Y/N watches him unravel beneath her touch, his breath hitching at every slow, deliberate movement she makes. His groan vibrates against her throat, and she tilts her head back slightly, granting him more access. The sharp sting makes her moan and she pulls her legs higher, giving him more space.
She exhales a breathy laugh, dragging her lips along his jaw before whispering, “You’re already falling apart, Jungkook.” Her voice is honeyed temptation, the kind that lingers, sticks, refuses to let go.
Her fingers trail lower, nails scraping lightly down his spine before settling on his hips, guiding his movements. She wants to feel every inch of him inside her, every movement, the way their bodies fit together like the perfect puzzle.
The pressure builds with every movement, pleasure rippling through her in waves, a perfect mix of pain and euphoria. Each snap of his hips forces a moan from her lips, her body arching, chasing every ounce of friction he gives.
His pace stutters, as if he’s right on the edge, but she doesn’t let him tip over just yet. Instead, she stills his hips with a firm grip and meets his dazed gaze, pupils blown wide with need. A smirk tugs at her lips as she reaches for his hands, guiding them up—past her collarbone, past the delicate line of her throat—until his fingers rest lightly against the sides of her neck.
“Not yet, baby,” she murmurs, voice thick with something wicked. She watches his throat bob, his breath shuddering as he realizes what she’s asking for. Her lashes flutter, a challenge burning in her gaze.
“You need to ruin me first.”
The words are a command and a plea, a demand for something deeper, for him to give in just as much as she has. Her hands stay over his, pressing, urging, waiting for him to take what she’s offering.
🦖
hello cutie
You are fucking cruel.
You’re everywhere.
Wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, unraveling him piece by piece until he’s nothing but raw need.
His breath is ragged, spilling over your skin as his lips drag along your throat, his teeth catching for just a second—just enough to make you tremble beneath him.
The way you react, the way your body responds to every little thing he does, it ruins him.
His hands are desperate, gripping, sliding over sweat-slick skin, trying to hold on to something—anything—but it’s useless. You’ve already taken him apart.
Every roll of your hips sends him spiraling, every quiet moan punches the air from his lungs. His rhythm falters, the pleasure winding so tight in his core he can barely breathe.
You shift beneath him, pulling him closer, drawing him deeper, and fuck—he groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his body shuddering from the sheer intensity of it.
His fingers dig into your waist, trying to slow himself down, trying to hold back, but you don’t let him.
You guide him, your nails scraping down his back, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
His body is fire, burning with every thrust, every sound you make, every way you mold yourself to him.
He’s never felt anything like this—like he’s losing himself, like he’s on the edge of something devastatingly good, and he doesn’t even care if he falls.
And then—you still him. Stop him. His breath catches, his entire body trembling with the effort of restraint.
He doesn’t understand, doesn’t want to understand, because he needs this—needs you—but then your hands are on his, sliding them up, guiding them over your body until his fingers rest at the curve of your throat.
His heart slams against his ribs. His breath is wrecked. His control snaps.
A low, guttural groan rumbles in his chest as his grip tightens just enough to feel the way you swallow beneath his fingers.
“fucking- AHG.”
His entire body aches with it—with the power of it, with the way you shudder, the way you surrender.
His hips snap forward, rougher this time, chasing that perfect friction, chasing the way you arch beneath him, desperate, needy, perfect.
And he gives in. Completely.
