You were deep in a Marvel Rivals match with your headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard. The glow of your monitor lit up your face in the dimly lit room, the only bright light present was coming from the RGB lights on your setup. You were wearing one of your boyfriend’s oversized black hoodies and nothing underneath — your usual gaming uniform when you didn’t feel like putting on real clothes.

Your boyfriend: Jungkook on the other hand — had been quiet for the last twenty minutes, sprawled on your bed behind you, supposedly watching you play. But you could feel his eyes on you the entire time.

A soft sigh escaped him.

“Baby…” he mumbled.

“Not now, Kook. I’m in the middle of a match,” you said without looking back, focused on the screen.

Another sigh.

Then you hear the sound of him getting up.

You felt him before you saw him — his warm hands resting on your shoulders from behind as he leaned onto the back of your gaming chair. His chin settled on your shoulder, breath tickling your neck.

“You’ve been playing for hours,” he whispered, his voice low and needy. “I miss you.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “I’m almost done with this game, babe.”

He didn’t listen. Instead, he moved and dropped to his knees in front of your gaming chair, wheeling you back slightly so he could fit between your spread legs under the desk.

His hands slid under the hem of your hoodie, exposing your bare pussy, his palms settling warm against your stomach.

“Jungkook…”

“Please,” he murmured, leaning in to press soft kisses along your stomach as he spoke against your skin, voice soft and pouty. “Give me your attention… just a little. I’ve been so good and patient.”

You exhaled shakily as his hands moved higher, sliding up to cup your bare breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and they hardened instantly under his touch.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed, sounding completely in awe.

Even though the hoodie stayed on, the way he pushed the fabric up just enough to expose your chest to his hands and mouth made everything feel filthy and intimate. His large hands kneaded your tits slowly, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh like they were the only thing keeping him alive right now. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, pinching lightly, then soothing with gentle circles until you were squirming in the chair.

Your pussy was already exposed and dripping, the cool air of the room brushing against your wet folds as he knelt between your spread legs.

You tried to keep your eyes on the screen, fingers still hovering over the keyboard, but your focus was slipping fast. The match felt distant now, nothing compared to the heat of his hands on you.

Jungkook leaned in closer, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, slow and teasing. His lips were warm and soft, leaving faint wet marks on your skin as he moved higher, dangerously close to where you were already aching for him. You shifted your hips forward slightly, silently hoping he’d finally put his mouth on you, but he didn’t. He just kept kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, like he wanted to drive you crazy on purpose.

“Jungkook…” you breathed, voice shaky.

He hummed against your thigh but stayed right there, teasing, before finally moving upward again. He pushed the bottom of your hoodie higher with both hands, then ducked his head completely underneath the fabric.

The world went darker, warmer, and suddenly all you could feel was him.

His face was buried in your chest now, hoodie tented over his head as he worshipped your tits with single-minded devotion. He pressed his face between them, inhaling deeply like your scent was his favorite drug, then he started kissing and licking everywhere he could reach.

“So fucking perfect,” he groaned, voice muffled under the hoodie. “I love your tits so much… they’re so soft, and so warm.”

He took one breast into one of his hands, pushing it up so he could wrap his lips around your nipple. He sucked slowly at first, savoring it, tongue swirling around the stiff peak before sucking harder. The wet heat of his mouth made your back arch, pushing more of your chest into his face.

He moaned loudly against you, the sound vibrating through your whole body. While he sucked on one nipple like he was trying to pull pleasure straight from it, his other hand kneaded your free breast, squeezing and bouncing it gently in his palm. His thumb kept flicking over the nipple, keeping it hard and aching.

You lost all focus on the game. The keyboard clicks slowed to nothing. Your character probably died minutes ago and you didn’t care. All that existed was Jungkook’s mouth and hands devouring your tits under the hoodie.

He switched sides, giving the other nipple the same filthy treatment — long, slow sucks that made obscene slurping sounds, followed by quick flicks of his tongue. He pushed both breasts together, burying his face between them again, licking and kissing the soft valley while his hands continued squeezing and playing with them.

“Love how they feel in my hands.. in my mouth,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and desperate. “So full… so pretty when they bounce like this.”

He motorboated them gently, the soft jiggle making him groan in pure bliss. Then he was sucking marks into the undersides, leaving little bruises that only he would see later. His tongue traced every curve, licking broad stripes across your skin before returning to your nipples to suck them deep into his mouth again.

The hoodie trapped his heat and breath against you, making everything hotter, wetter, more intense. Spit coated your tits, dripping down your stomach as he got sloppier, completely lost in his obsession.

He kept talking between kisses and sucks, voice wrecked.

“Could stay here forever… just sucking on these pretty tits. They’re so sensitive for me… look how hard your nipples get when I play with them.”

He pinched both nipples at the same time, rolling them between his fingers while his tongue flicked rapidly over one. You moaned loudly, thighs trembling around him, one hand gripping the edge of the desk while the other pushed his head deeper under the hoodie.

He loved it. He moaned even louder, sucking harder, kneading your breasts with both hands like he couldn’t get enough of their weight and softness.

You finally reached up with a trembling hand and closed the game entirely, not even bothering to save or exit properly. The screen went dark, but you barely noticed.

“Fuck, Kook… that feels so good,” you moaned softly, your voice shaky with pleasure. “Please don’t stop...”

Jungkook didn’t stop. If anything, knowing he finally had your full attention made him more eager. He kept his head buried under your hoodie, face pressed against your chest as he continued his relentless worship — sucking, licking, squeezing, kissing every inch of your tits like they were the center of his universe.

“God, yes… just like that,” you whispered, fingers tightening in his hair. “You’re so good, babe.”

Jungkook stayed completely buried beneath your hoodie, his face pressed eagerly into the soft warmth of your tits. The thick material trapped his hot breath and the wet sounds of his mouth, turning the space into something intimate and filthy. He moaned loudly as he sucked one nipple deep into his mouth again, the vibration shooting straight down to your core. His hands never stopped moving — kneading, squeezing, pushing your breasts together so he could lavish attention on both at once.

He was obsessed. Completely, shamelessly obsessed.

You were breathing hard, hips shifting restlessly in the chair. The ache between your legs was growing unbearable, but Jungkook took his time, drawing it out. He licked broad, slow stripes across your breasts, then returned to sucking your nipples with filthy, wet sounds that echoed under the hoodie.

Minutes blurred together as he worshipped you.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispered, almost reverently. “My favorite thing in the world.”

Jungkook finally pulled his head out from under the hoodie, his hair a complete mess, cheeks flushed dark, and lips shiny and swollen from how long he’d been worshipping your tits. He looked up at you with those big, soft doe eyes, still dazed and hungry. You couldn’t help but smile at how gone he was for you.

You tugged at the hoodie gently. “Off,” you murmured.

He sat back on his heels between your legs and helped you pull the oversized black fabric over your head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor. Now fully naked in the gaming chair, you reached for him, pulling him into a deep, messy kiss.

He tasted like you — warm, slightly sweet from all the time he’d spent with his mouth on your body.

When you pulled back, he was grinning.

“Now do I have your attention, baby?” he asked, his voice teasing but eyes still dark with want.

You laughed softly, cupping his face with both hands. “Yes, you have my full attention, you needy idiot.”

He grinned wider, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. Still on his knees between your spread legs, Jungkook didn’t move from his position under the desk. His hands now stayed on your thighs, thumbs stroking the soft skin as he looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes.

Without a word, he leaned in closer, pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs again. But this time he didn’t tease for long. His hands moved up, gently spreading your pussy lips with his thumbs, exposing your wet, swollen folds completely to the cool air of the room.

You whimpered at the feeling, already so sensitive from all the earlier stimulation. Jungkook’s eyes were locked on your pussy, mesmerized.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “So fucking wet for me already,”

Jungkook leaned in slowly, his warm breath fanning over your exposed pussy. He stuck his tongue out, flat and wide, and pressed it against your slick folds. The first long, slow lick from your entrance all the way up to your clit made you shudder hard, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

He moaned deeply the moment he tasted you, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. “Fuck…” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut like he was in heaven. He licked again, even slower this time, dragging his tongue through your wetness with his mouth wide open, devouring every drop.

His tongue was hot and soft, sliding through your folds like he was trying to taste every inch of you. He licked broad, messy strokes — from your dripping hole up to your swollen clit, then back down again. He did it over and over, savoring you, moaning loudly into your pussy like he couldn’t get enough.

You were shaking, one hand gripping the arm of the chair, the other tangled in his hair as he ate you out with pure hunger. His tongue working messily, licking and lapping at your folds like a man starved. He spread you wider with his thumbs, holding your pussy lips open so he could bury his tongue deeper, thrusting it inside you in slow, deep strokes.

The wet, filthy sounds filled the room — loud slurping, his constant moaning, the slick glide of his tongue against your soaked cunt. He was completely lost in it, eyes half-closed, cheeks flushed as he devoured you.

Then he sucked gently on your folds, then moved up to circle your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. His tongue flicked rapidly against the sensitive bud while two fingers rubbed your pussy in slow motion.

You were a mess, moaning and whimpering, hips grinding against his face. He just kept going, tongue devouring everything — licking, sucking, tongue-fucking you with slow thrusts.

He was so pussy whipped, completely addicted to the taste of you, moaning and groaning like eating your pussy is the best thing in the world.

He pulls back slightly, lips shiny and swollen, a thin string of your arousal connecting his mouth to your pussy. His eyes are dark and hazy as he looks at your dripping cunt.

With his index and middle finger, he spreads your pussy lips wide again, holding you completely open. He leans in and spits directly onto your swollen clit, the warm saliva landing right on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You gasp sharply at the feeling.

Jungkook groans at the sight, then uses two fingers to rub his spit into your clit in slow, firm circles. He rubs it really good — pressing down just enough, moving in tight, deliberate circles that make your thighs tremble.

“look at that pussy,” he murmurs, voice thick. “So messy and pretty.”

He keeps rubbing, spreading his spit and your slick all over your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers down to gather more wetness before returning to that perfect rhythm on your swollen bud.

“Mmph— kook—”

You are whimpering, hips twitching uncontrollably as he plays with you, completely focused on making your pussy even wetter for him.

Your breathing gets heavier, thighs starting to shake more and more. The pressure builds fast, that familiar heat coiling tight in your belly as you get closer and closer.

“Kook… I’m getting close,” you moan, voice shaky.

But Jungkook suddenly slows down, pulling his fingers away and pressing soft, teasing kisses on your inner thighs instead. He looks up at you with a small, wicked smile, eyes gleaming.

“Not yet,” he whispers.

You whine in frustration, hips chasing his fingers, but he just chuckles softly and leans in again, licking one slow, torturous stripe up your slit.

And without another word, he scooped you up from the chair like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You clung to him as he carried you the short distance to the bed, dropping you gently onto the mattress before crawling over you.

He quickly took off his clothes, his body settled perfectly between your spread legs, cock hard and heavy against your inner thigh. You ran your hands down his back, pulling him closer as he leaned down to kiss you again.

“You always do this,” you complained half heartedly between kisses, even as you tilted your hips up to grind against him. “I’m trying to climb ranks and you just attack my tits until I can’t even remember what game I’m playing.”

Jungkook chuckled against your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he lined himself up at your entrance. “Can you blame me?” he murmured, voice low and affectionate. “You look so fucking hot when you’re focused, especially when you're wearing only my clothes. It’s impossible to resist.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, both of you moaning at the stretch. When he bottomed out, he stayed there for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried deep inside you.

“Besides,” he continued, starting to move with slow, deep thrusts, “you always end up liking it. You get so wet for me every time I distract you.”

You gasped, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as he fucked you steadily. “That’s not the point,” you breathed, nails digging lightly into his back. “One day I need to actually finish a full match without you turning me into a mess.”

He grinned down at you, hips snapping a little harder. “Mmm, but then I wouldn’t get to fuck you like this right in the middle of your gaming session.” He leaned down to kiss you again, swallowing your moans. “And we both know you secretly love when I can’t keep my hands off you.”

You laughed breathlessly, pulling him closer. “You’re the worst.”

He grins again, thrusting deeper, grinding against that perfect spot inside you with every roll of his hips. The conversation faded into soft moans and whispered praises as the pleasure built. He fucked you with that perfect mix of deep and steady, making sure you felt every inch, every drag against your walls.

“Love you,” he whispered against your lips, voice tender even as his pace picked up. “Love how you let me distract you. Love how wet and tight you get for me every single time.”

“Love you too,” you moaned, meeting his thrusts. “Even when you’re being a needy, horny, distraction.”

He chuckled, burying his face in your neck as he fucked you harder, the bed creaking under you. His hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit in circles, pushing you closer to the edge.

You came first, clenching around his cock with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his waist. Jungkook followed right after, groaning your name as he spilled deep inside you, hips stuttering through his release.

After, he collapsed on top of you, both of you sweaty and breathing hard. He nuzzled into your neck, pressing lazy kisses there while you ran your fingers through his damp hair.

“See?” he mumbled sleepily, voice satisfied. “Much better than grinding out that match.”

You laughed, hugging him tighter. “Shut up.”

You were deep in a Marvel Rivals match with your headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard. The glow of your monitor lit up your face in the dimly lit room, the only bright light present was coming from the RGB lights on your setup. You were wearing one of your boyfriend’s oversized black hoodies and nothing underneath — your usual gaming uniform when you didn’t feel like putting on real clothes.

Your boyfriend: Jungkook on the other hand — had been quiet for the last twenty minutes, sprawled on your bed behind you, supposedly watching you play. But you could feel his eyes on you the entire time.

A soft sigh escaped him.

“Baby…” he mumbled.

“Not now, Kook. I’m in the middle of a match,” you said without looking back, focused on the screen.

Another sigh.

Then you hear the sound of him getting up.

You felt him before you saw him — his warm hands resting on your shoulders from behind as he leaned onto the back of your gaming chair. His chin settled on your shoulder, breath tickling your neck.

“You’ve been playing for hours,” he whispered, his voice low and needy. “I miss you.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “I’m almost done with this game, babe.”

He didn’t listen. Instead, he moved and dropped to his knees in front of your gaming chair, wheeling you back slightly so he could fit between your spread legs under the desk.

His hands slid under the hem of your hoodie, exposing your bare pussy, his palms settling warm against your stomach.

“Jungkook…”

“Please,” he murmured, leaning in to press soft kisses along your stomach as he spoke against your skin, voice soft and pouty. “Give me your attention… just a little. I’ve been so good and patient.”

You exhaled shakily as his hands moved higher, sliding up to cup your bare breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and they hardened instantly under his touch.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed, sounding completely in awe.

Even though the hoodie stayed on, the way he pushed the fabric up just enough to expose your chest to his hands and mouth made everything feel filthy and intimate. His large hands kneaded your tits slowly, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh like they were the only thing keeping him alive right now. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, pinching lightly, then soothing with gentle circles until you were squirming in the chair.

Your pussy was already exposed and dripping, the cool air of the room brushing against your wet folds as he knelt between your spread legs.

You tried to keep your eyes on the screen, fingers still hovering over the keyboard, but your focus was slipping fast. The match felt distant now, nothing compared to the heat of his hands on you.

Jungkook leaned in closer, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, slow and teasing. His lips were warm and soft, leaving faint wet marks on your skin as he moved higher, dangerously close to where you were already aching for him. You shifted your hips forward slightly, silently hoping he’d finally put his mouth on you, but he didn’t. He just kept kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, like he wanted to drive you crazy on purpose.

“Jungkook…” you breathed, voice shaky.

He hummed against your thigh but stayed right there, teasing, before finally moving upward again. He pushed the bottom of your hoodie higher with both hands, then ducked his head completely underneath the fabric.

The world went darker, warmer, and suddenly all you could feel was him.

His face was buried in your chest now, hoodie tented over his head as he worshipped your tits with single-minded devotion. He pressed his face between them, inhaling deeply like your scent was his favorite drug, then he started kissing and licking everywhere he could reach.

“So fucking perfect,” he groaned, voice muffled under the hoodie. “I love your tits so much… they’re so soft, and so warm.”

He took one breast into one of his hands, pushing it up so he could wrap his lips around your nipple. He sucked slowly at first, savoring it, tongue swirling around the stiff peak before sucking harder. The wet heat of his mouth made your back arch, pushing more of your chest into his face.

He moaned loudly against you, the sound vibrating through your whole body. While he sucked on one nipple like he was trying to pull pleasure straight from it, his other hand kneaded your free breast, squeezing and bouncing it gently in his palm. His thumb kept flicking over the nipple, keeping it hard and aching.

You lost all focus on the game. The keyboard clicks slowed to nothing. Your character probably died minutes ago and you didn’t care. All that existed was Jungkook’s mouth and hands devouring your tits under the hoodie.

He switched sides, giving the other nipple the same filthy treatment — long, slow sucks that made obscene slurping sounds, followed by quick flicks of his tongue. He pushed both breasts together, burying his face between them again, licking and kissing the soft valley while his hands continued squeezing and playing with them.

“Love how they feel in my hands.. in my mouth,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and desperate. “So full… so pretty when they bounce like this.”

He motorboated them gently, the soft jiggle making him groan in pure bliss. Then he was sucking marks into the undersides, leaving little bruises that only he would see later. His tongue traced every curve, licking broad stripes across your skin before returning to your nipples to suck them deep into his mouth again.

The hoodie trapped his heat and breath against you, making everything hotter, wetter, more intense. Spit coated your tits, dripping down your stomach as he got sloppier, completely lost in his obsession.

He kept talking between kisses and sucks, voice wrecked.

“Could stay here forever… just sucking on these pretty tits. They’re so sensitive for me… look how hard your nipples get when I play with them.”

He pinched both nipples at the same time, rolling them between his fingers while his tongue flicked rapidly over one. You moaned loudly, thighs trembling around him, one hand gripping the edge of the desk while the other pushed his head deeper under the hoodie.

He loved it. He moaned even louder, sucking harder, kneading your breasts with both hands like he couldn’t get enough of their weight and softness.

You finally reached up with a trembling hand and closed the game entirely, not even bothering to save or exit properly. The screen went dark, but you barely noticed.

“Fuck, Kook… that feels so good,” you moaned softly, your voice shaky with pleasure. “Please don’t stop...”

Jungkook didn’t stop. If anything, knowing he finally had your full attention made him more eager. He kept his head buried under your hoodie, face pressed against your chest as he continued his relentless worship — sucking, licking, squeezing, kissing every inch of your tits like they were the center of his universe.

“God, yes… just like that,” you whispered, fingers tightening in his hair. “You’re so good, babe.”

Jungkook stayed completely buried beneath your hoodie, his face pressed eagerly into the soft warmth of your tits. The thick material trapped his hot breath and the wet sounds of his mouth, turning the space into something intimate and filthy. He moaned loudly as he sucked one nipple deep into his mouth again, the vibration shooting straight down to your core. His hands never stopped moving — kneading, squeezing, pushing your breasts together so he could lavish attention on both at once.

He was obsessed. Completely, shamelessly obsessed.

You were breathing hard, hips shifting restlessly in the chair. The ache between your legs was growing unbearable, but Jungkook took his time, drawing it out. He licked broad, slow stripes across your breasts, then returned to sucking your nipples with filthy, wet sounds that echoed under the hoodie.

Minutes blurred together as he worshipped you.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispered, almost reverently. “My favorite thing in the world.”

Jungkook finally pulled his head out from under the hoodie, his hair a complete mess, cheeks flushed dark, and lips shiny and swollen from how long he’d been worshipping your tits. He looked up at you with those big, soft doe eyes, still dazed and hungry. You couldn’t help but smile at how gone he was for you.

You tugged at the hoodie gently. “Off,” you murmured.

He sat back on his heels between your legs and helped you pull the oversized black fabric over your head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor. Now fully naked in the gaming chair, you reached for him, pulling him into a deep, messy kiss.

He tasted like you — warm, slightly sweet from all the time he’d spent with his mouth on your body.

When you pulled back, he was grinning.

“Now do I have your attention, baby?” he asked, his voice teasing but eyes still dark with want.

You laughed softly, cupping his face with both hands. “Yes, you have my full attention, you needy idiot.”

He grinned wider, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. Still on his knees between your spread legs, Jungkook didn’t move from his position under the desk. His hands now stayed on your thighs, thumbs stroking the soft skin as he looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes.

Without a word, he leaned in closer, pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs again. But this time he didn’t tease for long. His hands moved up, gently spreading your pussy lips with his thumbs, exposing your wet, swollen folds completely to the cool air of the room.

You whimpered at the feeling, already so sensitive from all the earlier stimulation. Jungkook’s eyes were locked on your pussy, mesmerized.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “So fucking wet for me already,”

Jungkook leaned in slowly, his warm breath fanning over your exposed pussy. He stuck his tongue out, flat and wide, and pressed it against your slick folds. The first long, slow lick from your entrance all the way up to your clit made you shudder hard, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

He moaned deeply the moment he tasted you, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. “Fuck…” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut like he was in heaven. He licked again, even slower this time, dragging his tongue through your wetness with his mouth wide open, devouring every drop.

His tongue was hot and soft, sliding through your folds like he was trying to taste every inch of you. He licked broad, messy strokes — from your dripping hole up to your swollen clit, then back down again. He did it over and over, savoring you, moaning loudly into your pussy like he couldn’t get enough.

You were shaking, one hand gripping the arm of the chair, the other tangled in his hair as he ate you out with pure hunger. His tongue working messily, licking and lapping at your folds like a man starved. He spread you wider with his thumbs, holding your pussy lips open so he could bury his tongue deeper, thrusting it inside you in slow, deep strokes.

The wet, filthy sounds filled the room — loud slurping, his constant moaning, the slick glide of his tongue against your soaked cunt. He was completely lost in it, eyes half-closed, cheeks flushed as he devoured you.

Then he sucked gently on your folds, then moved up to circle your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. His tongue flicked rapidly against the sensitive bud while two fingers rubbed your pussy in slow motion.

You were a mess, moaning and whimpering, hips grinding against his face. He just kept going, tongue devouring everything — licking, sucking, tongue-fucking you with slow thrusts.

He was so pussy whipped, completely addicted to the taste of you, moaning and groaning like eating your pussy is the best thing in the world.

He pulls back slightly, lips shiny and swollen, a thin string of your arousal connecting his mouth to your pussy. His eyes are dark and hazy as he looks at your dripping cunt.

With his index and middle finger, he spreads your pussy lips wide again, holding you completely open. He leans in and spits directly onto your swollen clit, the warm saliva landing right on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You gasp sharply at the feeling.

Jungkook groans at the sight, then uses two fingers to rub his spit into your clit in slow, firm circles. He rubs it really good — pressing down just enough, moving in tight, deliberate circles that make your thighs tremble.

“look at that pussy,” he murmurs, voice thick. “So messy and pretty.”

He keeps rubbing, spreading his spit and your slick all over your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers down to gather more wetness before returning to that perfect rhythm on your swollen bud.

“Mmph— kook—”

You are whimpering, hips twitching uncontrollably as he plays with you, completely focused on making your pussy even wetter for him.

Your breathing gets heavier, thighs starting to shake more and more. The pressure builds fast, that familiar heat coiling tight in your belly as you get closer and closer.

“Kook… I’m getting close,” you moan, voice shaky.

But Jungkook suddenly slows down, pulling his fingers away and pressing soft, teasing kisses on your inner thighs instead. He looks up at you with a small, wicked smile, eyes gleaming.

“Not yet,” he whispers.

You whine in frustration, hips chasing his fingers, but he just chuckles softly and leans in again, licking one slow, torturous stripe up your slit.

And without another word, he scooped you up from the chair like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You clung to him as he carried you the short distance to the bed, dropping you gently onto the mattress before crawling over you.

He quickly took off his clothes, his body settled perfectly between your spread legs, cock hard and heavy against your inner thigh. You ran your hands down his back, pulling him closer as he leaned down to kiss you again.

“You always do this,” you complained half heartedly between kisses, even as you tilted your hips up to grind against him. “I’m trying to climb ranks and you just attack my tits until I can’t even remember what game I’m playing.”

Jungkook chuckled against your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he lined himself up at your entrance. “Can you blame me?” he murmured, voice low and affectionate. “You look so fucking hot when you’re focused, especially when you're wearing only my clothes. It’s impossible to resist.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, both of you moaning at the stretch. When he bottomed out, he stayed there for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried deep inside you.

“Besides,” he continued, starting to move with slow, deep thrusts, “you always end up liking it. You get so wet for me every time I distract you.”

You gasped, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as he fucked you steadily. “That’s not the point,” you breathed, nails digging lightly into his back. “One day I need to actually finish a full match without you turning me into a mess.”

He grinned down at you, hips snapping a little harder. “Mmm, but then I wouldn’t get to fuck you like this right in the middle of your gaming session.” He leaned down to kiss you again, swallowing your moans. “And we both know you secretly love when I can’t keep my hands off you.”

You laughed breathlessly, pulling him closer. “You’re the worst.”

He grins again, thrusting deeper, grinding against that perfect spot inside you with every roll of his hips. The conversation faded into soft moans and whispered praises as the pleasure built. He fucked you with that perfect mix of deep and steady, making sure you felt every inch, every drag against your walls.

“Love you,” he whispered against your lips, voice tender even as his pace picked up. “Love how you let me distract you. Love how wet and tight you get for me every single time.”

“Love you too,” you moaned, meeting his thrusts. “Even when you’re being a needy, horny, distraction.”

He chuckled, burying his face in your neck as he fucked you harder, the bed creaking under you. His hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit in circles, pushing you closer to the edge.

You came first, clenching around his cock with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his waist. Jungkook followed right after, groaning your name as he spilled deep inside you, hips stuttering through his release.

After, he collapsed on top of you, both of you sweaty and breathing hard. He nuzzled into your neck, pressing lazy kisses there while you ran your fingers through his damp hair.

“See?” he mumbled sleepily, voice satisfied. “Much better than grinding out that match.”

You laughed, hugging him tighter. “Shut up.”

You hate this town.

The thought arrives sharp and uninvited as you lie in bed, eyes fixed on the window, watching the way the winter dark settles over the streets like a second skin. Streetlights hum low and yellow, their glow barely reaching the edges of cracked sidewalks and sagging porches. Houses crouch close together, windows shuttered against the night, each one a small fortress guarding secrets everyone already knows.

People here suck the life out of everything.

They watch and they remember. They collect small failures like coins in a jar, rattling them whenever someone tries to walk a different path. No one escapes the version of themselves the town decided on years ago. Not the boy down the street who once stole a pack of gum and is still the thief at thirty. Not the girl whose family lost their farm and now carries the scent of ruin wherever she goes.

And certainly not you.

Just like your mother.

Ever since your father died, your mother has unraveled in small, unseen ways. She moves through rooms like someone searching for a door that no longer exists, her hands restless with objects she picks up and sets down again without purpose. Her laughter comes too sudden and too loud, cutting across quiet evenings like glass breaking. Some mornings she stares at her reflection too long, fingers tracing the lines that grief carved into her face, while other nights she disappears until the early hours, chasing warmth with men — men who leave before morning, men who pretend they don’t know her name when they pass her on the street.

The town started calling her crazy in that soft, pitying tone they use when they want to sound kind. They don't call her a whore. At least not to her face. But just crazy. As if the word wraps their judgment in softer cloth.

She works the night shift at the town’s only grocery store, stacking shelves, running the register, and cleaning up after closing in the harsh fluorescent light. It’s a plain, exhausting job — the kind that keeps the lights on and food in the fridge but never fills the hollow spaces. She still shows up, still plays the part, smiling tiredly at the late customers who come in for beer and cigarettes. But you notice the small cracks — the way her hands shake some mornings when she buttons her coat, the way her lipstick sometimes smears at the edges like a secret she can’t quite hide. She pretends the routine keeps her steady. You know it doesn’t.

Most nights she still ends up at Damon’s bar or in someone else’s bed, chasing comfort that never lasts.

Before she leaves for the night she always pauses at your door. The hallway light catches the side of her face, softening the lines grief has left behind. She tells you to be safe, to keep the doors locked until she comes back, her voice low and careful, the words worn from too many repetitions.

You listen. You always listen, nodding once in the dim glow, fingers tight around the edge of your sleeve. She leans in then, pressing a kiss to your forehead, her lips cool and brief, the faint trace of her perfume lingering like borrowed warmth in the quiet air.

“Be safe, doll.” She says.

She calls you that sometimes, the nickname your father gave you, and the word lands like a stone in still water.

You hate it.

For a moment her eyes hold yours, heavy with something she never quite names. Then the door clicks shut behind her, the sound sharp in the empty house, leaving only the faint echo and the weight of her absence pressing close against your chest.

She wants you perfect. Polished. The one good thing to come out of her mess. She arranges your hair and straightens your clothes like you’re something she can fix, something that might redeem the way the town looks at her.

They pity you for it. You hear it in the soft tones at the grocery store, in the way teachers used to smile at you a little too long, in the neighbors who drop off casseroles with sympathetic eyes.

That poor girl. Such a good kid stuck in that miserable house. A flower growing in cracked concrete, they seem to say without saying.

You hate that too.

You don’t feel like a flower. You don’t feel good or pure or worth saving.

Most days you feel worse than your mother.

The loneliness always sits in your bones like damp cold that never leaves. You miss people, you miss the way the house felt before grief hollowed it out, you miss the version of your mother who used to hum while cooking. You miss pieces of yourself you can’t name.

At night the emptiness presses close, whispering that maybe you’re the crazy one. The one who smiles politely at school and keeps her grades high while something inside cracks wider each year. The one who lies awake feeling untethered, floating in a life that doesn’t quite fit, always reaching for something just out of reach.

You sigh, the sound slipping out slow and tired into the dark of your room. The blankets feel too heavy tonight, tangled around your legs like they want to hold you down. You push them aside, feet meeting the cold floorboards with a quiet creak. The house is silent now, your mother long gone, her car lights swallowed by the street hours ago. You move to the window on unsteady legs, drawn there the way you always are when the emptiness grows teeth.

You press your forehead to the glass, letting the chill sink deeper. It travels through skin and skull, a sharp, clean cold that cuts through the fog in your mind. Outside, the winter night sits heavy over everything. The oak tree stands like it always has, thick trunk scarred by years of wind and time, its branches reaching out over the narrow street.

And there he is.

Jungkook.

Hidden behind the tree, right on time like he always is once your mother’s taillights disappear. He leans against the rough bark, shoulders curved in that familiar way, jacket hanging loose on his frame.

You’ve known him since you were six.

Two kids in the corner of the schoolyard who saw the same cracks in each other without needing words. He was the boy with bruises no one asked about. You were the girl learning how to smile through the hole your father left behind. From that day on, you felt like the same person split into two bodies — carrying the same weight, marked by the same town, surviving the same quiet disasters. He understands the parts of you that scare you most. And you understand his.

He looks up. The faint light catches his face, and he smiles. It's a smile that reaches his eyes even in the dark. A smile that says he’s been waiting for your signal, for the moment you decide the night is yours.

Your boyfriend. The only person who ever made this place feel less like a cage.

He doesn’t call out, he knows he shouldn't, he's careful. He just waits, patient as winter itself, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, the ember glowing once before fading.

Your chest tightens. You haven’t told him yet.

Your eyes drift to the university application letter sitting on your desk, slightly buried under a few books. The envelope is plain, the stamp neat and official.

A way out.

A future that doesn’t smell like this town’s stale gossip and old regrets. The thought should bring relief. Instead it sits like ice in your stomach. You trace the edge of the paper with one finger, the sharp corner biting into your skin. You imagine sliding it into the mailbox tomorrow, sealing something you can’t take back.

Leaving means leaving him.

The realization hurts every time you let yourself think it. Leaving the boy who has stood beside you since you were both children, the one who knows how your silences mean different things, the one whose hands have always found yours in the dark without asking why. Your beloved boyfriend. The person who makes the long nights bearable. How do you walk away from that? from him? How do you pack your life into a suitcase and step onto a bus or train knowing he’ll still be here, stuck under the same weight, carrying the same names the town branded on him?

And your mother.

The thought twists deeper.

Leaving her alone in this house with its echoing rooms and too many memories.

She calls you doll and kisses your forehead before slipping out into nights that break her a little more each time. Who would remind her to eat? Who would lock the doors behind her? Who would sit with her on the bad mornings when the grief sits too heavy on her shoulders? You would be gone, chasing something better, while she stays here unraveling in the same place that broke her.

Fucking hell.

You absolutely hate this fucking town.

The words echo in your head as you stare down at Jungkook. You hate what it does to people. How it decides your story before you’ve lived it. What it has done to your mother — turning her grief into gossip, her loneliness into something they whisper about over coffee. What it has done to Jungkook — labeling him trouble before he ever had the chance to be anything else, making him carry his father’s mistakes and his sister’s sacrifices on his back. And what it is doing to you. Slowly carving out pieces until you don’t recognize what’s left.

Jungkook shifts below, tilting his head as if he can hear your thoughts from the ground. His smile softens, patient, waiting. He flicks the cigarette away, the small spark dying in the dark. You lift your hand and press it flat against the glass, a silent signal. He nods once, the movement small but sure.

Jungkook pushes off the tree and starts walking toward the house. You pull back from the window, heart tight, and move to open the door for him.

You have to tell him.

You hate this town.

The thought arrives sharp and uninvited as you lie in bed, eyes fixed on the window, watching the way the winter dark settles over the streets like a second skin. Streetlights hum low and yellow, their glow barely reaching the edges of cracked sidewalks and sagging porches. Houses crouch close together, windows shuttered against the night, each one a small fortress guarding secrets everyone already knows.

People here suck the life out of everything.

They watch and they remember. They collect small failures like coins in a jar, rattling them whenever someone tries to walk a different path. No one escapes the version of themselves the town decided on years ago. Not the boy down the street who once stole a pack of gum and is still the thief at thirty. Not the girl whose family lost their farm and now carries the scent of ruin wherever she goes.

And certainly not you.

Just like your mother.

Ever since your father died, your mother has unraveled in small, unseen ways. She moves through rooms like someone searching for a door that no longer exists, her hands restless with objects she picks up and sets down again without purpose. Her laughter comes too sudden and too loud, cutting across quiet evenings like glass breaking. Some mornings she stares at her reflection too long, fingers tracing the lines that grief carved into her face, while other nights she disappears until the early hours, chasing warmth with men — men who leave before morning, men who pretend they don’t know her name when they pass her on the street.

The town started calling her crazy in that soft, pitying tone they use when they want to sound kind. They don't call her a whore. At least not to her face. But just crazy. As if the word wraps their judgment in softer cloth.

She works the night shift at the town’s only grocery store, stacking shelves, running the register, and cleaning up after closing in the harsh fluorescent light. It’s a plain, exhausting job — the kind that keeps the lights on and food in the fridge but never fills the hollow spaces. She still shows up, still plays the part, smiling tiredly at the late customers who come in for beer and cigarettes. But you notice the small cracks — the way her hands shake some mornings when she buttons her coat, the way her lipstick sometimes smears at the edges like a secret she can’t quite hide. She pretends the routine keeps her steady. You know it doesn’t.

Most nights she still ends up at Damon’s bar or in someone else’s bed, chasing comfort that never lasts.

Before she leaves for the night she always pauses at your door. The hallway light catches the side of her face, softening the lines grief has left behind. She tells you to be safe, to keep the doors locked until she comes back, her voice low and careful, the words worn from too many repetitions.

You listen. You always listen, nodding once in the dim glow, fingers tight around the edge of your sleeve. She leans in then, pressing a kiss to your forehead, her lips cool and brief, the faint trace of her perfume lingering like borrowed warmth in the quiet air.

“Be safe, doll.” She says.

She calls you that sometimes, the nickname your father gave you, and the word lands like a stone in still water.

You hate it.

For a moment her eyes hold yours, heavy with something she never quite names. Then the door clicks shut behind her, the sound sharp in the empty house, leaving only the faint echo and the weight of her absence pressing close against your chest.

She wants you perfect. Polished. The one good thing to come out of her mess. She arranges your hair and straightens your clothes like you’re something she can fix, something that might redeem the way the town looks at her.

They pity you for it. You hear it in the soft tones at the grocery store, in the way teachers used to smile at you a little too long, in the neighbors who drop off casseroles with sympathetic eyes.

That poor girl. Such a good kid stuck in that miserable house. A flower growing in cracked concrete, they seem to say without saying.

You hate that too.

You don’t feel like a flower. You don’t feel good or pure or worth saving.

Most days you feel worse than your mother.

The loneliness always sits in your bones like damp cold that never leaves. You miss people, you miss the way the house felt before grief hollowed it out, you miss the version of your mother who used to hum while cooking. You miss pieces of yourself you can’t name.

At night the emptiness presses close, whispering that maybe you’re the crazy one. The one who smiles politely at school and keeps her grades high while something inside cracks wider each year. The one who lies awake feeling untethered, floating in a life that doesn’t quite fit, always reaching for something just out of reach.

You sigh, the sound slipping out slow and tired into the dark of your room. The blankets feel too heavy tonight, tangled around your legs like they want to hold you down. You push them aside, feet meeting the cold floorboards with a quiet creak. The house is silent now, your mother long gone, her car lights swallowed by the street hours ago. You move to the window on unsteady legs, drawn there the way you always are when the emptiness grows teeth.

You press your forehead to the glass, letting the chill sink deeper. It travels through skin and skull, a sharp, clean cold that cuts through the fog in your mind. Outside, the winter night sits heavy over everything. The oak tree stands like it always has, thick trunk scarred by years of wind and time, its branches reaching out over the narrow street.

And there he is.

Jungkook.

Hidden behind the tree, right on time like he always is once your mother’s taillights disappear. He leans against the rough bark, shoulders curved in that familiar way, jacket hanging loose on his frame.

You’ve known him since you were six.

Two kids in the corner of the schoolyard who saw the same cracks in each other without needing words. He was the boy with bruises no one asked about. You were the girl learning how to smile through the hole your father left behind. From that day on, you felt like the same person split into two bodies — carrying the same weight, marked by the same town, surviving the same quiet disasters. He understands the parts of you that scare you most. And you understand his.

He looks up. The faint light catches his face, and he smiles. It's a smile that reaches his eyes even in the dark. A smile that says he’s been waiting for your signal, for the moment you decide the night is yours.

Your boyfriend. The only person who ever made this place feel less like a cage.

He doesn’t call out, he knows he shouldn't, he's careful. He just waits, patient as winter itself, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, the ember glowing once before fading.

Your chest tightens. You haven’t told him yet.

Your eyes drift to the university application letter sitting on your desk, slightly buried under a few books. The envelope is plain, the stamp neat and official.

A way out.

A future that doesn’t smell like this town’s stale gossip and old regrets. The thought should bring relief. Instead it sits like ice in your stomach. You trace the edge of the paper with one finger, the sharp corner biting into your skin. You imagine sliding it into the mailbox tomorrow, sealing something you can’t take back.

Leaving means leaving him.

The realization hurts every time you let yourself think it. Leaving the boy who has stood beside you since you were both children, the one who knows how your silences mean different things, the one whose hands have always found yours in the dark without asking why. Your beloved boyfriend. The person who makes the long nights bearable. How do you walk away from that? from him? How do you pack your life into a suitcase and step onto a bus or train knowing he’ll still be here, stuck under the same weight, carrying the same names the town branded on him?

And your mother.

The thought twists deeper.

Leaving her alone in this house with its echoing rooms and too many memories.

She calls you doll and kisses your forehead before slipping out into nights that break her a little more each time. Who would remind her to eat? Who would lock the doors behind her? Who would sit with her on the bad mornings when the grief sits too heavy on her shoulders? You would be gone, chasing something better, while she stays here unraveling in the same place that broke her.

Fucking hell.

You absolutely hate this fucking town.

The words echo in your head as you stare down at Jungkook. You hate what it does to people. How it decides your story before you’ve lived it. What it has done to your mother — turning her grief into gossip, her loneliness into something they whisper about over coffee. What it has done to Jungkook — labeling him trouble before he ever had the chance to be anything else, making him carry his father’s mistakes and his sister’s sacrifices on his back. And what it is doing to you. Slowly carving out pieces until you don’t recognize what’s left.

Jungkook shifts below, tilting his head as if he can hear your thoughts from the ground. His smile softens, patient, waiting. He flicks the cigarette away, the small spark dying in the dark. You lift your hand and press it flat against the glass, a silent signal. He nods once, the movement small but sure.

Jungkook pushes off the tree and starts walking toward the house. You pull back from the window, heart tight, and move to open the door for him.

You have to tell him.