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[delaneycore]

Dean's List, pt. 3 ― Peter Parker part one | part two | playlist | edit

Pairing: College!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Following the events that unfolded between you and Peter on Halloween night, the two of you are forced to come to terms with your differences and the years of scheming. When Peter is forced to endure the holidays on the outs with you, his desperate need for you only worsens, bringing out the worst parts of him.

Warnings/Tags: frat boy! peter parker, cocky! peter parker (kind of), athlete! peter parker, jealous! peter parker, they’re mean to each other, descriptions of violence, (lowkey) academic rivals, enemies to (something much worse than) lovers, ANGST, (a smidge of) fluff, smut, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms (f and m), multiple sex positions, rough sex, choking, bondage, unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk. read responsibly! mdni, 18+

Word Count: 13.1k

Author's Note: I'm sorry for the wait. You guys have no idea how much your feedback and praise means to me. I have never in my life been so excited to write something (I literally pulled 2 all nighters), but I love you guys so much, I gave you 2 smut scenes.

Inspiration: “brand new chanel$” by Slayyyter & "The Subway" by Chappell Roan. If you want to know EXACTLY how Peter feels, listen to “The Cue” by Sarah and the Sundays.

“God… yes,” Peter gruffly moaned, his hands maintaining a firm grip on your ass from you were straddling his waist, grinding back and forth while he bucked his hips, forcing his dick deeper inside of you. “You ride me so good.”

You fell forward slightly, your hands pressing to his bare, muscular chest as your body became more limp due to the relentless pleasure coursing through your system. Peter’s gaze was cemented on you, admiring the way your hips rolled on top of him and your eyes fluttered shut when you parted your lips, moaning incoherently as your lustful movements quickly changed to a fit of whimpering squirms, barely able to hold yourself up. 

Based on the way your muscles trembled against him and the fact that you hissed, “Fuck, Peter—I’m so—I’m gonna,” repeatedly, unable to complete a single thought, he knew you were close. 

Your head lulled back, causing your tangled mess of hair to fall over your shoulders, your grinding sloppy and inconsistent. “I—I can’t…”

His hands moved to the sides of your hips, squeezing as he forcibly moved your hips back and forth against him, sending waves of intolerable pleasure throughout your entire body.

“What, is it too much for you, baby?” Peter taunted, jaw going slack in response to the wet sounds of your dripping core slipping on his dick. “Can’t ride my dick anymore?”

As much as you wanted to fight him back, it was far too early in the morning and you were too close to reaching your release to distract yourself. “Sh—shut up,” you stammered, sucking in a sharp breath when he bucked his hips up, forcing his tender tip to hit the exact spot you needed him. “Just… fuck me.”

Once those words left your lips, his right arm instinctively reached out, snaking around your waist and pulling you down flush against him. Feeling your tits pressing into his chest, he returned his grip to your ass as your head buried into the crook of his neck. 

“Lift up a little for me,” he grunted.

Complying with what little strength you had, you used your knees that were pressed into your twin-sized mattress to slightly raise yourself off him. The action sent Peter’s head back, digging into your pink, ruffled duvet when your walls clenched around his throbbing length. 

He quickly pulled himself together, though, ensuring he followed through with what you’d asked of him. 

His fingers dug deeper into your hips as he started hammering himself inside of you, triggering a sharp, high-pitched whimper to escape you. To muffle the sounds you couldn’t control, you bit down on the soft skin near his collarbone, screwing your eyes shut as your release washed over you like a life-altering ripcurrent.

Peter moaned, welcoming the sharp pain of your teeth clenching down on his skin and trying to hold himself back from the sudden urge to yell because of how good it felt when your slick walls squeezed against him. 

“Fuck… yeah. Cum on my dick again,” he grunted, lifting his hand to plant a sharp slap on your ass, like he was giving you some kind of reward for reaching your third orgasm this morning. “Good girl.”

Panting into the crook of his neck, he guided your ass up and down with a continuous, firm grip, letting you ride out your high. 

With sweat beading on your forehead and your mouth dry from becoming a panting, moaning mess, you lifted yourself back up, placing your hands back on his chest to steady yourself. 

“Are you… Are you close?” you managed to ask between pants, meeting his sensual gaze.

Peter had been close to cumming since you rolled over in bed next to him half an hour ago, purposefully teasing him by grinding your ass against the erection he woke up with. But over the past month-and-a-half, he had become quite skilled in the art of self-distracting while he fucked you, so that he could last longer and longer each time the two of you fell back into whatever it was that this impending catastrophe of a relationship had become. 

It definitely wasn’t that, you thought to yourself. It definitely wasn’t a relationship.

“Peter,” you said when he didn’t respond, but it came out as more of a moan. He glanced up at you, his jaw taut with tension as he worked you on top of him, never wanting the feeling of your pussy grinding on his dick to end. “Are you gonna cum?”

He loosened a ragged breath, continuing to help guide your movements while you rode him. “God, I hope not,” he mused, smirking up at you. But it wasn’t really a joke. There was absolutely nothing funny about the way he was feeling. “I don’t want… this shit to… end,” he grunted between pants.

“Well it needs to,” you countered, forcefully slowing your hips, digging your fingernails into the toned skin of his chest. “I have an exam in forty-five minutes, asshole.”

He sat up suddenly, forcing you to sink further in his lap, his dick drowning in you. Keeping an arm clung around your waist, he tilted his head to watch the way your hips rotated against him despite your verbal desire to wrap things up. 

Biting down on his bottom, he squeezed your ass. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make sure you don’t miss it,” he told you, bringing his eyes back to yours. “Just shut up and let me make you feel good, yeah?”

And you knew he would. He had proven that to you countless times now. 

There was no denying the way he made you feel—the way he knew your body, what it liked, and what it didn’t. 

It was a nice distraction. Every time your phone screen lit up with his number, you told yourself “one more time won’t hurt.” Or when the two of you would go to the club alone with all intentions of remaining that way, but then leave together. Eventually, he started sneaking into your dorm, fucking you to sleep and then waking you up to do it again, which was the exact predicament you found yourself in this morning, only a few days before Christmas break. 

The closer break came, your shame over constantly letting him in and responding to his late night texts eased. You just told yourself that the two of you could continue… distracting each other until the holidays. Then, you would part ways again. By the time the new year rolled around and you returned, he would be over it—you would be over it—and the way he was able to make you orgasm countless times per session would just become an afterthought. 

Of course, every time you said it would be the last, Peter agreed with you.

He nodded along when you told him “this means nothing.” When you discussed how their situation would end when the semester did, he feigned indifference. “That’s fine, baby,” he would say, and then fucked you in new, tragically pleasing ways, desperately hoping you would change your mind.

Because he had no intention of parting ways with this—parting ways with you, the way you made him feel. Not a single fucking one. 

He pulled your face closer to his, lips moving in sloppy synchronicity with each other as you ground on top of him, embracing the overstimulating friction it gave your clit, when a knock pounded at your dorm door.

In a startled frenzy, you pulled away from him, head snapping in the direction of the door as your breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“You better be awake!” your best friend shouted on the other side. “I want coffee.”

“Shit,” you whisper-hissed, turning back to Peter who was not at all phased by the interruption, nor the potential threat of being caught in your room. “You have to go,” you told him in a hushed tone, recalling the plans you’d made with her to grab coffee before exams before making a move to climb off him.

“Uh-uh,” he grunted, using the grip he had around your waist to keep you in place. “Tell her you can’t.”

Your brows snapped together. “What? No, I'm not—”

He cut you off by lifting you slightly, rolling the both of you over in one swift motion so that he was on top of you, thrusting himself inside you.

A muffled moan tore from your throat when he brought his lips to your ear. “Tell her,” he managed to say, tone sharp and gravelly.

Digging your nails into the rigidly muscular skin on his back, you inhaled a sharp breath and prayed your voice to even. “I can’t, I’m, uh…” your voice trailed lamely, head lulling back when he lifted your hips slightly off the bed, resting back on his calves to have complete control over the way he was fucking you. “I’m sick.”

“You’re sick?” she immediately countered, voice raised. “What’s wrong?”

“Food poisoning,” you quickly responded, screwing your eyes shut when one of Peter’s hands trailed down between the two of you, his fingers rubbing circles over your sensitive clit, getting off on you trying to talk while he pleased you. “I’ll call you later!”

“Are you sure? I can get you some—”

“I’m sure!” you nearly screamed, voice high-pitched and slurred. “Oh, God…” you moaned louder than you meant, head falling back on the bed.

Peter’s hand shot up to your mouth, clamping his palm and fingers that were drenched in your arousal over your mouth as he smirked down at you, loving the way you lost control because of him.

“Okay…” You heard your best friend sigh on the other side of the door. “Well, call me later.”

You didn’t even realize you didn’t respond, just hoped she had walked away by the time your release flooded your grim consciousness. 

Despite his best efforts, watching you convulse beneath him, gripping your striped bed sheets, and moaning into his hand brought him to his release. A deep, rattling moan tore from his throat as he slammed into you a final time before shakily rolling his hips, riding out both of your highs with soft, slow thrusts. 

The sudden urge to kiss you came over him when he pulled his hand away from your mouth, and not in the way the two of you always did. 

He didn’t want to give you a sloppy, desperate kiss, tangling his tongue with yours. No, he just wanted to… kiss you. He wanted to plant a small peck on your swollen, trembling lips, and watch your eyes flutter closed. 

But he didn’t. That wasn’t what you two did. You didn’t softly kiss each other. You just fucked each other. 

When he was really lucky, though, he’d get to fall asleep next to you. Even when you told him you would rather die than cuddle or touch him, he’d wait until you were asleep to pull you in closer, even if you crawled right out of his grasp the minute you woke up.

God, he felt sick.

His jaw muscle ticked as he slowly pulled out of you, still—after months—taken aback by the sight of his cum oozing out of you. 

He didn’t make a comment about it, though. He just quickly grabbed your towel that was draped on your desk chair and wiped it up, laying it out beneath you to save you the hassle of having to wash your sheets again, since you’d griped about it for so long the last time. 

You steadied your breathing, propping yourself on your elbows to watch him. “What’s your problem?”

His head shot up to you from where he was hopping on one leg, trying to pull his boxers and jeans he’d worn over the night before back on. “What’d you mean?”

“You’re all… quiet.”

Shrugging, he zipped up his zipper, his abs flexing as he did so. “I don’t know. Got nothing to say, I guess.” His New York accent was thick like it always was early in the mornings.

You scoffed. “That’s a first.”

He shrugged again, searching around your dorm room for his sweatshirt. 

Slowly sitting up, you pointed to the corner of the room by the door, where it had been thrown off the second he’d walked in the door last night. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, grabbing it and working it over his frame.

Your eyes were glued to him, an unknown feeling flooding your sluggish thoughts as he grabbed his house keys, wallet, and phone off your desk. “Did I do something?”

He forced out a chuckle, but it didn’t meet his eyes or the rest of his demeanor. “No. Why? You worried about me now, Dean’s List?”

“No,” you quickly replied. “You’re just being all… weird.”

“I’m fine. Just worn out,” he said, raking a hand through his curls.

“Yeah,” you drawled, brows raising. “I fucking bet.”

He ignored you, reaching down to grab your clothes off the floor. “Here.” He held them out. “Let me help—”

“I can dress myself, Peter,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes as you grabbed your David Bowie graphic tee from him and turned the fabric right side out before shrugging it on. 

Suppressing his embarrassment, he held out your pajama shorts and panties for you, studying the floor for a moment. “Are you going out to the bar tonight?”

You shrugged, untucking your hair from the shirt collar. “I haven’t thought that far. Why?”

A nauseous feeling overcame him. He didn’t want to say what he said next, but he just couldn’t help himself. “You can come back to mine after. We can finally sleep in a bed meant for two instead of this—”

“Absolutely not,” you quipped, taking your Christmas-themed panties out of his grasp and pulling them up your legs. “I have one more exam tomorrow and then I’m leaving to go back to Brooklyn.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” he asked, hoping you didn’t see the way something inside him split in two. “What about the awards—”

“I’m not winning any awards this semester, Peter.”

He squinted. “You’re not?”

“No.” You sighed heavily, taking your shorts from him but not putting them on. “Kind of hard to be an academic weapon when you’re caught up in—” you gestured your hand between the two of you “—whatever this shit is.”

Although he knew that meant all of the rewards would go to him, it still made him feel bad, knowing he had unintentionally affected you in a way that wasn’t necessarily good when all he wanted was to make you feel good, even if admitting that would be his death sentence. 

The guilt hit him sharp in the gut, but you wouldn’t have known it.

It made you feel better to blame him for your misfortune of falling behind in class and letting your GPA slip instead of acknowledging the truth, which was that you had let yourself down tremendously. Truthfully, though, even without him, you weren’t sure if you would be taking home any awards this semester.

“Which is exactly why…” your voice trailed as you slid off your bed, falling on your feet right before him, “this ends now.”

Peering down at you, Peter nodded slowly. “You said that last time.”

“Well, I mean it for real this time,” you argued, stepping around him. “We can’t do it forever. Gotta, like, move on… ‘ya know? Plus, we’ll be gone for a month on break.”

“Move on?” he asked, turning and watching you rummage around for your shower caddy. 

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, taking the tub full of your shower necessities off your closet shelf and setting it on the desk.

He reached the back of his neck, scratching the warm skin and glaring a hole through your bedroom floor. “Like with other people?”

“I mean, sure,” you said, shrugging with a nonchalant frown like he had just asked you if you were hungry, or something. “Move on in life, move on with other people who are actually good for us.”

“You don’t think I’m good for you?”

Your eyes flashed over to him, laughter spilling out of you. “Peter, I know you’re not good for me.” You shook your head, pulling out your top dresser drawer to find an outfit, knowing most of your things were already packed up in your suitcases. “We’re just fucking. It—”

“Means nothing,” he filled in, tone a little too sharp. “Yeah, I know.”

“Exactly.” You pulled out a big sweatshirt and leggings, already dreading having to walk through the remnants of last night's snow on your way to class.

He should have left then. He should have said goodbye, or, really, nothing at all, and just walked out. Because his frustration with your will to be done with him was quickly morphing into just pure anger.

Having to search your suitcase for a pair of winter-weather-approved socks, you glanced back up at him, oblivious to his seething interior. “So, are you gonna go back to that Stark internship over break?”

His eyes shot away from you. He scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t ask me about my life, Dean’s List. We’re just fucking, ‘ya know.” His teeth were grinding in his tight jaw, fuming at the fact that he ever told you anything about himself and despising the fact that he knew just as much about you. “No reason to get into the personal shit.”

Catching his insolent tone, you narrowed your eyes up at him. “I was trying to make small talk. You don’t have to be a dick.”

“You know, I really don’t get you,” he snarled, feeling deeply wronged that he was still somehow the dick in this equation. His face was all scrunched with irritation, arms crossed over his chest when you glared back at him. “You talk all this shit about how awful I am, but—”

“Because you are,” you cut in piercingly.

“How? How am I any different than you?” He said, giving you a look that just made you feel like a kid again. Wrong and stupid. “Please, tell me.”

You straightened your spine, eager to match his attitude. “Because you’re a fucking asshole, Peter. You think with your ego and just use girls to get your dick wet. This—” you gestured to the two of you “—is no different.”

It was so much different, he heard himself think when he cocked his head to the side. “And what is it that you’re doing with me?”

“I don’t know,” you roared, hands flailing at your side. “I really don’t.”

“You keep crawling back for some reason.”

You shook your head, nostrils flaring. “Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.” You turned away. “You know, I used to think that the whole cocky thing—that persona you flaunted was just you being a shitty flirt, having a little too big of an ego. But I think I get it now, Peter,” you sneered, facing him with nothing but flaming fury crawling through your veins. “I think you’re just miserable and want everyone else you rope into your life to feel the same.”

His jaw muscle ticked, body eerily rigid and still. 

“Did I get it right?” You cocked a brow before shaking your head and turning your attention back to rummaging through your belongings. Although, you couldn’t really remember what it was you were searching for. “Yeah, I’m sure I did.”

“And what’s your excuse, huh?” he shot back, leaning back against the side of your lofted bed. “You act all high and mighty, but you know, deep down, you’re just like me. You want the same things. That’s why you’re here—that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Because you feel comfortable being your worst self around me, knowing I’ll get it.”

“I am nothing like you, Peter.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe you’re not.” His eyes remained welded to yours. “Maybe you’re something worse, Dean’s List. ‘Cause at least I can be honest with myself. I know I’ve been shitty—I own up to my shit. But you—” he shook his head, lip trembling with rage “—you can’t even stomach yourself, can you? Being with me makes you feel dirty?”

Disgust riddled your expression, blending cruelly with something much sadder. “God,” you hissed, but your voice cracked. “You’re fucking demented. All this because I don’t want to fuck you anymore?” 

Peter caught the glossiness in your eyes, the tears threatening to slip out, and suddenly felt the urge to throw up, stuck in the crossfire of his own devastation. He thought, for a moment, what would have happened if he had gone about everything differently—if he had gone about you differently. 

He wondered if he wouldn’t have been so terrified of feeling anything other than baseline contentment, or if he would have just tried to be your friend. If he would have learned things about you organically and not when he was torturing you and fucking you. Maybe you wouldn’t have been looking at him right now, hurt and repulsed by just the sight of him, if he wasn’t who he was.

But he was who he was. 

He was no better than a dog, he thought all of a sudden, only knowing how to bite when someone gets too close.

You parted your lips to speak, but all that came out was a shaky breath as your emotions rolled through you like a shiver. Sucking in a sharp breath, you steadied yourself. “All of this—” your chest heaved “—was a mistake.”

“You’re right,” Peter replied, gaze dropping to the floor. His tongue sunk into his jaw as he took reluctant steps closer to you. 

“I should’ve never fucking touched you.” He saw the way your features softened, that flicker of hurt dancing across your eyes, and even though it made him want to collapse on the ground right in front of you, he was relentless. 

At the end of the day, all Peter Parker knew how to do was win. “Bet it feels worse right now with my cum still dripping out of you, doesn’t it?”

Without thinking, your hands raised to his chest, shoving him back. He stumbled back a step, stifling a chuckle. A fucking chuckle. You did it again, shoved his chest harder, not even noticing the tear that fell down your cheek when you did it again and again until his back was flush with your bed again.

“This make you feel better?” he snarled, reaching up and gripping your wrists to halt them. “Does hating me—taking it out on me—make it easier for you?”

You yanked your hands out his grasp, feeling the stinging sensation of where his fingers were when they curled into fists at your side. “Get out of my room.”

“Glad to.” He pushed himself off the bed, not breaking his seething gaze with you as he breezed past. 

You didn’t move until the door slammed shut behind him. And even then all you did was fall forward, kneeling down, and burying your head in your hands.

Peter stilled on the other side of your door. His hand kept a firm grip on your door handle as his chest rose and fell with such a ferocious rhythm, he felt a sharp pain in his heart. In the unsettling silence, all he could make out was the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and the single, muffled sob coming from inside your bedroom.

He screwed his eyes shut, tearing his sweaty palm away from the door handle and just knew. He knew he ruined it. The only real thing he’d ever had that never even belonged to him to begin with. 

He ended up taking the long way back to the Kappa Tau Zeta house, holding himself up in his bedroom with music blaring loud enough to drown out his own thoughts. When Miguel’s “damned” came on, wrongfully queued, he stumbled out of bed and threw up in his trash can. He didn’t go out that night and neither did you.

Showing up five minutes late to your linear algebra exam, you scored a 74 out of 100 and went back to your apartment to finish packing your shit, never remembering to call your best friend, and left for Brooklyn the following morning after your last exam.

Christmas break went by like an agonizing blur. 

Peter spent the majority of it with his Aunt May, doing all the little traditions they had with each other. But he wasn’t really there. His body was, but his head was somewhere far away. Probably crammed in some apartment in Brooklyn, or wherever it was you were spending your holidays. 

He had checked, of course. Scrolling through your best friend’s account like muscle memory, only to find you had blocked him. You’d blocked his number, too, which he found out on Christmas eve night when he got too drunk and tried to call you from the fire escape outside his bedroom, and debated jumping off when his text never delivered.

He should have expected it, though. It was his fault, after all.

With no way to contact you or see you, he spent the entire night out in the frigid cold, scrolling through the few text messages the two of you shared, and that one picture he took of you on his phone when he way laying next to you, sending someone a Snapchat and you decided to stick your head in the frame. 

It was so blurry, most wouldn’t be able to tell it was you. But he knew. He could hear your laugh when he looked at it, remembering the way you slapped his arm and begged him to delete it, saying you had a double chin, or some stupid shit.

A snowstorm hit the city a week after Christmas, causing his apartment building’s power to go out for a while, and he wondered if you were going through something similar, or if you were warm and enjoying your break. 

You told him once about the family you had in New Jersey, and he wondered if that was where you were. If you had gotten stuck trying to make it back to the city because of the traffic. 

It was obsessive and absolutely devastating. 

May had noticed his lapse. He hadn’t really been into their traditions since he hit puberty and had suddenly found decorating sugar cookies a little too childish, but he used to still at least try and make it entertainable. 

This year, though, he didn’t even come into the kitchen when his aunt brought out the dough and icing. 

When she had tried to get him to talk about it, he said the same three things: he was tired, it was a rough semester, lacrosse kicked his ass. Because he couldn’t say anything about you. Where would he even begin? Explaining who you were incriminated himself. That was how wrong he’d been.

You weren’t doing much better, though. 

Your holiday break had given your mom, and the rest of the family you visited, the perfect opportunity to pester you about your future, when you couldn’t even tolerate your present. Telling everyone what they wanted to hear, you couldn’t be honest with anyone when they asked about how your final year of college was going because you couldn’t really remember. 

Some sadistic part in your brain made it seem like the only thing you had done for six months at ESU was help sneak Peter Parker into your dorm, because that was all you could remember. You didn’t think to tell anyone about the scholarship you’d won in early-October for a research project and you didn’t tell anyone that you’d applied to grad school at MIT. You just told them it had been fun.

But it hadn’t been fun. It had been the worst couple months of your life.

Nothing about your outlook changed when you returned a few days after New Years’, learning the heating system was out in your dorm building and there was another snowstorm on its way. 

Your best friend, who lived at the other end of the hall, was in the same predicament. It was her idea to brave the elements and walk to the bar the Saturday before classes started again. She had heard from the guy she was talking to that that was everyone else’s plan, joking that alcohol would keep them warm if their school couldn’t afford to.

“I can’t feel my hands,” your best friend exclaimed when the two of you made it into the warm, overly-packed bar a little after eight o’clock. You had glanced over at her and laughed, but she had a deadly serious expression on her face. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m being serious. Oh, my God—” she sucked in a sharp gasp “—do you think I have frostbite? Will my fingers fall off?”

The tall, dark-haired guy she’d toted along took her hands and rubbed them with his. “You’re fine, babe,” he’d assured her with a toothy grin. “I won’t let your fingers fall off, I promise.”

You rolled your eyes, groaning. “You guys are sickening,” you jested, tearing off your beanie and stuffing it in your coat pocket. 

Making your way deeper into the bar, shimmying past numerous familiar faces all finding solace in what seemed like the last place with proper heating near ESU, your best friend nudged your arm. “You should have invited that guy,” she wiggled her brows.

Your eyebrows pinched together. “What guy?”

“The one you were messing around with before break,” she said, smirking freakishly when you settled down at a booth near the back.

“What?” Your heart skipped a beat unwittingly. “I wasn’t seeing anyone before break.”

She slid into the seat across from you, curly hair still freckled with melting snowflakes from the walk. “When you had—” she tossed up air quotes with her fingers “—food poisoning.”

A sudden weight fell on your chest, stripping your ability to breathe and leaving your heart racing. “I did have food poisoning,” you told her, but you couldn’t meet her eyes.

She snickered, tapping her almond-shaped nails on the table to the beat of the song. “Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

Shrugging, she replied, “Okay.” But she studied you a second longer. “Still, Dean’s friend would have come along. You know the cute one with the scar in his eyebrow?” 

You nodded reluctantly, not really giving a shit about Dean’s friend with the eyebrow scar. “Yeah.”

“He could’ve come with us, kept you company.”

You sighed, shrugging off your coat from the sudden rush of heat coursing through your system. “I don’t need any company.”

Well, you just didn’t want his company.

Her shoulders sagged when her talking stage, Dean, returned to the table from the bar with three beers, one for each of you. “If you say so.”

Thirty minutes later, though, Dean’s friend with the eyebrow scar did show up at the bar. Your best friend swore she had nothing to do with it, and you believed that.

You let him sit down in the booth next to you and drone on about the ski trip in Aspen he’d taken with his family. There was an air of entitlement in everything he said and it nearly bored you to death, but it was just enough to keep your mind busy enough. It forced the memory of Peter in your dorm the day before you left for break as far back in your mind as possible.

By the time Peter arrived at the KTZ house with his worn suitcase and shredded dignity in tow, his friends were already on their way out to the bar. He wasn’t going to go, he really wasn’t. He had all intentions of staying in and not chancing things, but he’d relented, dropping his stuff in his room and rushing to tag along.

He didn’t see you when he walked in, nor did he see you when he stationed himself at the table in the center of the bar with a few of his lacrosse teammates and fraternity brothers. 

It wasn’t until he was deep into his third beer, finally feeling a sliver of contentment, that you walked over to the bar.

At first he thought he was seeing things. It wouldn’t have been the first time since he last saw you that his mind played tricks on him like that. Plus, you had cut an inch or two off your hair and you usually always sat on the other side of the bar where the music was louder. 

But when you propped your elbows on the bartop, your oversized sweater falling down your hips, and turned to laugh at something your best friend was saying at the table you’d come from, Peter caught your profile and couldn’t pretend he didn’t know it was you.

Your laugh carried across the bar, even over the pitch of Hozier’s “Jackie and Wilson” that was being played on the bar’s surround-sound speaker system, and it was like you had physically slapped him in the face.

He thought about walking over to you. He thought about apologizing. He thought about teasing you just for the hell of it, desperately yearning to hear you mope and groan like you used to, and missing your witty little comebacks. He wondered what you would do when you saw him—if you would hurry and leave or if you would pretend he didn’t exist—because he knew that no matter what it was, you definitely were not going to talk to him.

His thoughts spiraled further when a familiar face came up beside you. Some guy in a Ralph Lauren quarter-zip who he only knew because they’d gone through rush together four years ago, but ended up in different fraternities.

You, however, had no business knowing a guy like him. If you thought Peter was bad, he loathed what you would think about that guy when his true colors prevailed.

Peter’s grip on his beer bottle tightened when the guy’s hand crept up your back. It was the softest movement, one no one else in the bar was paying attention to. Even your oblivious best friend wasn’t looking, too busy swapping spit with her most recent talking stage. Peter saw it, though. Of course, he did. His vision was cemented on you.

He saw the way you scooched away from the guy, politely dismissing the touch. He also noticed when the guy persistently inched closer, his hand returning. 

“Dude,” his friend nudged his arm. “You good?”

Peter blinked hard, glancing over at his teammate. “What’s up?”

He tilted his head towards you. “Still trying to get with Little Miss Dean’s List, huh?”

Instinctively, Peter looked back at you, following his friend’s gaze. Already had her, he wanted to respond, just fucked it all up. God, he wanted to scream it. “Nah, man.”

“What’s she doing with him?”

That was a great question, Peter thought. What were you doing with him?

He shrugged. “Who cares?” He did. He cared. He cared way too fucking much.

His chest rose as he took in a deep breath, resting back in his chair with his arm draped across the back of the empty one next to him, legs spread as he unabashedly watched every move you made. 

The bartender handed you a mixed drink that you’d ordered (probably a vodka cran, he thought), but the guy accompanying you took it, smiling. Peter desperately wanted to be able to hear the conversation, but he couldn’t. So, he resorted to lip-reading and his keen understanding of your body language.

Your hand reached up to take the drink back, smiling obliviously. “I can carry it,” you told him.

He shrugged, feigning sincerity. “Let me.”

His hand snuck to the small of your back again, gesturing for you to walk back to the booth ahead of him. “Okay,” you breathed.

Peter saw the exact moment he dug into his jean pocket. 

He could have been grabbing his phone, his hand could have been cold—there were a million reasons why a man puts his hand in his pants pocket. But that specific guy had a penchant for something Peter didn’t even want to imagine happening to you.

He was up and walking before he could think, abandoning his beer and the promise he’d made himself before coming back to ESU to give you your space. 

“Hey!” Peter called out, pacing quickly between the maze of tables and chairs.

Your entire frame went rigid when his voice carried across the bar, causing you to halt in your tracks. Some feeling that could only be related to that of mind-bending anxiety instantly overpowered you.

Slowly, you turned to see Peter approaching the guy walking behind you. He didn’t even pay you a single glance. He just gripped the guy’s arm, forcing him to spin around and face him. 

The expression covering Peter’s face was one you hadn’t seen before. His brows were creased, jaw bound tightly with tension, and you could physically feel the hammering currents of adrenaline oozing out of him. He was something much more than mad, you realized.

Dean’s friend with the eyebrow scar tore out of his grasp. “What the fuck, Parker?” 

Peter didn’t respond. His hand reached down and sunk into the guy’s jean pocket, causing a fit of commotion. 

Your brows furrowed, watching the scene unfold in what felt like slow motion. “Peter, what are you—”

He pulled his hand out suddenly, eyeing something that he’d brought out, holding it between his fingers. You couldn’t see what it was, but you could see the moment Peter’s entire body went rigid. 

Everything that ensued after that was a blur.

Without wasting a second, Peter yanked the drink out of the guy’s hand, and tossed its contents right back in his face, completely drenching him and his stupid Ralph Lauren quarter-zip. 

A gasp tore from your throat, unable to conjure a single word as Peter lunged at him, gripping him with one hand by the collar before sending his fist flying into his jaw not once, but twice. Stumbling into tables and chairs, everyone around suddenly began shouting and flooding the scene. 

“You’re fucking dead,” Peter roared, sending his fist flying once more, his knuckles colliding with the guy’s nose. 

But when Peter’s hand came back to repeat his punch, the guy quickly overtook him, socking him right in the eye. 

“Parker—Hey, chill out, man!” One of Peter’s friends shouted, breaking through the commotion to try and drag the two of them off each other.

Punches were flying and the sound of bone hitting bone ricocheted over the music and chatter. But you felt completely frozen in your stance. 

There was blood trickling out of Peter’s split lip when he was pulled back. One of his teammates grabbed him by the biceps, jerking him back. He bucked in the hold, absolutely writhing with unbridled rage.

“Get the fuck off me,” he roared, tugging against the restraint.

His opponent staggered back, bringing his hand to his nose where blood was streaming out. There was no doubt it was broken, you could tell by the split along the bridge and the cruel crookedness of it.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he seethed, fully prepared to give Peter another punch.

“You’re my goddamn problem,” Peter sneered. He jerked once more, causing his teammate’s hold to break. “I know what you were trying to do.” Loose, Peter quickly closed the space. 

For some reason, you took an urgent step forward, stepping right in front of him, as if you had a fighting chance. “Peter,” you forced out, peering up at him. “Peter—What are you—”

His arm effortlessly snaked around your waist, forcing you out of the way with a gentle push, not once looking at you. 

Stumbling back, your hands flew to your mouth, smothering your gasp as Peter got one last hit in. His final one had more force in it than all the others, causing the guy to stumble back between the chairs, falling flat on his back. 

A male bartender broke through the chaos, but Peter’s body was still thrumming with a fiery rage. His chest rose and fell frantically, shouting things that your muddled brain couldn’t make sense of. 

“Out!” the bartender bellowed. “Or I call the cops on all of you.”

“Call the cops,” Peter sneered, revealing the small pink pill he’d kept tucked in his clenched fist. “Tell ‘em there’s a fucking scumbag trying to drug girls,” he spit, slapping the pill into the bartender’s hand.

Your eyes went wide just as Peter turned and looked at you. His stance was feeble and off balance, his cheek was already purpling, and blood was dripping down his chin when he walked towards you. 

“Let’s go,” he snarled, still untamably raging as he gripped your wrist.

You yanked your arm away. “No, I’m not—”

“You’re coming with me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Let’s go.”

When you still made no move to comply, he gripped your wrist with even more force, giving you no choice but to stumble along as he marched towards the bar’s exit. 

“Peter—Stop,” you called out. “You’re hurting me.”

He didn’t stop until both of you were met with the brisk mid-Winter night air and pelted with snowflakes. 

The bar door swung shut and he finally loosened his grip, turning to you. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you hissed, rubbing the skin he’d had a hold of, “you hurt my wrist.”

“Other than that,” he urged, giving you a good look over. “Did he touch you? What’d he—Did he touch any of your other drinks?”

“Peter, calm down,” you exclaimed, dizzy by his rapid fire questioning.

“Answer me,” he demanded. “Did he touch any of your other drinks?”

You shook your head. “N–No—I don’t… I don’t think so.”

His eyes danced in yours, squinting to see better under the dim streetlamp. “Do you feel okay? Your head feel cloudy?”

“You’re making my head cloudy!”

He gripped your arms, steadying you before him. “I’m not fucking around. Do you feel okay?” He shook his head, blinking rapidly. “Fuck it—I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“What?” you gaped, squirming out of his hold. “No, Peter. I’m fine—Jesus Christ.”

“Are you sure?”

Chest heaving, you nodded. “Yes.”

Both of you went silent for what felt like the longest moment, neither of you entirely sure what to say or do next. You could see his breath in the air from the freezing temperature as he glared down at you, mixing with yours, and all you could think about was his face and the punches he’d taken. 

“Are you okay?” you heard yourself ask, eyes honing in on his wounds.

His tongue slipped out, tracing the gash in his bottom lip with a wince. “I’m fine.” A shaky breath escaped him. “Come on.”

“Peter,” you sighed, shoulders sagging. “I can’t—I’m not going with you.”

“You are,” he replied calmly. “Because if that prick walks out of the bar, I’m gonna kill him.” He exhaled in a way to calm himself. “And I don’t want him anywhere near you. So, come on.”

“I’m going back to my dorm,” you told him. “Alone.”

“That’s fine, bab—” He shook his head once, tossing that name far from his skull. “That’s fine,” he clarified. “I’ll walk you.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, shivering, and walked swiftly past him. 

He didn’t immediately follow. “Where’s your jacket?”

You turned on your heels, walking backwards. “In the bar.”

“Fuck,” he hissed.

“Do want me to go get—”

“Absolutely not.” He was already working his way out of his sweatshirt. Lifting it up over his head, causing his long-sleeve shirt to lift and reveal his rocky abdomen, he held it out to you. “Put it on.”

“I’m fine.”

“Please, just stop,” he said, tone exhausted. “I know, okay. I get it. Just take the fucking sweatshirt.”

Your mental block suffered a brief defeat. You sighed. “Fine.”

Standing beneath the flickering streetlamp, Peter watched you slide into his ESU Lacrosse sweatshirt, feeling the corner of his lips curl when it fell just above your knee.

You didn’t look back at him, nor did you bother pulling your hair out from it as tucked inside the neckline. You just started walking with such ferocious strides, you felt bad for the thin layer of slush coating the sidewalk. 

There were a million things running rampant in your thoughts, the one you couldn’t shake was just how differently your night could have gone if Peter wasn’t there. However, as soon as you thought about that, you remembered: Peter was there. The same Peter who had spewed those cruel things at you and the same Peter who you let fuck you raw.

Screwing your eyes shut for a short moment, you shook your head to clear those memories from your head and focused on your footsteps.

Peter walked behind you, eyes trained on your back as he watched your breath float up into the freezing cold air. 

He felt like crying.

If he wouldn’t have been watching—if he hadn’t seen that guy dig into his pocket… God, he couldn’t even think about it. It was splitting him in half from within, causing him to wince. 

The thought of what could have happened to you hurt far more than the bruise swelling up around his eye and the contusion on his lip. It also hurt worse than your eagerness to be rid of him. 

It wasn’t that he felt entitled to your company because he stepped in and helped you, it was just that being alone with you again made it feel like that morning before the semester ended never happened. 

It was just like the months leading up to that day when he would walk you back to your dorm after sneaking out of the bar together. But back then, his arm would be draped over your shoulder and you would be telling him things like your favorite Queen song (Fat Bottomed Girls, ironically enough) and the difference between Aladdin Sane and Ziggy Stardust. 

He would hang on to every word you said, asking questions and doing everything to just keep you talking. 

Now, he just felt like a vulture in the snow, picking at scraps of what he had ruined.

When the two of you approached your dorm hall, you stalled outside the entrance before using your Student ID to scan yourself in. “You can go now.”

“I’ll walk you up.”

Your eyes slanted up at him. “Peter.”

His nostrils flared, hands digging deeper in the front pocket of his jeans. “You always forget to lock your door.”

“I’ll lock it.”

“I’ll make sure,” he combatted.

You clenched your teeth, studying his expression to see if you could determine his intent since it was clear he wasn’t going to tell you. Coming up empty, you huffed. “Fine,” you said, pressing your ID to the scanner. “You’re not getting off the elevator, though.”

He nodded, pulling the door open for you when it buzzed, standing back to let you walk through. “That’s fine.”

You waited for him to add “baby” to the end of that, but he didn’t, and you mentally bullied yourself for feeling disappointed.

Stepping into the elevator, you moved to the far corner, letting Peter click your floor number. He stood still as a statue and didn’t even glance back at you. 

The whole time, he was just trying to conjure up some excuse to have to walk to your door. 

When the doors slid open on the fifth floor, he held his arm out to keep the doors from closing as you stepped out into the hallway.

Instinctively, you turned on your heels and peered up at him. In the light, his wounds looked so much more agonizing. He needed ice on his bruise and to clean his lip with some kind of antiseptic, and you wanted so badly to tell him that, but he didn’t deserve it. That’s what you told yourself. He didn’t deserve your care.

“You good?” he asked, pulling you from your thoughts and trance-like daze.

Nodding quickly, you forced a poor excuse of a smile. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Good.” He nodded.

“Good.”

Peter made no move to let the doors shut and even reached down to hold the open door button, although he already had a hand blocking them.

“I’ll, um—” you combed a hand through your hair. “Bye… Peter,” you said through a shaky breath.

He parted his lips and almost said it. He almost told you to wait. He almost told you to hold on, begging you to just let him apologize, if nothing else—just let him tell you how sorry he was. But, he didn’t. 

You turned and started walking down to your dorm room and he watched for a minute, tongue sunk in his jaw, using all forms of self-restraint he had not to scream your name and tell you to turn around. 

It wasn’t until you disappeared into your room that he stammered back inside the elevator, pressing the ground level button with such force, the plastic nearly cracked. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, crouching down in the elevator and resting his elbows on his knees. Massaging his temples, he worked his hands into his hair and pulled. He pulled his hair so hard, it drew a sharp hiss from his throat, but it was the best pain he’d ever felt.

The elevator doors opened on the bottom floor and it took him a moment to gather the strength to walk out. Because that was what it took for him to not click the number five button and sprint down the hall to your bedroom. It took every ounce of strength he had.

He made it all the way to the door, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get in if he went out. 

His shaky, clammy palms were on the lever. They had pushed down on the metal—he cracked the door open. He was going to leave. He was going to leave you alone, he really was.

But then he took a step back, hands falling slack at his sides.

He didn’t bother taking the elevator back up, knowing a group of girls were standing by it, waiting to take it up to their rooms. Instead, he took a sharp right into the echoey stairwell and jogged up the stairs, skipping every other step with not a single thought other than getting to you as quickly as possible running through his aching head.

By the time he reached the fifth floor, he was winded and panting like a damn dog, but he didn’t pause. He yanked the door open and made a stumbling beeline down your hallways until he was standing right outside your door. Room 508. 

He sucked in a sharp, uncontrollable breath and tried to gather himself. His fist rose to knock, but he lapsed, starting to second-guess himself. But when his fist dropped, it accidentally hit your door handle, which turned.

His heart skipped a beat. The door handle turned and he realized you hadn’t locked your door.

Oh, my God, he thought. You didn’t lock your door.

Without another second, his hand gripped the metal handle and opened your door.

You were pacing back and forth in the dim light of your desk lamp when he walked through. Halting, your head snapped up to him.

“You didn’t… lock your door,” he said between pants, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. 

You nodded slowly, your heart pumping so wildly in your chest, you, too, felt winded. “I know.”

“Why?”

Swallowing hard, you couldn’t find any other reason than one. “I knew you would come.”

His features hardened, closing the door slowly behind him without breaking eye contact with you. “You did?”

“Well, I had a, um, feeling…” you said, voice so soft it was barely above a whisper, “I guess.”

He nodded slowly, staring at you from the other side of the room. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He did that a few times and you just watched him, waiting. Finally, he inhaled sharply and his muscles relaxed. “I, um,” he blinked, “I missed—I miss you.”

“You shouldn’t,” you quickly countered.

“I know,” he responded, his voice hoarse and shaky. “But I do. And I have, and I probably always will.”

You let his words hang in the air for a moment. Throughout the four years you’d known him, sincerity had never been something he was particularly skilled at. But you could tell he was trying, and it was taking everything you had to just let him try.

You glanced down at the floor. “We’re not good for each other, Peter.” 

“Not right now, no. We’re not,” he surprised you by agreeing. “But we could be.”

Peter felt his throat closing, every deeply suppressed emotion he had felt for you from the moment he sat down next to you in that stupid first year seminar class fighting to come back to him, as if they ever really left. 

You were a part of his life at ESU. He never once walked across campus without immediately finding you amongst the hoards of other students, nor did he ever sit down in a class with you and didn’t immediately search for your face. Every single move he made was decided based on how he thought you would react. Every person he slept with was a distraction from you.

You were a part of him. 

He hadn’t made one thought in four years that wasn’t somehow linked to you. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how to tell you that.

“I care about you,” he croaked, taking a step forward. 

“You—”

“Shouldn’t?” he filled in thoughtfully. He waited until your eyes met his again. “You’re wrong.”

You shook your head, matching his steps forward with steps backwards. “All we do is hurt each other, Peter. That’s all we know how to do.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted. He continued stepping closer, not minding the fact that you were backing away from him. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Your back became flush with your loft bed, staring up at him with so many feelings that it all muddled into blatant confusion. “I never meant to hurt you, either,” you heard yourself say.

“You didn’t,” he countered, stopping when there were only a few dangerous inches separating the two of you. “I hurt myself, if anything. I was too scared to tell you how I felt and was too worried about you not feeling the same way that I just…”

“Made it all a game? Pushed me away?”

He nodded solemnly. “It’s all I knew how to do.”

“I know,” you said softly.

His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.”

You frowned up at him and repeated, “I know.”

“Can you forgive me?” he asked, his tone so delicate, it felt like glass.

“Can you be honest with me?”

He sucked in a sharp breath and said, “I can.”

“Then tell me,” you breathed, hands shaking frantically at your sides. “Tell me how you feel.”

He glanced down at the floor, realizing quickly that this was his last chance. “I feel like…” he let out a rugged breath, “I feel like I might die if I can’t have you—like I can’t function when you’re not around. And I, uh,” he peered back up at you, “I really don’t want to ever feel this way again. I just want—I just want you, and I want you to want me.”

Part of you wanted to not trust him. Somewhere, you knew it wasn’t a good idea. “Keep going,” you coaxed, pulling yourself up to sit on your bed due to the sudden lack of strength you had in your legs. 

He took a step forward, standing between your parted legs that were dangling over the edge of the bed. “I want to always protect you,” he said, slowly trailing his hands up your legs to rest on your thighs. Your eyes caught the purpling on his knuckles, causing your fingers to instinctively graze over them. “Even if I end up with more busted lips, black eyes, and bruised knuckles, I want to make sure nothing that happened tonight ever happens again.”

When his eyes flickered up to yours, there was a churning feeling in your gut. “Is that it?”

He sighed, hands slowly moving higher on your thighs. “And I really, really care about you.”

“What if that’s not enough?”

His brows snapped together. “What?”

You tilted your head, shrugging. “What if just because we care about each other, we still hurt one another?”

“I don’t know,” he quickly replied.

You nodded slowly, not knowing either. “We should leave each other alone. Find something healthier.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is toxic, Peter,” you told him. “Sneaking around, fighting, ignoring each other, just to do it all over again—I mean, look at you. You’re all… beat up. That’s not right—

“He was going to hurt you,” he cut in.

“Still,” you let out a shallow breath. “We deserve better.”

“You might,” he said, voice shaky as his hands found comfort in the crease of your hips, gripping slightly. “But all I want is you. There isn't anything better for me.”

Your gaze fell to your lap. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He tugged your closer using the grip he had on your hips. “I know what it feels like to suffer without you. I don’t want to do that shit again.”

“Are you just saying all of this because you want to fuck me?” you asked before you could think.

He shook his head. “No, I’m saying all this because it’s the truth—it’s how I feel. It’s how I’ve always fucking felt.”

You didn’t respond. Not because you didn’t want to, it was just that you couldn’t find anything to say. 

“Look at me,” Peter coaxed, tugging you close again until you could feel his toned core between your legs. Without a fuss, you did. His dark-brown eyes flashed back and forth in yours. “What’re you thinking?”

“That this is a bad idea,” you admitted. “That the only way this will end is in disaster.”

Something stung in his chest. “Do you want me to leave?”

It took you a long time to answer him. For a moment, you just stared at him, feeling his hands gripping your hips and the pulse of his heart that was ricocheting through his body. 

He bowed his head slightly, bringing your heads level with one anothers. “Do you want me to leave?”

You inhaled deeply. “No.” Your shoulders sagged, defeat flushing your senses. “I don’t.”

“Then, come here,” he said before his hand softly grazed the side of your face, forcing your lips on his. 

The minute the softness of his lips met yours, you felt every tense muscle in your body deflate. You melted entirely. He wasn’t kissing you with the ferociousness you were used to with him. His tongue wasn’t trailing out of his lips, desperate to tangle itself with yours.

He was just… kissing you, in the softest way he knew how. 

Feeling the scabbing prick of the gash on his bottom lip, though, you pulled away. “Your lip—”

“It’s fine,” he said, pulling your face back to his. “Just kiss me, please.”

Reluctantly, you brought your face close to his. For the longest time, you just let him kiss you. His hands trailed your entire body, gripping every inch he could, like he was checking to make sure you were real—that you were actually there with him and he wasn’t imagining it. 

Your mind was still racing when he pulled away. “Lay down,” he urged softly.

You laid back on the bed, kicking off your boots and letting them clatter down on the floor as he climbed on top of you. His knees nudged your legs apart as he slowly slipped in between them, hovering on top of you for less than a second before his lips came crashing down on you again. 

This time, it was hungrier, the way you always remembered.

When his tongue traced your lips, you could taste his blood from his wound, but it didn’t stop you. It didn’t even phase you.

Reaching down, you hooked your fingers under the hem of his long sleeve shirt, pulling it up. He broke free from the kiss, tearing it off and tossing it behind him on the floor. 

“Come here,” he whispered, sitting back on his calves as you slowly sat up. 

His hands slipped under the sweatshirt of his that you were still wearing, pulling it and your sweater off in one swift motion. 

The entire time he worked to unclasp your bra, you couldn’t stop feeling guilty. You felt deeply wrong in every way, letting him back in with such ease after everything. But deep down, there was an even more debilitating awareness, which was that the feeling of his touch—the sight of his body, the way he kissed you—was the rightest thing you’d ever felt.

“God,” he breathed, lowering you back down beneath him, “you’re so beautiful.”

Your arms draped over his broad shoulders, barely able to make out his sharp features in the dim lighting as you pulled him in closer. His head dipped into the crook of your neck, planting rough, sloppy kisses on the delicate skin. 

Without much thought, his hips ground against you, causing his hardened length to press into you. 

Your lips parted and eyes fluttered closed, gasping softly at the overwhelming friction. Hearing those noises come from you again, he felt all of the blood rush to the tip of his dick, no longer able to control the desperate way he wanted you. 

His hips rolled again. And again, and again, until you were panting and shaking beneath him. The sensation it was causing on your needy center beneath your pants was dangerous. But he just couldn’t stop. He never wanted the sound of you gasping and trembling every time his covered length rubbed your core to stop. 

“Peter,” you hissed, fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked on the skin just below your ear. “Peter, please.”

“What, baby?” His soft voice was muffled against your neck. “What is it?”

Your hips bucked against him. “I want you.”

“Yeah?” He slowly lifted, only to place his lips back on your skin, planting soft kisses down your exposed chest until he reached your pebbled nipple. His tongue slowly slipped between his swollen lips, tracing circles on the sensitive bud.

“Yes, please,” you squirmed, tugging at his hair now. 

He kept kissing down your body until he was bowing on his knees in front of you, kissing your lower stomach over your jeans. 

Even with the fabric separating the touch, you could feel the heat of him, and it was driving you mad. You squirmed, feeling him inch closer to where you wanted him the most. 

His nose dug against your core, planting a rough kiss on the damp spot in between your legs. Your head dug back into your mattress, unable to take it any longer. 

Whimpering, you bucked your hips. “Peter, stop… fucking teasing,” you pleaded, muscles tensed in such a desperately distraught way. 

He smirked up at you from where his face was buried between your legs. “Gotta be patient, baby.”

The sound of him calling you baby was enough to undo you completely. 

You understood what he was doing, though. You knew he was trying to prove a point. He wanted you to see how much you wanted him. He wanted you to feel just as desperate for him as he was for you.

When his hands slowly worked to unbutton your jeans, pulling them down your legs and taking your panties with them, his point was more than evident. 

You were absolutely soaked, trembling when he only touched your thigh, working his way slowly back.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, watching the way you squirmed and panted as he touched you everywhere except where he knew you wanted him.

With the softest, most taunting touch, he grazed your legs, the curve of your waist, the soft skin of your arms. He palmed your tits, biting down on his lip when you threw your head back again and moaned incoherently. You were doing all that and he hadn’t even touched you where you needed him yet.

“I can’t—” you panted, gripping his muscular forearms. “I can’t do it, Peter. I need you.”

“Can’t hear you,” he teased further, gripping the top of your thigh, his thumbs barely grazing the outer folds of your soaked center. 

“I need you,” you repeated, louder than before. “Please.”

“Where do you need me, baby?” he cooed. “Show me.”

Your hand clamped down where his was resting on your thigh, forcefully moving it to your drenched slit. “Right there,” you whispered, back arching off the bed when his fingers trailed along your folds.

He smirked down at his fingers, feeling them become coated in your sticky, perfect arousal. Tracing lines up and down your pussy, he resisted the urge to insert his fingers, wanting to watch you jerk wildly before him. 

“This what you want?” he asked, voice trembling with passion. “You want me to play with your pussy like this?”

When his fingers rubbed circles over your swollen clit, you couldn’t manage to use your words. You just moaned deeply, nodding your head quickly as your eyes fluttered closed. 

His chest was heaving when he asked, “Is that all you want?”

You shook your head, arms rising above your head as his fingers slowly moved down to your entrance. “More,” you managed to moan.

“Mm,” he sounded, pushing his fingers in with such devious slowness, it almost made you want to scream. “I know what my baby wants,” he mused, the pitch of his voice deepening in such a sensual way, your heart hammered. 

He pumped two of his fingers in you, exhaling shallowly when he heard the squelching sounds of your walls suctioning him further in. “Fuck…” he breathed, feeling his cock twitch in his jeans. 

“Harder,” you moaned, hips rolling against his hand intuitively.

His will to hold back slowly wavered, leading him to pump his fingers in you faster, bringing the pad of his warm thumb to press on your clit. 

“God, yes,” you cried out, overwhelmed by the way he fucked you with his fingers. “Oh, my—”

His free hand moved to your mouth suddenly, muffling your loud moans. He knew how crazy that made you. Made him even wilder.

“Shh,” he taunted, hooking his fingers in you. “Can’t let anyone hear you, baby.”

Your eyes rolled back and he could feel your walls clenching around his fingers, a tell of your release. 

You moved uncontrollably under his touch, chest rising and falling until you let out a loud, muffled moan into the palm of his hand. 

“Good girl.” He pumped you slower, watching your body twitch into the end of your orgasm.

When he slowly pulled his fingers out, your eyes slowly flickered open, catching the sight of him gazing down at you. Even with his swollen, purpled cheekbone and gash along his bottom lip, you thought he had never looked better. 

He climbed off the bed for a moment, undoing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans.

Your breathing was still untamed when you propped yourself up on your elbows. “Turn on… my speaker,” you instructed between pants, pointing to the pink, portable speaker on your desk hutch. “You can connect.”

A smirk spread across his bruised lips. “Okay.”

“Not too loud, though,” you told him, falling back on the bed with a pleasurable sigh. “Don’t need a noise complaint.”

He pressed the button, waiting for the Bluetooth logo to flicker before fumbling in his back pocket for his phone. “I know, baby.”

This exact string of events had happened countless times before. Before Christmas break. Before you both spewed those vile things at each other. When the only problem was trying to sneak him in your room without your friends knowing and not letting anyone catch the way you stared at each other across the bar, leaving five minutes before he did so no one could tell you were leaving together. 

You missed it, you realized. The comfort of something you knew was wrong—bad and unhealthy. It was like the first puff of a cigarette after drinking too many beers or hearing the first few notes of your favorite song being played on the dance floor at some party where no one was willing to dance with you. Contradicting and utterly overwhelming.

He scrolled through his Spotify, clicking shuffle before tossing his phone on your desk with his wallet and keys. 

Pulling out his belt, he laid it on the bed next to you and pulled down his jeans. Your gaze hung on the way his length was bricked in his black boxers, begging for release. 

Gorillaz and Kali Uchis’ “She’s My Collar” vibrated out of the speaker as he gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

“Come here,” he mumbled, hooking his arm under your arched back and pulling you up to him. 

But you shook your head, crawling back on the bed. “Uh-uh.” You smirked, folding your quivering legs beneath you. “You come here.”

His eyes narrowed, trying to read through your intent, but he couldn’t.

Your hand patted the bed next to you. “Lay down.”

He wasn’t used to you telling him what to do. Still, his dick throbbed in his boxers as he crawled on the bed, lying down next to you. 

You straddled his knees, hooking your fingers under his boxers and pulling them down. Lifting yourself to get them fully off, letting him kick them off the side of the bed, your eyes hung on his cock as it immediately sprung up, slapping his lower stomach. 

One of his arms was curled under his head, keeping it lifted slightly so he could watch you as you took him in your hand, working in slow strokes. His other hand grazed your arm, resisting the urge to overpower you and take control. 

You shifted, straddling only one of his legs as you bowed your head, mouth parting over his sensitive tip. 

He could feel your slick core on the skin above his knee, noticing the way you grinded against it as you took his entire cock down your throat. 

Sneaky, he thought. His jaw went slack, though, as you swallowed his length, your throat tightening around his tip. 

“Look at you,” he moaned, hands moving to your hair so he could move it away from your face, needing an unobstructing view. “Sucking my dick so good.”

Your lips suctioned around him, bobbing your head up and down in a seductively slow pace, working the hilt of him with your hand. The feeling of your clit rubbing against his thigh made you want to work harder—suck harder. 

He tugged at your hair, forcing you to match the rhythm he wanted you at. 

A gag tore from your throat as he bucked his hip, sending his dick further down your throat, feeling that familiar tightening. You rolled your hips once more, shuddering at the sensation and moaning against his shaft. 

“You that needy, baby?” he hummed, pulling your hair. “Riding my thigh.”

There was a wave of embarrassment that swept through you, but you just couldn’t stop. Your spit drooled down his dick, coating his balls the same way your pussy was coating his thigh. And you just couldn’t stop.

You sucked harder, faster. Your tongue swirled circles over his tip, grinding against his muscular thigh in such a primal way, you were moaning wildly with him so deep in your throat.

His jaw went slack, feeling the vibrations of your muffled sounds ricochet throughout his body. “You’re such a dirty girl,” he grunted, moving both hands to your hair, jerking your head up and down. 

Without warning, he slowly raised his knee off the bed, sending an unfathomably pleasurable shock through your system. 

“Mm, God… you’re gonna make me cum down your throat acting… like that, baby.”

You wanted him to, which is why you took him deeper, nose meeting the base of him as your throat clenched tighter around him. 

A hiss tore from his lips, head lulling back in your girly, pink pillows. “Stop,” he grunted, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself. You were going to have to do it. “Fuck, baby—I’m gonna—”

He tugged on your hair so hard, but you reached to grip his hips, forcing him deeper down in your throat. 

“F—Fuck,” he roared, legs spazzing beneath you as his dick twitched in your mouth. His warmth slowly oozed down the back of your throat. “Oh, my—”

His back arched off the bed as you kept sucking him through his high, swallowing every drop of cum that squirted from his tip as you went. 

Panting raggedly, his muscles slowly softened beneath you and you took him as far back as you could once more before pulling off him. 

His eyes were wide when you peered up at him, the remnants of his cum and your spit dripping down the corner of your mouth. 

You didn’t know what reaction you’d expected from him. You had never let him cum in your mouth before. He was panting and taut with tension, but he was still thrumming with a burning need. 

He sat up. “Come here,” he urged, gripping your arms and twisting you around on all fours on the bed before him. 

You were still trying to catch your breath when he sat up on his knees behind you. “What—What are you—”

“I wanna be inside you,” was all he managed to say, gripping his dick and aligning it with your entrance.

“But you already came,” you protested, a high-pitched gasp exiting you when he slowly inserted himself inside you from behind.

Your walls immediately suctioned around him, forcing him deeper, causing him to bite down hard on his already injured lip. “I’m still hard for you, baby.”

He didn’t know it was possible to feel as much as he felt in that moment. He didn’t know he could keep going like that, but he had to. That was how much he wanted you.

Deftones’ “Cherry Waves” began humming at a loud volume as he sat back on his calves, bringing you down with him. He lifted you off his tip for a moment, long enough for him to stretch his legs out beneath you. Then, he lowered you back down on him, causing you to ride his dick with your back turned to him—a position you’d never been in before.

“Oh, shit…” you hissed, rolling your hips against him.

His hands gripped your ass, watching the way you fell forward, gripping his thighs as you bounced up and down on top of him.

A moan tore from your throat just as your bleary-eyed gaze landed on his brown leather belt resting at the foot of the bed. Without putting much thought into your actions, you reached out and grabbed it. 

Peter immediately caught it, watching you hand it back to him. Twisting around like that with his dick so deep inside you nearly sent him over the edge again, but the excitement for what he was about to do to you muddled it.

“How do you want it, baby?” he grunted between deep-voiced moans, taking the leather in his grasp.

“Hit me,” was all you could say.

His brows immediately pinched together. “What?”

“Like…” you tossed your head back as he hit the spot deep inside you that no one else had ever been able to, “a whip.”

Oh, my God, he thought. He would never recover from this.

He folded the belt in half, watching with his mouth hung open as you sunk down further, gripping his knees with your back arched, ass grinding on top of him. He slapped the belt across the round of your ass once, and immediately felt a tinge of guilt. He didn’t want to hurt you.

A piercing moan escaped you and you immediately told him, “Harder.”

He wasn’t sure he could, but he still tried for you. He slapped the belt again—harder, and the sounds you made were so insanely sexy, he wanted to keep doing it. But he couldn’t stomach hurting you in that way, even if you liked it. 

So, he reached up and gripped your hair, forcing you to sit up straight on his dick, and conjured a better idea. One he knew you would enjoy just as much. 

“Let me try something, baby,” he mumbled when you glanced back at him with passionate confusion. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

“Mm-hmmm,” you moaned, grinding your sopping, wet pussy on his dick. 

Holding both ends of the leather, he slowly lifted the belt over your head, bringing the center of it to your throat. Then, he tugged.

Your back arched and a muffled moan escaping you as your entire body shuddered on top of him. 

He smirked. “You like that?”

Your hands fell back on his hard abdomen, thrusting your hips to feel him deeper with the belt around your throat. God, you loved it. 

“Yeah, I know you love that shit,” he grunted, feeling your walls tighten around him as you tried to cry out in pleasure. “Riding my dick like such a good girl while I choke you.”

You worked faster on top of him, feeling him in the deepest parts of you. “H—Har…der,” you pleaded. 

He pulled the belt a bit rougher, watching as you suddenly became like a ventriloquist on top of him when your back arched in such a way that shouldn’t have been possible. The sight of your spine flexing on top of him as your quivering pussy saturated his dick was all he needed to get off again.

“I’m gonna—”

“Me… too,” you groaned, rolling your hips in circular motions on his cock as you felt him reach a second climax inside of you—something you thought to be impossible. 

Your entire body convulsed against him, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Holy…” He was right there with you, suddenly becoming completely numb as he shot what little cum he had left deep inside you. “F—Fuck me…” he hissed.

Your hips jerked, falling forward when his grip around the belt loosened, catching yourself by gripping onto his knees again. 

Riding out your high, your body twitched until you no longer had the strength to hold yourself up on top of him. 

He snaked his arm around your waist, slowly lifting you off of him with as much ease as possible, letting you collapse on top of him in a sweaty, trembling mess. His chest heaved in sync with yours. 

And, for the longest time, you both just laid there together as music played and you tried to control your breathing.

hope you enjoyed it! pls leave a comment/like/reblog. if you have a one shot request, you can send it through my “ask me.” ୨ৎ─ delaney!

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[yzzart]

⋆˚｡GOOD GRACES. | J.JUNGKOOK

seven days. — is it possible to survive an entire week with your ex-boyfriend at a wedding? well, according to the experts, yes... but what about you?

⋆˚࿔ pairings: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x f!reader.

⋆˚࿔ tags + warnings: age gap (jungkook is 29 and reader is 25), jin’s wedding, romantic comedy, forced proximity, mutual friend group, jungkook being an asshole (at least a little), jungkook misses you, time since the breakup: one year and seven months, cursing, sexual and explicit content. — this is a prologue; the next post will be the first and only chapter. (not yet reviewed) — wc: 2.1K

⋆˚࿔ TAGLIST: if you’d like to, please, let me know in this post. (don’t forget to leave feedback!)

#DAY 0.5: FORGET THE PLANE; I’M SWIMMING THERE.

"No, wait. — I can't believe this actually happened."

Taehyung stopped walking in an absurdly abrupt way right in the middle of the airport. A woman who had to be at least sixty years old swerved — or rather, was forced to swerve — around his suitcase and shot him an indignant, outraged look; you could swear you heard her mutter some kind of curse at him.

As Taehyung dramatically carried on, Juria kept walking beside you; both of you were already accustomed to his reactions. Shaking your head, you glanced down at your phone as you made your way through the crowded terminal. Notifications were piling up on the screen, messages from the wedding group chat coming in nonstop, boarding reminders, and emails you kept pretending you would answer later.

An urgent meeting at the publishing house you worked for? — Or a coworker considering changing your time off? — That was a problem for future you; and that future version of yourself was about to inherit one hell of a mess.

"It happened, Tae." — Sometimes, the things that happened at your best friend’s workplace sounded like stories that could easily show up on Reddit or as the narration of some TikTok

"Juria, you’re lying." — Taehyung tried to catch up with your pace, nearly tripping over his own suitcase. It was easier — and safer — to carry the oldest’s suitcase and let him handle yours; judging by the number of near-accidents that morning, the theory was proving itself right. — In response, the redhead simply answered, “unfortunately, i’m not.”

At that hour — 9:12 A.M. to be exact — the airport was packed; you couldn’t believe there would be such a huge crowd on a tuesday. People crossed the terminal in every direction, announcements echoed through the speakers, and the smell of coffee mixed with expensive perfume and air conditioning created a strangely unpleasant combination.

Not to mention the endless check-in lines, children running between suitcases, groups of young people gathered near the international departures holding phones and discreet signs, and the constant feeling that some celebrity was about to walk through the terminal. — For a moment, you tried narrowing your eyes to make out the name written on the signs, but eventually gave up.

Did Jin invite the entire world to his wedding?

Pulled from your thoughts, you felt your phone vibrate. New messages had appeared in the group chat — and you were fully aware that this was, at least, the sixth version of its name in less than forty-eight hours; every single one involved or mentioned the groom’s name. — You didn’t waste any time opening them.

jin (09:17 A.M): updates on my favorite guests?

jin (09:18 A.M): EVERYONE LEFT THE HOUSE?

hoseok (09:21 A.M): we've been at the airport for ten minutes, hyung

you (09:24 A.M): can you believe Taehyung almost ran over an elderly lady?

"Ha, ha,." — Taehyung faked a laugh, keeping an ironic, grumpy expression on his face. Reaching over, you lightly pinched his cheek with your fingers. — "The funniest person i know." — After making it through security, the three of you decided to wait for the rest of the group, settling down near the boarding area. — "Seven days."

"Yeah." — You replied, looking down at your phone. Juria had posted a picture of the airport entrance and tagged you and Taehyung. You heard him mutter something along the lines of “seven whole days” and turned toward him. — "Still seven days."

"Basically, it’s a spiritual retreat, and no one is going to believe it." — Juria sighed at the man’s assumption. Taehyung had mentioned the exact same thing on the way to the airport. Since she was standing beside you, you caught the look of disbelief on your best friend’s face. — "Usually, it’s around this many days." — No. It probably takes months, you thought.

"Taehyung, do you even know what happens at a spiritual retreat?"

jimin (09:41 A.M): namjoon left his ID on the café table near the entrance

juria (09:41 A.M): yay

namjoon (09:43 A.M): important to mention that i already have it in my hands

taehyung (09:45 A.M): we’re at the boarding gate, by the way

jimin (09:47 A.M): arriving in five minutes ;)

Without breaking their promise, the small group met up with you within the agreed-upon time — something that honestly surprised you. Of the four guys, only Namjoon was wearing glasses, clutching his passport like his life depended on it — or like he had only just managed to get it back. You couldn’t help but feel secondhand embarrassment. They seemed to be talking about something and, if you had to bet your money on it, Namjoon’s passport was probably the subject of conversation.

As you got closer, you could hear Yoongi gesturing animatedly and saying something along the lines of, “…almost made us miss the flight.” You knew you could’ve made some good money on that bet. It didn’t take long for everyone to settle into their seats, waiting for their flight to board; the countdown showed one hour and three minutes remaining. — In the meantime, you sipped the coffee Hoseok had bought you while listening to Yoongi and Namjoon’s conversation. You could have looked for the book that was probably buried somewhere at the bottom of your bag, but you decided to save it for the flight instead. — Not really involved in the conversation, you stayed on your phone, occasionally feeling Jimin glance over and look at your screen. You didn’t mind, nor did it bother you.

Another notification from the group chat. — Unlike the previous ones, this message belonged to someone who hadn’t said a single word all morning; and whose number wasn’t saved in your contacts. And, honestly, you had no intention of saving it anytime soon.

Before the message came through, you had been watching some video. You paused it, but never went back to it; your thumb hovered over the notification icon. You didn’t know whether to open it immediately or wait a few minutes before checking it.

+XX XXXX-XXXX (10:15 A.M): i just arrived. Where are you guys?

Unfortunately — without any dramatic twist — the world did not stop. The airport didn’t fall silent, the announcements didn’t cease, and the people rushing through the corridor in front of you didn’t suddenly disappear. Children didn’t stop screaming and laughing, either. — You read the message once. Then again. And once more, making it three times in total. It was simple. Nothing surprising or particularly special. But your stomach twisted in an unsettling, strange way. You were used to his presence, but in this case, you were being forced to deal with it. — Sometimes, in fact, most of the time, it felt as though that one year and seven months had never existed at all; on either side.

Funny, it had been almost two years. Long enough to delete a contact, erase a profile; long enough to pretend certain memories didn’t resurface at the most inconvenient, unnecessary moments. — Taking a slow breath, you tried to ignore the tightness in your chest.

My God,. — It was your friend’s wedding. There was no room for emotional plot twists, inconvenient nostalgia, or feelings that insisted on coming back without an invitation. — Of course Jin would never, under any circumstances, choose between one of you for such an important moment in his life; and you had known that from the moment you received the invitation.

namjoon (10:18 A.M): we are in the departure lounge

namjoon (10:18 A.M): do you want me to pick you up?

+XX XXXX-XXXX (10:20 A.M): no need, hyung ;)

Your thoughts were pulled away from whatever spiral they had been heading into when you heard Jimin call your name, asking if you were okay. In response, you murmured a quiet “yes” and returned your attention to your phone, hoping to find something that could distract you. The whole situation was, frankly, embarrassing. — So you thought about the book in your bag again. Something to keep your mind occupied.

After a few seconds of wrestling with tangled earphones and chargers inside your bag, you finally found the book at the bottom, its edges slightly crumpled; but you barely had time to open it. — Hoseok suddenly called for everyone’s attention, interrupting the various side conversations around you. You automatically lifted your eyes in his direction; and only then realized you hadn’t noticed him arriving.

Well, some part of your consciousness definitely had not been avoiding looking toward the entrance of the boarding area. Definitely not. — That would have been ridiculous. Childish, even.

Jungkook was there, a few steps behind Hoseok. — A black backpack hung from his left shoulder, his earphones resting around his neck, not to mention the suitcase he was carrying. He looked more… comfortable, for lack of a better word. Something about Jeon had changed, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what; His haircut? Did he look stronger than the last time you saw him? — maybe it was simply because it had been two months since you had last seen him in person. — No. Stalking his Instagram profile definitely didn’t count as human contact or any kind of contact, for that matter.

Your gaze dropped from his face, and you noticed that the labret was no longer on his lip, though the piercing at the corner of his mouth remained firmly in place.

Wait. — Why did you even care about that?

As if he could feel you staring, Jungkook lifted his eyes toward you. You had never been good at hiding absolutely anything, and you hated that about yourself. However, the eye contact didn’t last long because you both immediately turned your attention back to Hoseok’s words.

"..so, can we go?"

"Shit, i forgot we’re separated." — While standing in line for boarding, you heard Jimin grumble behind you. Jin had taken responsibility for everyone’s tickets, insisting on handling everything himself. According to him, the flight was completely full, and there was no way to guarantee seats next to each other for everyone; though he hadn’t ruled out the possibility.

"Three hours, Jimin" — You tried to reassure him. The line began moving quickly. When it was your turn, you handed your passport and boarding pass to the airline employee, receiving an automatic smile in return. It didn’t take long before you continued toward the plane. Looking down at your boarding pass, you checked your seat number; 18A. — Window seat. At least you’d have a nice view for the next three hours.

Dodging people who had stopped in the middle of the aisle to arrange coats, backpacks, and their entire lives inside the overhead compartments, you made your way down the plane. — One man nearly smacked you in the face with an enormous backpack while hurriedly trying to shove it into the compartment, forcing you to awkwardly lean to the side; courtesy really was a magical thing.

Adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you finally found your seat. It was empty, which brought a small sense of relief to your chest. At least you’d have a few minutes of peace before finding out who would be occupying the seats beside you. — It was impossible to deny that you struggled a little with getting your suitcase into the overhead compartment; you spent a good while wrestling with it, trying to find the right angle to make it fit. — Once it was finally in place, all that remained was your bag, which would stay with you throughout the flight.

Allowing yourself to sit down, you settled comfortably into the seat. You pulled your book and earphones from your bag and rested your head against the headrest, taking a deep breath as you watched the activity outside the window; ground crew members walked across the tarmac, luggage carts crossed the apron, and the late-morning sky was almost obnoxiously clear.

Your phone vibrated almost immediately.

jin (10:55 A.M): is everyone on the plane?

Um sorriso escapou dos seus lábios antes mesmo de responder.

you (10:55 A.M): yes, dad

Because you were focused on your phone, you didn’t notice someone standing beside your row. They were probably looking for space for their suitcase; and you were right. There was movement in the overhead compartment, and you could only hope your own suitcase hadn’t been shoved to the very back beneath everyone else’s bags; you prayed it hadn’t.

Then a low, familiar voice — far too familiar — sounded in your direction, and you immediately realized who was standing there. And instantly regretted everything.

"Excuse me,.."

Your thumb froze against your phone screen as another notification popped up. — Honestly, you were seriously considering switching to Do Not Disturb. — Slowly, you lifted your eyes toward the owner of the voice.

Jungkook was going to be your seatmate.

[koozipz]

Pussy drunk JK

18+ mdni

You’re still twitching when he pulls out, cock shiny and heavy, and the second he sees the way your cunt gapes and drips he whines.

“Nooo… don’t close up,” he breathes, voice high and cracked.

He pushes your thighs open harder, almost frantic, and shoves his face back in like he’s been denied for days.

“Gimme—fuck, gimme it. Still so wet, still so fucking open—”

He’s loud about it. Wet, sloppy, desperate sounds. He doesn’t lick clean. He devours. Tongue flat and greedy, dragging through every drop, then shoving deep so his nose is crushed against your clit.

He grunts into you, low and animal, hips twitching against the mattress like he can’t help it.

“Mmmh— ngh— tastes so fucking good, baby… can’t stop—”

You’re already moaning, open-mouthed and shameless, and it only makes him worse.

“Oh my god— Jungkook— fuck— right there, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—”

He answers with a broken little sound, almost a sob, and starts fucking his tongue into you properly. Messy. Loud. Spit and slick everywhere.

He’s not neat about it. He’s starving. Every time you clench he groans like it hurts, like the squeeze of your pussy is too good and he needs more of it now.

“Talk to me,” he begs against your cunt, voice wrecked and whiny. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me you like it when I’m like this—”

“I do— ah— fuck, I love it, you sound so desperate, you’re so fucking messy, Jungkook—” Your voice cracks on a moan when he seals his mouth over your clit and sucks. “Yes— yes, just like that, eat it, baby, eat it—”

He does. Messier. Hungrier. Two fingers shove in without warning, curling hard, and he starts finger-fucking you while he tongues your clit, wet sounds so filthy it’s almost embarrassing.

His other hand is gripping your thigh so tight his fingers dig in, holding you open like he’s scared you’ll take it away.

“So good— ngh— so fucking good, can’t think, can’t stop—” He’s panting into you between every lick, every filthy suck.

“Gonna stay here all night. Gonna keep you dripping so I can keep tasting it. My pussy. Mine to ruin. Mine to get drunk on—”

You’re louder now, almost sobbing with it.

“Fuck— Jungkook— I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come on your tongue, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

He whines at the please, high and needy, and doubles down. Tongue, fingers, lips, all of it. Sloppy. Greedy. Completely gone.

When you finally break, thighs shaking around his head, he doesn’t pull away.

He keeps going through it, moaning into your orgasm like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, like he needs every pulse of it.

Only when you’re oversensitive and gasping does he finally lift his head.

His mouth is destroyed. Chin shiny. Lips swollen. Eyes glassy and dark.

He looks up at you like he’s high.

“More,” he whispers, already crawling up your body, cock heavy and leaking against your thigh.

“Please. One more.”

[delaneycore]

Dean's List ― Peter Parker

Pairing: College!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Peter Parker and his arrogant charm thrive on the ability to get under your skin. When you reluctantly spend your Saturday night partying at his fraternity, he finds the perfect opportunity to torture you in all the ways he knew how to. However, you offer him a few new ways to not only get under your skin, but in it.

Warnings/Tags: cocky! peter parker, frat boy! peter parker, athlete! peter parker, light angst, reader can’t stand him, peter’s obsessed with reader, (lowkey) academic rivals, enemies to (something much worse than) lovers, smut, rough oral sex (m receiving), multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms (f), rough sex, bondage (belt), unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, finger sucking (kind of), (a bit of) aftercare. read responsibly! mdni, 18+

Word Count: 9.3k

Author's Note: I had a little too much fun with this one. Frat boy!Peter is so hot, I’ve gotta write more of him immediately. Wrote based on this request (original was deleted, oops).

Inspiration: “Good Girls Go Bad” by Cobra Starship and Leighton Meester.

It was another lively Saturday night at Empire State University when your best friend convinced you to escape the solitude of your quiet dorm room and go out with her to some party at the Kappa Tau Zeta fraternity house. You had put up your best fight, like you always did. Telling her things like you needed to study for your upcoming psych exam, all of your going-out tops were dirty, you had a killer migraine. But she was persistent, like she always was. 

Ten minutes into your battle, she fled the room long enough to fix all of your poor excuses. She returned to your dorm with some fruity seltzer beer that tasted like TV static, a skimpy little top of hers that you could borrow, and a bottle of Advil. 

She sat cross-legged on your twin bed, droning on about the guy she had all intentions on bringing back to her dorm after the party. Every few minutes, while you sat in front of your desk, using the small mirror to fix your appearance, she would pause to answer your “does this look good?” every time you completed a step of your makeup routine. 

“God, you’re sickening,” she gaped when you stood in front of your over-the-door, full-length mirror, analyzing your outfit and everything else about you that felt a little too different.

Your head craned back at her. “Like, sickening in a good way, or…”

“In a great way,” she urged, sliding off your slightly-lofted bed to stand next to you before the mirror. 

Her eyes hung on the royal blue, cropped, tight-fitting baby-Tee that said “Stevie Knicks” in orange vinyl lettering. It was the shirt your best friend had made a few months ago when the New York Knicks were heading into the NBA Finals. She saw Taylor Swift in the same shirt and just had to recreate it for the Finals watch party she attended.

You didn’t know shit about basketball, and you didn’t really listen to Taylor Swift, but you didn’t entirely hate the way it clung to your curves. Plus, it paired nicely with your black, cut-off, denim shorts that were fraying at the hem from the number of wears and washes they’d been put through.

Your best friend smirked up at you in the mirror’s reflection. “Parker’s gonna lose his shit when he sees you.”

The sound of his name sent your eyes rolling, an agitated groan spilling from your glossed lips. 

“Ew.” You feigned disgust, slamming your closet door shut. “Don’t speak that asshole into existence, please.”

She snickered in response, rolling up the bag of Doritos she’s been munching on and chugging the last few gulps of her black cherry-flavoured White Claw. “You know he’s gonna be there.”

“Why do you think I didn’t want to go?” you deadpanned, flattening your lips.

“It’s so obvious he wants to fuck you,” she countered with a sigh. “It’s kind of sad, actually.”

Your brows stitched together. “He does not want to fuck me—God, don’t even say that. I’m, like, actually gonna hurl,” you protested, feeling an odd sense of dread as you zipped up your makeup bag and flipped the switch on your lamp. 

“No one—” she pulled open your dorm door “—and I mean no one, fucks with someone as much as Peter Parker fucks with you unless they have some ulterior motive.”

Slipping past her, you fumbled with your key, locking up and trying to find a reasonable response. But, for some reason, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“It’s called arrogance, babe,” you countered, shoving your keys into your front pocket. “That’s his motive. He does it with everyone.”

Falling into step next to you, she shrugged. “I don’t know…” her voice trailed, ending in a high-pitched tone, which told you she actually did know.

The walk across campus was gruesome. The late-spring mugginess combined with the complete and utter dread pumping through your veins made it nearly impossible to focus on anything your best friend was saying. 

Your hands were clenched into fists at your side, your chipped, polished nails digging into the delicate skin of your palms. It hurt in just the right kind of way—just enough to distract you from the string of tainted memories that floated through your mind. 

It came like a supercut of doom and despair, Peter Parker’s face at the center of them all. 

That cocky bastard.

You met him in your first year seminar class. It was a course taught by people in the admissions building and its sole purpose was to help students become more acquainted with college life. But that wasn’t at all what it turned out to be. 

The woman who led the class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 12:30 to 1:45 was barely twenty five. She had just graduated from grad school the summer before and she cared far too much about the freshly eighteen-year-old guys in your class. Peter, specifically. 

He fucking loved it, too. He loved the attention anyone gave him, really—especially if they had what he wanted between their legs. 

When he rushed Kappa Tau Zeta that September, no one was surprised. All guys like that joined posh fraternities, thinking the Greek letters they sported on their too-tight T-shirts and vinyl stickers on their car’s back glass somehow made them superior. 

You hated it. You hated him even more so. 

Ever since he claimed the seat next to you in that pointless, mind-numbing seminar class, it seemed as though his only passion in life became making yours miserable. 

He would comment on your outfits, always hitting you with the same “did you wear all that just for me, baby” every time you walked into the lecture hall with more makeup than usual or wore something other than athleisure. 

But even when you came to class bare-faced, hair tied up in some mess of an up-do, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt two sizes too big, he would still find ways to get under your skin.

You gave it right back to him, of course. Replying to his snarky remarks with something even more devious, just to watch the way he smirked back at you. Even when you would get one over on him, he fucking ate it up. It was like diesel to a flame. 

The second semester of your first year, you found out he was majoring in the same thing as you, which meant his presence became agonizingly consistent. 

He didn’t sit next to you in any other class, but he always made sure you were within earshot. He wanted you to hear the way he said all the same things to other, more naive, girls who folded under his smug charm, just like he had expected you to. 

He liked getting under your skin the most, though. It wasn’t the same with the others. It was too easy, too predictable. 

He liked that you kept him on his toes, constantly dodging his existence like the plague, and didn’t fall for the filthy things he’d whisper in your ear every time he found you alone or a little too close to him. He liked that you seemingly couldn’t care less about him. 

Knowing all of this made walking through the fraternity house’s back door (because the front one was for “brothers only”) so much worse. 

The chorus of Sammy Adams’ “All Night Longer” blared at max volume from an over-sized speaker resting on top of the make-shift bar in the center of what was supposed to be the house’s living room, but there wasn’t a couch or chair in sight. It was just sweaty bodies littering every square inch of the space, all nursing red Solo cups full of cheap-smelling vodka, and dancing to the rhythm of the bass-loaded song. 

Your best friend wasted no time, letting the guy behind the bar who was sporting a T-shirt with Greek letters stitched on the front pour her some of the concoction everyone else was getting buzzed on into a cup. 

“She needs one, too,” she shouted over the ear-piercing music, gesturing to you from where you stood next to her.

The guys scoffed. You knew him, of course. He played lacrosse and was the one who shared that video of one of the sorority presidents sucking off his teammate with the entire campus. 

“Oh, is little miss Dean’s List gonna have some fun for once?” he jested, smirking up at you as he poured some pink-tinted liquid in the red Solo cups on the bar counter.

You sighed lamely at the use of that frustrating nickname. “If I wanted to have some fun, Harry, I’d go somewhere else,” you countered, tone calm and even despite having to shout so he could hear you.

He didn’t respond, just coughed out a laugh and handed over the cups. 

Peter was the one who started the whole Dean’s List thing. 

Despite his incredibly unfortunate attitude, he was pretty smart. No, he was a fucking genius, actually. Which made the way he acted really disappointing. All those brains and not a single good thing ever produced from them. 

It was the end of your first year when he told you that the two of you were tied GPA-wise, both taking up the top of the Dean’s List, which was a literal list of students who had the highest academic achievement. 

He wanted it, of course. He wanted his name to be posted in big, bold lettering. He wanted the dean himself to hand over that trophy, placing it in his sleazy hands just so he could brag about it, and flaunt it to the next girl he wanted to get in his bed.

But it was your hands the trophy went to. It was your name that ended up at the top of the list, his right under it. 

He feigned indifference. Riffing off things like, “nobody cares about that stupid shit.” But you knew better than that. Unfortunately, you knew him better than that. You saw the way his mood soured when it was announced at the end-of-year award ceremony. 

Beneath his subtle disappointment, though, he was still Peter Parker. Your win turned into just another one of his tricks to get under your skin. 

There suddenly became a Dean’s List for anything. His Dean’s List for “best dick sucking” was his favorite though. You could still remember the way his breath felt on your skin when he whispered, “I bet you’d be at the top of that list, too.”

You took it on the chin, like you did with all of his sly taunts. “I bet you’d like to know, wouldn’t you,” is what you’d replied with.

The nickname caught on quickly, just like everything did at your small university—forcing you to remember his breath, his voice, his words, every time someone said it. 

Peter was in what was supposed to be the house’s dining room, playing a game of beer pong with a few of his fraternity brothers and whatever girls they’d roped into joining their teams. There was a separate speaker set up in there, playing Cobra Starship and Leighton Meester’s “Good Girls Go Bad” at an even more mindnumbing volume. 

His left hand was toting a half-empty cup of cheap vodka mixed dangerously with half of a strawberry-lemonade-flavoured Crystal Light packet. It tasted like poison, but the effects of it felt nice pumping through his system.

The short blonde girl next to him was taking her turn at tossing the ping-pong ball into the cups lined up accordingly at the other end of the painted, plywood table. They were winning, but it wasn’t anything to do with her persistence. 

Every toss Peter made landed with a splash in his opponent’s cups, causing them to dreadfully chug its contents. His fraternity brother was rambling out taunts, trying to get under Peter’s skin, but it went in one ear and out the other. 

He was immovable. Plus, he always won. No matter what it was—beer pong, lacrosse matches, fucking pop quizzes—he was always determined to win. Some people said he was just doing too damn much, but he called it charming competitiveness. Sounded less desperate that way.

The only thing he couldn’t beat, though, was you. Even after knowing you for three years now, in just about every single one of your classes since freshman year—he just couldn’t win with you.

The minute his eyes landed on you, catching the way you were being dragged by that girl you always kept around into the crowd of dancing bodies in the living room, the game of beer pong unfolding before him became an afterthought. 

He turned his back to it, earning a few groans from his opponents and a pout from the blonde who had thought she had all of his attention. He took slow sips of his drink, eyeing you through the massive sea of people flooding his living room. 

All bets were off then. Literally. He’d bet a lousy twenty bucks on winning against his frat brother. But he didn’t care if it was twenty dollars or a hundred that he lost. His favorite victim was here—fuck everything else. 

“The fuck, Parker,” the guy behind him cursed, tossing the ball right at his back out of irritation, but it missed him by a few inches, bouncing onto the sticky wood flooring and rolling under one of the other tables.

Peter laughed, glancing back at him for only a brief moment. “You weren’t winning shit anyway with a toss like that.”

His attention immediately flew back to you, desperate to figure out a way to get close to you. 

There was not one good intention flowing through that mind of his when he walked through the doorway leading into the living room, ignoring the sound of someone shouting his name, and making a slow, calculated beeline to where you were moving around in the crowd. 

The room was dark, the only light that illuminated your face was the cheap, party store strobe lights set up on various tabletops. Every second, your face would disappear in the darkness only to reappear a moment later, in a different position.

He watched you with a precise gaze, slipping through sloppy, drunk bodies to get to you. 

As the color of the lights flashed different hues of blue, green, purple, and red on the soft outlines of your features, the music seemed to slow and distort, his vision tunneling in a way that felt intoxicating. 

Your back was pressed against your best friend’s front, grinding on her to the beat of the music in a platonically seductive way that caused Peter’s gaze to drop to the shape the arch of your back was creating. His eyes twitched at the sight of your ass spilling out of the hem of your too-short shorts. 

It pissed him off more than anything. 

The song faded into the next, some other song about partying, sex, and drinking that he knew came straight from Harry’s endless Spotify playlist. It was a remix of 3OH!3’s “DONTTRUSTME,” he immediately clocked it based on the first note. He’d heard the same songs every weekend, the lyrics and rhythms were basically engraved in his mind. 

The second the chorus hit, your eyes met his. 

Your dancing halted abruptly, causing your best friend to frown, immediately clocking your shift. 

“The hell?” she mumbled, stumbling back a bit, already too tipsy for her own good and desperate to find that guy she was supposed to meet up with. 

You unintentionally ignored her, too distracted by the way Peter made his way in front of you, glaring down at you from his height. 

“Lookin’ good, Dean’s List,” he smirked, his tongue running along his top row of teeth, taking his time to rake you over with his dark eyes. 

The sight of him—the way he violated your body with his gaze—made you want to throw up. “What do you want, Parker?”

He sarcastically frowned down at you, his bottom lip pursing out. “I missed you.”

Your face became riddled with disgust, but the liquid courage pumping through your system had you feeling mouthy. “Oh, did you?”

“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled, sipping his drink. “Did you miss me?”

“No,” you deadpanned, giving him a phoney sympathetic look. “Not even a little.”

He scoffed, offering you a toothy grin. You pried your attention away from the way muscle in his chiseled jawline ticked when he did it, meeting his gaze with feeble confidence.

His eyes flashed to your tits, where “Stevie Knicks” was printed out on your borrowed T-shirt. Shamelessly, his fingers traced over the lettering. 

The touch sent a shockwave through your system, something like white-hot lightning ricocheting in your nerves. It wasn’t an enticing feeling. It was the opposite, really. It was more like a big, red, flashing siren sounding in your ears, telling you to get away from him while you still stood a chance. 

“God, does it ever get boring being so basic?” he sneered, hand moving away from your heaving chest. “The Taylor Swift shit? I expected more from you, baby.”

The way his voice sounded when he called you baby was like nails on a chalkboard. “But I thought you liked basic, Pete.” You batted your lashes up at him. “I did all this just for you,” you added, using an artificial high-pitched voice before hardening your features. 

His lips curled again, fingers moving back to your chest. He tapped the fabric, feeling the outline of your bra. “Mm,” he hummed, sinking his tongue in his jaw. “You’re feisty this evening, aren’t you? Tequila’s got you needy?”

He liked you best like this. At some party in a tight-fitting outfit, buzzing off cheap alcohol, and willing to entertain his bullshit. He liked having your attention. He liked pissing you off to the point that you felt the need to slap him. 

Hell, he wanted you to slap him. 

“Maybe,” your voice trailed, peering up at him over your drink with your sharp eyes. “But not for you.”

The muscle in Peter’s jaw ticked. “Oh, you got your sights on someone else?”

You shrugged your shoulders, head turning to scan the party. There wasn’t anyone you were looking for. You just wanted to show Peter the number of options you had. “Maybe.”

He knew there were countless guys at the party who wanted their chance with you. He would hear them talk about you in the back of class, every time you would bend down to pick up something, your ass in the air. Sometimes they’d talk about you in the locker room at lacrosse practice, too. They would drone on about your recent sighting at some party, reeling in the way none of them could ever get you in their beds even after you drank too much to walk yourself back to your dorm. 

Peter wouldn’t ever really entertain it. He’d tell them they were all idiots, warning them to stop trying with you because you were too “uptight” and didn’t “put out.” But he knew the reason you never gave into their attempts was because it didn’t excite you.

“You should put your sights on me,” he said with full confidence. 

You coughed out a laugh, nearly choking on your drink, causing him to wonder if you would sound the same choking on his dick. “You fucking wish, you creep.”

“I’m a creep now?” he pried, narrowing his eyes on you as the two of you stood unusually still in the center of all the commotion.

“You’re something, that’s for sure.”

He liked that. “Something’s a little too vague for me, baby. Tell me what I am.”

“You’re disgusting,” you quipped, eyes betraying you when they fell to the rigid outline of his biceps that were being suffocated by the hem of his T-shirt sleeves. “And I don’t want to waste my night out standing here with you.”

“Disgusting?” Peter feigned hurt, cocking his head back. “Oh, come on. Now you’re just being mean.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, turning your head to the side. 

Peter felt his dick twitch at the sight despite himself, that imagination of his working tirelessly to picture the way he could make you do that—make you roll your eyes to the back of your head. 

He would never admit—even to himself—but he wanted you in a way that bordered obsession. He wanted to see what the fuss was all about. He wanted to be the one to break down those impenetrable walls of yours, spreading you open and learning his way around those venomous curves of yours.

“I’m bored,” you sneered, taking a quick step away from him, realizing your best friend was long gone.

Peter blinked, knocking himself out of his stupid thoughts long enough to reach out and grab your wrist. It was a firm grasp. The tips of his fingers dug into your soft skin, forcing you to stumble back in front of him. 

“Don’t walk away from me,” he bit, but his voice was unusually soft and vindictive. “I’m not done with you.”

Knocked off balance from the tug, he shifted his free hand from your wrist to your waist in an attempt to steady you. The fact that he didn’t let you fall flat on your ass was even more dizzying. 

“You’re not done with me?” Your brows pinched. “Oh, come on, Peter. Don’t be desperate.”

He smirked devilishly. “You think I’m desperate for you?”

Narrowing your eyes on his, you refused to respond.

“That’s cute,” he went on to say anyway. “You think I want you?” His head bowed slowly, his hand still tight on the curve of your waist. “You think that’s what this is, baby—” his nose nudged the line of your jaw, causing your head to tilt up “—that I’m all needy for you, falling to pieces every time you walk away?”

Your body went rigid, feeling his warm breath on the crook of your neck. The way your skin prickled, a shudder coursing through you as the hairs on your arm stood straight, irritated you far more than his words. The feeling was so distracting, you couldn’t manage another snarky response.

The two of you had been in this position before. It was common—second nature, even. That didn’t make it any easier, though. 

“What?” Peter snarled in your ear, soft lips grazing the delicate cartilage. “Can’t speak?”

Your teeth ground, jaw taut with tension as you used your free hand to shove him off you. 

He let go of your hip, taking a stuttering half-step back. That smug, toothy little smirk spread on his face. 

The people behind him shouted a string of obscenities at him, pissed that his movement had caused one of the girls to spill her drink. But Peter didn’t offer them a single glance. His eyes were glued to you. 

The second your small hand had shoved him—that touch, that force—he keeled. There was a newfound hunger in the way he was looking at you. Once he regained his stability, he was right back flush against you. 

“What do you want from me, Parker?” you snarled, glaring up at him. His eyes flicked back and forth, not able to choose one to hone in on. “If you don’t want me—what is it that you’re trying to do?”

Peter shrugged, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “Just want to see how long you can take it.”

“Take what?”

“That puddle forming in your panties,” he stated in such a calm tone, it made your skin crawl.

You scoffed, not necessarily surprised but just as shocked. “You’re fucking sick.”

His head tilted slightly to the side. “I bet you’re soaked right now, aren’t you? Putting your hands on me like that get your panties all wet?” His eyes dropped to your shorts. “What color are they, I wonder.” You inhaled sharply, growing restless. His head lowered slightly, your foreheads a dangerous inch apart. “Probably something skimpy.”

Your eyes flashed up to his. “Guess.”

The corner of his lip rose, nodding slowly. “You could show me.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Your head was spinning when you inched closer to him, the hand you’d had at your side slowly moving to graze the bulge forming in his suddenly too-tight jeans. You stood on the tips of your toes, mimicking his early actions by digging your nose into the chiseled line of his jaw. 

“You’re all hard and desperate and I haven’t even touched you,” you whispered before quickly ripping your hand away and falling back on your heels. “So pathetic.”

It took Peter a moment to get control of himself. You noticed it, relishing in the power you’d taken over him. But—like all accomplishments pertaining to Peter—it was a short-lived win.

His tongue slipped out between his lips, wetting them with a slow graze. “Disgusting… pathetic…” he talked slowly, a lazy sigh escaping him. “God, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

You tilted your head. “Oh, that’s what you want, huh?” You coughed out another laugh. “You want me to be mean to you, Parker? That your kink, or something? You like when girls degrade you. That’s what gets you off?”

“No.” He shook his head nonchalantly. “I just like when you do it.”

You hated how bold he was. You hated even more that you couldn’t ever tell when he was being serious or messing with you. The lines between his truths and his teases was a fine one. One that you refused to fall for. 

But there was no denying the way it made you feel. There was no denying that knowing how hard he was after just talking to you wasn’t driving you absolutely crazy. And there was definitely no way to deny the arousal puddling at your core, the warm flutters aching in your lower stomach.

It was a dangerous curiosity, wondering what it would feel like for him to be on top of you—inside you. You had thought about it before, of course. But the two of you had never been this close before. 

You had never been caught before him like this, suffering the consequences of too much cheap vodka with music muddling the outside world. The bass was so loud, vibrating the floor beneath your feet and ricocheting through your bones, that it drowned out the sound of your heart racing. It drowned out the sound of everything around the two of you. 

For a moment, you forgot where you were. You forgot you were surrounded by a bunch of your peers, not caring about any lingering glares. 

The only thing you could think about was the way Peter was standing before you, smirking down at you in a way you couldn’t hide from. 

“Where’s your head at, baby?” Peter probed, noticing your trance-like state as you were so deep in thought. “You're thinking about it, aren’t you?” He grinned pridefully. “Now that you’ve touched it, you want it, don’t you?”

You blinked hard, eyes dropping to the floor in defeat. Your thoughts were becoming a tangled mess. Lust and desire was meshing with your reluctance and hatred. 

His hand slowly raised to your face. The pad of his thumb grazed your glossed bottom lip while his fingers slipped the side of your jaw, tugging slightly to force your gaze up at him.

The sticky feeling of your lip gloss on his thumb caused him to bite down on his lip. He wanted to taste it. He wanted it around his throbbing dick, becoming a sticky mess with your spit. 

A wave of confidence coursed through you, thrumming with newfound adrenaline with his hand on you. “Is that what you want?” You parted your lips, tongue slowly creeping out to graze the tip of his thumb. “You want me to want you?”

“Oh, I know you want me,” Peter quickly countered, his dick painfully hard in his pants. 

He wanted so desperately to move closer to you. He wanted to grind his hips against you so you could feel how much he wanted you, but he didn’t want you to have that power yet, nor did he want to corrupt the way your plump lips were closing around his thumb.

What you did next was just cruel, really. You bobbed your head forward slowly, welcoming the way his thumb slid right into your mouth. You suctioned your lips around it, tongue swirling over the skin. The salty taste flooded your taste buds as your lashes fluttered up at him. 

His jaw went slack, his chest rising as he sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. 

You repeated the motion once more, showing him exactly what you were capable of before pulling away. 

You reeled in it for a moment. The way you had Peter Parker folding in front of you just by sucking his stupid thumb. The guy who thrived on having the power over you was biting down on his lip hard enough to cause injury, absolutely lost in the shape of your lips. 

The thought entered your mind before you could brace yourself. 

You liked it.

Peter’s hand dropped to the waistband of your shorts, slipping two fingers in the gap and tugged you flush against him. A gasp tore from your tight throat when you felt his length press against your stomach. 

God, he could’ve came just by the sound you made.

His head bowed down once more, his lips returning to the place he loved for them to be—right at your ear. “We’re gonna go up to my room,” he hissed, his arm creeping around your waist to keep you from moving away from them, “and you’re gonna do that to my dick.”

You chuckled, placing your hand on his shoulder to shove him off, but it only led him to squeeze you tighter. 

“Uh-uh,” he warned in a devastatingly deep tone. “Stop fighting it, baby.”

He reared his head back, immediately making eye contact with you. Something had shifted, you realized. He wasn’t fucking around with you anymore. 

“Go upstairs,” he whispered. “First door on the right.”

You swallowed hard, rethinking every single decision that had led you to this moment, wondering if you would regret any of it. 

He released you, causing you to fall back on your heels with a stutter, unable to find a single coherent thought in your dizzied, lust-clouded mind.

You both remained dangerously still for a moment. His eyes were staring into you with such viciousness, it felt like a dagger to the heart. 

The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Go.”

You reeled in your defeat, feeling an overwhelming sense of disgust with yourself when you walked through Peter Parker’s bedroom door. 

His room, however, was exactly how you thought it would be. His bed was unmade, pushed into the corner of the small room. It was the cleanest disaster you’d ever seen. There wasn’t enough stuff to categorize it as messy, but the stuff that was there was all disorganized. 

His navy-blue comforter was tangled up on the mattress, paired with his grey sheets. On the wall above the headboard was a Star Wars poster and it smelled the same as the rest of the frat house did—like they tried to smother the filth with a can of Febreze. 

You closed the door behind you, more afraid of someone catching you in his room than what you were getting yourself into. 

Inching further into his room, your eyes danced around, analyzing the open Altoids tin with a few pre-rolled joints in them. There were a few crushed beer cans littering his desk, where he had a mountain of books and a lamp draped with a red T-shirt, casting an ambient maroon lighting on the room. 

Sucking in a sharp, weighted breath, you sat down on the edge of his bed and combed a hand through your hair, tugging slightly at the root in a feeble attempt to bring you back to reality.

But every time you thought about how poor of a decision you were making, you recalled the feeling of him up against you—the size of his bulge and the way his breath felt on your skin.

But it was Peter fucking Parker.

You couldn’t let him win.

You were about to stand up and walk out when his bedroom door creaked open. Your eyes shot up, jolting at the sudden sound. Peter walked in nonchalantly, closing the door behind him and locking it. 

When he saw you sitting on the edge of his bed, your curves illuminated under the soft glow, he couldn’t conceal the sly smirk on his face. 

You stood up, the regret washing over you as soon as that cocky expression of his reappeared. 

“This was a mistake,” you mumbled, taking a step towards the door.

He side-stepped, blocking your path. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you snapped, glaring up at him.

“Don’t act like you don’t want this.”

“I don’t.”

He tilted his chin up slightly, features hardening. “Then why’d you come up here?”

“Because…” You shook your head, not able to obtain a single viable reason. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking.”

“I think you were,” he whispered. “I think you were doing a whole lot of thinking, actually.”

Your nostrils flared when you peered up at him. 

His hands snuck to your waist, gripping the skin with just the right amount of pressure. “I think you were wondering what this would be like,” he added, taking a step forward, which caused you to take one backwards. “I think you were wondering what it would feel like to have me completely to yourself. No, I know it—I know you want me all to yourself like this. You’re fucking crazy for it, aren’t you?” 

Your eyes remained glued to his as he continued forcing you to walk backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of his bed. 

“Say it,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Tell me you want me.”

You scoffed. “I’m not entertaining your ego.”

“Fine.” His hands gripped tighter. “Then just say stop when you want me to,” he said so quickly, you barely had time to realize what he was doing.

The moment you fell back on the bed, Peter climbed on top of you. He used his knee to spread your legs so he could fit himself between them. His lips immediately crashed onto yours. It was the roughest kiss you’d ever had. It was like he couldn’t get enough of it. 

His tongue slipped through his lips as they moved in sync with yours, fighting for a way into your mouth. You let him continue doing that for a few moments, enjoying the way his hand trailed down to your thigh that was hiked up against his waist. 

He squeezed, nails digging into the skin, until you parted your lips and let him in. 

When his tongue finally tangled itself with yours, a rugged moan broke from his throat. It vibrated your entire body, ricocheting all the way down to your needy center. 

He pulled away from the kiss, leaving you a panting mess beneath him. But he didn’t stay away for long. His head dug into the crook of your neck, using his nose to push your head to the side so he could suck on the sensitive skin just below your ear. 

Your jaw went slack as a shudder rolled down your spine, causing your hips to buck against his bricked erection. The friction it induced against your clit drew a soft moan from your throat that Peter desperately wanted to hear again.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, voice muffled against your neck and gruff from his rugged breathing. 

In absolutely pitiful desperation, you shook your head. 

He pulled away from your neck, holding himself over you with his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your head. When he ground his hips against your pulsating center again, his bulge rubbing the outline of your slit beneath your shorts, he smirked at the sounds you made. 

“I need to hear you say it, baby,” he whispered, repeating his rough humps. “You gotta tell me you want it—gotta use your words.”

You knew the potential threat of admitting it—the way you’d never be able to return from it—but you just couldn’t help yourself. It was too consuming, too good. He felt too good.

Your eyes screwed shut, jaw going slack at the sensation building beneath your shorts.

“I want it,” you hissed, bringing your arms over his shoulders, interlocking your hands to pull his face closer to yours so you could taste his lips again. 

Fuck, you thought. You actually wanted it.

“Come here” he ordered, crawling off of you. 

He stood up off the bed, crooking two fingers, gesturing for you to sit up. When you complied, sitting up straight on the bed with your legs falling off the side, he looped his fingers under your T-shirt. In one swift motion, he brought it up over your head, discarding it on his bedroom floor. 

Your bra came off next. He urged you to lean forward, reaching behind you to unclasp it. The entire time he worked with the hooks, your eyes were trained on the pulsating length suffocating in his jeans. 

“Fuck…” he groaned, watching you shrug off the black bra. “You look so good.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, reaching out and gripping him by the waistband of his jeans, using all the strength you had to pull him closer to you. 

You were working to undo the button and unzip them when he ran a hand through your hair. “Oh, you want it rough—that it?”

Your eyes flicked up to him, pulling his jeans down over his muscular hips. “Take your shirt off.”

He chuckled, taking a half step back, tearing out of his T-shirt. 

You took a second to rake your gaze over his tanned, rigid abdomen, analyzing the way his muscles flexed in the soft light every time he moved. When your eyes moved back to the jeans barely holding on, you sat up further on the bed, bringing your ass to the very edge.

His words replayed in the back of your mind. “We’re gonna go up to my room, and you’re gonna do that to my dick.” All of your hesitance went out the window, knowing how eager you had him. 

He stepped forward until his shins met the bed, his erection inches from your face. 

By the time you worked to get his boxers off, letting them fall around his ankles, you could barely think straight. The only thing on your mind was the way his throbbing cock slapped his lower stomach when it sprung out of its confines. 

It was exactly like you thought it would be. Girthy in a way that matched the rigid muscles of his toned build, and just as formidable in length. 

Peter smirked down at you, hands working to gather your hair as your hand wrapped around the base of it. “You nervous?” he probed, clenching his fist around your strands. “Too big for you? Don’t think you can take it?”

You worked him in your hand for a minute, eyes fluttering up to where he was towering over you. In one slow movement, you leaned forward, sticking your wet tongue out, leaving a sopping wet trail of your spit at the base of him, all the way up to his sensitive, pink tip without breaking eye contact. 

He brought his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down hard as a grunt vibrated from his throat when your tongue swirled his tip, licking up the bead of pre-cum dripping out. 

“Stop… fucking… teasing,” he grunted, hips bucking against the hold you had on him. Your nails dug into the skin of his thighs, managing to keep him still. He gritted his teeth, feeling you lick his tip again. 

“Open your fucking mouth,” he ordered.

Complying, you parted your lips and welcomed the way he slid into your mouth as you leaned forward. You wanted so badly to be able to take all of him, pushing yourself until your nose came flush with his base. A gag tore from your throat, causing your throat to squeeze tight around him. 

“Mm,” he sounded, watching you bob your head along his throbbing cock in all the ways he once dreamed of. Your lips suctioned around him, tongue swirling around his dripping tip every time you moved away before pushing him back down your throat. 

“Yeah, look at you—talking all that shit just to have my dick down your throat,” he grunted.

His words, combined with the way he tugged your hair, forcing your head to move at the rhythm of his choosing, was enough to cause a shallow moan to escape you, vibrating against his dick as you intentionally swallowed, keeping him deep in your throat.

“Fuck…” he moaned, growing more rough with the way he was forcing your head to move on him. 

Your spit, combined with the salty taste of his pre-cum, was dripping down your chin when he suddenly let go of your hair, grabbing your hands from where they were gripping his thigh. 

The sudden movement caused you to push away from him, his dick coming out of your mouth with a wet pop. 

Panting, you eyed him. “What are you—” 

“Put your hands behind your back,” he demanded, an air of aggression in his voice that awoke something inside you. 

Your hands moved behind your back, interlocking with one another. His dick throbbed in front of you as he reached over to his bedside table, grabbing the belt that was rolled up. 

Something akin to pure fire sparked inside of you, understanding his attention. “Oh, you want to tie me up?”

His jaw was taut with tension as he reached behind you, wrapping the brown leather around your wrists, tightening it until it almost hurt.

“You’re such a freak, Parker,” you laughed, your chin glistening with the remnants of your spit. 

He knotted the leather, binding you before bringing his hands back to your hair. “You like it,” he snarled, clenching his fist back around your strands, tugging. “Now—” he breathed, taking a hold of himself, aligning his tip back with your dripping, swollen lips “—shut up and let me fuck that throat, baby.”

And that was exactly what he did. 

Unable to tame his movements due to your hands being tightly bound behind you, he was the one to control his thrusts into your mouth, causing your jaw to grow sore. 

He worked quicker the more you moaned against his shaft, feeling the tightness of your throat every time he pumped himself deep.

His biceps flexed from how hard he was tensing. When he lulled his head back, your name rolling off his tongue in the form of a deep grunt as you gagged on his length. 

He let his head fall forward, watching the way you took him so perfectly. 

His eyes were glued to your face, watching the way your eyes rolled back the harder he thrusted into your tight throat, admiring the way the wetness was leaking down your chin, dripping into your lap where your legs were trembling, desperate to be touched. 

“Yeah,” he moaned, moving your falling strands of hair away from your face, ensuring he always kept a perfect view of you taking him. “You’re gonna think about this the next time you call me pathetic, baby—you’re gonna think about the way I fucked your tight little throat, aren’t you?”

Your response came as muffled moans against his flesh that he couldn’t get enough of.

His release was coming quickly, like an atomic bomb readying to detonate within him. You could tell based on the way his thrusts got sloppy, going back to using your head instead of bucking his own hips.

But, as much as he craved the feeling of shooting his warm release down your precious throat, he didn’t want to do it yet. Not until he explored the rest of you.

He pulled out of you slowly, taking half a step back while panting raggedly. 

It took every sliver of self-restraint he had to keep himself from busting all over you when he saw the way your jaw went slack, panting with soft, pretty little breaths, and blinking slow, completely drunk off the way he’s been working you. 

“You good?” he asked you without thinking.

Your eyes sharpened up at him, reverting back to your soured self despite the way he’d numbed your mind with his cock.

A smile broke through your defeat. “What? You worried about me, Parker?”

Fine, he thought, be that way. “Stand up.”

You tried to, you really did. But with your hands tied up behind you, it was impossible. Peter knew that would happen, of course. 

When he snickered, you glared up at him. 

“You struggling, baby?”

You refused to respond, not giving him anymore verbal ammunition. 

He reached around you, undoing the belt in one quick motion. “Try now.”

Finally able to rise on your own two feet, you rolled your wrists at your side, already secretly missing the constriction. 

Peter took a second to admire you. His eyes traced a devious glare down your entire frame, stopping where your shorts were. His jaw ticked. “Take ‘em off.”

You tilted your head. “Gonna make me do it all by myself?” you pouted teasingly, meeting his gaze. “Where’s the fun in that, Peter?”

Beneath your sly taunts, he read right through your intentions. He knew that was your way of begging him to undress you. So, he did. He did it all with one hand, actually. 

Pulling you closer with his finger hooked around the denim waistband, he undid the button and lowered the zipper, shoving them down your legs. He brought your black panties with it, spending a little too much time eyeing the drenched spot in them.

“Lay down,” he urged, taking a step forward that forced you to back up. 

“Uh-uh,” you mumbled, shaking your head and stopping yourself when the back of your legs met the edge of the bed once again. 

Peter’s brows furrowed, his saturated, throbbing dick pressed between the two of you.

Your eyes fell to the belt on the bed, then back up to him. 

A despicable expression formed on his face as the realization dawned on him. “That what you want?”

Reluctantly, you nodded.

“Words, baby,” he grumbled.

“Yes.” You huffed. “That’s what I want.”

By the time the belt returned around your wrists—tighter this time—your back was flush with his front. The sticky wetness of his dick was pressed against your ass when he put his lips close to your ear, coaching you into slowly lowering down on the bed.

“I got you,” he whispered, gripping your arms to help you down slowly, even if he really wanted to throw you down and watch you squirm. “Yeah… just like that. Good girl,” he added when you laid flat on the mattress, ass arched up in the air.

You turned your head to the side, catching him reaching over into the top drawer of his nightstand, returning behind you with a condom in his grasp. 

“No.” The word came out of you before you could think.

Peter’s eyes flashed to yours. “You want it raw?”

“Don’t make me fucking say it,” you groaned, pushing your ass up against him, desperate to relieve the neediness at your core. 

“I’m clean, just so you—”

“I know,” you interjected, growing irritably restless. “So am I.” You exhaled heavily. “Just put it in. I wanna feel you—please.”

The desperate sound of your voice was enough to drive Peter mad. He had never heard that side of you before. 

He wanted to hear more of it. A lot more.

One of his hands fell to his pulsating length, the other planted a firm grip on your ass as he guided his tender tip to your swollen, needy entrance. His teeth ground together as he slowly inserted himself inside you. 

Your walls immediately clenched around his size, a high-pitched moan tearing from your throat as he spread you open more and more the deeper he went. 

“Fuck…” he hissed, watching the way your slippery cunt suctioned him in. “You’re so tight, baby. And so… wet—Oh, fuck…”

He drew out of your partially, not taking his eyes off the way your pussy gripped him as he made another slow thrust deeper inside of you.

You could feel the exact spot his tip was hitting deep in your core. It was the exact spot you needed him to be. 

“Oh… my God,” you cried out as he picked up the pace, driving himself into you with ferocious thrusts. “It’s so deep.”

That only made him want to fuck you harder. He moved his grip on your ass to where the belt was fastened around your wrists, tugging at the leather as he bullied his cock into your tight pussy. 

“Has anyone ever fucked you this good, baby?” he taunted, watching the way your body dug deeper into his bed as he slammed into you over and over and over again. The sound of your ass clapping against him was almost too loud, but he didn’t care. 

He wasn’t going to give up his rhythm for anything. “Anybody ever been this deep inside your pussy?”

Your teeth bit down on the bundle of sheets beneath you to keep the screams that threatened to escape you in. “N—No,” you cried out through your gritted teeth. “Ne—Never.”

He couldn’t cope with the way you were squirming in front of him, back arched in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. 

“Peter,” you moaned out, your entire body shaking violently, toes curling. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby,” he grunted out, reaching to grab your hair and pull you off the bed. 

The stinging sensation on your scalp was mind-bending. But when he brought your back flush with him, still deep inside you as he wrapped one arm around your waist to brace you before moving his other hand to your clit, you just couldn’t fucking take it. 

Your head lulled back on his shoulder, back arched as he bucked his hips up into you faster and faster while working his fingers in circles over your swollen clit. 

“Oh, God, yes,” you nearly screamed.

He gripped you tighter, feeling the way you clenched around him, your arousal dripping down his balls. 

“Not God, baby,” he breathed into your ear. “Just Peter.”

“Shut up,” you tried to jest, but it just came out as a pathetically high-pitched moan. 

With your arms fastened behind you, your release came quick.

Peter held you as tight as possible, his muscles flexing as you convulsed against him, trembling from head-to-toe. “Look at you, cumming all over my dick like that.”

You could barely feel anything. Every single nerve in your body was coursing with an all-consuming pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You became completely slack in his big arms, like a rag doll, as his pumps became sloppier. 

“Your turn,” you managed to say, feeling how close he was to his release. 

His breathing was uneven and deep when he asked, “Where, baby?”

“In me,” you replied.

His heart nearly stopped beating, but he played it off. “Want me to fill you up?”

He had never done that before, but he was more than willing to do that for you if it was what you wanted. He was highly certain he’d do just about anything for you—and to you—as long as it was what you wanted.

“Mm-hmm.” Your head nodded sloppily, unable to lift it on your own. “IUD,” you added, already knowing where his thoughts went.

The last thing this world needed was another Peter fucking Parker.

“Hold on.”

He pulled out of you so fast, it caused you to wince. The sudden emptiness felt disparaging, but it didn’t last long. In one gentle move, he turned you around, quickly tore off the belt around your wrists, and pushed you back on the bed.

Your breath was caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan when he climbed on top of you. He wasted absolutely no time, aligning himself with your slick entrance and pushing in as deep as he could. 

“Hands,” he grunted.

He remained deep inside you as he took your hands, forcing them down on the bed above your head. Squeezing your wrists with his big, tough hands, he started thrusting himself into you.

“I wanna look… at your face while I fill you up,” he bit out through pants.

“Mm,” you smirked, hearing the squelching sounds echoing off the walls of his bedroom every time he pounded himself inside you. “You’re such a fucking freak.”

“Only for you, baby,” he grinned devilishly down at you, eyes staying glued to yours as he continued hammering into you. “Only… f—for you.”

He was so close, he could taste it. It was a fucking miracle he’d lasted this long, only able to do so because of the dangerous levels of adrenaline pumping through his system. 

Peering up at the grip he had on your hands, he let one go.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, holding himself up with only one hand as he eagerly brought your other one down to your clit. “Cum with me.”

You were going to cum even if you hadn’t started rubbing your clit as he worked himself into you. But as soon your fingers touched your swollen flesh, your head tilted back against the mattress, digging into the fabric as a moan escaped you. 

“That’s it,” Peter coaxed. “Doing s—so good.”

Your legs clenched around him as you met your second release. His thrusts became sloppy and slow, telling you he was right there with you.

His head fell into the crook of your neck, lips parting to bite the skin as he pounded his hips against you one last time.

The minute his warmth shot inside you, you gasped. 

A shudder rolled through him, all the way down to his cock still inside of you, as he filled you with his sticky seed. 

He rode out his high with slow, quivering pumps until there was nothing else to empty out of him. 

Forcing himself up, he slowly pulled himself out of you. The second his tip popped out of you and his eyes fixed on his white cum seeping out of your throbbing pussy, he moaned.

“Shit,” he mumbled, bringing his fingers to touch the puddle oozing out. “I like that.”

You watched him with illicit precision, smirking. “You never done that before?”

He shook his head, unable to look away. “No.”

When your hand trailed down your body, reaching to where you felt his seed dripping out of you, you spread the thick liquid on your fingers. 

Peter watched you with a slack jaw as you brought your fingers to your mouth, sucking the remnants of his release. 

“F—fuck…” he gaped, eyes wide at your actions. “You’re gonna make me bust again, acting like that, baby.”

You snickered, swallowing the salty sweetness of him. “Tastes good.”

He shook his head, coughing out a laugh. “You’re fucking sick.”

When he could finally stand again, you watched as he walked over to his door, grabbing the white towel that was hanging on the over-the-door hook. He brought it back over to you, wiping up the mess he’d left inside you.

After he cleaned you up, he fell back on the bed next to you with a thud.

You turned your head to the side, chest heaving as your breathing slowed. “So…” you trailed, exhaling raggedly. “Did I make it to the top of your fucking Dean’s List?”

“Something like that.”

hope you enjoyed it! pls leave a comment/like/reblog. if you have a one shot request, you can send it through my “ask me.” ୨ৎ─ delaney!

[numymochi]

MY ROOTTSSSSS

[zetaares]

summer love | j.jk

during a trip with your friends in brazil, you decide to go out to a nightclub, but who would have thought you’d meet the hottest man out there?

pairing: musician!jungkook x law student!reader

genre: smut with plot, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, part 1???

warnings: explicit sexual content, rough & passionate sex, dom!jk, light choking, fingering, shower sex, female oral sex (eating out), squirting, standing/bench sex, riding, pull-out method (mention of condoms!!), size difference, jk has got a curved veiny dick, mentions of an ex-boyfriend, emotional confusion, eventual love confession.

summary: while staying in rio de janeiro, a girls' night out leads you straight into the hands of a hot stranger who wrecks you for the night. what started as a wild vacation hookup turns into something neither of you can walk away from when fate brings you back together in LA a year later.

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“i don’t know about this dress,” your friend sophie said, checking herself out in the mirror.

“i like it. it looks good on you, soph,” andrea replied as she fixed her makeup, sitting in front of the shiny mirror in the hotel room.

you were having the holiday of your life in brazil with your best friends, what else could you ask for? after your ex-boyfriend broke up with you months before this trip, it had messed with your head. you weren’t even sure if you could get out of your house, let alone travel outside the country. he had confessed that he wasn’t sure about the two of you and that he hated himself for it, that he didn’t want to break up, blah blah. truth is? he cheated on you. no wonder he was so unsure!

“y/n,” sophie said, snapping you out of your thoughts. “girl, you look stunning! why don’t you try on my necklace?”

she walked toward you as she sat on the edge of one of the matrimonial beds, handing you a beautiful golden necklace that shone against your sunkissed skin. brazil’s sun was no joke.

“oh wow,” you started, looking at yourself in the mirror where andrea was doing her makeup. “it’s really beautiful, soph. thank you!”

“oh, it’s nothing! come on, ready to take some photos?” she asked, turning up the volume on the speaker as loud music resonated through the large hotel room.

“yeeees!” andrea squealed, jumping out of her seat and pulling you all into a group hug, everyone bouncing with excitement to be there.

you took some photos and posted them to your instagram story, just like your friends did. once you were all ready, you spritzed on some perfume and headed outside where your uber was waiting.

the ride made you feel like you were in a movie, windows rolled down, your straightened hair a mess in the strong wind, but it was perfect. you could even smell the ocean from copacabana’s beautiful beach. it amazed you how many people were still out at 1:30 am. you had eaten dinner at the hotel lounge before leaving.

the driver was hilarious, trying to talk to the three of you in broken english, but thankfully you knew how to speak the language. he even let andrea connect her bluetooth to the car stereo and blast loud music. you were so thankful for your life and your friends in that moment, and for once, you could let go of the heavy thoughts.

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there was a long queue to get into the club, with people chatting everywhere, but luckily the line moved fast and in less than ten minutes you were inside. the place was huge, a three-story building. sophie had managed to get vip tickets so it wouldn't be too crowded. the weather was insanely hot, so paying a bit extra for your own booths to dance and enjoy freely was worth it.

you went up the stairs and settled down in the area one of the hosts guided you to: two black leather couches facing a low table with a bucket filled to the brim with ice and vodka in the center. you looked at each other, and as if the music held some sort of magic, you automatically started moving your bodies to the brazilian rhythm. you swore those instruments awoke something inside you. you were dancing like crazy while andrea and sophie danced alongside you with big smiles.

at some point in the night, you couldn't even tell where you were standing. you took your sweet time taking in your surroundings. every single guy was so hot. andrea was already gone, probably making out with a handsome local, while sophie danced next to you, holding your hips while you both sipped on caipirinhas. you kept looking around, feeling like an absolute goddess. plenty of men were already staring and smiling at you, and you smiled right back.

you decided to turn all the way around and that’s when you caught sight of a tall guy over your shoulder. his face was full of piercings, and he clearly wasn't a local, he looked foreign, probably asian, and ridiculously hot. before you even had time to think, he was already walking your way with a bottle of beer in hand. you smiled, and he smiled back.

“heeey,” he said, joining you and sophie, moving his shoulders to the rhythm as he took a sip from his bottle.

you gave a nervous smile, but the alcohol in your system was already working its magic. you took your last sip of the night, leaned your back against his chest, and rolled your hips to the music. he reacted instantly, wrapping one hand around your hip and leaning down into the crook of your neck.

one thing was clear: he was bold, and you loved it.

“i like the way you move,” he murmured softly in your ear with a velvety voice that made you feel like you’d go crazy. the way he smelled didn't help either.

you didn't say a word as you felt his lips press against the back of your neck while you kept moving. you loved the way a single kiss from him made you feel.

sophie quietly left the two of you alone under the guise of going to the restroom. you had tuned out your surroundings long ago, this man was driving you insane, or maybe it was just the alcohol.

turning around, you took the beer bottle from his hand and set it on the table. you ran your hands through his hair, leaned up on tiptoes, and pulled him into a kiss. his reaction was instant, he kissed you back, pulling your body flush against his in a way that drove you wild.

when you pulled apart to catch your breath, he asked, “wanna go somewhere else?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

the moment the word left your lips, he laced his fingers through yours, and you grabbed your small handbag to head out.

he led you to his car. if you were sober, you never would have gotten into a stranger’s car, especially knowing he had been drinking!

you could barely walk straight, smiling at nothing in particular, just letting things happen. he opened the passenger door of a black audi and buckled you in. you watched him walk around the front toward the driver's side. he was wearing a burgundy shirt with several buttons undone, he’d probably opened them inside the club to beat the heat.

he drove quickly, and the next thing you knew, you were in an elevator riding up to the 20th something floor of a massive hotel.

“do you live here?” you asked mid-kiss, completely lightheaded.

he chuckled and shook his head, pulling you into another deep, steamy kiss.

the elevator doors chimed open, and he guided you to his room. a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the city lights below.

as soon as he shut the door behind you, he pinned you against the wall and kissed you deeply, his large hand gripping your ass under your dress. you smiled, and he grinned back.

“cm’ere,” he said, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his jeans, and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

you followed him over and straddled his lap, a leg on either side of him. your dress had hitched up, revealing your legs and the black lace underneath.

“fuck, do you feel that?” he asked. truthfully, you couldn't miss how hard he was beneath you, and it was turning you on fast.

“mhm,” you hummed, kissing his neck as you unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. in one smooth motion, he discarded it, showing off a toned torso covered in tattoos and abs.

“fuck,” you breathed out.

he grinned. “like what you see?” he laughed and lifted you effortlessly to your feet. he found the side zipper of your black dress and slowly slid it down, helping you step out of it. he took you in like a piece of art, biting his lip. stripping off the rest of his clothing, he pulled you back onto the bed with him lying on his back, leaving you on top with your chest exposed to him. “you’re so hot,” he murmured, making your mind spin.

you smiled and decided to take charge, kissing him hungrily while your hands explored his body. you could feel his hard length twitching between your folds. you grinded down against him, back and forth, your natural slickness making every slide hot and effortless.

“yeah, come on, grind on me,” he encouraged, guiding your hips with his hands.

he leaned his head back with his mouth slightly open and eyes closed, taking in every single movement. then, grabbing hold of you, he flipped you beneath him, pinning you to the mattress. he trailed kisses down from your neck to your torso, licking your nipples until you squirmed beneath him. sliding lower down your stomach, he finally reached where you were aching for him most.

you bent your knees, and he settled between your thighs. he took hold of your legs, giving you a wicked glance with his dark eyes before leaning in to suck on your clit.

“oh, fuck yeah,” you gasped, gripping his hair to guide his movement.

“you like that?” he asked, sliding his tongue inside you with long, deliberate strokes.

“y-yes, so much,” you managed to choke out.

he shifted his weight onto one arm, using his free hand to stroke your body before sliding his fingers down to join his tongue, circling your clit. how was he this good at it? it was driving you completely wild.

“fuck yes,” you whimpered, lost in the sensation.

opening your eyes briefly, you saw him smirking down at you. he worked his fingers so well that your whole body was writhing on the bed beneath him, his strength and presence were driving you crazy. he circled his fingers faster, making you shiver and cry out.

“so beautiful,” he breathed out.

when you opened your eyes again, you saw him reaching toward the nightstand for a condom. you rolled onto all fours for him, just how you liked it. hard and fast from behind.

“damn baby, already on all fours?” he chuckled, giving your rear a firm slap.

he took you right there, pounding into you until the sound of skin hitting skin filled the room, driving you out of your mind. he pulled your wrists behind your back, forcing your head down sideways onto the pillow, leaving you completely open to him.

“f-faster... hmmm,” you moaned loudly, certain the rest of the hotel guests were going to complain.

jungkook didn't hesitate. he tightened his grip on your wrists behind your back, driving into you with a relentless, punishing rhythm that made your knees tremble against the mattress. every thrust sent shockwaves through your entire body, the friction and heat mounting until you were completely breathless, clinging to the edge of the bed as the intense coil in your core finally snapped.

you let out a broken, breathless cry as your orgasm crashed over you, your inner muscles clamping down tight around him. hearing you break, jungkook growled low in his throat, his hips accelerating into a few final, deep, desperate thrusts before he came undone into the condom, buried deep inside you.

he held you tight for a moment, both of your bodies slick with sweat as your breathing slowed. pulling out, he sat on the edge of the bed to get rid of the condom before lying back down next to you and rolling onto his stomach. keeping a comfortable distance between you, you both drifted off to sleep.

⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰ ⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰

morning light was already streaming through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows when your eyes fluttered open. for a second, you were completely disoriented, the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the bright brazilian skyline reminding you that you weren't in your hotel room.

a quiet shift next to you brought it all rushing back.

you turned your head slowly to find him sleeping on his stomach. both of his arms were stretched up on either side of his head, his face buried deep into the plush pillow. the soft morning glare hit his back, highlighting the sharp dip of his spine, the defined muscle tone across his shoulders, and the dark ink of his tattoos sprawling over his skin. he looked impossibly relaxed, completely different from the intense, confident guy who had pinned you to the bed hours earlier.

careful not to make a sound, you slid your legs out from under the sheets. you wince smiled at the faint, dull ache between your thighs, a pleasant reminder of last night, and tip toed across the cool floor toward the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind you.

after using the toilet, you turned on the faucet, letting the cool water wash away the lingering fog of sleep and makeup. you splashed your face, grabbed a hand towel, and began patting your skin dry.

when you looked up into the bathroom mirror, you caught his reflection standing in the doorway.

he was leaning against the frame, sleepy eyed, dark hair delightfully messy, his gray sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips.

“morning,” his voice came out deep and raspy with sleep, a small smirk playing on his lips as his dark eyes met yours in the glass.

you turned around, resting the back of your hands against the edge of the sink. “morning. sorry! did i wake you?”

“nah, but i noticed the bed was empty,” he chuckled softly, taking a slow, barefoot step into the bathroom.

you smiled, heat creeping up your neck as memories of the night before flooded back. watching him step closer, you realized something ridiculous. through all the loud music, caipirinhas, and wild heat in the club, one tiny detail had been completely skipped.

“you know...” you started, leaning back against the marble counter, “we never actually introduced ourselves. what’s your name, by the way?”

he paused, an amused glint flickering in his eyes as he closed the remaining distance between you.

“jungkook,” he said softly. he reached out, his hands naturally finding your waist, his thumbs rubbing small, warm circles against your skin. “and you?”

“y/n,” you replied, feeling an immediate spark reignite the moment his skin touched yours.

“y/n,” jungkook repeated, letting your name roll off his tongue with a low, slow cadence that made your chest tighten.

he glanced over your shoulder toward the large glass shower enclosure, then looked back down at you.

“well, y/n... i was just about to turn the shower on,” his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you an inch closer until your stomach brushed against his. “care to join me?” he said, smirking as he stepped away from you, showing off his toned, tattooed back as he turned on the shower. “i don't bite, baby,” he added, catching you running a hand over your neck as you debated his tempting offer.

fuck it, you thought. for once in your life, you were feeling free, feeling good about yourself. you felt wanted again. none of this was something you could have lived with your ex, he was trash those last few months, making you feel like you were nothing, when you were so much more. this trip was part of your journey toward loving yourself again.

you walked over to him, sliding both hands up to caress that beautiful back you were already obsessed with. leaning in, you gently rested your forehead against the warm skin between his shoulder blades. the contrast was crazy, here you were, completely bare and raw, clinging to a man whose last name you didn't even know, yet finding this weird sense of safety in his warmth. he went completely still under your touch, the steady stream of the shower filling the quiet space between you for a few seconds before he slowly turned around to face you.

“all good?” he asked softly, a bit of genuine concern in his eyes. he clearly hadn't expected something so quiet and intimate from a late-night hookup.

“yeah, yeah, it’s just...” you started, trailing off as your eyes dropped to the floor.

he reached out, his thumb gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “i think you’ve got some heavy stuff going through your head right now, am i right?”

the way he said it hit you right in the chest. he was reading you like an open book, seeing right through the brave face you’d been putting on all night. how could a complete stranger be this perceptive? it felt surreal how easily he seemed to get you without you having to explain a thing.

“i can make those thoughts go away,” he murmured, tilting your chin up until your eyes met his, searching your face for a reaction, a smile, anything.

you looked up, taking him in up close for the first time. his sleepy, hungover face was out of this world, his lips slightly parted, showing a glimpse of his teeth in a tender smile. you noticed the small moles on his skin and even his long eyelashes. you felt the warm tips of his fingers finding the hem of the oversized t-shirt he must have thrown on you last night.

you closed your eyes and slowly lifted your arms as he gently pulled the shirt over your head, the fabric smelling like him. your bare skin met the cool air of the bathroom until he closed the distance between you. you opened your eyes to find him staring down at you with an intensity that made your pulse race.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, placing a hand behind your lower back to pull you flush against him.

he was being so gentle, so gentle it almost brought tears to your eyes. the way his lips traced your neck, your collarbones, and the shell of your ear made you fall for this feeling of being cared for, of being wanted. he brought his lips back to yours for a slow, unhurried kiss. there was no rush, just two strangers taking their time to feel everything.

taking a step back, he took off his grey sweatpants, revealing he had nothing on underneath. as he stepped into the shower, he held out a hand. you took it without hesitation, stepping into the warm stream as the room around you blurred, the heavy glass mirror fogging over completely.

he trapped you between his arms, your back pressed against the cool blue tiles as he kissed you again and again, the heat of the water mixing with the heat of your bodies. he slowly squatted down, trailing wet, hot kisses down your ribs and over your stomach, his lips brushing right against where you needed him most. all the thoughts in your head melted away, replaced by a desperate need. you wanted to fuck. you wanted him to fuck you.

“eat me out,” you demanded, your hands tangling in his wet hair as his grip on your ass tightened.

without wasting a single second, he parted your thighs, taking your clit into his mouth and circling it with his tongue. your body quivered against the tile. he slid two fingers inside you under the warm water, working you so sweet and deep that your knees buckled.

he stood back up, his chest heaving against yours as water slicked over his tattooed shoulders.

“turn around,” he rasped, his dark eyes fixed on yours. “let me fuck you real good.”

you obeyed, turning to rest your hands against the wide tiled ledge inside the shower, the built-in bench coming in ridiculously handy. bending your knees, you arched your back and lifted your hips for him, completely surrendered.

“ah fuck, let me grab a condom,” he muttered, his hand slipping from your hip as he prepared to step out, but you caught his forearm.

“don’t,” you said softly, a sudden flush of bashfulness hitting you because the only reason you were still on the pill was your ex. “i’m on the pill...”

he paused, his dark eyes locking onto yours through the steam. “you sure?”

you nodded.

he stepped back into the hot stream, positioning himself right behind you. you loved being taken from behind, feeling the raw strength of a man, of this man, working you so damn well. both of his hands gripped your hips as he aligned the head of his throbbing cock with your entrance. he slid all the way in with zero resistance, a dark smirk spreading across his face at how easily you took him.

“fuck, y/n, you’re so wet,” he groaned, pulling back slowly before driving back in. “hmm, yeah, so tight...” he spoke those magic words that hit your brain like a drug.

“hmm, god, i love it,” you gasped, taking the lead to roll your hips back against him, fucking yourself on his cock.

the wet slap of skin against skin camouflaged under the sound of the shower was driving you wild. you just wanted to soak in every single second, it was exactly what you needed. it was so dirty, so intoxicating that you swore you could feel yourself falling. and you were, your legs were literally giving up. sensing your knees weaken, he lifted you slightly, shifting you back onto that tiled bench. he gripped your shoulders, pounding you from behind.

“ah yeah,” he muffled, his hot breath hitting your neck as his chest pressed flush against your back. “you’re taking me so good, baby. go on,” he whispered, his hand reaching up to gather your wet hair into a messy makeshift ponytail. the pull tilted your head back, leaving your neck completely exposed as your soft whimpers echoed through the bathroom.

“hmm, harder,” you urged, and jungkook lost it. his movements became frantic, almost impossibly fast. his free hand found the front of your neck, resting there with just enough pressure to send a shockwave down your spine. “i’m close, i’m close, i’m—”

before you could finish, a wave hit you that you’d never felt in your entire life. your body buckled as you squirted, your inner muscles clamping around him in violent waves.

jungkook helped you sink fully onto the bench, letting you catch your breath as he gave himself a few quick, desperate strokes, coming with a low growl. he wiped the steam from his eyes and looked down at you, a genuine smile breaking across his face.

“that was... fucking hot y/n,” he breathed out, still trying to catch his own breath.

you felt dizzy sitting there. everything was spinning in the best way possible, that sensation was entirely new to you, so intense it barely felt real. you looked up at him and smiled, completely speechless.

“come here, let’s shower,” he said softly, washing his hands before popping open a bottle of shampoo.

you smiled, standing on shaky legs to join him under the water.

the whole thing felt crazy intimate. this was a total stranger you’d picked up at a club in a foreign country, yet here you were, sharing this quiet morning. you ended up laughing together when a bit of shampoo got into your eye, making you panic to rinse it out. jungkook laughed along, patiently helping you wash off under the stream, rubbing soap over your back and leaving a few tender kisses on your wet shoulders.

afterward, he managed to prepare you a quick breakfast. he’d picked up some fresh oranges during his stay in brazil, along with a loaf of bread from a local market. as you finished slipping into the oversized clothes he’d lent you again, you hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter and unlocked your phone for the first time since last night.

3:00 PM.

you had literally slept the entire day away. fucked in the shower, and now you were having breakfast, at 3:00 PM.

the second you dragged down your notification bar, your heart did a flip.

“oh no,” you gasped out loud.

jungkook turned around from the stove, a plate of warm toast with jam in his hands, looking at you with pure curiosity. “what?”

“15 missed calls...” you said nervously, rubbing your forehead as you quickly pulled up the group chat and typed out:

i'm alive!!!

i'm actually at a hotel

with a guy

jungkook grinned, hopping up to sit on the counter right next to you and taking a big sip from his glass of orange juice.

“i think you should probably call them, no?” he teased, his dark eyes sparkling.

“yeah, i definitely sho-,” you muttered.

the phone didn't even ring twice before the screen glitched and two panicked faces popped up at the exact same time.

“Y/N! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” sophie practically screamed into her microphone, her hair a wild mess as she held her phone way too close to her face.

“GIRL, WE WERE ABOUT TO CALL THE POLICE!” andrea chimed in right behind her, shoving sophie out of the frame so she could stare into the camera. “we came back to the table last night and you were completely gone! we thought you got kidnapped!”

you winced, pulling the phone an inch away from your face while jungkook muffled a laugh into his glass of juice, enjoying every single second.

“i'm fine! i'm so sorry, guys, i swear i'm okay,” you said quickly, trying to keep your voice down. “i... uh... left… with someone.”

dead silence hit the call. sophie and andrea exchanged a look on their side of the screen before both of them yelled in unison.

“AHHH, YOU LEFT WITH SOMEONE?!” sophie shrieked. “the asian guy with the piercings? the absurdly hot one?!”

“uhm, yeah,” you stammered, feeling heat rush all the way up to your ears. “we went back to his hotel.”

andrea’s jaw literally dropped. “wait... it’s 3:00 PM. y/n... did you just wake up?! did you spend the whole night and the whole day with him?!”

out of the corner of your eye, you saw jungkook leaning over, curiously trying to take a sneak peek at your screen. the second you noticed him hovering, you completely blocked him, pulling the phone flush against your chest and glaring at him. he just let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head with a playful smirk on his face.

“andrea, shh! oh my god,” you hissed into the microphone, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“is he there right now? IS HE LISTENING?!” sophie whispered loudly into her mic, her eyes wide as she tried to inspect your background “HEEELLOOOO?!?!”

seeing his chance, jungkook suddenly leaned in close behind your shoulder, sneaking just half of his sleepy, messy haired face into the top corner of the frame.

“heeeey gir—”

you didn't even let him finish the sentence. instantly panicking, your thumb smashed the red button, cutting the audio off mid-word before he could even get the greeting out.

you dropped your phone onto the counter and buried your face in your hands, groaning out loud. jungkook burst into a full, hearty laugh, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull your flustered body against his side.

“you didn't even let me say hi,” he teased laughing while you sat there dying of embarrassment.

⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰ ⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰

that summer in brazil became a blurry, beautiful paradise. what started as a wild one-night stand melted into the best week of your entire life. you, sophie, and andrea ended up merging groups with jungkook and his friends who were also staying in rio.

you can still vividly picture that last sunset in copacabana. the sky was painted in deep pinks and gold as sophie splashed around in the warm ocean, screaming for everyone to get in. you remember jungkook grabbing your wrist with a toothy grin, his long fingers interlaced with yours as he dragged you laughing down the shoreline, both of you crashing into the waves. under the water, with the sun dipping below the horizon and nobody watching, he had pulled you flush against his chest to steal a few ocean-tasted kisses that made your heart ache before it was time to say goodbye.

one year later.

los angeles.

a lot had changed since rio. you were back in LA, grinding through your final year of law school, constantly buried under legal briefs and cases. jungkook had moved to the city too, pursuing his music career, his days spent in dark recording studios, his nights spent running around town.

and somehow, through the chaos, you two had stayed in each other's orbits.

you had his number saved in your phone, and what started as occasional text check-ins turned into routine hangouts. dinner, late night food runs, and eventual hookups. you weren't officially together, no labels, no promises… just two people who couldn't seem to untangle themselves from one another.

it was 11:00 pm on a friday night. the empty pizza box sat closed on the kitchen counter, and both of you had already washed up for bed. your 5th-floor apartment felt like a cozy sanctuary, high above the LA traffic. low, sultry rnb melted into smooth jazz from the bluetooth speaker on the shelf, filling the room with a warm, steady rhythm. mood lamps decored the living space in a soft gradient of warm purple and golden orange light, casting shadows against the walls.

jungkook was sitting back on your couch in his grey sweatpants and an oversized tee, his long legs spread casually as he waited for you.

“you’re staring,” you murmured, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom with a hairbrush still held loosely in your hand. you were dressed for sleep in a matching baby pink velvet set, a soft cropped tank top and tiny velvet shorts that hugged your hips.

jungkook let out a low, raspy chuckle, running a hand through his dark hair as his eyes slowly dragged over your outfit. “can’t help it. you look ridiculously good in pink.”

setting your brush down, you walked across the warm floorboards, stepping right between his open knees to straddle his lap. jungkook’s large, warm hands immediately slid under the hem of your velvet shorts, resting flush against your bare thighs to pull you close.

“hmm...” you breathed, resting your hands against his chest.

“i missed you,” he whispered, leaning up so his lips brushed the shell of your ear over the gentle saxophone playing in the background. “spent all day in the studio thinking about you,”

the restraint snapped right there. you reached down, tangling your fingers in his hair, and pulled him into a heavy, bruising kiss. he groaned into your mouth, his tongue sliding past yours as his hands tightened on your waist. the kiss was raw, hungry, and entirely unhurried, perfectly timed to the slow music filling the room.

he slid your pink tank top over your head, tossing it onto the coffee table, before his mouth trailed down your jawline to your bare chest. he cupped your breast, taking one sensitive nipple into his mouth to suck on it gently, sending an electric shock straight down to your core. you gasped, arching your back into his mouth as his thumb hooked into your velvet shorts, pulling them off with practiced speed.

he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his dark eyes blown wide with desire as he shoved his sweatpants down his hips.

“ride me, baby,” he rasped, his voice heavy with command.

you didn't need to be told twice. gripping his broad shoulders for balance, you lifted yourself up, aligning your wet core over his hard length, and slowly sank all the way down onto him in one full, breathtaking movement.

“ah—fuck, jungkook—” the air completely left your lungs in a loud, shattered moan.

riding him was your absolute weakness, the absolute control, the deep friction, and the view of jungkook looking up at you with pleading eyes, through the purple and orange glow of the room drove you insane. you set a torturous pace, rolling your hips and grinding down against him before lifting yourself up to take him all the way in again.

“fuck, y/n,” he grunted, his tattoos flexing as his hands gripped your hips tightly, helping you set the rhythm. “you feel so fucking good... god, look at you...”

“mnh, harder, kook, d-deeper…” you whimpered, your head tilting back as you picked up the pace, the soft cushions of the couch taking every heavy impact as the music swirled around you.

he lifted his hips to meet yours, thrusting up into you with ruthless precision. “like that, baby? hmm? tell me how bad you need it.”

“yes fuck, right there,” you sobbed out, your voice echoing off the walls as your inner walls began to clamp desperately around him.

the sensation was completely overpowering. you threw your head back, riding him frantically until the intense pressure shattered into a full body orgasm. you cried out his name, your thighs trembling violently as the waves tore through you.

hearing you break was his absolute limit. with a guttural growl, jungkook gripped your waist, pulled himself out of you at the absolute last second, and came undone right across your stomach and thighs, his entire body shuddering beneath you as he held you tight against him.

for a long time, neither of you moved. you collapsed forward, resting your forehead against his chest as your breathing slowly synchronized with the low jazz fading out on the speaker. jungkook wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back, his chin resting gently on top of your head.

as you lay there in the warm, ambient light of your apartment, the entire year flashed through your mind. you thought back to that chaotic, spontaneous night in Rio, how broken and lost you’d felt after your ex, and how this incredible man had casually walked into your life and helped you heal without even trying. from the Copacabana beaches to quiet Friday nights on your couch in LA, he’d made you feel so safe, so desired, and so deeply loved every single step of the way.

you were so overwhelmed with emotion that the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“i love you,” you whispered softly against his skin.

the room went completely still for a split second. you froze, your heart hammering against your ribs as you realized what you’d just confessed out loud.

but jungkook didn't pull away. instead, a soft, breathless laugh escaped him. he tightened his hold around your waist and tilted your chin up with his thumb, forcing you to look at him. his dark eyes were shining with so much warmth it almost brought tears to your eyes.

“i love you even more,” he murmured softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, a timid, slightly nervous smile softening his face.

“i know this might sound like a stupid question, considering...” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely between the two of you with a quiet chuckle, before his gaze locked back onto yours. “...but do you wanna make it official? i want to call you my girlfriend everywhere i go.”

you couldn't help the huge grin that spread across your face. leaning down, you kissed him again, sweet, slow, and full of absolute certainty.

“yes,” you whispered against his lips. “i’d love that.”

⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰ ⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰

HEY YALL, i had so much fun writing this, i just had to give them a plot, i’d love to write a pt2

let me knoooowww

[joonberriess]

s e x t a l k

p a i r i n g : jungkook x reader x taehyung

g e n r e : friends w/benefits au

t a g s : roommates!tae and jk, hook-ups, reader’s hot girl summer is here, sneaky link(s), unprotected sex, creampies, oral sex (m & f receiving), fuckboys!tae and jk, dom/sub undertones, possessive!jk, threesomes, degradation, tiny amount of crack+fluff, simps!jk & th, double penetration (two dicks, one hole)

s u m m a r y : you’re seeing two hotties on the down low, getting your back blown out every other night by either one. that is until you find out they’re roommates..

w o r d c o u n t : 6.1 k

It's officially summertime and you don't plan on doing much unless your friends decide otherwise. You spend your days going out with them to various places such as the beach, clubbing, and house parties of mutual friends alike. It's fun because you meet all sorts of new people and come out with more connections (like a new weed dealer etc).

It's during your nightly escapades that you meet Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. They're friends of your friend Hoseok and some acquaintances you have seen around campus. You already knew of them before because a friend of your friend talked about Jungkook's dick game and some other girl had exposed a sex tape of Taehyung giving her the best head of her damn life. To say you weren't a little curious about them would be a lie.

As much as your interest is piqued by them you don't make a move or show motivation to look for them. If life so happened to put them your way then so be it. You go on with your life like nothing and occasionally run into the two on separate occasions. Though you're only connected through Hoseok who's your bestfriend since eighth grade.

Hoseok takes you to a kickback a classmate of yours is throwing, the party's pretty chill and you wander around talking to everyone because somehow you know them. Hoseok's probably off getting his dick wet or something but you don't bring yourself to care because you're happy for the man. You choose to sit with a group of people well known for being potheads etc.

"y/nnnnnnnn!" Jackson throws his arm around your shoulder, "Been waiting for you to show out all night where the fuck you been?" He laughs, obviously a little cross faded.

You pat him with a grunt and sit back, "Hoseok wanted to eat before so we went for burgers." You mumble and reach for the joint he's holding in his hand. There's a few people you don't recognize and they're all girls sitting around with the likes of Jooheon and Bobby, even Taehyung's here but you brush his presence off.

To these (most likely freshmen) you're a surprise with how casual you are with them. In fact people knew you as a cool, well "chill" person. You had a reputation as a pothead and was well liked by most people you came across, and if you were feeling more scandalous they'd come to know the guys you hooked up with called you a throat goat. Other than that you were well off in school.

"Heard you was back for the summer," Bobby coughs as he hands his joint off to the person next to him, "where'd you go..?"

You take a long drag from the joint, relishing in the good quality as the smoke fills your lungs. "LA," you curtly reply, "shit's crazier over there." You mumble and let out the smoke after a few minutes.

The boys nod collectively, taking hits alongside you as they leave it at that and turn to give their company attention. You relax into the couch, listening to Jackson's wild rants and ideas about life. Your eyes flicker up occasionally and you see Taehyung staring at you and he pays no mind to the girl kissing up his neck.

You hold the joint in your mouth, sitting up and adjusting your jeans all the while keeping your eyes on him. He's hot and he knows what he's doing. You're unsure whether he's ever heard of you but you know you're a familiar face. Taehyung doesn't move at all and flickers his eyes from your face to your waist, tongue peeking out as he licks his upper lip.

His smug little face and playful smile makes you wanna be the one to sit in his lap, but you aren't no thief. He's a taken man for the night and if he wants you.. well he knows what to do.

You get tired of sitting around and pat Jackson to let him know you're leaving. A chorus of 'byes' echo, and you walk away from the circle with the joint tucked between your lips.

You get a few "hey y/n" as you pass by people dancing and drinking. You wave them off and head to a different area to get yourself a couple shots etc. You join a couple girls who offer some shots to you, and soon enough there's ass being thrown back at you and you're still clinging to the tiny burned out joint between your fingertips.

"Hold on," you mumble and make your way back into the kitchen for some water. A body slides up beside you and you see a familiar fluff of black hair, "Hey.." You mumble to Taehyung.

"Was wondering where you went, Jackson sent me with this for you, said something about it bein' for last week." Taehyung dropped a baggy of pre-rolls next to you on the counter, setting his arm down as he caged you between the fridge and him.

You nod slowly acknowledging the gift and continuing on with your search for some water. It comes as a surprise for you to be interacting with Taehyung. "Thought you were busy, need something?" You mumble out once you feel his chest brush against your back.

His cologne is strong but it suits him and you want to smell some more but in your weed fueled mind you find it weird. "Aren't you friends with Seok? How come he's never introduced us? I'm sure we'd make really good friends.." His voice goes a pitch lower towards the end, raspy from the joint he smoked earlier.

Shivers go down your spine and you lick your dry lips unconsciously. "I am and that makes you only Seok's friend. Not mine." You look up at him feeling nervous cause he's so handsome up close and you wonder how all those girls he fucked could maintain any eye contact at all.

Taehyung chuckles softly at your words, "You're so mean," he hummed, eyes half lidded and smile lazy, "you really don't wanna be my friend? Hm...?" He leaned closer with his face mere inches away from yours.

You stare back, a million of things running through your head all at once. Were his lips as soft as his face looked..? Was he a good kisser? Does he French kiss? You wondered all these things and without hesitating you brought him down for a kiss, smacking your lips against his with your arms around his neck. Damn did it feel good.

Taehyung responded almost immediately, hands going down to grip your waist as his thumbs dug into your hips. You tugged him closer to you with your movements a bit rushed and sloppy from the weed in your system. You're both making out furiously in the kitchen harshly breathing through your noses. He reaches down to cup your ass and give it a squeeze through your jeans, moaning into your mouth because of the fat spilling through his fingers.

He hoists you up onto the counter, pulling back to attack your neck with a flurry of kisses. You pant softly and bury your hands in his soft hair to ground yourself. He pulls you closer, dragging you to the edge of the counter and pressing his crotch against yours. You can feel the thick bulge hidden away in his pants, you whine quietly and reach down to stroke him through his jeans.

"Tae," you breathlessly mutter, "fuck me.."

Taehyung grunts softly and grinds his hips into small circles, "My car's parked out in the front, let's go?" He breathes out against your lips, hands already slipping into your jeans and cupping your soft ass cheeks in his hands, idly squeezing the bubbly flesh.

"No," you pull back and stare into his eyes, "right here. Right now." You purred licking his lip as you watched his face morph into one of surprise and shock. He looked like he didn't believe you, so you showed him exactly what he was asking for when he decided to mess with you.

The whole school that night watched in awe as Taehyung pounded you raw on that very counter in front of everyone. People knew you were bold bold and didn't give a shit about anyone's opinions but not Taehyung. He went home still in shock, refusing to even talk about it with Jungkook (who you learned very much later on was his roommate).

It's all his friends talk about and they even make fun of him for it. They say you slut Taehyung out in front of everyone, out freaking him in what he did best. Fucking. He didn't say anything to argue with them. It was true, and now that he had a taste of you he didn't want to stop.

Shit only gets better from there as you and Taehyung see each other more and more. He's obsessed with you at this rate, you ruined any form of sex he liked and all he could do was hope you were free and down to see each other. He was lucky because you were very much enthusiastic to indulge the man.

Something you loved about Taehyung was the way this man gave head, you could lay there for hours with his head between your thighs. It was an added bonus the things he could do with his tongue that had you creaming and shaking.

It feels like time slows down as the heavy pleasure weighs down on you. Your lips part in a silent 'o' as your shaky hands come down to grip his soft curly locks. He's got one hand gripping the back of your knee, lifting your leg up in the air while the other mindlessly floats in the air to get that angle. Your panties are strewn around your dangling ankle and you're wearing only one of Taehyung's old band t-shirts you found on his bed.

Taehyung makes a loud slurping noises and his saliva coats your plump and swollen clit. You push his side a little to the side and sigh loudly when a new wave of pleasure hits you. "There.." You mumble breathily, holding his head in place as your hips grind in slow small circles against his tongue.

He doubles his efforts and lets out a soft moan as the vibrations make your hips jump. He practically smothers his face in your cunt and moves his head side to side with his lips firmly attached to your clit. You let out a broken cry, back arching forward as you went stiff. You desperately pushed your hips up against his mouth and breathily whined because it felt soo good and he was hitting all the right spots.

Taehyung reached with his free hand to slide at least two fingers into the creamy mess as he pushed them in with a audible squelch. Your eyes flutter shut for a second, chest heaving as you throw your head back and stare up at the ceiling because Taehyung knocks the air out of you. He doesn't start the pace slow, no, he immediately plunges both fingers in and out of you at a fast pace. He's got them curled so he hits that special place inside of you.

You melt against the sheets and moan louder because he's sucking on your clit and pairing it with his perfectly timed strokes. You let go of his hair and grab on to the pillows with breathless moans and whines, "God Tae, fuck keep going," you moan and let your head roll back on to the pillow, "gonna cum.."

He can feel your pussy tightening around his fingers and he grins softly against your wet folds. He pulls back to watch your blissed out face as you squirm on the sheets below him. He doesn't stop jabbing his fingers upward, pace getting faster and faster until he sees the familiar quiver of your thighs. "Cum," he grins as he places a hand on your pelvis and holds you down, "get 'em nice and wet... Bet you won't even need lube cause you got a sloppy little cunt, 's drooling for me, beggin' for me to put my cock in and fuck you stupid."

You let out a long moan at his words and feel your clit throb as your orgasm slowly hits. You're left utterly breathless, heart beating a little too hard in your chest as you try and get his hand to stop. He fucks you through your orgasm and only slows down when he sees that the overstimulation is hitting. "Gonna take my cock like a good little slut?" He asks as he taps the tip against your drenched folds.

"Mmhm." You nod and open your shaky legs even further, "I don't want it slow Tae," you mumble softly though the way your eyes droop tell another story.

Taehyung laughs under his breath and hooks your legs around his hips, he leans over your body and pumps his cock through the mess you made. "Want it hard?" He croons softly, "And how's that? You can barely even stay awake."

You hummed, "Fuck me slow then, gonna relax." You softly say and bring your hand down and join his as you stroke his hard throbbing cock. You take his cock and position it at your messy pussy, biting back a moan as he slowly rolls his hips forward. "Fuck.." You sigh.

Taehyung's in bliss his lips fall open as he moans quietly, the sound that comes from your pussy has his mind reeling. He takes ahold of your hips and holds you nice and steady as he begins to roll his hips forward. You lick your dry lips and set your hands next to your head as you grip the pillow. Your pussy's a little sore from the rough fingering but this slow pace makes up for it.

He pants quietly as he quickens his pace but never fully presses into you. He doesn't quite pound you but the pace is fast enough that it leaves you out of breath. You reach down to gentle rub at your clit in slow small circles, eyes locked on Taehyung's as he fucks you. He's biting his lip, focusing on the way you rub yourself and the way his cock slides in and out.

There's a ring of white cream that comes when Taehyung pulls out, he slows down to watch the way your pussy creams some more. His breath stutters as he reaches down to smear around his cock before he pushes his hips to the hilt and stays there balls deep within you. You softly moan at the feeling of him being all the way inside of you, "Mmm-right there..." You lift your hips up to lazily rut against him, "Shit-"

Taehyung hisses softly, "Hold on baby," he pulls out swiftly and lays down next to you, patting your thigh as a signal, "get on baby, ride me like you mean it."

Your mouth waters at the sight of his cream coated cock, you want to lick it all up but you suppose maybe afterwards. "Lay all the way back," you mumble and throw your leg over his waist as you straddle him, "like that." You grab his cock once more and hover over it as you push down with a long quiet moan.

Taehyung's eyes fall shut and he rolls his head back as he squeezes your ass in appreciation. You bite your lip and pick yourself up only to drop down in his lap with a wet smack. He groans a little louder, clearly not expecting you to do that.

"Fuck..!" He gasps out.

You grin down at him and brace your hands on his chest as you begin to ride him like no tomorrow. You're bouncing in his lap with audible loud slaps as your ass connects with his pelvis. Your pussy's making a loud wet noise and the bed's creaking just a little from the force of your bounces. Taehyung's moaning louder, hands holding on to dear life as you ride the hell out of him.

Your head is thrown back, moans flowing freely and hips moving quickly. Your thighs ache but it isn't too bad because you like to ride and when you have control it's all over for your partner. You prop yourself up with your hands coming behind you to settle on his thighs as you lift your hips and slam down just as hard. You're building up a sweat and you're getting a little louder with your noises of pleasure.

"Fuck y/n," Taehyung pants, he hates and loves when you do this because the pleasure's so damn good but at the same time it always makes him cum faster. "Shit, shit, slow down," He cries out as he feels his cock throb pathetically and his lower stomach coils.

You moan loudly and swirl your hips in a slow circle, "Fuck no, gonna cum," you moan out.

He helplessly cries out as you resume your punishing pace. He grits his teeth and focuses on the wet slide and clapping noises the come from your filthy fucking. Taehyung lets out a long loud moan when he's hit with his orgasm, he feels boneless afterwards and has to slow you down cause the tug on his cock feels too much. You grind against him and reach down to rub you clit quickly to join him in his afterglow.

Moments later you're collapsing next to him on the bed with a breathless huff, "My fuckin' cunt feels numb and my thighs are shaking.."

Taehyung pants, looking at you like he's either in love or he's "mad". "You're insane, my fuckin' dick almost fell off cause you were going crazy." He said as he rolled back to stare up at the ceiling while he tried to catch his breath.

You smirk to yourself, "There's a lot of cum in me," you softly add. Taehyung's cock gives a weak twitch and it has you laughing because he's shameless.

+

Whenever Taehyung's busy you find yourself meeting with Jungkook instead. You had met the guy when Hoseok brought him along for bbq one night. He tried wooing you like he did to those helpless girls back on campus but you ran the game so shit like that didn't work. You took the chance to speak with him when Hoseok went to the bathroom as you looked at him dead on.

"I'm not looking for a relationship either and if I'm being honest I've been wanting to fuck you for a while now so why don't we just cut to the chase and you can give me your insta or whatever the fuck you feel comfortable with, yeah?" You try to give him a friendly smile but it's kinda dumb so you settle for your resting bitch face.

Jungkook's sitting there looking shocked as hell, "Oh." He didn't realize his intentions towards you were THAT obvious. He shrugs and drops his whole prince charming façade as he smirks playfully, "Well I mean I didn't know you get down like that," he calmly says, "but me and you? We're gonna get along justtttt fine." He grins.

And so you do...

Whenever you so happen to not be busy with Taehyung, Jungkook hits you up and you both meet at your place because he works nearby and usually he tends to ask you whenever he's getting off work. You think you're getting a reasonable and healthy amount of dick, probably why you're so stress free at school and seem in better moods. Hoseok makes fun of you for it too.

Jungkook excelled in all aspects of sex, you thought Taehyung was the only one? Boy were you proved wrong. Somehow, someway Jungkook pushed you to your limits and did things that brought out a whole new side of you. Taehyung made you wet, had you fucking creaming from a fingering session but Jungkook? Jungkook could do the same shit but had you squirting.

Now you aren't much of a squirter, you only come across that whenever you push yourself and keep going after your orgasms. Jungkook didn't even have to try, he'd have you squirting on the first try whether he was using his fingers, tongue, or cock. You almost said "I love you" from a particular fucking that had left you crying softly and shaking.

You compare the both of them. Taehyung's more of a "let me drag this out" type of pleasure as he teases and builds you up. Jungkook gets to it because "there's more where that came from" as he gives you orgasms back to back. Not to mention their heavenly cocks. Taehyung's a little above average, he's got a thick girth and veiny shaft. Jungkook's a little more longer than Taehyung, equally thick yet curved so he's hitting all those right spots.

You wonder which world did you save in your past life to get this lucky with the both of them?

Jungkook likes lingerie, not those over the top sets but maybe a matching set or a pair of raunchy lace panties or one pieces. You indulge him cause you're hot and you think you look fucking delicious in lingerie. What you buy certainly blows his mind.

You end up getting a black lace one piece, it hugs your curves in all the right places and the chest part is lace see-through. You adjust the straps on your shoulders and do a double take on your ass cause you can't stop staring at it. "Fuck it." You mumble and get your phone as you snap a series of pictures. You send them to Taehyung, Jungkook, your friend, and then your other friend cause you want the hype.

Jungkook had sent you a 'i'm here' text right when your picture sent. You grin because shit's about to hit the fan.

Jungkook ended up liking the lingerie too much cause he was overzealous to get his hands on you.

You end up getting fucked on your bed with your legs thrown over his shoulders. You got your tit hanging out of the lingerie as it jiggles in tandem with his thrusts. He had only yanked the piece to the side and stuck his cock in that way. You weren't complaining cause it had cost you a bit too much for you not to end up getting fucked in it.

"Jungkook...!" You huff out, somehow Jungkook always manages to get you to moan louder and step out of your little quiet zone. 

The rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Jungkook slams his pelvis into yours and watches the way your ass jiggles back at him. He's got his dark eyes set on your bouncing jiggling tits, occasionally reaching up to flick his thumb over your pebbled nipple. You get goosebumps all over and release a soft moan at the tingling sensation that comes from your chest. 

"Gonna let me be the only one to have this pussy doll?" He groans and emphasizes his words with a harsh slap of his hips that jostles you, "Hm? Gonna stop being a slut and letting anyone have it? All they gotta do is mention their dicks and you'll be right there with your legs wide open isn't that right?" He coos and grabs on to your tit hard. 

You garble out a moan and arch your back, he's got your knees shaking weakly as you struggle to keep them from sliding off his shoulders. "Y..es.." You whimper, pussy fluttering like crazy from his little dirty talk. 

Jungkook grins, "Right," he mocks as his hips grind deep into yours, "Bet you don't even know what the hell I just told you. Too cock stupid to even understand huh baby?" He muses out as he lets your tit go in favor of slithering his hand up your throat and holding you in place. "Answer me doll." 

Your tongue peeks out and you slowly lick your lips watching as he goes feral from it, "Only yours," and right when you see his familiar cocky grin overcome his features you add a, "for today." He loses all cool and plows you. 

"Oh yeah baby?" Jungkook growls as he squeezes your throat tight and hammers into your soppy pussy. He's relentless and his stamina comes out into play as he takes you by surprise and slams into you harder and harder. To the point you're squirting bits of slick every few seconds and making a mess on your sheets below. 

Your body moves upwards with each thrust as he sends you to cloud nine. You're crying softly because it's overwhelming you, the pleasure comes in hot punishing spurts as it makes you squirm like crazy. "Shit...! Jungkook..!" You whisper out as your eyes squeeze shut, mouth falling open as moans flow freely. 

"Fucking slut." He growls as he keeps his eyes set on you, "Opening your legs and giving out what's mine. You may be letting others fuck ya baby but just remember," his voice drops an octave as he whispers in your ear, "who makes you squirt? Who makes you cry.." He whispers and lets his tongue run over your ear lobe. 

You come undone from just that, crying out loudly and going stiff when you squirt around the man and get the sheets below drenched. "Fuck! Fuck!" You cry out, head thrown back and body shuddering from his thrusts. 

Jungkook pants into your ear, shuddering from the way you clench tightly around his cock. He rolls his hips forward a few more times until he's coming inside and filling you with his thick gooey cum. It makes you quiver, hands weakly pushing at his hips as you're left unable to speak or do much. 

"Fuck baby," He sighs, content from the rough session of sex, "see you next week." He mumbles out giving your thigh a pat of appreciation. 

You hum, definitely looking forward to next time..

+

Now, how long did you really think you were going to keep fucking both of the homies without anyone of them finding out? You figured not long because Jungkook was slowly starting to hit you up whenever Taehyung did or whenever you were with one of them vice versa. Up until now they didn't know cause you always fucked Taehyung while Jungkook was out at work, and Jungkook always went over to your place. 

Things were working in harmony until one day when they weren't. 

You're getting your back blown out by Taehyung in his goddamn living room for fucks sake. Broad daylight and you're bent over the arm of the couch whining and panting as he sends you to another dimension. "Fuckkk." You drag out as he sets his hands on your lower back to make you arch even further. 

"Lift your leg a little," Taehyung grunts out as he slows down to a slow grind so that you had time to change your position without him jostling you.

You go to do as he says when you hear the front door opening, you look up lazily with your tongue poking out when suddenly a familiar black bucket hat walks into the room. Taehyung mumbles something about his roommate being early. Holy shit. You're frozen and in shock, how could you not have noticed? 

Taehyung always did describe his roommate to be like Jungkook at times and he even let a few details slip like "oh Kook's probably dropping by for something later" or "Kook's bringing pizza in case you wanna stay". Stupid, stupid. You mentally berate yourself for not piecing the evidence together. You have seen Jungkook's shoes in the front for fucks sake! 

Jungkook tosses his bucket hat to the side and sighs, tossing his keys into a bowl and running a hand through his hair. "Hey Tae." He goes to greet the other when his eyes suddenly land on your bent form, butt naked as the day you were born and hickeys covering your throat (proud work from Taehyung). 

Taehyung hums, "Hey Kook." He greets as if he isn't balls deep in you. 

Jungkook is quiet for a few more seconds before he puts two and two together and he lets out a breath of disbelief, "Hm.. I see what's going on here." He pushes his tongue against his cheek looking pissed off, "You know when I said you let just about anyone have it you sure know how to pick 'em don't you y/n?" He mocks as he steps forward. 

"What?" Taehyung mumbles as he pulls back just a little before it clicks in his head too, "She's fuckin' you too Kook?" He chuckles lazily, "Finally the girl who's got you by your balls has been revealed, Kook over here was going crazy over this little pussy of yours." He croons in your ear and gives your pussy a pat. 

"Oh yeah asshole? Well now I know the girl you fucking simp over and take photos of so you can hang them in your room." Jungkook sneers back as he folds his arms over his chest.

 You're mildly alarmed by Jungkook's words and look back at Taehyung with a unimpressed look, "Really dude? Couldn't have just asked? Just sayin'." You softly say, "Whatever grinds your gears." 

"I'm not a fucking pervert!" Taehyung groans, "Listen you just gonna stand there or you gonna let me go back to what I was doing?" He says to Jungkook in annoyance, "My dick's about to go soft with just the sight of you." 

"Fine, but I want in too." Jungkook grins as he takes his jacket off. 

He what now? 

Surely he isn't serious, at least you think he isn't..

 Then you find yourself in a predicament. You're in Taehyung's lap facing Jungkook as he's sliding his cock through the slippery mess of lube and slick. You're terrified out of your mind to even think of having them both in you at the same time. Taehyung's more relaxed, cock throbbing from inside you as he watches with hazy eyes as Jungkook works his own cock inside alongside his. 

"Holy shit," Jungkook grits his teeth as he digs his nails into your thighs, "still so fucking tight." He mutters and inches in to you slowly. 

You let out a low whine of fear but that's not the point, your cunt's tense and so are you. It feels like pressure and a small twinge of pain from your perineum stretching, like a small stinging/burning sensation. It's not uncomfortable and you can bear with it. It just feels like time is ticking by really slow for you. 

"Almost there," Jungkook says as he eases another inch or two into you. 

Taehyung kisses on your shoulder and neck to distract you from the pain as he reaches down between Jungkook and you to fondle your swollen clit. You softly moan, feeling more wetness get coaxed out of you, "Just move, can't bottom out with Tae inside." You murmur softly, "I'm good, promise." 

Jungkook shares a look with Taehyung and the two give in, "Tap my thigh if it's too much." Taehyung relents as he adjusts his grip on you, "Okay?" 

You nod in affirmation and a tiny gasp leaves you when Jungkook begins to thrust in to the best  of his abilities. Taehyung waits a little and then rolls his hips forwards to join Jungkook's. They create this rhythm, one goes in and the other is barely sliding back out though both cocks stretch you to your limits and your g-spot is being hit dead on by you don't know. 

"Oh god," you whimper and throw your head back on Taehyung's shoulder, "fuck meeee..!" You whined out as your thighs shook a little more than usual, "So fucking deep." You gasped. 

Jungkook grunted quietly as he focused on the tempo he and his friend had set. It felt heavenly, the tight fit around his cock sent tremors down his spine. He could feel the disgusting wet slide of his cock rubbing against Taehyung's shaft whenever he was pushing in and the latter was pulling back out. Taehyung was quietly panting against your shoulder as he holds you tight in his arms. 

You rock between the two of them, low whimpers and cries leaving your lips due to the burning pleasure you feel. Your toes curl and you lift your hips a little seeing stars bursting behind your eyelids, "Oh shit!" You cry, it had made both cocks stroke your sensitive walls and cause more pleasure for you. 

You can't escape them, if you move up you're basically pushing up into Jungkook and feeling Taehyung slide back out. It's equally mind blowing and you just don't want this to stop ever despite feeling full and stretched out. 

"Greedy little slut," Jungkook grunts out of nowhere, "couldn't just have one cock now could you? Had to go and find a way to satisfy this slutty pussy didn't you?" He pants softly as he leans down to suck hickeys on to your skin, "Maybe we shouldn't even let you cum, do you even deserve it after being a bad girl and fucking Taehyung behind my back?" 

Taehyung lets out a little grunt, "Pump and dump," He replies, "I mean how many times we make this greedy little slut cum Jungkook? I think it's only fair we get to cum this time don't you think baby?" He asks you with a soft moan in your ear. 

You tremble a little, panting as your pussy flutters around their cocks and tightens just a tiny bit because the telltale signs of your orgasm is building up. Jungkook slaps your cheek lightly, "Pay attention now baby, we asked you something." 

"Mmmmm.... told you, you weren't the only ones." You softly reply because you're out of it, close to coming and feeling like you'll pass out. 

They smirk at your little snarky reply, deciding to set a unforgiving pace as they rock into you harshly now. It jostles you and weak cries are leaving your mouth, you're so so close and you reach down to rub your clit in slow circles. Taehyung sees this and replaces your hand with his own, playing and slapping your swollen bud. 

"Tae..! Jungkook...!" You call out and without any warning you cum hard, shaking and gasping. 

Jungkook bites his lips and yanks his cock out, "Fuck get her over here, gonna put that mouth to good use." He pants as he holds his lubed up cock. 

Taehyung struggles to get you to bend over just a little in his lap as he pushes you towards Jungkook, "Open wide baby," he purrs softly, "give Kook a treat for treating you so nicely." 

Your lips part and you open your mouth to take in Jungkook's wet cock. It's drenched in the flavored lube and some tangy saltiness from his pre-cum and your slick. He tangles his hand in your hair and bobs your head at the pace he wants to go, sighing and moaning. "Fuckkkk, like that baby you're doing so fucking good for me." He smirks. 

Taehyung grips your hips, rocking you back and forth on his lap as he focuses on his own release. He pants and moans lowly, lips forming a small 'o' as he throws his head back with his eyes closed, "Shit she's so fucking wet Kook can barely fuckin' feel her." 

"Slut's all fucked out, prolly even gaping from two cocks being stuffed into her slutty pussy." Jungkook groans in return as his hips stutter, "Shit, shit, shit," He moans long and loud as he cums down your throat, making you gag and sputter around his cock. 

Taehyung's orgasm hits him cause the sounds of you slobbering all over Jungkook comes straight from a wet dream or something. He slumps into the couch with a low whine because his cock is twitching and spurt after spurt of cum fills you. "Shit that's so fucking sexy." 

"Did so good," Jungkook smirks as he pulls out of your mouth and watches you cough up a little cum and saliva, "so, so good.." He pats you. 

You're fucked out, everything in your body is screaming at you to go and lie down cause you were tired. You fought off a wave of sleepiness as your body slowly cooled down and your body just relaxed after the orgasm they both gave you. "Want a bath... and a nap." You softly say. 

Both men stare down at you with fondness in their eyes, "Yeah? You want some wings too?" Jungkook teases cause he knows you're very tired and probably talking out your ass. 

"Boneless please, ooh and some garlic bread and pizza please." You say looking up at him with a serious gaze, "Better be here when I get out of the shower... Tae give me your shirt-"

There was no way they could ever deny you, their favorite little cumdump <3.

[joonberriess]

t h e b o y i s m i n e

⋆ TAGS — mean!jk, heavy degradation, sub!oc vibes, fingering, creampiess, pussy eating, oc is super sensitive hehe, cock warming in the car, ass play(?), intense cow girl moment, dirty talk, mentions of squirting(?), messy sex, oc is cunty (CUNT CUNT CUNT), RED MF FLAGS, jk ain’t shit and neither is oc, mentions of cheating, possessive!oc don’t play about her bestie, joon n oc moment bc why not, she’s lowkey a bimbo, jk likes mocking oc, nasty sex, jk’s a simp for his bestie, oc whines a lot lol, 4liferrrsssss, oc messy asf but jk is too

⋆ WORD COUNT — 6.2 k

‘Something’s not right.’ Is what Sujin begins to think right off the bat when her boyfriend brings her to meet his “best friend”. Sujin already knew that Jungkook had a “girl” best friend wayy before she even talked to the man. All her friends were against it when she told them she was interested in Jungkook.

“No girl, you’re gonna regret it like big time. That man is going to have you looking like a fool.” They’d say but Sujin seemed hard of hearing..

Sujin knew what she was getting into but nothing could have prepared her for the hot piping mess being served in front of her face. For fucks sake her boyfriend couldn’t even fucking sit next to her because he chose to sit with “y/n”. Sujin wants to think it’s a childhood thing, maybe that’s why they’re so unnaturally close.

“Oh.” Sujin says when y/n tells her that no, they in fact met almost two years ago as college freshmans. (Sujin’s beginning to run out of ideas to make up in her head so she doesn’t go insane over the sight of you casually touching her boyfriend and Jungkook letting it happen?) Jungkook even helps separate your perilla leaf with his chopsticks.

What are you a child? Sujin’s NOT liking this so far.

“So,” Sujin smiles as politely as she can muster, “how’d you guys meet?”

You smile softly back at her, “My brother has a frat house and Jungkook happened to join, we only met cause my brother was forcing his frat guys to help me move into my new apartment. He made them do it shirtless which was pretty funny.”

Sujin nods slowly, “Ohh.. how nice. So like you guys started hanging out or what’s the deal?”

Jungkook shrugs, “I saw her manga books and we bonded over that,” he keeps it curt, like he’s not interested in talking to her (his own girlfriend), “we started chilling and yeah.” Sujin fucking hates when he talks to her like he’s bored already.

“He kept saying I reminded him of Bayonetta!” You pipe back in with a dreamy smile.

“Uh-huh, Bayonetta..” Sujin clears her throat and shifts around in her seat, “Uhh well, I think it’s getting a bit late no? Kinda time for me to get going.”

You purse your lips in a soft pout and nod at her, “I see.. I hope to see you again, you’re really nice and pretty.” You coo, “Jungkookie’s super lucky to have you,” Sujin appreciates your sincerity but she’s not so sure if she can look past how close you are with her boyfriend.

“You didn’t bring your car didn’t you?” Jungkook suddenly says, “C’mon I’ll drive you.” He rises to his feet and holds his hand out for you take.

Sujin’s jaw nearly drops as HER boyfriend slings your purse over his shoulder and helps you up, guiding you out of the booth by a hand to your back.

“Jungkook.” Sujin snaps, “I think she’s got it don’t you think?” Her boyfriend turns to look at her, and proceeds to give her the meanest fucking mug ever. Like if she had the audacity to ruin whatever the fuck was happening in front her. “What?” Sujin raises a brow.

You look up at Jungkook with those stupid puppy eyes of yours, “I can call an uber no biggie.” You say softly.

“Hey, since our meeting was cut so short, how bout I pay for it, yeah?” Sujin smiles while whipping her phone out and pressing ‘request’, like she didn’t have that ride ready to order.

Jungkook does that thing when he’s pissed where he pokes his tongue inside his cheek, he has the audacity to have a staredown with her but Sujin doesn’t back down. “..Yeah, I’ll walk you out then y/n.”

“It was nice meeting you.” You softly say while hugging Sujin tightly before waltzing out the door with Jungkook’s hand over your hip.

Sujin has to pinch the bridge of her nose, on one hand you’re the sweetest thing ever but c’mon you can’t be THAT dense can you? Sujin would have liked you in another world where you weren’t trying to get with her boyfriend.

Sujin looks out of the window and sees Jungkook leaning against the car door while you slip into the back. He’s telling you something and you’re looking at him like he’s hung the fucking stars or something. Luckily nothing happens and Jungkook closes the door before stepping back to watch the car take off.

“Fucking prick.” Sujin mutters under her breath as she steps out with a pissed look. “What the fuck was that Jungkook, huh? You gonna sit there and lie to my face and tell me not to worry about her? Answer me.” She lightly hits his arm.

Jungkook sighs deeply, “What? Fuck are you on right now, the night was going so good I don’t see the problem here.”

His nonchalant attitude makes her seethe even more, “Jungkook, she has no fucking boundaries and you don’t seem to give a shit about that, I’m the GIRLFRIEND here but this fucking turned into me meeting you two instead of her meeting me. It’s fucking humiliating watching her put hands on my boyfriend and worse that you chose to sit with her.”

“And yet you knew I was friends with her. Literally that’s everything everyone’s been telling you before I brought you here to meet her, be prepared for how close y/n is with me. This isn’t brand new to you Sujin.” Jungkook replies while fishing a cigarette out of his pocket.

Sujin watches in disbelief as he lights it and takes a drag like nothing, “That doesn’t make it okay for her to do that though. Close or not I don’t give a fuck Jungkook, you’re either with me or you’re not.” She snaps, “So tell me now before I waste my fucking time.”

Jungkook takes his sweet time, puffing away as he watches the smoke disappear into the night sky, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Sujin tilts her head, “Okay, what?”

“It’s over.” And just like that Sujin’s jaw drops for real this time, she’s utterly gagged into silence as she watches her (now) ex-boyfriend stomp out the cigarette before turning to her with a sinister look in his eye, “Bye.” He passes without as much as a glance, leaving her silent.

Sujin turns her head and watches him leave, “What the fuck.” She whispers.

.

(Not even an hour later.)

“Okay, this one or this one?” You held up two different babydoll dresses—one white with delicate frills, the other silk but more of a bodycon-type but it had a cute bow on it so why not.

Jungkook’s eyes briefly flick up from his phone, he stares at both of the dresses for a cool minute before nodding his head, “The white one.” He leans back with one arm on the bed and both legs spread apart (gosh him and his manspreading).

“I thought so too!” You happily say and carelessly toss it into the pile of clothes lying in your open suitcase, “Okay now help me decide between my sneakers or my ballet flats?” He doesn’t even answer cause he’s busy laughing at something on his phone.

“Jungkooookkk,” you huff irritably but this man does not look up. He just toys with his stupid lip ring while smiling down at his screen.

You let the shoes hit the ground as you quietly saunter over, slipping right into his lap with practiced ease. He doesn’t react because this is an all too familiar scene for him. He hooks his arm around your waist and tucks his chin over your shoulder, still scrolling mindlessly. “What’s up? Hm.” He murmurs.

“I needed your help choosing which shoes I should take.” You hide your face in his neck and lay one tiny kiss on it, “You’re mean.”

“Am I?” Jungkook brings you down with him when he slowly lays back on the bed. He tosses his phone somewhere and rests his arm behind his head. His free hand strokes your backside, cheekily stopping right above your ass before repeating.

Your hands settle over his toned stomach where his shirt has ridden up revealing his beautiful physique underneath. His damn Calvin Klein boxers hug him just right too, hanging low over his hips where a small amount of hair leads down…you know where..

“Mm-hm, ‘s not nice to ignore me.” You nod with a dreamy look, pillowy lips pursed (which make them much more alluring in Jungkook’s humble opinion).

Jungkook hums again and runs his hand over your ass, landing small little pats of appreciation here ‘n there, “It isn’t huh,” he trails off quietly while tattooed fingers make work of the bow tied around the front of your shorts.

You shake your head and come down so that you’re chest to chest with Jungkook, face leveled with his as the two of you stare into each other's eyes. “No,” you softly say, nimble fingers creeping under his shirt to trail up his middle with light feathery touches.

“No.” He softly mimics in a high-pitched tone that’s meant to sound like you, “You’re so fuckin’ cute, but you might wanna get a move on though cause the guys are gonna be here any minute now ‘n you don’t want them to come in and see what a desperate little thing you are? No huh,” he mock pouts while tapping your cheek.

“You’re mean! I’m not talking to you for ten whole minutes.” You huff angrily and get off his lap, “Stop laughing, it's not funny.” You’re whining again before you can even stop yourself. It makes him double over in laughter, shoulders shaking and all too.

“My bad, my bad, I didn’t realize you were still upset over the shoes.” He chuckles while sitting back up with messy hair, “C’mere I’ll make it better.” He waves his hand, “C’mere! I’m not joking!” He laughs because you look at him incredulously.

You fold your arms over your chest and turn away, “No, I have to pack remember?” You’re shoving clothes into your suitcase with a quiet huff.

“Yeah, yeah.” You don’t even notice when he comes up behind and hauls you up into his arms. Jungkook tosses you on the bed like nothing causing you to yelp in surprise as your body bounces off the mattress a little, “If I give you a kiss will you quit your fuckin’ pouting?” He smirks.

You nod vigorously, “I want one here, here, and here.” You tap different areas on your face.

“I said one, not fucking five,” he snorts while peppering your face in small smooches regardless because he could never resist a pretty girl like you, “dumb little thing you are.”

“They don’t count as real kisses.” You smugly reply.

Jungkook smirks, “Oh, and what does hm? Give your Jungkookie a kiss and show me.” Without hesitating you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his.

You’re lips locked, softly moaning as he kisses the fuck out of you. It’s the way his lips glide over yours so smoothly like you’re meant to be kissing. All you can really do is dreamily sigh while his tongue runs over the seam of your lips. Of course you let him in and the kiss gets filthier if possible.

You feel his hand slide up your back slowly until he’s hooking his finger under the strap of your flimsy sleep top. He watches in hunger as your tit slips out from under the top, perky nipple already hard as he leans down to wrap his lips around it. The pleasure is hot when his tongue presses down on the bud, he has you whimpering quietly while burying your fingers through his hair.

“Mmm–Jungkook, wait,” you breathlessly sigh while pushing his face away, “Sujin.” You softly say while playing with his hair, “What ‘bout her?”

Jungkook stares back up at you through hooded eyes, “Who?” He replies to which you grin back, “Hm, just let me enjoy your tits in peace.” He crudely mumbles before taking your nipple back into his hot mouth.

He fondles and squeezes your other tit while sucking on your rather sensitive teat. The heat between your legs is unbearable, Jungkook knew damn well why you hated having your nipples played with yet he carried on without a care. Your poor clit throbbed from neglect and your pussy was slicking up by the second, you fear a glob would slip out if he dared to switch your positions.

“J-Jungkook..!” You huff and press your thighs together hoping to alleviate some of the heat.

He pinches hard causing you to whine, it doesn’t stop him because he’s then using a hint of teeth on your sensitive bud. “Oh..!” Your mouth falls open and your back arches off the bed, thighs shaky and wobbly.

Jungkook pulls away with a string of slick connecting to your nipple, “Turn over baby,” he smacks your ass hard and jiggles your cheek, “arch that pretty back for me, yeahh like that—low.” He darkly comments while watching you turn over with your hips raised high and front flat to the bed.

He shuffles around and gets behind you holding you steady with a hand to your hip. “Pull ‘em to the side,” he says while lazily pushing his sweats down, shoving them low enough till they’re right under his balls, “How desperate are you, hm? How bad do you want this cock baby?” He grins while slapping the tip through your dewy sticky folds.

You bite your lip and reach behind you to hold yourself open for him, “Bad, need it so bad Jungkookie..feel so empty without it.” You pout while pushing back until his cock gets trapped between your thighs, the thick shaft pressing right up against your throbbing little clit.

“Yeah?” Jungkook licks his lips, “Gonna let me have it?” He murmurs as his cock slides through the mess between your thighs, globs of slick coating the shaft.

“Mm-hmm.” You nod.

“Mm-hm.” Jungkook smirks as he lands a rough smack to your ass, “Push me in baby.”

You reach back to rub his cock through your folds, tapping the tip against your needy hole until it catches. Your breath hitches as the tip pops in, he doesn’t make a move to shove himself deeper or anything—he stays perfectly still.

“Jungkook!” You turn to glare back at him, “S-Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not doing anything, if you want it you know what to do.” Jungkook grins while biting his lip, “You know what I wanna see baby, don’t play dumb.”

You grumble under your breath and slowly push your hips back until your ass meets his pelvis. There’s a low squelch as the rest of his cock slips in and as much as you would’ve loved for him to fuck you, this was also good. You pant hotly into the pillow and wiggle around with soft little ‘mm’s as Jungkook rubs his hand over your hip and holds you steady.

“There you go, bring it back for me,” he huskily mumbles while watching the ripple of your cheeks jiggle each time your ass meets his pelvis.

Little clapping noises begin to rise subtly as your pace gets quicker and quicker. You meet him thrust for thrust, there’s a low fopping sound as his balls make contact with your puckered lips, pressing right up against you each time you bottom out.

Jungkook’s eyes are glued to the sight of your pretty pink rim hugging his cock tight each time he backstrokes. His cock is covered in a sheen of slick and he swears every time he pushes back in he comes back out with more.

“So messy,” he lays his thumb over your other puckered hole, “hear that?” He grunts, “Sloppy lil cunt taking me so well, got you creaming for me.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches when his thumb accidentally slips through the tight barrier and into your ass. You loudly mewl and buck your hips in surprise, it doesn’t hurt but it feels weird..weird in a good way though.

“Oh, you like that don’t you?” He licks his lips, “Baby loves having her holes filled up doesn’t she?”

You moan in response and bury your face in the pillow with muffled cries. The pleasure shoots up your spine and has you curling in on yourself. Your cunt throbs like crazy now and everything somehow feels ten times better than before.

“Answer me.” Jungkook slaps your cheek rather hard.

“Mmph–y-yes..!” You whimper despite the pillow being in your mouth.

“Yea,” he laughs as he suddenly snaps his hips up, “you love it don’t you? Can’t get enough of this cock.” He plows into you with repeated thrusts, each one jostling you up the bed and sending you into a pleasure hazed mind.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as Jungkook grips you by the hip with one hand and slams you back onto his cock. Your toes curl from the intensity of his cock slamming into your g-spot while his thumb fills your ass. The heat coiling in your tummy has you squirming and whimpering.

“Too much? Where you goin?” You don’t realize you’re actively moving away from him till his cock threatens to slip out, “You can take it baby, don’t run.” He laughs low while dragging you right back onto his cock.

In fact he follows you down till you’re laying flat on the bed and his thumb slips out of your puckered hole, “Gonna cum? Hm?” He lays flat over your back and hooks his chin over your shoulder, “C’mon, don’t go stupid on me.” He smacks your cheek gently a couple of times.

“Yes..!” You gasp breathily, “S-So, so close..” Your voice sounds wobbly and garbled, and the shaking in your thighs doesn’t stop.

Jungkook coos, “So close,” he buries his face in the side of your neck and leaves marks of his own there, “go on, cum on this dick.”

Your lips part and you let out a high-pitched mewl, your pussy spasms around him with your cunt squeezing and massaging his cock. Your eyes slip shut and you slump against the bed with a whine, the orgasm took the life out of you.

“Fuuckk,” he sighs as he slows down, grinding his cock in and out of the mess between your thighs, “good girl,” he groans softly until he comes to a stop and stills.

His cock throbs and twitches, spurt after spurt of cum filling you to the brim. You can feel some of it slide out with globs of your own slick. Jungkook hums deeply and gives your ass a pat of appreciation, “Shower?” He asks softly.

“Mm-hmm.” You nod still face down in the sheets.

“Mm-hm.” Jungkook copies while laughing to himself as he slips out of your cunt with a lewd squelch. You don’t even have the energy to fight with him right now, you’re just ready for bed at this point.

+

You can’t help the little yawn that escapes as you turn your face to tuck yourself into Jungkook’s side. Whose idea was it to take a roadtrip to Busan, you don’t know but you’re barely even awake after that rough fucking.

You and Jungkook had opted to sit in the back away from everyone and enjoy each other’s company instead. Jungkook’s hand came to rest over your thigh like that’s his permanent spot.

So far the ride is peaceful, Yoongi’s managed to successfully get you all out of the city and onto the highway (thanks to Namjoon’s excellent navigation skills). In front of you Jimin’s knocked out while Taehyung watches something on his phone. Namjoon’s talking with Yoongi about something you can’t bring yourself to care for.

You can feel your eyelids getting heavier by the second and it feels like you’re about to slip into the best sleep ever when Jungkook stops you. Not literally, but it still feels like it with the way he slides his hand up your bare thigh.

“Hm?” You sleepily look up wondering what on Earth he was up to now.

Jungkook pats you, “C’mere, want you on my lap baby.” He mutters as quietly as he can.

You rub your eyes and slip yourself on to his lap, tucking your chin over his shoulder and squeezing your thighs on either side of him. God bless that you chose to wear your thin sleeping shorts and slutty juicy sweater, Jungkook can just about feel your perky tits through the soft material.

“Shh.. not a peep or else I’m gonna gag you with your panties.” He mumbles low in your ear, stroking over your back to keep you calm.

“Jungkookie–”

“Jungkookie needs you to shut the fuck up, can you do that for me?” He squeezes your ass and kneads both cheeks rather roughly, “Good girl.”

“If they look, I’m not stopping. So if I were you I’d keep quiet baby, unless you want Joon and them to know how much of a cock hungry slut you are.”

He sounds so fucking calm but his words are the complete opposite, you find yourself holding in your desperate whines. “Can you..?”

“Can I what?” He slips his hand under your shorts and tugs it to the side alongside your panties, “Hm?”

You bite your lip and lift your hips, “Want something in me, I feel so empty Kook..” You breathe out and wrap your arms around his neck.

Through the drowsiness you faintly make out his soft curses as he whispers under his breath. Jungkook pokes at your slit and slips his fingers through your messy folds.

“Take my cock out,” he mumbles and you happily reach between the two of you to slip your hand into his sweats.

His cock throbs when your soft hand wraps around it, he has to bite his lip when you dig your thumb into the slit and swipe over the messy head. “Don’t tease..” He grunts with a small sharp smack to your ass.

You lift your hips and with his help manage to slip his cock through your dewy folds. You blindly slap the tip against your slicked up hole, the tip catching on your rim.

“Slow,” he sounds calm and collected but the way he swallows harshly tells you otherwise.

You bite your moans back and push yourself until your ass is meeting his thighs. The heat in your belly pools and your poor clit throbs. Is it you or the car feels hotter?

You hide your face in his neck and suck over old and new hickeys you’ve left these past days. Jungkook relaxes into the seat and sighs, luckily it doesn’t sound like it’s out of the ordinary.

“You can sleep now.” Jungkook off-handedly mumbles while closing his eyes, leaving you utterly speechless. You’re not entirely surprised given his little track record of being mean and shit.

“G’night..” You softly mumble and kiss his cheek, you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. Maybe if you’re a good girl he’ll make you cum later on..yeah, that sounds amazing, you smile in your sleep and drift off into dreamland with a cunt full of cock.

.

“So hot..” You softly mumble while fanning yourself with a make-shift fan.

Everyone but Namjoon went out today to explore the town and shit. You opted to stay back and wait for the sun to die down to go out later. Namjoon said something about keeping you company so you didn’t mind.

Here you are laying on the ground with your legs thrown up on the couch over Namjoon’s lap. Your pretty babydoll dress rides up your thighs and you occasionally catch Namjoon’s gaze drifting down. What a sight is it to see—veiny big hands plastered over your soft ankles toying with your cherry charm anklet.

“Namjoon, if penguins are related to the bird family, how come they can't fly?” You softly say while looking at him through your lashes.

“I dunno,” He shrugs while stroking over your foot, “environmental and evolutionary reasons maybe?”

You pout and tilt your head back to watch the TV, “I think they’re cute.”

“Why don’t you find one and give it a kiss then?” Namjoon smirks in amusement, “Maybe Jungkookie can save you if it tries to attack you or something.”

“Not funny.” You whine kicking your sock-clad foot at him, but he catches it and tugs on your foot.

You squeal softly as he ends up dragging you upwards just a tiny bit, “Owie let go, you’re squeezing my freaking bone.” You giggle.

Namjoon lets your foot go with a laugh, “My bad, my bad.” He raises his hands in surrender, “You can tell your Jungkookie to kiss it all better when he comes back yeah?” He grins.

“Ugh you’re also mean.” You huff while sitting up feeling light headed cause you were laying on the ground for so long. “You and Jungkook.” You mumble and climb onto the couch with him.

Jungkook finds you two like that. You’re tangled up with Namjoon side by side, legs thrown over his lap as he strokes over your soft thigh. Namjoon’s mindlessly scrolling through his phone and you’re just you watching some animal documentary on the TV.

“Hey.” Jungkook greets while falling on another sofa.

“Back already,” Namjoon hums, “where’s the others?”

“Out, they went to the beach cause Jimin wanted to go. It was fuckin’ hot so I came back, we didn’t do much but walk around the tour shops and shit.”

You lift a leg in the air to admire your pretty anklet, “Did you bring me anything?” You softly ask.

“Yeah, it’s in the bag.” Jungkook replies calmly as he fishes his phone out and does whatever the hell he usually does on that thing.

With both men preoccupied with their phones you decide to head outside to sunbathe. God bless the airbnb for having a private pool. “Where you going?” Jungkook mumbles, not looking up from his screen.

“Sunbathing.” You curtly reply and head outside through the large patio doors.

It’s hot as hell but you don’t care as you kick your socks off and strip out of your babydoll dress. You happily lay your towel out on the grass and set up a mini umbrella. Once you're happy with your setup you lay on your back and slip your heart shaped glasses on.

You can hear Namjoon and Jungkook talking in the background faintly, something about Sujin but you honestly don’t bring yourself to care much. Along the lines Jungkook mentions Sujin texting him again, Namjoon says “oh shit really” and then Jungkook tells him everything.

“..giving… chance… again..?” You can’t make out the entire convo. You crack a slow smile and turn over on your belly, legs kicked up and your feet in the air as you call out to the boys.

“Can someone bring me my phone?” Your voice soft and velvety, you slip your glasses up on your head and flutter your lashes, “Please?”

Jungkook stops talking and looks over the coffee table before stepping out with your phone in hand. “Look at you all cute and shit, enjoying your sunbathing?” Jungkook asks as he squats down in front of you.

“Yep, it’d be funner if you and Joonie joined me though.” You softly hum while tilting your head up and letting Jungkook lay a kiss over your soft lips.

“Yeah..?” He murmurs low. It’s glaringly obvious you have this man wrapped around your little fingers. It’s like you didn’t even have to try with him.

“I’ll be right back.” He says and disappears into the house.

You roll over on your back with a satisfied smile, slipping your glasses back on as you hum, “The boy is mine, I can’t wait to try him,”

+

Maybe Jungkook’s the one trying you right now. It’s not even nine am yet..

Your thighs encase his head like a pair of soft earmuffs, he’s got his tongue dipped between your messy folds with your pussy stuffed in his face. Jungkook doesn’t seem to care though, he’s got his strong big arms wrapped around your thighs as he holds you down and makes you take it.

Your clit’s just as sensitive as every other part of you, and Jungkook just loves to make you shake. He traces the tip of his tongue over your sensitive bud, flicking it back and forth with quick strokes. It has your lips parting and your head leaning back from the cloudy pleasure.

“Oh..” You roll your hips upward into his eager mouth, something that greatly pleases Jungkook.

He slips his tongue lower and flicks it upward to get a taste of all that creamy slick gushing from your empty cunt. You slap a hand over your mouth and whimper when he goes back to your poor clit. This time though he wraps his lips around it and gives it a harsh, mean suck.

Jungkook flicks his dark eyes up to look at you, just watching as you lose yourself on his tongue. The way your tummy goes taut and your body stiff when he grazes his teeth over your clit sends a dark thrill down his spine. He wants to see more, so he’s going to get more.

“J-Jungkook!” You cry out as he stuffs his fingers knuckle deep into your pussy.

There’s a loud squelch each time he slaps his fingers up into your greedy cunt. Your pussy’s literally leaking as small dribbles of squirt oozes out with each passing second. You’re shaking, thighs struggling to stay open and not clamp down on his head. Your lower half shakes slightly from his rough movements and your pussy makes these nasty wet sounds.

“Wait,” you sob and reach down to grip his hair, “ ‘m so close..! P-Please, please,” you’re not sure what you’re begging for—go, stop?

The heat in your tummy builds quickly and you’re teetering on the edge of a powerful orgasm when he suddenly stops. All at once both his fingers and mouth are gone as he pulls away while harshly panting. You can’t even complain but the intensity has your heart racing with excitement and fear.

“Okay?” He quietly asks while stroking your thigh gently.

You take a couple of seconds to catch your breath, meekly nodding as you bite your lip, “ ‘m okay.” You softly reply.

He climbs up the bed and hovers over you, necklace dangling in your face as you stare up at him with glossy eyes. “Kiss?” You softly say while parting your pillowy soft lips. He’s very much happy to oblige of course..

You lazily make out, your lips feel swollen and they’re glossy from spit. He doesn’t let you pull away, he’s quick to chase after your lips and reel you back in with a hand to the back of your neck. His hand tightly grips your hair and teasingly tugs because he knows you’re a little slut for it.

You moan into his mouth and needily press yourself closer to him, hooking your thigh over his hip just so you could press your needy pussy against him. Everything feels hot and you don’t like it, Jungkook’s not helping with the way he drops his other hand down to your ass cheek, gripping it tight and using his grip to yank you even closer.

Body to body, you’re rolling your hips up to feel the tent in his boxers. It’s mouth watering when the curve of his thick cock presses into your inner thigh, so close to where you need him the most..

Jungkook tightens his grip on your hip, it’s bruising even as he presses himself into you and rubs his cock over your soaked pussy. The rough friction has your toes curling and another needy gasp escaping. He pulls away from the kiss with a wild look in his eye, he pants quietly as he shoves his boxers off and tosses them somewhere.

“Hold yourself open for me baby,” he holds his heavy cock in his hand, stroking over it slowly as he looks down at your glistening cunt, “just like that..” He mumbles darkly.

You hook your arms around your thighs and pull them up to your chest so that your pussy is laid out bare for him. You bite your lip in anticipation and try your best to stay still when he taps the tip over your swollen clit.

“Look so pretty like this,” he muses as he slips his cock in inch by inch, “prettier down here too.” He grins as he lays his thumb over your clit and rubs it side to side slowly.

You let out a long “mm” as his cock fills you over and over again, filling you in the right places combined with his gentle strokes over your clit. He’s got you dripping even more as his cock re-surfaces covered with your creamy slick.

Jungkook rolls his hips into yours slowly, you can hear the quiet grunts and moans slip from his lips as he remains focused on the spot where you’re connected. His face is scrunched in pleasure, and his thumb becomes jerky as he messily swipes over your bud.

You get the urge to ride the fuck out of him, he’s been nothing but doting and now you want to return the favor. Always the giver but never the receiver, and you’re going to change that.

“Jungkookie,” you softly sigh as his eyes snap up to your face, “wanna ride you,” you pout, “can I pretty please?” You purposely squeeze around his cock as he back strokes slowly.

“Yeah,” he softly breathes out and lifts you up into his lap as he switches places with you.

You huff as his cock somehow slips deeper in the new position, “No, you lay back and let me do it.” His eyes widened slightly at your demanding tone, “I wanna make you feel good too..” You pout and wiggle around in his lap.

Jungkook bites his lip and lets his hand fall to your thighs, “Fuck–okay, yeah,” he lays his head back on the pillow and swallows harshly as you smile down at him and lay a soft kiss on his lips.

“Fuck,” he groans when you turn around in his lap to ride him reverse cowgirl. He lays his hands over the fat of your ass and smacks each cheek repeatedly while you grind yourself in his lap.

Your moans spill from your lips as you arch your back and roll your hips back and forth. Behind you Jungkook sounds like he’s having the time of his life as he holds your ass tightly in both hands. The noises he makes only fuel your desire more as you rock yourself in his lap.

“Mm–fills me up so good,” you tilt your head back with a teasing smile, “can feel it so deep in my pussy.”

Jungkook growls low and spanks you harder, “Yeah? You like knowing you’re the only one taking my cock like this huh,” he smirks, “ ‘s all yours baby.”

You huff softly and look at him over your shoulder with puppy eyes, “Mine only.” You nod, “Not hers,” you roughly slap your hips back, catching him off guard as he grunts, “Right?”

“Only you.” Jungkook sighs as he tugs you back so that you’re grinding over his cock the way he likes, “Always yours.” He murmurs.

You smile happily and begin bouncing in his lap, your ass claps against his pelvis as low fopping noises build up. The bed creaks a little and your skin smacks together as you get a little wild with it.

Your moans rise in volume alongside his as the two of you lose yourselves in your rough fucking. Your pussy clamps down when the tip of his cock brushes over your g-spot repeatedly. You have to put your hands on the bed for support as you whimper and grind quickly on his lap.

“F-Fuck..” You whimper low as your thighs begin to tremble again.

Jungkook throws his head back with a low groan as he holds your hips tightly, “Fuck keep going baby, almost there,” he whispers breathlessly, “you can do it.”

You let out a cry and slam yourself on his lap until you go still as your orgasm hits you out of nowhere. It’s mind blowing as your cunt tightens up and a wave of hot pleasure comes crashing down on you. You shake in his lap and whimper out a garbled version of his name.

Jungkook quietly moans as he holds you still and bucks his hips up a couple of times until he’s filling you with his cum. His cock twitches and pulses through his orgasm, dully reminding you that you’re on planet earth still and you need to come down from your high.

“My pussy hurts.” You softly whine while looking back at him.

“My pussy hurts,” he mocks softly, “but who just got the dicking of their life hm? You did.” He pokes your cheeks and brings you back so that you’re laying with him, “You okay?” He chuckles.

You hide your face in his neck and nod, “Nap now, food later?” You softly ask.

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.” He grins.

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[numymochi]

foaming at the mouth

[trivia-yandere]

now that milf is kinda?? becoming a ‘series’ COULD WE AT LEAST GET ANOTHER PART FOR ‘OFF LIMITS’ AND ‘WHAT ARE YOU WILLING TO DO?’ PLSSSSS

like ceo jk, hybrid jk, milf jk, dark web jk, actor jk, step-bro jk is just going to have to continue waiting i suppose???

fuck it, another part to brother's best friend jk!!

off limits (3)

the act of sneaking around behind your brothers back is highly exciting for you and jungkook.

word count: 4.632

warning: smut, secret dating, jealous mc/jungkook, alcohol intake, kisses/neck kisses, oral sex (m), oral fixation, unprotected sex, praise, degradation lmao, mc slobbering like a slut, dirty talk, creampie, semi-public sex,

part one | two

”That’s a lot of toppings.” you laugh, witnessing the way Jungkook douse his frozen yogurt with fudge - not including the amount of fruit, sprinkles, granola and even candy already on it. 

“The more the better, baby.” Jungkook winks, rounding around you to get even more topics.

You roll your eyes, doing the same.

The last two months, you and Jungkook had been secretly dating. It took over 3 weeks for Jay to not watch you like a hawk after the incident at Jungkook’s house.

Now, even though you and Jungkook remain careful, you’re able to freely come and go without his questioning it much.

You have to admit that sneaking around with Jungkook is fun. When Jay’s friends would be around, you and Jungkook would share glances, his lips would form a little smirk and he’d send you a wink. When no one is looking, he’d slip away to the bathroom where you’d be waiting just to kiss you  - all because it was a rush.

Jungkook at times had his doubts. He loved Jay like his own brother and going behind his back wasn’t something he wanted to do, but he also loved you. You were someone he couldn’t keep my mind off of, especially after having you for the first time. Each time Jungkook thought about confessing to his friend, you would shut him down.

You didn’t want Jay and Jungkook to be against one another because of you. Deep down, you also had the fear that Jungkook would end things with you out of respect for your brother, an act of finally coming to his senses.

“I think we should binge watch Temptation Island later.” you say prior to bringing a spoonful of frozen yogurt into your mouth. You hum at the sweet taste. “Lina’s been trying to get me to watch it for weeks now.”

Jungkook’s already halfway done with his frozen yogurt when you speak, taking large spoonfuls, his eyebrows knit together and a look of pure disgust on his face.

That meant Jungkook liked the way it tasted, as weird as it was.

“Later tonight?” Jungkook asks, licking his lips. “Jimin’s having a party.”

“A party?” you tilt your head. “I wasn’t invited.”

Which was weird because you were always invited to Jimin’s parties. There wasn’t any mention of it before now.

Jungkook nods. “You know why.” he says, a glint in his eyes. “Jimin knows about us.”

Your eyes widen slightly, your mouth falling open. 

“You told him?” you murmur. You’re unsure why - it was only you and Jungkook in the frozen yogurt shop. The teenager behind the counter could care less about your and Jungkook’s secret relationship. “What if he accidentally slips up and tells Jay?”

“I had to.” Jungkook takes another scoop of his frozen yogurt. “He caught on to us.”

You scoff. “How? We’re very discreet!”

Only discrete when Jay was around. However, this was also Jimin. Jimin had a keen eye for these things. He knew of your crush on Jungkook since high school and pondered if, while now in college, if it ever subsided. He kept an eye on you, not reporting back to Jay this time since you were an adult.

Jimin noticed just how close you and Jungkook had become. The wandering eyes whenever you two thought no one was looking. The subtle touches here and there, the smiles and laughter. 

It was painfully obvious - only to him, however.

“Jimin’s not going to tell.” Jungkook assures. 

That didn’t mean Jungkook hadn’t been confronted. Jimin, while Jay and Taehyung were arguing over a game of checkers, both tipsy, had leaned against Jay's kitchen island. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at him - “You’re fucking Y/N.” he stated in a low, hushed tone. 

Jungkook denies it at first, but then he squeezes his hands together. An immediate sign that Jimin was right.

“Jay’s going to kick your ass when he finds out.” Jimin sing-songs. He grabs a bag of chips and turns to walk away. “Secrets safe with me.”

“That doesn’t explain why I’m not invited.” you pout a bit. You wanted to hang out with Jungkook. You didn’t have class tomorrow, either. There was an abundance of things you wanted to do - watch Temptation Island and grow irritated, make clay sculptures like you’ve seen on Tiktok. Sit on his face.

“It’s not that you’re not invited.” Jungkook has reached the bottom of his frozen yogurt by now. “Jimin knows you just can’t keep your hands off of me-”

“Now you’re just full of shit.” you snicker. “It’s you who can’t keep your hands off of me.”

“-and how else are we going to keep our secret when you’re going to be there provoking me?”

You rolled your eyes.

You had every intention of going - and you did.

After you and Jungkook ate frozen yogurt, he had dropped you off at home; Jay being at work. That didn’t mean that you weren’t going to jump into his lap and initiate a makeout session that Jungkook willingly participated in. His arms wrapped around you to hold you close against him while your hands cusp his cheeks.

“You can always come in for a bit.” you hummed against his lips, pecking it a few times. “Jay isn’t off until another hour.”

“That’s risky.” Jungkook squeezes your hips. “Jay will see my car out here and know that I’m in there fucking you good.” he jokes.

You roll your eyes. “Not if you park it down the street.” you hum, rubbing your nose against his. “How would he know? It’ll be dark out by the time he’s off.”

Jungkook pecks your lips. It was insane that he was considering it, right? He never enjoyed saying no to you.

“Especially since you’re planning on leaving me to go to Jimin’s party.” you say against his lips.

“You’re guilt tripping me now?” Jungkook snickers. “I’ll be inside in about five minutes.”

Your smile widens. “Can’t wait.”

Neither could Jungkook.

Even if Jungkook’s conscious knows that doing this with you was risky, it brought such a rush through the both of you. The act of being caught doing something neither of you should be doing just makes you two want to do it even more.

Jungkook’s lips are on you as soon as he enters your bedroom. His hand roams your already naked body, groaning against your lips. “You’re already naked and ready to be fucked.”

“You’re not naked enough.” you respond, tugging at his shirt.

Jungkook leans away from you enough to remove his shirt, throwing it aside. He’s already tugging at his belt, inching to remove his clothes and be closer to you.

Your legs wrap around Jungkook’s waist, bringing him close to you. You loved kissing him. He was a naturally passionate person, as if every time you kiss is the first time. He would savor the taste of your lips, kissing you gently and slowly.

Then there were times when Jungkook's kisses would be needy, kissing you with such intensity. It would grow hot and heavy, his tongue dominating with yours.

“‘wanna make you feel good.” you break the kiss first, your cheeks warm. 

Jungkook allows you to flip him so he’s on his back now. Your pussy is so close to his cock that it throbs. He swallows, licking his lips. “Yeah?”

You nod your head. You decide to tease Jungkook, kissing his soft cheeks, down his jaw to his chin. You make your way towards his neck.

Goosebumps erupt throughout Jungkook’s skin as you begin to kiss from his neck, to his collarbone to his chest. His hands rub along your back as you get lower and lower.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me to go to Jimin’s party.” you say. Your hand wraps around Jungkook’s cock. You glance up at him.

Jungkook bites his lip, gulping once more. “If I don’t go, Jay would be suspicious, don’t you think? I’m always at a party with them.”

You roll your eyes, but Jungkook had a point. Your tongue swipes at his tip, causing him to inhale sharply. 

“I’ll miss you.” you say against his cock, twirling your tongue teasingly around his tip. You can taste the salty pre-cum and you’re determined to have him shaking in the next five minutes.

You enjoyed sucking Jungkook’s cock. 

The act of sucking dick is far more enjoyable when it’s someone you actually liked. Doing this with Jungkook was an activity you highly favored - witnessing the way his breathing would hitch in his throat with each suckle onto his hardened length. The way his thighs would shake a bit as you take him deeper and deeper into your wet mouth. The groans that would come from his own parted lips.

Your eyes would glance up at him to find that his own are fluttering. His head would be drawn back in relaxation.

It would cause your own heat to throb with such need - just like now. You aren’t being quiet as you engulfed his cock into your mouth. Your soft hand is gripped tightly, gripping his cock along with you when you reach the tip.

Jungkook himself is whimpering like a bitch - but it isn’t his fault you’re this good. You suck him as if it brings you pleasure, as well - and maybe in a way, it does. He knows just how wet you get by hearing him moan for you. You’d often clench your thighs together and provoke more moans from his lips and each time, it worked.

“You’re so good at sucking my cock, baby.” Jungkook sighs, a hand resting on your head. “You always look so pretty doing it.”

There goes the throbbing - you were also a sucker for praise just as you were for degradation. Or maybe you were just into whatever as long as it was Jungkook.

Through his lashes, Jungkook witnesses a bit of drool trickle from the corner of your mouth as you take his cock deeper and deeper, your throat tightening around him. He closes his eyes, whining at how good it feels, the pressure building up deep in his stomach. He was never afraid to moan for you, especially when you were treating him so well.

Jungkook’s fingers tightens in your hair and without warning, he pries you off of him. You gag, saliva flying down your chin. Your eyes blink a few times until your blurry vision is clear to look at your boyfriend.

“I wanna cum in you.” Jungkook pants. 

You nod your head hastily, already climbing into Jungkook’s lap. Your thighs widen to and gently,  you sink lower where Jungkook’s cock is already waiting, his palm wrapped firmly around it to assist in entering it inside of you.

“You’re already so wet by just sucking my cock, huh?” Jungkook murmurs, his tip running through your wet folds. “You always get so wet.”

Your walls clench when you feel Jungkook begin to enter you. You whine a bit, the feeling euphoric. One palm lays firmly around your waist, another on your ass as he thrusts upwards. He grips the flesh in his palm, sinking you firmly on top of him.

“You feel so good.” Jungkook gasps.

You take the first initiative to rise and fall, needing to feel him entirely. Jungkook allows you, fully enjoying the way you take control and use him for your own pleasure.

You rocked your hips, mouth fallen open to let out short whines of pleasure when his cock springs inside of you by your own doing. The sight of Jungkook beneath you, completely pussy whipped, sends electricity through you. His staminas always outmatched your own, but this had given you enough will to keep on, completely blissful and full of pride that Jungkook was like this because of you.

“Your cock feels so good, Kookie.” you coo, hovering above his face as your hips buckle more and more, skin slapping echoing off your walls. Your pussy is so wet, gushing out entirely and onto his thighs that it’s nearly unbearable to handle.

“We’re being so loud right now. We can be caught at any moment.” A hand lays onto Jungkook’s cheek, a thumb tracing along his panting lips. Jungkook’s eyes open a bit to look at you - they’re dark and full of lustful bliss. “Maybe I should slow down…”

You’re only teasing him, but Jungkook gives you the reaction you want.

“Please don’t.” Jungkook whines, gripping onto your hips and ass tighter. “You’re so good at this, baby. I love your pussy so much.”

You pick up the pace, bouncing onto Jungkook’s needy cock with every bit of will you have. It hits against your sweet spot and sends jolts of pleasure throughout your body. You couldn’t help but want to fuck him with every fiber of your being; especially with how hot he looked beneath you. 

You press your lips against Jungkook’s firmly, prying them open so your tongue can dance with his. Jungkook’s hips begin to meet you halfway, allowing a more harsher pounding - all until you stop bouncing and let him take control.

It wasn’t a complete mistake, Jungkook knows how to fuck you just as good. Your pussy squelches for him. Squeezing and unsqueezing with each punishing thrust that you were beginning to see stars. 

Your teeth clamp down onto Jungkook’s bottom lip, tugging it slightly. There is a tightness in your stomach with each thrust that has you whimpering against him, your forehead pressed against his. “I want you to cum in me.” you beg, knowing that you were so close and the action was going to be what was going to send you over the edge.

“I know you do.” Jungkook sighs. His thrusts are already sloppy. “You always do, baby. You love having my cum in you, huh? You’re such a fucking whore for me and I love it.”

The pressure subsides when the warmth fills you entirely. You're shaking against Jungkook as his cum fills you up. You let out a tired sigh, slumping onto his chest.

Jungkook’s chest rises and falls as he breathes heavily. His eyes are closed, his cock still inside of you. A hand rubs against your back softly. It was another five minutes until you moved from on top of him to beside him, an arm around his torso.

“Are you coming back later tonight?” you asked, eyes closed. “Jay never comes home after parties.”

Jay also goes to work the next day, which is such a dangerous combo, but you have to applaud his will to get shit faced just 5 hours before he clocks into work.

“Me being here is already risky.” Jungkook responds. He presses his lips into your hair, inhaling the scent prior to pressing a kiss onto it. “Why don’t you just come to mine later? I’m off tomorrow,  too.”

You and Jungkook lay in silence for who knows how long until there’s footsteps heard throughout the home. 

Jay was back. He never enters your room without permission, so you weren’t worried. Quietly, Jungkook begins to dress, the moment not truly ruined, but he wished he had more time with you.

You poke your head out, eyes roaming the hallway to see where Jay had gone. Down the hall, you hear the shower on.

“Coast is clear.” you sing-song, whispering to the man hovering behind you.

You linger at your front door as Jungkook makes his way out. He turns to you for a moment and smirks. “Don’t look so sad, my love.” Jungkook murmurs. He wraps you in a hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’ll have all my attention later.”

You lift your head so Jungkook can press a kiss to your lips - and he does. You knew full and well that you would have his attention later.

Right when you showed up to Jimin’s party.

Jimin was always here when there was drama.

Not in his personal life, of course. But others? He loved it.

Just like now, witnessing you and Jungkook glaring at one another. Both of you are drunk and seething and only he notices it.

It began when you had walked right into the party, a sea of dancing bodies all around the large home. You were none the wiser when you witnessed Jungkook next to a woman - who was obviously flirting with the man, yet he’s as oblivious as he always is. 

Jungkook doesn’t notice you at first, and even if he had it wasn’t as if he was entertaining the woman. He was just too nice to tell her that he had no interest in a conversation. That, and he was terrible at flirting cues - the batting eyelashes, wide smile and constant laughing even if nothing he said was remotely funny.

It was hilarious for Jimin to watch. Especially when Jungkook had finally noticed you. The look in your eyes as your eyes glanced between the two of them. It was as if a light bulb flashed in Jungkook’s mind, and he finally realized that the girl wanted more than a conversation.

Jungkook couldn’t pursue you here without appearing suspicious. Jay hadn’t noticed your presence yet, and Jimin doubted he would. He was already drunk and upstairs participating in beer pong to know that his sister was downstairs in a rather tight dress that revealed more than he would approve of.

Jimin began to watch you and Jungkook as if it was his favorite reality show. You downed shot after shot, ignoring Jungkook entirely. When he would get close enough to catch your attention, you would turn on your heel and go somewhere else entirely.

An hour in now and Jungkook was leaning against a wall not too far from you. He watches you with annoyed, yet interested, eyes as you dance. You were enjoying yourself, he thinks, or maybe you were enjoying ignoring him while you know he watches you closely.

Jungkook doesn’t step up as he watches you, beer bottle in hand. He sips it.

Jungkook doesn’t step up until there’s a man directly behind you. Jimin watches, his eyes glancing between a now more puzzled Jungkook and you, an equally puzzled expression.

It happens so slow in Jimin’s eyes. The way Jungkook storms over, pushing the dancing bodies away to get right between the man - who is an acquaintance - and you. There’s a few words exchanged that Jimin cannot make out of, but he reads Jungkook’s lips and he’s sure he’s telling the man to fuck right off.

Jimin takes a shot as Jungkook turns to you, his eyes glaring just as yours are, but neither of you speak. It was so dramatic, he thinks, the loud music. Sea of people surrounding the two of you, yet he’s positive that at this moment, it’s just you and Jungkook. The music in your ears is dying down and the people are just blurs in the background.

That, or maybe Jimin was so drunk that he was making a whole plot in his head.

“You’re drunk.” Jungkook says.

“So are you.” you retort. “Where’s your friend?”

“You know who my friends are.”

You cross your arms. “Do I?”

Jungkook watches you for a moment. He had watched you the entire time, tight dress riding up your thighs with each sway of your hips before the man had come and attempted to dance with you. An action he was never going to allow, no matter how upset you were with him.

“I’ve been watching you since you came in.” Jungkook speaks.

Jimin rarely dims the lights, but he feels as though now it’s needed. For this moment, he thinks. On his phone, he does just that. 

Thank God for smart lights. 

Jungkook would thank him for allowing him some sort of privacy - especially if Jay suddenly appears and witnesses this. Now, you and Jungkook blended perfectly into the crowd of dancing bodies.

“I bet you have.”

Jungkook feels more comfortable touching you now that the scene was darker. The music is upbeat enough for the both of you to keep up. He turns you around, placing his hands onto your hips. 

“You’ve been distracting me.”

You decide to do what you were doing prior, swaying your hips now against Jungkook instead of alone by yourself.

“You must want to get caught.”

The small quarrel you and he were having appeared to have diminished, unknowingly to them because of Jimin and the lack of light. It was easier now to blend with people that couldn’t truly see you unless they were close. 

“You’re the one behind me.” you respond. “Maybe it’s you that wants to get caught.”

Jungkook’s lips are on your neck, his hands gripping tighter to keep you firmly against him. 

“You look so good in this dress.” Jungkook says against your neck. “You knew what you were doing coming here in this.”

You were already warm, but Jungkook was now making you hot. You and he continue dancing, his hands roaming your body for whatever feel he could get. 

“Suddenly you’re not afraid of getting caught.” your head leans back and turns to look up at him. Those eyes are familiar, you think. The yearning eyes he has whenever he wants to bend you over and fuck you. 

“No one’s really watching us now, are they?” Jungkook’s hands roam upwards past your breast and onto your chin.

Jimin has to admit that a drunk Jungkook was a far bolder one. He watches him place his lips onto yours, all the while you and he sway against the beat. This was far better than any reality tv he’s watched.

Your lips dance with Jungkook, completely uncaring about being in a room full of people who both knew you and him - together or separately. As of right now, it was just you and Jungkook, both of your minds swirling with liquid courage.

“I want you.” you pant against his lips. 

“What happened to playing hard to get?” Jungkook chuckles, pecking your lips once more. 

“We can go upstairs.” you murmur, turning to face him.

“Jay is upstairs.”

It’s as though Jungkook suddenly remembers where you and he are at. His eyes glances around, ensuring that no one has been watching you. Of course, he doesn’t notice Jimin.

“Can’t we go home then?” you pout. You grab his hands and slightly squeeze them. “I need you.”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek.  “Now?” he questions. 

You nod your head. You come closer to him, tugging his hand. “I’m so wet.” you murmur. “Just feel.”

Jungkook swallows. You’re dangerously close. Your eyes watch him just as his hand discreetly goes between your legs and swipe at your clothed clit.

Wet wasn’t the word - drenched was.Your cotton panties were doing a good job at concealing your arousal, but Jungkook groans at just feeling how excited you were.

“Fuck, baby.”

Jungkook grabs a hold of your hand. “Follow me.”

The bathrooms were occupied. Jungkook wasn’t going to risk trying the one upstairs and bumping into Jay. He had promised to meet him later on for a game of beer pong, and he never turned down a game so leaving before that wasn’t going to happen.

“What if we get caught here?”

The sun room is the only part of the house that’s empty, as strange as it was. It’s dark out and the frosted glass on the walls allows a bit of privacy. The top of said sun room has regular glass windows where the moon and stars shine just bright enough for Jungkook and you to see one another.

“Isn’t that what makes this fun?” Jungkook smirks. He closes the door behind you and him, the music muffled. “Imagine someone coming out here and finding me fucking you?”

You lick your lips, clenching your thighs together. 

Jimin’s sunroom was simple, a round rug that held a round coffee table and four surrounding chairs. A few plants surround the room, some tall while others not. 

“Please fuck me, Kook.”

Jungkook grunts. “You’re that desperate?” he scoffs.

You are. You don’t want foreplay or anything - you just want his cock buried deep inside of you.

You lean against a chair, hiking up your dress. Jungkook is just as needy, undoing his belt and pushing his pants down.

“You’re such a fucking whore, Y/N. So cock hungry that you’re willing to get fucked anywhere.”

Jungkook’s fingers hook between your panties and shoves them down. Your glistening cunt welcomes him and without much thought, he dives in.

You and Jungkook aren’t even trying to be quiet. His hips snap and he’s fucking you with such punishing - yet delicious - speed. Your ass bounces against him, pussy squelching loudly as the sound of skin slapping dances around the room.

“My pretty girl,” Jungkook grunts. In and out, in and out - he fucks you with such need. Your pussy hypnotizes him and all he can focus on is the way you cream against his cock, whimpering and begging for more. “you’re such a good little whore, Y/N. Fuck,” he lets out a strangled groan. “all mine. I’m all yours, too.”

Your eyes glances at the shut door, adrenaline rushing through you at the thought of someone finding you and Jungkook in here. His fucking you with such greed, showing you and anyone else who saw that you were his.

That finally Jeon Jungkook was yours, and no one else. After silently crushing on him since your youth, now you and Jungkook are together. He was as yours just as much as you were his.

“I love you so much, Kook~”

It was easier saying it seeing as you’ve said it before - countless times. All those back when he thought of you as a little sister. Now, however, it causes his heart to jolt in his chest and the familiar pressure in his stomach to return. “Fuck,” Jungkook hisses, coming closer to you. “I-I love you, too.”

It didn’t feel weird saying - Jungkook did love you. It was more complicated now, only because of your brother, but he didn’t feel like he said it out of lust. He genuinely did have love for you, far more than he had when you and he were children.

Jungkook shoots warm cum deep inside of you, his right hand reaching between your legs to rub at your clit. You’re gripping his cock, thighs shaking with overstimulation until you’re cumming all over him.

“Oh,”

The door opens for a moment and Taehyung walks halfway through it before noticing Jungkook and you. His eyes are wide and slowly, he begins to back out. “I see the room’s already taken. Fuck,” he hisses.

The door closes and for a moment, Jungkook and you are silent.

“Is he…”

“He’s drunk.” Jungkook assures. “He’s not going to remember walking in here.”

Jungkook pulls your panties back up and your dress down before fixing himself. You sit slump against the chair to catch your breath.

“We should tell Jay.” 

Your eyes glances at Jungkook who sits besides you in another seat.

You bite your lip.

“It doesn’t have to be now or even a month from now.” Jungkook says. “But…we can’t keep this secret forever. I can’t keep pretending to hold it together around you.”

You softly smile, recalling the way Jungkook had glared daggers at the man before.

“And neither can you.”

Jungkook’s teasing, but you’re fully aware of that yourself. Your hand tangles with his and he brings it to his lips. 

“Until then,” you give him a playful smile. “you’re still going to fuck me when he’s asleep down the hall?”

Jungkook laughs aloud. “Of course.” he says - because the act of sneaking into your room as if you and he were horny teenagers in a forbidden romance was fun.

trivia-yandere: hopefully this final part satiates you guys :3

@sweetempathprunetree @investedreader @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious @momnomnom @dreamersparacosm @deeznutkooks @purple-realms @jenniebyrubies @ahgasegotarmy116 @marylight098 @matryoshka-poetry @laross860 @jimineepaboya @joonislife @vsr4197 @amyelbahary08 @jkmyyou

[muniimyg]

..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. arirang // jjk ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ.

when life gives you lemons, make pink lemonade

+

jungkook is freshly single after a long term relationship. oc has never really committed to anyone. in between their understanding of casual—two lines appear on a stick—and suddenly leaving, staying, and loving are something else entirely

kimi's note ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა // m.list

nsfw is applied in all my content + fluff , angst , and crack .

— info

accidental pregnancy / parents to be au

strangers / friends to lovers

age gap / slice of life / slow burn

— parts

1: you again

2: iced americano and pink lemonade

3: why wouldn't i?

4: still boring

5: hi, baby

6: i want you

7: clingy? me? yes, you

8: change

9: right now

10: home

11: you tie my shoes and i love you

12/13/14/15

˗ˏˋ© 2026 muniimyg on tumblrˎˊ˗

[ifwmikah]

CABIN

──── Life's been pretty hectic already. But getting mindlessly fingered on a full flight, surrounded by people didn't really work on your stressful mind, or did it?

❪ 전정국 ❫ ㅤㅤ: : ㅤㅤ♱ ㅤㅤ18+ nsfw MDNI.ᐟ ㅤㅤJungkook x Female!Reader ㅤㅤslice of life idol AU hectic life ㅤㅤcw ⫶ ⫶ smut physical intimacy mentally and physically wiped characters flight airplane intimacy flirting dirty talk fingering teasing humiliation and degradation if you squint public edging crying arousal begging scratching orgasm use of pet names ㅤㅤwc ⫶ ⫶ 2.5k+

❪ Taglist ❫ ㅤㅤ: : ㅤㅤ@j0cgr0c. ㅤㅤcomment to join the taglist.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ──── ୨୧ ────

You’re humming under your breath to the wild beat hammering through your headphones, thumbs flying across the screen to shoot your mom a quick “I’m good, about to lose signal” before the plane seals everything off. The cabin lights have that soft, pre-takeoff glow, recycled air humming around you.

You tilt your head and sneak a peek beside you. His phone screen lights up his face as he taps post on the shot on his story that he snapped minutes ago, casual as hell, like he isn’t about to spark another wave of chaos online.

“Aren’t you wiped?” you murmur, voice low against the engine rumble, pocketing your phone while your knee brushes the armrest between you.

He sighs, deep and gravelly, eyes following your movements as he tucks his own phone away. “Yeah. Fucking drained. But the timeline would riot if I didn’t drop proof I’m still alive and kicking, angel.” His gaze lingers on you a second too long in the dim light.

“Aww.” You grin wide, wriggling your eyebrows in that exaggerated way that always feels a little ridiculous mid-flight.

His fans really do live rent-free in his chest—like the kind of devotion most people only fake in group chats.

You hold his gaze for another long moment, letting the quiet stretch, before you finally sink back into the seat with a slow sigh. Your shoulders loosen, melting into the thin cushion as the plane’s low hum settles deeper into your bones.

“You should sleep,” you mumble, voice already softening at the edges while your eyes flutter shut. “It’s gonna be a long one.”

Since the tour kicked off, the two of you have been bouncing between cities nonstop—private jets most days, but tonight it’s a regular flight, seats that still feel too tight for the distance ahead.

The other members are scattered a few rows up and back, mixed in with strangers who’ve already gone quiet. The whole cabin holds its breath, nothing but the low drone of engines and the occasional shift of someone trying to get comfortable.

This haul from New York back to Seoul stretches out like it might never end, two continents and an ocean sitting heavy between takeoff and touchdown.

You feel it in the way your body sinks into the seat, the faint buzz of altitude pressing against your ears while his presence stays warm and solid right beside you.

You were planning on drifting off.

Almost did.

His hand settles on your thigh like it belongs there, warm through the thin fabric, the kind of casual cling that’s become background noise between you two. Nothing wild. Just the steady weight of it grounding you against the plane’s constant vibration.

Until it doesn’t stay put.

His fingers start sliding higher, slow and deliberate, tracing the seam of your pants with enough intent that your breath catches for half a second.

Then his hand lifts away completely. A beat of nothing but the plane’s steady rumble fills the space.

You figure he’s finally tapping out, drifting toward sleep like you should be doing.

Until his fingers slip right under the waistband of your sweatpants and dip beneath the edge of your panties in one smooth move. Your eyes snap open, pulse kicking hard as the sudden heat of his skin meets yours.

Your head snaps toward him, breath hitching sharp in your throat the second his palm presses fully over your mound, warm and unhurried like he owns the space.

He’s leaned all the way back against the headrest, eyes closed, face the picture of calm relaxation while his fingers move with quiet confidence between your legs.

Your hand flies up on instinct, covering his, torn between shoving him off and holding him right there as he drags a slick finger slowly through your folds, spreading the growing wetness with lazy precision.

“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath, nails biting into the back of his hand. “Jungkook.”

“Hmm, angel?” His voice comes out low and raspy, lazy as hell, like he’s half-dreaming while his fingertip circles your entrance with deliberate care. You have to force your racing thoughts to slow for a second just to form words.

“What are you doing?” you manage, voice barely above a whisper.

“Keeping you from dying of boredom on this endless flight,” he mumbles, low and rough like the words scrape straight from his throat.

“We ca—” The protest dies in a sharp yet low, involuntary gasp as he suddenly pushes one thick finger inside you, stretching the tight heat with zero hesitation. Your walls clench around the intrusion, slick and fluttering while the rest of your body stays frozen in the seat.

His eyes finally slit open, dark and focused, and he leans in close enough that his breath ghosts your ear. “Shh. Wouldn’t want the whole cabin knowing how easily I can entertain you, would you?” He eases back just enough to lock eyes with you, holding that charged stare as he slides a second finger in alongside the first.

The fullness hits deep and sudden, forcing a quick, ragged inhale through your nose while pleasure sparks hot up your spine in the middle of all that quiet altitude hum.

He starts moving his fingers with purpose, slow at first, then building into a steady, curling rhythm that drags against that perfect spot inside you every time.

The slick sound is faint but obscene under the plane’s drone, your arousal coating his knuckles as he works you open deeper, scissoring just enough to make your thighs tremble against the seat.

Your mind blanks for a second, heat flooding your cheeks while pleasure coils tight and low in your belly. You slap one hand over your mouth halfway through a broken moan, teeth sinking into your palm to muffle the noise, eyes squeezing shut as another wave rolls through you.

The other hand remains on his arm, nails raking hard over his forearm and the back of his hand where it disappears beneath your waistband, digging in like you can’t decide if you want to yank him out or force him deeper.

He doesn’t stop. His fingers thrust faster, thumb pressing firm circles over your swollen clit, the pressure relentless and filthy in the cramped space.

Every curl sends sparks shooting up your spine, your walls fluttering and clenching greedily around him, soaking his hand as quiet, wet sounds mix with your ragged breathing.

You’re biting harder into your palm now, body arching just slightly into his touch despite yourself, the risk of the quiet cabin only making everything sharper, hotter.

“Fuck, you’re dripping, angel,” he breathes, voice dark and amused, fingers pumping steadily while his thumb keeps that maddening rhythm.

Your nails scratch down his arm again, leaving red trails, but he just chuckles low, adding a third finger that stretches you so full your eyes water and a whimper slips past your fingers.

The pleasure builds heavy and urgent, your hips twitching helplessly into his hand, chasing the friction while you fight to stay silent, every nerve lit up and screaming in the middle of thirty-thousand feet of nothing but thin air and the very real chance someone might glance back.

He keeps that brutal rhythm going, fingers plunging deep and curling just right while his thumb grinds tight circles over your swollen clit, pushing you right to the edge.

Your thighs shake, walls pulsing hard around him as the pressure coils tighter and tighter in your core, so close you can almost taste it—hot, blinding, right there.

Then he stops.

His fingers still completely inside you, buried knuckle-deep but motionless, thumb lifting away from your throbbing clit.

The sudden denial hits like a slap, leaving you hanging on that razor-sharp edge, body screaming for release while nothing comes.

You almost cry out, a frustrated whimper catching in your throat behind your palm as tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes.

Your hips twitch desperately against his hand, chasing any friction, but he holds perfectly still, letting you feel every thick inch of his fingers stretching you without giving an inch more.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing against your ear as he leans in again, lips brushing the shell like he’s savoring your desperation.

“Not yet. I want you to realise that you shouldn't have tried to stop me before I let you fall apart.” His fingers give one lazy, shallow pump—just enough to make your walls flutter wildly around him—then stop again, thumb hovering maddeningly close without touching.

You scratch harder at his arm, nails dragging red lines as fresh slick leaks around his knuckles, your whole body trembling with the ache of being held right there, denied, while the plane hums on like nothing filthy is happening in the dark.

He leans in closer, breath hot. “Look at you… so fucking greedy. You gonna cry for it, angel?” Another tiny curl of his fingers, then stillness, dragging the torture out until you’re biting your palm bloody trying not to beg out loud.

Every tiny shift sends fresh sparks through your overstimulated nerves, your pussy clenching helplessly around the thick stretch while slick drips steadily down his hand and soaks into the fabric of your sweatpants.

You’re shaking now, thighs pressed tight together like that might force some relief, but it only traps his wrist there, making everything wetter and hotter.

Tears blur your vision as the denied orgasm throbs painfully in your core, so close it hurts. You press your palm harder against your mouth, muffling the broken, needy sounds that keep trying to escape, while your other hand claws frantically at his forearm, nails digging crescents into his skin like punishment for stopping.

“Please…” The word slips out muffled and pathetic behind your fingers before you can stop it.

He chuckles softly, dark and satisfied, lips grazing your ear again. “Please what, angel? Use your words.” He gives one slow, torturous thrust, curling perfectly against that spot before freezing again, thumb brushing feather-light over your pulsing clit only to pull away.

The tease is cruel, leaving you right on the brink, body wound so tight you feel like you might snap. More tears slip down your cheeks as frustration and overwhelming want crash through you, hips rolling shamelessly against his still hand, chasing anything.

“You’re making such a mess,” he whispers, voice thick with amusement while he holds you there, suspended in that agonizing edge.

Another shallow pump, then nothing, the denial dragging on until your whole lower body feels electric and raw, every breath a struggle not to sob out loud in the silent cabin.

Your hips jerk desperately against his unmoving fingers, tears slipping freely now as the ache becomes unbearable. “Please,” you repeat, voice a wrecked whisper behind your palm, broken and shaky. “Please let me come… I need it so bad, fuck—please.”

He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your ear like he’s been waiting for exactly that. “That’s it. Beg so pretty for me, angel.”

Then he finally moves—fingers thrusting hard and fast, curling relentlessly against that spot while his thumb presses firm, perfect circles over your swollen clit.

The sudden onslaught rips a muffled cry from your throat, your hand barely containing it as pleasure slams into you like a wave.

Your walls clamp down tight around his fingers, pulsing wildly as the orgasm crashes through you, hot and blinding. Slick gushes around his knuckles, soaking his hand and the seat beneath you while your thighs shake uncontrollably, toes curling hard in your shoes.

He doesn’t stop, working you through every shuddering aftershock, drawing it out until you’re whimpering and twitching, oversensitive and spent.

Your nails rake down his arm one last time as the intensity peaks and slowly ebbs, leaving you boneless and panting against the headrest, tears still wet on your cheeks and your pussy fluttering weakly around his fingers. The cabin stays mercifully quiet, engines droning on like nothing just wrecked you completely in the dark.

He finally eases his fingers out of you with a wet, obscene sound that makes your cheeks burn hotter.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, still fluttering from the aftershocks, leaving you slick and empty and strangely aching for more even as your body tries to settle.

Then he lifts his hand, glistening with your release, and holds two fingers right in front of your lips. The scent of you is thick in the small space between you.

“Open,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding, that teasing edge still there. “It’s rude not to clean up your own mess, don’t you think?”

Your heart stutters. Still hazy and trembling from the orgasm, you part your lips without thinking, leaning forward just enough to take his fingers into your mouth.

The taste of yourself hits your tongue—tangy, warm, unmistakably filthy—as you suck obediently, tongue swirling around his knuckles to lick every drop.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light, cheeks hollowing while you clean him thoroughly, the act sending another shameful throb through your spent core.

He watches you the whole time, breathing a little heavier, thumb brushing your bottom lip when you finally pull back with a soft, wet pop.

He leans in close, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, lips grazing the shell as he whispers, “We’re definitely finishing this when we land. Don’t you think?”

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ──── ୨୧ ────

The car hums along the familiar streets, city lights streaking past the window.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the quiet from the passenger seat, half-laughing as he eyes the angry red scratches running down his arm. “I swear I saw you board with us. How the hell did you pick up marks like that in fifteen hours? Looks like you wrestled a damn tiger.”

You keep your arms folded tight over your chest, staring hard out the window from the backseat, cheeks still warm from the memory of how those marks got there.

The less eye contact, the better.

“Tiger… or maybe a tigress,” he replies, that grin evident in his tone even if you refuse to look.

Yoongi snorts, unimpressed. “Whatever. Not curious enough to dig. Light’s red.” Yoongi mumbles, as Jungkook pulls the car to a halt by the red light.

You finally risk a glance forward and catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, dark and knowing.

The second your gazes lock, he winks—slow, filthy, full of promise. Heat floods your face all over again.

You snap your eyes back to the buildings, thighs pressing together at the fresh reminder of exactly what kind of trouble you let yourself in for.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ──── ୨୧ ────

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𝒮.𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : : closed and completed. (Oneshot)

© Ifwmikah, 2026.

[muniimyg]

..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ. arirang // jjk ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ.

11: you tie my shoes and i love you // series m.list // no taglist

note: here it is !! the long awaited update. enj my loves <3

//

life with jungkook begins again that sunday morning. 

it felt a little strange to wake up next to him. to stir awake in his arms, nuzzled in the crook of his neck, with your legs tangled together under the sheets. his morning kisses still felt the same, even though you both know deep down that something has changed between you two.

something has shifted.

yet, it’s so unspoken that even your thoughts fail to construct themselves. everything just feels so delicate—like one (more) wrong move and everything between you two will become fragments of a sad love story untold. it claws your heart in so many agonizing ways.

the confusion, hurt, and fear.

so much fucking fear.

when did you become capable of this? of loving someone so much it made you conscious of yourself? or of being loved someone so much that every decision big or small effects them too?

... and you think he'll bring it up. you hold your breath every time there's a passing moment of silence between you two. you prepare yourself mentally for his questions or for the clarity he craves and deserves but is stuck fogged up in your chest... and perhaps it’s the sleepy morning sex or the exchanges of coffee kisses, but it doesn’t come up. 

instead, he is gentle.

instead, his silence is rest, reassurance, and trust.

instead he is unconditional and his arms stay open no matter how much you anticipate for him to close off.

it drives you a little crazy... how you haven’t even apologized for anything… because, yes. there are things to apologize for. you aren’t completely sure what, but you know you should apologize for something. that’s the mature thing to do, right? 

to give in first. 

the bed is empty when jungkook wakes up.

his arm searches for you out of habit, eyes still closed as he reaches across the mattress and is met with… nothing. jungkook’s brows twitch faintly, eyes opening slowly only to see that the sheets beside him are wrinkled. he places his hand on your spot and notices that it’s cold. 

it probably has been for a while. 

quickly, he tries to recall anything you said last night and is quickly stumped. the school semester is over and there’s no way you would be meeting up with ambi this early in the day. what else could it be? what could be so important for you to leave him in the morning?

you two are okay again. 

finally fucking okay. 

he’s so grateful.

to be with you again… feels indescribable. though he acknowledges everything that happened between you two, he doesn’t feel the need to talk about it. at least, not right now. not when everything feels close to perfect. 

at the same time, he’s prepared if you want to talk about it—talk about everything and nothing. from the timeline, his apology drafts in his notes app, and his key points of devotion for you—all of it.

everything. 

he has everything ready for you. if you want it, he’ll give it to you… you just have to ask. 

jungkook sits up, refusing his thoughts to go any further. it’s too early to be sad, and he has to at least give the day a chance before the sun comes up. so, he rubs his eyes and sits in it. 

in this terrible feeling of waking up without you and not knowing where you are. 

his chest tightens before he can stop it.

it’s ridiculous, honestly… how quickly his mind drifts these days. it embarrasses him a little because it’s so pathetic. really, it is. what grown thirty-six year old man yearns like this?

you leave once and suddenly every absence feels catastrophic. 

a bathroom door closed too long, a missed phone call, or waking up without your body beside his… it’s like his brain reacts before logic can catch up. 

like he’s been pushed off a boat and left to swim toward shore through violent waters, lungs burning while he searches desperately for something stable to hold onto. as a matter of fact, he thinks his lungs could collapse if you leave again. it’s like love has rewired his nervous system into something fearful and feral all at once. 

before you left, jungkook never knew panic could feel so physical.

now it lives inside his body and takes over when moments like this happens. 

empty sheets. 

silence. 

and the worst part is that he knows it isn’t fair.

you came back.

you chose him again.

yet some wounded-bunny part of him still braces for abandonment, like it’s inevitable now. like happiness has become something so borrowed, so almost. like if he loosens his grip for even a second, you’ll disappear from his life all over again and this time he won’t survive it nearly as gracefully.

because the first time nearly killed him.

all that remains now is this terrifying awareness of how much he loves you, how much he has to lose, and how much he has given up. 

… then his heart skips a beat. 

the faint sound of cabinets closing, ceramic against marble, and the coffee machine humming quietly from the kitchen cause him to exhale in relief. 

it leaves him slower than it should.

he drags a hand down his face, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. grounding himself. waking himself up properly before his brain starts doing cruel things again.

everything is okay. 

it has to be.

you came back.

you’ve been sleeping in his arms. you let him kiss you every morning with sleepy lips and warm hands beneath his shirt like none of this was ever impossible… but, fuck. 

still.

there’s something fragile in the air. 

something that feels one breath away from collapsing again.

as much as jungkook hates to admit it, he feels it in the way you sometimes hesitate before touching him. he wasn’t sure what it was before, but now he can’t help but notice it because it happens often enough to worry him. it happens enough for him to feel the need to prepare to run after you. it happens enough to scare the living shit out of him. 

it’s in the way you look at him like you’re trying to predict which version of him you’re going to get. it’s in the way both of you speak softer now.

careful.

conscious.

afraid. 

it hurts jungkook deeply as he realizes that love has suddenly become something breakable… and he can’t even find it in himself to blame you for that.

he’s thought about it over and over again lately—trying to understand you without resenting you for the distance between you two. you’ve never done this before. you have never depended on anyone before. you have never put anything down. how can he blame you for not knowing what lightweight feels like when you have carried so much for so long? 

yet, he feels helpless. 

it feels like he’s always standing in front of you holding flowers while you struggle to carry a glass vase already slipping from your hands.

there are places for you to set it down. places to rest. people willing to help. he is willing to help… but you refuse every time. you insist you can hold it on your own, even as the weight starts making your hands shake. and whenever jungkook reaches forward to steady it, you stumble back so quickly the vase nearly slips altogether.

so where does that leave him?

standing there helplessly while the flowers wilt in his hands… or stepping closer and risking you dropping everything entirely?

jungkook finds you standing in the kitchen all dressed up.

your hair is tied back perfectly with a few strands loosely framing your pretty face. his first thought is; wow. you look so grown up.

he's never seen you look so mature. he can’t help but smile because wow... aren't you just the prettiest sight. he can't get over it. every second of you feels so new. he indulges in your delight.

he loves every detail.

you're wearing heels! he's never seen you in heels before. in fact, he didn't know you owned a pair.

“___,” he says, breath taken away. “you look so pretty.”

jungkook walks toward you slowly, like sudden movements might scare you away again. his hands slide around your waist from behind, palms warm against your stomach.

“morning,” you murmur.

then, you melt into him automatically. in response, he presses his mouth against your temple first.

then your cheek.

then finally your lips.

jungkook kisses you longer than usual. perhaps it’s because of his little morning scare, or maybe it’s because your look is really getting him in the mood. his thumb brushes softly over your stomach through your blouse.

“did we have plans today?” he asks against your mouth. “so early. come back to bed. you're gorgeous in this, but i want to take it off you.”

you give him a funny look. 

he tilts his head in confusion. 

“it’s my orientation today.”

you say it like you’ve talked about it nonstop. 

you haven’t. 

jungkook would’ve taken note… he couldn’t have missed this. he wouldn’t have. 

“orientation?” he asks. “for what?”

“for the internship.”

and just like that… everything shifts.

again.

it’s subtle.

so subtle that maybe nobody else would notice it.

but you notice and jungkook stills behind you.

not fully, but just enough. his arms loosen slightly around your waist. his mouth parts like he’s about to say something reassuring first before his confusion catches up to him.

“… you’re still doing it?”

you nod once, turning toward the coffee machine.

“what does that mean?” you reply with a hint of a defensive tone. “when did i say i wasn't going through with it?”

the internship. 

you did mention it… before the fight. before everything, but not recently. 

and when did you two decide on this? when was this discussed and taken into consideration in terms of where you are in your pregnancy and where you two are emotionally? isn’t this too much on your plate? and fuck. 

seriously. 

did he really forget about the internship?

then it hits him.

maybe part of him just assumed that your life would slow down now. he assumed things would change. jungkook assumed you’d stay tucked safely inside the little world he was already building around you.

the realization makes guilt crawl beneath his skin almost instantly.

because he knows how that sounds.

controlling.

selfish.

but beneath all of it is something uglier.

fear.

he thinks about you struggling to get comfortable at night. your swollen ankles and he way you wince getting out of bed sometimes when you think he’s asleep. the way he caught you crying in the bathroom last week because your body “doesn’t feel like yours anymore.”

most of all, he’s afraid of being the one thing you choose to down. 

and now you want to work? the school semester just ended for you… shouldn’t you take a break? 

jungkook swallows hard.

“when were you gonna tell me?”

“i'm confused... jungkook, i'm pretty sure i’ve mentioned it,” you say rather passively. “if i didn’t, then i guess i’m telling you now.” your voice stays light, but he hears the defensiveness tucked inside it immediately.

his jaw tightens.

“i just thought maybe…” he pauses carefully. “maybe you weren’t doing it anymore. i mean, with all things considered.”

you finally look at him then.

“all things considered?”

“___, you’re pregnant. you’re about to give birth in like… a month and a half. besides, these kinds of things require more of a discussion, decision, and compromise between the both of us. you can’t just do things without telling me or considering me. us, i mean. you, me, the baby… be honest… did you really think this thing through?”

the words fall heavier than he intends and your expression shifts almost instantly.

jungkook feels regret stab through him immediately.

“baby, i just mean—”

“i applied for this before the pregnancy. i’m sorry if i didn’t consider you then and this is happening now,” your voice stays calm, but your shoulders tense beneath his hands. “this is important to me.”

“i know that,” jungkook agrees. 

“do you?”

“i never said it wasn’t.” jungkook exhales. “of course i do.” his voice softens as he reaches for you. “i wanna support you. i do, baby. i just… i don't think the timing is good at all. your plate is too full.”

he looks down briefly, trying to organize feelings that all sound terrible out loud... because the truth is that he doesn’t think this internship is worth it. he doesn’t want you exhausted. he doesn’t want strangers stressing you out or overworking yourself. 

he doesn’t want you to need anything but him. 

and maybe that last thought is the problem.

“___, i don’t think you’re being reasonable with yourself right now,” he says carefully. “can you even do this? you can barely tie your own shoes these days.”

your face hardens immediately and jungkook realizes too late that his words slipped out too easily. too thoughtless.

fuck.

the second the words leave his mouth, he wants them back.

you go still.

completely still.

jungkook watches your throat bob once before you gently pull away from him. not dramatic or angry and somehow that makes it worse.

“okay,” you murmur.

“that’s not—”

“it’s fine, jungkook.” you tell him. “it’s okay. we can disagree on this. but i’m still going today and i hope you can be more supportive about this when we talk it over later.”

suddenly he feels it again.

that horrible distance.

like he’s standing right in front of you but somehow losing you anyway.

“a-and i’m not trying to be selfish, just so you know. i’m doing this for our future too. i’m doing this so i have stability for myself and don’t depend on you. i know you can do the heavy lifting. i know you can pay for the mortgage and buy me a house with a white picket fence if i ask nicely—i get it. but do you get that i’m not asking you to? that this internship is for me,” you say quietly, staring down into your coffee. “this was before you and the baby. this is the last thing i get to do for myself before i devote the rest of my fucking life to you and the baby. do you get that?”

“is devoting to us so bad?” jungkook hisses. “what the fuck are you even saying, ___?”

“i would love to lie in bed and just be yours,” you confess. “but i would never forgive myself for not doing more. for not following through with my passions and abilities just because i…”

because i love you.

you pause. 

jungkook searches for your eyes. 

“can you just trust me, jungkook?” you plead. “this isn’t about you, the baby, or any of that—”

“any of our life together?”

“stop,” you breathe. “please stop.”

guilt blooms hot in his chest because he understands what you mean immediately.

pregnancy has consumed everything.

your body.

your routines.

your future.

your relationship.

everyone looks at you differently and handles you differently.

especially him.

and maybe somewhere along the way, protecting you started feeling dangerously close to controlling you.

jungkook rubs a hand over his mouth.

the kitchen suddenly feels too small.

too warm.

“i don’t think you understand me right now,” you sigh eventually. “i’m going to be late if i try to explain myself even more. i’m in no mood to start a fight, and i get that asking you to understand may feel unfair… but fuck, jungkook… please?” you ask as you reach for your bag.

instantly panic flares inside him immediately.

“wait.”

you pause.

“let me drive you.” he’s already stepping back toward the hallway. “i just have to change.”

hesitation flickers across your face. it’s small and brief, but it’s still enough to make his stomach twist.

“... w-what? do you not want me to?”

“i do want you to... it's just that...” you say softly. “jimin offered already. he’s outside.”

jungkook stops moving.

“he helped me get the internship,” you add quickly. “he wanted to send me off.”

and there it is.

that sharp ugly feeling.

jealousy.

resentment.

mixed with something bitter and exhausted.

of course it’s jimin again.

of course someone else gets to stand beside you during important moments while jungkook somehow keeps ending up on the outside of them. his tongue presses hard against the inside of his cheek.

“… why are we fucking stuck here?” jungkook sighs. “why… why are we here again, ___?”

you close your eyes immediately.

not angry.

tired.

“please,” you whisper. “i don’t wanna fight.”

“this isn’t fighting.”

“then don’t make it one.”

jungkook laughs quietly under his breath.

a humorless sound.

“jungkook, this isn’t about him.”

“right,” he mutters. “and it’s never about me either.”

the second he says it, your face falls.

he knows he’s putting you in a tough spot. he knows this is near pointless. he knows he’s just being a jerk that woke up on the wrong side of the bed—but he also knows that the shit he’s saying is true. that he has pushed them down far enough. 

but two things can be true at once. your truth and his. 

this isn’t fair. 

he knows you’re trying.

he can literally see you trying as you step toward him slowly, lips pouting a little as your fingers reach for his wrist.

“i have to go,” you lean up to kiss him goodbye. “have a good day, okay?”

and god.

he wants to let you.

he wants to melt immediately.

he wants to wrap his arms around you and apologize and tell you he’s just scared all the time now. he wants to stop time and find a way to rewind this morning just so he can be kinder, softer, and more yours… 

because right now he’s so scared of losing you.

scared of hurting you.

scared that he’s already becoming the kind of man you’ll eventually resent.

but the jealousy, hurt, and misunderstanding get there first. so instead of kissing you goodbye and wishing you luck, jungkook takes a small step back… and the look on your face after nearly fucking kills him.

you try to hide it.

you really do.

but he sees the way embarrassment flashes across your expression before you lower your hand. you blink at him before attempting to smile. then, you turn around and leave. 

the door closes softly behind you, soft enough that it feels intentional and it absolutely kills him. it’s like even now, you’re still trying to protect his feelings.

jungkook stands there staring at the door long after you’re gone.

his chest aches.

the building where your internship is makes you feel so grown up.

it’s exactly the way you imagined it would be with the cold glass stretching high into the clouds and the polished marble floors. 

the space is filled with employees and their quick footsteps. at one point, you notice a group of girls your age with prettier resumes than yours clipped neatly onto lanyards hanging from their necks and it makes you feel a little worried.

then you realize… you’re already in.

they’re applying.

pride blooms in your chest.

then, you turn your head to follow a scent. everything smells expensive. you can't differentiate what has you in a trance. could it be the coffee, the different perfumes the linger, or the building itself?

you stand in the lobby smoothing your hands nervously over the front of your blouse while orientation assistants direct people around with bright smiles and practiced voices.

you feel good.

really good.

important, almost.

like yourself again.

not somebody’s girlfriend not girlfriend.  not somebody’s future wife. not somebody’s mother. not a student anymore… 

just… you.

your name.

your accomplishments.

your ambition.

your potential.

you catch your reflection briefly in the mirrored elevator walls and feel something warm bloom inside your chest.

see?

you can still do this.

you’re still you.

and even the thought alone feels embarrassingly emotional, you let it. for once, you let yourself fucking feel what is true. 

ever since becoming pregnant, it felt like pieces of your identity have started blurring together in ways you weren’t prepared for. every conversation somehow circles back to the baby. every concern about your body becomes medical, practical, or protective.

maybe that’s why this matters so much. you need proof that you still belong to yourself too.

orientation begins on the twenty-seventh floor.

the conference room overlooks the city skyline, sunlight pouring through the windows while interns introduce themselves one by one. resumes. goals. prior experience.

you sit straighter every time someone speaks, doing your best to look as engaged and attentive as possible.

trying to at least. 

when it’s your turn, you introduce yourself with a smile.

your voice barely shakes.

the coordinator seems impressed with your background immediately and asks you questions. you’re showered with compliments about your previous work and how much your school faculty vouched for you. at one point, you make a friend. 

one of the interns beside you whispers; “girl, your portfolio’s insane, by the way.”

and god.

it feels good to hear that.

your cheeks warm with quiet pride as you thank her softly. you can't help but feel so much excitement and optimism.

but that only lasts so long.

after an hour passes, you feel your lower back ache.

then another hour passes, and you feel your need to pee every fifteen minutes kick in.

the expensive scents that had you in a trance earlier? suddenly they're too overpowering. you get a little nauseous, but worst of all is that it makes your head start to hurt.

it gets to a point where you excuse yourself for a breather. everyone nods, their eyes not shying away from your bump. you gulp as everyone watches you leave.

you tell yourself it’s fine.

you’re fine.

you are completely fine.

you’ve handled worse than discomfort before.

still, when the building tour begins, your body protests immediately. the heels of your shoes dig painfully into your swollen feet. your backache intensifies. your beginning to get lightheaded.

you trail behind the group slightly while the coordinator speaks enthusiastically about departments and opportunities and networking events, but her voice starts sounding fuzzier the longer you walk.

too warm.

everything suddenly feels too warm.

your blouse sticks uncomfortably to your skin beneath your cardigan while your stomach tightens faintly beneath the fabric.

the baby shifts.

hard.

you pause instinctively, palm pressing against the underside of your stomach.

“___? are you okay?” the girl beside you asks gently.

your answer comes automatically.

“yeah, i’m okay.”

she smiles and continues walking. you follow immediately despite the ache crawling down your hips.

because that’s what you do.

keep going.

keep smiling.

keep proving yourself.

then, your phone buzzes.

jungkook: hi baby did you eat lunch yet? read. jungkook: i was a jerk this morning. i'm sorry read. jungkook: also hope ur day is going well excited to hear abt it later over dinner pls go on a dinner date with me :( pls ...

your throat tightens unexpectedly…. because suddenly all you can picture is him standing barefoot in the kitchen this morning looking half asleep while rubbing circles against your stomach through his hoodie.

you think about the way his face fell after stepping away from your goodbye kiss.

you think about him tying your shoes three days ago because you’d gotten frustrated trying to bend over.

your chest aches.

the afternoon drags afterward and your body has now given up.

your ankles are visibly swollen and your smile hurts to maintain. your stomach feels so heavy that standing upright for too long makes you want to cry a little. you had to excuse yourself to pee like six times in the span of one hour. 

still.

every time someone asks if you need a seat first, or help carrying materials, or water and in response; you refused. 

somewhere deep down, accepting help still feels too close to weakness… and maybe pregnancy has made that worse.

it’s humiliating sometimes.

not because jungkook makes you feel incapable.

god no.

if anything, he loves you too carefully.

that’s the problem.

he notices everything.

every wince, every sigh, and every moment of discomfort you try to hide. sometimes you catch him watching you with this quiet worried expression, like he’s mentally calculating ways to make the world softer for you.

you used to think it was suffocating.

now, halfway through another department tour while your feet throb so badly you can barely focus, you suddenly wonder if maybe you’ve misunderstood him all along.

maybe love looks a little like being witnessed.

maybe love looks like someone noticing when you’re struggling before you say anything at all.

your eyes sting unexpectedly as you realize just how much you miss him. the realization hits hard enough to make you stop walking for a second.

you want him. 

you need him.

you love him more than you’re willing to admit… and it’s getting tiring carrying all of this. it’s tiring being everything all at once. your chest tightens as you finally let yourself put something down;

your pride.

by the time you leave the building, your body feels so unbearably heavy. you haven’t been this tired in months. it’s like exhaustion has settled somewhere deeper than your bones. your feet ache. your back burns. your stomach feels tight and sore from carrying yourself upright all day while pretending none of it was difficult.

maybe that’s the most exhausting part of all.

pretending.

pretending you aren’t struggling, or that you didn’t need any help. pretending that your independence still feels empowering instead of lonely.

you can’t help it.

the elevator ride down had been your breaking point.

one whole minute of uninterrupted silence. one whole minute of no smiling, no introductions, and no trying.

just stillness… and suddenly every ache in your body became impossible to ignore.

in one breath, you realize how much relief you feel at the thought of coming home to jungkook… and everything he is. your chest tightens painfully at the realization because suddenly, the thought of going home to an empty apartment sounds unbearable. you think you might actually cry if jungkook isn’t there.

maybe home has never really been a place for you.

maybe it’s always been a person.

as you step out of the elevator, you take your phone out from your bag and open it. quickly, you realize you never texted him back.

fuck.

your stomach twists immediately.

as you’re about to answer him, you reach the front of the lobby and the revolving doors slide open. cold air brushes against your skin and then—just like all the moments with him in the past—you feel him.

his presence.

and just like that, you lift your head and see him.

jungkook is standing outside the lobby with wire-framed glasses slipping slightly down his nose. his oversized denim jacket makes him look broader than he already is, his dark hair visibly messy from running his hands through it too many times. he’s holding a shopping bag in one hand and flowers in the other.

god.

he looks painfully handsome.

he looks like home.

a sudden thought comes up; maybe that’s what finally scares you… how badly you want to rest there. like every soft place your body has been craving all day without you realizing it. the second his eyes land on you, he smiles.

it’s small at first.

then it softens completely as he takes you in.

relief floods his face so openly it nearly wrecks you on the spot. like he’s been anxious for hours. like physically seeing you standing in front of him settles something violent inside his chest.

his shoulders visibly loosen as you walk closer to him. the tension in his jaw easing for the first time all day.

and god.

nobody has ever looked relieved by your existence before.

wanted you? yes.

desired you? absolutely.

but relieved? like your presence alone quiets something terrible inside them? the realization makes your throat tighten immediately because maybe leaving him really did break something in him… and somehow, he still loves you gently anyway.

you stop walking for half a second because suddenly you feel shy.

which is ridiculous.

this is jungkook.

your jungkook.

the man who has seen every version of you.

still… because things between you two have felt so fragile lately that seeing him waiting outside for you anyway makes your chest ache in a completely different way. in a way where you feel this overwhelming rush beneath your skin. like you need to kiss him immediately or you’ll lose your mind. like you need to be in his arms or you’ll lose vision in your left eye.

dramatic, ridiculous and painfully real.

you want his hands on you.

not sexually.

just… somewhere. anywhere. enough to remind your body that you aren’t alone anymore and that you need him in a way you never have before.

so, you pick up your pace. 

you walk toward him, prepared to do it. to give in. to finally put your pride down. to tell him he was right about today and how you should’ve listened. but when you finally stand in front of him, you open your mouth and nothing comes out.

instead, you just stare at him.

and in return, jungkook smiles at you like you’re his entire world.

his eyes move slowly over your face like he’s checking for damage.you feel your own eyes sting almost immediately when he leans forward and presses a kiss against your cheek. his lips linger there for half a second too long.

your eyes close instinctively. your body leaning toward him before your pride can stop it. already at a loss for words, jungkook suddenly crouches in front of you.

instantly, your breath catches sharply enough your lungs hurt because he does it so naturally. he reaches for the strap of your heels and begins undoing them quietly. he doesn’t ask you anything. doesn’t comment on how swollen your ankles look right now or tease you for overdoing it.

instead, his fingers brush against your ankle gently, steadying your leg automatically so you don’t wobble.

his glasses slide further down his nose as he looks down in concentration. you notice the faint crease between his brows. the careful way he holds your ankle steady in his palm.

your stomach twists painfully because when was the last time you treated yourself gently? and something inside you starts unraveling immediately because this is the first time all day someone has treated your body like something deserving of care instead of performance. this is the first time you’ve been taken in regardless of your pride.

this is the first time you let it happen too.

you don’t pull away and you don’t insist you can do it yourself. you don’t apologize for taking up space.

you just let him love you in his own way.

the terrifying part is how natural it feels. how quickly your body melts the second someone else starts carrying the weight for you.

jungkook slips the heel off carefully and the relief is immediate. your shoulders sag without permission, and his brows pinch faintly at the reaction like he’s upset you were uncomfortable for longer than necessary.

then he reaches into the shopping bag beside him.

your favourite pair of sneakers.

your throat tightens as jungkook slides one onto your foot carefully before moving to the other side. still silent. still gentle.

his thumb brushes softly against the inside of your ankle, absentmindedly and instinctively. it’s intimate in the way only long-term love can be.

and suddenly you can’t breathe properly.

all day long you kept forcing yourself through discomfort like enduring pain quietly was something noble all the while jungkook loves you like resting is allowed.

your vision blurs instantly.

fuck.

you look away quickly, pressing your hands against your face before the tears can fully spill… except they already are.

before you knwo it, your shoulders shake once. then again… and again.

jungkook freezes mid-knot.

panic flashes across his face before he even looks up properly.

“… baby? why are you crying?”

his voice changes immediately. he sounds soft, concerned, and truthfully a little scared. you realize suddenly that your tears frighten him now. like losing you once taught him to panic first and think second.

you shake your head quickly behind your hands, mortified from your own body’s betrayal. you can’t believe it… how pathetic you must look right now.

“i’m okay,” you whisper.

but the words crumble the second they leave your mouth because you aren’t okay. perhaps that’s the first honest thing your body has admitted all day.

“s-sorry,” you whisper weakly. “i just… fuck, jungkook…”

another sob catches in your throat.

“you tie my shoes and i… i love you.”

the confession slips out before you can stop it.

jungkook stills completely.

then he stands immediately after tying the laces, his hands wrapping gently around your wrists to pull them away from your face. his brows knit together the second he sees how hard you’re crying.

“you love me?”

his hands cup your face carefully.

your eyes flutter shut for half a second on instinct alone like your body recognizes safety before your mind does. your breathing slows instinctively beneath his touch like your nervous system knows him by heart now. his thumbs brush beneath your eyes over and over while he searches your expression like he’s trying to figure out where the damage is. he hates seeing you cry. he didn’t realize just how much until now.

jungkook’s face crumples slightly.

“baby, talk to me.”

the tenderness in his voice only makes you cry harder.

fuck.

he sounds so worried. so loving. so invested.

so… yours.

“look, i’m sorry about this morning,” jungkook says quickly when you can’t answer. “i shouldn’t have pushed you like that, i just…”

he pauses before briefly dropping his forehead against yours.

the contact makes your knees feel weak instantly.

you can feel him breathing. it’s uneven and shaky. it’s like he’s trying very hard not to unravel with you.

“fuck,” he whispers. “i was worried about you all day.”

your chest caves inward. you feel the pit of your stomach twist violently. you might actually throw up from how overwhelming all of this feels.

“you didn’t answer my texts,” he murmurs softly. “i didn’t know if you were mad at me or if something happened or—”

“you were right.”

jungkook’s expression changes instantly.

your lips tremble.

“jungkook… i’m so tired,” you whisper shakily. your voice sounds smaller somehow…

younger.

it’s vulnerable in a way that makes jungkook’s entire face soften immediately. the confession leaves your body like surrender and the second you say it out loud, more tears spill down your cheeks because it’s true.

you’re so tired.

tired of carrying everything alone. tired of treating your body like something to battle against. tired of acting like needing love is the same thing as weakness.

“my feet hurt,” you whisper brokenly. “my back hurts and i could barely focus all day because i was trying so hard to pretend i was okay. at first everything smelled really good and then everything smelled too strong and i got dizzy and nauseous and—and one colleague brought porkbelly for lunch which is fine because he’s allowed to eat whatever he wants b-but i…”

“shhh,” jungkook whispers immediately. his hand slides into your hair instinctively. “it’s okay. what you feel is okay.”

jungkook says it so easily as if your feelings aren’t inconvenient. meanwhile, you hate how pathetic you sound… except jungkook doesn’t look at you like you’re pathetic at all.

he looks at you like he wishes he could’ve carried you through the entire day himself.

“a-and the whole time i kept thinking about you,” your voice cracks harder. “about how angry i got because you noticed before i did.”

his thumbs still softly against your cheeks.

“i don’t know how to stop doing this,” you admit quietly. “i don’t know how to stop carrying more than i can handle.”

your fingers curl weakly into the front of his hoodie like some exhausted part of you is finally reaching for help instead of resisting it.

“i trust you, i really do… but sometimes this doesn’t even feel like it’s about you. it’s about what i put down. where i put it. and how do i adjust to a lighter load? how do i become okay with not being everything all at once?”

the words hang between you both heavily because finally; you’re saying the real thing.

not the argument or defensiveness but the fear underneath it.

jungkook’s eyes gloss over instantly behind his glasses.

“i keep acting like needing you means losing myself,” you whisper. “and i’m so tired of fighting you when all you’re trying to do is love me.”

you grip the front of his hoodie weakly.

“i give up,” you whisper. “i give in.”

a beat.

“jungkook, i love you. i want to be loved by you,” you cry softly. “and i’m sorry for making it feel like you had to beg me to let you take care of me. a-and i’m sorry about the sara thing. whatever the fuck that was… i’m sorry.”

“we can talk about that another time,” he says softly. “let’s focus on you right now, okay?”

his voice breaks completely before he pulls you against him immediately. so fucking desperately… his hand spreads wide against the back of your head protectively like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip too much. one arm wraps tightly around your shoulders while the other cradles the back of your head, pressing you into his chest like he’s been holding himself together all day and finally can’t anymore.

the force of it almost makes you stumble.

“don’t apologize for anything,” he whispers shakily into your hair. “it’s all okay.”

you cry harder the second he holds you because this is what you were actually afraid of all along.

and it’s relieving to be in this moment with him. to feel not only dependence or vulnerability, but rest. 

the terrifying softness of being cared for without needing to earn it first.

being loved enough to finally rest.

jungkook presses trembling kisses against your hairline while his hand rubs slowly up and down your back.

“___, i want you to know that i don’t want less of you,” he whispers. “i don’t want you smaller. i don’t want you quieter or easier or less ambitious. i just want you happy.”

his voice cracks hard on the last word because he means it. more than his pride and more than being right… honestly? maybe more than himself.

another sob leaves your chest instantly.

jungkook pulls back just enough to look at your face again, brushing tears from your cheeks carefully.

“and i know you can do everything alone,” he says softly. “that’s never been the issue.” his forehead presses against yours again, his nose brushing yours gently. “i just don’t think you should have to.”

your eyes squeeze shut.

for the first time in a long time, you let your full weight lean into him completely.

your body practically folds into his.

exhausted from holding yourself up alone for so long.

“thank you for everything,” you whisper, dipping your head low. you kiss him softly, his lips chase yours as you pull away. “thank you for being so patient… especially when i don’t know how to stop carrying everything by myself.”

his thumb brushes slowly beneath your eye before he exhales shakily through his nose, forehead resting against yours.

“then put it down,” he whispers softly.

your brows pinch. 

“what?” you ask.

“all of it.”

“we can put it down anywhere you want,” he murmurs. “we’ll figure it out together.”

his hand slides from your cheek down to your wrist carefully.

“for starters, you can leave it by the couch,” he begins, earning a weak laugh breaks through your crying. jungkook pauses and smiles softly at the sound of it. “or we can shove it into some ugly box and hide it under our bed for awhile.”

your lips wobble harder.

his expression turns impossibly tender after that.

“and if you want…” his hand lifts slowly between you both before he presses your palm gently against the center of his chest.

right over his heartbeat.

his heart pounds hard beneath your hand.

“you can put it here.”

your breath catches sharply. jungkook’s eyes never leave yours.

“i love you. i want all of you.” he says. “i have meant every part of my presence with you. since the very beginning. since our first kiss and the first time you ever refused for me to drive you home. since the grocery store. i miss you every second you aren’t with me. i love our baby in every possible way. i love our life together even though it’s just beginning.”

jungkook pauses to take a breath.

“___, you, my love, are all i long for and adore. not because you're the mother of my child or because the timing was right; but because i love waking up next to you even more than i love falling asleep together. because i love your pink lemonade kisses. because i love who i am when i'm with you. i am completely, madly, deeply in love with you in your becoming. i love you as you are. i am completely and utterly yours. i love you with open arms, devotion beyond understanding, and so much life. fuck, ___. loving you brought me back to life… i love you in ways i never knew i could choose to... and that’s the thing; i choose to love all of you.”

[97dollz]

( 𝓐𝐌 𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 ? ) 𝗷𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗸𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. ˖Ი𐑼⋆ nsfw +++ mdni. is it wrong to sleep with your father-in-law the day before the wedding? your morals say no, but your body and mind beg to differ. cw: porn with a little bit of plot, age gap [reader is 24, jungkook is 49], oc characters: jeon jungmin, jeon minju. cheating, forbidden love, usage of pet names (sweetheart, bunny, baby, etc), dom/sub dynamic, fingering, unprotected sex, praising and degradation, creampie, minimal aftercare. wc: 6.8k

you weren't supposed to fall in love with your husband's father.

it was a rule written into the very fabric of decency, a boundary so massive it shouldn’t even have required a second thought. you loved jungmin. you really, truly did. he was your soulmate, giving you the sweetest and safest kind of love you had ever known. there were no mind games with him, no agonizing over text messages, and no second-guessing whether he loved you or loved you not. it had been that way since you were eighteen and he was nineteen, fresh out of high school and navigating the chaotic waters of university applications together. now, six years later, you were exactly one week away from officially becoming mrs. jeon.

the life you built with him was worth more than anything in this world: it was the dream life you had been longing for, but if that was true, why did the wrong jeon keep haunting your mind?

your grip tightened on the steering wheel, your vision blurring as the midday traffic faded into a haze of entirely forbidden thoughts. you could almost feel it… you wanted to feel it. large and heavy hands, marred by ink and calloused by time, wrapping around your neck. not to hurt, but to possess. you imagined the exhilarating weight of JUNGKOOK'S hand pressing ever so slightly against your throat while you cried out from the intensity of him. you could see his dark eyes looking down at you, softening just enough to kiss your tears away, before that same hand slid down your chest.

in the heat of your own mind, his fingers did agonizing wonders to your body, tracing paths of fire until they reached the exact spot that made you arch your back. the muscular mass of a forty-nine-year-old man pinning you flat, capturing your wrists so that moving or getting up wasn't even a choice. his lips would follow his hands, biting, licking, and painting your skin in violent, but beautiful shades of red, purple, and blue.

“(name),” he would growl, his voice breathy and raspy against your ear. “(name)… (name)…”

jungkook would repeat your name like a mantra, a man utterly undone, unable to get over the fact that he had such a pretty and greedy little thing beneath him–

“(name)!”

the sharp bark of your name shattered the fantasy like glass. you blinked hard, the blinding sun reflecting off the asphalt snapping you violently back to reality. the phantom weight on your chest vanished, replaced by the tight pull of your seatbelt.

“(name), (name), hellooo,” yunjin sighed from the passenger seat, snapping her fingers next to your face.

“huh… yeah?” you stammered, your heart beating so fast, though not for the reason your friends thought.

“sweets, you missed the exit,” yunjin said, pointing out the window at the roundabout you had just bypassed.

from the backseat, giselle leaned forward between the two headrests, a knowing smirk on her face. “yeah, you seemed so dazed. your eyes were totally glazed over. who exactly were you thinking about, hm?”

a heavy knot of guilt coiled tightly in your stomach. you felt the heat rushing up your neck, praying they would mistake it for standard pre-wedding jitters. you obviously couldn't say the name that was actually burning the back of your throat. you couldn't tell them you were craving the father of the groom.

“jungmin,” you lied, forcing a shy smile onto your face.

“awww!”

their reactions were instant and sweet, their expressions melting into lovey-dovey, happy grins. it was exactly the reaction you wanted, yet it made the secret guilt burn even hotter. they thought it was beautiful — a bride-to-be so deeply in love that she couldn't even navigate a roundabout one week before her wedding. forcing yourself to smile along, checking your mirrors to loop back around the exit, all while the sensation of what jungkook’s hands could feel lingered like a brand on your skin.

you also weren’t supposed to spend your last night as an engaged woman like that. sitting on the edge of the mattress, the soft paper of your wedding vows crinkling beneath your fingers, you couldn’t see anyone else.

the mini-notes were scattered along the duvet like your feelings and thoughts, a messy blueprint of a promise you were supposed to make tomorrow. you knew the words by heart, you’d practiced them a million times. but focusing had become an impossible chore ever since yesterday night, the exact moment your parents-in-law arrived.

they had greeted you with so much warmth. there were sweet hugs and kisses on your cheeks, a genuine celebration of you joining the family. but, you weren’t crazy, right? when jungkook’s hand had settled against the small of your back, his palm had lingered just for a second too long. it definitely hadn't felt like a family-friendly touch, and the ghost of his touch had been burning through your skin ever since.

you couldn't stop thinking about him. you wished you could, but he was just so dreamy. even at forty-nine, just one year away from his fiftieth anniversary, he looked completely lethal. age hadn't touched him; it had only made him more attractive. his right sleeve was entirely covered in dark ink, and the subtle glint of his lip and eyebrow piercings contrasted beautifully against the stoic maturity of his face. his body, his presence, his everything was to die for.

and that was the worst part, because his wife was an absolute angel. your mother-in-law was the sweetest, kindest woman you knew. you loved her to death, as you still remembered how she’d bickered fiercely with your own mother at the bridal shop months ago, firmly stating, "let the bride pick her own dress, it’s her special day!"

minju was beautiful inside and out, and you hated yourself for the ugly envy that curled in your chest because of it. you envied her because she was bonded to jungkook until death do them part. you envied her because she was the one who got to receive his kisses, his fierce devotion, his love, and his finesse.

resting your head in your arms, you stared at the scattered notes. you couldn't really believe how wrong this was... but it felt so right, for all the shameless reasons. with a frustrated whine, you slumped back, your spine sinking into the cushions and your knees pulling up to your chest, as you let out a trembling breath.

jungmin, you thought desperately, closing your eyes. think about jungmin. he was supposed to soothe these awful thoughts away. he was your one and only, the love of your life, the sun to your moon, the peanut butter to your jelly, the yin to your yang.

you bit your lip hard, trying to conjure his face at the altar, but the image warped against your will. instead of your husband-to-be, you saw his father. you pictured jungkook standing there, looking breathlessly handsome and stoic in his tailored suit. you imagined his eyes softening, melting with a quiet hunger as he watched you walk down the aisle in the prettiest dress, the veil dragging behind you as you clutched your bouquet, waiting for the moment you’d tie the knot with a kiss.

a kiss... how would his lips feel on yours? would they be soft at first, testing your boundaries, before turning rough, messy, and demanding at the end? would he cup your face with those big hands, or would they stay firmly at your waist to pick you up and spin you into the air?

knock, knock.

the sudden sound made you snap your head toward the door. you shook your head aggressively, trying to clear the haze from your brain. you checked the time, and it was so late. was it yunjin or giselle? maybe they couldn't sleep from the excitement, wanting one last late-night gossip session before you became a married woman.

"i'm coming!" you called out, smoothing down your clothes as you stood up and padded across the floor. swinging the door open with a small smile, but the words died in your throat. of all the people you expected to see standing in the dimly lit hallway, it was him.

jungkook stood there, his massive frame filling the doorway, looking entirely too good in the shadows, wearing a simple white shirt, a pair of dark jeans, and a silver chain around his neck. was he already outside? the smell of cigarettes mixed with his perfume.

"sweetheart, i'm sorry for the trouble this late at night," his voice was sleepy and vibrated straight to your core. "but we wanted you to have this." he cleared his throat as he extended his hand. between his tattooed fingers, he held a small and elegant indigo box. "it's a tradition in the family for generations, for the father-in-law to give this to the bride-to-be… so it might be your lucky charm."

you grabbed the box, a little confused, but as you took it from his grasp, your fingers brushed against his. the brief contact made you tense up a little bit.

"i-i... what is this exactly?" you stammered, hating how breathless you sounded.

jungkook’s lips twitched into a faint smile. "open it, and you will see."

with trembling fingers, you lifted the lid of the indigo box. resting against the plush velvet was a necklace made of the finest, most radiant diamonds you had ever seen. it caught the dim light of your room, sparkling so intensely it almost hurt to look at. you couldn't stop staring, a sudden wave of inadequacy washing over you. this was too precious. you didn't feel like you deserved to hold it, let alone wear it on your wedding day.

"here," jungkook murmured, his deep voice cutting through your panic as he stepped past the threshold, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him. "let me help you put it on."

walking over to the large mirror in the corner of the room like a woman in a trance, as he followed, stepping up right behind you. starring at his reflection, utterly captivated by the contrast between your small body and his massive one looming over you.

"can you lift your hair for me?" he asked softly, taking the heavy diamond piece from the box.

you did exactly what you were told, reaching up with both hands to gather your hair at the crown of your head, exposing the bareness of your neck. jungkook leaned in, his warmth enveloping you. his large hands reached around from the front, the cool metal of the diamonds brushing against your collarbones before he secured the clasp at the back of your neck. his knuckles grazed your skin, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from whimpering. you looked like a real princess in the mirror, and his words only confirmed it.

"it fits you so beautifully," he whispered, his eyes meeting yours in the glass. "as if it were made for you."

but his hands didn't move away. his heavy palms simply slid down, resting firmly against the curve of your shoulders, the heat of his skin bleeding through the shirt that you used as pyjamas.

"but are you sure i can wear it?" you asked, your voice shaking as you touched the shiny stones, "i mean, it's been in the family for generations. it's just... i-i don't know if..."

jungkook hummed against the shell of your ear, his thumbs brushing lightly over your collarbones before he finally pulled back. the sudden loss of his warmth made you ache. he turned and walked over to the edge of the bed, mindlessly sitting down right on top of the duvet, completely unaware that he was crushing your scattered wedding vows beneath him.

he furrowed his brows in confusion as he felt the paper, reaching down to grab one of the messy index cards. he read it quietly to himself first, his lips moving silently as a soft smile broke across his face.

"didn't know jungmin would marry such a poetic and loving soul like yours," he murmured, his gaze shifting up to track the flush spreading across your cheeks. he reached down and picked up another note, chuckling as he read this part out loud. "and i knew you were the one when you were five and i was four, as you stubbornly saved a place for me in the sand playground and didn't let anyone, especially other girls, go in... oh, i remember that, heh. he was like some dragon trying to protect his princess high in the tower."

you stood by the mirror, a nervous sweat breaking out, trying your absolute best to hide the greedy thoughts consuming you, but you were dealing with a grown man. jungkook had seen the way you had been looking at him all this time, so this wasn’t something new. to untrained eyes, your lingering glances were nothing, just a sweet, soon-to-be daughter-in-law admiring her new family. but to his experienced and keen eyes? yeah, you had tried your best, dear, but you hadn't fooled him for a second.

alas, who was he to blame you, when he was the same? he hadn't forgotten the family summer vacation two years ago. the sight of you walking down the beach in that tiny black bikini. your sweet, sun-kissed body had done dangerous things to both his mind and his body, leaving him starving like a stray animal in the dark. he loved sweet and innocent things, but much to his predatory luck, you were not that innocent.

perhaps you didn't remember that one night, a year ago, when you and jungmin had come home totally wasted after a friend’s birthday party. your fiancé had been knocked out cold, unable to handle his alcohol anywhere near as well as his father. jungmin was snoring in the passenger seat, but you, in your heavily intoxicated state, had been terrifyingly honest.

so clingy, whimpering and whining as jungkook carried you into the house. you had wrapped your arms tightly around his thick, tatted bicep, burying your face in it, ignoring the fact that your passed-out boyfriend was still in the car. your father-in-law remembered every single word you whispered against his skin that night. you had looked up at him with glazed eyes, tugging on the hem of his shirt, and muttered something scandalous.

“jungmin is so soft,” the drunken lust had taken over as you rubbed your hips against his thigh. “he doesn't know how to handle me, and– and i want a real man. i want someone big enough to break me in half. i want you to do it.”

it was a crazy thing to say to the father of the groom, but alcohol always brought the hidden filth to the surface. jungkook had his blood turning to molten lava, forcing himself to put you to bed before going back for his son.

now, sitting on your bed in the hotel room, one day before the wedding, he tossed the vow cards aside.

"you write very sweet things about jungmin, sweetheart," he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes dropping to the diamonds glittering on your chest. "but i think we both know you don't actually want my boy tomorrow, do you?"

jungkook slowly rose from the edge of the bed, his towering frame throwing a heavy shadow right over you. the magnetic pull of him had you frozen in one place as he closed the distance between you until you were face to face, and it made your knees weak. he didn't hesitate when his tattooed hand reached up, his thumb catching your chin, tilting your head up to force your gaze to meet his, cornering you physically and mentally, turning your forbidden daydreams into a suffocating reality.

"you love my son," jungkook murmured, his eyes darkening further as he read the raw panic and desire flooding your face. "but you want me. right, sweetheart?"

you were at a complete loss for words, your throat dry like a desert, because he was damn right. every single insolent thought you’d harbored was laid bare like cards on a poker table. your hands trembled at your sides, the guilt tearing at you, yet the temptation was entirely too loud to ignore. jungkook’s thumb slid up, caressing your lower lip, pressing down slightly against the soft seam. you looked up at him with glossy eyes, as you stared at the man you had been sinning over for years. tears of frustration and lust threatened to spill; unable to stop yourself, you bit his finger evero so lightly.

"am i wrong..." the words sounded so terribly broken from your lips, "am i wrong for falling in love with you?"

the fragile string of his control finally snapped, because keeping his hands to himself was no longer an option. leaning down, his mouth crashing onto yours in a demanding kiss. he cupped your face first, his thumbs wiping away the stray tear on your cheek as his tongue swept into your mouth, ravaging your senses. you let out a muffled whimper, your hands flying up to grip the fabric of his shirt, lost in the taste of him.

before you could even process the heat of his lips, his hands slid down from your face over your shoulders and gripped the underside of your thighs, lifting you off your feet effortlessly. your instinct kicked in, your legs immediately wrapping tightly around his waist.

your mouths continued their fiery dance, a messy clash of teeth and tongues. you whined into the kiss, gasping for air as he walked you backward, the world spinning so fast you couldn't tell up from down. the next thing you knew, the soft duvet rushed up to meet you. jungkook hovered over you while you were flat on your back on the bed. his chest rose and fell heavily as he finally pulled back from the kiss. a thin strand of saliva connected your lips before breaking in the dark room.

both of you were breathless, panting in the quiet space, eyes locked in a silent understanding. bringing your trembling hands up to rest above your chest, feeling the frantic way your heart was beating. it was about to explode like fireworks — a beautiful and catastrophic arson that would burn your entire life to the ground by morning, and you didn't even care.

he didn't take another step without making sure he had every single piece of you. his knuckles brushed the heated skin of your jaw, his voice dropping into something sinister, somehow strangely kind.

"can i take this off you, sweetheart?"

you couldn't even speak; you just nodded, your fingers bunching into the duvet beneath you. jungkook let out a pleased hum, his hands sliding down to the hem of your shirt. he pulled it up and over your head in one motion, and you didn't even shy away. there was no room for modesty anymore, not when you were already this close.

much to his absolute delight, you didn't have anything underneath. you lay bare before him, wearing nothing but a pair of black lace panties.

a galnce at the curve of your waist, the flush on your chest, the rapid rise and fall of your breathing. "so beautiful," he rasped, leaning down to press a hot kiss right over your racing heart. "so fucking ready for me, aren't you?"

he didn't give you time to answer before his hand slid down, his large palm cupping you right through the thin lace. you gasped, arching your back instantly as he applied pressure, his thumb rubbing over the damp fabric. you were already soaking, undone by the mere presence of him in your bed.

"look at you," he whispered against your neck, his lips nipping at the sensitive skin right below your ear. "you've been waiting for this, haven't you?"

the filth pouring from his mouth made you whimpered, your fingers burying into his hair as he hooked two fingers under the edge of the lace, pulling the fabric aside. when his fingers finally made direct contact, you nearly lost your mind. he slid one long finger inside you, testing the waters, groaning a little as your tight walls immediately clamped around him.

"god, you're so tight," his thumb working your clit while his finger pushed deeper, stretching you open. "my son doesn't know how to handle a girl like you, does he? he doesn't know how filthy you really are."

you whimpered loudly, tossing your head back into the cushions as he added a second finger, pumping them inside you in a slow rhythm. you had wanted to feel him for so long, had spent months drowning in the fantasy of his touch, and the brutal reality of him driving into you, paired with the shameless words growled against your skin, had you dripping helplessly beneath.

he pushed you entirely over the edge, and a loud moan tore from your throat. "jungkook... ah, jungkook, please–"

"shh," he cut you off instantly, his hand flying up from your chest to slap firmly over your mouth, muffling your desperate cries into the palm of his hand. "keep your fucking mouth shut, sweetheart. my son is asleep right above us, and you're already screaming his father’s name like a little whore. replace my hand with yours. keep them over your mouth. you only take them off when you need a breath, understand?"

nodding frantically, your eyes glossy and wide as you pressed your own hands tightly over your lips. the humiliation of it, paired with the thrill of his dominance, made you soak through his fingers. then he pulled away, and you heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling; the sound made you ache to cosmic levels, your thighs trembling against his hips as the dark reality of what was about to happen settled in.

jungkook paused, his fingers hooking into the waistband of his trousers. "you got condoms?"

you shook your head quickly against the mattress, your hands still glued to your mouth.

jungkook let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes as an amused grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "you young people these days don't like to play it safe, do you?"

he didn't let it stall him. reaching down, his fingers hooked into the edge of the black lace panties he’d previously pushed aside. he dragged them down your legs and threw them carelessly somewhere onto the floor. wrapped in nothing but shadows and the glittering diamonds around your neck, you watched him strip his shirt off over his head. fuckin’ hell, his body. your eyes tracked the massive bulge of his biceps, the tight definition of his abs, and the heavy ink trailing down his right arm. he was going to be the death of you.

jungkook crawled back over you, pinning you into the mattress, settling between your legs, his tattooed fingers guiding the thick tip of his cock right against your soaked entrance. he didn't push in yet; he just rubbed himself against you, giving you an excruciating skin-to-skin contact that had your hips blindly lifting off the bed, begging for the insertion.

"hmm," jungkook murmured, watching your desperate movements with satisfaction. "the little bunny is a little greedy, no? so impatient to be ruined."

he gripped your hips, his thumbs bruising your skin as he slowly started to sink inside you.

the moment he breached you, your eyes rolled back. it was unbelievable. he was bigger, thicker, and far more girthy than jungmin — jungkook really hadn't left a single thing for his son when it came to genes. he wasn't even halfway in, and you already felt entirely maxed out, your tight walls stretching and burning as they desperately tried to adjust to the size of him.

the overwhelming fullness was too much to bear. yanking your hands away from your mouth just to catch a ragged breath, when a broken moan escaped past your lips. "god, you're too big... ah!"

"i told you to keep your hands over your mouth, didn't i?" he paused, letting you stretch around him, his chest heaving above yours. "look at you, taking it all so well. a good little girl for my son, but a filthy little piece of meat for me."

jungkook’s grip on your hips tightened until it bruised you, his thumbs digging into your flesh like an imprint. he began to move, establishing a slow tempo meant to get you used to him. each agonizingly deep stroke was calculated, filling you until you were entirely consumed by him. as he drove into you, the taboo illusions you’d harbored for so long suddenly felt terrifyingly real. underneath the crushing weight of his muscular body, the crazy dream of running away with him to some isolated island, leaving the wedding, the family, and the world behind, felt entirely possible.

starved for more, you lifted your thighs and wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper. that was his cue. a low growl tore from his lips as he took full control, abandoning any remaining gentleness. holding your hips in a vice grip, he began to drive himself in with a rough and relentless force. he was massive, a completely different breed of excellent. jungmin was wonderful, sweet, and always satisfied you, but jungkook was an experienced man who knew exactly how to dominate every inch of your body.

the sensation was blinding, your head tossing wildly against the pillows. jungkook's mouth traced desperate kisses along your skin. he wanted to mark you so badly, to leave dark bruises all over your throat, but he knew better. hence, he channeled that violent possession into biting kisses along your jawline, the curve of your shoulder, and down to your chest, avoiding anywhere the wedding veil wouldn't cover tomorrow.

"take your hands away," he rasped against your ear, his breath hot and ragged as he pinned your wrists to the mattress. "keep quiet, sweetheart. let me do it."

your lips parted to cry out loud, but jungkook instantly caught it. he swallowed your moans and desperate whines with a single kiss. it lasted entirely too long, stealing the very breath from your lungs.

in the heat of the clash, the cool metal of his lip piercing grazed against your mouth, a jarring reminder of exactly who was ruining you. your hips buckled automatically, lifting off the bed in a desperate spasm as you squeezed the thick length of him, locking him inside you while the room spun like a carousel.

when he finally pulled back from the kiss, your hands remained pinned by your head. you didn't want to hide it anymore. you wanted him to hear the sounds coming out of you; you wanted him to know exactly how good he made you feel, how he had broken you down.

"please..." your voice a pleading thread as your hips blindly chased his. "jungkook, please... more, please..."

that repeated begging did something to him. hearing his own name gasped out by the girl who was supposed to marry his son tomorrow, seeing you look so young, so utterly beautiful, and so filthy beneath him, made him want to rip the ring right out of jungmin's hands and steal the bride away for himself.

"you want more, baby?" he laughed mockingly, not knowing his future daughter-in-law was such a little freak. he hadn't known his son was apparently this bad in bed to let his own father step in and do the work for him. "then i'm going to give you more, seeing how this is your first time getting fucked properly. i'm so sorry about jungmin... if i knew he wasn't doing his job right, i would have stepped in long ago."

the utter depravity of his words sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your already aroused and senstive system. before you could even cry out, jungkook brought one hand up, slapping it firmly over your mouth again to muffle your hitching gasps, while his other hand clamped onto your hip to keep you perfectly aligned. then, he changed his pace to something rather brutal.

he was so rough, slamming against you with a strenght that rattled your bones, yet there was a terrifying sweetness to how he consumed you. every unforgiving thrust was accompanied by a flood of praises growled against your ear.

"look at you taking it all," he muttered, his hot breath fanning over your burning skin. "my pretty girl to ruin. my sweet little bunny. you belong right here, taking every inch of me, yeah?"

your vision blurred with tears as the intensity began to form a knot deep in your lower abdomen. your inner walls started to tremble, clamping around him in rhythmic spasms that gave away exactly how close you were to the edge. jungkook felt it instantly. the change in your body only made him harder, as he adjusted his angle, driving in deeper than before. he wasn't just hitting your g-spot anymore: it felt like he was reaching straight into your soul, rewriting everything you thought you knew about pleasure, and dragging you completely over the precipice.

the unbearable pressure snapped. you couldn't control it… it was that damn good. an overwhelming wave crashed through your entire body as you squirted against him, your gummy walls convulsing in an endless grip that dragged jungkook to reach his own climax.

abandoning his pace, he burried his cock deeply inside you as he came. his release sent pulses deep into your core, filling you to the brim until the excess began to spill out, making an undeniable mess all over the sheets. you shuddered beneath him, as the overlapping orgasms left you so spent. for a moment, jungkook just stayed there, his sweaty chest heaving against yours as both of your heartbeats raced in sync.

when he finally pulled out, you whined at the sudden loss of his warmth. he rolled onto his back beside you, pulling you straight against his side. there was no time for the grand aftercare, not with the clock ticking toward sunrise. you snuggled deeply into his broad chest, your trembling fingers aimlessly tracing shapes on his collarbone as your breathing slowly leveled out. jungkook’s hand idly smoothed down your tangled hair before his fingers tightened slightly in the strands.

"you're on the pill, right?" he asked softly, and you nodded weakly against him, too drained to speak, letting out a soft hum of affirmation. he let out a quiet breath, though his jaw remained tight. he looked down at you, eyes tracking the rise and fall of your chest. "so, when were you returning from the maldives?"

"in two weeks," you whispered, the reminder of the honeymoon suddenly feeling like a bucket of ice water against your heated skin. jungkook clicked his tongue, a grimace of annoyance crossing his features. 

"tsk. damn it."

he hated it. he hated that he had to hand you back to his son tomorrow, even if it was just for show. but the underlying promise in his voice made it clear that there was no escaping him.

knowing time was running out, he reluctantly shifted out of the bed. he gave you a quick cleanup with a stray towel, his hands surprisingly gentle as he helped you slide your shirt back over your head and pulled your black lace panties back up your legs, thinking about the mess you’d have to somehow clean or hide from the hotel staff tomorrow morning.

you watched him silently as he dressed, fastening his belt with that same metallic click that had undone you an hour ago. once his clothes were perfectly back in place, looking every bit the dignified father-of-the-groom again, he walked back over to the edge of the mattress.

jungkook leaned down, cupping your jaw one last time, tilting your face up. he pressed a deep, but sweet kiss to your lips. it was the last time for tonight, but you both knew it wouldn't be the last for the future. as your father-in-law quietly slipped out of your room, softly closing the door behind him, he left you with a secret he hadn't dared to voice aloud.

that diamond necklace you seemed to adore… well, it wasn't a family tradition. there was no passing down of heirlooms from father-in-law to bride. it was a lie, fabricated so beautifully to be an expensive excuse just to get into your room and see you alone.

down the hall, minju was sound asleep, entirely oblivious to the arson that had just taken place a few doors down. when jungkook had left their room earlier, he had quietly told her he was going out to take photos of the city at night. technically, it wasn't a lie; he had his camera full of photos by the places nearby the hotel and he did plan on stepping outside to snap a few mindless shots of the neon-lit streets just to cover his tracks. but it was nowhere near the full truth.

an hour later, after walking around again in the city to clear his head with the lingering scent of your skin still clinging to his collar, jungkook finally returned to his own room. slipping out of his clothes and sliding under the covers, the cool sheets instantly warming as he settled back into bed. minju stirred slightly, shifting closer to him, unconsciously seeking the warmth she had missed while he was gone. she wrapped an arm around his waist, sighing softly in her sleep.

jungkook stared up at the dark ceiling, his chest rising and falling slowly, as his wife rested against him. his skin was still buzzing, his mind completely trapped in the memory of your tight walls, your ruined whimpers, and the way you looked with his diamonds resting against your collarbones. as he closed his eyes and let minju cuddle close, a dirty root settled deep in his mind. he thought about how nice it would be if the woman clinging to him in the dark wasn't his wife at all.

he thought about how nice it would be if it were you.

the venue was bathed in an ethereal glow as you stood at the altar, the heavy train of your white dress pooling around your heels. the ceremony was breathtaking, everything you and jungmin had dreamed of for the past six years. and there, resting against your collarbones, catching the bright light of the altar candles, was the diamond necklace. it glittered like a web of beautiful and expensive sins, a secret brand against your throat that no one else understood.

on paper, and by the heavy gold band waiting to be slid onto your finger, you were about to become jungmin’s. but every nerve in your body knew the absolute truth: you already belonged to the man standing in the very front row.

the priest’s voice echoed through the high stone arches, grounded and solemn.

"jeon jungmin, do you take (last name) (name) as your wife?"

jungmin didn't even hesitate. his eyes were shining, filled with a pure devotion that made your heart ache with a bittersweet pang. "i do," he said, his voice ringing out clear and steady.

"and (last name) (name), do you take jeon jungmin as your husband?"

before saying the two words that would bind you and your husband together for a lifetime, you glanced at the audience with a gentle smile, seeing your family and friends smiling right back at you. your mother was already weeping with joy, dabbing at her eyes while your father held her in a supportive embrace. minju had both hands covering her mouth and part of her nose, holding back her tears for the emotional moment when the true love's kiss would finally happen.

and then, your eyes met his.

jungkook was sitting right beside her. in his tailored black suit, he looked devastatingly handsome, a stoic force among the crowd. his eyes were locked onto you, knowing and even challenging. as your gazes clashed, he gave a slight nod and the faintest shadow of a smirk, as he crossed his thick arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. the contrast was dizzying. jungmin was the man you were marrying, but jungkook was the one you truly wanted to spend your life with.

taking a deep breath, you turned your focus back to jungmin. your handsome prince. the man you loved so much that you had willingly ruined yourself with his father just hours before. you looked up at him with eyes so sincere and loving, because what you felt for jungmin was entirely real… it just coexisted with the unholy desires you harbored for the older jeon.

"i do," you whispered, the vow sealing your fate.

"by the power vested in me, i now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest smiled, gesturing between the two of you. "you may now kiss the bride."

jungmin’s face broke into the most beautiful, radiant smile you had ever seen. he reached out, his hands trembling slightly with pure excitement as he gently lifted your veil, throwing it back over your head. he cupped your cheeks with a tenderness that brought a sting of tears to your eyes. 

"i love you so much, (name)," jungmin whispered, meant for your ears only. "i can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you. you're my everything."

"i love you too," you breathed against his lips, and then he closed the distance.

the kiss was romantic, sweet, and filled with the promise of a bright and stable future. jungmin held you like you were the most precious thing in his universe, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you fully against him while the entire venue erupted into loud and joyful applause and cheers. 

you kissed him back with everything you had, but as you melted into your husband's embrace, you smiled beautifully for the flashing cameras, wrapping your arm through jungmin’s as you prepared to walk down the aisle together. but as you took your first steps forward, your gaze drifted right back to the front row.

the father of the groom was standing now, clapping slowly along with the rest of the guests. his eyes never left yours, as jungmin’s arm stayed securely wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to his side as he turned to face the roaring crowd, his hand catching yours and raising it high in victory. the bells began to chime, a joyful declaration that you were officially mrs. jeon.

jungkook was happy. he really was, because he knew the truth. he knew that behind the white lace and the beautiful vows, the normal life you had built with jungmin was gone forever. being normal wasn’t normal anymore; in this crazy world, not being crazy was crazy. and jungkook was completely, utterly crazy over you.

he already knew what the future held. he knew he would be expecting a call from you very soon, and not just a polite request to help move the last of the heavy boxes into your new home, but a whisper over the phone, letting him know exactly when his son wouldn't be there so he could have you all to himself.

"bless the newlyweds," jungkook's voice carried over the chatter as he turned to pull minju into a supportive side-hug. then joined your parents, who were glowing with happiness, blending seamlessly into the familial bliss. but even as he smiled and nodded along to your mother's overjoyed rambling, his mind was already calculating the timeline of the evening ahead.

his gaze tracked you one last time, the heavy diamonds around your neck catching the light with every step you took away from him, watching the elegant drag of your veil, as he wondered… would you have five minutes to spare him when the reception dinner starts?

just five minutes away from the crowd to congratulate the bride in person in some locked and shadowed room of the venue. just to drop to his knees in the dark, tearing the lace down to lift your heavy gown over your waist. instead of your hands pinned above your head like last night, he wanted your bare legs thrown over his broad shoulders, holding you wide open while he buried his face between your thighs. he wanted to eat you out until you were dripping all over his tongue, swallowing your muffled and ruined screams while your husband looked for you in the crowded hall outside.

after all, jungkook wasn't supposed to fall in love with his son's wife.

© 97DOLLZ do not copy, repost or modify my work.

taglist ( dm or comment to be added ) ⋆ @strhwa @way2jellyous @tinyfixon @thatonelocalbookworm @kookied @chwrrybby

[godmadeaterribleerror]

what if he's mine

✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦

✦summary: you fell for bucky a long, long while ago. and you think about him, every day and every night. if only you knew that he thought about you too.✦

✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, friends to lovers, light emotional angst, everyone's bad at feelings, fluff, smut, plot and porn mix (dirty talk, use of sex toys , fingering, pussy eating like crazy, fantasization, praise kink, manhandling, perfectly "appropriate" use of bucky's metal arm, nipple play, dumbification, semi-public sex, dry humping, sensitive reader, finger sucking, masturbation, bucky gets nasty, body worship, overstimulation, mean!bucky, oral m!recieving, praise kink, monster dick bucky, he fucks like a machine), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦

✦wc: 7.5k✦

✦Author's Note: request! who wouldn't fantasize about bucky barnes?✦

You think you might be a freak.

Compared to everyone else in the building, you’re perfectly normal. On the outside. Where everyone can see. You don’t have any powers, and you’ve never been shot up with serums or infinity stones. You’re a human, with a sharp tongue and shaper brain, pretty features and a charming smile, and absolutely no desire to be anything else.

Tony even asked you once. If you’d consider it. The whole hero thing. You’d laughed and shaken your head. You told him that you’re not that kind of brave. That you prefer to stay behind the scenes, helping with the tech and med services. Tony had laughed with you, and remarked causally that you’d be good at it.

You’d smiled and waved him off. But he was wrong. Because you can’t be normal about anything.

You’re not casual. You’re obsessive, and quietly insane. You don’t become the top of your field like this while being anything else. It’s easy to contain yourself in this kind of work, in it’s order and chaos all at once. There are rules that you to follow, then break, and everyone praises you and you glow like a diamond catching sunlight.

Not absorbing it. Because it passes right through, and it’s never enough, and you get addicted to it. The praise, from these living gods. They all love you, and you bask in it, and then you look at him.

Bucky.

The only one who doesn’t praise you. Who doesn’t treat you like a good dog, bringing them treats and newspapers. When you met him, he barely treated you like anything at all. Tony had introduced you, he’d looked you up and down, shaken your hand, and walked away.

But you.

You’d been a fucking goner.

Bucky’s handsome in the way you used to only see in movies. Your exact type, from the hair to the eyes to the way he carries himself. Silent and in control, kind but not overly nice, polite without expectation. You’d made it two years without developing a crush on anyone. Somehow, surrounded by some of the world’s most handsome men, you’d maintained that tiny sliver of your sanity.

Then there was Bucky. And you lost yourself.

You’re not weird around him. You’re not a stalker, and you’re not that kind of insane. You’re perverted in the privacy of your head, drooling over his massive hands and muscles, but swallowing it before it leaks out of your lips. You don’t react when Tony says his name, save for a traitorous pulse in your cunt.

“You ready to look at his arm?” Tony asks, and you hum.

“Think so. Just maintenance?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tony sighs. “I’d work on Terminator myself, but Cap says I spend the whole time looking like I want to throat chop him. So,” he shrugs. “Don’t look like you wanna throat chop him.”

You laugh softly, and grab the tools off the bench. It’s not a big deal. You’re the only person besides Tony, in the whole building, who’s qualified to work on Bucky’s arm.

But that means you get to be close to him. Just the thought of it makes your skin hot, your heart buzzing more than thumping, your fingers fidgeting with the straps of your toolkit as you restlessly wait.

Bucky says your name, and your head shoots up. He’s there. He’s right there, and watching you with those careful, beautiful eyes.

“Hi,” you say, and it sounds so pathetically breathless.

Bucky tilts his head. His hair looks soft. You want to run your fingers through it, to pull on it, to feel it tickling over your face as he ruts into your drooling pussy-

He’s staring at you. He must’ve said something that you didn’t hear. Fuck.

“What?”

His lips twitch. Just the smallest movement up, almost impossible to catch. Your heart skips, and you almost miss his words again.

“You the one workin’ on me today?” His voice is low. It rolls through the air like thunder.

You wonder, if there’s any part of him that isn’t addictive.

You’re here for a job. You’re here to give him medical treatment. You plaster a sweet smile on your face, and gesture to the chair. You can be normal about this.

“Tony has bad bedside manner,” you say smoothly, and Bucky chuckles.

God, that’s worse than the smile. It echoes through your chest, and you almost choke on it. How fucking bad you want him.

“He does call me Schwarzeneggerevery time I’m here,” he mutters, crossing the room. “Don’t even know what that means.”

You hum, pretending to look at your tools. He’s sitting down next to you. Your knees are bumping. You’re normal. “Arnold Schwartzinagor. Actor who played the Terminator.”

“Ah.” Bucky pauses. “Sam calls me that, too. It a good movie?”

“It’s fine.” You shrug. “If you like stuff from the 80s.”

“I don’t know things from the 80s.”

You laugh softly, and look up with an apology on your tongue. You find Bucky staring at you, and your breath catches in your throat.

His eyes are so intense, you think they can see right through you. To the lust, pounding in your bloodstream. You have to open your mouth to breathe. Bucky’s eyes flick down. Just tracking a movement. Nothing about you.

You kick yourself internally, and push the casual smile back into place.

“I think you’d like some of it.” You reach for his arm, and Bucky turns it palm up, still staring at you. “I mean, any decade will have it’s ups and downs.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You run your fingers over the plates of metal, and for a second, forget all about the Bucky attached to them. It’s a beautiful artwork of technology. Overlapping, gold-inlaid, smooth under your fingers. You turn the wrist slowly, and there’s only a faint whir. No clicks. Shuri must be using a muffler, or some kind of fluid that moves the wires instead of gears-

“You want me to go?”

Your head shoots up, a panicked flush spreading over your cheeks. “No- No- I- I’m just-“

Bucky raises his brows, light amusement dancing in his eyes. Your words falter. He’s fucking with you.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, and Bucky chuckles again.

God, that sound. It’s going to be the death of you.

“It’s just- It’s amazing technology.” You mumble defensively, and Bucky shrugs.

“I can tell, from the way you’re eye fuckin’ it.”

“Eye fucking.” You shake your head, biting back your smile. “How do you even know what that means?”

“Too much time with Sam.”

“Hm,” you grab your screwdriver, running your hands up the mock muscle—he should be thanking Shuri even more, she didn’t have to give him biceps—looking for a panel. “Tony told me you weren’t going to talk.”

“Tony’s got that bad bedside manner,” Bucky shrugs with his good arm. “You gonna be nicer to me, doll?”

You just hum, ducking your head to hide your flush. Doll. He called you doll.

And Bucky huffs an amused laugh, at your non-answer. But he keeps talking to you. He tells you what Sam’s already gotten him to watch, and what Steve’s trying to get him to watch next, and what Steve’s saving so they can look at it together.

“Is Star Wars any good?” He asks, and you snort.

“Do you like cowboys?”

“I’m neutral.”

“Do you like space?”

“Yeah,” he pauses, then mutters, “I wanted to go to the moon. When I was a kid.”

You look up, and find a faraway look, etched over his handsome features. Your smile softens, and you lower your voice to a whisper, because this feels like a secret. “Yeah?”

Bucky nods, his eyes finding yours again. “I heard we got up there eventually.”

“We did. A few times.” It’s hard to hold his gaze. An unbearable ache is staring to pool between your thighs. “But now there are aliens on earth, so the final frontier is less… Coveted.”

Bucky’s lips twitch. It seems to be the closest he really gets to smiling. You want to see it over, and over, and over again.

“I think you’d like Star Wars.” You’re still whispering. You don’t know why.

“Alright,” Bucky says. And that’s it. He just… Trusts your words.

He asks for you again, next week. Tony claps you on the shoulder and thanks you, because Christ, he stares at me and I feel like I’m under surveillance. You roll your eyes and don’t respond. It doesn’t feel like that when Bucky stares at you, but he also does stare at everyone. So you’re not special. You’re just another person in his line of sight.

“I tried those donuts you were talkin’ about,” he tells you one afternoon, and you hum.

It’s the new routine. Bucky comes for you to work on his arm. You’re normal about it. You talk like people, and his lips twitch, and you feel something press on top of your chest, trying to gnaw your heart right open.

“Liked them,” he adds, staring at you. As always.

You hum, looking at him under your lashes. “Did you have the cookies and cream?”

He nods. “Just like you told me to.”

You smile despite yourself. It’s those small confirmations that he thinks about you, which get you the most. It means you mean something to him. It drives you insane.

“Sam says there are all kinds of ice cream flavors now, too.”

“Sam’s right.”

Bucky sighs. “Hate it when that happens.”

You laugh, a bubbly, pathetic sound that only Bucky pulls out of you. His fingers twitch under your hand, and you glance up.

It would be wise, if you stopped doing that. Every time you find him staring at you, you feel fucking insane.

“You should try cotton candy ice cream,” you murmur. “It’s fucking crazy.”

“That is my favorite kind of thing.”

“I know.”

Bucky’s lips twitch, and your heart almost bursts. “You got a good place? For ice cream?”

You shrug. “The grocery store?”

Bucky grunts, and his fingers twitch again. You focus back on his hand, because you don’t understand why they keep doing that. The rest of the session passes, and Bucky smiles at you before he goes, and you hold onto it like he just handed you a pearl-strung noose. Clutched between your teeth and priceless, but making your breathing short.

The rest of the day always passes in a daze, after you see Bucky. The seconds rush past you in an avalanche, and then you’re in your room, and  you let it take over.

How much you want him. How much you need him.

You lay, flat on your back in bed, and let your thoughts run wild. Bucky’s massive hands, one cool and one burning hand, would wander up your thighs. He’d shove your knees open, and kiss over the sensitive, hidden patches of skin. The stubble he’s been growing would scrape and tickle, as he kissed over your weeping pussy.

“All for me?” He’d murmur, and you’d nod helplessly. “You just walk around, pussy leakin’ because of how bad you need it?”

And you’d whimper. You do. There’s nothing you can do to help it, but save that desire for locked doors and hot, tangled sheets. Your fingers—smaller than Bucky’s, but all you have—rub over the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading your arousal as you picture that it’s Bucky instead. You push one finger in slowly, then a second one because you need them to stretch you like Bucky’s would.

“Messy girl,” he’d coo in your ear, and your back arches. You start to fuck yourself, slow and tentative as your thoughts run wild.

This is what just one of his fingers would feel like. Pumping in and out of you, his palm grinding down on you clit until you’re trembling beneath him. You’d try to push up into his hand, but he’d shove you right back down and kiss over your throat. Licking and nipping and driving you out of your fucking mind.

“Buckyyyy...” You moan at the air, and when you squeeze your eyes shut you can almost feel him.

“There you go, babydoll,” he’d kiss under your ear, his body pressing over yours. Warm and massive, pinning you to the bed, forcing you to just take it. “That’s it. You like that, don’t you. Like fallin’ apart on my fingers.”

You whimper and grab at the sheets. Your wrist aches, and you can’t hit that gooey, wet spot inside you, but god you just need to cum.

“I know,” Bucky would hit deeper. Wet, lewd sounds would fill the room, as he pounded his fingers into you at an unforgiving pace. “I know, sweet girl. C’mon, show me how pretty you are when you cum.”

Your back arches off the bed. Your hand shoots over your mouth as you moan and cry out his name, your thighs shaking and pussy squeezing down on your fingers. You lay there for a while after you’re done, holding the sheets in a vague form of Bucky.

Tomorrow, you’re going to see him again. Maybe just over breakfast, or passing in the hall. But you’ll see him. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes, and pray that he can’t see it just under your features. That all he’d ever need to do it touch your head, and you’d fall to your knees.

You’re devoted to him. He thinks of you as a friend, and he’s not your boss, but he’s boss adject, and there’s nothing about him that’s accessible. There’s no world where this ever goes beyond fantasy.

But god, you’re going to fantasize. You can’t hurt anyone, by just fantasizing.

That’s what you’ll tell yourself over and over, to avoid the guilt.

It’s all just a fantasy.

You‘re perfectly professional about it. It’s not Bucky’s fault that he’s so handsome it feels like you shouldn’t be allowed to look at him. You can keep your desire bottled up, keep in the warmest, wettest pits of your stomach. It can seep out between your thighs when it becomes too much to bare. It can breed into itself and spread up into your heart, festering in the dark. But Bucky will never see it. You’ll be good, and you’ll act sane, and that will be it.

He’s been through too much already, to add your insatiable, ardors devotion to his list of problems.

You’ve developed an easy friendship. That’s all you’ll allow yourself to have, all you let yourself think about in his presence. When you’re working on his arm, you don’t think about those big, cold fingers being buried in your pussy until you’re alone in your room. All your daydreams are trapped in your sheets, and your moans absorbed and locked in your pillowcase.

You think about Bucky pinning you down with a warm, splayed hand on your abdomen. About his smirk, as he bullies three metal fingers into your pussy, forcing a perfect stretch before fucking you like a toy. His cold thumb swiping over your clit, sending shivers through your body. His eyes gleaming and attention burning, as he drags out orgasm after orgasm.

That hand would be like having a personal fuck machine, and he’d act like it until the very end. All taunting and teasing until you were spent and limp below him. Then he’d kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the space between your eyes. He’d coo about what a good girl you were for him, and you’d whimper, your voice lost from screaming his name.

“What’re you thinking about?” Bucky says, sitting next to you at the kitchen counter.

You swallow, and shrug meekly. You never feel small around anyone but him, but you’ve never been this lost in anyone but him. It’s a miracle no one’s noticed, how Bucky shows up and suddenly you’re all flushed cheeks and girly giggles. You might as well be twirling your hair and kicking your feet. It’s pathetic. You can’t stop.

“Nothing?” Bucky pushes a little, and you give him a close-lipped, full smile.

“Nope.”

“You looked like you were thinkin’ about something.”

“I wasn’t.” You look back to the sandwich you’d been working on. Bucky keeps staring at you. He always does. “Nothing going on up here, Barnes.”

Bucky’s lips twitch.

The whole world seems brighter, like he’s just like some holy kind of candle.

“I don’t believe that,” he murmurs, and you shrug.

“You don’t have to.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Good for you.”

“It is, isn’t it,” he chuckles. “I’m gonna love being right.”

You blink, shooting his a sideways look. “Being… Right?”

“I know you’re thinkin’ about something.” He shrugs. “I’ll figure out what.”

Oh. Under no circumstances can he find out what you’re thinking about. “It’s not anything interesting,” you try lamely, and Bucky smirks.

“Ah. So it’s something.”

“I- That’s-“ You sputter. “Why do you even care-“

“I like knowin’ what you’re thinking,” he shrug. “It’s always interesting.”

You blink at him. For some reason, that makes your throat close up, your eyes burning with embarrassing tears. Your knees are wobbling, and you’re sitting down. You grunt and look back to your sandwich, and Bucky chuckles.

“C’mon. Tell me.” He leans closer. There’s a gravity, from his heat, and it makes you want to just collapse over his chest.

You look at him from the corner of your eye, and you won’t tell him. That’s against the rules. It defeats the purpose.

But god, he’s looking at you. Really looking at you. You can count each shade of blue in his eyes. If you move just an inch, your noses might bump.

“I’m hungry,” you whisper, and Bucky’s brow knits.

He looks down to your sandwich. Then back to you. Adorable confusion flashes over his face. “You should… Uh- Eat.”

You nod, and he clears his throat, leaning back. You wish you could grab the collar of his shirt, and drag him back.

“You ever seen this thing called the Princess Bride?” He asks, not touching any food himself.

Just sitting there. With you. You try not to think about it too much.

You nod, chewing on your sandwich with puffed out cheeks. “’S a really good movie-“

“Chew then swallow, doll.” Bucky’s lips twitch, and you flush and obey.

“It’s a good movie,” you mumble, giving him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Bucky shrugs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. Your breath hitches. You go perfectly still, afraid that if you shift, he’ll look away.

His tongue darts over his lips. He tips his head, his forearm flexes as he curls his fingers, and your breathing gets shallow. Something electric has shifted in the air, and it’s making you dizzy. Bucky reaches up slowly, and if you weren’t rooting in place, you think you’d fall out of your chair.

His thumb wipes the spot right above your lips, and a shock rushes through your body. His nostrils flare, his eyes lock onto yours, and his touch lingers.

When he pulls back, the movement is slow. Controlled. Your tongue flicks out, to lick where his thumb had been. Bucky’s nostrils flare.

There’s something on his thumb. Tiny little breadcrumbs that must’ve been stuck to your cheek from the sauce. Bucky brings the finger up to his mouth, holding your gaze, and sucks the crumbs away. Heat pools in your tummy, and your thighs press together.

Bucky stares at you. You grab the edge of your seat with white  knuckles, trying to keep yourself from falling off.

“Crumbs,” he mutters, and you nod.

“Yeah.”

“I- Uh-“ He coughs, and looks away. Disappointment sinks like a boulder into your stomach.

You don’t know what you expected. Hell, you’ve told yourself what to expect. You’re not allowed to be disappointed by him. You’re not allowed to want anything from him, except for what your head can offer.

“Sam’s been tryin’ to make me watch it,” he mutters, and you blink.

“What?”

“Princess Bride.”

“Oh.” You’re still a little drunk on his proximity. He smells like something rich and spicy, and it’s fogging up your brain. “Cool.”

Bucky nods. “We’re gonna watch it next Friday. In that common room, where Stark makes us do game nights.” He gives you a sideways look. “I never see you at those.”

You shrug. “I’m not an Avenger.”

“Stark says you get invited.”

You do. But that would be a night of drinking and laughing and being closer to Bucky than you can handle, so you usually lock yourself in your room and pretend he’s fucking you stupid.

“You’re invited to movie night, too.” He adds casually, and you swallow.

Movie night. Where Bucky would be near you. In the dark. You can’t go there. You’ll lose your mind.

But he’s looking at you with such dim, cautious light in his eyes. There’s no expectations. Just hope. And it pulls the words out of you before you can stop them.

“Oh- Okay.”

Bucky beams, and that makes it worth it. The risk, that he might brush your hand in the dark and you’ll moan loud enough for everyone to hear.

He reaches up, and wipes a few more breadcrumbs from your cheeks. Time seems to stop, when he touches you. It’s dangerous, and you barely manage not to fall all over him before he pulls away.

“You get messy,” he mutters, and oh, God.

You shouldn’t have said yes. Why the fuck did you say yes. Now you’re going to have to sit next to him, after that.

You get messy. He has no idea.

That night, you end up back in your bed with a vibrator pressed over your panties. It makes the feeling stronger, with the friction of the fabric, and you toss your head back. It’s easier and easier to get lost in the fantasy, lately. The better you know him, the clearer it gets.

You can almost feel his hands, mapping over the curves and soft dips of your body. You can almost smell him.

He mouths at your breast, pinching and rolls your nipple between metal fingers. You make a broken, pathetic sound, and he smirks.

“I know, doll. Too much, isn’t it?”

You whimper, pressing the vibrator down. Bucky hums, his hand wrapping around yours, and your hips jerk when he angles it to shove right against your clit.

“Too much,” he coos, making out with the softness of your breast. “I’m barely even touchin’, and you’re already about to fuckin’ fall apart for me.”

Your eyes roll back, as Bucky starts to guide the vibrator up and down. Your mouth falls open in a long moan, as he grabs your hips and pushes them higher, further exposing your pussy. He bites at your nipple, then turns his attention to the neglected one. You writhe in the sheets, gasping his name, and he smiles.

“Dirty girl.” He pushes your hand back, just enough for him to rip away your panties, exposing your cunt to the cold air. “Look at that, pretty little pussy fuckin’ shining for me.”

You grind down, trying to find friction on the sheets. Bucky pushes the vibrator against your bare pussy, and your eyes roll back in your head. He starts kissing all over your chest, pawing at your breasts and swirling his tongue around you nipples, sending electric shock through your body. He licks the sensitive buds the same way he licked his thumb. Your hips start to roll mindlessly, as the coil in your stomach threatens to snap.

When you cum, it’s with a cry of his name. The coil snaps, and heat floods out of your pussy, all over the vibrator and your hand. Your body convulses with the sheer force of it, and Bucky kisses down. Over your abdomen, your hips, your inner thighs.

“What a mess, baby.” He mocks, before pressing the sweetest kiss to your clit.

You sob, trembling in the sheets, and grab at his hair.

But your hand finds nothing.

Because it’s just another fantasy, kept in the confines of your mind.

Movie night was a bigger mistake than you could’ve ever imagined.

You show up, and it’s just Bucky and Sam. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, because men are strange creatures.

“Stevie’s on a mission,” Bucky says, staring at you like he’s seeing an angel. Like he didn’t invite you.

There’s an odd rasp to his voice, too. Maybe he’s just tired.

Sam says your name, that signature, I know something that everyone else doesn’t smirk on his face. You don’t think much if it. He always has it, even when he doesn’t know shit.

“Buck told me you’d be comin’. I didn’t believe him.”

“Sam.” Bucky grunts, and Sam shrugs.

“What? I didn’t.” He grins at you. “You never leave your lab-“

“She leaves her lab.” Bucky gives you an apologetic look, but you just laugh.

“No, he’s right. I really don’t.”

Bucky sighs, rolls his eyes, and pats the seat next to him. You smile to yourself, taking a long breath before you move. You’re going to be normal about this. Very, incredibly normal. So normal, they’ll think something’s wrong, because no one’s ever been this normal in history.

You last ten minutes.

The movie starts. You’ve seen it before, but you try to pay attention to every, tiny detail. The only other option is paying attention to Bucky. To the weight of him at your side, the way his knee brushes against yours and his arm is slung over the back of the couch. You’ve never seen him so relaxed and tense, all at once. He’s sunken into the cushions, but whenever you look over, his jaw is tight.

You could swear you catch his gaze, once or twice. If you do, he looks away immediately. And you feel it, that buzzing heat over your skin. But you’re supposed to be watching the movie. He’s supposed to be watching the movie. So you really, really try not to look over.

Bucky’s knee pushes against yours, and you swallow. His fingers trail near your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around your stomach to suppress the shiver. He’s warm. So fucking warm you can feel it, blooming in your core. You shift in your seat, and you’re already wet.

The movie isn’t even a third of the way done.

Bucky’s fingers rest on your shoulder. It’s so light, so casual, you’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it. You take the risk, and turn to fully look at him. He’s gotten even more relaxed, the knit of his brows loosened, pretty pink lips parted as he watches the TV. You want to reach up, and trace the stubble of his jaw. Maybe kiss up the column of his throat, dig your nails into his pecs and make out with that full, perfect mouth.

You let out a tiny sigh. Bucky doesn’t react to it. Too lost in the movie. Not paying you any mind.

And you should look away. You’re not here to Bucky watch.

You turn your head for three whole seconds, before your eyes start to ache. As if they can’t stand not to look at him. You try to resist it, but it plays over and over, on a loop in your brain. The image of him in the dark. The heat from him, almost penetrating under your skin and making you rise up like a balloon. Your head is in the clouds. You have to look at him.

You close your eyes, trying to fight it. Bucky’s hand drops from your shoulder, down to your upper arm, and your breath hitches.

Your eyes shoot open, and Bucky’s right there. Staring at you, with the same intense, focused need that’s clawing at your ribs and up your throat.

He grabs your chin, between strong but gentle fingers. You swallow, letting your gaze trail down his body. His massive chest, torso that looks perfect to hook your legs around, his thick thighs and his crotch.

The bulge, pushing through his sweats. It looks thick. Long and thick, demanding some attention. You look back to Bucky with your best, doe-eyed pout. He smirks, and leans down to kiss you. It’s slow and deep, his tongue swiping over your lower lip before pushing into your mouth. You moan, and Bucky weaves his hair through your hair, tugging slightly. Your second moan is downright pathetic. You grab his thigh, letting your nails brush against the outline of his cock.

Bucky hisses against your lips, and pulls back. You bat your lashes at him, and his lips twitch.

“Messy girl,” he mutters, before pressing a sweeter, mocking kiss to your lips.

He pulls away too quickly, but before you can give chase, you’re lost in a daze. Bucky’s pulling down his pants, taking his boxers with him. His cock springs free, thick and veiny, massive even in his own hand. He strokes himself slowly, giving you a prompting, amused look. You swallow, licking your lips.

“C’mon, doll,” he beckons. “Show me what you can do.”

Almost in a trance, you nod. Bucky’s eyes darken, as you crawl over his lap. You move his hand away, and fist his cock in one hand. He grabs the back of your neck, not to push, but for balance. A low, guttural sound rolls through his chest as you start to pump him, and you smile to yourself.

He really is perfect. A heavy, certain weight in your hand, jumping slightly whenever you squeeze him near the base. You shift back on your knees, using your other hand to massage his balls. He hisses, his grip tightening on your neck, and you smile. 

When you look at him, there’s nothing but pure devotion in his gaze. You squeeze again, then pick up your pace, and he groans out your name.

You kiss him, pushing his head back against the couch cushions. He grunts, but lets you guide him. As if he knows that it’s all just a show, before you let him fuck your face like an animal.

“Relax, baby,” you breathe against his lips.

Bucky lets out a deep, rough laugh. “Little hard to do that right now.”

You giggle, swiping your thumb over the slit of his cock. “Is it? Hard?”

Bucky groans, and deepens the kiss. You slide off of him, before he can just grab your hips, pick you up, and sit you on his dick.

You move back, lowering down to your stomach so you’re eye level with his dick. He’s pulsing in your hands, trying to hold himself back. You don’t want him to. You want him to cum everywhere. Down your throat and over your face and tits, claiming you in one of the most primal ways possible.

“Doll…” Bucky rasps, and you look up at him under hooded eyes. He’s a wrecked. Bulging muscles and sweat, slicking on his brow. “Don’t tease- Jesus-“

You wrap your mouth around him, and take him as deep as you can go. He bumps against the back of your throat, but you suppress your gag reflex, relaxing to try and get even more. Your nose brushes against the hair at base of him. Your tongue presses flat against Bucky’s shaft, your fingers still working his balls, and he fists his hand in your hair.

“So- So fuckin’ warm-“ He chokes out. “Holy- You’re somethin’, sweetheart- God-“

You hum, and Bucky’s hips jerk up. He stutters out an apology, but you just moan again. He tries to pull you off, muttering more apologies, and you dig your nails into his thigh. You want it. You want him to use you.

He gets it, after a moment. His grip on your hair tightens. He starts slow, jerking his hips up as he pushes you a little further down, before yanking you back. You moan around his cock, drool falling from your swallow lips. Your eyes roll back. He’s using you, god, he’s using you, and it’s the best fucking thing in the world.

Bucky fucks your face like a fleshlight, and you grind your ass up against nothing. He hits the back of your throat, over and over, salty and heavy on your tongue. The sounds he makes are beautiful and sinful, and-

“Something on my face, doll?”

You blink, and Bucky’s cock isn’t in your mouth anymore. You smack your lips, trying to find it. Bucky frowns at you, the light of the movie making him even more, impossibly handsome. Sam ignores you both, popcorn stuffed in his mouth.

Bucky looks worried. He said something.

“Hm?”

“You were, you were- Uh-“ He clears his throat, then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

He looks back to the TV, and your face burns. His thigh is pressed right against yours. You can swear, when you lick your lips, you can still taste his dick.

You’re so, so fucked.

It only gets worse.

Eating breakfast becomes a trial, because Bucky is always there, and you’re always thinking about his fingers while he eats. How they’d feel stuffed down your throat, gripping your hips, scissoring deep inside of you. He wipes cream cheese off your cheek, and you almost moan.

“You feelin’ alright?” Bucky says, always so caring and worried, and you nod weakly.

“Yeah. Just- Just tired.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but lets it go. If you were smarter, you’d be avoiding him. But you’re not. And you still have to work with him, anyway. It makes avoiding him rather impossible.

For a while you cling onto the idea that work would be sacred. That while Bucky’s in your office and you’re examining his arm, it’s purely professional. Not a single dirty thought.

You last about a week, with that one.  Bucky startles you walking in. You trip, and he catches you around your waist.

“Careful,” he smiles down at you, all handsome and stupid.

“Uh huh,” you breathe out, and you could’ve sworn a flood gushed out between your legs.

Bucky’s nostrils had flared, and he’d helped you up to your seat. You’d already had the new fantasy, blooming in your mind like the little fucking pervert that you were. You’d tried to shove it down, swaying in the middle of the room, but then you’d looked at him. Sitting with his legs spread in your chair. And you’d been lost.

You imagined climbing into his lap. His arm wrapping around you as you sat down on his cock, grinding slowly, lashes flutters as he kneaded and pulled at your hips and breasts. He’d stand up, taking you with him like you weighed nothing, and pin you to the wall. One arm would stay around you, holding you in place as his mouth started to explore your dripping cunt.

His tongue would work you open, pushing in and out of your pussy. He would’ve already cum inside of you, and every stroke of his tongue would send a wave of your mixed arousals over his beard. You’d watch him, moaning his name, and his thumb would bully and flick and tease your clit, until your were dazed and gasping for air and-

Bucky says your name, and you could slap yourself. This is getting out of hand.

“Sorry,” you mumble, sitting next to him. He smiles at you, so kind.

Always so kind.

“You’ve been kinda out of it, lately.” His words are casual. You still daydream about shooting yourself and running away.

“Just getting lost in thought,” you murmur, and he hums.

“Anything I can help with?”

You shake your head, because if you speak you’ll start begging. Please, please, please, he’s the only one who can help you, you’re going insane with how much you need him, and he could save you, he could really save you-

“Movin’ usually helps me.” He offers softly. You almost don’t hear him. “Y’know. Using my body. Remembering that it’s mine.”

“Yeah?” You say softly, cleaning the panel near his shoulder. He looks at you, and you risk looking back.

You can’t read that expression. You’re not sure you want to.

“Yeah,” he mutters. His gaze might flick down to your lips, but you don’t trust your own mind anymore. “You wanna try it with me? I head to that gym in the basement every night. It ain’t bad.”

And you should say no, but you can’t help it. You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch, and God, what you won’t do just so he smiles.

You will torture yourself, apparently. Bucky’s too hot to be allowed in a gym. Wearing a tank top that shows off his massive arms, smiling at you all lazy, in the way that’s more of a guard than the slip that you always crave, but a smile all the same.

First, you try walking on the treadmill and just watching him the mirror. He’s lifting weights, and his arms, they should be classified as weapons. You want those biceps keeping you in a head lock, against his chest or at his side. Keeping you still, while his cock pounds relentlessly into your pussy.

Bucky meets your gaze in the mirror. His lips twitch, and you look away, face burning.

You feel him, more than you see him coming over. The gravity of his presence, you think you’d be able to feel him blindfolded and dropped in a crowd of a million people.

“Come on,” he offers you a hand. “Lemme show you something.”

And you can’t say no to him. You really should learn how.

Because the something is training. Wrestling. Throwing fucking punches and trying to get the other down.

“Bucky, I can’t-“

“Yeah, you can.” He raises his fists, nodding to your own. “Up, doll.”

You sigh, raising them slowly. “You’re going to kick my ass-“

“I am. And then you’re going to get better.”

You scoff—he’s ridiculous—but listen. Bucky smirks, and lunges. You yelp and try to scramble away, but he’s too fast. You’re pinned under him in seconds, whacking at his arms and wiggling.

“Bucky- Get off-“

He laughs, standing up with a proud grin. You’ve never seen him so relaxed, so confident. It makes you hornier than you ever could’ve imagined.

He’d been over you. Everywhere over you. Pinning you down and manhandling you, and- Oh God-‘

“Up,” he beckons, and you swallow.

“I- I don’t know-“

“Yeah, you do.” He gives you a playful smile. “Get up.”

You sigh, and scramble to your feet. Bucky raises his fists again. You narrow your eyes, and match.

He chuckles. “Getting competitive?”

You shrug. “You wanted me to.”

Something flashes in his eyes. You’re not sure how to read into it.

“Damn right I do,” his voice is lower. You’re not imagining that.

You don’t get time to think about it, before he’s moving again. You hold your own exactly a second longer than before, but it ends the exact same way. You, pinned under Bucky’s broad, strong body. His face is pressed near your breasts, his fingers digging into your hips, his legs shoving yours apart to stop you from flailing around.

It goes on longer than it shoulder. This strange game that you like playing more than you should. Bucky starts trying to properly get you to throw a punch, but he gives up fast. Soon you’re more play wrestling than doing anything else. You’re giggly and dazed, charging at him like a bull, and he acts as bored and collected as always, but you can see the amusement dancing in his eyes, every time you try to climb him like a tree.

Then something shifts.

He gets you beneath him, and you try to shove at his chest. He catches your wrists and pins them up over your head. Your breath hitches, and he blinks. His hips drop against yours, and you can feel it. The bulge of his cock, pressing into your core.

He’s hard.

Not fully, but enough. Enough that you can imagine every ridged and curve of him, sliding between the puffy lips of your pussy. Your thighs clench, and Bucky grunts, rutting forward.

You both freeze, and your eyes lock. It’s one of those seconds, where you just stare hopelessly at each other. You almost apologize, but your tongue is limp. Bucky’s face is redder than you’ve ever seen it. His cock twitches in his pants.

And this isn’t a dream or fantasy. Bucky mutters your name, and it’s so real you think your heart might pound of your chest.

Bucky moves first. He clears his throat and moves to his feet.

“Better.” He offers you a hand. “That was…”

He trails off. You stare at each other, lost for words.

Bucky turns, and leaves without another word. You sway in the center of the room, breathing shallow, head spinning.

What the fuck just happened.

Bucky kisses up your spine, his mouth hot and possessive. His tongue flicks against your neck, and his fingers dig into your hips. He drags your ass up in the air and you mewl, pressing your face into the sheets.

“Ah,” he scolds, slapping your soaked, swollen pussy. “Lemme hear you, doll.”

You turn your head, moaning loud and shamelessly. Bucky chuckles, kissing a soft spot on your neck.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, notching his cock against your entrance. “Good girl.”

You coo like a baby bird, flushed and dazed. He’s big, so big that it almost hurts. He doubles over you with a groan, pressing his face into your shoulder as he slowly pushes every inch inside of you. The stretch burns in the best way, and you clench down around him.

Bucky hisses, hips jerking forward. “Careful,” he grunts. “Gonna strangle me.”

“S- Sorry-“

“No,” Bucky leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Nothin’ to apologize for. Just gotta relax, babydoll. Lemme do the rest.”

You hum, and take a deep breath. You’re grounded, in the feeling of Bucky everywhere. His warmer arm wraps around your neck, forcing you up enough for his lips to trail open kisses over your face.  

“That’s my girl,” he mutters against your ear, bottoming fully out. “That’s it. Just take it for me, just like that.”

You mewl, pushing your ass back up, then crying out with delight as Bucky pulls out, and slams back in. He’s met with no resistance, from how your pussy is gushing out with every thrust, every touch, every hot kiss.

But there’s nothing else to be expected. Not with how Bucky’s using you, how worshipful his every touch and kiss is, all while he fucks into you so hard you think the bed is going to break. His breath is hot on your back, the head of his cock drill against that one, gooey spot deep inside you. His cold arm locks around your middle, and his fingers tease and graze over your clit. Rubbing in tight little circles, making your eyes roll back in your head.

Bucky grunts, hauling you up so you’re pressed against his chest. You’re pinned down on his cock now, wet and warm and tight. So fucking tight that it pulls a low, rumbling moan from his chest. His hips slam up in a barely controlled rhythm, chasing more of your heat. You’re limp in his arms. Dazed and smiling like you’re drunk. Bucky uses his arm around your neck to push your head further back, and you have the nerve to fucking giggle.

You’re so beautiful like this that he almost cums right there. Fluttering lashes and the sweetest sounds, you pussy milking him like a machine. He kisses you because he can’t help it, and you hum happily, grinding your ass down into him.

He needs you to cum first. He gropes at your clit, letting his fingers fumble for a second to work you up into a teased, messy frenzy, before he pushes down and rubs in a steady, unyielding rhythm. You cry out his name, squeezing down so hard on his cock, and Bucky buries his face in your neck.

He cums, so hard that his vision goes white. Thick ropes of cum spurt over his hand, squeezing hard at the base of his cock.

It’s not as warm as you’d be, he thinks.

And he thinks. All the time, Bucky just thinks about you. About how you’d feel, molding around him. About how you’d sound right in his ear, how you’d get smiley and drool, and he’s feed you his fingers just so you have something to do with that pretty mouth. You’d moan around them, and he’d thrust up into you so hard he’d knock the damn worries out of your head.

It’s his favorite time of the day, this. Your rooms are closer than you seem to think, or you just forget how good his hearing is.

And every night, right before bed, he gets to settle into the mattress and beat his cock into his hand, listening to you moan and call his name. He’d never tell you. You deserve better, than a broken robot like him. He counts himself lucky he even gets to be your friend, because he’s a man well practiced at restraint. At not getting what he wants.

But this space, where no one can see, he allows himself things. He allows himself you.

But only ever in his head.

✦End note: this might be one of my fave bucky fics i just got to be soooo horny with it✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

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[numymochi]

hi guys!! i’m trying to look for this jungkook fic that JUST got posted 😭 i literally cannot find it but the plot is oc is getting married to jungkooks son but secretly sleeping with jungkook the night before their wedding. PLS IM DESPERATE LMAOOO

[inthelow]

TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS — jeon jungkook (6).

summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?.

pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook.

genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc.

chapters: intro; one; two; three; four; five; six; seven; eight; nine; ten; eleven; twelve; thirteen; fourteen; fifteen; sixteen; seventeen; eighteen; epilogue. | series masterlist

word count: +8k words

The morning started like most others in your world: too many emails, too many opinions, and a cappuccino that tasted slightly burned. You sat in your office at the flagship restaurant, the one you cared about the most, wearing some casual outfit for the office but with some matching heels that make you look taller, powerful, and almost made you fall twice walking to your car in the morning. Though, those heels were already off the first hour. You were barefoot behind your desk.

Your assistant, Lila, hovered near the door like she was either about to deliver a bomb or beg for mercy.

“Just say it,” you muttered, eyes on your screen.

She winced. “Vincenzo canceled.”

You blinked. “What?”

“The wine dinner this week. He said he has to be in Milan. Something about truffle season and his mother’s birthday and a priest with a weak heart. I stopped listening after ‘Milan’ to be honest.”

You closed your laptop and leaned back slowly, like you were calculating how long it would take to fly to Milan just to strangle him.

“We’ve had that event on the books for six months,” you said, like that reminder would fix something.

“I know.”

“He signed the contract.”

“Also true.”

You sighed, pressed your temples, and then reached for your coffee. You took it, trying to think of something to fix this. When you work in hospitality, you needed a lot of control to work under pressure to fix the problems that come everyday… or you will dall into the path of cocaine like many of your workers had. You were very close to the last one.

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s not panic. We pivot.”

Lila raised a brow. “Are we the kind of people who pivot?”

“We’re the kind of people who make a pivot look like it was the original plan,” you said flatly.

“Right. Should I reschedule?”

“God, no. Rescheduling is for amateurs. We replace him. We make it sexier. We spin it.”

You brain clicked into gear, not because you weren’t still mentally fogged up from waking in Jungkook’s bed, from the way his hands had felt on your waist, from the way he looked at you when you tried to downplay things like they weren’t changing… but because this was what you did.

You were good at this. You could organize, lead, spin chaos into gold. You could control things. And after yesterday, you needed that.

“Call Han,” you said suddenly. “The sommelier from Busan. The one who looks like he should be in an Armani cologne ad. He owes me.”

“He does?”

“No. But I bought him cigars once and he has the memory of a Spaniel. It’ll work.”

Lila grinned and pulled out her phone, her eyes flickering with something you always saw on her when you fixed something. Admiration, horror. Both at the same time. “I’ll start charming.”

“Don’t try too hard,” you said. “You have the energy of a sleep-deprived meerkat. Just be yourself.”

You turned back to your computer, eyes scanning schedules and invoices, trying to drown yourself in logistics.

But Jungkook kept creeping into your mind. The way he looked at you when you brought up your ex-fiancée. The way he didn’t push, but also didn’t pretend not to see you. It had thrown you off, more than you’d admit. He didn’t ask where you’d seen Jungwoo. Didn’t press. But he looked at you like he knew you weren’t telling the whole story. Like he was mature enough to know that people have pasts. And also smart enough to know when they’re hiding them.

That unsettled you more than any outburst would have. Because Jeon Jungkook? That man didn’t need you to confess. He just waited. And somehow, that was worse.

The door opened again an hour later and Se-hoo walked in, carrying two iced lattes like a hero in heels. It was normal for her to dropped by by the office some days. Specially the days she had some minutes off after a going to the court, which was conveniently close to your office. You were sure your assistant had called her, it wasn’t the first time. She had her number after Se-hoo gave it to her saying “just call me every time this woman is about to go insane and fire everyone. I’ll handle it”— You knew she had only give her number to Lila to ask her out, but after meeting Valeria she hadn’t really use it for more than ask about you or coming by when your assistant called to tell her you were about to have a mental breakdown

“Lila said you were spiraling,” she said, dropping one of the cups on the desk.

“I’m not spiraling.”

“Uh huh.” Se-hoo sat across from you. “You’re just aggressively emailing your workers and drinking espresso like it’s blood.”

“Vincenzo canceled.”

“Of course he did. He’s a drama queen with nice shoes.” You gave a tight nod. Se-hoo sipped her drink. “Think about something else and calm down… How’s Jungkook?” Your lips pursed. “That good?”

“He’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Se-hoo raised a brow. “Which in Y/n-speak means you’re terrified you actually falling for him.”

You didn’t reply. You clicked open another email. Deleted it. Reopened it. Closed it again.

“I stayed over last night,” you said, after a long pause.

“And?”

“And I told him about Jungwoo.”

“Shit.”

“Not everything,” you mentioned.

“You never do.”

You looked up. There was no judgment in your friends’s eyes. Just quiet understanding. You took a breath. “I’m not used to people like him.”

Se-hoo smiled. “Stable? Kind? Ridiculously hot with a kid and a mortgage?”

“Ridiculous mature, like… he knows what I’m thinking.”

“You’re doing fine,” she shrugged.

“I’m not.”

“Then fake it. That’s what therapy’s for.”

You laughed despite yourself. And for a moment, just a brief flicker, things felt okay again.

You were good at many things. Crisis management, fine wine pairings, Italian insults. But this whole letting someone in thing? It was new. Uncharted. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be good at it. Maybe you just had to try.

By the time 5 p.m. hit, you were visiting the not-so-new new restaurant you had opened. The restaurant floor was humming like a well-rehearsed orchestra. You walked through it with your tablet in hand, stilettos clicking against the polished wood floor, the scent of rosemary and seared duck trailing through the air. You nodded at chefs plating, gave a quick thumbs-up to a nervous server about to deliver wine to a demanding regular, and stopped to correct a garnish with the ease of a woman who built a business from muscle memory.

You didn’t miss a beat.

Except… internally, you were six steps behind yourself.

Jungkook hadn’t texted all day. Not that he had to. Not that you were the we-text-all-day dating type. Not that you cared. (But you noticed.) And it made you a little mad that you maybe did, just a little. But part of you knew it was a text that was bothering you… it was the situation. You had never been one of those girl to wait for a text or a reassuring word of your partner to know they’re not mad at you because they didn’t talk to you for five minutes… That’s why it bother you, because you were waiting to know he wasn’t actually a little mad or bother that you brought up your ex fiancée yesterday. Because you actually cared if he wasn’t. And he told you he wasn’t, he assured you. But you had learned how to read him too. And you knew there was something there he wasn’t telling you completely.

You glanced at your phone again as you checked the reservation list for the night.

Still nothing.

“Y/n,” Lila said, stepping beside you with a notepad in her hand. “We’ve got an issue with the wine inventory…”

“Who counted it?”

“María.”

“Then it’s not an issue. María’s never wrong.”

“She says it’s short.”

“Then someone’s stealing,” you said, already walking toward the cellar. “Let’s pull the camera logs. If it’s Danilo again, I swear to God…”

“It’s not,” Lila said quickly. “He’s been in Valencia since Tuesday.”

Right. Valencia. The pop-up. You had send him to do some work there for the month, working on the new project.

“Right. Let’s handle it then.”

“We can check…”

You blinked. Your brain was fogging.

Because the image of Sunni’s little plastic crown and juice box from the art fair kept popping into your head like some cheeky psychological prank. Because it was becoming real. Because now Jungkook was not something undefined. You were having the epiphany mid shift. Jungkook was real, your feelings for him were real. Because you were beginning to know the kid’s name and her favorite ice cream and the way she stared people down like a suspicious FBI agent. And because last night, when you saw Jungwoo again, your heart didn’t twist the way it used to. It barely moved that way. Which made you feel… strange. Unmoored.

Halfway to the cellar, you stopped.

“Actually, you go,” you told Lila. “I need five minutes.”

“Do I look like I can handle wine theft?”

“You look like someone who’s been trained by me. Go.” you demanded.

She obeyed, muttering something about needing a raise like she always did.

You ducked into the managers office, this time empty. You closed the door, and leaned against it. Silence. Just the soft, faraway sound of music from the dining room and your own pulse.

You checked your phone again. Still no text. But then it lit up. And you inhaled sharply.

Jungkook: How’s your day going, boss lady?

Just that. Simple. But it was like the world rebalanced. Your fingers hovered over the screen. You almost wrote: ‘Busy. We had a crisis. Vincenzo canceled. I saw Jungwoo again after almost a year that we finished our engagement. Rosa’s okay for now. I haven’t talk to my parents in weeks. I’m a little unhinged but pretending I’m not’.

But instead you typed:

You: Standard chaos, saving the day as always. You?

You didn’t send it. Not yet. Instead, you stared at the message and let yourself feel… tired. Tired of pretending not to care. Tired of playing it cool when you knew this wasn’t casual anymore. Tired of being so good at being untouchable.

There was a knock. You jumped.

“Chef wants you to taste the special,” a line cook called from outside.

“Coming.”

You sent the message. Put the phone away. And walked back out into your domain. But this time, a little more centered. A little more real. Not because everything was fixed but because, somewhere between the duck confit and the linen napkins, you let yourself feel something. And you didn’t die from it.

By midnight you were already loosing it again.

Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as you moved through the lingering crowd of staff, their voices blending into a distant hum you barely registered. The day had been a disaster of deadlines missed, client complaints, and everything that could go wrong somehow did. Your brain felt like it was on fire, every nerve screaming for release. You went back to the office to complained and try to fix everything only to find more mistakes to fix in every new email you received.

Lila approached cautiously, a stack of files in her hands. You could tell she was tired too, being all day in there working like that was exhausting. Specially that day full of mistakes. “Y/n, I know you’re swamped, but the Henderson proposal…”

You cut her off with a tired sigh. “I know. It’s a mess. I just need some air.”

Without waiting for a response, you took the elevator to the first floor. Ignoring the receptionist who look to the other side of the floor when she saw your face for a brief second. You pushed through the doors and stepped outside into the cool night, the crisp air hitting you like a shock. You wanted to scream, to groaned, to just lay down and never move again.

And there he was.

Jungkook stood quietly by the building entrance, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, his calm presence like an anchor in the storm.

“Y/n,” he said softly, watching you approach. “Hi, sorry. You didn’t answer your phone. Figured you might need rescuing.”

You blinked, a bit surprised but grateful all the same. It took you a second to comprehend and take it that he was actually standing in front of you. Almost 11 p.m.

“What… You came here?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, thought you could use a break. I was about to go in but saw you walking out.”

Before you could respond, the dam broke.

“A break? I need a vacation… Lila forgot the crucial figures on the report, the client’s losing their minds, the new intern accidentally emailed a selfie instead of the contract, and the damn espresso machine broke right before the board meeting!” Your voice rose, your frustration pouring out in rapid-fire sentences. “I’m juggling a million things and everyone is so damn incompetent today!.”

Jungkook didn’t interrupt, just listened, steady and patient.

Suddenly, in the heat of your rant, you cursed loudly. Sharp, fluent Italian slicing through the night air. Like words that didn’t need translation to understand they were not meant to be heard by children. Jungkook’s eyebrows rose, clearly surprised by the sudden foreign flare. But he didn’t ask. Instead, as you breath caught and the tension in your shoulders softened for just a moment, he stepped closer.

Without warning, he gently cupped your face and kissed you. Not rushed or urgent, but grounding and warm. And it made you melt a little. Enough to follow his lead, enough to know that there were other things more than fix things at work.

When you two parted, his voice was low, sincere. “Do you need me to do anything?”

Your breath hitched, the moment catching you off guard, but beneath the exhaustion and fury, something tender stirred. Jungkook’s feelings were clear to him. He was already in deep, but he held his words back, knowing this moment was yours, not his.

You looked at him, the chaos inside you quieting just enough to meet his calm eyes.

“Just… stay a little?,” you whispered.

He smiled softly, the weight of everything easing in that simple request. Because he wanted to stay, with you. As long as you wanted him to.

———

The restaurant was one of those sleek places in the city where everything was neutral-toned and over-designed, the kind of place that served eggs benedict on slate boards and added edible flowers to coffee foam. The sun filtered through massive windows, bouncing off glass and white linen in a way that made everything feel just a bit sterile. Perfect. Polished. Curated. Like your parents.

You arrived just in time. Which for your parents was five minutes late. They always arrived earlier, just to seem more diplomatic and respectful. You spotted them right away

Your mother was dressed in a soft beige silk blouse and navy trousers that had clearly been tailored within an inch of their life. Her hair, not a strand out of place, was pulled into a French twist that somehow didn’t move when she turned to greet you with a bright, almost distant smile. Your father looked every bit like a charming European businessman. Navy blazer, open-collar shirt, and that permanent sense of distraction he carried like cologne. He stood to kiss you on both cheeks.

“There she is,” he said warmly. “The one who likes to disappear every month. You look lovely.”

You wanted to tell them they knew where you lived and where you work. They could easily visit you anytime, not waiting for the monthly brunch like you were just some other thing in their schedule they needed to be done with… But you didn’t say it. Instead, you smiled.

“You say that every time you see me,” you said, tone relaxed. You took your seat.

“Because it’s always true,” he replied, sitting back down and gesturing for the waiter. “Doble espresso for my daughter, yes?”

You gave a slight smile. He remembered your coffee order. Gold star.

Your mom leaned forward slightly. “We were just talking about the Milan project. They might be opening a second location.”

“That’s amazing,” you said, nodding as you unfolded your napkin. “Are you staying longer in Korea then?”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not sure. Depends on how things move. Your father’s hoping to fly out again next week.”

Of course he was.

The conversation for the first fifteen minutes was polite. Efficient. Like a business meeting. They talked about the company. Your parents ran a luxury event planning firm that catered to billionaires and royals. And about recent galas, global travel, and some minor celebrity your mom had styled for a wedding in Lake Como.

You chimed in when needed, asked questions, nodded at the appropriate pauses. But it wasn’t long before your mind wandered, like always. Watching them sip espresso and speak in soft tones, a world of elegance and control. They weren’t bad parents. They weren’t cruel or absent out of malice. They just… had lives. Big, glossy lives with plans and gowns and contracts. They had always made sure you were safe, fed, well-dressed, educated. They gave you the best schools, the best doctors, the best nannies. Everything but themselves.

And they were proud of you, in their own weird way. They said it often. You were the perfect daughter, weren’t you? You ran a successful chain of restaurants, you had excellent posture, you wore Loro Piana with dignity. You were what they made you to be, what they hoped you would be… But you didn’t really know them. And you were sure, behind all that talk and proudness they felt about you being their daughter, they didn’t know you. At all.

“So,” your father said suddenly, reaching for his mimosa. “Still seeing that nice young man? The one from college?”

You blinked. “That was even before Jungwoo, Dad.”

“Oh,” he said, tilting his head. “Well, he had a good handshake.”

Your mom gave a light laugh, as if that were an actual barometer of character. “You never told us what happened with the engagement. We heard about it from Rosa, of all people.”

“I didn’t know you still talked to Rosa.”

“We use to, sometimes,” she said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “She keeps us updated.”

You gave a tight smile and cut into your poached egg. “Jungwoo and I… weren’t right for each other anymore. That’s all. We finished things on good terms.”

“Well,” your father said with a shrug, “at least you left with dignity. No drama. I admire that.”

You didn’t respond.

Because it wasn’t true. You had mop all around over five months after almost breaking every dish in your kitchen. You had cursed Jungwoo in every language before talking the decision to break things off amicable. You weren’t that composed, that lady-like dignified. You lose control sometimes, you had to break apart. You had lost your mind a thousand times thinking about it. But they didn’t know. They didn’t actually want to. They never had to deal with you, they just were around like a weather friend who only was there to say they were proud and catch a drink just to know what you were up to. Not caring if you were having a bad moment. Not wanting to be the one to deal with it, with you.

Your cleared your throat gently. “And you’re still managing all the restaurant locations yourself? That sounds exhausting.”

“I delegate,” you replied. “I’m not making the pasta by hand, don’t worry.”

They laughed. It wasn’t unkind. But it was hollow.

“Well, it is just food after all.”

You ignored that comment, not trying to make it a discussion again. You just breathe in, breathe out and let it go.

For a while, they spoke of simpler things. Of art exhibits. Of possible vacations. Your father teased you about never answering the phone. Your mother asked if you needed anything. Clothes, jewelry, a new apartment. As if love came in packages from Bergdorf’s.

At one point, she placed a hand lightly on your wrist. A motion you very well knew. She did it everytime she saw you. “We’re proud of you, you know.”

“I know.”

“We don’t say it enough.”

“No. You really don’t,” you said, softer than you meant to.

Your mother’s eyes lingered for a moment, then drifted back to her plate. “We’ll do better.”

You didn’t press it. It was the closest you’d ever come to a real conversation. But you knew it was just a white lie. You wouldn’t see them until next brunch. You would just take some calls and they would tell you about their next adventure and ask you if you needed anything they could buy for you. Not really asking anything sentimental they could give you.

But you were use to by now. Those little lies made you believe there was always something more to hope for. And hope was something you had live for miserably all your life.

When the check came, your father reached for it without question. “Let me spoil my daughter for once.”

“You gave me the money to open my first restaurant” You said. “You spoil me constantly.”

“Yes, but usually from abroad.”

He kissed you on the cheek again when you all stood up. Your mother held your hand a beat longer than usual.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she said.

You smirked as you stepped out onto the sunlit sidewalk. “I never am. You’re just never here.”

They both laughed, your comments always being taken as a harmless dark joke. And then you parted ways. Like polite neighbors who happened to share DNA.

Two hour later the hell ended and luckily for you, your friends were waiting.

By the time you reached the rooftop bar, the afternoon sun was starting to show up, that golden hour glow that made the entire city look like it had been dipped in champagne. you stepped out of the elevator and spotted them instantly. Se-hoo in oversized sunglasses and a structured black blazer, already halfway through a martini; Bohyung lounging in a linen shirt, ankles crossed, sipping something bright and citrusy. It was too early to drink but none of you cared enough.

“There she is,” Bohyung called, raising his glass. “Our beloved heiress of cold-blooded brunches.”

You smirked, walking over to them and pulling off your sunglasses. “God. That was brutal.”

Se-hoo lifted an eyebrow. “What, the bill?”

“No. The small talk. The whole performance.” you sat down with a dramatic exhale, dropping your bag on the chair beside you. “I swear to God, we could’ve been three strangers on a first-class flight trying to be polite.”

“Did they ask if you’re still seeing the guy with the strong handshake?” Bohyung teased, sipping again.

“He’s back in the rotation, yes,” you deadpanned. “Jungwoo lives on, immortal in their minds too. They always asked the same. My mother asked if I needed clothes. Like, as a concept.”

“Did you say yes?” Se-hoo asked, waving over the server. “Because I do. And I’m not above using your mother’s delusions to finance a new pair of boots.”

“She offered me jewelry too,” you said flatly. “It’s like love is only real if it’s wrapped in silk and comes with a receipt.”

Bohyung reached across the table and squeezed your hand dramatically. “Don’t worry. I love you in unbranded cotton.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And your idiot,” he grinned.

Se-hoo leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “So? Tell us everything. Was it just you three?”

“Just me and the wax sculptures of my parents,” you said. “They were warm and sweet, but… sterile. Like a museum tour with complimentary champagne.”

“Still the same?” Se-hoo asked, genuinely curious now.

“Exactly the same. They ask about my business like I’m a junior analyst at Goldman. There was a solid thirty-second stretch where I talked about I owned to the bank and no one blinked. Like I’m just an efficient little investment who turned out well.”

“They are proud of you though,” Bohyung said. “They always have been.”

You nodded. “Yeah. But it’s like… they love this idea of me. The version they’ve curated. They don’t know I cry at the theatre watching Dumbo or that I used to practice wedding vows in the mirror when I was ten. They know the final product. Not the build.”

There was a brief silence while the server arrived with drinks. Your friend’s had ordered for you. A Negroni, Se-hoo’s second martini, and Bohyung’s third and absurdly large Aperol spritz.

“Okay,” he said after a sip. “Enough about the aristocracy. Tell us about your real family. The tattooed boyfriend and the demon child.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding a small smile. “First of all, not my family nor not my child. I’m just an innocent bystander in all of this.”

“Didn’t you go to her little art fair?” Se-hoo asked, grinning.

“It was more like a live attack in watercolors.”

“She insulted your shoes, didn’t she?” Bohyung grinned.

“She said I don’t get her art. She draw a fucking spaghetti dog or whatever the fuck that was.”

“Icon,” your blonde friend whispered.

“I have trauma,” you declared. “You know what I was doing at seven? Practicing my signature and plotting my future wedding to Prince William. This one is insulting ny clothes and telling me to stay away from her dad.”

“She’s testing your strength,” Bohyung said.

“She’s trying to drive me out,” you replied, lifting your glass. “And she’s not far off.”

Se-hoo studied you over the rim of her glass. “But you like him.”

“I do,” you said simply.

“More than the casual thing you claimed it was?”

You sighed. “I don’t even how it happened. It just… shifted. One day I’m coming over for sex, and the next, he’s staying over at my house to make me ramen... And I didn’t hate it.”

Bohyung smirked. “You’re in a relationship.”

“Shut up.”

“You are. And not just that. You’re in a real adult relationship. With dinners and emotions and a child who hates your guts.”

“I’m not in anything,” you protested. “We’re just… seeing where it goes.”

“Oh my God,” Se-hoo muttered, leaning over the table. “You love him.”

You blinked, then burst into laughter. “Absolutely not.”

But you knew you were getting there. That you were in denial. Because you had a strong character. You didn’t mind say no. You didn’t mind rejecting someone and moving one. You wouldn’t bat an eye making a man whine over feelings. But you had let someone stayed. You had let Jungkook take you to dinners. You had invited him to your house. To your bed. You had let him kiss you and fuck you in your own house. You had let him stayed over. You had let him feed you, cook for you. You had let him convince you to introduce you to his daughter. A kid. Something you had always being disgusted by. You had let him convince you to go to her art fair like a supportive friend.

You had let Jungkook claimed every part in your life, looking to stay… and that didn’t bother you. Not one part. Not at all.

Bohyung raised his glass. “To denial.”

“To repression,” Se-hoo toasted.

“To being in love with a man who owns Tupperware,” he added.

You groaned. “I hate both of you.”

“No you don’t,” they said in unison.

And you didn’t.

You looked out over the city, the wind catching strands of your hair, the laughter still warm in your chest. Whatever this thing with Jungkook was, however serious or casual it pretended to be, you knew one thing: this was your real family. These two idiots. This rooftop. The quiet, grounding chaos of people who actually knew you. Every piece of you. Even the pieces that try to fool them. Knowing you so well that they could caught you before you even did. Because they did know you and they loved you.

Even if they never offered to buy you jewelry.

———

The apartment smelled like crayons and spaghetti.

Jungkook stepped over a tiara on the hallway rug and tossed Sunni’s glittery backpack onto the coat rack hook. A faint puff of glitter floated into the air as it landed, shimmering like the aftermath of some princess apocalypse. He shook his head, smiling faintly, and rubbed his temple with ink-smudged fingers.

“Dad,” Sunni called from the living room, “I’m not doing homework. I’m doing research.”

“You’re watching hamster obstacle course videos,” he rolled his eyes.

“It’s called field work.”

Jungkook didn’t argue. He dropped his sketchbook onto the counter and poured himself a glass of water, glancing around the kitchen. There were magnets spelling out random words on the fridge — “FIRE,” “UNICORN,” and “BURRITO” — along with one of Suni’s latest masterpieces: a portrait of them both, complete with crooked stick arms and what looked like a suspiciously tall woman drawn beside them.

“Who’s this?” he had asked when she showed it to him earlier.

“Just someone I saw once,” she’d answered, and then changed the subject.

Now, as she narrated the complex dynamics of her favorite hamster channel, Jungkook leaned against the counter and pulled out his phone. No messages. Not that he was expecting one. You had told him you had something with your parents. Boring, you said. Probably a stiff one with wine glasses polished to the point of anxiety. He wondered how you handled it. Or didn’t. You were funny and sharp and wildly expressive, but when it came to the people who raised you, there was something… untouchable there. Like a glass wall around your feelings. Something he wasn’t able to reach, something you always tried to downplay it and change the subject. Something he wasn’t able to know but wanted to. Because he wanted to know everything about you.

“Do you want me to heat up your leftovers?” he asked Sunni

She wrinkled her nose. “I want cereal.”

“Sold.”

He poured her a bowl, handed it over like a ceremony, and watched her skip away like she’d just won a prize.

The apartment quieted down for a bit. Just the soft click of her spoon against the ceramic, and the hum of the TV in the background. Jungkook picked up his sketchbook and flipped it open. There were new designs he was working on for the shop. A full sleeve inspired by jazz records, a delicate ankle tattoo for a client who’d just survived something big. His pencil moved on instinct, sketching the shape of a woman’s hands. Slender, expressive, biting a nail. Yours.

“Daddy,” Sunni called again. “Do you love your job?”

He looked up. “I do.”

“Even the part when people cry when it hurts?”

“Especially that part,” he grinned. “I tell them pain is temporary but ink is forever.”

“That’s so lame.”

“Thanks.”

She had his humour. That witty and sarcastic remarks only a seven-year-old too aware of her around and with a functional family could have. And he loved that for her. A lot.

She padded into the kitchen with her bowl. “I think you should marry someone cool.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Cool like who?”

“I don’t know. Like Beyoncé. Or the weather lady with the red lipstick.”

He laughed. “You think I have a chance with Beyoncé?”

“You don’t know unless you try.”

“Well, she’s married so definitely not.” He took her bowl and rinsed it out. “What about someone who isn’t famous?”

Sunni tilted her head. “Like… a normal person?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay,” she shrugged. “But she still has to be cool. And know how to make pancakes.”

“Pancakes are non-negotiable.”

Sunni wandered off again, dragging her blanket behind her like a royal cape. Jungkook wiped his hands, stood at the counter for a long minute, then finally picked up his phone again.

Still nothing.

He didn’t want to hover. But he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Not just about the way you looked. Though yeah, you were stunning. But the way your mind worked, the way you lit up when you were making a point or dismantling an opinion like it was a puzzle box. You challenged him. Made him want to say something smarter. Made him want to read more. Made him listen harder. He liked how you spoke with conviction, how you laughed with your whole chest when you finally did find something funny, how you were always a little more vulnerable than you let on- but never less powerful.

He liked you. A lot more than he’d planned to. Maybe too much for what you’d started out as.

He ran a hand over his jaw, thoughtful. You hadn’t said anything about where things were headed, and maybe you didn’t know yet. Maybe you weren’t ready to. He could be patient. He’d had a kid at his early twenties. He knew what patience meant. But he wasn’t going to pretend it was something without direction anymore. He wasn’t built like that.

“Dad,” Sunni called again, now curled up with her stuffed fox. “Can we do a pizza picnic on the floor tomorrow?”

“Sure, Kiddo.”

“And maybe draw some hamsters?”

“Obviously.”

She yawned, eyes drooping, and he tucked a blanket around her. As she drifted off, Jungkook stood at the edge of the living room, watching the glow of the TV reflect in her sleepy eyes, and thought about the kind of woman who didn’t run - even if you wanted to - when you found out he came with a seven-year-old whirlwind.

He didn’t want perfect. He didn’t need sweet. He just wanted real. And maybe, just maybe, he already had it with you.

———

It was just after 7:30 p.m. when you rang the buzzer to Jungkook’s building, holding a bottle of wine like it was armor and asking yourself for the twentieth time why you’d said yes to this. You liked him, more than you wanted to, but you didn’t do floor picnics and kids with glittery tiaras and imaginary friends named “Captain Toast.” And yet, here you were, in your favorite jeans and a white and normal tee, hair in a neat twist, heels clicking against the building floor like you were arriving at a shareholders’ meeting instead of what Jungkook had described in the text as “Sunni’s Pizza Vision Board Night.”

He opened the door in a T-shirt and joggers, barefoot and grinning, and you immediately wanted to slap him and make out with him at the same time.

“You came,” he said, stepping aside. “And you brought backup.”

You held up the wine. “Merlot. The real MVP.”

Sunni peeked out from behind a blanket fort in the living room, her hair in messy pigtails, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Hi, Y/n,” she said, suspiciously polite.

“Hey… you,” you replied, giving her a stiff wave like you were greeting a territorial raccoon.

Jungkook glanced between you two, his amusement barely concealed. “So, here’s the situation. Sunni made us a menu. There are options.”

You took the crumpled paper he handed you. It said:

PIZZA PLAN

— Peperoni

— CHEESE ONLY

— Something fancy for the lady

— Ice cream

— Dancing (optional but not really)

You raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate the professionalism. Though I’m not dancing with this heels.”

“Yet,” Sunni said under her breath.

“I heard that.”

Jungkook took the wine from your hand. “I’m gonna run to the corner to pick up the pizza and ice cream. You two hold down the fort?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, you’re leaving me alone with your tiny overlord?”

Sunni crossed her arms like a mob boss.

“You’ll survive,” Jungkook said, already pulling on his hoodie. “Sunni, be nice. Y/n, don’t threaten her.”

“I would never threat your kid,” you lied.

The door closed, and silence fell over the apartment like fog. It was too fast. You barely even had time to protest. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t take care of a children. You could barely take care of a fish. You accidentally killed one when you were fourteen!. Now what if she had an accident or something under your supervision?. The responsibility was way too much. Even for someone who owned a chain of restaurants. The pressure of taking care a child was way worse.

You weren’t entirely sure how this kept happening. How you, a fully-grown, emotionally distant woman with a short temper and expensive shoes, kept ending up alone with a tiny tornado who didn’t blink, didn’t stop moving, and apparently didn’t believe in sitting still.

The silence lasted exactly forty-seven seconds. Now Sunni was running laps around the coffee table, holding a Barbie in one hand and a stick of string cheese in the other, screaming what sounded like the theme song to Frozen but in Japanese. You, on the couch, clutched your bag like it was a crucifix.

“Jesus fucking Christ, do you ever stop?” you muttered, watching the blur of pigtails and glitter zip by again.

“I’m exercising my freedom!,” Sunni declared, skidding across the floor in socks and nearly colliding with the ottoman.

You shot up, annoyed. “Okay, that’s it. Sit.”

Sunni paused mid-spin. “What?”

“I said sit. Like a human. On a surface. Pick one. Couch, chair, floor, I don’t care— just stop vibrating like a possessed fucking Roomba.”

The little girl narrowed her eyes. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I literally am. By default. And I’ve lived longer, paid taxes, and seen Radiohead live, so sit.”

Sunni rolled her eyes, not really understanding some of your words. Just annoyed by you in general. “You’re not my mom.”

You nodded furiously. “I’m not. Lucky for you.”

Sunni bounced off the couch and started pacing again, muttering, “This is the worst.”

“You’re the worst.”

The little girl didn’t stop. You looked around the room like you were defusing a bomb. Then you spotted a sleeve of cookies on the counter. She looked at you with some spark in her eyes when you grabbed one with a napkin.

“Oh, you want a treat? Huh? You want a cookie? Sit, and I’ll give you a damm cookie.”

Sunni blinked. “Are you… are you treating me like a dog?”

You waved the cookie dramatically. “Sit, goblin. Sit and get the biscuit.” Sunni sat. Immediately. You froze for a second, stunned that she had listened. “Oh my God.”

Sunni held out her hand. “Biscuit me, lady.”

You you tossed it like you were feeding a Labrador. Sunni caught it in mid-air with her hands and you patted her head excited. “Good girl!.”

“I like this cookie” she said through a mouthful of crumbs.

Sunni climbed onto the couch beside you, cookie in hand, and stared ahead like you’d just been through war together.

“I can’t believe that worked,” you mumbled.

The little girl didn’t blink. “Do you like kids?”

“Not particularly.”

“Cool,” she said, sitting down across from you and biting into her cheese stick after finishing that cookie. “Then we agree on something.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t like kids either?”

“I am a kid,” she frowned.

“Then you should really work on your PR, babe.”

Sunni shrugged, not understanding. “You curse too much.”

“I was raised by an old Italian woman. It’s how I breathe.”

“You say weird words.”

“Pick a book and you’ll understand me better.”

“You’re mean.”

“You’re nosy.”

“You wear weird shoes.”

“They’re Saint Laurent.”

“They’re ugly.”

You put your hand over your heart, a gasp escaping your lip. “You little shit, you’re ugly.”

“Do you love my dad?” she ignored you.

It was like she had selective hearing for you. Only listening to what she cared about. It made you even more annoyed. But you knew it wasn’t only her, every kid you had met was just so annoying. You were sure they come with something inside them that made them function only to annoy the shit out of every adult— or at least you.

“Jesus Christ.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m not discussing adult feelings with someone who acts like a dog.’”

Sunni narrowed her eyes. “I am not a dog!.”

You stood . “Okay, you know what? This— this is why I hate kids. You’re all miniature prosecutors with no filter and no sense of boundaries.”

“You hate kids?”

“I said what I said.”

She looked smug. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m asking myself the same question.”

You two glared at each other for a full five seconds before Sunni pointed at the wine bottle sitting on the counter. “You want some?”

You blinked, a little confused how she changed subject to subject so fast. Kids were always so weird to you. Talking so much about different things in such a short period of time. You could only process so much. They didn’t even finish one subject before jumping to the other.

“You offering me wine?”

“My dad won’t let me have it.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Another beat of silence. Then the little girl shrugged. “I don’t like you.”

You sat back down, finally exhaling. “I get that a lot.”

You two sat like that for a few minutes, not exactly at peace, but something adjacent to it. You picked at a blanket corner. Sunni hummed a song under her breath and started arranging plastic forks like they were chess pieces. And then, mercifully, the door opened.

Jungkook walked in with two boxes of pizza and a paper bag in his teeth. “Still alive?”

“Barely,” you said.

“She’s mean,” Sunni said.

Jungkook grinned. “That’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ll ever get.”

“Yeah,” you said, taking the pizza. “I’ll frame it.”

You three sat down on the floor together, cracked open sodas, and dug into the pizza. You found yourself laughing, genuinely, when Sunni tried to fold an entire slice in half and dropped pepperoni on her sock. Jungkook kissed your lips when his daughter wasn’t looking. You kicked his ankle lightly and mouthed ‘not in front of her’. He just smiled like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. And for the first time, in that ridiculous blanket fort with juice boxes and too much cheese, you felt something suspiciously close to… almost okay.

Even if the kid was a menace and you didn’t like her. At all.

———

The living room was bathed in a soft amber light, the kind that makes everything feel a little softer, a little warmer. Outside, the city buzzed faintly, but inside the apartment, it was a world apart. The faint scent of the wine lingered between you two, mingling with the quiet hum of the night.

Sunni’s bedroom door was shut, the steady rhythm of her breathing a gentle lullaby that filled the space behind. Jungkook and you sat close, the couch sagging slightly under your weight. Neither seemed eager to break the comfortable silence, as if both were savoring the rare moment of calm. You rested your head lightly on Jungkook’s shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. The warmth of his presence wrapped around you like a blanket, familiar and grounding. Your fingers traced idle patterns on his arm, a silent gesture of connection.

The day had been crazy, but you had survived. To his daughter. To the trying to mold in a part of his life that was big enough to occupied every moment of his. His daughter. And even if you didn’t like her. Even if you didn’t like bonding with kids or even being close to them, you liked Jungkook. And if you had to spent some hours with his daughter to have him, you would.

Jungkook’s gaze drifted down to your face, watching the way your eyes fluttered closed and your lips parted just a little. It was moments like this, when everything slowed, that he realized how deeply you had settled into his life, even in the quietest ways.

“You look tired,” he murmured softly, careful not to startle you.

You gave a tired little smile, eyes still closed. “Yeah, long fucking week.”

He chuckled quietly. “Understatement of the year.”

You laughed, a soft sound that made him smile wider. “You should see the disaster zone back at the office.”

“Wish I could help,” he said, voice warm.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze for the first time in minutes. “You always do, in your own way.”

The way his eyes softened, the gentle curve of his lips. It all felt like a quiet promise. Neither of you had rushed into this, and that made it all the more real.

Jungkook took a slow breath, trying to steady the sudden rush of feeling building inside. He had been holding it back, trying to be patient, letting things unfold naturally. But now, with you so close, it felt impossible to stay silent any longer. It felt like he couldn’t hold himself back. Specially because it’s been months. And if he didn’t name it yet, you were never going to. And he had learned how to handle you. He had learned how to steady you in vulnerable moments.

“Can I tell you something?” His voice was low, tentative. You nodded, the faintest crease of curiosity knitting your brows. He hesitated, searching for the right words in the stillness. “It’s about us. About how I feel.”

You turned slightly, propping yourself on one hand to watch him better. “I’m listening.”

Jungkook smiled softly, gathering courage from the gentle weight of your attention. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately… about this,” he said, gesturing between you two.

Your heart skipped a beat, though you tried not to show it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “And I realized something important. That I’m not interested in just… whatever this is anymore. Not with you.”

“What do you mean?.”

The words hung in the air, delicate but powerful. Your eyes searched his, waiting for him to continue.

“I love you,” he said simply, steady and sure. “I think I have for a little while now. And it scares me because I want this to mean something real, not just some fleeting thing.” You blinked, your breath catching as the weight of those words settled around you both. The room felt smaller, the space between you two charged with something fragile and thrilling. Jungkook reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I just needed to be honest with you.”

Your heart was pounding, your mind swirling with a thousand thoughts and feelings all at once. The fear of vulnerability mingled with a quiet hope you hadn’t allowed yourself before in a long time. And for a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was no longer empty, it was full of possibility. Finally, you leaned in, your lips brushing softly against his in a kiss that was both a question and an answer.

It was full of the feeling. Slow, deep, hard. He kissed you like he meant it. And you kissed him like you did too. Because you did. He kissed every part of your mouth, every part of you tasting sweet and so you. And for a moment, it felt his too. When you pulled apart, your eyes were shinning with something new, a quiet, steady certainty. Jungkook smiled, pulling you close again as the night wrapped around you two like a promise.

He didn’t need you to say it. He didn’t need you to hear the words from you yet. He knew you would get around. That if you didn’t feel the same way you would’ve just say it or leave immediately. But you didn’t, you didn’t run away or even look at him sad or uncomfortable. You were shinning, the kind of glow you had when someone you cared shares the same feelings as you.

His arms went around your waist, pulling you on top of him. The warm skin of his hands gently rubbing your waist and legs. Not in a lustful way, but in a way that said: I want you close. I like having you close. And he kissed you again. Slow, sure, full of love. Your hands encircled his head, your fingers sinking into his hair, trying to grab hold of something. It was a kiss that left you breathless, wanting to go on. He licked every part of your mouth again. He moved his lips over yours like he was shaping you how he knew love was like.

And when you two pulled apart. You knew you had to said it back. Not because you were obligated, not because you needed to. But because you wanted to. And you wanted him to hear you.

“I love you, Jungkook.”

He didn’t kiss you again fast nor excited. He grew a big smile on his face that made you do the same. Happy, emotional. He grabbed your hand to leave some kisses in the top of it and then he repeated the same words so you can hear them again. Loud and clear. Like his feelings always were with you.

“I love you.”

And then you kissed him. Because you were in love. Because you loved him. And he kissed you too. Because he was in love, because he loved you.

ayooo wednesday’s updates are back!!!!

how are we feeling about this chapter??? they finally said the L word >_< heheeheh. let me know what are u thinking about the story so far, so much is about to come!!! i’m so excited for you to see their new dynamic as a couple hehehe

taglist:

@sanguchitodeternera @yneisstuff @smoljimjim @almatiarau @annpeachy @mar-lo-pap @taetaecatboy @rrosiitas @httpsmei @jeonnabi11 @gigi4evr @sabrinahiddig @tatzzz-25 @slythermania @yuyu0y11 @ultracnt @baekpop05 @tinyxrose @satisfied18 @kissyfacekoo @synamon @smut02 @alextgef @lindsayjoy444 @ottergirl @imagine-this-motherfucker @dream-lover200 @astralovesu @dragons-flare @jungkookswifeeeeeee @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @yuniesluv @kookooquette @lanyia @dearkayzel-blog @katie-tibo @strawberryacethingz @jalexad @llallaaa @eyesforjungkook @wandabillywrites @flowinj @strawberrysweetness @osakis-gf @bambijuicee @dollyunjinz @jjeonjjk7 @focused-island @cravingforbangtan @elinaki92

[ggukiebar]

lego hearts | j.jk

pairing: nerd dom jungkook x cute shy reader

word count: 24.1k

genre: smut | childhood best friends to lovers

summary: “wanna play with you,” the first time he said it, you were only a little girl... sitting on the floor with your barbies and dinosaurs, eyes lighting up because jungkook finally chose you over his legos- you didn’t know you would hear those same words again… years later, under the dim lights of your childhood bedroom, his fingers tracing against your clothed pussy.

warnings: nerd!dom jungkook x cute!shy reader, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, sloppy pussy eating, spitting, jk wore his nerd glasses during sex, edging, dom/sub dynamic, heavy sexual tension, playful degradation, jk fucks her in her childhood bedroom, mock sympathy, spitting in mouth, filthy sexual desires, condescending dirty talk, sloppy blow job, usage of whore & slut, praising, cum eating, detailed m. masturbation, mouth covering, choking, panty stuffing on mouth, fingers on mouth, mirror sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

Blueberry cheesecake, the sweet and sour flavor that melts on your tongue… your favorite cake, the one Jungkook gets for you every birthday without fail, because he memorized your order long before he memorized his own.

Pastel pink, the soft girly color that clings to every part of you. Your clothes, your bedsheets, your hair clips, every little thing you own carries a touch of pink somewhere. Whenever Jungkook spots the shade in public, his thoughts find their way back to you.

Romantic novels, anything that leaves your heart racing and your feet kicking against your mattress. Jungkook always finds himself wandering into bookstores because of you, scanning shelves for stories he thinks you would like, only to end up buying more books than he originally planned.

Makeup, oh you love makeup. Pink glitter brushed over your eyelids, glossy lips shining beneath the light, sparkly blush dusted across your cheeks. Jungkook swears he finds traces of your glitter everywhere… on his hoodies, on his fingertips, sometimes even on his face after you hug him too close.

Vanilla oatmilk latte, the coffee you order every single morning before school. Jungkook learned how to make it himself after watching you drink it so often, memorizing the exact measurements because you love them.

Powder cologne, soft, delicate and comforting. A scent Jungkook knows too well, one that settles into his hoodies whenever you steal them, one that drives him crazy whenever you lean too close without realizing what you’re doing to him.

Countless things. 

Your habits, your favorite foods, the songs you replay until you get sick of them, your random mood swings, your little mannerisms, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh too hard, the way you avoid eye contact whenever you lie. 

As your childhood best friend, Jungkook almost knows you better than you know yourself.

You were seven when you first met him, while Jungkook was already twelve.

Your mothers were close friends, living in the same village with houses only a few blocks apart. The first time your mother introduced you to Jungkook and his parents, you were painfully shy. Tiny hands clutching your barbie doll against your chest, pink shoes tapping nervously against the floor, you hid halfway behind your mother’s leg while peeking at him.

Jungkook, on the other hand, only looked at you with indifference. 

He had been building legos upstairs before his mother called him down to greet the guests, and judging by the slight furrow between his brows, he was more irritated about being interrupted than interested in meeting you. 

Dressed in a baby blue jumper, he looked like a tiny builder himself, big round eyes already drifting elsewhere as if he couldn’t wait to go back to his room. 

You were an only child, and so was he, which was exactly why your parents thought the two of you would get along perfectly. They insisted you become playmates, excited over the idea of their children growing up together.

The problem was that the two of you liked completely different things.

You wanted barbie dolls, toy kitchens, dollhouses and tea parties. 

Jungkook liked legos, robots, mini cars and toy dinosaurs.

So sitting inside Jungkook’s bedroom for the first time felt painfully awkward. Your mothers stayed downstairs, happily chatting over coffee while the two of you remained trapped upstairs in complete silence. 

You sat on a small soccer-ball bean bag, clutching your barbie tightly in your lap, glossy eyes wandering around his room filled with boyish toys and shelves crowded with action figures. Your pink glittery dress looked so out of place, matching the headband resting neatly in your hair and the tiny dress your barbie wore.

This was not your kind of playtime.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sat at his tiny blue table, completely focused on stacking legos together like you didn’t exist. His brows pinched together in concentration, lips slightly puffed out as he connected the pieces one by one, so serious for a twelve-year-old boy.

You stayed quiet for nearly fifteen minutes, too shy to disturb him despite desperately wanting someone to play with. But as the minutes dragged on, boredom slowly began to creep in. You carefully stood from the bean bag and walked towards him, still hugging your barbie doll against your chest.

“C-Can I join?” you asked softly, curiously staring down at the colorful legos despite not understanding what he was even trying to build.

Jungkook glanced up at you, brows furrowing immediately.

“No,” he dismissed flatly before returning to his legos again.

Jungkook was serious about legos. His playtime revolved entirely around building them, fingers busy connecting tiny pieces together for hours without getting bored. Before that, he had been obsessed with dinosaurs, carrying them everywhere around the house, but eventually he discovered a new fixation. He realized he liked building things. Finishing a set only to display it proudly in his room like a trophy.

You pouted beside him. “Do you have barbies?”

Jungkook frowned immediately, glancing between you and the barbie doll smiling brightly in your hands as if the question itself offended him.

“No,” he said bluntly. “But I have dinosaurs.”

Maybe it was a strange combination.

You were sitting on the soft floor mat with barbie dolls while dinosaurs surrounded them like predators.

He only let you borrow the dinosaurs to keep you occupied enough not to disturb him while he played.

Still, you were entertained.

Cute little noises left your mouth as you imitated roaring dinosaurs and dramatic barbie voices, completely immersed in your own little world. Your giggles often filled the room while Jungkook remained focused on his legos, though sometimes his eyes would flicker towards you for a second before returning to his build.

And somehow, it became a routine.

Every Saturday, your mother would bring you over to Jungkook’s house… excitement would bubble inside you the moment you stepped through the front door because it meant running upstairs to his room again. By then, you already expected the sight waiting for you.

Jungkook sitting in his usual spot near the little blue table, focused on a brand new lego set.

And the dinosaurs already arranged neatly on the floor mat for you.

The two of you barely talked. But neither of you minded. 

At your age, all that mattered was having toys to play with. While for Jungkook, happiness meant building something piece by piece until it was complete.

So every weekend, you would bring over a handful of barbies for the dinosaurs to chase around while Jungkook built something different each week. 

Sometimes it was a car. Sometimes a house. Sometimes an entire little town slowly formed beneath his careful little hands.

It was one quiet afternoon when you finally decided to talk to him properly.

You had just entered his room, wearing your usual pink puffy dress with your hair tied into cute pigtails. After setting down your backpack filled with barbie dolls beside the bean bag, your eyes immediately landed on a brand-new set of dinosaurs arranged carefully across the floor mat.

Your eyes widened. “New dinosaurs!” you exclaimed excitedly, small hands already grabbing one of the unfamiliar dinosaurs to inspect it closer.

Across the room, Jungkook looked up from his lego table. His hands paused mid-build the moment he saw your expression. Your wide sparkling eyes, your bright smile, the way your excitement completely lit up your face over something as simple as mini dinosaurs.

For a second, he only stared. Then he quickly looked back down at his legos with a small pout tugging at his lips.

“M-Me and my mom went toy shopping for a new lego set,” he mumbled. “I saw a new edition of dinosaurs.”

A soft giggle escaped you as you hurried towards his table, clutching the dinosaurs tightly in your small hands. “Really?” you asked happily. “I thought you didn’t play with dinosaurs anymore?”

Jungkook glanced at you from the corner of his eye, slightly distracted by how close you suddenly were to him.

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “But you like them.”

He almost fell from his seat when you suddenly crouched down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a sweet habit of yours whenever your parents did something for you.

“Thank you, Koo!” you giggled, hopping back towards the soft mat while Jungkook remained completely stunned.

Slowly, heat crept across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. His boba eyes wide and sparkly like a candy was given to him. His cute brows furrowed, and when he picked up a lego block… all he could think about was your cute smile and soft kiss.

At first, you truly thought you and Jungkook would never become close.

He was too quiet, too focused on his own little world of legos and building sets while you lived inside glittery barbie dream houses and dramatic dinosaur adventures. But as the months slowly passed, you found yourself growing fond of him. And somehow, Jungkook slowly grew fond of you too.

The distance between the two of you became smaller little by little. 

From sitting separately in silence, you were now beside him at his table helping him build lego sets together, your tiny fingers handing him blocks while he taught you where they belonged. It felt almost special, like Jungkook had finally lowered the invisible walls around himself enough to let you into his space.

Quietly, you started wondering if maybe one day…he would want to play barbies and dinosaurs with you too. 

“A brachiosaurus!” you gasped happily, excited when you realized what the two of you were building together.

Jungkook tried to hide the smile threatening to tug at his lips, the tips of his ears and the back of his neck slowly turning red.

"Y-You like it?'' he said in a small voice.

You nodded happily, eyes sparkling as you held up the long-necked lego dinosaur. 

Jungkook smiled, unconsciously leaning closer, his cute bunny teeth showing as he made a mental note to buy more lego dinosaurs for you.

As the weeks passed, moments like those became more common. Then one Saturday, your tiny dream finally came true.

“Hi, Koo!” you greeted softly after entering his room, only to freeze slightly when you noticed his lego table untouched for once.

Instead, Jungkook was crouched beside the floor mat near the dinosaurs.

Your eyes widened.

“Wanna play with you,” he said with a shy smile, as he held a few dinosaurs in his tiny hands.

For months, you played alone while he focused on his lego sets. 

The first time he finally let you help him build one, you were so happy that you started looking forward to every new set the two of you would make together.

It quickly became your favorite part of visiting him.

So seeing him willingly sit beside you now… actually wanting to play with your barbies and dinosaurs instead of his beloved legos—made excitement bubble in your chest.

It felt special, like he was stepping into your world the same way he had once invited you into his.

“O-Okay,” you said excitedly. “You can be the spinosaurus and I’ll be barbie.”

Your small hands shakily arranged the dinosaurs into a circle while Jungkook quietly watched you.

And the truth was, for the past few months, Jungkook had already been watching you more than he should.

Whenever you weren’t looking, his eyes would drift away from his legos just to watch you playing on the mat by yourself. Your cute little dinosaur noises, your giggles, the way you became completely immersed in your stories somehow made him happier than finishing any lego set ever could.

Sometimes he took days to finish builds that normally only needed hours, just because he kept getting distracted by you.

And whenever you paused your playing to look over at him with one of your cutest smiles, his chest would start beating strangely fast.

A small, innocent crush began to bloom in the little boy whose heart had only been filled with lego blocks—the very first piece quietly clicking into place inside him, setting the shape of something he didn’t yet understand.

At the age of eight and thirteen, the two of you became inseparable. 

Whenever your mother got too busy with work, you would immediately beg her to drop you off at Jungkook’s house instead of leaving you home alone, and eventually it became normal for you to spend almost every weekend there. Your mothers didn’t even question it anymore. If you disappeared, they already knew you were upstairs in Jungkook’s room.

And somewhere along the years, you got to know him better. Jungkook only looked snobbish at first glance. Quiet, a little intimidating, always serious whenever he focused on something. But once someone truly got close to him, they would realize how sweet he actually was.

Especially with you.

As your friendship grew, so did the amount of time you spent together. Before long, sleepovers became common too.

The two of you would lie beside each other beneath the blankets, talking about random things for hours instead of sleeping. Sometimes you hid underneath the covers with a flashlight between you, pretending you were camping in the middle of a forest while whispering ghost stories and silly secrets to each other.

Jungkook would pull you close while you giggled uncontrollably, pressing playful kisses against your cheeks before dramatically pretending to die in your arms whenever you hugged him too tightly. 

“I like the stars on your ceiling,” you murmured sleepily one night, while lying beside him on his bed. “Mine is just plain pink.”

Tonight was another sleepover. Your sleepy eyes struggled to stay open because you wanted to spend more time with him before falling asleep. The two of you were even wearing matching pajamas, yours covered in tiny pink hearts while his had blue ones, a matching set you had begged your mother to buy days before the sleepover.

Jungkook turned his head towards you, smiling softly when he noticed your eyes slowly drooping shut.

“You’re sleepy,” he giggled, poking your cheek gently with his finger when your eyes closed for a second too long.

You immediately pouted at him. “Am not,” you mumbled stubbornly. “We still have to play camping later, Koo.”

Playing camping beneath the covers with a flashlight was one of your favorite bedtime routines together, but tonight exhaustion was beginning to betray you. School had drained you completely, your body heavy against the mattress no matter how much you tried to stay awake.

Jungkook's lips curled into a small smirk, an evil little prank brewing in the back of his mind.

With a mischievous grin, he suddenly grabbed his throat dramatically, choking and panting before going completely still on the bed, eyes shut and tongue sticking out slightly like a fish… as if he had died.

“I think it would look cute to have planets too, what do you thin—Koo?” 

The drowsiness vanished from your body the moment your eyes landed on him… frozen beside you.

“Koo?” you whispered, sleepy brows furrowing.

When he didn't move, panic bloomed instantly in your chest.

You sat up so fast the blankets tangled around your legs, tiny hands immediately grabbing his shoulders as you shook him desperately.

“Koo! Wake up, Koo!” you panicked.

Your glossy eyes widened further when he refused to move, his face still scrunched into that horrible dead fish expression. Heart pounding loudly inside your chest, you grabbed his cheeks with both hands, trying to wake him up while tears quickly gathered in your eyes.

“Boo! I got you—” His laughter stopped halfway when he saw your face. Fat tears rolled down your flushed cheeks while you stared at him in genuine fear.

A soft sob escaped your lips. “T-That’s, that’s not funny,” you sniffled quietly. “I thought you were dead!”

Jungkook instantly softened. Though he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at how adorable you looked.

“Aww, baby...” he chuckled softly, opening his arms for you. “Come here.”

He always called you his baby. Partly because you were younger than him, but mostly because you acted like his cute little girl half the time, clinging onto him whenever you got scared or upset.

When you glared at him through your tears, he only chuckled quietly instead of feeling guilty. Seeing your pouty face, your sleepy swollen eyes and pink cheeks somehow made his chest feel weirdly warm.

It made him want to hug you forever.

Jungkook moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your smaller body until your back rested against his chest. His laughter became softer when he caught your deadly glare again, leaning closer just to press a small apologetic kiss against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, peeking at your face with the cutest pout.

When you still didn’t answer, he immediately resorted to the one thing he knew you could never say no to.

“Hmm, do you want some ice cream?” he whispered beside your ear, wiggling his brows playfully. “Mom bought some earlier.”

You stayed silent for a moment, still pretending to be upset while staring down at his hands tracing little circles against your palm.

Then your pout slowly weakened. “Okay,” you mumbled. “What flavor?”

Jungkook grinned immediately, bunny teeth appearing the second you gave in. He always knew how to melt your heart. Always knew exactly how to make you smile again.

And just like you spent countless days at his house, Jungkook spent plenty of time at yours too.

The first time he stepped inside your room, he looked completely stunned by the overwhelming amount of pink surrounding him.

Pink walls, pink blankets, shelves lined with barbie dolls, and plushies piled so high on your bed that there was barely any room left to sleep. Even the little lamp on your bedside table was dusted with glitter.

Meanwhile, Jungkook stood in the middle of it all, clutching a backpack filled with toy dinosaurs and looking painfully out of place in your princess-like bedroom. His usual blue jumper was the only thing that didn't blend into the sea of pink.

During sleepovers, you would force him to hug one of your teddy bears while you cuddled your favorite bunny plushie against your chest, proudly telling him it reminded you of him. Jungkook would always pout whenever you said that, his nose scrunching at the sight of you kissing the bunny.

Quietly, somewhere inside his heart, another tiny lego piece snapped into place whenever he watched you hold that bunny so tightly.

Most nights, neither of you slept early anyway. Your mother would occasionally scold the two of you after hearing nonstop giggles coming from your room late at night, the sound muffled beneath blankets while you whispered stories to each other instead of sleeping like you were supposed to.

You and Jungkook were always entertained by each other’s presence. And as the years slowly passed, both of you began to change. Your hobbies evolved just as naturally as you grew older together.

Jungkook slowly drifted away from legos and video games, while you traded barbie dolls and dress-up games for makeup and novels.

It wasn't surprising when Jungkook pursued engineering. He had always loved building things, ever since he was a little boy…carefully connecting blocks together at his tiny blue table.

The rooms that once overflowed with toys changed too.

Jungkook’s room became crowded with sketches, papers, blueprints and a laptop constantly left open on his desk. While your room transformed from shelves of dolls into a vanity covered with makeup, skincare products, perfumes and stacks of romance novels scattered across every surface.

And by the time you were eighteen and Jungkook was twenty-three, something between the two of you had quietly shifted.

Jungkook became protective over you in a way he never was before. Maybe it was because you were no longer the tiny little girl who followed him around with barbie dolls clutched in your hands.

Your cute colorful headbands became dainty little hair clips. Puffy dresses turned into soft sundresses that showed off the softness of your legs, always paired with small heels that made you look older than he was prepared for. Even your eyes had changed. Still sparkly and sweet, but now carrying a teasing playfulness beneath them. A bratty little glint that appeared whenever you wanted something.

But despite everything changing, some things about you stayed exactly the same.

You still hugged him constantly. Still kissed his cheeks whenever he did something sweet for you. Still clung onto his arm whenever you got excited over something small.

To you, those gestures were innocent, familiar, and natural.

But for Jungkook, they no longer felt innocent at all. 

Somewhere throughout the years, your harmless affection had started affecting him differently.

A simple kiss against his cheek suddenly made heat spread through his body in ways that felt wrong to him. Your random hugs made his muscles tense instantly, his breath hitching whenever you pressed your soft chest against him, completely unaware of the effect you had on him.

And whenever you played with his hair while sitting a little too close beside him, or wore those cute little sundresses that clung softly to your curves and showed off your legs, Jungkook would find himself swallowing hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to ignore the strange tightness spreading through his pants.

You were still the same sweet little girl. But Jungkook was no longer looking at you the same anymore. 

The lego pieces inside his heart were stacking faster now, building into something so deep and overwhelming that even he could no longer keep track of it.

“What’s cuter, this one… or this one?” you asked, holding up two dresses for Jungkook to see.

Today, the two of you were spending the day at the mall. After having lunch at your favorite restaurant, you immediately dragged Jungkook into a boutique, eager to shop for new dresses—your latest obsession.

Jungkook tilted his head, “The pink one,” 

“I know! Okay, I’ll get this.” you smiled brightly.

By the time you finished shopping, you had already bought three more dresses from the boutique alone. Meanwhile, Jungkook sat patiently on the couch outside the fitting rooms, paper bags hanging from both of his hands while he waited for you without a single complaint.

When you finally turned to look at him after paying, your expression softened slightly. His head rested against the couch, eyes closed as if he had accidentally fallen asleep while waiting for you.

He looked exhausted. Lately, Jungkook had been reviewing nonstop for his engineering board exam, barely getting enough sleep between studying and helping around the house. 

You were still in college, while Jungkook was already preparing for the next stage of his life.

It made you a little sad sometimes.

Weekends had become your favorite days because those were the only times he was fully free for you anymore.

You quietly sat beside him, and the moment the cushion dipped, Jungkook’s eyes immediately opened.

“You done, baby?” he asked softly, still half sleepy while instinctively reaching for your shopping bags to carry them himself.

You pouted… he looked so tired—wearing a black shirt that was a bit wrinkled from the day, his glasses slightly slipping down his nose and his hair a little disheveled. He still looked utterly handsome.

Without thinking much about it, you scooted a little closer to him. His brows furrowed immediately as your soft, powdery scent wrapped around him.

“Yup!” you smiled softly while fixing his slightly messy hair. “Let’s go home.”

His lips twitched. “Thought you wanted to visit the bookstore after this?” 

You shook your head. “No, wanna rest.” Your voice turned softer. “Let’s take a nap at your house?”

Jungkook’s jaw immediately tensed. His tongue briefly swiped across his lower lip before he looked away for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face as he tried to gather himself together. 

“Hmm…” he bit his lower lip, heavy-lidded eyes staring back at you. “You’ll go home after, okay?” he said, his voice coming out raspier than intended. “I still need to finish some reading, baby.”

A small sigh of relief escaped him when you nodded innocently. You never really noticed the change in him.

To you, Jungkook was only becoming busier as he got older. You didn’t notice how quickly he started declining sleepovers once his feelings for you began changing into something deeper. 

He spent most nights trying to break the blocks apart—convincing himself it was wrong to think about you that way, trying to shatter the lego pieces inside his heart that kept snapping back together every single time he looked at you.

But he was failing, miserably. The little boy who was so good at building legos cannot break his own blocks apart.

Jungkook learned how to make the perfect vanilla oatmilk latte simply because you loved drinking them every morning. 

He once rushed across three different bakeries just to buy blueberry cheesecake after hearing you complain over accidentally receiving strawberry cheesecake instead.

He started buying powdery perfumes, candles and diffusers whenever he saw them because every scent reminded him of you. He even found himself wandering through makeup stores looking at glittery products because your eyes always lit up whenever something sparkled.

You wanted something? He gave it to you. 

Almost every single time.

Still, he buried his feelings carefully beneath years of friendship because the last thing he wanted was to ruin what the two of you already had. 

He tried to stay close without wanting too much. Tried to act normal despite the growing warmth that spread through his chest and cock whenever you touched him carelessly. Tried to ignore the dangerous thoughts beginning to bloom inside his mind whenever you leaned too close, smiled too sweetly or hugged him for too long.

And some days, Jungkook truly thought he was doing a good job at hiding it.

“But Koo, I missed you…”

You followed Jungkook around the kitchen with a pout, trailing behind him like a lost puppy while he tried to ignore the way your voice instantly weakened his resolve.

It was summer break, and all you wanted was a sleepover.

Lately, Jungkook has been declining every single time you asked.

At first, you tried to understand. He was busy drowning himself in thick engineering books and endless papers for the upcoming board exams. But eventually, even weekends became off limits, which felt strange because Jungkook had always found a way to make time for you no matter how busy he was.

“Baby, I have some reading to do,” Jungkook said slowly while grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

You groaned dramatically, folding your arms while leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes following his every movement as he prepared coffee for the two of you.

One black. One vanilla oatmilk latte. 

“I won’t disturb you,” you insisted stubbornly. “Promise I’ll behave!” You whined softly, stepping closer before lightly tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. 

It’s not like you would stop him from reading, you just wanted to be around him.

Jungkook sighed deeply before finally turning to look at you properly. “I really can’t, baby…promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Your pout deepened immediately, heart slightly breaking when you saw his brows furrowing at you.

With a defeated sigh, you gave him a small nod. “Alright.” 

The second your shoulders dropped sadly, Jungkook’s grip unconsciously tightened around the milk carton in his hands.

His eyes lingered on your face, a tiny pout forming on your lips as disappointment clouded your sparkling eyes.

God, it almost made him give in immediately.

The last sleepover had nearly cost him his patience. That night, he forced himself to stay awake, reading until sunrise just to avoid looking at you too much while you slept in his bed. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the words in front of him, his eyes kept drifting back to you.

Your soft body was sprawled across his mattress, your pretty face nestled against his pillows, your hair fanned out messily like a constant temptation pulling at him.

The next morning, you were disappointed to find him asleep on the couch. You assumed he had stayed up late reading and eventually drifted off there, too exhausted to make it back to bed.

In reality, he had locked himself in the bathroom, guiltily jerking his aching cock before the temptation of sharing a bed with you became too much to bear.

“Baby…” Jungkook said slowly, voice rough from exhaustion as he lowered the teaspoon and carton of milk onto the counter.

You pouted. “If you don’t want me sleeping over, then can I at least visit you every day?” you asked softly. “I really, really miss you, Koo. I don’t have school anymore and I miss coming here.”

Jungkook closed his eyes briefly at your words. The urge to take back what he said just to see your pretty smile again was strong.

But no. 

Another sleepover meant another guilty night spent in bed, every time he can still smell your scent on his sheets, his hand would wrapped around his throbbing cock, burying his nose against the pillow because it smelled like you, his cock leaking whenever he recalls how your sleepwear would rise up every time you moved around his bed.

It made him so guilty, but it was better than corrupting you.

“Alright,” he finally sighed in defeat. “But I come home late these days, baby… you know that.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

Lately, Jungkook practically lived in the library. He spent most nights surrounded by thick books, highlighters scattered across tables while he studied until sunrise just to become the best engineer he could possibly be. Everyone around him already knew how hardworking he was.

And you knew it better than anyone. That was why your chest softened instead of growing upset.

You missed him terribly, missed the days when the two of you spent almost every second together without responsibilities pulling him away from you. But at the same time, you never wanted to become a distraction standing between Jungkook and his dreams.

You had always supported him. Always believed in him. And the last thing you wanted was to become the reason he couldn’t reach the future he worked so hard for.

You smiled immediately, happiness softening your features now that he wasn’t completely stopping you from visiting him every day.

“Okay, Koo. That’s fine!” you chirped happily. “I’m visiting Mama Jeon too, you know!”

Jungkook chuckled softly at your playful tone, warmth spreading quietly through his chest now that your pout had finally disappeared.

Sometimes Jungkook genuinely feared he would eventually cross boundaries he shouldn’t… just to keep you happy.

And honestly, maybe he already was. Because after that conversation, you truly didn’t miss a single day at the Jeon's house during summer.

Some days you baked desserts in the kitchen while laughing with Mrs. Jeon. Other days you helped water flowers in the garden beneath the afternoon sun, your sundress swaying gently while dirt stained your fingertips. Sometimes you stayed quietly in Jungkook’s room, reading books while waiting for him until sunset painted the windows orange.

And every evening, Jungkook would come home to you waiting for him. A warm meal already prepared. Your bright smile greeting him at the door before he could even set his bag down.

Every single time, it made his heart feel unbearably full. 

The sight of you peeking excitedly through the living room window the moment you spotted him outside. The way you lightly bounced on your feet before greeting him with a soft hug. The way you always asked him about his day first before talking about your own.

The way you asked what food he was craving just so you could attempt cooking it for him afterward. 

The way you loved him through the smallest things without even realizing it.

And Jungkook kept falling deeper and deeper for you because of it.

“Are you gonna wait for Jungkook?” Mrs. Jeon asked one evening after finishing dinner. “You sure you don’t wanna eat first?”

You shook your head immediately. You always ate dinner with Jungkook.

He usually arrived home around five in the afternoon, which wasn’t too late, so waiting for him became another small routine you loved. During weekends, he sometimes studied at home instead, filling the house with the sound of flipping pages and keyboard typing while you quietly stayed nearby.

Your Kookie was very smart and hardworking after all.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Mrs. Jeon smiled warmly while cleaning the table. “Good thing he’s been coming home early these days.”

Early?

Your brows furrowed immediately. “Early?” you repeated slowly, leaning against the table in confusion. “Isn’t that his normal schedule at the library?”

You knew Jungkook’s routine almost by heart, which was exactly why her words caught you off guard.

Mrs. Jeon nodded before taking a sip of water. “Yes, that used to be his normal schedule,” she explained casually. “But before summer started, he was staying until eight p.m because he wanted to aim for topnotcher.”

She laughed softly afterward, shaking her head fondly. “I kept telling him it’s okay even if he doesn’t become one, but my son always wants to be the best at whatever he does.”

Your lips parted slightly, realization crashed into you all at once. 

Jungkook had been coming home early because of you.

Because you said you missed him. Because you wanted to visit him every day.

Your chest tightened painfully, you hadn’t realized his original study schedule changed at all. Hadn’t realized Jungkook was cutting hours from his studying just so he could spend more time with you.

The realization made your heart ache in two completely different ways at once. Guilty. And terribly, terribly happy.

When Jungkook got home that evening, he expected you to greet him the same way you always did. A bright smile, soft eyes, your little footsteps rushing towards him before wrapping your arms around him in a hug that somehow always managed to melt the exhaustion off his body. 

But the second he stepped inside and looked at you properly, he noticed it immediately. The smile on your lips looked smaller than usual, hesitant, not quite reaching your eyes. And Jungkook knew you too well not to notice.

“I cooked teriyaki chicken today,” you smiled softly, quickly turning away from him to open the lid of the food on the dining table. “Mama Jeon loved it.”

Jungkook followed behind you quietly, his tired eyes never leaving your figure. You were about to grab a glass of water when his hand suddenly wrapped around your arm gently, stopping you in place. 

“Is there something wrong?” he asked softly, brows furrowing with concern. 

He was exhausted from studying all day, his navy green sweater slightly wrinkled, glasses a bit foggy, hair messy from constantly running his fingers through it. Yet the moment he sensed something was wrong with you, the exhaustion vanished beneath concern.

You shook your head quickly. “Just…” Your voice trailed off when your eyes landed on the small paper bag hanging from his other hand. “W-What’s that?”

Jungkook glanced down at the bag before looking back at you carefully. “Are you okay, baby?” he asked again, quieter this time.

With shaky hands, you slowly reached for the paper bag in his hand.

Blueberry cheesecake. 

Tears instantly welled in your eyes at the sight of it, your heart aching so badly it almost overwhelmed you. 

“K-Koo…” your lips trembled softly as tears blurred your vision.

Jungkook’s eyes widened immediately. “Hey, hey—” he quickly set the paper bag down before gently holding your arms, thumbs soothing over your skin. 

“What’s wrong with my baby, hmm?” he whispered softly, crouching down so he could properly look at your face.

And God, he looked so handsome like this. Tired but still so soft for you. 

His sleepy doe eyes behind his glasses, messy hair falling over his forehead, large hands holding you so carefully like you were something fragile enough to crack beneath his touch. 

You lowered your gaze, lips forming into a pout. “Y-You were coming home early for me…” you whispered quietly, guilt curling painfully inside you. “You don’t have to do that, Koo.”

Jungkook’s thick brows furrowed deeply. “Is that why you’re crying?”

Avoiding his gaze, you nodded slowly while staring down at your own fingers. Jungkook looked at you for a moment before gently tilting your chin upward, forcing your eyes back to his. Amusement slowly softened his tired features despite the concern still lingering there.

“Stop pouting.” he bit his lower lip, a low chuckle escaping beneath his breath as he listend to your tiny sniffles, almost relieved that his poor little baby was crying over something he didn’t even consider serious.

“Jungkook, I’m serious,” you protested, weakly hitting his chest. “We’re talking about your future here! Why would you do that?”

He caught your hand easily before you could hit him again, fingers wrapping around your fist while his thumb slowly traced circles against your skin. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he murmured softly. “I can handle my studies just fine, okay?”

You frowned harder instead. “But you’re coming home early, Koo. How is that good?”

You tried hitting him again, but Jungkook only tightened his hold around your wrist, enough to stop you without hurting you. 

He leaned closer, lowering his head until your faces were only inches apart, as if getting nearer would somehow make you understand him better.

“Need to see my baby for motivation,” he admitted softly.

Your heartbeat stumbled violently inside your chest. Jungkook grabbed the paper bag again before carefully placing it into your hands. “So I can work hard,” he continued quietly, eyes never leaving yours, “and buy you all the things and blueberry cheesecakes you want.”

Your eyes widened instantly, heat rushing across your cheeks and ears while your heart pounded so loudly it almost frightened you. 

“Do you want that?” Jungkook asked gently, his eyes lowering to your quivering lips.

“O-Of course I do, but I swear—”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he interrupted quietly, like your answer alone was enough for him. 

Enough to make every sacrifice worth it.

When uni started again, you still never missed the chance to visit Jungkook whenever school wasn’t too hectic, and whenever days passed without seeing you, he would be the one visiting instead. 

At first, you tried giving him space because of the boards, but Jungkook always insisted on meeting somehow. Like your presence alone kept him going. Like every sleepless night, every exhausting study session, and every struggle he endured became worth it the second he saw your smile waiting for him at the end of the day. 

Only sleepovers of course is where he drawled the line.

Sometimes, while staring at blueprints and thick documents until dawn, Jungkook would imagine finally succeeding, finally becoming the best engineer he could be, earning enough money to spoil his baby with everything you wanted. And somehow, those thoughts alone were enough to keep him going.

At twenty-one and twenty-six, both of you had changed so much from the children you once were. 

The boyish softness he used to carry had long disappeared, replaced by tattoos and piercings that contrasted almost unfairly against the intelligent image everyone had of him. 

His once lean frame broadened into toned muscles that stretched beneath his shirts, shoulders wider now, veins more prominent across his hands and arms. The boy who once ate lollipops while building legos now smoked cigarettes absentmindedly after stressful nights at work. 

And the engineering student who used to stay awake studying until sunrise had officially become the topnotcher everyone admired.

You still remembered the exact moment he first mentioned wanting his arms decorated. You used to tease him constantly for being such a nerd, especially with his glasses, organized notes and old obsession with building legos. 

Which was exactly why you nearly choked in surprise the first time he casually mentioned wanting tattoos and piercings.

“Huh? Really?” you immediately sat up straighter from the picnic mat, staring at him with wide eyes.

The two of you were spending the afternoon at the park, sunlight pouring warmly across the grass while snacks and drinks were scattered around your little picnic setup. Jungkook looked unfairly handsome sitting there beneath the sun, sleeves pushed slightly upward, dark hair messy from the breeze, soft eyes following your every move.

“Yeah,” he answered casually. “I also plan on getting piercings.” he tilted his head, waiting for your opinion.

“You are not serious,” you gasped loudly, quickly scooting closer towards him in disbelief.

Jungkook glanced down instinctively the moment your body moved closer to his. You were wearing a short pastel sundress perfect for the sunny weather, your hair tied into a loose side braid while your glossy lips formed into the cutest pout he had ever seen.

He swallowed harshly before quickly looking away. Sometimes it genuinely amazed him how you could still sit this close to him so innocently while he struggled to keep his thoughts clean.

“And tattoos?” you continued dramatically, eyes sparkling with excitement now. “Like… what kind? This is bomb info, Koo. Thought you were too nerdy for that.” you teased.

The thing is, he never forgot that moment—the time you were shopping for toys and spotted a limited-edition Ken doll with sleeve tattoos, immediately saying how good Ken would look beside Barbie. His little child mind, his wide doe eyes, quietly took that in and stored it somewhere deep. 

And somewhere in that simple, fleeting comment, his stupid lego heart decided that when he grew up, he wanted tattoos too.

So Jungkook would look good beside his Y/N.

Jungkook pouted slightly at your teasing. “Thought they looked pretty,” he admitted shyly. “I think I want my arms decorated.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “That’s a baddie move right there!” you giggled.

Without hesitation, you grabbed his right arm excitedly, examining it carefully like you were already planning the tattoos yourself. 

Jungkook stared down at your smaller hands wrapped around his arm, heart beating strangely harder inside his chest while your soft perfume drifted towards him beneath the warm summer air.

He bit his lower lip, staring at you through heavy-lidded eyes. “You think I’ll look good with them?” he drawled lazily.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Course you will! You’ll be a baddie nerd,” you teased, fingers lightly grazing the muscles of his arm.

Jungkook’s eyes slowly softened at your touch, his gaze growing hazier by the second. Not because he was tired, but because you were intoxicating him again. 

“Stop calling me a nerd,” he groaned, though there wasn’t a single ounce of annoyance in his voice. If anything, his tone sounded far too fond to be offended.

“You are,” you giggled immediately, poking his cheek playfully. “You’re so smart. My smart Koo.”

Before he could respond, you suddenly stole the glasses off his face, laughing to yourself while slipping them onto your own nose. The prescription immediately blurred your vision, making you squint dramatically while Jungkook stared at you in complete adoration.

“Hello,” you mimicked in a deeper voice, trying to imitate him. “I’m Jungkook and I love math.”

You burst into laughter at your own joke while Jungkook only watched you. God, you looked so cute wearing his glasses.

“Baby, stop it,” he chuckled softly, finally reaching towards you to take them back.

You quickly leaned away from him with another laugh, refusing to give them up. Jungkook sighed through a smile before grabbing your waist without thinking, pulling you closer against him, wrapping his arms around your waist while you squealed in surprise.

“Koo!” you giggled loudly, twisting your body away so he couldn’t reach your face. But in the motion, your neck tilted back, your throat exposed right in front of him.

His eyes narrowed, staring at the soft skin of your neck as he bit his lower lip hard, leaning in closer… his pointed nose slowly grazed your skin, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Fuck.

“You smell good,” he whispered, already distracted.

Since you and Jungkook were close, you didn’t think much of it, still giggling as you tried to dodge him, unconsciously giving him more access to your neck. “Koo! That tickles.”

He was getting lost in it, inhaling your scent like he was getting addicted, his nose brushing down towards your collarbones. 

You were moving too much, wriggling in his hold, but his hands on your waist only tightened. “Stop moving,” he groaned, now pressing soft kisses along your throat, his nose burying deeper against your skin.

When a soft gasp escaped you, he stopped immediately, like he’d been pulled out of a trance. His jaw tensed as realization hit him, fear flickering across his expression at the thought that he might have made you uncomfortable.

But you were still oblivious, treating it like nothing more than a game so he wouldn’t get his glasses back, unaware that his soft kisses had already crossed a line—no longer innocent like the soft shallow kisses you shared when you were little.

“Let’s go home,” he suddenly muttered, gently pushing you away from him while clearing his throat. 

“What?” your giggles slowly faded, confusion replacing the smile on your face. “Why?”

You carefully removed his glasses from your face, leaning closer to place them back on him properly, but Jungkook instinctively moved back slightly before you could.

Your expression fell immediately.

“A-Are you mad?” you asked quietly, lips forming into a small frown.

Jungkook swallowed harshly at the sight. “I’m not,” he answered quickly, taking the glasses from your hands this time before putting them back on himself.

But your frown only deepened. “Then why do you suddenly wanna go home?” you asked, sadness creeping into your tone so naturally.

Jungkook nearly groaned out loud. He wanted to kiss you so bad.

Wanted to pin you down against the picnic mat beneath the warm sunlight and lose himself completely in you. His body was reacting so badly to you that it was becoming painful to sit this close without crossing boundaries he had no right crossing.

Still, even while it was slowly killing him, Jungkook reached for your hand again. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of your palm, the familiar motion instantly soothing you the way it always did.

“I don’t,” he sighed quietly. “I just-” 

“Don’t be mad, Koo… please?” you murmured softly, tilting your head slightly to peek at his face while your eyes stayed focused on his hands holding yours.

Fuck. He was so hard.

“I’m not,” he groaned, trying to smile at you despite the chaos inside him. “You know I won’t get mad at my baby.”

Piercings and tattoos suited Jungkook almost unfairly well. He looked more manly now, sharper in a way that made people stare a second too long without realizing it. 

The ink on his right arm wrapped around his skin like it had always belonged there, and the silver piercings he wore caught the light whenever he moved, subtle flashes that only made his presence more noticeable. The lip ring sat against his lower lip in a way that somehow emphasized his natural pout, softening the intensity of his face just enough to be dangerous. And yet, despite all of it, he still wore his glasses when he needed to work, the familiar frames making him look serious and composed while his eyes still carried the same quiet shine they always had when you were kids.

After passing the boards, everything had changed quickly for him. Phone calls from companies came one after another, clients stacking up so fast it barely gave him time to breathe. Within a short span of time, Jungkook had saved enough to buy a brand new house for his parents, choosing to live alone in his childhood home afterward. 

It was almost ironic, how the boy who once built lego structures on a small table was now designing real ones for a living, turning imagination into something tangible and permanent.

Not realizing he wasn’t just building things with his hands—but quietly building a lego heart of his own while watching you grow, piece by piece, until you became the only design that ever made sense.

On his first payday, he didn’t think twice about how to spend it. He took you out to your favorite restaurant, the same one you used to mention randomly in passing, and spoiled you with gifts you didn’t even ask for. 

Because that was always his dream in the end. 

At twenty-one, you had stayed mostly the same… still girly, still drawn to pastel pinks and soft colors, still wearing dresses that made you look like you stepped out of a memory he refused to forget. Your body had also changed in ways that made you more aware of yourself, curves developing naturally and beautifully.

In college, people noticed you too. A lot of them, actually. 

Guys who tried a little too hard to make you laugh, to impress you, to take up space in your attention the way they wanted. You went on dates here and there, curious more than anything, but none of them ever stuck. 

None of them ever felt right.

You were laying on Jungkook’s bed while he worked at his desk, fingers playing with his pillows as you babbled about college life. 

About lectures, assignments, and then, eventually, about the guys who kept asking you out.

“He's not even bad, I guess,” you said with a small shrug, “just… kind of clingy? I tried to give him a shot cause he's kinda cute you know.” you giggled.

Jungkook had always been the one person you could talk to without filtering your words, without rehearsing your tone or worrying how you sounded. 

So you kept going, still unaware of the way his pen had slowed in his hand, or how his gaze had subtly shifted towards you instead of the papers and laptop on his desk.

He didn’t interrupt you. Instead, he just listened, nodding occasionally, offering soft hums at the right moments like he always knew how to make you feel heard. 

He didn’t want to hold you back. You weren’t his. 

Instead, Jungkook kept his distance exactly where it needed to be.

He even asked questions sometimes—small ones, careful ones—because he wanted to understand, wanted to know what kind of people were entering your life. 

Not to control it. Never to control it. Just to make sure you were okay. To make sure no one hurt you.

And every time you smiled about something new, every time you tried something different, he swallowed whatever it did to him and smiled back.

Because loving you, for him, had never been about possession.

It’s about standing at the edge of something he desperately wanted to step into, and choosing not to, again and again, because you deserved freedom more than you deserved him holding you too tightly.

Even when it hurts.

“Do you plan on going on a date with him again?” he rasped, eyes still fixed on his laptop even though the words on the screen had long stopped making sense. 

You rolled your eyes. “No! Like I said, he’s so clingy,” you groaned dramatically, turning onto your side. “He kept texting me during class too. And he was kinda touchy.”

Jungkook froze, Touchy.

He raised a brow, slowly… he turned his swivel chair away from his desk to face you fully.

“Say that again,” he commanded.

You blinked, sitting up a little on his bed and smoothing out your pleated skirt. “Huh? Which part?”

Jungkook’s eyes dropped briefly to your bare legs before lifting back to your face. His expression was unreadable now, serious in a way that made your teasing mood falter slightly.

“Touchy?” he repeated, almost like he was testing the word on his tongue. 

He knew you had never had a boyfriend. 

Picky in your own quiet way, always rejecting people politely, never really giving anyone the chance to stay. 

That was something he had always told himself was a good thing. But there was one thing you told him once that lingered longer than it should have.

Your first kiss. 

You had laughed it off back then, saying it was just stolen during a stupid drinking game in high school, something meaningless, something you didn’t even care about anymore. But Jungkook had gone still in a way you didn’t notice fully at the time. And after that night, the thought never really left him.

The first broken lego piece in his heart.

Jungkook never acted on it. Because he knew where the line was, even if it blurred more and more every time he looked at you. 

Every time he imagined someone else touching you, his mind would go blank for a second, like something inside him short-circuited and restarted wrong. 

His love that was freeing, turning into something selfish and possessive. 

Jungkook knows that he was no better.

Even if he acted like the responsible one, the always-focused engineering nerd with books and goals, there were parts of him he couldn’t control. 

The desires, the sexual frustration, the way he had nowhere to put everything he was feeling for you. 

So he let it out elsewhere… hard, rough and merciless—like he was always unsatisfied. Because no matter what he did, no matter who he fucks, it was never you.

“Well...y-yeah, I thought it was sweet since he seems to be very kind and perfect,” you started, shifting slightly on his bed as you tried to recall your date earlier. “But it was starting to get irritating—”

“Where did he touch you?” Jungkook cut in sharply.

His tone made you pause immediately. You blinked at him, a little stunned by how fast and firm it came out. “Uh… just my thighs—”

He cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration, jaw tightening like he was trying to hold something back.

At your bratty age, you had tried to explore, you would let them kiss you, let them touch you a little, only when you thought there was something there—some special connection, some feeling that made it worth it. But it always disappeared too quickly, leaving you bored, unimpressed, or just… disconnected.

And sometimes, in the quiet parts of your mind, a small thought would surface.

Why had no one ever truly impressed you? Why did everything feel like it was missing something you couldn’t name?

But you always pushed it away.

Because growing up, it had always been Jungkook.

What you didn’t know, what you never really saw—was that Jungkook had already fallen long before you ever started trying to figure yourself out.

He ended up fucking every women who looked like echoes of you—same powdery scent, similar hair length and color, soft features that almost resembled yours if he stared long enough. He didn’t realize it at the time, how every fling carried traces of you in them, like he was trying and failing to recreate something he couldn’t replace. He never stayed long enough for anything serious. Because none of them were you.

His lego hearts were never complete without you filling them.

“I mean, it wasn’t that bad—”

You blinked slowly when his gaze dropped to your thighs again, his eyes lingering a little too long, scanning like he was replaying something in his head. Instinctively, you tugged your plaid skirt down a bit more, suddenly aware of your own body in a way you weren’t before.

“Kookie—”

“Were you uncomfortable?” he asked, voice strained.

His hand came up to his temple, rubbing slowly as if he was trying to steady himself, jaw tightening slightly. You could see it in him clearly now—the tension he always tried to hide whenever it came to you.

You shook your head quickly. “No.”

“Come here.”

You hesitated for a second, then slowly walked towards him. “I swear, Koo, I’m fine—”

“You know what to do when you don’t want something, right?” he sighed, voice lower now, almost careful, like he was choosing every word with restraint.

He reached for your hand, holding it gently before squeezing them. Like he was trying to calm himself through the contact just as much as he was trying to calm you.

“Course, I do,” you replied in a small voice.

And you did. Because this wasn’t new.

The same Jungkook who used to patch your scraped knees when you fell in the backyard. 

The same Jungkook who always made sure you weren’t left out when his friends came over. Even if his friends, Jimin or Taehyung teased you too much and made you cry. 

The same Jungkook who would sigh, drag you away from them, wipe your tears with frustrating gentleness, and buy you ice cream like it would fix everything.

Like a good older brother who never let anything truly hurt his little sister.

You would come to Jungkook when something confused you, when something annoyed you, when something made your chest feel too full and you didn’t know where to put it. You would talk, ramble, complain, overthink out loud, and Jungkook would just listen. Always.

He never really stopped you from anything. He never imposed his choices on you in a way that felt forceful or strict. 

Instead, he would give you advice, calm and steady, letting you talk yourself through your own thoughts. And when you reached the end of it, he would always say the same thing.

“As long as my baby’s happy.”

And somehow, every time, you did exactly that.

Neither of you really questioned it. It just felt like balance. Like the dynamic between you had always existed in that shape and was never meant to change.

His quiet dominance, your easy submission to his judgment—it fit too well to ever feel wrong.

“I think red hair would look good on you,” you murmured, sitting beside him as you absentmindedly played with the back of his hair while he stayed focused on your papers.

The two of you were at a quiet library near your school that day. You had told Jungkook you needed help with math, and like always, he gave in without much resistance. He finished his own work earlier than planned just so he could sit with you, his pen already marking through your problems with that effortless confidence that made everything look easy.

“Or maybe blonde again?” you continued, tilting your head slightly as you tugged at a few strands. “Remember when you went blonde?”

Ken Doll. He remembers.

Jungkook let out a low groan. “Do you want me to finish your papers or not?” he reprimanded.

You pouted immediately, leaning back slightly in your seat, your peach-manicured fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table. 

A color he had picked for you before.

“I do,” you said softly, looking at him through your lashes. “I’m behaving.”

He raised a brow at you, finally glancing up from your papers. His gaze flickered down for a second—too quick to be casual—landing briefly at your neck before returning to your eyes.

“Then behave,” 

You pouted… but still sat properly, letting out a small huff as you adjusted yourself in your seat.

Jungkook, meanwhile, looked completely absorbed in your work. His thick brows were slightly furrowed behind his glasses as he scanned your notes, lips pressed into a thin line while he analyzed every mistake. He looked older like this…serious, composed, almost intimidating in a quiet way. 

His crisp white long sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, tattoos peeking through with every movement of his hand as he turned the page. Dark slacks fit neatly against his frame, and his hair was styled back with gel, though a few loose strands had fallen onto his forehead anyway, softening the sharpness of his face.

He looked like he had come straight from work without even stopping to breathe.

The lip piercing caught the light whenever he moved, a small glint against his pinkish lips as he exhaled quietly through his nose. 

Everything about him felt controlled, grounded, intentional.

And sitting beside him in your school uniform—white button-down slightly loosened at the collar, plaid skirt resting neatly at your thighs, makeup soft and sparkly pink—you couldn’t help but feel like you didn’t belong in the same frame as him. 

Like you were trouble sitting next to something dangerously stable.

“Answer this,” he said finally, sliding a paper towards you.

You frowned immediately, staring at the equations like they had personally offended you. “Huh? I thought you’d answer it for me.”

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek, clearly unimpressed but still patient. “You need to learn. Once you’re done, I’ll check it and teach you how to do it properly.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back slightly. “But Koo! It’s hard, my head is literally aching from all these numbers.”

He raised a brow at you, expression flat but not unkind. “How are you going to pass math if I keep answering everything for you?”

“But—”

Your protest died the moment you met his gaze. There was that look again. Calm, firm, unbothered in a way that made it impossible to argue for long.

You sighed dramatically and took the paper anyway. “Fine,” you muttered, already giving in. “But you’re buying me oat latte after this.”

Jungkook’s lips curved slightly, good girl. 

“Only if you get it right,” he raised a brow.

You groaned under your breath and finally focused on the equations, forcing yourself to concentrate.

Most of your homework was done by him, even when math wasn’t even involved.

And whenever Jungkook did try to refuse, you always found a way around it.

You’d show up at his house with his favorite ice cream, lingering by the doorway like you weren’t already certain he would let you in. 

Sometimes you’d lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, gentle and quick, like it meant nothing at all. Other times, you’d just look at him with those puppy eyes of yours—smiling in a way that made it seem like he was the only thing in your world.

And Jungkook would always fold. Every single time.

It didn’t even feel like a decision anymore. It was instinct. The way his expression would soften the moment you appeared. The way his shoulders would loosen, like all the tension he carried everywhere else had nowhere to stay when you were near. 

If you asked him for the stars, he would’ve probably tried to figure out a way to reach them.

He didn’t just like you. He prioritized you. 

You were very spoiled. Jungkook’s hard-earned money always ended up on you—whenever he got his salary, he would immediately take you out for a nice dinner, shop for clothes and makeup you liked, buy your favorite cheesecake, get you more books—everything you wanted, and half the things you didn’t even realize you wanted yet.

It made you happy. Every time you showed up at school with a new bag or a new pair of shoes, your friends already knew Jungkook had bought them for you. Every time you got perfect scores, they would roll their eyes, assuming it was because of Jungkook’s help and hard work behind it.

At first, your friends were very nice to you—almost overly so. They tried to get close quickly, always lingering around you, laughing a little too loudly at your jokes. 

And it wasn’t hard to understand why.

Because they noticed Jungkook first.

They would see him picking you up from school in his black shiny Cadillac, the kind of car that made people turn their heads. They would watch his tall, lean figure step out, his arms decorated with tattoos that became more visible when he rolled his sleeves up, silver piercings catching the light, jet-black hair neatly styled, and sharp honey doe eyes that softened the second they landed on you.

Sometimes he would smoke a cigarette while waiting, immediately putting it down when he saw you coming. He wasn’t someone people could ignore. Not with the way he looked, and not with the way he carried himself.

And when they found out he wasn’t just good-looking but also the top engineer in town, already successful and earning far beyond most people his age, their curiosity shifted into something heavier. So they stayed close to you—not always for you, but for the possibility of him.

Then, when they finally realized you weren’t related, everything changed. 

The smiles faded just slightly, the energy dropped, shoulders slacking like something they thought they could reach had suddenly been pulled away. It was subtle, but you felt it. That quiet shift in how they looked at you, like you had become the reason they couldn’t get closer to him.

From there, the judgment slowly followed. To them, you were just a spoiled girl, someone using Jungkook for attention, comfort, or material things. Something easy to label rather than understand. And over time, that assumption hardened into quiet resentment.

But you were never trying to be anything more complicated than you were. You were kind in a way that came naturally, warm without effort, too soft to notice when someone’s intentions weren’t pure. You didn’t see the resentment clearly, because you were too friendly, too open, too willing to believe the best in people. And that very same softness made it easy for others to either like you quickly… or envy you just as fast.

“Another bag?” Sana raised a brow at you the moment you walked into the classroom, eyes landing immediately on the new pink bag hanging from your arm.

You grinned without hesitation, completely unbothered by their stares. “Yes! It matches my nails, see?” you said excitedly, holding your hand out so they could see your freshly done manicure.

Your friends leaned in slightly, but the look in their eyes wasn’t as excited as yours. It was something sharper…envy, carefully disguised under curiosity.

“Was your nails paid by Jungkook?” Riri asked, her tone slipping into something almost accusatory.

You pouted a little, tilting your head. “Yup,” you admitted. “I accidentally told him I needed a fresh set, so…”

Over the weekend, Jungkook told you he had just received his pay. You always told him to save it—a detail your friends didn’t know…but he still insisted on treating you to dinner, telling you not to worry and to just buy whatever you wanted.

In passing, you mentioned your nails, how you wanted a fresh set for the upcoming semestral break. You didn’t mean it as a hint for him to pay; you always tended to babble randomly around Jungkook.

But then he immediately handed you his card.

“Koo, you don’t have to…” you pouted, though your smile was already forming before you even finished the sentence.

Jungkook didn’t even answer you properly. His large hand simply took yours, fingers warm and steady as he guided you through the mall. 

“What design are you gonna get?” he asked once you reached the nail salon.

You pouted, “Maybe flowers? what color do you prefer?” you asked now, giggling as you showed him your hands cutely.

He didn’t even hesitate. He always leaned toward soft, pastel tones for you, like he already knew what would look best on you before you even decided.

Light pink.

You nodded immediately when he said it, already excited again, rambling about adding tiny hearts and small details on top. Jungkook just watched you softly, expression unreadable in a way you didn’t notice, before he glanced away and told you he’d walk around for a bit while you got your nails done.

You blinked. That was new.

Because usually, when you were in treatment or stuck in a salon chair for hours, Jungkook would be waiting for you nearby. Either waiting on the couch or answering work calls outside the salon.

But this time, he left.

“Thank you, have a nice day,” you smiled at the staff, not surprised when they told you everything had already been paid for. That part was normal by now. Sometimes you even tried to sneak and pay yourself, but it never worked. Jungkook always stayed one step ahead of you.

When you stepped out later, freshly done nails drying as you adjusted your bag, you were about to text Jungkook when you suddenly saw him coming.

A little distance away with multiple paper bags in his hands.

Your eyes widened instantly. Jungkook lifted the bags slightly when he noticed you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he walked closer.

“Done with your nails, baby?” he asked softly, eyes briefly dropping to your hands like he was checking them properly.

“What’s that?” you asked, voice already shaky, excitement mixing with confusion as your heart started to pick up.

He handed you the paper bags, and you immediately looked inside, your heart thumping when you realized he had bought everything you had been eyeing earlier—the bag, the clothes, the makeup… it was all in there.

“Koo…” you said weakly, your voice trembling the moment you realized he really bought everything, even the lipstick you had only tried on for fun.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around him. Your face buried itself against his neck, hiding away like you didn’t want him to see how emotional you were getting. 

“Thank you,” you muffled against his skin, your cheeks burning from how overwhelming it all felt.

Jungkook buying you things wasn’t new. It happened often enough that you were used to it by now. 

But this felt different. 

Because you had told him earlier you didn’t need anything. You had insisted you already had enough—bags, shoes, books still brand new at home. You had tried to sound firm about it too.

And for once, Jungkook had actually listened. Or at least, you thought he had.

Because instead of arguing like he usually would, he had simply taken you to all your favorite stores anyway. Letting you walk around, letting your eyes wander, letting you stop for a second too long at things you pretended not to want. You kept telling yourself you were just window shopping. That you didn’t need anything. That you were being responsible.

But Jungkook was watching you closely, knows what his sweet girl wanted. 

He was unintentionally making you fall harder for him. 

Your young, innocent heart once again threatened to climb his walls. Without realizing that you were already standing too close to where you belonged.

Jungkook chuckled lowly at your reaction, smiling when you clung to him a little too tightly, like you didn’t want to let go yet. His hands gripping your waist in place.

“You okay, baby?” he asked softly, voice close to your ear.

You finally loosened your grip just a little, pulling back enough to look at him. Your eyes were still wide and sparkling, cheeks flushed pink, lips slightly parted like you were still trying to process everything.

“I… I’m so happy,” you whispered.

His gaze softened immediately, heavy-lidded eyes dropping briefly to your lips before lifting back up to your face.

“Really,” he murmured, pulling you slightly closer again, just enough that there was no space left between you.

You nodded quickly. “So happy, Koo…”

The following school week, you showed up to class with the new bag already in use, carefully placed on the chair beside you. Your nails were freshly done too, and every time you looked at them you couldn’t help but think of Jungkook. 

“You almost have a new bag every month, do you even know how much that costs?” Nayeon said, leaning back in her chair as she glanced at you with raised brows.

You couldn’t even argue with that. It was true. 

Every month, it was either a new bag or a new pair of shoes, sometimes both.

“And those are branded,” Sana added. “I know Jungkook has a good job, but don’t you think that’s… too much?”

There was concern in her voice, but not really for you.

For him.

To your friends, it looked like he was just spoiling you. Babying you because you were childhood friends, because your families were close.

And from the outside, it probably did look like that.

Like you were simply receiving too much. Like you were just letting it happen.

But what they didn’t see was that Jungkook never hesitated when it came to you. Never treated it like a burden. Never acted like it was something he was losing from.

If anything, it was the opposite. And that was the part you couldn’t explain to them.

Because they only saw what he gave. Not what he felt when he gave it.

“If you keep on doing that, I won’t be surprised if he grows tired of you,” Riri said, shaking her head as her gaze dropped briefly to your bag like it had suddenly become something unpleasant.

The words didn’t land softly. Tired of you.

“That won’t happen,” you said quickly, a little too quickly, like saying it out loud would make it true.

But your friends didn’t look convinced. They rolled their eyes almost in sync.

“Even if you’re close, he’ll still grow tired of you eventually,” Sana added. “Especially if it’s always like that. He’s probably just too nice to say no to you.”

“I honestly feel bad for him,” Riri agreed, leaning back in her chair. “Those things he’s buying? Gosh, he could probably buy a new car already. Everything’s branded!"

The laughter that followed wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either. It sat somewhere in between—light enough to pass as a joke, heavy enough to stick.

You stayed quiet. Because for the first time, the thought didn’t bounce off you like it usually did.

The dresses hanging in your closet. The bags lined neatly on your shelves. The shoes you barely had reason to wear but still owned anyway. The perfumes that smelled like soft powder and familiarity. The little pieces of gold jewelry he had given you on birthdays without fail.

All of it. All from him.

Your friends kept talking, but their voices blurred into the background. You tried to smile at lunch, tried to pretend you were fine, tried to focus on your notes later like you always did when your mind got loud.

But it kept coming back anyway.

What if he gets tired of you? What if he’s just too nice to say it? 

You were so used to Jungkook spoiling you that it took you a while to even recognize the thought creeping in—maybe you were too much. Maybe you were asking for too much without meaning to. And once that idea settled, it didn’t just sit quietly. It spread.

The possibility that he might look at you one day and feel burdened? That the person you trusted most might start seeing you as a responsibility instead of someone he chose?

That possibility hurt more than anything else.

Because even though, deep down, you knew Jungkook wouldn’t easily do something like that… you were still afraid.

So for the following weeks, you changed.

You stopped calling him for help with your assignments. You stopped texting him every small thing that happened in your day. You tried to answer things on your own, figure things out without leaning on him, even when your first instinct was to reach for him.

You were trying, quietly and stubbornly, to be less.

And Jungkook noticed.

At first, he convinced himself you were just busy. School, friends, life—it made sense. He told himself not to read too much into it, not to assume anything, not to disturb you.

But then it continued.

“It’s okay, Koo. I swear I can do it by myself,” you said over the phone one night when he had offered to come over and help you with your assignment.

Jungkook paused at that, leaning back in his chair, one hand still resting near his laptop. He had just finished working overtime, exhaustion still sitting heavily on his shoulders.

“You sure, baby?” he asked more carefully this time. “What is it about? Maybe I can help.”

Three weeks.

It hadn’t even been that long. Not for most people.

But for you and Jungkook, it felt different.

Because since you were seven years old, you had always been there. Always reaching out. Always calling. Always texting. Even during vacations, even during trips, even during the smallest moments of the day—you were part of each other’s rhythm.

And he was used to it. Used to you.

He missed you in a way he didn’t really know how to admit, even to himself. Sometimes he would catch himself checking his phone in the middle of meetings, expecting your name to appear out of habit, confused when it didn’t.

But more than that, he was starting to overthink.

Because he didn’t want to come off as clingy. He remembered what you had said about your dates before. So he held back.

But you holding back too? That didn’t feel right.

Because you were never like that with him. 

Always and exceptionally, his sweet clingy girl.

His frustration was leading him to pump his cock every night. After going home from work, he would lie down on the bed still wearing his glasses, not bothering to change his clothes or remove his silver wristwatch. With a grunt, he would pull out his cock from his dark slacks, spitting on his tip in frustration, pumping it hard and fast with the thought of you. 

“Fuck, what’s wrong, baby?” he whispers, squeezing the tip of his cock to coax out more precum. His teeth sink into his lower lip as he imagines burying himself between your thighs, determined to eat your wet pussy until you finally tell him what’s been bothering you.

He wanted to please you so badly, kiss your problems away, wanted to fuck you so hard that all your pretty little head would think about was him.

The one-night stands and occasional hookups were not giving him a proper release. He would push the other girls’ heads down harshly on his cock so he wouldn’t see their faces, always fucking them from behind so he could imagine it was you. He would bend their bodies into positions that would make him think it was your sweet little body he was fucking. He always had the stamina to go for multiple rounds because his cock was always so hard even after he came, his mushroom tip pulsing and leaking for you. 

It was so bad, so sinful, so dirty.

He wanted to know what was wrong, the urge to tie you down with his chains growing stronger. Yet he was afraid to do that to you, afraid to scare his precious little girl.

“No need, Koo, it’s an easy project. Besides, I have a girl’s date tomorrow so I kinda need to prepare,” you said in a small voice. That was a lie—you didn’t have a girls’ date tomorrow… but you’d rather stay at home than see him.

For the past weeks, he had noticed that he didn’t receive any of your random texts anymore, your silly calls for help with assignments, your usual chocolate chip cookies whenever you stopped by his house, or your clinginess to convince him to sleep over even when he would always decline.

The fact that you were going out with your friends this weekend was also very unusual. Although you still spent time with friends and other people occasionally, three weeks without seeing him at all, felt odd.

The chains of possessiveness wrapped around him once again.

“Can I at least stop by to see you tonight?” he almost pleaded. “I miss my baby.”

You shut your eyes tight, clutching your phone in your hands at his words. The wild beating of your heart betrayed you.

“I m-miss you too, Koo. But… maybe next time. I’m really busy,” you reasoned, hoping he would just drop it and let it go.

Jungkook groaned. Your sweet “I miss you” went straight to his cock, his jaw ticking in frustration as he loosened his black tie to regulate his breathing.

“Koo?” you said nervously when he didn’t answer, biting your lip hard when he stayed silent on the line.

“Where are you?” he rasped, his serious tone almost making you jump.

It was Friday, and you were rotting in your room. In fact, you had no piled-up projects or assignments due because you finished them all just to preoccupy your mind from Jungkook. 

The urge to disturb him and spend time with him was strong, but you wanted to prove to yourself and your friends that you were not using him. You were wasting a perfectly boring Friday lying on your bed while thinking about… Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

“I-I’m in my room, why?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t go anywhere,” he said in a dismissive tone.

“Huh? Koo, you can’t—”

He dropped the call.

Your eyes widened when you realized he would actually come here. 

You quickly scanned your room, sighing in relief when you remembered you cleaned your mess yesterday. Standing up, you looked at yourself in the mirror—your cheeks were flushed, your hair a bit messy from lying down, wearing matching ruffled short shorts and a pastel pink spaghetti strap top. You leaned closer, checking if you should apply lip gloss or not.

“Ugh, why am I panicking! it’s just Kookie,” you grunted, pacing around your room, a bit excited that you would finally see him after a long while.

You brushed your hair, cringing when you applied a little bit of lip balm, debating if you should change your clothes or if you would look stupid for getting ready too much.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone beeped with a text.

Kookie: Do you want anything? I can bring you something to eat.

A loud squeal came out of your lips, and you immediately placed your palm over your mouth in case your mom would come check if you suddenly fainted or something. You read the text over and over again like it would change its meaning.

“This is the reason why no one compares to you, ugh!” you groaned to yourself, comparing his sweet gesture once again to all the boys you had tried dating.

You were about to reply when another text came in, not from him but from your good friend Hoseok, also a guy who had expressed his feelings for you before, which you rejected. He was good-looking, kind and sweet, but with his radiating energy and personality, you only saw him as a friend. You were glad he didn’t take the rejection seriously, though… sometimes he acted a bit too sweet with you.

Hoseok: hEY CUTIE! I’m downstairs!!!! Let’s hang out!

“What the fuck?!” your eyes widened immediately, rushing to the bedroom window only to see Hoseok outside your house, waving at you with a bright freaking smile.

You rushed downstairs and quickly opened the door, ready to scold him, but he only laughed at you.

“Hobi! What are you doing here? It’s late!” you hissed, grabbing his arm to shake some sense into him.

He only smiled brightly, laughing at your panicking tone. “Chill, it’s only like… 9 PM? Besides, it’s Friday! Let’s go out!”

You shook your head. Although he was very sweet and it wasn’t really bad to go out with him, you didn’t want Jungkook to see him here. The fact that you had just told him you were busy and now you had a friend over would make you look so bad.

“I can’t, Hobi- I-I have stuff to do,” you said, pulling his arm again, almost shaking it.

He rolled his eyes. “Since when did you become so boring? Unless…”

His eyes squinted as he leaned closer to your face. “Do you finally have a boyfriend coming over?”

“Hoseok!” your ears turned red. You were about to push him away when you suddenly saw a familiar black Cadillac pulling over.

Jungkook opened the driver’s seat door, his dark eyes immediately landing on your small hands holding Hoseok’s arm.

You gulped harshly and pushed Hoseok away. The way Jungkook looked at you made you feel small—his dark eyes slowly dragging over your exposed skin. In your panic earlier, you didn’t bother changing out of your sleepwear since you rushed out to scold your friend.

“Uhh, I think I should go.” Hoseok chuckled nervously, stepping aside when he saw Jungkook’s serious glare on him. The way Jungkook’s jaw tightened made it look like he could punch Hoseok at any moment.

With a bright, awkward smile, he quickly left, leaving the two of you alone.

Jungkook stepped closer, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “You were busy, huh?” Jealousy dripped from his tone.

“Koo—”

“Are you dating him?”

“What? No, he’s just a friend,” you panicked.

He raised a thick brow at you, stepping dangerously close and invading your personal space, leaning down to whisper near your ear.

“Then why was he leaning this close to you, hmm?” he mocked, his nose grazing your neck.

Hoseok had been close to your face earlier, but not like this. 

Jungkook’s hands circled your waist, pulling you closer until you could smell his cologne mixed with a hint of cigarette—a sign that he only smoked when he was either bored or stressed.

“He wasn’t, Koo, I swear…” you pleaded, your hands clutching his shirt.

You gasped when he softly bit your neck, his hands gripping your hips.

“How about me? Would you let me be this close to you?” he murmured, his voice dripping with heat, rational thoughts flying out of the window.

You nodded almost immediately, eyes soft. “O-Of course, Koo.”

A quiet chuckle slipped from him, low and faint. “Yeah?” he asked, gaze lifting to meet yours for a brief moment before dropping again. “Why is that?”

“Cause you’re my K-Kookie,” you said shyly, the words coming out smaller than you intended, but honest in a way that left no room for pretending. It wasn’t just habit when you called him that—it was attachment, something that had grown with you over the years without you even realizing how deep it had become.

He groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. “Yeah? Then why are you avoiding your Kookie, hmm?” he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on your neck. “Been thinking if I did something wrong baby,” he grunted against you, inhaling your soft scent.

“I’m s-sorry… I just thought you’d get tired of me,” you said quietly, voice breaking as your eyes began to glass over. “I always cling to you Koo… relying on you like this.”

Jungkook stiffened, the fact that you would think about something like that pained him, when all he wanted was for you to cling onto him, to rely on him, to stay close to him.

His gaze lifted slowly, and the moment he saw your face properly—the way your lips trembled, the way you were trying so hard not to cry—it hit him harder than anything else.

“Who put that thought in your pretty little head, baby?” he asked softly, but there was a quiet firmness underneath it, like he didn’t even want the idea to exist. His thumb reached up instinctively, wiping away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “You know that’s not true.”

You sniffled, trying to breathe through it. “I-I know… I just got scared because…” your voice cracked again, and you hesitated, fingers curling slightly as you looked away for a second before forcing yourself to continue. “B-Because I really like you… and I don’t want that to happen.”

Fuck.

Suddenly, there were bricks in your hands you didn’t remember picking up… stacking themselves, one after another, forming something warm, terrifying and inevitable.

Your small hands reached for him then, hesitantly tugging at his shirt like you needed him closer just to feel steady again.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, something tightening in his chest at the sight of you trying so hard to hold onto him while thinking he might let go.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, pulling you closer. “I like you too,” he said softly, so softly that you almost didn’t catch it.

Your glossy eyes widened, the legos he was trying to build were now finally coming together.

Like your hands had been there all along, quietly sorting through the scattered pieces he didn’t know how to organize, fitting them into gaps he didn’t even realize were empty. 

And Jungkook just looked at you—really looked at you—like something in him had finally stopped pretending too.

Your mother had been pleasantly surprised when she saw him walk in, quickly turning into the kind of delighted smile she always had whenever Jungkook came around. After all, it wasn’t often that he visited you directly anymore—you were usually the one going to him.

The two of them ended up talking for a bit downstairs, catching up on things in that familiar, comfortable way that made it feel like he had never really stopped visiting your home.

And then, eventually, you brought him upstairs.

You were sitting awkwardly on the edge of your bed, bunny plushie on your lap while Jungkook stood near your shelves, quietly taking in the changes in your room. It looked different from the last time he had properly paid attention to it—more grown, more you, but still carrying little traces of the little girl he grew up with.

After earlier, your heart wouldn’t slow down, panic lingering beneath your skin at how intimate his presence felt in your room now.

He felt like he was finally your Ken now, but to you, he was the dinosaur to your barbie.

“You still have this,” he said softly, a small smile forming on his face when he picked up the small dinosaur he gave you when you were little.

It was cute, a pink little dinosaur he saw in the mall and gave it to you as a small gift for your eleventh birthday. It was sitting beside your bookshelf, along with some of your favorite books that were given by him.

You let out a small giggle, the tension in your chest loosening just slightly. “I actually still have some of your dinosaurs in my storage box,” you admitted softly. “I didn’t throw them away.”

That made him pause. 

He stopped looking around the room and turned his full attention back to you. His dark eyes drifted over your figure, taking in the way your short sleepwear softly clung to your body. 

The gentle curve of your breasts, the softness of your thighs and the bunny plushie resting in your lap—the one you insisted looked just like him.

Jungkook swallowed harshly, tilting his head to regulate his thoughts. “Then why is this the only one out here?” he asked, raising a brow slightly while pointing at your pink dinosaur.

You let out a small giggle, putting your bunny aside and swinging your legs a little where you sat. “That’s my favorite. You gave it to me on my birthday, and it’s pink!”

There was something warm in your voice when you said it, something soft and nostalgic that made it feel less like you were talking about a toy and more like you were talking about a memory you had kept safe all this time.

Jungkook’s gaze softened for a second. 

His cheeks picked up the faintest dust of pink, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t looking closely. His tongue brushed briefly against his lip ring out of habit as his eyes stayed on you, growing heavier-lidded the longer he looked.

Jungkook took a step closer, the space between you shrank without either of you really acknowledging it, like it was becoming natural to be near each other again in a way that felt different from before.

His hand lifted gently, fingers brushing your cheek with a kind of care that didn’t match how intense his gaze had become. “My sweet girl,” he murmured, almost like he wasn’t fully aware he said it out loud.

You looked up at him, his thumb slowly tracing over your bottom lip, your lips parting on instinct.

“Sometimes I still play with them,” you said shyly. “but not like before, I just… talk to them sometimes.”

‘’You do?’’ His brow lifted slightly, but this time there was something darker flickering behind his gaze—interest, amusement, and unadulterated desire.

You nodded, giggling under his touch. “Yeah, I kinda find them cuter than barbies now.”

He shifted his weight, stepping even closer until his hand slid from your cheek down to your jaw, holding you there gently but firmly, like he wanted to make sure you stayed exactly where you were.

“Hmm, I miss playing with you.” he drawled lazily, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair.

You smiled, innocently nodding your head. “Me too!’’

He sat down on the bed, a tiny gasp escaping your lips when he easily lifted your body until you were straddling him. The way he moved you so effortlessly sent a shiver down your spine, both of your hands landing on his shoulders for balance.

“Yeah?” he whispered, leaning in to press a small peck against your lips.

Your eyes widened. It was so quick, so light, like a feather brushing against your lips. Heat rushed to your cheeks when you noticed how dilated his pupils were.

“Was that okay?” he rasped.

You blinked, and then, slowly, a small smile formed on your lips. Leaning in, you cutely pressed a soft kiss to his lips in return.

“Okay,” you giggled, your eyes sparkling.

Lego butterflies erupted on his stomach.

Jungkook took his sweet time with you. His kisses were slow, shallow, and soft, as though he was waiting for you to feel comfortable. When your lips parted slightly, he slowly slipped his tongue into your mouth, gently sucking on your lower lip and earning a soft whimper from you.

The moment he felt your body relax against him, he deepened the kiss, his brows furrowing as his hands tightened around your waist to keep you steady.

Your breath caught in your throat, the cool metal of his lip ring brushing deliciously against your bottom lip, slick with saliva every time his mouth moved against yours. Whenever soft sounds escaped you, he swallowed them instantly, kissing you deeper as if he couldn't get enough. The wet glide of his tongue against yours became the only sound filling the room.

“Koo…” you murmured softly, your fingers gripping his white long sleeves, a reminder that he had come straight from work.

When he finally pulled away, a thin string of saliva lingered between your lips for a brief moment before snapping. His lips were flushed and slightly swollen, mirroring your own, while his glasses sat faintly fogged from the warmth of your shared breath. And when your eyes met his, the dark intensity in his gaze made your heart stutter.

You giggled shyly and reached up to remove his glasses.

“It’s foggy,” you pouted, your cheeks warming as you held them in your hands.

Using the hem of your top, you carefully wiped the fog from his glasses. You were just about to place them back on his face when he suddenly leaned in and kissed you again.

The way he advanced so fast, like you were the cure to his hunger…it made you wet.

This time, the kiss was needier—hungrier. His tongue slipped past your lips as though he was chasing something, as though you were the only thing capable of satisfying it.

He kissed you with a newfound urgency, flicking his tongue against yours, no longer slow or shallow. Saliva gathered at the corner of your mouth as he deepened the kiss, turning it messy and overwhelming in a way that made your head spin.

You were still clutching his glasses loosely in your hand, but your grip tightened every time he pulled you closer, his tongue coaxing yours into the kiss again and again.

It still wasn't enough for him.

His hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair at the nape of your neck before tugging gently—just enough to tilt your head back and draw a soft gasp from your lips.

“Koo…” you breathed shakily, trying to catch your breath.

“Open your lips wider,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough and low. “Wanna kiss you more.”

Your thoughts were already turning hazy, your body warm beneath his touch. When you hesitated, his fingers tightened slightly in your hair, the edge of his wristwatch pressing against your nape and pulling another gasp from you. Before you could gather your thoughts, he kissed you again, his tongue moving against yours before pulling back just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth.

The way he alternated between sucking and biting made heat spread heavily through your body, your mind blurring more with every passing second. Your chest rose unevenly as you tried to steady yourself.

“Kookie-” you tried again, weaker this time.

He finally hummed in response, like he heard you but didn’t fully intend to stop. His lips moved from yours to your jaw, trailing slow kisses downward while his hand stayed tangled in your hair, guiding your head slightly to expose more of your neck to him.

“Wanna play with you,” he whispered against your skin.

“H-Huh?” you frowned, bewildered when you heard what he wanted to do.

“Wanna play with my baby,” he swallowed hard, tilting his head slightly as his fingers stayed tangled in your hair. “Do you want that?”

He gave a gentle tug, just enough to draw a small sound of surprise from you.

“C-Can we do that some other time?” you said shyly, leaning into him, your hands gripping his arms as you tried to pull him closer. “Wanna kiss you more, Koo.”

A low groan slipped from him at that, almost frustrated. He dipped his head and bit lightly at your neck before soothing it with his tongue, the contrast making your breath catch.

“But I wanna play with you, baby,” he cooed, voice softer now but laced with something teasing, almost mocking in the way he echoed your words from when you were younger.

You whined, your cheeks burning, your body already feeling too warm from him, from the way he kept holding you so close like there wasn’t any space left to escape even if you wanted to.

“But Kookie—”

“Please, baby?” he interrupted gently, lips pressing against your neck again, slower this time, more deliberate.

The sound of your breathing changed when he lingered there, and for a moment you just held onto him, torn between what you were saying and what your body was already answering for you.

When he finally pulls back from your neck to look at you properly, you’re already chewing your bottom lip, brows furrowed at his request, your eyes hazy and unfocused as you cling to him.

“Words, baby,” he said quietly.

You hesitated for only a second before finally nodding, your voice coming out small and defeated, like you didn’t really want to stop him but couldn’t fully say yes either.

“Okay.” you frowned.

He let out a soft laugh at your reaction.

“Is my baby girl sad, hmm?” he chuckled, one hand holding both of your cheeks so he could look at your face properly.

“Jungkook, please,” you whined.

“Jungkook, please,” he repeated, mocking you, amusement clearly etched across his darkened expression.

His eyes dropped slowly over your body—your clothed cunt pressed against his hard cock beneath his slacks, your breasts brushing firmly against his chest, your small hands tugging and gripping him for purchase.

“You’re so pretty,” he groaned.

His index finger traced lightly over your collarbones, watching how your skin would turn pink whenever he touches harder.

“So soft,” he cooed under his breath, his hand sliding downward along the curve of your chest, making you hiss softly.

You looked down at his hand. “K-Koo, what are you doing?” you said weakly.

His fingers drifted lower, resting near your belly button, dangerously close to your clothed pussy.

“Playing with you,” he said simply, head tilting as he looked at you with quiet amusement.

Heat spread through your body like wildfire, your back arching slightly as realization sank in. A liquid warmth pulsed between your thighs, your panties growing wetter with arousal.

“Koo, that’s so—” you couldn’t finish your sentence, a sharp gasp leaving you when his finger finally traced over you through your thin sleep shorts.

“I wanna play with you here,” he murmured, continuing to trace slow circles over your clothed pussy.

A soft moan slipped from you, almost breaking into a sob at the anticipation alone.

“Do you want that, baby?” he leaned in and lightly kissed your lips, eyes lifting to meet yours. His gaze was heavy, dark with need, but steady—waiting, still holding himself back just enough to give you the choice.

“Yes.” you gulped harshly, eyes getting heavy lidded.

“Yeah? you’ll let me play with your little pussy?’’ he whispered.

“Please…” you moaned, cheeks flushed red, eyes slipping shut as you lightly grinded against him, desperate for friction.

He chuckled softly, pecking your lips once more. “I’ll lay you down, okay? Gonna spread your legs so I can play with you properly.”

He guided you down onto the bed gently, positioning you beneath him and carefully parting your legs. You gasped slightly at the change in position, a wave of overwhelm hitting you. You were about to sit up again, but he quickly followed, covering your body with his and leaning down to kiss you softly.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered when he felt your panic, his voice low and steady. “We’ll take it slow.”

His left hand cupped your breast gently while the other held your face in place, steadying you as he continued kissing you.

You had never let anyone get this far before. You had shared a few lingering kisses, a few brief touches, but you had never crossed that line with anyone. The thought of letting Jungkook do it now sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting before your thoughts could catch up.

His nose grazed your neck as he breathed you in, his presence grounding and overwhelming all at once.

“Can I remove this, baby?” he asked gently, fingers holding the straps of your top as his lips brushed against your sternum, waiting.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

He smiled, slowly removing your top and exposing your baby pink lace bra. A low groan slipped from him at the sight, and he quickly leaned down, pressing his lips against the fabric, his tongue teasing through the cup as your nipples hardened beneath the sensation.

“Oh, Koo…” you moaned softly, fingers tugging at his hair.

His other hand was already on your breast, kneading it slowly as he worked you over. Soft whimpers slipped from your lips when you felt the fabric growing damp from his saliva, the outline of your nipple becoming more visible beneath it, clearly caught under his gaze.

With a deep groan, he pulled the straps of your bra down, exposing your soft breasts fully. His eyes darkened instantly at the sight. 

“Pretty girl,” he mused.

‘’Kookie, this is so embarrassing.” you avoided eye contact, trying to cover your breasts.

“Shh, you’re so pretty,” he said softly as he slowly removed your arms from your chest, dark eyes roaming over your figure.

“Look at me,” he added, gentle—but with an edge underneath it.

When you finally did, your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him sucking his fingers, bringing them down to your right nipple. He pinched it, spreading his saliva before rolling it between the pads of his thumb and index finger.

“Oh my gosh!”

“You like that?” he murmured, leaning down to your other breast. He spat on the bud before taking it into his mouth, sucking it softly.

You were a whining mess, your fingers tightening in his hair from the intensity. It was wet and messy, a soft pop following when he released your nipple briefly, only to switch to the other one—his lip ring brushing against your nipple, adding even more stimulation.

“Mmph, that’s so good-’’

Your eyes widened when you suddenly felt his palm press over your mouth, silencing your moans.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, letting out a quiet chuckle. “Need you to be quiet for me.”

“S-Sorry,” you said shyly, biting your lip as you realized how loud you must have been.

He smiled softly, pressing a trail of kisses from your stomach down to your belly button. “Good girl.”

You quickly covered your mouth when his nose nudged against your clothed cunt, inhaling your pussy as he lingered there a little too long. 

“Mmph!” you shifted your legs, but he held your hips firmly in place.

“Baby, keep your legs open,” he groaned, his nose following your clothed cunt.

After inhaling your pussy like he was addicted to it, he slowly pulled your shorts down. Your legs instinctively tried to close, but his hands stopped you, guiding them open instead. The movement exposed the wet patch in your pink underwear, your arousal already seeping through and clinging to the fabric, your inner thighs slightly damp.

“So messy baby, is this all for me?’’ gathering saliva in his mouth, his cheeks hollowed slightly before he leaned down and spat onto your clothed pussy, watching closely as it mixed with your wetness. The fabric darkened further, your cute slit more clearly outlined beneath it.

You whimpered at the feeling, warmth spreading through you as his spit soaked through your panties. But the moment he leaned in again, your legs instinctively closed around his head, trapping him between your thighs.

“Sorry, I didn’t m-mean that,” you said quickly, loosening your grip and slowly reopening your legs.

He looked up at you, expression softening immediately, a small gentle smile returning to his face. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Just relax for me, yeah?”

Opening your legs wider, he leaned down and ran a slow stripe through your panties, moving from your entrance up to your clit, making the fabric even wetter beneath his tongue. His fingers dug into both of your thighs when you instinctively tried to move again, the sensation overwhelming enough to keep you still for a moment.

He was messily working you through the fabric, groaning softly as he pressed his tongue against you, his mouth trying to suck your clit to make it peek through your panties. The sensation of the wet fabric against your swollen clit was uncomfortable in the best way—overwhelming, and painfully pleasurable.

You quickly bit down on your hand to muffle your moans, but the sounds still slipped out regardless.

When your moans started getting louder, he exhaled sharply and pulled your underwear down, gathering the soaked fabric in his hand without hesitation.

“Open your mouth,” he rasped.

You hesitated for a second before slowly parting your lips, eyes widening when he slid your soaked underwear inside. The taste of your arousal mixed with his saliva hit your tongue immediately.

“There you go, baby,” he murmured, voice softer again. “All nice and quiet.”

He leaned in after that, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek like it was a reward. Then, reaching for the glasses on the bed—the ones you hadn't even realized you'd dropped—he slipped them back on before leaning down again.

“Need to see this pretty pussy clear, baby.” he said softly, adjusting them on the bridge of his nose as he looked down at you.

A low groan left him as he slid his hands under your thighs, pulling you closer. His head tilted slightly as he stared at your bare cunt for a moment longer, like he was memorizing the sight in front of him.

“You’re so pretty,” he bit his lower lip.

He used his fingers to part you further, exposing your swollen clit before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to it.

“Gonna play with you now,” he lowered his mouth to you, tongue slipping into your wet folds, collecting your arousal, tasting you slowly as he began to eat you out properly.

Your moans were muffled by the soaked fabric still stuffed inside your mouth. His grip on your thighs tightened, firm enough for you to feel the cold press of his silver watch against your skin, holding you in place as you squirmed restlessly beneath him.

Every so often, he’d pull back just enough to gather saliva on his tongue, before leaning back in to spit just above your hood, pulling your pussy lips apart so it can trail down over your clit. He’d spread it with his tongue, deliberately working it in, just to make you even messier.

The way he ate your pussy was almost the same way he kissed you—messy, pouty and needy. His mouth stayed slightly parted, expression focused, brows faintly furrowed like he was too absorbed in your cunt to care about anything else.

His hips thrusted unconsciously against the bed, his own restraint slipping the more you reacted. Every soft sound you made went straight through his cock, making it harder for him to hold back. His precum was leaking at the tip, almost fucking the mattress everytime your pussy squelches.

“Mmph.’’ you moaned, eyes getting teary because he wasn’t stopping.

The feeling of your clit on his tongue was addictive—how it twitched, how it reacted to every movement. He kept circling it, sucking, teasing, as if he couldn’t get enough… you were dripping so much that before it could even reach the bed, his tongue was already there to catch it, eager to taste every drop of you. The wet, dirty slurping sounds filled the room, loud and unrestrained. Every time you tried to wriggle your legs, he only pinned you down more, spreading you wider so he could eat your pussy properly, taking his time while adjusting his glasses whenever he paused to look at you.

Whenever he stopped, he’d either spit or simply stare at your cunt, his thumb pushing your folds apart just to get a better view of your swollen clit, already flushed and sensitive from his tongue.

“My pretty little pussy,” he murmured.

The moment he saw your hole spilling with arousal, he leaned in quickly, tongue already out, licking into you and sucking everything back in like he couldn’t resist it.

Your eyes rolled back, your teeth biting down on the soaked fabric, overwhelmed by the pleasure building too fast. Your vision blurred slightly, tears rolling down your cheeks from the intensity.

He was edging you on purpose.

Not letting you finish.

Every time you got close, he slowed down or stopped completely, pulling back just enough to watch you fall apart, waiting for you to settle before starting again. It was deliberate, controlled—like he was enjoying every second of keeping you right at the edge.

“Do you like playing with me?” he asked, voice muffled slightly as he stayed between your thighs, still looking up at you through his glasses.

You nodded quickly, too eager, your body still trembling from the way he was eating you out.

He finally pulled back and lifted his head, his chin and nose wet with your arousal. Calmly, he reached up to remove the panties from your mouth, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip as he urged you to speak.

“I-I like playing with you, Koo,” you croaked, cheeks flushed and slightly puffy, eyes glossy, lips red and parted in a dazed pout.

“Course you do,” he said proudly, a faint smile forming as he looked at you. “You’re my girl.”

He softly kissed your cheek, his right hand cupping your swollen pussy while his free hand worked on unbuttoning his white long-sleeve shirt. The belt at his waist pressing lightly against your inner thighs.

When he pulled his top off, your eyes immediately traced his lean frame. His shoulders looked broader up close, easily enclosing your space, his toned tatted arms fully exposed. The way his biceps flexed as he toyed with your pussy drew a soft moan from your lips, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

His left hand rose slowly, wrapping around your throat. The amount of times that watch had pressed against you tonight felt almost sinful.

“Told you to be quiet, didn’t I?” he raised a brow, tightening his grip just enough to make your breath hitch and your eyes roll back slightly.

Your cheeks burned instantly, embarrassed by how easily he pulled those reactions out of you.

You knew you had to stay quiet. Your parents trusted Jungkook completely—after all, he was your childhood best friend. He used to sleep over in your room without a second thought, and the idea that they might hear what he was doing to you now sent a sharp wave of anxiety through your chest.

But it only made you more restless. He was still holding back your release, keeping you right where he wanted you.

He buried his face into your neck, his voice dropping lower as he whispered just beside your ear, “Suck it.”

Before you could react, he slipped his fingers into your mouth. A sob nearly escaped you, your sounds quickly muffled by his long, slender fingers. “Shh, keep yourself busy,” he mocked.

You nearly gagged as he pushed them deeper into your mouth, drool gathering at the corners of your lips and trailing down his hand, dripping onto the face of his watch.

Meanwhile, he used his other hand to slide his middle finger into your tight hole, making your back arch from the sudden fullness. He was so deep already—his knuckle brushing against that soft, sensitive spot inside you, pressing just right.

“You’re so tight, baby. Is this pussy made for me?” he asked in a condescending tone, slowly pulling his fingers out of your mouth so you could answer him.

“Yes, Kookie,” you gasped, struggling to steady your breathing.

“Yes, Kookie.” he mocked, squishing your cheeks with one hand as he repeated your words teasingly.

He pulled his middle finger out of your tight pussy, bringing it up in front of your face. “Spit.”

Still holding your cheeks, he waited, and you obeyed without hesitation, spitting onto his fingers. A gasp escaped you when he spread the moisture between his middle and ring fingers before sliding them back into your cunt, the added slickness making the movement even easier.

“Koo, oh my gosh…” you whimpered, his two tattooed fingers stretching you open.

He quickly found your sweet spot again, the pad of his fingers pressing into it and curling in a slow “come here” motion that made you leak even more around him.

Still holding your cheeks, he leaned in and kissed you—hot, messy, and unrelenting—his tongue slipping into your mouth as he fed you spit, stealing your breath and your sounds all at once. It was as if he didn’t want you to breathe at all, the way his tongue moved inside your mouth mirroring the way his fingers worked inside you.

His hard cock pressed firmly against your inner thighs, grinding against you in slow, circular motions as he kept you pinned beneath him.

When his thumb circled your clit, your body reacted immediately—your pussy releasing so much liquid that you gasped and trembled, watching in disbelief as you wet his hands and his slacks more and more. You tried to push him away, tried to protest, but his mouth only swallowed your moans while his fingers kept massaging that sensitive spongey spot inside you, coaxing you to squirt more for him.

Your legs shook violently, the moment his thumb shifted into a more deliberate rhythm, your walls clenched tightly around his fingers. Your clit pulsed rapidly beneath his thumb, your orgasm crashing through you in overwhelming waves that made your body feel completely unsteady. Your legs threatened to close from the overstimulation, but he kept them spread, refusing to let you escape. His fingers continued working inside you, pushing your cum, just so he could hear how wet you were.

Jungkook groaned against your mouth, you were so warm, wet and so tight—almost painfully sensitive. His fingers became slick with your release, coated in it as your body continued to tremble. When he finally pulled his fingers out, your pussy twitched immediately, still clenching around nothing, leaking more of your cum as your body struggled to settle.

You whimpered when he gathered the cum that dropped, only to push it back inside you. Your weak hands pressed lightly against his shoulders in protest.

“I c-can’t anymore… please,” you muffled, overwhelmed by how sensitive everything felt. Your pussy was swollen, pulsing, too overstimulated to take more.

He finally released your mouth. Your lips felt numb and swollen from his kisses as he looked at you, tilting his head slightly.

“You okay? You’re shaking, baby,” he said softly, concern in his tone—but there was something in his eyes, something almost teasing, like he was quietly pleased at how completely undone you looked.

He lifted his fingers and licked them clean slowly, eyes half-lidded as he tasted you. His cock was leaking so bad, clearly desperate to feel how tight you are.

He rose from the edge of the bed, unbuckling his belt while keeping his eyes fixed on you. His hair was still a mess from your earlier tugging, his pupils dark and blown wide with desire, and the muscles in his arms flexed as he pushed his pants down his legs.

When he finally removed his boxers, your eyes widened as his cock hit his abdomen. It was thick, heavy, and impossibly hard, veins running along the shaft, curving slightly upward, the flushed tip glistening with precum.

He shamelessly rolled the foreskin back, stroking himself slowly… squeezing the base just enough to draw out more precum. A low groan left his throat as he kept his eyes on you, like the sight of your naked body alone was enough to push him over the edge.

The number of times he had fantasized about this—it was almost wrong.

When he placed a knee on the bed, your eyes widened again, that soft innocence still lingering in your gaze. Your legs instinctively closed slightly, your fingers clutching the sheets as if you didn’t know where to put yourself. Your entire body language gave you away—you were still inexperienced, still unsure, your reactions honest and unfiltered.

Everything about you made that clearer. The way you kissed him, the way you tried to touch him, the way you trembled when his tongue met yours—it all showed how new this still was for you. How your body was still learning what it wanted.

And it made him shake.

The way your small hands trembled. The way you whined like you were trying to fight your own reactions. The way you struggled to understand your own desire—it sent a possessive rush straight through him. The realization that he was the only one who had ever seen you like this… the only one allowed to touch you like this.

His expression softened as he slowly crawled closer to you. Instinctively, you shifted back, your spine pressing against the headboard as his presence suddenly felt overwhelming.

“You okay, baby?” he asked gently, his hands moving to your folded knees, easing them open with careful pressure instead of forcing them. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“You still want to continue?”

He was hard—thick and aching…but he still focused on you, wanting you to be comfortable, willing to do anything for his pretty girl.

You stared back at him. He was still wearing his glasses, his eyes heavy with lust, though he was clearly trying to soften his expression for you. You gulped harshly when his cock twitched on its own, even though he had stopped touching himself.

When you didn’t answer right away, he smiled gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb while his other hand moved to fix your hair.

“It’s okay, baby. Do you want to rest?” his voice was low and raspy.

You wanted him so badly. In your quietest, most private daydreams, you sometimes wished you weren’t just best friends—that he was already yours in the way you secretly wanted. You were too in denial, too afraid to fully admit it, scared of what it meant and scared of losing him if you crossed that line. So you convinced yourself it was just confusion, just feelings being swayed by him.

But deep down, you knew. It had always been there—your childhood dream of being his princess, him your prince. The pink barbie to his blue dinosaur.

“No… I-I want to continue,” you said, immediately closing your eyes after, embarrassed by how unsure your own words sounded.

Jungkook stayed patient, despite the obvious tension in his body. Even with his cock still hard and throbbing, he waited for you, encouraging you to speak properly.

“What do you want, baby?” he asked softly, his weak eyes locked on yours.

You pouted slightly, reaching for his hand as he brushed your cheek.

“I want you, Koo… ever since we were little,” you admitted quietly, cheeks burning red.

His lips parted in surprise, clearly caught off guard by your confession. 

He stared at you for a long moment, as though he were carefully processing your words. Then, gently, he tilted your chin upward, silently urging you to keep your eyes on him. You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

“Is that true? My baby wants me?” he rasped, his heart pounding against his chest. The tips of his ears flushed a deep red as he searched your face for an answer.

You smiled shyly. “Want you, so bad.” you slowly reached for his hands, tugging them softly.

He let out a rough groan, immediately kissing you again, swallowing your gasps as he hovered over your body. He opened your legs wider, positioning himself between them as he slowly grinded his cock against your wet pussy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your skin, his kisses turning possessive as they trailed down your neck. You could feel him sucking and marking your skin, leaving bruises in his wake.

The head of his cock dragged slowly up and down your puffy slit, the sensation making your body shiver as arousal built again almost instantly.

“Been trying so hard to be good for my baby,” he murmured like it was something unbearable to hold in. His hand kneaded your breast firmly while his mouth latched onto the other, his brows furrowed in focus as his tongue rolled over your swollen nipple.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as the crown of his cock pressed harder against your wet folds. His hips moved in steady harsh circles, his pubic hair brushing against you with deliberate rhythm. Precum mixed with your arousal, coating your folds and leaving everything slick and messy.

“Every time you went on your little dates, I wanted to tie you down so bad,” he groaned, his tatted fingers sliding down to spread your legs wider.

He lifted his hips and stroked himself once before spitting into his palm and spreading the slickness along his length. Then he guided himself to your entrance, positioning himself carefully as he lined up against you.

“Fuck, baby.” he looked down, letting out a rough groan at the sight of how small and tight you were against him. The tip of him was thick and flushed red, spitting down again, even though he was already slick with precum, trying to make it easier for both of you.

“I just wanted to be so good for my baby… guide you, give you everything you want,” he hissed, watching himself slowly push into you, his blunt head sinking in inch by inch. Even then, his other hand instinctively moved up to fix his glasses…watching himself enter your tight hole.

You gasped at the stretch, your walls clenching tightly around him as he entered you. The pleasure quickly turned painful—too intense, too unfamiliar—your hands scrambling for the sheets as your body reacted to the intrusion.

“Koo… it hurts,” you sobbed softly.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he widened your legs further, eyes still locked on where you were connected. His lip caught between his teeth as he slowly pushed deeper, watching your body take him in like it fascinated him. There was something almost consuming in the way he looked at your pussy—like he couldn’t look away from the way you were swallowing him.

He spat again, coating what was still outside of him before pushing in further. His thumb moved to open you gently, rubbing slow circles to ease you through it.

“Shh, baby.” he murmured softly.

You gasped loudly when he bottomed out—completely balls deep inside you. His mushroom tip kissing your cervix... your pussy was so stretched, as he filled you fully. 

He cursed under his breath, the veins along his neck stood out as a deep flush spread across his cheeks and down his chest. His lips parted slightly, like he was finally relieved to be inside you.

“Baby…” he said weakly, barely able to move. You were too tight, and he could feel it affecting you too.

“You’re so tight, you feel so good,” he whispered weakly, arms braced on either side of you as he held himself still.

You could feel him throbbing inside you, struggling not to move. The way he looked at you—like he was caught between pain and pleasure—made your body tighten around him even more, causing him to twitch in response.

He kissed you again, harder this time, like he was trying to pull your focus away from the discomfort. His fingers moved down to rub your clit, and you whimpered, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your body felt so sensitive, so fragile under his touch.

His kisses were messy and hungry, as though he were trying to pour all his frustrations from his hard cock into your mouth. When you shifted your hips slightly, he groaned sharply, biting down on your lower lip in response.

“Baby, stay still.” he breathed, holding your hips firmly in place.

“You can move, Koo… I want you to feel good,” you said weakly, trying to roll your hips against him despite the lingering ache. The pain was still there, but with the way he was kissing you and touching you, pleasure was slowly starting to return. 

He shook his head, tightening his grip on your hips as he kissed you again, trying to distract you—but you didn’t stop. You rolled your hips anyway, chasing the friction you needed, his cock brushing against you in a way that pulled a soft moan from your lips.

“Baby,” he warned.

You moved again, slower this time, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

The moment you let out another soft moan, something in him snapped. He let out a low growl and pinned your hips firmly against the bed, holding you still before suddenly pushing his throbbing cock harder inside you. Thrusting deeper and deeper until your body bounced against the mattress, his grip on your waist tightening enough to leave marks, his palms digging into your skin as your body trembled beneath him.

“Go on, you wanted to be fucked like this. right?” he taunted, his voice strained as he angled himself deeper, his tip hitting that sensitive spot inside you that made your eyes roll back.

He tried to circle your hips against him, watching as you arched your back in pleasure and pain.

“Move your hips, baby… fuck me back,” he grunted.

You attempted to follow, but his pace was too fast and overwhelming, your body already slipping into overstimulation. Your moans grew louder as your pussy clenched around him, chasing another peak without even realizing it.

“It feels so good.” you moaned, fingers tangling messily in his hair.

Jungkook groaned, biting lightly at your collarbones in pleasure. “Yeah? Do you like playing with me?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, making your body jolt as your previous cum spilled out with every push.

You shivered at the way he said it—goosebumps spreading across your skin. The phrase no longer sounded innocent like it used to.

“I’ve been wanting to play with you like this,” he rasped, pulling out slightly before adjusting your position with ease, as if your body weighed nothing in his hands.

“Wanted to make you cum like a good girl and give you my well-done kisses,” he murmured in a praising tone, carefully turning you until you were lying on your stomach.

You moaned loudly when he entered you from behind. You tried to arch your back, but his body stayed close—hovering over you, keeping you pinned firmly to the bed. His tattooed arm circled your neck, not choking, but holding you in place so your face wouldn’t press into the pillow. His lips brushed your cheek as his hot breath fanned across your skin, sending a tingling sensation through you.

Then suddenly, your eyes widened—you heard footsteps outside the corridor leading to your room.

You instinctively tried to move, panic flashing through you, but Jungkook pinned your body down, your protests muffled beneath his warm palm.

“Y/N, my dear. Are you awake?’’ your mom’s voice echoed behind the door.

You wiggled, trying to get out of his hold, wide eyes and panicking when you heard your mom twisting the locked doorknob. 

“K-Koo—mmph,” you muffled against his hand, trying to move, but he only pinned you down more firmly.

“What’s wrong, baby? Wanna stop?” he whispered lowly behind your ear, his cock twitching every time you shifted beneath him.

Jungkook slid his fingers into your mouth. “Is my baby a whore? hmm?” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he continued moving slowly, deliberately, every drag of him inside you controlled and unhurried.

You tried so hard to stay quiet, desperately sucking on his fingers to keep your moans contained. His other arm stayed wrapped around your neck, holding you just tight enough to make your head spin, your eyes already glassy and red-rimmed.

“Jungkook, dear?” your mom called from outside. Usually, she would scold both of you for staying up too late.

Jungkook didn’t stop. Instead, his lips grazed the shell of your ear, his thick veiny cock grinding and circling. 

“So tight,” he whispered, dangerously low, his pace slow enough that every movement made your walls feel him even deeper. His crown brushed that spongey spot inside you again and again, drawing out your arousal until you could feel it leaking onto the sheets beneath you.

You whimpered, but he only pushed his fingers further into your mouth, keeping you quiet while he continued moving at that slow, torturous rhythm. ‘’Quiet baby, can’t let her know I’m fucking her sweet little daughter, hmm?’’

Your eyes rolled back, your walls clenching around him as he groaned softly, his lips parting in pleasure. Every time he pushed in, your body seemed to pull him back in even harder—your warmth swallowing him completely.

You were shaking, saliva pooling messily on his fingers as you moved your legs weakly, trying to stop his movements because it was getting too much.

When you heard your mom sigh and finally walk away from the door, Jungkook slowly removed his fingers from your mouth, immediately tilting your head up so he could kiss you. 

“You’re so dirty,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and degrading. “Getting fucked in your childhood bedroom like a good little whore.”

You came so hard from his words, his dirty whispers sending you completely over the edge. Whimpering when he held you down to chase his own pleasure, your body hypersensitive and trembling uncontrollably.

Jungkook groaned, your orgasm making him twitch as he came hard inside you. He angled his hips deeper, pushing in as far as he could, his cock oversensitive but he didn’t stop thrusting, the sensation making him whimper as he bit his lip hard, pushing his softening cock deeper, his balls tightening as he spilled his hot load inside you.

“Koo…” you said weakly, wincing when you felt his cum being pushed deeper and deeper.

You were about to close your eyes when you felt him harden again, his cock throbbing inside your spent pussy. He suddenly pulled out and lifted your body up, your eyes widening when you saw him— red and hard again, his shaft coated with thick white juices from both of your arousal.

He pulled your hair gently, standing at the edge of the bed, urging you to come closer.

“Play with my cock,” he rasped, letting go of your hair to hold the base of himself, offering it to you.

You swallowed harshly, weakly wrapping your hand around him. His cock felt heavy in your palm, every vein noticeable against your skin.

“Like this?” you asked innocently, looking up at him while moving your hand up and down, rolling your palm over him in slow strokes.

Jungkook bit his lip, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. “Yes, baby. Give it a nice squeeze for me.” he praised softly.

You smiled, eager to please him, picking up your pace and squeezing his cock while keeping your eyes on his.

His lips parted slightly, jaw tightening at the sight of you. His cock throbbed in your hand, chasing another release, your hand soft and perfect around his girth.

“Suck the tip for me, baby,” he breathed.

You immediately obeyed, opening your mouth and taking just the tip in, sucking on it like it’s your favorite dessert. The moment he moaned, you tried to take more of him, your tongue sliding along the underside of his crown as saliva gathered at your lips.

He cursed under his breath, quickly gripping your hair and pulling you back slightly. “It’s okay, baby… just the tip,” he whispered, softer now when he noticed your teary eyes and flushed cheeks.

You shook your head lightly. “No, I wanna make you cum, Koo. Use my mouth, please,” you said in a small, sweet voice, pouting up at him.

He groaned lowly, the sound strained—like he was barely holding himself together. He swore he almost lost it from your pleading alone.

“Stick your tongue out,” he ordered.

You obeyed immediately, sticking out your tongue all the way out for him.

He crouched down slightly and spat onto your tongue, holding the base of his cock as he tapped his tip against it, spreading the saliva before guiding you back in.

‘’Put your hands behind my thighs, baby.” he groaned.

Your small hands gripped the back of his thighs for support while both of his hands steadied your head.

You gagged when he pushed in deeper, his grip tightening in your hair every time he pulled back. His tip brushed the roof of your mouth, drawing out a rough moan from him. Your mouth was spilling with precum and saliva, gargling sounds escaping as he controlled the pace.

His cock was so big and salty, his plump crown hitting the back of your throat. You twirled your tongue around his length, occasionally sucking the tip and spitting to make him wetter, tracing the veins with your tongue while your other hand moved to massage his balls.

“Fuck, baby. You're doing so good,” he groaned.

“U-Use me, please.” you cried, letting go of his cock to press it against your cheeks, breathing heavily before spitting on it and catching it with your tongue, licking your dripping saliva from the base of his cock all the way up to his tip, repeating the motion again and again while maintaining eye contact.

Jungkook groaned. You were acting like a perfect little slut for him. “Baby, you’re such a dirty little whore,” he said, pulling your hair until your lips parted from the pain. “Do you like sucking my cock?”

You nodded eagerly, trying to suck his tip again, fluttering your eyelashes as if to impress him.

“Like it so much,” you giggled, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before guiding his hand so he could use you.

Jungkook cursed, his patience running thin at how desperate you were, his eyes rolling back as he saw your inner thighs already dripping with a fresh gush of arousal.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he pulled your hair to guide your mouth, his cock pushing further until your nose brushed against the soft patch of his pubic hair. He kept you still, his grip firm, as you felt him use your mouth like a fleshlight, whimpering harshly when he looked down and saw how beautiful and needy you were for him. With a final swirl of your tongue, he finally spilled inside your mouth, his cock pulsating against your tongue as you made sure to swallow everything eagerly, like a good girl.

When he released you, you almost collapsed onto the bed—dizzy and breathless, your jaw aching from the strain, your cheeks still wet with tears.

He pulled you back up immediately, squishing your cheeks so your lips parted slightly. Leaning in, he kissed you hungrily, slipping his tongue into your swollen mouth. He groaned as he tasted his own salty cum, swallowing it messily before deepening the kiss, licking into you until nothing was left.

“You okay, pretty?” he asked softly, fixing a strand of hair that had stuck to your cheek and tucking it behind your ear.

You nodded weakly, smiling at him despite everything, a little happy that you made him feel good. “Yes, Koo.”

As the sweet girl you always were, a part of you still lingered in uncertainty—quietly wondering if you really made him feel as good as he made you feel. 

You had no experience, nothing to compare it to. Although you tried to please him as best you could, you were still unsure, a little insecure, your thoughts circling back on themselves in soft, persistent doubt.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. He sat down on the bed and pulled you gently into his lap, concern flickering across his face as he noticed you avoiding his gaze.

“Baby?” he called softly.

He kissed your cheek, and although he was getting hard again, he pushed his own desire aside the moment he saw your sad little pout.

“Baby, was I too rough?” he asked softly.

Your cheeks burned as you fiddled with your fingers. “No, Koo… just—” you squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassed by your own thoughts.

“d-did I make you feel good too?” you asked, biting your lip as your gaze lifted to him—soft, searching, and a little shy—unable to hide how much you wanted to please him, how deeply you didn’t want to disappoint him.

He groaned lowly, his hold on you tightening as he gently rocked your body. “Of course, baby. You made me cum so hard,” he said, kissing your cheek again.

You pouted, a little relieved at that, your adorable eyes sparkling again.

“My poor clueless, baby.” he murmured, his kisses trailing down your neck as he inhaled your scent. “Your shy little kisses make me tremble, why are you even worried?” he whispered.

Slowly, he shifted you in front of him, lifting your legs and spreading them on either side of his thighs.

You gasped when you saw your reflection in the mirror across the room—your cheeks flushed, your skin marked in places from his kisses and grip, your legs spread open while he continued trailing soft kisses along the back of your neck.

“Look at yourself,” he murmured, holding your cheek so you faced the mirror properly, his dark eyes roaming over your reflection.

You tried to look away, shy and overwhelmed at how exposed you were, but he tightened his grip on your cheeks gently, his other tattooed hand sliding down to part your folds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on you, while you could feel his hard cock pressed against your lower back.

You shivered when he licked up your neck messily, his other hand toying with your nipple while he kept your pussy open, your juices slowly leaking from your tight hole.

“Make me cum again,” he whispered, pulling your hood up to expose your swollen clit, his middle finger circling it slowly. “Rub your clit for me.”

Your eyes widened, your small hand shakily reaching down, his dark eyes following your every movement—like a predator watching its prey.

Your breath hitched as you slowly began to rub yourself, his fingers still holding you open while his gaze stayed fixed on your pussy.

“That’s it… rub harder, baby.” he encouraged, pulling at your nipples while grinding his hard cock behind you. You could feel his precum smearing along your lower back as he moved.

You obeyed, rubbing harder, your legs trembling as another wave of pleasure began to build. The way his tattooed fingers kept you open felt so sinful—you could see how pink and swollen you were from how hard he had fucked you earlier.

“Can you feel my cock, baby?” he murmured, his tip brushing against your lower back as his hips pressed into you more insistently. His tongue traced the shell of your ear. “You make me feel so good, I could cum just watching you play with your little clit like that.”

You came hard, your body shaking and gasping as pleasure pulsed through you in overwhelming waves, your clit throbbing rapidly beneath your fingers while his hand kept you open, making sure he could see every twitch and tremble.

Jungkook groaned behind you, eyes widening as he felt himself cum on your lower back, releasing so much that he had to pull you closer, almost trapping you against him. He whispered curses against your ear, grinding through his release until it became too much, overstimulation hitting him hard.

“Fuck, I love you so much, baby.” he breathed, pulling you into a tighter hug.

You smiled weakly, still catching your breath. “I love you too, Koo.”

You turned to face him, reaching for his glasses. He looked at you dreamily, pouting the moment you slipped them off his face.

“Baby, no… I wanna see you,” he said weakly, reaching for you again.

But you only giggled, standing up with wobbly legs, tossing his glasses onto your small pink couch.

“Where’s my nerd?” you teased, circling your arms around him playfully.

He smiled, lips still slightly swollen and red, looking up at you with soft, dazed eyes—completely undone, but warm, and impossibly fond as he stayed right where you pulled him. His hands settled at your waist like it was the only place they were meant to be.

“Still here,” his voice low and lazy, like he had no intention of going anywhere at all as long as you were holding him like that.

Blueberry cheesecake. The kind of sweetness that hits first with a soft comfort, then lingers with a quiet edge of something deeper—something that stays on the tongue long after the last bite…and somehow, like the final piece snapping into place…

the lego hearts he’d been trying to build for years were now finally complete in your hands.

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[ggukiebar]

sacred desire | j.jk

pairing: priest jungkook x sinful reader

word count: 20.6k

genre: smut

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

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

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

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

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

Pathetic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chuckled, already accustomed to her holy little remarks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A new priest?

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

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

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

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

A handsome fucking priest.

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

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

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

Sinful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is Fr. Jeon a real priest?”

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

“Huh?”

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

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

Was there even such a thing as a priest internship?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Absolutely not. That was...unholy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was becoming a little concerning.

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

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

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

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

The problem was that it would be… strange.

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

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

Especially when the answer involved a certain priest.

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

False piety.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You happily agreed.

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widened.

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

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

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

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

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

He patted my head!

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

Goodness gracious.

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

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

Was that a tattoo?

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

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

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

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

A simple religious question, maybe?

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

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

You wanted to sound natural and virginal.

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

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

Pity.

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

Importunate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Transgression.

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

But Fr. Jeon was frustratingly...polite.

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

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

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

None of them exactly sounded appropriate for church conversation.

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

Shameful.

A shame that you had never actually talked to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Closer to Fr. Jeon, rather.

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

Oh, you were devoted. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your future boyfriend.

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

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

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

Disingenuous.

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

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

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

You were fucking crazy.

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

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

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

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

He’s gonna feed me the host!

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

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

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

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

Your lips parted. “Amen…”

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

To you, it felt intimate. 

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

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

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

Your priorities were clearly a work in progress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please. Please. Please agree with me.

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

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

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

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

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

But it still wasn’t the same.

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

Preposterous.

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

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

Thank God and all the saints.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyelashes fluttered.

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

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

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

Jesus– God in heaven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. You didn’t know that! 

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

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

Deception.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he has a bible in his office!

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

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

You dropped the boxes. “Oh, my-”

Your plan actually worked!

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

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

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

And now he was even taking you to his office!

The Lord had truly answered your prayers.

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

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

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

Heavenly? For Christ’s sake, Y/N.

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

Pious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seduction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Providence.

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

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

It was absurd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Disingenuous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite that, his eyes never lingered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips parted. Oh! still religious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good girl. Oh to be called his good girl.

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

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

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

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

“Amen,” you replied softly.

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

Enthralled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small rosary bracelet rested inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A long time.

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

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

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

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

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

The hug had been innocent, sweet and harmless.

Which only made it worse.

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

Temptation.

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

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

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

His attention lifted from the page.

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

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

Pretty.

The thought came so naturally that he frowned at himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Test of faith.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Craving.

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

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

Yours hadn't.

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

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

Closing his eyes, he lowered his head.

"Lord, forgive me," he murmured quietly.

A threat to his devotion.

-

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

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

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

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

Luckily, you had been wearing long skirts these days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That got his attention immediately.

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

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

You had to fight the smile threatening to appear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips parted at the sight, momentarily stunned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bit your lip. “Okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forbidden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lust.

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

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

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

It was sinful. Dirty.

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

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

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

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

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

His thoughts drifted to you.

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

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

A sacred desire.

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

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

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

Your forbidden thighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to fuck you.

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

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

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

It was understandable.

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

Yearning.

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

Hours passed unnoticed.

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

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

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

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

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

Yet he never came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Avoidance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, the information left you disappointed and strangely hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

Restraint.

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

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

Desperate.

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

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

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

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

There he was.

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

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

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

“Fr. Jeon,” you said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patience.

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

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

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

But this morning, he had come in anyway.

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

Desire.

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

“No, sweetheart… I’m just—”

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

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

“Sweetheart—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Succumbed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh God. What had he done?

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

Surrendered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, this is wrong—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-No… we can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blasphemous.

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

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

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

“Oh, God,” you moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like that, sweetheart?”

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

“Fr. Jeon, oh my—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I wanna swallow it, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unholy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart—”

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, swallowing hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widened.

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

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

A strained whimper escaped him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eyes on me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart,” he said weakly.

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

Delirious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Meet me after this.”

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

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

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

Wicked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-You did, Father.”

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

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

Dominance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him kneel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"T-Too tight." he groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

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

“Stay there,” he commanded.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fr. Jeon, w-what are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fallen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Capitulated.

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

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

All you heard were rumors.

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

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

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

Yet somewhere along the way, things had changed.

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

But because it was him.

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

Then, one afternoon, a letter arrived.

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

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

The truth was far worse.

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

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

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

But they refused. The parish forgave him.

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

You were the temptation they spoke about.

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

He would have chosen you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart.” 

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[numymochi]

FR JEON OH MYYYY