warnings/kinks: intoxication, drinking, teasing, kissing, smut.
pairings: Izuna Uchiha x Fem!Reader
word count: 1.1k
tag list: @beneathstarryskies, @ricflairdrip20, @witchofcustom, @loki-love, @xailem
“Are you kidding me? I don’t want to entertain someone for two days.” Izuna moans softly, and he lays his head on his crossed arms set upon his older brother’s desk.
“You owe me,” Madara reminds him. “And this would be good for you!”
They had gone back and forth on the matter for nearly an hour. Madara had been tasked with entertaining a young woman coming to Konoha. A diplomat from another village and it would look good if maybe they got along just well. But Madara forgot that he had more important matters to tend to on the two days he had been scheduled for this event.
“Good for me? No, it’s going to suck. Especially with everything that happened with…” Izuna sighs and looks away.
“I’m sorry for what happened between you and Saiko. But she wasn’t right for you, little brother.” Madara rises on his feet and goes over to Izuna. He pats his shoulder softly, earning a grunt from the younger Uchiha brother.
“Come on,” Izuna whines. “Why can’t you do it?”
“Because I have something with Hashirama. It’s really important.”
And that had been the final words of the disagreement. And here you were with Izuna, a day later and a lot drunker. He sits with you in the booth, and the bar becomes a little more populated as the two of you finish off another bottle of sake.
Somehow his boyish charm had gotten to your heart. You had also experienced heartache recently, and you and Izuna had bonded over the fact that you two were so vehemently against love. He offered to take you on a tour of the village, but once you ran out of things to look at, you had suggested the two of you get a drink.
You lean in a little closer to him, and he laughs softly. You can’t help but look into his beautiful onyx eyes. They certainly are mesmerizing. You watch as his eyes go from your own down to your lips. You lick your lips, and that’s all it takes for him to kiss you. It’s a sweet kiss, a little sloppy considering you’re both drunk, but it makes your heart race a mile a minute.
Izuna pulls away shyly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Especially with the both of us going through so—”
You cut him off with another sloppy kiss. This time, he doesn’t pull away at all. He presses himself deeper into the kiss, even moaning when your tongue slips between his lips. You both don’t care that you’re in this crowded bar. All that matters as you ease his pain and him yours.
“Take me back to your place,” you plead. He doesn’t need to be told twice.
At the bar, he pays for the tab. He’s thinking about how much he is actually grateful that his brother had asked him to do this little favor for him. Izuna chuckles when he thinks about how much he made a fuss. But he’s so happy he went through with it.
The walk through the village is like a blur, and Izuna pulls you into the Uchiha compound. The biggest house belongs to Madara and Izuna. It was spacious and clean inside, making you wonder how much time they must spend just cleaning this large house.
Izuna pulls you into the bedroom and you stumble onto him. You both let out giggles before he presses his lips to yours. It’s hot, passionate and wet. His tongue rubs against yours, making all rational thoughts in your mind cease to exist. You were pretty drunk on the way here, but now you felt something completely different.
He doesn’t hesitate to toss you onto the bed, and with a low grunt, he climbs onto you. This time, you pull him down to your level by his hair and you kiss him. His hands fumble with your clothing, so eager to take it all off. He wants to be able to see your gorgeous body. Once your top is off, he pulls away to look at your chest.
“What?” You ask, your cheeks burning. You’re afraid he doesn’t like you now.
“Nothing,” Izuna chuckles. “Just thinking about how beautiful you are.”
This makes your heart swell with affection. This man sure knew how to charm you. Izuna leans in to nip at the soft swell of your breasts. The groans coming from him are animalistic in nature, but they soon turn into soft giggles when he realizes just how drunk he is. You look down at him as he begins removing your skirt.
“Shit,” he bites his lip as his fingers brush against your panties. “You’re fucking wet,”
You shyly look away, unsure of how to even respond to that. You’ve never heard such vulgar words from a lover before. Izuna reaches up to cup your cheek and he makes you look down at him.
“Don’t be shy,”
You swallow hard and nod to let him know you understand him. It was going to be hard not to be timid. But you knew the alcohol coursing through your veins should be enough courage to keep you going.
With your panties pushed to the side, Izuna begins toying with your slick. He’s rock hard in his pants and he knows he would have a very hard time lasting a long time inside of you despite the liquor.
One of his fingers slips into you, making you moan and clutch his arm. You are so very aroused now, unable to hold back on any of your moans. Izuna chuckles before leaning in closer to you.
“You’re so cute,” he kisses your lips. “So damn cute.”
It’s not long before he realizes he can’t stand it anymore. He strips himself before returning to the bed and settles between your thighs. Once your panties have been pulled off your body and discarded in the heap of clothing behind him, he is free to do as he pleases. And with the way you keep looking up at him, he swears he’s going to need to calm down before he even slips inside of you.
“D-don’t look at me like that,” Izuna whines. His cock throbs from just seeing your sweet doe eyes. “Y’look so fuckin’ good.”
He grasps his cock, and he lets it slide between your soaked folds. A soft whine escapes you, and he curses under his breath. Izuna knows you’re going to invade his every waking thought after this, but he doesn’t want to turn back now. No, he can’t bring himself to pull out of this one now.
If it means being able to fuck your little cunt, he’ll go for it.
With one thrust of his hips, he slips inside to the hilt. Balls deep and both of you panting, you know you’re in good hands.
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── .✦ synopsis ; great things always come out of a marriage with the hokage, like getting bent over his office work.
uzumaki naruto ♡
── .✦ content ; age gap (20s - 40), domestication kink if you squint, office sex, a tinge of feral naruto, creampie, ooc?
word count; 970
you were the young wife of the greatest, the hokage. naruto uzumaki. you were about twenty years younger and just about the sweetest little thing in the village. a nice body and gentle words. if the shiny ring on your finger didn't mean so much, you'd have men at your feet. you always walked around draped in your husband's robes and luxuries he bought you, tiptoeing on the paved dirt of konoha grounds.
"naruto?" you called, slipping through the doors of his office, vocal cords laced with honey. "i brought you lunch." your hands held a box in hand, stuffed with delicate cooking and wrapped with a pretty bow. serious bright blue eyes that flickered through paperwork now beaming, full of life. a wide smile that took up his whole face as he rose tall, sauntering his way over to you.
"thank you." his hands ignored the food in your hand at first, placing it carefully on the desk behind him before graciously lifting you by your waist, taking your lips in between his. "you're so good to me."
his kisses were many, wet smacks each time he retreated just to lean back in. he groaned softly against your mouth, twirling you in his arms. his hefty hands that cradled your ass from below in your short dress. sharp canines that greedily tugged on your bottom lip with a growl. "i missed you so much.."
"you saw me this morning." your heavy breaths conjoined with his, fingers instinctively locking into his short blond tresses. your thighs met with the top of his work desk, cold wood on warm skin and your thighs managing to bump into a pile of papers. teeth tugged on your open neck, heavy touches finding their way onto the inner fat of your thighs where they trembled underneath his rough grasp.
your skin stung with fresh marks of open mouthed kisses and nibbles, almost embarrassed by the slick that began to pool in your panties, his touch alone leaving you at his mercy. soft mewls that escaped your throat as his fingers wiggled their way in your sopping hole.
"god, you're so pretty—" he mumbled, the curl of his fingers in your walls that made you jump. " 'm gonna take you right here."
"you know you have work to do." you said, only to come out breathless. he didn't miss the squeeze of your cunt around his fingers, tongue darting out to soothe his dry lips.
"don't care, missed you too much."
two digits pumped into you vigorously, nasty clicks! and shlicks! that sounded with each thrust. messy kisses that left spit dribbling down your chins, tongues gliding against one another. the ecstasy that he oh so greedily stole from you, toes curling at the peak of your climax before his fingers stopped in their tracks. a whine fell from your lips in a soft plea.
"shh.. i got you."
guided off the desk, you went from sitting on it to being pressed against it with your ass held high. the very edge of your dress was flipped over your lower back to display everything you had to offer, your panties soaked in your own juices. you heard a satisfied groan from behind you, his dirty fingers slipping your panties to the side to reveal the bright glistening of your puffy pussy. drool swam in his mouth, salivating at the sight.
shivers danced down your spine as his cock happily shifted in between your wet folds, painting your clit with the leaks of his precum. he teased your awaiting hole, swiftly nudging you just with the tip and watching you eagerly swing your hips towards him with an annoyed huff.
the slow, delicious stretch of his cock invading your walls made your knees buckle and your jaw fall slack. his hips wasted no time slamming into you, hands bunching up the fabric at your hips to meet his thrusts. your crossed arms sat atop his desk, mouth stuffed into your skin to muffle your whimpers from the world. your feet struggled to keep balance and you felt your tummy churn pleasantly. his hand gently yanked at your shoulder, lifting you with ease.
"louder." he snarled, primal aggression oozing from his body. it radiated like the sun on a hot summers day. you found yourself stuttering, eyes fighting to see the back of your head.
"can't— ah—" you breathed, straining to keep a whine in your throat. "gonna hear—" his hips pounded harder behind you, leaving behind loud slaps of skin on skin. he kissed your shoulder before his canines pierced your skin sharply, growling loudly into your flesh.
"let them hear. gonna fuck my pretty little wife full in my office while they listen."
his hips rutted viciously into your obscenely loud cunt, relishing in the suffocating grip you held on him when you came undone, body convulsing and finally collapsing fully. he panted directly in your ear, nasty spit that was moments away from dripping off his bottom lip. your nails almost dug claw marks into the sleek wood, your loud whines bouncing back at you.
"love you so much— gonna cum in you."
he plowed his thick globs of white deep into your insides with a guttural groan that could rival the volume of your own cries, a wild twitch present as he pumped into you until his balls fully emptied.
his fingers shamelessly shoveled the dripping cum back into your hole, kisses decorating the nape of your neck. his hand patted your panties as they recovered your leaking cunt and pulled your dress back down for you. he could only smile at the dazy, fucked out expression you held.
"i'll see you back at home. thanks for bringing me lunch." he cooed down at you, leaving a big, wet kiss on your lips.
Warnings: SMUT, MDNI - 18+, breeding kink, praise, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie
The house is quiet for once. that rare, golden hour between bedtime and chaos starting all over again in the morning. The smell of baby powder still lingers faintly in the air, mixed with Kiba’s scent— wild, woodsy, something warm and animal that always settles around you when he’s home longer than usual.
You’re in the nursery, humming softly as you ease the baby into her crib. She curls her tiny fingers around yours before finally letting go, her breath evening out into that deep, steady sleep that still makes your chest ache every time everytime you watch her. You smooth the blanket once more, tucking it in just so, and when you turn around, he’s there— leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, that grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
His eyes aren’t on the baby though. They’re on you.
Kiba doesn’t bother to hide the look, either. That lazy, hungry thing he gets sometimes— the one that makes your skin heat even before he touches you. His gaze drags from your hair down to the curve of your hips, softer from three pregnancies, softer now than they were in your kunoichi days, and he swallows like the sight alone knocks the air out of him.
“Can’t believe we made three,” he says finally, voice low and rough, “Three perfect little monsters.”
You smile, trying to keep it light, “They’re your monsters.”
He laughs under his breath, stepping closer until his hands find your waist from behind you, thumbs tracing lazy circles just under your shirt, “Yeah? You say that like you don’t love it.” He bends, nose brushing the side of your neck, breathing you in, “Like you don’t love makin’ ‘em.”
The words make your knees go a little weak, the warmth of him pressing into your back, that familiar rumble of a growl buried somewhere in his chest.
You can feel it already— the way his body responds just from watching you rock his youngest to sleep, the way his instincts kick in when he sees you like this, soft and glowing and his.
You turn to face him, hand sliding up his chest, your words light and knowing, but accusing, “You’re doing it again.”
Kiba grins, sharp canines catching the light, “Yeah,” he admits, voice gone husky. “Think I wanna see you like that again. All round and glowing. With my pup.”
You try to give him a look— one that says, ‘we just got them to bed’, but Kiba’s already leaning in, nose brushing yours, grin curling wider when your breath catches.
“Don’t start,” you murmur, but your hands betray you, sliding up his arms, fingers curling into his shirt.
He laughs low against your mouth, “Too late.”
You manage half a step toward the door before he catches your hips again, walking you backward, the two of you bumping into the doorframe, still half-laughing, half-breathless. It’s clumsy and warm and so you two; that mix of tenderness and hunger that never really went away, even after diapers and midnight feedings, and the exhaustion of parenting.
You can feel the edge of his teeth when he nips lightly at your lower lip, and the sound that leaves him is all instinct, “You smell like home,” he mutters, voice rough, forehead pressed to yours. “Like our pups. Like mine.”
You want to tease him, tell him he’s ridiculous, but the heat in his eyes makes it hard to remember words at all. You’re halfway down the hallway now, Kiba’s hands everywhere, your laughter muffled against his shoulder land that’s when you both freeze.
A quiet creak.
Tiny footsteps.
You turn your head just in time to see brown pigtails and wide eyes peeking around the corner of the toddlers’ room door.
Kiba groans under his breath, resting his forehead on your shoulder, “Of course.”
You bite back a laugh, “Go on,” you whisper toward the little figure. “Back to bed, sweetheart.”
There’s a soft giggle and the patter of feet running back to bed.
Kiba looks at you then, eyes gleaming with amusement and something deeper, “See? Even the universe wants us to have another one.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you tug him by the collar toward your bedroom. “If you’re that sure,” you murmur, voice dropping low, “then you’d better prove it.”
And that’s all the invitation he needs.
The bedroom door has barely clicked shut behind you before Kiba’s mouth finds yours again; hungry, smiling against your lips. His hands bracket your hips, your back meeting the the mattress when—
knock-knock.
You both freeze.
A small voice pipes up on the other side of the door, the oldest this time, “Daddy? Can you lay with me?”
Kiba closes his eyes, lets out the quietest groan imaginable, and bumps his forehead against your shoulder. You can feel the laugh trying to break out of your chest, biting it back because it’s just too perfect, the sweet little interruptions from the sweet babies you made together.
“Go on,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through his hair, “Your biggest fan needs you.”
He exhales through his nose, already softening. “Yeah, yeah…” His voice lowers to a grumble, but there’s affection all over it. He tugs on a T-shirt, leans down, and steals one more kiss before he slips to the door, “Don’t move,” he murmurs. “I’m comin’ right back.”
You hear his footsteps pad down the hall, then the small click of the older girl’s door. There’s a groan of her bed, a sleepy giggle, and Kiba’s low rumble of a story. All things that make your heart flip. It takes a while, but then there’s silence.
A moment later the door to your room opens again, and Kiba stands there in the doorway, hair mussed, eyes dark with the same promise as before— but warmer now. He takes in the sight of you waiting in the lamplight, laying across the bed, and the grin that spreads across his face is pure wolfish satisfaction.
“Alright,” he says, voice a rasp, “they’re all out.”
He shuts the door gently behind him, twisting the lock just incase another tiny human attempts an interruption, “Now…where were we?”
“Something about knocking me up, again?” You say breathlessly as he comes down, forearms caging in your head, you immediately spreading your legs to give his body room to settle between them.
“Riiiight,” he says, his voice a low growl as he dips his head down to nip the sensitive skin of your neck, “breeding this pretty pussy until you’re completely filled with my pups again.”
It doesn’t take long for both of your clothes to be scattered across the room between sloppy kisses and groping hands, Kiba unsatisfied until he has his cock buried deep in your wet cunt.
“Fuck, that’s it, y’missed me huh?” He moans as he bottoms out, canine teeth dragging down the length of your neck.
You moan out in agreement, bucking your hips up to get more friction as he gently pulls back before slamming back into you with a rough thrust, and then setting a needy pace.
“Shit, that’s it, babe. You look so good— fuck— filled with my pups. All round with me.” He murmurs, talking you through every snap of his hips, his cock expertly hitting that spot that has you seeing stars and keeps your nails dragging down his back.
“That’s it, mama. Fucking take it. Give me those pups, yeah?”
The pace continues, until his hips are stuttering, your knees now pressed back on either side of your head, his strong grip on your thighs as he drills into you, once, twice, thrice more before he’s spilling his hot load inside you, a deep moan rumbling from his chest.
You’re both panting, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck as he gently lays your legs back down. He’s still buried inside you, his lips finding yours in a familiar and gentle kiss, “you always look so beautiful carrying my babies.”
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| 18+ MDNI - f!reader (lazy ass drabble not proofread either lmao)
Bestfriend!Naruto who looks at you while you tremble at his doorstep breaking down in sobs. He lets you enter instantly anyway, sitting you down on the couch and listening to you yap to him about how you got into another fight with your boyfriend sasuke.
Bestfriend!Naruto who finds it hard to console you when you look so fucking good like that, glossy eyes and puffy lips making him instantly get a hard-on.
Bestfriend!Naruto puts on your favorite show while laying back on the couch cuddling you(very “platonic”) with your back pressed against his firm chest. you’re oblivious to his dick behind those grey sweatpants thats pressing against your tailbone until he lets out a choked whimper.
Bestfriend!Naruto you find yourself in a new position, straddling his hips while he squeezes his eyes shut, thinking it must dream when you grind against his arousal and he swears he might just die with it twitching under all those layers of fabric.
Bestfriend!Naruto who’s cock is buried deep inside of you. he holds onto his resolve by stretching you out slowly while you ride him, cerulean eyes locked on where your bodies are joined while he whispers a string of curses.
Bestfriend!Naruto who fucks you better than sasuke ever could because he loves you— always had in fact, which is why when you give him the green light to go harder, he does. all those feelings he buried deep inside his head suddenly being released into the way he thrusted up into you, your pussy snug around him while he’s in fucking bliss, finally getting what he should have a long time ago. And it sends you into a filthy moaning mess just going dumb on his cock.
Summary: After having a get together with your friends, Kiba notces your behavior seems... off
Warnings Under the Cut
Warnings: semi-public blow jobs, dacryphilia, face fucking, biting, friends to lovers
Notes: I imagined the characters in their early 20s when I wrote this. Neji is mentioned to still be alive, so the story isn't fully canon-compliant
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You had been uncharacteristically quiet at dinner. It was the first time you and all of your friends were able to get together in a long time. Sure, many of you ended up in groups together on missions, but that wasn’t really hanging out. Today, however, you were all able to kick back and relax, enjoying eachothers’ company. You had all met up at a local restaurant that was open late, or at least they stayed open for you guys. You weren't really sure, but it was sweet regardless. The food was delicious and the chatter was lively, but you mostly sat back with a quiet smile. Nobody seemed to notice or care too much, though. Shino noticed, but didn't say anything. He thought it was rare for anyone to be quieter than him at a gathering. He could understand Hinata being a little bit quieter, since she was shy. However, you weren't exactly the shy or silent type. He couldn't help but wonder what was up with you.
Your gaze wandered across the table. Naruto and Choji were having an eating contest, with Lee cheering them on. Hinata was a blushing mess since you and the other girls made sure she got the seat next to Naruto. Neji, Shikamaru, and Tenten were chatting casually about something and Sakura and Ino were lightheartedly bickering. Whatever argument they were having ended in giggles. Shino sat adjacent to you, he was unreadable, not responding or reacting to anything. Shikamaru was sitting directly to your left, and Kiba was to your right.
“What idiots,” Kiba said, gesturing towards Naruto and Choji, “is it bad that I kinda want to join them?”
You weren’t sure if he was talking to you, but you couldn't help but chuckle.
He turned to you. “Do you think I should join them?” he asked.
“Only if you want to be an idiot too,” you replied, amusement laced throughout your tone. You soon turned back to your food, going quiet again.
He thought it was kinda weird, usually your banter with him, or anyone for that matter, would last a bit longer. Also, usually you’d initiate interactions with your friends, or at least jump into conversations you were interested in. There had to be an interesting conversation at this table that you’d want to jump into, right? These were your closest friends and you rarely had a chance like this to socialize. Once Kiba came to terms with the idea of you wanting to be left alone, he eventually did jump into the action surrounding Lee, Naruto, and Choji.
You smiled to yourself. He really is just a stupid boy, it's one of the charming things about him.
Eventually, all the food was eaten and the chatter began dying down. You had all stayed at the restaurant into the wee hours of the morning. As much fun as you guys were having, you were also extremely exhausted. Slowly, your friends started leaving, some in pairs and some on their own. You were pretty content and comfortable, so you ended up hanging around until everyone else left. Well, almost everyone. You got up from your seat at the table and stepped outside.
“Hey, you wanna walk back together? We’re going the same direction, it might be kinda awkward if we just kinda follow each other home.” His words caught you off guard, of course you were going to walk home with Kiba, you always did. His place was just a couple blocks down the street from yours.
You looked at him, a puzzled expression on your face, “we always walk home together, I thought that was a given.”
“I don’t know, you’ve been really quiet tonight. I asked ‘cuz it seemed like you might want space or somethin,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze drifting to the ground as if avoiding eye contact.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been spaced out a lot tonight. It doesn’t have anything to do with you or the others, I could actually use the company right now. I honestly didn’t notice how out of it I’ve been,” you explained.
“Okay, I’m just not used to seeing you all quiet. Usually you’re the life of the party,” he said with a slight chuckle at the end.
You looked at him and smiled warmly, “let’s get this show on the road then.”
“You got it!” He hoped you didn’t notice the blush rising to his cheeks. Luckily his clan markings were there to deflect suspicion. Something about the way you smiled at him made his heart rate pick up.
It was a beautiful night. The sky was clear and the stars were bright. The full moon illuminated your path as you walked at a leisurely pace. Neither you nor Kiba were in any rush to get home. It was late, but the air was warm and although you hadn’t shown it much all night, both of you were in high spirits. Everything felt comfortable with Kiba, he was easy to talk to, but he was also just nice to be near. Both of you were usually pretty outspoken, but silence with him was nice too. There were no other people on the street, nothing was happening at all. Just you and him and the sounds of birds chirping. It was nice to just be.
Eventually, you broke out of your thoughts and glanced over at him. He walked with his hands in his pockets. His brows were knit and he was chewing on the corner of his lip, clearly lost in thought. You studied his face, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hair was fluffy and swaying in the summer breeze, his skin was warm and golden. Your eyes followed the projection of his nose, then over his lips and cute little fangs, and to the curve of his jawline. You always thought Kiba was cute, it was the first word that came to your mind when you met as children, but you had never stopped and really looked at him before.
You broke the silence,“Kiba, you know, you’re kinda beautiful, right?”
He was instantly caught off guard and let out a snort, “WHAT? You’re such a cheeseball, dude.” He was trying to stifle his laughter, but he failed miserably. “That was one of the worst things I’ve ever heard, how did you say it with a straight face?”
You rolled your eyes. “I guess that was pretty bad, but it broke you out of your weird thought trance,” you told him with a giggle.
“You’ve been in a thought trance all night! I spaced out for a sec, but with you I can practically hear the cogs ticking,” he jabbed. Although he thought you were joking with your dumb pickup line, he couldn’t help but feel butterflies in the pit of his stomach. He never really thought of having feelings for you, or maybe he just didn’t think about the feelings he had for you. You were such a bro to him. He tried to think of you as one of the guys, since you were so chill to hang out with. However, memories of you all dolled up in dresses and applying lip gloss in front of him bubbled up. The way you’d brush your hair and style it to perfection. He even thought of the times when you, Sakura, Tenten, Ino, and Hinata would form your ‘no boys allowed circle’ and whisper and giggle with each other. He couldn’t help but wonder if boys were one of the topics you all gossiped about. Most girls are boy obsessed, right? He wondered if you liked anyone. Although he thought of you as one of his bros, he also really liked how much of a lady you were. Pretty and polished, fun and smart, you were the real deal to him. He just hadn’t noticed until you smiled at him right before starting the trek home, that’s what got him so lost in thought.
You playfully nudged him with your shoulder, he stumbled a foot to the side. He proceeded to do the same thing back to you, this time making you stumble. You kept repeating these actions back and forth, starting with a giggle, but eventually bursting out in full on laughter. After a while, you stopped, your laughter died down and your faces both fell to relaxed smiles.
“You know Keebs, I’m glad I have someone like you in my life, you're pretty cool. Walking home would be pretty damn boring alone.”
His face went bashful again. “You gotta stop saying stuff like that. It almost seems like you like me or something.”
You hummed in acknowledgement. Boys are so stupid and oblivious. Now you fully understand what Hinata has been going through with Naruto. The thing is though, you’re a lot bolder than her.
You and Kiba turned down the last alley before your street. It was pretty narrow and cut between two tall buildings. The alley was a bit dark and creepy, but it beat traveling all the way around the wall of buildings. Kiba was humming to himself and you trailed behind him. However, halfway down the alley, he noticed your footsteps were no longer audible behind him. He turned around.
“Why did you stop?” He asked.
“I was just thinking…” you trailed off.
“Yeah, you’ve been doing that all night,” he cocked a brow. “Why’s this time any different?”
You took a step closer to him, and then another. Again, his heart rate picked up. You stood practically nose to nose with him. He studied your face with furrowed brows, usually he could figure people out pretty easily, but all he could tell right now was that something was off.
“Kiba, I wasn’t joking earlier.” His breath hitched. “You are really pretty, and nice…” you trailed off again and his breathing went shallow. You lifted your fingers to his chest, gently pushing him towards the wall of one of the buildings bordering the alleyway. You leaned into him and whispered, “... and, you smell really good, it was so hard to even function sitting next to you at dinner.”
A surge of energy shot through his body, his eyes went wide and his head fell back, hitting the wall behind him. He made eye contact with the moon and realized what was off about you all night. You were just really fucking horny. He never thought of you as the type, that’s why he didn’t clock it before. Boys tend to have dirty minds, so of course he had his fantasies, but he was oblivious to the idea of you thinking those kinds of things. He had figured girls were too put together to get turned on like that.
“Kiba?” You broke him out of his thoughts for the second time.
He slowly turned his head back down to look at you. The expression on your face sent him reeling. The flush on your cheeks was illuminated by the moonlight. You had heavy eyelids and hazy eyes, your dark lashes framing them perfectly. You looked so pretty, and so damn hungry. Was this really all for him? He wondered how he got so lucky.
You spoke up again, teasingly, “it’s not like you to be left speechless.” Your hands drifted down from where they had been planted on his chest, fingertips gently trailing down the front of his abdomen. He had his leather jacket unzipped tonight due to the warm, summer air. It was such an innocent decision, but now the implications have changed. The only thing that separated your fingertips from his bare skin was his thin, mesh undershirt.
You waited for him to say something, unable to read his expression. Your heart was racing, did you make the right choice? You definitely felt the speed of his heartbeat when your hands were on his chest, but maybe it was due to shock more than it was shared feelings.
He broke the silence, “jeez woman, you really are bold.”
“Yeah? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you asked.
A wide grin spread across his face, “you tell me, sweetheart.”
In an instant, his hands found residence on either side of your face, fingertips lacing into your hair. He pulled you closer to him, closing the last couple inches of space between you with a kiss. You let out the cutest little gasp, eyes fluttering closed. The sound sent another shockwave through his body. You clenched your fists around the part of his shirt where your hands were resting, fingertips finding their way through the gaps in the mesh. Kissing him felt so damn good. His lips were so soft and the way he nipped at you with his perfect, pointy teeth was amazing. Your chest felt so tight, it was hard to breathe, but you couldn't find it in you to pull away from him. The kiss got deeper and deeper. Your fingertips fell lower, first grazing the waistband of his pants and then drifting under his mesh top. You ran your fingertips up over his bare skin and then raked your nails down the front of his abs. Now it was his turn to groan, and it was the prettiest sound you had ever heard.
You suddenly pulled away and looked at him. His pupils were blown and he was panting.
“Heh, what did you pull away for?” He asked, slight disappointment in his tone.
You flashed him another smile, but this one was laced with mischief. You were clearly planning something.
You slowly sank to your knees, not breaking eye contact with him. His head rolled back again. He closed his eyes as it hit the wall, taking a deep breath to regain composure. After he felt calm enough, he looked back down at you. Your face hadn’t changed, your eyes were still sparkling up at him and your wild smile hadn’t faltered. Now that you had his attention, you could continue with your plan.
Your right fingertips wrapped around the hem of his shirt, you quickly shoved it up over his left pec, palm grazing over his sensitive nipple. Your left hand perched on his right hip. His chest was heaving, eyes fully clouded with lust, his skin was flushed a pretty pink and he was biting his lip so hard you thought he might draw blood. You slowly leaned in and began leaving love bites. He began letting out tiny noises each time you bit him, your kisses felt like heaven against his warm skin. One of his hands fell to the top of your head, gently petting your hair. His other hand was braced against the wall.
Soon though, kisses and gentle nips didn’t feel like enough. You began littering his abdomen with deep purple bruises, but he didn’t seem to mind.
It was getting hard for him to keep his hips against the wall. He was desperately trying not to buck up into your chest. He had been hard since you first whispered in his ear, but now it was starting to get painful. Luckily, you caught on.
You brought your left hand down from his hip and gently brushed it against the prominent bulge in his pants. His teeth released his lip and his eyes rolled back. He let out the most audible noise since you started touching him.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, but it almost sounded like a statement.
You hummed against him before replying. “I could make it worse, Ki-ba~,” you said, annunciating each syllable of his name in a sultry tone. You leaned back.
Kiba opened his mouth, trying to think of something clever to say in response. However, he ended up deciding not to say anything, shutting his mouth once again.
Your right hand let go of his shirt, fingers once again grazing down his chest and abdomen. They drifted through the cute little patch of hairs on his lower belly and then came to rest upon the waistband of his pants. Your left hand pulled away from his bulge and then wrapped around the side of his right thigh, just above the knee. Once you were situated, you leaned in and placed your lips around the outline of his clothed erection. This time it was your turn for your eyes to roll back. He really did smell amazing. Maybe it was just your raging hormones and the pheromones emanating off of him, but you almost felt like you were going to pass out from being so close.
Kiba could barely hear anything over the pounding of his heartbeat, this whole situation was so incredibly hot. He was trying his best to stifle the little gasps and moans that threatened to escape his mouth. His body was rigid, he didn’t want to mess anything up, but the feeling of your mouth was so nice. The contact wasn’t direct, but the way the fabric of his pants was dampening from your saliva sent his mind spiraling.
You pulled away, sitting back on your heels. “You know you can loosen up Keebs, it’s just me~”
“Babe, I think you’re forgetting we’re in an alleyway, practically out of the open, we could get caught,” he pointed out.
“Does that mean you want me to stop?” you asked innocently.
“Fuck...” he thought about it for a moment taking a deep breath. “No,” he breathed out, “I guess it is the middle of the night, and we haven’t seen anyone since we left the restaurant.”
“Okay.” You smiled, now both of your hands were at the waistband of his pants, fingers dipping under them. “Then Kiba, may I?” you asked,” please?”
Your puppy dog eyes and slight pout were impossible to ignore, he nodded his head. That was all the confirmation you needed.
You took a deep breath and began slowly pulling his pants and briefs downwards, uncovering more and more of the hairs that trailed from his belly button downwards. Once you got to the base of his happy trail, you knew it was time. You pulled his clothing down over his bulge. His cock sprang up and slapped against his abdomen. It was such a pretty sight. He had a delicious upward curve, a pretty pink tip, uncut, you were practically drooling at the mouthwatering sight.
“Stop starin’ at it, you’re making me feel all vulnerable n stuff,” he said, looking away from you with a blush.
“Sorry, you just look really nice.”
He looked like the most erotic piece of art you had ever seen. His mesh undershirt had fallen down when you let go of it, but you could see all the hickies you left across his body through the gaps in the fabric. His eyelids were heavy and his hair was wild, falling in pretty waves that framed the top of his face. His lips were parted and puffy, swollen from the earlier kisses and the bites he used to muffle his sounds. His skin was dark and tan, with a beautiful pink flush. He looked ethereal under the moonlight.
He couldn’t deny how cute you looked, either. Your small hands holding the waistband of his pants a quarter of the way down his thighs, your eyes big and shiny. The shadow of his cock over your face only added to how pretty you already looked.
You leaned in a little closer, starting by taking one of his balls into your mouth, sucking gently.
He groaned, “jeez, you’re crazy, you know that?”
You hummed in response, the vibration adding to the wonderful feeling your mouth was giving him.
After a few moments, your right hand let go of his pants and you lifted it upwards. Your thumb was the first thing to touch the tip of his cock, then you let your palm and the rest of your fingers wrap around the upper half of it. You used your thumb as leverage and began to pump up and down, gliding with small strokes. You released the ball you were sucking on from your mouth, moving your attention to the other one.
You watched his eyes close. His brows were knit and his jaw was clenched tight. He was trying his best to maintain his composure, he had a funny feeling that you were just warming him up.
He was right.
“Hey hey, Kiba, look at me,” you said gently.
He opened his eyes again. He looked down to see your mouth had pulled off of him, but your hand was still lightly pumping him. He lifted his hand off of your hair and used his fingers to smooth out what he had messed up. Then he brushed the hair that had fallen into your face behind your ear.
“Are you ready?” you asked.
He nodded vigorously.
He watched as you moved your hand from the head of his cock down to the base. The anticipation of you lowering it towards your glossy, spit stained lips was almost agonizing. Then his head reached your mouth. You started by giving it a gentle kiss, and then a couple kitten licks while lazily pumping the base. Finally, you wrapped your lips around him.
He couldn’t help the loud groan he let out, your mouth was just too warm and wet and perfect. He silently prayed that this wasn’t just a wet dream he’d wake up from at any moment. If this was real, even if you never touched him again, he’d have the best jerk off material he could ask for saved in his mind for the rest of his life. If there is a next time, he hopes he gets bold enough to make sure you take your shirt off first.
He wasn’t really sure what to do with his hands once your head started bobbing up and down his cock, inch by inch. He decided to try to keep brushing your hair back every time it fell into your pretty face. He moved the hand that he had been using to brace himself against the wall up, using it to wipe away the sweat that had been accumulating on his face.
After working him for a while, you decided he was being too quiet and pulled off. “Kiba, please use me,” you told him. “I want to hear you.” You let go of his cock and grasped the hand that had been playing with your hair, maneuvering it until his fingers were fully entangled against your scalp. “You can be as rough as you need, I promise I don’t mind.”
Again, you wrapped your lips around his cock, this time without using your hands, and sucked it down as far as you could go comfortably, stopping at that point. Then, you just looked up at him patiently, mouth full. You were as comfortable as you could get while on your knees in an alleyway. You sat with your hands resting on your thighs, waiting for his move.
He stared at you for a moment, unsure of exactly what you wanted him to do. Then, it hit him. He began gently thrusting up into your mouth. You hummed in approval, he finally got the message. He began speeding up, still trying to hold back as much as possible, not wanting to hurt you, but it started feeling too fucking good. Expletives left his mouth as you sucked him, he had never felt anything like this before.
“Shit, shit, fuck, sweetheart,” he cried out. Eventually he gave in, it wasn’t enough. “I’m so sorry, babe,” he reached his limit and his control broke.
In an instant the hand that he wasn’t already using threaded into the hair on the back of your head. He then forcefully shoved your head down until your nose was buried in the patch of hairs at the base of his cock. Tears welled in your eyes and you choked, the constriction of your throat increasing the wonderful sensation of your mouth tenfold. He proceeded to practically pull you all the way off, only to shove you right back down again, hard. He was wildly thrusting up into you as he used your mouth as a fleshlight, setting a relentless pace. He wanted to control himself, but he was too far gone at this point. He was getting loud, moaning and gasping, letting out a mixture of curses and your name. At this point, you were whining against him and full out crying. As your tears ran down, they mixed with the saliva pooling on his cock. It was pretty clear that you had put on mascara today from the way it was now all smudged and running down your face. He was so scared that he was hurting you, but his worries were quelled by the way you moaned and hummed against him as he fucked your face. It was hard for him to really process anything aside from the pleasure he was receiving, but he just barely managed to catch the way your left hand moved up under your top towards your breast, which you soon began to knead. You were definitely enjoying this.
“Baby, honey, sweetheart.. FUCK, I’m getting s-so close. Gonna cum soon,” he babbled.
You tried to nod in acknowledgment, but that was pretty difficult, given your predicament. You instead opted to let out a little “mmhm” around his cock and braced yourself to the best of your ability.
“Yeah, yes~ oh please, baby please,” he was practically shouting at this point. You weren’t too concerned about anyone waking up or hearing you guys before, but you didn’t expect him to get quite this loud. It was hard to care about getting caught though, he was being such a good boy for you.
All of a sudden, he pulled you down as far as he possibly could and held you there. You were squirming and choking around him as he came, his eyes squeezed shut as his body spasmed. You tried your best to relax your jaw, focusing on soaking in the wonderful groan he let out as he orgasmed.
After a moment of shaking, he finally released your head and you pulled off. You didn’t say anything, waiting for him to open his eyes again and look at you. You had a surprise for him.
Once his eyes fluttered open again, he looked at you. “Fuck, that was really something else.”
You smiled at him sweetly, then you proceeded to open your mouth. You hadn’t swallowed his release yet. You stuck your tongue out and some of his cum dripped off onto the dirt below you. The rest of it was pooled in your mouth, white and shiny. It was utterly filthy. Once you made sure he got a good look and was paying attention, you closed your mouth and swallowed. You then opened your mouth again to show him exactly what you just did, now it was clean and empty.
“Fuck, dude,” was all he managed to say.
It made you giggle. Oh how you love dumb, pretty boys.
You slowly began to stand up, trying your best to dust off your knees. “I can tell you aren’t the kind of guy to pump and dump from the way you’re still hard, but I don’t really want to be stuck in an alley all night,” you told him.
Once you were at eye level again, he wrapped his hands around the back of your neck and pulled you in for a kiss, seemingly not caring that he just shot his load down your throat. You let out a squeak and melted into him. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you felt his out and proud cock brush against your hip. His right hand drifted down from your neck to your waist and he pulled your body flush against his. He flipped your places as he made out with you, caging you against the wall. You were like putty in his hands. He pulled away, saliva still connecting your mouths together.
“Ya know, surprise alleyway blowjobs are great and all, but I really like kissing you.”
Now it was your turn to go bashful.
He leaned in again, peppering kisses along your cheek and jawline until he finally reached your mouth again.
“Kiiiibaaa,” you drawled.
He pulled off of you and stepped back. “Yeah, yeah, I guess I don’t wanna be stuck in an alley all night either, we should get home,” he replied to your unspoken question. He leaned down to pull his briefs and pants up, getting a glance at your legs in the process, “damn, you really do have hooker knees right now.”
You rolled your eyes, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to wear shorts again for the next week or so as you wait for the bruises to dissipate.
“You’re such an idiot Keebs,” you giggled, but soon your tone got a bit more serious. “I was thinking though, my place is before yours and since we’re both still dealing with a little problem, do you maybe wanna come in?”
A wide grin spread across his face, “yeah, I think I’d like that.”
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genre: sugar daddy!jungkook, sugar baby!fem!y/n, college student!y/n, age gap
Hunt for a Sugar Daddy lands you right in the lap of your previous college senior and current rich boy Jeon Jungkook. Fucking a man older than you for money was never on your list but when he fucks you in his car, spoils you rotten and takes you on a romantic and sexy vacation, the line quickly blurs between a transactional relationship and love.
tags: power imbalance, transactional relationship to lovers, club meet-cute, past history, car sex, public sex, degradation kink, praise kink, dirty talk, brat tamer!jungkook, bratty!reader, submissive!reader, dominant!jungkook, cocky!jungkook, needy!reader, daddy kink, pet names (whore, darling, love, cockslut, cumslut, fucktoy, baby, little one, good girl), biting, marking, hickeys and bruises, spanking (ass, pussy, clit), breast groping and slapping, fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, jungkook loves eating your pussy and making you squirt, doggy style, hair pulling, face fucking, deep throating, swallowing, size difference, clothed male/naked female, aftercare, sexting, phone sex, favorite food as love language, sex vacation, pool sex, underwater sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, possessive behavior, sexual tension, bickering as foreplay, jungkook is HUNG
total words: 5.8k
this snippet: 2.5k words
(this snippet shows the first scene where you meet jungkook and he fucks you in the back of his car)
The air in your shitty studio apartment is thick with the smell of instant noodles and desperation. You stare at the numbers on your laptop screen until they blur, a cold knot of panic tightening in your gut. Tuition for your final year. Rent. The overdue notice from the utility company, a cheerful red stamp that feels like a punch. You’ve picked up a third part-time job, stocking shelves at a 24-hour convenience store from 2 AM to 6 AM, and you’re still drowning. The exhaustion is a physical weight, making your bones ache.
Your phone buzzes. It’s Mina, your only friend who seems to understand the scale of the catastrophe.
“Meet me at Luxe. 10 PM. Wear the black dress. The one that makes you look like a sin.”
You type back, fingers clumsy with fatigue. “Can’t. Have to calculate how many kidneys I can sell.”
Her response is immediate. “Stop being dramatic. I have a solution. Just trust me.”
Luxe is the kind of club you normally avoid—all gleaming surfaces, bottle service, and people who’ve never worried about a student loan in their lives. The bass thumps through your chest as you push through the crowd, spotting Mina at a high-top table near the back. She looks predatory and pleased.
“You came,” she shouts over the music, her eyes scanning you. “Good. You look fuckable.”
“Charming,” you yell back, sliding onto the stool. “What’s the grand solution? Embezzlement?”
She leans in, her perfume a cloud of jasmine and money. “Sugar dating.”
You laugh, a short, harsh sound. “No.”
“Y/N, look around.” She gestures at the glittering room. “Half the girls here are on some sort of arrangement. It’s not what you think. It’s companionship. Dinner. Gifts. An allowance that would solve every single one of your problems overnight.”
“I’m not selling myself.”
“You’re not selling anything. You’re curating an experience for a wealthy, busy man who wants a beautiful, intelligent girl on his arm and in his bed. It’s transactional, sure. But so is your soul-crushing job at the copy shop.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a simple, satin pink band. “If you’re open to being approached… you wear this. Just on your wrist. It’s a signal. Discreet.”
You stare at the band. It looks innocent. Pretty, even. The symbol of everything you swore you’d never do. But then you think of the red-stamped notice, the tuition deadline, the hollow, scared feeling in your stomach. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you snatch it from her fingers and slip it over your left wrist. It feels like a brand.
“Just to look,” you say, your voice barely audible.
Mina grins. “Go mingle. I’ll be watching.”
You drift through the crowd, feeling like a fraud. The pink band feels impossibly heavy. You’re heading for the relative sanctuary of the bar when a solid body steps into your path. You stumble, your hands coming up to brace against a chest that feels like carved stone under a crisp, expensive dress shirt.
“Sorry, I—” you begin, looking up.
And the world tilts.
Jeon Jungkook.
Your brain short-circuits. He’s older, of course. Four years since he graduated. The boyish softness is gone, replaced by a stark, ruthless handsomeness. His hair is dark and styled back, a few strands falling over his forehead. His eyes, always so intense, sweep over you with a heat that makes your skin prickle. He’s broader, taller somehow, radiating a confidence that saturates the air around him. He was the campus golden boy, the senior who’d occasionally save your freshman ass from his rowdy friends’ teasing. Until that one night at a party, when you were sure he was in on a cruel prank, setting you up for humiliation. In a fit of rage and hurt, you’d dumped your entire cup of water over his head. The memory still makes you want to crawl into a hole and die. You found out later he’d actually been trying to warn you.
Shame, hot and immediate, floods you. You spin on your heel to flee.
A large, warm hand closes around your wrist—the one with the pink band.
“Running away, Y/N?” His voice is deeper than you remember, a smooth, dark rumble that goes straight to your knees. He doesn’t let go. His thumb brushes over the satin band, and his eyebrow arches. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his lips. It’s not a nice smile. It’s predatory. Amused. “Well, well. Look at you.”
You try to yank your arm back. “Let go of me, Jungkook.”
“Or what? You’ll baptize me again?” He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his grip and into your bones. He tugs you closer, into his space. You’re engulfed by his scent—sandalwood, clean sweat, and something uniquely male. “I have to say, pink suits you. Looking for a benefactor, little one?”
“Fuck you,” you hiss, your face burning. You’re trying for fury, but it comes out breathless.
“That’s generally the idea, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your lips. He’s so close you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “All these years, and you turn up here looking like a five-course meal with a price tag on your wrist. I’m intrigued.”
“I’m not a meal,” you snap, but your heart is hammering against your ribs.
“Could’ve fooled me.” His gaze drags down your body, taking in the way the black dress hugs your curves. It feels like he’s touching you. “Still as feisty as ever, I see. Still that bratty little college topper who thinks she knows everything.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Liar.” The word is soft, definitive. He finally releases your wrist only to slide his hand to the small of your back, steering you firmly away from the main floor, toward a dimly lit corridor lined with private booths. You don’t fight it as hard as you should. “You want everything. Tuition paid? Debt cleared? A nice apartment where the heat actually works?” He pushes you gently into the shadowy corner of an empty booth, his body caging you in against the plush wall. “I can give you that. I can give you more than you ever dreamed of.”
Your mouth is dry. “I don’t need your charity.”
“It’s not charity, darling.” He leans in, his lips almost brushing your ear. “It’s an exchange. And it starts with an apology.”
You stiffen. “For what?”
“For the water. For assuming the worst of me. For running away tonight instead of saying hello.” He pulls back to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Apologize properly, and we can talk about what comes next.”
Your pride screams in protest. You lift your chin. “No.”
His smile returns, wider now, all white teeth and dark promise. “God, you’re cute when you’re defiant.” He says it like it’s a diagnosis. Before you can retort, his mouth is on yours.
It’s an all consuming, rough kiss. His lips are firm, demanding, and you gasp against them, your hands flying up to push at his chest. But the moment your tongue touches his, all fight evaporates in a surge of pure, unadulterated lust. You’ve thought about this—about him—more times than you’d ever admit. He groans into your mouth, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, the other sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him, hard and thick already, pressed against your stomach.
The kiss is filthy. All biting lips and dueling tongues. He sucks on your bottom lip until you whimper, then soothes it with his tongue. His hand leaves your ass to cup your breast over your dress, his thumb circling your nipple roughly through the fabric. It pebbles instantly, a sharp ache of need shooting straight to your core.
“Still so responsive,” he breathes against your mouth before biting at your jawline, then lower, sucking a bruise into the tender skin of your throat. You moan, your head falling back against the wall. His other hand slides under the hem of your dress, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your panties. “Is this what you wanted when you put that band on? To get fucked by a stranger in a club?”
“You’re not a stranger,” you pant, arching into his touch.
“No. I’m worse.” He nips at your earlobe. “I’m the one who knows exactly how to wind you up.” His fingers dip beneath the lace, and you cry out when he finds you already soaked. “Fuck, you’re dripping. Such a needy little thing.” He pushes a finger inside you, curling it just right, and your knees buckle. He holds you up easily, working his finger in and out with a slow, cruel rhythm. “Apologize.”
“J-Jungkook…”
“Say you’re sorry for being a brat.” He adds a second finger, stretching you, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.
A broken sob escapes you. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay?”
He kisses you again, swallowing your moans as his fingers pump faster. “Good girl.” He withdraws his fingers suddenly, leaving you empty and throbbing. You whine in protest. He brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucks them clean with a dark hum of appreciation, then smacks your ass—a sharp, stinging crack that makes you jolt and gasp. “Now let’s get out of here before I fuck you right in this booth.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes your hand, his grip firm, and leads you through the back exit of the club into the cool night air of the parking garage. His car is a low-slung, expensive-looking black thing. He opens the back door.
“In.”
You balk for a second, the reality crashing down. “This is insane.”
He crowds behind you, his body hot against your back. His mouth finds your neck again. “Get in the car, Y/N. Or I walk away, and you go back to your instant noodles and your three jobs.” His hands slide around to palm your breasts, squeezing roughly. “We both know you don’t want that.”
He’s right. You don’t. The shame is still there, but it’s drowned out by a desperate, clawing hunger. You climb into the backseat, the leather cool against your bare thighs. He follows you in, pulling the door shut and plunging you into near-darkness, lit only by the amber garage lights.
“Take them off,” he says, his voice a rough command as he nods at your panties.
You hesitate, a final flicker of resistance.
He sighs, as if dealing with a stubborn child. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He pushes you onto your back on the wide seat, hooks his fingers into the sides of your lace panties, and yanks them down your legs and off in one swift motion. He tosses them over his shoulder. “Spread your legs.”
When you’re slow to comply, he grabs your thighs and pushes them apart himself, settling between them. The look in his eyes is pure hunger. “Fuck, look at you.” He doesn’t use his fingers this time. He lowers his head and licks a broad, flat stripe from your entrance to your clit.
You shriek, back arching off the seat. Your hands fly to his hair, tangling in the soft strands.
“Quiet,” he growls against your pussy before diving back in. He eats you like he’s starving, like this is his last meal. His tongue is relentless, fucking into you, then swirling around your clit, then sucking it into his mouth. He groans, the vibration making you see stars. One of his hands comes up to knead your breast through your dress, pinching your nipple hard.
“Jungkook… oh god…”
“Taste so fucking good,” he mumbles, his words muffled against your flesh. “All sweet and salty for me.” He adds a finger, then two, curling them inside you while his tongue flicks your clit over and over in a rapid, maddening rhythm.
You’re bucking against his face, moans pouring out of you uncontrollably. The coil in your belly is winding tighter, tighter. You’re so close.
He pulls away.
You scream in frustration, thumping your fists against his shoulders. “No! Don’t stop! Please!”
He sits up on his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s breathing hard, his eyes glazed with lust. He unbuttons his pants, freeing his cock. It’s thick, veined, and ruddy with need, standing proud against his stomach. You lick your lips unconsciously.
He sees it and laughs, a low, dirty sound. “Look at you. Desperate little cockslut. You want it that bad?”
“Fuck me already!” you demand, reaching for him.
He smacks your hand away. “Ah-ah. Ask nicely.”
You glare at him, panting. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please… fuck me.”
“Not good enough.” He leans over you, bracing one hand by your head. His cockhead nudges at your entrance, spreading your wetness but not pushing in. The tease is agony. “Use my name.”
Tears of frustration prick your eyes. “Jungkook, please fuck me!”
He pushes in an inch, just enough to make you gasp, then stops. “Try again.”
You’re trembling with need. The word falls from your lips before you can think. “Daddy… please fuck me.”
He freezes. Completely still. For a terrifying second, you think you’ve ruined it.
Then a shudder runs through him, and his eyes darken to pure black. “Oh, you perfect fucking whore.” In one brutal thrust, he sheathes himself inside you to the hilt.
The scream that tears from your throat is raw. He’s so big, stretching you so full it borders on pain before melting into mind-numbing pleasure. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a punishing pace from the start, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the car.
“That’s it,” he grunts, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Take it. Take all of it for Daddy.” He shifts, driving deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision white out. “Fuck, your tight little pussy was made for my cock. Clenching around me like a greedy slut.”
You can only moan, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper with each thrust. The car rocks slightly. He leans down to capture your mouth again, kissing you with a bruising intensity as he fucks you.
“What if someone sees?” he whispers against your lips, a wicked glint in his eye. “What if one of my business associates walks by and sees the little college valedictorian getting railed in the back of my car? Getting used like a common fucktoy?”
The thought should horrify you. Instead, it sends a fresh gush of wetness around his cock.
He feels it and groans. “You like that? You like the danger?” He sits back on his haunches, pulling you with him so you’re straddling his lap, impaled on his cock. The new angle is even deeper. He grips your ass with both hands, controlling your bounce as he thrusts up into you. One hand moves to roughly knead your breast again, his thumb rubbing your nipple through the fabric.
“Yes! Daddy, yes!” you babble, riding him frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“Such a good girl for me,” he rasps, his own control fraying. “My perfect, bratty cumslut.” He suddenly flips you off his lap and onto your stomach, pushing you down so your face is against the cool leather seat. He drapes himself over your back, one hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back.
“You called me Daddy,” he snarls in your ear, lining himself up and slamming back into your sopping wet pussy from behind. “Now take it like you mean it.” He fucks you in deep, punishing strokes, each one jolting you forward. His free hand comes down on your ass in a sharp slap.
You yelp, the sting mixing deliciously with the overwhelming pleasure.
“Again,” he demands, spanking you once more, then rubbing the sore spot before sinking his fingers into the flesh of your hip to hold you steady as he pistons into you.
You’re babbling nonsense—his name, daddy, please, more. The pressure is building again, higher and harder than before. You can feel your orgasm coiling like a live wire.
“You gonna come for me?” he grunts, his rhythm becoming erratic, brutal. “You gonna squirt all over Daddy’s cock like the dirty little whore you are?”
His words are the final trigger. Your body seizes, a silent scream stuck in your throat as an intense, violent orgasm detonates through you. Your vision tunnels. You feel a hot gush release around his cock as you convulse, milking him desperately.
“Fuck! Yes!” Jungkook roars as he feels you clench and drench him. He gives three more ragged thrusts before burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. You feel the hot pulse of his cum filling you in thick spurts, mixing with your own release.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of harsh breathing and the faint hum of the garage. He collapses partially on top of you, his weight warm and heavy. He nuzzles into the sweaty skin of your neck, placing soft kisses over the bruise he left earlier.
Slowly, carefully, he pulls out. You whimper at the sudden emptiness and the slick mess between your thighs. He turns you onto your back, his movements uncharacteristically gentle now. He brushes the hair from your face and kisses your forehead, then your lips—a soft contrast to the frenzy of before.
He gathers you against his chest, cradling you in the backseat of his car as you both come down. Your body feels boneless, utterly spent.
He tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him. His expression is soft, but his eyes are still possessive, intense.
“So,” he says quietly, his thumb stroking your cheek. “About that arrangement.” He kisses you again, slow and deep. “If you want tuition paid… an allowance… an apartment…” Another kiss. “Then I’ll be your Daddy. In every single way you want me to be.”
genre: exhibitionism, daddy!jungkook, slutty!y/n, filthy sex, free use
What started as teasing the mystery man across your apartment quickly turned into you rubbing your pussy in front of your floor-to-ceiling window. Then that man, Jungkook, comes over and shows you how Daddy takes care of desperate girls. But you’re still not done teasing him so you bring out your toys and he ruins your pussy so good you’ll forget who owns it.
tags: exhibitionism, voyeurism, teasing sexual tension, shirtless jungkook, jungkook is HUNG, bending over in panties, tit slip, mutual masturbation, public masturbation, squirting, rough sex, daddy kink, degradation, praise, dirty talk, jungkook calls you whore, cockslut, darling, fucktoy, biting, bruising, marking, hair pulling, spanking, pussy slapping, ass slapping, face fucking, throat fucking, swallowing his cum, creampie, breeding kink, size difference, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, crying during sex, begging, brat taming, punishment, balcony sex, shower sex, sleep sex, cock warming, plugged with cum, exhibitionist reader, shameless reader, bratty reader, dominant jungkook, possessive jungkook, animalistic sex, free use, dildo use, double penetration (toy and cock), jungkook fucks you so rough in this one.
total words: 4.5k
this snippet: 2k words
(this snippet shows the first scene where you and jungkook are teasing each other through your window and one day he comes over and fucks you like you've been begging for so long)
The new apartment was insane. Like, actually insane. You’d sold a kidney, or at least it felt like it, for this place with its stupidly high ceilings and walls that were basically just giant windows from floor to ceiling. The view of the city was killer, but on the first night, as you were unpacking a box of plates, your eyes drifted across the courtyard to the identical building opposite yours.
And there he was.
Shirtless. Cooking something in a pan. The muscles in his back and shoulders shifted under a tapestry of tattoos that coiled down one arm and across his pecs. He had dark hair, a little long on top, and when he turned to grab something, his eyes caught yours through the glass. He didn’t look startled. He just lifted a hand in a lazy wave, a small smirk playing on his lips.
You waved back, feeling a little stupid, standing there holding a “Live, Laugh, Love” plate your mom had given you.
That was the start.
It became a weird, silent game. You’d be making coffee in the morning, and you’d see him lifting weights, sweat making his skin glisten. He’d be on a work call in the evening, and you’d catch him glancing over as you danced around your living room to some dumb pop song. It was all just glances and smirks and waves. No words. Just windows.
Then came the towel incident.
It was a Saturday morning. You’d just showered, hair wrapped in a towel, body in another. You padded out into the living area, heading for the kitchen, completely forgetting that last night you’d opened the curtains wide to let the moonlight in. You felt a prickle on your skin, that feeling of being watched. You turned your head slowly.
He was there. Standing by his own window, a glass of water in his hand. His eyes weren’t on your face. They were dragging down the length of you, from your damp hair, over the towel knotted just above your breasts, down to where it ended mid-thigh. His gaze was so hot, so deliberate, you felt it like a physical touch. A flush of heat bloomed low in your stomach, a sudden, shocking pulse between your legs. You forced yourself to keep walking, your back to him, feeling his stare burning into your back, imagining it sliding over the curve of your ass under the terrycloth. You poured your coffee with shaky hands, the entire time hyper-aware of his presence across the void.
The game escalated.
A few days later, you saw him walking around his apartment in nothing but low-slung grey boxers. The defined V of his hips leading down to a very noticeable bulge. You pretended to read a book, peeking over the top.
Another time, you “accidentally” dropped a pen and bent over right in front of the window to pick it up, knowing you were only wearing a thin camisole and a pair of tiny lace panties. You took your sweet time, arching your back just so. When you straightened up and glanced over, he was standing stock still, his hand palming himself through his sweatpants, his jaw tight.
The hottest one was when you were wearing a loose tank top with no bra, reaching for a high shelf. The movement made your breast slip completely out of the neckline. You gasped, fumbling to tuck it back in, and your eyes flew to his window. He’d seen. He was leaning against his kitchen counter, one hand slowly, blatantly rubbing the thick outline of his cock through his sweats, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t look away. You bit your lip, let your hand drift down to your own stomach, before turning away, your heart hammering.
You were both driving each other crazy. You’d lie in bed at night, your fingers slipping into your panties, thinking about his tattoos, his smirk, the way his hand had gripped himself. You were wet all the time.
It came to a head on a Friday night. You were tipsy on a glass of red wine, feeling bold and restless. The lights in your apartment were low. His were on. You saw him moving around, shirtless again. A reckless, slutty idea took hold.
You walked to your big, plush sofa, positioned right in front of the main window. You lay down on your back, your head propped on the armrest, facing him. You took a slow sip of your wine, then let your free hand drift up your body. You cupped your breast over your thin t-shirt, squeezing lightly, your thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened into a peak visible through the fabric.
You saw him stop dead in the middle of his living room. He put down the glass he was holding. His eyes were dark, unblinking.
Emboldened, your hand slid down, over your stomach, to the waistband of your sleep shorts. You rubbed your palm over the clothed mound of your pussy, applying pressure. You arched your back a little, biting your lip as you watched him.
His hand went to the waistband of his own shorts. He pushed them down just enough to free his cock. Your breath hitched. It was… fuck. It was huge. Long, thick, already fully hard, the head flushed dark. He wrapped his fist around it, giving it one slow, punishing stroke.
That was all the permission you needed. A switch flipped inside you. You were done teasing. You hooked your thumbs into your shorts and panties and shoved them down your legs, kicking them off somewhere onto the floor. Your pussy was exposed to the cool air—and to him. You grabbed a thick velvet cushion from the sofa, shoved it between your thighs, and without breaking eye contact, you lowered yourself onto it.
You started riding the cushion, grinding your clit against the rough texture, your wetness immediately soaking into the fabric. You were acting like a total slut, and you fucking loved it. You pulled your t-shirt up, freeing your breasts, letting them bounce with every roll of your hips. You closed your eyes, lost in the sensation, the image of him stroking that massive cock burned into your mind. You were getting close, so close, your moans starting to escape your lips—
The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent.
Your eyes flew open. You froze, mid-grind. You looked across the courtyard.
His apartment was empty.
Holy shit.
Your heart leapt into your throat. You scrambled off the cushion, your legs wobbly, and grabbed the silk robe you’d left on a chair, tying it hastily around your naked, dripping body. You padded to the door, peering through the peephole.
It was him.
You opened the door a crack.
He was even more imposing up close. Taller. Broader. The tattoos were more detailed, more brutal. His eyes were black pools of heat and intent. He smelled like clean sweat and something darker, spicier.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a low, rough rumble. “I’m Jungkook.”
“Y/N,” you managed to squeak out.
He didn’t wait. He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and kicked it shut behind him with a final-sounding thud. Then his hands were on your face, cradling it roughly, and his mouth was on yours.
The kiss wasn’t sweet. His tongue plunged into your mouth, claiming it, tasting the wine on your lips. You moaned into him, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. He tasted like sin and mint. He broke the kiss as suddenly as he started it, his eyes raking over the robe.
“All this time,” he growled. “Every fucking day. Teasing me. Driving me out of my mind.”
With one sharp tug, he undid the belt of your robe and yanked it open, letting it fall to the floor. You stood there, completely naked, exposed under the harsh entryway light.
“Look at you,” he sneered, his gaze hot and possessive as it swept over your body. “A little exhibitionist slut. Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, could you?”
Before you could answer, he bent, grabbed you by the waist, and threw you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. You yelped, the blood rushing to your head as he carried you effortlessly into the living room, right to the scene of your crime—the sofa in front of the giant window. He dumped you unceremoniously onto the cushions, on your back.
He stood over you, looking down at your spread legs, at your glistening, swollen pussy. “You made a mess on my cushion, you fucking tease?” he asked, though his eyes were on your core.
“It’s… it’s my cushion,” you breathed out, trying for sass but it came out as a whimper.
He smirked, a cruel, beautiful twist of his lips. “Not anymore.”
Then his hand came down. Not a caress. A sharp, stinging slap right against your wet pussy lips.
You screamed. The pain was bright and shocking, followed instantly by a wave of intense pleasure that made your back arch off the couch.
“Scream louder,” Jungkook commanded, his voice dripping with dominance. “Let the whole building know what a cockslut lives here.” He slapped you again, smack, right on your clit this time.
You cried out, your hips bucking uncontrollably. “Fuck! Daddy!”
The word just fell out of you. His eyes flared with dark satisfaction.
“That’s right,” he purred, delivering another slap, then rubbing his palm roughly over the throbbing nub. “You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you? Showing off your pretty tits and your greedy little pussy. Making Daddy’s cock ache every night.” He slid two fingers inside you without warning, curling them. “So fucking wet. All for me. You were dreaming of this, weren’t you? Dreaming of Daddy splitting you open on his big cock.”
“Yes! Yes, Daddy, please!” you babbled, humping his hand shamelessly. The combination of the slapping, the dirty talk, and his fingers inside you was too much. A coil snapped deep in your belly. “I’m gonna—!”
He pulled his fingers out and slapped your clit again, hard. “Cum. Now.”
The command, the sharp sting, tipped you over the edge. A gush of liquid heat erupted from you, soaking the sofa cushion beneath you with a force that shocked you. You squirted, hard, your vision whiting out for a second as you screamed, your body convulsing.
Jungkook watched, mesmerized, as you trembled and gushed. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at that. My little slut can squirt. Such a good girl for Daddy.”
You were panting, boneless, but he wasn’t done. While you were still twitching through the aftershocks, he flipped you over onto your stomach with brutal efficiency. He pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, ass in the air, face pressed into the velvet of the sofa, your body angled towards the window.
“Look,” he growled in your ear, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “Look out there. Anyone could be watching. Anyone could see your slutty little body getting used.” He positioned himself behind you, the broad, slick head of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance. “They’d see this perfect ass bouncing on my dick. They’d see how well you take it.”
He didn’t push in slowly. He owned you. With one powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt inside you.
You screamed again, a raw, ragged sound torn from your throat. He was massive. Thick and long, stretching you wider than you’d ever been stretched, filling you up in a way that bordered on painful. “Oh god! Daddy, it’s too big!”
“It’s not too big,” he grunted, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making you see stars. “It’s perfect for you. This cunt was made for me. Say it.”
“It was—ah!—made for you!” you sobbed, taking his punishing rhythm.
“Damn right,” he snarled, setting a brutal pace, each thrust jolting you forward. His hand came down on your ass with a loud crack. “This is for bending over in your panties.” Smack. “This is for letting your tit pop out.” Smack. “This is for riding that fucking cushion while I watched.” He punctuated each word with a thrust and a slap until your ass and pussy were on fire.
You were babbling nonsense, tears of overwhelmed pleasure streaking your face. “Fuck me, Daddy! Own this pussy! It’s yours!”
“Mine,” he growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic, deeper. One of his hands snaked around your hip and found your swollen, oversensitive clit. He rubbed rough, tight circles, and you felt another orgasm building, even bigger than the first. “You gonna squirt for Daddy again? Gonna make another mess?”
You could only nod, moaning as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.
“Do it,” he commanded, pinching your clit.
You shattered. Another torrent of release burst from you as he fucked you through it, his cock pistoning into your convulsing channel. You were screaming, trembling violently, completely out of control.
Just as the last waves were subsiding, he pulled out of your dripping pussy with a wet sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness.
Before you could process it, he was dragging you off the couch by your hair—not hard enough to hurt badly, but enough to make you yelp and follow. He sat on the edge of the sofa and pulled you between his knees. His cock was glistening with your juices, rock-hard and angry red.
“Open,” he ordered, tapping his cockhead against your lips.
You opened your mouth obediently, and he shoved himself inside, fucking your face with the same ruthless pace he’d fucked your pussy. You gagged, tears springing to your eyes again as he hit the back of your throat.
“Take it, cumslut,” he grunted, his hands fisting in your hair. “Swallow every drop. You wanted my cock? Here it is.”
He thrust deep once, twice, three more times, and then with a guttural roar, he came. Hot, bitter spurts flooded your throat. You swallowed frantically, some of it dribbling down your chin as he held you there, milking himself dry into your mouth.
When he finally pulled out, you were a wreck—used, covered in sweat and spit and cum, trembling.
He looked down at you, his chest heaving, a smug, filthy smirk on his face. He used his thumb to wipe the stray cum from your chin and pushed it back into your mouth. “Clean Daddy up.”
You sucked his thumb clean, whining around it. When he pulled it out, you found your voice, small and wrecked. “Why… why didn’t Daddy cum inside my pussy?”
Jungkook leaned down, his face inches from yours. He kissed you again, deep and dirty, sucking on your tongue before pulling back. His eyes were dark with promise. “Because you haven’t been good enough yet.” He traced your swollen lips. “You’ve been a bratty little exhibitionist slut. You need to earn Daddy’s sperm deep in that tight little cunt. Understand?”
You nodded, shivering with a mix of exhaustion and renewed, desperate arousal.
(full version contains you wanting jungkook to cum in your pussy so you tease him by using a dildo but then he fucks you alongside it and breeds you)
genre: exhibitionism, daddy!jungkook, slutty!y/n, filthy sex, free use
What started as teasing the mystery man across your apartment quickly turned into you rubbing your pussy in front of your floor-to-ceiling window. Then that man, Jungkook, comes over and shows you how Daddy takes care of desperate girls. But you’re still not done teasing him so you bring out your toys and he ruins your pussy so good you’ll forget who owns it.
tags: exhibitionism, voyeurism, teasing sexual tension, shirtless jungkook, jungkook is HUNG, bending over in panties, tit slip, mutual masturbation, public masturbation, squirting, rough sex, daddy kink, degradation, praise, dirty talk, jungkook calls you whore, cockslut, darling, fucktoy, biting, bruising, marking, hair pulling, spanking, pussy slapping, ass slapping, face fucking, throat fucking, swallowing his cum, creampie, breeding kink, size difference, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, crying during sex, begging, brat taming, punishment, balcony sex, shower sex, sleep sex, cock warming, plugged with cum, exhibitionist reader, shameless reader, bratty reader, dominant jungkook, possessive jungkook, animalistic sex, free use, dildo use, double penetration (toy and cock), jungkook fucks you so rough in this one.
total words: 4.5k
this snippet: 2k words
(this snippet shows the first scene where you and jungkook are teasing each other through your window and one day he comes over and fucks you like you've been begging for so long)
The new apartment was insane. Like, actually insane. You’d sold a kidney, or at least it felt like it, for this place with its stupidly high ceilings and walls that were basically just giant windows from floor to ceiling. The view of the city was killer, but on the first night, as you were unpacking a box of plates, your eyes drifted across the courtyard to the identical building opposite yours.
And there he was.
Shirtless. Cooking something in a pan. The muscles in his back and shoulders shifted under a tapestry of tattoos that coiled down one arm and across his pecs. He had dark hair, a little long on top, and when he turned to grab something, his eyes caught yours through the glass. He didn’t look startled. He just lifted a hand in a lazy wave, a small smirk playing on his lips.
You waved back, feeling a little stupid, standing there holding a “Live, Laugh, Love” plate your mom had given you.
That was the start.
It became a weird, silent game. You’d be making coffee in the morning, and you’d see him lifting weights, sweat making his skin glisten. He’d be on a work call in the evening, and you’d catch him glancing over as you danced around your living room to some dumb pop song. It was all just glances and smirks and waves. No words. Just windows.
Then came the towel incident.
It was a Saturday morning. You’d just showered, hair wrapped in a towel, body in another. You padded out into the living area, heading for the kitchen, completely forgetting that last night you’d opened the curtains wide to let the moonlight in. You felt a prickle on your skin, that feeling of being watched. You turned your head slowly.
He was there. Standing by his own window, a glass of water in his hand. His eyes weren’t on your face. They were dragging down the length of you, from your damp hair, over the towel knotted just above your breasts, down to where it ended mid-thigh. His gaze was so hot, so deliberate, you felt it like a physical touch. A flush of heat bloomed low in your stomach, a sudden, shocking pulse between your legs. You forced yourself to keep walking, your back to him, feeling his stare burning into your back, imagining it sliding over the curve of your ass under the terrycloth. You poured your coffee with shaky hands, the entire time hyper-aware of his presence across the void.
The game escalated.
A few days later, you saw him walking around his apartment in nothing but low-slung grey boxers. The defined V of his hips leading down to a very noticeable bulge. You pretended to read a book, peeking over the top.
Another time, you “accidentally” dropped a pen and bent over right in front of the window to pick it up, knowing you were only wearing a thin camisole and a pair of tiny lace panties. You took your sweet time, arching your back just so. When you straightened up and glanced over, he was standing stock still, his hand palming himself through his sweatpants, his jaw tight.
The hottest one was when you were wearing a loose tank top with no bra, reaching for a high shelf. The movement made your breast slip completely out of the neckline. You gasped, fumbling to tuck it back in, and your eyes flew to his window. He’d seen. He was leaning against his kitchen counter, one hand slowly, blatantly rubbing the thick outline of his cock through his sweats, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t look away. You bit your lip, let your hand drift down to your own stomach, before turning away, your heart hammering.
You were both driving each other crazy. You’d lie in bed at night, your fingers slipping into your panties, thinking about his tattoos, his smirk, the way his hand had gripped himself. You were wet all the time.
It came to a head on a Friday night. You were tipsy on a glass of red wine, feeling bold and restless. The lights in your apartment were low. His were on. You saw him moving around, shirtless again. A reckless, slutty idea took hold.
You walked to your big, plush sofa, positioned right in front of the main window. You lay down on your back, your head propped on the armrest, facing him. You took a slow sip of your wine, then let your free hand drift up your body. You cupped your breast over your thin t-shirt, squeezing lightly, your thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened into a peak visible through the fabric.
You saw him stop dead in the middle of his living room. He put down the glass he was holding. His eyes were dark, unblinking.
Emboldened, your hand slid down, over your stomach, to the waistband of your sleep shorts. You rubbed your palm over the clothed mound of your pussy, applying pressure. You arched your back a little, biting your lip as you watched him.
His hand went to the waistband of his own shorts. He pushed them down just enough to free his cock. Your breath hitched. It was… fuck. It was huge. Long, thick, already fully hard, the head flushed dark. He wrapped his fist around it, giving it one slow, punishing stroke.
That was all the permission you needed. A switch flipped inside you. You were done teasing. You hooked your thumbs into your shorts and panties and shoved them down your legs, kicking them off somewhere onto the floor. Your pussy was exposed to the cool air—and to him. You grabbed a thick velvet cushion from the sofa, shoved it between your thighs, and without breaking eye contact, you lowered yourself onto it.
You started riding the cushion, grinding your clit against the rough texture, your wetness immediately soaking into the fabric. You were acting like a total slut, and you fucking loved it. You pulled your t-shirt up, freeing your breasts, letting them bounce with every roll of your hips. You closed your eyes, lost in the sensation, the image of him stroking that massive cock burned into your mind. You were getting close, so close, your moans starting to escape your lips—
The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent.
Your eyes flew open. You froze, mid-grind. You looked across the courtyard.
His apartment was empty.
Holy shit.
Your heart leapt into your throat. You scrambled off the cushion, your legs wobbly, and grabbed the silk robe you’d left on a chair, tying it hastily around your naked, dripping body. You padded to the door, peering through the peephole.
It was him.
You opened the door a crack.
He was even more imposing up close. Taller. Broader. The tattoos were more detailed, more brutal. His eyes were black pools of heat and intent. He smelled like clean sweat and something darker, spicier.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a low, rough rumble. “I’m Jungkook.”
“Y/N,” you managed to squeak out.
He didn’t wait. He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and kicked it shut behind him with a final-sounding thud. Then his hands were on your face, cradling it roughly, and his mouth was on yours.
The kiss wasn’t sweet. His tongue plunged into your mouth, claiming it, tasting the wine on your lips. You moaned into him, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. He tasted like sin and mint. He broke the kiss as suddenly as he started it, his eyes raking over the robe.
“All this time,” he growled. “Every fucking day. Teasing me. Driving me out of my mind.”
With one sharp tug, he undid the belt of your robe and yanked it open, letting it fall to the floor. You stood there, completely naked, exposed under the harsh entryway light.
“Look at you,” he sneered, his gaze hot and possessive as it swept over your body. “A little exhibitionist slut. Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, could you?”
Before you could answer, he bent, grabbed you by the waist, and threw you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. You yelped, the blood rushing to your head as he carried you effortlessly into the living room, right to the scene of your crime—the sofa in front of the giant window. He dumped you unceremoniously onto the cushions, on your back.
He stood over you, looking down at your spread legs, at your glistening, swollen pussy. “You made a mess on my cushion, you fucking tease?” he asked, though his eyes were on your core.
“It’s… it’s my cushion,” you breathed out, trying for sass but it came out as a whimper.
He smirked, a cruel, beautiful twist of his lips. “Not anymore.”
Then his hand came down. Not a caress. A sharp, stinging slap right against your wet pussy lips.
You screamed. The pain was bright and shocking, followed instantly by a wave of intense pleasure that made your back arch off the couch.
“Scream louder,” Jungkook commanded, his voice dripping with dominance. “Let the whole building know what a cockslut lives here.” He slapped you again, smack, right on your clit this time.
You cried out, your hips bucking uncontrollably. “Fuck! Daddy!”
The word just fell out of you. His eyes flared with dark satisfaction.
“That’s right,” he purred, delivering another slap, then rubbing his palm roughly over the throbbing nub. “You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you? Showing off your pretty tits and your greedy little pussy. Making Daddy’s cock ache every night.” He slid two fingers inside you without warning, curling them. “So fucking wet. All for me. You were dreaming of this, weren’t you? Dreaming of Daddy splitting you open on his big cock.”
“Yes! Yes, Daddy, please!” you babbled, humping his hand shamelessly. The combination of the slapping, the dirty talk, and his fingers inside you was too much. A coil snapped deep in your belly. “I’m gonna—!”
He pulled his fingers out and slapped your clit again, hard. “Cum. Now.”
The command, the sharp sting, tipped you over the edge. A gush of liquid heat erupted from you, soaking the sofa cushion beneath you with a force that shocked you. You squirted, hard, your vision whiting out for a second as you screamed, your body convulsing.
Jungkook watched, mesmerized, as you trembled and gushed. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at that. My little slut can squirt. Such a good girl for Daddy.”
You were panting, boneless, but he wasn’t done. While you were still twitching through the aftershocks, he flipped you over onto your stomach with brutal efficiency. He pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, ass in the air, face pressed into the velvet of the sofa, your body angled towards the window.
“Look,” he growled in your ear, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “Look out there. Anyone could be watching. Anyone could see your slutty little body getting used.” He positioned himself behind you, the broad, slick head of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance. “They’d see this perfect ass bouncing on my dick. They’d see how well you take it.”
He didn’t push in slowly. He owned you. With one powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt inside you.
You screamed again, a raw, ragged sound torn from your throat. He was massive. Thick and long, stretching you wider than you’d ever been stretched, filling you up in a way that bordered on painful. “Oh god! Daddy, it’s too big!”
“It’s not too big,” he grunted, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making you see stars. “It’s perfect for you. This cunt was made for me. Say it.”
“It was—ah!—made for you!” you sobbed, taking his punishing rhythm.
“Damn right,” he snarled, setting a brutal pace, each thrust jolting you forward. His hand came down on your ass with a loud crack. “This is for bending over in your panties.” Smack. “This is for letting your tit pop out.” Smack. “This is for riding that fucking cushion while I watched.” He punctuated each word with a thrust and a slap until your ass and pussy were on fire.
You were babbling nonsense, tears of overwhelmed pleasure streaking your face. “Fuck me, Daddy! Own this pussy! It’s yours!”
“Mine,” he growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic, deeper. One of his hands snaked around your hip and found your swollen, oversensitive clit. He rubbed rough, tight circles, and you felt another orgasm building, even bigger than the first. “You gonna squirt for Daddy again? Gonna make another mess?”
You could only nod, moaning as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.
“Do it,” he commanded, pinching your clit.
You shattered. Another torrent of release burst from you as he fucked you through it, his cock pistoning into your convulsing channel. You were screaming, trembling violently, completely out of control.
Just as the last waves were subsiding, he pulled out of your dripping pussy with a wet sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness.
Before you could process it, he was dragging you off the couch by your hair—not hard enough to hurt badly, but enough to make you yelp and follow. He sat on the edge of the sofa and pulled you between his knees. His cock was glistening with your juices, rock-hard and angry red.
“Open,” he ordered, tapping his cockhead against your lips.
You opened your mouth obediently, and he shoved himself inside, fucking your face with the same ruthless pace he’d fucked your pussy. You gagged, tears springing to your eyes again as he hit the back of your throat.
“Take it, cumslut,” he grunted, his hands fisting in your hair. “Swallow every drop. You wanted my cock? Here it is.”
He thrust deep once, twice, three more times, and then with a guttural roar, he came. Hot, bitter spurts flooded your throat. You swallowed frantically, some of it dribbling down your chin as he held you there, milking himself dry into your mouth.
When he finally pulled out, you were a wreck—used, covered in sweat and spit and cum, trembling.
He looked down at you, his chest heaving, a smug, filthy smirk on his face. He used his thumb to wipe the stray cum from your chin and pushed it back into your mouth. “Clean Daddy up.”
You sucked his thumb clean, whining around it. When he pulled it out, you found your voice, small and wrecked. “Why… why didn’t Daddy cum inside my pussy?”
Jungkook leaned down, his face inches from yours. He kissed you again, deep and dirty, sucking on your tongue before pulling back. His eyes were dark with promise. “Because you haven’t been good enough yet.” He traced your swollen lips. “You’ve been a bratty little exhibitionist slut. You need to earn Daddy’s sperm deep in that tight little cunt. Understand?”
You nodded, shivering with a mix of exhaustion and renewed, desperate arousal.
(full version contains you wanting jungkook to cum in your pussy so you tease him by using a dildo but then he fucks you alongside it and breeds you)
a/n: hey so i'm still planning on writing a sequel series to 'practice' and i have an outline i just need to. actually start writing it. i've got a couple more drafts to finish before i get started on that.
The clock in the hallway was chiming one o'clock when Y/N finally locked the front door behind her. The sun had set hours ago, but her director seemed to care little about time or the lives of others. Even if it took hours, he was determined for her to get the perfect take, and Y/N felt like her bones were about to shatter by the end of the day.
The only other thing on her mind was getting home to Bill, who she knew would be waiting for her. But now he was bound to be fast asleep in bed, and that was the only thing she wanted to do, too.
She groaned softly as she kicked her shoes off at the front door and hung her jacket up on the coat rack before trudging through the house and up the stairs to the bedroom. She didn't bother to turn any of the lights on as she went, letting muscle memory do her eyes' jobs as her whole body cried and screamed with each step.
Finally, she came to the bedroom door and pushed it open as slowly and quietly as she could, the hinges squeaking softly as they were forced open. She couldn't see, but she could tell that Bill was already asleep in bed, the soft sounds of his breathing drifting over to her ears. The carpet was soft under her feet as she tiptoed over to the bed, leaving the room in darkness as her eyes adjusted.
She could just make out Bill's silhouette, the sheets tangled in his legs as he clutched her pillow close to his chest as if it were her body, his face half buried in it. The sight made her smile, and her heart pulled a little. She'd often done the same thing while he was away; the scent of his cologne often clung to the fabric and soothed her on lonely nights, but knowing that he also did it just made her love him even more.
Carefully, she climbed onto her side of the bed and crawled over to him, keeping her movements slow and measured so as not to wake him up. He was the picture of peace when she finally managed to see him: his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, his face still and content, and his hair sticking up where it had rustled against his pillow.
Even though he was on a break from work, Y/N had noticed how tired he'd been lately, especially when her own work days lasted for so long. She told him every single day that he didn't need to wait up for her to come home, but it appeared that he just couldn't stay up much longer for once. Even in the dark, she could see the shadows under his eyes, and she had a good feeling that they would be bloodshot once open.
She gently reached out to stroke his hair, keeping her touch soft and gentle, like she was handling a baby. The dark locks were soft when they slipped through her fingers, and the smell of his shampoo drifted into her nose as she leaned down to softly kiss he top of his head, gauging whether or not he would wake up. He murmured softly and nuzzled her pillow as he wrapped his toned arms tighter around it.
"Sleep well, honey," Y/N whispered before leaving a soft kiss on his forehead, letting her lips linger before she dragged herself away from him and into the bathroom.
She quietly closed the door behind her, making sure it didn't slam, before turning on the light. The sudden illumination made her eyes sting, and she squeezed them shut to give herself time to adjust before finding a towel and turning the shower on as hot as she could get it. Steam started to fill the room, fogging up the mirror until she could no longer see herself, and she let herself breathe deeply, the warmth blowing away the cobwebs in her head and letting her muscles relax.
After tying her hair up, washing her face, and dropping her dirty clothes into the hamper, Y/N stepped into the shower and let the warm water cascade over her body, washing away the dirt and grime from the day. A soft groan escaped her lungs as she stood under the scalding water, her tired muscles relaxing as she continued to breathe in the steam and let it soothe her sore throat.
Part of her felt bad for making Bill wait so long for her to come home, but a more selfish part of her thought that he could wait just a little longer for her to finally go to bed. Y/N was so used to going to bed alone and waking up in the middle of the night to the feeling of Bill slipping under the covers next to her that it was normal to her.
She finished up her shower as quickly as she could, leaving her tired body smelling sweet as she towelled off and continued with the rest of her night routine. Her mind cleared as she finished her skincare routine and brushed her teeth, only concerned with finally getting some well-earned sleep.
Just as Y/N had put her toothbrush down, she felt a familiar pair of strong, toned arms snake around her waist and pull her into a warm body. The reflections in the mirror in front of her were still foggy from the steam, but she could recognise Bill's silhouette anywhere.
"I thought you were asleep," she said with a sigh as she relaxed into his embrace, relishing the feeling of his warm hands skimming over her arms.
"I was," Bill said, his voice low and scratchy in her ear. "But you woke me up."
"I didn't mean to," Y/N said as his hands continued to roam her body and he bent down to softly kiss her shoulder. "You just looked so cute."
He trailed his kisses across her shoulder and up her neck, making her skin tingle with each brush of his lip as his fingers crept underneath her towel.
"Not as cute as you," he husked before kissing the spot behind her ear and pushing the towel to the floor, leaving her completely bare for him.
Y/N shuddered when his fingers brushed over her nipples, her pussy starting to clench and dampen when he took her breasts in his hands and squeezed them softly, his lips never leaving her neck.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper as she placed her hands over his.
"I waited all night for you to come home," he mumbled into her warm skin, his right hand drifting away from her breast and down to her lower stomach to pull her closer to his body. She whined when she felt him push his clothed erection into her behind and shuffled on her feet to let him slip his fingers between her legs. "You left me with this, and I didn't even get a chance to play with you before I fell asleep."
A moan crawled its way out of Y/N's lungs when he started to lightly circle her clit, and she fought the urge to squirm out of his arms. Her mind was screaming at her to sleep, but her body had an entirely different idea.
"But I'm tired, baby," she whined as her head fell back onto his shoulder. "I've had such a long day."
"Then the least you can let me do is fuck you to sleep."
Her whole body shuddered with desire, and her cunt clenched hard at his words, a fresh wave of arousal gushing out of her. Instead of giving him a response, she turned around in his arms and brought her hands up to his face, holding him still so she could kiss him softly. As her eyes drifted closed, she felt his lips brush against hers, and he took the lead, gently slipping his tongue into her mouth and pushing his fingers inside her needy pussy. He groaned against her mouth as he felt how wet she already was for him, her sweet spot already swollen enough for him to play with.
Y/N felt as if something had switched in her body; she was no longer concerned with sleep. All she wanted now was to feel every single inch of Bill; she wanted his hands all over her body, and his hard cock inside her.
"I missed you," she breathed into his mouth, her voice muffled by his kisses. "I spent all day wanting to come home to you."
"I missed you, too, baby," Bill said when he reluctantly broke off the kiss. Gently, he pulled his fingers out of her dripping pussy and licked them clean as he used his free hand to push his underwear to the floor, leaving them both completely bare. "C'mon, let's go to bed."
Bill took Y/N's hand and led her out of the bathroom, flicking the light off before he closed the door behind them, leaving them in the dark bedroom again. She could just see where they were going in the dark, thankfully the floor was clear as he brought her to the unmade bed and sat down on the mattress with his long legs stretched out in front of him.
"C'mere," he said as he reached out to take her hand, "come sit in my lap."
Y/N's heart skipped a beat when she realised what he wanted to do. Even though her body was sore and tired, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to fuck herself on his cock while sitting in his lap.
She eagerly crawled onto the bed and into his lap, not yet touching his hard cock as she cupped his face in her palms and kissed him softly, letting their tongues dance together as he gently played with her breasts, holding them with his large palms and gently squeezing her sensitive nipples.
Her hips started to buck against him and she lowered herself onto him, dragging her wet pussy along his shaft to slick him up, making him softly moan against her lips. Even though she couldn't see him, she knew that he looked beautiful: his big eyes hooded with lust, his soft lips slightly parted, and his hair perfectly tousled.
"I want you," he breathed against her mouth when she took his cock in her hand, giving him a few slow pumps, and spreading her arousal around. "I need you, baby."
Slowly, Y/N sank onto Bill's cock, savouring the feeling of him opening her up before wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close to her. Their foreheads pressed together, she slowly rolled her hips forward and backwards as he caressed her back with his large palms and kneaded her hips, helping her keep her movements steady.
"You feel so fucking good, baby," he sighed before brushing his lips against hers again, kissing her softly and sweetly. "Definitely worth the wait."
Y/N moaned into the kiss as she clenched around him, her sweet spot grinding against his cock and her clit brushing against his skin with each rock of her hips. She always loved being so close to him like this, their bodies entangled as they moved together as one, feeling each other's heartbeats until they melted together.
Her tired body continued to move lazily against his as she savoured his kisses, tasting toothpaste on his tongue as her fingers tangled in his thick hair, alternating between scratching his scalp, stroking his hair, and pulling it. He hummed against her lips and pulled her closer to his chest, her breasts pushing up against him so her sensitive nipples could rub against his skin.
Reluctantly, Y/N broke the kiss to catch her breath and buried her face in the crook of his neck as she continued to roll her hips into him, her clit tingling and twitching with each pass. Soft, breathy moans escaped her mouth as she kissed the side of his throat, smelling his leftover cologne and shampoo. All the different sensations were starting to overwhelm her until the only thing on her mind was how he was making her feel; his warm hands stroking up and down her back, his soft lips caressing her shoulder, and his hard cock inside her as they both wound her body closer and closer to climax.
"M'gonna cum, baby," she panted as her hips started to buck faster into his, her swollen clit tingling more as her stomach started to tighten itself into a knot.
"Already?" Bill teased as he trailed his right hand between their bodies to play with her clit. "Here, I'll help you."
Her body jolted at the added stimulation, and Y/N leaned backwards slightly to give him more space, changing the angle. She found it difficult to roll her hips in the position while he stroked her clit, but just the sensation of his thumb on her clit while his cock was inside her was enough to make her eyes roll back.
"Fuck, you look so good like this," he breathed as he rubbed her clit faster and pushed his hips up into hers. "C'mon, baby, let me feel you cum."
Y/N forced herself to keep her eyes open as the knot in her stomach finally snapped, warmth spreading throughout her body as her cunt clamped down on Bill's cock and her clit twitched under his thumb. He held her body still by wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her back into his body as his lips latched onto her neck, feeling how her throat vibrated with each cry and moan that came from her lungs.
Once she'd finally come back to Earth, she took Bill's face in her hands again and crashed her lips against him, kissing him sloppily in her cock-drunk stupor.
"More," she mumbled against his mouth, clenching around him again. "Make me cum again."
He laughed softly between kisses and held her close to his chest before lying down on the bed, pulling her on top of him without his cock leaving her.
"You can never have just one, can you?" he crooned in her ear as she buried her face in his neck again. "So needy."
A pleasured groan of his own flew out into the night air as he started to gently thrust up into her, letting her lie still on his chest as she scratched at his shoulders and kissed his neck. As much as she'd liked being able to fuck herself on his cock, she loved being taken care of by him even more.
He always knew exactly what she liked and what she needed, and at that moment, she needed him to be soft and gentle with her sore body. Her clit was too tired to be played with again, but thankfully her sweet spot was still swollen enough to be stimulated by his cock.
"This is a better way to finish the night, isn't it?" Bill whispered in her ear, softly groaning when her body shuddered and tensed around his cock. "Just you and me, taking care of each other late into the night. I'd stay up to fuck you all night if I could."
Y/N whined again and her pussy fluttered around him, signalling that she was already close again. Her hips started to move on their own, matching his rhythm as her breathing picked up and she whined louder and louder into his shoulder.
"You gonna cum again?" he asked as he stroked her back, running his fingers up and down the notches of her spine. He felt her nod into his shoulder and sped up his thrusts slightly. "Cum with me, baby."
Y/N clenched around his cock repeatedly, helping her second orgasm of the night come more easily. Her eyes screwed shut as it finally arrived, her sensitive pussy spasming around him as she gasped and moaned into his shoulder, drawing his orgasm out of him. She listened to his own moans and curses as he shot his warm cum into her, painting her insides white as he continued to fuck her through their highs.
She was just about to crawl off of him when she felt his hands on her hips, holding her still. Her spent pussy felt so full with both his cock and cum still inside her, but she didn't want him to leave her. Not when they were still so close.
"Let's stay like this," Bill said, tiredness starting to steep into his voice as he pulled the sheets back over them. "You still feel so good."
Y/N hummed in agreement as she settled further into his body, her breathing starting to slow down as sleep began to take over her body. She tried to find the energy to kiss him or say good night, but her eyes were closing on their own and her body was losing the battle.
The last thing she felt before finally slipping into dreamland was Bill's lips on her forehead and his cock still inside her, slowly softening as sleep took him too.
♡. 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐬 : Oh Ser Jackson, his Majesty, son and prince of the enemy kingdom, marrying you? This had to be a horrifying nightmare orchestrated by the gods.
♡. enemies to lovers, royal AU, percy's pov over letters, arranged marriage, percy is downbad, wedding night, porn w plot, f! oral, spitting, p n clit sIapping, fíngering, pussiedrunk, virginity loss (both), mating presses, manhandIing, size difference, creampie.
For as long as history could remember, the Kingdom of Solis had never bowed to famine, plague or the old gods when they demanded blood from daughters and called it the supposed duty of women.
And certainly not to the seas.
Your kingdom stood where the sun touched first. At the highest crest of the southern cliffs, where the mountains broke into gold-veined stone and warm rivers ran like melted amber through the valleys below, Solis rose in white marble and sunlight. Its palace—Helion Keep—sat upon the highest point of the capital, carved into the mountain itself, where your family had decided it belonged accordingly.
From your chambers, the entire kingdom unfolded beneath you.
Terraced gardens spilled down the cliffs in levels of jasmine and ivory roses. Long bridges of pale stone connected towers crowned with the gold of the sun. Markets below shimmered with silks dyed saffron, crimson, and royal blue. Even the guards looked as though they had been painted there— with bronze armors polished beneath the afternoon and spears gleaming like second sons of the sun.
Nothing in Solis fitted the word subtle. Your mother used to say that subtlety was for kingdoms with something to hide.
Solis had power and power deserved spectacle.
Which was why your bedroom ceiling had been painted like the heavens themselves.
You stared at it now from your chaise lounge, one silk-slippered foot dangling over the edge, a book forgotten in your lap as your ladies fluttered uselessly around the room.
“My lady—” “No.”
“Just hear—” “No.”
Lyra, your longest-suffering handmaid, pinched the bridge of her nose.
“You have not even heard what I was going to say.”
“I know enough from your face to know I dislike it.”
“But my lady—.”
“Maybe I'll ask Father to cut off your head if you keep talking,” was your last reply before opening again the neglected book.
Beyond the open balcony doors, warm wind stirred the gauze curtains, carrying the scent of orange blossom from the lower gardens. Somewhere in the palace courtyard, musicians were rehearsing for the evening banquet.
As soon as your ears heard your mind translated it to nobles and diplomacy matters which = your father was about to ruin your day.
You sat upright. “Who has arrived?”
Lyra hesitated and immediately, your stomach dropped.
“My lady—”
In a second you were crawling between the no-longer-so-tidy sheets of your enormous bed, trying to escape any responsibility that might be placed on your shoulders that very night.
“Tell Father I have died.”
The door to your chambers opened.
Your father, King Helios III of Solis, entered with those golden robes that didn't help to walk, ceremonial rings and the expression of a ruler carrying the weight of six hundred years of war and at least three immediate headaches. (Mind you, you were one of them.)
“Father.” You said, voice muffled by the sheets.
He sat next to you, uncovering and holding your cheeks. “My sun flower.”
“Before we begin, I would like it noted that I may be against this conversation.”
“That saves us both time.”
Wasn't that wonderful? Your kind father wasn't going to torture you for long, only as long as necessary.
You narrowed your eyes. “Who is here?”
He did not answer, a bad sign already. Instead, he studied you with the same expression he wore over battlefield maps.
“The delegation from Atlantis arrived this morning.”
Your father continued, because tyranny now extended into parenting. “Their High Council has requested formal peace negotiations.”
“No.”
Well, that was your favorite word today, wasn't it?
“And proposed a political union between our kingdoms.”
His voice remained maddeningly calm but across the room, even Lyra looked like she wanted to flee.
Marriage to Atlantis.
To the kingdom that had spent centuries raiding your ports, destroying your fleets, and sending awful diplomats.
Your father stood by the open balcony doors, where the last of the evening light poured gold across the marble floor and turned the edges of his robes to fire, and for a long moment he said nothing at all, as though he were deciding which version of the truth a daughter deserved—the one told to princesses, fit for history books, or the one reserved for kings, heavy with graves and numbers and the kind of silence left behind after battlefields emptied.
You didn't need to hear the histories again.
For as long as memory had been kept in ink, the Kingdom of Solis and the Kingdom of Atlantis had belonged to one another only in violence.
No historian could agree upon where it had begun.
Some claimed it was the pride—that ancient kings, both too proud to bend and too convinced the gods themselves favored their bloodlines, had turned a bunch of differences into a holy inheritance of hatred. Others insisted it had been love, which was to your eyes eugh; a Solis princess promised to an Atlantean prince centuries ago, drowned before the wedding could take place, her death blamed upon betrayal, her body never returned. There were old songs still sung by servants in the lower kitchens that spoke of storms swallowing ships in mourning and the sea refusing to calm for an entire year.
Your tutors preferred politics.
Trade routes, they said, while pacing before maps stretched across classroom walls, fingers pressing into painted oceans and mountain borders. Salt and grain. Ports and taxes. Control of the eastern coast. Access to the southern straits. Men liked to call war honorable when it was always about ownership.
As a child, you had preferred the pride story. It felt more according to your personality .
Less pathetic than admitting entire kingdoms had slaughtered one another for generations over shipping rights or over the incident of a princess.
Regardless of how it had begun, by the time you were born, hatred was tradition and lived in the palace walls as naturally as sunlight did.
You learned it in stories told by your nursemaid while she brushed your hair before bed, tales of sea-born princes with smiles like sharpened knives and queens who lured sailors into drowning with songs sweet enough to make men forget they had lungs. Or in the way servants spat over their shoulders whenever Atlantean ambassadors were mentioned, as though the very name invited misfortune.
You learned it in your first history lessons, seated far too straight at ten years old while your instructor, old and severe and permanently offended by joy, pointed to battlefields on maps and recited casualty numbers as though they were scripture.
You too knew your great-uncle had died on the western fleet before you really understood what fleets were. You knew your grandmother still refused pearls because they reminded her of Atlantean royal gifts sent during failed negotiations thirty years before. You knew there were entire wings of the palace where portraits had been removed because the people in them had been lost to the war and your mother could not bear to look at the empty spaces their absence left behind.
Even celebration was about that hate.
Victory festivals filled the capital with gold banners and music and dancers in the streets, but always there was the undercurrent—that joy only existed because somewhere else, someone had been defeated.
Atlantis—always Atlantis—remained something distant and monstrous, less a kingdom and more a threat given architecture.
You imagined it often as a child.
Not as it truly was, but as children imagine enemies when they have only stories to build from. A place of endless storms and black oceans, where the sky was always bruised and the people had blue blood.
Their cities were rumored to be carved from the ocean floor itself, their palaces built into cliffs black with salt and age, their people born from sea water and tempers to match.
As a child, you had believed every ridiculous whisper.
That they slept in flooded chambers beneath the moon. That their royal family could call hurricanes with prayer alone. Even that if an Atlantean kissed your hand, your lungs would fill with seawater and scales would sprout all over your body!
You were embarrassingly old before you stopped half-believing Atlanteans did all this stuff.
Outside, a thunder rolled softly somewhere beyond the southern mountains.
Your father had been talking and you heard nothing, his hands clasped behind his back.
“The war has lasted longer than your grandmother’s reign. Our soldiers are exhausted. Trade routes are broken. We can't rebuild villages faster than they can be burned. Every season costs us more lives.”
You crossed your arms resigning yourself to listening to your father's words.
“And who, exactly, is the unfortunate sea creature demanding my hand?”
“Prince Perseus Jackson.”
Prince Perseus Jackson—the heir of Atlantis, called the Tide Prince by enemies and far less flattering names by your generals. Commander of fleets. Breaker of the Eastern Siege.
Oh merciful gods, this could still be a bad joke!
You had believed, with certainty at thirteen, that Prince Perseus had the head of a fish, and not in the metaphorical way.
You remembered announcing this with confidence at breakfast, explaining to your mother that it was the only reasonable explanation for why no formal portrait of him had ever reached Solis, and if the Sea Kingdom was so determined to hide their prince, clearly it was because he had scales and unblinking eyes and perhaps gills where a proper neck ought to be.
Your brother laughed so hard he nearly choked on fruit.
Your mother, with the kind of patience only queens and saints possessed, had simply informed you that royal diplomacy would be significantly more difficult if you insisted on addressing the foreign prince as trout.
Finally the King moved toward the door.
“The formal announcement will not be made until tomorrow evening. You have tonight.”
“For what?”
“To decide whether you will make this difficult with dignity,” He opened the door to get going. “…or dramatically, which I assume is your preference.”
Lyra approached carefully, like one might approach a wild animal considering arson.
“My lady?”
You turned slowly. “If I throw myself from the balcony, do you think they will still make me attend dinner?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
This was tragic.
You walked to the balcony, gripping the stone rail.
Far beyond the golden city, beyond the cliffs and the rivers and the sunlit valleys of Solis, the sea stretched blue and endless toward a kingdom you had never seen.
Somewhere beyond that horizon was the man who apparently intended to marry you.
That same afternoon you were given a letter with the Jackson house seal. It was a deep blue color with subtle marine details embedded in silver ink.
You opened the seal with a small knife, considering at some point using it to tear the paper and send it back to him like that.
The parchment was expensive, thick and smooth beneath your hands, edged in so much silver ink it felt unnecessarily elegant. Even his stationery was smug.
You unfolded the letter slowly, suspicious already.
You expected some beautifully phrased threat disguised as diplomacy, or even the arrogance a lot of men used.
What you did not expect was this:
Dear future wife,
I was informed—repeatedly, and with great suffering on all sides—that it would be politically beneficial for me to write to you before our families force us into the same room. Apparently silence is considered poor courtship over Solis.
I argued that forced marriage should excuse a lack of romance, but your future in-laws are, unfortunately, optimists.
So.
Hello.
By now, I assume your father has explained the arrangement, and I imagine your reaction was somewhere between dignified outrage and the active consideration of murder. If so, I find that deeply reassuring. I would be concerned if you accepted this.
I am told you dislike my kingdom.
In fairness, the feeling is mutual, so at least we begin with honesty.
I know what Solis says of Atlantis. I imagine I have horns by now. Possibly scales. Someone, somewhere, has likely informed you I keep drowned sailors in the palace walls and sharpen swords on their bones.
For the record, only one of those things is true.
I will not insult you by pretending this marriage is romantic.
It is political, inconvenient, and being treated by every advisor around me as though it is the personal triumph of diplomacy itself, which should tell you how unbearable my week has been.
But it may also keep our kingdoms from spending another hundred years trying to bury each other, and I am selfish enough to think that sounds preferable.
You should also know that I did attempt to refuse.
This was received badly.
Mostly because I offered no convincing reason beyond “I would rather not.”
Apparently that is not how treaties work, my future queen princess.
So here we are.
I know enough about you to suspect you are proud, difficult, and entirely too intelligent to tolerate fools for long, which means we may survive this if I am careful and if you are feeling unusually merciful.
I will offer one promise, since everyone else seems determined to offer you expectations.
I do not intend to make a prisoner of you.
If this marriage happens—and it will, because neither of us is being consulted nearly enough—I will not ask for sweetness where there is none, nor obedience where it is not deserved.
That feels, at the very least, like fairer warfare.
Until we meet,
Prince Perseus Jackson.
P.S.
If anyone has told you I have the head of a fish, I regret to inform you the rumor is false. I am unfortunately very handsome.
—
Well, that last part was reassuring if we ignored how narcissistic those last words were. So your future husband was going to be the enemy army general? This could cause a scandal throughout the kingdom.
The next morning arrived with all the grace of an execution as the formal announcement was to be made by sunset which meant, according to the women of the palace, that your suffering needed to begin at dawn.
You were woken not by sunlight, nor birdsong, nor any peaceful luxury afforded to a princesses in a sentimental poem, but by the violent betrayal of curtains being thrown open and six women entering your chambers.
You opened one eye.
“Noooo, five more hours.”
“It is too late for no,” Lyra informed you, crossing the room with the merciless efficiency of a woman who had planned your downfall in advance. “The ambassadors have arrived, your father has requested your presence by evening, the entire court talking about the most scandalous political arrangement of the decade, and Lady Cassandra has already selected your gowns.”
You pulled the pink silk sheets over your head. “Tell them I drowned in cushions.”
“Given the circumstances, that may be interpreted as an insult.”
Fantastic.
You emerged from the blankets with all the dignity of a martyr and stared at the room now transformed into your own personal execution.
Your dressing table had disappeared beneath brushes, combs, perfumes, pins, ribbons, jewels, and enough cosmetics to prepare five royal engagements. Two younger maids were carrying in fresh basins of steaming water scented with lavender and orange blossom. Another stood near the wardrobe, holding garments draped over both arms like ceremonial offerings to an unwilling goddess (you).
At the center of it all stood Lady Cassandra, the royal dressmaker, who regarded human emotion as a minor inconvenience beneath the importance of her tailoring.
An hour later, you were regretting every decision that had led you to birth.
Your hair had been washed in rosewater and combed until your scalp hurt. Your skin had been rubbed with oils that smelled faintly of jasmine. Someone had forced tea into your hands while another woman debated with Lady Cassandra about the dress options.
You sat before the great mirror of the room while half the palace adjusted your existence around you.
“I don't like this,” you muttered as one maid fastened a bracelet around your wrist while another argued over pearls.
You met your own reflection.
Princesses, you had decided long ago, were merely decorations for the palace too.
Everything about the royal presentation was important. From the colors you wore, the stones at your throat, the embroidery at your hem— they were literally selling you out in the eyes of the enemy kingdom.
Unfortunately, Lady Cassandra agreed on that.
She approached carrying the gown and for one terrible moment, you forgot how to speak.
It was blue.
Not the pale blue of spring skies or harmless ribbons, but the deep, impossible blue of the sea just before a storm—the kind sailors prayed to and feared in equal measure. Rich silk spilled like water between her hands, layered with silver-thread embroidery that caught the light like moonlight on waves.
At the bodice, delicate patterns of curling foam and cresting tides had been stitched so finely they seemed alive, winding around your waist and ribs. Tiny freshwater pearls had been sewn into the design too—not enough to seem excessive, but enough that when you moved, they shimmered like drops of sea spray.
The sleeves were long and sheer, trailing at the wrists in translucent silk, while the skirts fell in heavy folds that whispered over the marble floor. At the neckline, subtle silver beading formed the shape of stars and compass points.
The maids moved quickly after that, slipping the gown over your shoulders, fastening hidden closures, smoothing every line until the dress sat against you like a second skin.
It was beautiful and that made you hate it immediately because it suited you.
The blue made your skin glow warm beneath the sunlight and turned the gold in your jewelry brighter and the silver embroidery made you look like a princess being offered to make peace.
Lyra stepped beside you, adjusting the final necklace at your throat—a collar of moonstone and white gold, elegant and cool against your skin.
“Well,” she said softly, studying your reflection with the satisfaction of an artist admiring finished work, “if Prince Percy does not fall in love with you tonight, I shall consider it a insult to the crown.”
You gave her a flat look.
“If Prince Perseus falls in love with me tonight, I will push him into the nearest fountain.”
“That's a romantic beginning.”
“A necessary drowning.”
She laughed, and for a moment, so did you until the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps in the corridor met your doors, by the sort of hushed excitement that only meant one thing.
Someone important had arrived.
You were seated before your mirror while two women debated whether your sleeves required more silver threading when the youngest maid in the room, Elia, abandoned all dignity entirely and rushed toward the balcony windows.
“He’s here.”
“Who,” you asked dryly, though everyone knew exactly who we were talking about.
Elia turned, eyes wide with scandal and delight.
“The Atlantean prince. Their carriage just passed the east gates.”
Half the maids abandoned all pretenses of professionalism and hurried toward the balcony like birds fleeing toward gossip, gathering at the stone rail with urgency. Even Lyra, who prided herself on dignity, and Lady Cassandra, who claimed not to care and still somehow arrived there first.
You remained seated for precisely three seconds before your own curiosity betrayed you.
“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, standing while your hands worked on your hair.
“Completely,” Lyra agreed, already pulling you with her. “Move.”
The balcony overlooked the eastern approach to Helion Keep, where the long marble road curved upward from the city gates through the royal gardens and into the palace courtyards below. From here, on clearer days, you could see nearly half the capital— with gold rooftops, white towers and fountains catching the sunlight.
Now, all you could see was a gathering.
Guards lined the lower courtyard in ceremonial armor; servants moved like frantic ants between columns; even stable hands lingered near the entrance steps, pretending not to stare.
And there, at the center of it all the carriage.
It was impossible to mistake.
Dark as stormwater, polished to a shine that reflected the palace walls around it, the royal carriage of Atlantis stood waiting beneath the archway like a threat wrapped in elegance. Silver detailing curved along its sides in patterns like waves and sea serpents, and the crest upon its door gleamed unmistakably.
Sea-blue banners shifted from its frame in the warm wind with the house mark and the horses were enormous, black and restless, their bridles silver-chained and immaculate.
“I expected something with more fish.”
“Perhaps the fish are inside.”
Elia gasped. “Do you think he really has scales?”
Below, palace officials were gathering near the carriage entrance. Your father stood at the front of them, beside him stood your brother, looking far too entertained by the entire affair.
What a traitor of a brother you had.
One of the younger maids whispered reverently, “Do you think he is handsome?”
Another replied, “I think if he survives meeting her highness, that will be impressive enough.”
One way or another, you didn't get much closer to the balcony like the rest of the maids; only one thought entered your head.
You imagined him inside.
Prince Percy Jackson, heir to Atlantis, commander of fleets, a professional nuisance before even introduction. Perhaps he sat there, enjoying the spectacle, fully aware that half your father’s court was holding its breath for the privilege of watching him step onto stone.
It felt like something an arrogant man would do. That decided immediately if true, you disliked him even more.
You got out of the thought when some of the girls screamed as one of the carriage doors unlatched, the silver handle turning.
And at that exact, divinely cursed moment, the wind changed. Strong mountain wind swept suddenly across the upper terraces, rushing through the balcony in a warm gust that sent every curtain in your chambers billowing like sails. The heavy balcony shutters—usually held open against the stone—slammed inward with violent force.
One struck the marble wall with a crack like thunder and the other shut directly across your line of sight.
Gasps filled the room.
“By the gods—” “Open it!” “I can't see anything—”
By the time the maids reached it, fumbling with the polished bronze latches and silk sleeves and collective despair, the moment below had already passed.
The royal family of Atlantis—whoever they were, however they looked, however much of your immediate future stood among them—were already hidden beneath the palace arches, swallowed whole by marble before your court could properly devour them with its eyes.
The maids stared in open heartbreak, the open doors of the carriage and people below starting to move again. However, you felt strangely calm; you really didn't know if you wanted to see your potential future husband.
The rest of the day went with going from one place to another just to actually prepare you until you were summoned to the Hall of Crowns. The sun had begun its slow descent behind the western cliffs, pouring molten gold through the palace windows and setting the entire world ablaze.
Helion Keep had always been built for this type of spectacle, but nowhere was that more obvious than the great hall.
It stretched the length of the central palace—vast marble columns veined with gold, ceilings painted with the victories of dead rulers, chandeliers of crystal and sunstone hanging high above like captured stars. The floors reflected everything: candlelight, silk hems, polished armor, ambition.
But today the halls of Helion Keep had been transformed for the evening.
Gold lanterns hung from the archways, casting warm light over the polished floors. Musicians played softly from the upper gallery, low harp notes mixing in the environment, it was elegant enough to soothe any temper and expensive enough to remind everyone who was paying all of it.
The long banquet tables stretched through the center of the hall beneath the banners of Solis and Atlantis hanging side by side in what looked, frankly, like a threat.
The sun crest and the sea crest. Gold and blue. Fire n' tide.
At the highest table, beneath the vaulted ceiling painted with gods, sat your father.
On the other end the Queen of Atlantis was exactly what you expected and somehow worse for it—beautiful in the cold way winter storms were beautiful, dressed in silver-threaded navy silk with pearls at her throat like captured moonlight. She looked like a woman who had never raised her voice because she had never needed to.
Beside her sat the King, taller than you expected, broad-shouldered and sharp-faced, wearing his own crown.
And then there was him.
At first, you almost missed him—not because he was a forgettable face, but because he was doing everything in his power to appear as though he would rather be anywhere else in the world.
He was not watching the room, the musicians or ladies laughing between them in a corner.
No, he was looking at his plate with total interest. As though the roasted figs before him had insulted his bloodline and he was deciding whether they deserved to survive being eaten.
For one brief moment, standing at the entrance of the Great Hall with the court pretending not to watch your reaction, you simply stared.
He was, annoyingly, very handsome. Well that was unfortunate.
His dark hair fell slightly untidy despite every visible attempt of the palace staff to make it look presentable with the prettiest sea-green eyes you've probably ever seen.
His face was sharp, with a marked jaw and perfect symmetry, the kind sculptors would spend lifetimes trying and failing to reproduce without accidentally starting religions. Maybe he was some sort of godl— anyways.
There was sun still left on his skin despite the sea kingdom’s colder reputation, bronze against navy silk and silver fastenings.
Beside you, Lyra made a sound suspiciously close to suppressed laughter.
You did not look at her. “Say nothing.”
“I said nothing.” “You were thinking loudly.”
“I am merely relieved for you, my lady. Marriage to a trout would have been very complicated.”
Suddenly there was no more room for private irritation, because your father had moved from his chair and stepped forward from the throne dais and the performance had begun.
“Her Royal Highness,” the herald announced, his voice carrying through the marble, “Princess of Solis, heir of the Sun Court.”
Every eye in the room found you as descended the staircase beside the hall entrance with all the serenity of someone not imagining murder.
The blue gown swept behind you like tidewater, the silver embroidery making soft sounds. The moonstone at your throat felt colder now. Every noble in the room watched as though trying to calculate exactly how much peace cost and whether you looked expensive enough to satisfy the other kingdom.
At the end of the hall, your father extended a hand as you took your place beside him.
Across from you stood the royal family of Atlantis and Percy.
Dear Gods up close was worse. Much worse!
Why couldn't you tear your eyes away from that man? Perhaps it was the surprise of not seeing any scales on his neck or hands. You weren't sure if it was 100% real, but hus skin had freckles on cheeks and hands. What you were certain of was that the skin peeking out from his neck showed a single dark freckle.
The banquet endured for what felt like several consecutive lifetimes. You smiled when required, spoke when demanded, and spent the rest of the evening discovering that there were very few things more exhausting than being discussed as though you were both present and decorative.
Every noble in Solis seemed to have developed an urgent and deeply insincere interest in your happiness.
Every lord from Atlantis looked at you with the politeness of men trying to determine whether you would eventually become their future queen or their prince’s most elegant mistake.
Neither possibility appeared to reassure them.
And at some point, beside you, Percy performed no better.
He was civil, which somehow felt more irritating than open hostility as he answered questions with practiced ease, nodded at all the correct moments, and wore the expression of a man enduring a hostage situation with remarkable restraint.
You caught him staring at the doors more than six times.
But you sympathized because the moment dessert arrived, you briefly considered setting something on fire simply to create an exit.
Unfortunately, your mother had raised you better than that. Your father, regrettably, had not.
It happened just after the final toast. The musicians softened into quieter melodies, wine had made several ambassadors far too confident, and the court had settled into that dangerous part of evening where everyone believed themselves subtle.
Your father leaned toward you with the expression parents wore when they were about to ruin their children’s lives.
“Walk with the prince.”
You turned slowly. “What? No.”
Across the table, Percy’s father was having what appeared to be the exact same conversation.
Percy looked up at you and also said no.
Two kings, separated by kingdoms and centuries of conflict, exchanged the silent understanding of fathers united by mutual disregard for their children’s preferences.
Your father smiled. “It was not a request.”
Naturally.
And so, several minutes later, you found yourself walking with your hand over the arm of Prince Percy Jackson through the western corridors of Helion Keep in a silence so pointed it deserved its own poem.
Two guards followed at a respectful distance, to pretend privacy existed.
Moonlight spilled through tall windows, silver against the marble floors. The evening had cooled; the palace breathed softer at night, its grandeur less performative in the quiet hours.
Your shoes clicked against the stone and his did too.
It felt like an argument waiting to happen.
At last, Percy stopped near one of the smaller receiving rooms overlooking the lower terraces and pushed the door open with the resigned courtesy of a man offering someone the chance to murder him indoors rather than publicly.
You entered first.
The room was big— with velvet chairs no one actually sat in, books no one read, a fireplace large enough to roast tension over properly. The balcony doors stood open to the warm night air, white curtains shifting softly in the breeze.
Behind you, the door closed.
And finally you guys were actually alone. There was no court, no musicians and no parents controlling all your interactions.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke until you turned to look at him.
“I am not marrying you.”
The words left your mouth without mincing words, like finally drawing a blade after hours of polite smiles.
Percy, leaning one shoulder against the door as though preparing for impact, nodded once.
“Yes,” he said. “I had assumed that might be your opening line.”
He had an annoyingly pleasant voice too.
He crossed the room slowly, stopping near the fireplace, hands folded behind his back like a prince would do.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I am also not particularly eager to marry you.”
“Good.” “Excellent.”
You stared at each other, it was going to be a problem if you two talked at the same time like that.
This, at least, felt honest.
You moved toward the balcony instead, needing distance, air and needing the moon to witness your suffering.
“I refuse to believe,” you said, looking out over the gardens below, “that two entire kingdoms have looked at centuries of bloodshed and decided the solution was forcing me to attend dinner with you forever.”
Behind you, Percy gave a quiet sound that might have been an agreement.
“I offered several alternatives,” he said. “Most involved gifting a bunch of ships.”
“How dare yo—” “And yet here I am.”
You turned back.
He had removed the formal mask, or perhaps simply grown tired of wearing it. Without the performance of the court, he looked younger and somehow more dangerous for it—less princely in a portrait and more like an actual man.
You folded your arms. “You wrote a very irritating letter.”
He sighed. “I was forced to write that letter under direct maternal supervision.”
“I could tell.”
“That should concern you. Imagine what I would have sent unsupervised.”
“I assume a blank page and an apology as PS.”
“You are optimistic, princess.”
Despite yourself, your mouth moved in a small smile that formed small dimples.
“You are still arrogant.”
“And you,” he said, with maddening calm, “are exactly as difficult as advertised.”
You narrowed your eyes.
There it was again—that infuriating ease, that careless confidence like he had never once in his life doubted his ability to survive the consequences of his own mouth.
You stepped closer.
“Let us be clear, Prince. I do not care how beloved you are in your charming sea kingdom. I do not care how many poets have embarrassed themselves over your face. I do not care how many battles you have won. I have no intention of becoming another admiring audience member in the Percy Jackson tragedy of excessive self-regard.”
He blinked as you talked and slowly, one corner of his mouth lifted.
“Oh,” he said softly, “you do have a vicious mouth.”
You frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
He stepped closer too, close enough that you could possibly count his freckles and your breaths could mingle if you both exhaled with your mouth.
“For a princess,” he said, voice low with an unmistakable amusement, “you are remarkably unladylike. I had expected elegance and grace.. Perhaps even a soft smile and some very refined passive aggression.”
You stared at him. He continued, clearly enjoying his own survival far too much.
“Instead, I find myself alone at night with a woman who looks like she might stab me with decorative cutlery.”
Your expression did not change. “Do you want me to prove it?”
“See,” he said, almost warmly now, “that. Exactly that. Very concerning. Not at all lady-like.”
“Percy.”
Your first time calling his name and it sounded like a warning in your mouth!
He seemed to like that far too much because he just leaned into your space. “Yes?”
“If you call me unladylike again, I will throw you from my balcony and tell both our kingdoms diplomacy simply failed.”
Private notes of Prince Percy Jackson.
Not intended for royal archives, review, or my mother’s deeply invasive curiosity.
If found, kindly throw it into the sea.
—
I was told, very firmly and by several people, that keeping a written record of this process might be “good for perspective.”
My mother said reflection builds character.
Annabeth, who I am increasingly convinced enjoys watching me suffer, said if I was going to be insufferable about this entire arrangement, I should at least be insufferable on paper where historians could mock me properly.
So here we are.
For the record, I hate it. I hate arranged marriages. And I hate political banquets.
And, perhaps most urgently, I hate the Kingdom of Solis.
That last one should probably be written down with some honesty, since this journal is meant to be useful and not simply an expensive place for me to complain.
In Atlantis, children are taught early that the sun burns just as easily as it warms.
I was raised to distrust them long before I was old to understand why and I'm pretty sure her highness the princess learned just the same way as I did.
In any case, I had heard rumors about the nobles who lived in the city where the royal family resided and how they looked non-human.
Dear journal, the truth is that I was expecting my future queen with fiery hair.
I have met her.
Unfortunately after weeks of council meetings, endless negotiations, and being informed by every living adult that marrying the Princess of Solis would be “historically significant” and “a stabilizing force for the future of both kingdoms,” I can now confirm that history is a malicious thing and should not be trusted.
I had, over the years, heard enough stories about the Sun Princess to build at least six entirely different women in my head.
Depending on who was speaking, she was either impossibly beautiful or terrifying enough to be a monster.
As a child, I was told she probably had claws! Which was fair, considering Solis spent most of my adolescence convinced I had the head of a fish.
Do I look like a trout? Do not answer that.
Still, when I looked up tonight and finally saw the woman I am apparently expected to spend the rest of my life married to, my first thought was not diplomatic at all.
It was, very specifically:
Oh, that is deeply unfortunate. She is beautiful.
Which is a disgrace, I would have preferred her hideous.
She looked like Solis itself had decided to become a person purely to be insufferable about it—elegant in that polished, sunlit way their entire kingdom seems to be, like she has been designed with the sole purpose of making the rest of us feel underdressed.
Beauty, in theory, should not matter. Entire kingdoms are not held together by bone structure and eye contact. Political alliances are not to become more complicated because the person across from you happens to look like the kind of mistake poets ruin themselves over.
And yet she walked into that hall wearing blue, looking like the best mistake to commit ever and for one brief moment I forgot what my mother had just asked me to pay attention to.
I suspect I am going to enjoy arguing with her and I also suspect it may eventually kill me.
The worst part—and I resent writing this—is that I understand why this marriage might work personally.
She would never disappear into someone else’s court, never let herself become ornamental or let anyone mistake the marriage for surrender of her house.
I would hate a wife I could intimidate.
She, I think, would hate a husband who tried.
So at least there is that.
Still, I remain opposed on principle. She is proud, difficult, and probably dangerous, very likely already planning how to murder me to escape this...
And I—sadly—am looking forward to seeing her again.
This is humiliating.
If anyone reads this, I will deny the part where I admitted she was is??? was pretty.
I would rather return to the fish head rumors.
—
The days that followed should, by all political expectation, have been the beginning of something graceful.
The royal betrothals were not promises of love between two people—they were negotiations, alliances and kingdoms trying to teach two unwilling heirs how to stand beside one another without looking as though they planned to commit murder before dessert
And so your parents, in all their wisdom and complete disregard for your peace, would insist upon time spent together.
Walks through the palace gardens beneath careful supervision for some bonding time, lessons on courtly customs and each other's culture or meetings with advisors who would explain, with grave importance, how one properly ruled beside someone they had known for six days and considered a trial sent by the gods.
You'd be made to sit beside him during council, to dine with him, smile beside him while old noblewomen whispered about some invented future heirs as though your body had become the public property.
And worst of all, to walk with him.
It would begin in the lower gardens of Helion Keep, where the white roses climbed the marble walls and the fountains had an incredible amount of decoration dedicated to the sun.
The Queen of Atlantis, Sally, suggested it first, with that serene expression she always wore and your father would agree immediately, because fathers were traitors by nature.
And before either you or Percy could invent a convincing plague, you would find yourselves dismissed beneath the late afternoon sun, sent walking together like characters in one of those terrible romantic poems old ladies adored.
He would offer you his arm because etiquette would demand it and you would take it because both your families watched from afar.
And for several long moments, you walked through the gardens of your childhood in a silence so stiff it might have qualified as architecture.
The sun hung low over Helion Keep, warm and golden against the white stone, turning every fountain to liquid fire. Jasmine climbed the walls in pale blooms, and somewhere beyond the terraces musicians practiced for some other noble event that with no doubt eventually will become your problem.
Beside you, Percy would walk like a man and not like a boy that gave you a headache every 30 minutes. His hand, where your fingers rested lightly at his arm, remained warm.
At last, he would speak.
“I have been informed,” he said, his voice carrying that calm, low amusement you were already beginning to distrust, “that I am expected to learn your favorite flowers.”
“How thrilling for you.”
“I thought so. Apparently this is considered courtship.”
The gardens opened wider here, into a terrace of columns and trailing vines. Below, the cliffs dropped toward the sea, and the wind carried salt even this high, threading through the warmth.
You slowed, so did he.
Percy stood a little apart from you now, though not by much, for the space between you had the uneasy quality of something negotiated rather than chosen, and even that small distance felt fragile beneath the weight of everything neither of you had yet said aloud.
When he spoke again, it was not with haste or provocation, but with a kind of careful deliberation that made it clear he was choosing each thought as though it might be later examined in a court of law.
“In Atlantis,” he began, gaze briefly shifting toward the horizon before returning to you as if measuring your reaction more than the view, “courtship is spoken of in far less poetic terms than I imagine your tutors have taught you here. It is not a matter of flowers, nor music, nor the pleasant illusion that two people might be gently guided toward affection by sufficient candlelight and well-timed conversation. It is instead spoken of as a kind of assessment, wherein one is placed in proximity to another and observed for signs of either compatibility or ruin, and from what I have gathered since arriving in your kingdom, Solis does not seem so different in its practices, only in the way it addresses it.”
You listened without interrupting, though your posture had already begun to harden in response, not because of insult alone, but because there was something irritatingly precise in the way he spoke—as though he had taken the time to learn your world and was now describing it without permission.
He continued, voice conversational in its restraint.
“I was told before arriving that your customs would require me to learn your preferences, and I admit I expected something far simpler, ornamental even, but what I find instead is that nothing here is truly ornamental at all, not your words, not your court, and certainly not you.”
That last part landed differently, though he did not emphasize it, and perhaps that was what made it worse.
You turned slightly toward him, the light catching the embroidery at your sleeve.
“In Solis,” you replied after a pause, your voice quieter now, though no less firm, “we are taught that endurance is not a performance, but a form of loyalty. That one does not measure affection by ease, but by whether something remains standing when ease is gone. It is not meant to be comfortable.”
“For what it is worth,” he said at last, more subdued than before, “I did not expect you to be what you are.”
You glanced at him again, wary now, though not openly so.
“And what, precisely, did you expect me to be?”
Percy seemed to consider this with far more seriousness than the question deserved, “At first,” he said, “I expected red hair.”
You blinked once. “What?”
He nodded once, entirely unashamed.
“Yes, a hair that looked as though it might set curtains ablaze if left unattended. I was told your temper entered rooms before you did, and I thought it only courteous that your appearance should offer a similar warning.”
You stared at him for a long moment.
The late afternoon sun spilled gold over the terrace stones, warming the marble beneath your slippers, and behind you the palace stood bright and watchful, undoubtedly full of nobles who would have paid obscene amounts of money to witness this exact conversation.
“And who,” you asked at last, with dangerous calm, “told you such stupidity?”
“A diplomat from the western coast. Though in fairness, he also insisted I had gills and slept upright in seawater, so perhaps his judgment was not flawless.”
“That man was my uncle.”
Percy let out a slow breath.
“That explains a great deal.”
You should not have found that amusing.
Instead, you folded your arms and resumed walking, forcing him to follow as the path curved past white roses and sun-warmed stone benches built for noblewomen to sit prettily and discuss each other’s ruin.
“And besides the red hair?” you said. “What else did your vast intelligence lead you to expect?”
Percy fell easily back into step beside you, hands clasped behind his back with the infuriating ease of a man too comfortable while offending people.
“I expected someone softer, perhaps more inclined toward performance. Instead, I find someone who speaks like a knight denied wine.”
You gave him a look.
“How devastating for you.”
“Profoundly. I was hoping for an actual bride. Instead I seem to have been promised a very well-dressed goblin.”
You stopped walking again this time so abruptly he nearly took another step before catching himself.
The fountain beside the terrace murmured softly as you turned fully toward him.
“And what, precisely, makes you believe I would ever concern myself with being your bride?”
Percy tilted his head slightly.
“Your father. My mother. Approximately six kingdoms and one old priest.”
There it was again—that calm, infuriating smile, as though he found your temper not alarming but entertaining.
It made you want to commit crimes.
“And you,” you said sweetly, which was always a bad sign, “are far too pleased with yourself for a man who arrived in my kingdom looking like a little kid.”
He placed one hand over his heart in mock injury.
“You’re cruel, my lady.”
“I believe the word is accurate.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer with that easy confidence that made you want to throw things, “accurate would be observing that for all your pride, you are still only a very elegant little tyrant with the disposition of a churl.”
Silence fell as the fountain continued its cheerful betrayal.
You blinked once. “A churl... How dare you.”
He seemed, for the first time, to realize perhaps he had wandered too far but it was too late now. He continued anyway, because his self-preservation was not a skill taught.
“Yes, certainly, sharp-tongued, suspicious, and trying to look like royalty.”
You stepped forward.
“And you,” you said, with a voice low and terribly calm, “are a loggerhead in expensive boots.”
Percy opened his mouth, likely to make it worse, and you did not allow it.
With one sharp movement, both hands planted firmly against his chest, you shoved him backward. There was a brief, glorious second in which surprise overtook princely dignity entirely.
Then Prince Perseus, heir to Atlantis, commander of fleets, terror of the eastern sea fell directly into the fountain.
Water erupted upward in a magnificent, deeply satisfying splash that also dampened a little of your poor clothes.
For one perfect moment, there was only silence.
Then Percy surfaced, soaked, hair falling into his face, staring at you with the expression of a man reconsidering every decision that had led him here.
Water ran from his sleeves, hiis boots and his now wounded pride.
You stood at the edge of the fountain like divine judgment.
“Well,” you said, smoothing your skirts with composure, “at least now you may feel more at home. Do try not to call for dolphins. The palace staff is already overworked.”
For once—miraculously—he had nothing to say.
You inclined your head with all the grace expected of a future queen.
“Sleep well, Your Highness. Do give my regards to the fish.”
And with that, before he could recover either dignity or a reply, you turned and walked back toward the palace.
Your spine remained perfectly straight but your heart was beating far too fast.
Behind you, somewhere between outrage and shame, Percy shouted your name across the gardens.
Servants moved through the corridors with the discretion of people who absolutely knew everything that happened. Noblewomen spoke in soft voices behind jeweled fans. Somewhere, without question, your aunt had received three separate and wildly inaccurate versions of whatever unfortunate spectacle had occurred in the western gardens.
You had pushed the Prince of Atlantis into a fountain.
In your defense, he had deserved it entirely.
You sat before your mirror while Lyra adjusted the final fastening at the back of your gown, her silence was talking for her.
Finally she said, very carefully, “I hear His Highness required assistance returning from the lower terraces.”
You met her gaze in the mirror. “I am sure the fish were delighted to have him back.”
She pressed her lips together. “My lady.”
“He called me a churl.”
Lyra nodded solemnly, as though discussing matters of state. “A grave offense.”
That, apparently, was the end of the sympathy, because moments later she stepped back, satisfied with your appearance, and said with the merciless calm of a woman, “Try not to drown him again before dessert. It would create paperwork.”
“No promises.”
Tonight’s gown was softer than the first, though no less beautiful—ivory silk threaded with pale gold and your hair pinned back with pearl combs, your jewelry lighter.
The problem with dignity, you had discovered, was that it was very difficult to maintain when one was still remembering the exact look on a prince’s face as he disappeared into a fountain.
You should not have been pleased, but you were.
By the time you entered the Great Hall, dinner had already begun.
The chandeliers burned warm above the long tables, scattering gold across polished silver and crystal goblets. Music drifted from the gallery overhead, soft for you to be ignored and the banners of Solis and Atlantis still hung together in stately disapproval, as though even fabric objected to the arrangement.
At the high table, your father was already seated, speaking quietly with the King and Queen of the other kingdom. And Percy was not there.
That was interesting, and a minor annoyance since your site was still next to his, if he wasn't there it would be very noticeable and you would be bombarded with questions.
But lucky you were, Percy entered as you took your seat.
Changed, thankfully, into dry clothes, though whoever had assisted him clearly deserved a raise for attempting to restore dignity to a man recently defeated by the decorative architecture that was the fountain.
His dark hair was still slightly damp, curling at the edges and he wore deep navy tonight, embroidered in silver at the collar and cuffs, the color making the bronze of his skin warm beneath candlelight.
His mother looked up at him once, only once.
Her eyes moved from his still-damp hair to the faint scrape at one cuff, then toward you.
At last she said, in the calmest voice imaginable, “Did you enjoy the gardens?”
You looked very carefully at your plate and your father suddenly found his wine fascinating.
Percy, without breaking, replied, “Immensely.”
That was all, the queen gave a small smile, nothing more.
He sat beside you, the chair making the smallest sound against marble. You did not look at him and he did not look at you.
The dinner resumed for approximately twelve seconds.
Then your aunt— a menace and a professional destroyer of peace—leaned forward from halfway down the table and said, far too brightly, “It is so lovely to see young people spending time together before the formal engagement. There is such a difference between duty and genuine affection, is there not?”
You closed your eyes briefly as Percy took a very slow sip of his drink.
Queen Sally, bless her terrifying soul, replied, “Indeed. I find mutual understanding far more reliable than charm.”
Your aunt sighed dreamily. “And did the two of you enjoy your walk?”
Percy set down his glass, without turning his head to look at you, he said, “I found it refreshing.”
You kept your own smile perfectly in place.
“How wonderful. I thought you looked more relaxed afterward.”
“I nearly drowned.”
You ended up talking. “And yet, bravely, you survived.”
“Your disappointment wounds me.”
“Be patient. I am sure another opportunity will present itself.”
Across the table, your aunt clasped her hands.
“They are already teasing one another. How sweet!”
Private Journal of Prince Percy Jackson.
To be kept far from my mother, the royal council, and any servant. Should this be discovered, I will deny its existence, and possibly fake my own death.
—
There are many ways in which a prince imagines humiliation may arrive.
One thinks of battles lost, of treaties broken in full view of rival courts, of saying the wrong thing before kings who remember such errors for decades and repeat them at every feast thereafter. One does not, generally, imagine that dignity will be destroyed by being pushed bodily into a decorative fountain by the woman one is expected to marry.
And yet, here we are.
I feel it important to record the event with complete honesty, if only because history has a terrible habit of making fools appear noble, and if I am to suffer, I would prefer future generations understand precisely how undignified the suffering was.
The fountain was cold... Needlessly cold.
It was also shallow and deep, which I suspect was an architectural decision made by someone who hated princes and wished to leave opportunities available for women with good aim.
There were swans nearby.
I do not know why this detail feels important, only that it does. There is something especially offensive about public humiliation occurring beneath the judgment of birds.
I had called her a churl.
In fairness, she had earned it.
In further fairness, I had perhaps underestimated how quickly a Princess of Solis might choose violence when presented with minor provocation. She did not argue nor threaten. She simply looked at me with the expression of someone reaching a deeply personal conclusion and then removed me from dry land.
Well, I was looking into those beautiful eyes and forgot I just insulted her.
There was one brief moment—one single, sacred second—where I understood exactly what was happening and had time only to regret my mouth and the long history of choices that had shaped it.
Then water and her.
She looked magnificent.
This is, perhaps, the root of the problem.
She stood there in all that royal composure, with sunlight on her dress, pearls catching the light, looking less like a princess and more like some old god of vengeance who had grown tired of patience and decided it was my time.
She told me not to call for dolphins.
And the worst part—the truly humiliating, soul-damaging part—is that I nearly laughed.
Not immediately, of course. At first there was outrage and a wounded pride. There was the cold and dripping indignity of climbing out of a fountain while two palace guards looked at the horizon in an effort to preserve everyone’s future.
But on the walk back, with my boots ruined and my dignity somewhere beneath a stone, I found myself trying not to smile like a complete idiot.
There is something alarmingly attractive about honesty when it arrives wearing pearls.
I dislike writing that and I dislike thinking about it even more.
The truth is that she is, for my disgrace, a little too much my type, which feels like a betrayal arranged by the gods for their own amusement.
I had hoped—sincerely and desperately—that she would be easier to resent.I wanted that the marriage could become little more than duty and I could respect from a distance and never think about after dinner.
Instead, I have been presented with a woman who looks at me like she is deciding whether I would improve the landscape as a corpse.
And apparently, for reasons I would rather not examine too closely, that is doing something to me.
She is proud and clever. She has pretty eyes, a beautiful smile and a lovely laugh.
This is not ideal in a future wife.
It is, however, very much ideal in the sort of woman one writes terrible poetry about.
I am trying not to be that man but it is not going well.
Every person in this palace speaks of the wedding as though it has already happened.
They discuss fabrics, who’s coming, the ceremonies, the joining of courts, the endless practical machinery of binding these kingdoms together, and all of it with that tone nobles use when speaking about your future as though you are not sitting directly in front of them holding a knife.
And then comes the matter of having heirs. I won’t enter in detail for my own good tonight.
Thanks to my own terrible mind, I cannot hear it without thinking of her and is unacceptable.
I would like to return to simpler concerns, such as war because now I find myself in the middle of council meetings wondering absurd things, like whether she would teach our children to be crazy like her or whether they would simply inherit it naturally. Whether they would have her eyes when she is angry, or my talent for making situations worse.
This is madness.
I have known this woman for what feels like six minutes and one attempted murder.
I need to stop writing now, it's late and im writing strange things.
This journal is becoming evidence.
—
Time, unfortunately, did what time always did—make things more complicated.
It would have been far easier if Percy Jackson had remained insufferable in simple and obvious ways.
If he had been nothing more than a boy wrapped in expensive silk, with every conversation ended in some sort of offense and every shared glance in the mutual certainty that history had been correct and your kingdoms were better kept apart.
But Percy, infuriatingly, insisted on becoming a person that actually thought of you.
Weeks passed after the fountain incident, and with them came back the machinery of royal expectation. Walks through the gardens became routine rather than punishment, the shared dinners were unavoidable, but got ordinary. You sat beside one another during council meetings where old men argued over the borders as though none of them had created the problem.
You learned of his silence a lot, he grew quieter when he was truly angry.
He also had the infuriating habit of leaning back in his chair during council as though he were bored, only to speak once and somehow say the most sensible thing in the room.
He was kinder to servants than most princes bothered to be and he laughed rarely, but when he did it was sudden and unguarded, you kinda liked hearing it.
And worse was that he listened and not because the courtship required it.
When you spoke of Solis, of the southern provinces,even of the people your father’s council liked to reduce to numbers, Percy listened like he was trying to really understand you rather than simply waiting for his turn to be right.
You hated how much that mattered deep inside.
Well, he still annoyed you constantly.
He still smiled at the wrong moments and said things purely to test your patience or walked through your palace one poor decision away from being banned permanently.
The western library was one of the oldest rooms in the palace, built in stone that held the warmth of the day long after sunset. Tall windows opened toward the cliffs, beyond them the sea stretched and it smelled of old paper, candle wax, and the kind of silence only old places knew how to keep.
Percy was standing by one of the long tables near the windows, sleeves rolled to his forearms, reading through one of your father’s maritime records with an offended expression because of poor naval strategy.
You sat opposite him, pretending to read when you were actually watching him be irritated by other people’s incompetence.
It had become embarrassingly easy.
Weeks ago, you would have called him stupid for correcting your generals…
Now, you were beginning to suspect he was often right, but it was intolerable.
The room was quiet enough that the turning of a page sounded significant and outside, the sound of the sea seemed to be loud even when it was miles away.
Inside, Percy frowned at a map.
“This,” he said at last, tapping the parchment with the disapproval of a priest condemning sin, “is either the worst trade route I have ever seen or a very elaborate attempt of suicide.”
You looked up from your book. “It was designed by Lord Cassian.”
Percy glanced at you. “Wow, that explains everything.”
“Be careful,” you said. “If my father hears you insulting his council again, he may decide peace was a mistake.”
“Your father has watched me survive three formal dinners with your aunt. I believe he considers me battle-tested.”
“That is fair.”
He smiled then, faintly, and the way your heart jumped unsettled you in ways you were not prepared to name.
When did it become so easy? The arguments are softer and the silences easier in a way.
You had learned how he thought about some cultural things from your land or how when he was truly tired, he rubbed at the scar near his jaw without noticing or how his sarcasm came off when he was uncomfortable.
You had not meant to notice these things, really! You had certainly not meant to care.
And yet you do care and you do notice.
The candles burned lower, the sky outside was darkening as you two relied on the presence of the other.
Then came footsteps— fast and uneven. They weren’t the soft, practiced silent ones from the servants moving through the halls as though they were part of the walls themselves, nor the steady, unhurried tread of guards who carried all that armor. These steps were hurried, careless with panic, striking against the marble with force enough to pull both of you from the fragile stillness of the library.
A messenger appeared in the doorway, breathless and pale, his face drained so completely of color that for a moment you thought he saw a ghost. It was remarkable, the way fear could enter a room before a single word came.
Both of you stood at once.
That was another thing about being raised in courts—you learned young that there were expressions more powerful than announcements, that sometimes a single look could deliver catastrophe long before anyone dared say it aloud.
Something had happened and it was bad.
The messenger bowed quickly, the movement clumsy with urgency.
“My lady… Your Highness.” His voice was strained, and already your stomach had begun to turn.
“There has been word from the eastern coast.”
The silence got worse over the library, heavy and awaiting, even the crackling candles seemed to quiet. Percy straightened beside the table, every trace of ease disappearing from his posture, and you felt your own hands tremble a bit where they rested against the polished wood.
The eastern coast, close to the disputed waters.
The messenger swallowed hard, and in that small movement you could see how much he wished not to be the one delivering this.
“One of the Solis patrol ships near the border was attacked at dawn. It was intercepted near the reefs beyond Thalor Point.”
Your pulse slowed but not with calm, but with the kind of dread so deep it made everything inside you go frighteningly still.
“By whom?” you asked, though the answer was already gathering like a storm behind your ribs.
The messenger hesitated.
“Survivors report Atlantian sails.”
The sentence landed like steel driven through bone.
For a moment, no one moved. The room itself seemed suspended around those four words—the library, the candles flickering low, the endless sea beyond the windows, all of it held in place by that single sentence.
Atlantian sails.
Four words, and suddenly you were not standing in the palace library but sitting as a child in the history rooms, listening to your tutors show wars across faded maps with ink-stained fingers, marking coastlines where your people had drowned, where fathers and brothers and sons had vanished into the sea and never returned.
Atlantian sails.
Stories of burned ships with skeletons on black water and southern tides running red from the blood of your people.
Atlantis.
Beside you, Percy had gone very still.
He was no longer the man with you in the gardens, sunlight in his hair and teasing he pretended not to mean. Now he was simply that prince from Atlantis.
And suddenly, you hated how much that mattered to you.
The messenger continued, his voice low, careful, as though speaking too loudly might shatter what little peace remained.
“Three confirmed dead. Several wounded. The ship barely made it to port. The council has already been summoned.”
Every fragile month of peace—every dinner, every forced alliance, every diplomatic smile—is already beginning to splinter beneath the weight of that old suspicion.
You turned to Percy just to look at him.
At the navy silk draped over his shoulders and that impossible green of his eyes and suddenly it felt absurd—how easily you had let yourself forget what his name meant.
His gaze met yours, and there it was the same terrible understanding.
You still were enemies, maybe with better manners and almost let you forget you were enemies at all.
Your voice was colder than you intended, but perhaps honesty did that to you.
“Were they under your banners?”
Percy’s jaw tightened, and for the first time since you had met him, he looked like someone standing on the edge of a war he could not stop. “I do not know.”
You swallowed against the bitterness rising in your throat. “But they were yours.”
Something changed in his face then—not anger but for sure hurt.
You could feel the slow rebuilding of walls you had foolishly believed were coming down, stone by stone.
“They may have acted without orders,” he said, his voice controlled. “There are captains in disputed waters who still don't know about the new peace we are trying to create.”
You let out a short, humorless breath. “How convenient.”
His eyes narrowed. “Careful.”
You stepped forward, your fury demanded movement and standing there with his gaze trying to read you was too much.
“No,” you said, your voice cutting through the room with more force than you intended. “My people are dead.”
His answer came low and stripped of every softness you had come to know in him.
“And mine have died in those same waters for generations. By the Gods, do not speak to me like I don’t know.”
You folded your arms, it was the only way to stop your hands from shaking. You held his gaze and forced the question out.
“Then tell me honestly, Prince—if your council decides this was justified, if Atlantis claims those waters again, if this peace fractures the way everyone always said it would… where exactly do you stand?”
He did not answer immediately and to be honest, since you had met him, this was the first time you were afraid of what he would say.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet enough that it felt like a blade pressed carefully between your ribs. “Where I have always stood. With my people.”
Of course he did. What else had you expected?
All your conversations in the gardens could outweigh centuries of blood? That one prince could become something other than the sea he came from?
You nodded once. “As do I.”
You turned toward the door, if you looked at him one moment longer, you might say something unforgivable or ,even worse, you would cry.
To say that you walked to your quarters is something, because if anyone was to ask a servant about your wing, they would say that they heard muffled screams.
Your pillow is wonderful for screaming and letting out all your feelings.
The council chamber had been built for war a long, looong time ago so it's normal it sat beneath the oldest wing of the palace, part of the room was carved into the stone of the mountain, the walls were thick to keep secrets and you never saw windows open there, it was probably one of the darkest places in the whole kingdom.
By the time you arrived, nearly everyone was already there.
Your father stood at the head of the great oak table, one hand braced against its edge. Beside him, your generals were gathered. Lords from the eastern provinces spoke in low, urgent voices.
Across from them stood the royal family of Atlantis.
King Poseidon looked exactly as powerful men did when forced to defend things they had not broken but would be expected to answer for all the same. The queen sat beside him, composed and still.
And Percy stood near his father, shoulders straight and the expression guarded.
You took your place beside your father.
The captain of the attacked patrol ship stood near the center of the room, arm bound in fresh linen and he looked exhausted.
Your father nodded once. “Speak.”
The captain swallowed.
“At dawn we were running patrol near the eastern reefs, close to Thalor Point. Visibility was poor, there was a lot of fog over the water, heavy enough to swallow the distance to the port. We spotted sails before we heard them.”
His voice roughened.
“Atlantian sails, they closed fast and were armed. There wasn't a signal offered bir request for passage.”
Your hands curled against the table.
One of your generals slammed a hand against the wood.
“Pirates do not fly royal banners.”
“No,” another lord said darkly, “but princes do.”
Across the table, King Poseidon’s expression hardened.
One of the eastern lords stepped forward, the grief making him brave and foolish in equal measure.
“For generations Atlantis has called those waters disputed only when it wished to steal them. How many treaties must we sign before your captains learn they do not own every place they can reach?”
Poseidon’s reply came like stone.
“And how many times must Solis build fortresses along shared waters before you stop calling expansion defense?”
The argument erupted with that, the voices rose, accusations started to fly over your head, some maps were unrolled and the borders stabbed at.
You had grown up watching councils like this from doorways, hidden behind the pillars while adults argued over the shape of your future.
Through all of it, Percy remained silent with his hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the maps and his jaw tight betraying what the rest of him refused to show.
When he finally spoke, it cut cleanly through the noise.
“If my father had ordered an attack,” he said, voice steady, “you would not be debating whether it happened.”
Every eye turned to look at the boy as he continued.
“This was not sanctioned by Atlantis. If we intended war, you would not be receiving apologies. You would be receiving fleets.”
One general sneered. “Don't be conceited, kid.”
“I’m honest,” Percy said. “That’s something both our kingdoms claim to value when convenient.”
Your father watched him carefully. “And what do you propose, Prince?”
Percy stepped toward the table.
“Find the captain responsible before this becomes an excuse for every man in the room to indulge a war already wanted.”
One of your lords laughed sharply. “And we are simply to trust Atlantis to investigate itself?”
“No,” Percy replied. “You are to trust that I would not stand here defending cowards. If an Atlantian captain attacked under our banners without command, then he has endangered not only your men but my kingdom. I will not protect him.”
Your father studied him for a long moment and then looked at you not as king but as your father.
He wanted your judgment because everyone in this room had seen the walks, the dinners and the fragile attempt at peace between heirs. Your opinion mattered.
You looked at Percy and you realized with sudden, miserable clarity that both things were true.
He was the enemy and he was not.
Your voice, when it came, was measured. “If this was unsanctioned, then the guilty should answer for it.”
The dark-haired young man gave a small smile while you were speaking.
“If Solis answers blood with blind blood, then we are not defending peace. We are merely admitting we never wanted it.”
One of the generals muttered, darkly with the suspicion of a man who had buried many friends. “And if Atlantis lies?”
Your father said nothing, King Poseidon’s expression didn't give away his thoughts and several lords shifted, preparing for another round of arguments.
But to your surprise Percy stepped forward.
The prince of Atlantis stood beneath the torchlight, shoulders straight, gaze steady, looking not at the general asking but at you.
When he spoke, his voice carried cleanly through the chamber. “If Atlantis lies, then let the blame fall first upon me.”
Percy did not look away.
“I stand with my people,” he said, now it was only the truth stripped bare to hurt. “I always will. I am the son of Atlantis before I am anything else. Its blood is mine, its burdens are mine, and if war comes, I will stand before it, not behind.”
Your breath had been expelled from your lungs, this mattered because that was his answer.
Yet he continued.
“But do not mistake loyalty for blindness.”
His eyes remained on yours.
“If one of ours has done this—if an Atlantian captain sailed beneath our banners and spilled Solis blood for vengeance, or for the comfort of hatred—then I will not defend him. I will drag his name into the light myself.”
Percy’s voice lowered but no less steady for it. “I did not come here to inherit another century of graves.”
You opened your mouth to give an answer but he didn't let you talk.
“And I did not come here to ask for peace only to betray the woman I intend to have beside me.”
The words struck harder than the shouting of men in the room and across the table, your aunt nearly stopped breathing from joy.
Percy, apparently, had chosen violence against your heart.
Indeed your heart was betraying you in ways you intended to punish later.
“When I say I stand with my people, Princess, understand that I do not separate you from that future.”
Your throat felt dangerously tight.
“This marriage was meant to quiet kingdoms. Fine. Let it begin there. Let duty open the door if it must. But I will not stand in this chamber and speak of alliances as though you are merely another clause written into a treaty.”
It's not like the room has disappeared, your father was still there, everyone was still there and somehow at the same time none of it existed.
It was only him and his softening voice.
“If you become my wife, you will not be an obligation I endure for peace. You will be my queen. Mine to honor before courts and councils, mine to protect when kingdoms are against us, mine to stand beside—not behind, you'll never be behind.”
You felt like you were going to faint when your brain reacted: he was in front of you and, and painfully slowly, knelt on one knee to take your hands, which were trembling like leaves.
“And if I must choose between disappointing old men who worship war and disappointing the woman I would ask to rule beside me, then let the gods hear me plainly now—”
His gaze held yours like a vow was being made.
“—I would sooner let kingdoms burn than fail her.”
Terrible, magnificent silence.
And you— you stood there with your trembling hands and jumping heart, trying very hard to remember how breathing worked.
Because Percy Jackson, prince of Atlantis, had just declared such love words in the middle of a war council.
Like an idiot! A beautiful, infuriating idiot.
Your father cleared his throat once, but his mouth showed a small smile and King Poseidon looked at the ceiling, perhaps asking the gods for quieter sons.
“Your Highness,” you said, “that was either the most persuasive political argument I have ever heard…or the most elaborate public courtship attempt in history.”
At last—finally—Percy smiled.
“Can it not be both?”
By the time the council chamber had finally emptied, the palace had fallen into a peculiar silence only the deepest hours of night could create, when even the walls seemed exhausted by the weight of the day and every corridor felt longer than it had in daylight.
You were walking quickly to your chambers with your cheeks getting deep in color.
It wasn’t like you were fleeing, you refused even in your own mind to call it that!
If you slowed and allowed yourself even a single moment of stillness—you would have to think, and thinking, after what had happened in that council chamber, would have your head spining.
Your pulse had not yet remembered to behave like normal.
Your father had said nothing as you left, which was infinitely worse than if he had chosen to give you both a talk.
Your aunt, on the other hand, had looked radiant with a kind of joy usually reserved for coronations and public scandals, and you had no doubt whatsoever that by morning she would have transformed Percy’s words into some elaborate thing involving grandchildren.
You intended never to forgive either of them.
Percy had stood in the middle of a war council, before your father and his own, before generals and men and all the hatred your kingdoms had spent centuries perfecting, and had looked at you as though vows were so simple.
As though loving you was not about the war.
You hated him for that but hated yourself more for the terrible, humiliating truth that part of you had wanted him to say it again.
Behind you, footsteps were approaching.
You already knew the sound of his damned boots, the irritating calm of a man who had just dismantled your entire peace of mind and still believed he had the right to continue speaking.
“Princess.”
You kept walking. “No.”
There was a brief silence behind you, followed by the unmistakable sound of him quickening his pace, and then his voice again, closer now.
“Unfortunately, that is not specific enough to be useful.”
You reached the turn of the corridor with every intention of continuing, of disappearing into your chambers and locking the door firmly and condemning every poor decision your life had made as suddenly his hand closed around your wrist.
The movement stopped you so abruptly your breath caught and your pulse betraying you in one violent, humiliating motion.
“Let go.”
Percy stood close enough now that the corridor seemed smaller for it and his voice, “No.”
The sheer audacity of him!
You stared at him with all the fury you could still afford.
“In case the council chamber was not sufficient humiliation for one evening, have you now decided that physically restraining foreign princesses is the next great strategy in mind?”
“I decided,” he said, “that if I let you walk away now, you would spend the entire night being furious and I would spend the entire night with no rest, so I find both possibilities intolerable.”
Your fingers curled tightly at your side. “You should have considered that before declaring yourself like some mad knight in front of everyone.”
“And yet,” he said, stepping half a pace closer, “strangely enough, I do not regret it.”
“That makes one of us.”
His gaze searched yours, he had the prettiest gems as ocular globes… and those puppy eyes…
“No,” he said softly. “It doesn’t.”
You tried to pull your hand free as he did not tighten his grip, but neither did he release you.
“Look at me.” “I am looking at you.”
“No,” he said, “you are trying very hard not to.”
“How dare you.”
Percy’s thumb shifted slightly against your wrist, a small movement, barely anything, and somehow it felt more intimate than if he had kissed you then and there. Why did your brain think of kissing him so bad?
“I am beginning to think,” he was giving a small laugh away, “that is how most of our important conversations begin.”
“In the council chamber, in front of both our kingdoms, you spoke as though—”
His expression changed then, the prince receding and the man remaining.
“As though what?”
You lifted your chin. “As though I mattered to you beyond treaties and borders and that noble performance you were attempting to offer your audience.”
For a moment, he just looked at you as he released your wrist.
“Did you truly think I would say those things for politics?”
Your throat felt tight with the answer and your voice lowered despite yourself as if you were scared someone heard.
“Did you mean it?”
Percy held your gaze with no wit left between you to hide behind.
“Yes.”
Your heart betrayed you immediately.
You hated it and hated him for making the truth sound reachable.
So like a fool, you made it worse. “Which part?”
His brow moved faintly.
“The peace? The alliance? The declaration dramatic enough to shorten my father’s life by several years?”
You stepped closer despite yourself, because if you were to be ruined, you would at least be honest in it.
“No,” you said, quieter now. “Not that. Me… Did- Did you mean me?”
“You are the only part of this I’m certain about, my lady.”
He lifted his hand again, slower this time, but it didn’t go to your hand or wrist, oh no, his fingers touched your jaw.
“I would stand with my people,” he said. “I would fight for them, bleed for them, carry every duty they place upon my name. But none of that changes what I know when I look at you.”
His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, and gods, if you really kissed him would it be so bad?
“I did not expect you and I certainly did not want this. It would have been simpler if I disliked you. Simpler if you were merely beautiful, or merely cruel, or merely someone I could survive beside without ever truly seeing.”
His fingers caressed your cheek. “But you are none of those things.”
Your voice was barely yours. “And what am I, then?”
His gaze dropped to your mouth like he no longer intended to fight.
“You are the woman I would choose even if peace didn’t demand it. You are the person I find myself thinking of when I should be thinking of fleets and the thousand practical things princes are meant to care about.”
Your mouth gave a smile as your hands went to his chest, “You are insufferable.”
“And yet,” he said, his forehead nearly brushing yours now, “you are still holding.”
That was enough. You kissed him first.
It was a kiss with weeks of restraint collapsing under its own weight, anger and relief and want and the unbearable certainty that somewhere between hating him and understanding him, you had become hopelessly and disastrously attached.
His hand moved to your waist, yours caught at his collar.
Someone—perhaps both of you—made several decisions neither kingdom would approve of and history would likely judge harshly.
It was absolutely inappropriate for a palace corridor three floors from your father’s chambers but it was perfect.
And when you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and for a moment neither of you spoke, because some things, once they happened, made language feel smaller than it had before.
If it weren't for the fact that your entire body and mind were so focused on the prince in front of you, you would have sworn it was a lie when Percy exhaled softly “I love you”.
Private Journal of Prince Percy Jackson.
To be kept far AWAYYY from my mother, the queen.
—
This was meant, when first I began it, to be a record of my path to discipline and thought, of the observations expected of a prince who intends one day to rule without error, and yet tonight I find that it has become something far less dignified, for I am writing not of things involving this nor even of the fragile peace that holds our kingdoms apart, but of her.
We kissed.
I attempt to write it with composure, to frame it as an event of little consequence, an impulsive misstep best forgotten by morning, but the truth refuses this, and so I am left with the plain, humiliating admission that we kissed in a corridor and now has become a place I will not be able to pass again without remembering it in full.
She smiled, and I find that I cannot write that simply and move on, for it was not the smile she offers in court nor the sharper one she uses as a weapon.
It felt— No, I will not write that.
I told her that I would choose her, that even if peace had not demanded this union, even if our kingdoms had never thought to bind us together in the hope of ending centuries of bloodshed, I would still choose her, and I said it without calculation, without weighing consequence, as though the truth of it required no consideration at all.
This is not how I have been taught to speak and is not how I have been taught to think.
And yet it is how I spoke, and worse, it is how I meant it.
At one point, in what I must classify as a complete collapse of discipline, I found myself writing—
my wife, my wife, my wife
I find the word returning with an ease that suggests this is not a passing thought but a developing problem.
my future wife
No, that is worse, for it implies expectation rather than an actual thing happening, and I refuse to grant my own thoughts that level of confidence.
the woman I am to marry
This is correct but insufficient because she’s going to be my queen.
I may have developed the need to have her by my side forever.
—
How did you end up in this situation? I mean, yes, it was your wedding night and the marriage was supposed to be consummated, you got prepared for that, but you were hoping to have a few drinks, talk to your dear parents and family, and... Seriously, all because of a tradition?
One moment there was the ceremony still clinging to the air like heavy perfume— with the oaths spoken and the weight of a thousand watching eyes pressing down—and the next, everything broke into motion, into sound, into laughter and applause.
Men and women of the court, soldiers and even the attendants who only moments before had been standing like statues, now moving with a jubilanty as though this had always been the point of the entire affair.
Someone spoke your name in celebration and suddenly the ground left you.
The sudden loss of ground startled something unguarded in you, your hand instinctively catching at the nearest solid thing—which, to your immediate and profound irritation, was Percy.
He, too, had been taken by surprise, though he hid it better, his posture adjusting as several men hoisted him upward with far less ceremony than you had been granted, the contrast not lost on anyone present.
Some women tried to take the various fabrics and pearls you were wearing, but they were only able to take out shoes and accessories in your hair.
A roar of approval rose through the hall.
“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice carrying to reach you over the noise.
You held his gaze, refusing to let the situation unbalance you further than it already had.
“If I fall,” you said, your tone even despite the circumstances, “I shall ensure you are blamed for it.”
There were petals on the way—scattered, thrown, caught in your hair and on your dress, their scent sweet.
The doors ahead grew fewer, more private.
And then, at last, you reached it; your shared chambers.
The doors were thrown open with force, the room beyond lit in warm gold, prepared in a way that left very little to the imagination of anyone who had arranged it.
You were carried inside first and set down with far more care than you expected, your feet meeting the soft bed.
A moment later, Percy was lowered beside you.
The noise lingered at the threshold as the last of the laughter and well-wishes spilling inward before the doors began to close, as though savoring the final moments of public presence before sealing you both as newly weds.
Your eyes really didn't know if they could meet those of your now husband; the room felt warmer than the fireplace should been able to bring.
Percy pushed himself up, his breaths heavy from the rough handling, and for you saw his body. The suit, a tailored thing of midnight wool with silver accents, had already been loosened during the toasts, all the buttons undone at the chest, exposing the tanned planes of his torso.
He moved first, sliding off the bed to kneel at its edge and moving you with him.
Your now husband caresses the fabrics; the wedding dress is heavy on velvets, rich wools, golden embroidery, and pearls. The truth is, it's not very easy to remove.
The bed was high, so you basically could see him, and damn, why was he on his knees fiddling with your silky clothes?
His fingers tugged at the layers of the dress, bunching the velvet skirts up your thighs. The fabric was so pretty on you but he wasn't sad about taking it off if he could connect with your body and you.
His fingers, callused from sword hilts and rigging sails, tugged at the laces of your gown, but the thing was a fortress of fabric, heavy with wools and pearls that resisted his impatience.
“Fuck this,” he muttered, voice low and rough, like gravel under boots.
He wasn't gentle about it, yanking at the bodice until the golden threads strained and exposed the swell of your breasts to the cool air. You gasped, but he didn't stop, his hands roaming lower, bunching the skirts up to your hips.
God, he didn't have enough patience right now to take all your clothes off properly so the poor wedding dress stayed half-on.
His mouth was on you before you could catch the breath, hot and insistent, trailing kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You felt the scrape of his stubble, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your dressed core, making your pussy clench in anticipation.
Percy Jackson, the man you hated so much, was now parting your legs with those strong hands, his eyes dark with want.
He hooked one arm under your knee, spreading you wider, and then his fingers were there—the rough fingerpads brushing against your underwear and finally swollen folds.
You were a soppy mess, slick from the tension of the day and the way he'd been staring at you during the vows, like he was undressing you with his gaze alone.
“You're soaked,” he growled, a hint of approval lacing his tone as he slid one finger along your slit, teasing the entrance before pushing in slowly.
The stretch was immediate, his touch firm but not rushed, circling your clit with the thumb while that finger curled inside you.
Oh gods, his mouth was so close now, lips brushing your thigh as he licked a stripe up the soft skin, tasting the salt of your anticipation. Your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the heat, and he chuckled against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine.
Then finally, you felt the first lick of his tongue—flat and broad, dragging over your pussy with such slowness. His tastebuds rasped against your sensitive flesh, the slightest inch of his tongue squeezing in alongside his finger, probing deeper.
It was messy, the sounds of his breath filling the room as he lapped at you, sucking gently on your clit before delving back down.
To say that you were euphoric at this moment would be an understatement because you had possibly just opened the gates of heaven.
But still… still you felt nervous, with a million thoughts going on when his mouth connected your most intimate zone and so the words blurted out theirself.
“Wait.. I'm not,” a small moan comes out. “I’ve never done this before..”
His mouth, pink and wet with your juices, lets out a small sigh, “I’ve never participated in these activities either.”
His cheek rests against your thigh, looking up before muttering against your folds. “I learn as I wend.”
And unfortunately, the only thing you can do in response is with your hips, moving them slightly against him as a new wave of slick follows.
Percy won’t make you wait.
In no time his tongue has lapped all those juices and entered your cunt alongside his finger, trying to get more and more of the sweet flavor you are giving him, maybe he’s just getting addicted.
Again and again, you find yourself dragging out desperate pushes of your hips against his mouth— riding your sensitive cunt down his straight nose and making it push on the button of your swollen clit.
You mewled, the pressure building fast, maybe too fast and he responded with a tiny slap to the cute nub! Even a glob of his spit mixed with your slick, and he rubbed it nice and good with your cunt, fingers circling and thumb pressing sloooow until you feel your walls fluttering around another invading finger— stretching you wider, his pads pressing against your squishy g-spot making stars burst behind your eyelids.
“Be honest with me,” Percy murmured against your skin, his voice muffled and lips slick with you. “Like your pussy is…Tell me when you're close.”
Gods, why couldn't you just say it? The words stuck in your throat as he worked you relentlessly, dragging out your orgasm so lengthily, his tongue tickling your constantly throbbing clit while his fingers pumped in a rhythm that had you arching off the bed.
“How are you so good at this?” you gasped finally, voice breaking as the edge rushed up. “Is this your first time? Are you kidding me?”
He pulled back and gave a grin, chin glistening and eyes wicked. “First time, princess. But I've dreamed about eating your cunt plenty.” No joke in his tone, just raw truth that made your core tighten.
“You do kiss- ah.. you do kiss your mother with that mouth…”
“As of now I'm kissing something sweeter.”
He dove back in, sucking harder, and you shattered, waves crashing through you as your pussy clenched around his fingers with slick gushing out. Percy didn't let up, milking every pulse until you were trembling, oversensitive and boneless.
You laughed breathlessly, pulling him up for a kiss that tasted of you.
But the heat didn't fade; it built.
Percy stood, shedding the rest of his loosened suit with quick, impatient jerks. Finally, you saw it—his cock pulsing, fat with red veins snaking along the length. A sensitive slit at the tip, already beading, and heavy balls hanging low.
He wasn’t just needy, he was ravenous, the angriest reddened tip flushed like it had a grudge.
He manhandled you onto the bed properly, moving you onto your back with hands that gripped your hips hard.
It was both of your first times, and lord, he was just using his tip to fuck you—rubbing the head along your slit, teasing the entrance without pushing in.
He was big, there was no way that would enter your poor pussy.
The stretch was immediate when he tried to push into your orifice, a burn that made you whine, but it mixed with the ache he'd already stirred.
You didn't know who was more pussy-drunk or cock-drunk—you, with the way your walls fluttered greedily, or him, groaning like a man possessed as he nudged in. Just a few more inches out of the numerous ones eased inside your cunt with the most lecherous sounds as if your clingy walls were trying to suck him up and weren't able.
You were addicted to the way his girth was molding your channel to him, stretching wide, the burn blending into pleasure that had you clawing at his shoulders.
You guys started fighting a bit then—playful, your hands pushing at his chest as he tried to sink deeper, him pinning your wrists with one hand while the other guided his cock.
“Stop squirming,” he laughed breathlessly, but you twisted, half-protesting the overwhelming fullness, half-pulling him closer.
“It's not- Oh fuckkk- It's not going to fit-!”
Percy looked down, seeing that there was still some way to go, his cock was screaming in agony, needing to feel you squeeze him to oblivion, and that's how his hands released your wrists.
But it wasn't until you felt his hands on your legs that you understood what he was doing, lifting them up to his shoulders and beeeending you until your legs were giving him the perfect space.
“It has to fit, fit, fit, fit...” His hips moved like a piston, trying to fill you up until the sound of a resounding wap! echoed.
He finally made it fit, bottoming out with a shared groan that left you both dumb at the feeling, brains short-circuiting from the tight, hot clasp and his balls slapping your skin.
Percy started pumping then with no intention of giving a small break, the thick, vein-puffed length of his cock from tip to base to thwack! and plap! your cervix wetly.
The man was breathing heavily as his hips continued to make the luxurious bed creak over and over again, letting out small grunts that matched your joyful moans.
Your vision blurred when a hand wandered down to give tiny slap slap slaps to your reddened clit, body arching as pleasure bordered on too much, slick coating his shaft and dripping down your thighs.
Percy watched you, transfixed, his own control fraying in a matter of seconds—when he saw the tears streak your cheeks, the way your mouth fell open in silent pleasured cries, he couldn't hold it.
“Shit—you're—” He really couldn't hold it, hips stuttering as he filled you, hot spurts of cum flooding deep. Your cunt leaked out in both slick n’ his seed, the mess dripping onto the sheets.
The poor guy was trying to pull that high out of you, trying to wrench it as he gave you a puppy look, he just needed you to cum again. And you did, crashing over the edge with a big cry you muffled by biting his shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle as your walls spasmed around him, milking him dry.
Percy was fucking you sloppily, the rhythm erratic as his cock dragged through the mess he'd made. His fingers reached down, joining to plug you up.
Aah, lucky you both were married because for sure he bred you, and in this moment, you were drooling into the cushions, dumb on it, your body limp and buzzing.
He laughed, dizzy and breathless over your look, collapsing half on top of you, his weight a grounding heat.
“Look at you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, affectionate even in the haze as you rolled onto your stomach, expecting him to rest next to you, catch his breath but oh no no no—he was playing with his cum between your legs, fingers scooping the leaking seed and rubbing it back in, making you whimper.
Your man pushed up your hips, ass in the air, and you felt the blunt press of his cock against your stuffed cunt again. “Can't just stop at one,” he said, voice teasing as he eased in, the stretch easier now with the slick mess.
You moaned into the cushions, face buried, as he started thrusting shallowly.
He even joked, breathing hot against your ear, “Ship's arriving at the port—hope it's ready for round two.”
You managed a weak “Don't mess around,” but it dissolved into a gasp as he fucked deeper, his cock pushing out globs of his own cum, mixing it with your fresh slick.
Your pussy was red from the smack of his hips against your ass, swollen and tender, and his pubic zone was also messy with your fluids, dark curls matted, and you heard the wap! plap! plap! sounds echoing—wet, obscene, driving you both wild.
Percy was so loving even when teasing you, one hand stroking your back while the other gripped your hip, pulling you back onto him.
“You feel incredible,” he groaned, pace quickening, the lewd squelches growing louder as he chased his release. Your body responded despite the ache, walls clenching around him, drawing him in deeper as he came inside once more, hard and sudden, flooding you until it was just an overspilling mess, thick ropes leaking down your thighs in rivulets.
The citadel's bells tolled midnight outside, but in the chambers, the real merging had just begun. Percy pulled out slowly and you both collapsed in a tangle of limbs and rumpled sheets.
His arm draped over you, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. “Think we can skip the morning feast?” he asked, voice muffled against your shoulder.
You chuckled, turning to face him and a hand coming up without thinking, brushing a loose strand of his hair back from his forehead.
“The court would consider that a declaration of war.”
Percy shifted slightly closer, as though the space between you had become completely unnecessary. There was none of the earlier tension left in him now, none of the heat or provocation—just a look of love in his eyes.
“Then we are already off to an excellent start as a married couple,” he said.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The bells outside faded into silence, the palace beyond your chambers distant and irrelevant, as though the world had politely stepped away to allow this peace to exist without interruption.
You studied him in that quiet—the way the torchlight softened the features of him, the way he looked at you now without challenge or the distance between kingdoms that had defined everything between you.
Your fingers drifted from his hair to his cheek, resting there lightly.
“They will expect us,” you said after a moment.
“They can expect whatever they like,” Percy replied, his gaze soft on yours. “We’ve already done everything they required of us.”
Your hand slipped from his face, but he caught it before it could fall away entirely, threading his fingers through yours.
You exhaled softly, letting your forehead rest briefly against his.
“Just this once,” you said quietly, “we stay.”
“A generous decree,” Percy murmured, his voice low with sleep and softer, it did not sound like the prince who argued in the council chambers or provoked you in gardens. “I should thank my wife for such mercy.”
“Do not grow accustomed to it,” you replied with a small laugh. “I grant it only because you have ensured that walking tomorrow would be… unnecessarily difficult.”
“I see,” he said slowly, as though considering this with more seriousness than it deserved, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Then I must accept this kindness with proper gratitude, my queen.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“Careful,” you warned, though it lacked the bite it once would have carried. “You will make a habit of saying things you cannot take back.”
“I do not intend to take them back.” His thumb moved faintly against your hand, absent and thoughtful. “We could go for a walk in the morning to see your favorite flowers.”
“Sleep,” you said. “If you insist on embarrassing us both in the morning, you will at least require the rest.”
A faint breath of laughter escaped him at that as his arm tightened around you.
“As you command,” he murmured. “My love.”
♡ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
♡ 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⸝⸝ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
💭: Guys this is not proofreaded LIKE 70% sooo hopefully you won't find many weird typos or stuff TT Still I'm reallly happy because I don't tend to write such long oneshots, yippieeee!!
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𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐬 : In which you have an extremely high sex drive and Percy can't keep up.
𝐜𝐰 : Switch ? Percy ⸝⸝ m! oral ⸝⸝ making out w soft dick ⸝⸝ praising ⸝⸝ grinding ⸝⸝ creampie(s)
Percy wondered about many things, the first being how he had pulled one of the most beautiful girls in the whole camp when he was an insecure teenager and you one of Aphrodite's children, and the second being how you could have such a big appetite for sex after so many years together.
The guy thought Aphrodite's kids were supposed to be all charm and beauty and he doesn't even know ! Just not— not this... this endless fucking machine. If he didn't love you so much, he'd be terrified.
Well, he was terrified.
You had started his day by giving him a blowjob between the sheets, laughing until you managed to swallow his seed. Later, between chores and training the young demigods, you had managed to get him between your legs again.
Percy also wondered how it was possible that you hadn't gotten pregnant with the number of times you made him ejaculate inside you; according to you because it felt a thousand times better to have all of him.
The thing is, by the time the day was over, you were both sweating even after showering together because apparently you hadn't finished with him after following him inside.
You crawled onto the bed beside him, your body humming with insistent ache. The day's exertions had left you sensitive and your pussy still tingling from the way he'd filled you over and over— but not satisfied. Not nearly !
Percy lay on his back, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, his dark hair matted to his forehead. You traced a finger along his hip, feeling the faint tremor in his muscles.
His dick was soft against his thigh, spent and innocent-looking after you'd drained him dry four times already today. His balls looked tender, probably sore from all the cum he'd spilled for you over the day.
You dropped to your knees beside the bed, eyes locked on that limp length. It was cute like this, a pretty pink colour and relaxed, not the thick, veiny monster it became when you coaxed to life. You leaned in, inhaling his musky scent-salt and sweat and that faint tang of cum. Your tongue darted out, licking a slow stripe from the base to the tip.
It was floppy against your mouth, barely reacting, but you didn't care. You wanted it hard, needed it stretching you again.
"Come on, Perce," you murmured, leaning in. Your tongue flicked out once more, tracing the soft underside from base to tip.
Your boyfriend groaned, half-asleep, his hand coming up to rub his face.
"Babe," he muttered, voice rough. "It's been a full fuck day. My dick's done.."
It didn't twitch much at first— just the faint warmth spreading under your touch. You licked again, slower, savoring the salty residue of your earlier fun and then your mouth closed around the head, sucking gently, tongue swirling like you were coaxing a reluctant flame.
Percy shifted, propping himself on an elbow to watch. "You're insatiable. What is it with you and my soft cock? Just let it rest."
You pulled off with a wet pop, grinning up at him.
"Rest? This little guy's my favorite toy." You replied and dove back in, kissing along the shaft, your breath hot against the loose skin. It stayed mostly limp, refusing to swell, but you could feel the subtle pulse beneath.
Minutes stretched— five, maybe ten— your jaw starting to ache from the persistent effort. You sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks, then lapped at his balls, careful not to press too firm on the sensitive spots. He winced a little, but his hand found your hair, stroking absently, affectionate even in defeat.
"Aren't you persistent?" Percy asked, a tired laugh bubbling up as his eyes, sea-green and hazy, tracked your movements.
Part of him wanted to just pass out, but watching you- lips shiny, tits brushing his thigh— stirred something low in his gut. You were a vision, all need and devotion, and yeah, maybe he was a bit of a perv for getting off on the sight.
You hummed around him, the vibration pulling a soft grunt from his throat but still nothing much.
Time to up the ante.
You nuzzled the base, your voice dropping to a playful whisper right against the flesh. "Hey there, handsome. You can do it, hm? I know you're tired, but look at me.. I'm all wet and ready for you."
You planted a kiss on the tip, dumb smile curving your lips as if you were chatting with an actual person. "Come on, get nice and thick for me. I need you stretching my pussy again."
Percy snorted. "It's not gonna happen. Told you I'm tapped out."
But you tuned him out, eyes half-lidded, focused on the cock in your hands. You stroked it lightly with your fingers, then licked a broad stripe up the length.
"Shh, don't listen to him. He's grumpy, but you? You're my good boy. Grow for me, yeah? Make me proud and get all long and hard so I can fuck you silly."
Another kiss, deeper this time, your tongue dipping into the slit. You talked to it like that for what felt like forever, praising every tiny twitch, your words breathy and encouraging.
"That's it, baby dick. You're stirring. Knew you had it in you. Fuck, you're so cute when you're waking up."
To Percy's surprise— and hell, his growing interest— it worked. The blood flow trickled in, reluctantly at first, as the shaft thickened a bit, lengthening from soft handful to something semi-firm, curving slightly against your palm. Not rock-hard, but enough to bob when you tugged.
You popped off, beaming up at it like you'd won.
"Yes! Look at you, so perfect." You planted a firm kiss on the tip, tasting the bead of pre-cum that had finally leaked out. "Knew you could do it."
He stared down, a mix of awe and amusement. "Holy shit… Did you just sweet-talk my cock into action? That's a new one."
You laughed, low and wicked, crawling up to straddle his hips. Your pussy was slick, folds swollen from the day's teasing and your own endless want. You grabbed his semi-erect dick, guiding it to your entrance, rubbing the tip along your slit.
"Mmm, feel that? I'm still sooo wet for you."
But he wasn't quite there— too soft to push in without folding. So you ground down, letting the length slide over your clit instead, the friction sparking heat up your spine.
Percy gripped your thighs, thumbs digging in. "You're torturing me over here." His voice had that edge that said he was into it despite the ache in his balls.
You rocked harder, persistent, your clit pulsing against the warming shaft.
This endless stamina was your gift— or curse— letting you chase pleasure without burnout, but even you felt the sensitivity building, raw from the earlier fucks.
The cabin's wooden wall creaked faintly as you moved the bed with your soft thrusts, your breaths syncing with his.
"Fuck, Percy, it's perfect like this. Rubbing you right… there…" You hugged him close, arms around his neck, tits pressing to his chest as you ground in circles.
The pressure built nice, your thighs clenching slightly his sides, and then you came— shuddering, a huff of air escaping as you buried your face in his shoulder. Juices slicked his cock even more, making it glisten.
He held you through it, hands roaming your back, affectionate murmurs in your ear. "There you go. God, you're beautiful when you cum."
Panting, you lifted your head, feeling his dick now - throbbing, harder from the stimulation, finally rigid enough to take you.
It wasn't his usual steel, but it was serviceable, the head nudging your folds insistently. You shifted, sinking down slow, inch by inch.
"Yes… Finally inside me." You didn't know when to stop, did you? Just had an orgasm and already looking for more.
He filled you just enough, the stretch satisfying that deep itch. You started riding, hips rolling in a steady rhythm, your walls clenching around him.
Percy groaned, head falling back. "Shit, you're tight. Easy, babe I'm sensitive as hell.."
But you didn't ease up— bouncing happily, tits jiggling with each drop. The bed squeaked under you, the air thick with the sounds of your pussy taking him.
It was all you, drawing out those weak bucks from his hips. His balls brushed your ass with every grind, probably stinging, but he didn't complain— just watched you with that tired, loving gaze.
"Fuck me, Percy," you gasped, leaning forward to kiss him. Your tongue tangled with his, tasting salt and him. You rode faster, chasing another peak, your clit grinding his base. He was close too, you could tell- his dick twitching inside you.
"I'm not gonna last," he warned, voice strained. His hands squeezed your ass, guiding you down harder.
"Don't care. Cum inside again."
The sole idea of it pushed you over, your orgasm ripping through, your cunt spasming around him. He followed with a weak spurt, not the flood he normally gave you, but enough to warm your insides— a final, exhausted release.
You collapsed onto him, both of you slick and spent, the cabin quiet except for your shared breaths.
As the aftershocks faded, you nuzzled his neck, a content hum escaping your lips. Percy wrapped his arms around you, kissing your temple. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"
You chuckled softly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "What a way to go. Hero of Olympus, taken down by his girlfriend's pussy."
Genre: smut, yandere, dark (PLEASE READ WARNINGS!!)
Word Count: 7k
Summary: A dark road becomes forever when obsession wears a badge.
Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, DD:DNE, speeding, police, power imbalance, yandere, obsession, explicit manhandling, defiance, handcuffs, guns, lying, manipulation, threats, harsh language, fear, chasing, hitting (slapping), shoving, despair, helplessness, mocking, kidnapping, disdain, mentions of past murder, jk is fucking unhinged!, explicit: noncon to dubcon, heavy degradation, sexual fantasies, spanking, groping, unwanted sexual touch, primal kink (predatory/prey), humiliation kink, breeding/claiming kink, dominant!jk, forced undressing/nudity, gunplay, unprotected sex, restriction/bondage (handcuffs), overstimulation.
A/N: when i tell you that this is dark- i mean it. like wayyy darker than chp 8 of another time. this can be very triggering so PLEASE!!! proceed with caution. also, i know this is very different from my normal fics but i rlly love yandere/dark/horror fics and novels & i rlly wanted to try it out. if this isn’t your thing, i totally get it! i won’t be offended if this isn’t for you! pls lmk what you think 🫶
Note: jungkook’s pov is in bold!
MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST ♡ a03
♡ next
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before -
You’re just trying to get home. That’s all.
The last thing you want is to be out here, alone on some empty road with the sky bleeding from gold to purple.
But you had class. Late lab section. The professor wouldn’t let anyone leave early. Your notes are crammed with half-legible scrawls about enzymes and practical test dates. You toss the notebook onto the passenger seat. Your bag spills open. Pens roll onto the floor. You curse, leaning over to grab one.
Your eyes flick to your phone in the console. 5% battery. Of course. You don’t even have a charger. Your roommate’s probably wondering where you are.
Shit.
You promised you’d be home in time to watch your show together. She even saved you takeout.
You tap your GPS. It flickers in the low light. The screen dims, saving battery. Shortest route home.
You know it’s risky- some little back road through the edge of the woods. Barely even a proper highway. But you’re late. And the sky is getting darker.
You sigh, tapping “Start.”
Your phone lights the route in cold blue.
You turn onto the narrow two-lane road, your tires crunching over gravel at the edges. Wind rattles the leaves in the trees on either side. You glance at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair is messy from the long day. Your eyes look tired.
You let out a breath, trying to relax. It’s fine. It’s just a shortcut.
You’ll be home in twenty minutes. Your roommate will tease you for taking so long. You’ll microwave dinner. Laugh. Forget the way this road feels so lonely.
Your music plays loud enough to distract you. You tap the wheel with your thumb. Try to keep your speed steady but slowly getting faster.
You don’t see the headlights yet.
But they’re coming.
═══════
You hate this fucking town. The same back roads every night, the same broken fences and sagging porches. Every call on the radio is the same bullshit: a drunk husband screaming at his wife, kids throwing rocks at windows, noise complaints from people who can’t stand each other. You drive past it all in your cruiser, listening to the static chatter with your fingers drumming the wheel, wishing someone would give you a reason to care.
Because you don’t.
You don’t care about these people. You don’t respect them. You don’t even see them as people most of the time. They’re livestock that got too used to thinking they’re in charge. Worthless. Pathetic. You feel the anger simmering under your ribs, a constant heat you’ve learned to control. Your pulse stays steady. Your face stays blank. That’s what they all see: Officer Jeon, professional, calm, in control.
But you know what you are.
You want something real tonight. Someone you can feel. Someone you can make feel you. You want a reason to use your hands. To hear begging that isn’t in your head. Your tongue drags across your teeth as you shift in your seat, the leather creaking. The holster presses into your side. You think about using it, not to kill- no, killing is boring- but to threaten. To dominate.
You remember the last one. The one who wouldn’t stop screaming until you showed her how quiet she could be with a hand around her throat squeezing the life out of her as you came inside her. That memory makes you shift uncomfortably, heat pooling low in your belly. You let out a slow breath. You’re calm. Always calm. Even when you’re imagining things that would get you fired, arrested, killed.
Especially then.
Your mind wanders. You imagine pulling over some stupid, clueless girl on one of these dark roads. She’d look up at you with big eyes, all fear and confusion. She’d talk back. Try to act tough. You’d fix that. You’d break it. You’d make her beg. Cry. Say she’s sorry even when she doesn’t know what for. You’d make her yours.
Your mouth twists into a humorless smile as you stare at the empty road. Nothing. No one.
You’re just about to turn around when headlights appear in the distance. Bright. Moving too fast. You see them swerve slightly around the bend, tires scraping gravel at the shoulder.
You sit up straighter.
Finally.
Someone worth your time.
You rest your hand on the switch. You see her car whip past you with feminine stickers on the rear windshield.
Perfect.
You flip on the lights. Red and blue strobe over the dark trees like warning fangs. The siren blares, screaming through the quiet night.
Your heart rate doesn’t spike. Your breathing doesn’t change. But you’re smiling.
Because you know you have her now.
═══════
present -
You shouldn’t even be on this road. It’s one of those winding, narrow lanes that cuts through the trees like a scar. Blacktop crumbling at the edges, the center line barely visible in the dusk.
But you were late, and your phone’s GPS told you this was the fastest route. You’re going too fast. Music too loud. Heart racing from caffeine and stress.
Then- flashing blue and red behind you.
Your gut lurches. You swear and slam the brakes. Your car shudders to a stop on the gravel shoulder, rocking slightly. The dash lights glow on your face as you stare at the rearview.
He hasn’t gotten out yet. For a second there’s only the ticking of your cooling engine, the throb of your pulse in your ears. Then the cruiser’s door swings open.
Boots first. Black, polished, heavy. Then the uniform. Dark navy. Badged. Armed.
And him.
He’s taller than you expected. Lean but strong. Broad shoulders that make the bulletproof vest look molded to him. His black hair is slightly mussed but neat, framing a face that’s almost too pretty to be real.
But the eyes ruin it. Dark. Flat. Assessing.
Predatory.
He walks slowly, no rush. The flashing lights paint him in red and blue, making him look like some demon come to collect a debt.
═══════
You see her for the first time through the glass of the window.
There she is.
A little thing, clutching her wheel like it’ll save her. Wide, innocent eyes flashing with fear. Lips parted like she’s about to beg.
You can already hear her whimpering.
You want that. No- you need it. She’s perfect. Young, naive, mouthy just enough to make it fun. The kind you can break. The kind you can own. You imagine her pinned beneath you. Sobbing. Trying to talk back even as you force her to submit.
Your cock throbs in your uniform pants at the thought.
Mine.
You smile as you approach her window.
═══════
Your hand trembles as you roll down the window.
“Officer…” you try to keep your voice steady, friendly, harmless. “I- I’m sorry. I know I was going a little over. But there was no one around-”
He leans down. Eyes don’t blink.
“You know how fast you were going?”
You swallow. “About… maybe fifteen over? I wasn’t really paying attention.”
His gaze drifts lower, over your body even though you’re in the car. His nostrils flare like he’s scenting you. He leans in even closer, shadow swallowing your door frame.
“You been drinking tonight?”
Your head jerks back. “What? No! Nothing.”
“Smells like weed in there too.”
Your mouth falls open. “It does not- I don’t even smoke!”
“Step out of the car.”
Your brow furrows. “Wait- what? I- I can give you my license and-”
He tilts his head slightly. A smirk plays on his lips.
“I smell alcohol.”
Your mouth falls open. “What? No- you don’t! I haven’t had anything!”
“I said. Step out. Now.” There’s no inflection. No raised voice. Just cold command.
You freeze, then shake your head. “I’m not drunk. I’m not getting out for that- ”
He moves. So fast you don’t see it coming. His hand snakes in through the window, grabbing your chin hard enough to make you gasp and clack your teeth together.
“You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?” he murmurs, voice like oil on water.
You try to pull back. He holds tighter. He’s holding you in place, fingers pressing painfully into your jaw.
“Officer, let go of me- ”
“Get. Out.”
Your heart stutters and you’re breathing too fast as he lets go. Your seatbelt is still on. He waits, watching you with dark amusement as you fumble it off. He steps back half a foot to let you out, but still close so you can’t breathe.
The forest is silent. The only sound is your heartbeat and the wind. You stumble onto the gravel, shoes crunching. And he starts to circle you like a shark.
You try to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t do anything. You can’t just- ”
“Hands on the hood.”
“No. I want your badge number! I’m not drunk or high or whatever! This is ridiculous-”
Suddenly he’s behind you. A hard shove between your shoulder blades sends you stumbling forward. Your palms slam onto cold metal.
“Fuck- you can’t- ”
His hand wraps around the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin.
“I said.” his voice drops lower, crueler, “Hands. On. The. Fucking. Car.”
Your breath fogs the hood. Your fingers splay on the metal. Your vision swims and you can’t move.
“Why are you doing this?”
He chuckles. “Because I can.”
Click.
Cold metal snaps over one wrist.
“No- wait! Stop it!”
He yanks your other arm back and cuffs it- a snap that echoes in the trees. You wince at the tightness. He leans over you, breath hot in your ear.
“You’re under investigation for DUI and possession of alcohol and marijuana.”
“Bullshit! I don’t have anything! Search my car!”
“Oh, I will.”
His hands slide down your sides. You flinch as he palms your ass roughly.
“Sto-”
“Shut up.”
His hands slide up under your hoodie, lifting it cruelly so your bare stomach hits the cold air. He palms your breast, fingers closing hard over your nipple through the fabric.
“Please- don’t-”
“I said shut the fuck up.”
He pinches it until you’re shaking.
“Look at you,” he purrs, voice low. “Squirming for me.”
He laughs in your ear.
“You’re probably wet from my hands all over you, right?”
“I’m not- you fucking pig! LET ME GO!”
He laughs softly.
“God, I love it when you fight.”
You can’t see him, but you feel him behind you. Pressed in close. His belt presses into your hips.
“I should arrest you for resisting.”
“I’m not resisting- I’m innocent- ”
He slides a hand down between your thighs, forcing them wider. Your cuffed arms can’t protect you. He jams his fingers roughly against your clothed slit, enough pressure to make you yelp. Your knees buckle. He holds you up with his grip on your hair, yanking your head back so your throat arches.
“You want me to stop?”
“YES!”
He kisses your neck. Just once. Cruel, biting.
“Liar.”
He steps back but keeps a hand on your cuffs, jerking you so you slam back onto the car.
You sob, humiliated.
“Please- I didn’t do anything,” you whimper.
He breathes in your ear.
“You did everything,” he hisses. “You just don’t know it yet.”
He finally steps back. The loss of heat is almost as jarring as his touch.
You’re shaking.
“Look at you,” he says. “All worked up over nothing. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re thoroughly searched.”
You sob, humiliated. You want to spit at him. Scream. But you’re too busy breathing in shuddering gasps.
He turns his back to you, sauntering to the cruiser door, checking his belt, like he didn’t just manhandle you.
“Wait here.”
He doesn’t even look back. Your eyes dart around wildly.
The forest is darkening.
Your breath saws in and out of your lungs. You feel the cuffs biting your wrists. Your chest heaves and your legs tremble.
He’s not holding you. He’s not looking. He’s going to put something away in the car, or call dispatch, or get something worse.
Your pulse hammers.
Run.
It’s now or never.
You spin on your heel and bolt.
Your feet scrape on gravel, then hit dirt. You plunge into the trees. Branches whip your face. Rocks bite at your soles. The cuffs limit your balance.
But you don’t stop. You don’t dare look back.
Behind you, there’s silence for half a second.
Then:
“Ahhh. Fuck.”
He sees you. You hear the car door slam.
“Run, baby.” his voice calls, too calm, too amused. “Run all you want.”
Your blood turns to ice. You push deeper into the tree- the forest swallowing you whole. You know it’s not over. Not even close.
Your lungs burn. The cuffs around your wrists bite with every misstep, the metal digging in with cruel precision. You’re running blind- just trees and shadows, your feet slipping on roots and moss. Your breath saws in and out, loud and ugly.
He’s behind you.
He’s behind you.
You don’t know how far. You don’t dare look.
His last words still ring in your ears:
“Run, baby. Run all you want.”
There’s no mistaking the amusement in his voice. The thrill. He’s not mad. He’s playing.
You dart between two trees, nearly slamming into a trunk. Your shoulder scrapes bark. You don’t stop. Everything inside you is screaming- panic, shame, pure adrenaline.
You think you hear his boots. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just your heartbeat. Your jeans are soaked with dew. Your hoodie snags on brambles. One shoe nearly flies off, but you can’t stop.
Your breath hitches as you stumble into a shallow dip in the earth. Your knees slam into cold dirt. You bite your lip to keep from crying out.
Then-
snap
A twig behind you. Too close.
You choke on your breath and duck behind a tree. Crouching. Trembling. Trying to become invisible.
Then:
“You’re so fucking bad at hiding, baby.”
Your blood freezes.
“Don’t cry yet,” his voice is closer. Almost gentle. Mocking. “You haven’t even seen what I do when I catch something.”
You cover your mouth with your cuffed hands. Your knuckles are scraped raw from the fall.
Leaves rustle. A boot crunches. He’s circling you. And you can’t stop shaking.
“Little rabbit thinks she can outrun the wolf.”
You bolt. Again. No thought, just pure terror.
═══════
You grin.
She’s faster than you expected. Desperate. Cute. But not smart.
You’ve been tracking every clumsy step she’s taken since the second she ran. She thinks she’s hiding. You let her think that. Her breathing is so loud. Her cuffs jingle every time she flinches.
You could’ve grabbed her minutes ago. But where’s the fun in that? You want her terrified. Wild-eyed. You want her stumbling through the dark with her pretty mouth shaking and her thighs slick with fear.
You love the way she looks when she thinks she has a chance. She doesn’t. She never did.
You lick your lips. Time to collect what’s yours.
═══════
He laughs. Loud. Deep. Guttural.
You don’t get far. Maybe twenty steps before a strong arm loops around your waist and slams you backward against a tree.
The bark digs into your spine. Your scream is muffled by a gloved hand. He’s right there. Face inches from yours.
Smiling.
“There you are.”
You kick. Twist. Thrash in his grip. But he doesn’t budge. His thigh wedges between yours, grinding into you obscenely just to humiliate you.
“Thought you could outrun me?”
You try to bite his hand. He chuckles and slaps you. Not hard enough to knock you out. Just hard enough to make your cheek sting.
“Bad girl.”
His hand fists in your hair. Yanks your head back. Your throat stretches, vulnerable.
“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”
Your voice finally breaks through. “Let go- please, let me go- I’ll never say anything-”
“Let you go?”
He laughs and shoves you harder into the tree. His hand snakes under your hoodie, slides up your back, nails grazing skin.
“You think this is about what you’ll say?” he snarls into your ear. “You think you matter that much?”
“I- didn’t do anything- ”
“Oh, no baby, you did,” he growls. “You looked at me. You made me feel things. You’re mine now.”
He kisses you.
Rough. Unwanted. His tongue forces its way into your mouth. You try to scream, but his fingers are tangled in your hair too tight. He pulls back. Licks your bottom lip.
“That mouth,” he whispers. “Gonna make you say such pretty things when you’re under me.”
You shake your head violently. “Please… please don’t-”
He cups your cheek. Smiles. Then slaps it again. Harder.
“Beg better.”
Your legs go weak. He grabs your throat. Not to choke but to remind you he could. That he wants to. Your whimpers make his eyes burn hotter.
He leans in. Sniffs your neck.
“You smell so fucking sweet.”
His free hand slides between your legs again. Presses. Rubs. You twist, cry out, try to break free. The cuffs stop you. The tree behind your back stops you. He stops you.
“I want to hear you beg for me to stop,” he whispers. “And then I want to hear you beg me to keep going.”
You cry. He moans like it’s music.
Then, he pulls you away from the tree and throws you over his shoulder. Like you weigh nothing. You pound your fists into his back, even though it was useless. He just laughs.
“Kick all you want, baby. I like when they squirm.”
The forest spins as he walks deeper. You scream into the trees. Birds scatter. No one comes.
His palm cracks across your ass. “Louder. Maybe someone will come save you.”
Another slap.
“Spoiler alert: they won’t.”
You sob. As his grip on your thigh tightens as he hauls you like stolen prey, his voice a low growl:
“You’re mine now. And the fun’s just getting started.”
He doesn’t stop walking until the woods swallow every last trace of the road behind you.
You’re thrown to the ground. You land on your stomach hard, your breath whooshing out in a pained gasp. The cuffs clank as you instinctively try to brace yourself. You start trying to push yourself up but you can’t get up. He’s already on you.
A boot presses down on your back. Not enough to break you. Just enough to pin you, humiliate you, remind you what you are.
“Such a good little runner,” he hums. “Almost made me work for it.”
You sob.
“Please- please don’t do this.”
He laughs- low and delighted. He crouches down, fingers twisting in your hair, yanking your head up so you have to look at him.
Your eyes meet his, fear mingling with something else- something you couldn’t name. His gaze was intense, his expression a mix of annoyance and desire. He ran a hand down your side, his touch deliberate, his fingers grazing the curve of your hip.
“Look at those tears. Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry.”
You squeeze your eyes shut.
He shakes your head roughly. “Eyes. Open.”
You obey, trembling.
He smiles. “Good girl.”
His thumb smears a tear across your cheek. Then he presses that wet thumb to your lip, forcing you to taste it.
“You know you were never getting away, right?”
“Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear-”
He snorts. “No, you won’t.”
He stands, dragging you up with him by your hair and you whimper loudly. Your knees scrape against dirt and roots as you struggle to stand. He shoves you hard against a tree trunk. Your face presses into the rough bark.
His hands wander immediately- rough, entitled, unkind. He grips your hips, grinding himself against your ass.
“Mine.”
You squirm.
“Stop- don’t-”
He pulls you back by the hair, arching your spine. His other hand snakes under your hoodie, dragging it up, exposing your back, your bra, your shivering skin.
“Fuck, look at you. So innocent.” He sniffs you, moaning. “Smelling like fear.”
You try to pull away.
He laughs in your ear. “Keep fighting. I fucking love it.”
He bites you between your neck and shoulder. You cry out- turning your head and slightly scraping your face against the bark.
“Shhh.” He licks the bite. “Don’t want you too bruised. Yet.”
You try to push him off with your bound hands. He grabs them and slams them higher up the tree, pinning them there with one hand. His other hand drags over your stomach, lower. You clamp your thighs together.
He kicks your foot. “Spread.”
You don’t. Making him growl.
Then you feel it. The barrel of the gun slides between your knees. He nudges it higher, just barely grazing the inside of your thigh.
“Spread,” he repeats.
“You want to see what happens if I don’t ask so nicely next time?”
Sobbing, you obey.
He puts the gun away and slides his hand between your legs. Over your jeans at first, then under the waistband, fingers finding your panties. He strokes you through the fabric, deliberately slow.
Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed against your panties, his touch both gentle and demanding. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet there was a part of you that thrilled at his dominance.
“So wet.”
You sob.
“Please… please stop.”
“I already told you baby, you need to beg better.”
He rips at your hoodie, pulling it over your head roughly. Your arms can’t help you. It bunches around your bound wrists, leaving you in just your bra. He steps back to look at you.
“Fucking gorgeous.”
You shake. Teeth chattering.
“Please… I’ll do anything, please don’t hurt me…”
He hums, pleased.
“Oh, I’m going to hurt you.” He smiles. “But you’re going to like it.”
He unbuckles his belt slowly, eyes never leaving you. You let out a strangled sob., making him chuckle.
“Good girl. Cry for me.”
He leans in. Kisses your cheek. Softly. Tenderly.
“You’re mine now. My pretty little pet. My plaything.”
You flinch as his hand closes around your throat. Not squeezing. Just there. A promise.
“Say you’re mine.” He growls
You shake your head frantically. He slaps you.
“Say it.”
“No! No- please- ”
He sighs like he’s disappointed. Then you see it. He draws the gun from his holster again and holds it lazily at his side.
“You’re really going to make me use this?”
He presses the cold metal barrel to your stomach. You freeze.
“So fucking say it,” he says again, softly. “Say you’re mine, or I’ll make a mess right here in the woods.”
“I’m yours!” you sob instantly.
He smiles.
“Good girl.”
He licks the tears off your cheek.
“Now beg me to keep you.”
You sob.
“I- I don’t want- I can’t- ”
He grips your hair again, yanking you back. He pushes the gun deeper into your stomach.
“Beg me.”
“I- please… keep me…” you say sobbing loudly.
His eyes blaze.
“Fuck. That’s better.”
He releases you. You slump to the ground, half-naked, shaking.
He circles you like a wolf around prey.
“Clothes off.”
You stare up at him, horrified.
He cocks his head. “Do it. Or I’ll do it for you.”
Hands shaking, you try to wriggle out of your bra. Your jeans are harder with the cuffs. You fumble. Fail. He sighs dramatically.
“Pathetic.”
He crouches. One hand grabs your hair again, the other rips at your jeans. The button pops. The zipper drags painfully over your hips. He forces them down roughly, taking your panties with them.
You’re left shivering, dirty, humiliated. He leans back on his haunches to admire his work.
“Look at you. Perfect.”
You try to curl up. He doesn’t let you. He grabs your ankle and drags you flat on your back.
You scream. He clamps a hand over your mouth.
“Shut up. Don’t want you scaring the wildlife.”
He leans close. His hair brushes your face.
“Gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name.”
You shake your head violently. He surges forward and kisses you, shoving his tongue in your mouth. Deep. Wet. Disgusting.
You gag, causing him to laugh.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make you love it.”
He presses his knee between your legs, forcing them apart. You try to fight. He pins your wrists above your head again with one hand. His other hand roams your body freely, groping your breasts, pinching your nipples until you whimper and squirm.
“Shh, baby. Don’t worry. The real fun’s about to start.”
You sob. He smiles down at you, eyes dark, hungry. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until I’m finished with you.”
He pauses, “And I’m never finished.”
The forest is quiet except for your sobbing.
Your face is streaked with tears, hair tangled from his grip. Dirt smears your skin. Your bare chest rises and falls with panicked gasps. Jungkook stands over you, belt coiled in his hand like a leash. His eyes are bright in the gloom, teeth bared in a smile that’s all wolf.
“Look at you.”
He says it like an accusation.
You try to scoot back on your ass, bound wrists scraping roots. Your jeans are gone. Your panties lie shredded nearby. Your bra dangles from a branch where he flung it. You’re naked. Exposed.
He moves before you can blink. His boot presses on your thigh, pinning you. He leans over, grabbing your wrists and wrenching them higher above your head. He uses his belt to tether them low on the slanted tree trunk.
Your scream is high and broken.
“Please! Don’t- don’t do this! I’ll do anything, please let me go!”
He just hushes you.
“You are doing something for me.”
He leans close, nose brushing your cheek.
“You’re going to make me feel good.”
You twist, trying to buck him off. His laugh is a rasp. He lets you squirm- watching you fight. You feel him getting harder through his uniform.
“God, keep fighting. Makes it so much sweeter when you break.”
You sob, words failing you.
His hands roam. Palms you like meat. Gropes your breasts, thumbs flicking your nipples. He pinches them until you squeal.
“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you’re mine.”
You shake your head.
He slaps you. Hard. Your head jerks.
“Say. It.”
“I’m-” your voice cracks. “I’m yours.”
He sighs in pleasure.
“Again.”
“I’m yours.”
He kisses you violently. You gasp, trying to turn away. He bites your lip until it bleeds.
“Taste that?” he says against your mouth. “That’s you giving yourself to me.”
You sob. He breaks the kiss to slide lower. His mouth on your neck, biting, sucking hickeys that will stay for days.
“I’m going to mark every fucking inch of you.”
He places the gun beside your head in the dirt, just close enough for you to see it. You stare at it with wide, panicked eyes.
He watches your gaze and smirks. “One wrong move, and I’ll use that to remind you who owns you.”
He licks a path down to your chest. Sucks your nipple so hard it hurts. Bites the swell of your breast. You wail, trying to twist away.
He growls. “Stay. Still.”
Your wrists burn in the belt restraint. His hand slides down your stomach. He cups your mound.
You jerk. “Please- don’t touch me there-”
He smirks. “Sweet thing, that’s the only place I want to touch.” he says while laughing in your face.
He parts your folds with rough fingers. You’re wet. You whimper in humiliation. He hums like it’s praise.
“Fuck, you’re soaking. Did you know that?”
“I’m not- I’m scared-”
“Same difference to me.”
He thrusts two fingers inside you without warning. Your back arches. You keen in pain.
But there’s something worse.
Heat. Low in your belly. A flutter you try to crush. You whimper in horror at the way your hips rock helplessly.
“No- please-“
He moans at the feel of you clenching. “Tight little cunt. Made for me.”
You sob, shaking your head violently.
He scissors you open. Your feet scrabble at the ground uselessly. He pulls his fingers out and smears your slick over your clit. You squeal, trying to twist away.
He grabs your throat. Not choking but controlling “Stop.”
He rubs you mercilessly, circles your clit until your hips betray you and buck. You sob in shame.
“That’s it. Good girl. Show me how bad you hate it.”
Your breath hitches in a moan you didn’t mean. He notices and grins.
“Oh, you like that, don’t you?”
You shake violently. “No- I- I fucking hate you-”
He slides his fingers back in. Crooks them cruelly.You feel something building despite everything. Your thighs tremble.
You gasp.
“No- please- I don’t want to-”
He leans in, teeth grazing your ear. “Cum for me.”
You shake your head, silently crying. He moves faster. More relentless.
“I said. Cum.”
Your whole body locks up. You scream. But it’s not just pain. Your vision whites out. You cum. You tried to hold back, but it was no use. Your body betrayed you, your walls clenching around his fingers as you cried out, your orgasm tearing through you like a storm. Your walls spasm around his fingers, pulsing slick. You moan and sob at the same time. He moans at the feel of it.
He groans, grinding his cock against your thigh through his uniform.
He didn’t stop, even as you trembled, his fingers continuing to stroke you until you were a quivering mess.
When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your legs weak. He smirked, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
“Fuck yes. That’s what I wanted. Look at you. Perfect.”
You sob so hard you can’t breathe. He pulls his fingers out and smears your wetness on your lips.
“Taste it.”
You try to turn away. He holds your chin. Forces it. He hums in satisfaction. He unzips his pants. Your eyes widened as he freed his cock, thick and hard, the sight of it sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.
“You know what’s next.”
You turn your head away, tears soaking the dirt.
“I- I can’t- I’m sorry-”
He grabs your chin.
“Don’t be sorry. You’re mine, remember?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “And I’m going to remind you just how much.”
Your eyes go wide. You try to fight but you’re powerless.
He lines up. You scream. He sighs in bliss. He thrust into you without warning, his cock filling you completely. You gasped, your head falling back as he began to move, his hips snapping forward with a force that left you breathless.
The handcuffs bit into your wrists, a constant reminder of your helplessness, but you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. His dominance was absolute, and you were lost in it.
“That’s it. That’s fucking it.”
You kick. Your cuffs rattle. He just grabs your hips and forces you to take it all. He bottoms out. Holds you there.
You’re shaking. Crying. But you’re wet. You feel it. You hate it. Your mind screams but your body clenches. A humiliating moan slips out and he hears it.
“There she is. Good girl.”
You sob, shaking your head. Your mouth was dry, your thoughts scattered as he pounded into you, his movements relentless. The forest around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, his body pressing into yours, his cock stretching you open. You felt full, overwhelmed, and yet you can’t believe you wanted more.
“You’re fucking good for me.” He starts thrusting. Hard. Deep. You feel every humiliating drag. He moans in your ear.
“Gonna ruin this pussy. Make it mine.”
You sob. He fucks you harder. The belt creaks where you’re tied. Your wrists bleed. He doesn’t care.
“Please- I don’t want- ”
“But you need it. Look at you. Dripping for me. You love this, don’t you? Being used like this?”
He thrusts. Hard. Deep. You cry out, but it’s a half moan.
You want to die. You hate that you feel good. You hate him. But your hips buck anyway.
He laughs darkly.
“Say you love it.”
You shake your head. He slaps you again and thrusts harder.
“Say it.”
“I- I love it,” you choke out.
“Louder.”
“I love it!”
He roars in triumph. He pounds you harder. Your voice breaks. He tells you all the sick things he’ll do. How he’ll keep you. Breed you. Lock you away.
“You’re going to look pretty when you’re pregnant with my child, baby.”
He pounds you relentlessly. You’re so close. You beg him through small moans. And he brings you there.
He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Cum for me again. Do it, or I’ll make you regret it.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, but they were unnecessary. Your body was already on the edge, his rough thrusts pushing you closer and closer. You cried out, your walls clenching around him as you fell apart, your orgasm tearing through you like a wave. Hard. Sobbing. Hating every second.
He kisses your wet cheeks.
“That’s it. Good girl. Mine forever”
He finishes inside you. his grip tightening on your hips as he thrust one last time, his cock pulsing inside you as he came. “That’s it,” he groaned, his voice rough. “Take it all.”You feel the hot spill. He collapses over you, panting. He kisses your face like a lover.
“All mine.”
You can’t even cry anymore. He pets your hair. For a moment, neither of you moved.
“Don’t worry. We’re just getting started.”
Your body feels heavy. Boneless. Used.
Your wrists burn where the belt held them to the tree. They’re red, raw, leaking small rivulets of blood and sweat. Your thighs are sticky with his cum, your own slick, the mess of it cooling uncomfortably in the night air.
You don’t even have the energy to sob anymore. Just ragged, broken breathing. He’s still inside you, buried deep.
Not thrusting anymore. Just there. Holding you open, claiming you with every second he stays sheathed inside.
His breath is hot on your shoulder. Slow. Satisfied. You flinch when he finally pulls out. Your body clenches uselessly.
A whimper breaks from your throat.
He hushes you.
“Shhh. It’s okay.”
He sounds so gentle you want to vomit. You try to turn away. The belt binding your wrists tugs painfully. He unloops it slowly, letting your hands fall. They’re so numb you can barely move them.
You collapse onto your side. He catches you before you can hit the dirt. Arms wrapping tight around your waist. You flinch, letting out a cracked, broken sob.
He just shushes you softly, rocking you like a child. “Shhh. Shhh. No more crying. It’s over.”
You’re shaking so hard your teeth chatter.
He hums against your ear, soothing, twistedly affectionate. “You did so good for me.”
You try to pull away with the last bit of strength you have. He tightens his grip.
“No, baby. Don’t fight. Not now. You’re mine.”
Your voice is barely a whisper.
“Please… let me go…”
He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your back where he holds you.
“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that again.”
He turns your face roughly with one hand, fingers digging into your jaw. You can’t even close your eyes.
He leans in and kisses you. Slow. Deep. Your lips crack from the dry sobbing, split from earlier. The taste is copper and salt. He moans into your mouth like it’s a love letter.
When he pulls back, you’re gasping, tears starting again.
He wipes one away with his thumb, “Look at me.”
You don’t want to. He pinches harder.
“I said look at me.”
You obey. Eyes blurry. Red. Broken. His own eyes shine with that mad gleam.
“You’re mine now. Do you understand that?”
You don’t answer. He slaps you. Not hard enough to break anything. Just enough to feel it.
“Answer me.”
Your voice cracks.
“I’m… I’m yours.”
He breathes out a pleased sigh.
“Good fucking girl.”
He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. You try to shy away but his fingers hold you in place.
“I’m going to take care of you. Feed you. Dress you. Fuck you whenever I want.”
You let out a broken sob.
He smiles, “Shhh. Don’t cry. You’ll learn to love it.”
You try to speak. Nothing comes out but wrecked sounds. He rocks you again. His gloved hand trails down your body possessively. Over your ruined thighs. Between them. Smearing what’s left of his cum against your skin with sick reverence.
He presses the gun to the inside of your thigh once more. Firm. Icy.
“You keep crying, but you haven’t said thank you yet,” he whispers. “Thank me, baby. Or I’ll make this night worse than you thought possible.”
You sob harder- voice cracking, “Th- thank you.”
He hushes you, “Shhh. It’s okay. I know. It’s messy. Let’s clean you up.”
He drags his fingers through your folds slowly. You squirm weakly, sobbing at the overstimulation.
“So sensitive. Poor thing. So fucked out.”
He brings his fingers to your lips. You clamp your mouth shut. He waits. Calm. Patient. Then pinches your nose.
You can’t breathe. So you gasp. He pushes his fingers in.
“Taste what you did to me.”
You start tearing up again.
He smiles.
“Good girl.”
He finally lets you go, your body slumping in the dirt. But he doesn’t leave you there. He tucks himself back into his pants, adjusting calmly like nothing happened.
Then he leans down. Hands under your knees and back. He lifts you. You’re limp in his arms. Exhausted. Broken.
Your arms dangle, raw wrists leaving trails of blood on his uniform. He doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re going to sleep so good tonight.”
You sob weakly against his chest.
“Please… don’t… I want to go home…”
He chuckles.
“We are going home now. I’m your home.”
You can’t stop crying. He carries you through the forest slowly, like a bride. But there’s nothing romantic about the way he tightens his grip every time you flinch.
When you reach the road, his cruiser is waiting. He sets you on your feet, but holds you steady as your knees buckle.
He opens the back door. You see the cage partition. You see the locked handles.
You try one last time. “Please… I’ll be good… let me go…”
He sighs like he’s tired of explaining. “Stop asking. You’re mine.”
He throws you inside. Your bare thighs stick to the cold plastic seat. He reaches in and buckles you, snapping it so tight you can barely move. He cups your face in one gloved hand. Smiling.
“Say it.”
Your voice is a scratchy ruin, “I’m… yours.”
“Good girl.”
He softly kisses your lips.
“Forever.”
You shiver.
He closes the door. You hear it lock. He walks around to the driver’s side. Gets in. Starts the engine.
You can’t stop the tears. You don’t even try.
As the cruiser pulls away, bumping over the dirt road, you hear his voice in the front seat, low and dark and happy.
“Mine. All fucking mine.”
He keeps driving, the forest swallowing the narrow road in darkness. He kills the lights, letting only the low hum of the engine and your broken sobs fill the air.
You press yourself into the corner of the back seat, wrists raw from the cuffs, legs pulled up uselessly to your chest.
He glances at you in the rearview mirror. His dark eyes catch yours, and his mouth curls into that smile you’ve learned to fear.
“That’s it, pretty girl. Let it all out.”
Your breathing hitches. You can’t stop the tears.
He laughs softly.
“Fuck, you’re even prettier when you cry. You look so real now. No more of that tough act from before.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. It doesn’t help. His voice wraps around you like a noose.
“Shhh. Don’t be scared. You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you except me.”
Your shoulders shake.
He keeps talking, voice low and calm, like he’s confessing something intimate.
“I’m going to take such good care of you. Feed you. Bathe you. Dress you. Strip you. Fuck you until you don’t even remember what being alone felt like.”
You let out a cracked sob, shaking your head frantically. He hums contentedly, fingers tapping the wheel.
“We’ll have such a good life. I’ve got a place ready for us. Bed with fresh sheets. I’ll get the closet full of clothes your size.”
You gasp in horror, voice strangled.
“Please… let me go… I won’t tell anyone- plea-”
He cuts you off with a low growl.
“Don’t. Say. That.”
His eyes blaze in the mirror.
“Don’t you ever fucking say that again.”
You whimper, shrinking against the door. But he smiles again. Softer. Sicker.
“You’ll learn. You’ll see. I’m patient.”
He turns his gaze back to the road, the trees blurring by in the dark.
“You’re going to shower when we get there. You’re fucking filthy. I’ll watch. Make sure you’re clean everywhere. Don’t want you hiding anything from me.”
You let out another sob.
“Then you’ll sleep in my bed. Right beside me. Don’t worry, baby. I’ll tie you up nice and tight so you don’t wander off.”
Your entire body trembles. He chuckles.
“Next time you try to run?”
The amusement fades from his voice. Cold steel seeps in.
“I’ll break your fucking legs. Understand?”
You cry harder. But he just sighs like he’s exhausted by your disobedience.
“I’m not a bad man, pretty. I just hate liars. And I hate runners.”
You stare at the cage barrier. Your own reflection in the glass. Eyes puffy. Skin raw.
Empty.
He hums under his breath as he drives, tapping the wheel, like nothing is wrong at all.
“You’ll see soon enough. I can be so good to you. As long as you’re good for me.”
Your mind screams.
You think about your apartment. Your roommate. The show you were supposed to watch together tonight. She’ll surely wait up for you. Call you. Text you. Leave the porch light on. She’ll think you’re just late.
She’ll never know you’re gone.
Never know that you’re crying in the back of a cop car, naked, dried with his cum between your legs. You sob so hard your throat burns.
He clicks his tongue. “Shhh. Don’t wear yourself out. We have a long drive home.”
Your vision blurs. But you can’t block out his words. You’ll never see any home again except the one he owns.
“By morning, you’ll understand you’re mine. Not today. Not tomorrow. Forever.”
He doesn’t look back again. Just drives deeper into nowhere.
And you realize, with cold, perfect clarity, that no one is ever coming to save you.
═══════
♡ next
MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST ♡ a03
♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡
These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.
PROFESSOR!JUNGKOOK · STUDENT!READER · UNPROTECTED SEX · 2.8K
jungkook knew you were staring.
he didn’t mind at all; though he did sometimes wonder what was going through your head for your dimples to pop out as you grinned from ear to ear. or bite your lip and screw your eyes shut after you mouthed a swear word.
either way, jungkook couldn’t contain the smile on his lips.
“thinking about something good ?”
his voice broke you out of your daze, while he remained in his position, checking through your paper while you stood beside him, hands behind your back.
he glanced up at you, to see you blinking at him with an open mouth.
“i-“
there was no time to answer, the sound of his phone ringing somehow interrupting you but also saving your ass.
phew. no way to explain that your daydream consisted of him picking you up and fucking you on the desk he was working on.
it alarmed you seeing his eyes roll once he glanced at his caller id, although you could only wait patiently as he excused himself to leave the room.
“i’ll be a minute ____.”
you nodded at him as he rushed past you, a strained “what ?” leaving his mouth just before he shut the door behind him.
the couple minutes of you standing diligently while you could hear the definite annoyance through your professor’s voice, left you wondering if asking him to read through your essay was a good choice.
maybe, now wasn’t the right time—
a loud sigh met your ears after the slamming of the office door, turning to stumble upon the face of an obviously stressed man.
“erm…” you pressed your lips together, “would you like me to leave ?”
hands bunched into tight fists beside your body, it struck jungkook that you may have heard every second of his conversation; ultimately becoming awkward after knowing the contents.
“what ?” he slightly paused while walking, only to shake his head and carry on. “no, of course not.”
finally sitting down again with another relieving sigh leaving his mouth, jungkook picked up your papers while you noticed the tension in the silent room go from zero to one hundred.
oh fuck. you despised uncomfortable situations like these.
if only you decided to come another day, you wouldn’t haven’t encountered — what seemed like — a heated argument between husband and wife.
if only you weren’t so uncertain about your work, you wouldn’t come to ask your professor to go over it.
if only you didn’t open your big mouth, you wouldn’t be undergoing the absolutely embarrassing moment of mr jeon staring at you as if you were naked.
the words of “are you ok ?” repeated through jungkook’s ears several times before he could actually muster up a reply. to be honest, he was speechless.
“wow.” he took a second to shut his eyes before smiling widely at you.
“i don’t believe i’ve been asked about my well-being for a good three months.” he squinted his eyes while scoffing.
“i just- you…” you stopped yourself before you could make it worse, deciding to focus on the ground which you wished would swallow you up right now.
“it’s ok,” the genuine tone of his evident, “i actually appreciate it a lot. thanks for your kindness towards me.”
“don’t thank me.” it mainly came out in one whole breath — jungkook chuckling in reply when you proceeded to try and comfort him.
“things must be hard sir, but they’ll get better.”
he got the hint that you were referring to the phone call you most certainly overheard, although he couldn’t blame you.
“do things get better from finding your wife with another man in her bed ?”
the disgust on your face when he finished speaking kinda amused him, although he made sure to reassure you in not worrying.
“we’re getting a divorce anyway, but she’s just being a difficult woman currently.” he turned a page over now, paying you no attention while you were appalled.
“mr jeon, i’m so sorry.”
never had you ever actually known somebody who’d experienced such a thing, your remorse and horror towards the unfortunate event being obvious as it disturbed you how normal he was acting.
“what are you apologising for ?” gaping up at your standing self, jungkook dropped the papers in his hands only to focus fully on you now.
“because no one deserves that. especially not you sir.”
hoping he knew you were stating only the truth, it began to make total sense as to why his personality had changed in the last couple of months.
when mr jeon arrived, he was the new, hot and young professor, making both teachers and students swoon over him. not only his attractive looks, he was approachable to all while being friendly and having a great attitude towards teaching.
his sudden change of character where he turned more dismissive and less enthusiastic was spotted by anybody who paid close attention to him. you being part of anybody.
“well it gladdens me to know you care for me. at least one person does.”
watching as his small smile turned into a frown, your hand naturally reached out to him, resting on to his clenched fist.
the soft touch startled jungkook, instantly feeling at ease once he saw your comforting grin.
it wasn’t a total secret that you may or may not have had a crush on him. jungkook would just have to be totally oblivious to your sweet stares and smiles.
or the fact that he’s accidentally caught you scribble his name on the back of a piece of paper; hearts and doodles all to be seen around mr jeon.
“of course, sir.”
it was a reflex, hand wrapping around his, yet when you were just about to pull it back — realising that maybe you were overstepping a boundary — jungkook’s palm lay over yours.
the silence was loud as the pair of you refused to break eye contact.
you didn’t know what to call it, but the emotion in his gaze was hard to name. similarly, he could say the same about you; a strand of your hair beginning to bug him as he moved near to you, extending his finger and tucking the piece behind your ear.
and that was it. he’d crossed the line.
there was no time to hold back, suddenly in two minds before your lips had crashed on his after he was inches away from your face when fixing your hair.
oddly, there was no sign of reluctance as he reciprocated your passion — kissing you harder with more intensity as you had to grip on his shoulders to keep yourself steady.
“fuck.” you muttered when withdrawing, removing your hands from him when you comprehended what just happened.
you kissed your professor. and he’s married.
“shit, i’m-”
just as you were about to apologise, jungkook’s mouth was already connected to you as he hurried out of his seat to hold your cheeks in his palms, urgency on show.
your head was empty; mind only full of his eagerness towards you as he stayed smooching you.
instinctively, your two bodies moved towards a surface to lean on — the nearest his desk — as your hands latched on the edge to keep you stable.
both of you were busy snogging away, chests bumping into each other while his glasses began to become a nuisance for him.
“i’m sorry.” he grinned, withdrawing from you to remove the frames.
your mouth was open as he gaped back at you, no noise filling the other’s ears apart from the panting after the rush and excitement you both felt.
“we- i-”
“forgive me,” he’d taken a couple of steps back; ensuring there was a couple metres distance between you two, “i- i don’t know what i was thinking.”
surely, he didn’t think it was a mistake ?
yeah, it would’ve been amazing under better circumstances — like if he didn’t have a wife — however it felt good.
“do you regret it ?”
the crestfallen tone of yours immediately made jungkook jump to correct you.
“no !” he ran a hand through his hair, clutching on to the pair of glasses in his free hand before tutting.
“i’m your professor and you’re my student. i just-“
“i’m an adult. and so are you.”
jungkook was in a dilemma. sure, he’d enjoyed having your lips on his, but that’s not the point. though he knew it was wrong, it felt way too good.
“but-“
“you know what. maybe i should go.”
you didn’t know what you were doing, aware that you’d left your assignment with him and would have to come face to face with him soon anyway. but for now you didn’t want to embarrass yourself any further; brushing past him and nearly leaving till he called out your name.
“lock the door.”
the little intake of breath didn’t go hidden by jungkook.
“you sure ?”
turning, you saw his hands on his hips as he poked his tongue at his inner cheek — a small smirk on his lips along with a raised eyebrow.
that alone was all you needed to turn the round knob and ensure you heard the click of the door locking.
“come here.”
you practically ran to him, legs wrapping around him as he heaved your body up onto him.
it was as if you were hungry for one another, tongues already in each other’s mouths and hands travelling to all the right places.
you didn’t know jungkook was a moaner, however setting your ass on his desk with your pelvis directly hitting his crotch, legs wrapped tightly around his frame as you clutched onto his arms with your fingers; feeling the contact made a vibration resound from his mouth onto yours.
“____” he withdrew, hands still stuck on your hips with both of your breaths hitting the others lips while grinning at the feeling of your heartbeats increasing.
“do you really want to do this ?”
his forehead came in to contact with yours; thumb swiping across your bottom lip and eyelids shutting once your thighs clenched on either side of him.
“i do.” you breathed out, edging closer to peck him gently — teasingly dragging your lips until he held your jaw, lightly in place.
“is this okay ?”
his husky voice so near to your ear, was driving you insane but you could only nod as he continued.
“are you giving me your full consent to fuck you ?”
hearing such an explicit word from his lips had your pussy throbbing as you gulped before replying.
“yes.”
the once thoughtful gaze which turned to lust had you bite your lips when jungkook unhurriedly took off his blazer, biceps bulging through his shirt.
“i’m gonna make sure you don’t regret this.”
oh you were certain you weren’t.
watching him work with his zipper indicated to you to get started on your skirt, although the hand on yours prevented you from doing so.
“there’s no need.” jungkook muttered, inching nearer to trail a set of kisses on your neck while standing in between your legs.
he was able to unhook his cock through the unzipped part of his trousers; the pure sight of his throbbing head making you gasp from first glance.
his cocky chuckle was hot, nonetheless, as his lips along with his tongue stayed showing love to your exposed chest, the faint skim of two fingers setting aside your almost soaked panties felt so smooth to you, until the plunge of two fingers inside of your hole made you whimper.
“mmmph.”
you’d pulled him so close to you to hide your face in the croak of his neck, jungkook simply shushing you as your arms fastened around his shoulders.
he was quick to leave your puckered hole as fast as his fingers entered, smearing the wetness to make things easier for him.
you’d be lying if you said he didn’t know what he was doing though. his thumb, so effortlessly pressing on your clit at just the right pressure as his digits worked in and out of you; body becoming limp at how skilfully he had you go from mewling in slight discomfort to moaning in utter pleasure.
jungkook could feel he was fully hard merely from satisfying you and even if he wasn’t getting gratified at the same time, being able to have his eyes feast on you undoing yourself in front of him was enough.
your body was only tilting backwards, arms detaching themselves from him as you planted your palms on either side of your weak self — opening your screwed shut lids to meet his cock calling your name.
he smirked, spotting your eyes lingering up and down from his own to the show that eventually ended up taking your whole attention.
jungkook’s lips that adorned a wide grin changed to his mouth dropping open when you brought your thumb to his slit, spreading his pre-cum while keeping eye contact.
giving in, his eyes fell down to your hands fisting his length; successfully bringing him delight by jacking him off while playing with his exposed balls and adding the perfect touch of squeezing when he least expected it.
“i- i don’t want to cum yet.”
those words were the last you anticipated to hear from jungkook, his shaky breath making you go a little slower while you understood it was more of a warning when he separated both your hands from the other.
the whine which met his ears altered into a loud moan after jungkook swiftly thrusted his dick in to your desperate hole in replacement of his index and middle finger.
“fuck.”
both of you cursed under your breath when he penetrated you at ease after doing a good job of making your pussy accustomed to his large size.
“don’t you dare pull out…” you groaned through sounds of joy, “i’m on the pill.” head falling back when jungkook clutched on to the bottom of your thighs to have his cock hit you deeper.
“oh yeah ?" his thrusts increased at your words, balls smacking against your cunt as you uttered sinful words at the sensation of him pounding into you,
“i can’t wait for you to cum all over my cock baby. can you do that for me ____ ?” his breathing turning heavy only meant he was close as his nail dug into you.
the same could be said for yourself; jungkook asking you such a question snapping the orgasm in your stomach, as you screamed out in gratification.
“yes, yes !”
jungkook wouldn’t put an end to fucking you, body losing it’s balance and essentially crushing you while his dick continued to shove into you.
“that’s it, cum for me baby.”
his grunts got quieter as he gradually halted his movements, only to hover over you and steady himself by keeping his weight on his palms that rested on both sides of your head.
your body was still, pussy throbbing around his pulsating cock as all you could feel was the numbness between your legs.
“ugh.”
the two of you were a mess, jungkook also wincing when pulling out of you; the remaining juices that left your hole entrancing him for a second till he grabbed a tissue and wiped it up delicately.
flinching from the feeling, you let out a tiny whimper, letting your eyes flutter shut. you heard his zipper and an appeasing exhale — a smile appearing on your face until he clapped his hands together.
“okay, let’s get you up.”
it was clear to him you were worn out so he was understanding enough to help hoist your upper half from its previous posture until you were sitting up with your hands enclasped around his neck.
he’d sorted both your underwear and skirt out like the gentleman he was; the only jumbled thing about you, your hair.
the chuckle that left his mouth was sweet while he sorted the messy strands as you gazed at him like he was a sort of prize, a grin on your mouth.
“you must be giddy.”
jungkook acknowledged that you were probably feeling afterglow; beaming at your happy self.
“that was the best sex i’ve ever had.”
he immediately laughed, the sound bringing glee to your ears.
“thank you, i guess.” he scrunched his nose while biting his lip, squeezing on your hips.
“can i ask you a question though ?”
there was a hint of hesitation behind your words, jungkook squinting at you for a second before smiling to reassure you.
That time you got caught masturbating in your professor's classroom after hours.
Word Count: 7.531
Warning: camgirl, teacher/student, masturbation, smut, voyeurism, dirty talk, sex toys, fingering, dom jungkook, submissive reader, ass slapping/spanking, chemistry questions bc this is a jk professor fic, begging, edging/orgasm denial, cock worship, oral, deep throating, overstimulation, creampie, unprotected sex,
Taglist | Teaser
You knew doing this was risky and maybe, just maybe, that was your problem. You loved risks. The way your heart pumped outside your chest so rapidly, allowing hot, anticipated blood to flow throughout your body. Your breathing would become just as rapid, unable to hold in the energetic excitement that bursts through you.
What was the risk you were taking?
You, a camgirl, were going to go live in your professor's classroom.
Of course, something like this was insane. Incredibly heinous if you got caught.
You weren’t going to get caught - you were sure of it. Not only was the weekend, but this certain professor was never in his classroom outside of class hours.
Professor Jeon - named Jeon Jungkook - was young, close to his thirties. Most Professors are the same age as your parents or older, however Professor Jeon was no older than the students he taught.
Professor Jeon wasn’t just young, but he was also dangerously handsome. You recall when he strutted through the door 10 minutes late, glasses hanging on his shirt holding a black briefcase. He had apologized profusely about being late and admitted that he overslept - and did a dramatic bow.
When you laid eyes on Professor Jeon, dressed in a tight fitted v-neck shirt with fitted dress pants that showed just how tiny his waist was… you couldn’t concentrate in the slightest. Not when your Professor was a hot piece of ass and a total slut in what he was wearing.
The wooden door creaks when you open it. The sensor lights come on as you stroll in, closing the door behind you. Your heels click against the floors beneath you as you walk, echoing off of the empty classroom walls.
The classroom has amazing bright lighting that would do good for your cam. You go towards Professor Jeon’s desk and release a short sigh. He had a few books stacked on top of one another that caught your eye. You go towards them and pick them up, placing your cell phone - that is fully charged and ready for this moment - on top. You stroll towards the array of desks and place the books on top of one.
You throw your bag down on one of the seats after unzipping it. You’re a bit giddy at the thought of doing this here out of all places. You just know the tips that you were going to get were going to be insane - possibly the most you’d receive thus far!
When you decided for this camshow, you were going to look the part of the slutty student - a sheer white top that’s tied at the end and too tight for it to not be inappropriate in formal settings. You aren’t wearing a bra so your nipples are hard against the shirt. Your skirt is plaid and short, your ass hanging out of the bottom of it and matching thigh high socks.
Most of your “fans” have fantasies - you managed to fulfil most of them. However, you had your own fantasy. You always got wet at the idea of public indecency and the thought of being caught. You, however, weren’t a complete idiot. You knew doing this would be marking it off your bucket list. However, you understood doing it during the weekend and after hours would be best. No one would be here besides the janitors, and knowing them, they were possibly off somewhere milking the clock.
You came prepared. You were fully intended on going all out - and clean up afterwards. Your bag had more than sex toys. You had towels, clorox wipes and even multi-purpose cleaner. You didn’t want Professor Jeon to come back to your cum all over his desk - how embarrassing.
“Heelllooo.” you sing-song once the live starts. Your phone is leaning against the stacks of books. The look of you through the camera is amazing - dark desk with Professor Jeon’s desk chair in the background. A large white board with the Philosophical messages written on it; it was truly a scene right out of a porn shoot.
“I told you all I always imagined fucking myself in this very classroom.” you take a few steps back to lean against Professor Jeon’s desk. You tilt your head cutesy-like - just how your viewers like. “And today…I’m going to do just that.”
Jungkook’s dress shoes click against the marble floor as he makes his way down the long hall. His glasses are low on his nose, one hand lazily in his pant pockets. He didn’t want to be here on an off day, but he was already behind on grading and if he procrastinated any more, his grades wouldn’t be in the system in time for finals.
So, like any other professionally responsible Professor does, he goes to do his job. He passed one janitor that was playing a game of Candy Crush on high volume. It echoes down the hall even as he reaches his classroom. From underneath the closed door, he witnesses light passing through.
Jungkook furrows his eyes, but doesn’t think too much into it. Possibly another janitor is inside cleaning and actually doing their jobs.
Jungkook twists the handle and opens the door. Immediately, he stops in his tracks as his ears pick up moaning.
Jungkook stops in the doorway, his head, ever so slowly, turns to where his desk sits. You, an average student with decent grades, is sitting on his desk. You’re dressed like a modern slut that he’d see in a cheap, oversaturated porno or on Halloween night. Your head is pushed back, mouth agape and releasing such pleasurable moans that his cock twitches at just the sound of it. Your eyes are squeezed shut and for a moment, he doesn’t hear the buzzing sounds.
Jungkook shuts the door behind him slowly, his eyes zoning in on you and then glancing towards the desk where your camera lays against a stack of his books.
You were recording this? Jungkook licks his lips, a bit ashamed at how hot he thought this was. Of course, this was utterly disrespectful and unacceptable, but he was just a man himself. He watches useless porn that excites him in the moment, and disgusts it once he cums all over himself.
And now, witnessing the way the rough vibrator lays against your clit, it excites him. He feels his mouth salivate, his mind going through dirty thoughts that he shouldn’t have for you or anyone he teaches for that matter.
“Excuse me.”
Your eyes dart open and the vibrator drops from your hands. Your head snaps to the left and your soul nearly leaves your body. Your vibrator buzzes against the marble floor as your heart leaps from your chest.
“P-Prof-fessor!”
You drop from Professor Jeon’s desk, wrapping your arms in front of your chest - that was now unbuttoned and fully displaying your bare chest.
“W-What are-”
“What are you doing?” Jungkook responds, glancing from you to your phone. “You…do realize you’re being recorded right?”
You swallow, nodding shamefully. “I-I..I cam…from time to time.” you murmur sheepishly, your body trembling underneath his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Professor Jeon-”
Jungkook furrows his brows at you. So you were a camgirl. Now it made sense what you were doing here at this time and hour, dressed in such a way. But Jungkook only chuckles for a moment before shaking his head.
“No, I mean there’s a camera in this room.” Jungkook corrects. He points to the ceiling where one, circular dome sits. “It’s new. I use it to assure no one cheats.”
Your eyes follow his pointing hand. You close your eyes, feeling utterly stupid right now. It was just your luck that you would get caught - and on camera that that wasn’t the camera you intended on being a part of.
“You do realize what you’re doing could get you put on a registry?”
Jungkook begins to stroll closer to you. His steps are cool and relaxed and they do not match that of someone upset at finding one of his students being indecent in his classroom.
“I’ll go!” you plead, shaking your head. “I-I’ll clean up before I do and-”
“No,” Jungkook stops a few feet away from you. “continue.”
You're completely still after Professor Jeon speaks. He stands tall, shoulder relaxed. His eyes, ever so dark, are watching you behind those round glasses he wears that makes him look like the hottest geek you’ve ever seen. Your eyes turn towards your phone, the amount of chats and cash coming through has it buzzing up a storm. From where you're standing, the viewers can see you attempting to cover yourself, but Jungkook is out of sight.
“Professor…” you trail off, your voice low. “...I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
Jungkook tilts his head at you. He ponders how much money you make being a camgirl - maybe even more than him as a Professor. There were always men (and the occasional woman) who were willing to pay thousands for whatever fantasies you were willing to fulfil.
Jungkook knows full well that him being here as long as he is, allowing his eyes to skim over your half naked body, is wrong. He was in a position of power, after all. He was your professor and he could use this to get you to do whatever he wanted you to do - the possibilities were endless.
But Jungkook wasn’t an asshole. You're a decent student in class who does well on exams and always turns in work on time. You were a pretty girl that now has his attention that shouldn’t be on you - but it is. Especially with the way he’s positive that your pussy is wet right about now.
“Continue.” Jungkook repeats. “You do have an audience waiting, don’t you?”
Your body is hot. For a moment, you’re still. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing the entire time, messages and tips flying through. You ponder if they think this is an act or has reality hit them like it had you.
Jungkook’s eyes are intense. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, he thinks. After all, you hadn’t stopped trembling since he arrived. He doesn’t blame you - he would be highly humiliated too if someone walked in on him in such a vulnerable state that could possibly get him kicked out of college and put onto a sex offenders list. He had no intention of truly reporting you - even if you decided to end your stream now and haul ass; he would respect it.
“You…you won’t tell?” you murmur, swallowing a lump in your throat. Was it idiotic to say this when there were hundreds already watching you now?
Jungkook takes another step forward and nods his head. “I won’t tell.” he murmurs, voice calm but low. “I want to watch…you’d let me, right? It can’t be any different than what you’re already doing.”
Your heart pounds. Your body is warm and flushed with embarrassment - and flattery? This was Professor Jeon out of all people. A young professor that has all the girls (and a few boys) swooning. This was an opportunity of a lifetime - even if it was nerve wracking.
“Consider it…extra credit.” Jungkook shrugs. “Besides, no one has to know what you and I do here. It can be our little secret.”
You, his & the viewers - but they were just as perverted as you and he was. They were getting off to this; the innocently slutty student and the perverted, but sexy teacher using this all to his advantage.
“Okay.” you nod, slowly allowing your arms to fall to your aides. Your breasts are plump, nipples hardened. He doesn’t hide his gaze in the slightest, dinding you entirely enticing. “What…what do you want me to do, Professor?”
Jungkook’s cock twitches again. You got over your nerves fast. He liked that.
“Pick up your vibrator and turn it off.”
You do as you’re told, glancing at your phone screen. The comments were going rapidly - your phone chiming with tips. How were you ever going to top this live stream when it was all over?
“Place it on my desk.” Jungkook speaks, watching the way your ass sits in the short skirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice so deep that the words shoot straight to your core. “now sit on my desk and show everyone how wet you are.”
Your heart thumps so loudly out your chest, but you do ss Professor Jeon says. You would be lying if you said this didn’t excite you - to witness your own professors lust over your body. It was an ego boost.
You open your legs, your eyes staying on Professor Jeon for his next instruction.
“Touch yourself.”
You haven’t touched yourself without a toy in who knows how long. After a while, your fingers just weren’t enough. You enjoyed fucking yourself on a dildo while your audience watched - bonus if you had a vibrator against your clit in the process.
But your body is entirely hot and your pussy is wet and pulsing - this was such a turn on. You follow your instruction, placing the pad of your fingers against your clit. Professor Jeon’s eyes were so intense, full of dark lust. You almost wanted to ask what he was thinking right now - if he would ever touch you in this way.
Jungkook licks his lips, eyes trained on the way your fingers twirl against your wet clit, dampening your digits in seconds. This isn’t how he was supposed to spend his weekend. This wasn’t grading papers - but it was even better. A complete treat he wasn’t aware he needed until now - one he would have forever when he reviewed the camera footage back. Was that legal, he thinks. He didn’t tell you to come in here and get off. Besides, you also knew there was a camera in the room now and hadn’t said no so…
“You have a pretty pussy.” Jungkook blurts out, swallowing the dry lump in his throat.
“Tha…thanks.” you huff, halting for a mere second before continuing to play with your coit further. “I’m glad you think so, Professor Jeon.”
Jungkook blinks his eyes to look at your face. He tilts his head a bit and snorts. “You’re full of shit.” he says. “You’re saying whatever you think you need to in order to please me.”
“Is it working?” you ask, your fingers going closer to your entrance.
It is, but Jungkook doesn’t want to tell you that. Instead, he decides to watch the way your fingers, slowly and teasingly - to yourself, him and the audience - enter you. The way it appears that you’re stretching yourself so good that he ponders when was the last time you’ve been fucked. The thoughts couldn’t be that obscene as watching you pleasure yourself right now.
“Why my classroom?”
Your eyes, that had begun fluttering close, snap open at Professor Jeon’s words. Your free hands reach up to cup your naked breast, your hardened nipple against your palm.
“You know why, Professor.” you murmur, not saying his name.
For a moment, you forget about your phone facing you, hundreds of people watching you and hearing Jungkook. If they knew he was your actual professor, or thought this was all a skit, you weren’t sure. But you know that at the end of it all, the amount of tips you were going to get could possibly pay your bills for months to come.
“Sometimes, I think of you when I do my streams.”
You’re teasing him, but you did think of him sometimes. When he was teaching, you’d think about the way his shoulders flexed. When you sat closer to his desk, you’d oftentimes find yourself looking down at his tattooed hand, the veins in his hand tightening when he wrote something. It was hard to not imagine those same hands wrapped around you.
“I think about you…” your fingers pump inside you, your pussy making a slightly squelching noise that interests Jungkook. “...about you doing this to me.”
You can hear Jungkook breathing now. It increases the further he watches you. You were good at this, he thinks. You’re talking to him the same way you'd talk to your audience, your voice so sultry and full of intense lust that could not be fabricated in the slightest.
“You think about my fingers fucking into you?” Jungkook asks. The thought alone excites him. The act of getting to feel your wet pussy - that’s currently dripping on his desk - in the palm of his own hands has his breathing increasing even more. “And here I thought you were just interested in the lesson.”
Your fingers tug at your nipple, your thumb and index finger pinching the sensitive bud as your other hand pumps your fingers inside of you. Your thighs shake a bit just when you bite your lip.
“I can’t help it.” you continue. You know full well that you’re turning him on. You noticed the bulge in his pants, twitching to be released. You lick your bottom lip, continuing with your lewd talk. “Sometimes my thoughts get even dirtier…” you trail off, making sure to bat your lashes at him.
Swallowing, Jungkook steps closer. He stretches his shoulders and neck, his eyes darkening at you.
“...I think about you bending me over and fucking me in front of everyone.” you gasp. You tug at your nipple even harder, your thrusting fingers hitting a sensitive spot inside of you. Your head falls back a bit, eyes shutting for a moment. You think about your words - about Professor Jeon indeed doing just that. How wet you’d be for him. How powerful his thrusts must be - how well he could take you and just how vulnerable for him you’d be.
Your back arches, your walls tightening around your fingers.
Jungkook grunts. He takes a few steps closer to you. His hand wraps around your wrist and pulls out your wet fingers from inside of you.
Your eyes snap open with shock and confusion. “Prof-”
“You won’t cum.” Jungkook hisses, slapping your hand away. “Not until I say so.”
Those words shoot straight to your core. You were a whore for a man to dominate you - bonus points if it was your hot Professor who, admittedly, you had thought about fucking you from time to time. But respectfully, you hadn’t acted out on it like others had. The amount of flirting he had to turn down from fellow peers was insane.
Yet here he was with you. Of course, it was just a matter of time and place. He wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t brought yourself here.
“Yes, Professor.” you murmur.
Jungkook supposed that his cover was blown. He was now in the camera and there wasn’t a point in going back to his hidden position now.
“Turn around.”
Jungkook had to take back control - even when he technically still had it. You were far too enticing to him. Those sultry eyes followed by your words of pure submission for him. He was going to melt if he didn’t get you to turn away from him.
You do as you’re told, falling to your feet and turning around on his desk. You face the dark chalk board.
Jungkook forces your legs apart, showing the camera an amazing view of your ass and glistening pussy.
“Everytime you’re in my class, it seems you don’t pay much attention.” Jungkook says. He should’ve asked first if it was okay to touch you, but you don’t say anything when he does. He feels electricity shoot throughout him when his hand grips your bare ass, a low growl releasing from his lips. “I’m going to ask you some questions and I expect you to answer them correctly.”
The desk is cool and hard against your breast. You nod your head, slight anticipation building up.
“Let’s start off easy.”
Jungkook’s hand grips your ass once more, enjoying the way it feels in his palm.
“Are two atoms of the same element identical?”
You gasp when you feel Professor Jeon’s fingers slide past your clit. “No.”
“Good girl.” Jungkook hums, continuing to rub at your clit. “Can water remain a liquid below zero degrees Celsius?”
Your own breathing increases, wanting to feel his fingers deep inside of you. “Yes…?”
“Seems like you’ve listened to something.”
Though you found chemistry boring, you understood Professor Jeon was going easy on you at the moment. Maybe he was spewing out easy questions just to feel your wet pussy even more.
“Can you light a diamond on fire?”
“...No?”
You yelp this time, feeling a sharp strike against your ass.
“Wrong.” Jungkook sing-songs, gripping your stinging cheek. “It can be.”
You sigh.
“What determines the degree of completeness of a reaction?”
What the fuck? You close your eyes, attempting to think back into any chemistry class you had to remember - but it doesn’t dawn on you. You couldn’t remain concentrated regardless.
“Um-”
Another slap lands on your ass, this time harder. The stinging sensation feels entirely too good for you to be upset.
“You don’t know.” Jungkook tsks. “That’s because you’ve been daydreaming about me fucking you instead of paying attention in class.”
Another slap - then another, and another. Jungkook slaps both of your cheeks until your thighs are shaking with overstimulation. Your back is arched, fully anticipating more and more, and he gives it each time. You were enjoying this just as much as he was, your ass throbbing but your pussy leaking for even more of the stinging sensation.
“I’ll start paying attention more, Professor Jeon.” you moan, legs quivering. “I prom-”
Smack!
Jungkook slides his fingers between your legs, rubbing your throbbing clit. He grunts at the way your arousal pools right onto his palm and he shakes his head.
“This isn’t much of a punishment for a whore like you.” Jungkook spats. “Dripping all over my desk and the floor. Slutty pussy clenching around nothing in hopes I’d fill you up.”
Professor Jeon was just as a good dirty talker as you were. While your words were soft and sultry, his was lewd and rough - just how you liked it.
“Let’s see how easily I can get my fingers in your pussy.”
Jungkook slides his fingers slowly towards your entrance, assuring that the camera has a perfect view of you. You’re so wet and warm that he himself has to contain himself when his fingers sink inside of you.
“P-Professor.” you stutter, your pussy immediately squeezing greedily around his fingers. You couldn’t believe that you were in this position now, wrapped firmly around the same hands you’d often imagined about.
“Let’s see how much you could take.”
Jungkook begins to pump his fingers aggressively in and out of you, curling them a bit. His free hand lays on your ass, gripping and rubbing it as his fingers pound.
Your thighs open wider, your cheek pressing against his desk. Your eyes are fluttering and you don’t attempt to hide your loud squeals. The room is full of squelching noises that could surely be heard down the hall if anyone was truly paying attention, but none of the janitors were. It made this moment even more of an adrenaline rush.
“Feels so g-good!” you gasp out.
Jungkook grips your ass cheek in his palm, his knuckles slamming against your clit with how deep his fingers were pumping. “Such a slutty little thing you are.” he hisses. “Are you going to cum all over my fingers?”
“Yes!” you exhale, nodding your head. Your cheek rubs against his wooden desk. “Yes, Professor!”
“No,” Jungkook removes his fingers from inside of you, slapping his hand down onto your clit. “not until I say so.”
You let out a loud whine, eyes widening. “But…but-”
“A whore like you should be begging.”
“Please.”
Jungkook steps away. “That’s not good enough.” he snickers. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing and he makes a mental note to ask just how much you made when this was all done. Out of curiosity, but because he expected anything from you.
You manage to pull yourself off of Professor Jeon’s desk. You turn to him with pleading, glossy eyes. You were so close to cumming that the lack of it has caused your eyes to water pathetically. Your shirt, that’s already open, is pulled off of you. You throw it aside, and then go for your skirt.
Jungkook watches the way you strip for him, before getting on your knees. This had to be demeaning in a way, but you were such a whore in the moment that you didn’t care how this made you look.
“Professor Jeon…” you murmur, crawling closer to him.
Jungkook feels it - his cock twitching right in his pants. The sight of you on your hands and knees before him, those glossy, pleading eyes…
“Yes?”
You swallow, eyes slowly trailing down his body until they land on the obvious bulge. You lick your lips.
“Can I suck your cock?” you ask, eyes flashing back up at him. “Please?”
The twitching doesn’t stop this time. Jungkook is completely off guard by your request.
“You could fuck my mouth until you cum.” you suggest, a hand reaching out for his waist. “I always wanted to have your cock in my mouth, Professor.”
How could you be so submissive, but still have complete control over him? Jungkook didn’t know. He doesn’t stop your hand from tugging at his pants until they’re down, his underwear sliding with it.
This was really happening, you think. His cock, tip so pink and wet with pre-cum staring right at you. Your mouth salivates to have him in your mouth. You haven’t realized just how long you wanted him until the opportunity presented itself to you.
Your hand wraps around his shaft. Jungkook watches between unblinking eyes as your pink tongue comes out and slides against his wet slit. He shudders, mouth falling open.
“Your cock is so pretty, Professor.” you murmur, his tip against your lips. “So big…I knew you’d have a big cock for me to suck.”
Jungkook clenches his hands as you lick his tip once more, before sliding it across your face entirely. You were so filthy, he thinks, and so close. How could he have not known something as dirty as you was right in his classroom this entire time.
“You’re such a dirty little whore.” Jungkook hisses. “Rubbing my cock all over your face like this.”
You hum, your tongue sliding across his shaft. Your eyes look up at him innocently. “Want you to fuck my mouth with your big cock, Professor.”
“You do?” Jungkook allows a hand to lay onto your head, patting it slightly and further adding to the demeaning. “You’re gonna be a good little whore and let me fuck your mouth?”
You nod your head, opening your mouth and twirling your tongue onto his wet tip. You suckle on it greedily, sucking your cheeks in.
Jungkook allows you to suck on his cock, bringing it deeper and deeper into your mouth. You were so sloppy, drool trickling down the side of your lips, watery eyes staring up at you.
Your filthy sounds of your slurping bounces off the walls and high ceilings of Professor Jeon’s classroom, only adding to the obscene sight - and his excitement. His cock hits your uvula and you’re proud that all the times you’ve practiced - on live - deep throating, that you managed to not make a full of yourself.
“Look how slutty…” Jungkook trails off, a growl in his voice. His hand, that had been on the top of your head like he would have his own dog, had slid down to your cheek. His hips jerk forward. “…you’re a natural at this. How often do you suck on cocks?”
There’s a single tear that slides down your cheek, one that has Jungkookk even more excited to fuck your face. His thumb swipes the tear away, his hips continuing to jerk.
“Aha,” Jungkook chuckles. “I suppose you can’t answer me.”
Your mouth is so hot and wet, gummy-like walls inviting him entirely. More and more saliva pools into your mouth just for him and his pleasure. Though your eyesight was a bit blurred, you could see Professor Jeon’s handsome face. Dark eyebrows stretched together with concentration, plump pink lips parted slightly to let out exhales and moans.
Jungkook couldn’t wait to watch his cameras back at this. Dare he say this was the most excitement he had in months. Blood pumps through his veins,a rush going through him at getting to fuck your mouth without any hesitation from you. Your gagging noise only fuels him further.
“You’re so beautiful like this. A little whore on her knees for me. Gagging around my cock just like you’ve imagined.”
Your mouth aches and you have little motivation to continue to suck, but you allow him to use your mouth as he sees fit. Your thighs clenched together, friction shooting straight to your already throbbing cunt.
“Fuck, fuck-“ Jungkook throws his head back, eyes clenching shut. “-you stupid fucking whore. With a mouth like this I might have to live out your little fantasy. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Me stopping my lecture just to fuck your mouth open like this.”
Jungkook would never do it - you know that just as much as he does. But the fantasy still lives free in both of your minds. It’s so obscene and forbidden that the desire grows with each passing moment. You feel like the luckiest student here by just being in this position - no matter how wrong this was.
Jungkook is close. You can feel him with each passing thrust, his hands on the back of your head. Your throbbing clit is dripping all over the floor while his twitching cock assaults your throat. You whine around him, wet, blurry eyes blinking to continue to look up at him. Your nose is against his abdomen when you feel the warm, salty cum reach your throat.
A long groan comes from Jungkook’s lips, his legs twitching as he fills your throat. You’re salivating entirely, the drool pooling down your chest. You’re able to breathe again when his cock pops from your wet lips, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you together. You take several breaths, even coughing a bit.
Jungkook stumbles back a few steps, rolling his neck a bit to regain his composure.
“Professor Jeon,” you sigh out. You lift the back of your hand to wipe away the saliva on your lips. “please fuck me.”
Oh.
Jungkook blinks his eyes open to look at your pathetic position on the ground.
“Please make me cum, Professor Jeon.” you plead. “I’ll be good. I’ll do better in your class.”
Jungkook watches you crawl closer to him, those watery eyes looking up at him pitifully. Jungkook snarls, something growing in his chest at just the sound of your words.
You were already doing alright in his class. You showed up and participated only if you knew the answer - which wasn’t all the time, but it was enough.
“You’re a lying whore.” Jungkook hisses. He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks it so you’re looking at him and now his already hardened cock. As if he hadn’t already cum enough down your throat, he was ready to go again. “You just want to be fucked good, don’t you? Why should I fuck you?”
Your heart pumps with anticipation. “Because,” you whine softly.
“That’s not an answer. You couldn’t even get my questions correct. But you want to be rewarded with a good fuck?”
You swallow, eyes watching him just as he watches you.
“I’m so wet for you right now, Professor.” you whine. “It’s not my fault I have a hard time concentrating during classes.”
And it’ll just be a bit harder, you think, now that you know just how pretty his cock was.
And just how much you wanted it in you at any given moment.
Jungkook closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He can hear the faint vibrating sounds of the stream - he almost forgot just how alone you and he truly weren’t.
“I’m on birth control.”
Eyes snapping open, Jungkook gawks down at you. Eyes pleading as ever.
“Wouldn’t that be fun?” you question, a tilt to your head. “Cumming in me right where you teach all of your students.”
Jungkook’s breathing hardens - it would be fun, wouldn't it?
“Turn around.” Jungkook rushes, letting go of your hair and you away. “Ass up. Since you’re begging to be stuffed, I’ll just do exactly that.”
It didn’t take much convincing on Jungkook’s end - how embarrassing. He hasn’t cum in someone raw in he doesn’t know how long. All of this was just feeding into a fantasy he wasn’t aware he held; especially for a student.
You do exactly as Professor Jeon tells you to. Your chest is against the cool floor, thighs apart. He has a view of your glistening pussy, waiting for him.
Jungkook’s right hand slams on your ass as he comes onto the ground in front of you, then he slides it to your waist and yanks you toward him. His free hand wraps around his cock, pumping it before he slides it between your wet lips.
The stinging sensation on your ass only has your cunt growing wetter. You squirm when his wet tip rubs at your clit, only further taunting you and your pathetic whimpering.
“Let’s see how good of a fuck you are.” Jungkook says, his voice meaning to sound more demeaning than it was. His voice cracks just a bit when he begins to enter you. “I might just keep you around.”
This had to be a one time thing. He couldn't risk being caught up with you - his student. Though you and hebwere both grown adults, it was ethical.
But damn was it good, Jungkook thinks.
Jungkook enters you in one thrust, groaning at how tight, warm and wet you were. Your velvety walls are caging him in, assuring that he would be thinking about you for months to come.
Jungkook places both of his hands on your hips, sliding out just to thrust back in. His nails dig into your skin, hips continuing to rut, growing faster and faster with each pump.
Your nipples are hard against the ground, slamming into it with each thrust of Professor Jeon’s hips. He’s so deep, his cock hitting your sweet spot. Your walls tighten around him, feeling that pleasurable pressure as before - you weren’t meant to last long.
Your ass is amazing to Jungkook. The way it slams off of his abdomen as he pounds his cock into you. His tall ceiling bounces off the leed sounds of skin slapping. He doesn’t hold back his groans, needing to express just how good your pussytruly was.
“Shit,” Jungkook groans, his head hanging. “your pussy’s so wet.”
“Your cock feels so good, Professor.”
“Yeah?” Jungkook snickers. His right hand slides up your bare back, stopping at the back of your neck. “Aren’t you lucky to finally have your fantasy come to life?”
You yelp when Jungkook yanks your neck, bringing you back to him. Your completely naked body against his clothed one just adds to his dominance nature.
Sliding his hand from your neck to your chin, he juts it to look at him. This new position allows his grinding cock to go deeper. His lips are close to yours, his rushed, warm breath tickling the skin of your face.
“I would’ve fucked you sooner if I knew you felt this good.” Jungkook murmurs,
Professor Jeon’s lips are on yours before you could respond. He groans into it when your cunt squeezes around him. He lets go of your chin to reach between your legs, rubbing at your throbbing clit.
There isn’t any way you’re going to concentrate during lessons. Not when you’d look down at his hands and recall the way he’d rub your clit so possessively as he is now - or had those very same fingers deep into your pussy.
Jungkook lets go of your lips, but he doesn’t go far. He watches the way your face stretches in pleasure, your eyebrows knitted together and plump lips pulled apart.
“Are you going to cum?” Jungkook asked, his cock continuing to stretch you out.
“Yes!” you nod. You place your head against his chest, squirming with overstimulation as Jungkook’s fingers add pressure onto your clit.
Jungkook pushes you away and removes his cock - much to his own dismay. He listens to your whimpering protests and finds that he enjoys tormenting you any way he could. “Not until I say so.” he sing-songs, repeating those same wretched words from earlier. They are beginning to haunt you.
“Please!” your legs are shaking as you turn to face him, your back against the cold floor. Your mind couldn’t understand why he was being so cruel - his own cock had to be throbbing to cum right into you. He was a sadist, you think. “It isn’t fair you’re doing this to me. I’m a good student!”
You were protesting now, eyes wide with irritation. You were seconds away with just stuffing your own fingers in you and finishing yourself off - but it wouldn’t be the same. You couldn’t fuck yourself like Professor Jeon can and that realization alone was going to drive you insane.
“Are you?” Jungkook asks. Your eyes glances down at his hard cock, doused with your creamy arousal. “You snuck in here, or did you forget?”
Your bottom lips juts out in a pout.
“Come here.”
Jungkook drops onto the ground in front of you, his pants at his ankles.
Your eyes furrow, but you don’t hesitate. You get into his lap, your thighs on either side of him.
“Make yourself cum.” Jungkook says, his hands immediately settling on your waist. “Before I change my mind.”
You’re far too eager. Your arm reaches back to grasp his cock and center it at your entrance. You’re far too wet that it’s easy to slide it in.
The cry that came from Jungkook’s lips was embarrassing. You sit directly onto his cock, your soft hands on his shoulders. You begin to rock your hips back and forth, your head rolling slowly from side to side. Your walls are so tight, Jungkook thinks, completely captivating him. You know exactly what you’re doing and Jungkook ponders if you do this often - with sextoys or other men - that makes you this good at riding.
Calloused hands roam up your sides then to your breasts. Professor Jeon captures them, squeezing the mounds in his hands tightly. His thumbs play with your nipples, twirling and pinching them just right.
“Fuck, baby.” Jungkook groans, burying his face into your bosom. He peppers quick, wet kisses onto them as your hips rise and fall.
“Your cock’s so big, Professor!” you wail. Squeezing your eyes shut, your hands begin to tighten their grasp on his shirt.
Jungkook shakes his head. He pokes his tongue out, tracing your skin until they reach your nipple. He suckles on it, his tongue twirling around the bud. His left hand captures your ass, gripping the flesh harshly as you bounce on him.
You weren’t made to last long. All your frustrations had built up greatly for this moment - nor does Professor Jeon go easy on you. His hands gripping your ass with the way he sucks on your chest has you cumming in mere minutes since you started.
“-gonna cum!” you moan, both arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close.
You’re leaking onto him entirely, arousal coating his thighs. Jungkook isn’t sure how it’s possible for someone to be this wet, but he isn’t complaining. Your pussy was so perfect - and so were you. You were the right amount of filthy he never knew he needed in his life.
Popping your nipple from wet lips, Jungkook decides to take over. “I’m going to cum in this pussy, baby.” he growls, hand squeezing your ass as his hips begin to rut into you. “Fill you just like you want.”
Your body is limp against him, walls squeezing him as you are riding your high. You’re unable to say much besides soft “please”’s. Your eyes are fluttering, your insides feeling every ounce of pleasure until it becomes unbearable.
Jungkook’s cock drills you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. He doesn’t intend on being quiet - especially not now. He wants anyone that’s around to hear how good he’s fucking you - his student. Someone so off limits to him, but that doesn’t stop either of you. He wants you to remember this moment forever. To have you thinking of him every time you go live - or happen to fuck someone else.
To let you know that it wouldn’t be the same because it wasn’t him.
Professor Jeon slams his right hand onto your ass, holding you in place. He continues to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping bouncing off of the walls loudly. Juices flow out of you as your body trembles, overstimulation taking over you.
“Gonna stuff you good.” Jungkook grunts, thrust growing sloppy. Your squelching pussy is so melodic to him and he knows the sound will replay in his head over and over again. “Then send you home with my cum dripping down your thighs.”
Warm cum pools into you. You can feel Professor Jeon’s legs shaking as he cums, a soft whine in your ear. It’s so warm, you think, and weird having your professors cum stuffed in you. Your body feels heavy and you don’t move for a few moments as the both of you attempt to regain your composure.
You're not the one that stops the live. You had to admit that you do possibly look entirely pathetic crouched on the floor like this as Jungkook cleans himself up, but you weren’t used to be fucked by someone else.
“We should probably…talk.”
Now things were awkward.
You manage to come into a seated position, cum covering your clit and possibly pooling out of you.
“I won’t tell anyone.” you say.
Jungkook straightens his shoulders. “I wasn’t going to say that,” he murmurs. He wasn’t that much of an asshole. “Are you okay?”
Your cheeks are warm. You cross your arms, though it’s pointless. Your body is already exposed to him.
Jungkook hands you your revealing clothing and watches as you get dressed.
“I’m okay.” you assure, buttoning up your top. You pull your trench coat on next, feeling his eyes on you. “I’m…sorry for doing this.”
You go towards your bag where your cleaning supplies were. Coming down from your high after sex was always so awkward. Maybe this is why you avoided that and chose to fuck yourself.
“I’m sorry, too.” Jungkook says. He grabs the clorox wipes from your hands and decides that he could help, too. After all, it was his mess, too. “I hope I haven’t made things difficult for you. I am your Professor and…the dynamic is complicated.”
You bite the inside of your cheek.
“But we’re both adults.” Jungkook continues. He turns his back to wipe his desk, unsure where he’s truly coming from. “And though I may have said it at the moment, I don’t think you’re truly that way.”
“A stupid whore?” you joke, giggling to yourself. “I know. We both got way into it.”
It doesn’t take a long time for the mess to be cleaned. You grasp your phone and put it into your trench coat pocket.
“I should get going.” you say.
Professor Jeon nods his head. He’s leaning against his desk now, dark eyes watching you.
“I’ll see you in class in a few days.” Jungkook calls as you make your way out of the classroom.
“Tomorrow.” you correct, opening the door a bit. You turn to him as he speaks.
“You don’t have to come.” Professor Jeon waves off. He proceeds to go to his chair and plop down onto it. “I planned on having a surprise quiz tomorrow.”
“A quiz?”
Jungkook nods. He puts his glasses on and turns towards you.
“I’ll give you a passing grade.” Professor Jeon states. “You should rest tomorrow.”
Your eyes begin to slowly widen. “You don’t-”
“Rest.” Jungkook interrupts. He turns his eyes away from you and down on the stack of papers on his desk. “It’ll be fine.”
You clench your thighs together at his words. Your heart is pumping loudly in your chest. For some reason, you feel giddy. The familiar rush of adrenaline flows through you.
“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again, Professor Jeon.” you say, opening the door wider. You don’t wait for a response this time and maybe Jungkook is a bit too stunned to give you one before you close the door behind you.
What Jungkook did know was that he also couldn’t wait to fuck you again, too.
WARNINGS -> idol!jungkook x fan!reader, power imbalance (?), fingering, semi public sex, degradation if you squint, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, please lmk if i missed anything because this is long😭
now playing: lady in my life - michael jackson˚.⋆♪
you didn’t know how you were able to meet jeon jungkook.
was fate playing an elaborate joke on you? was it meant to be? that was what you were wondering the moment you saw him.
you had been a bts fan for years. your friends and family rolled their eyes every time you rambled on and on about song meanings, interviews, and just how amazing your bias, jungkook was. how his voice was so beautiful, how infectious his laugh was, how you could get lost in his eyes even through a screen.
though you struggled to admit it, jungkook helped cure your chronic loneliness. it was almost pathetic—weverse lives were warped by your mind into one on one conversations, your lovesick eyes gazing into the screen as you ate dinner, pretending he only had eyes for you.
two nights before you met him, you saw him at bts’ concert in your city. it was fun, the most fun you’d had in a long time. you were in the front, something you ridiculous amounts of money for. it was harmless, low stakes entertainment.
one night before you met him, you were laying in your bed, face mask on, humming the song normal as you tried to forget how perfect he looked under those stage lights.
the night you met him, you were at a club. the harsh, skunk-esque scent of marijuana filled your nostrils and bass-heavy music filled your ears. your friends were distracted, gossiping as you stared at him wordlessly.
that couldn’t be him, you thought. he had to have moved on to another city. he couldn’t still be here. he couldn’t be in the same room as you. this handsome, brunette boy in this club couldn’t be your bias.
but his piercings were too identical to jungkook’s. this man was dressed just like jungkook, and when his right hand reached up to scratch his face—
holy shit. it was him.
you could recognize those tattoos from anywhere. the ARMY, the heart, the various colorful tattoos that you recognized one by one as your eyes trailed up his arm. your mouth went dry.
you had to sit down in your friends’ booth before your knees buckled. this can’t be happening. this can not be happening. you immediately felt self conscious about everything. you didn’t spend enough time on your hair. your dress was so boring. did your makeup melt off? you really hoped it didn’t. you frantically reapplied your lip gloss just in case.
your friend tapped you on the shoulder, “are you okay?”
you tried your best to sound natural, “of course, why?”
“you look like you just saw a ghost,” she giggled.
“i’m fine,” you insisted.
she turned back to the rest of your friend group.
you glanced at jungkook again. he was with some friends, ordering at the bar. he yawned.
you looked away, staring at the wall as you yawned. you swallowed, really hoping he didn’t see that. your fingers fumbled with the hem of your dress.
you couldn’t do this. you needed a walk. “i’m gonna go… get some air,” you blurted to your friends, your voice cracking on the last syllable.
“want me to go with you?” a friend asked.
“no,” you said too fast as you got up and practically ran to the exit.
as you turned to get up, you made direct eye contact with jungkook.
he was staring. not in your direction, not at your booth. at you.
this can’t be happening.
your eyes widened. you scurried towards the door, the number of people around you getting smaller and the music getting fainter the closer you got.
you felt a big hand grab your arm. you almost gasped when you turned to him.
jungkook.
you froze like a deer in headlights, “hello?”
he looked more handsome in person, his silver lip piercings slightly reflecting the dim light. his eyes glistened so perfectly your heart ached. he was everything you thought he’d be and more.
he broke the silence, “you were staring at me.”
“no.” you lied, turning to leave.
“you yawned right after me,” he grabbed your arm again.
“i was tired,” you muttered, “who are you?”
you didn’t know why you asked that. you definitely knew who he was.
his eyes narrowed, “you don’t know who i am?”
you forced a scoff, “should i?”
he shrugged, “you stared at me like you did.”
you tried to step to the side to pass him. he mirrored you.
“i said i was tired,” you muttered.
“and i said you were staring at me.”
you huffed, looking up at him.
big mistake. he was close. your heart pounded.
his skin looked so perfect. don’t stare don’t stare don’t stare—
“what do you want?” you tried to use a demanding tone, but your voice was too shaky.
he looked at you up and down, “still trying to figure that out.”
you bit your lip. he stepped closer. you backed into a wall. big mistake.
“you know, most people just come up and say hi.”
your heart dropped.
“i-i’m not most people,” you softly shot back.
his expression shifted to something softer, more intrigued.
“you just looked…” you started.
breathtaking. divine. amazing.
“weird,” you finished.
“weird?” he echoed.
“yep.”
he stepped closer into your space. you could smell his cologne.
he had a smug glint in his eyes, “you’re nervous.”
your eyebrows furrowed, “i’m not.”
he chuckled, “you are such a bad liar, you know that?”
his eyes shifted down to your lips. your breath hitched. he brushed his thumb against the corner of your mouth, “your lip gloss smudged.”
you didn’t speak. you couldn’t.
“you say you’re not nervous,” his fingers slid from your lip to your wrist, “but why are you shaking?”
you hadn’t noticed until he said it.
“i…” you trailed off.
he grinned, and it was probably the most beautiful thing you’d seen in your life.
your breath stuttered. stupid, traitorous warmth spread through you.
“you’re weird.”
“you grabbed me first,” you grumbled.
“yeah,” his eyes flicked to your lips again, “i did.”
and then he kissed you. no warning, no buildup, he just kissed you.
none of this felt real. you wondered when you would wake up in your bed, realizing you had the best dream of your life.
you kissed him back harder than you thought you would, hands finding his face and pulling him closer. he obliged, deepening the kiss.
when he pulled back for air, he didn’t go far. his forehead almost touched yours.
“you always kiss strangers like that?” he asked.
your brain stalled. you almost laughed. if only he knew.
“do you always grab girls in clubs like that?” you muttered.
his grin didn’t falter. if anything, it softened, eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to memorize it.
“only the ones who stare at me like that.”
your heart fluttered stupidly at that.
his hands were still on your waist. he hadn’t moved them. you hadn’t asked him to. the music thumped faintly through the walls, but out here it felt quiet. too quiet. like the world had narrowed down to just this. his hands, his breath, the way he was looking at you like you were something worth figuring out.
you swallowed, your gaze dropping to his lips again. big mistake. his thumbs stilled against your waist.
“…you’re doing it again,” he murmured.
heat flooded your face. you looked away quickly, shaking your head.
“i’m not…”
“you are,” he said softly, like he wasn’t even teasing anymore.
your chest felt tight. this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. you weren’t supposed to be here, pressed against a wall, being looked at like this by someone you had spent years—
“what’re you thinking about?”
“you’re just—” you cut yourself off.
he tilted his head slightly. “just what?”
perfect. beautiful. everything.
“annoying,” you finished weakly.
he huffed out a quiet laugh, but his eyes didn’t leave your face.
“yeah,” he murmured, unconvinced. “that’s not it.”
you didn’t respond.
you couldn’t.
because the longer he looked at you like that, the harder it was to remember how to act normal. how to pretend you didn’t know the way his voice sounded at three in the morning, soft through a screen. how to pretend this wasn’t something you had imagined a hundred times before.
his hand shifted slightly, sliding a little higher on your waist. not enough to be inappropriate, just enough to make your breath catch.
“you don’t act like you know me,” he said quietly.
your stomach dropped.
“because i don’t,” you whispered.
another lie.
he studied you for a long moment, eyes searching your face like he was trying to catch you in it.
“…right,” he said finally, but he didn’t sound convinced.
your heart pounded. say something. anything.
“why did you follow me?” you asked instead.
his lips curved, just a little.
“you ran away.”
you blinked. “i didn’t run.”
“you did,” he said easily. “and you looked like you were about to pass out.”
you felt your face heat up again. “i was fine.”
“mhm.”
he didn’t believe you. of course he didn’t. you let out a small breath, your shoulders relaxed just a little despite yourself.
“i just needed air.”
“so did i,” he said.
you frowned slightly. “you seemed fine.”
“yeah,” he said, eyes flicking down to your lips again, “but then i saw you leave.”
your heart skipped.
oh.
oh.
you didn’t know what to do with that. the silence stretched again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was… heavy. warm. like something was building between you and neither of you wanted to be the one to break it.
his fingers flexed slightly against your waist.
“what’s your name?” he asked.
your breath caught. this was it. this was where it became real. this was where you ruined everything. you hesitated.
his brows pulled together just a little, like that wasn’t the reaction he expected “what?” he said softly.
“i just…” you trailed off, your voice small. “i don’t think i should.”
he blinked, surprised.
“why not?”
because if you told him, this would end.
because if you told him, he might realize.
because this—whatever this was—felt too good to be real, and you didn’t want it to stop.
you shook your head, looking down.
“i just don’t want this to be weird.”
he watched you carefully, something shifting in his expression again. softer. more serious.
“it’s already weird,” he said quietly.
you let out a small, breathy laugh.
“yeah,” you admitted.
his thumb brushed lightly against your side, absentminded.
“then don’t tell me,” he said after a moment. “my name is jungkook.”
you looked up at him, surprised.
he held your gaze for a moment before one of his hands left your waist, reaching into his pocket.
your heart stuttered at the loss of contact.
he pulled out his phone, unlocking it quickly before taking your hand—gentler this time—and placing it in yours.
your fingers trembled slightly.
“put your number in,” he said.
you stared at the screen like it might disappear.
this wasn’t real. this couldn’t be real.
“…why?” you asked softly.
his lips twitched, like he found the question funny.
“because i want to see you again.”
your chest tightened.
you glanced up at him, searching his face for any hint that he didn’t mean it.
there wasn’t one. he looked… sure. like this was the easiest decision he’d made all night.
“unless,” he added, quieter now, “you’re gonna pretend you don’t want that either.”
your heart melted completely. you looked back down at his phone, your vision blurring slightly as you typed your number in with shaky fingers.
you handed his phone back to him. your fingers brushed. you almost forgot how to breathe. he glanced at the screen, saving it, then looked back at you.
“mystery girl,” he read under your contact, a small smile tugging at his lips.
you huffed out a soft laugh. “you’re annoying.”
“yeah,” he said, stepping just a little closer again, like he couldn’t help himself, “you said that.”
your heart was beating so fast it hurt.
“i meant it.”
“sure you did.”
his gaze dropped to your lips again. slower this time. more deliberate. your breath hitched.
“i’ll text you,” he murmured.
you nodded, barely. “okay.”
neither of you moved. not really. just stood there, too close, like neither of you wanted to be the first to step away.
his hand lingered at your waist for a second longer before he finally let it fall. the absence felt immediate. cold.
he took a small step back, but his eyes stayed on you.
“don’t run off again,” he said.
you swallowed.
“…i won’t.”
his smile came back, softer this time.
“good.”
and then he turned, walking back toward the door—
before glancing over his shoulder one last time like he wanted to make sure you were still there. exactly where he left you.
・・・・・
jungkook had never dated anyone like you before.
you were strange, a little evasive, but when he finally got you to open up, you were nothing like he expected.
he didn’t think about you in a normal way anymore. that was the problem. it had started as curiosity. this girl in a club who looked at him like she recognized him but refused to admit it. now it had turned into something quieter, more constant. like a habit he couldn’t drop.
you.
you, who still wouldn’t call him first sometimes but always answered immediately when he texted.
you, who pretended not to know things about him and then accidentally hummed songs from his older albums when you thought he wasn’t listening.
you, who acted shy with him like you weren’t always the one trying to get closer to him.
jungkook laid on his hotel bed, phone in hand, staring at your name.
you: are you awake?
it was almost 2 am in your time zone. why were you up? he smiled before he even realized it.
jungkook: what’s up?
there was a pause.
you: i can’t sleep
he exhaled through his nose, turning onto his side.
jungkook: come here then
another pause. longer this time. he could practically feel you thinking through the screen.
you: i’m literally across the country
jungkook: i know
jungkook: still want you here. haven’t seen you face to face in weeks
the typing bubble appeared immediately.
disappeared. appeared again.
he pictured your face exactly in that moment. how your lips would press together when you were trying not to overthink something.
you: that’s not fair
he laughed softly to himself.
jungkook: it’s very fair
jungkook: you started this. want a red eye or do you want your beauty sleep?
another pause.
you: i hate you
he smiled wider.
jungkook: no you don’t
he was right, and you both knew it.
when he flew you out for the first time, you were nervous when you saw him at the airport. you just stood there for a second too long, staring at him like you were trying to confirm he was real.
then you walked straight into him. no hesitation, arms around his neck, face buried against his shoulder like you belonged there.
“hi,” you mumbled.
jungkook laughed into your hair, tightening his hold around your waist.
“hi,” he said back, softer.
you smelled like your perfume and airport air and something distinctly you that he couldn’t describe. you pulled back just enough to look at him.
“you look tired,” you said immediately, voice slightly raspy.
“i just flew twelve hours,” he said.
you nodded seriously. “that’ll do it.”
then you reached up and fixed his hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. jungkook froze for half a second. then he leaned into your touch without thinking.
that was the first time he realized it.
you didn’t treat him like jungkook. you treated him like him.
the days blurred after that. you stayed in the city while he was on tour, slipping into his schedule like you had always been part of it.
you didn’t ask for much. you just showed up. you sat in dressing rooms while he got ready, legs curled under you, quietly scrolling on your laptop while he talked around you. sometimes you’d look up and just… watch him.
not in that overwhelming way from the club. in a soft way. like you were learning him.
“what?” he’d ask once, catching you.
you’d blink. “nothing.”
“you’re staring again.”
you’d shrug, unbothered. “you’re interesting.”
that had made him pause.
no one had ever called him that.
not like that.
after shows, you were always waiting.
not backstage screaming. just there. hoodie oversized, hair slightly messy, holding something small for him—water, food, a dumb little snack you found nearby.
he started looking for you in crowds without meaning to. and every time he found you, your face would soften like you forgot everything else existed. that expression did something to him.
every time.
you were strange in a way he didn’t know how to categorize. you didn’t fawn over him. you didn’t ask for pictures. you didn’t even really talk about what he did unless he brought it up.
instead, you talked about random things.
the way clouds looked different in each city. how you thought certain songs felt like specific temperatures. he didn’t always understand you. but he always wanted to.
one night, after a show, you were sitting on his hotel bed while he stood by the window, half-dressed.
you were talking about something ridiculous again. he wasn’t really listening to the words. just you. your hands moved when you spoke. your voice softened when you got sleepy. your eyes kept drifting to him like it was instinct.
“you’re doing it again,” you said suddenly.
he looked over. “doing what?”
you pointed at him. “that thing where you look at me like i’m gonna disappear.”
“i don’t—”
“you do.”
you both paused.
“why?”
he walked over slowly and sat beside you.
the mattress dipped under his weight. he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked at you properly.
you blushed, breaking eye contact.
“you’re different,” he said finally.
you hummed. “that’s not an answer,” you mumbled.
he smiled a little, “it is for me.”
you shifted closer without thinking, like it was muscle memory now. “good different?” you asked.
his gaze dropped to your lips for a second before coming back up. “yeah,” he said softly. “good different.”
you nodded like that was enough. then you leaned your head against his shoulder. and jungkook thought, absurdly, quietly that he could get used to this.
you, like this. you, next to him. you, staying.
and for the first time in a long time, jungkook wasn’t thinking about what came next. he was just thinking about you not leaving.
he was falling, deeper and deeper as the months of the tour passed.
when the it was over, he didn’t even hesitate to fly back with you to your city.
it was bliss. going out on dates, tipsily stumbling into his airbnb, making out on the couch. he felt himself falling for you every time he looked into your pretty eyes. he didn’t want to push you, but he really wanted to come over to your place.
tonight, you two were out at a lounge together, a place you told him was your favorite. you wore the cutest pink top with a skirt that had his head spinning.
you had requested a private room, knowing he’d probably want privacy.
the hostess closed the door behind you, the noise of the lounge softening into a distant hum.
it was quieter in here with just the two of you. you slipped your shoes off the moment you stepped inside, tucking them neatly by the couch before settling down like you’d been here a hundred times before.
“i like this one,” you murmured, running your fingers over the soft fabric of the seat.
jungkook watched you for a second before taking off his shoes and sitting across from you.
“…you come here a lot?” he asked.
you shook your head, smiling a little.
“not really,” you admitted, glancing up at him. “but i thought you’d like it.”
something in his chest shifted at that.
you didn’t say it like you were trying to impress him. you said it like it mattered to you.
you didn’t stay across from him. you never did. after a moment, you shifted, moving beside him instead, your thigh brushing his as you settled in. closer than necessary. jungkook exhaled softly through his nose.
“…couldn’t see me from over there?” he murmured.
you shook your head, blushing softly. “i just like being closer,” you said, quieter now. your shoulder leaned into his. you didn’t move.
your hand found his sleeve again, fingers tracing lightly over the fabric before slipping lower, slower this time, until your fingers brushed his.
hesitated.
then laced with his.
jungkook stilled. your thumb moved over his knuckles, slow, absentminded, but it didn’t feel absentminded to him. nothing about you did.
you leaned in slightly, your chin brushing his shoulder as you looked out at the room, but your body stayed angled toward him.
toward him.
always toward him.
“it’s nice in here,” you whispered. your breath ghosted against his neck.
jungkook swallowed. “yeah,” he said, lower now. “it is.”
that was when you planted a soft kiss onto his neck. then his jaw. then his cheek. he turned to face you, and you captured his lips in a sweet, soft kiss. you pulled back, giggling like you were proud of yourself.
“what’d i do to deserve that?” he teased.
“nothing,” you replied, “just felt like it.”
he didn’t know if it was the drinks or the room, but something about you felt warmer. softer. his hand slid from your hand to your thigh. the skin was smooth.
slowly, as you rambled and you two drank, he drifted his fingers higher and higher up your thigh. you let him do it.
he paused when the back of his hand brushed against your panties. they were soaked through. your eyes widened.
“you’re excited.”
your eyes widened. you buried your face in your hands.
“ah-ah,” he tutted. “let me see you.”
he brought your hands down, your wide, glossy eyes staring up at him.
“that’s my girl.”
your breath hitched. he felt you get wetter. his pants were suddenly tight. he slightly pressed his fingers against your clit through the fabric. you let out a high pant.
“so sensitive,” he teased as he lazily pressed harder.
you squirmed under his touch, your hips shifting in a desperate attempt for more friction. a soft whimper escaped your lips as he continued to tease you through the fabric.
"look at you," jungkook murmured, his voice low and husky. "so needy already. i've barely touched you."
his fingers traced the outline of your panties, deliberately avoiding where you wanted him most. your breath hitched when he finally hooked a finger under the fabric, pulling it aside to reveal your glistening folds.
"all this for me?" he chuckled, his eyes darkening with desire. "you really are something else."
without warning, he slid a finger inside you, and you gasped at the sudden intrusion. your walls clenched around him immediately, drawing him deeper.
"so tight," he groaned, adding another finger. "and so fucking wet. you've been thinking about this, haven't you?"
you could only nod, your eyes fluttering shut as he began to move his fingers in a slow, deliberate rhythm. his thumb found your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make you see stars.
"open your eyes," he commanded, his voice firm but not harsh. "i want to see you."
you struggled to obey, your heavy lids fighting to stay open as waves of pleasure washed over you. when you finally managed to focus on him, you were met with a smug, confident smirk that made your stomach flutter.
"that's it," he praised, curling his fingers just right. "taking my fingers so well."
your response was a broken moan as he increased his pace, his thumb working faster against your sensitive nub. the coil in your stomach tightened rapidly, threatening to snap at any moment.
"not yet," he warned, sensing how close you were. "i want to hear you beg first."
"please," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "jungkook, please..."
"please what?" he teased, slowing his movements almost to a stop. "use your words, baby."
"please let me come," you begged, tears of frustration and pleasure welling in your eyes. "i need it so badly..."
he considered you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, without warning, he plunged his fingers back inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over again as his thumb pressed firmly against your clit.
"come for me then," he commanded. "all over my fingers."
the permission was all you needed. your back arched off the couch as your orgasm crashed over you, intense and overwhelming. you cried out his name as waves of pleasure pulsed through your body, your walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers. you came hard, soaking them.
“aw, baby,” he teased, slipping his fingers out, “made a mess all in your panties, didn’t you?”
he kissed your forehead, “don’t worry. we’ll have you all cleaned up when we get home.”
you didn’t look disheveled, but there was a distinct haze in your eyes that wasn’t there before. you put your head on his shoulder, your hair brushing against his neck.
when the server came back, he paid the bill without even giving you a chance to suggest splitting, you murmuring a soft “thank you,” planting a kiss onto his cheek, something he was beginning to crave.
the ride to your house was short.
you both were slightly tipsy, but jungkook was coherent enough to drive, one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh.
your apartment was humble and simply decorated. you didn’t give him much time to look at it before you kissed him.
when you walked him to your room, he wasn’t paying attention, more focused on you and deepening this kiss.
the room had posters scattered all over the walls, typical for a young person.
until he noticed one specific one.
it was a bts poster. not just any old picture, he knew exactly when the picture was taken. he was twenty-four, and the group was about to go on hiatus. he was mid laugh, and he remembered namjoon making some joke that cracked him up. namjoon was always funny to him.
his lips lost all rhythm.
you weren’t some girl who didn’t know who he was. you were a fan.
his mind raced. did you plan this? was he stupid? the signs were right there.
his heart dropped.
you never wanted him, you wanted the idea of him. the idea of being with a pop star. jungkook swallowed.
how could he not see it? the way you stared at him in that club. your evasiveness. your nervousness.
he pulled back, your shirt slipping off your shoulder. you responded with a confused look. he just kept staring at the poster.
“jungkook, what—“ you cut yourself off when you saw what he was looking at. your smile dropped.
he looked down at you, and he saw horror behind your wide eyes.
“how long?”
“i…” you trailed off. you looked away from him in an attempt on retain composure, “i was going to tell you, b-but i got scared and…”
you kept going, but he stopped listening. he should be terrified. angry that you didn’t say what you were. storm out of your room and block you.
but your room smelled like cocoa and vanilla.
your eyes became glossy with unshed tears.
and he knew he was in too deep to stay upset.
“…i want you to know that i never cared about the money or the fame, i just wanted—“
he interrupted your trembling words with a kiss. not a normal one—one that said i don’t care. i want you.
your taste was addicting, like the fruity drink you ordered at the lounge. your lips were the softest he’d ever kissed.
he walked you to your fluffy pink bed as he kissed you like he was drinking you in. his tongue explored your mouth freely. you laid back on the bed. he crawled over you.
he couldn’t comprehend it. how could someone like you—someone so beautiful, funny, charismatic, shy, strange, stubborn, perfect—sit in your pretty little room and listen to his music religiously enough to have a poster up in your room?
he pulled back, a string of saliva the last thing that connected your swollen lips to his.
“jungkook…” you whispered.
“baby, you’ve really been a fan of me this whole time?”
you nodded, slightly dazed, “i’ve been a fan since 2018.”
that was when he snapped.
he slid your hands up and under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his torso. maintaining eye contact, you slid his shirt up further and further until he lifted his big arms and let you fully take it off.
you studied him for too long, eyes trailing his wide shoulders and muscular torso. your pupils dilatad. goosebumps crawled up his arms.
he hadn’t ever been more grateful than then that he stayed consistent at the gym.
when he got up to take off his pants, you got the memo and slipped off your clothing.
he turned back to you. you were bare, laying back against the bed. he froze. not because of your body. because of you.
you weren’t trying to be anything. you weren’t posing, weren’t hiding, weren’t performing. you just looked up at him, soft and a little shy, like you didn’t even realize what you were doing to him.
like you didn’t know how beautiful you were.
jungkook’s breath caught in his chest.
for a second, he didn’t move at all.
his eyes traced you slowly, almost reverently, like he was afraid if he rushed it, the moment would break. the soft curve of you against the sheets, the way your hair fanned out beneath you, the warmth in your gaze that was still fixed on him.
“hey,” you murmured, your voice small, a little uncertain under the weight of his stare.
that snapped something in him.
he stepped closer without thinking, slower this time, like he was approaching something fragile. something sacred.
his hand reached out, hesitating just for a second before brushing lightly against your arm.
“you’re…” he started, then stopped, his throat tightening.
he let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly, almost in disbelief.
“…you’re so pretty,” he finished, softer than anything he’d said all night.
his strong hands flipped you onto your stomach with ease. you let out a soft gasp.
you arched your back almost instinctively. he bit his lip, lining up.
“are you sure you want this?” he whispered.
you nodded eagerly, “i need it.”
that was when he pressed inside. you were so tight, he had to fight the urge to come right then and there.
your walls clenched around him. his vision blurred at the edges. he let out a ragged groan, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. he started to move, a slow, deep rhythm that stole the air from your lungs. each withdrawal was a sweet agony, each return a blissful homecoming. you could feel every thick inch of him, the vein pulsing on the underside of his shaft as he dragged against your sensitive inner walls.
he leaned over you, his hot breath fanning across the back of your neck, the silver of his lip piercing a cool contrast against your flushed skin. "fuck," he let out, his voice a low, strained rumble. "you feel... you feel like you were made for me." his hands, large and warm, slid up your back, tracing the curve of your spine before his fingers tangled in your hair at the nape. he didn't pull, just held you, a grounding, possessive touch that made you whimper.
you pushed back into him, meeting his thrusts, a silent plea for more. he understood. his pace quickened, the sound of skin meeting skin filling your room, a sound that mingled with your soft cries and his harsh breaths. the coil in your belly wound tighter, impossibly tight, a spring ready to snap. "jungkook," you gasped, his name a prayer on your lips as your fingers scrabbled for purchase on your pink sheets. "i can't... it's too much."
"no, baby," he rasped, his rhythm becoming more deliberate, more punishing. he angled his hips, and the next thrust hit that spot deep inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. "you can take it. you will take it." his free hand snaked around your hip, his fingers finding your clit, swollen and slick from your last orgasm. he circled it once, twice, a feather-light touch that was your undoing.
jungkook knew he was wrong.
he had you bent over on your own bed, your cheek rubbing against your pink pillow as he thrusted into you again.
he looked up at your walls, several bts posters scattered throughout them. your shelf had a stack of albums. he even noticed a cooky plush on your bed.
“sweet girl,” he murmured, tattooed hand gripping your hip to get a new angle, “‘got my posters all over your room.”
a blush crawled up your neck as you arched your back further.
“i wanted this for so long,” you whined.
“i know, baby, i know,” his voice was rough with a cocky edge. he snapped his hips harder to hear the little whimper you let out. “never thought your bias would split you open like this, huh?”
you shook your head.
he picked up his pace. you let out a soft, breathy moan, fingers clutching the soft sheets, voice all sweet and trembling like melted sugar. “jungkook… right there—please…”
he tugged a your hair, “yeah? you’ve been such a good girl for me. saving this sweet pussy just for me? dripping all over my cock because your favorite finally noticed you… so fucking cute. you gonna cum for me? gonna make a mess on the dick you’ve fantasized about for years?”
his filthy words made you clench around him. your voice came out even softer, shy and adoring, almost whispering it into the pillow, “mhm… just for you.”
something in the way you said it; so gentle, so genuinely sweet and full of pure affection. hit him right in the chest. his rhythm faltered for half a second, then he pulled out with a wet sound, making you whine at the sudden emptiness.
“turn over,” he ordered, voice thick but urgent. “now. i need to see your face.”
you obeyed instantly, rolling onto your back with those big soft eyes looking up at him, cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen and parted in a little gasp. your hair was messy against the pillow, and the way you looked up at him, all shy and adoring, made his cock twitch hard.
he pushed your thighs apart and slid back inside you in one smooth thrust, groaning at how warm and wet you still were. “there she is, my girl. fuck, look at that face. so pretty for me.“
you reached up, soft hands cupping his face, voice like honey as he started moving again, deep and steady, “jungkook?”
“yeah?”
“i think i love you.”
he froze. the words hung in the air, delicate and devastating. it wasn't the breathy, sex-fueled confession he was used to, the kind whispered in the dark by girls who loved the idea of him. this was different. your eyes, wide and sincere, held no trace of fantasy. you meant it.
"don't," he warned, his voice dropping an octave, losing all its playful arrogance. he started moving again, but the rhythm was different. slower, deeper, almost punishing. "don't say that."
"but it's true," you whispered, your thumbs stroking his cheeks. "i've loved you for so long. even before this. i just... i never thought i'd get to tell you."
every word was a tiny, perfect needle, pricking at the armor he'd spent years building. he looked away from your eyes, his gaze landing on a poster of himself above your headboard—his younger, softer self staring back. the irony was suffocating. he was fucking his fan on a bed surrounded by his own face, and she was telling him she loved him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"you don't love me," he grunted, his hips snapping a little harder, trying to force the intimacy back into the physical. "you love this. you love the idea of getting fucked by your bias."
"i love you," you repeated, stronger this time, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. "i love your voice. i love the way you laugh. i love how hard you work. and i love how you feel inside me right now."
he cursed, a low, guttural sound torn from his throat. he buried his face in your neck, his hot breath fanning against your skin. he was losing control. this was supposed to be a conquest, a bit of fun, a story to maybe tell the guys later if he was drunk enough. it wasn't supposed to be this. it wasn't supposed to feel like this.
"look at me," you pleaded softly, your fingers tangling in his hair. "please, jungkook."
he resisted for a moment, then slowly lifted his head. your eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but your expression was full of nothing but adoration. it was terrifying.
"say something," you whispered.
"what do you want me to say?" his voice was raw, vulnerable in a way he hadn't allowed himself to be in years. "that i love you too? i don't even know you."
"you know me," you insisted, your voice trembling slightly. "you're seeing all of me right now. this is me. this is my room. this is my heart."
he groaned and kissed you then, hard and desperate. it wasn't a kiss of passion, but of surrender. he poured all his confusion, his frustration, and the terrifying spark of something he refused to name into it. when he pulled back, his forehead was resting against yours.
“fuck,” he rasped between kisses, “i love you too.”
you pulled back. your eyes widened in disbelief, eyes wet with unshed tears, “really?”
“mhm,” he murmured, going in for another soft, wet kiss.
he pulled back, studying you for a moment. his heart ached.
"you're gonna ruin me," he admitted, the words barely audible.
"good," you breathed, a single tear finally escaping and tracing a path down your temple. "let me ruin you."
he started moving again, his pace now deliberate and intense. every thrust was a question, every drag of his cock against your walls an answer he wasn't ready to hear. he watched your face, memorizing the way your lips parted, the flush on your cheeks, the way your eyes fluttered closed when he hit just the right spot.
"jungkook," you moaned, your hands sliding down through his hair, pulling him closer. "please... come with me. look at me when you come."
he locked his gaze with yours, his hips pistoning faster, the bedframe groaning in protest. the coil in his stomach tightened to an impossible degree. "mine," he whispered breathily in your ear, the words a mix of possession and awe. "my fucking girl."
"yours," you cried out, your body arching off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you. "only yours.”
the sight of you, completely undone beneath him, calling his name with such raw devotion, was his undoing. he came with a strangled groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he emptied himself into you, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.
he collapsed on top of you, his weight grounding you both as you both struggled to catch your breath. the room was silent save for the pounding of his heart against your chest.
after a long moment, he shifted, rolling to the side but keeping you tucked against him. he looked at the cooky plushie squished between your pillows, then back at your peaceful, sated face.
he knew he was wrong. this wasn't just fan service anymore. this was something else entirely. and he was completely, utterly fucked.
“you’re not getting rid of me.”
you kissed his cheek, “good.”
author’s note: it’s finally here! this story was my unhinged baby and i’m glad it wasn’t too unhinged for you guys to like the teaser!!! i hope this lives up to your expectations and thank you for reading🤍
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SUMMARY -> in which jungkook can’t resist his star student.
WORDS -> 6.8k (approx 30 min read time)
WARNINGS -> jungkook x female reader, unprotected sex, praise kink, age gap (if you squint), power imbalance (professor and student), slowburn, size kink, jungkook is kinda pathetic
now playing: silk lingerie, - kali uchis˚.⋆♪
epilogue
you had been a teacher’s pet since grade school.
all of that hard work got you into one of the most prestigious universities in your country. you were proud of your grades—the teachers and professors throughout your academic career were happy to give them to you.
professor jeon was nothing like any of them.
the first day, you showed up to class early and sat in the front (of course). you didn’t know what to expect. professor jeon was fresh meat, the newest professor in your school. no ratemyprofessors profile, no student horror stories, no face.
he fascinated you the moment he left his office and awkwardly stumbled into the lecture hall. you leaned in to take a closer look.
he was young, not that much older than you and heart achingly handsome. when his eyes met yours, a strange warmth coursed through your veins.
matters of the heart were foreign territory for you. yes, you had heard about your roommate’s various talking stages and hookups, but you never thought this would be anything like this. your heartbeat picked up. you couldn’t take your eyes off of him and he hadn’t even said a word.
he nearly dropped his laptop bag on the podium, fumbled with the hdmi cable to his slideshow, making the screen flash blue. he muttered an apology.
professor jeon cleared his throat, “um—hello. good morning. i’m professor jeon. jungkook. i mean—or dr. jeon. either is fine. not jungkook. not just—anyway.”
he laughed nervously.
silence.
you stared.
he ran his fingers through his jet black hair. “this is my first semester teaching. so, um. be gentle.”
the class laughed lightly.
you didn’t. you felt something shift in your chest. not authority, not intimidation.
but tenderness.
you were hooked.
art history became your favorite class. it met on tuesdays and thursdays from 5pm to 7pm. you heard your classmates complaining about how they were bored by the material, how the class was too long, but you just never understood why.
you could listen to professor jeon talk for an eternity. the way his eyes lit up when he saw a certain brush stroke. how he talked with his hands when he was excited. how he fumbled with his hdmi cord, always having problems with the connection before every class. you’d always get up to help him.
“you had the magic touch,” he said to you one day, “you always fix it.”
you replayed that moment in your head for days.
a week into the course, he announced a new resource for you all: homework videos. he filmed them weekly to explain core concepts.
“they’re probably unnecessary,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “but i know the content can get…intense.”
you were the first one to watch the video the night it was uploaded.
he was in his office, books stacked behind him. he stumbled over terminology, corrected himself mid sentence, and laughed awkwardly.
“okay,” he said in the video, “that made no sense. let me start over.”
you rewinded that part three times. you didn’t need the help. you have a 100%.
but you watched every video. every week. the moment they drop. sometimes twice. sometimes to hear his voice.
you wondered if professor jeon had a wife. he was young, yes, but someone like him couldn’t be single. you imagined him with a woman, looking at her with the same brightness in his eyes he has when he talks about his favorite art pieces.
it made you sick.
you wanted to be that woman.
when he sent an email to your class about office hours, you knew you had to be there.
you didn’t have any questions. you just wanted to “clarify something.” he looked surprised to see you, like he expected no one to come.
“oh! hi. it’s you—um. front row? hdmi?” he ran his fingers through his hair.
“yes, professor.” you smiled.
he gestured to a chair, “everything okay with the reading?”
you nodded. “i just wanted to ask about the emotional framing of the baroque martyrdom.”
he blinked, just staring at you for a moment.
you swallowed.
“that’s… actually a really great question.”
you talked for thirty minutes.
you noticed him relaxing with you. he smelled like fresh laundry up close, which somehow felt more intoxicating than any cologne would.
by week three, you were there every monday. he started to expect you.
・・・・・
jungkook squinted as he reread your paper for the third time.
the subject does not desire possession. only closeness. only the warmth of standing near something luminous and being allowed to witness it.
he had that part circled since the first time he read it. something about it stuck with him in ways he couldn’t describe.
he knew educators weren’t supposed to have favorites, but if he was honest, he did and it was you. teaching at this university was a very impersonal experience and you were one of the only students he’s gotten to bond with. you were brilliant, your papers a delight to read. when you answered questions in class, he felt immense relief.
when he got excited to see you at office hours, he told himself it was because you were academically engaged.
not because you sat too close.
not because you smelled vanilla and paper.
not because of how your lip gloss caught the light.
and definitely not because he let his eyes wander to how your perfect legs would cross under your desk.
you were beautiful. that was a simple, undeniable fact.
office hours with you became the highlight of his week.
you really listened to him. chin resting on your palm, eyes steady on his mouth as he explained to you, brows knitting together ever so slightly.
“so, in caravaggio’s work, the light is meant to…”
you bit your lip in concentration. his brain short circuited.
he trailed off into silence, taking you in for a moment. heat crawled up his neck.
“dr. jeon?” you asked softly.
hearing his name come from your lips made his heart skip a beat. he ran his hands through his hair.
“yes, i’m sorry. i lost my train of thought. what was i saying?”
you blinked up at him so innocently, adjusting yourself in your seat. you somehow ended up closer to him, “the light reveals what the subject can’t say.”
“that’s right.”
he stared at you for half a second too long. you made him feel smart. seen. important when he was so afraid of being seen as incompetent.
one day, he checked your name on the gradebook out of pure curiosity. you had the highest average by far. you didn’t need office hours. yet you never missed them.
that night, he replayed his conversations with you.
the way you looked at him.
it’s not normal student interest. it’s softer. lingering. he swallowed.
you’re just enthusiastic, he told himself. but he knew what a crush looks like. he’s had them.
he disregarded that thought.
it was pathetic to think that someone like you wanted him. you were brilliant, beautiful, and had a bright future ahead of you. and most importantly you were his student.
he was awkward, and you probably thought he was incompetent but were too nice to show it. he was projecting.
but a part of him wished he wasn’t.
at office hours that week, you showed him a draft of an upcoming paper. he stood behind you, scanning it over your shoulder.
he leaned down slightly, his hand gingerly rested on your shoulder.
he could smell your coconut shampoo. he swallowed. his voice lowered subconsciously.
“this line stood out to me,” jungkook said. “the way you describe longing… it’s intense.”
you just nodded.
jungkook reread it.
the tragedy is not that he is distant. the tragedy is that he believes himself unworthy of being wanted.
something about that felt too personal.
he pushed it down.
you followed the prompt, right?
it’s art analysis.
you couldn’t be writing about him.
that night, he couldn’t get the sweet scent of your shampoo out of his mind.
when he finally got your paper in his hands on a late night in his apartment, he was very impressed. you were his star student, of course.
just his star student.
not the girl he counted down the days till he saw.
not the girl who made mondays his favorite day of the week.
not the girl who bit her lip when she was concentrating.
not the girl who made his body feel things he definitely shouldn’t.
just his student.
he loved reading your papers. your syntax was perfect and your analysis was refreshing. the prompt was about longing and devotion in the assigned piece. he wanted to see what you had to say.
but something was strange.
the cruelest irony is that he fears crossing a line that has already blurred.
his brows furrowed.
what did that mean?
it was a stretch to say it was relevant to the piece.
jungkook leaned back in his chair, the paper still in his hands.
he read the line again.
the cruelest irony is that he fears crossing a line that has already blurred.
his stomach dropped.
that wasn’t about a painting.
that wasn’t about some baroque martyr suspended in dramatic lighting.
that sounded like—
no.
he shook his head and scrubbed a hand down his face.
you were just good at this. you wrote with emotional precision. that’s all. you were perceptive. intense. maybe a little dramatic.
he kept reading.
the viewer aches not because he is unattainable, but because he cannot see what she sees when she looks at him.
his throat went dry.
she.
not the viewer. not the audience.
she.
jungkook’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the page.
it was probably stylistic. plenty of critics used gendered language. it didn’t mean anything.
he forced himself to keep going.
he stands illuminated before a room full of people and still insists he is ordinary. that is the greatest misunderstanding in the composition.
his chest felt tight.
illuminated before a room full of people.
standing in front of a room.
insisting he was ordinary.
he thought about the way he apologized during his first lecture. the way he said be gentle. the way you had looked at him like he wasn’t something fragile but something worth protecting.
his pulse started to thrum in his ears.
this is ridiculous, he told himself.
he is projecting.
he is lonely.
he is reading into things because he wants to.
she didn’t mean it like that.
but then—
he flipped back a page.
devotion often attaches itself not to grandeur, but to sincerity. to the quiet way he fumbles with cords before speaking. to the nervous laugh he cannot seem to outgrow.
his breath stuttered.
that wasn’t—
that couldn’t—
he actually dropped the paper this time, the soft rustle loud in his silent apartment.
fumbles with cords.
nervous laugh.
those were details.
not abstract traits.
details.
jungkook stood abruptly, pacing once across his small living room before running both hands through his hair.
no.
you wouldn’t.
you couldn’t.
you were brilliant. careful. disciplined. you followed prompts. you didn’t blur lines.
he was the one blurring them.
he was the one noticing how close you sat.
the one replaying your voice saying dr. jeon late at night.
the one counting down to mondays.
this had to be him reading what he wanted to read.
but when he picked the paper back up, his hands weren’t steady anymore.
the tragedy is not that he is distant. the tragedy is that he believes himself unworthy of being wanted.
his jaw clenched.
unworthy.
he had said that word before. not to you. never to you. but to himself. in the mirror. in quiet moments when imposter syndrome clawed at his ribs.
how could you possibly know that?
unless—
unless you were paying attention the same way he was.
unless when he thought you were just listening, you were seeing.
really seeing.
a slow heat crept up his neck, down his spine.
shock first.
then disbelief.
then something far more dangerous.
hope.
he sank back into his chair, staring at your name typed neatly at the top of the page.
you.
you with the highest average in his gradebook.
you who didn’t need office hours.
you who sat too close.
you who bit your lip when concentrating.
you who looked at him like he mattered.
how could someone like you—
want someone like him?
the thought made his head spin.
it was impossible.
and yet the evidence was sitting in his hands in twelve-point times new roman.
he pressed his thumb lightly over the line again.
fears crossing a line that has already blurred.
a line.
between what?
student and professor.
he inhaled sharply.
this was wrong.
this was dangerous.
he should shut it down immediately. draw a boundary. grade the paper objectively. pretend he never read between the lines.
but instead, he found himself wondering—
when you wrote he, were you picturing him?
when you wrote she, were you picturing yourself?
his heart hammered harder at the possibility.
that wasn’t academic curiosity.
that was desire.
he stood again, restless, pacing a second time.
this is inappropriate.
he is your professor.
you deserve better than his loneliness.
but the image of you at that desk, looking up at him with those wide, steady eyes, wouldn’t leave him.
what if he wasn’t imagining it?
what if you really—
he stopped that thought before it could fully form.
he dropped back into his chair and grabbed a red pen.
his hand hovered over the top of the page.
for a long moment, he didn’t write a grade.
instead, almost without thinking, he wrote:
see me after class.
he stared at the words.
his pulse thundered.
he had no idea what he was going to say to you.
he just knew he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t see it anymore.
and he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t want it to be true.
he dreamt about you that night.
・・・・・
see me after class.
your heart dropped. as you reread the line on top your paper.
no grade. just that written in red pen.
what could he mean? professor jeon loved to read your papers. he told you that it was a delight to grade them.
you had tailored your writing style to fit his tastes. to get the praise and approval from him that you grew to crave. the thought of him suddenly disapproving was heartbreaking.
you knew you couldn’t have him, but at least you had his professional admiration.
did you just lose that too?
that class was the first to feel slow.
professor jeon avoided eye contact with you, directing his attention away from the front row for the whole two hours. he called on other students, and pretended as if you weren’t there.
you were addicted to his attention, and you could feel the withdrawals.
when class finally ended, you stayed in your seat, looking over your notes as everyone else filed out of the lecture hall.
he closed the door behind the last student and locked it.
you swallowed.
“professor, i—“
“one moment please,” his tone was colder than normal as he tidied up his podium and approached you.
you were silent, your heart pounding in your chest.
“i wanted to talk about your essay,” he went to sit in the chair next to you.
you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, “is it… inappropriate?” you were quieter than you wanted to be.
“no,” he said. you felts his eyes boring into you but you refused to look up. “just… very honest.”
the silence stretched.
“you write longing like you understand it intimately.”
that was when you looked up, meeting his searching eyes. your breath trembled.
“maybe i do.”
you had no idea why you said that. he slid closer. “is there… someone you’re writing about?” his eyes softened.
you couldn’t lie to him. “yes.”
his head tilted, “does he know?”
you studied his face. his skin was perfect, free from blemishes that you’d normally see from someone this close. his thin rimmed glasses slightly slipped down his face and framed his beautiful brown eyes.
you still couldn’t lie to him.
“i think he does now.”
the silence was suffocating.
your heart is slamming against your chest. heat crawled up your neck. he could probably see the slight blush on your cheeks.
professor jeon nervously laughed the way he does when he mixed up his words or lost his train of thought.
you could hear the disbelief in his voice, “you’re… you’re brilliant.” he ran a hand through his hair, “you could have anyone.”
you leaned in, “i don’t want anyone.”
he slid closer.
“why me?”
his voice was raw, honest. his professor persona was gone, replaced with something softer.
“you look at me like i matter.”
that was his undoing.
he had never been the object of someone’s longing.
he was always replaceable. invisible. occasionally admired for his usefulness.
and here you were—beautiful, bright, the top of his class, looking at him like he was sacred.
something snapped.
“this is a terrible idea,” he whispered.
“tell me to leave.”
he couldn’t.
his hand moved, almost involuntarily cupping your cheek.
it was soft against your cheek. you melted into the touch.
he inhaled sharply.
you kissed him first.
soft, uncertain. he froze for a moment, shocked.
he caved.
he kissed you back, hands hovering over your waist. it was clumsy. breathless. desperate. you pulled away, stunned. he stared at you like he just jumped off of a cliff.
“w-we can’t do this,” he muttered.
you grabbed his hands, guiding them onto his hips.
“then stop.”
he doesn’t.
you climbed on top of him, hips bracketing his.
he kissed you this time. deeper, slower, memorizing. it was overwhelming for the both of you. you had never been wanted like this.
then reality slammed back in.
you were on campus. the door was unlocked. the building was probably empty, this was a night class, but it wasn’t empty enough. if anyone saw you, he would be fired and your scholarship would be in jeopardy.
the risk seemed to process in his head as well. you climbed off of him, expecting him to push you away.
instead, he said, “we have to get out of here.”
we.
・・・・・
this was idiotic and jungkook knew it.
you walked out of the lecture hall first, and he set a five minute timer to leave after you.
you met him in the empty faculty parking lot. the air was cool, the sky was dim. he unlocked his car with shaking hands.
this was insane.
you got in the car anyways.
the moment the door shut behind you, he looked at you.
then it all started over. you gave him a kiss before buckling your seatbelt. it was urgent. his hands framed your face like he couldn’t believe you were real. he pulled back, starting his car.
he was grateful his apartment was clean when you walked in. you stepped inside like it was sacred ground. he closed the door, locked it, and shut the blinds.
he just stared at you, nervously standing in his living room.
“you deserve someone better,” he blurted, breaking the silence.
it wasn’t modesty. it was insecurity.
“i don’t want better. i want you.” you said matter of factly.
he sat on the couch. you climbed on top of him again, gingerly positioning your clothed heat on top of his crotch. his hands hovered over your hips.
“can i?”
you nodded. his hands rested on your hips, rubbing light circles that made you melt further into him. he kissed your again, his tongue curling with yours as your hips began to subconsciously rock into his. he didn’t stop it.
jungkook hadn’t done anything like this since he was in grad school, your touch making him realize how starved he’s been. he shuddered as your hips found a rhythm grinding against him.
he tilted your chin up, trying to to deepen the kiss. you did your best to keep up, and he pulled back.
he pulled back, cupping your face. “relax,” he whispered, “let me.”
and when he kissed you again, you obeyed, melting under him as you let him take control of the kiss. he smiled into it.
you were always such a good listener.
your hips began to rut into him faster and faster, clearly chasing something you didn’t fully understand. he noticed your movements were clumsy, uncoordinated, a coil tightening in your stomach that needed release.
his hands tensed on your hips, stilling you.
“easy,” he murmured, “let me help you.”
his fingers slid down, slowly inching underneath your skirt. “can i?”
you nodded, breathless. his knuckles brushed against your panties. you gasped, leaning into the touch.
“so responsive,” he made eye contact with you. “has anyone touched you here before?”
you shook your head, unable to form words. a possessive rush ran down his spine.
he slipped his hand into your panties, finding you soaked and swollen. you cried into the touch, hips bucking against his hand.
“shhh,” he soothed, his other hand coming to cup the back of your neck, “i’ve got you, just feel.”
his fingers explored you slowly, deliberately. he watched every expression that crossed your face, cataloging your responses like he studied art. when his thumb softly massaged your clit, you whimpered and tried to grind against his hand again.
“p-professor…”
he slowed down, cupping your cheek. “look at me,” he coaxed.
you obeyed immediately.
“can you call me by my first name here?” he asked, thumb rubbing circles into your cheek.
it felt wrong to you to call your professor by his first name. he was someone of greater knowledge. someone older. someone to respect.
someone with his hand in your panties as you sat in his lap.
the way he studied you melted your heart. he stared at you with a reverence that you never thought you would receive.
you couldn’t say no to him.
“j-jungkook,” you whispered.
he felt himself twitch in his pants. something about the way it rolled off your tongue had him dizzy.
he cursed under his breath. “again, please baby.” he asked with pleading eyes.
that nickname made you shudder. you obeyed, “jungkook.”
jungkook gave you a quick kiss, “good girl. just my name. only my name.”
the praise was addictive.
he circled your clit with his thumb while sliding one finger inside you. you clenched around him instinctively, your body reacting to the foreign intrusion. the sensation made you whimper.
“baby…” he rested his forehead against yours, “you’re so perfect for me.”
you whined.
something in him snapped. he added another finger, pumping them in and out and stretching you while he rubbed circles on your clit. his doe eyes stared down at you.
his bottom lip trembled. “i can’t believe i let you sit in my office hours for weeks and didn’t know you wanted this. i-i tried my best to not look at you,” he rambled between open mouthed kisses to your cheek and her jaw, “you’ve always been so good to me… so sweet. i could’ve had you so much sooner.”
you gasped as he found the sweet spot on your neck. he took a moment to suck and nibble on it. “if i tried to touch you like this right in that lecture hall, you probably would’ve let me… just spread your legs and let me take what i wanted, right? because you want this as bad as i do, right?”
you bit back a moan and nodded as the pace of his fingers picked up. the combination of the fingers and the pressure on your clit was overwhelming. your breath came out in short pants.
you came with cry, your body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you. jungkook held you through it, his movements slowing as you rode out your orgasm.
when you finally gathered yourself, you were slumped against him, your face buried in his neck. you could feel his hardness pressing against you through his slacks. he removed his fingers, the loss making you whine.
you had never experienced anything like that before.
“did you like it?” he asked, his voice rough.
you were still staring at your lap, overwhelmed. he tilted your chin up with his finger.
“eyes up,” he corrected softly.
you looked up at him with wide, yielding eyes. he wanted to devour you. he wanted to rip all of your clothes off, bend you over on the couch, and take you over, and over, and over until you couldn’t walk. until the only thing you could say was his name. you were so eager to please that you probably would’ve let him.
but you didn’t deserve that. you deserved something sweet and slow.
he smiled at you, “we’re not done yet.”
he lifted you effortlessly, body going limp in his arms as you clung to his shoulders. you were in a daze and he could tell.
jungkook didn’t waste any time. he opened his bedroom door, kicking it shut behind him with his heel.
the first thing you noticed about the room was that it smelled like him—sandalwood and old books.
he laid you out on the bed like you were something precious, his soft mattress dipping under your weight. you stared up at the ceiling, your heart still hammering against your ribs, your skin tingling all over. your skirt rode up to your waist.
“look at you,” he murmured, “so pretty.”
he crawled onto the bed. your thighs spread instinctively. he noticed, grinning.
he positioned his head between your thighs, looking up at you as his fingers brushed your waistband.
“what are you doing?” you whispered.
he looked up at you, “can i taste you?”
your breath hitched, “…yes.”
he pulled off your skirt, unbuttoning your shirt and taking off your bra for good measure, leaving you only in your panties. he pulled back for a moment to take you in. you blushed.
he pulled your panties down slowly and tenderly, letting out a soft gasp as he saw the remnants of your orgasm slipped out of your panties and dripped down your thighs.
“oh baby,” he said, “you made a mess, didn’t you?”
you whimpered. it was music to his ears.
“it’s okay,” he coaxed, taking off his fogged up glasses and setting them on the nightstand. “i’ll clean you up.”
that was when he bent down and licked a stripe against your sensitive flesh. your thighs instinctively closed against the sides of his head. he moved his hands to rest on your knees.
“keep your legs open,” he commanded softly.
the second swipe made you cry out, back arching off the bed. he groaned, the sound going straight through your core, feeling that coil tighten all over again in your tummy.
“jungkook…” you whined, hands tangling in his hair.
“just relax,” he mumbled against you, vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. “let me take care of you.”
your back arched again, and he held your hips down. the restraint made you dizzy.
he was a starving man, and you were the feast. he ate you out with desperate, enthusiastic hunger, his nose nudging against your clit as he lapped at you. he didn't just want to please you—he wanted to consume you.
you were melting into the mattress, completely overwhelmed. you wanted to grind against his face, to chase the friction, but his hold forced you to stay still. you were his to use, his to taste. you let him do all the heavy lifting, letting his tongue and his hands do the work while you just surrendered to the sensation.
you whimpered. high, helpless, embarrassingly sweet. the praise, the quiet command, it unraveled you faster than you thought possible.
he could tell.
your breathing turned ragged and your stomach started fluttering again, he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked. it was soft at first, then with steady, pulsing pressure. your whole body locked up. a broken little sob tore out of your throat as the second orgasm crashed through you, sharper and deeper than the first.
he didn’t stop.
he licked you through every aftershock, slower now, almost tender, until your whimpers turned into soft, overwhelmed sniffles. only then did he finally pull back, lips glossy, cheeks flushed, pupils blown so wide the brown was nearly gone.
he crawled up your body carefully, caging you without crushing you. his forearms bracketed your head. you could smell yourself on his mouth, on his chin, and the realization made fresh heat bloom low in your belly.
jungkook looked… ruined.
his hair was a mess from your fingers, shirt half-unbuttoned, chest rising and falling too fast. he stared down at you like you were the most devastating thing he’d ever seen.
“you’re shaking,” he whispered, brushing your hair out of your face. his thumb traced your bottom lip. “was that too much?”
you shook your head immediately, eyes glassy. “n-no… it felt so good…”
his expression softened into something dangerously fond.
he kissed you then, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you moaned quietly into his mouth, small hands clutching at his shoulders like you were afraid he’d disappear.
when he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice cracked.
“baby…” he swallowed hard. “can i… can I be inside you?”
your breath hitched.
the question hung between you, heavy and reverent.
you wanted to say yes. you did want to say yes. but the sudden rush of everything, body over yours, the damp heat still pulsing between your legs, the sheer size of him pressing against your thigh through his slacks—made your brain short-circuit.
you stared up at him with wide, dazed eyes. lips parted. no sound came out.
jungkook’s face fell the tiniest bit. misreading your silence as hesitation, he started to pull back.
“i’m sorry—i shouldn’t have—”
your hands grabbed his shirt before he could retreat.
he froze.
you didn’t speak, just looked at him—soft, overwhelmed, trusting—and slowly shook your head no. not no to him. no to him stopping.
understanding flickered across his face.
he exhaled shakily. “you want me to keep going?”
a tiny nod.
“but you’re… you’re not saying anything.”
another tiny nod. your cheeks burned. you liked this, seeing the normally composed, fumbling professor come apart. liked the way his voice was starting to shake.
jungkook dropped his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard.
“you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered. then, quieter, almost broken: “please. sweetheart, please. i need to feel you. i need it so bad. i haven’t—fuck, i haven’t let myself have anyone since i was studying for my master’s. i buried myself in books and data and—and then you walked into my class and i… i can’t think straight anymore.”
his hips rolled once, involuntarily, grinding his clothed length against your soaked core. he groaned low in his throat.
“i’ll go slow. i swear. i’ll stop the second you want me to. just… please let me inside you. please.”
the please sounded almost pathetic. desperate. nothing like the quiet authority he carried in lecture halls.
and you loved it.
you stayed silent a little longer, letting him unravel.
his breathing grew uneven. he started pressing soft, pleading kisses along your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
“i’ll take such good care of you,” he whispered against your skin. “i promise. i just… i need you. need to feel how warm you are. how tight. please, baby. please say yes. i’m begging you.”
your heart squeezed.
finally, soft, barely audible—you breathed:
“…yes.”
jungkook made a broken sound in the back of his throat.
he kissed you fiercely once, then sat back just enough to yank his shirt over his head. belt. button. zipper. he shoved everything down and off in one impatient motion.
when he settled back over you, completely bare, your eyes widened.
he was… big.
thick. long. flushed dark at the tip and already leaking. the sight made your thighs tremble.
“i—i don’t think…” you whispered, suddenly small and unsure again.
jungkook noticed immediately.
he leaned down, cupping your face with both hands.
“hey,” he soothed, voice velvet-soft. “it’s okay. it’ll fit. i promise you it will. we’ll go as slow as you need. you’re so wet for me already… it’ll be so easy. is that okay?”
you swallowed. nodded.
he reached between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance. the blunt head nudged against you—hot, slick, insistent.
“breathe,” he murmured. “just breathe for me.”
you did.
he pushed in barely an inch.
your breath caught. the stretch burned immediately. sharp. intense. you whimpered, fingers digging into his biceps.
“shhh, shhh,” he kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips. “you’re doing so good. so perfect. look at you taking me already.”
another slow inch.
the burn sharpened. tears pricked your eyes.
“jungkook—it hurts—”
“i know, baby. i know.” he stilled completely, trembling with the effort of holding back. “just stay with me. relax around me. let me in slow. you’re so tight… fuck, you feel incredible.”
he kissed you through it. soft, open-mouthed, distracting. whispered praise against your lips.
“you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.”
“so good for me.”
“taking me so well even though it’s your first time.”
“i’ve wanted this for so long.”
little by little, the sting began to melt. the fullness turned heavy, aching, good.
addictive. your hips shifted experimentally.
a soft moan slipped out.
his eyes fluttered shut. “that’s it… that’s my girl.”
he sank the rest of the way in one careful glide.
you both groaned.
he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, and stayed there—letting you adjust, letting himself feel every fluttering pulse around him.
“you’re perfect,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “so perfect. feel that? that’s us. just us.”
tears slipped down your temples—not from pain anymore, but from how full you felt. how wanted. how seen. he kissed them away.
“move,” you breathed after a long moment. “please… please move.”
he did.
slow. deep.
every drag of him inside you lit up nerves you didn’t know existed. the ache turned molten. sweet. you wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer.
he groaned your name like a prayer.
“you feel so good,” he rasped. “so warm. baby, you’re squeezing me so perfect.”
you keened at the praise, nails raking lightly down his back.
“more,” you whispered. “please.”
he gave it to you—still controlled, still careful, but deeper now. harder. the bed creaked softly beneath you.
“look at me,” he murmured.
you did.
his eyes were liquid dark, reverent.
“i’m so proud of you,” he said, voice shaking. “letting me have you like this. trusting me. you’re everything. you know that? everything.”
your eyes fluttered. the coil was building again—different this time. deeper. all-consuming.
“jungkook—”
“i’ve got you,” he promised, hips rolling in that perfect grind. “come for me, baby. let me feel it. please, baby.”
you shattered.
harder than before. clenching around him so tightly he cursed under his breath. your whole body shook, soft cries muffled against his shoulder.
he followed right after, hips stuttering, burying himself as deep as possible as he spilled inside you with a long, broken moan of your name.
for several long minutes you just held each other. breathing hard. sweaty. trembling.
he pressed the softest kisses to your hairline, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose.
“you okay?” he whispered eventually.
you nodded against his chest. smiled sleepily.
“more than okay.”
he exhaled, relieved. wrapped both arms around you and rolled so you were tucked against his side, still connected.
“stay,” he murmured, almost shy now that the urgency had passed. “just… stay with me tonight?”
you nuzzled closer, already drifting.
“always.”
the apartment was quiet in a way it had never been before.
not tense.
not forbidden.
just quiet.
the kind of quiet that settled after something life-changing.
you were wrapped in his sheets, hair messy, lips swollen, limbs pleasantly heavy. the world felt softer around the edges. unreal.
jungkook was sitting up beside you, chest rising and falling slowly, still trying to steady himself. he looked wrecked in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with disbelief.
you were looking at him like you had just discovered something sacred.
he ran a hand through his hair and let out a small, almost shy laugh.
“are you sure you okay?” he asked, voice lower than usual.
you nodded immediately. “perfect. all because of you .”
that made his ears turn pink.
he disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and came back with a warm cloth. the gentleness in his movements made your chest ache. he knelt beside you on the bed like you were fragile porcelain.
“let me,” he murmured.
he was careful. attentive. not clinical, but reverent. like this mattered. like you mattered.
you watched his face while he cleaned you up, the concentration in his brows, the softness in his eyes. he kept glancing up to check your expression.
“tell me if anything feels uncomfortable,” he said quietly.
you shook your head. “it doesn’t.”
he exhaled, relieved.
when he was done, you sat up slowly and took the cloth from his hand.
“my turn,” you said.
he blinked at you. “you don’t have to.”
“i want to.”
that softness again. that eagerness that kept undoing him.
you guided him back onto the bed, pushing him gently until he was the one lying down. he let you. completely.
there was something so vulnerable about him like that, broad shoulders against white sheets, hair falling into his eyes, chest rising steadily under your gaze.
you were just as careful with him.
your touch was slower, lighter, almost curious.
he swallowed hard.
“you’re staring,” he muttered.
“i am.”
he huffed a breath that might have been a laugh.
“why?”
you shrugged slightly. “i never thought you’d look like this.”
“like what?”
“soft.”
that made him go quiet.
when you finished, you tossed the cloth aside and crawled back toward him without hesitation. skin to skin. you pressed yourself against his side like it was instinct.
he stiffened for half a second. not because he didn’t want you there, but because he wasn’t used to it. not used to being held.
then his arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.
you rested your cheek against his chest.
he smelled like clean laundry and something warmer now. something entirely his.
“was this okay?” you mumbled sleepily.
his arm tightened around you.
“yeah,” he said softly. “it was more than okay.”
your fingers started tracing idle patterns against his skin.
that was when you noticed it fully. the ink winding down his arm.
you lifted your head slightly, eyes scanning the dark lines and shaded details of his sleeve.
“i never thought you’d have tattoos like this,” you murmured.
he looked down at you, amused. “like what?”
“like this,” you repeated, dragging your fingertip slowly along the edge of one design. “i thought you’d have, like… a tiny minimalist one. something academic.”
he laughed, the sound vibrating under your ear.
“a tiny minimalist one?”
“maybe a paintbrush,” you said seriously. “or something pretentious.”
he laughed harder at that.
“i’m not that bad.”
you hummed, tracing another section carefully. “it’s pretty.”
“pretty?”
“yeah.” your voice was soft, sincere. “i liked that it didn’t match what people expected.”
he watched you with an expression that shifted from amused to something deeper.
“you didn’t seem surprised,” he said quietly.
“about what?”
“that i wasn’t what people expected.”
you rested your chin on his chest and looked up at him.
“i’d known that since the first day.”
his fingers slid into your hair absentmindedly.
“you were full of surprises too,” he murmured.
you smiled sleepily. “like what?”
“like how brave you were.”
you flushed at that.
“i was terrified.”
“you didn’t look it.”
you tucked yourself closer into him, your leg sliding between his instinctively. he inhaled softly at the contact but didn’t move away.
“i liked being close to you,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.
his hand stilled in your hair.
“i liked you being close,” he answered.
the room went quiet again, but it was different now.
comfortable.
your fingertip continued tracing the lines of his sleeve, slowly, carefully, memorizing. you followed each curve like you were studying something important.
he watched you the entire time.
like he still couldn’t believe you were there.
like he was afraid if he closed his eyes, you’d disappear.
“don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled without opening your eyes.
“like what?”
“like i’m going to vanish.”
his breath caught.
you opened one eye and smiled faintly.
“i wasn’t.”
his arm tightened around you again, pressing a soft kiss into your hair.
“good,” he whispered.
and for the first time since the line had blurred, neither of you felt like you were falling.
you just lay there, skin to skin, quiet and tangled together, tracing ink and memorizing warmth, like you had all the time in the world.
author’s note: this took forever to write bc i got super self indulgent😭 i hope you enjoyed it, i’ve had this idea for a while. thank you for reading<333
genre: sugar daddy!jungkook, sugar baby!fem!y/n, college student!y/n, age gap
Hunt for a Sugar Daddy lands you right in the lap of your previous college senior and current rich boy Jeon Jungkook. Fucking a man older than you for money was never on your list but when he fucks you in his car, spoils you rotten and takes you on a romantic and sexy vacation, the line quickly blurs between a transactional relationship and love.
tags: power imbalance, transactional relationship to lovers, club meet-cute, past history, car sex, public sex, degradation kink, praise kink, dirty talk, brat tamer!jungkook, bratty!reader, submissive!reader, dominant!jungkook, cocky!jungkook, needy!reader, daddy kink, pet names (whore, darling, love, cockslut, cumslut, fucktoy, baby, little one, good girl), biting, marking, hickeys and bruises, spanking (ass, pussy, clit), breast groping and slapping, fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, jungkook loves eating your pussy and making you squirt, doggy style, hair pulling, face fucking, deep throating, swallowing, size difference, clothed male/naked female, aftercare, sexting, phone sex, favorite food as love language, sex vacation, pool sex, underwater sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, possessive behavior, sexual tension, bickering as foreplay, jungkook is HUNG
total words: 5.8k
this snippet: 2.5k words
(this snippet shows the first scene where you meet jungkook and he fucks you in the back of his car)
The air in your shitty studio apartment is thick with the smell of instant noodles and desperation. You stare at the numbers on your laptop screen until they blur, a cold knot of panic tightening in your gut. Tuition for your final year. Rent. The overdue notice from the utility company, a cheerful red stamp that feels like a punch. You’ve picked up a third part-time job, stocking shelves at a 24-hour convenience store from 2 AM to 6 AM, and you’re still drowning. The exhaustion is a physical weight, making your bones ache.
Your phone buzzes. It’s Mina, your only friend who seems to understand the scale of the catastrophe.
“Meet me at Luxe. 10 PM. Wear the black dress. The one that makes you look like a sin.”
You type back, fingers clumsy with fatigue. “Can’t. Have to calculate how many kidneys I can sell.”
Her response is immediate. “Stop being dramatic. I have a solution. Just trust me.”
Luxe is the kind of club you normally avoid—all gleaming surfaces, bottle service, and people who’ve never worried about a student loan in their lives. The bass thumps through your chest as you push through the crowd, spotting Mina at a high-top table near the back. She looks predatory and pleased.
“You came,” she shouts over the music, her eyes scanning you. “Good. You look fuckable.”
“Charming,” you yell back, sliding onto the stool. “What’s the grand solution? Embezzlement?”
She leans in, her perfume a cloud of jasmine and money. “Sugar dating.”
You laugh, a short, harsh sound. “No.”
“Y/N, look around.” She gestures at the glittering room. “Half the girls here are on some sort of arrangement. It’s not what you think. It’s companionship. Dinner. Gifts. An allowance that would solve every single one of your problems overnight.”
“I’m not selling myself.”
“You’re not selling anything. You’re curating an experience for a wealthy, busy man who wants a beautiful, intelligent girl on his arm and in his bed. It’s transactional, sure. But so is your soul-crushing job at the copy shop.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a simple, satin pink band. “If you’re open to being approached… you wear this. Just on your wrist. It’s a signal. Discreet.”
You stare at the band. It looks innocent. Pretty, even. The symbol of everything you swore you’d never do. But then you think of the red-stamped notice, the tuition deadline, the hollow, scared feeling in your stomach. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you snatch it from her fingers and slip it over your left wrist. It feels like a brand.
“Just to look,” you say, your voice barely audible.
Mina grins. “Go mingle. I’ll be watching.”
You drift through the crowd, feeling like a fraud. The pink band feels impossibly heavy. You’re heading for the relative sanctuary of the bar when a solid body steps into your path. You stumble, your hands coming up to brace against a chest that feels like carved stone under a crisp, expensive dress shirt.
“Sorry, I—” you begin, looking up.
And the world tilts.
Jeon Jungkook.
Your brain short-circuits. He’s older, of course. Four years since he graduated. The boyish softness is gone, replaced by a stark, ruthless handsomeness. His hair is dark and styled back, a few strands falling over his forehead. His eyes, always so intense, sweep over you with a heat that makes your skin prickle. He’s broader, taller somehow, radiating a confidence that saturates the air around him. He was the campus golden boy, the senior who’d occasionally save your freshman ass from his rowdy friends’ teasing. Until that one night at a party, when you were sure he was in on a cruel prank, setting you up for humiliation. In a fit of rage and hurt, you’d dumped your entire cup of water over his head. The memory still makes you want to crawl into a hole and die. You found out later he’d actually been trying to warn you.
Shame, hot and immediate, floods you. You spin on your heel to flee.
A large, warm hand closes around your wrist—the one with the pink band.
“Running away, Y/N?” His voice is deeper than you remember, a smooth, dark rumble that goes straight to your knees. He doesn’t let go. His thumb brushes over the satin band, and his eyebrow arches. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his lips. It’s not a nice smile. It’s predatory. Amused. “Well, well. Look at you.”
You try to yank your arm back. “Let go of me, Jungkook.”
“Or what? You’ll baptize me again?” He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his grip and into your bones. He tugs you closer, into his space. You’re engulfed by his scent—sandalwood, clean sweat, and something uniquely male. “I have to say, pink suits you. Looking for a benefactor, little one?”
“Fuck you,” you hiss, your face burning. You’re trying for fury, but it comes out breathless.
“That’s generally the idea, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your lips. He’s so close you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “All these years, and you turn up here looking like a five-course meal with a price tag on your wrist. I’m intrigued.”
“I’m not a meal,” you snap, but your heart is hammering against your ribs.
“Could’ve fooled me.” His gaze drags down your body, taking in the way the black dress hugs your curves. It feels like he’s touching you. “Still as feisty as ever, I see. Still that bratty little college topper who thinks she knows everything.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Liar.” The word is soft, definitive. He finally releases your wrist only to slide his hand to the small of your back, steering you firmly away from the main floor, toward a dimly lit corridor lined with private booths. You don’t fight it as hard as you should. “You want everything. Tuition paid? Debt cleared? A nice apartment where the heat actually works?” He pushes you gently into the shadowy corner of an empty booth, his body caging you in against the plush wall. “I can give you that. I can give you more than you ever dreamed of.”
Your mouth is dry. “I don’t need your charity.”
“It’s not charity, darling.” He leans in, his lips almost brushing your ear. “It’s an exchange. And it starts with an apology.”
You stiffen. “For what?”
“For the water. For assuming the worst of me. For running away tonight instead of saying hello.” He pulls back to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Apologize properly, and we can talk about what comes next.”
Your pride screams in protest. You lift your chin. “No.”
His smile returns, wider now, all white teeth and dark promise. “God, you’re cute when you’re defiant.” He says it like it’s a diagnosis. Before you can retort, his mouth is on yours.
It’s an all consuming, rough kiss. His lips are firm, demanding, and you gasp against them, your hands flying up to push at his chest. But the moment your tongue touches his, all fight evaporates in a surge of pure, unadulterated lust. You’ve thought about this—about him—more times than you’d ever admit. He groans into your mouth, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, the other sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him, hard and thick already, pressed against your stomach.
The kiss is filthy. All biting lips and dueling tongues. He sucks on your bottom lip until you whimper, then soothes it with his tongue. His hand leaves your ass to cup your breast over your dress, his thumb circling your nipple roughly through the fabric. It pebbles instantly, a sharp ache of need shooting straight to your core.
“Still so responsive,” he breathes against your mouth before biting at your jawline, then lower, sucking a bruise into the tender skin of your throat. You moan, your head falling back against the wall. His other hand slides under the hem of your dress, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your panties. “Is this what you wanted when you put that band on? To get fucked by a stranger in a club?”
“You’re not a stranger,” you pant, arching into his touch.
“No. I’m worse.” He nips at your earlobe. “I’m the one who knows exactly how to wind you up.” His fingers dip beneath the lace, and you cry out when he finds you already soaked. “Fuck, you’re dripping. Such a needy little thing.” He pushes a finger inside you, curling it just right, and your knees buckle. He holds you up easily, working his finger in and out with a slow, cruel rhythm. “Apologize.”
“J-Jungkook…”
“Say you’re sorry for being a brat.” He adds a second finger, stretching you, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.
A broken sob escapes you. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay?”
He kisses you again, swallowing your moans as his fingers pump faster. “Good girl.” He withdraws his fingers suddenly, leaving you empty and throbbing. You whine in protest. He brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucks them clean with a dark hum of appreciation, then smacks your ass—a sharp, stinging crack that makes you jolt and gasp. “Now let’s get out of here before I fuck you right in this booth.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes your hand, his grip firm, and leads you through the back exit of the club into the cool night air of the parking garage. His car is a low-slung, expensive-looking black thing. He opens the back door.
“In.”
You balk for a second, the reality crashing down. “This is insane.”
He crowds behind you, his body hot against your back. His mouth finds your neck again. “Get in the car, Y/N. Or I walk away, and you go back to your instant noodles and your three jobs.” His hands slide around to palm your breasts, squeezing roughly. “We both know you don’t want that.”
He’s right. You don’t. The shame is still there, but it’s drowned out by a desperate, clawing hunger. You climb into the backseat, the leather cool against your bare thighs. He follows you in, pulling the door shut and plunging you into near-darkness, lit only by the amber garage lights.
“Take them off,” he says, his voice a rough command as he nods at your panties.
You hesitate, a final flicker of resistance.
He sighs, as if dealing with a stubborn child. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He pushes you onto your back on the wide seat, hooks his fingers into the sides of your lace panties, and yanks them down your legs and off in one swift motion. He tosses them over his shoulder. “Spread your legs.”
When you’re slow to comply, he grabs your thighs and pushes them apart himself, settling between them. The look in his eyes is pure hunger. “Fuck, look at you.” He doesn’t use his fingers this time. He lowers his head and licks a broad, flat stripe from your entrance to your clit.
You shriek, back arching off the seat. Your hands fly to his hair, tangling in the soft strands.
“Quiet,” he growls against your pussy before diving back in. He eats you like he’s starving, like this is his last meal. His tongue is relentless, fucking into you, then swirling around your clit, then sucking it into his mouth. He groans, the vibration making you see stars. One of his hands comes up to knead your breast through your dress, pinching your nipple hard.
“Jungkook… oh god…”
“Taste so fucking good,” he mumbles, his words muffled against your flesh. “All sweet and salty for me.” He adds a finger, then two, curling them inside you while his tongue flicks your clit over and over in a rapid, maddening rhythm.
You’re bucking against his face, moans pouring out of you uncontrollably. The coil in your belly is winding tighter, tighter. You’re so close.
He pulls away.
You scream in frustration, thumping your fists against his shoulders. “No! Don’t stop! Please!”
He sits up on his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s breathing hard, his eyes glazed with lust. He unbuttons his pants, freeing his cock. It’s thick, veined, and ruddy with need, standing proud against his stomach. You lick your lips unconsciously.
He sees it and laughs, a low, dirty sound. “Look at you. Desperate little cockslut. You want it that bad?”
“Fuck me already!” you demand, reaching for him.
He smacks your hand away. “Ah-ah. Ask nicely.”
You glare at him, panting. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please… fuck me.”
“Not good enough.” He leans over you, bracing one hand by your head. His cockhead nudges at your entrance, spreading your wetness but not pushing in. The tease is agony. “Use my name.”
Tears of frustration prick your eyes. “Jungkook, please fuck me!”
He pushes in an inch, just enough to make you gasp, then stops. “Try again.”
You’re trembling with need. The word falls from your lips before you can think. “Daddy… please fuck me.”
He freezes. Completely still. For a terrifying second, you think you’ve ruined it.
Then a shudder runs through him, and his eyes darken to pure black. “Oh, you perfect fucking whore.” In one brutal thrust, he sheathes himself inside you to the hilt.
The scream that tears from your throat is raw. He’s so big, stretching you so full it borders on pain before melting into mind-numbing pleasure. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a punishing pace from the start, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the car.
“That’s it,” he grunts, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Take it. Take all of it for Daddy.” He shifts, driving deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision white out. “Fuck, your tight little pussy was made for my cock. Clenching around me like a greedy slut.”
You can only moan, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper with each thrust. The car rocks slightly. He leans down to capture your mouth again, kissing you with a bruising intensity as he fucks you.
“What if someone sees?” he whispers against your lips, a wicked glint in his eye. “What if one of my business associates walks by and sees the little college valedictorian getting railed in the back of my car? Getting used like a common fucktoy?”
The thought should horrify you. Instead, it sends a fresh gush of wetness around his cock.
He feels it and groans. “You like that? You like the danger?” He sits back on his haunches, pulling you with him so you’re straddling his lap, impaled on his cock. The new angle is even deeper. He grips your ass with both hands, controlling your bounce as he thrusts up into you. One hand moves to roughly knead your breast again, his thumb rubbing your nipple through the fabric.
“Yes! Daddy, yes!” you babble, riding him frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“Such a good girl for me,” he rasps, his own control fraying. “My perfect, bratty cumslut.” He suddenly flips you off his lap and onto your stomach, pushing you down so your face is against the cool leather seat. He drapes himself over your back, one hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back.
“You called me Daddy,” he snarls in your ear, lining himself up and slamming back into your sopping wet pussy from behind. “Now take it like you mean it.” He fucks you in deep, punishing strokes, each one jolting you forward. His free hand comes down on your ass in a sharp slap.
You yelp, the sting mixing deliciously with the overwhelming pleasure.
“Again,” he demands, spanking you once more, then rubbing the sore spot before sinking his fingers into the flesh of your hip to hold you steady as he pistons into you.
You’re babbling nonsense—his name, daddy, please, more. The pressure is building again, higher and harder than before. You can feel your orgasm coiling like a live wire.
“You gonna come for me?” he grunts, his rhythm becoming erratic, brutal. “You gonna squirt all over Daddy’s cock like the dirty little whore you are?”
His words are the final trigger. Your body seizes, a silent scream stuck in your throat as an intense, violent orgasm detonates through you. Your vision tunnels. You feel a hot gush release around his cock as you convulse, milking him desperately.
“Fuck! Yes!” Jungkook roars as he feels you clench and drench him. He gives three more ragged thrusts before burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. You feel the hot pulse of his cum filling you in thick spurts, mixing with your own release.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of harsh breathing and the faint hum of the garage. He collapses partially on top of you, his weight warm and heavy. He nuzzles into the sweaty skin of your neck, placing soft kisses over the bruise he left earlier.
Slowly, carefully, he pulls out. You whimper at the sudden emptiness and the slick mess between your thighs. He turns you onto your back, his movements uncharacteristically gentle now. He brushes the hair from your face and kisses your forehead, then your lips—a soft contrast to the frenzy of before.
He gathers you against his chest, cradling you in the backseat of his car as you both come down. Your body feels boneless, utterly spent.
He tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him. His expression is soft, but his eyes are still possessive, intense.
“So,” he says quietly, his thumb stroking your cheek. “About that arrangement.” He kisses you again, slow and deep. “If you want tuition paid… an allowance… an apartment…” Another kiss. “Then I’ll be your Daddy. In every single way you want me to be.”
