Otome hideout : Indecent Confessions

The moving-truck pulls up at exactly 7:15 am. You know this why? Well, because the excruciating noise of the car backing up, that repetitive beep outside your window, is practically ringing in your eardrums by now. 

And on a Saturday for christ’s sake. Can’t a girl sleep through the morning anymore? Are we past that point?

These last weeks have been nothing but large stacks of paperwork and overtime at the office, so you really do cling to the weekend like your life depends on it. But today, this exact morning, it doesn’t look like you’ll be getting it your way. 

You roll over in bed, pulling the covers over your head before screaming into the pillow. Screaming so overwhelmingly loud that your head starts pounding. Or it might be the actual tinnitus you’ve received from this fucking monster of a moving-truck that has rolled up and ruined your entire day. 

The pillow gets covered in both spit and what seems like actual tears before you breathe out, trying to calm yourself. But as your scream dies down, the sound of the truck returns, and with it comes loud noises which are seemingly two men speaking to each other. Screaming at each other might be a better description, since they can’t possibly hear a word either of them are saying over the loud beeps. 

“More to the right!” one of them yells, a deep and desperate voice. 

“It won’t fucking go more to the right!” 

Your face is actually hurting from how hard you’re frowning, your expression turning into an exaggerated crying-face. You fold your hands together, and you actually pray to God, something you haven’t done in a while. Last time was when you forgot to pay your phone bill, and you begged to higher powers every time you had to make a phone call. It feels nice getting in touch with God again, even though you’re not much of a believer, it’s good to know he’s there. Like a free therapist. 

“You have more room!” the first voice screams out, and your prayers get cut short. 

After this loud exclaim, the street outside your window turns into complete mayhem. Overbearing voices layering over each other, cursing and complaining, while the repetitive sound of the truck backing up continues throughout the two men’s heated argument. 

“I want my mom,” is all you’re able to cry out into the pillow, so incredibly tired and defeated that the thought of waking up at this hour has your stomach turning. Maybe you should go puke.

The noise is apparently never-ending. The guys continue to scream and shout while the truck is in park, and now comes the loud screech of the rolling back-door being opened. It sounds like metal grinding on metal, high-pitched enough to make your teeth ache.

That’s it. You’ve had enough. If these idiots are planning on waking the whole neighborhood, fine by you, but they are not about to ruin your sleep. Your oh-so-precious sleep. 

You lift your torso off the bed so abruptly that your covers fly off your body. The cowlick in your hair is so prominent now that your scalp actually feels sore. A bed head so crazy that it hurts. But that’s not of importance right now, not when these morons are still loose in the street. They should be happy you don’t carry weapons in your home. 

With a groan that reverberates off the walls, you get out of bed and hurry your way out of the room, down the stairs and to your hallway. In a frenzy, you search for something to cover your silken nightgown, and ultimately pull on a long, fuzzy coat, arms hugging your frame as you step into your shoes. 

You fumble with the lock before the door evidently opens, and as you step out, your eyes lock with the humongous moving-truck. It’s parked outside the house facing yours. Great, you already hate your new neighbor, it’s just wonderful that they’re this close. 

Your lips curl as you close in on the truck. You can’t see the two men, but you can still hear them arguing. They’re probably hidden behind the large frame of the vehicle. So you prepare yourself to scold them, without really knowing where to aim your aggression.

“Good morning to you too! Are you guys that—”

Your words die in your throat. Because as the greeting leaves your lips, one of the men step forward from behind the truck. And you think you’re about to have an aneurism. 

“Sorry, sorry—I know. It’s a lot of noise.” The guy sticks his neck out, slightly bowing before you. He’s stupidly hot. Like earth-shattering attractive, the kind of guy you usually only see in magazines at the kiosk. He’s in a buttoned-up denim jacket, and it looks like he’s wearing nothing underneath, the neckline revealing just a sliver of skin. Enough for you to go mute, anyways. 

Your eyes widen, and your lips curl inwards to suppress any kind of sound that might escape you. Unfortunately you’re not properly dressed for this meet, as you’re in nothing but a satin pajama set and an open coat, one you immediately wrap around yourself by crossing your arms tight over your chest. Who is this guy? Please dear god let him be your new neighbor and not just some boy helping with the unloading, some guy who works for this awful truck’s company. He’s so cute. 

He stretches tall before you, his broad figure blocking out the morning sun that should be covering your face. And you stand there like some kind of idiot in a white, fuzzy coat, unable to form words. It’s fortunate that it’s early enough for you to brush this off as morning-fog, and not you actually going dense over seeing an attractive person of the opposite sex. You’ve already forgotten why you’re here, why you decided to bother this man.

“D-did I wake you?” he asks, and you almost miss his question entirely as you keep drifting away, ogling at the piercing in his lip. It’s so delicately placed, just a small silver spiral on the left side of his bottom lip.

Okay you have to speak before you come off as either incredibly creepy, or very dense. The first option is what motivates you the most. “Well… kind of—but it’s all good,” you lie. You wish you could’ve slept through the morning, at least for another hour. But hey, if you weren’t awake by now, you would’ve maybe never met this mysterious man (who please, please, please might be your new neighbor).

The truck driver steps out of the vehicle, an older man with a snap back and a fat stomach. You don’t really have the same reaction seeing him as you did the stud standing before you. “Need help?” He gestures towards the boxes inside the back of the van. 

The boy turns from you, shaking his head at the driver, “No-no, I can manage.”

“Let me at least help you unload it—you’ve got a lot of shit.”

Your new neighbor laughs awkwardly, his eyes darting towards you before immediately looking away again. Awe cute, he’s having trouble keeping eye contact. You flush involuntarily, and as you’re about to speak — ask him if he does need help, if he’s moving here alone — he rolls up one of his sleeves, and you forget all questions. Dear mother of god. His forearm is covered in tattoos, a sleeve so detailed you can’t help but squint, trying to make out what they read. Not only is his arm inked, but his knuckles are covered as well. 

What a beautiful man. Is it weird you want to lick them? Maybe, let’s not go there just yet. 

He chuckles, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his head, “Fine you unload it, so I can apologize to this nice lady.”

Oh my god that’s you. Hello! You swallow hard, almost choking on your own saliva, eyes widening with something between surprise and flush. Trying to redeem yourself, trying not to look fucking dense, and you giggle. Fuck that might not help at all. You crease your eyebrows, straightening your posture, and try speaking. 

“No, no, I was serious, don’t apologize. I needed a waking up, anyways!” 

He laughs, one of his hands moving up to fiddle with the silver hoop in his ear. “I feel like I made a shit first impression.”

First impression. Oh my god — he is your new neighbor. Cue the fireworks, this might be the best day of your entire life. He’s moving into the home just above the street, and that only means one thing. His bedroom window overlooks yours, vice versa. This had up until now been quite the problem, as your past neighbor was an old unmarried woman. It was upon catching a glimpse of her through your window late one evening that you realized everything starts to sag when getting older. 

So you’ve grown a habit of drawing the curtains. Maybe you don’t need to, now. Or maybe it’s even more important you do, as seeing this man undress — or maybe with another girl — might not be all that great for your sanity. But let’s not discuss voyeurism already, you should maybe start by answering him. 

“You really haven’t—but if it helps I can think of many ways for you to redeem yourself.” 

Why did you say it like that? It feels like someone has just spilled a bucket of ice over your shoulders, your entire body tensing after the sentence leaves you. You were just trying to sound cool, casual maybe, but instead you’ve ended up sounding like someone straight from a porno. The driver who is still standing just by the two of you, eavesdropping, chuckles as he shakes his head, turning to get back in the truck — finally leaving the two of you alone. 

Eager to change the subject and flee your own embarrassment, you give him your name in a haste, trying to steer away from whatever nonsense you just told him. He nods quickly, parting his lips, about to give you his name. You on instinct bow, arms flat by your sides… which is something you should have never done. 

“I’m Jungkook, nice to—”

You don’t know which one of you misread the situation, but as you bow, Jungkook stretches his hand out, presumably to shake yours — but this ends in his flat palm grazing the side of your boob. Your coat is unfortunately open, and his hand slips past the fabric as you bend, long fingertips brushing against your soft pyjamas. 

Apparently you’re not very good at this ‘welcoming’ thing. Fuck. 

Alright. It’s been a week since Jungkook moved in. He’s been living in the house just before yours, you’re literally facing each other. 

So where the hell is he? Hopefully he hasn’t moved away out of sheer embarrassment. That would’ve just been too horrific. 

You’ve been checking your mailbox a bit more often than usual, you’ve been mowing your lawn for the first time in years, you’ve found any old excuse to exit your home and move out into your yard… seemingly all for nothing. 

Because every time you’re out there, every time you look out your window, every time you drive by — his lights are off. 

And you’re pretty sure he’s not living some kind of nocturnal life like a creature who despises the sun, or any kind of light whatsoever. So is he hiding? Or has he just not moved in yet? After your first (and only) meet, you ran back inside just to watch him carry all the heavy boxes through his front door. Drool was practically coating your chin as you saw the way his jaw tightened with every heavy lift, how his eyebrows creased. His jean jacket was covering his muscles, but that was probably for the best… you don’t know what the sight of his biceps would do to you. 

This was of course after the both of you apologized after the unfortunate boob-graze. That’s an interaction you can’t seem to forget, as it’s literally eating you alive. You have to see him again, you have to make sure he’s not sickeningly embarrassed by your presence.

Anyways: you saw him carry all his belongings into the new home… so you would assume he has moved in? He has moved in. But where on gods green earth is he? 

Your glass of water overflows, coating your hand as you’ve forgotten to turn off the faucet. You click your tongue, screw the handle shut, and tip your head down. You’ve been standing by the sink, the one by the window, drifting away as you stare at Jungkook’s house. 

A loud sigh escapes you. A week ago, you thought you’d finally have something exiting to focus on, a new crush in the midst of your horrible everyday life, which sadly only consists of work, work, and more work. You need a distraction, so badly it hurts… so where the hell is the cute boy-next-door? 

A week and two days. Jungkook has been ‘missing’ for a week and two days. You could cry. You should’ve never gotten your hopes up, you fucking idiot. 

You’ve now taken comfort in loud music, trying to drown out your thoughts after a nine hour shift, the bass in your car speaker vibrating as you’ve cranked the volume up as far as it goes. Donna Summers. She’s the only one that’s helping right now. 

You’re nearing your neighborhood, singing along to Donna’s vile lyrics about pleasure and men, kind of crying on the inside. It’s been so long. Work is consuming you, and all the men around you are fucking dumb in their brains. Mushy brain activity. So you haven’t had the time… and you haven’t wanted to either. And now, you think you might’ve forgotten how to do it. Every part of it. It’s been, what, four months now? Jesus. 

The next turn leads to your street. You lower the volume just a bit, as you don’t want to disturb the neighborhood. You slow as you’re about to enter your driveway… when everything inside you turns to liquid. 

He’s here. 

There, in his driveway, carrying a large speaker out of his trunk, is Jungkook. 

As your whole body is tuned to him, you have to be careful not to run him over as excitement takes a hold of you. So you pretend you’re fine, slowly driving by as you turn in your driveway, parking your car. Your whole body is vibrating, trembling as you cut off the engine. You have to really prep your mind, calm down, before you step out. 

He’s just across from you when you’re out the door, walking carefully across his yard not to drop the heavy stereo. And he’s dressed so cutely that you could cry… he’s in a beanie. Just a thick, black beanie with a small, white logo in the middle. He looks like a marble, actually. A boy with a very wide, large frame, who just happens to have a very round head, and a set of very kissable cheeks. 

Okay let’s not go there, let’s clear our heads. You take a deep breath, and you swallow a scream as Jungkook locks eyes with you when you step out of your car, a tiny smile stretching across his face. 

Alright, he’s smiling. He’s not hiding from you. He might’ve not let your last interaction eat him alive. You have to speak first, seem casual. 

“Well, hi there, neighbor.” You hope it sounds casual, flirty. Not weird. Maybe even a bit seductive. 

Unfortunately, you caught him at a bad time… the stereo is really heavy. You see him form his mouth around the word ‘sorry’ before lowering the large piece to the ground with a grunt. He wipes away a glisten of sweat before placing a hand on his hip, steadying his breathing. “Oh, hi… look who it is.” 

He remembers you. If you weren’t doing everything in your power to stay cool right now, you could probably run up and down the walls of your house. But you don’t, obviously. Instead, you slowly cross the street, ready to converse (casually) with your neighbor. 

“I think that’s my line,” you answer as you’re closing in on him, finally crossing the curb of his driveway. “Thought I’d lost a perfectly good neighbor.” 

You’re finally back to your true self, not that sheepish, brain-dead girl from your first meet. You tiptoe your way over to him, and to your surprise he responds by scrunching his nose. His eyes narrow, and a tiny almost unnoticeable smile forms in a small line across his face. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he coos, now leaning on the tall speaker.

“Where’ve you been?” 

His hand comes up to scratch the back of his head, the beanie falling slightly into is eyes, something he fixes right away with a quick tug. “Had to postpone my move… uh the—” he stops himself to chuckle, “The plumbing system needed a bit work.” 

Ohhhhh. You realize you’d gotten yourself worked up over nothing, when in reality he just stumbled upon some hardship in his new home. A soft giggle escapes you, but you snap out of it, optioning for calm and collected. “Sorry, jesus, doesn’t that cost like a ton?”

Jungkook shrugs, “Not when you do the job yourself.”

Okay, so he’s handy. That’s good to know. It’s almost primal, but knowing a man is good with his hands… could it really get much better than that?

After Jungkook’s official move in, you see him more often. You engage in light conversation when the two of you leave for work, seemingly at the same time every day, around 7:30 am. Apparently, he works at a hotel, but exactly what it is he does is something you haven’t gotten to ask him yet. But you know his days are longer than yours, you can hear the sound of his car pulling up in his driveway at six o’clock.

About two weeks pass, and your relationship doesn’t move along with time. It just stays kind of still, just casual chatter. And you think you’re about to lose your mind. 

That’s when you have the brilliant idea of summoning him. He said himself he was handy, that he could fix things. So why not fix shit at your place? 

The problem is that nothing in your home needs fixing, everything works annoyingly smooth. But you can fake a leakage, fake a power-out. Anything, really, if you put your mind to it. So you strut down from your bedroom one cool and dark Sunday morning, and make your way to the radiator. You look at the screw-handle, look at the temperature. 

With one quick and kind of painful pull, you twist the knob off entirely, and the temperature drops.

Tihi — oh no! How will you manage without a heater during this cold weather? How ever will you fix this? 

It’s eleven in the morning, not too early that you’ll be a disturbance. You slip into a pair of slippers, let your hair stay a bit ruffled (it’s better if it looks unplanned, and not like you’ve cleaned yourself up), and wobble out the door in your large fuzzy coat. 

A tiny, borderline evil smile stretches across your face when you see his lights are turned on. He’s awake. Your small slippers sink into the newly fallen snow beneath you, leaving a trail of your evil plan behind you. And as you reach his doorstep, you brush your soles off on the doormat, because you never know if he might invite you inside and kiss you and ask for your hand? You can’t rule anything out here, it’s better to be safe than sorry. After your feet are all clean, you ball up a fist, breathe in deep… and let your knuckle meet his door in a row of rhythmic knocks.

It takes a while before the door opens, so while you wait — you prepare a distraught and helpless expression, Bambi on ice, chased bunny, anything to make you look adorable and unprotected. Something that might invite him to take care of you. If this sounds insane, do not worry! You are checking yourself straight into a mental facility after this. 

The door opens.

“Oh, hi.”

You have to try your hardest to keep face, to hold onto your helpless expression, but it’s not easy… because before you stands bed-head-Jungkook. A sight that is wild enough to send you straight into psychosis. His hair is kind of everywhere, a large piece of loose strands sticking straight up from his dark, thick locks. His eyes appear smaller than they usually are, sleep coated over his glowering expression. It could seem like you caught him at a bad time as he doesn’t smile, doesn’t bother asking why you’re here… but you gather he might just not be fully awake. The lights coming from inside his house deceived him, betrayed him, he might’ve been napping. 

“Sorry,” you whisper through grit teeth, almost winching. Your eyebrows curl gently as you form your mouth around a pout, wanting him to feel bad for you. It immediately works, thank god, as his eyes widen and posture straightens. “I’m so sorry to disturb, but I’m kinda in a crisis.”

“Wait, what?” he takes a step forward, his bare feet meeting the cold of the doorstep. His arms wrap tightly around himself, shielding the exposed skin from the cold. He’s only in slacks, a pair of sweatpants that you can’t bring yourself to look at, and a white, all-too-tight t-shirt. “What’s wrong?” 

It’s like a slot machine goes off in your brain, hitting jackpot once you know he’s in your trap. Your nostrils flare as you try imitating a subtle cry, and your hidden hand retracts from your pocket. In your palm lies the free knob of your radiator, which you show Jungkook, almost like you’ve come bearing a gift. And with a sharp intake of breath, you continue. 

“It was really cold, so I wanted to turn up the heat, but the handle was stuck—like really stuck—so I twisted too hard, I think… and the whole thing just—” you lift the knob higher, almost shoving it in Jungkook’s face… which fortunately looks completely consumed by your story. You continue with a whine, “—it just poof, flew right off.”

You tell him you remembered he said he fixed his plumbing system, that you had pissed off your every electrician before, that you’d pay him if necessary: anything, trying to sound desperate. He immediately brushes off your suggestions, and with a hand on your shoulder, he tells you: Of course I’ll take a look at it. Don’t worry.

It feels almost surreal finally having him in your home. You haven’t cleaned or anything, everything feels unprepared, you should’ve maybe thought this through a bit further. But he’s here, and that’s all that matters. 

As he crouches down before your broken radiator, you walk in a slow trail back and forth behind him, studying everything he’s doing. Looking at the way his muscles strain underneath his tight tee, the white fabric almost going sheer as he stretches further down. It feels almost illegal watching it, so you let your thumb fly to your mouth, and you bite down at the tip of your soft fingernail. 

“Uh, that knob is useless,” he tells you, letting his fingertips brush underneath the radiator, chuckling. And with that, he gets to his feet. You frown, look down at the temperature reader, and frown even harder. It’s back on… just like that. He fixed it in under a minute — he might be a wizard. Jungkook turns to you, brushing off imaginable dust off his knees. “There’s a tiny wheel underneath your radiator, you can use that until I figure out how to get you a new screw-handle.” 

Completely defeated, you huff, eyes darting down to your feet, “No, that’s okay—you’ve done… so much.” 

Jungkook laughs, “I haven’t really done anything, you asked for my help. I can still help, there’s just not a lot to do right now.”

First attempted seduction: Unsuccessful. 

Jungkook came over two days ago with a brand spanking new radiator. He hadn’t told you about it, he just rang your doorbell and there he stood: with a humorously large box in his arms. Also, he was wearing that beanie again, which didn’t help. All you could focus was on the pair of black marbles he had for eyes, which were now way more prominent as everything else way more or less hidden. But the thing was, the new radiator seemed more like a friendly act of service rather than something suggestive. He told you installing it would be easy, so after he left, he let you do that yourself (although it took about three hours and an absurd amount of tears… turns out it wasn’t so easy after all). 

Of course you Venmoed him, but if he was trying to flirt… he’d tell you: no, no, my treat, or don’t worry about paying me back, I’m just glad I could help. But he gladly took your money (that’s not what made you so mad, you obviously didn’t expect him to spend hundreds of dollars on you… you’re not that insane), the thing was — he fled your home like his ass was on fire. Like, fully power-walking out your door. He almost forgot to say his goodbyes. 

And it doesn’t get any better. That same night, you caught your first glimpse of him through your bedroom window. You’d tried to stay away from peeking, keeping your curtains closed, but you were careless that night, you’d forgotten completely. And you have now become victim of your own, self-inflicted hell. You didn’t see much, he was out of frame before you knew it, almost like he dodged your eyes. But you saw enough.

You had been on the phone with one of your girlfriends, conversing about nothing and everything… when you turned your head to see the curtains undrawn. What worried you first was the fact that you were fresh out the shower, so you tiptoed over your floor, quicky reaching out for the draperies to shield yourself from the outside street — when you saw him. Just a flash of him, a flash of torso, a flash of chest. You drew the curtains right away. 

There was already a part of you that was already insane about him, but having seen him, just a flash of him in the window, seemingly facing you… it sent you into a spiral. The way his tattoos curled perfectly around his bicep and up to his chest, that plump, big chest. And why was he looking at you? He disappeared immediately, before you could draw your curtains. You were certain you imagined it, especially when you told your girlfriend who was still on the other line. Because when you described what you just saw, you realized you sounded schizophrenic.

“My hot new neighbor who I’ve been plotting on for weeks was just in his window naked waist up and he looked at me.”

But even if it was just your imagination running wild, nothing can stop you now. You’ve gone completely insane. You have to have him, it’s all you can think of. So now, you’re standing by the bathroom sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You’ve done your make-up prettier than usual, you’ve coated your eyelids in a shimmering, pearly shadow, just something to make you look a bit more glistening. Your hair frames your face perfectly, softly, you look cute. It’s all a ploy. 

You crouch, getting down on your knees, resting on the warm bathroom tiles as you open the small cabinet underneath the sink. There, built into the wall, is a long pipe, a few screws, all kinds of stuff you have no idea how works. You’ve unclogged the drain before, so you know you can screw the pipe open, get your hands dirty, stuff them far down to fish for whatever’s stuck at the bottom. But right now, you’ve planned to do the inverse. In your left hand rests a tiny lipliner, something so small it could’ve easily slipped in your hands and through the narrow drain in your sink. At that thought, you wrap your hand around the pipe, turning and twisting on the screws until it pops open… and you shove the lipliner inside.

Oh no!

You cover up your tracks, slip into a very revealing, white-lace dress, a pair of kitten heels, and run down the stairs. Hehe. 

Once again you pull on your fuzzy coat and make your way out the door, barging out on a journey you know all too well now. You don’t care that your heels dig into the muddy snow, you’re walking too fast to take notice of it. His lights are on, and this time it’s the evening — if he’s napping now, then that’s his problem. 

He opens the door right away this time, you only get in about two good knocks before the surface is removed from underneath your knuckles. Jungkook’s breath comes out a bit staggered as his eyes land on you: you in that teeny-tiny dress, your coat hanging open to reveal your soft breasts pressing together with every intake of breath, the gentle, untouched skin of your thighs blooming with goosebumps. And just as you’d like, it seems like a lump gets stuck in his throat as he’s about to swallow, his primal, man-brain going blank at the sight of a pretty girl. 

“You won’t believe what just happened!” 

You lie your way through it all, tell him you were getting ready (what for, you don’t say, mainly because it’s all an act, but also because you want him to ask), that you were touching up your makeup before the mirror when the lipliner just slipped, swoosh, just like that! Fell down the drain. And you have to have it back, it’s the only one you’ve got, so could he please help you?

If you were Pinocchio, your nose would by now be long enough to reach out for the doorhandle, do Jungkook a favor and slam it shut. Thankfully, you’re not, and of course Jungkook abides, although he seems to hesitate a bit. 

He's even weirder this time than he was the last, the time he bought you a new radiator and ran out your door. He’s having a hard time holding eye contact. And as you slip past him, walk before him up the stairs, you hear him actually trip in his steps. Him being nervous just makes you bolder, so you turn to check up on him.

“Oh my god, do you need a hand?” you say as you see him bracing one arm on the step before him, the other on the handrail. His head is tipped down, dark strands of hair covering his face before he lifts his gaze just a bit, looking up at you through the silken fringe. Those eyes show absolutely no mercy, they’ve gone dark, making him look something between furious and humiliated. 

“I think I’m the one that’s here to help you, not the other way around.”

You almost chuckle at his response, but you keep your cool, raise your eyebrows to remain that effortless, innocent expression, before you return to your journey up the stairs. Jungkook does the same… that is after breathing out a loud sigh.

There’s no telling why Jungkook is acting like this. He went from very sweet and helpful boy-next-door to seemingly being extremely annoyed by your demands. But he carries them out, nevertheless. 

“You think it’s stuck at the bottom?” he asks, now down on his knees on your bathroom floor, crouching to get a better look at the pipe. You nod behind him before answering. 

“I hope so—or it’s long gone in the ocean,” you joke, but Jungkook doesn’t laugh. He just carries out his task, never looking back at you, staring straight ahead while twisting on the screws. It’s again over in just a minute, he reaches down for the lipliner and his fingertips find it immediately. 

“Got it.” 

He braces his hands on his thighs to straighten and raise from the bathroom floor, still not facing you, but moving forward to turn on the sink, washing both your lipliner and his hands. You try not to look disappointed as Jungkook can easily lift his gaze and see you behind him in the mirror, so you try smiling instead. Your reflection stares back at you, and you cringe… it doesn’t look like the most convincing smile out there. So you option for verbal praise instead, “Now, what would I do without you?” 

Jungkook tongues his cheek, giving his head a single jerk while still washing his hands. Still not looking at you. 

This is getting annoying, you didn’t dress up, fake a crisis, drag him over here — for his eyes to be glued to the god damn sink. You sigh, pouting as you’re about to speak, “Isn’t it weird using a lipliner that has been down the drain?”

“Don’t know.” 

Ugh, he’s giving you nothing. Still, you don’t give up. 

“Maybe I don’t need more liner, what do you think?”

“Don’t know.” 

“Come on,” you reach out, grabbing his wrist, droplets splashing over the edge of the sink, onto both you and Jungkook, but it doesn’t matter. You angle him so that he’s facing you, his nostrils flaring when his eyes finally meet yours. You poke your chin further out, instigating for him to study your lips, your lips which are coated in pink, shimmering lip-gloss… your lips who look very inviting. “What do you think, do they need any lip-liner?”

Jungkook’s eyes flick frantically over your face, unsure of where to look, but knowing exactly what you want. And before you know it, your hand is suddenly empty. Your fingers unclasp around his wrist, because Jungkook rips free of your grip, stepping back with a groan, “Stop it, please. I beg you.”

What? Your eyes widen.

Oh my god, you fucking idiot. What have you done. You’ve scared him shitless, just because you have a stupid crush on him. Oh my god. Embarrassment rushes through your veins and appears as dark flush across your soft cheeks. And before you, Jungkook stands with a heaving chest, looking over at you with wide eyes like you just tried eating him alive… which in all fairness you kind of did. But his breath wavers, and his eyebrows crease, and it looks like something’s breaking inside him. 

“I’m embarrassed by it enough as it is… it was awful and I’m sorry… but stop. Stop fucking playing with me. It’s mean.” 

Huh? Okay it seems as if he’s gone completely off the rails here, because what on earth is he talking about? What was so awful? What is he sorry about?

Your face changes, going from embarrassment to just pure and utter confusion, your eyebrows knotting while your mouth hangs open, “… What are you talking about?” 

This seems to have caught Jungkook off guard, his eyebrows lifting high on his face. He seems just as lost as you are, but something behind his expressions reminds more of humiliation rather than shock. “What?” he asks, his voice a higher pitch than usual, obviously stating his flush. “You mean you didn’t—” he stops himself before he can get any further, a mortified look blooming on his face. 

You just stand completely lost before him, because what the fuck is he talking about? So you ask him just that, “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Everything just got very, very, extremely weird. Also very confusing. The two of you look at one another like lost sheep, trying to search for answers in each other. And ultimately, with a loud sigh, Jungkook speaks. 

“Fuck.”

Jungkook loved the thought of finally living alone. 

He had been living in a cramped apartment with three buddies of him for what felt like an eternity, so finally being able to have some peace and quiet seemed almost surreal. Finally being able to use the bathroom without disturbances, to watch whatever he’d like on the television without being interrupted or getting the remote control hogged… finally being able to bring girls over. 

It had been a while since he had gotten his hands on someone of the opposite sex — it was kind of awkward bringing them over when all the guys were there (which they always were). They seemingly had no problem with this whatsoever, and Jungkook suffered many sleepless nights while some girl got her world rocked in whatever room was available. 

Jungkook wasn’t like that. He felt sex should be more private, more intimate, not something for others to tune into. He never bothered listening to any of the ‘conquests’ his friends talked about, it didn’t concern him. 

But, he was still a man, he had his urges… he just hadn’t indulged in them lately. And he wasn’t all that good with women either. He looked good, it wasn’t that — girls were practically flinging themselves at him. But he got nervous, didn’t know what to say, where to put his hands, the usual worries. So he was hoping to maybe channel a different man within him for his quest to find a woman to sleep with… finally.  

It was then rather unfortunate that the quest got cut short day one of moving in. 

“Good morning to you too! Are you guys that—”

Jungkook flinched at the sound, a young woman, a gentle voice straining with anger. He immediately popped out from behind the moving truck, and was at first pleasantly surprised.

There you stood, in a long fuzzy coat, arms hugging your frame. You were easy on the eyes, to downplay it. Soft where it mattered, a face so enchanting he was sure you knew it yourself. Therefore, Jungkook had a hard time composing himself. He could tell you were mad, probably because of all the noise he and the driver were causing, so he immediately apologized, wanting to make a good first impression. 

Within probably five minutes, he had already made a name for himself as the noisy new idiot neighbor who also managed to grab the-girl-next-door’s boob.

He of course didn’t mean to, you moved when he moved, his hand accidentally brushing against the side of your breast. It wasn’t like he felt anything, he removed his hand at once, and his entire body got scorching hot. His ears turned this tomato-y color, which only made him all the more embarrassed. He had only one mission moving into a new home — getting a girl back to his place. But he had within a day managed to sexually harass his neighbor, so he shelved the idea as he felt he needed to redeem himself as a man. 

He spent the whole first night overthinking the graze. His fingers against your body (involuntarily, not on purpose, he cannot stress this enough). He was all alone, which just sent him further into a spiral than necessary. Maybe living alone proved to be way more difficult than he had imagined. So the boxes remained unpacked, as he pranced around his living room, thinking of you the entire day. After a while, when the thoughts were growing loud enough to eat him alive, he picked up his phone and dialed the number of one of his old roommates. 

“What?” Yoongi responded after a few rings, his voice husky. 

“I’m kinda going crazy over here, think I can come over for a bit?” Jungkook immediately folded, searching comfort in what’s familiar, wanting to get the hell out of this neighborhood and run from his humiliation. 

“Miss us already?” Yoongi teased, but ultimately gave Jungkook what he wanted. 

He stayed at his old apartment longer than he intended, trying to muster up the courage to face you again. It was also kind of scary living all alone, he didn’t really know how the new washing machine worked. But he was kicked out after a week, since Taehyung decided it was time for Jungkook to grow some balls and quote “just fuck his neighbor senseless”. 

So he had been prepped, how to act cash around you, maybe apologize again. And as he was moving his new speaker from his car to his door, you pulled up into your driveway. 

Okay, stay calm. Speak before you think, unless what you’re going to say is stupid. Then don’t say it. 

He was surprised when you stepped out of your car and immediately went to him, lightly running over the street in your tiny, polished shoes to reach him. That it didn’t seem like you were planning on ignoring him. And he was even more surprised by the fact that you had taken note of his absence. You didn’t hate him: he had been going insane for nothing. It calmed him, and he managed to actually converse normally, even make you smile. But he was caught off guard.

“Where’ve you been?”

Shit, he hadn’t planned a response to that question. Okay, stay calm. Speak before you think, unless what you’re going to say is stupid. Then don’t say it.

“Had to postpone my move… uh the—” Jungkook stilled, trying out his speak-before-thinking-system, but having a hard time, “The plumbing system needed a bit work.” 

He had no idea where that came from. Also, it sounded like a gross excuse, mentioning plumbing to the pretty girl who stood wondering before him. He was an idiot. Speak before you think, unless what you´re going to say is stupid. What he said was stupid, he wished he could take it back. 

“Doesn’t that cost, like, a ton?”

Another question he wasn’t prepared for. He actually had no idea, he had never had any pluming work done before, and he especially hadn’t paid for it. So once again, he spoke without thinking, trying to brush off any more questions, also sound a bit manly and cool. 

“Not when you do the job yourself.” 

He was a fucking dumb idiot. Why on heavens earth did he tell you he did the job himself? He had never even held a screwdriver. And fixing the entire plumbing system of a new and unknown home was probably a task he could never carry out… ever. It was probably that he was so nervous around you, and all these questions made it even worse. 

Okay, that was a dumb slip up. He just had to make sure you never took him up on it… ever, until he had lived there long enough to maybe one day joke about it. And it went smooth at first, he only saw you when he headed to work, and fortunately you were already home when he pulled into his driveway — so he didn’t have to pain himself through any more small talk that made his brain go foggy. 

Unfortunately, his stupid lie followed him, haunted him. Because one Sunday morning there was a knock on his door. And to his surprise, there you stood, in that same fuzzy coat, completely mortified. Jungkook was shocked, worried that something might’ve happened to you, immediately wanting to help. 

Of course your radiator broke. What the hell was he supposed to do about that? He could of course tell you he was busy… or even better tell you he lied earlier, and that he quite frankly knew nothing about handiwork. But your eyes were so doe-like, staring up at him, begging for his help. His gaze darted to your parted lips without him even noticing, the way they quivered after speaking. He couldn’t bring himself to turn you down. Who would ever turn you down? 

So Jungkook ended up in your home. He looked for signs that would reveal you lived alone, and he immediately found them. The shoes in your hallway: tiny, mostly heels and hopefully yours. Your interior was everything he expected, soft colors and old, personal decoration. Some child-like drawings postered on the refrigerator, hopefully yours from when you were young. It would be rather unfortunate if you had kids, he didn’t even know how to take care of himself, how would he manage with children? 

Maybe already fantasizing about step-father-hood was a bit optimistic. 

You stood behind him as he studied the heater, thankfully. He had no idea what he was doing down there, brushing his fingers both over and under the radiator to maybe detect a magic button. Weirdly enough… he actually stumbled upon one. There, on the bottom, just a tiny little wheel. He screwed it more to the right, saw the temperature rise, and thanked god. Beginners luck, probably. 

But he knew it was just a temporary fix, and he had absolutely no idea how to get that ‘handle’ or whatever back onto the radiator. He told you he would figure it out, because he was stupid and you were so pretty. You were so pretty. When you lead him through your living room, towards the door, he watched the way your hair fell over your back, the way your shoulder blades poked through your thin sweater when you reached for the door. Everything you did looked so elegant, so graceful, even when you let him slip past you in the doorframe, pressing your back against the hardwood while holding in a small breath. 

As he worked as a bellhop at a hotel a bit outside town, his days were boring, not a lot going on. So he had all the time in the world to think. Think about how the hell he would fix your radiator. He could maybe have you leave the house, then pay for an actual electrician to take action… but that would be too risky. He could of course just glue the handle back on — but then the whole thing would probably just break again and he’d be called right back to fix the stupid heater once more. 

He ended up just buying a brand new one, showing up at your door with a big box in hand. 

Why did you have to wear those jeans? Those light-washed jeans that cut right where your tiny, white t-shirt ended. Those jeans that hugged your frame so precisely. He imagined how it would feel to have his hands on you, to wrap his fingers around your waist, just where the jean fabric stopped, and curl his fingertips inward to feel your soft skin on his. 

“That’s too kind, I can’t accept that,” you gasped upon seeing the big box. 

“It’s nothing,” Jungkook lied, this was everything. He had wracked his brain over this, he had done everything in his power to help you. He didn’t know what else to do, so a new radiator might just be fair… he had no idea what women liked, but a kind gesture could never hurt, right? 

You turned, walking back into your hallway to make room for Jungkook, letting both him and the box enter your home, and Jungkook couldn’t keep his eyes off you. It might’ve been those jeans. The way the tight fabric hugged your butt when you walked, the way they creased under your cheeks with every step you took. It didn’t help when you turned to face him, finally un-crossing your arms, and he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. This rattled his brain so badly that he forgot taking off both shoes, jacket and beanie once fully inside your home. 

He couldn’t stay there for a minute longer, this was a bit overwhelming. So he told you installing it would be an easy task (it probably wouldn’t) and when he ran out your door, you yelled out your gratitude along with a promise of payment. He couldn’t even hear what you were saying as his feet carried him at a speed so frantic he almost tripped on the icy pavement. 

And that’s the night it happened. 

It was probably all the pent-up tension. He had gone straight to the gym after your interaction, staying there all night while sweating out all his worries, all his thoughts, everything that was eating him up. But it didn’t work. His mind stayed fogged. He knew what would work, he had known for weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would feel to shameful… and he would probably think about you the whole time, which made it even worse, even more humiliating. 

But he broke. It was something primal in him, something in his body telling him to just give in. Let go. 

Because when he got home, late at night, getting ready for bed, he realized something striking. The window across the street, facing his, the one in your house, the one that was always draped, always covered, was now somehow… not. And there, opposite of him, were you. In your own little world, on the phone, completely clueless, pacing around in your bedroom — wearing nothing but a towel. 

Fuck.

He knew how disgusting this was, how creepy he was, but it was an organic reaction. And in a matter of no time, stopping completely in his step, watching over at you, he could feel himself hardening in his boxers. So much that it was starting to hurt. You had been doing this to him for weeks, so this had to have been some sort of breaking point, Jungkook just losing it completely. 

He didn’t even think about drawing the curtains, not even turning off the lights behind him. He was frozen, no glued to the floor in front of his window, as though the ache between his legs had hijacked his entire body, whispering don’t move don’t you dare look away. His heart was pounding in his ears, his blood hot and thick in his veins… he was utterly lost in you. The way you tucked the towel tighter around your chest, shifting your phone between your ear and your shoulder, left him paralyzed.

You were smiling, those pretty teeth of yours flashing brightly when revealed, talking to someone. Laughing a little too loud as you reached over to your vanity… and that slight reach caused the towel to slip just a teeny tiny inch, revealing the curve of your breast. How could anyone be so beautiful? 

Everything worsened when you decided to sit. The towel rose dangerously high on your thighs as you perched at the edge of your bed, knees falling slightly open as you continued your conversation: oblivious to the desperate, possibly insane man across the street, living and dying with every shift of fabric.

His cock throbbed inside his boxers, heavy and angry, twitching against the waistband. It didn’t take long, as you tipped your head backwards with your next laugh, baring your sweet, wonderful neck to poor Jungkook.

That was it, he needed relief. And with his jaw clenched, his hand already inside his briefs, he gave in. Guilt filled his bloodstreams as his fingers wrapped tight around his length, starting out with slow strokes from the sensitive tip and all the way down to his girthy shaft. Each drag of his palm over hot, pulsing flesh matched to your every movement. 

He had to steer away from all the shame, how illegal this was, so he let his mind wander. And with that, you took over. He could imagine your skin under his touch. How soft your thighs would be, how warm you’d feel against his mouth. The exact pitch you’d make when he’d finally taste you. How your breath would stutter under him, hips writhing, fingers clenching the sheets when his tongue reached a spot so deep within you that your vision blurred. 

As his strokes turned more frantic, his abs moving in ripples on his torso, a deep pleasure building low in his stomach, Jungkook’s mind played every fantasy he’d ever had about you in perfect clarity. The way you’d sigh his name when he finally breached you. How tight you were. The way you’d ride him, how his hands would grab onto the silky-smooth flesh of your ass, let you fuck yourself silly on his cock. The way you’d grab his hair, clench around him, bite into his shoulder just as you came, your sweet juices coating his cock, his thighs, the sheets. 

Just the thought of you was enough to send him off the edge, but as you sat just a few feet away, locked away from him, looking so fucking cute — Jungkook couldn’t hold it in anymore, so his eyes shut close, and he let go. 

His hips jerked forward as he came hard, all over himself. The first spurt hit his stomach, warm and slick, and he gasped for air as he stroked himself through it. His legs trembled slightly as he milked every single drop that was still leaking from his cock, his eyes clenched shut as soft moans started escaping his throat. 

Once he was finally emptied out, he collapsed against the side of the bed. A heavy silence filled the room, the air now thick with shame and sweat. Fuck, what a fucking creep he was. What a fucking awful human being he was. This was possibly the worst post-nut-clarity he had ever experienced. He shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t deserve that. 

With guilt still curling deep in his chest, he rose to his feet again, reaching for the tissue box by his bedside table… when he once again laid eyes on you. 

Shitshitshitshit. You had gotten up from the bed, and you were fucking facing him now, your fingers curling around the curtains. Oh my god. Oh my god. How long had you been standing there? Did you see? What did you see? 

Jungkook’s face turned white before he threw himself away from the window, stilling in the corner of his room, his chest heaving as panic took ahold of him. Holy fuck. 

Hopefully you didn’t see. You hadn’t come over later in the evening, you hadn’t called the police. Thank god, maybe you hadn’t seen enough of the act to make you realize what was going on. Still incredibly embarrassed, Jungkook let the days pass. But he tried steering away from you, leaving for work earlier to not run into you. 

It worked perfectly, he managed to stay clear of you, and the humiliation started withering. That was of course until he heard a knock on his door late at night. 

The first knock came about five minutes ago, and Jungkook has now been standing completely still in his kitchen, hoping whoever’s out there might go away. But they don’t. He almost trips down the stairs to answer the door, already knowing who’s on the other side. 

And, okay, you’ve decided to be a bitch tonight. You’re fully entitled to, of course… Jungkook had violated your privacy so viscerally you could probably file some sort of lawsuit. But showing up at his door with your coat hanging open… with those sweet breasts of yours on full display in your all-too-revealing dress. Bitch move. 

After about a minute into the conversation, Jungkook gathers alright, you know. Because there’s a shift in you, you’re teasingly seducing him. You ask for his help yet again, but Jungkook knows it’s not about handiwork this time. But he begrudgingly follows you, agreeing to take a look at your sink. And you keep being a fucking bitch.

Of course you take off your coat, you’re in your own home, but you remove it differently than you’ve done before. The fuzzy fabric slips off your bare shoulders, sliding down your soft arms before you catch it with one hand, caressing it before threading it over a hanger. You’re teasing him. You like that, Jungkook? Want to touch yourself again, you sick pervert? 

He can just imagine the scolding, the humiliating confrontation. He’ll have to move, because of the obvious restraining order you’ll file for. This was a good run. He has lived an alright life, but it ends here. He has to go die, this is too embarrassing. 

And when you take him to the bathroom, when you walk up the stairs, Jungkook’s eyes have a hard time finding a constant to focus on as he’s just a step behind you. The tiny skirt of your dress rides up with every single step you take, and as his eyes follow, he catches a glimpse of the pink lace between your thighs. Fuck. He tries looking away, but as his eyes roam, his feet knot together — and he fucking trips behind you. 

“Oh my god, do you need a hand?”

Fuck you.

You make him get down on his knees on the bathroom floor. What is this, some kind of humiliation ritual? Maybe you’re just as sick, getting off at the sight of this poor boy before you, crouching down and trembling beneath your gaze. Jungkook sticks his hand out underneath the sink, deep inside the cabinet, and tries to get a feel on what he’s working with here. You haven’t said anything revealing yet, so he tries acting normal, although he’s a bit more cautious than usual. 

He manages to fish out your lipliner, glad this whole thing is finally over. But you won’t give it a fucking rest. You force him to turn, teasing him by shoving your lips in his face, so close he can feel your breathing. Jungkook can’t take it. The way they’re coated in an inviting gloss, your lips plush and soft (imagine how they’d feel against his body), your lips parting and the bottom one giving a tiny quiver in the motion. This is just mean, he knows your agenda, he knows you know. So those stupid, delicate lips of yours are what makes Jungkook break. 

But as he cries out for you to stop it, for you to quit terrorizing him… he realizes you in fact don’t know… you hadn’t seen. Fuck. And as he’s just so exhausted, so tired by all the secrecy: faking an occupation as handyman, pleasuring himself to the sight of you... he just can’t take it anymore. He has been stressed out for weeks, unable to rest. He has to get it off his chest. 

So, with a loud sigh… he tells you everything. 

Well… this was quite the revelation… to say the least. 

You’re practically gaping before Jungkook, who after coming clean about his sins is having a hard time meeting your eyes. It might also not help him that you’re breathing so hard that your breasts are pressing together in a soft cleavage with each intake of breath. So he keeps his eyes glued to the bathroom tiles. 

“You—you’re—” you try, not knowing what the hell you’re about to say… because what does one say to this piece of information? Not only had he faked being handy just to help you, just to be near you… but you had him so out of his mind that he had resorted to pleasuring himself to the sight of you. And here you thought you were insane. Jesus, you’re both nut-jobs, maybe you’re made for each other. 

“Yeah… I’m sor—”

You interrupt him right away, “You like me?”

He finally meets your eyes, this is to say it’s not very romantic… he kind of frowns, actually. Because is this really what you have to say about this horrific story? That’s all you got from him lying his way into your home, jerking off to you from several feet away? What about stranger danger? 

Yeah, there’s no warning signs flashing off in your eyes, there are instead big, red, cartoon-like hearts pulsating in your pupils. It’s like you’ve suddenly grown wings. Your hands come up to cover your mouth as you can’t seem to stop your jaw from hanging open, as you can’t stop grinning like a madman. It looks kind of like you’ve just entered the doors to Disneyland. 

“I—” Jungkook starts, his hand flying to scratch the back of his head, his eyes shutting closed as he thinks of what to say. He can’t really understand why this doesn’t seem to put you off. “I kinda feel like y-you’re still fucking with me.”

“Gosh no!” you gasp, throwing your hands out and waving them in front of Jungkook, trying to visibly tell him you’re not just playing in his face. When you’re done waving off the accusation, your right hand begins rubbing circles to your temple. “I mean—obviously you’re crazy—like, a very bizarre boy—really… very weird—” You swear you’re going somewhere with this, although it all comes out very fast and Jungkook now frowns so hard that it looks like he might cry really, incredibly ugly tears all over your bathroom floor. So you make sure to finish your sentence just as fast as you’ve started it. “—but so am I!”

Jungkook can’t seem to wipe the utterly confused look off his face, staring at you with a pair of lost, black-marble eyes that take up almost his entire face. He sticks his neck out, “Huh?”

“Just—look,” you giggle, snagging the lipliner from Jungkook’s grip before getting down on your knees. This almost makes Jungkook’s own knees give out, but thankfully you make your way to the pipe underneath the sink and not somewhere sinister. Your eyes leave him as you once again unscrew the drain, but you look back when there’s enough room for you to shove the lipliner right inside the tiny slit — and you do just so, while your eyes are glued to his. “See? All just a big plot.” 

His mouth hangs open as he realizes you’ve sabotaged your own drain just for his presence, just for his help, and he has a hard time forming words, “What—so… huh?” His voice is a bit higher in pitch now, cracking halfway through his botched sentence. 

“I’ve been luring you into my home like the witch in Hansel and Gretel—I don’t think you have to worry about coming off as creepy here.” 

“So… the radiator?”

You shake your head, “Ruined it myself and ended up paying you 175 bucks for a new one.”

A disbelieving chuckle escapes Jungkook as he continues scratching the back of his head. If there was anything he expected, it was sure as hell not this. His eyes never leave yours as you get up from the bathroom floor, pulling down your dress a bit as you rise to your feet. You’ve almost forgotten how inappropriately dressed you are in the midst of Jungkook’s confession, so feeling your skirt itching up your thighs really pulls this absurd situation together. 

“You…” Jungkook starts, his hands falling down his sides while he continues watching you, his cheeks blossoming with flush. “… like me?”

You nod, “And you like me.”

Thank god you’ve gotten that out of the way, it was only a matter of time before the both of you moved out of the neighborhood out of sheer embarrassment. And finally, everything just goes quiet. The two of you stand with only a few feet between you, both with heaving chests and no words left to say. The silence goes on for a little while, and as you shift a bit in your stance, Jungkook tucks his bottom lip in with his top one, not showing teeth, just nibbling at it while his eyes glisten in your direction. He breathes through his nose.

“I’m still so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking at the ends. 

Your smile tugs on only one side of your face, “Don’t be—I weirdly enough find it kind of flattering.”

Jungkook laughs in return, but not for long. You can tell he’s having a hard time, processing everything that just happened, his mind working overtime, so you decide to be a bit bolder than him — taking just a few steps towards him. Your kitten heels click gently against the tiles as you walk in his direction, stopping right as you see Jungkook’s breath coming out as a shaky exhale. He straightens his posture while looking down at you, stumbling back just an inch, not necessarily because he’s trying to get away, but purely because his nerves are taking over. 

“I won’t bite you,” you chuckle. It’s cute seeing him like this. Before, you thought he might be pushing you away because you were clinically insane, but now that you know he’s just nervous — it’s all the more admirable. 

He smiles, although it seems a bit forced, “I know that but—” his eyes flick over your dress, that napkin you’re wearing, and they quickly move back up to your face. “Don’t you have some place to be?”

Oh, he’s so slow… cute. You tilt your head as your eyebrows almost reach your hairline, your way of saying: After all this, you really think me dressing like this isn’t just for show? But since Jungkook might need a little push, you smile comforting, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jungkook breathes out through his nose, trying his hardest to keep eye contact, but it’s hard as your almost completely exposed chest keeps moving in heaves right underneath his gaze. Okay, you quickly understand you have to be the one who takes action here — otherwise the two of you will stand in this tiny bathroom staring at each other all night. 

“You know, Kook—is it okay if I call you that?” you ask, letting your hand lift, just so your fingertips can brush over his shoulder, down the curve and trace gently over his biceps. You have to hold back a squirm as you feel his skin quiver under your featherlight touch, his entire body freezing as you caress him. And just to be extra mean, you widen your eyes, looking up at him like a lost puppy. “—You have me all to yourself now.”

There seems to be no one home. Jungkook has left the building. What stands in front of you is simply his soulless body, because he can’t for the life of him produce any word or sound whatsoever. 

You try again, arching your toes to better meet his height, leaning in to repeat yourself with a whisper in his ear, “I’m all yours.”

The sweet warmth of your breath brushes against his cheek, and his knees nearly buckle. And just as you suspected, it’s enough for him to give in — but not all the way. You feel him shift, his arms lifting only to hover near your waist, fingers curling inwards as he trembles, trying to compose himself but failing miserably. 

Oh, playing with a boy this gentle will be fun. 

So, seeing how far you can go before he cracks, you lean in further, parting your lips, letting them meet the salty skin of his neck. And boy, oh boy, the reaction it pulls from Jungkook is enough to cause a blackout. 

He breathes in, his entire chest rising in a quivering motion, and as he exhales, the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard escapes from him. It’s something between a moan and a whimper, a sound Jungkook is immediately terrified by, pressing his lips together and shutting his eyes closed as you continue lavishing his neck in wet, open-mouthed kisses. 

It’s adorable, the way he acts, almost like he can’t believe this is happening. And when you start tracing higher, your lips traveling towards his sharp jaw — he beats you to it. 

His hands finally attach to your waist, soft fingernails digging into your skin, and his head turns, just so that his lips meet yours. You gasp as you feel him against you, kissing you with such a hunger that you have to cling to him in order to stand upright, your arms flinging over his shoulders. 

He pulls you further into him, arching your back and letting your body melt with his. And you fit him like a glove actually, his large frame swallowing you, letting you slip perfectly in between him, bending your neck as far as it can go just to meet his kisses. 

“Mm—thank you,” Jungkook blurts out in a breath, lips quivering against yours. He’s almost whispering, but you catch his words anyways, pulling back slightly to look at him. His brows are drawn, lips parted and quickly searching for yours again as you retreat. God, he’s adorable. You could just eat him up — and you intend to. 

Your lips meet his again, and now there’s no stopping you. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he feels your fingers come up to cup his neck, pulling him tighter against your wet lips as you start walking, backing him up and guiding him out of the tiny, cramped bathroom. He clings to you, fingertips digging into your sides as if there’s even the slightest possibility of you leaving him. 

It’s a clumsy road you embark on, shoving this large man out the narrow door, into the hallway, trying to turn and twist him as you’re about to lead him into your bedroom. His back hits the staircase, “Ah—” 

“No—m-more to the right,” you giggle, having a hard time speaking as he swallows every word you say. One of the hands on your waist brushes upwards, and soon his large palm cups your cheek, his thumb stroking your soft skin. You almost can’t breathe with the way you’re so tightly pressed against him, his heavy chest pushed so neatly against yours, making you feel every breath he takes. 

The two of you continue your little dance until you’ve made your way to your bedroom, and as he trips backwards over the doorframe, the hand on your cheek moves out to the side in order to steady him. He lets his palm slide across the wall until there is none, as you keep shoving him further and further into the room. 

Alright, you have him exactly where you want him now, and with a last, wet kiss, one last roll of your tongue, you shove him backwards. His ass meets the soft mattress of your bed, confusion blooming across his face as he wonders how on earth he ended up here this fast… and why you just pushed him away. 

“You saw me here, didn’t you?” you ask, trying your best to sound sultry even though you have to catch your breath after the heavy make-out-sesh you just indulged in. 

Jungkook beams at you, his puppy-dog-eyes glistening and pupil-swallowed. His ears have already gone red, and you wonder what might happen when you finally let him have what he’s been aching for. As you take a step back, then another, Jungkook shifts on the bed, his hands falling to his lap, before moving to steady him flat on the mattress, unsure of what to do with himself. So he just sits before you, breathing unsteadily as your eyes sink into his. 

You giggle as you see his throat working, “Me, in just a towel.” 

He gulps once again, almost as if every single word you say, every single move you make, is enough to drive him off the edge. He’s literally holding himself back, now shifting to sit down on his fingertips. Jesus, he’s actually restraining himself. Let’s see how long he’ll be able to keep this up. 

“Imagine if I was naked.”

“You weren’t—” he snaps back, still trying to ensure you of the fact that he didn’t mean it, that it was a fragile break, something within him snapping at the sight of you barely dressed.

“I could’ve been,” you say, voice low. You’re still trying to see how much he can take, and as cruel as it might seem, you detect anticipation alongside the obvious flush in Jungkook’s cheeks. You push further on, “My towel could’ve slipped.” 

Your hand slowly brushed up your side, before coming up to your chest, and at last, you let your thumb hook the thin, almost invisible strap of your tiny dress. Jungkook’s breath hitches as you toy with the white fabric. He gulps, letting his eyes roam quickly over your body, unsure of where to look because everything is just so fucking good right now. 

He’s about to have a naked girl in front of him (he hopes), and the naked girl is you. That’s something he only thought could happen in his dreams, his sick and sinful dreams. 

“Like this,” you continue, and with a short, quivering breath, you let your other thumb hook the opposite strap. With a quick pull, the two strings fall off your shoulders. It’s not an extremely promiscuous move, but your dress is loose. Very loose, and just like that, with just the removal of two straps, the entire piece slips off your frame and pools at your feet. 

You’re left standing before Jungkook in just a strapless bra, and a matching pair of panties, your dress a tangled mess around your kitten heels. 

Poor Jungkook. That poor, poor boy. He has no idea how to react to this. So without speaking, trying to repress any kind of sound, he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, fiddling with his lip ring while scanning over your almost bare body. 

He wants to cry, kind of. It’s all too much for him — the way your waist curves inward right above your smooth hips, hips he can’t wait to have his hands on, hips he hopes you’ll let him touch. The way the pink lace, the only barrier left, hugs your sweet curves, how the fabric stretches, stops just above the part that aches for him. He presses his lips together and lets out a low hum slash whine, it’s a muffled and broken sound. 

You’re having a hard time breathing as well, your exposed chest moving in heaves as you’re now on display before the boy you’ve been pining after for weeks. He looks so adorable in his seat, shifting on top of his fingertips, unsure of what to do with himself. And with a last, long heave, you step out of the dress that’s circled around your feet, along with your heels, moving your bare feet across the carpeted floor. 

The two of you have gone radio silent. It’s probably the nerves, both of yours. You try breathing through your nose as you make your way over to him, biting down on your bottom lip, brushing your tongue over it, finally leaving it alone. Your heart is hammering in your chest, but you try keeping your cool, imagining him being just as nervous, if not more. 

And you’re right about that. Jungkook is a flustered mess. But to your surprise, as you’re just a breath away from him, he manages to get out a few words. Or, they rather slip for him. 

“You’re—you’re so pretty.”

You flush instantly. “Did I meet your expectations?” you tease, already knowing his answer. But before he speaks, his hips lift, and his fingers slip out from underneath him — to stretch out. His eyes flick away from yours, and move along with the path his hands take on, hovering around your waist, before finally attaching to your bare skin. 

He gulps… again, this time actually making a sound. His hands travel upwards, brushing against your side until his palms reach the lace fabric of your bra. One of his thumbs brushes underneath the curve of your breast, and his eyebrows lift high on his forehead. 

“You have…” he starts, slowly and almost unnoticeably shaking his head, breathing in once again. “… no idea.”

Well, the thing is — you kind of do. It’s not hard to tell, as your eyes keep falling to where his pants crease in his lap, to the bulge straining against the jean fabric. He must be big, you say to yourself, as his jeans are more on the baggy side, but you’re still able peep the outline of him. Especially when he shifts, the fabric clinging to his muscular thighs, enhancing the aching shape of him.

Okay, here’s the deal. He has watched you before, although you didn’t know that time. You didn’t put on a show for him. So, you kind of feel like you owe him that much. 

“Did you think of anything while watching me?”

Your hands come up before you, gently brushing down Jungkook’s biceps through his shirt. 

He nods in return, looking up to meet your eyes. They glisten, like two black pearls, taking up most of his face. He’s so cute you could eat him whole. You nod with him, pouting, “Yeah? What did you think of?” 

“You, of course.” 

You giggle, letting one of your hands meet his cheek for the first time, finally cupping the soft skin, “I kinda got that part—what did you imagine?”

This is too hard of a question for Jungkook. His eyes flick from one side of your face to the other, then back, frantically sweeping over your features. 

Your free hand grabs ahold of his, the hand that’s still placed on your waist, pushing it lower, letting him caress the soft curve of your hips before traveling lower. His eyes are glued to how you move his hand, and they flutter shut as you position his palm on your bare ass. You’re standing between his knees, so close to him that you’re aching with anticipation, aching for him to touch you. 

“Did you think about what you’d do to me?” you ask, batting your lashes at him, trying to appear unaware of the effect you have on him. “Or maybe what I’d do to you?”

Jungkook licks his lips, now removing the hand caressing the side of your bra, only for it to cup your other butt cheek — and as both hands are on you, he boldly pulls you closer to him. “All of it,” he breathes. 

Showtime. 

You can tell he’s about to stick his neck out, kiss your stomach, lick your stomach, do whatever he can — but you have another idea. So you slowly turn your back to him… and sink into his lap. 

He breathes out heavily in your ear, his hands roaming all over you, one ending up spread flat across your stomach, the other brushing hair away from you neck to make room for his lips. He deliciously attaches to the free area of skin, licking, sucking, biting and kissing down on the sensitive spot that has you squirming. 

His legs are spread wide, so you’re sitting perched on one of his thick, rock-hard thighs. And as he so perfectly nips and sucks down on your neck, you can’t help but shift in your seat. The friction is just enough, his thighs are muscular enough to provide pleasure, and in no time you start rocking back and forth, feeling your panties cling to you with slick. You’re probably making a mess out of his jeans, but neither of you care right now. 

“I’ve thought about you too,” you blurt out, a breathy row of words that almost go unnoticed. But it doesn’t, and upon hearing this, Jungkook whimpers into the skin of your neck, biting down on the bruise he’s been working on, hard enough that it makes you moan in his lap. “Your arms—your hands—your lips,” you breathe, letting your head fall to his shoulder. 

“You’re insane,” he moans. With the way you’re rocking back and forth on his thigh, you keep brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans, and it’s enough for him to lose his mind. You’re so close, yet so fucking far. He needs to touch you, he needs to feel more of you, anything. He needs to make you cry for him, beg him for more, beg him to stop. He wants everything you’ll give him, and right now he’s just one big pussy-drunk boy. 

You gasp when you suddenly feel one of his hands on your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra — although only for a moment, as it pops open almost instantly. Well well well, boy-next-door, you might not be as innocent as you seem. 

As the lace slips from your chest, Jungkook immediately palms your breasts with both hands, kneading the soft flesh. He moans at the feel of your warm, supple skin, how it fits so perfectly in his palms, and his head tips backwards as his eyelids flutter shut. But he doesn’t let them stay closed for long, as he has to actually see what he’s doing to you. He lets his chin meet your shoulder, and he almost comes in his pants at the sight before him. 

Your legs are spread on each side of his thigh, and there, on your own thigh, the right one, is something that looks like a scribble. Holy fuck. An inner thigh tattoo. He almost forgets that he’s pinching and rolling your hardened nipples with his fingers, as he has completely lost himself in the sight of your soft, tender thighs. The way you rock yourself back and forth, the way you’ve left a wet patch on his jeans, the way your hips roll so delicately. 

As you seem to be lost on top of him, just a big mewling mess, Jungkook squints, trying to work out the cursive words that curl right besides your covered heat. 

𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒮𝓅𝑜𝓉

Straight to it. Okay… alright. That might just be the hottest fucking tattoo he’s ever seen. 

“Don’t—don’t you wanna touch me, Kookie?” you gasp, as you’ve been continuously rubbing your clothed clit against the rough fabric of his jeans, and you quite frankly can’t take it anymore. Your panties are sticking to your skin, completely ruined and soaked through, so slippery that the friction isn’t even helping anymore. 

Kookie. He pinches your nipple between his index and middle finger, making you choke on your next moan. Fuck, what a sweet-talker you are. It’s driving him insane. Of course he wants to touch you, it’s all he wants. 

“Mhmm—so bad,” he whines, kissing his way up your neck until he meets the gentle skin behind your ear. He bites down on your earlobe, breathing heavily. And in a haste, he lets go of one of your breasts, searching for the hem of your panties. 

Unfortunately, you beat him to it. 

You grab ahold of his wrist, still rubbing yourself dumb on his thigh, turning your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Ah, but Kookie—I thought you liked to watch… isn’t that right?”

Fuck off, what do you mean? 

His eyebrows knot together, and he’s practically breathing like a raging fucking bull behind you. But he’s not left in the dark for long, because as you let go of his wrist, as you stop rocking back and forth, your fingers move to your panties. And with a single slide, you rush the fabric to the side, finallybaring your sweet, dripping cunt to Jungkook.  

“Ohhfuck,” he blurts out, voice low and nothing above a raspy whisper. His mouth waters at the sight. You’re fully on display now, your bare pussy leaking onto his pants, just begging for attention. 

Since you’ve finally let go of him, he reaches out once again — this time without any resistance. His middle fingers slips easily through your folds, something that has the two of you moaning simultaneously. 

“Oh my fuck you’re wet,” Jungkook gasps, sliding his finger further down, gathering your slick before tracing upwards again. You twitch in his lap as the pad of his finger teasingly circles your clit — but as you have something else planned entirely, you once again reach for his wrist. 

“Baby…” you breathe, lifting his hand. At first, he tries his best not to move, resisting your grip, but gives in with a groan at last. You once again turn your head, locking your eyes with his. “I said watch.”

He whines behind you, but obeys, watching as you let go of his hand, as your fingers move further down. 

And with your pointer and middle fingers, you spread your folds, letting Jungkook watch the way you glisten and drip all over him. His chin drops to your shoulder, and he whimpers when seeing your clit completely exposed, pulsating like a tiny heart. Oh how he wants to taste you, how he wants to lick, kiss, suck and drink in your juices until you spasm around him, until tears run down your face and ruin your pretty makeup. 

“Think you can replace my fingers, baby?” you ask, giving him a tiny peck, just a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Fuck yeah.”

His fingers actually shove yours out of the way, just for him to feel you, even though all he’s allowed to do is keep you open, spread before him. The two fingers form in a ‘V’-shape as he parts your lips, letting your juices stick to his digits, letting your warmth wrap around them. 

You continue with your kisses, letting your soft lips trail along his temple, right by his ear, everywhere you can reach with your neck bent towards him. 

Just when Jungkook thinks you’ve got no more tricks up your sleeve — that you’ll just let him have this, just feel your wetness on his fingers — you start taking matters into own hands. 

His jaw slacks, and a broken noise escapes from him, because as he watches you over your shoulder, he sees your fingers make their way to your dripping pussy. And with a slow stroke, you let your middle finger drag all the way from your sopping core to your tiny, neglected clit. 

“Mmpf,” your head tips backwards, falling to Jungkook’s shoulder while he rests on yours. 

“Jesus christ,” Jungkook sighs, completely spellbound by the way you’re playing with yourself in his lap, the way your smaller fingers bump against his with every single long and painfully slow stroke. You skillfully flick the pad of your finger over your twitching nub, adding in another as you start applying slow circles to your highpoint. 

You’re so incredibly wet, so pliant, that every single stroke draws pornographic moans from you — which works quite well in your favor right now. 

Behind you, Jungkook has lost all ability to speak. He’s so fucking lost in you, eyes glued to the way your fingers have started to glisten with your own juices. Completely tuned to the noises that both you and your cunt make. And all he’s allowed to do is be the fucking middleman. The fucking doorman, who just stands there all day, opening the door without ever entering himself. 

He’s still allowed to hold your tits, to cup them, knead them, pinch your nipples — whatfuckingever. He’s on the verge of getting very, very whiny here. He wants to touch you, make you moan himself. When he rolls your nipple in between two of his fingers, you whimper, of course, but he wants to make you sob. This is ridiculous. 

“Like what you see, Kookie?” you sigh deeply, panting against his chest. 

“Mm—yes, b-but—” he mumbles, biting down on his bottom lip, almost crying at the sight of your pretty fingers circling your clit so precisely. How more and more of your juices continue to seep out of you, forming in wet streaks that trail down the slit of your still covered ass, and down onto his thigh. “—but I want—”

He’s cut off by one of your moans, a sound so pretty he wished he could swallow it whole. By now, his cock is practically screaming your name, crying, hidden away in his pants. He’s so hard it physicallyhurts him. 

Fuck it. 

He removes his hand from your breast, wraps his arm around your waist, and hikes your body higher up into his lap — all the while his fingers keep you spread, open. You gasp at the new position, as Jungkook has placed you directly on top of his hardened length, a cock you already know is big enough to fucking wreck you. 

“Oh my god, Kook,” you cry, still working yourself over with your soft fingertips. 

Jungkook buries his forehead into your shoulder blade, looking down at the way you curve on top of him, the way you’re placed so perfectly over his cock. He feels everything, even through the rough and thick jean fabric, his cock a leaking mess in his boxers. 

And as his arm is still wrapped around your waist, he slowly starts rocking you back and forth in his lap, your dripping, pulsating and bare pussy dragging over his clothed cock. 

You cry out at the new stimulation, the pace of your fingertips faltering as you’re being slid back and forth in Jungkook’s lap. Your hips instinctively roll down to better meet his bulge, and as you feel the fabric slip through your folds, your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“You feel—ah—so big—” you gasp, Jungkook now dumbing you down to a moaning, breathy mess with only the outline of his dick. 

His head plops back onto your shoulder, almost crying as he once again lays eyes on the way you rub your own clit. He grinds up to meet every roll of your hips, his breath stuttering with every single drag, gasping and sighing as he continues watching you play with yourself so delicately. 

He can’t fucking take it anymore. He has to feel you, he has to have you drip all over his fingers. Your name falls from his lips.

“Please—” he sighs, almost out of breath from all the withholding he’s been doing. Poor guy. “Please—just let me touch you.”

Thankfully, with the way you’ve been edging yourself — with the way Jungkook’s clothed cock keeps sliding through your folds — you’re now downright drugged. There’s actually no restraint left in your body, and hearing Jungkook beg behind you… actually beg to have his hands on you… there’s nothing to do but grant his wish. 

“Y-yes, please—need your fingers so bad,” you cry, removing the hand from your clit to place a firm grip around one of Jungkook’s thighs. 

Jungkook lets out the most broken sound you’ve ever heard. It comes from deep in his chest, a throaty gasp that dissolved into a soft moan as he surges forward, wrapping both arms around your waist to pull you flush to him. He’s shaking with anticipation and want, every primal thing that’s been clawing at him since the day he saw you in that fuzzy coat for the first time. You’re in his arms, all his — holy shit. 

His thumbs hook the waistband of your soaked through panties, and he yanks them off you in a hurried motion, not caring if the fabric might rip.

One hand slides down immediately, and you arch into him, spreading your legs a little wider to give him space. His fingertips are hesitant for half a second, brushing delicately between your folds, like he can’t believe that you’re actually allowing him to touch you, before they dip in. Two of them, pressing into your dripping cunt with an ease that makes the both of you cry out in tandem.

Your entire body jolts against him, mouth falling open, hands flying up to grab at his shoulders, nails digging through the fabric of his shirt. “F-fuck, Kook—”

“Holy f-fuck—how are you this wet?” he gasps over your shoulder, eyes glued to the way your slick covers his fingers, the way you greedily suck him in with every deep thrust he bestows upon you. He has never seen anything like it, anything so beautiful. You’ve bewitched him, body and soul.

You can’t even answer him properly — you just mewl against him, jaw slack and lips parted, every breath now a high-pitched moan. You’re gasping, twitching in his lap, your hips already rolling to meet his strokes as his fingers retract, starting to apply circles to your clit. He pinches the nub between his middle- and ring-finger, rubbing you with such precision you can do nothing but tremble against him, mindlessly let out his name in a row of breathless moans. Maybe it’s the wait that has you coming undone so easily for him, or maybe he’s just that good — but as he works you over with his fingers, you swear your brain activity cuts short. 

“Kookie—please—just like that—” you cry out, back arching against him, your head falling to his shoulder. “Keep going, don’t stop—god, don’t stop!”

Only an idiot would stop upon hearing such wonderful pleas. And as of now, Jungkook is no idiot, just completely drunk on the feel of you, the sound of you, the way you writhe and tremble in his lap. One hand stays locked around your waist, holding you tight to his chest, while his other hand works between your thighs, rubbing tight, perfect circles against your clit as your wetness coats his fingers, his jeans, everything. He couldn’t care less.

If he wasn’t so nervous about pleasuring you, he’d throw you off his lap, lay down flat on the bed and have you straddle his face. He’d happily suffocate on your pussy, drink in all your juices, suck down on your clit until your legs trembled so hard that he’d have to hold you upright. But as stated, he is a bit flustered, and won’t do anything rash — so his fingers will have to do for now. 

“Shhit,” he whispers, his forehead falling to your shoulder as if this, him working your clit over, is pleasuring him somehow. He musters up the courage to call you a gooey pet-name. “Is that good, baby?”

There’s no way you can find words in the state you’re in, especially not when he calls you baby. Your hips buck in response, and Jungkook feels the way your thighs begin to shake, the way your breath comes in ragged gasps, the way you’re pulsating beneath his fingers — he knows you’re so close, oh so close. 

His words come out pathetic, like a whimper. “You gonna cum for me? Ah—cum all in my lap?”

You nod again, whimpering, unable to do anything else as your body builds toward the edge. The pressure between your legs is unbearable, every nerve ending begging, every muscle tightening. And when Jungkook rolls your clit while pinched between his fingers, so agonizingly so that your eyes go to the back of your head — you have no idea how you’re going to survive this. 

Behind you, Jungkook still can’t lift his forehead from your shoulder. His eyes are shut tight, and he’s panting like he’s already buried balls deep inside you, although he doesn’t need to be. He’s quite frankly about to cum right there, in his pants, just by hearing the pretty moans that leave you, by hearing you beg for him with words that don’t even make sense. He can’t fucking believe it — he’s the one making you feel like this. He’s about to make you cum, he’s about to have you cum all over his fingers, spasm in his lap, arch into him and roll your hips over his aching cock, hidden away in his jeans. 

He chokes on a moan when he hears you speak again. “Oh my—fuck, Kookie—don’t you dare stop—I’m—”

Jungkook rubs tighter, faster, the hand on your hip starting to rock you back and forth in his lap as his hips follow, chasing the wetness that drips over his jeans. Suddenly, he feels your entire body lock. 

You come undone with a row of sharp gasps, gentle inhales, completely wiped out, eyes fluttering shut. Your thighs clamp around his hands, and your body jerks in his lap as wave after wave crashes through you. In a haste, your hands fall from his shoulders and to his lap, your long nails digging into his thighs, your breath stolen from your lungs and your voice tangled in a moan that you couldn’t even stop if you tried. Because Jungkook keeps rocking you back and forth, keeps rubbing you through the orgasm and out on the other side until stars and sparkles appear in your eyelids.  

He feels so big in his jeans, that’s really all you can think of as you keep gliding so easily over the bulge that’s hidden underneath you. 

As you came, Jungkook managed to lift his head from your shoulder and look at your face in awe as you leaned against his shoulder — where you now still lie. Your eyebrows crease gently on your forehead, your lips parted just slightly as small and broken gasps make their way out. He can’t make his fingers stop, not until he’s sure he has managed to squeeze out every drop of pleasure you have left. With his eyes glued to you. 

“Fuck,” he whispers as he looks at you resting on his shoulder. “You—you look so pretty when you cum.”

You whimper something that’s almost a laugh, dazed and gasping as you feel his heart hammering against your back. His fingers finally slow down, and he looks at the view of them leaving your dripping and overstimulated cunt, how your slick sticks to his digits, how it glistens. He looks so spellbound, you can’t contain yourself. 

So you stretch your neck and fight every tremble in your body to plant a kiss on his soft cheek. He hums in response, turning his head immediately to meet your lips. His hands go to your waist, not even bothering to wipe away your slick, and with your help he manages to turn you fully, have you straddle his lap. 

His skin is so warm, he feels so soft and gentle — it drives you fucking nuts. You smother him in tiny pecks, leaving his lips to eagerly mark his entire face with wet kisses. “You did so good,” you purr, still coating him with what’s left of your shimmering lip-gloss. Even though you didn’t intend it, it does sound like a ‘good boy-comment’, something Jungkook isn’t all that familiar with. 

“Thank you?” he says a bit shyly, but thinks no more of it when he feels your hands starting to fiddle with his belt-buckle. Fuck. His hips jolt upwards with surprise, absolutely dying for you to rid him of his clothes. He actually can’t wait anymore, so he catches one of the kisses you’re about to plant on his nose with his lips and rolls his tongue into your mouth. Both his hands go to the hem of his shirt, crossing them to pull the fabric over his torso. 

You don’t stop kissing him, even as he lifts his arms to tug the shirt over his head. You chase his mouth, starving kisses, all tongue and lips and the soft, desperate gasps of a man coming undone. You catch the groan he releases when your teeth graze his bottom lip, when your nails drag slightly over the now bare skin of his chest. He’s chiseled to perfection, you feel to under your fingers who now drag down his torso, the pads running over his rock-hard abs. What a man. 

Your hands move lower, and you tug at his belt again while your lips stay locked to his, fingers fumbling with the buckle, and he’s so helpful about it. He shifts his hips to assist, letting you slide the leather free from its loops, and the second you pop the button of his jeans, he breaks the kiss to pants softly into your cheek. “I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.” 

“Haven’t we already established you’re a bit crazy?” you purr, pushing his jeans down his thighs. 

He huffs a breathless laugh, but chokes on it when you decide to cup him through his boxers. His cock jumps at the contact, the wet fabric clinging to every line of him, and his head tips back with a soft gasp. He whines when you lift yourself off his lap, fingers trying to tug you back, but helpless as he’s so damn horny he could die. 

You stand before him as he sits back on the edge of the bed, jeans pushed down his thighs, abs moving in waves as he breathes in and out. His eyes are wild, locked to your, praying that you might give him some attention now. 

“Take these off,” you murmur, looking down at the jeans. “And scoot back.”

“Yes—fuck—yes,” he nods too quickly, lifting his hips to peel off his jeans. You help him kick them down his legs, your hands sliding over the taut muscle and soft skin, and the moment they’re off, he tugs off his socks with rushed, shaky hands. He does exactly as asked, and scoots back until his back hits the plush headboard, shoulders pressed to the padding, legs spread open in the most inviting way. His thighs flex as he settles, every muscle rolling and tightening underneath his thick and golden skin. He looks painted by the gods, unbelievably beautiful, built like something out of a dream. You went crazy over him by just seeing his face, his height, so now seeing him undressed, straining in his boxers, all for you, has your thighs going slick as more arousal seeps out of you. 

“Like this?” he asks with one brow cocked, arms resting on his thighs. He asks as if he’s nervous, pressing harder down on his thighs, rubbing over them twice with his eyes getting lost in yours. He looks delicious enough to eat up, you could gobble him up whole. Still watching you, he bites down on the skin in his cheek, eying your bare body, the way there’s still glisten lingering between your legs. How your tits perk in his direction, how there seems to be goosebumps by your nipples. What a fucking view — and he’s got this all to himself?

You start moving to the bed, crawling forward slowly, and soon your naked body settles above him until you’re climbing back into his lap. His breath hitches, and his hands hover, waiting for permission until you take ahold of his wrists and guide them to your hips. “Hold me there,” you whisper. “And don’t move yet.”

He moans at that, eyebrows knotting high on his forehead as his fingers squeeze your skin. How can he not fucking move? You settle in his lap, your bare heat meeting his cock which now pulsates and twitches in his boxers. He moans yet again, which only spurs you on. So you grind once over his cock, arms resting on his chest, letting the clothed bulge slip in between your wet folds. 

Jungkook’s head thuds against the headboard, his jaw slack. “Fuuck me.” His eyes nearly roll back, and he grips your hips harder as you rock yourself back and forth over his cock. Your clit grinds directly against the ridge of him, and your breath catches when he twitches beneath you. And when you look down, you see a new, dark patch starting to form, as he leaks against his stomach, through his boxers. 

“Oh fuck—please—” he whines, his voice unraveling as you rub yourself over his hard length. His neck goes back to its upright position, and he locks eyes with your puffy folds, how they slide back and forth over his erection, how it makes small, wet sounds with every delicate roll of your hips. “Holy fuuck—you’re gonna make me cum.”

His thighs start to tremble under yours, his grip tightening again, and suddenly, without warning, he sits upright. His spine leaves the headboard completely as he surges forward, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest, mouth brushing against your shoulder. He moans into your skin, “I need—need to feel you,” he chokes. “I can’t—need to move, please—”

There’s no way you can say no to that, so you invite his request by wrapping your arms around his neck, continuing the move of your hips. Jungkook meets the rolls this time, grinding up into you, matching your rhythm as his breath goes shallow. He rocks beneath you with a choked groan, his boxers soaked through and clinging to your slick folds as you both set a perfect and messy pace. Chest to chest, sweat-slicked, already fucked out. 

“Fuck—Jungkook—” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. You’re so close again, your clit catching with every press of his cock. Fuck, this can’t be happening, how easy can you be? Get it together, woman. “You feel—s-so good—”

He nods frantically against your neck. “You’re perfect—oh my god—you’re so wet and soft and perfect.”

His hips start bucking up into you with in a more desperate pace, gasping for air as he feels himself tightening, every nerve in his body ready to be ignited. You feel too good, he can’t fucking think. Although he wants nothing more but to bury himself deep inside your pretty cunt, he can’t seem to stop whatever it is he’s doing now. Because you feel too good. His arms tighten, one hand splaying across your back, the other dragging down to cup your ass, shoving you down harder against him. His hips snap upwards, rutting into your soaked heat like he’s praying for release. 

“Fuck—ah—I’m gonna cum—” he gasps, his head moving to your chest, nuzzling his face in between your swell, perfect, soft, wonderful cleavage. He could live there probably, although now he can’t seem to breathe. “I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum—”

You’re both gasping for air, moving in perfect desperation, caught in a rhythm none of you dares to break, slick friction and wet, breathless please. 

But you’re stronger than him — you don’t want him to cum anywhere but inside you, deep inside you. So you stop. Right at the height of it, when his cock is throbbing beneath you, twitching in his boxers, when your hips are already grinding out trembling whimpers, you still yourself. You hug him tighter against your body, holding him in place as you freeze. 

Jungkook jolts, his breath catching like you’ve stolen it right out of his lungs. “W-what—no—why’d you—”

You tug on his hair, lifting his face from where its pressed against your tits, and you lean in, brushing your nose against his, lips ghosting his mouth. “You’re not cumming in your boxers tonight.”

Jesus fucking christ, if Jungkook wasn’t completely spellbound by the way you speak so seductively, the way his cock is still nuzzled between your folds, he would be running up and down the walls. He almost completely forgot about the fact that he could actually fuck you, like for real — he was too lost in pleasure. 

His eyes flicker, wide and absolutely lost in you, suddenly kissing you with such desperation that you have to gasp for air. 

“Take them off,” you manage to breathe into his mouth.

He shifts beneath you as his eyebrows twitch and his breath stutters. He shifts just enough to hook his thumbs into the waistband off his boxers, lifting his hips. You lift too, just barely, your knees bracing the mattress as he shoves the last fabric down and off, kicking it frantically off with his feet, something that has you giggling against his lips. His cock springs free, completely soaked. The tip glistens, already beading at the slit, twitching helplessly as it rests against his stomach.

You both groan. Your hips are still hovering above him, your heat just barely brushing the length of him. This is enough to kill you, actually. But you need him so bad you almost can’t think — you’ve been needing him for weeks now. 

“Are you clean?” you ask, your fingertips dragging slowly down his chest, the barest tease. 

Jungkook swallows hard, looking right into your eyes while his hands clench the sheets, too nervous to actually touch you. He’s clean, of course, he tests himself every time he has slept with someone. It has been months now, but his last test came out negative, so he can’t possibly have caught something in any other way. He doesn’t really sit down naked in public places, so he has to be clean. “Yeah. Yeah—you’re the first I’ve touched in months.” 

“Good—same here,” you confess with a giggle. A beat passes, and you push him further down, letting his back meet the headrest again, watching as his tongue fiddles with the piercing in his bottom lip. This is finally happening, dear god. You’re so unbelievably thankful for the fact that the two of you are both insane, that you’ve both been spiraling for weeks. Because now you have him at your mercy, after all this time. 

The room is quiet for a minute, up until Jungkook lets out a desperate whisper. “Then please—please let me feel all of it. I’ve never needed anything more.”

You’d scream out ‘me neither’ if it weren’t for the fact that you’re trying to keep your cool, assert some kind of dominance here. So instead you rise slightly onto your knees, one hand reaching between your bodies to wrap around his cock, which instantly twitches in your grip. Jungkook curses low in his throat, his eyes locked on yours, completely still beneath you as you guide him to your entrance. So you lower yourself, and the moment the swollen head pushes past your folds, both of you gasp.

Your walls stretch to accommodate him, inch by inch, taking him in with a slow ache that feels has your thighs trembling. He’s incredibly thick, but your body opens for him anyway, desperate to take him whole.

His head drops back against the headboard with a thud as his lips part beautifully. “Oh my god,” he groans with a wrecked voice, fists buried and clenched in the sheets. “Shitshitshit—you’re tight.”

You keep sinking deeper, biting your lip, nails dragging down his chest as your pussy stretched tight around his cock. He’s shaking under you, knuckles white where his hands grip the duvet, breath coming in short, punched-out gasps. And when you’re finally seated, flush against him, both of you let out a loud moan. You’re both completely still, trembling and panting as the fit is obscenely snug. When Jungkook looks up at you, his eyes are heavy-lidded. “Oh my god,” he says the moment he lays his eyes on you. What a wonderful view, he thinks. How can anyone look so beautiful while taking his cock. Your mouth is parted in such a gentle way, your lips swollen for all your shared kisses. Your arms look so delicate as you straddle him, soft muscles spasming slightly underneath your skin. 

As you try keeping eye contact, you settle fully in his lap with trembling thighs, the weight of him buried so deep inside you it feels like you might never be able to walk again after this. His cock pulses thickly within your heat, and he shudders visibly beneath you. 

“Holy fuck…” Jungkook breathes out, his head now tipped back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in shaky gasps. His throat bobs as he swallows, his lashes flutter shut as he can’t for the life of him look at you for too long. He’s going to come right away if so.

“You okay, baby?” you purr, fingers brushing up his chest in featherlight strokes.

He nods desperately with his eyes still clenched shut. “Mm-hm,” he hums in response, not daring to look at you for even a second more. Fuck, he’s going to come so hard. 

You smile softly, grinding your hips in the smallest, slowest circle. The movement makes him gasp, hips jerking helplessly upward before you pin him back down with your thighs. He shudders and twitches, hands still not touching you, but clenching the fabric of the sheets so hard it looks as if it might hurt. He just fucking lays there, terrified that he might come embarrassingly quick if he lets himself go, so he stays still, choking on his own moans as you once again roll your hips. 

The rhythm you’ve built is smooth, just enough to leave him gasping, trembling underneath you as he lets out small, broken moans. His cock fills you perfectly, every slow drag inside you grazing nerves that make your toes curl and your walls clench around him. Whenever you roll forward, your clit brushes against his abdomen, and you can’t help but gasp. 

Jungkook’s head is tipped back, his throat bared, chest heaving as he’s barely keeping it together. His eyes, fuck — they’re still closed. His beautiful, dark eyes who you could spend hours looking into. 

You stare down at him, straddling his hips, the slick sound of your bodies echoing in your bedroom, and it kills you that he isn’t looking at you. Not even for a second. His eyes are actually shut closed ridiculously hard, his eyelids creasing with the effort of not looking at you. He keeps gasping for air, especially when you start lifting your hips, only for them to roll down and forward again, a move which rips all the air from his lungs. 

“Jungkook,” you whisper, still grinding down in perfect circles. Your voice is soft, nothing more but pleading. “Look at me.”

He shakes his head weakly, brows drawn tight, breath hitching with every thrust. “I can’t,” he breathes in desperation. “Can’t—I can’t.”

You grind down deeper, letting your walls squeeze around him, making his whole body jerk. “Baby,” you murmur again, letting your hands trail down his chest to his stomach, your voice turning sugar-sweet. “Please? Just for a second? I wanna see you. Wanna see those pretty eyes, Kookie.”

He swears under his breath, biting down on his lip. His fists tremble where they grip the sheets. He’s fighting it, really fighting it. Of course he wishes to look at you, grip you, make your pretty tits bounce as he makes you ride his cock. Oh how he’d love the sight of it. But it would only last a second, as he would come so unbelievably fast. Instead, he options for defiance… but you know he’s seconds from giving in. You can see it in the way he his eyelids un-crinkle. 

So you say it again, looking down at him with heavy-lidded eyes as his cock keeps hitting the delicate spot buried deep inside you. “Please, Jungkook… look at me, baby.”

Oh my god. Jungkook shudders, lashes fluttering — and then he cracks. His eyes open, and fuck, the look in them nearly has your knees giving out over him. They’re blown wide with lust, flicking over your flushed face, your chest, the way his cock keeps disappearing inside your puffy folds. How they suck him in so greedily, how his entire abdomen is coated in your slick. 

“Fuuck,” he whispers, and just like that, he decides to let go. Fuck it.

His hands shoot up to your hips, grabbing you hard and pulling you down onto him with a strength he’s been holding back for too long. He’s been dying to fuck you, thought he never would, so he won’t go easy now that he’s finally been granted his one true wish. You gasp, pleasure jolting through you as his grip anchors you against him. Finally, he starts thrusting up into you, matching your rhythm, reaching so much deeper than when you were doing all the work yourself. And oh god, it feels so incredible. He feels like a dream. 

“Oh my god—” you choke out, your head tipping back. The new pace is punishing, but so unbelievably perfect. You’re so full, every thrust slamming his cock into you at just the right angle, so deep you can’t breathe. All you can do is splay flat palms over his sweat-slick chest, trying to steady yourself as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “Yes—yes—oh god, Jungkook, don’t stop—”

Jungkook groans, holding your hips, fucking into you with a madness that punched the air out your lungs. “You’re gonna—ah—” he gasps, eyebrows creasing, eyes flicking over you as he has no idea where to look. It’s all too good, the wonderful expression on your face, the perfect bounce of your tits, how your cunt keeping sucking him in with every thrust. “You’re gonna make me cum so hard—fuck, fuck—”

There’s no way you can answer him right now. Your moans come out broken, each one hitched around the feeling of his cock pounding into you, his hips slapping against your ass, your thighs, your slick dripping down his length as he fills you over and over. And when he shoves you down onto his cock, your swollen clit nudges against him, just enough for it to provide pleasure. Your mouth falls open on a gasp, hips stuttering as the pressure inside you coils tighter, white-fucking-hot. 

Jungkook moans high-pitched, completely losing control, one of his hands sliding up your back with awe, the other gripping your hip with bruising force as he keeps you locked in his rhythm. “You’re perfect—so wet—you feel so—ah—soft—” The praise tumbles out of his parted lips, something he soon shuts up by biting down on his lips. His nose crinkles, as does his eyebrows, and he keeps his eyes locked on where his cock keeps disappearing inside you. 

Your entire body twitches upon hearing his words, your head falling forward as you brace yourself with both hands on his chest. Your nails dig into the swell skin there, and you swear you can feel his heart hammering through his ribs. Fuck, it makes it even hotter, and you clench around him uncontrollably. 

“Jungkook—” you gasp, a high and choked moan following the way he hits your sweet spot again and again and again. Your whole body jerks, with every thrust, thighs shaking, mouth hanging open as heat spreads through your belly like wildfire. You don’t even notice how bad you’re trembling until he suddenly presses his forehead to yours. 

He gasps, “I’m gonna cum.” The hand running up your back comes to your neck, which he grabs to shove you against his lips, muffling both your outcries. You moan into each other’s mouth, sweat and spit mingling on your tongues as they tangle together. He lets up from the kiss for only a second, a moan breaking in his throat, “A-ah—baby, I’m gonna cum—please cum. You’re clenching so hard—fuck, baby, are you gonna cum?”

You nod erratically as all words are lost on your tongue, the pleasure pulsing though every inch of your body. Desperate to find both your releases, you grind down harder, chasing pleasure and all of him. His hand shoves your lips back onto his, and he gasps into your mouth as he feels you clenching viscerally around him. After a few more grinds, you come undone all over him, crying out in pleasure, grabbing onto his neck to release your moans into his mouth. You walls flutter and spasm around his cock as your thighs give in, unable to move or do any work yourself. 

Jungkook lets both hands move to your back instead, pushing you flush to his sweat-slick body, lifting his hips off the bed to take matters into own hands instead. He thrusts harder and faster, hugging you against his chiseled frame. “Oh my god,” he chokes out, his hands holding you down tight as he fucks you through your orgasm, the way your walls squeeze around him, dragging him over the edge right behind you. “I’m cumming—I’m gonna cum so hard—I’m—”

He slams up into you one last time, hips jerking as his cock throbs deep inside you, spilling into you with a groan that sounds almost painful. He fills you, heat spreading inside you as he comes hard, gasping your name continuously, completely wrecked.

As the two of you pulsate, gasp for air pressed flush to each other, he wraps his arms around your back as you both shake from the aftershocks. His cock twitches inside you one more time, still buried deep, and you both let out weak, breathless sounds as the last of it fades. Your foreheads are pressed together, and your eyes are both shut as you catch your breaths. The room is quiet, but your heart pounds in your ears. 

What makes you tingle is when his hand starts running slowly up your spine. Holy fuck. This was definitely worth the wait, worth going insane over. 

You hear him breathe out his name, and your eyes open, so close to his that his two eyes blend together. You blink, leaning in to press a lazy kiss to his lips, so tired that you actually just stay there, gasping against him as he kisses you back. The hand cradling your back moves, coming to brush your wild hair out of your face, stroking the back of your head. “Thank you,” he breathes, kissing you once more. 

So subtle you almost don’t notice it, he turns with you still pressed flush to him, rolling the two of you over to your sides all the while he’s still buried inside you, his release seeping out from you and ruining your sheets. You don’t care, you can fix it later. He’s here now, and he’s hugging you, tugging you closer so your head can rest against his chest. He gives a small kiss to the top of your head, breathing out heavily, repeating his words. “Thank you.” 

You fall asleep like this, still intertwined and utterly exhausted, him hugging you while he listens to the way your breathing settles. 

Jungkook had one mission when moving for himself — finding a girl to sleep with. He did so, not without struggle that is, but what he didn’t imagine was finding a girl to fall in love with. Finding a girl he would love with all his heart, so deeply it would hurt whenever she wasn’t around.

But he did. He met a girl who made him go crazy. 

There’s an unwritten rule that goes something like this: Do not fall in love with your roommate, do not get involved with your roommate in any way. It will ruin the relationship that you are financially bound to. You will have to move.

Thankfully, Jungkook has found a loophole. He has fallen in love with his neighbor, a girl who he practically lives with now. Because you can’t keep your hands off each other. Not even for a second. He hates it when he has to work on weekends, he hates when he has to leave you while you sleep so peacefully in whatever bed the two of you slept in the night before. 

He tries making up for it while leaving you small notes around the house, pink post-it notes filled with what could be just meaningless scribbles. But you love his drawings, you love it when he leaves a weirdly drawn bunny on the fridge. And what Jungkook doesn’t know is that on your bedside table, there’s a small, porcelain casket, where you pocket all his post-it notes. There are probably about a hundred of them now, buried in the casket. You look at them when he’s away, smiling by yourself, wondering how you could ever get so lucky. 

One night, while you were laying in his lap over the sofa, you found out he knew how to braid. You felt a slight tug on your hair as your eyes were glued to the television, and stretched your neck to see what was going on with the man behind you. 

Nothing in particular was going on, actually. Because there he sat, watching TV, just like you, only with your hair in his hands, braiding a perfect fish-tail without even needing to look at it. Your hand came up to get a feel on it, and your cheeks flushed. Without tying it, you turned your entire body and leaped forward, kissing him all over until he started giggling.

Wednesday afternoon

You don't hear the dent so much as you feel it- an embarrassed tremor through the steering wheel, a tiny kiss against the black bumper in front of you. It’s the smallest nudge. It’s also the loudest mistake of your week.

“Shit,” you breathe, forehead pressing to your hands on the wheel. You glance up at the security camera, as if it might hand you a do-over.

The Lotte World Mall garage hums around you: tires on concrete, a distant laugh that bounces off painted pillars, the soft whir of the elevator cycling somewhere near the atrium. You put the car in park and climb out, heart thudding. The other car is sleek, well-loved, the finish a dark promise. The scuff you’ve left looks like a fingerprint someone won’t stop seeing.

You wait.

You rehearse lines. Insurance, exchange contact, be an adult. Your HR brain wants to file an incident report with yourself.

Footsteps approach, boot soles on concrete. You look up.

He walks out of the shadow like the garage ordered him- black tee soft on a lean frame, chain catching fluorescent light, silver rings stacked and unapologetic. Ear-length dark hair skims his jaw in a near-mullet that should not look that good. Tattoos lace his forearm in clean linework, and across his hand- heart, symbols, the letters on his knuckles that make your pulse hitch before you read them: A R M Y.

He takes in the scene, then you. He smiles like he knows the ending already.

“You okay there, pretty girl?” he asks, voice low, warm with Seoul night.

You straighten. “I- yeah. I… tapped your car. Tiny tap. Microscopic. Like a mosquito bite. I’m so sorry.”

He walks to the bumper, crouches, turns his head. When he glances up again, there’s a grin curving into something wicked. “Your mosquito’s got strong feelings.”

“I have insurance,” you rush. “We can do it by the book.”

“By the book?” He stands, closing the small distance, not too close, just close enough for citrus and cedar to slip under your nerves. His hand tattoos flex as he taps the scuff. “I own a tattoo studio, not a repair shop. But I negotiate all day.”

“Negotiate what?”

He looks at you like it’s obvious. “Terms.”

You blink. “Terms?”

“Dinner.” He shrugs. “I’ll pay. Your fee is just… showing up and sitting across from me.”

Your laugh escapes, surprised and scandalized by how much you want to say yes. “That’s extortion.”

“That’s generosity,” he counters, eyes dancing. “I’m Jungkook.”

“Y/N.” You swallow. “Are you always this-”

“Honest? Efficient? Distractingly handsome?” His smile goes boyish for a beat. “Got a pen, baby? Or you want my number in your phone?”

Heat kisses your cheeks. “Fine. Number.” You unlock your phone. “Spell Jungkook?”

“Or I can text you first.” He’s already typing your number on his, thumbs quick, rings gleaming. Your hands tremble slightly. He notices and notches a step back, making more space like it’s second nature.

“Hey.” His voice drops. “You waited. Most people would’ve left a note that says ‘Good luck’ and a fake number.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Good.” He nods toward the elevator. “Walk with me? I’ll pay for your parking as a court fee.”

“You’re really committing to this legal metaphor,” you murmur, falling into step. He keeps a respectful half pace beside you, eyes on your path more than your face, like he’s scanning for slick oil or lurking creeps.

“Stay close,” he says, easy but firm. “Garage creeps are a thing.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I have no doubt,” he says, glancing down at your shoes and smiling like they pass inspection. “Still. Humor me.”

At the payment kiosk, he pulls his wallet before you can reach for yours. His silver rings flash as he taps the card.

“Court fee,” he says.

“But-”

“Dinner’s on me too. Your only payment,” he leans in slightly, “is your company.”

The brush of his fingers as he hands you the validated ticket is a clean, electric line down your spine.

“Don’t look so worried,” he adds with a crooked grin. “I’m an excellent settlement.”

“Cocky.”

“Confident.” He tips his head toward the elevator. “Come on, baby.”

You manage not to melt at the nickname. Barely.

The elevator doors open, chrome reflecting both of you: his black tee and careless grace, your office slacks and lingering nerves. The mirror turns you into a pair even though you’re not. Your eyes meet his in the reflection.

“You look like you want to bolt,” he says softly.

“I look like I want to survive the paperwork.”

“Tell you what.” He leans back against the wall, arms crossed, tattoos a map across sinew. “We’ll text. You can vet me like a candidate. Background check my Instagram. Ask me what my SWOT analysis is.”

“Do you… have one?”

“Strengths: flirting. Weaknesses: pretty girls who dent my car. Opportunities: Friday. Threats: none, unless you hate good food.” He smirks. “What do you say?”

The elevator dings. The doors glide open to the atrium glow and the sound of kids laughing near the carousel. You step out together, and the mall air feels too bright, too ordinary for the way your blood is moving.

“So what do you even like to eat?” you ask, arching a brow.

He pockets his hands, rings catching the light. “Baby, I eat what I want.”

You roll your eyes. “That sounds dangerous.”

He grins, voice dropping just enough to curl heat into your stomach. “Dangerous for anyone who doesn’t want to be eaten.”

Something in you goes loose at the way he says it- casual and certain and safe. He takes a step backward, toward the corridor.

“Friday, Y/N,” he says. “Wear whatever you want me to ruin.”

You make a sound that is only barely a laugh, because your knees feel unreliable. “You can’t say things like that in public.”

“I can.” He winks. “I will.”

“Text me the place,” you manage.

He salutes with two fingers from his temple, spins lazy, and disappears into the flow of shoppers.

The mall hums on like nothing happened. You stand there too long, ticket clutched in hand, trying not to replay the smirk, the easy way he called you pretty girl, the silver glint of his rings against your wrist.

═══════

Hours later, at home, you’re still replaying it. Your laptop glows with unanswered emails, a cold mug of tea sweats on your desk, and your phone sits face down like it’s taunting you. You pick it up. The screen is blank. No new messages.

You almost laugh. Did you hallucinate him? Did you dent some stranger’s car and then dream up the hottest man in Seoul just to cope?

Your phone buzzes. You jump.

The notification lights up your screen: Unknown Number.

Unknown Number: Hi, Pretty Girl Who Allegedly Assaulted My Car. This is the victim. - Jungkook

Y/N: Allegedly?

Jungkook: Yeah. Until proven guilty. Trial’s Friday.

Y/N: …Are you always this dramatic?

Jungkook: Dramatic? No. Charming? Yes.

Y/N: Self-proclaimed charming isn’t a great look.

Jungkook: Lucky for me, you’ve already seen the good looks. The charm’s just bonus content.

Y/N: You’re ridiculous.

Jungkook: And yet you’re still texting back. I’ll take that as you’re interested.

Y/N: This is me being polite.

Jungkook: Polite looks a lot like “smiling at her screen in the parking lot.”

Y/N: You don’t know that.

Jungkook: I do. Mirror told me. You looked at me the same way on the elevator.

Y/N: You’re full of yourself.

Jungkook: Full of good taste, baby. Don’t mix those up.

Jungkook: Friday, 7:30. I’ll pick a spot. Don’t bring your wallet. Your payment is just showing up, pretty girl.

Y/N: Wow, generous.

Jungkook: Right? You’re welcome.

Y/N: Fine. But if this is some trick to scam free dinner, I’m reporting you to mall security.

Jungkook: They already banned me once for being too handsome in the food court. I’ll risk it.

Y/N: Goodnight, Jungkook.

Jungkook: Sweet dreams, pretty girl. Don’t dream about anyone else. Temporary contract clause.

Y/N: That’s not how contracts work.

Jungkook: Then sue me. But only after dinner.

═══════

Friday night

Seongsu glitters with café signs and quiet energy, that blend of industrial grit and boutique polish that makes the district feel alive. Neon soaks the street edges.

You spot him first- leaning against the front of a small café, black shirt tucked into slouchy trousers, chain catching the streetlight. He’s scrolling his phone, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling silver rings. His tattoos crawl up his forearm in clean geometry, visible even under the dim light.

And then he looks up. And that grin- sharp, easy, like he knew you’d show up anyway- lands directly on you.

“Pretty girl,” he greets, pushing off the wall. “On time. I like that.”

“You don’t know that,” you shoot back, brushing hair behind your ear. “For all you know, I was about to ghost.”

“Nah.” He falls into step beside you, hands sliding back into his pockets. “If you were gonna ghost, you’d have left me fake digits in the garage. You’re too decent for that.”

“Decent?” you echo.

“Sexy and decent,” he clarifies, smirking. “Dangerous combo.”

Inside, the café glows warm, shelves stacked with vinyl records, candles flickering on each table. He gestures for you to sit, then beats you to it- pulling the chair out smoothly, mock-formal.

“Chivalry?” you tease.

“Flirting,” he corrects. “I like watching you blush when you don’t know how to respond.”

You roll your eyes, but he notices anyway- the pink across your cheeks.

Menus arrive. He doesn’t open his.

“You’re not looking?” you ask.

“I already know what I want.” His gaze slides across the table, shameless. “It’s not on the menu.”

Your stomach flips. You fight to steady your voice. “You’re really leaning into the whole cocky thing.”

“Leaning?” He leans back in his chair, stretching out like he owns the place. “Baby, I’m sprinting.”

You’re half-laughing, half-pressing your thighs together under the table.

The waitress sets down waters before the coffee. He catches her glance at him and doesn’t even look away- he just tilts his head at you. “See? Even she knows I’m trouble. But you’re still here. You must like trouble.”

“I tolerate it,” you mutter.

“Bullshit.” His grin widens. “You’re eating it up.”

Your cheeks betray you again, warmth flooding your face.

The drinks arrive. You order a latte. He orders an americano, black, no hesitation.

“Figures,” you murmur.

“What does that mean?”

“Strong. Bitter. Uncomplicated.”

He sips, eyes glinting over the rim. “Baby, I’m not uncomplicated.”

Your latte suddenly feels too hot to drink.

Food arrives- a ridiculous oversized cookie that you ordered half-joking. He breaks a piece off without asking, pops it into his mouth, and hums dramatically.

“Not bad,” he says. “But I’ve had sweeter.”

You give him a flat look. “Do you rehearse these lines?”

“Nope.” He flashes a grin. “I just say whatever makes you bite your lip like that.”

Your cheeks burn hot. You look down at your latte, trying to hide the smile that betrays you anyway. Your eyes dart down. He catches it, leans in. 

“Careful, baby. You bite your lip like that again and I’ll take it as consent to put my mouth on you right here. You sitting across from me. Which means I win.”

Your latte suddenly feels too hot to touch. “You don’t win anything.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, rings catching in the candlelight. “I win your company, pretty girl. That’s enough.”

Your heart trips. He’s so bold, so shameless- but underneath it, so matter-of-fact, like he’s not playing a game. Like he means every word.

By the time you’re done, you’ve laughed more than you expected- at his cocky stories, at the way he dramatizes the barista calling his name, at how effortlessly he turns every topic into something suggestive. The tension thrums between you, threaded through with amusement, attraction, heat.

When the bill comes, he doesn’t even give you the chance. Wallet out, card tapped, receipt tucked away before you can argue. His hand finds your lower back as you step outside, steering you through the crowd with casual possessiveness that makes your pulse stumble.

“I should head back to my studio,” he says casually, voice low near your ear. “Forgot I left some sketches out- big emergency.”

You arch a brow. “Sketches? At eleven p.m.?”

“Yeah, dangerous if they’re unsupervised.” He smirks, clearly not trying hard to sell the lie. “You should come. Help me make sure the pencils don’t start trouble.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm. And you’re gorgeous. So I win again.” His fingers brush yours as he leads the way.

His eyes flick over you, warm and wicked. “But if you say no, I’ll just end up texting you until three in the morning. Your choice, pretty girl.”

You hesitate a fraction too long. He notices, tilts his head. “You trust me?”

You exhale. “Yeah.”

He grins, like he just won a bet. “Good answer.”

The walk to his studio is short, just a few quiet blocks. You feel the warmth of his hand hovering near yours, not quite touching. The air between you thrums.

When you reach the studio, he unlocks the glass door and pulls it open for you with a soft creak. Inside, the studio hums quiet- sterile and clean, with faint sage in the air, the scent of ink and antiseptic lingering. Sketches line the walls- delicate fine-line florals, bold blackwork tigers, cursive lettering, geometric designs. The place feels like him- sharp edges, careful lines, and something warm beneath it all.

“Welcome to my church,” he says, tossing his keys onto the counter. “And tonight, baby, you’re the only thing worth worshipping.”

Your laugh stumbles out, shaky. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, not impossible.” He steps closer, shadows deepening the tattoos on his arm, voice dropping sly. “Just thinking about all the ways I could get you on your knees in here.”

Heat shoots through your stomach. “You- you can’t just- ”

“Tell you what I’m thinking?” His mouth curls into a smirk. “Baby, I’m holding back.”

Before you can respond, he’s closing the gap, rings cold against your waist as he presses you back against the counter. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s instantly hungry- teeth, tongue, the taste of americano still lingering on him. His hands slide under your shirt, bold, palms hot against your skin.

You gasp into him, and he groans like it’s a reward.

“You blush so easy, pretty girl,” he murmurs between kisses, teeth grazing your lower lip. “I get hard just watching you try to hide it. Makes me wanna wreck you just to see how much deeper I can get that color on your cheeks.”

Your knees buckle, and his hand shoots down to steady you- rings biting lightly against your thigh as his grip tightens.

“Up,” he orders softly, coaxing you onto the edge of the counter. “Let me have you right here.”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “Jungkook-”

He stills instantly, eyes searching yours. “Too much?”

The way he stops, the patience under the filth, makes you ache. You swallow. “Not too much. Just… I’m not ready to do that yet.”

He tilts his head, grin slow and wicked. “Then what do you want, pretty girl?”

Your voice shakes but you say it anyway. “I want to do something for you.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. His grin breaks into a groan. “Fuck, baby. You have no idea what you just did to me.”

He leans back just long enough to tug his belt open, button flicked, zipper down. His cock is hard already, straining against black briefs. Your breath hitches at the sight.

“You’re staring,” he teases, voice rough. “Like you’ve been waiting all week.” 

“Goddamn- look at you,” he rasps. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Mouth open, waiting for me.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, sliding off the counter to your knees anyway.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he praises as you free him from his briefs, hard and heavy in your hand. “Fuck, you look good down there.”

His groan rumbles deep. One ringed hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. Not forcing- just guiding, holding, reverent.

You glance up, lashes fluttering, and his jaw clenches like he’s fighting not to lose it.

Your tongue circles the tip first, tasting salt and heat, before sliding your mouth around him. He groans, low and unrestrained, hips twitching forward.

“Baby… shit. You take me so well.” His free hand grips the counter, rings glinting under the studio lights. “Fuck, look at you- so pretty with your mouth full of me.”

You work him slow at first, teasing, pulling back just to lick along the vein, then sinking deeper until his breath stutters. His dirty talk pours like honey, low and relentless.

“Jesus- baby, you feel unreal. That mouth- fuck- it’s like you were made for me. Just like that- you’re killing me, baby.”

You hum around him, and he loses it, groaning loud, bucking shallowly into your throat. His dirty talk comes fast, rough, spilling out like he can’t stop himself.

“Yeah, just like that- take it deeper. Fuck, I can see your lips stretch around me- shit- you’re so good, so fucking good. Look at me, pretty girl. Eyes on me while you ruin me.”

Your jaw aches, your lips stretched, but the way he looks at you- tattoos shifting with each flex of muscle, sweat starting to bead at his temple- makes you want to push further.

His groans climb, raw, urgent. “Baby, I’m- shit- I’m gonna-”

You sink deeper, throat tightening around him, gag muffled as your eyes water. His hips jerk and a strangled curse tears out of him. The sound is filthy, desperate.

“Holy fuck- yes, baby, take it- fuck- you look so good choking on me.” His hand fists in your hair, not pulling, just holding, trembling with restraint as you bob again, spit slicking your chin.

Your eyes flutter up, watery but defiant, and he growls, grip in your hair tightening.

“Fuck- you’re gonna make me cum so fast- God, baby, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.” His abs tighten, thighs flexing as his breath tears ragged from his chest. “Shit- gonna cum- fuck, you’re perfect, swallow every drop, pretty girl-”

His release spills hot across your tongue, and he curses loud, voice breaking as his hips jerk. He holds your head steady, eyes locked on yours, then pulls back gently, thumb brushing your cheek with surprising tenderness.

“Jesus Christ,”, chest heaving. “I swear, I’ll never recover from that.” he breathes, grinning through ragged breaths. “I owe every goddamn god for sending you into my bumper.”

You wipe your mouth, cheeks burning, and he tips your chin up, kissing you soft- contrasting his dirty talk with tenderness.

“Water,” he says immediately, fetching a bottle, then shrugging his hoodie off and draping it over your shoulders.

You tug it closer. “Always taking care of me.”

You swat his arm, laughing, and he catches your hand, kissing your knuckles softly- contrasting his filthy mouth with the gentlest touch.

“Of course.” His eyes soften, lingering. “You’re the only part of tonight that matters.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just sip the water, feeling strangely safe in the cocoon of his hoodie.

The drive home is quiet, charged. When he pulls up outside your place, he leans over the console, close enough that you feel the warmth of him brush your skin.

“Try not to miss me too much, pretty girl,” he murmurs, lips curved in that devastating grin. “But if you do… just know I’ll be thinking about your mouth every second until I see you again.”

The words drop like a stone in your stomach, heat rushing through you as he pulls back, casual like he didn’t just ruin your night in the best way.

═══════

Saturday, 1:28 AM, after date

Jungkook: Next Saturday. My place. No “court” this time. Just sentencing.

A photo follows- his tattooed hand, two silver rings missing.

Jungkook: Bring these back to me.

Your pulse jumps. You tug at the hoodie around you, only to feel the cold weight of his rings in the pocket.

═══════

Monday, 9:12 AM

Jungkook: Morning, pretty girl. Just checking if my hoodie misses me or if it’s decided you look better in it.

Y/N: It’s thriving. Very happy here.

Jungkook: Figures. Everything looks happier on you.

A pause.

Jungkook: Including me.

Your stomach flips. It’s too early for him to be saying things like that.

═══════

Tuesday, 2:37 PM

Jungkook: What are you wearing today?

Y/N: Work clothes.

Jungkook: So… a skirt I’ll eventually have to push up, or pants I’ll have to get you out of?

Y/N: Neither. Slacks.

Jungkook: Mmm. Professional. Can’t wait to get my hands under those.

═══════

Wednesday, 10:04 PM

Jungkook: You like teasing me, don’t you?

Y/N: I didn’t say anything!

Jungkook: Baby, you don’t have to. I can feel it through the screen. That little smirk when you type back slow. That pause when I get too dirty. You love it.

Y/N: I plead the fifth.

Jungkook: Cute. Pretending like you’re not wet just thinking about Saturday.

Y/N: You’re shameless.

Jungkook: Confident.

Jungkook: And hard. Thanks for asking!

═══════

Thursday, 1:11 PM

Jungkook: Tell me one thing no one else knows about you. Go.

Y/N: That’s a lot of pressure??

Jungkook: Baby, I’m literally letting you choose what part of yourself I get obsessed with first.

Y/N: Okay fine. I hate mint chocolate.

Jungkook: ???

Y/N: What?

Jungkook: This is devastating. My pretty girl has bad taste.

Y/N: You asked!!

Jungkook: Yeah, but I didn’t expect heartbreak this early in our relationship.

Your pulse skips. Relationship? You don’t correct him.

═══════

Thursday, 11:48 PM, same night 

Jungkook: Can’t stop picturing you on your knees again.

Y/N: Jungkook.

Jungkook: Don’t “Jungkook” me. You said you wanted to do something for me. And fuck, baby- you did. I’ve been ruined all week.

Y/N: Stop.

Jungkook: Can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see you choking on me. Your lips stretched, spit dripping. I swear, I almost came in the middle of my studio today just remembering it.

Your phone buzzes again.

Jungkook: Want me to send proof?

Your heart jumps.

Y/N: Absolutely not.

Jungkook: Objection. You can’t deny evidence in court, pretty girl.

Y/N: You’re insane.

Jungkook: Insanely hard for you. That counts, right?

Your thighs press together before you can stop them.

Jungkook: What about you? Been touching yourself thinking about me?

You stare at the screen, heat climbing your neck.

Y/N: That’s none of your business.

Jungkook: Baby, if you said yes, I’d tell you exactly how I want you to do it.

Jungkook: Fingers deep. My name spilling out. Hoodie on. Rings in your hand so you don’t forget who they belong to.

Your breath catches.

Y/N: You’re too much.

Jungkook: You like it.

Y/N: Goodnight, Jungkook.

Jungkook: Sweet dreams. Hope I’m in them. Naked. Hard.

Jungkook: Or at least wearing that damn hoodie I gave you while you touch yourself.

Your hand trembles. You throw your phone face down, pulse racing.

═══════

Friday, 7:23 AM

Jungkook: One more day. You ready for me?

Y/N: You’re acting like you’re about to go to war.

Jungkook: I am. And you’re the battlefield.

Y/N: That makes no sense??

Jungkook: Makes sense when you’re underneath me.

Y/N: You’re incorrigible.

Jungkook: Big word. Can you moan it on Saturday?

═══════

Saturday, 10:09 AM

Jungkook: Countdown: 12 hours.

A photo follows: a mirror shot, low angle. He’s in black sweats slung indecently low on his hips, shirtless, abs cut and gleaming faintly in the morning light. His phone hides part of his face, but his smirk is unmistakable in the reflection. Silver rings flash as his free hand tugs the waistband down just enough to tease dark hair, tattoos on his arm stark against his skin.

Jungkook: Baby, don’t keep me waiting. My hand’s not nearly as fun as your mouth.

Your breath stutters, stomach twisting hot.

Y/N: Jungkook.

Jungkook: Mm?

Y/N: You shouldn’t send me things like this.

Jungkook: Shouldn’t? You love it. I can practically see you squirming.

Y/N: It’s indecent.

Jungkook: So is what I’m gonna do to you tonight. This is just the trailer.

Your chest tightens, anticipation winding hot in your veins, his cocky smirk burned into your vision no matter how many times you blink.

═══════

Saturday night

The door to his apartment clicks shut behind you, and Jungkook doesn’t even pretend he’s not watching you. His eyes drag over your outfit like you’re the only thing that matters, tattoos shifting when he crosses his arms.

“Fuck,” he says simply, head tipping back as if it’s unfair. “Baby, you’re trying to kill me.”

You laugh, suddenly aware of every inch of yourself. “It’s just clothes.”

“No.” His grin is slow, dangerous. “It’s you in them. That’s the problem.”

You follow him into the apartment. It’s tidy, cleaner than you expected for a tattoo artist bachelor pad- dark walls, scattered art books, a small record player in the corner, the faint smell of cedar and ink clinging to everything.

“Hungry?” he asks, dropping his keys on the counter.

“Starving.”

“Perfect.” He grabs his wallet and gestures to the door. “Convenience store’s down the block. I’m not letting my pretty girl go hungry before I ruin her life.”

You swat his arm, blushing, but follow him.

═══════

The convenience store is bright, aisles lined with ramen cups, snacks stacked to the ceiling. Jungkook’s hand finds the small of your back as you step inside, warm and casual, but his thumb strokes lazily like he’s staking a claim.

He moves down the ramen aisle, scanning options like he’s hunting. “Spicy or mild?”

“Spicy.”

“Good girl.” He grabs two cups of fire ramen, tossing them into the basket.

Your stomach flips at the praise.

He adds beer, then lingers too long in the candy aisle, leaning close so his shoulder brushes yours. He picks up a chocolate bar, waves it between you. “For later.”

“For what?” you ask.

He leans closer, voice low enough only you can hear. “For when I’ve got you begging and you need sugar to get your strength back.”

Your face heats instantly. “You can’t say that here!”

“Why not?” His grin is wicked, eyes on the pink climbing your cheeks. “Half the fun’s watching you try not to blush in public.”

You shove his chest lightly. He catches your wrist and kisses the inside of it before letting go.

At the fridge section, he bends to grab a drink, his shirt riding up just enough to flash ink and a line of skin that makes your mouth dry. He catches you staring in the reflection of the glass door.

“See something you like, pretty girl?”

You spin away, flustered. “You’re unbearable.”

“And you’re drooling,” he teases, sliding an arm casually over your shoulders as he walks you to the register.

At checkout, when you reach for your wallet, he blocks you with his body, card already tapped.

“Jungkook-”

“I told you already,” he murmurs, brushing a hand down your spine. “Your company’s the only payment I want.”

The cashier glances between you, amused, but Jungkook doesn’t care- he winks as he collects the bag, fingers brushing your hip as he steers you out.

═══════

Back at his place, he sets water to boil, moving around the kitchen with ease. You lean on the counter, watching the muscles in his back shift under his shirt as he stirs. He glances over his shoulder, catches you staring, and grins.

“You’re watching me like I’m dinner instead of the ramen.”

“Maybe I am.” The words slip out before you can stop them.

His grin sharpens, wolfish. “Careful, baby. Say shit like that and I’ll skip straight to dessert.”

You eat together perched at his small table, knees brushing under the surface. Every time your leg shifts, his presses back- deliberate, lingering. His fingers brush yours when he hands you chopsticks, when he slides the chocolate bar across the table, when he clears the bowls after.

By the time he pulls two beers from the fridge, the air between you is hot and heavy with something unsaid.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, patting the couch.

You sit, nerves jangling. He drops down beside you, thigh pressed firmly against yours.

“Relax,” he says softly, sliding an arm along the back of the couch until his fingers skim your shoulder. “I don’t bite.” His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up. “Unless you ask.”

Your breath hitches. “You’re staring at me,” you whisper.

“Yeah.” He leans in, voice lower, teasing. “You’re gorgeous. You’re nervous. And you’re sitting here pretending you don’t want me to kiss you.”

Before you can argue, his lips brush yours- soft at first, testing. Then hungrier when you gasp. His hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you closer.

The kiss deepens, wet and messy, tongues sliding, teeth scraping. You whimper when his thumb strokes under your jaw, and he groans like he’s starving.

He shifts, pressing you back into the couch, his body heavy over yours. His hips grind down and you feel him- hard through denim, pressing right against you.

“Fuck,” he growls into your mouth. “You feel that, baby? That’s what you do to me.”

Your hands clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer. He rocks against you again, slow, deliberate. Heat pools between your thighs, and the friction pulls a broken sound from your throat.

“Shit- don’t stop,” you gasp.

“Not planning on it,” he rasps, kissing you deeper. His hand slides under your shirt, palm hot against your waist, dragging you closer as he grinds harder.

The couch creaks under the rhythm, his hips rolling down with filthy precision. Each grind rubs you right where you need it, fabric dragging against your clit until you’re gasping into his mouth.

“Fuck, baby- you’re soaking through. I can feel how wet you are, even with all these layers.” His voice is wrecked, hips snapping harder. “You’re gonna make a mess all over me, aren’t you?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, every grind sending sparks through your body. His teeth nip your throat, then soothe the spot with his tongue.

“Say it,” he growls, rocking into you again. “Say you want it.”

“I- fuck- want it,” you whimper, the words torn from your throat.

“That’s my girl.” His breath is hot in your ear. “Grinding on me like this, soaking me through- shit, I could cum just like this.”

The pace builds, frantic, desperate. Your moans mix with his curses, the air thick with sweat and need. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling your mouth back to his for another brutal kiss as he ruts against you, both of you riding the edge.

Your body trembles, thighs clenching around him, every drag of his cock through denim against your core making you ache.

“Fuck,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “I swear, baby, if I don’t get inside you soon I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

The words punch through you, hot and dizzying. His hips grind again, harder, dragging another whimper from you as the couch groans under the two of you tangled, messy, desperate.

And then- he pulls back just enough, lips swollen, grin wicked.Your back digs into the couch, his hips grinding hard between your thighs, the world shrinking to heat and need and his filthy mouth in your ear.

“Fuck, pretty girl- you’re soaking me through,” Jungkook growls, rutting against you like he can’t stop. “All this just from my cock rubbing you through your clothes? God, you’re needy. I love it.”

He doesn’t waste time. Your shirt and bra vanish in a blur of greedy hands, his mouth closing hungrily over your nipple while his palm teases the other, rolling the sensitive bud until you’re moaning.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, hands cupping your breasts, thumbs rolling your nipples through the thin lace. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Bet these are sensitive, huh? Look at you- already arching for me.”

You moan when his mouth replaces his hands, tongue circling, sucking your nipple until you’re gasping. His other hand kneads the other breast, rough and greedy.

“Jungkook- please-”

“Please what?” He switches sides, biting gently before soothing with his tongue. “Say it, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

“Oh, I’m gonna do a lot more than that.”

Then he’s sliding lower, tugging your jeans and panties off in one swift move. His rings are icy against your inner thighs as he spreads you open, groaning when he sees how wet you are.

“Fuck. Look at you. Dripping for me. My pretty girl’s pussy is begging.”

Then his mouth is on you.

His tongue drags a long, obscene stripe up your slit, pausing to circle your clit slowly, deliberately. The sound he makes is guttural, vibrating straight into your core. “Taste so fucking good. Sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”

He eats you like a man starved. His mouth moves everywhere- tongue plunging inside you, curling deep, then flicking fast across your clit until your thighs tremble around his head. When you try to move, he pins your hips down, rings biting lightly into your skin, grinding his mouth harder against your swollen bud.

“Fuck- Jungkook-”

“That’s it, baby. Moan for me. God, I could spend hours right here, tongue-fucking you till you forget your own name.”

You cry out when he groans against you, the vibration sparking through your clit. His lips wrap around it, sucking hard, tongue flicking mercilessly.

Two fingers slide inside you, curling instantly against that spot that makes your back arch off the couch. He pumps them rough and steady, tongue never leaving your clit, spit slicking everywhere. Your thighs clamp around his head, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth.

You’re gasping, breaking, about to lose it-

And he doesn’t stop. Even when you whimper and tug weakly at his hair, his tongue presses harder, his fingers pounding deeper until your vision whites out and your orgasm tears through you. You sob his name, body shaking, thighs trembling around his head.

He pulls back slowly, licking his lips, chin glistening, eyes black with hunger. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” he growls. “I’ll be thinking about that every time I look at my hands.”

You barely catch your breath before he’s tugging his jeans down, cock springing free- thick, veined, flushed red. You wrap a hand around him instinctively, stroking, but he stops you, grip firm around your wrist.

“Shit- yeah, baby, that feels good-” His hand catches your wrist suddenly, stopping your strokes. His eyes lock on yours, wild, desperate. “But not tonight. I need to be inside you.”

Your breath hitches. “Jungkook-”

“Please,” he rasps, lining himself up as he presses your thighs apart. “I’ve been hard since the fucking garage. I can’t wait anymore.”

He pushes in slowly, stretching you inch by inch until he bottoms out. Both of you moan, foreheads pressed together, the air heavy with sweat and curses.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, hips stuttering. “You’re so tight- gripping me like you were made for my cock. Jesus, baby- I’m never letting you go.”

He starts slow, deep thrusts that drag along every nerve. You moan loud, clutching his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he pants, picking up the pace. “Take it all. God, you feel so fucking good.”

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing harsh circles until you’re writhing. He kisses you messily, tongue tangling, teeth nipping. His thrusts slam harder, faster, his cock hitting deep, the couch groaning under his weight. You’re close, moaning his name like a prayer.

“Cum for me,” he growls, teeth sinking into your shoulder. “Cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

You shatter, crying out, walls pulsing around him. His curse rips through the air, hips jerking harder as he fucks you through it.

“Turn over,” he orders, flipping you onto your hands and knees before you can catch your breath. He kneels behind you, spreading your ass, groaning at the sight.

“Fuck. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He slams into you, the new angle brutal, his balls slapping your clit with every thrust. His hand cracks against your ass, making you yelp.

“Jungkook- fuck-”

“Yeah, baby, take it. Take all of me.” His hand cracks across your ass, making you yelp. “You love it, don’t you? Love me using you like this.”

“Yes- fuck- yes-”

“That’s my girl.” He grabs your hair, pulling your head back so you arch. “God, I wish you could see yourself. Taking my cock so deep, dripping down your thighs. Fuck, I’m obsessed.”

“Fuck- Jungkook- please-”

“Please what?” He yanks your hair back so your spine arches. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

“Want to cum- please-”

He grins darkly, fucking you even harder. “Yeah? Beg for it.”

“Please- please let me- fuck- I’m so close-”

“Good girl.” His thrusts grow punishing, hitting so deep your vision blurs. You’re about to fall apart, high-pitched moans spilling out-

And he pulls out suddenly, leaving you clenching around nothing.

You collapse forward with a broken cry. “Jungkook-”

He smacks your ass, soothing the sting with his palm. “Not yet, baby. I want to watch you fall apart when I’m looking in your eyes.”

He drops onto the couch, cock slick and hard, eyes locked on you.

“Ride me,” he orders, voice gravel. “Show me how much you want it.”

You straddle him, sinking down, both of you groaning at the stretch. His hands grip your hips, guiding you as you bounce, breasts bouncing with each thrust. He leans forward, sucking your nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing, tongue circling.

“God- you’re fucking heaven. My pretty girl, riding me like she was born for it.”

You grind against him, clit dragging on his pubic bone with every move. His hands guide you, squeezing your ass, bouncing you harder, faster.

“That’s it, baby. Ride me. God, you’re soaking me.” He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, teeth scraping, tongue circling until you cry out.

You brace on his shoulders, bouncing faster, every thrust sending shocks through your body. His cock drags deep, hitting perfectly, his filth pouring into your ear.

“Look at you- tits bouncing, pussy clenching- fuck- you’re so fucking hot like this. I’m gonna cum just watching you.”

“Jungkook- fuck- I can’t-?”

“Yes, you can.” His thumb finds your clit, rubbing hard as he pounds up into you from below. “Cum for me. Cum all over my cock.”

Your orgasm rips through you, thighs shaking, nails digging into his shoulders. He groans, holding you down as he slams up, fucking you through it.

“God- fuck- gonna fill you up- make you mine-” His hips snap fast, frantic. “Say it, pretty girl. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours- fuck- I’m yours-”

He groans, spilling deep inside you with a broken curse, grinding into you until every drop is buried. His mouth crushes yours in a messy kiss as both of you fall apart.

You collapse against his chest, bodies shaking, sweat slick. His arms wrap around you tight, lips pressing to your hair.

“Three times,” he whispers against your ear, grinning even as he pants. “You’re perfect.”

And the best part? You already want more.

Your body is limp against his, skin sticky, thighs trembling. The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the AC and the ragged sound of your breaths mingling.

Jungkook presses a kiss to your temple, then your jaw, then down your neck as if he can’t stop himself. His hand smooths down your hair, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Water,” he mutters, shifting up before you can argue. He disappears to the kitchen and comes back with a bottle, pressing it to your lips until you drink. Then he’s tugging the blanket over both of you, pulling you into his chest.

“You okay?” he asks softly, eyes searching yours.

You nod, too wrung out to speak.

He grins, cocky but softer now. “Good. Sleep, pretty girl. I’ll keep watch.”

You almost laugh, but the weight of exhaustion drags you under before you can.

═══════

Sunday morning

The next thing you know, sunlight is warming your face, the room hazy with morning light. You stretch, body sore in the best way, only to freeze when you feel it- warmth between your thighs. You’re somehow in his bedroom.

“Jungkook-” Your voice breaks on his name, half-gasp, half-warning.

He’s already there, head buried between your legs, tongue sliding through your folds slow and deliberate. His tattooed hand presses your hips down when you try to jerk away.

“Morning, baby,” he murmurs against your clit before sucking it into his mouth. “Best alarm clock you’ll ever have.”

You groan, tossing your head back. “Oh my god-”

He hums, the vibration making your thighs shake. Two fingers slide inside you, pumping lazy but deep, curling just right.

“You’re already wet,” he teases, voice muffled. “Dreaming about me? Fuck, you don’t even need time to recover, do you?”

“Jungkook- please-”

He pulls back just enough to grin up at you, lips shiny with you. “Please what? Want me to make you cum before breakfast?”

Your only answer is a broken moan when he sucks your clit again, tongue flicking as his fingers thrust harder.

You’re already close, hips grinding helplessly into his face. He eats you slowly, savoring, until you’re gasping, cumming again with his name spilling from your lips.

He doesn’t stop.

By the time he finally climbs over you, sliding his cock through your slick folds, you’re shaking, begging.

“Shh,” he soothes, lining up, pressing in slow, deep. His cock stretches you inch by inch until you’re full, the thick drag making your toes curl. He kisses your cheek, his breath warm. “Just relax. Gonna fuck you nice and easy, pretty girl. Morning sex is lazy sex.”

His hips rock against you, slow and steady, every thrust measured, grinding deep instead of fast. You whimper at the fullness, the way he settles inside you like he belongs there. He holds your leg open with one tattooed hand, fingers splayed wide, the silver of his rings glinting in the sunlight. His other hand drifts down, tracing lazy circles on your clit, teasing until you squirm.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. He leans down to kiss you soft this time, lips lingering, tongues sliding slow and sweet instead of hungry. “Cum for me again. Give me one more before coffee.”

The intimacy burns hotter than last night’s frenzy. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and heavy, like he’s memorizing every twitch of your body under him.

You gasp, nails dragging down his back as he grinds into you. Each slow thrust drags over your walls, hitting that perfect spot again and again, his cock so deep you feel dizzy. His voice breaks when he moans in your ear, and the sound alone makes your body tighten around him.

“Fuck- yeah, squeeze me like that, baby,” he groans, kissing along your jaw. “You love it slow, don’t you? Love feeling me take my time with your pussy.”

Your back arches, a broken whimper spilling out as his thumb circles harder on your clit. Heat curls low in your stomach, winding tighter, pulling you under.

“That’s it,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”

The drag, the stretch, the relentless pressure builds until it breaks. You sob his name, thighs trembling as your orgasm rips through you, clenching around him so tight it makes him curse loud.

He groans, hips stuttering as the sensation pulls him over the edge. “Fuck- fuck, you’re perfect.” His cock pulses deep inside you, spilling hot as he grinds through it, burying himself to the hilt. His forehead drops to yours, a low growl rumbling out of him as he empties into you, holding you down against the mattress like he can’t let you go.

When it’s done, his body collapses heavy on top of yours, both of you panting into the quiet morning, limbs tangled, sweat cooling on your skin. His lips press against your temple, lazy and affectionate.

His hand strokes your thigh absently as his breath evens out. He kisses your shoulder, grinning lazy against your skin as you drift off back to sleep. 

═══════

When you blink awake again, the room is brighter, the sheets cool where Jungkook’s body should be. For a second, panic flickers- until the door creaks open.

He walks in shirtless, hair a little messy, tray balanced in one hand.

“Look who decided to wake up,” he says, grin lazy, tattoos stark in the sunlight. “Thought I’d lost you to a coma.”

You push yourself upright against the pillows, tugging the blanket barely over your chest.

Your lips twitch. “What is that?” 

“Breakfast.” He sets the tray on your lap like it’s court evidence. Ramen steaming in a bowl, scrambled eggs, sliced fruit, and the chocolate bar from last night. He perches on the edge of the bed, smug. “A balanced diet. Carbs, protein, sugar, and me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You cooked?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He picks up a strawberry, holds it to your lips. “I can do more than draw on people.”

You bite it, juice dripping, and his thumb swipes your lip before you can catch it. His eyes darken instantly.

“Messy,” he murmurs. “Good thing I like messy.”

For a few minutes, it’s almost normal- you eat a few bites of ramen, sip water, pick at the fruit. Jungkook leans back against the headboard beside you, watching you with lazy satisfaction, every now and then plucking a piece of melon or strawberry off the tray like it belongs to him.

Then, just when you’re starting to relax, the tray shifts-  almost making it tip off the bed as the mattress dips. You blink, chopsticks halfway to your mouth.

“Jungkook- what are you-”

He’s already crawling down, broad shoulders pushing your thighs apart, tray nudged higher toward your chest. Before he settles, he grips the edge of the blanket and drags it down in one smooth pull, baring you completely to his gaze.

“Much better,” he murmurs, eyes dark as they rake over you. His grin is wicked, mouth hovering just above your naked pussy.

“You eat,” he says, voice rough, hands gripping your thighs hard. “I’ll eat.”

Your breath stutters. “You’re not serious-”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” His grin is feral. “Don’t drop the chopsticks, pretty girl.”

Then his mouth is on you.

The first lick steals your breath, hot and slow, dragging from your entrance to your clit. You jolt, chopsticks clattering against the bowl.

“Jungkook-”

“Keep eating,” he growls, tongue swirling around your clit before sucking it into his mouth. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Your hands shake as you try to lift noodles to your lips. His tongue plunges deep inside you, and broth splashes out of the bowl and onto the tray. He laughs against your cunt, the vibration making you moan.

“God- you taste better than all this combined.” He sucks harder, two fingers sliding into you, pumping steady as his tongue works your clit. “Fuck, you’re dripping for me baby. Can’t even focus on food when my mouth’s on you, huh?”

You choke on a mouthful of ramen, hips jerking. “Jungkook- please-”

“Mm-mm.” He groans, fucking you with his fingers, curling them until your vision blurs. “Eat, pretty girl. You’re gonna need strength if you want to keep up with me today.”

Your body trembles, thighs clamping around his head as you try to chew, moaning against a bite of strawberry. He doesn’t stop, relentless, tongue and fingers working in perfect rhythm.

The tray rattles as you convulse, dropping the chopsticks completely when your orgasm slams into you, sharp and overwhelming. You sob his name, spilling over his tongue, and he groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

When he finally pulls back, chin slick, he grabs a piece of fruit off the tray and pops it into his mouth, licking his lips.

“Fuck,” he says, smirking. “Best breakfast I’ve ever had.”

You collapse back against the pillows, chest heaving, tray half-askew on the bed.

He leans over, kissing you messy, making sure you taste yourself on his tongue. “Eat up, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “You’ll need your strength- the trial isn’t over, and I haven’t even given closing arguments yet.”

═══════

By the time you finish the last bite of chocolate and lick your fingers clean, Jungkook’s already watching you like you’re dessert. He takes the empty tray, sets it aside, and leans back with that lazy grin.

“Wanna shower with me, pretty girl?” His tone makes it sound like anything but innocent.

You arch a brow. “Is that an invitation?”

“It’s a summons.” His hand slides over your thigh, two fingers brushing deliberately against your pussy, testing, his grin widening when he feels the damp heat. “Still wet. Perfect.”

Your face burns, but you can’t even muster a protest before he tugs you up, lips crashing into yours.

You stumble together across the apartment, his mouth never leaving yours, hands roaming. The bathroom door bumps shut with his hip, steam already beginning to rise as he twists the handle and hot water gushes from the showerhead. He presses you against the counter long enough to kiss you dizzy before pulling you under the spray.

The bathroom fills with steam fast. He crowds you against the tiled wall, water pounding down as his mouth devours yours. The kiss is hungry, wetter than the spray above you, his tongue pressing deep, hands gripping your hips hard.

His cock grinds against you, thick and hard, dragging against your stomach as he lifts you slightly, holding you up against the wall.

“Fuck, you feel that?” he groans into your mouth. “Been hard since breakfast, baby.”

You gasp, nails raking his wet shoulders. “Jungkook-”

“Shh.” He lines up, no teasing this time, no foreplay- just pure need. With one push, he sinks inside, and the both of you moan, water sliding down your bodies.

“Jesus- so fucking tight-” He braces an arm against the wall to steady you, thrusts already deep, sloppy against the slippery tile.

It’s hot, frantic, messy. The steam fogs your vision, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, water splashing between your bodies as he pounds into you.

He slips slightly on the wet tile, a sharp curse breaking the rhythm before he catches himself with a palm to the wall. The sudden jolt makes your back slide lower against the slick tile, your gasp turning into a laugh.

“Shit- slippery,” he mutters, grinning breathlessly as he steadies you again. “Don’t die on me, pretty girl. Imagine explaining that ER visit.”

Your laugh dissolves into a moan, the sound breaking when his hips slam deeper.

“Hold onto me,” he growls. “I’ve got you.”

And he does- thrust after thrust, his cock stretching you, water making everything slick, your moans echoing against tile. His lips crash into yours again, the kiss sloppy and wet, teeth clacking when the rhythm jolts.

“Fuck- you’re incredible,” he pants, pounding harder. “So perfect- every damn part of you.”

Your climax builds fast, the heat overwhelming, the slippery slide of his cock dragging against every spot until you’re crying out, cumming hard around him, thighs trembling in his hold.

He groans, hips stuttering as you clench him tight. “Goddamn- gonna- fuck- ” His curse cuts off when he buries himself deep, spilling inside you with a broken growl, forehead pressed to yours.

Both of you stay there, water pounding down, breath heaving, clinging together until your legs stop shaking.

“Okay,” you laugh softly, voice wrecked. “Shower sex is… a hazard.”

“Worth the risk,” he murmurs, kissing your nose before setting you gently back on your feet.

You steady yourself on the wall, still catching your breath. He grins, pushing wet hair from your face.

“You know what blows my mind?” His voice is softer now, still warm with humor. “That I only met you because you hit my car. Some guy would’ve just dinged my bumper, and I’d get insurance paperwork. You dent mine and I get the most gorgeous, funny, easy-to-talk-to girl I’ve ever met.”

Your chest flutters, heat blooming. “Jungkook-”

“And,” he adds, smirking, “she also gives phenomenal head. Total jackpot.”

You smack his arm, laughing, but he only pulls you closer, kissing you again under the spray.

You smack his arm, laughing, but he only hauls you against him again, water streaming down your bodies. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs, voice low and certain:

“Best accident of my life.”

═══════

A/N 2: i did a lil too much smut 🫩 dying at how quick our girl folds tho bc same 😭

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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.

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Posted: 09/18/2025

You sigh. When people fall in love, the process in which they procreate happens naturally. For most heterosexual couples, at least. It just didn’t for you. Or at least not yet, but you don’t want to wait, nor are you sure you can since… time is ticking. You want a child. A start of a family.

The science of love and partner-picking is uncertain. A lot is by chance, even if there are pheromones and stuff that help guide people to a biologically fitting partner, but when the clinic’s website before you is filled with donors of every kind and from every part of the world, you’d be stupid to just pick one more or less randomly.

As part of the clinic’s process, you’ve undergone a series of tests, some more optional than others. The mandatory ones were to test your fertility since there’s simply no use in continuing if you’re unable to carry. But you passed it, and so the next was a general check-up to see if you were healthy enough. You are. No vitamin deficiencies, no infections, nothing.

You chose not to pay for the mental description, finding it a bit too intimidating. Besides, after more than 25 years on this earth, you think you know yourself well enough, your strengths and weaknesses and all that. The clinic still screened you to make sure you’re not entirely crazy, but you don’t need to know more than that.

This is where the list comes in. The donors have all undergone extensive testing, including mental ones. The website has the individuals listed by last name, and the small preview offers their age and abbreviations showing the most important test results, including what genes they carry for other things such as eye color.

Despite finding the task at hand imposing, you do know pretty well what it is that you’re looking for.

You’ve known for a while that you’re a carrier of Friedreich’s ataxia, a relatively rare, inherited disease. Since you’re only a carrier, you don’t show any symptoms, but if you were to have a child with another carrier, the risks of producing a sick child would be one in four. Then that child would have its nervous system damaged over time by the disease, causing movement difficulties and a shorter life expectancy. Not something you’d want to pass on to a beloved child exactly.

So the first criteria on your list is that the donor has to have been tested negative for it. Since it’s relatively rare, it’s not included in the standard testing, which narrows down your options by quite a bit.

Not that it’s a bad thing, honestly. Your options went from thousands to maybe two hundred, which is definitely a more manageable number.

You’re not expecting very much when you click on the next name, being redirected to another profile, at least not for your breath to slowly die out in your throat.

Quietly, you resume breathing as you read through the information presented.

Age: 28. Hair, eyes: dark brown. Height: 178 cm. Physical fitness: excellent. Substance use: limited (alcohol). MBTI type: ISFP/INTP. Psychosocial evaluation: cleared.

A lot more test results follow, but you don’t really care about the odds of your child having freckles or the donor’s shoe size.

It was the big ‘FNX: not a carrier’ that caught your attention, but it’s the thumbnail of the video that keeps it. From the little image, you see what could very well be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Definitely dark hair and eyes, just like described, but also a strong jaw and cheekbones, and what looks like a casual but clean choice of clothes. Curiously, you press ‘play.’

Like the clips you’ve watched before, the man is filmed slightly from the side as he’s seated opposite the female doctor, who will be conducting a short interview. The first thing that hits you is that he looks comfortable. He’s wearing a dark grey crewneck, and he’s got great posture, relaxed but not lazy, and oozes confidence in a good way. If it’s one thing you don’t want even the slightest risk of being inherited, it’s arrogance.

The man is asked to introduce himself and tell the interviewer about his life and upbringing. He speaks about his hobbies, his education, his grades, and his social life, all while your eyes are glued to the screen.

There’s just something about him. He speaks warmly and has no problem getting his points across. He’s respectful to a degree you don’t think you can fake for the purpose of an interview, and when he talks about his interests with a handsome smile, you feel your heart perhaps skip a beat.

“So, tell me, why are you interested in being a donor here?”

“When I lived abroad, my friend who worked at a clinic like this one wanted to test me. He said that my genes and traits are what many women look for in a donor, so I agreed to let him test me. Sure, it pays well, but I mostly just wanted to help. If there are people who can’t conceive and need a donor, or someone starting a family on their own, and I can help them, I’m very happy to do so.”

Below the video is the doctor’s summarized analysis, and a few words definitely catch your eyes.

Humble, honest, respectful, charming.

It almost puts you off. You haven’t seen anyone else described quite like that. Then again, you watched the video, and you were charmed, weren’t you? Almost too charmed, but you don’t think that’s really a problem. 

Carefully, you lift your pen, noting down another name, this one underlined multiple times.

Jeon J.

Around a month and a half later, you’re back at the clinic, being led into an examination room by your usual nurse, Soyeon.

“It’s so nice to see you again,” she smiles as she prepares the gyno chair. “I heard you went with Jeon?”

Judging by just how many donors the clinic has, you’re surprised to hear that she knows him by name.

“Uh, yeah. He seemed like the best match for me. Do you know him?”

It’s an understatement if you’ve ever heard one. To be honest, Jeon not only ticked off all of your boxes and more, but you’ve started imaging your future child, what they might look like, what they might inherit from you and what they’ll get from him.

After scrolling through his profile, you looked at the ones previously bookmarked on your laptop, but no one compared. Too arrogant, too weird, too quiet, too cold; no one was like him.

“Oh, not personally, but I’ve met him when he comes in for check-ups. Nice man,” she smiles, but you have a feeling she’s controlling herself in order to be professional.

You’re not sure if you’re envious of her getting to meet him or not. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t know you’ve chosen him as the biological father of your coming child. Right now, you’ve only seen him on a screen, and to be honest, the image you have of him is very good, almost perfect. What if you meet him and he’s not like that? What if you meet him and he doesn’t like you?

Of course, you wouldn’t expect him to like like you, but what if you ran into him here, and he looked at you in disgust? Thought ‘fuck, my genes definitely shouldn’t mix with someone like hers?’

It’s not the impression you got from him, but who knows? Perhaps never meeting really is for the best.

Gyno visits aren’t your favorite thing due to obvious reasons, and so you’re wearing a maxi skirt to not feel so naked when Soyeon examines you. She’s gentle, and it doesn’t take long before she rolls her chair back and removes her gloves.

“Well, you’re definitely ovulating, so we can go ahead with the insemination now if you’d like?”

A happy smile pulls on your lips, and you nod. “Sure, yeah.”

Soyeon leaves the room to fetch the sample, and you barely miss her presence, busy thinking about when your little baby arrives and what they’ll be like.

The next two weeks are… special, to say the least. You’ve told a few people of your plans in the past but only your best friend Jeongyeon knows that you’re actually in the process now. You know of week 12 as the magical week and that most miscarriages happen before that, and so you don’t want to break the news to anyone besides her yet, just to be safe.

But you feel fine. Really, really good, actually. It hasn’t been long, definitely not long enough to show, but it’s like you can feel it growing in you.

Despite saying you wouldn’t until you were further along and safely so, you do accidentally end up at the mall, looking at baby stuff with Jeongyeon, ‘just in case.’

You could do an at home test. The clinic said that you might get a positive result as early as ten days after the insemination, but that it’s safest to wait until after you’ve missed your period. You’ve bought three tests already, sitting unopened in your bathroom cabinet and waiting.

But a few days later, you wake up to bloody underwear, and your heart sinks. To rule out an early miscarriage, you end up taking one of the tests anyway, but the test is negative, and you most likely weren’t even pregnant to begin with.

Soyeon’s voice over the phone rings in your head as you open the heavy front door and enter the clinic. It’s early, barely 9 a.m., and for the most part, you feel the same as the last time, two months ago.

“It happens. Not very fun, of course, and I’m really sorry that it did, but it happens to quite a few women, actually. We’ll just wait until you’re ready and try again when you ovulate.”

At first, you spent a few days moping around your apartment, thinking ‘this was it,’ but after finally calling to tell the news, Soyeon did a great job reassuring you. And yeah, it makes sense that the first time doesn’t always take. So while you’re still a tiny bit worried, you do feel mostly calm, which is also incredibly important.

Before being led away to the examination room, you first meet with both Soyeon and your doctor, Namjoon.

Namjoon, attractive just like Soyeon and looking smart in a white coat, repeats what Soyeon told you over the phone, but he also goes deeper into the biology of it.

“So, it’s not unusual, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re fertile, we’ve already established that and so is your donor; he’s got a great and healthy sperm count, over 200 million per milliliter.”

You nod, sitting with your hands in your lap beside Soyeon with Namjoon behind his desk. “So, we could have just chosen a bad time, even during ovulation?” you conclude.

“Yes,” Soyeon answers, “Or, you know, we do what we can to keep the semen samples good and healthy, but it’s not impossible that it was a bad batch, so to speak.”

“Yes. But we’ll double check the temperature and the thawing process, and if you still don’t become pregnant, we do offer three tries before taking other steps,” Namjoon smiles.

It does make you feel better.

“So, what do you want to do? Do you need more time, or do you want to go ahead and try again?”

“I’d like to try again, please.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m not sure what’s happened.”

You glance down at your hands in your lap where you’re seated in the same white chair as always.

Soyeon isn’t present, only Namjoon, and he looks sadly at you. “As you know, we’ve tried three times now.”

You only nod. Three times is what they offer, and none has taken.

“But it doesn’t have to end here,” he informs gently, sorting through a few papers on his desk, making you look up to meet his understanding eyes. “You chose Jeon as your donor, and since none of his semen samples took, we’ve had to inform him, and he assured us that he stands by his policy.”

“His policy?”

“Some donors have them. If three straws are used and none takes, he offers manual insemination.”

“Manual?” you ask because he can’t possibly mean—“What do you mean ‘manual?’”

“To rule out bad batches and faults during storage, he offers to come here to do it manually if you want. Intercourse.”

You’re not sure if you missed a page of the brochure or if you just skimmed over the guarantees because you don’t really recall reading anything about manual insemination. Intercourse.

“Although it doesn’t happen too often, we have rooms specifically designed for the purpose here,” Namjoon continues, obviously sensing your surprise. “We aid in everything. He travels here, and during one week, you meet every other or third day in the morning to have intercourse.”

“And he’s up for that?” you question, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah. Obviously, these ‘mishaps’ also affect his statistics, regardless of whose ‘fault’ it is, but most importantly, I think he’s just a good guy, honestly. If you want to, there are other ways to continue. You can always pay to restart the process and choose another donor.”

Pay again? It was pretty costly the first time, something you’d been saving up for for a while, and you’re not sure you want to pay again. What if the same thing happens?

But. Meeting him? Having sex with a practical stranger just so you can get pregnant?

“What would you do? I mean—if you were in my shoes?”

“Personally, I’d take the offer. It’s at no extra cost for you, and who knows, it might just take. If you really want him, that is. Otherwise, and if you can afford it, you can always choose another donor.”

You bite your bottom lip. How uncomfortable the thought of having sex with Jeon might make you, you know that you don’t want another donor. You want it to be him almost as much as you want the baby itself.

“Okay. I think I’ll do it.”

Your meeting with Namjoon finishes, and you promise to take at least a month to really consider it. In the meantime, he promised that Jeon will undergo more testing, specifically to make sure he’s healthy and void of any sexually transmitted diseases. You, of course, will be doing the same.

During that month, you do end up scrolling through the donor options again, but just like you guessed, you simply can’t see your baby having anyone else as their father. They’re all wrong. You don’t want to be shallow, but you want your child to have an easy life, and men that are too short or not conventionally attractive enough are skipped as well as too confident men or men who are too much like you, shy and a bit reserved.

Jeongyeon also offers her thoughts, and when exactly one month has passed, you dial the clinic’s number.

Probably the most nervous you’ve ever been at the clinic, you open the front doors. It’s 8 a.m., and yet you’ve never been this wide awake.

You spoke with Soyeon over the phone yesterday, and she talked you through the process. She told you that she’ll meet you and introduce you to your donor and that maybe two weeks after your… encounter is over, they—or you—can take a test. Jeongguk lives a few hours away, so after this week, he’ll go back, and if it takes, it takes, if it doesn’t, then… well…

You didn’t catch much sleep last night, your mind in overdrive as you pictured today. You’ve scrubbed yourself squeaky clean, shaved every little piece of fuzz off, and moisturized yourself soft. To make a good impression—or at least not a bad one—you’re wearing a light blue blouse and black jeans.

It’s not like you’re doing everything to impress him, because why does it matter if he happens to not like you? It doesn’t, but you at least hope he deems you good enough to have his child.

One thing you haven’t done is douse yourself in perfume, and you hope he hasn’t either. If the pull he seemingly already has on you really means something—like you being attracted to him because you’re biologically compatible—you’re very curious as to what he smells like to you.

“Good morning!”

It’s Soyeon who calls out the moment she spots you from the reception desk, and despite the early hour, she looks happy and awake, her long black hair pulled into a sleek, low ponytail.

“Good morning,” you reply, trying to match at least her friendliness.

“So, I heard he was meeting with Dr Kim earlier, but they should be here any moment now,” she says, glancing at her watch.

It’s only a second later that you hear voices coming from a corridor to your left, the same corridor that houses Namjoon’s office.

“And just double check that there hasn’t been a power outage, will you?” a male voice says—one you definitely do recognize, but not from your previous visits to the clinic.

“Of course, we’ll look into it,” you hear Namjoon agree as they come into view.

You feel your eyes grow wider and your breath slowly die in your lungs.

“There you are! Hi, we’ve been waiting for you,” Soyeon exclaims, gathering their attention, and instantly, your eyes meet his.

They’re definitely the same kind of sweet, brown eyes you’ve seen in pictures and in the interview video. The hair is different though, a little longer with a slight wave to it.

He’s about the same height as Namjoon, and he’s quite a bit taller than you and Soyeon when they approach you. He’s wearing a thin brownish-gray sweater with a collar and light blue jeans, and he walks relaxed with the same kind of attractive posture you noted before. In his hand, he carries a black duffel bag.

Maybe you were wrong about your pull to him meaning something because you’re pretty sure there isn’t anyone attracted to men who doesn’t feel that pull.

He calls your name, to which you smile carefully, suddenly remembering that he hasn’t seen so much as a picture of you until now.

“Yeah. Jeongguk?”

Although perhaps a dumb question, he smiles at your mention of his name, and you once again think that you truly wouldn’t mind if your child inherited that smile of his. It’s youthful and so infectious, it makes some kind of warmth spread through your body.

“Are you ready?”

You nod, “Yeah, sure.”

“Good, I’ve got the key cards, and everything’s supposed to be in order up at the room.”

When he turns toward Soyeon, you do too, but she blinks in surprise. “Uh, yeah. Exactly, everything’s been set up, just call the reception if you need anything. Or me, if you’ve got any questions.”

You smile and nod again, and she bows and excuses herself, leaving you alone with Jeongguk.

“You know your way around this place?” he asks, gesturing for you to follow him around a corner.

“Uh, no. I mean, I’ve been here a few times for examinations and such, but you know, that’s in the other part of the building…”

He hums, “Understandable. The elevators are this way.”

You follow him, secretly admiring his back and shoulders until he stops to press the elevator button.

“What about you then? I take it you’ve been here at least once?”

“Yeah. Not a lot, but a few times. It’s a big clinic, and I have family in the area, so sometimes I schedule my regular testing here while I’m visiting anyway.”

You knew, even from the video, that you really enjoyed his voice, but hearing it in real life is even better. He sounds calm, confident, and even… humble, like his profile said. So, while he’s intimidatingly handsome, maybe it’s his voice that’s keeping your heart inside your ribcage. He also isn’t looking directly at you.

At least until you’re inside the elevator.

Jeongguk presses the button for floor three and then steps back, placing his hands behind him and leaning back with his knee bent and foot placed against the wall.

Though sweet in the way he looks at you, he… looks at you.

“I’m not really supposed to ask, and I definitely get it you don’t want to say… but, what’s your… situation?”

It shouldn’t be shameful, yet you feel blood start to travel to your cheeks. 

“It’s just me. I’ve always wanted kids, but, well, it hasn’t happened, and I can’t really afford to wait much longer.”

It’s not only embarrassing that you need a man like him to donate his sperm; you’re also not even with an infertile husband, or another woman. You just couldn’t find someone. Through the years, you’ve dated a little bit, but nothing has lasted.

Jeongguk’s smile grows, and it’s warm. “Good on you for taking the matter into your own hands.”

“You don’t think that’s a bit… weird? Wouldn’t you rather have your kid—well, uh.. offspring… have two parents?”

Your eyebrows are raised slightly, because although you think a single mother can be a really good family for a child, the odds for a good upbringing are definitely better with two parents. Two people’s time and attention, two incomes.

“No. My parents divorced when I was three. I was lucky to have an amazing mother who raised me basically on her own. Maybe it would’ve been a bit easier to be two, but I was really happy. Besides, I assume you’ve already thought about backup, like a little support network?”

You nod, a little taken aback by his confession. But is it really so surprising that—what at least appears to be—a really good and respectful man was raised by a single mother? But he’s right. You’ve got your parents to help you, your sister and her family lives close by, and Jeongyeon has already started to beg for babysitting opportunities.

“Then, I don’t think your kid will have it worse than anyone else,” he grins.

A loud ding sounds, indicating that you’ve reached your floor, and the moment the doors open, Jeongguk pushes off the wall.

Smiling a little to yourself, you follow him. He walks about two steps in front of you, leading you toward a door.

“Here it is.”

Swiftly, he reaches into his pocket, retrieving something out of a black wallet. It’s the key card, you realize as he holds it against the handle until a click is heard.

You don’t know what your feelings for him are. Carefully interested? Slightly infatuated? Charmed? Doesn’t matter what you’d call it, it grows when he, without hesitance or even much thought, holds the door open and motions for you to enter first. Like it’s second nature.

You hear the door click shut behind you while you take in the room. It’s surprisingly big, but otherwise, it looks just like a hotel room. There are even closets for your clothes. Not that you’ll be needing it because you haven’t really brought anything other than a clean change just in case… who knows.

There’s a small mahogany table in one end of the room with two matching chairs, one on each side. To your left, in the other end of the room, is the bed. It’s big, the frame also made from that warm, dark mahogany, and its pristine sheets are white and crisp. It certainly looks clean, even with your knowledge of how dirty hotel rooms can be.

“This is yours,” Jeongguk speaks from behind you, and when you turn, he holds a white key card out to you. “The room is ours for a week, so technically, we can come and go as we want.”

“Oh, okay.” You take the card from him, your hands grazing, and you realize that it’s the first time you’re touching.

He takes a few steps into the room, drops his bag onto one of the chairs, and you stare at the key card in your hand.

When he turns to you, it’s probably the moment you actually realize what you’ve signed up for. You’re supposed to have sex with the gorgeous man in front of you, who might not even actually really want to have sex with you. He’s just doing it to be helpful.

“We should probably go over the… logistics before we start anything,” he suggests.

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, placing your bag on the floor and sitting down at the foot of the bed. You’re not exactly sure what he means, but you’re relieved that he’s taking the lead because you’re not sure what to do. You don’t know what you think of it—and you’re not brave enough to try to figure it out—but the chances are that he’s done this quite a few times before.

“Okay, so,” he starts, pulling out a chair in your direction and sitting down, his legs spread comfortably, “I don’t know how much you spoke about the biology behind conceiving? Or like, how much you know since before?”

You fight to keep your cheeks from burning because you’re both adults, and you think you’re doing a good job. “Uh, I mean, I’d say I knew a lot even before, and we also went over everything pretty well, I think?”

“Okay, good. I’m just asking because, well… there’s also the male biology… Since we’re here for a week, we need to decide how many times we want to do this. Namjoon told me your ovulation is set to start tomorrow, so we should really start today since the ovulation window is limited and sperm can live inside the female for up to five days. That way we maximize your chances. I’ll also need a day or two between…uh… ejaculations so that my sperm count is high enough.”

It makes you smile when he pauses a bit sheepishly to say the word “ejaculations.”

Perhaps it’s not always easy to speak confidently about, even if you’re both adults.

“It’s recommended to do it every other or third day to have an optimal count but either way is fine for me, so it’s up to you,” he continues. “Also, there’s research saying that doing it early in the morning could be good.”

Doing it. Maybe he’s a bit cute too. You inhale and exhale slowly, trying to keep your nerves in check in order to do the simple math in your head.

“Okay… so today is Sunday. So, if we count today, then… Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday? If that’s, uh, okay with you?”

You definitely do think you’re blushing a bit because you’re essentially asking him to fuck you more than absolute necessary. But what can you say, you really want to increase your chances of succeeding.

“Yeah, of course. I don’t mind.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Silence settles. Fuck, of course you’re making it awkward, but what are you supposed to do?

“So,” Jeongguk begins, “I guess we should get started, then?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, watching him stand up.

The nerves you managed to suppress earlier are returning and doing so tenfold. What if he doesn’t think you’re hot enough? What if you’re so unattractive that he can’t even get it up?

In a swift motion, Jeongguk yanks his sweater over his head, leaving him in a white t-shirt that showcases his tattooed arm, and you try your best not to stare.

“The reason I asked about your… situation earlier was mostly because I’ve noticed that doing this… it’s easier and definitely less awkward to pretend like it’s just a one-night stand.”

“A one-night stand?” you question for some reason, watching him fold the sweater and hang it over the back of the chair.

“Yeah. Unless you’re not comfortable with that? I could just, you know, come in you if that’s what you prefer, but…”

“No, a one-night stand is fine. Whatever makes it easier.”

He raises his eyebrows, a small smile still present.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that,” you rush to explain, “because I do find you really attractive, so I don’t mind sleeping with you, I definitely wouldn’t mind outside of this either. But the circumstances, you know…”

“Oh. I get it.”

You look down at your hands. Jeongguk certainly is trying to make it as easy as possible, but your heart is beating like crazy, and you think your hands are sweating too.

“Are you nervous?”

You don’t look up, just laugh a bit uncomfortably, “yeah.”

“Is there anything I can do? If you’re unsure about anything…”

“I don’t think so,” you start, glancing up at him. “You’re, you know… really, uhm… And I really don’t need you to like me or anything, but… you know…”

“Okay,” he stops you, “If that’s the reason you’re nervous, you don’t have to be.”

When you meet his eyes next, he’s smiling happily, and it makes you smile too.

You contemplate for a second. “Then, I have kind of a weird request?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “What kind of request?”

Now or never.

“Can I… smell you?”

Your answer doesn’t make him look less confused, only more. “...Smell me?”

You chuckle, embarrassed, but much less so than a minute ago. “Yeah, I know it’s weird, but you know, science says we’re more likely to choose a partner that smells nice to us, and those that do smell nice are often the ones with a complementary immune system or something. And you’ve ticked off all important boxes on my list, but I’d like to see…”

“If I smell good to you?”

“Yeah? If that’s too weird, then—”

“Go ahead.”

Your careful smile grows, and with his permission, you stand up, taking the three steps that separate you until you’re standing in front of him. He’s taller than you, looking down at you with an amused smile when you, with a sudden burst of confidence, stand on your tippy toes to smell his neck.

To keep your balance, your hands hold onto his biceps, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Trying not to be too weird, you at least keep your nose from touching his skin when you breathe him in.

And, of course, because he’s almost too perfect on paper, fitting you and complimenting you so well, he also smells divine. Like safety and strength and some kind of musk and wood and even a trace of… vanilla?

“Approved?” he asks, grinning when you step down, and you nod determinedly.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for, but you don’t smell bad or anything—quite the opposite actually, so I guess I’m taking that as a sign.”

“That you chose the right guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, his voice suddenly a lot quieter and more breathy than before, and you can feel how some sort of tension grows.

He grabs your hand to stop you from moving away, not that you wanted to anyway.

“So, you’re okay with doing it right now, then?”

His eyes search yours, and you find yourself lost in him already. He’s got such beautiful eyes, so dark and kind, but with a little bit of mystery in the depths. You’re intimidated by him, but it’s not really his fault; in fact, he makes you feel safe despite the nerves.

So you nod, biting your lip. You’re not sure if you’re actually breathing or not.