.
And then he leaves — walking out the door without another word, without a second glance, heading straight back to his own dorm with only one thought.
You.
It’s Wednesday again. And like every other Wednesday lately, Jungkook dresses like he’s got some modeling gig to go to.
It’s also another morning where he takes the exact same route straight to one specific house on Hot Milf Avenue.
He rings the doorbell, pulse already picking up, and a couple seconds later you’re opening the door. If Jungkook weren’t so delusional, he’d swear you were just as eager for him as he is for you.
And it sure as hell isn’t the newspaper he thinks you’re excited to see.
“Morning,” you say, voice soft but unmistakably flirty — and you don’t bother hiding the way your eyes drift down his chest, over the fitted tee, the chain at his neck, the way his jeans sit low on his hips.
“Morning,” Jungkook repeats, a slow smirk forming like he knows exactly what you were looking at.
“You know,” you tease, tilting your head toward the mailbox by the walkway, “you don’t always have to personally hand me this. The mailbox is right over there.”
He shrugs, casual, cocky, eyes dragging over you shamelessly. “I like seeing who opens the door.”
You hum, arching a brow. “That’s bold of you to assume it’s always me.”
“I don’t assume,” he says, confidence dripping from every word. “I know.”
You let out a soft laugh, stepping just a little closer, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re lucky he isn’t here.”
“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, biting back the comment he really wants to make — something dangerously close to when is he ever? Biting back his tongue, he shifts his weight, eyes locked on yours as he flashes you a boyish smile. “You need company?"
You consider the question — just for a second — but he doesn’t get an answer. Instead, you give him your version of yes.
“Ten minutes,” you say lightly. “I’m waiting on a call.”
Jungkook smiles slowly. “Enough for me.”
You roll your eyes, stepping aside and opening the door wider for him. Jungkook slips past you, shoulder brushing yours just enough to feel intentional, and the door clicks shut behind him.
The familiar scent of your house wraps around him instantly — warm vanilla softened by something sharper, piney, clean.
There are no scattered toys this time. No tiny shoes kicked off by the door. A half-finished glass of wine rests on the coffee table beside a stack of glossy magazines, last week’s newspaper folded neatly underneath them. Evidence of an evening spent alone.
Jungkook’s gaze drifts, taking it all in far too carefully.
“So,” he says casually, like he isn’t cataloging every detail, “where exactly is your husband?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you tease, already turning away and dropping onto the couch.
Jungkook’s mouth quirks instantly — very obviously — he thinks he’s slick, but he’s far from. He follows you without hesitation. But instead of taking the opposite cushion like a sane person, he settles right in the middle, invading your space on purpose. His knee bumps your shin where your legs are tucked onto the couch, as if he’s trying to touch you in any way he can.
“Just being careful,” he says.
You laugh quietly. “He’s in Chicago for a work trip. Won’t be back for another week.”
Jungkook blinks. Then, brows lifting, “He left you alone with three kids? Doesn't seem very practical.”
You narrow your eyes at him, amused more than offended. “Mind yourself, paperboy. They’re angels,” you warn, tone playful but carrying just enough bite. “I do just fine on my own.”
He only hums, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Jungkook wasn’t fully aware of your relationship with your husband — he’s never asked, never pressed you about it — but he’s not stupid either. Whatever your relationship with your husband is, it’s clearly not a healthy one.
You tilt your head, bringing your legs closer against his. “But they’ll be with my mom this week.”
Jungkook’s eyes light up — bright, eager, like a puppy that’s just been promised a treat. The corner of his mouth tugs upward as he bites down on his lip, barely containing the spark of excitement.
“Well,” he says slowly, dragging it out, “Chicago’s pretty far from here… and a week is a long time.”
You hum, lifting a brow as you lean back into the couch. “Is it?”
“Couple thousand miles,” he shrugs. “Give or take.”
“And what exactly are you implying?” you ask, already knowing the answer.
He tilts his head, gaze flicking briefly around the quiet house before settling back on you. “Pretty woman. Big house. All alone.” His voice drops, softer now, a faint rasp threading through it. “What if it gets too lonely?”
You laugh under your breath, the sound warm, indulgent. “I wouldn’t mind a certain someone’s company…”
“And that is?” Jungkook asks, already leaning in, like he knows the answer but wants to hear you say it anyway.
“You might know him,” you tease. “He delivers newspapers every Wednesday. Cute face.” Your eyes drag slowly over his. “But he’s a bit… young.”
Jungkook chuckles, low and quiet, his piercing glinting in the sunlight as he catches his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is he?”
“Very,” you say, gaze betraying you as it dips — just briefly — to his lips.
“What’s that saying?” he murmurs. “Age ain’t nothing but a number.”
“Mmm.” You tilt your head, studying him like you’re weighing a bad decision you already want to make. “I’m not sure ten years should be dismissed that easily.”
He inches closer anyway, his torso brushing your knee — more confident this time. “I’m sure he knows what he wants,” Jungkook murmurs, leaning closer, voice low and steady. “As long as you do.”
“I’m not sure I do,” you admit.
“Are you willing to find out?”
He’s good. Too good. And it has you caving with ease — embarrassingly so.
You don’t say anything. Instead, you close the space yourself, your body moving on instinct.
It starts as a soft peck, your glossy lips brushing his in a tentative press. A shiver spikes through your spine — maybe from the cold graze of his lip piercing grazing your plump mouth, or perhaps from the thrill of a touch you haven’t felt in so damn long. It could be both, you can’t even tell.
Jungkook’s hand finds your ass immediately, fingers digging into the firm flesh through your jeans before his cold palm slips under your shirt. The chill of his palm against your warm back makes you gasp softly into his mouth, but he doesn’t stop there. He grips tighter, pulling you flush against him as he moves you backward, laying you down onto the soft surface beneath.
He hovers over you now, his broad frame caging you.You taste his regular lip balm mixed with your lip gloss, which smears messily across his mouth as his tongue pushes past your lips, invading your mouth.
Your legs part automatically, an invitation he accepts without hesitation. He slots himself between your thighs and he’s already rock hard, his cock straining solid and heavy against the confines of his baggiest jeans, the outline pressing insistently against your core.
Unintentionally — kind of — he sinks his weight down, grinding his heavy bulge right between your legs. The friction is rough, the coarse denim scraping against your own jeans, creating a delicious ache that borders on discomfort. But it hurts so good, that building pressure making your pussy throb with need.
Jungkook can’t help it. He rolls his hips again, rubbing his stiff length into you for some semblance of relief, his breath hitching against your lips. The teasing drag sends jolts of pleasure and pain through you both, your clit pulsing under the barrier of clothes.
He pulls away from the kiss, panting, his face dropping to the crook of your neck. His hot breath fans over your skin, lips brushing just below your ear. “Fuck,” he whispers, the word almost a whine, filled with raw desire and desperation.
“This was not what I meant by company,” you tease, your voice breathy and playful, even as your hand threads through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly to keep him close.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters against your throat, his voice muffled and husky, vibrating through you. His teeth graze your pulse point, nipping just hard enough to make you arch. “Can’t help it. Fucking irresistible.”
You smile, your lower lip catching between your teeth as he ruts into you harder, his cock throbbing violently inside his jeans. The sensation makes your hips buck up to meet him, chasing that friction despite the denim’s resistance.
“Can I help you?” you whisper into his ear, your lips grazing over the shell, warm breath teasing the lip before you nip at it gently.
“Please,” he begs, the word so sweet and pleading.
You push him off you slowly, handling his weight back until he’s sitting upright against the cushions, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Straddling him now, you settle your weight across his lap, your legs on each side of his thighs.
Your hands move with purpose, fingers unbuckling his belt before you tug his jeans down his thighs, bunching the denim just above his knees. His boxers remain, the thin cotton stretched over his arousal, the tent blatant and straining.
Jungkook throws his head back, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as the shift in pressure hits him. It’s painful now, his cock throbbing profusely against the confines, every pulse making the material pull tighter. His fists tighten at his sides, fingers digging into his palm.
“Stay with me now,” you tease, your voice sultry yet playful.
“Gonna fucking kill me,” he chuckles breathily, but then his brows knit together sharply, a hiss escaping through clenched teeth. His hips twitch upward involuntarily, seeking friction against the barrier.
“Just wanna tease you a bit, baby,” you say, your fingers trailing lightly over the waistband of his boxers, not dipping inside, just hovering there to further torment him.
He lifts his head up slowly, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson that spreads down his neck, those dark eyes hooded and low as they lock onto yours from below. There’s vulnerability in his gaze, mixed with hunger, making your pulse quicken.
You slide your hand down again, palming his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. The material clings to his length, damp from his pre-cum, and he jolts beneath you like he’s been shocked, his hips bucking up involuntarily into your touch.
He’s so sensitive now, every stroke sending a twitch through his body. You press the heel of your hand firmly against his clothed shaft, rubbing in slow circles. The friction makes him throb under your palm.
Jungkook is vocal — surprisingly so, his usual composed demeanor shatters. Low groans spill from his lips, turning into breathy whimpers as you work him over. And well… you just figured out something new about yourself.
The sounds he lets out make your thighs clench, a dominant thrill lighting up inside of you. His eyes squeeze shut, brows knitting together in that perfect expression of overwhelmed pleasure, his mouth gaping open as soft moans escape — high and needy, nothing like you’d expected from him. Each sound vibrates straight to your core, and you feel a light pulse throbbing between your legs, your pussy growing slick and aching in response, soaking through your panties.
His head begins to loll forward as if he can’t hold it up anymore, lost in the sensation. You pull your hand away from his cock just as the pain was starting to subdue. Instead, you cup his jaw with both hands, your fingers firm and his warm, flushed cheeks, tilting his face up to meet your eyes. His gaze is hazy, pupils blown wide with lust, and you hold him there, making him watch you as you sink down fully. Your crotch connects with his clothed shaft, the rough denim of your jeans pressing against his bulge as you grind down, rolling your hips in a slow, teasing drag.
The sound he lets out is guttural, a deep rumble that starts in his chest and rips from his throat — like music to your ears. His hands shoot up immediately, fingers digging into your hips with force. You lean down, crashing your lips against his in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongues sliding together wetly. He moans right into your mouth, the vibration humming against your lips, his breath hot and ragged.
His hands slide from your hips, palming your ass through your jeans, squeezing hard before he yanks you closer. He pushes you into him more forcefully, bucking his hips up into you. You can feel exactly how hard he is, hard even through the layers, the pressure against your clothed core sending pleasure throughout your body.
Jungkook breaks the kiss first, pulling back with a gasp, his lips shiny and swollen from yours. “Fuck, already so close,” he pants, voice wrecked and strained, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Yeah?” you muse, your tone light and teasing, even as you keep grinding into him.
He hums in affirmation, a low, desperate sound, biting down hard on his lower lip as he stares up at you in awe. From this angle, he gets a full view — your lips swollen, that glittery lip gloss somehow still clinging despite how messily you two were kissing. Your necklace sways with every movement, the heart pendant dragging lightly across his face, cool metal teasing his heated skin. And your tits right in his face, straining against your shirt. As bad as he wants to rip your top down and suck on one of your nipples, he knows he’s far too gone. He’s creaming in his boxers already like some hormonal teenage boy.
Suddenly, he freezes up beneath you, his whole body tensing. Then it snaps — a guttural moan tears from him as he starts panting wildly. His hips thrust up erratically, rocking into you with short, desperate jerks. Your hips slow down, riding out his orgasm, feeling his release starting to seep through onto your jeans. You watch him unfold completely — eyes shut, mouth slack, every muscle quivering in release — and it only makes your own around spike higher.
And as if the universe has impeccable timing, the phone rings, the shrill tone cutting through the moment. It’s the call you’ve been waiting for.
You quickly lift off Jungkook’s lap, the sudden absence making him whine softly, his spent cock softening beneath his boxers. “Alright, your time is up, paperboy,” you say, a playful smirk tugging at your lips despite the interruption.
“Seriously?” he asks, his chest heaving up and down, voice hoarse and disbelieving, looking wrecked and adorable.
“Mhm, quickly! I gotta take this call,” you urge, snatching the phone from the nearby table but holding off on answering just yet, the ringing growing more insistent.
Jungkook moves fast despite his post-orgasm daze, yanking his boxers back into place over his softening length before tugging his jeans up his thighs. His fingers fumble with the belt buckle at light speed, the metal clinking as he secures it.
You grab his arm, leading him toward the door on slightly shaky legs of your own, the phone still shrieking in your other hand. He doesn’t protest, just follows obediently, stepping out into the cool evening air.
“Jungkook!” you call out after him. He turns, that boyish smile already creeping onto his lips, eyes sparkling. “I might get lonely this week.”
Before he can respond, you finally answer the call, the voice on the other end stealing your attention. You shut the door with a soft click, no goodbye offered.
But it’s alright, he’ll just be back again.
“Come on, bro!” Jimin whines through the phone. “When’s the last time you, me, and the guys have hung out?”
“I don’t know, dude… a while?” Jungkook mutters, phone wedged between his cheek and shoulder as he digs through his dresser.
When Jungkook left your house yesterday, he hadn’t wasted a second. Barely slept. Barely thought about anything else. It was already the next night, and all he knew was that he needed to see you again. He’d showered longer than usual, scrubbed away the lingering scent of your house only to replace it with his best body gel, his favorite cologne. Even his hair had gotten extra attention — still damp now, towel slung low around his waist as he stood half-naked in his dorm, clothes throw everywhere.
“Exactly!” Jimin says, way too loud, making Jungkook squeeze his eyes shut and pause for a second. “So why don’t you wanna come? You’re always down to party. I heard Vanessa’s gonna be there…”
Jungkook scoffs, rolling his eyes hard at the mention of her. Even more so at the inevitable image of her stupid fucking boyfriend glued to her side — a loud, irritating reminder that she had chose that over him. And for a split second, it almost pisses him off again.
Almost.
Because he doesn’t actually give a shit about Vanessa. Or the party.
He has somewhere else he wants to be.
“I was planning on going somewhere tonight…” Jungkook admits, still rifling through his clothes.
There’s a brief pause on the line. Then Jimin chuckles knowingly. “Ah. Little Jungkookie thinks he’s gonna get laid by a MILF…”
Jungkook snorts, rolling his eyes even though Jimin can’t see it. There’s a smirk tugging at his mouth despite himself. “Fuck you.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Jimin presses. “She’s not gonna let someone ten years younger than her fuck-”
Jungkook cuts him off before he can finish the sentence. He still hasn’t told Jimin about yesterday. About the way you touched him. The way his body had betrayed him so easily, jizzing in his pants like some pubescent teenage boy with no self-control.
“Yeah, you’re getting blocked,” Jungkook mutters, yanking the phone from his shoulder so he could find Jimin’s contact.
“I’m joking! I’m joking!” Jimin blurts out. “Please. Just come out tonight. You said she’s got the house to herself all week, right? Just miss one night. Please?”
Jungkook exhales slowly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. The idea of a party already exhausts him — drunk people doing stupid shit, loud music vibrating through his skull, girls leaning too close and pretending to care about what his tattoos mean or whatever excuse they need to get him to fuck them.
He doesn’t want any of it.
He wants you.
Wants to hear your voice again. Wants to feel your hands all over him, taste your lips. Repeat yesterday, or take it further. He doesn’t even care what you do. As long as it’s you.
But it has been a while since he’s seen the guys. And break is still months away.
Another sigh slips from him, quieter this time.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll see you there.”
People were already scattered in the front yard, the bass of the loud music thumping loudly even from outside of the house. Jungkook shoulders his way through the front door, adjusting his jacket. The place is already full — hazy air, stinks of weed, and too many people he doesn’t care about.
He spots his friends instantly in the living room. Red solo cups in hand, voices loud, laughter louder.
“Look who actually showed up,” Taehyung grins, sprawled on the couch with a cigarette lazily hanging between his fingers.
“You made it!” Jimin shouts over the music, hopping up from a chair to pull Jungkook into a hug. “Thought you’d be too busy playing stepdad.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes, patting Jimin’s back. “Shut the fuck up.”
“So, when are you gonna let us meet her?” Hobi calls out from the other couch, leaning forward to pour himself a shot, grin tugging at his lips.
“Oh, I will need a taste if I see her,” Taehyung adds with a smirk, the cigarette between his fingers glowing faintly before he blows out smoke.
Jungkook and Taehyung had shared a few girls in the past. It was something unspoken between them, easy and never messy. It was just harmless fun.
But you were different.
Taehyung wasn’t going to go near you ever. You were off limits.
“She’s married, dude,” Jungkook mutters, plopping down next to Namjoon and pouring a shot before tossing it back.
Taehyung gasps, sitting up from his slouched position. “No fucking way. You didn’t tell us that part!”
Namjoon doesn’t hesitate, smacking Jungkook’s shoulder in disappointment.
“Listen,” Jungkook says quickly, arms raised in defense. “I can tell she’s not getting what she needs from her husband!”
“But why are you even talking to her if she’s married?” Namjoon asks, voice calm but laced with concern. He’s not judging — just genuinely trying to understand.
Jungkook exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know…” he groans. “She’s interesting. It’s different with her.”
“MILF fever,” Taehyung sings, leaning back again, bringing his cigarette to his lips.
“There’s so many girls here tonight, Kook,” Jimin adds, motioning toward the kitchen where a group of girls sit around laughing and drinking. “Talk to one of them.”
Jungkook barely glances that way. Doesn't even want to entertain the idea. Doesn’t even want to be here.
But he knows his friends are right.
So he downs another shot. And a few more.
“Where’s your head at?”
If Jungkook was completely honest… he was zoned out.
His body felt warm all over, face flushed and slightly dizzy from all the shots he’d thrown back nearly an hour ago. For a second, he even forgot he pulled one of the girls from that group. She was sitting next to him now — legs crossed, hand very high on his thigh. And although it should have excited him, sparked something inside of him, it didn’t.
Because he wasn’t thinking about her. Not her perfume, not her leg kicking at his slightly, not the way her nails lightly scratched at his thigh like she was trying to get his attention.
He was thinking about you.
About your perfume, the way your nails scratched against him, your voice — low, teasing, seductive like you were luring him in.
He turned his head, blinked once at the girl beside him. She looked good. Objectively, anyone else would’ve killed for a moment like this — a pretty girl practically crawling into his lap at a party, willing and ready.
But she wasn’t you.
He only called her over because his friends encouraged him to — trying to get his mind off a married woman, for fuck’s sake.
As if some drunk girl in a miniskirt could erase the image of you from his head. As if her laugh could drown out the sound of your voice, or her touch could make him forget the way your hands felt against his chest.
He wasn’t even here for this.
He was here because he wanted to spend time with his friends. That was the plan. A few drinks, laughter, talking and catching up on each other's lives.
But now he’s sunk into this couch, surrounded by everything he didn’t want to be near — drunk idiots, loud music, and this girl trying to start a conversation with him.
“Just… thinking,” Jungkook finally mutters, his voice low and distant. He throws an arm across the back of the couch, the other settling on her bare thigh, giving it a light squeeze like he’s interested in her. Like maybe it’ll make him feel something.
But it doesn’t.
Nothing.
She giggles, misreading his silence for teasing, leaning closer into him until her lips nearly graze his jaw. Her fingers curl into the hem of his shirt, tugging slightly.
“About…” she whispers, soft and breathy, looking up at him through lashes too thick, eyes too expecting.
But Jungkook doesn’t say anything else.
He just moved.
His hand slides up to her jaw, fingers pressing softly under her chin as he tilts her face toward his. Then he leans in and kisses her.
It’s slow, calculated. The kind of kiss that could be mistaken for something real. His hand cradles her cheek like she means something to him, like this moment is more than a distraction. She melts into it easily, moaning into his mouth as her hand fists his shirt.
But all Jungkook can think about is that he’s not kissing you.
That your mouth would taste different. That your fingers would feel differently tangled in his hair. That your lips wouldn’t move this fast or rough — you’d tease him, take your time.
And that if he kissed you, he’d actually feel something.
He pulls away, lips pink and swollen, jaw tense. He doesn’t meet her eyes right away — just leans back, putting distance between them. His hand slips from her thigh, settling in his lap like he was suddenly disgusted.
She’s still leaning into him obliviously, eyes half-closed, lips parted. “You gonna take me upstairs?” she asks, voice forcefully seductive, not as natural nor sexy as yours.
He doesn’t cringe — doesn’t want to embarrass her. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
But he does anyway when he gets up.
“I can’t do this,” he says, quiet but firm.
She blinks, confused for a second before her expression shifts. “Are you serious?”
“I’m sorry,” he says again, backing away.
But he’s already turning, weaving through everybody, the music turning into static. He doesn’t even remember the shots he took — feels stone cold fucking sober now.
And he drives. Not to clear his head.
Straight to your house.
Your home is empty, quiet — oddly comforting in the way silence can be after a long day. You loved your children to pieces, wouldn’t even trade the world for them, but you needed your alone time.
The bathroom glows in soft candlelight, enough to see the words on your book. The tub is full, bubbles floating at the top. You take a slow sip of red wine, the glass cool against your fingers. You let the bitterness settle before swallowing, then place the glass gently on the edge of the tub.
You sink deeper into the warmth, the tension in your muscles slowly melting. No crying or fighting, no toys or shoes scattered all over the place, no spilled beverages on the carpets. Just the sound of water moving around in the porcelain, and your own breathing.
Then the doorbell rings, echoing throughout the house.
Normally, the sound would’ve set you off — slicing through your unsavored moment of peace, shattering the rare quietness you had fought so hard to find.
But not tonight.
Because somehow, you already know who it is. And the interruption doesn’t upset you in the slightest.
You set your book down gently, the pages slightly wet from your hands, and rise from the bath — water cascading from your skin. You grab a towel, patting yourself dry.
Then you reach for that piece of silk — the one he’s already seen once, the one you have no idea drives him insane — and let it slip over your skin. It clings to your damp body, the strings tying easily at the front, just barely holding the fabric together.
You make your way down the stairs, each step careful, letting your bare feet get used to the cold tiles. Your fingers find the lock, twist it, and then you open the door.
And there he is.
His face is flushed, a deep pink that covers him from his cheeks down to his neck. He doesn’t say anything — he just stares. Eyes drag slowly down the curve of your body, drinking in every inch of you draped in that thin silk robe.
Then he pounces on you.
There’s no hesitation — no pause, no words. His hands grab your waist, pulling you in against him like he’s starved. His mouth crashes into yours, messy and desperate, tongue touching tongue, breath hitching as you stumble back a step with the force of it.
It’s not gentle. Not careful.
You pull away, breath catching in your throat, and for a split second, Jungkook stiffens. His eyes search yours, heart skipping, scared he might’ve crossed a boundary.
“You’ve been drinking,” you say softly, tasting the sharpness of alcohol still lingering on his tongue.
“So have you,” he counters, lips brushing yours as he speaks. He tasted the wine — expensive, sweet, addictive. Just like you.
“Mmm, I’m not the one feeling it though,” you murmur, brushing his hair back from his face. Your fingers linger a second too long against his skin, knuckles grazing his temple, your thumb tracing the edge of his brow.
His eyes flutter, jaw clenching as if he’s physically holding himself back. When he finally speaks, it’s a whisper — husky and low.
“I don’t care,” he says, almost like a confession he’s been carrying around for weeks. “I just want you.”
You grab the front of his jacket and pull him inside, shutting the door with a click. When you turn around, he’s already there — mouth on yours in a heartbeat, needy and rough, kissing you like his lips have missed you for years.
His hands roam greedily. Shoulder blades, then your waist, and finally down to your ass — where he gives a firm, possessive squeeze. Just because he finally can. Just because he’s been thinking about it nonstop. Just because it’s you.
“Went to a party earlier,” he mutters between kisses, lips brushing over yours before trailing lower, to the curve of your jaw, then your neck.
“Yeah?” you breathe, head tilting back to give him more access. Your fingers slip into his hair as his mouth traces along your skin.
“Mhm,” he hums, the sound vibrating against your throat. “Was fucking boring. My friends tried to get me to talk to this girl.”
“Did you?” you ask, voice soft.
“Yeah,” he admits, pulling back just enough to look at you.
Without another word, you take his hand and lead him upstairs. He follows, like he’d go anywhere you pulled him to. In your room, you turn suddenly and push him back onto the bed.
“Take your clothes off,” you demand, voice low and commanding as you stand before him.
Jungkook glances up at you from where he sits on the edge of the bed, his cheeks burning with a deep flush. His dark eyes dart away briefly, strands of his tousled raven hair falling across his forehead. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. He’s stripped naked before, yes, but never watched under anyone’s gaze like this.
He swallows hard, throat bobbing, and starts with his jacket. He shrugs it off his broad shoulders, letting the fabric slide down his arms before he throws it on the floor. Then comes his shirt — he grips the hem and pulls it over his head in one motion, revealing the faint lines of his abs. His skin is like honey, smooth except for the full sleeve going up his entire arm. He kicks off his boots, then reaches down to unbuckle his belt. His pants follow, shoved down and pooling on the floor, leaving him in nothing but his black Calvin’s.
“Everything,” you say, a teasing edge sharpening the words as you tilt your head.
Jungkook pauses, his hands hovering at the waistband. He meets your eyes again, before he hooks his thumbs in and tugs the boxers down. His cock springs free, already thick and firm, the head flushed a deep pink and glistening with a bead of precum at the tip. He kicks everything aside, his body on display for you.
“I want you to touch yourself,” you command, voice laced with that dominance that gets him excited.
Jungkook’s never been shy about his body. Nudity has always been effortless for him. But this — stroking his own cock while you watch, clothed while he was fully exposed — it’s different. He finds it to be intimidating, the way it strips away his usual boldness, leaving him vulnerable under your gaze.
His hand trembles just a fraction as he wraps his fingers around his shaft, his grip loose and hesitant at first. He strokes upward slowly, thumb brushing over the sensitive head, smearing that precum down the length.
You watch him intently, letting him see the pride in your eyes. It encourages him, his stroke gaining a subtle rhythm, but his brows furrow, eyes squeezing shut as a soft, breathy moan escapes his lips.
“Keep your eyes open, Jungkook. Don’t stop,” you say softly. He obeys instantly, eyelids fluttering open to meet your stare, his hand pumping steadily from shaft to tip. “Did you have fun at the party?”
“N- no,” he stutters, his voice cracking as his fist tightens, sliding faster along his cock.
“No? Did you kiss that girl?” you press, your eyes tracing the way his bicep flexes, the subtle twitch of his hips urging his hand on.
“I- yes! Yes I did,” he moans, the confession spilling out raggedly, his free hand gripping the bedsheet to steady himself. You can see how conflicted he really is — the mix of embarrassment and arousal at admitting this while you command his pleasure, his body betraying how much this turns him on.
“You did. Was she cute? Did you fuck her?” you tease, your voice dripping with mock curiosity that only heightens his arousal.
You don’t really care about what he does with other girls. It’s the rush from getting him all riled up like this — watching him unravel piece by piece, that soaks your panties, your own arousal building as his moans grow deeper, more desperate.
“No!” Jungkook shouts, his voice cracking again with frustration, his hand instinctively slowing on his cock.
“Don’t slow down,” you demand sharply. “No, she wasn’t cute, or no, you didn’t hook up with her?”
“Both!” he exclaims, grunting through clenched teeth, his fist pumping faster now, the slick slide of his palm over his throbbing shaft echoing in the room. “I- I couldn’t stop thinking about you! W- wanted to come here but… my friends told me I shouldn’t!”
A smile curves at your lips at his confession, the desperate need in his voice sending a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. You finally close the gap, walking right up to him. You kneel down in front of him, reaching out and pushing his hand away from his cock.
You lean in close, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss — your tongue invading, tasting the faint bitterness of alcohol again. He moans into it, his hands twitching at his sides, desperate to touch but holding back under your control. You pull back slowly, nipping at his lower lip before pressing one more soft peck to the corner of his mouth.
“What were you thinking about?” you ask, your voice sultry and low.
Your hand wraps around his cock this time, fingers wrapping around his stiff shaft. You smear the precum from the swollen tip down the length in slow strokes, twisting your wrist as you go. Jungkook throws his head back, a low, guttural moan ripping from his throat as his hips jerk involuntarily into your touch.
You press your other hand against his sweaty chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart under your palm, then slide it down over his abs — hard and flexing under your exploration. “Hey, baby, stay with me,” you murmur, your tone teasing but insistent.
He lifts his head with effort, eyes hazy and dark as they lock onto yours, then drop to where your hand works his cock. Your fingers look so pretty around his pink, flushed length — nails painted a matching soft pink. The cool metal of your wedding ring and band drags along his skin with each stroke, a forbidden chill that sends a twisted thrill through him, as sick and intoxicating as it feels. And that robe — the silk one that started this — hangs loose on your shoulders, open just enough at the chest to reveal the swell of your cleavage, your breasts jiggling softly with every motion of your arm as you pump him.
“Can’t stop… can’t stop thinking about your voice, your lips, ah- fuck-” he cuts himself off with a curse, his breath hitching as you tighten your grip. “You might’ve… ruined everyone else for me,” he laughs breathlessly, the sound turning into a sharp gasp that rips through his throat. “Oh fuck,”
You don’t respond with words, but a satisfied smile tugs at your lips. It’s like music to you, and you’ll show him just how much you love hearing it.
Your free hand moves to the tie of your robe, fingers deftly loosening the knot until the fabric falls open completely, exposing your bare body beneath.
Jungkook’s mouth falls open, a low moan spilling from his lips as his gaze devours you, wide-eyed and ravenous. You hold his stare, making sure he watches every second as you guide his cock between your breasts, the heat of his shaft pressing into the soft space between your cleavage. The contrast of his hard length against your warm flesh makes him whimper.
“Fuck,” he whispers hoarsely, his hands fisting the sheets beside him.
You look down at his cock nestled there, and let a thick string of spit fall from your lips, landing right on his tip before it drips down between your breasts. The lubrication makes everything slick and warm as you push your tits together firmly, trapping his cock in the tight, plush grip. You start moving, sliding up and down in a steady rhythm, the head of his cock peeking out with each thrust.
Jungkook’s breath comes in ragged pants, his eyes glued to the obscene display — your breasts sliding around his shaft, the wet sounds of skin filling the silence. He looks like he might pass out from the overload, his abs clenching, fists tightening around the sheets.
You giggle softly, the sound light and teasing, keeping your pace slow and torturous. “You like it?”
“Yeah, baby,” he whispers, his head lolling back for a moment before he forces it up again, unwilling to break the view.
“So your friends,” you start casually, as if you’re not currently tit-fucking him senseless. “They know about me?”
“Sorry,” he says breathily, the apology falling into a moan. “Can’t keep my mouth shut.”
“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “What do they think?”
“Namjoon and Jimin… t- they don’t think I should be talking t- to you because you’re married,” he struggles to get out, his stare fixed on your breasts enveloping his cock.
“Maybe they’re right,” you point out lightly, testing him, your hands pressing your tits tighter to heighten the sensation.
“Fuck them,” he says defiantly, the words growled through a groan. “Taehyung said h- he might want a turn with you.”
You chuckle, the idea sparking a wicked curiosity, but you keep your focus on him, on drawing out more of that possessive edge you like so much.
You pull back abruptly, releasing his cock from between your breasts, leaving it slick and straining in the air, bobbing against his stomach. “Can you get on the bed? Lay down for me?” you ask, eyes locked on his as you stand, the robe slipping further.
Obedience floods him instantly, the submissiveness peeking through as he nods and scrambles onto the bed full, stretching out on his back with his head sinking into the pillows. The same pillows your husband rests on every night — but now Jungkook lies there, cock hard and leaking.
You shrug the robe off completely, letting it pool on the floor, your body fully exposed now. Crawling onto the bed, you straddle his hips, your wet pussy hovering just above his cock, the heat of him radiating up to tease your folds without touching yet. His hands come up instinctively to grip your thighs, fingers digging in as he looks up at you.
“Are you clean?” you ask, eyes narrowing on him as you hover above his cock, the tip brushing your slick folds, teasing with no mercy.
He nods eagerly, his gaze locked on your pussy, glistening under the dim lamp light.
“Put it in,” you say, giving him the green light.
Jungkook’s hand reaches down without hesitation, wrapping around his thick cock to steady it as he nudges the swollen head against your sopping entrance. You sink down slowly, enveloping him inch by inch, a sharp gasp escaping both your lips at the sudden fullness. He stretches you perfectly, his girth filling you up until you bottom out, seated fully on him. The delicious burn makes your thighs quiver as you adjust, clenching around his length before lifting up just enough to pull off slowly.
You sink down again, harder this time, starting to ride him with rolls of your hips. His hands fly up to grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin, holding on as you maintain the pace, your breasts bouncing with each drop.
“So this Taehyung? He cute like you?” you tease, wanting to rile him up again.
“No,” Jungkook moans, the answer tumbling out way too quickly, laced with jealousy. “He’s ugly as shit. You can only have me.”
“Only you, huh?” you laugh breathlessly, still riding him. “And the girls you hook up with?”
“Getting jealous?” he shoots back, sly smirk creeping on his lips even as his hips buck up to meet yours.
“You can do whatever you want,” you say, bouncing up and down faster now, the wet slap of your bodies echoing. “But if Taehyung still wants his turn, give him my address.”
A growl rumbles from his chest, possessive and annoyed, and in a quick motion, he changes the positions. You giggle at the sudden shift, but he’s too fast, manhandling you onto your stomach. He yanks your hips up, positioning you on all fours. From behind, he lines up and thrusts in deep, burying his cock to the brim, then starts fucking you at a slow, torturous pace.
“Maybe I should tell your husband, huh?” Jungkook teases, his chest pressing against your back, lips grazing your ear with each word. “Tell him you like fucking guys way younger than you? Yeah? Would you want that?”
“Go ahead,” you moan, pushing back against him. “I’ll tell him he fucks me better than any of you do, anyway.”
Jungkook’s nose scrunches in irritation, that attitude sparking something feral in him. Fucking brat.
He lifts himself off you, delivering a sharp slap to your ass with his heavy palm. You cry out a loud moan, the sting igniting fresh arousal that soaks his cock. He shoves your upper body down flat against the mattress, keeping your ass high, and heightens the speed, slamming into you with quick, punishing thrusts. His pelvis smacks against your ass, the force jolting you forward.
You’re moaning wildly now, face buried in the pillows that smell of you and your husband, muffling the sounds as Jungkook fucks the life out of you, his cock driving into you relentlessly.
“Your husband fuck you like this?” he dares, voice rough, hips snapping harder to emphasize the point, balls slapping against your clit.
He definitely doesn’t. Hell, he doesn’t fuck you at all these days. But you bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction, too lost in the pleasure after so long without it to stroke his ego just yet.
“Don’t wanna answer, you brat?” he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. He leans down again, draping his body over yours, skin slick with sweat sliding against each other. But this time, he snakes his beefy arm around your neck in a loose hold — not at all choking you, just holding you there. “It’s fine,” he murmurs right in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive lobe, nipping lightly. “I’ll fuck it out of you. That what you want?”
You twist your head toward him, capturing his mouth in a messy kiss as his cock continues to pound into your pussy from behind. But when his free hand snakes between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit and starting to rub circle, you break away from his lips with a sharp moan.
At this point, words fail you entirely. Jungkook doesn’t need them anyway — he feels the answer in the way your pussy clenches desperately around him, milking him with every snap of his hips.
You’re near the edge, so close already, the coil in your tummy winding tighter from the assault of his fingers on your clit and his relentless fucking. Your body betrays you, thighs shaking, breaths coming in ragged whimpers as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, his arm still loosely around you, holding you right where he wants you.
He moans low in your ear. Sweat beads on his skin, and you feel the heat radiating from him, your own body glistening under the dim light. He’s close too — you can tell by the way his thrusts grow erratic, his fingers pressing harder against your clit.
“J- Jungkook, I-“ you stammer, voice breaking as tears form at the corners of your eyes, the overwhelming pleasure making everything blur.
“I know, baby,” he husks, breath hot against your neck, not letting up for a second. He thrusts deeper, hips slamming forward, chasing your release with everything he’s got.
It hits you like a wave crashing over, shattering completely. A moan rips from your throat, loud and unrestrained — fuck the neighbors, let them hear how good he’s fucking you. You gasp for air, chest heaving as the orgasm wrecks through you, leaving your limbs weak. Jungkook’s arm keeps you propped up, his strength the only thing holding you together as you ride out the aftershocks, your juices flooding around him.
But he’s close too, his control thinning. With a swift move, he pulls out — your pussy clenching emptily at the loss — and flips you onto your back. You’re spent, body going limp against the rumpled sheets, gazing up at him through heavy eyes. Jungkook hovers above, eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight. Your swollen folds glistening, creamy white from the intense friction, your arousal coating his cock in a shiny gloss.
He wraps his fist around his dick, stroking fast and rough, the wet sounds filling the room. His abs tense, thighs quivering, and then he comes undone — thick ropes of warm cum spurting across your stomach, painting your skin white. He groans deep in his chest, hips jerking forward into his grip as he milks every last drop.
Panting hard, he collapses forward slightly, resting his forehead against your knee. The air smells with the scent of sex and your mingled fluids.
“My husband has nothing on you,” you tease, a lazy smile curving your lips.
“No?” He lifts his head, smirking at you, eyes shining with that cocky satisfaction.
Before you can respond, he bends lower, tongue darting out to lick a broad stripe through his own cum on your stomach. The sight sends a fresh throb to your heat, your pussy tingling again already, aching for more despite the exhaustion. Holy fuck.
Then he straightens, grabbing your chin firmly, tilting your head back. His fingers pry your mouth open, and he leans in, spitting the salty load right onto your tongue. The taste hits you — sweet yet salty at the same time — and you swallow it without hesitation.
“Definitely not,” you murmur.
He chuckles, already shifting closer, his softening cock twitching back to its previous stiffness again. That look in his eyes promises he’s nowhere near done. This week was going to be a lot of fun and a lot of endless fucking.
Thank your husband for flying out to that business trip, your mother for watching the kids, and Jungkook’s stupid fucking paperboy job for dropping him right at your door.
