lucia

Jungkook glanced at you as he put some shrimp on the cutting board.

"Come on, sweetheart. Get off your phone and help." Jungkook told you.

You looked up, "I hate peeling shrimp." You complained. It made you feel grossed out. Being on your period didn't help. You found that being on your period made you more sensitive to smells and just gross stuff. Your period also didn't help your attitude today.

Jungkook sighed, "I will take off the heads and take the intestines out. All you need to do is peel the shell off." He told you.

"Can't I just do something else to help?" You practically whined.

"No. I need help with this. Come." Jungkook told you so you reluctantly went over to him. You watched as he did what he said he would before he started putting the shrimp near you to peel.

You began doing what he said, but not without complaining, "It's so gross."

"You're being dramatic." Your boyfriend commented, which wasn't exactly a lie.

"I'm not. It makes me nauseous. I'm on my period." You pointed out.

"You'll survive." Jungkook told you.

You just continued doing it as he handed you the last of it. His arm bumped into yours as he began to help you peel, the contact lingering as he reached out to help. It didn't take long for you both to finish.

"Cut them up into little pieces." He told you as he grabbed a pan to work on making some sauce.

"This is so boring." You complained but did what he told you to once again, like you basically always did.

"Not everything is exciting, princess." Jungkook told you.

After you finished cutting up the shrimp, you went back on your phone, thinking he didn't need your help anymore, or more so hoping he didn't.

"Put the pasta in the pot, please." Jungkook broke your attention away from the screen.

You just sighed but went and took the pasta out. "The whole thing?" You asked.

"Yes, baby." He simply responded as he continued what he was doing.

You poured the pasta into the pot, stirring it around for a bit before you let it be. You set a timer on your phone and went back to scrolling.

Jungkook took the phone out of your hand and put it on the counter in front of him, without looking at you.

"Hey." You said, annoyed.

"You've been on your phone too much. You'll be fine without it for a little bit." He told you.

"That's not fair." You complained. "I'm literally just waiting for the pasta."

Jungkook didn't respond with words, he just shrugged, not giving it back just yet. Though, it was right on the counter, you could've just taken it if you wanted to but you simply didn't.

It was your dynamic, you suppose. Jungkook would tell you what to do and you would most likely complain but you always listened.

You leaned onto the counter, watching in silence as Jungkook focused on what he was making when the timer on your phone eventually went off, signaling that the pasta was ready.

Jungkook just took care of putting the meal together without a word.

"Grab two bowls, baby." Jungkook simply said, seemingly not as annoyed with you like he was before.

You grabbed bowls and put them on the counter and he put some pasta in each bowl. He took some forks out and put one in each bowl. Jungkook leaned down and pecked the top of your head before grabbing the bowls to bring them to the table.

"Such a brat." He murmured, but there was no real bite because he never truly minded. You knew that.

ᥫ᭡ link to my masterlist

the afternoon started perfectly fine. sunghoon had taken you to the mall, his hand casually holding yours as you bounced along in your little pink heels, hair glossy and lips shiny. you were in a good mood… until you spotted the new display in the window of your favorite boutique. “hoonieeee,” you whined, tugging his arm. “look! that’s the bag I told you about last week..oh my god, it’s even prettier in person.” sunghoon glanced at the price tag and raised a brow. “baby, didn’t you just get two new bags a week ago?”

you pouted instantly, crossing your arms under your chest. “so? This one’s different. you don’t understand, i need it. like… need it, need it.” he chuckled, trying to steer you away, but you dug your heels into the floor, refusing to move. people were already glancing, shifting their attention onto you and sunghoon.

“sunghoon…” you dragged out his name like a plea. “why are you being so mean? you’re supposed to spoil me.” “princess, don’t start.” his tone was a warning, low enough that only you caught it, but you rolled your eyes dramatically anyway.

“maybe I should just find someone who will spoil me,” you muttered under your breath, though you knew he heard it. you even flipped your hair and strutted ahead of him, making a point to ignore him when he called your name.

by the time you both made it back to the car, sunghoon’s jaw was tight, his silence heavy. you knew you’d pushed too far, but your bratty streak wouldn’t let you back down. you just kept scrolling through your phone with a fake huff, acting unbothered.

the ride home was quiet—until you felt his hand suddenly grab your thigh, firm and possessive. his knuckles dug in just enough to make you squirm.

“you think you can act like that in public?” he said, voice low and sharp, his eyes locked on the road. “embarrassing me. talking back. pushing me?” your stomach flipped, your thighs pressing together. he’d used that tone before—it only ever ended one way.

“i was just—” you mumbled, but you were soon cut off by him, feeling his grip tighten. “oh no, princess,” he said, pulling into the driveway. “you’re about to learn exactly what happens when you act like a spoiled little brat.” the next thing you knew, you were back in the house—heels kicked off, his grip on your wrist tight as he dragged you upstairs.

“you want to pout and whine for bags?” he growled, pushing you down onto the bed. “fine. I’ll give you something to cry about instead.”

within minutes, you were pressed down against the mattress, hair a mess, lips swollen from his rough kisses, and his cock deep in your soaked overstimulated pussy. his hands pinned your wrists above your head as he hovered over you, voice sharp in your ear, “you wanna act spoiled? then I’ll remind you who’s in charge.”

you couldn’t stop the whiny little moans spilling out of your throat, your voice bouncing around the room as sunghoon’s pace turned relentless. every sharp thrust drove you into the mattress, your arms still pinned, hair sticking to your damp forehead as tears streaked down your cheeks.

“hoonie, please..t-too much,” you whimpered, but your body betrayed you, clenching down around him so tightly he groaned into your ear.

“too much?” he mocked, angling his hips then slamming back into you, directly hitting your sweet spot which made you yelp. “baby, you asked for this. you think pouting and throwing fits gets you what you want? no. what it gets you is me fucking you until you remember who is in charge.”

your mascara was smudged, your lips swollen from his kisses and bites, but the way you looked up at him with your big teary eyes only pushed him further. his free hand slipped down to your hip, holding you in place as he drove into you at a brutal pace. you tried to close your legs, overwhelmed, but he growled low in his throat, prying them back open and keeping them spread wide.

“no. don’t run, princess,” he rasped, watching you fall apart underneath him. “take it for me.” your body jerked with every deep thrust, your cries turning desperate, high-pitched, as waves of pleasure consumed you. you clutched at his arm, nails digging into his skin, your walls fluttering uncontrollably.

“f-fuck hoonie.. m’cumming!” you screamed, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you, leaving you gasping for air. sunghoon wasn’t done. he chased his own high, rutting into you with quick, sloppy thrusts until he spilled deep inside, groaning your name into your ear. the sound alone made your walls flutter all over again, overstimulation leaving you twitching and weak beneath him.

he stayed there for a moment, catching his breath, before finally loosening his grip on your wrists. his lips softened, pressing gentle kisses over your tear-streaked cheeks and messy lips. “you did so good for me, baby. so fucking good.” you sniffled, still pouting, though your voice came out small and dazed. “you’re so mean to me, hoonie.”

he chuckled, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest, your legs draped over his. his big hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, the roughness in his tone completely gone now.

“yeah, but you love it when I put you in your place,” he teased, kissing the top of your head. you hummed, already melting into him, eyelids heavy as the aftershocks settled. “and about those shoes,” he added, as he tilted your chin up. “be good for me this week… and maybe I’ll get them for you.”

your eyes lit up, even as you weakly slapped his chest. “you’re the worst!” you mumbled, though your smile gave you away. sunghoon only pulled you closer, whispering against your lips, “no, baby. i’m the best thing you’ve got.”

and you couldn’t even argue with that…

warnings: faint silent treatment, emotional distance, relationship problems, anxiety, swearing, jealousy, possessiveness, fluid dynamic — dom/sub, nipple play, fingering, handjob, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), raw sex, teasing, edging, mention of threesome and cuckold.

note: hi my bubbas i’m sorry for being mia :( i was dealing with lots of mental health stuff, work was too much, i had two fics in the works that got me in a writers block in the end and yesterday i had too much to drink and right as i was slowly waking up, this is what i fantasized about sfhskfjslkfsjlkfjs. it’s kinda trash, but i just needed to WRITE, so that’s what i did. i hope you somewhat like it, let me know your thoughts! this might be my shortest smut fic? :O

Jungkook was mad at you, silently. 

There was no fight. No exchange of words that would part the ever so incandescent dynamic between the pair of you, one that would even inflame the onlookers, igniting them with a fire so bright that it would burn them with either jealousy, envy or a passion so intense, they would leave your presence with a bubbly, buoyant feeling that there is still some good in this world. And in their curious, concerning wonder, you admitted to yourself that something was different.

Because despite his dissatisfaction, he still treated you with the same respect and love that you were used to. 

Home-cooked meals three times a day with snacks in between. Water bottle ice-cold and filled every night. He slept facing you, and whenever heat crawled low in his abdomen, he would let you know by lightly touching your ribs, a physical language well-known and well-loved by you. You would arch your back and perch your bum against his groin in response, and he would take care of everything else. Slide down your pajama bottoms, take himself out of his own and slip it in, only to pull your body back to him by grabbing your neck because he can’t bear any distance. Skin to skin always, with his lips busy with some body part of yours. 

Physical distance—there he never lacked, but in terms of the emotional one? 

He fucked you good every night, but during the day, between the little hours you had for each other, you forgot the feelings that would pepper your chest whenever he would tell you he loved you. You forgot the kind of colors your flesh would flush with whenever he would mindlessly touch you just to touch you and not to initiate sex. You forgot the baritone of his voice whenever he would check in with you, talk profoundly and straightforwardly with you or the tenor whenever he would simply baby you. You forgot everything, and for the longest time you ignored the gnawing feeling that your relationship was sinking. 

Until your friends spoke up, and their worriment tangled your thoughts into a dusty chaos of confusion, sparking up darkly a bundle of anxiety that made your body tremble throughout the day. Why wasn’t he acknowledging the obvious problem with you, coming to you as he invariably did, discussing things as if he were your boss and you were his employee? And why did you insist on wearing your rose-colored glasses, being as trained as you were? 

When that regular night out ended, you didn’t sleep a wink. You untangled, as much as you could, the strings of your thoughts, pried away the large fluffballs of dust from it, and while Jungkook slept soundly beside you, you prepared yourself for the long overdue confrontation. Emotionally first, physically second. You wrote your new, night-scented thoughts down in your notes app, forcing your eyes open as they became heavy with tiredness, erasing and typing, thinking deeply. And when the sun rose and spilled its golden ink across the darkness of his room, you lost the war and let your eyes close, dreaming, without sleeping, of each step you were going to take. 

What you didn’t expect was Jungkook’s manhood stirring you awake. 

His arm has found your sternum during the sun’s voyage to the sky, pressing you tightly to the heated snugness of his body from behind. His cock digs right into your tepid heat as he’s positioned lower on the bed than you, his face buried in the nape of your neck. His heavy breath fans across the sensitive skin there, quickens the process of your sleepiness wearing off and arousal coming up to the surface, and it becomes shallow when your hips instinctively rock against his. 

And then, silence. He stirs awake, too.

You become attentive to every morsel of the moment. Of the stuffiness of the room’s air. Of the warmth of his little breath against your neck, of the movement of his chest against yours, of his hand placed beneath your breasts, which now begins to function. 

It slides up, brushing over both of your nipples that immediately perk up for him, tingles scattering down your body with a faint wave of pleasure. 

You let out a soft whimpery noise, the confrontation slipping out of your mind. Especially when he maneuvers you by drawing you to your back, still against him, his other hand sneaking around your waist, joining the first one after it pushes down the covers. And Jungkook uses the same momentum to drag you down, your head beneath his, and bunch your sleep shirt up to your neck. 

No eye contact, no words—until he comes across an obstacle. 

You left your phone on your chest. Face up, notes open, sleep mode disabled. But you’re calm because for any other guy, your plan would be bare for his eyes to see, but not for his—not for his sleepily star-dotted eyes, not fully awake, not fully functioning. He discards the phone carelessly, throwing it somewhere out of your view, and you soon know where by the noise it makes when it hits its destination. 

Oh, he’s horny. And there’s something different about the foreplay this time around. 

Jungkook turns back to you and takes your face into his hand. While he leans down to kiss you, his other hand finds your nipple—his lips enclose around your top lip simultaneously as his fingers gently squeeze your nipple, and as your whimper deepens within his mouth at the feeling of him, of his cold piercings, of his hands, he grunts back in appreciation, zapping your clit with life. The hand that held your face travels down your neck, his tongue working its way into your mouth after a couple of mind-numbing, harsh kisses, and you let him. You let him squeeze your neck, you let him pinch your nipple, and when you gasp for air and he lets you breathe, you allow him to sink his fingers into your mouth and gather your saliva. 

And that’s when you gaze into each other’s eyes for the first time this morning, and it’s as though you were looking through a portal of utter dystopian, upside-down realm. 

Darkness swirls around his black irises, a whirlwind of emotions swooshing past, his disorganized eyelashes reflected in them—all beneath a coat of sleepiness across his eyes. Emotions of many names, of passionate origins, but none of which you know as intimately. There’s anger, there’s resentment and there’s pain, but none of them call out for your name. 

And it hits you. His dry hand drags down your bottoms, your legs kick the covers all the way down, and his wet fingers graze along your swollen clit. Up and down, up and down, while your mind comprehends that he solves his problems by fucking them into you. 

Which isn’t working very well. Hasn’t been. 

And just like you erased your points in your notes app all night, you erase your plan altogether and begin writing a new one. Its complexity opens in your mind like the autumn sun across the canvas of the morning sky and develops as he slowly rubs your clit in lazy circles. You moan and he responds by deep hums and heavy breaths that hitch in his throat whenever you squeak as he puts a little more pressure. And when he can’t take it anymore and dips both of those fingers into your hole, the tightening of your walls against them takes the plan to utter completion. 

You don’t let him make you cum. You rise from the bed. 

“No.” 

You don’t listen to his protest; you don’t yield to his ever consuming dominance, pushing against his hold and crawling between his legs. 

His manhood stands tall and achy, stretching the black fabric into the air, a wet patch on his tip darkening it so deliciously that your saliva wells in your mouth. Jungkook rubs the sleep away from his eyes, and you can tell that a small twinkle of light parts the darkness in the middle—the very unbelief that your intimacy has taken a different route after such a long time. And when they finally function like the rest of his body, they soften. 

Its darkness trickles into your own, and you use its potency to help him. 

You move the fabric out of the way, sticking your tongue out to wet your lips. The sight of him up close takes your breath away, precum rolling down the veiny side of his fully hard shaft, and you can’t wait any longer. You catch the drop with the flat of your tongue, retracing its trail up until you can wrap your lips around his head. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes back, growling, the noise melting into a soft moan of your name as you swallow him more. You can’t remember the last time you did this, and you don’t let yourself be led by your experiences, but by your intuition, which guides you to double-fist him and make up for the more than a half of him that you can’t take. Your hair shrouds you from him, but Jungkook is quick to fix it, gathering your hair in his own fist. His eyes narrow in an intense arousal when you spit on him and let your hands do the work, moving up and down, focusing on his tip to make his chest shudder, and the satisfaction you get when his chest does just that makes your pussy drool on his bedsheets. 

And you can’t help but take him back to your mouth, throating him until you gag and light erases the rest of the darkness away from his eyes. 

You straighten your spine and straddle him, attuned to his panting. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline coursing down your veins with its ichor, and Jungkook holds his cock steady for you as you begin to sit down on him and—

Oh. 

The feeling of him entering you from this angle, your mouth falls open at it, your eyes getting lost somewhere in the back of your mind. Jets of pleasure paralyze your body when you bottom out, your bum against his thighs, and the sensation of being so wonderfully full propels you to lean down and brazenly kiss him in a personal thankfulness before your plan takes place. 

Your hips lift and sit back down roughly, coaxing out his grunts. You play with his new piercing for a little while, tracing it with your tongue in circles before nibbling at his bottom lip, teasing him, getting him to a state of frenzy, in which you already swim. You bounce on him, straightening back up, letting him watch your breasts collide against each other. And when you speed up, high on his cock, his pheromones and the little dominance you’re experiencing, you begin to play with your tits. 

Which drives him crazy. 

He grabs your hips and takes charge. Fucks into you. Makes you scream, squeeze your eyes shut and knead your breasts a little more harder—but briefly. You peel his hands off, taking back what was stolen, slowing down the pace, but Jungkook furrows his brows, digging his nails into the high tops of your thighs on his way back to your hips. 

And before he can catch a hold of them, you tightly grab them, and using the space above due to his low position on the bed, you pull them over his head, and laugh in his face. 

“No,” you say, mimicking him, brushing your lips against his, the new piercing provoking you, your laughter ricocheting off the blush blossoming across his cheeks. “I want to fuck you.” 

He’s stunned, speechless, swallowing thickly. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, his cock twitching inside you, and you begin to grind your hips. He inhales sharply, his blush deepening and staining your own cheeks when he complies and intertwines his fingers with yours. 

Butterflies kick against your stomach. 

The frenzy absorbs your entire being, taking control of your mind, your mouth and your movements. You grind harder but slower, mewling as you move to his ear and search for his soft spot. Right there beneath his earrings, next to his seven tattoo. Your tongue laps the sensitivity there, your ears eager for his response, and Jungkook sucks air through his teeth, his moan but a whisper, an echo, but it’s enough. 

“You woke up all big and hard,” you purr softly, pecking his soft spot before sucking it. He groans, squeezing your hands, his hips instinctively bucking up into you. Your chest flourishes with delight, but still you slow down the pace even more in punishment. “What did you dream about, huh?” 

He scoffs inconspicuously, a noise not meant for your ears, but you heard it, curiosity tensing your muscles. He takes after his instincts and slowly, ever so slightly, he rolls his hips against you. “You.” 

Fuck. You stifle your moan, leaping over to his neck, to his biggest weakness. More to pleasure him than to punish him. 

“What did I do?” 

He waits until your heart beats once. To prepare you or to trouble you. 

“You don’t wanna know.” 

You pepper a few kisses on the side of his neck, bothered by his response. You clamp down on the skin, using a little roughness laced with careful gentleness, and you decide to speed up your pace. 

You decide to kill him, in fact. 

Facing him, you begin to bounce on him hard and fast until his eyes roll back. Your tits swing in his face, and you can vividly see his desire to take your nipple into his mouth. As you stop at his tip, per your killing plan, and squeeze around him, you circle the nub around his mouth, never letting him catch it. 

And you repeat this until he growls and sternly calls you by your name, the promise of his climax dripping off of him. And you use this very moment to unfold your original plan. 

“Why are you mad at me?” 

Your nerves broil, your own orgasm reaching the edge of paradise. Tingles nip at your fingertips squeezing his hands, and the adrenaline pumps harder in your system when he furrows his eyebrows even deeper. 

“I’m not fucking mad at you,” he snaps, trembling, glistening with sweat, breathing irregularly, and this is perfection at its finest—him, letting his emotions out without hesitation, without his usual coping mechanism. 

You stop at his tip again, your nipple at his mouth, and he closes his eyes to catch his breath. Calls you by your name again. Swallows. Croakily moans. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he warns, his lips skimming over your nipple, sending shivers down your back, and you’re done for. The gravity of how much you love him dawns on you, and you yearn to help him, to make him cum, but not until he speaks up. “You’re so fucking tight, baby, I can’t last like this.” 

“Tell me what’s going on and you won’t have to,” you say, lowering down your elbows as your arms begin to ache. 

Jungkook doesn’t let your heart beat once before he speaks. 

“Don’t move,” he orders, and you stay still, easily slipping back into your submissiveness as the feverish atmosphere offers it. You realize he would maneuver you to his liking if he could, but he can’t, and that brings a smile to your face. 

One that just as quickly fades away. 

“It bothers me how my friends look at you,” he reveals, his lips tightening in a straight line, dimples on full show. Your heart drops to your stomach. “Hobi, Yoongi. Fucking Mingyu can’t take his eyes off of you and would probably eat your leftovers if you threw them at him like to a dog. It pisses me off.” 

You cock your head to the side, and it’s your turn to furrow your brows. Is this why he barely spoke to you? Is this what he fucked into you every night?

His jealousy? 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” 

But Jungkook continues. 

“Whenever you speak, their eyes light up and they blush. They don’t even have the fucking decency to hide it in front of me. Fuck, they don’t even care that I’m there and that you’re mine,” he spills, fuming, red in the face, and you can only part your mouth in absolute disbelief. “And last night I dreamed about Hoseok fucking the shit out of you while I watched. I wanted to tear his head off but you wouldn’t stop looking at me. I didn’t know if you liked it or wanted me to step in or if you just enjoyed me watching you.” 

You gasp. The imagery of his dream passes by your brain like a cloud, and your walls squeeze around him, your essence moistening him even more. Before you know it, your hips move back down again and Jungkook swears. 

His possessiveness has always been a stronghold in your relationship. A thing that made you so wet that you oftentimes couldn’t wait until you got home and you left your regular night outs early and Jungkook had to finger you in his car. And the idea of it cracking, of him sharing you with his friends—

Jungkook rolls you over. Grabs you by your neck with both of his hands with precise gentleness and starts fucking you properly, his strokes a sharp, biting contrast to it. 

“You like it? You like the idea of him fucking you?” he checks against your lips, kissing you roughly, just once, and your mind is swept clean. Numb, pleasured, cock-filled. 

Cocks-filled. 

“Is this how he fucked me in your dream?” 

Jungkook bites his lip before he snickers, bitterly. He squeezes your neck, just a little. “No, he had you up in the air facing me. He was fucking you from behind, baby.” 

You moan, arching your chest into his, writhing on the mattress, so close to your orgasm. His cock drilling in and out of you makes a wet, squeaky noise, accompanied by his now loud groans, and you need to cum, you need more. 

“And it made you hard.” 

He nods. “Yes,” he admits, despair radiating off of him like a wine-drunk perfume. “It made me rock fucking hard.” 

His cock twitches, and it triggers your own orgasm. The rope tethers, an ecstasy bursting through the bond that connects you to him. Your vision fills with dots of stars, redolent of those in Jungkook’s, your body convulsing, and being lifted in the air and sat on his lap. He continues fucking his cum into you like this, and when you come down from the high, you bounce on him, milking him until he convulses just like you. 

And then he kisses you. And he kisses you so nastily, all tongue and roughness, that you’re ready to go again, but you can’t. Not until you talk to him. 

You rake his hair back with your long manicured fingernails, holding him like that. “You can’t do this to me.” 

“What?” he asks, still dazed, heart-shaped stars drifting back and forth in his glistening eyes. 

“You can’t not talk to me when you’re dealing with something like this,” you begin to explain, suddenly very aware of his cock being still anchored inside of you. “First of all, you should’ve brought this to me first, and then you should’ve talked to them.” 

The corners of his lips drop down. “And tell them what? Stop looking at my girl like this?” 

You blink at him and cock your chin to the side, furrowing your brows. “Yeah?” 

He laughs, humorlessly, letting his eyes stray away before lifting them back to yours. “Nothing would’ve changed. It would’ve only made it worse.” He lays you back down on your spine and slowly pulls his shiny length out of you. His cum streams out of you, a rivulet of thick white—the liquid of his love, and he collects it with his fingertips and pushes it back into you, entering you. “It would be a form of provocation for them and next thing I’d know you’re being fucked in the air. Not happening.” He curls his fingers and sets a killing pace, fucking you so hard that you fist the sheets, a payback for your own killing technique. “Only I get to fuck you how I want, arasseo?” He leans down to your clit. “Say it.” He lays his tongue flat against it, sucks it briefly, before he begins to flick his tongue deftly. 

You come so vivaciously that your body screams out the word he wanted you to say. You squirt, sprinkling him with your essence, and Jungkook laughs in delight, at last. Closes his mouth over your clit, humming as he kisses it. You come again, a mini orgasm zapping you.

And with your essence running down his lips, he kisses you deeply. “So, no. I won’t talk to them, but I’ll better myself and talk to you.” 

You nod your head, satisfied. The baritone of his voice echoes in your brain, rooting in your every nerve ending, and the colors you forgot come back to you. The flush, the feelings, the warmth, it all returns to you at full speed, and you’ve never been happier. 

And while Jungkook washes away the drops of cum from your thigh in the shower, all you can think about is how much you look forward to the next night out. And you know you need to ask him to cum on your panties to make the experience more fun. 

Because fun is what the pair of you needs. 

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

his fangs amused you instead of scaring you the first time he told you he is a vampire. you went around for weeks wanting him to bite you— turn you— but he successfully talked you out of it.

now that you have found a trace of normalcy in the five weeks that you have been dating him, your mind finds amusement in his biceps.

“last time,” he pops a cherry in his mouth, shifting weight from one leg to the other. “you wanted me to headlock you,”

“and that was hot as hell,” you insist, eyes gleaming with mischief. if sunghoon didn’t know any better, he’d think you might have gone insane.

and you could be— evidently— the veins on his arms and hands do nothing except making you gulp, only onto that last string of sanity.

you don’t think your pretty face, vampire of a boyfriend realises just how hot he is, really.

he thinks it’s a plain obsession— well, one is supposed to be obsessed with their lover. he catches you ogling him when he’s changing the bulb and thinks it’s because you want something.

according to sunghoon, there is absolutely no reason for you to zone out while looking at his hands except that they are pretty, well maintained and manicured.

you also don’t think he knows you joined the same gym as him to watch him workout and not to accompany him in following a healthy lifestyle and improving your heart’s health. simply looking at him heals you enough.

even now, he is standing clueless about why your eyes have zoomed in on his biceps. sunghoon stretches his arm, unintentionally flexing his muscles and it drives you crazy. his sweats hang low on his hips and it’s a sight to see.

you need him and he can’t catch a hint.

“so is that a yes or no?” you make your way to the kitchen, standing behind him as he reaches out for the coffee mugs placed on the top shelf.

you wonder if he puts them there deliberately to tease you, giving you that taunting flash of a slip of his waistline as his shirt rides up when he raises his arm.

your boyfriend shakes his head with a sigh, clearly failing to understand the logic behind your request. “you’re weird,”

“just once,”

“no,” a curt reply.

you’re really testing his patience.

“c’mon, sunghoon, it’s—”

“darling,” and it’s quiet again, aside from your heartbeat echoing in your ears when he easily cages you against the counter, between the very arms that make you weak in the knees. “i am not doing anything that risks your life,”

stupid.

you want to tease, explain what you mean, but your words are lost. sunghoon is hot and his lack of self awareness is life threatening because he is standing close— so close, you can feel the scent of his cologne intoxicating your senses.

you can still see the remains of water on his neck, droplets making their way down his skin. his face is a little flushed from the hot shower while yours is from how hot he is making you feel.

sunghoon’s eyes trace your face up and down, almost setting your heart ablaze when you feel his gaze on your lips for a brief second.

“understood?” he mutters, low and quiet, tucking a finger under your chin to make you look at him, eye to eye, soul to soul.

and you can only gulp when he leans a little closer, pressing himself against you. “yes,”

“good girl,” and he’s gone, stepped back, focused on his coffee, once again unaware of how his actions have left you trippy and dazed.

it is quite infuriating because he does not do it knowingly. sunghoon barely tries and your world shifts a little, stomach flipping and chest fluttering.

unaware of your inner turmoil, he turns around and switches on the coffee machine.

your fingers trace over the edge of the counter mindlessly, mind in a trance half because of what happened, and half due to the sight of his muscular back.

another glance— a quiet step in his direction, lower lip tugged between your teeth and your arms snake around his torso from behind, a cheeky grin forming on your lips as you poke his biceps with your index finger. you’ve never been the one to give up. “can i bite?”