b.

To you, he was an arrogant, over-inked asshole who treated the apartment complex like his personal, twenty-four-hour playground. He dressed entirely in oversized black streetwear, smelled like a combination of raw tobacco and expensive leather, and also possessed a smirk that made you want to commit violence.

To him, you were a hyper-organized, stuck-up brat. He’d told you as much during your first real interaction three months ago, when you had politely, then not so politely, asked him to turn down his music at 3 AM.

"You need to unclench, Princess," he had drawled, leaning against his doorframe with a silver hoop piercing glinting in his lower lip. "Life is too short to spend it being a stuck-up brat."

Since then, it had been a war. You left precise, passive-aggressive notes on his door about tenant regulations. He responded by using those exact notes as coasters, leaving ring stains on the paper before taping them back to your door. If you glared at him in the hallway, he would just give you a lazy wave in return.

Tonight, however, was pushing you past your limit.

It was a Friday, hitting a miserable 1:45 AM. You had a gruelling performance review at work at nine o'clock that same morning, and your brain was fried. You had tried earplugs. You had tried white noise machines. You had tried burying your head beneath three different pillows.

But the noise from 4B was relentless. It wasn't the tattoo machine tonight. It was music, some R&B track that felt like it was pumping directly into your cerebral cortex, accompanied by the distinct, high-pitched moaning of a girl.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your eyes snapped open in the dark. Your jaw clenched so hard it ached. The moaning echoed through the wall again, followed by the low rumble of Jungkook’s laugh.

That was it, that was the final straw before your sanity snapped. Throwing your blankets aside, you slid out of bed. You didn't care that you were wearing an oversized, faded college t-shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder and a pair of grey sleep shorts. You didn't care that your hair was a chaotic, unruly nest. You were driven entirely by sleep deprivation and pure, unadulterated fury.

You stormed across your dark living room, yanked your front door open, and stepped out into the chilly, fluorescent-lit hallway. You found out that the music was even louder out here. You marched over to the door and raised your fist, slamming it against the wood with a force that threatened to splinter it.

"Jungkook!" you shouted over the bass. "Open the damn door!"

For a minute or two, nothing happened. Then, the music abruptly cut out, dropping the hallway into a ringing silence. You stood there, breathing heavily, your hands curled into tight fists at your sides.

Then the lock clicked, and the wooden door swung open.

Jungkook stood there, and the sight of him only fuelled your irritation. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung very low on his hip bones. His torso was a breathtaking, intimidating canvas of dark, intricate ink that wrapped around his ribs, a sprawling pattern that climbed his left side, and a sleeve that covered every inch of his right arm down to his knuckles. A few stray strands of damp, dark hair fell over his eyes.

He looked completely unbothered, his dark eyes raking over you, scanning your messy hair, your bare legs, and the angry flush creeping up your neck.

"Well, look who it is," Jungkook murmured, his voice raspy with a sleepiness that didn't match the hour. He leaned his heavy shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. "The midnight inspector. Am I using too much oxygen in my apartment, Y/N?"

"Turn it off," you breathed, your voice shaking with the effort to keep from screaming. "Turn the music off, Jungkook. Shut the girl up. Shut yourself up. It is almost two in the morning."

Jungkook let out a mocking chuckle, tilting his head. "It's Friday. Some people actually enjoy their lives. You should try it sometime. Might help with..." He gestured vaguely to your rigid posture. "...whatever it is you have going on."

"I have a career going on!" you snapped, taking a sharp step forward, invading his space. The scent of him, that heavy cologne, hit your senses instantly, making your stomach do a strange flip. "Some of us don't make a living by stabbing people with ink and sleeping until noon. I have an actual life to attend to tomorrow, and your complete lack of basic human decency is ruining it."

Jungkook’s smile vanished. The playful, mocking glint in his eyes hardened into something sharp. He straightened up from the doorframe, instantly towering over you. He took a step out into the hallway, forcing you to back up half a step until the heel of your foot hit the opposite wall.

"A basic lack of human decency?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped closer, completely eclipsing you in his shadow. "You've been looking down your nose at me since the day you moved in, Princess. You think because you wear a blazer and work in an office that you're better than me?"

"I know that I’m better than you," you shot back, refusing to break eye contact even as your heart began to beat frantically against your ribs. You could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. You could see the subtle rise and fall of his collarbone, the small scar on his cheek, the absolute intensity in his big eyes.

"You're a brat," he whispered, leaning down just enough that his minty breath fanned across your forehead. "A spoiled little brat who likes to complain because she has nothing better to do. You love this. You love coming out here and picking fights with me."

"I hate you," you hissed, your nails digging into the palms of your hands. "I hate everything about you. I hate your music, I hate your stupid tattoo machine, and I hate the fact that I can hear your revolving door of guests through my wall."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping down to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes. A tension dropped over the hallway, friction that had nothing to do with noise complaints and everything to do with the fact that you were both hyper-aware of how little clothing the other was wearing.

"Hey, Kook? Everything okay out there?"

A soft, feminine voice called out from inside his apartment. A pretty girl with brunette hair, wearing one of Jungkook's oversized black t-shirts, peeked her head around the corner of his entryway.

The spell broke.

Jungkook didn't look back at her. His eyes remained locked on yours, his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The intensity in his gaze was almost bruising, a silent, furious challenge.

"Yeah," Jungkook said, his voice rough and strained as he finally took a step back, breaking the suffocating bubble of space between you. "Everything's fine. My neighbour was just leaving."

"Turn it down," you said one last time, though the fire in your voice had died down into a shaky whisper.

Jungkook didn't answer, he just gave you one long, unreadable look, one that made your skin prickle with a chill, before backing into his apartment and shutting the door hard enough to rattle the frame. A second later, the hallway fell into absolute, dead silence. You stood against the wall for a full minute, your knees trembling slightly. You breathed in the lingering scent of his cologne, your chest was tight and your mind was racing. 

You hated him. You absolutely hated him with every single bone in your body. 

But as you walked back into your dark, silent apartment and crawled back into bed, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop as you thought about the girl he was with. With a furious mind, you eventually fall back asleep, hoping to never see anything like that again.

You wondered how much lack of sleep the human body could survive off of without going clinically insane.

Your performance review at nine o'clock had been an exercise in acting. You had smiled, nodded, and talked about your quarterly goals through exhaustion, all while a pounding headache stabbed at your skull. Every time your boss praised your "attention to detail," your mind flashed to a pair of unreadable eyes and a heavy tattoo sleeve illuminated by the flickering hallway light.

By the time you unlocked the main entrance to the apartment complex at 5:45 PM, you were running on pure survival instinct. Your feet ached from your stupid heels, your shoulders were tense, and all you wanted was a hot shower, a bowl of instant ramen, and to watch Love Island.

The universe, unfortunately, had other plans.

When you stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor, your path was entirely obstructed. Right in front of your door, not 4B, but your door, 4A, were three massive, heavy-duty cardboard boxes. They were bound in rough packing tape and stamped with a bold logo.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your purse dragging against your thigh. Your eyes dropped to the shipping label.

Recipient: Jeon Jungkook / Ink & Iron Studio

Address: 402 Genevieve Lane, Apt 4B

"Are you kidding me?" you muttered to the empty hallway.

The delivery driver had carelessly put the packages at the wrong door. You looked over at door 4B. You doubted that Jungkook was even home, assuming he was out doing annoying, reckless things.

With a frustrated sigh, you dropped your purse. You couldn't just leave them out here; the building management was notoriously strict about hallway obstructions, and if anyone got fined, it would likely be you since they were stacked against your door. Crouching down in your pencil skirt, you gripped the sides of the top box and hoisted it. It was incredibly heavy, filled with what felt like solid metal components, likely tattoo machines, power supplies, or heavy jars of ink.

Groaning under the weight, you unlocked your door, pushed it open with your foot, and began the agonizing process of dragging Jeon Jungkook’s packages into your entryway just to clear the walkway. By the time all three boxes were sitting inside your pristine, minimalist apartment, your hair was falling out of its neat clip and a fine sheen of sweat coated your forehead.

You slammed your door shut with a loud sigh, locked it, and promised yourself you would make him beg for them later.

An hour later, the hot shower had done little to soothe your frayed nerves. You were dressed in a pair of silk pajamas, ones that made you feel slightly put together, and were just waiting for your water to boil on the stove when a knock rattled your front door.

It was a firm, demanding sequence that echoed through your quiet living room, and you instantly knew who it was. You walked over to the door, pulling the silk lapels of your shirt a little higher, and swung it open.

Jungkook stood under the hallway light, but he didn't look like the chaotic, shirtless disruptor from the night before. He wore a crisp, black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the intricate details of his forearms, and a pair of reading glasses was pushed up into his messy dark hair. He smelled like rain and the distinct, expensive scent of fresh leather.

He had his phone out, but his head snapped up the moment the door opened. His dark eyes instantly raked over you, taking in the smooth silk of your pyjamas, and the bare skin of your legs. A subtle shift occurred in his expression, the irritation fading into something heavy and focused.

"My tracking email says my shipment has arrived," Jungkook said, "And considering my doorstep is completely empty, I figured my favourite brat took them hostage."

You decided to completely ignore that last part, even if the sound of him calling you his made your stomach swirl with butterflies. Leaning against your doorframe, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on the exposed skin of your legs. "They were dropped off at the wrong door, Jungkook. But because I actually care about building regulations, I dragged them inside so we wouldn't get flagged by management."

Jungkook’s eyes flicked past your shoulder, spotting the three large cardboard boxes sitting stacked neatly in your entryway. A slow, infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Look at you," he drawled, stepping closer, completely ignoring the unspoken boundary of your threshold. "A good Samaritan. And here I thought you hated me."

"I do hate you," you shot back quickly, your voice perhaps a bit too breathless. "I dragged them in because I didn't want your garbage associated with my apartment number. Take them and get out."

Jungkook took another step forward, crossing the threshold entirely. He entered your apartment without an invitation, his heavy combat boots clicking against your polished hardwood floors. The sheer size of him suddenly made your entryway feel microscopic. He was too large, too loud, too much for the quiet, curated space you kept.

"Nice place," he murmured, his eyes scanning your neat living room, the perfectly aligned throw pillows, the single candle burning on the coffee table. He looked entirely out of place, like a dark ink stain on a white canvas. He turned back to you, leaning his hip against your entryway table, "A little sterile, don't you think? I’m not surprised though, it matches your personality."

"Get out of my apartment, Jungkook," you scoffed, your hand gripping the edge of your shorts. He was barely six inches away from you. You could see the faint shadow of stubble along his sharp jawline, and just how plump his bottom lip is.

"Make me," he countered softly.

The words weren't a threat; they were a direct challenge. The air between you turned heavy, filled with the unresolved situation from the previous night. The memory of him looming over you in the hallway, his bare chest inches from your face, flared to life in your mind, making your hands twitch.

Jungkook noticed. His gaze dropped to your chest, watching the rapid rise and fall of your breathing beneath the silk, before travelling back up to lock onto your eyes. He tilted his head down, his voice dropping into a quiet whisper that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

"You're shaking, Y/N."

"I'm angry that you’re violating my space," you lied, your jaw tightening as you stared back at him, refusing to let him see how much his presence was rattling you. "Just take your boxes and leave."

Jungkook didn't move. He reached out, his large, tattooed hand hovering just inches away from your face. For a terrifying, exhilarating second, you thought he was going to touch you, that his fingers were going to slide against your skin, possibly caressing you. Your eyes widened slightly, your body freezing in anticipation, your core pulsing with a spike of heat.

But he didn't touch you. Instead, his fingers brushed against the stray strands of hair that were clinging to your cheek, gently tucking them behind your ear without his skin ever actually making contact with yours. The sheer restraint of the gesture was agonizing, a physical tease that made your pulse skyrocket so much that you thought you were going to have a heart attack.

"You're all talk," he whispered, his eyes staring into yours with a terrifying amount of certainty. "You pretend you can't stand the sight of me, but you're hyper-aware of every single thing I do. You like me, baby. It's the only time you actually let yourself feel something."

"You don't know anything about me," you hissed, your hands curling into tight fists against your sides to keep from reaching out and shoving him, or pulling him closer.

"I know you've been thinking about last night," he murmured, his face coming so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. He smelled so good it was dizzying, an intoxicating pull that was corrupting your common sense by the second. "Just like I have."

Before you could process the confession, before you could fire back a retort or even question him about his words, Jungkook abruptly straightened up. The intensity broke instantly as he stepped away from you, reaching down to grab the heaviest box from the stack.

He lifted it effortlessly, his biceps flexing against the fabric of his shirt, the tattoos shifting dynamically with the movement. You prayed in that moment that he didn’t just catch you ogling his biceps.

"I'll take the rest of these off your hands," he said, his tone shifting back to that lazy, casual tone, though his eyes still held a lingering heat. He walked out into the hallway, setting the first box down by his door before returning for the second.

You stood frozen by your open door, your skin practically vibrating from the near-miss of his touch. You watched him silently as he moved the remaining boxes, his broad back shifting under the crisp black fabric of his shirt.

When the last box was cleared, he stood in his own doorway, looking back at you across the narrow expanse of the hallway. He pushed his reading glasses down onto the bridge of his nose, the frames casting a sharp shadow over his dark eyes.

"Thanks for holding onto my package, Y/N," he said, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across his face as he emphasized the last word. "Have a good night. Try to get some sleep."

He stepped into apartment and shut the door, the click of his lock echoing in the quiet hallway.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the blank wood of his door. Your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, and your lower stomach was tight with an unfulfilled ache. You walked back into your apartment, slamming the door shut and locking it with a trembling hand.

The water on your stove was boiling over, but you didn't even notice. You leaned your back against the door, closing your eyes, completely consumed by the realization that the war between you was no longer about noise, and it was spiralling out of your control.

Jealousy was an ugly emotion. It didn't slip into your life quietly; it tore through your chest, making a mockery of you.

What made it entirely unbearable was its absurdity. You had no right to feel jealous. Jeon Jungkook was not yours. He was a chaotic, frustrating man who lived on the other side of a paper-thin wall, and was a man you actively claimed to despise to anyone who would listen. Yet, over the last forty-eight hours, the unwanted emotion had taken up permanently in the pit of your stomach, intensifying every time you heard his door click open or caught the distant sound of a feminine laugh.

The tipping point arrived on Saturday evening.

You had given up on trying to relax in your apartment. The silence felt less like peace and more like an interrogation, something that left you entirely too much time to think about the weight of his gaze, the sound of his voice, and the agonizing restraint of his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear. Driven by a restless need to escape your own thoughts, you had left the building around 9 PM to walk to the 24-hour market down the street, buying things you didn't need just to kill the time.

When you pushed through the glass doors of the apartment lobby to return, the universe decided to test the last small bits of your sanity.

Jungkook was standing by the mailboxes. He wasn't alone.

She was beautiful, painfully, effortlessly so. She wore a cropped leather jacket that matched his dark denim and possessed a confidence that shouted she belonged in his world. She was laughing, her head tilted back, her hand resting casually against the broad expanse of Jungkook’s chest. Her manicured fingers traced the fabric of his shirt, right over the spot where his heart beat, and Jungkook was looking down at her with an expression that you had never seen before.

Your footsteps halted on the polished tile floor. For a single, irritating second, the breath was completely knocked from your lungs. The surge of jealousy that hit you was so violent it made you dizzy. You wanted to march over there, rip her hand off his chest, and kiss him right in front of her.

Instead, your fingers tightened around the plastic handles of your grocery bag until your knuckles turned white. You forced your chin up, your expression hardening into a mask of pure ice, and began walking toward the elevators.

The sound of your sneakers against the tile cut through the quiet lobby.

Jungkook’s head snapped up instantly. The relaxed, easy smile vanished from his face the moment he looked at you. The shift in his demeanour was instantaneous; his shoulders squaring as his gaze tracked your movement across the room. He didn't look at the woman anymore. He didn't listen to whatever she was saying. His focus was entirely pinned to you.

But, you didn't look back. You stared straight ahead at the metallic doors of the elevator, pressing the button with a sharp jab.

Through the reflection in the polished steel doors, you watched the woman say something to him, pouting slightly as she noticed his detachment. Jungkook didn't even glance at her. He muttered a brief response, his eyes still burning a hole into the back of your head from across the lobby.

When the elevator doors finally opened, you stepped inside and turned around. For a fraction of a second, your eyes clashed with his across the expanse of the lobby. Then, the doors slid shut, leaving you alone in the quiet metal box.

The retaliation came less than twenty-four hours later.

On Sunday evening, a male colleague from your work, Eun-woo, offered to drop you off after a grueling, multi-hour project. Eun-woo was everything Jungkook was not. He was polished, predictable, and exceptionally polite. He parked his sleek sedan directly in front of your apartment building, killing the engine to turn and smile at you.

"You look exhausted, Y/N," Eun-woo said softly, reaching across the console to gently pat your forearm. "You've been working too hard. Let me take you out for dinner tonight. No talk about quarterly projections, I promise."

You opened your mouth to politely decline, but before the words could leave your lips, a sensation washed over you. It was that familiar, prickling heat on your skin, the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Your eyes naturally drifted past Eun-woo’s shoulder, looking toward the concrete steps of the building entrance.

Jungkook was standing there.

He was wearing an oversized black hoodie with the hood pulled down, his dark hair messy and windswept. He had an unlit cigarette resting between his lips, and his hands were shoved deep into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He wasn't moving. He looked like a statue carved from stone, his head tilted slightly downward, his eyes completely cold, and fixed entirely on Eun-woo’s hand resting against your forearm.

The look on his face was one you had never seen before. It wasn't the teasing, arrogant smirk of your neighbour. It was the glare of a man watching someone touch something that belonged exclusively to him. The animosity radiating off his frame was so strong it seemed to warp the very air around the car.

Eun-woo, entirely oblivious to the guy staring at him through the glass, smiled warmly. "What do you say?"

"I... I can't tonight, Eun-woo," you stammered, your voice breathless as you kept your eyes locked on Jungkook. "But thank you for the ride. I'll see you in the office tomorrow."

You practically scrambled out of the passenger seat, grabbing your purse and stepping onto the curb. The moment the car door slammed shut and Eun-woo pulled away, the space between you and Jungkook shrunk.

You walked up the concrete steps, your heart in your throat. Jungkook didn't move an inch to let you pass. He stood directly in the center of the double doors, forcing you to stop a mere foot away from him.

The scent of him, wrapped around you instantly, suffocating your anger and replacing it with a dizzying tension.

"Step aside, Jungkook," you said, your voice tight, though you hated the slight tremor that betrayed your composure.

He didn't move. He slowly took the unlit cigarette from his lips, holding it between two ink-stained fingers, his jaw clenching so hard you thought you saw a muscle twitch beneath his perfect skin. 

"Who the hell was that?"

The sheer audacity of the question sparked a defensive fire in your veins. You glared back at him, scoffing loud while your chest rose and fell heavily. "None of your business. Move."

"It becomes my business when I have to watch some boring, predictable suit touch you," he hissed, taking a step forward, his massive frame completely blocking the entrance to the building. "Is that your type, Y/N? Safe? Predictable? Someone who asks permission before they even look at you?"

"At least he has manners," you spat back, your hands curling into fists against your thighs as you fought the overwhelming urge to press your palms against his chest just to feel the thud of his heart. "At least he doesn't treat his apartment like a revolving door for whatever girl that happens to breathe in his direction. Go back inside, Jungkook. I'm sure your friend from last night is waiting for a call back."

Jungkook’s eyes flared, satisfaction flickering through the anger in his gaze. He let out a breathless laugh that sounded entirely devoid of joy.

"Oh," he whispered, stepping so close his chest brushed against yours, trapping you against the cold metal railing of the steps. "So that's what this is. You’re jealous."

"I’m not jealous!" you lied, your voice rising slightly under the weight of the suffocating proximity.

"You are," he corrected, his voice dropping into a whisper that felt like a physical touch against your skin. He leaned in, his lips close to the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your cold skin. "You were practically burning a hole in the back of my head last night, baby. I could feel you from across the room. You hated seeing her hand on me. Admit it."

"You're so delusional," you gasped out, your head tilting back against the railing, your eyes widening as you stared up at his sharp profile. The urge to reach out, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss, was so overwhelming your entire body ached with it. Your skin was screaming for the contact he was withholding.

"Tell me I'm lying," Jungkook commanded, his gaze dropping to your mouth, his own breathing heavy and ragged. His hand twitched at his side, his fingers flexing as if he were fighting every instinct he possessed to keep from grabbing your waist. "Tell me you don't want to rip my shirt off every time you see me. Tell me you don't think about me when you're lying in your bed alone, touching yourself."

He whispered that last part, like he knew that he caught you red handed. Your face instantly burned, a stupid blush filling your cheeks. "I hate you," you whispered, the words losing all their venom, sounding more like a desperate plea for mercy.

"Good," Jungkook growled, his eyes locking back onto yours with a terrifying amount of intent. "Keep hating me. Because the moment you stop, Y/N, I'm not going to let you walk back into that apartment alone."

Then, he moved away. His chest heaving as he stared down at you for one last, agonizing second. The restraint between you was a thin wire, vibrating so violently it threatened to snap both of you in half.

Without another word, Jungkook turned, shoved the glass doors open, and walked into the building, leaving you standing on the concrete steps in the freezing air, gasping for breath, completely consumed by a fire that you never signed up for.

You had lost the argument the moment your friends showed up at your apartment door carrying a garment bag and a bottle of cheap prosecco. Driven by what they called a "mandatory intervention for a workaholic," they had stripped you of your comfortable sweatpants, forced you into a sleek black dress that clung to your curves like a second skin, and dragged you out into the weekend night.

Now, standing in the middle of Prism, one of the city’s exclusive, packed clubs, you regretted every single life choice that had led you here.

The environment was definitely an assault on the senses. Neon blue and magenta strobe lights cut through a haze of smoke, flashing in sync with an industrial beat that vibrated through the soles of your strapped heels. The bass was a physical force, thumping against your heart.

Spitefully, your brain immediately made the connection. It felt exactly like apartment 4B on a Saturday night.

"Come on, Y/N! Take a sip!" your friend shouted over the roar of the crowd, shoving a vodka cranberry into your hand. "You’ve been a ghost all week. Live a little!"

You managed a smile, taking a swallow of the bittersweet alcohol. The drink burned its way down your throat, doing absolutely nothing to soothe the restlessness that had been clawing at your insides since your conversation with Jungkook on the building steps. You felt entirely out of place among the sea of hot bodies. Your mind was a long loop of dark irises, the smell of cigarettes, and the memory of his broad chest brushing against your own.

Desperate for a moment of peace, you stepped back from the edge of the pulsating dance floor, leaning your shoulder against a cold, mirrored pillar near the VIP lounge. You took another slow sip of your drink, your eyes aimlessly roaming the layout of the club.

And then, your heart completely stopped.

Situated in a semi-private leather booth was a group that looked like they had crawled straight out of a high-fashion editorial. They were effortlessly cool, heavily tatted, and radiating an aura of untouchable arrogance.

Sitting right in the center of them, a glass of amber whiskey held loosely between his fingers, was Jungkook.

The breath caught in your throat, a violent surge of shock rushing to your face. He was stripped of the oversized streetwear and the studio gear. He was wearing a midnight-black silk button-down shirt, the top three buttons casually undone to expose the sharp lines of his collarbones and the ink that climbed up the side of his shoulder. A silver chain caught the flashing neon lights, glinting against his chest. His dark hair was styled as a mullet, exposing the brutal symmetry of his jawline.

He was surrounded by his friends, likely the other artists he hung out with, but your eyes didn't linger on them. They snapped instantly to the woman sitting on the armrest of his booth. She was a striking beauty in an incredibly short silver dress, leaning down to whisper something into his ear, her hand resting casually on the back of his neck.

Dread bloomed in the pit of your stomach, so intense it made your hand tremble against your glass. The same toxic, nauseating jealousy from the lobby bloomed to life, hotter and more dangerous than before. You watched, your jaw clenching, as Jungkook took a slow sip of his drink, his face expressionless as the woman laughed at something his friend said.

As if he somehow sensed the weight of your gaze, Jungkook’s head turned. His dark eyes cut through the flashing strobe lights, scanning the crowded floor below with a lazy, bored detachment, until they hit the mirrored pillar.

Until they hit you.

The shift in his demeanour was instantaneous. The bored, relaxed slouch vanished as his posture went straight. He didn't blink, only because his gaze locked onto you with the force of a vice grip, his eyes that were almost terrifying under the flashing blue lights. He raked his eyes down your body, tracking the sharp line of your collarbone, the tight fit of the black dress, and the bare skin along your legs.

The woman in the silver dress reached down, trying to draw his attention back to her, her fingers brushing his jaw. But, Jungkook didn't even look at her. With a cold, dismissive flick of his wrist, he brushed her hand away, his focus entirely on you.

The silent, cross-room standoff was constricting. The music roared around you, and you were sure that your friends were already on the dance floor, but the space between your pillar and his booth felt completely devoid of air. You raised your chin, giving him a cold, defiant glare, refusing to look away first.

“Hey, beautiful. You look like you’re having a miserable time.”

The unfamiliar voice shattered the connection. A tall, well-dressed man in a fitted grey shirt had materialized in your space, leaning against the pillar beside you with a confident, practiced smile. He held a fresh drink out toward you. "Can I buy you something better than whatever that is?"

You blinked, trying to clear the fog of Jungkook’s gaze from your brain. "No, thank you. I'm okay with this drink" you said, your tone polite but icy.

The man didn't take the hint. He took a step closer, invading your personal space, his hand coming up to rest on the mirror just above your shoulder. "Come on, just one drink. A girl like you shouldn't be standing alone in a dark corner."

Before you could fire back a sharp rejection, a shift occurred in the atmosphere.

"She said no."

The man in the grey shirt froze, looking up slowly. Jungkook was standing there. He had somehow left the VIP section with a terrifying amount of speed, and the look on his face was enough to make the other man visibly pale. Jungkook loomed over you, his chest expanding with an angry breath, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark trousers. 

"You got a problem, man?" the guy stammered, trying to maintain his bravado but failing miserably under Jungkook’s presence.

"Yeah," Jungkook replied, taking a slow step forward that forced the man back a foot. "I have a problem with you breathing my air. Walk away. Right now."

There was no negotiation in his tone. The man in the grey shirt looked between Jungkook’s ink-covered hands and the look in his eyes, swallowed hard, and retreated into the crowd without another word.

The moment he was gone, Jungkook turned on you.

The anger radiating off him was so strong it made your skin prickle with a terrifying sensation. Before you could speak, his large hand shot out, his ink-stained fingers gripping your wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was stubborn, completely unmoving as he dragged you away from the pillar, pulling you through the crowded venue toward the corridor that led to the private restrooms and emergency exits.

"Jungkook, let go of me!" you gasped, your heels clicking frantically against the floor as you tried to pull back, but it was like trying to move a mountain.

He didn't answer until he had dragged you into a secluded part of the hallway, away from the prying eyes of the club-goers. He shoved open a door, pulling you into a quiet stairwell where the music was reduced to a muffled heartbeat through the walls.

He released your wrist, turning around to face you, his chest lifting under the black shirt. He slammed his hand against the concrete wall beside your head, leaning down until his face was a mere inch from yours, trapping you entirely within the shadow of his body.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked violently beneath his skin. "You wear a dress like this out in public? You let random bastards back you into a corner?"

The hypocrisy of his anger made your own frustration explode. You pressed your palms against his chest, feeling the thud of his heart beneath the silk, trying to shove him back, but he didn't move an inch.

"I can wear whatever I want, Jungkook!" you shouted back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desire. "I don't belong to you! Why don't you go back to your VIP booth? I'm sure the girl in the silver dress is missing her hand on your neck!"

Jungkook let out a scoff, his eyes dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes, a possessive satisfaction flickering through the fury in his gaze.

"You were watching me," he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough tone that made your core pulse with heat. He stepped closer, his thighs brushing against the thin fabric of your dress, pinning you against the cold concrete wall. "You hated it. You hated seeing her touch me."

"I don't care about you," you lied, your breathing ragged, your fingers curling into the silk of his shirt. "I don’t care about the girls you’re always with.”

"You're a liar, Y/N," he growled, his hand leaving the wall to cup the side of your jaw, his rough, calloused thumb pressing firmly against your chin, tilting your head up. The contact was electric, a blinding rush that made your knees tremble. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending a violent shiver down your spine. "You've been losing your mind over me all these months, just like I've been losing my mind over you. I look at you in this dress, and all I can think about is ripping it off your body."

"Then do it," the words slipped from your lips before your pride could stop them, a challenge born from months of agonizing restraint.

Jungkook froze, his breath hitching against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his pupils completely dilated. He was waiting for consent, something that gave him the permission to touch you however he wanted. In response, you gave him an eyebrow raise, challenging him.

Jungkook didn’t answer with words. The last thread of his restraint snapped with a beautiful finality. Before you could even inhale, his mouth crashed down onto yours.

It was a violent claim, a collision of months of frustration and denial. He tasted like expensive whiskey and cigarettes, his tongue forcing its way past your mouth with a hunger that made your head spin. His hand clamped around your throat, with a firm pressure that moved your head against the wall, forcing you to take the absolute depth of his mouth.

You groaned into the kiss, your hands flying up to his chest, your fingers clawing at the silk of his shirt. You ripped at the other buttons, wanting the barrier gone, wanting the tattooed reality of his skin against yours. A few buttons scattered across the concrete floor with an echo, exposing the lines of his chest.

Jungkook tore his mouth away from yours, his breathing a broken wheeze. "You asked for this," he growled, whispering against your skin. "I’m not going to hold back now.”

He didn't even touch the zipper of your dress. His fingers hooked into the hem of the sleek black fabric and yanked it upward with an impatient force, gathering the material around your waist and leaving your bare legs completely exposed to the chilly air of the stairwell. His large hands slid up the inside of your thighs, his palms scraping against your sensitive skin.

When his hand hit the center of your lace underwear, he let out a satisfied chuckle. You were already dripping; the thin fabric completely soaked through.

"Look at you," Jungkook muttered, his thumb rubbing heavily over your swollen core through the wet lace, your hips arching off the wall. "Wet for me in a dirty stairwell. Tell me how much you hate me now, Y/N. Say it while you're shaking in my hands."

"Jungkook—fuck, please," you gasped, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and ripped them down your legs, discarding them carelessly on the concrete steps.

He stepped between your knees, his massive, denim-clad thighs forcing your legs wide apart. He fumbled with the belt of his trousers, the metal buckle clinking loudly in the quiet space. He shoved his pants down just enough to free his length, the sight of his thick cock already leaking with pre-cum sent adrenaline through your body.

Jungkook didn't ease you into it. He grabbed your right thigh, hoisting it up over his hip, holding you against his broad frame. He guided his tip to your dripping entrance, paused for a fraction of a second to lock his eyes onto yours, and pushed himself inside you.

The fullness of him stretched you open so fast that a loud moan tore from you. Your eyes widened in shock, your walls clamping around him, trying to accommodate the size of him. Jungkook froze, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as a shudder wracked his entire body. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his face ticked, a guttural groan vibrating right against your collarbone.

"Fuck," he panted, his voice a strained, broken sound. "You're so tight... Wrap your other leg around me. Now."

You obeyed blindly, your pride entirely incinerated by the rush of pleasure. You hooked your left leg around his waist, lifting yourself completely off the floor. Jungkook caught you effortlessly, his hands locking onto the undersides of your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising touch that you were sure was going to leave dark marks on your skin.

With your legs wrapped around him, Jungkook began to move.

The pace was frenzied, driven by a rawness that had everything to do with possession. He pulled back until his tip was nearly sliding out, only to pound himself back into you with a slamming force that made the breath hitch in your chest. Every single thrust was deep, hitting your G-spot with precision that made your vision blur into white spots.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound of your skin slapping against his filled the isolated stairwell, competing with the muffled sound of the club’s bass.

"Jungkook, wait—it's too much," you sobbed out, your head tossing back against the concrete wall as your orgasm began to build. Your cunt was pulsing, the stretch of his big cock pushing you to the absolute brink of sanity.

"I'm not stopping," he growled, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming harder and more accelerated. He leaned forward, crushing his bare chest against your sensitive nipples through the ruined fabric of your dress. He grabbed your jaw with his one hand, forcing your face up, his eyes burning into yours. "Look at me. Don't close your eyes. I want to see you come."

You held his gaze, your mind completely shattered. He was consuming you, erasing every single boundary you had spent months building.

The orgasm started deep within your core, a sudden tightening that clamped around his length like a fist.

"Jungkook—I'm coming—I'm going to—"

"Do it," he commanded, his voice breathless, his lips twisting into a smirk, as he delivered more desperate slams, driving his pelvis flush against yours. "Come for me, Y/N. Take all of it."

Your orgasm crashed over you with the violence of a physical hit. You screamed his name into the empty stairwell, your body convulsing, your walls rippling around him in intense waves. The sensation of your release was the exact breaking point Jungkook needed. With a moan, he drove himself into you one last time, pushing his cock as deeply as possible. His cock pulsed within your heat as he filled you, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he gasped for air like a drowning man.

The silence that followed was broken only by the loud, echoing sound of your tangled, ragged breathing.

Jungkook didn't let you down immediately. He remained buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his skin slick with sweat, his heart hammering. His hands slowly relaxed their bruising grip on your thighs, his fingers gently tracing the marks he had left behind on your skin.

Slowly, the haze of lust began to leave, leaving behind a hyper-aware intimacy that felt completely foreign.

He pulled out with a soft, wet sound, a breathy sigh escaping his lips as he adjusted his clothing, his movements uncharacteristically quiet. He reached down, picking up your ruined underwear from the steps and sliding them into his pocket before turning back to look at you.

You were leaning against the wall, your dress still bunched around your waist, your chest heaving, your legs trembling so badly you could barely stand.

Jungkook didn't say a word. He reached out, his hands gently grasping the hem of your black dress and pulling it back down, smoothing the fabric over your hips with a tenderness that completely contrasted the violence of the last ten minutes. He reached up, a thumb gently wiping away a stray tear of overstimulation from your cheek, then he kissed your lips softly.

"Come on," Jungkook whispered, his voice still raspy, his fingers tangling with yours as he pulled you toward the exit door. "We're going home. And you're staying in my bed tonight."

The taxi ride back to the apartment was pure agony. His large palm was wedged between your thighs, his fingers damp with your own fluids, pressing hard against your swollen core every time the car hit a bump in the asphalt.

You had to bite the collar of his shirt to keep from crying out in the back seat, while Jungkook stared out the window, his jaw clenched so tight the wire of his jawline looked sharp enough to cut.

“Jungkook… I can’t—” you whispered against his collarbone, drool leaking out of your mouth. His fingers kept teasing your clit, ruthlessly edging you. You were convinced he just wanted to see you cry.

But before he could let you finish, the taxi stopped to a halt, right outside your apartment complex. The moment his apartment door slammed shut behind you, his restraint snapped again.

There was no walk to the bedroom. Jungkook grabbed your shoulders and spun you around, shoving you face-first against the matte-black kitchen island. Your palms slapped against the cold stone counter to catch your weight, your breath hitching as he immediately crowded your back, his massive, solid chest flattening against your spine.

"Jungkook—"

"Quiet," he growled, his voice a quiet rasp.

He didn't waste a single second. His hands hooked into the waist of your black dress, pulling the fabric up until it sat bunched around your ribs, leaving your lower body completely bare to his gaze. He reached down, grabbing your hips with a bruising grip, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh.

You heard the sharp snap of his belt loosening, the zipper of his trousers tearing open. He guided his cock right against your dripping pussy, rubbing his swollen tip against you twice until you were sobbing into the stone countertop, begging for the impact. With a tilt of his hips, Jungkook drove himself into you from behind.

He buried his entire length into your pussy in one deep thrust. The force of the entry rattled you, a loud, broken wail tearing from your throat. Your hips buckled under the weight, but his hands locked onto your waist like iron bands, holding you perfectly in place, forcing your body to take every single inch.

"Fuck, this pussy is so tight for me, my dirty slut," he whispered against the back of your neck, his breath scalding hot.

He began to pound into you with emphasis. Every stroke was a clapping impact of his pelvis against your ass, the sound echoing in the kitchen. He pulled out until only his tip remained inside your slick walls, then slammed back in, bottoming out against you with a force.

Your hands slid wildly on the smooth kitchen island, unable to find traction as his pace drove you forward with every thrust. Jungkook reached forward, his large hand tangling ruthlessly in your messy hair, pulling your head back so your spine arched beautifully into him.

"Look at the mirror," he commanded, nodding toward the reflective glass of his studio across the room. "Look at what I'm doing to you."

Through your blurred, tear-filled vision, you saw the silhouette of his body looming over yours, his tattooed right arm flexing as he pinned you down, the contrast of his dark ink against your skin. He thrusted harder, his cock rubbing against your internal sweet spot with every shallow strike until your brain short-circuited.

Before you could reach the precipice of an orgasm, Jungkook pulled out with a wet sound. You gasped at the emptiness, your body shivering from the loss of heat, but he wasn't done.

He grabbed your arm, dragging you off the counter and pulling you backward into his adjoining tattoo studio. The room was illuminated by the glow of his lights. He shoved you back against the floor-to-ceiling mirror that lined the wall, the cold glass sending a shockwave through your overheating skin.

Jungkook dropped to his knees before you.

Your breath caught as his hands clamped around your thighs, forcing them wide apart. He buried his face straight into your dripping core, lapping up your wetness with an aggression that made your head toss back against the glass. He sucked your swollen clit into his mouth, licking at the sensitive nub until you were screaming his name, your fingers clawing at his dark hair to pull him away before you lost your mind.

"Jungkook, please—no more, I can't—"

He ignored your pleas. He rose to his feet, his lips slick with your wetness. He looked completely unhinged, like something else had taken over him. He grabbed your right leg, hoisting it up and draping your knee over his broad shoulder, opening you up completely.

He aligned himself and drove back inside you, using the wall to pin you completely.

This position allowed him to go even deeper. Every thrust was a severe plunge that filled you to the brim. The cold glass of the mirror rattled behind your back with every slam of his hips. Jungkook’s hand locked around your throat again, his thumb pressing hard against your pulse point, just barely cutting off your air.

"You think you can look down on me?" he panted, his face inches from yours. "You think because you're stuck-up and perfect I wouldn't do this to you? You're mine, Y/N. Every single part of you."

"Yes—fuck, yes—Jungkook—"

The friction was blinding. You began to squeeze around him in spasms. Realizing you were about to come again, Jungkook pulled out at the last second, refusing to let you finish. You let out a frustrated cry, but he grabbed your waist, throwing you onto his leather tattoo table.

He crawled over you, forcing you onto your back. He grabbed both of your ankles, shoving your knees all the way back to your chest, folding you completely in half. It was a position of vulnerability, leaving you entirely exposed to him. He looked down at you, his chest glistening with sweat. He lined his tip up with your entrance and slammed down with the entire weight of his torso.

The depth was staggering. A loud sob tore from your throat as he filled you, his cock stretching you past your limits.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice a raw rasp.

He began to move in devastating strokes. He wasn't pulling out anymore; he was grinding his pelvis against yours, his thumb slipping against your clit with every drive. You locked your fingers into the leather edges of the table, your head rolling side to side as your entire body vibrated with a white-hot, blinding pleasure.

"Jungkook— please. Please, let me come!”

“Apologize first. Apologize for being a brat to me all these months. Tell me how badly you wanted my cock inside you.” he rasped, slapping your cheek.

Your head snapped to the side, the pain adding more intensity to your pleasure. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Jungkook! I wanted your cock so badly,” you cried out, tears cascading down your cheeks

"Good girl. Now come for me," he ordered, his pace getting faster, a sprint toward his orgasm. "Take it, baby. Take my cum."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to yours as your second orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tsunami.

With a moan, Jungkook delivered more thrusts, before his cum flooded your pussy, filling you to the brim as he pulsed inside you over and over again, his forehead dropping against yours as you both collapsed into the ruined, sweat-soaked darkness of the studio.

The thuds of your hearts were the only sound left in the studio, a stark contrast to the music that usually filled the space. The heat radiating between your bodies was prominent as the initial shock of the orgasm began to leave. Jungkook remained above you for several long minutes, his forehead still pressed against yours, his breathing a ragged, trembling rattle that gradually slowed down.

When he finally shifted, pulling out of you with a soft, wet sound, a cold shiver immediately raced across your skin. You let out a small, involuntary whimper at the loss of warmth, your overstimulated muscles twitching.

Jungkook didn't say a word. The intensity that had consumed him moments ago seemed to evaporate, replaced by a stillness. He slid off the leather tattoo table, his bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. Through the dim light, you watched his silhouette move across the room. He looked entirely different now; the sharp edges of his posture had softened.

You heard the rustle of fabric, followed by the sound of running water from the small sink in the corner of his studio. You lay there, completely paralyzed by pleasure and exhaustion, your legs still trembling slightly against the leather surface. The reality of what had just happened began to settle into the marrow of your bones, leaving you feeling entirely exposed.

When Jungkook returned, he was holding a dark towel soaked in warm water. He knelt down beside the low table, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your face, searching your expression with an intensity that made your breath hitch. There was no smirk on his face. The arrogant, untouchable exterior he wore like armour was entirely gone.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice incredibly hoarse, "Let me clean you up."

Before you could even think to protest or hide yourself, he gently caught your ankles, straightening your legs out with a soft touch. He began to wipe away the sweat and the messy aftermath of his cum from your inner thighs. His hands, the same ones that had pinned you down, were now incredibly careful, moving with a light precision as if he were afraid you might break under his touch.

Every stroke of the warm towel sent a completely different kind of shiver through your body. It wasn't the white-hot spike of lust, but a deep, aching warmth that made your chest tighten.

"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. His thumb brushed against the soft skin of your hip, right over the faint red marks where his grip had been bruisingly tight. "I went too hard."

"I'm fine," you breathed out, your voice small and raspy from all the moaning you had done. "I'm not glass, Jungkook."

A small, genuine breath of a laugh escaped his lips, though it looked more like a sigh of relief. He finished cleaning you, tossing the towel aside onto a nearby stool. Instead of stepping away, he reached down, sliding his arms beneath your back and knees, and lifted you effortlessly into his chest.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his collarbone. He smelled like sweat, but you secretly didn't mind. He carried you out of the studio, walking past the cold kitchen island where the war had officially begun, and carried you into his bedroom.

His bedroom was a surprise. Given his chaotic lifestyle, you had expected a disaster zone of discarded clothes and empty takeout containers. Instead, it was tidy, dominated by a massive bed covered in charcoal-grey silk sheets. The only light came from a lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

He laid you down onto the mattress with immense care, immediately pulling the duvet over your exposed, shivering skin. You curled into the bed, your eyes tracking him as he walked over to his dresser. He pulled out an oversized, faded black cotton t-shirt and returned to the bedside.

"Here," he murmured, pulling the blanket back just enough to help you slide your arms through the sleeves. The fabric was massive on you, hanging past your thighs and swallowing your frame, completely soaked with his scent.

Jungkook disappeared into his bathroom for a brief moment, returning after a quick second. He was wearing nothing but a loose pair of soft sweatpants, his dark hair damp and messy against his forehead. He didn't look like the menacing guy from apartment 4B anymore; he looked completely human, stripped of the bravado and the spite that had defined your entire relationship.

He slid into the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a moment, a lingering tension hung in the air. You were both so used to fighting, so used to using words as weapons across the threshold of your doors, that the quiet intimacy of a shared bed felt foreign and dangerous.

You lay on your side, staring at him. He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his jaw working as if he were trying to swallow a mountain of unspoken words.

"Y/N," he started, his voice cracking slightly in the quiet room. He turned his head to look at you, his dark eyes wide and completely unmasked under the amber light. "I need to say something."

You didn't interrupt. You just pulled the blanket higher up on your chin, watching him.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words coming out in a rush. He reached out under the covers, his large hand finding yours and wrapping his fingers securely around your smaller ones. "I'm sorry for the things I said, and everything else I've done. I was... I was entirely out of my mind."

He let out a long, ragged breath, his grip on your hand tightening.

"I've been losing my mind since the day I met you," Jungkook confessed, his gaze dropping to your intertwined fingers before rising back to your eyes. "You thought I was trying to annoy you with the music and the girls, and at first, I was just being a complete asshole. But after that first night you knocked on my door, when you were standing there looking so furious and so completely out of my league, everything changed. I didn't know how to get your attention.”

A soft smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained entirely serious. "I just wanted an excuse to see you come back to my door and yell at me again. Because any attention from you was better than you looking right through me."

Your heart did a violent flip in your chest. The honesty of his words was breaking down every defence mechanism you had spent months building.

"You called me a brat," you whispered softly, your voice completely devoid of the old malice. "You told me I was stuck-up."

"Because you’re so perfect, and it terrified me," Jungkook replied instantly, leaning closer until his face was only inches from yours on the pillow. "You have your life together. You have the career, the structure. I convinced myself that you looked down on me because it was easier than admitting that I was completely beneath you."

He reached his free hand out from beneath the covers, his fingertips gently brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made your eyes prickle with tears.

"But I don't want to fight with you anymore, Princess," he murmured, his voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable register that felt like a direct caress to your soul. "I don't want to hear you through a wall anymore. I love you. I think I’ve loved you since the second you told me to shut the hell up months ago."

The confession hung in the quiet space between you, heavy and beautiful. You stared at him, taking in the softness of his eyes, the absolute sincerity in his features, and the slight tremor in his hand as it rested against your face. He was completely exposed, giving you all the power to crush him if you wanted to.

But you didn't want to.

"I'm sorry too," you whispered, a small, tearful laugh escaping your lips as you moved your head to press your cheek firmly into his palm. "I was stuck-up. I looked down on your world because I was jealous of how free you were. I spent so much time hiding behind my schedules and work because admitting that I wanted something would mean admitting that I didn't have everything under control."

You reached up, your fingers tangling into the damp strands of his dark hair, pulling him just a fraction closer.

"I don't hate anything about you,” you confessed softly. "I love you too. I’ve been entirely miserable without you."

The relief that washed over Jungkook’s face was instantaneous and breathtaking. A massive, brilliant smile broke across his face, the boyish, dazzling smile he usually hid behind his arrogant smirks. He let out a joyous sigh , immediately throwing himself at you, covering your body with his.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice thick with happiness as he buried his face into your neck, peppering your skin with soft, fluttering kisses.

"I love you, you idiot," you laughed, your hands gripping his shoulders as he rolled over, pulling you with him until you were lying flush against his chest, your heads resting on the same pillow.

"Good. Because you're stuck with me now," he muttered against your lips, before pulling you into a kiss. It was sweet, and incredibly deep, a gentle sealing of a contract you had both been waiting to sign for months.

When he finally pulled away, he wrapped his massive arms securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest in a tight, protective cocoon. His long legs tangled with yours under the silk sheets, his chin resting comfortably on the top of your head.

"The wall has to go," Jungkook murmured sleepily into your hair, his large hand gently stroking your stomach over the cotton of his t-shirt. "First thing Monday morning. I'm calling a contractor to knock the drywall down between 4A and 4B."

"We'll get evicted, Jungkook," you mumbled back, a soft, exhausted smile spreading across your face as your sleep deprivation finally caught up to you.

"Let them evict us," he whispered, his breathing slowing down as he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, his heart beating a steady, reassuring rhythm against your shoulder blades. "We'll just buy the whole damn building."

The wall didn’t come down on Monday morning, mostly because the building management threatened legal action at the mere mention of a sledgehammer, but the physical barrier between apartment 4A and 4B was entirely gone anyway.

Within a week, the deadbolt on your front door remained permanently unlocked. Within three, your living room began to acquire a few distinct artifacts, such as a stray sketch pad filled with intricate charcoal drawings of you resting on your glass coffee table, a pair of combat boots left neatly by your shoe rack, and a continuous, subtle scent of raw tobacco and expensive leather that no longer felt like an invasion, but more like a safety net.

On a hazy evening in July, the heat outside was horrible, but inside apartment 4A, the air conditioning was humming a quiet tune. You were sitting cross-legged on your sofa, a laptop resting on your thighs as you meticulously reviewed the upcoming budget projections. Your glasses were pushed up onto the bridge of your nose, your focus entirely ironclad.

Or, at least, it was supposed to be.

From the other side of the apartment, the door clicked open. You didn't even look up, your fingers continuing to fly across the keyboard, but your heart rate gave a familiar, stupid little skip.

A moment later, Jungkook stepped into your living room. He had just finished an eight-hour tattooing session, and he looked beautifully, completely wrecked. He had shed his shirt, wearing only a loose, sleeveless white tank top that exposed the sprawling canvas of his right arm and the blackwork wrapping around his ribs.

He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. He walked straight toward the couch, his heavy footsteps silent on your plush rug, and dropped his massive frame directly behind you.

"Jungkook, I’m working," you murmured in a breathless, soft tone.

"Don't care," he grumbled, his voice a gravelly vibration that resonated right through your spine.

His large, tattooed arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you backward until your spine was pressed flush against his warm, solid torso. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling against your pulse point, inhaling deeply. His breath was hot against your skin, sending a delicate flush up your throat.

"You smell like vanilla," he muttered, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke. "It's driving me crazy."

"It's just perfume, you dramatic idiot," you laughed softly, tilting your head to the side to give him better access, your fingers finally halting over the laptop keys. "And I really need to finish this report. My boss is—"

"Your boss can wait," Jungkook interrupted, his hand moving beneath the hem of your oversized sweatshirt, his palm resting against the bare skin of your stomach. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles over your skin, his touch so incredibly gentle it made your chest ache. "You’ve been staring at that screen for hours. Let me take care of you."

You let out a long, defeated sigh, closing the laptop and setting it aside on the cushion. The moment the screen went dark, you turned around in his embrace, shifting until you were sitting face-to-face in his lap, your knees framing his hips.

Jungkook’s eyes instantly locked onto yours, the light from your lamp reflecting in his pupils. The lazy, arrogant smirk he used to wear like armor was completely gone, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration that still made you feel entirely exposed. He reached up, his thumb gently pushing your reading glasses down the bridge of your nose before sliding them off entirely, setting them on the sofa arm.

"There you are," he whispered, his rough fingers cupping your jawline, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. "I missed you today."

"I was right next door," you pointed out, a small smile tugging at your lips as you reached up to tangle your fingers in the soft, damp strands of his hair. "I could literally hear your tattoo machine vibrating through the drywall at 2 PM."

"Yeah, well, hearing you through a wall isn't the same as holding you," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. "I kept thinking about how much I wanted to walk out of the apartment, and drag you into my bed. I’m completely ruined, Y/N. You've completely ruined me."

"Good," you whispered, leaning in until your lips were a mere breath away from his. "You deserve it for making my life a living hell for months."

Jungkook let out a low, breathless chuckle against your mouth before he closed the distance. The kiss was filled with a domestic warmth that belonged entirely to the two of you. There was no rush, no desperate battle for dominance, just the steady pull of two people. His hands slid down to your lower back, pressing you closer until there was no space left between you, his heart beating a strong, steady rhythm against your chest.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing a little shallow.

"I bought dinner," he murmured, his eyes still closed as his thumbs traced the line of your jaw. "That little noodle place you like down the street. It’s sitting on my kitchen counter."

"You remembered?" you teased, shifting your weight slightly in his lap.

"I remember everything about you," he corrected softly, opening his eyes to look at you with a terrifying amount of certainty. "I know you take your coffee with too much milk, I know you organize your closet by colour, and I know that when you're stressed, you bite the inside of your lip until it bleeds. I'm paying attention, baby. I'm always paying attention."

His words made your throat tight, warmth expanding in your chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder, holding onto him as if he were the only solid thing left in the universe.

"Come on," Jungkook whispered, shifting under you as he easily hoisted your body into his arms, keeping you tucked securely against his chest as he stood up from the sofa. "Let's go eat. And then I’m dragging you to bed, and you're going to let me sleep for twelve hours straight."

"Only if you promise not to play music at 3 AM," you mumbled into his neck as he carried you across the threshold into his apartment.

Jungkook kicked his front door shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet hallway. He looked down at you, his bunny teeth showing as he smiled.

"Deal, Princess," he murmured, kissing your temple softly. "From now on, the only noise in this apartment is going to be you."

Your eyes scan the white letters around the pink cartoon cat but you still can’t make much sense of it.

“I saw someone tweet about it. Essentially, it’s like viagra for vaginas,” Lee tells you as she leans back into the couch, a cold can of coke in her hand.

You can’t help but snort in mockery as you throw it back onto the table in front of you and say, “There’s no way in hell you actually believe that thing works.”

Your other friend, Yoona, walks out of your kitchen with another can of soda in her hand. She glances at the small pink package on the table as she plops down on your couch next to you, an amused grin on her lips.

Lee shrugs her shoulders as she zaps through the comedy movies catalogue on Netflix with your remote, her eyes absentmindedly shifting to the packaged pill. “I’m not sure. It was like 10 bucks on Amazon.” Her gaze lingers on the pill, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You roll your eyes, annoyance bubbling in your chest at the fact that your friend is dumb enough to get scammed like this. “10 bucks? They just sold you some cinnamon powder in a capsule and called it a day,” you laugh, returning your attention to the TV as you throw your feet up onto the coffee table.

“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you take it?” Lee challenges you, pushing the pill in the pink package toward you with her foot.

Your eyes shift toward the pill. “You want me to take that pill right now?” Your eyebrow cocks up and you stare at it for a moment as if it were poison before turning your attention to her. It could very well be poison, actually.

A smirk stretches onto Yoona’s lips as she seemingly enjoys the thought of Lee challenging the most stubborn person on planet Earth. Yoona leans forwards after sipping her coke, parting her lips to say, “Yeah, since you don’t think that it works, right?”

You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders, hoping to appear unbothered. You raise your own drink to your lips and glance at your friends over the rim of your can. “I really don’t,” you say before you take a sip of your iced tea. “But Jungkook is coming over later.”

An evil look twinkles in Yoona’s eyes as your words reach her ears. “Ah, so you do think there’s a chance it works.” She’s proud of her little gotcha-moment but you make sure it’s short-lived.

She watches as you swallow too quickly, a low burp escaping your lips as you scramble to defend yourself.

“No, I literally don’t.” Why would you? Viagra is insanely expensive, to think it’s counterpart is available on Amazon for 10 bucks is insane.

“Then take it,” Lee tilts her head to the side, a shit-eating grin on her lips. “Besides… you keep saying there’s nothing going on between you and Jungkook. Why mention he’s coming over if you’re not fucking him and if you don’t think the pill works?” she adds, eyes twinkling with satisfaction as if she’s got you.

You place your can of iced tea back down on the table with a thud. “I’m not fucking Jungkook, you weirdo,” you grumble as you defiantly reach for the pill.

You and Jungkook have been best friends for years, they know that! They know how both you and Jungkook physically cringe and wince whenever someone mistakes the two of you for a couple. Now, they put the image of having sex with him in your brain and it’s weird.

(Read: Well, lately, it has been crossing your mind but it quickly gets ignored.)

You’re not dumb, you know Jungkook’s been popular for being attractive since forever but he was never really your type.

Keyword: was.

It’s not your fault, though! Jungkook has been growing out his hair and has been working out, his arm is covered in tattoos and he seems to be making good money as a freelance video editor.

“Well, if you’re not fucking him, can I? I don’t know what’s in the air but he’s been changing a lot lately. Like his beauty looks like it doesn’t even belong on Earth.” Yoona takes the final sip of her old drink after she says that, crumpling it up and slamming it down onto the table with an obnoxious exhale.

You can tell she’s saying it to get a rise out of you but you quite literally don’t care. Why would you care about who the hell your friend is fucking?

“Fuck him if you want, I literally don’t care,” you say quietly as you gather the empty cans onto the tray you brought them in. You actually can’t bring yourself to care about Jungkook’s sex life, in all honesty.

“See, you’re jealous! I bet you’re fucking.” Lee’s teaseful words and Yoona’s obnoxious giggles are starting to irritate you. Can’t they just accept the fact you’re not fucking your best friend just because he has a penis?

You glare at the both of them with a twitch in your brows, your nostrils flared and your fingers tingling with the urge to throw the empty cans of soda at them.

You make up your mind and say, “Alright, to prove to you that this stupid pink pill doesn’t fucking work and nothing is going on between Jungkook and I…” You pop the pill out of its pocket and place it on your tongue, swiftly swallowing it down with the rest of your iced tea. “Two birds, one stone.”

The room fills with obnoxious laughter and giggles as they watch you, shaking their head at your obstinance. “You’re so stubborn and so petty,” Yoona adds before taking a sip of her new coke after cracking it open.

“You really think the pussy equivalent of viagra would cost 10 bucks? Be serious,” you grumble in annoyance, throwing your feet up onto the table again and slouch further into your couch as you try to pay attention to whatever is playing on the TV.

They share a mischievous look but you can’t bring yourself to comment on it. “Okay, if you say so.” Lee brings her shoulders up in a shrug and drops the topic for now.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

About 45 minutes later as Yoona and Lee get ready to leave, Yoona nudges you with her foot. “Do you feel anything?”

“No. I don’t. I’m telling you, it’s not real,” you tell them in all honesty. You really don’t feel any different. You don’t show your relief, though.

“Bummer. I really wanted you to learn a lesson,” Lee laughs and blows you a kiss when you put up your middle finger.

You say goodbye as they walk out and you just return your attention to your TV, watching the sappy drama that Lee and Yoona are obsessed with for some reason.

After a few moments, your phone buzzes.

[7:02PM]

Jungkook

Lays or Pringles?

[7:03PM]

You

pringlessssss

[7:03PM]

Jungkook

Bet. Be there in about an hour

[7:04PM]

You

okiii

You mindlessly throw your phone somewhere on the couch beside you and rise to your feet to clean up the mess Lee and Yoona left behind.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Well, fuck.

About another 40 minutes later, you’re starting to actually regret taking that damn pill.

You can’t fucking believe this. Your nipples have been erect for 20 minutes and you’re sure you’re in need of a change of underwear.

What the hell is in that pill?

You walk into the bathroom to examine your appearance in the mirror. The air knocks out of your lungs at the sight in front of you.

Your pupils are dilated, your cheeks and nose are piping hot. Your lips are swollen and a thin layer of sweat is draped over your forehead.

Your heart has also been beating quicker than usual.

You want to hump everything in your sight. Is this what it’s like for an animal in heat? Fucking hell. You’ve never been this aroused.

Your hand slowly travels down your stomach and under the hem of your sweats. Reaching into your underwear, your fingertips are met with a disgusting amount of pure sticky substance.

If you weren’t wearing your sweatpants so low on your hips, you definitely would have soaked through the thick material of your sweats, that’s how fucking drenched you are.

What should you do? Take a quick shower? It’d be useless to shower now since the effects can last for days. You’d just continue to produce your body’s natural lubrication and you don’t have the time to be showering every hour.

Clean up and change your underwear? That sounds like it’d make the most sense but you’d go through a lot of panties in a couple days too. Maybe you should literally just wear a tampon?

Fucking hell. You should’ve never taken that fucking pill. Damn those fucking friends of yours.

Like a gag in a sitcom, just as you reach for your underwear drawer, your front door swinging open rips through your eardrums. Regret immediately seeps into your stomach for giving Jungkook your spare residence key.

“Honey, I’m home,” Jungkook jokes and the sound of him kicking off his shoes as he closes the door rings in your ears like a blaring alarm.

You want to drop onto your knees and scream until you pass the fuck out. Your eyes flicker between the drawer and your bedroom door. What should you do?

He doesn’t give you much of an option when you hear him searching for you. “Y/N? Where are you?” Jungkook’s voice rings even louder in your ears this time and you can hear him approaching your room. You internally cry out and quickly head towards your bedroom door.

You walk into the hall and watch as he stops in his tracks. He’s wearing a black beanie, grey sweatpants and a grey sweater with a plastic bag in his tattooed hand which you assume are the snacks he picked up on his way here.

Grey fucking sweats.

Jungkook has always been handsome but for fuck’s sake. Your core literally pulsates at the sight of him right now.

“Hey,” you breathe out and walk up to him, brushing past him and into the living room in a straight line.

“Hey… You okay?” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and quickly pinch into a frown as he follows you into the living room.

You quickly nod your head, hand on your head as you try to collect your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?” you say, trying to appear casual as you head into the kitchen to grab a can of his favorite beer.

The sound of the plastic bag full of snacks hitting your coffee table and his body plopping onto your couch doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “I’m great, work was chill.”

You place your hands on your kitchen counter and lean forwards, taking a moment to catch your breath but your breath is not steadying at all.

Your feet carry you to the living room and you carefully place the cans onto the coffee table, trying your best not to look at him in those damn sweatpants.

Jungkook has ditched the beanie and his long black locks are sprawled on the backrest of the couch as he has comfortably sunk into your sofa, hair messy and screaming to be tugged on. You have to fight every bone in your body to not climb onto his lap right now and grind into him.

Have some fucking decorum, he’s your friend. Not an object.

Your chest deflates as you softly exhale. Make your way to the couch as you carefully sit down. Hope to the Lord that you don’t soak through your clothes. You’d usually sit next to him but today you think it’d be best to sit at the other end of the couch.

He aims his frown at you but you pretend not to notice. He doesn’t comment on it, though. You crack your new can of iced tea open because there’s no way you’re putting alcohol in your system with this amount of arousal pooling inside of you.

“What movie are we watching?” he asks after a moment of silence in hopes of deterring the awkwardness as he turns his head to the TV, his thumb pressing one of the arrows on your remote, going through the catalogue of available movies.

“Uh… I don’t know. You can choose,” you mumble as you take a few more gulps to distract yourself.

He frowns at your words but keeps his eyes glued to the TV. “I chose last time. It’s your turn to choose.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just–” you start, which makes him look at you, “just put that one on.” You wave your hand toward the TV and he turns his head to look at the one he’s landed on before you return your attention to chugging your iced tea.

“We watched that one 3 weeks ago.” He sits up this time. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to keel over,” he says, quietly. He sounds concerned and you sound fucking stupid.

You shake your head as the sparkling beverage burns your throat, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m okay,” you mumble under your breath.

“Are you trying to convince me or you?” he asks, “And why are you sitting so far away?” he whines as he scoots closer to you, his hand reaching out to grab your waist but you shoot up out of the couch and onto your feet, avoiding his touch by a hair.

The moment he touches you, you’re going to pounce on him. No doubt in your mind.

“No, don’t,” you squeal, taking a step away from the sofa.

Now Jungkook is really fucking confused.

He quickly stands up as well, a concerned yet confused frown on his face. He probably thinks he did something wrong which makes your chest tighten with guilt. “What’s going on? Why are you acting like you’re about to have a fucking stroke?”

You breathe loudly as you pace around the living room with your hands on your head and say, “I might.”

Jungkook’s breath abruptly hitches in his throat as your concerning words ring in his ears. “Wh– Huh? What? Should I call an ambulance?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not like that,” you mumble before you finally turn to him, dropping your hands from your head and letting your fingers pick at the loose flesh around your nails.

His eyes drop down to your anxious fidgeting before traveling back up to stare at you. “Then, what is it? You’re scaring the shit out of me right now, Y/N.”

He actually does look terrified right now, staring at you with wide eyes as his teeth absentmindedly play with his lip piercings.

You loudly exhale in exasperation and rub your forehead as you consider just telling him. “I fucked up, Jungkook, and I’m panicking,” you say, rubbing your eyes until there’s colored spots in your vision. “I never should’ve taken that fucking pill.”

You watch as his face becomes that of a cartoon character, eyes wide, brows raised to the stars, mouth twitching. “What? Pill? What pill? Are you high?”

You roll your eyes and grunt in annoyance with yourself for phrasing it like that. “No, I–” you groan loudly before cutting yourself off and heading into the kitchen. You wince as you shove your hand into the trash can, taking the ripped pink piece of carton out of the garbage. You stare at it for a while but already find yourself heading back into the living room before you overthink it and change your mind.

Jungkook is still standing in front of the couch, his big brown eyes still wide with concern and his bottom lip reddened from how much he’s been chewing on it.

You walk up to him and with a flick of your wrist, you toss it onto the table in front of him. He glances at the pink package before glancing back up at you but you’re already looking away with your arms crossed.

He slowly sinks back down and takes the ripped package into his hands to examine it. He reads the words for a few seconds but he still seems confused. “Female sexual enhancement and libido boosting? What the fuck is this?”

You groan as you drop to your knees on the floor across from him, in front of the coffee table.

“It’s like viagra for people with pussies and it’s supposed to make you horny as fuck. My friends dared me to take it because I told them it wasn’t real.”

He looks up at you through his brows, a mix of surprise and confusion still on his face. “Do you think it’s laced with something dangerous?”

“No, nothing like that but whatever the fuck they put in it is working. It’s fucking working,” you whine as you place your elbows on the coffee table in front of you with a loud thud, burying your face in your palms.

There’s a moment of silence between you two.

“So like…” he begins, trying to stifle a laugh, “you’re really horny? Right now?”

“Jungkook,” you groan, eyes shamefully looking up at him and you’re just in time to watch him clutch his arms around his stomach as he just obnoxiously laughs in your face. “Stop laughing!”

He chuckles for a little while longer before calming down. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never heard of this before. How are you feeling?” He places it back onto the table and returns the eye contact, still an annoying grin on his soft lips.

“Like I could fuck the fridge if it had a dick.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing maniacally, throwing himself back onto the couch as he exaggeratedly gasps for air.

“Jungkook! I’m panicking, stop laughing!” you whine, standing back up on your feet as heat rushes to your face, a lump of embarrassment forming in your throat.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles as he wipes a tear at the corner of his eye. “You’re just so fucking stupid.”

You huff in response and glare down at him, his eyes slowly trailing up your body to meet yours and the single act of his black eyes drinking you in makes a curtain of lava drape over your already burning body.

You tap your foot against the floor impatiently. “What should I do?” You chew on your lip as you ask him the impossible question.

He simply shrugs his shoulders and leans back into the couch, hands on his upper thighs right below his hips. He’s not making this any fucking easier. “Masturbate. Or go get fucked.”

You wince, a thousand volts of electricity travelling up your vertebrae at his words. “Tonight’s our movie night, though.”

“Babe, you’re clearly not in the right headspace to be watching a movie with me.”

You internally scream at the pet name he sometimes uses when the both of you are alone. It never makes you feel anything in particular but right now, your stomach clenches at the pet name and you’re painfully reminded that it didn’t help your sticky underwear situation at all.

“Still, I don’t want to ditch you. That’s not cool,” you mutter as you take a seat on the couch, cringing as your panties stick to your core and your slick is undoubtedly smeared all over your sex and inner thighs. No matter how nonchalant he is about the situation, you’re too embarrassed to excuse yourself now to go change your damn underwear.

“So what? You’re just gonna sit next to me and squirm all evening?” he asks you, a genuine look of confusion on his face.

“Mhm.” You shrug your shoulders in hopes of appearing nonchalant and unbothered as you reach for the remote.

But you’re extremely bothered. Hot and fucking bothered.

“You can go masturbate, you know. I’m not going to act weird about it,” he tells you with a carefree air around him as he tears a bag of chips open.

His words make your pussy clench around nothing and you have to actively remind yourself to cross your arms to hide your erect nipples, despite the fact he has probably already noticed.

“I doubt masturbating will do the trick. Besides, it says the effects can last up to 72 hours. I’m not going to masturbate for 3 days.”

He breaks into a fit of giggles again, making you roll your eyes as you swing one of your legs over the other. It appears casual but really, you’re just looking for some friction.

“You’re so dumb for taking that pill.” He reminds you, as if you don’t already know that. He glances at you when a childish huff pushes past your lips.

Neither of you say anything else but the moment of silence is disturbed by the scrunching of the bag of chips in Jungkook’s hands.

You take a moment as you consider what you really want to ask him. Should you just say fuck it and ask him to fuck the shit out of you?

The idea quickly gets obliterated by your rational self and you finally choose a movie to play.

Throughout the movie, you notice Jungkook’s eyes on you every now and then. The constant crossing of your legs and arms doesn’t go unnoticed by him but he never comments on it.

You’re doing great until a sex scene starts playing on the screen. You suck in a breath as you watch intently, your fingers twitching in your lap.

The actress on the screen is crying out in – over the top – pleasure as the man pounds into her, the headboard of the bed banging against the wall exaggeratedly makes the frames that are hung up on the wall crash to the ground with a loud clatter. You know it’s all fake but that doesn’t stop the gushing in your panties.

“Y/N,” Jungkook chuckles as he motions for you to skip the scene but you don’t react to him.

You stare blankly ahead of you at the TV, sitting in silence. You can see Jungkook shaking his head at your stubbornness in the corner of your eye as he stretches his arm over your lap, reaching for the remote that’s next to your thigh. His arm is hovered over your lap, face almost pressed into your chest and his cologne is the final drop that has your head spinning.

The silence that falls around the two of you as you impulsively wrap your hand around his wrist – that’s reaching for the remote – is suffocating.

He instantly freezes, eyes glued to the remote that he had just wrapped his fingers around. He’s in an awkward position, lying on his hip and his arm stretched out over your thighs with his face mere inches away from your breasts.

You finally decide to speak up.

“Will you do me a favor?” you quietly ask him after those few moments of silence as you let go of his wrist, your eyes nervously glued to your fingers as you fidget with the laces of your sweatpants.

This time, Jungkook is quiet.

Jungkook is never quiet.

The tension is palpable and it makes you want to jump off your balcony right now. His silence is already starting to make you regret asking him.

He slowly moves back to his seat but you can’t see much else as you refuse to look away from your lap.

He finally speaks up and you’re conflicted on whether you’re relieved that he does or not. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking of me?” His voice is lower than usual. It sends a quick shiver down your spine and awakens the goosebumps on the upper layer of your skin.

You don’t even look at him and in response, you just stay quiet, your silence confirming his speculation.

You two sit in unbearable silence for what seems like a damn eternity, the obnoxious moaning coming from the TV is not making this any easier. Jungkook seems to be in deep thought before you see him rise to his feet in your peripheral vision. You swallow thickly as he starts heading towards the entrance hall.

Shit. He’s leaving.

You don’t blame him, though. Who the fuck asks this of their best friend?

You shut your eyes tightly, holding your breath as you patiently wait for the sound of the door clicking close to hit your ears.

But it never comes.

“Are you coming or not?”

His words shoot into your eardrums like a thousand needles and it makes your heart violently jerk against your ribcage.

You crack your eyes open to see him standing in the doorway of the hall, back turned to you but his head turned over his shoulder as he stares you down with an unreadable expression clouding his face. A frown climbs its way onto your brows as you slowly get up. Your feet take you to him on their own, body magnetizing towards him as your stomach bursts with excitement and your veins are set aflame with desire.

You shyly follow him into your bedroom as if you’re the one visiting his home. “Are you sure?” you quietly ask him as you enter your bedroom after him, closing the door with a soft thud.

He slowly turns to you, head cocked to the side as his black gaze drapes over your body and makes you feel incredibly small. “You’re my friend in need of some help. Why would I not be sure?” His face is a bit expressionless and his voice sounds different than what you’re used to.

Your brows pinch together at his disregardance. “Jungkook, this isn’t a usual request. I’m not asking you to drop me off at home after work or to delete an ugly picture of me you posted on your instagram. I’m–”

“You’re asking me to fuck you. I don’t see why it has to mean anything more than what it is. Sex isn’t that big of a deal, Y/N.”

You idly blink at him, listening to his blunt words as he casually tells you he’s down to fuck you. All those years of the two of you swearing you had never crossed any lines, how you don’t see each other that way, how you’re like family and this is what it’s come to?

The doubt glimmering in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by him, evident by the crossing of his arms over his chest and the cocking of his head to the side. “Are you sure?” he asks you this time, his voice soft and his tone neutral.

You stare at him for a couple seconds but you’ve made up your mind.

You start walking past him, heading for your bed. You tuck your fingers under the hem of your sweats and wiggle them off your hips as you turn around to face him again, stepping out of the sweats pooling at your ankles. You take a seat on the edge of your bed and kick your sweats away, all whilst looking up at him through your pretty lashes.

You notice that his own breath is getting heavier. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he watches you slowly lean back on your hands, bending your legs at the knees and propping your feet up onto the edge of the mattress as you spread your thighs wide apart, allowing him to witness your extreme arousal firsthand.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to what’s between your legs, the massive wet patch of slick on your panties and your inner thighs lathered in your stickiness make his eyebrows twitch.

“Is that pill giving you a major confidence boost too?” he mumbles as he walks up to you, referring to how you’re usually on the shy and modest side. He tugs his sweatshirt off and throws it somewhere on your floor.

“I don’t give a fuck about what it’s given me, I need you to fuck me like you’ve never fucked anyone before. Right now,” you say with a hiss to your tone as you ditch your t-shirt, leaving you in your sheer tank top and no bra.

Your erect nipples haven’t gone unnoticed by him and your words make him grunt in response. You watch as he starts palming himself through his sweatpants, body now towering over you as he stares down at you.

You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless before, when he’s working out or playing some random sport with his friends that you agreed to cheer him on for from the sidelines. Even when he stays over or you stay over at his. So, his physique shouldn’t be surprising to you and it isn’t, but the sight of his bare torso right now drives you up the fucking wall.

He reaches for the hem of your panties, making you close your thighs as he yanks them down your legs. The massive string of slick still connected to your underwear makes him swear loudly, your panties aggressively tossed to the floor by him.

“I can’t believe how wet it’s made you,” he grunts as he places his hands on your knees and gently spreads your thighs again, eyes glued to your sticky pussy. “I’m pretty confident I’ve satisfied all the people I’ve had sex with but I’ve never seen anything like this. You’re fucking dripping.”

And you are. You can hear the splatter of a droplet hitting your floor and the embarrassment drives you absolutely insane.

You notice his hand tightening around his boner. “Fuck, I want to taste.”

You can tell he wants to touch, lick, taste you but you’ve already made it clear that you need him to fuck you right this instant.

“Jungkook, I’ll literally die if you don’t fuck me right now.” You lean back onto your elbows, eyes still staring up at him as he slowly starts tugging his sweatpants down his legs. Soon he ditches the Calvin Klein boxers too, allowing his erection to spring free.

Your eyes drop down to the dick in his hand, hard as a rock as he spits in his hand and strokes himself whilst eyeing you. His dick is red at the tip but darkens at the shaft, it’s not massive but it’s not small either. It’s just the right size. The sight alone could have you squirting hands-free.

You need to be sedated.

“I don’t have any protection on me,” he begins, “Are you–”

You cut him off. “I’m clean. Are you?”

You know Jungkook is incredibly responsible when it comes to his sex life but you still make it a thing to ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. Upper teeth sunken into his bottom lip. Strokes his own dick.

“Good, ‘cause I need to feel everything,” you grunt as you reach for your clit. You drag your fingers up your wet slit and pull your fingers away from your pussy to show him the thick string of your slick that stays connected from your pussy to your fingers. The string doesn’t break even though you’ve stretched it out a few inches.

It’s your way of telling him you don’t need any prep because you are disgustingly drenched.

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He takes a few moments to collect himself before he positions himself at your sex. He rubs the head of his dick up and down your slit, gathering your slick onto his tip with a hiss escaping his mouth. “Birth control?”

Your legs violently jerk at the sensation of the head of his dick rubbing up and down your slit. You could cum right now. “Yeah.” Your reply leaves your lips in a pornographic moan and you can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about it.

He positions his dick at your hole with one hand whilst the other supports your leg by the back of your knee. “Ready?”

“For fuck’s sake, just put it in already. I feel like I’ll come undone any second,” you whimper, your chest rising and falling dramatically as you pant.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, looking up into your eyes for the first time since you showed him your wet pussy. He slowly starts pushing into you, his eyes watching your face as your mouth falls open and your eyebrows scrunch together at the intrusion.

A whiny groan leaves his throat as your walls wrap around him. “Holy shit. You’re so fucking tight. So fucking wet,” he mumbles more to himself as he starts pushing further in, the sweet moans spilling from your lips raising goosebumps on his arms as you clench around him, threatening to milk him of everything he’s worth.

He leans forward and hovers over you, wedging himself in between your legs as he keeps pushing into you. His hands are flat against the mattress on each side of your waist, the back of your knees bent at his forearms, around his elbows. You’re spread so wide that the sound of your soaking pussy is, at times, louder than the slapping of his skin against yours.

You cry out at the pleasure, it’s like your sensitivity has been cranked up to a hundred. Your senses are sent into overdrive, the tiniest friction has your head spinning because nothing compares to how you’re feeling right now.

You open your eyes to the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen, Jungkook on top of you with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes closed. He’s gorgeous.

Tears prick in your eyes at the pleasure, the head of his dick rubbing against your walls so good has you seeing stars. You can feel every single ridge, vein, nook and cranny of his dick as he fucks into you. Your walls tighten around him so well, your slick already making a sticky mess against his sex and your bum.

As if he sensed you looking at him, his eyes crack open and stare down at yours. His gaze drops down to your lips and before you know it, he has his lips pressed to yours. You’re surprised at first but your lips quickly work back, a moan escaping your throat which allows him to lick into your mouth.

After several minutes of making out and fucking, Jungkook pulls back to catch his breath. “Sorry about that but you feel– you feel so fucking good,” he grunts as he leans back again, turning you onto your side and lifting your leg as he continues to fuck into you.

You yelp at the switch of position, your fingers tightly wrapping around the sheets under your waist, watching as your leg slightly jerks against his chest but he restrains your thigh as he holds onto it tightly.

The familiar clench in your stomach takes you by surprise. Already?

“I’m gonna fucking cum. I’m gonna–” You have never orgasmed this fast and definitely not from solely penetration before but this pill is working wonders.

Jungkook nods his head in understanding as he kisses your calf that’s up on his shoulder. “Cum on my dick, babe,” he says with a moan before he tilts his head back in bliss.

Fuck him for using that pet name.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, my God. I’m gonna…” you cry out as your orgasm drops onto you like a pile of fucking bricks, a million volts of electricity frying your brains and making your heart beat a thousand miles a minute.

You’re grateful that Jungkook keeps fucking you because your orgasm has never lasted this long before. Your legs are shaking, your hands are bunching up the sheets around you and your throat burns from the cries you’ve let out.

The continuous clenching of your pussy during your orgasm has pushed Jungkook to the edge as well, his brows furrowed in concentration.

His own orgasm approaches him as his thrusts get a little rougher, your breasts bouncing from the momentum of his hips slamming into yours.

Not long after you, he pulls out in one swift motion. It seems like he pulled out right on time because ropes of his warm cum instantly land all over your sex and stomach the moment he pulls out.

He reaches for his dick and pumps himself to milk himself of every drop, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he watches himself cum all over his best friend.

His hand comes to a halt and he collapses on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath.

After a few moments of silence and no movement other than the heavy breathing, you say, “Jungkook…”

He pauses for a moment and then says, “Give me a few minutes, I’ll be ready for round two in a bit.” His voice is quiet and muffled from being buried in the crook of your neck.

“Round two?” you ask him, a scrunch on your brows as you frown at the ceiling.

He slowly lifts his head, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah, you don’t wanna go for round two?” he asks, his voice is neutral as if he’s asking you about the weather. Doesn’t he realize he just fucked you? He’s talking to you with the sweetest look in his eyes as if he didn’t just give you most mind-blowing orgasm of your life.

“Well… Yeah. But I don’t expect you to,” you quietly say, blinking up at him with doe eyes.

“Nonsense,” he grumbles as he finally pushes himself off of you, his softening dick retreating from you. He glances down at your chest and looks back up at you. “Can I take this off?” he asks, gently tugging at your tank top.

Without another word, you reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head. He quietly apologizes as he takes it from you and uses it to wipe your body clean before tossing it aside. He knows you’re too fucked out to scold him for it.

Jungkook’s eyes immediately drop down to your breasts, his big brown eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. His hands reach up but freeze right above your breasts, eyes glancing up to read your expression and see if it’s okay to touch them.

Your eyes flicker with desperation. “Please,” you breathe out, encouraging him to go ahead.

He brings his hand up to his mouth and licks at his thumb, bringing it down to toy with your erect nipple. “Wow,” he whispers, closing in on your other breast with his mouth as he gently licks and sucks on your nipple.

Your moans sound pathetic, hips involuntarily thrusting up into his. It makes him chuckle like the cocky asshole that he is, his hand gently pressing against your stomach to push your hips down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this horny,” he states as he rolls off of you and props himself up next to you, leaning on his elbow to support his own weight.

His hand slowly trails from your breast down to your stomach and you’re already spreading your thighs further apart for him which makes him chuckle again. The tips of his middle and ring finger find your clit, the direct contact to the most sensitive area in your body sends a shiver down your legs.

Small circles are being rubbed onto your clit by his soft fingers and after a few moments, his eyes shift down to his fingers as he pulls them away from your pussy. “Look,” he says in a deep exhale.

You glance down at his hand like he’s asking you to. He’s showing you the string of slick that’s connected to his fingers and if you weren’t high off arousal right now, you’d be extremely embarrassed at how wet you are.

His fingers dive back in, sliding in between your folds and massaging all around before he plunges his fingers into you. This makes you thrust your hips straight up into his hand, a pornographic moan spilling from your lips.

“You’re so needy,” he chuckles, pushing you down as he starts furiously fucking his fingers into you, curling them repeatedly to assault your g-spot.

You yelp at the torture on your sweet spot. “Shut the fuck up,” you grunt, your reaction to his teaseful words makes him chuckle.

He presses his soft lips into the side of your neck as he continues his abuse on your pussy, not commenting on the way your legs jolt and jerk with every curl of his fingers but forcefully restraining you from writhing with his own body.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna–”

“Already?” he teases you, twisting his body so half of it is now hovering over you. You turn to look at him as you sob, the squishing sounds your pussy makes are loud enough to finally embarrass you. His face is hovering right over yours as his hands slam into your sex. Your hands reach up to the back of his head, pulling him down to press your lips into his so you can avoid his piercing gaze.

He wastes no time kissing you back, his hand picking up its insanity-inducing pace. White spots cover your eyelids as a strange sensation washes over you. It’s not an orgasm, you don’t recall ever feeling this before. You cry into his mouth and it takes you a second to realize you’re squirting all over your bed.

“Fuuuck,” Jungkook grunts into your mouth, the pace of his hand never faltering as it continues to slam into your sex. Tears stream down your face as your second orgasm quickly approaches you right after your squirt session, your legs continuously jerking and squirming under him.

“Jungkook–!” you sob as your hips involuntarily recoil against the mattress, your orgasm finally hitting you directly after your squirt session. Your hips running away from Jungkook’s hand doesn’t mean anything to him. He just keeps fucking his fingers into you. Lips still pressed to yours as he swallows your pleading cries.

He hums against your mouth, lips wrapping around your tongue as he gently sucks on it. You aggressively squirm under him, your hands weakly pressed up against his shoulders and chest in an attempt to push him off. He finally gets the memo and retreats his fingers.

He can’t help himself as he pulls away from your lips, bringing his sticky fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, humming in delight at the taste of his best friend.

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop and sits up, looking down at the mess you created. “Damn. I didn’t know you could do all that,” he mumbles before running his hand back up your disgustingly wet slit, holding you down with his other hand to keep you from squirming.

You can’t even answer, you’re completely fucked out under him, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re not giving up on me, are you?” he quips, using his sticky hand to pump his growing erection.

Your eyes drop down to his hand, swallowing hard as you eye his dick. “Get on all fours, come on,” he says as he slaps your thigh, getting on his knees on your mattress in front of you.

“Give me a second, you freak,” you mumble as you prop yourself up on your elbows. You shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts but it doesn’t do much.

You finally turn over and lazily get onto your hands and knees, arms shaking and you try your best to ignore your slick trickling down the back of your thighs.

His hand comes down to knead your asscheek, a low grunt leaving his throat. “If there’s one thing I’ve fantasized about when it comes to you, it’s your ass,” he mutters under his breath, both his hands now kneading the soft skin of your bum.

“You’ve fantasized about me?” you ask him, glancing over your shoulder to look back at him.

His eyes glance into yours before they return to your perky ass in front of him, one hand stopping the kneading of your cheek to pump his dick and position it at your sex.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t,” he starts, “but it was only a handful of times and it was way back when we first met, no worries,” he adds, rubbing the tip of his dick up your slit. “I take our friendship seriously.”

It knocks a moan out of you and your arms already give out, your face colliding with the mattress under you. How seriously did you both take this friendship if you’re rubbing your genitals together right now?

“Have you fantasized about me?” he quietly asks you, a quiet hiss leaving his lips as he continues to rub his tip up and down your wetness.

You sniff, silently thinking about your answer for a moment before sighing and saying, “Maybe once a year.”

A soft chuckle escapes his lips at your response and he shakes his head. He doesn’t reply and instead pushes into you, groaning at the stretch again. “I literally just fucked you, how are you still so–” he groans loudly as he bottoms out. He throws his head back as he starts fucking into you but quickly tilts it back down to watch the skin of your asscheeks recoil against his hips.

Your pathetic wimpers make him reach around your hip, gently rubbing your clit as he starts thrusting into you. You cry out at the overstimulation, stretching your arm out behind you to push into his lower stomach in an attempt to push him off but there’s absolutely no strength behind the push because you don’t want him to stop.

“You sound so fucking pretty like this,” he grunts, fingers continuing to rub circles on your overstimulated clit and he pays absolutely no mind to your hand pressing into his lower abdomen. “Tell me how I’m making you feel.”

With another sob into your pillow, you shake your head at his request. He can’t possibly expect you to form a coherent sentence, right?

That’s until you feel a sharp sting spread through your asscheek, your ass recoiling from the spanking he just gave you. You gasp and lazily turn your face to look over your shoulder at him as you shout, “Jeon Jungkook!”

He leans over, his chest pressed into your back and his lips pressed against your ear. “Tell me,” he whispers as he pushes you forward, watching you fall flat onto your stomach, face pressed into the pillows. You’re now fully lying face down on the mattress.

Just as you turn to look over your shoulder at him, he has entered you again. The fact that you’re lying face down with your legs together makes him curse as he struggles to enter you all the way but he does, the feeling of being wrapped all around him has you seeing stars.

He places his hands on each side of your elbows as you prop yourself up on them, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear and his chest pressed into your back as he starts thrusting into you again.

“Jungkook,” you moan as you turn your face slightly, eyes staring up at him. His face is so close to yours, eyes glued to the mattress underneath you.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.”

Fuck. Why would he call you that?

Your mouth is agape and your eyebrows are furrowed as Jungkook keeps fucking into you from behind, his eyes finally shifting to yours. His proximity and intense eyes make you finally comply as you say, “It– It feels so fucking good.”

His black eyes penetrate yours and you can’t tear your eyes away from his. “You look so fucking pretty like this, Y/N, holy shit. I just wanna–” he grunts as he cuts himself off, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he keeps fucking into your tightness.

“You just wanna what?” you say, a soft whimper following your words as you encourage him to finish his sentence.

“Destroy you.”

A cry spills from your lips the moment he says that, the pace in which he’s thrusting picks up and it’s getting rougher with each passing second. At this point you’re almost getting hatefucked and you can’t help but love every second of it.

“I hope that’s a promise,” you manage to reply.

“Oh yeah?” His hand wraps around your throat from the back, making you lift your head up, the back of your head colliding with his shoulder. Your temple is pressed against his jaw as he gently squeezes your throat.

The sinful sounds such as his skin slapping against yours, the squelshing of your wet pussy and the moans spilling from your lips are the only things you can hear and want to hear at this moment.

Jungkook’s lips and nose graze the shell of your ear, quiet moans leaving his mouth and you can only describe it as liquid gold being ladled into your ear by angels.

“Fuck, come ride me.” He doesn’t even wait for a response as he slides right out of you, lets go of your throat and drops his body next to yours before rolling onto his back. His strong arms reach for you and yank you up by your arm and waist, pulling you toward him.

A surprised yelp leaves you as you’re forced to climb onto him, every single time your clit grazes his skin has you biting back a pathetic sob. You guide his dick toward your sex and without hesitation, you sink right down onto his sex.

He grunts at the way you tightly wrap around him, hands reaching for your hips. You start bouncing on him, thighs and ass slapping into his hips which makes him moan your name softly.

You throw your head back in pure bliss and place your hands on his thighs, allowing yourself to lean back on them and support your weight as you fuck yourself on his dick.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles as he watches your every movement, eyes scanning the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your breasts bounce, the way your stomach jiggles, the way pretty moans continuously fall from your lips.

He brings his fingers to your sex and rubs that pattern that you like directly onto your clit. He watches as your body starts jerking and your legs start trembling with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna–”

He cuts you off. “I know, pretty. Cum all over me,” he says as he continues to stimulate your already overstimulated clit.

You want to keep riding, you really, really want to but you can’t. Your body collapses right on top of his torso, breathless and a mess. He jumps right into action as he holds onto your forearms and pins them into your lower back, holding you tightly against his chest as he thrusts up into you.

Your face is buried in the pillow right next to his head, your cries probably deafening him as he fucks you toward your 3rd orgasm of the hour. Your body is moving like jelly at this point and you can’t contain your sobs as your body continues to tremble like a leaf in the wind.

Your 3rd orgasm hits you like a fucking train and you can’t even move, you keep crying in Jungkook’s hold as he mercilessly pounds his hips up into you.

Fireworks explode on the back of your eyelids, electricity fries your brain into a pile of mush and your body is set alight, all your nerve endings bursting with magma.

When you’ve ridden out your orgasm, a surprised whimper rips through your throat when you’re suddenly flipped, thrown onto your back against your mattress and your legs pushed back towards your torso.

He climbs onto you and slides right back in, ignoring your cries of overstimulation as he harshly fucks into you, his hands placed against the mattress right next to your ribs on each side of your body.

You weakly crack your eyes open to glance up at him, your gaze shifting all over his face. The layer of sweat covering his forehead and nose, his bottom lip trapped in between his bunny teeth, his eyes staring deep into your fucking soul.

“Where… Where do you want me to cum?” he breathily asks, his hips aggressively recoiling against yours as his own orgasm approaches him rapidly.

“Fill me up until you pass out, Jungkook.” Your voice is hoarse at this point, cracking at the end of your sentence. He knows it’s nothing more than a figure of speech but it’s got his hips stuttering for a moment.

“Fuck, you’re so…” He can’t even finish his sentence as he’s finally releasing his load, shooting ropes of his cum straight into his best friend.

“Fuck,” he curses continuously as his thrusts get inconsistent. His head drops onto your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as he moans softly with each sloppy thrust, the disgusting squelching of his cum being fucked into you rings louder than any alarm. After his climax has washed away, he finally collapses on top of you, face nuzzled in the crook of your neck.

You stay like that, staring up at the ceiling as tears roll down the sides of your face from the pleasure, overstimulation and sensitivity still pulsating in your veins.

After a few more moments, Jungkook quietly rolls off of you and tries to catch his breath.

You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hands and exhale deeply before whispering his name.

He opens his eyes and turns his head to you, humming softly in response.

“Thank you,” is all you can say.

He shakes his head and props himself up on his elbows as he glances at you. “Don’t thank me just yet. You said it can last up to 3 days, right?”

Your brows pinch together and your stomach bursts into flames. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m not done with you yet.”

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⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆

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It has been twenty years. Jungkook has been alive for twenty years. And during these twenty years, he has never once had sex. Not even once. This cannot be stressed enough. Twenty years. Two whole decades. 

But, oh well — there’s a tiny, insignificant detail that might be the reason behind this. Jungkook believes he might not be interested in sex, like at all. 

In his defense, it has been twenty years. Twenty years of Jungkook not being all too excited about the thought of touching someone of the opposite sex. He once asked his close friend Jimin (who had dabbled a bit), if this might mean that he’s gay. Jimin responded with a snicker that left Jungkook at unease, but followed it up by telling him it might just be the strange way Jungkook’s brain moves. 

Because his brain is strange. He’s a restless boy, an overachiever, excelling at everything he does. And Jungkook does do everything. He plays the piano, he cooks, he dances, he paints, he writes, he plays video games, and he can’t keep still for more than a minute. And for some reason, he seems to be interested in every single hobby except for the one that involves sweaty bodies merging together after a night out. 

He got a handjob once. That’s something, at least. 

It was while he was still in high school, this very lovely girl named Hana, who he had been partnered up with for a science project. She invited him over to her house, while her parents were still home, and jumped his bones the second the door to her bedroom was shut. 

But Jungkook couldn’t get a hard on. Because he was actually thinking of the science project the entire time. Who in their right mind, as a seventeen year old boy, would be worrying about school while getting their belt unbuckled by a beautiful girl? 

She told her girlfriends about his softie, something that lead them to believe he was gay too. 

And after that mishap, he has not only been extremely nervous about putting himself in a similar position again — but he has simply stopped seeking out girls. He goes to clubs with his friends, joins whatever party he’s invited to, but he never really takes notice of the girls that are around. 

Even though he can appreciate their beauty, he just doesn’t feel like he has it in him to do anything about it. It’s too nerve wracking. Also, he looks very intimidating. 

Tall, dark, handsome, tattooed — everything the girls on Love Island and Single’s Inferno believe they’re looking for. But when it comes to it, they sheep out. He just kind of looks like a guy who could break their hearts with a snap of his fingers. So everything seems to be working against him. 

But that’s alright. He doesn’t care about that. He has better things to tend to. Like the trip he’s going on with Taehyung. To his parents’ beach house, which strangely enough also has a pool. 

It’s just for them to blow off some steam, to cool off before the semester starts up again. They haven’t invited anyone else, and they’re just staying there for a long weekend — Thursday through Sunday. A very relaxed vacation. A place for them to swim, cook food, drink some beers, play video games. 

But as Jungkook and Taehyung pull up into the driveway, the idyllic, solo-weekend is shattered instantly. For Jungkook, at least. 

“What the fuck—that’s Sara’s car.” Taehyung tries to mask the grin on his face as he notices Jungkook’s obvious disappointment. His poker-face isn’t all that great, and he actually manages to roll his eyes upon seeing Taehyung’s girlfriend’s shiny Mercedes. 

Taehyung bumps his shoulder, parking the car next to his girlfriend’s. “Hey, don’t sulk. She’s probably just here to steal some of my mom’s wine again.” 

“You let her do that?” Jungkook huffs, sinking further into his seat, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He just can’t help it but pout. 

With a jerk of his neck, Taehyung tongues the corner of his mouth. “With tits like that I let her do anything.”

They throw their bags over their shoulders before heading for the entrance door, stopping in their tracks as they hear muffled laughter coming from the other side of the house. The side where the outdoor pool is located. 

Jungkook throws his head back, obviously frustrated that there’s even more people here. 

Instead of taking the front door, they snake around the house, walk across the grass until they reach the pale cobblestone that surrounds the pool, the dining table, the sun-beds. 

There stands Sara, drenched in water from head to toe, only wearing a tiny bikini. Her feet are just about to lift from the ground and head for the pool, but as she sees Taehyung, they take on a new journey. She shrieks, running over to her boyfriend, throwing herself over his shoulders without caring if his shirt gets drenched. Jungkook catches some of the droplets too, landing in his eyes. He pouts yet again. 

“Finally—oh my god we’ve been waiting forever!” she cries out, lathering him in kisses. Jungkook thinks he might vomit. Also, who’s ‘we’?

Taehyung places both hands on her waist, letting his bag slip from his shoulder. He laughs for a minute, kissing her back, before he looks at her with a mildly confused expression. “That’s so… Sara sorry, wha—what are you doing here?”

As Sara answers, Jungkook hears something moving in the water. He turns his head away from the disgusting couple, and lets his eyes fall to the silhouette getting out of the pool. 

His lips part the moment he sees your face. 

You let two hands run over your head, brushing back the wet hair while stepping up on the steal ladder. The fabric of your bikini clings to your wet, glistening skin, and the line between your legs has itched its way dangerously deep inside your cheeks. 

Jungkook gulps. For some reason. His eyes widen. For some reason. 

He has met numerous of Sara’s friends. A bunch of times, actually. But he can’t seem to recognize you. Maybe that’s because his eyes are now fixated on your breasts, how full they look in that tight bikini — but he’s still sure that he has never seen you before. 

When was the last time he saw a girl in such little clothing? Except for in porn, or Sara just now. He can’t seem to remember it. And if he can’t remember it, it might’ve just not made such an impression on him. 

But you did. For some reason. 

Sara calls out your name as you step onto the stone and walk towards the three others. You have such a pretty name, it’s so fitting. Jungkook’s ears go red. Why do they do that? Has that ever happened before? 

His tattooed hand, the one free of his bag, goes to the piercings in his ear. He fiddles with them as he watches you walk across the floor, not really sure where to look. He options for your feet, something that might not make him feel all that weird inside. 

Your toenails are neatly polished, trimmed. And they look so tiny against the stone. Compared to your body, they look proportional — of course — but they look so tiny now. And cold… why do you have so many goosebumps spread across your skin? Are you cold? 

“Come meet my boyfriend and his boyfriend!” 

Jungkook snaps his head back to glower at Sara. She giggles in return, slapping a lazy palm over his chest. As the hand meets his t-shirt, his skin, he suddenly realizes how sensitive he has grown. Sensitive to touch. He clears his throat, looking down at his own feet as he listens to the wet sound of your feet padding across the floor. 

You stretch out a hand, confidently, making Jungkook’s eyes dart up again. 

“Nice to meet you.” 

Is that a real voice? It sounds like an audio recording, one of those that supposedly put you to sleep. He looks at your hand with big eyes, almost like he’s from a different planet and has never encountered this kind of greeting before. So you giggle.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You retract it, tilting your head to the side. “You don’t wanna touch me now that I’m all wet, do you?” 

Jesus fucking christ. 

Apparently, as told by Sara, you were her new roommate in college. The two of you had gotten close before even starting the new semester, meeting up during summer break to start your new friendship. Which is when Sara had the brilliant idea of bringing you along to Taehyung’s summer house. 

She knew all about Jungkook and her boyfriend’s plan — that they would stay until Sunday — which just seemed even more perfect. The perfect opportunity to wiggle you into her life, her social circle. If Taehyung loved you, Sara would love you even more. 

Jungkook wasn’t taken into consideration here. He is quite introverted, has a hard time making new friends, but Taehyung is so comfortable around him. And if Taehyung is comfortable, if he is already in a good mood around his best friend — he will for sure take a liking to you. 

What she didn’t expect was for Jungkook to like you the most. This came as a shook for him too. 

He packs out his bag, settling in his room, dragging stressed hands through his hair, pulling the fingers down to his mullet. His tongue finds his lip ring, playing with it as he debates ripping the strands straight out of his scalp. 

He’s already so nervous around girls. Sara is different, but you are not. You just might be the prime example. Confident. Beautiful. 

Why does his mind keep replaying your wet figure? Your gentle voice? How the bikini hugged you, how your waist curved inwards so beautifully, then outwards where your soft hips started. 

The sight wrecked the poor boy. 

It doesn’t help that you’re the one cooking dinner tonight. 

He tried to avoid you when him and Taehyung got settled, and he managed. But it’s hard when he runs into you again, in the kitchen. When you stand there, cutting up pieces of pork ribs, wearing a see through, white gown. A new bikini underneath. 

“I just—I’m just gonna grab a bottle.”

Jungkook reaches for the fridge, pulling the handle towards him while ignoring your eyes. It’s an easy task, as you actually don’t look at him and continue on with your cooking. 

“Would you grab me one too?” you ask casually, still not looking at him. 

He nods in response, realizing you can’t actually see it, but being too flustered to say yes out loud. 

There’s only one bottle of water in the fridge. Except for the big Fiji one which has to be Sara’s. Jungkook gulps. 

Without saying anything, he grabs the bottle and hands it to you. You’re occupied, he sees that, so he just places it on the counter, right by the cutting board. 

As he’s about to leave, maybe go drink water from the pool, you speak again. 

“Not thirsty after all?”

Jungkook closes a fist, opens it again, flexes his fingers. His mouth dries up, suddenly extremely parched. 

“That’s alright,” he says simply, almost no volume to his voice. He gulps… again. 

“I’m guessing there’s only one bottle—and you’re just being nice.” 

Trying to stay cool, Jungkook starts walking away from you. “I’m not thirsty.” 

“I only need a sip,” you call out before he’s able to exit the kitchen, still focusing on cutting the pork neatly. “You take the bottle—you’ve had a long drive. But I just need you to open the bottle for me.”

Jungkook thinks he’s about to burst into flames. It might be the heat, but the air-con is working perfectly fine. So he’s afraid it might be you. His back is facing you, and yours his. You’re not even looking at each other, but Jungkook can’t bring himself to answer. And he doesn’t want to force the bottle on you. And he is thirsty. 

So he turns, walks back over to the counter where you stand so prettily, eyes immediately falling to your back. To your ass. The polkadot print of your bikini, which shines through your gown. How your cheeks look so plump, how they look so round, like a good handful each. 

It feels invasive. He looks away, eyes going to the plastic water bottle. 

“Could you open it?” you ask again, showing him a flat palm. “I have pork on my hands.” 

Jungkook prays to god that you won’t ask him to feed you the water as well. But he does as you ask, without saying a word. He screws the lid off, handing you the uncapped bottle. 

You take it with your free hand, the plastic looking so much smaller in your grip than in his. Your fingers wrap around it, and you bring the opening to your mouth. Surely you’ll waterfall it. 

But you don’t. Your lips wrap around the bottle, touching it directly. 

And Jungkook fucking dies. Inside, that is. His inner organs seem to be rearranging, his stomach turning. And a new, strange sensation appears. Similar to the one he gets while watching… porn. 

Your throat bobs, your lips are closed perfectly around the opened cap, and you only take a few quick sips. No water drips down your chin, not like in cheap pornos. But as you let the bottle slip from you, you let out a sigh. A sigh that is music in Jungkook’s ears. Better than any home-made movie he has watched.

When finished, you put the pad of your middle finger to your lips, dabbing away what might be excess water. There is none, so Jungkook feels you’re doing this just to mess with him. You’re probably not, but it feels like it. 

“Thanks,” you say as you hand him the bottle, and you look up at him. When your eyes meet his, Jungkook drowns. He tries looking away, but for some reason he can’t. Your eyes are shimmering, big and soft. Jungkook flicks his gaze back and forth from them, not knowing where exactly he’s supposed to be looking. He hasn’t even grabbed the bottle yet. 

“Your turn,” you continue, waving the bottle in front of him. “Drink up.”

For you, he would do anything. 

Jungkook takes the plastic from your hands, wrapping his larger fingers around the bottle. He didn’t brush against your skin, which is a plus, but he kind of wishes he did. 

You continue looking at him as he takes the bottle in his hand. Expecting him to drink up. 

Are your lips usually this plump, this soft? Do you always speak in this tone? How are you so comfortable wearing such a revealing gown? Is it because you know you look good? 

A bit nervously, he puts the bottle to his own lips. He debates waterfalling the water himself, but is afraid you might think he doesn’t want your germs in his system. That’s not at all what this is, and he doesn’t want to come off as rude. So he copies you by wrapping his mouth around the plastic opening, tilting the bottle until water falls down his throat. 

Jungkook, for that matter, is sloppy, and manages to spill. Two measly droplets fall from his mouth and land on his chin, dripping down until they reach his jaw. This is simply because you won’t look away. 

It feels inherently sexual, whatever this is, something Jungkook can’t quite grasp. He has never been interested in such activities before, so why does he flush so easily just by knowing he’s under your eyes? He can feel his neck burning up with heat, his ears grow red. So he calls it quits, deciding to swallow one last time. 

“Sara told me you’re single.” 

Jungkook chokes on the water. 

Jesus christ, why are you asking him this question? Why is that important? Why right now, as he coughs up the lost water particles in his throat, eyes widening with shock. He looks like a lost sheep. 

Your lips curls into a small, almost unnoticeable smile. But Jungkook sees it, he notices everything you do, every small detail. This detail has him blushing. He removes the bottle from his mouth, coughs one last time and wipes away the droplets from his jaw. His tattooed hand moves from his chin, down his neck, trying to feel how warm it his. The pulse underneath his skin is spiking. 

With a deep inhale he answers, still a bit sore. “Uh—yeah, uh I am.” 

You huff out a breath. “I’d never guess.” 

Returning to your cooking, you look away from him. You continue cutting the pork, tilting your head to the side. Like this would be a normal ending to your conversation.

Jungkook has no idea what he’s supposed to say. Does he look like the type of guy to be in a relationship? No one has ever told him that, they usually tell him the opposite. That he looks like the type of guy to never settle. That’s before getting to know him, of course. But upon first glance, yes — Jungkook does look like a hit and run type of guy. So what do you mean? 

He asks you just that. “Huhwhatwhy?” 

The words tumble out of him, desperate to receive an explanation. 

“I don’t know—you seem sweet,” you answer, finishing the last piece of pork. You reach for the cabinet above your head, stretching tall on your tippy toes. As you do, the fabric of your gown clings to your skin, making it easier for Jungkook to see the soft shape of your ass through the see-through dress. He looks away immediately, trying to focus on your words instead. You continue while opening the cabinet, grabbing for a bottle of olive oil. “Like the kind of guy who has a girlfriend that’s a lot to handle.” 

This analogy is completely foreign to Jungkook — he has no idea what it’s supposed to mean. Also, you just met him today, exchanged only a few words with him. How do you know he’s sweet? Are you just a good judge of character? 

Jungkook rolls his shoulders once before answering, stretching his neck. “Oh, okay.” 

There’s nothing more to add to that. He has no idea what you’re talking about. He has no idea what you mean. And he doesn’t want to tangle himself into an unknown world right now, he’s too hot, too sweaty, a bit too worked up. Because upon seeing the outline — the beautiful outline of your ass — there has grown a problem in Jungkook’s black, cargo shorts. The fabric is pliant enough to give it away. He has experienced boners in public before, but only the ones explained by hormones and puberty. The ones who arrive unannounced, without any encouragement. Boners are now usually something he only gets while watching porn, something he does maybe twice a week. Maybe once. So sporting a hard-on while standing next to a girl in little to no clothing seems like a violation, and he wants to bolt away as fast as possible. 

He turns, ready to walk off. 

“Does the description fit?” 

Your words still him in an instant. His back is facing you again, but he hears a shift in your stance, knows you’ve turned around from the counter. He hears your gown move. Fuck. If he turns around, you’ll see the obvious tent in his shorts. The large bulge. Jesus christ. 

He places his hands in his pockets, stretches the fabric out, looks down to check if it’s still visible. It is, but not as prominent as before. So he decides to turn one last time. 

When he’s facing you, he gulps. The gown has slipped just slightly off one of your shoulders, revealing your collarbones and sun-warmed skin. You’re leaning against the counter now, crossing one ankle over the other while tilting your head to the side. Jungkook’s growing problem seems to be screaming in his shorts. 

Trying not to seem like a total idiot, he answers before the silence stretches further. “I don’t know.” 

“Mhm.” You nod, tilting your head to the other side. A single piece of hair falls from behind your ear and gets in your face, tickling your cheek. You don’t bother brushing it away, instead you take in Jungkook’s state of flush. His wide eyes, his tense posture. 

“I think a girl like that would suit you, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook went to bed before the others. They got a bit too drunk, and Jungkook kept looking at your tits in that gown, in that bikini. He was maybe too a bit drunk. 

But when you suggested they would all go for a swim in the pool, get a feel of the summer night breeze, Jungkook was quick to depart. He told Taehyung he was a bit tired from all the food — food coma — and that he wanted a good night’s sleep after a long day of travel. No one really questioned this, and Jungkook was free to leave the table. 

The walls are thin. The window is too, apparently. He can hear the others splashing around in the pool, shrieking, playing, laughing. 

Most of all — he can hear your laughter. He hears it so well. Your giggle, the one that sounds like tinkling glass. He tries tuning out every sound, trying to wiggle himself to sleep, tossing and turning. But that only highlights your laugher, your voice. Jungkook swears he can hear your exact footsteps on the cobblestone. Because your feet are so small. They make the cutest sound. 

While listening to you guys, he imagines what it looks like outside. When you’re playing, swimming. 

The image of you getting out of the pool, greeting him, pops back into Jungkook’s mind. The bikini clinging to your skin, disappearing between the slit of your ass, your perfect round cheeks. The slightest bounce of your breasts when you walked over to him. 

You don’t wanna touch me now that I’m all wet, do you?

Fuck. The problem is back. 

He has no idea what you do to him, but it hurts. It feels like he’s about to explode… down there. The skin feels too tight over him, the muscle is pulsating. He tries to ignore it, turn to his side, block out your voice, your laughter from outside. But as he turns, it hurts again. So he tries thinking of anything else. 

His own apartment. He’s in his own apartment. His mind drifts to the kitchen, for some reason. 

Okay. Food is good. If he’s hungry, that’s usually all he can think of. Whenever he plans to jerk off, he sometimes has to stop mid act because he feels a rumbling in his stomach. Food comes first. 

So he thinks of cooking. At home, in his kitchen. Standing there, boiling water on the stove. Waiting until the bubbles appear. He turns to the side, looking for the packet of ramyeon. But as his hand reaches out, it doesn’t go to the packet of noodles — it goes to the curve of your ass. 

Why are you there? 

In that see-through gown. In that same bikini underneath. You’re just standing there, watching him cook. And you let him feel you, let his large palm meet your ass, not even flinching or making a sound, like it’s completely normal. Actually, you push your ass back further, leaning down on the counter now, just watching the water boil. 

His hand moves around, just feeling you. And it’s marvelous. Your skin is so plump, so soft, even through the gown. 

Fuck — he’s back to square one. Why are you there, in his mind, while he’s actively trying to keep you out? Maybe it’s because your laughter is so much more prominent than the two others. Or maybe you’ve just managed to completely occupy him, never letting him think of anything else. 

There’s only one thing that will make this problem disappear, and Jungkook grits his teeth while thinking about it. He has only ever jerked off to porn, never to anyone he knows in real life. Again, it feels too invasive. 

But he knows porn won’t work this time. No, it’s you he thinks of, you who’s making him feel like this. 

Jungkook’s arm drapes over his eyes as he slips the other hand in his boxers, almost as if that would block out the embarrassment of doing something like this. He lets his fingers trace the length of him, feeling how sensitive he has grown. He teases his own cock while listening to your laughter, eyes still buried where his forearm meets his bicep. Finally, he wraps his full hand around himself. 

Pressing his lips together, he tries to imagine what you look like right now. 

You’re still in that bikini. Maybe you’re sitting on the edge of the pool with your legs in the water. Maybe your hair is wet again, slicked back like earlier. Maybe you’re leaning forward while talking, elbows on your knees, looking up at the others with those soft eyes. Or maybe you’re leaning back, with straight arms, your stomach moving in and out as you breathe. 

The vision causes Jungkook to squeeze his cock lightly, letting a breathy moan escape his lips. Your hips, your ass, spread out so nicely when you sit by the pool. The bikini only covers your most treasured parts. But he can imagine them anyways. 

What you would look like with him. You are already so small compared to him. Wouldn’t it look bizarre if you were with him? Your small hands on him, his big hands on you. His long fingers removing your thong, kissing your skin while on his knees. He would kiss you everywhere. Leave you red with bitemarks. 

Jungkook’s stomach tightens. Pleasure flows through him, and sweat starts to appear in his hairline. He bites down on the piercing in his lip, thumbing the slit of his cock to spread the beading precum over his head. The tip has grown so sensitive that he can’t help but gasp once touching it. He twists himself at the base, squeezing tightly as he pumps himself to the image of you. 

Your perky breasts. How your nipples might look. How he would love to make them go hard, to see goosebumps appear on your skin. How he would love to kiss down on them, bite them, lick them, suck until you pulled on his hair. How your fingers would feel in his hair. 

When thinking of pleasuring you, Jungkook has no idea how to do so, but imagines himself more experienced. Just in this dream scenario. 

He knows porn is nothing to compare the real deal with, he has been told so numerous of times. But for now, it will do.

Jungkook sets a steady pace, whining as he feels his balls start to tighten. 

If he had his hands on you, he would never let go. He wishes he knew how to make you beg. That he could kiss you, spread you open, give your most precious spot a harsh suck until stars appeared in your eyelids. That he could lap at you like a parched animal, even sink his tongue deep inside you, swirl it around. 

You don’t wanna touch me now that I’m all wet, do you?

Oh, how he would love to touch you. How he would love to feel your wetness. Have his fingers in it, his tongue in it, bury his cock so deep in your wetness that you’d beg him to stop. You would look so beautiful with your eyes rolled back into your skull. 

Imagining the noises you would make has him sweating more than ever before. He gasps when he imagines you gasping, he whines when he imagines you would do so. It’s a synchronized performance he’s playing out, and when he imagines your climax — he breaks in half. 

Thick ropes of cum, more than he has ever produced before, spurt heavy out of his cock, leaving his boxers a white, sticky mess. He throws his head back against the headboard, shutting his eyes completely as he strokes himself through the orgasm. Jungkook feels he has just entered the gates of heaven. Never before in his life has he climaxed this hard before. An otherworldly experience — that’s what this was. 

When Jungkook comes down from his high, he looks down at himself, at his ruined boxers, grimacing at the amount of cum. 

That will have to do, he thinks. Tomorrow is Friday, meaning there is only really two days left. He can survive two days with you, but only at a distance. He’ll have to make sure you won’t rile him up again. He’ll have to avoid you. 

Jungkook hates couples. 

He hates Taehyng and he hates Sara. Why do couples need so much alone time? This was supposed to be Taehyung and Jungkook’s trip. So why is he being pushed away? 

Better question — why is he being pushed into interactions with you? 

“I’m just gonna fuck her in the pool—so can’t you guys go grocery shopping or something?” Taehyung begs, mirroring his friend’s pout. 

Jungkook scoffs, crosses his arms over his chest while avoiding Taehyung’s eyes, acting like a sulky little kid. “No, I want to stay here.” 

“But that’s not your decision, Kook.” Taehyung curls his lips together, speaking in a whisper. “This is my house—and I want to fuck my girlfriend in the pool.” 

Fuck off. 

Jungkook fastens his seatbelt, trying to ignore the scent of your perfume. It’s hard. Lilac, lilies, something like that. 

You’re trying to pick out a song on your phone after connecting it to Bluetooth, mumbling under your breath. You can’t seem to land on anything, but you’ve forbidden Jungkook from pulling out of the driveway before you’ve found the perfect song. “What songs do you like, then?” 

Everything about you makes Jungkook embarrassed after last night. He can’t even dare to look you in the eyes, let alone hear your voice. This shopping trip will be awful. 

“Everything,” Jungkook answers simply, tapping the steering wheel with his index finger. 

“Come on—just name a song!” 

“Uh…” He has apparently forgotten every song ever. “Bennie And The Jets.” 

The sound of tinkling glass reappears. The sweet sound of you giggling. “Alright—Bennie And The Jets it is.” 

As you type the embarrassing song request into your phone, Jungkook starts driving. The car rolls down the long gravel path towards the main road, and he desperately tries ignoring your scent. 

You smell like flowers, warm skin, summer. Every time the wind shifts through the cracked window, it carries your scent straight to him. It’s almost enough to make him puke. Or maybe cry. He dares to look at you for just a second. Look at the way your hair blows in the wind, how you play with a few strands between your fingertips. The fabric of your sundress moving in waves with the wind, just like your hair. Your gentle, slender neck, the soft flesh there. How he would love to feel you. 

Jungkook hates grocery shopping now too, apparently. Walmart is too big, there are too many options. Sara has sent over a list for you guys to check off, but it’s so long that Jungkook is suspecting they’re just stalling you while the two of them have sloppy intercourse in the outdoors pool. 

And your dress is too pretty. You’re too pretty. What the hell is Jungkook supposed to do? 

He pushes the cart while walking behind you, trying not to stare too much. But the dress sways across your thighs, makes him think. His ears go red again. 

“—And I want chocolate covered raspberries. And those cola lollipops. And some popcorn. And Ben&Jerry’s—” you continue. Your list is quite long, and it seems you’ve steered away from what Sara wants you guys to buy. 

As Jungkook pushes along, he only thinks to himself: Anything for you. 

“—Also I forgot my wallet.” 

Again, he thinks: Anything for you. 

You make him carry all the bags. It’s heavy, but Jungkook is strong. You bought an insane amount of groceries for such a small person (with Jungkook’s money, that is). He wonders how you’re planning to get it all down. If you’re evil enough, you bought all this just to watch Jungkook’s neck pop with veins as he carried it over the parking lot. 

As you get to the car, you don’t even bother opening the trunk for him. You simply wait for him to unlock the door before you slip inside, hissing as the black seat has heated up. 

You seem sweet. Like the kind of guy who has a girlfriend that’s a lot to handle.

Sure enough, you are a lot to handle. 

The two of you haven’t been away for that long, probably about thirty minutes, but Jungkook hopes Taehuyng and Sara might be done with their session by the time you arrive. But as Jungkook gets in the car, you stop him before he turns the engine on. 

“We have to go see the view point by the beach.”

Get away — Jungkook thinks — I don’t have to do anything. He brushes off the hand that you’ve placed on his, starting the engine anyways. Jungkook wants to go home. He wants to listen to music in his room, try to do anything besides thinking of you. You make his whole body warm, and he’s not sure if he likes it. 

You gasp, making a grimace laced with disappointment. “You’re so mean!”

“I just wanna go home—I’m not mean.” 

“Can’t we just—”

Jungkook cuts you off mid-sentence. “Your ice cream’s gonna melt.” 

With a huff of air, you sink further and further into your seat. You don’t even bother putting on the seatbelt. Your eyes fall to the window beside you, ignoring Jungkook. But as Jungkook gives a quick side-eye, he notices how your lips have formed into a pout. How you look just like he did when he sat in that exact spot yesterday, realizing the trip with Taehyung wasn’t a solo one. 

He starts driving, trying to not look at you too much. But you seem like you want him to talk, want him to say something, as you keep huffing and puffing out irritated small breaths. 

“You’re pouting.” 

You don’t answer. So Jungkook tries again, something a bit bolder that makes his heart race. 

“You’re a lot to handle.” 

A tiny smile appears on your face, but you try masking it by pursing your lips. It doesn’t work all that well, so you cover your mouth with tiny fingers, letting them play with your lips. It’s almost like you want Jungkook to crash the car, because as you fiddle with the plump flesh, Jungkook can’t help but look at it. How plush they look, how glossy. He bets they would feel good on him. Good wrapped around him. Or just against his own lips. 

Jungkook’s mouth waters while his thoughts run wild. But as he continues driving, he notices that you still haven’t fastened your seatbelt. You might be sulking, but he can’t have you flying out the window in protest. 

Without looking over, keeping his eyes on the road, he reaches over you, grabbing for the buckle. Quickly, he traps you in, securing the belt until he hears a ‘click’. 

“How nice of you,” you mock, pitching your voice higher. 

He keeps quiet for the rest of the ride. You don’t bother putting on music this time, and just stare at your phone. For some reason, Jungkook worries. He hopes you won’t get sick. That your stomach can handle the car ride as your eyes are glued to the screen. If you feel sick, you should just tell him. He’d pull over. In a heartbeat, actually. But you don’t say a word, so Jungkook doesn’t either. 

When you pull into the driveway, Jungkook senses a smile on your face, just a tiny one. It seems like an evil one. So his neck goes red, his ears too. 

As the engine shuts down, as Jungkook removes the keys and his belt, you stay still. He looks over at you, wondering, furrowing his brows as you keep looking straight ahead. 

“Unbuckle.”

That’s all you say. 

Jungkook gathers that you want him to unbuckle your seatbelt. Just like when he trapped you in, but in reverse this time. 

He does as you tell him, pressing down until the belt flings open. As you’re freed, you turn in your seat, looking at him with narrow eyes. You skim over his face a couple of times, almost like you’re debating something. Jungkook can’t for the life of him understand what’s going on. His eyes are big and glossy compared to your glowering ones. 

“Put your seatbelt on,” you demand, speaking in a low voice. 

What are you doing? 

There’s something about you that makes it hard for Jungkook to question your words, what you ask of him. So without second thoughts, he simply pulls his own seatbelt back on, staring at you with big wondering eyes the entire time.

You press your lips together, fighting laughter. But your eyes are still fierce, narrow in a way that makes Jungkook’s pulse spike. 

“Unbuckle.” 

Again. 

Jungkook does as you say. With a click the belt pops open again, and Jungkook is still confused. But it’s like clockwork — whatever you say, Jungkook does. Except take you to the view point, apparently. He still doesn’t understand why he drew the line there. 

As the belt flings open again, you let out a breath of air, bordering on a demeaning laughter. 

“Why are you like that?”

“Like what?” Jungkook asks mindlessly, his voice gentle but breaking at the edges. You rile him up, but not so much now that he can’t take it. There’s more of a thrill to it. Something he can’t quite understand. But again… for some reason — he feels himself growing in his jeans. Horrible timing. 

“You do everything I tell you to.” With your next smile, you bear a bit of teeth. You use them to bite down on your bottom lip, just the slightest, letting them bounce back as you release them. They look so soft, so plush. 

Jungkook can’t be thinking about that right now. Not with what’s going on in his jeans. He actually can’t be here right now. Thank god the two of you have reached the house. Maybe he can just sit in the car and wait for it to pass, ask you to leave him alone for a minute. But then he would have to watch you walk away, ogle at the way your dress moves softly across your thighs. 

That doesn’t seem like a good option either. 

“I don’t do that,” he responds, shifting in his seat as he feels his whole body tighten. Maybe it’s the way you speak to him. Or maybe he likes being told what to do? Is that it? He hopes not, as that would be quite embarrassing. 

As he shifts, your eyes unfortunately go to his pants. To the bulge that’s growing there. And Jungkook has watched enough porn to know that he’s big. It’s not easy for him to hide an erection, so as your eyes meet his crotch, he gathers you know what’s going on. 

You give the bulge a devilish smile. “What’s going on down there?”

The fact that you’re so forward isn’t helping. Goosebumps cover Jungkook’s neck, and he jerks his head to the side giving you a small hiss in response. “Come on…”

“I knew I was right about you!” Your smile grows, and you lean forward a bit, resting a palm on your thigh. Jungkook can’t help but let his eyes follow your hand, where it meets the fabric of your dress. The outline of your thigh. 

You giggle again, patting down on yourself almost like you’re clapping. “Jungkook—you’d love a fiery woman!”

This conversation is not happening.

Jungkook goes white, completely white. His face loses all color, and he looks at you with a pair of mortified, black orbs. Why are you so unfazed while talking about this — while Jungkook has an obvious boner in your presence? Because of your presence?

He lets one hand go to the fabric that has tightened around his crotch, trying to cover himself up. Your eyes follow immediately. 

“Jungkook, I’m serious—it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you sigh, itching even closer. One of your legs crosses over the other, causing your dress to itch higher up on your thighs. The edge of the skirt is dangerously close to a part Jungkook definitely shouldn’t be watching in this state. Your hands fall into your lap. “If anything—it’s just flattering.” 

With a shaky inhale, Jungkook closes his eyes, preparing to tell you off. He lets out your name with the next exhale, even more unsteady than last time. “Can’t we just please go inside?”

“You have to be more open minded.” You don’t pay attention to his erection anymore, instead you lock eyes with him, something that makes Jungkook even more nervous. He blinks over and over again, waiting for the moment to pass. Jungkook doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing — the fact that you’re so forward, or that the bulge in his jeans won’t seem to go down. His entire body tightens, his stomach turning. This is by far the strangest, most uncomfortable feeling he has ever felt. 

You tilt your head to the side, lick your lips. “Do you need help, Jungkook?”

What? 

I’m sorry — what? 

Jungkook freezes. The corners of his eyes start watering, strangely enough. He blinks again, a few times more, trying to piece together the puzzle that is this conversation. 

You can’t possibly mean what Jungkook thinks you do. That can’t be right. That would at least mean you’re teasing him, for whatever reason. He hopes you don’t know about what happened last night. That would be all too much. Maybe you can read his mind. That would be a more logical explanation. Anyways — why on earth are you asking him this? 

He swallows hard, eyebrows lifting high on his forehead. “H-help?” 

The sound of tinkling glass. You smile, and don’t cover it up this time. The one leg crossed over the other nudges Jungkook’s ankle, playfully kicking him. He breathes in a shaky inhale, having grown so sensitive to any kind of touch. Especially yours. 

“Your little problem won’t go away on its own.” 

Jungkook has tried convincing himself it was all a dream. That what happened in the car didn’t really happen. That he had just imagined it, that his horned-up brain continued to make up unlawful scenarios about you. He tried his hardest. He tried so hard. 

But you wouldn’t leave his mind. The image of you looking him up and down, eyes so dark it almost frightened him. He thought he was about to be eaten alive. 

Somehow, he wasn’t. 

Because after teasing him about his erection for about five minutes, nudging him with your feet, your fingers — you seemingly had enough. Your face went back to normal, you let out a huff of air, and you reached for the door on your side. When you hopped out of the car, you didn’t even look back. You walked away, left Jungkook hard and dumbfounded behind — with a trunk loaded with groceries. 

Did you really ask him that? Better yet… were you serious? 

You couldn’t possibly be. This is real life, not a porno. It’s not like women throw themselves at boners in real life. They are usually rather put off by them. So why is it that you teased him so much about it, without seeming disgusted? 

Had Sara told you something? Or had maybe Taehyung? Jungkook knows Taehyung has a habit of telling girls Jungkook is a virgin. He knows some girls find it cute (it doesn’t happen often, but sometimes). But that’s only when they’re out drinking, usually at a club where Taehyung knows they won’t ever have to see these girls again. So why would he ever tell you such a thing?

After getting back inside, Jungkook practically ran upstairs and into the shower. He couldn’t take a minute more of his suffering, and knew he needed release. So he stripped himself of his sweat drenched clothes, turned the water on until the room filled with steam, and hopped right in. 

He came harder than the night before, if that was even possible. His vision wiped out, and he had to whine a loud ‘fuck’ in order to not call out your name. It was maybe the hardest task he had ever carried out in his life. The stream of the water was harsh enough to block out the sounds he was producing, or so he hoped, and he was far away from the others. He saw you run towards the pool area instead of going back inside, and he was certain that both Taehyung and Sara would be sound asleep after their many rounds in the pool. 

Jungkook hides in his room after jerking off. He feels absolutely mortified. There was absolutely no reason for him to get a hard-on in the car, you didn’t do anything sexual. Except maybe for that last part. But the thing is — he was hard even before that. So what’s the deal?

When Taehyung comes knocking, asking if he’s up for dinner soon, Jungkook tells him he has caught some kind of cold. Which is a statement Taehyung easily believes as Jungkook quite literally looks like shit. 

His bangs stick to his forehead, his mullet sticks to his neck, his eyes are red and his skin is white. It looks like he has got it bad, when in all fairness — he’s just extraordinarily horny… and also very embarrassed. 

He tries falling asleep, even though the time only reads seven o’clock. Maybe if he listens to some music, it might help. Grabbing for his phone, he turns to his side and feels a loud rumble in his stomach. 

No, god no. 

As stated earlier, if Jungkook is hungry — nothing else matters. If his stomach is rumbling, he needs to do something about it. But right now… he can’t. He can still hear the voices coming from downstairs, the three of you laughing and chatting. Exactly what it is that you’re talking about, Jungkook can’t hear, but he knows you’re laughing. He knows you’re having a good time. 

He wishes he was able to make you laugh like that. You only do so when he’s sporting a full one, apparently. 

Why won’t you guys just please go to bed? Jungkook has to get down there. Make himself some food. He has to. 

Tossing and turning in bed, his mind runs wild. Which is when he remembers something horrible, something so extremely unfortunate. 

He forgot the groceries in the car. 

Jungkook bolts upright in bed, almost gasping out loud at the realization. He forgot the fucking groceries. They are still in the car, all of them. Your snacks, your drinks, your ice cream. God — your ice cream. It’s all probably melted by now. 

He throws the blanket off himself and scrambles out of bed. Rushing around his room, he yanks open multiple drawers, grabbing the first pieces of clothing he can find. A blue t-shirt with a yellow crab on it, and a pair of grey cargo shorts. He pulls them on hastily, nearly getting his foot stuck in the fabric. 

“Shit, shit, shit.”

If you see the melted ice cream, you’ll be crushed. You’ll be so disappointed. All he had to do was carry the bags inside. He couldn’t even do that. You would be so sad if you found out your ice cream had been standing outside, the milk getting spoiled. You wouldn’t be able to eat it anymore. How sad you would be. 

When fully dressed, he stumbles into a pair of Puma slippers and tip toes toward his door, opening it just enough to peek out into the hallway. The house is dim, looks almost asleep, but he can still hear your laughter from downstairs. 

Is he supposed to climb out the window? Or how will he go about this?

Without really thinking more of it, he makes sure to tread as lightly as possible, not making any sound as he escapes his room. He makes his way down the stairs, trying to ignore the small creaks the wood makes. If he’s lucky, you’re all drunk by now, and woozy enough to look past the man lurking around ‘undetected’ behind them. 

Finally making it to the last step, he crouches down. The main entrance is so close, but it’s too risky — the dining area is right by. So he options for the terrace door, the one that leads to the pool. 

Carefully, he shifts his weight and begins creeping across the living room floor. Jungkook is as careful as a soldier crossing a field full of land mines, knowing that an awkward bump-in would be too much for him now. He moves slowly enough to keep most of the creaking quiet, but the boards under his slippers give in a few times. Not loud enough for you guys to take notice of it though, thankfully. 

He doesn’t dare look toward the sound of your laughter. He doesn’t know where you’re seated. You could be facing him, or maybe not. Either way, if you turn your head at any given moment, you’ll spot him immediately — half crouched, sneaking across the living room like a criminal. Jungkook gathers none of you have spotted him yet, as you would point it out. So he carries on until he reaches the door, opening it just a tad, making just enough room for his large frame to slip through the crack.

Finally being out in the open, away from the ongoing dinner inside, Jungkook hurries down the path that leads from the terrace to the driveway. His eyes find Taehyung’s car — it sits exactly where he left it, untouched and unmoved, still in the driveway. Seeing it almost gives him war flashbacks from earlier, and he tries his best blocking out the memory of your foot against his leg. How it brushed against him only for a second, then once again. The peak of his demise. 

When he reaches the car, he pops the trunk open immediately, grimacing the second it lifts. 

The bags have spilled, groceries lie scattered around. A mess, really, one he can thank none other than himself for.

He clicks his tongue. “Shit.”

His eyes go to the spilling reminders of your ice cream, the milky fluid having leaked out of its container. Poking at it once, he feels how soft it is, how the carton has fogged up and gone all wet. Fuck, it has been sitting out in the heat for too long. 

Jungkook sighs miserably and starts pulling the groceries into a pile, shoving them back into the grocery bags one by one. He grabs the plastic once fully packed and starts carefully stacking the sachets on the pavement beside him so he’s able to carry it all in one trip. 

And in the midst of all this, Jungkook is so focused on salvaging the groceries that he doesn’t even hear the footsteps approaching behind him. But he can’t help but flinch when a sudden voice cuts through his concentration. 

“Boo!”

Taken by surprise, Jungkook lets out a strangled yelp while his body jerks forward, nearly headbutting the open trunk as he whips around. He recognizes your voice before even laying eyes on you. 

You stand cross armed before him, still in the same sundress from before, looking at him with an unimpressed mine. The startled sound he just produced wasn’t a exclaim for the history books, something he can read from just the look on your face. After examining the flush on his face, your eyes drop to the grocery bags at his feet. 

Jungkook scratches the back of his head nervously. “Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Ah, I gathered that,” you respond, nodding in a belittling way with your eyebrows high on your forehead. A short laughter breaks from you as you probably play back the previous look on his face. “What the hell are you doing anyways?”

“Uh the—” Jungkook stops himself. He’ll probably have to answer why he’s not at dinner, either. Why he told Taehyung he was sick, while still prancing around outside in only a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Nothing anyone with a real cold would do. “I forgot the bags—in the car—earlier today.”

You purse your lips while nodding. Jungkook can’t help but notice the goosebumps on your skin. The straps on your dress are tiny, you’ve got no real fabric protecting you from the cold. He wishes he never set foot outside, so that you wouldn’t have to stand outside shivering because of him. On that note — why exactly are you here…?

“So you’re lurking around late at night in order to save my candies?” 

Great point you’re making, because it does sound stupid. But Jungkook would go to even further lengths to salvage what you hold dear to your heart — and since you seemed to care so much about your lollipops, your ice cream, your chips, he felt lurking around was needed. Although this might sound strange to you, since Jungkook has only known you for less than two days. So maybe he should keep quiet. 

“I didn’t want to disturb you guys,” he ultimately answers, rocking back and forth trying to keep himself from bursting into flames in your presence. 

A giggle escapes you. “You know—you could always join us…? Eat dinner with us? Maybe not hide out in your room?”

Fuck, how did you know he was hiding? 

“It’s—I’ve caught a cold.” His voice is fragile, words bordering on a whisper. “I’m not hiding.” 

“Pfft, come on,” you scoff, letting your head loll back — baring your neck to Jungkook. He can feel his mouth start watering, salivating at the view in front of him. Your soft skin, where your neck meets your chest, your collarbones, your gentle cleavage in that dress as you’ve crossed your arms tightly across your breasts. He snaps out of it the moment you straighten your neck, looking back at him with serious eyes. “Jungkook, I told you—you don’t have to be embarrassed. Not around me, anyways.” 

Now, this is exactly why Jungkook has been hiding. Why are you always so forward, why can’t you just let him suffer in peace? 

His ears go red immediately, and before he manages to answer, he swallows hard, trying to make himself look at serious and tough as possible. It’s hard for Jungkook, as he suffers from a condition called big, black puppy eyes.

“I’m not embarrassed,” he lies, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The bags around him stand still, the trunk stays open, and there’s nowhere for him to go. He’s trapped. 

“Mhm, okay.” Your eyes skim over his body, locking with the yellow crab on his t-shirt. How embarrassing. The shirt is tighter than what he would usually wear, so he suddenly feels like he’s on display. He flexes his stomach (force of habit), hoping he might look good under your eyes. You smile in response. “Okay—so you say you’re not embarrassed. But you’re nervous.” 

Jungkook can’t even manage to get a single word or sound out before you let your arms fall from their crossed position. As they slip, you take a step forward, breathing in a deep breath. Your chest rises, the outline of your soft cleavage making a strong appearance, before it falls again. 

With you walking towards him, with you in that dress, Jungkook’s eyes go wild. His eyes flick over your face, your chest, your stomach, before falling to your feet. 

Mother of god. 

You’re barefoot. 

“Could you…?” you ask, eyes going to the bags by Jungkook’s feet. 

He doesn’t even think twice. With nervous kicks, he shoves the bags out of the way, the contents spilling out and landing scattered around in the driveway. At least — it clears your path. Which is all Jungkook cares for. 

“And the—”

Jungkook won’t let you finish your sentence. Before you reach him, he hurriedly stretches his arm out, aiming for the trunk and shutting it close. It almost hits his head, but he’s quick enough to move away, holding your eyes the entire time. 

You stop maybe two feet before him, looking over at Jungkook as he nervously leans his back against the trunk. A smile spread across your face. 

“What do you study?”

Huh? 

Jungkook parts his lips, but no sound comes out. He doesn’t know exactly what he was expecting, but it most certainly wasn’t small-talk. Not when it looks like you’re about to eat him alive. 

“Uh… I—cybersecurity,” he finally manages. His eyes can’t help but flick over every single part of you, trying to ignore your bare feet. He has never before found feet attractive — he doesn’t find feet attractive. So what on earth is it that you do to him? 

“Do you like it?” 

“Well—yeah, it’s alright.” 

You step forward, watching his every reaction. His eyes dart down to yours as you close in on him. Still, you continue talking — like nothing’s going on. “Are you good with computers?” 

Jungkook’s breath hitches at he feels your breath against his skin. None of your body parts are touching yet, your knees haven’t even met his. Yet, he feels like he might fold in half where he stands. His arms shoot out behind him, bracing himself on the polished trunk, veins popping underneath his skin as he tries to restrain himself. 

“Yea-uh,” his voice cracks halfway through the word. Trying to redeem himself, he coughs once, looking up into the air above him. He breathes out, trying to steady himself. “I’d say so.” 

Your eyes are glued to him, and he even feels you huffing out a laugh against him. And suddenly, he feels skin brush against his knee. Your thigh. Your thigh still hidden behind your soft dress. Without meaning to, he gasps. 

“You play video games?” 

He can only nod, still looking up, trying to keep his cool. He might just come off even more nervous. But he can’t help it. The fabric of his shorts, his boxers, start tightening around his crotch as he feels himself growing. By how close you are, he gathers you’ll soon be able to feel it too. 

Tilting your head, you lean into him, rising on your tippy toes in order to reach the skin by his ear. “Think you could teach me once?” 

“Uh—of course. Yeah—I could do th—”

Jungkook feels a pair of soft lips against his neck before he can finish speaking. 

His entire body shudders, and the bulge in his pants continues to rise. Your lips part once, taking his skin in deeper, letting the wet part of your mouth reach him. It’s so incredibly soft, so tender, that Jungkook almost feels his stomach grow sick. Involuntarily, he lets out a whine, and your name follows.

“W-what are you doing?” 

You shush him softly, tracing his neck with your kisses, your plush lips welcoming his salty skin. Jungkook thinks his knees might buckle when he hears you give a small moan, bracing his arms behind him, trying to dig his fingernails into the car’s polish. There’s no use. 

Letting a breathy laugh leave you, you answer his question with a low voice. “I’m just paying in advance.” 

“H-huh?” 

The kisses start moving upwards, and you let one of your hands find his lap. Jungkook flinches, his thighs twitching, alongside the growing cock hidden away in his pants. You purr against his skin, soft lips meeting his jaw as you stretch taller. 

“You’re gonna teach me how to play—aren’t you?” 

Jungkook wasn’t really paying attention to your meaningless small-talk — but he’ll never deny you anything. However, he knows you’re not being serious. He feels you’re egging him on, teasing him, riling him up. 

None of that matters now that your lips are on him. They are even softer than he had imagined, and now that it’s finally happening, it feels like his cock is about to explode in his boxers. He’s so hard it’s starting to hurt, the length of him twitching every time your small hand squeezes his thigh through the shorts’ fabric. 

Fuck this — he has you now. 

In no less than a second, his hands are on you. He gives up on his quest for the stars, where he stands looking up at the sky trying to avoid you. It has been twenty fucking years, and Jungkook is yet to have had a good kiss. A great fucking kiss. 

His hands find your waist, knead the supple flesh there before he pulls you in. Your lips crash together, and he shivers at the sound of your surprised gasp. Whining into your mouth, Jungkook lets one hand find the small of your back while the other still holds onto your waist. 

You feel so unbelievably soft in his grip, so small and tender. The force of Jungkook’s kiss, the un-expectancy of it has you tumbling forwards, falling into Jungkook’s arms. But you still manage to assert some dominance, pushing on his knees in order to part them before you slip between his legs with ease. 

Holy fuck — he can feel you between his legs. You’re in between his legs. Pressing against him, pushing yourself further into him. 

“Ohh—fuck,” Jungkook whines as you roll your hips softly, simply letting him know you’re there. And he knows alright, the bulge in his pants twitches and pulsates at the feel of you. Impatient and so extremely touch-deprived, Jungkook pushes his tongue against your lips in order to part them. You let him slip in easily, the muscle rolling into your mouth messily. 

The two of you gasp, moan, whine into the wet kisses, going at each other like starved animals. Although the only starved one here is him. 

“Jungkook?” you ask in the midst of a kiss, such a soft voice that has Jungkook’s breath hitching in response. 

“Mm-hm?” He whines as you press against him once again, the bulge in his pants brushing against your crotch. It feels so fucking good — nothing he has ever felt before. It’s even better than jerking off, even though all his clothes are still on. Why is that? Are you a witch?

One of your hands find Jungkook’s cheek, brushing a gentle thumb against his skin. You give him a tiny peck before retracting, staring up at his big, glistening, wondering eyes. 

“I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.” 

Jesus christ. 

This either means: 1) you’re nasty as shit or: 2) you know he’s a virgin. 

He prays to god it’s not the ladder. Or maybe… he does. Then it would explain why he might not be so good to you, if he might do something horrible or something you don’t like. He has no idea. 

His eyes grow wider, if possible, and he wets his lips twice, wishing for more kisses. “It’s okay—I’m okay—I promise.”

The words roll off his tongue, or rather tumble out his mouth, and he eagerly leans in to kiss you again. He has felt nothing like it, how soft your lips are, how sweet you taste. He could kiss you forever, every day, all the time. 

Your tinkling laughter reappears, and you back away from his kiss. Jungkook is stronger, and still keeps you close to him, but he can’t seem to reach your mouth. So he whines yet again. 

“Shh—Jungkook, slow down—I’m not going anywhere,” you say in between your giggles, pressing both palms flat against his chest. Your cheeks flush the moment you feel his plump skin under your hands, something Jungkook can’t help but love. 

“Then kiss me—come on!”

You reach out for his erection, cupping a palm over the bulge in his pants and squeezing tight. All the air in Jungkook’s lungs is punched out, and he lets go of your waist. His hand shoots up, and he bites down on the back of his hand, trying to suppress an embarrassing moan. The others are still inside, after all. Only a few walls away. They could slip out and see the two of you, just as easily as you did just a few minutes ago. 

The palm rubs over his length as you lock eyes with him, even though Jungkook keeps trying to shut them. You lean further into him, purr when Jungkook digs his soft fingernails into the small of your back. He’s unbelievably hard. 

“We have to take it slow, Jungkook—if it’s your first.” 

There it is. Jungkook clenches his eyes shut, a harsh rumble escaping from his throat as his cock twitches in your grip. He can feel himself spilling in his boxers, leaking from the tip. He knows he’ll come harder than ever before if you continue, but he can’t wiggle out of your grip. It feels to good. Instead, he embarrassingly enough starts slowly rutting into your palm. 

You click your tongue and lean into Jungkook, your breath fanning his neck. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“S-so good,” Jungkook breathes, throwing his head back and leaning heavier against the trunk. His hips thrust into your hand, and you haven’t even wrapped yourself around him. It’s just a tease, but a tease that feels so good Jungkook is about to start levitating. 

“You know what would feel better, Kookie?”

Oh my fucking god. Jungkook sees white, the sound of the sugary nickname on your lips causing him to tremble in your grip. He pulls you tighter against him with the hand on your back, searching for your lips. When they meet, he shamelessly moans into your mouth, rolling his tongue against yours, biting and sucking down on your bottom lip.

You gasp and purr against him, cupping his erection even harder as you start applying slow strokes to him. He feels heavy in your palm, thick and long. 

Breathing hot against his lips, you kitten-lick his mouth, pulling away to tell him sweet nothings, words that leave Jungkook white. “Wouldn’t it feel better to have my mouth on you, Kookie?” 

Absolutely not. No way in hell. Nuh-uh. 

Jungkook shudders only hearing you suggest it. Of course it would feel better — he’d fuck your throat so hard you wouldn’t be able to speak for days. But he can’t, he knows he can’t. He’d come so embarrassingly fast that he’d ruin everything. On top of that, he wouldn’t be able to fuck you. To finally get laid. 

He shakes his head against your kiss, whining when you tease the tip of his cock through the shorts. You let your thumb find the slit of him, rubbing around it before pressing your palm hot over the bulge again. 

“No?” you ask, biting down on his bottom lip. “You wouldn’t want that? You wouldn’t want my lips around your cock? Wouldn’t want me to choke on you? You’re big, Kookie. You wouldn’t want your big cock in my pretty little mouth? Would it be too much?” 

Mother of god. Jungkook feels like a dog hearing all his favorite buzzwords. You’re just throwing them out there, hoping for a reaction. 

Trying not to lose his composure, or the tiny bit of it he had left, he lets go of your back. Both hands come behind him to rest on the truck, breathing out deeply as you continue lathering him with kisses. Just like him, you switch positions. Your hand lets go of his erection, but you replace the stimulation by grinding against his crotch. Jungkook’s breath hitches, and he shuts his eyes hard, actively trying not to come in his shorts. It seems fucking impossible, the combination of your kisses and the way you press against his cock has stars dancing in his eyelids. 

“You don’t want that, Kookie?” you breathe out seductively, both hands coming to play with his mullet. “You don’t want your cock in my mouth?” 

“N-yes! But—” he stutters, trembling while you rub yourself on him. Both his boxers and shorts are about to turn very wet, the precum leaking out of him ruining both fabrics. “Can’t. I can’t.” 

You pout, but kiss him nonetheless. Your tongues move in perfect synchronization, and Jungkook thinks this might be all he needs. Until something gives him away. Because as your moans die down, another sound breaks through — the sound of Jungkook’s stomach rumbling. 

Fuck that’s embarrassing. 

He wines, leaning further back, but that only invites you to press yourself harder against his cock. And as you notice his talkative stomach, you giggle. 

“Hungry, Kookie?” 

God yes. God, he’s hungry. He’s so hungry he could die. But he’s determined to do nothing about it. He wants to stay here, with you, kiss you forever. Feel you rub yourself on him, feel your fingers in his hair. Have your soft lips on his, have your sweet, sweet tongue deep in his mouth. 

But he is hungry, there’s no denying that. His stomach continues growling, causing you to scoff out teasing laughs every single time. But that’s only until Jungkook feel you smile devilishly against his kisses. And Jungkook — a fond watcher of porn — thinks he might know what you’re up to. 

You slide one hand from the back of his neck, finger finding his jugular, and you slowly wrap them around his throat — very lightly. Tickling his skin. And as you retreat from the kiss, you lock eyes with Jungkook.

“How hungry are you—exactly?”

Jungkook waists no fucking time now. He has seen this in porn too many times to want to wait. He’s fucking starving, and by what he has seen on the numerous raunchy sites, there’s only one thing that can ease his cravings. 

Suddenly, his hands find the back of your thighs, and with ease — he lifts you from the ground. 

You give a quiet squeal, pressing your lips harder against his, letting your body melt with his. He drinks is the feeling of your spread legs wrapped around him, how the dress has risen up your thighs, almost exposing your panties to him. There’s almost nothing concealing you from him, and as he has you in his arms, Jungkook feels his cock grow even more. 

He turns with you wrapped around him, backing off from the trunk in order to switch places with you. As your ass meets the cool car polish, you sigh against his kiss, and the sound makes it hard for Jungkook to let go of you. He wishes he could carry you around everywhere, all the time. That you would maybe give up on walking, let him keep you in his arms for him to work as a personal carrier. 

But he lets you go nonetheless, pushing himself in between your legs while his hands move up your back, one finding rest on the back of your neck while the other caresses the space between your shoulder blades. 

“Wow,” you tease, giving him one last peck before baring your neck for Jungkook to access the sweet skin there. He latches onto it immediately, kissing and sucking on your jugular. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Jungkook.” 

“Mhm,” he hums while lathering you in wet kisses, lips pressing down on a particular spot that has you squirming. The hand between your shoulder blades roams further, slips down your back and makes its way to your thighs. He feels your bare skin for the first time, instinctively rutting forward, his erection pressing hot and heavy against your panties. “Oh fuck.” 

Jungkook grows impatient, and in a hurry, he takes ahold of the hem of your dress, dragging it upwards until your ass is bare. You help with a compliant lift of your hips. Your bare cheeks are revealed, and Jungkook immediately lets a big palm find the firm flesh there, kneading it while still rolling his hips into your crotch. 

Both his boxers and shorts are almost ruined with his precum, the constant leak. He knows he can’t keep going like this — that he will break if this goes on for any longer. And since his stomach has been growling, since he is so hungry, he lets go of your neck and starts kissing lower. 

“Fuck—Kookie—are you sure?” you breathe as Jungkook starts applying kisses to your breasts. He’s easily distracted, and once his lips meet the soft flesh of your cleavage, he almost forgets the path he has taken on. Jungkook bites down on one of your breasts, licking and kissing the mark in order to ease the small amount of pain. “Ah—oh my god.”  

It seems like you can’t take it anymore, and you help Jungkook without him even asking. You let your head loll back as your hands go to the waistband of your panties. Hooking your fingers into the fabric, you start wiggling out of the fabric. Jungkook groans against your neck as you start undressing yourself, taking a small step back in order for you to rid yourself of your underwear. 

The fabric bunches around your ankles, and Jungkook hastily takes ahold of the hem — ripping it off you in an instant. 

“Oh my god I need you so bad,” he whines as he lets go of your neck with a slick pop, looking proudly at the red mark he has left behind. That will stay. Jungkook just marked you — for everyone to see. Holy fuck. 

You only sigh in respond, but you do it so prettily. Jungkook’s brain tangles, and he no longer sees straight. He forgets all about rutting into you like an animal in heat, and suddenly drops to his knees without warning. Jungkook shoves you further onto the trunk, the sound of it squeaky and humorous, but not enough for him to snap out of his trance. 

When met with the new view before him, he whimpers. There’s no other way to explain it — Jungkook whimpers at the sight of your bare cunt. 

Porn can’t compare, Jungkook knows this now. God why has he held himself back for so long, why hasn’t he been met with the real deal before now? Or is it just you? Is it just you and your perfect, soft, wet, glittering pussy? Jungkook has nothing to compare this to (other than the on-screen vaginas he has seen before), but he can confidently say this is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. 

He releases a moan that carries your name, eyebrows lifting high on his forehead. And what really seals the deal is when he feels your fingers in his hair. He looks up at you with big eyes, almost breaking in half when he sees the flush on your cheeks, how you press your lips together in order not to let out any sound. 

Jungkook realizes, while sitting down on his knees in front of your parted legs and dripping cunt, that he has no idea how to do this. He’s a fast learner, and he usually excels at everything he tries — but this is human anatomy. What if he’s awful? What if you don’t like it? He would never want to disappoint you, and he would most of all want you to feel good — to make you cry, scream, beg for him to keep going, beg for him to stop. 

His eyes give away all his questions before he even has to ask. You lick down on your lips, caressing his scalp as your fingers play with his soft hair. 

“Kookie, just—” you say in between a breath, almost like you know exactly what’s going on inside his head. “Just start out with a kiss—okay?”

Okay, he can do that. He gives you one single nod, his eyes tripling in size before he looks back down on the meal before him. Before actually kissing it, he moves his hand, letting his knuckles drag experimentally through your wetness. 

To his surprise, you twitch before him, letting out a whimper. And even more surprising is what Jungkook sees before him — the white slick that leaks from you. His lips part instinctively, and his mouth waters. Is this all for him? Is he doing this to you? 

Jungkook leans in, feeling your fingers tighten in his hair as he closes in on your wetness. And slowly, he closes his eyes, parts his lips even further, and kisses the soft, beautiful nub that crowns your mound. 

Holy fuck. 

Your hips jerk upwards, but there’s no use. Jungkook has just gotten the taste of something life altering. His eyes open, still kissing down on your clit, and like clockwork — he plants another kiss there. 

“Oh my—fuck,” you moan as you breathe out, fist closing around a big chunk of Jungkook’s silky hair. 

Is this what he has been missing out on this entire time? Is he a fucking idiot? Is this what he has been giving up — and for what? To play video games, get drunk and sing karaoke with his friends, refusing to get laid? What a fucking dumb idiot he is.

Now that he’s here, he gets drunk off you. Absolutely hammered. 

His hands push both your knees to the side, spreading you further apart, and he dives in yet again. This time, he does exactly like when kissing you — rolling his tongue out, this time letting it catch in your clit. He realizes this might not be such a poor method, as your writhe before him whenever he nudges the wet nub. 

“Jesus—Jungkook, right there.” 

Dingdingding — jackpot. 

He flattens his tongue, delving down and lapping at you like a parched animal. His hands spread apart your legs, fingertips digging into the supple flesh of your thighs as he goes — to — town. 

Nothing has ever tasted this good before. Your juices have Jungkook’s mind going hazy, his thoughts wiping out. His eyebrows curl together low on his forehead, concentrating to the fullest as he eats you out with the sole purpose of his own pleasure. Because it tastes so fucking good. Where have you been all this time? 

Your clit twitches on his tongue, and you try scooting away from his mouth, but Jungkook’s strong hands pin you down against the car. 

A moan gets caught in your throat. “Mrph—Jungkook, oh my god—you’re doing s-so good.”

The praise flies right above Jungkook’s head. He can’t hear or see shit. He wishes he could do what all the guys do in porn — lock eyes with you and map out every single one of your reactions, your pretty facial expressions. But he’s too far gone to be doing all that. You taste too fucking good. 

More and more juices keep leaking from you, covering his tongue as he messily eats away at you. He drags his tongue lower, gathering your slick purely because of its sweet taste, but suddenly gets a feel of a pulsating, sopping hole. 

He moans against your pussy at the new discovery, mapping out the hole with the tip of his tongue. It keeps spasming, keeps pulsating, and Jungkook’s expression only grows more concentrated when experimentally dipping the tip of his tongue into your wet center. 

Your head lolls back in pleasure, and you tug on Jungkook’s hair. You’re so incredibly taken aback by Jungkook’s skillful use of tongue, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he slowly lets the thick muscle sink into your core. “Yes—yes, Jungkook—oh my god.” 

Oh my god is right — because with where Jungkook’s tongue is buried now, he can taste all of you. His brows furrow even further, similar to the expression he makes when eating great food, and he slowly lets his tongue curl inside you, mapping out every single inch of your insides. It’s all so wet, so warm, and your sweet slick covers his entire face. His chin is dripping with your juices, and he’s nearly suffocating on your cunt. But it’s all good — Jungkook would happily choke and die here. 

As Jungkook retracts his tongue, you jump at the sensation. But he needs more, he needs to savor the taste of you. His arms move, curling around your thighs, and he shoves you against his face — his tongue entering you once again as his nose presses against your clit. 

“Kookie—please­—” you cry out, causing Jungkook’s eyes to search for yours, afraid he might’ve done something wrong. And as your eyes meet, Jungkook’s cock jumps in his shorts. 

The corner of your eyes, the top of your sweet cheeks, are covered in tears. Wet, glittering, beautiful tears that Jungkook wishes he could lick away. But his tongue might be a bit busy at the moment. Jungkook waits for you to catch your breath, continue speaking, and he watches the way your belly moves up and down, how you’re panting. 

You caress his scalp again, his hair, twirling it around in your grip. The look on your face is nothing short of pleading, and Jungkook believes he can come right here and now. 

“Please—” you continue. “Fuck me with your tongue. Fuck me s-so good.”

Point taken. 

Jungkook waits no more time, always following orders, and starts doing as told — fucking you dumb with his tongue. 

It retracts, pushes back in, repeat — repeat. When diving back in, he buries his big nose right onto your pretty clit, shaking his head a bit just to make your thighs shake. He loves when your thighs shake. He wants more of it. And they shake so beautifully, spasm so perfectly, whenever he rubs against your highpoint. So thinking no more of it, he presses a thumb against it, flicking over the sensitive area until you can do no more but cry out his name into the summer night. 

He wants you to break. Wants you to feel as helpless as he has been feeling for the past days. He wants you trembling on his tongue. And if the sounds you are producing are anything to go by — he’s almost there. 

Once feeling your thighs clamping around his head, his hands go back to pulling you further apart for him, and Jungkook’s tongue again finds your clit. The muscle has gone all slick and wet, more than before, and he uses it to repeatedly flick over the nub until you writhe against his face. 

“Fuck I’m gonna—” you start, breathing heavily as Jungkook won’t give up on stimulating your clit. He uses only the tip of his tongue, flicking fast over it, causing you to tug on his hair. “Oh my god please don’t stop!”

He won’t stop — he’s not fucking brain dead. He’s hungry, starving, loving the sweet, perfect taste of you. And trying to down it even further, he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it in order to drink you up completely. His tongue rolls with the suction, working over the nub until you can’t take it anymore. He lets go only once, in order to come up for air and gasp, but he quickly delves in again. 

You break in half. 

Your whole body locks, and even as Jungkook keeps you spread open for him, your thighs try clamping around him. You clench your fist in his hair, the other hand slamming down on the trunk, and you call out his name in a row of beautiful moans. 

As you come, Jungkook loses it completely. It’s the most wonderful thing he has ever experienced, and as you spasm in his grip, on his tongue, he just continues sucking. He won’t give this up — he wouldn’t give this taste up for anything in the world. So Jungkook sucks, moans, pants, acting out on pure instinct as you fall apart for him. 

But you try getting him to ease up, try pushing him away — something Jungkook won’t have. 

“Jungkook—fuck, stop—oh my god,” you say between moans, head lolling back in pleasure filled pain. One of your feet come up to Jungkook’s shoulder, desperately trying to kick him off. Your back arches, and you try and try and try, but Jungkook won’t let up. 

He knows you like this — knows you love it. Because why else would your core keep pulsating, clenching around nothing, producing more sweet juice for Jungkook to lap at? 

“Please, Kookie—for fucks sake, s-stop.” 

You yank his head back with the fist curled up in his hair, causing Jungkook to finally give your clit a rest, hissing as you’ve hurt his scalp. 

As he looks up at you, finds your eyes, he gasps. The tears have now fallen completely, covered your entire face, some small droplets still creasing in the corners of your eyes. You look so pretty when you’re fucked out. How is that even possible? 

His chest moves up and down as he finally comes up for air, arms still wrapped around your thighs. When drinking in the state of you, he starts worrying the tears might be a bad thing, that he hurt you. That you kicked him off because he hurt you — and he never meant to do that. He would never, ever hurt you. 

The words tumble out of his mouth. “Wha—what—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry did I hurt you?”

Still trying to catch your breath, you thankfully give him a smile. You ease the hand tangled in his hair and let it move to his mullet. “Awh—aw no, you’re so sweet,” you say, caressing him as he looks up at you like a lost puppy. “It’s just—it’s sensitive. That’s just how it is for girls. For everyone, Kookie. You did nothing wrong. You did so—so good.”

Jungkook lets out a big sigh, suddenly feeling that his chin is starting to grow cold. He let’s the back of his hand meet the skin there, noticing how slick it is, and wipes it off at once. 

“Okay, that’s good. I’m happy I did good,” he answers awkwardly, now unsure of where to put his hands. He lets them find rest on his knees, rubbing down on them while his eyes drown in yours. 

You tilt your head to the side, give him a comforting smile and reach for him with grabby hands. “Look—come here.” 

He does as told, rising to his feet and lets your hands find his soft cheeks. You pull him in for a kiss, quick and playful pecks that move from his lips, to his chin, to his jaw. 

“You’re a mess now, Jungkook.” 

“It’s okay—I kinda like it,” he says in a whisper, closing his eyes in pure bliss as your kisses move further down, finding his neck. 

You’re sensitive. You just told him you’re sensitive. That all girls are — even boys. So his hopes drop just a tiny bit. 

Maybe he won’t get laid tonight, maybe that will have to wait. It might be sad, but Jungkook at least got a taste of something borderline perfect. He got to drink you in, make you cry. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it. Maybe he can ask to do this every day. Wouldn’t you like that? It’s at least his new favorite thing ever, or at least top three. 

As his thoughts run wild, his breath suddenly leaves him. 

Because you push yourself further into him, all the while you’re kissing and licking down on his neck, tongue swirling over his Adam’s apple, feeling the way it bobs when Jungkook swallows hard at the new sensation. The feel of your bare, sopping pussy pressing ever so gently over his still hard and clothed cock. 

Jungkook has never been this hard in his life. He bets his balls have turned blue, maybe even purple. 

He gives your name in a low breath, “We don’t—ah—we don’t have to…” You grind into him once more, a moan getting caught in his throat. 

“Jungkook, take off those shorts now.” 

Holy fuck this is happening. Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck. 

Wait — aren’t you sensitive? Whatever that means. 

Jungkook doesn’t care right now, he wants to feel you. Correction — he wants to fuck you. Deep. Fuck you until Taehyung and Sara can hear, until they rush out to see why you’re screaming, see if you’re being attacked or killed, only to find out you have Jungkook’s cock shoved so deep inside you that your stomach shows the outline of him. Until you can’t fucking think, speak or walk. 

Something like that, at least. 

Anyways, Jungkook spends no more than two seconds in his ruined shorts. He pulls them off so hurriedly that you can’t help but laugh. There’s really no time to take notice of the wet patch in his Calvin Klein’s as he pulls them down just as past as the pants. Both stay bunched on his thighs, just enough for his cock to spring free. 

When it does, when he’s bared to you, a sound nothing short of a gasp leaves you.

He’s thick, long, big — and most of all leaking. The tip of him has gone dark red, flushed and angry, precum seeping from his slit every so often. And upon seeing him, your mouth waters — and you’re quite literally gagged. 

“Okay… alright—wow.” You tuck loose strands of hair behind your ears, your cheeks growing warmer by the second. 

Jungkook takes this the wrong way, suddenly a bit embarrassed by how hard he is. “Uh, yeah—well, sorry it’s just—I’ve never—”

“Fuck Kookie—you’re so big.” 

Oh. Oh, that’s why your jaw is slacking. Jungkook can’t help but smile, his embarrassment turning into pride. He feels snug as a bug, actually. He can live with this. A pretty girl just gasped at the size of him. 

“You’re gonna have to take it slow, okay Kookie? You think you can do that for me?” you ask with a gentle voice, bracing your arms behind you on the trunk as you spread your legs again, now even further to accommodate the size of him. 

Jungkook nods fast and a lot. Okay, he’ll be careful. He’ll take it slow. No problem. 

You’re still so wet, you still look so sweet, and Jungkook could possibly come just by looking at your sopping cunt. But that’s what porn is for. He has the real deal now, and he has to bury himself inside you by yesterday. 

Taking a single step forward, Jungkook reaches for his cock, but is pleasantly surprised that your smaller hand takes his place. 

He uncontrollably whines at the feel, your grip gentle but commanding, wrapping around the girth of him in order to angle his hard on directly to your entrance. You tease for a bit, letting the leaking head of him just get a feel of you first. 

“Oh my fuck holy fuck,” Jungkook gasps, even more precum slipping out of him as you drag the tip through your puffy folds, letting it catch in your clit. That last part has even you moaning, eyebrows creasing as your jaw goes slack. 

“Fuck—feels so good, Kookie.”

“Yeah?” he asks in an embarrassingly high pitch, eyes locking with how his cock slips through your wetness. He leans further forward, both hands going to your waist, caressing you before finding shelter on your ass. Jungkook grabs two handfuls of your flesh and starts kneading, his cock almost exploding when you slowly drag it through your pussy once again. “Ah—yeah? Feels good?”

“Feels so good Jungkook, just—just take it slow, okay?”

Fuck okay, okay he has to take it slow — he needs to take it slow. He can’t come right away, he just can’t. That’ll be too embarrassing. 

“Okay I’ll take it slow—I’ll be good, I’ll be—I’ll be so good,” Jungkook whines, eyes darting up to search for yours. He drowns in them immediately, how pleading they look, and immediately forgets all about his promise. 

He leans in for a deep kiss, and uncontrollably ruts forward, his cock once again sliding through your pussy, this time a bit more awkwardly, a bit messily. You gasp against his lips, but immediately reroute his shaft, pressing the head of him directly against your entrance. And with a deep breath, a wet kiss, Jungkook pushes forward. 

Jungkook whines out a deep moan of your name traced upon his lips, a moan that comes from low within his chest, maybe even all the way down from his stomach. He feels every single wet wall of yours pulsating and clenching around his skin — the feeling something he has no way to put into words. 

Do people really do this? Do people have access to this daily? Is this what Taehyung and Sara keep doing every single day?

Suddenly, Jungkook wants a girlfriend. Or maybe just to fuck everything. Everyone. Or maybe it’s just you. Maybe it’s just your pussy that has him acting this way. Because there is no fucking way, absolutely no fucking way.

“Jesus—oh my fucking god—feels so fucking good,” Jungkook moans hoarsely, pushing even further in, slowly (as you’ve told him), until he is completely bottomed out. “Ah—holy fuck.”

He buries himself balls deep inside you, his head falling to your shoulder the moment he’s all the way in. You comfort him despite the harsh fit of him inside you, hugging him tightly against your chest while drawing circles with your nails on his muscly back. 

Jungkook’s entire body shudders against you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to move even if he tries. But he feels you pulsate around him, and you feel so warm, so plush. He has to move. 

You’re so wet he almost slips out of you when retracting, holding onto your ass cheeks for his dear life in order not to come right away. And as he pushes further in, you moan so prettily that he has to shut his eyes. He wishes he could watch what’s happening, look at how your juices covers his abdomen, but he can’t. He just has to pray to every god out there that he won’t come. 

“You’re so big baby—mrph—take it slow,” you whimper, placing a kiss on the soft skin behind his ear. 

Baby. You called him baby. 

Alright that’s it — pound time. 

Jungkook moans at the pet-name, retracting from your heat then surging forward, not caring even a bit about taking it slow. Fuck taking it slow — he needs you screaming. Crying again. 

And you do, loudly. When Jungkook sets a mean pace, you scream out over his shoulder, burying wet eyes in the crook of his neck. Your whole body jumps with every thrust of Jungkook’s hips, and he lets out animalistic noises every time he feels you clench around him. He might be a bit too big for you — he feels that — as the fit is so unbelievably snug that Jungkook’s vision almost wipes clean out. 

Fuck, he has to swallow his moans. He needs to silence himself — focus. 

One of the hands squeezing your ass tumbles upwards, searching for your chest. He reaches for the fabric of your dress, happy to find you’re not wearing a bra, and simply just rips. The dress tears, the seams hanging loose across his tattooed fingers — but at least your tit pops out. 

Jungkook’s eyes widen. He has never seen such a pretty breast. So perky, round, such a cute nipple. Bite-sized. 

He wraps his lips around it without thinking twice and sucks for dear life. 

You cry out, biting down on Jungkook’s ear in hopes of something. What it is, neither you or Jungkook knows. But you bite and suck when Jungkook bites and sucks, your moans breaking with every pound that Jungkook’s heavy cock bestows upon you. 

“Fu—uu—uuck Jungkook!” you whine, resting your head above Jungkook’s, letting one hand find his hair again. You seem to have a habit of tugging and pulling on his hair — something Jungkook loves. And he loves your pretty tits. He loves the taste of your nipple. He loves the taste of your pussy. He loves your pussy. Maybe he should tell you this? 

“Love this fucking pussy,” he mindlessly rambles while biting down on the peak of your tit, sweat dripping from his forehead. Jungkook slams his hips into you, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, but only for a mere second before sliding out — then right back in. If one can get drunk of pussy, Jungkook is exactly that. Pussy-drunk, and heavily that is. His breathing goes ragged, and he thrusts into you like a madman, not even letting you get a single word out. So he fills the silence himself. 

“Love this pussy—how tight it is. How tight you feel around my cock. How it fits my cock perfectly, taking me like the slut you are.” 

You clench the moment the word slut leaves his mouth. 

Jungkook looks up at you, still near your tit, having left your nipple wet with spit. “You like that, huh? Me calling you slut?”

Apparently two can play this game. Jungkook isn’t even allowed to play big-shot for even a minute, as you suddenly pull on his hair, make him meet your eyes and bare his neck for you. 

“Awh, that’s cute,” you purr, trying to keep yourself from moaning his name. Jungkook tries stealing glances, searching for a way to ogle at your tits bouncing with the force of his thrusts, but you make him look up at you. “Try not to cum right away, Kookie—can you do that? Even with how wet I am for you? H-how my pussy sucks you in so greedily?” 

Your words might be a bit broken, a bit breathy with the way you’re taking his cock — but they send shivers down Jungkook’s spine. 

His pace wavers for a second, but he snaps right back into it as he feels his balls tightening. Fuck — what a bad timing to come. He can’t come. Fuck, he can’t look at you, watch you like this. You look so flushed, so unbelievably fucked out. And it’s all because of him — this is his doing. 

Jungkook closes his eyes and lets his head loll back, trying to uphold the thrusts but also not spurt into you after only a couple of minutes. But as his neck stretches before you, you lean into him, flinging your arms over his shoulder while whispering sweet nothings in his ear. 

“I know you w-wanna cum, Kookie,” you whisper in a seductive tone, moaning so prettily when Jungkook slams into you repeatedly. “Know you wanna cum so bad—fill me up so nice. Have me dripping all over Tae’s car. Wouldn’t you like that? Have your cum so deep inside me, make me cry all over again? Huh, Kookie?”

A load and deep moan rips from Jungkook’s throat, spilling out into the free air above him. He wants to come so bad. He wants to fill you up so nicely. And right now, he can’t exactly think straight. He bets that he’ll be crossed if he looks back at you. So he keeps his head up, jaw slacking as he slams into you again and again and again. 

Apparently, that last slam hits a spot you like. A spot you really like. You gasp, choking on a moan, before searching for Jungkook’s lips. Dear mother of god — Jungkook likes that. He likes that very much, he has to hit that spot again. 

And he does, again, and again until you cry out into his mouth. All you can produce are long, incoherent rows of his name as Jungkook hits your sweet-spot repeatedly. Fuck, the noises are too good. Your pussy is too tight. Your lips are too soft. And it’s all too much when you suddenly start clenching, gasping for air as your body spasms in Jungkook’s grip. Fuck — your pussy is milking him dry. 

With two final, deep thrusts, Jungkook buries his cock to the hilt, a long and rough moan tearing from his throat and spilling into your parted lips. The two of you gasp for air as thick ropes of Jungkook’s cum spills inside of your warm pussy. Now this is the hardest Jungkook has ever climaxed. The spillage just won’t stop, and he continues leaking, white and milky contents seeping out of your spent cunt, covering Jungkook’s abdomen. 

He lets his head find your chest, forehead resting against your skin as he catches his breath. As his eyes open, he’s met with the view of his own cum dripping out of your pussy, spilling onto his own cock. Fuck, he fills you up so perfectly. Looks like he’s made to be there. 

As the two of you come down from your high, you start caressing Jungkook’s scalp, the back of his neck. It has him shivering, your fingernails long enough to cause a slight tickle. 

“Holy shit—th-that was the best thing ever,” he embarrassingly admits, breathing hot against your chest. He suddenly remembers ruining your dress, whining at the sight. “Ah—shit—I’m sorry about your dress—fuck.”

You giggle, finally, after so long he finally hears that beautiful giggle. “That’s all good.” With trembling fingers, you play with his hair, still shuddering after your orgasm. You let out a content hum, breathing through your nose. “You’re so cute.” 

“I’m not cute—don’t say that.” 

As your fingers move, both your hands come to cup his cheeks. You pull his head off your chest and force him to look you straight in the eyes before planting a soft kiss on his lips. “Unfortunately you are, Jungkook. You are really cute.”

The next kiss is just as soft, and neither of you feel the need to use tongue, to act lustful. It’s just a simple kiss. Just a soft, simple kiss. But Jungkook’s cheeks turn pink, and he shuts his eyes while breathing through his nose, kissing you still. 

And there you stay for a while, still messy and locked, with Jungkook’s cock buried inside your warm heat, letting it soften as his cum seeps from your entrance. You’ve been loud enough for Taehyung and Sara to take notice of it — but Jungkook is guessing that they’re good enough friends to not break anything off. Even though you just fucked a girl on the trunk of Taehyung’s car. 

That’s a worry for another time. 

The worry comes earlier than excepted. 

Jungkook slept in his own bed last night — but so did you.

After tearing each other apart on Taehyung’s car, Jungkook offered to carry you inside as your legs had stopped working and your dress was completely ruined. You of course let him do so, stealing tiny kisses from him as he carried you bridal-style all the way to the second floor. But you whined the moment he started walking towards your room, and demanded to sleep in his bed. When Jungkook tried knocking some sense into your head — telling you it would be best if the two of you kept a low profile — you simply laughed in his face. 

You slept in his arms the entire night. It was a bit warm (or extremely sweaty, actually) and you tried to push Jungkook away numerous of times, but the attempts were all unsuccessful. Jungkook’s big arms caged you in, and when you tried wiggling away he locked you against his warm body by curling a thick thigh around you. 

The sounds he made when sleeping bordered on soft purrs, and he believed he had never been a happier man. He just had sex. He just had sex with a beautiful girl and now she’s sleeping in his bed. He could dance, probably, but he was a bit too tired. So he optioned for the next best thing — falling asleep to your breathing. 

But the happy, giddy illusion was all shattered when the door busted open in the morning. 

Taehyung stands with fiery eyes in the doorframe, hair wild and everywhere. 

He and Sara had apparently went to bed the second you slipped away from the dinner, and fell fast asleep with no worries in mind. They hadn’t even heard the fact that you guys had been fucking like animals outside. 

But the problem has creeped up on Taehyung now, as he just went outside into the driveway, ready to take his car for a spin before going to the gym — when he was met with a big, melting stain of old cum on the back of the trunk. As well as a big mess of spilled groceries, wet ice cream seeping into the black and hot tires of his car. 

“I hope the two of you had a great time last night, and I’m happy the plan worked, blah blah blah—whatever,” Taehyung hisses, curling his lips inward and jerking his neck. “If that car isn’t cleaned within ten minutes, I’ll castrate Jungkook and send you off to boarding school, miss.” 

You apologize immediately, covering yourself with Jungkook’s blanket, looking over at him for any signs of embarrassment, remorse, confusion. But you find none, since Jungkook simply nods, bearing a big, teethy smile.

As Taehyung leaves the room, you turn to Jungkook yet again. He doesn’t seem to have noticed anything weird in Taehyung’s words.

Until he does.

His eyebrows crease low on his forehead, and he turns his head to you slowly. “Uh—plan?”

You let out an awkward giggle, scratching the back of your head. “Okay—don’t be angry with me,” you start, tumbling over your words. “But we kinda planned everything. For me… to you know… sleep with you.”

Mhm. Okay.

Jungkook doesn’t give a fuck at all. Not a single fuck. He just had sex last night. He just had great, fucking, mind-blowing sex. Who cares about Taehyung’s car? Who cares if it was all a plot?

Without even answering, Jungkook leans in with slender eyes, smiling as he kisses you. You on the other hand look confused, not really understanding why he’s not more riled up. You don’t really kiss him back, you just sit still. However, your heart does a weird little flip. Your head tells it to stop, but somehow… it just doesn’t.

And Jungkook keeps his blissful energy, humming contentedly against your lips. The world is all butterflies and rainbows. The world is beautiful, and so are you.

He knew the exact moment you walked into the apartment. At this point, it was as if he had a sixth sense for your presence, a Y/N sense, if he had to name it.

Not that it was hard to tell when you did, since every face in the room turned the moment you walked in. Most people already knew who you were, and those who didn’t? Well, their expressions made it very clear: they were dying to find out.

There was this energy about you that demanded attention, even when you weren’t trying. It wasn’t just the way you carried yourself—though that certainly played a part—it was the way people gravitated toward you, their eyes lingering, their conversations subtly shifting as if they were waiting for you to say something, to do something.

And he, well, he had always been attuned to it. To you. Even before he truly understood why.

Tonight, when you walked through the doors of his apartment looking absolutely breathtaking, Chan felt his head spin. It could have been the ten shots of tequila he’d been forced to drink after losing some random game against Yeonjun a couple of minutes ago, but he knew it wasn’t.

That was simply the effect you’d had on him since the day he first laid eyes on you during orientation day, two years ago. You had been in charge of welcoming the freshmen to their dorm building, and when you smiled at him like he was the most important guy there, he was a goner.

Of course, he knew you were probably just doing your job as a sophomore, but still, your smile had been stuck in his mind ever since.

“Pathetic,” he heard Seungkwan’s voice, followed by a slap on the back of his head.

Chan barely flinched, too busy pressed against the wall watching you every move as you wave through the crowded room like you owned the place. For him, in a way, you did. You weren’t loud about it, didn’t strut around making a scene, but there was an undeniable pull to you, one that made people shift to make space, one that had them leaning in, hoping for even a sliver of your attention.

And him? He was no better than the rest of them.

He tore his gaze away just long enough to shoot Seungkwan — who was looking at him like he was the saddest excuse for a man to ever exist — a glare. Vernon was right beside him, looking high enough to be in another dimension, and yet, was still wearing the same expression as the eldest of the three. 

“What?”

Seungkwan sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “You look like a lovesick puppy. Again.”

It was no secret to anyone that Lee Chan had a huge, enormous and gigantic crush on you. If he was being honest, by this point, it was a surprise you didn’t know—which he had some doubts—, since he wasn’t exactly very skilled at hiding it.

Not that he was openly hitting on you whenever he had the chance, because that was far from his reality. Very far, really. He had never done so and whenever he had a chance to be near you or participate in the same conversation as you, he would turn just as red as the lipstick you were wearing tonight, not to mention the stuttering he didn’t even know he had. 

It was a mess. He was a mess. 

Not that he would admit that to Seungkwan, anyway. 

Chan scoffed, forcing himself to straighten up. “I do not look like a lovesick puppy.”

Seungkwan snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a backing vocal for Beyoncé.”

“You do,” Vernon stated, deadpanned. “Mingi just asked me if you were okay because, and I quote, ‘Chan looks like he just got hit by a truck.’”

Yeah, he was that obvious.

He watched as Seungkwan tilted his head to the side, nudging him with his elbow. “Chan-ah, are you seriously gonna spend the rest of your college years pining after this girl?”

His face flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tugging at him. Chan opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t pining? That he wasn’t completely, utterly, hopelessly gone for you? Even he wasn’t delusional enough to deny it.

Seungkwan, apparently sensing his internal struggle, let out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what I thought.”

Chan scowled, lifting his drink to his lips only to hide his face and Vernon chuckled, clearly enjoying the way his younger friend was unraveling under the pressure of their teasing.

“Just go talk to her,” he said, voice slow and lazy. “She doesn’t bite, dude.”

“Easy for you to say,” Chan muttered, his eyes flickering back to you, who were now chatting with your friends in the corner. “She’s your friend.”

Oh yeah, there was also this little detail: you were Vernon’s classmate. 

Not only were you both seniors, you were also majoring in the same program, meaning you shared the vast majority of your classes. Chan knew you were in the same study group and that you were paired up for most of the projects, which had led to a friendship that he very much envied.

You might think that having a mutual friend would make things easier for him, but you’d be completely wrong. Soon he discovered that Vernon wasn’t willing to help. Not because he didn’t believe Chan had a chance with you, but because he insisted that Chan should grow a pair and talk to you himself.

Which of course, he had already shown incapability of doing so thousands of times. 

Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “You really are pathetic.”

“Hyung—” Chan groaned.

“I mean, come on,” his eldest friend cut him off, trying to finish his point. “You can deadlift three plates but you can’t say one sentence to a girl you like?”

Chan glared at him again. “That is not the same thing.”

“Yeah, one requires actual effort,” Vernon added, scoffing.

By now, he was used to all the teasing from his friends. It didn’t keep him from wanting to strangle them any less though. 

Either way, there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t just about the amount of courage he had or how much effort he put into it; crushing on you for the last two years had felt like playing a game he was destined to lose. Even though in the deepest desires of his mind he was your boyfriend, that role was already filled by someone much older than him.

A Marine dude, apparently. His name? Chan didn’t care. 

Not only was he the luckiest dude on the planet by having you as his girl, he was also tall, strong and a walking definition of everything Chan wasn’t: confident, assertive, and the complete opposite of the shy mess he’d been around you since day one. He would probably kill Chan if he could peek into his brain and see all the dreams he had about you over the years. 

The guy also irritated the fuck out of him. Something about his attitude, his hundred tattoos, the fact that he was probably three times his height and the way he marked his territory by walking you to every class, every day. Like, damn, dude, we get it, she’s yours. At least let the rest of us appreciate the divine gift the universe sent us by looking at her.

Every time Chan saw him, he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the competition. The worst part? You didn’t seem happy with him and everyone knew it. And even though it was clear from every word and every look that you were completely unaware of Chan’s feelings, the thought of you with someone else — someone like him — made his insides twist in ways he didn’t know he could feel.

“She has a boyfriend,” Chan finally said, feeling the bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he did. 

“So?” Seungkwan arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see him here. Do you?”

He directed his last question to Vernon, who just shrugged and shook his head. “Nope.”

Chan swallowed hard, eyes darting toward you again. Sure enough, there was no sign of your boyfriend. Not that he was about to get his hopes up. He had enough self-awareness to know he was probably just grasping at straws, because even if he never existed at all, Chan still wasn’t sure he’d have the guts to walk up to you.

“Look, man,” Seungkwan stared again, breaking through his dark thoughts. “You’ve gotta stop comparing yourself to him. You’re Lee Chan. You have a million things going for you, and besides…” He paused for effect. “You’re way better looking.”

“Thanks for the support,” Chan replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

“Seriously, dude,” Vernon chimed in. “You’re smart, funny, and way more likable than that guy. You just need to show her that.”

Chan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “It's not that simple, guys.”

“It is that simple,” Seungkwan shot back. “You’re making it complicated.”

Before Chan could argue, the music shifted, the bass thrumming through the floorboards, and a new wave of partygoers stumbled in, laughing and chattering loudly. His attention snapped back to you, just in time to see you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your lips curling into a soft smile at something one of your friends said. The sight alone made his pulse quicken.

Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, your gaze flickered up and locked onto his.

He froze.

It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just a glance that skimmed over the room, landing on him by chance. No, this was intentional. You looked at him like you had known he was there all along, like you’d expected to find him in that exact spot, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand and his friends at his side.

And then, as if to send him straight into cardiac arrest, your lips — marked by the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen — curved into a smile.

For a split second, it felt like the entire world blurred, muffled voices fading into static. Your eyes lingered, holding his in a way that sent a rush of heat down his spine. Then—just as quickly as it happened—, you turned back to your friends, your fingers wrapping around the red cup in your hand and leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.

He was sure he had just checked off a box on the list of clichés where the lovestruck fool forgets how to breathe. His fingers tightened around the cup in his hand, his heartbeat hammering so loudly he was certain Seungkwan and Vernon could hear it.

Chan looked away just a second before he heard, “She’s coming over,” announced Vernon, and for once, his voice didn’t sound amused. It sounded almost surprised.

He blinked, breaking free from whatever trance he had fallen into. “What?”

Seungkwan’s hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him once. “She. Is. Coming. Over.”

He barely had a second to react before you started making your way through the crowd, weaving between bodies with practiced ease, heading straight toward them. The air in the room seemed to thicken with every step you took in his direction, and though he told himself to stay cool, to not let it show, he knew the battle was already lost. His grip tightened, his pulse a frantic rhythm beneath his skin.

Seungkwan shifted beside him. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered, half under his breath.

“Act normal,” he whispered to himself. Or at least he thought so. 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Vernon mumbled. 

Chan shot him a glare, but before he could tell his friend to shut the hell up, you were there, standing right in front of him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume, something so sweet and heady that made his head spin.

“Hello, boys,” you greeted them, your voice light but with a touch of something so soft and delicate that made his breath catch.

Trying to play it cool, Chan swallowed hard as he forced himself to meet your gaze. Up close, you were even more mesmerizing, your eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place, the corners of your lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip.

“Hey,” he managed to say collectively with the other two, his voice steadier than he felt.

Beside him, Seungkwan looked like he was barely restraining himself from narrating the entire interaction like he was watching some kind of reality TV show on Netflix: Lee Chan’s Inferno, the live show. 

Your eyes flickered between the three of them briefly before settling back on Chan. 

“Nice party,” you said, flashing them a smile as you nodded towards the crowd of people scattered around their apartment. “Full house, I’ve been told.”

It was the first party the three of them had thrown since Vernon and Seungkwan became seniors and he a junior. They hadn’t expected it to be a great success, but judging by the number of people in their apartment right at that moment, it seemed they had been wrong.

“Thanks,” they chorused in perfect unison. You let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows in curiosity. 

“Are you guys okay? What are you drinking?” He knew you weren’t just talking to him, but Chan was pretty sure his soul was leaving his body slowly but surely. “I know for a fact Hansol is just as high as Namsan Tower.” 

It wasn’t just that you were standing in front of him, looking every bit like you walked straight out of his dream, it was the way you were looking at him. Like you were actually interested in what he had to say, like he wasn’t just another person in this house, and like you weren’t effortlessly stealing the air from his lungs.  

Meanwhile, his brain? Completely fried.

Your laugh—soft, amused and way too pretty—sent something dangerously warm through his chest. You tilted your head to the side, as if you were analyzing his face. 

“What’s your name?”

His world seemed to stop for a second.

Even though the two of you weren’t close, or even friends, he was sure you knew his name. I mean, Vernon was one of his best friends. You were Vernon’s friend. You knew his name… right?

This was the worst possible scenario. The girl he had a crush on bigger than the entire Asian continent didn’t know his name? Yeah. The ground could open up and swallow him whole right now, and he wouldn’t even fight it.

This couldn’t be happening.

“You don’t know my name?” He didn’t even know he could finish a whole sentence around you, let alone a question, his voice somehow steady despite the absolute horror pooling in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Seungkwan and Vernon exchanging a surprised and amused look, definitely holding back laughter.

“Oh, I know your name, Channie.” Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. “Just making sure you're still sober enough to remember it.”

Chan felt his face heat up instantly, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over him all at once, brain barely registering the sweet way you said his name. Seungkwan outright cackled, slapping his knee, while Vernon just shook his head with a knowing smirk.

“Oh.” Was all Chan managed to say at first, his brain short-circuiting at the way you looked at him, teasing, confident, completely in control of the situation. “Chan. Lee Chan.”

You tilted your head, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Good.”

Suddenly, Chan was painfully aware of how close you were. Close enough that he could count the faint shimmer of highlight on your cheekbone, see the way your lashes fluttered when your gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth? No. He had to be imagining that. Maybe he had had a little too much tequila. Maybe it was time to put his cup down, go to his bedroom and sleep.

He blinked. Then, realized he had been silent for far too long. 

“I—uh—” he started, then immediately hated himself for it. He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot from how red they possibly were.

“He’s fine,” Seungkwan answered for him. “We’re all fine.”

You just smiled again, that knowing, unreadable smile that sent Chan’s pulse into overdrive. “If you say so.”

Vernon cleared his throat. “So, uh…” he was clearly trying to fill the awkward silence that Chan had created. “Are you having fun?”

“I just got here, actually,” you said, taking a slow sip from your cup. They already knew that, yet they nodded anyway. “But everyone else seems to be having a lot of fun.”

The four of you glanced around the packed apartment, noting also the constant flow of guests coming and going through the front door. Some faces were familiar to Chan, ones he had seen somewhere on campus, while others were completely new. The living room was almost unrecognizable with the couch pushed aside to make room for a dance floor. A mini bar had been set up in one corner with beer and even more booze filled the kitchen for those who wanted specific things. 

Everywhere he looked, people were jumping, grinding, kissing, chatting animatedly, smoking and drinking, while plastic cups littered the floor alongside crushed cigarette butts, joints, and scattered snacks trampled underfoot. Chan was so absorbed in your presence that he didn’t even think about the mess he’d eventually have to clean up after the party was over. 

The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat and perfume, and honestly, Chan was surprised none of the neighbors had called the police yet. Sure, the homecoming parties that were happening around campus this time of year were always packed, but this one was on another level, and he felt very proud of it.

The music thumped steadily, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. Then Seungkwan threw out another question for you, so casually that Chan almost missed his intention. “Did you come alone?”

“Well, I came with Nayoung and Dahyun,” you replied, shrugging. “But I lost them somewhere by coming here to talk to you guys.”

Seungkwan shot Chan a look—one that screamed don’t mess this up—before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “Ah, so you chose to be here with us instead of running off to find them?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I did.”

Chan, who had been determinedly sipping his drink to avoid making a fool of himself, nearly choked. His mind latched onto your words like they meant something far deeper than casual conversation.

Seungkwan smirked. “Makes sense. We’re a great company.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“So your boyfriend’s…” Vernon trailed off.

“Not here.”

The words slipped out of your mouth like a subtle declaration, and just like that, Chan felt the weight of it. Your boyfriend wasn’t here. For some reason, the confirmation made him feel a little lighter, though he knew that was dangerous territory. 

He had no right to feel relieved. You weren’t his, after all.

Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Really? No boyfriend? That’s new.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by his teasing tone. “He’s busy with something, I guess.” 

You glanced down briefly, scratching behind your ear before your eyes flicked over to Chan again, catching his gaze for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden spike in his heartbeat. 

“Ohhh,” Seungkwan dragged out, exchanging another look with Vernon. “So you’re free to enjoy the night however you want.”

You let out a hum, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. “I suppose so.”

Chan took another sip of his drink, trying to play it cool once again, but his grip was a little too tight around the cup. His mind was running a mile per minute, filled with thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having.

“You seem awfully interested in that drink.” You pointed to his cup, raising a curious eyebrow and shifting your weight to one leg, one hand resting on your hip. “What are you drinking?”

Chan glanced down at the red cup in his hand like he’d never seen it before. In truth, he had no idea what was in it, he’d grabbed it off the counter earlier when someone shoved it at him, too distracted by your presence to care.

“Uh…” He swirled the liquid inside, like that would magically tell him what it was. “Something… alcoholic?”

Seungkwan groaned beside him. “Wow. Smooth.”

You chuckled, the corner of your lips quirking up. “That’s very specific, Channie.”

Chan nearly choked. The way you said his name so casually, so effortlessly, made his brain short-circuit again. 

Everything he wished for — right after you, of course — was that he had scientific explanations for the way his body and brain reacted to your actions and words. And even then, maybe it wouldn’t be enough for him. 

I mean, Chan was a popular guy. A lot of people knew him around the campus. Hell, he was the current best dancer on the program since Xu Minghao had graduated, packing the school theater every time he performed, and he also wasn’t exactly unknown among girls; he wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he had a reputation.

So why was it that, whenever he was around you, he acted like a complete loser?

It was a case to be studied closely and for days, perhaps years.

Seungkwan, probably sensing that Chan was never going to get a full sentence out at this rate, answered for him. “Tequila. Too much tequila. Yeonjun was bullying him a little.”

At the mention of Yeonjun, you hummed in amusement, your lips pressing together like you were holding back a laugh. Then, without warning, you reached forward and plucked the cup from his hands, bringing it to your lips for a sip. You pulled a slight face at the taste, but to Chan’s absolute horror (and delight), you took another small sip before handing the cup back to him.

“Sounds about right,” you mused, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “And how’s that going for you?”

Chan blinked. 

“Oh, you know…” he forced out, voice slightly rougher than intended, “just trying to stay upright.”

It was a miracle. He had managed to form a coherent sentence.

You laughed, and Chan felt like he had just been hit with a wave of relief. The sound was like music to his ears. “Well, that’s an important skill to have.”

Seungkwan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like pathetic, but Chan was too busy trying to figure out if you were just being nice or if there was something more behind your words.

“So…” you mused, drawing out the word as if weighing it in your mind. “You having fun?”

Fun. Right. That was why he was here. “Uh. Yeah. It’s a party, so… yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That convincing, huh?”

Chan cleared his throat, trying to wrest away the heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, yeah. I’m having fun.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically as if trying to convince both of you.

You just hummed, unconvinced, tilting your head just slightly. The way your eyes scanned his face sent his brain into overdrive. Was he being obvious? Did you know?

But before he could embarrass himself further, the speakers erupted with the unmistakable intro of Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, and the entire room burst into excited screams. Just like you, who threw your head back and let out a moan of happiness.

Chan was certain he felt his entire body shiver at the sound, his mind drifting to places it definitely shouldn’t. He was pretty sure he was already halfway to living on a prayer. 

“I love this song,” you said, eyes lighting up and a smile so radiant it nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Two seconds later, and before any of them could say anything, Dahyun called your name from across the room. “Come dance with us.”

You turned your head slightly, offering her a small nod of acknowledgment before looking back at them.

“I have to go.” You pointed with your thumb over your shoulder at your friend like they haven’t seen her there, shattering Chan’s dream of spending more than ten minutes near you. “See you guys around.”

His heart sank a little at your departure, the moment slipping away faster than he could grasp it. He opened his mouth, almost as if to protest, but the words never made it past his lips. He was still fumbling, unsure of what to say or do in this kind of situation.

But then you gave him one last smile—quick, but enough to leave him breathless—and started to turn away. You took a few steps forward, then stopped, turning around and staring directly at him; not at him, Vernon and Seungkwan, just him. 

“I love your shirt, by the way.”

And just like that, you were gone, moving through the crowd again, leaving him standing there with his heart pounding and his mind reeling, staring in astonishment at the Kurt Cobain shirt he was wearing.

Seungkwan snorted beside him, pulling him out of his daze. “You’re hopeless.”

Chan, still staring after you, muttered, “I know.”

You had disappeared from the party half an hour ago, using the excuse of heading to the bathroom, only to end up on the balcony of one of the bedrooms with an unlocked door.

To be honest, you weren’t really in the mood for partying tonight, but after Nayoung and Dahyun insisted so much on getting you out of your room, despite your repeated insistence that you weren’t affected at all by the recent events in your life, you eventually agreed to join them.

So far, it had been a lot of fun; you’d danced with your friends, played beer pong and pool with people you didn’t even know and a couple of people you did know. But when everyone decided it was time to start a game of seven minutes in heaven, you knew it was time to get away, especially since the only person you wanted to kiss wasn’t in the circle and was clearly avoiding you, as he always did.

That person was currently somewhere in the living room, probably laughing at something his friends said, or even kissing someone in the coat closet, completely unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts.

With a sigh, you sat down at the railing, the cool night air a relief against your flushed skin. The music from the party thumped through the walls, muffled but still loud enough to remind you of the chaos inside. You were fine with missing the game, better than sitting there, pretending you wouldn’t feel a pang of jealousy if someone else pulled his name. 

That last one, of course, was a scenario you created in your own head where he decided to show up and play just because the universe hated you that much. 

You weren’t even sure when it had started, this thing. The way your eyes always searched for him in a crowd, the way your heart did that stupid little skip whenever he smiled at you, especially at times when he didn't seem to realize he was smiling. Maybe it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known and now was the perfect opportunity for it, considering all circumstances. 

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the door creak open behind you until the warmth of another presence filled the space.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

It was nearly two in the morning when Chan finally decided he’d had enough of the party. You had disappeared a while ago to God-knows-where, and even though your friends were still in the living room playing seven minutes in heaven, he was pretty sure you’d gone home without them. Your boyfriend had probably swung by to pick you up at some point—like he always did—and Chan miraculously hadn't noticed.

All night long, he had watched you from afar, dancing and playing games with his friends. You were laughing with Vernon, teasing Seungkwan, and even giving Yeonjun a hard time. You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there somehow. But every time his gaze lingered on you, he felt that familiar twist in his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the kind of longing that made his chest tighten in a way that hurt.

You were surrounded by his friends, sure, but in his mind, you were still just very much out of reach.

Now, Chan was exhausted, tired of feeling like a failure for not having the courage to approach you, even just to start a conversation. He hadn’t taken Vernon’s advice, hadn’t shown you how much better he could be than your boyfriend. So, instead of dwelling on it any longer, he simply said goodbye to everyone and headed to his bedroom.

After cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door, Chan headed inside, silently thanking the universe that no one was there. Everything was in place, neat and undisturbed, clearly showing it hadn’t been used as a place for a couple to make out, or worse. After finally locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed, calmly taking off his shoes as he recapped the night in his head.

He sighed, lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seungkwan was right: this was getting pathetic, really. He had talked to people all night, joked around, even had a decent time despite the chaos around the apartment. But when it came to you, his heart always raced in a way that made him second-guess every single move.

He was such a big fool.

A fool for you, apparently.

For a brief moment, Chan watched as the long curtains that divided the room from the balcony swayed in the wind, revealing a figure sitting on the railing.

When the fabric shifted again, his breath caught in his throat. It was unmistakably you perched on the balcony railing with your legs dangling over the edge, one hand resting casually against your knee. Even under the dim glow from the city lights below, he knew that silhouette by heart. He didn’t know how long you had been out there, but seeing you, calm and distant and seemingly lost in thought, entirely unaware of him, rooted him to the spot.

He hesitated. Again.

The cool night air slipped into the room, sweeping the curtains aside and making them billow like they were inviting him forward. For a brief moment, Chan considered staying put, convincing himself that you probably just needed some space, some quiet time away from the party. But the thought of you sitting out there by yourself pulled at him, tightening something deep in his chest. It felt like the universe was placing a second chance right in front of him, daring him not to waste it this time.

Before he could overthink, before doubt could drag him back down, Chan pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room toward the balcony.

He reached the balcony door quietly, not wanting to startle you. The breeze hit his face as he stepped outside, the sound of music and laughter from the party still faintly echoing in the distance. Chan took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, but it was hard when you were so close, when all it took was one glance to unravel him completely.

You looked like an angel sitting there, and his brain nearly short-circuited when he noticed you were wearing the hoodie he had left on the chair earlier that day.

Chan never really liked people invading his space — especially his room — and even less so when they were uninvited. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have kicked them out on the spot. But this was you. Not only did it not bother him, but he found himself loving the sight of you in his clothes. 

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

You turned your head at the sound of his voice, blinking in surprise at his appearance. “Chan?”

The way your voice sounded when you said his name — disbelieving — made it seem like you were the one wondering if he was real, not the other way around. And he couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Hey,” Chan managed to say, words just loud enough to be heard over the distant music. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Just needed a break. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

Chan hesitated for a beat before leaning against the railing beside you. His posture was a little stiff, like even though it was his bedroom, he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be there, intruding on your moment alone. Yet, somehow, your presence made him and the space feel calmer.

“I get it,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting down to the street below. “I kind of feel the same way sometimes. All the noise, all the people, it’s a lot.”

You chuckled softly, turning slightly toward him. “You? A dance major?”

He really wanted to use this opportunity with you to make a good impression and follow his friends’ advice. But when he looked at you again, his brain went into a tailspin trying to process the way his hoodie looked on you, as if they’d been made for you just as much as for him.

Still, Chan forced himself to get the words out.

“Yeah. Well, dancing is… different,” he admitted, glancing at you with a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s loud, sure, but it makes sense, you know? It’s the kind of noise I can control.”

You hummed in understanding, swinging your legs slightly. “And parties?”

“Not so much.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant music from the party below blending with the rustling trees. The longer Chan stood beside you, the more his nerves settled, though that didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest. He had spent so long watching you from a distance, convinced that any moment spent too close would give him away. And yet here you were, wrapped in his hoodie, on his bedroom balcony, as if you belonged there.

Chan opened his mouth, but nothing came out, as usual. He was already surprised that he had managed to form other sentences before, since his brain was still trying to catch up with everything that’s happening.

God, you were standing in his bedroom—his bedroom—at two in the morning.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you had any idea what you did to him with just a small action. 

You shifted a bit, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, the breeze tugging at your hair while you analyzed his well-defined profile.

You’d known Chan and his friends long enough to recognize their signature chaos. They moved like a unit, very loud, unfiltered, and unapologetically themselves. Each one matching and amplifying the other’s quirks without a single trace of embarrassment. It was refreshing. Maybe that was why you liked being around them so much; they weren’t like the typical guys you met on this campus.

Every now and then, you’d end up hanging out with one of them. Sometimes it was Vernon, your friend, your classmate, basically unavoidable. Other times it was Seungkwan, who somehow knew everyone and always drifted into whatever group you were in.

Lee Chan, however, was the one you barely ever heard speak. You could never tell if he was always that quiet… or if he just became that way around you. You suspected it was the last one.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” The question left you in a light tone, trying to keep the mood casual, though there was an underlying curiosity in your voice.

Chan laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed but still amused by it. He scrambled for words, anything to not look like a complete idiot. “I—uh. No, I mean, I do. Sometimes. I talk.”

Brilliant! Just brilliant.

For someone who was usually a yapper, he had become an expert at being at a loss for words around you. Before this moment, Chan hoped you wouldn’t notice, but your question showed him that was clearly not the case.

Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. But it wasn’t in a cruel way, not like you were laughing at him. “That’s good to know,” you replied, nodding like you were filing the information away for later.

He couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips, even with the awkwardness hanging in the air. Only this time, it wasn’t heavy. You didn’t make him feel self-conscious. If anything, you made him feel noticed, and something about that sent a slow warmth spreading through him.

“I promise I can carry a conversation most of the time,” he defended himself, shoulders lifting in a small shrug, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Just… not always the best at small talk.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow at him, teasing. “Small talk is overrated anyway.”

Silence settled between you, strangely comfortable. From where you stood, the cheers of the crowd faded into the background with each new pair being chosen, distant enough to feel like the two of you were sealed off from the rest of the world. Right here, it was just you and him, standing at the edge of something Chan couldn’t quite name. 

He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing the concrete railing as he debated whether he should say more, whether he should push this moment just a little further or not, since you seemed to be enjoying your own company until a few minutes ago, even if it was in his room. 

The only thing he didn’t want to do was let it slip away.

So instead, he asked the question that had been circling in his mind the moment he spotted you through the curtains. “So, uh… how did you find my room?”

Chan watched as you suddenly froze, eyes widening as his question sank in. Your gaze followed his, tracing down to the hoodie hanging loosely on your frame, and the realization hit you. A soft laugh slipped past your lips and it sent his pulse straight into overdrive.

“Oh shit.” You blinked rapidly, the disbelief written all over your face. You seemed to realize the absurdity of the situation at the exact same moment the words slipped past your lips, your gaze flickering between him and the hoodie. “Wait, no—” you rushed out, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t snooping or anything, I swear. I didn’t even realize this was your room. I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t come in here to—” 

“You just… what?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could catch them. 

He was still trying to process all of it. you, standing in front of him, frustration and embarrassment coloring your face, and wearing his hoodie of all things — did he stress that enough?

Chan had spent the entire night convinced he’d already ruined every chance he might’ve had with you, and now here you were, undoing every conclusion he’d drawn.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. There was no way this could be less embarrassing. “I was looking for a quiet place to hide from the whole seven minutes in heaven thing. I found an unlocked door, thought it was an empty guest room, and uh… turns out, it wasn’t.”

He stared at you, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “And the hoodie?”

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips. “It was on the chair. It was cold. Thought it looked comfy.”

It was comfy. But that wasn’t the point.

He swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through his chest take over his whole body. This—you—was the last thing he expected tonight. And yet, here you were, standing in his room at two in the morning, looking impossibly good in his clothes. Maybe the universe was on his side after all. 

You stayed seated there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should stay or go. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, but for the first time all night, Chan didn’t feel like running away.  

Instead, he exhaled, leaning back as he met your gaze. “Well,” he murmured, forcing a small smirk. “It looks better on you anyway.”

He had no idea where this sudden courage was coming from. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, even though hours had passed since his last drink. Maybe it was the cool night air. Whatever it was, he was just glad he had found the nerve to flirt with you. Even if just a little bit.

Your lips twitched, and for a second, he thought you might say something. But then you just shook your head, voice quieter now, almost shy. “I’m sorry for invading your space. Do you want me to leave?”

Chan swallowed hard. He knew what the right answer was. Knew what Vernon and Seungkwan would tell him to do. Knew that you still had a boyfriend. But with you standing there, wearing his clothes, looking at him like that. Yeah. He was completely screwed.

“No, stay,” he blurted out, a little too eagerly. Then, realizing how desperate he must’ve sounded, he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I mean… if you want to.”

You tilted your head, watching him in that way that made his stomach flip. “You sure?”

Chan let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. Still, he wanted to make sure. “Yeah. Unless you want to go back?”

You glanced toward the door, as if weighing your options, before exhaling a small laugh. “Not really.”

He tried not to read too much into it. He tried not to let the fact that you were still standing there, apparently in no rush to leave, get to his head. “Then stay,” he said again, softer this time.

You held his gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.

“Okay,” you said at last. Then your lips curved into a teasing smile. “But only if I get to keep the hoodie.”

Chan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. Like he could ever say no to you. “Fine. You can keep it.”

You grinned. “Thanks, Chan.”

“I mean… I might have to fight you for it later.”

“Oh, I’d win,” you shot back without hesitation, a smug little smirk playing at your lips.

And god, Chan believed you. Because you would only need to say the words and that hoodie would be yours forever.

There was a comfortable silence between you after that again, just the weight of the night settling in. The distant cheers from downstairs had died down a little, and the music had shifted to something slower, more subdued. It felt like the whole world had softened around the edges just for you and him. 

You tilted your head slightly, studying him, studying him like you were trying to figure out a puzzle, and Chan felt his pulse jump all over again. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so nervous. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself or the way your eyes were holding an amused curiosity whenever you looked at him. 

Or maybe — just maybe — it was simpler than that. Maybe it was because he wanted to be on the receiving end of the softness you reserved for your boyfriend.

At the thought of him, Chan’s expression faltered slightly, and he turned away, gripping the railing a little tighter than necessary. He had no right to feel the way he did, no right to want things he couldn’t have. But he was here now, alone with you in the quiet of the night, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things were different.

Chan turned to you again, watching as you stared out at the horizon now. He didn’t know what he was expecting when he spoke next, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them. “So where’s your boyfriend?”

If you were surprised by the question, you didn’t let it show. He saw you lowering your head and letting out a not very happy laugh through your nose. 

The truth was, you were surprised by his question, but at the same time, you weren’t. Jongin wasn’t exactly known for being non-territorial; he was always where you were, and when he couldn’t be, he made sure to show up at some point. But the way Chan’s question slipped out so easily, so curious, paralyzed all your instincts—the ones that told you to take it slow, to breathe between the end of your relationship with Jongin and the leap you were considering to take when you agreed to come here tonight.

And then, the confession slipped out of your lips before your brain could stop it. “He’s...not my boyfriend anymore.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly at your words. His stomach churned with an uncomfortable mix of relief and confusion, and he blinked a few times, processing your words. 

Would he go to hell for feeling immensely happy with that confession you had just made? Probably. And he would slow dance with the devil, grinning from ear to ear nonetheless.

“Not your boyfriend anymore?” he repeated after you. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t match the weight of your words, finally looking up to meet his gaze again. “Didn’t want to be, I guess.”

That was only half true, and you knew it. It wasn’t like you wanted to be his girlfriend either. But still, you weren’t the one who ended things by cheating on him with his step sister. You’d probably still be with him if he hadn’t decided to put an end to it in the worst way possible, even if your heart was beating for someone completely different already. 

Was it weird that you felt relieved to be cheated on, because it finally gave you a reason to leave?

“Then he’s an idiot,” Chan muttered with no hesitation. Like it was a fact, not a judgment. 

When you looked at him, his eyes were filled with genuine empathy. You smiled gratefully, appreciating his compassion. Not wanting to weigh the moment, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

Chan frowned slightly. “I doubt it,” he said, before adding, “But why?”

You shrugged again. “It wasn’t like I was dying to stay in that relationship, you know.”

The way you said it, almost too calmly, threw him off. I mean, he knew you weren’t very happy in your relationship; it was evident in your body language around Jongin. But he didn’t expect it to go as far as you wishing you weren’t actually in it. 

He wanted to ask more, to understand what had happened, but a part of him feared that prying would make him sound even more pathetic. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing on, his voice low and a little uncertain. “Wait, so you didn’t want to be with him either?”

You didn’t hesitate, your expression not betraying any emotion, but your voice was a little more sharper when you replied. “Not really. I didn’t even like him in the end. I guess I just stayed longer than I should have because it was… comfortable.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a great reason to stay.”

Chan bit his lip, trying to digest your words. Part of him wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow, but he didn’t know where to start. The realization that you were no longer with him, the guy who seemed to have always been in the picture, stirred something in him, like a sense of hope he wasn’t prepared to feel tonight. But he kept it buried, not wanting to come off too eager, too quick to assume.

“It wasn’t,” you admitted. “But it’s hard to walk away from something when you don’t have a reason big enough to leave.”

“And what finally made you leave? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“You’re funny.” You smiled, head tilted to the side as you locked gazes with him. “I’ve never really got to actually talk to you before. Yet, here we are,” you gestured to the space between you with your hands. “I like this side of you. Curious and talkative Chan.”

“Yeah?”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, even though a smile tugged at his lips. He was happy that being alone with you had finally awakened that side of him: more talkative, made him braver, lighter, more him.

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I do.” Then you sighed, before saying, “To answer your question: he cheated on me with my step sister.”

His eyes widened and suddenly he was back to not knowing what to say, so he stayed quiet for a moment. 

Chan’s brain raced, his heart pounding. Was it bad that the idea of you being available—of there being a chance for something, whatever it might be—be the only thing that appeared in flashing neon signs in his head? 

Either way, he was glad you had gotten out of a relationship that clearly wasn’t good for you. He was happy that you had gotten rid of the asshole who was known for only dating girls ten years younger than him, the asshole who never let you breathe.

“Why did you date him anyway? Guy’s a jerk.” The words escaped his mouth before he could even control them. 

“He gave me just the right amount of attention, at the right time,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging again. “Have you ever heard ‘We accept the love we think we deserve’?”

Chan frowned, processing your words. Well, that was sad. The way you spoke about it, almost like you were talking about a lesson learned the hard way, made him feel a pang of sympathy for you.

“I’ve heard of it,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” you continued, eyes searching his face. “I didn't realize I deserved more until the moment I woke up from the trance I’d been stuck in for two years.”

Listening to you confess to him all of this without thinking twice and sounding so sincere, made his stomach twisted with something like a mixture of frustration and admiration. He could see how hard it must’ve been for you, but at the same time, something in him wanted to protect you, to offer the kind of attention and care that wasn’t half-hearted, something real and full of understanding.

Something you truly deserved.

“You do deserve more,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Everyone does. And if you want it, you can have it. No one should make you feel like you don’t.”

Chan hoped you understood the undertone of his words. Though he was genuine in what he said, he wanted to be everything you deserved—the more you could and should have. God knew how much he wanted it, and how far he would go to show you that. But in that moment, he also wanted to offer words of comfort, to be the shoulder you might need.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just standing there, letting the noise of the party hum around you both. Finally, you exhaled. 

“It’s hard to let go of what you’ve known, even when it’s not good for you,” you admitted, almost like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But sometimes, I guess you need to make space for something better, even if it’s scary.”

His heart beat faster at your words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew one thing: this conversation, this moment between you, felt different than anything he had experienced with you before. 

“Do you think…” he started, and then stopped, unsure of what to ask. He was afraid that anything he said might ruin the moment.

“Maybe,” you murmured quietly, though your voice didn’t waver, eyes locked on his. “Maybe I need to stop accepting what I think I deserve and start going after what I actually deserve.”

Chan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between you felt charged now, heavier than it should have been. He felt as if he were teetering on the brink of something, something he was not afraid to jump into and also couldn’t stop himself from wanting, hoping you wished the same, even if he was too crazy or delusional to consider that possibility. 

Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly felt light raindrops hitting the spot where the two of you were standing on the balcony. The first few drops were light, barely noticeable, but within seconds, the drizzle grew heavier, the scent of rain taking over the air. 

Chan watched you look up, your eyes tracing the sky as it darkened, the city below shimmering through the mist. When you turned back to him, he was staring at you, not at the rain, not at the sky, but at you. You met his gaze, and for a split second, everything else faded; the sound of the rain, the distant hum of the city below, even the pounding of his own heart. 

He blinked, breaking the spell, his gaze flickering toward the curtain of rain before inevitably returning to you. “Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested, the hesitance in his voice sounding less like uncertainty and more like an offering. Chan was trying to give you an escape, if you wanted it.

You nodded slowly, and without saying a word, you jumped off the balcony railing, following him inside. You looked around the dark room for a second, before saying, “Maybe I should go. I don't want to hold the party host down with me.”

Chan turned to face you, his eyes softening as he took in your words. There was something about the way you spoke, in the tiny pause, the quiet wobble of your voice, that made him want to step closer, to reassure you that you weren’t an inconvenience. If anything, you were the one person he wanted there, more than anything, more than anyone.

“You’re not holding anyone down,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “If anything, it’s me who should be worried about keeping you from having fun.”

“Never,” you replied, sounding casual, though something in your voice slipped past his understanding. Particularly when you added, “Besides, the person I wanted to kiss isn't even downstairs.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart giving a sharp, startled kick. At this point, a heart attack felt like a valid possibility. He blinked, not quite sure if he had heard you correctly, but the way your gaze held his, steady and unflinching, told him that he hadn’t misheard.

Chan cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little too thick for his liking. “Oh? And, uh… who exactly were you hoping to kiss, if not...?” He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.

As the curtain moved in the wind, bringing the streetlight into the room, he saw a mischievous smile grow on your lips.

What the hell was happening? Was his brain betraying him? Was he imagining this moment? Had he passed out on the bed when he went to his bedroom and was now in a dream, after spending ninety percent of his energy thinking about you at the party he should have been enjoying with his friends? 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you answered, and turned your back to him, eyes immediately darting to the shelf of his trophies from dance competitions and photographs. 

Yes, I do! I want to know! Chan wanted to shout, but contained himself. 

Instead, he stood there for a moment, unsure whether to follow up with another question, or to let the silence stretch on. The way you spoke, so casually and yet with that playful glint in your eye, made everything feel… electric. 

So he simply watched you there, in his room, moving without hesitation, slowly walking over to his shelf, running your finger along the wood and observing each one of his trophies, medals and pictures with meticulous care. 

He couldn’t help but think—and wish too—that he could get used to this scene.

The golden plaques gleamed under the dim light, each one marking a victory of his. Some were polished to perfection, while others bore the faintest scratches, proof of the years Chan had spent chasing dreams in the dance field. Your gaze drifted to the framed photographs beside them, each snapshot telling a different story of his life. 

There were several photos of him as a little kid, beaming as ever, dressed in performance clothes, on stage, with a medal around his neck. In another, he stood beside his previous performance group, whom you recognized as Kwon Soonyoung, Wen Junhui, and Xu Minghao, their grins wide and carefree. There were also photos with his parents and grandmother, and some with what looked like his younger brother.

Chan was probably the cutest kid you had ever seen, and that realization made you smile genuinely.

“Lee Jung Chan?” you read aloud, curiosity threading through your voice as your eyes went back to his children’s dance trophies. Your fingers brushed over the small golden plaque, the engraving slightly worn from time. 

Behind you, he let out a soft chuckle. “It’s my name on my family tree. The government name is just Lee Chan.”

“You went by your full name back then?”

He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Only because my mom insisted. She said it sounded more professional, like I was already a star or something.”

“It’s cute,” you remarked, throwing him a look over your shoulder. “You were so cute.”

“Yes, well, the kids used to call me Jimmy Neutron.”

You laughed, turning fully to face him. Neither of you had noticed how close you were until you did. If you reached out your arms, you’d only be able to touch each other slightly. But even though both of you thought about it, neither of you made any move to change your positions, continuing your conversation. 

“What? Jimmy Neutron?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair as if reliving the embarrassment. “Yeah. They said my head was too big for my body. And, you know, the spiky hair didn’t help.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress another laugh. Chan holded his breath at your movement, forcing himself to look elsewhere, forcing himself not to think about your lips or else his blood would rush south.

“I can totally see it now,” you teased, releasing your lip from your teeth and looking between him and the photo on the shelf.

He narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Wow, okay. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“I am!” You held up your hands in defense. “I just think it’s adorable. And look at you now. You certainly grew into it beautifully.”

Chan smirked, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “So you're saying I look beautiful now?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophies. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Jimmy Neutron.”

He laughed, stepping up beside you as his eyes skimmed over the shelf briefly, before turning back to you. “Yeah, but I kinda see it. My head was huge.”

You tilted your head, studying one of the photos of him mid-dance, his tiny frame caught in motion. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and black fingerless gloves, hair is slightly messy and spiky, adding to the fun and carefree to his edgy look. His bright smile revealed a gap between his teeth, and you thought to yourself that you’ve probably never seen anything so lovely before.

“Well, I think you were adorable,” you said under your breath, your finger tracing the edge of the frame. “And talented, obviously. All these trophies…”

He shrugged, a little bashful. “My grandmother was really proud of them. She used to polish them every weekend.”

Your smile softened. “She sounds sweet.”

“She is,” he replied, voice tinged with fondness. “She used to call me ‘our little star.’”

Something about the way Chan said it made warmth bloom in your chest. You turned toward him, and he was looking at you again, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense. The streetlights made his features look even more defined, shadows deepening along his strong jawline. 

If there was one thing you knew about Lee Chan, it was that he was a star. Every performance he was part of filled the university theater, without failure. Not to mention the countless admirers he had on campus, and with good reason.

Watching him do what he loved was a pleasure simply because he was that good. Confident and unwavering, he dominated the stage effortlessly, as if wrapped in a bubble no one could pierce. It was mesmerizing to witness.

“You still are, you know,” you said gently. “A star.”

His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Just studied you like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, a small, shy smile tugged at his lips. “I think I prefer when you call me cute.”

“Duly noted.”

Chan exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the desk beside the shelf. “You know, I don’t usually let people snoop around my room like this.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder again, your fingers still lightly tracing over the edge of a picture framed. “Oh? Am I special, Channie?”

You didn’t need to say his name that way, or shape the word with your lips like that. His eyes dipped to your mouth, and a flicker crossed his expression. His eyes met yours.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, you are.”

To mask the fact that your breath hitched slightly, you offered him a playful smirk. “Good to know.”

As Chan moved to sit on the edge of his bed, you continued the exploration of his shelf, eyes stopping at a picture frame in the middle where he was standing between what seemed to be his parents, both of them kissing his cheek sweetly. 

“Is your father a dancer too?” you asked, running your fingers over his face on the picture. 

“Yeah. My dad and my mom,” he explained. “They kind of stopped after I was born.”

“Wow. It’s in your blood, then.”

Chan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. My dad always says I got his footwork, but my mom says I got her rhythm.”

You leaned against the table by the shelf, watching him as he spoke. “So they gave it up for you?” 

He paused, considering, then nodded. “Yeah. My dad started teaching instead, and my mom focused on raising me. They never made me feel like I took anything away from them, though.”

“That’s love.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Another comfortable silence settled between you as you turned back to the photos, your fingers absently tracing the edges of the other frames. One photo in particular caught your eye. It was from the exact same day you first noticed him, during the university’s annual arts week in your sophomore year.

He was dressed in a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, black dress pants, and his hair dyed a faded dark blue. You knew he had worn a tie too because he had taken it off during the performance.

Out of the four members in the unit, he immediately stood out to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it was as if no one else existed on that stage besides him. Your eyes were locked on him and no one else, watching in awe as he moved across the stage, completely captivated.

“I was there that day, you know?” you pointed out, showing him over the shoulder the photo you were referring to. 

Chan’s eyes widened as he stared at it. It was one of the images from his first big performance at the university’s annual arts week back in his freshman year, a moment that had felt like a turning point for him, when everything had clicked. He hadn’t realized anyone had been paying attention back then, least of all you.

“You were?” His voice held a note of surprise. There was something so disarming about the way you were looking at the photo, and then at him.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze before turning back. “Yeah. I was in the back, by the side stage,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were… mesmerizing.”

He felt a warmth spread through him at your words. Chan hadn’t expected to hear something like that, especially not from you. 

“Really?” He couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. His brows lifted slightly, as if he was trying to picture it. “How come I didn’t see you?”

“I don’t think you noticed anyone that night,” you teased. “You were in your own world up there.”

He hummed, eyes flickering back to the photo. “Maybe,” he mused, then glanced at you again, a slow smile crept onto his lips. “So, you’ve been watching me all this time, noona?”

There was a teasing edge to his voice and you exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“No?” He titled his head. “Then how would you put it?”

He saw you hesitate for a second, fingers still resting on the shelf. Then, meeting his eyes, you admitted, “I noticed you. That night, and every time after that.”

Chan felt his breath catch in his throat.

There was something about the way you said it—so simple, so honest—that made his heart stutter. 

You noticed him. 

Not just that night, but every time after. 

He had spent years analyzing every interaction you two had ever had. Every glance, every small word, every time you did so much as acknowledged his existence. And now? Now you were standing here, saying things that made his heart race like it was the easiest thing to do. 

How did he end up here?

Chan felt lightheaded.

He wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t rare for him to be speechless around you, so there he was again, standing in front of you, feeling like the floor beneath him wasn’t quite solid anymore.

“You noticed me,” he echoed, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo before you finally pulled your hand away. “Yeah,” you confirmed, laughing softly. “I did, Channie.”

Chan swallowed. Hard. He wanted to ask why. What was it about him that had caught your attention? Was it his performance? His presence? Something else entirely different?

But instead, he found himself saying, “I wish I’d noticed you in the crowd.”

Your lips parted slightly, but instead of speaking, you simply smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

His fingers twitched at his sides. God, he wished he could go back in time to that night so he could scan every face in the crowd to find you standing by the side stage, maybe watching him with that same look you had now. You weren’t even dating Jongin at the time, and if your words were any indication of what he was imagining, maybe he had missed an opportunity by acting as though you were unattainable. Maybe he had lost precious time.

Chan watched as moved away from the shelf, turning to him entirely. His breath hitched slightly as you stepped closer, each movement deliberate, unhurried. You didn’t hesitate as you sank down beside him on the bed, the space between you shrinking just enough to make his pulse quicken.

The room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had dulled, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence.

He forced himself to breathe, to act natural, even as every fiber of his being buzzed with awareness of your presence beside him. You were close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of the sweetness of your perfume again, making his head spin in the best way.

His eyes stayed fixed on you as you pressed your hands into the mattress and stared at the wall ahead, as if you were deliberately avoiding his gaze for reasons he couldn’t name. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm.”

You wet your lips, a brief hesitation before finally voicing the thought that had lingered in your mind all night. “Were you avoiding me tonight?”

Chan felt his heart slam against his ribs. “I wasn’t—” he started, then stopped himself because, well… yeah, he had been avoiding you. But only because every time he looked at you, he felt like his brain melted, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to not make a fool of himself.

You smirked, clearly amused by his silence. The question seemed to be answered to you. “That’s what I thought.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I just—” He paused, eyes lifting to the ceiling and then settling on you again. Halfway through, Chan decided that it was no longer the time to second guess things, so he simply admitted, “You make me very nervous, noona.”

You wished you had an explanation for the way you shivered slightly when he called you noona. But instead, you chose to ignore the feeling, letting the sensation fade into something softer, something more curious. 

“I make you nervous?” you repeated, tilting your head slightly as your eyes widened. “That’s a first.”

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that like it’s impossible. I bet–I know I’m not the only one.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know… you’ve always seemed so confident. Especially on stage.”

“That is just an act,” he confessed. “On stage, I could pretend to be someone else for a little while. But you?” He turned to you. “You’re real. You’re right here.”

And he still couldn’t believe it, the words leaving his lips as if he were pinching himself to prove that this was really happening and not just a fever dream.

Hearing him, you wondered what Chan would think if he knew how your stomach was doing backflips because of the way he was looking at you like you were something impossible and unreal  all at once. 

You hadn’t expected this and most certainly didn't expect him to say something so… vulnerable. Something that made your heart race so fast with all the implications of his words.

“I didn’t mean to make you nervous, Channie,” you whispered, your voice softer now, sounding like you were trying to defend yourself. You had never looked so cute as you did now.

“I don’t think you can help it,” Chan tried to explain, letting out a breathless chuckle. “You know, you probably didn’t know this, but I had a, um… a crush on you.”

Okay, he knew he was straying from the truth. But there was a limit to his courage, and even though he had sensed a bit of flirting between you, he wasn’t about to risk rejection after the nice conversation you’d had tonight, because maybe he was just imagining things.

And he wanted you to walk away from here at least as friends rather than leave an awkward situation for the two of you. He’d rather have you like this than not have you at all. That was why he decided to test the waters with that small lie.

Your lips parted slightly at his confession, your mind racing to process what he had just admitted. “You… had a crush on me?” you repeated, almost like you were trying to make sure you’d heard him right.

Chan nodded, his expression somewhere between amused and nervous. “Yeah. A major one,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Something inside you fluttered at the thought. It seemed like every word that came out of Chan’s mouth was meant to surprise you, even if you didn’t believe he was doing it on purpose. You hadn’t expected this at all, not from him, least of all, not tonight. 

“You’re bullshiting me, aren’t you?” you accused, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Nope. Dead serious.”

“But you never said anything!”

“Didn’t think you’d be interested.” He shrugged. Then he nudged you with his elbow, playfully. “Plus you had a boyfriend.” 

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence. 

Didn’t think you’d be interested?

It was absurd to hear those words coming from him, the same person who had commanded every room he walked into without even trying, the same person who had owned the stage so effortlessly that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

What would he say if you opened your mouth to confess that you’d realized you weren’t happy in your old relationship the moment you started noticing him everywhere? Noticing his smile, the way he blushed when you talked to him, the way he seemed so unreachable, like he wasn’t the least bit interested in getting to know you, always running away when you were around. 

Maybe that should’ve been your first clue that he had a crush on you too. But perhaps you were too caught up in your own melancholia to notice.

So, instead of spilling out, you decided to test something. “Is it just in the past?” 

Chan’s brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by your question. “What?”

“Your crush.”

“Uhh..”

“Because it would be so sad if it was” you said before you could stop yourself, eyes searching for his. 

“Really?”

You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head with a small smile. “Mhmm.”

He swallowed hard, his brain short-circuiting at your response. Of all the ways this conversation could have gone, this was not what Chan had expected. Maybe he was in a dream. A very lived one, but still, a dream.

“You—” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like he had forgotten how to speak. “You think it would be sad?”

You hummed. “Yeah. I think it would be a shame if something like that just… faded away.”

Chan's heart was doing something ridiculous in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was panic or hope or a chaotic mix of both. He should say something. He should joke about it, keep it light, make sure this moment didn’t carry more weight than it should. But he couldn’t because the way you were looking at him right now felt dangerous.

“Would it?” he managed, clearing his throat in the process.

Your smile again, nodding. 

He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really know how to mess with a guy’s head, huh?”

“Maybe,” You grinned, leaning in just a little. “But only when it’s fun. Besides who says you’re not messing with mine too?”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

You didn’t say anything else and Chan stared at you for a long moment, his mind racing with a million things he wanted to say, a million things he wanted to do. But instead, he smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. That this moment was real.

He was messing with your head? That’s a first. 

“Noted,” he simply murmured.

“What about now?” You looked at him expectantly, not letting silence settle between you.

Chan inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “Now?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded once more. Chan’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Are you asking if I still have a crush on you, noona?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your heart had started hammering. “Forget it,” you muttered, getting up from the bed. 

He reached out, closing his hand around your wrist, and gently pulled you back to sit on the bed again. For a second, it felt like the world had stopped moving. It all faded into nothing. It was just you and him, standing there in this uncertain space that he used to call his bedroom.

Chan’s throat went dry, and he swallowed hard. His first instinct was to joke, to brush it off, to act nonchalant, as he always did. But the look in your eyes—quiet, expectant, tinged with something dangerously close to hope—left him no room to lie.

And before you could escape the moment, Chan leaned in ever so slightly, just enough that you felt the warmth of him beside you. “For the record,” he started, voice lower now, just for you. “Some things don’t change that easily.”

You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, you weren’t sure who was more nervous: you or him. 

You held his gaze for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile curled at the corners of your lips. “Good.” 

Chan blinked. You were going to give him a whiplash. 

“Good?”

You nodded, shifting just a little closer, the space between you growing small. “Like I said: it would be really sad if it had faded away.”

A few seconds passed, he just stared at you, his heart pounding, his pulse roaring in his ears. He could barely think, could barely breathe. “Are you messing with me?” he asked, a nervous chuckle slipping out.

“What do you think?” you asked, biting your lip, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re trouble.”

You grinned. “Only when it's fun, remember?”

“Noted.”

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. This time, there was something different in his voice, something lighter, something hopeful.

You kept your lip under your teeth for a second, analyzing him carefully. For the first time, Chan didn’t feel intimidated by your gaze. He didn’t feel exposed. Quite the opposite, his skin felt like it was on fire, but for a very good reason.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second. If he hadn’t been watching you so closely, he would’ve missed it.

You were too close. Or maybe not close enough.

“Chan.”

“Yes, noona?”

“Do you wanna kiss me?”

He felt every neuron in his brain misfire at once, completely abandoning him at the worst possible moment.

Did he hear you right?

Did you—did you really just ask him that?

But the way you were looking at him—head bent to the side, eyes locked onto his with quiet amusement—made it clear that he hadn’t.

His fingers twitched against his knee, his pulse hammering in his ears so hard he was sure you could hear it. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Suddenly, every single response he could think of felt either too much or not enough.

He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, the way your gaze never left his, searching, waiting.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat again, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I—um—”

“Because you keep looking at me like you do,” you continued, “and if you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I just thought I’d ask.”

He was absolutely, utterly doomed.

He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Noona, you can’t just ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Chan let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head.

You grinned. “Is that a yes or a no?”

You were still watching him, waiting, and damn it if he didn’t want to kiss you more than anything. He always had. But now? With you looking at him like that, teasing, testing, daring him? It was like he was malfunctioning. 

Yeah, he was probably overthinking this. Hell, scratch that, he was definitely overthinking this. But the truth was, this wasn’t just some random moment to him, with a random person. It was you. And you weren’t just anybody to him. 

He didn’t want to screw this up.

But at the same time…

God, he wanted to kiss you. More than he would like to see the sun rise again. 

So, he took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage he had left, and finally, finally, he answered.

“Yes,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “I really, really want to kiss you.”

Your smile turned softer, less teasing now. “Then what are you waiting for?”

That’s all it took.

Chan closed the space between you, his hesitation melting away the second his lips brushed against yours. It was slow, tentative at first. He wanted to memorize the feeling of your lips, engrave it into his memory in case he never got the chance to do it again. But when you responded to him, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in just a little closer, something inside him snapped completely.

He exhaled sharply against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he tilted his head, molding himself to you like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, and not just two years of it.

If the party outside still carried on, now it felt absolutely muted. The only thing that existed was your lips against his, the way they fit together, your fingers threading through his hair, the soft sound you let out when he nipped your bottom lip.

Chan was dizzy. Overwhelmed. 

And completely, absolutely ruined for anyone else. 

Your fingers dung into his tight, searching for support, and you felt him groan against your lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a reaction deep within you. His hand slipped from the back of your neck into your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he tilted your head to the side, and that was it. You were lost too.

When a soft gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pulling your hair slightly, Chan saw the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue past your parted lips, teasingly, deliberately, claiming the space with an intoxicating slowness. They way kissed you left you breathless, lightheaded, as if he’d stolen the very air from your lungs. 

Your knees bumped against his as you tried to move closer, and instead of pulling away, Chan only tightened his grip on you, his arm slipping from your hair to your waist. In one smooth motion, he guided you into his lap, pulling you over his legs until you were straddling him. 

A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips at the sudden shift, but he didn’t falter, if anything, the sound only seemed to spur him on. His hands settled firmly on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if committing your shape to his memory.

One kiss bled into the next, and then another, and another, until the only force pulling you apart was the desperate need for air. Your forehead rested against his for a fleeting moment, both of you panting, neither willing to let go.

Then, with a boldness that sent heat surging through you, you leaned in, taking his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently as your hips rolled forward in an instinctive motion. A groan tore from both of you at the same time at the feeling of you core meeting his half hardened cock for the first time.

Chan’s head tipped back, his throat exposed to you, a silent invitation too tempting to ignore. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his perfect jaw, feeling the way his pulse leapt beneath your lips. His hands traveled slowly and torturously from your hips to your thighs, hovering just above the hem of your skirt, while you traced your tongue over the skin of his neck, giving it a playful nip with your teeth.

His breath hitched at the feeling, gripping on your tights for dear life as his heart raced like crazy. The fire in his veins was undeniable, every inch of him consumed by you. Your touch, the way your lips moved, was driving him to the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could come back from.

As Chan looked at you, his eyes begging to close in pleasure, he was sure his pupils were dilated at the scene before him and the fact that you looked like a goddess on top of him.  

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispered, a rasp of desire that sent a thrill racing through you. 

Your response to his words was to rock your hips against his, feeling his full hardness now pressing your folds through his pants and listening to him whine, breathy and desperate. At the sound of it, you couldn’t help but sink your teeth into his neck, sucking to ensure you left a mark, to ensure everyone saw what you had done to him.

Chan’s breath came in uneven, his body shuddering beneath you as your lips lingered over the mark you’d left on his skin. His hands tightened around your tights, fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to take things further, to let his restraint unravel completely.

“Fuck,” Chan rasped, his head tilting forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You hummed against him, dragging your lips up toward his ear, reveling in the way he shivered beneath you. “What do you want, Channie?” you teased, nipping at his earlobe.

Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing along the defined ridges of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his hands now gripping your thighs like they were the only things keeping him grounded, like he was afraid you’d slip away. 

His eyes fluttered open, dark and desperate as they locked onto yours. 

“You,” he admitted, breathless, “I just want you.”

The raw honesty in his words sent another shiver down your spine. “Then take me, baby,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his jaw, the ghost of a challenge in your voice.

Chan groaned, his hands sliding up from your thighs, gripping your waist with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. His thumbs traced slow, teasing circles against your skin, his restraint evident in the way his fingers flexed but didn’t pull you closer.

“You really are on a mission to kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his breath deliciously warm against your lips.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly, an exhalation away from his mouth. “What gave it away?”

He exhaled sharply, his patience snapping like a thread. One moment, you were teasing him, savoring the slow burn, and the next, he was kissing you like he’d been starving for you his entire life. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, all-consuming, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him.

The heat between you flared, intoxicating and undeniable. Your fingers slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, breathy moan from his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, your body pressing closer, chasing the feeling of him, the warmth of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that existed.

His hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your shirt, his touch searing against the bare skin of your inner thighs. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, mapping out every inch of you like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to memorize it, in case this was the last time he’d ever get to.

Your hips rolled instinctively again, pressing down against him, and Chan groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as he sucked in a sharp breath.

You leaned in, pressing another set of kisses to the column of his throat. “Too much?” you teased, your voice sultry, full of mischief.

Chan’s jaw clenched as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Not even close.”

His hands traveled higher up your thighs, and the moment his index finger traced a slow line over the fabric of your already-soaked panties, a moan slipped from your lips into his. He grunted something unintelligible as he tugged your panties to the side, his fingers finally feeling how wet you were beneath them. Then, he dragged his touch torturously up to your stomach before slipping inside the lace, and you instinctively lifted your hips, giving him better access to where you needed him most.

“Are you this wet for me, noona?” he asked, pulling back to meet your gaze. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, while his thumb circled your most sensitive spot and you cried out. “Is this all because of me?”

You nodded desperately, almost missing the disbelief in his eyes that only fueled the intensity between you. It heighted every touch, made you move in sync with him, your teeth sinking into your lip as he worked you over with deliberate precision, taking his time to drive you absolutely crazy with his fingers moving into and out of you.

“I want you to sit on my face.” His voice didn’t waver; it was an order wrapped in certainty, his eyes darkened with something you’d never seen in him before, something you instantly craved. The sheer weight of it dragged a whimper from your lips.

Still, you can’t help but think about his safety.

“Are you sure?” The words slipped out on a shaky exhale, your breathing already unsteady.

Both of his hands returned to your thighs, slowly trailing up to your ass beneath your skirt. 

“Never been more sure in my entire life. Please” 

“Fuck. Okay.”

You got off him for a moment, quickly slipping off your boots as you stepped out of the bed. You pulled off your skirt and panties, while Chan got up to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. Then he returned to the bed, sitting comfortably and leaning back on his elbows, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes burned with desire as he watched you slowly take off his hoodie before taking your sweet time freeing your breasts from the tight black corset, clearly on purpose.

When your breasts finally spilled free, his mouth parted slightly, eyes locked onto your hardened nipples as if it were one of the seven wonders of the world.

“Come here, baby.”

You slowly crawled across the bed toward where he was lying close to the headboard, and Chan helped you position yourself on top of him. Each of your thighs settled on either side of his head as you both adjusted, ensuring the position was comfortable for both of you.

“You have the prettiest pussy,” he whispered against you, followed by a groan, and you felt his breath hit your entrance, making you tremble slightly.

You knew that you were so fucking wet that even in the dim light of the room, you were sure he could see your folds glistening. But instead of feeling embarrassed, a thrill ran through your body when you glanced down and saw Chan licking his lips, his eyes locked onto your core just inches from his face. He stared at you like you were the most delicious meal he was ever going to have in his life.

“You smell delicious, noona.” The way he spoke made you moan softly, your hands instinctively moving to squeeze your breasts. “Bet you taste even better.”

Chan gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you closer until your heat was right in front of his face, his eyes drinking in the sight. His lips found your inner thigh first, sucking a mark into your soft skin, slow and deliberate.

When he finally placed his lips exactly where you needed him, your hands flew straight to grip his hair, holding tightly between your fingers as your legs trembled from the indescribable sensation of his mouth on you. Still, Chan sensed that you were trying to hold back, worried about hurting him, so as soon as you shifted just an inch away from his face, he pushed you back down, holding you tight against him.

The gasp that left your lips was a sound you’d never made before, completely immersed in the pleasure he was giving you. His nose nudged against your clit, his tongue gathering your arousal before his mouth moved over you with deliberate hunger, like a man who had been starving for far too long.

“So good, Channie,” you cried out, body almost falling forward. “Holy fuck!”

The way Chan’s mouth moved on you was pure, unrestrained hunger, and it felt so good that, only for a moment, you entertained your brain with the idea that his mouth was made to do exactly what he was doing: eating your pussy. His lips cupped your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud with slow strokes, alternating with long, deep sucks that made you shiver around him.

His tongue circled your entrance, sliding in as more of your slick spilled into his mouth, all for him to savor. The taste of you—god, he never wanted this to end. All day, every day, Chan was sure he could do this for the rest of his fucking life. All he wanted was to drown himself in this, inside the wet dream that was you with your pussy right in his face.

Your hands pulled his hair tightly after one particularly harsh suck on your clit, back arching deliciously. Your moans were the only sound filling the room and Chan was pretty sure this was the soundtrack of paradise and he couldn’t wait to get there.

When his hands moved to your ass, squeezing tightly, it was as if the last shred of self-control in his body had evaporated. You started to rock your hips instinctively, grinding against his face desperately to chase your release while his nose offered you the most earth-shattering sensations.

“Oh my god, Chan,” you choked out, closing your eyes shut.

“Hmm.” His hum sent vibrations through your core and suddenly you had to use his shoulders for balance or you would have fallen forward on the bed.

Chan was certain he had died and gone to heaven the moment you started grinding against his face. He could feel your legs tense around his head, and when he opened his eyes to take in the scene above him—hands traveling up your body until they reached your breasts, squeezing them tightly—the way your face crumpled and the sounds escaping your parted lips, Chan knew he was in love.

He was done. Gone.

There was no one else for him in this world.

Only you.

You.

You.

You.

You bucked your hips against his face with more urgency as his thumbs rolled over your nipples in the most delicious way. His other hand found your neck, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly, and your head fell back, granting him free access to do whatever he wanted with you. At that moment, the familiar, intoxicating tingling built in the pit of your stomach, moans and sighs spilling from your lips more desperately and loud as you tightened your legs around his head.

“Hmm, suffocate me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick and low.

That was all it took for your orgasm to crash over you in the most intense way, your mind bubbling with euphoria, completely lost in a haze of pleasure.

Chan licked and sucked up every last drop, swallowing your release in loud gulps as if it were the only thing capable of keeping him hydrated. As you let go of his shoulders and collapsed onto the bed beside him, your legs, weak as jelly, trembled uncontrollably, matching the shivers that ran through the rest of your body.

When you looked at him, you saw the dazed, blissed-out expression on his face mirroring your fucked-out one, like he were the one who had just come. His red lips were parted, his chin glistening, and you couldn’t resist the dopey smile on his face. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. With a strength you didn’t even know you had, especially right now, you pulled him on top of you, parting your legs so he could fit there.

Chan barely had time to register the movement before letting out a small chuckle. He broke the kiss for a second, brushing your hair from your face to meet your eyes, your pupils blown wide with a desire that was reflecting his own.

He could only be dreaming.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips.

Normally, words like that spoken so close would have made you shy. But right now, you could feel his hard length—aching, neglected, and probably leaking—pressing against your inner thigh through the fabric of his pants.

Your hands traveled from his chest to his pants and you fumbled with his belt, struggling for a moment until your fingers remembered how to work. You unfastened his zipper, hands moving with growing urgency each passing second. As you pushed his pants down, your fingers traced the firm and defined lines of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hips, and the soft hair on the back of his thighs.

The moment you managed to free him from his underwear, Chan’s cock rested on your hip, hard and thick. He groaned at the feeling of your skin against him and you arched into him, desperate to feel more, to press him even more against you, to take him in.

“Wanna ride you, Channie,” you told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling him thick and burning hot against your palm.

Chan let out a shaky breath at your words, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours and your parted lips, as if trying to ground himself, trying to believe that this was actually his reality and not just another figment of his imagination.

“You don’t have to feel obligated, baby.”

“I want it.” You batted your pretty eyelashes at him, and he was lost. “Please.”

“Okay, noona.”

Your fingers brushed over his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your lips in another deep, searing kiss. Every part of you was incredibly drawn to him, turned on by him, the heat between you almost unbearable now. Slowly, deliberately, you rocked your hips forward, savoring the way his breath stuttered against your lips.

“You were driving me insane,” he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on you.

You smiled, feeling the way his pulse raced beneath your lips. “Good. Now lay back for me, baby.”

Chan didn’t argue. He shifted slightly, scooting back and patting his thighs in invitation for you to hover over his cock. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the curve of your back and the way your hair fell around your shoulders. He watched you, his breath catching in his throat as you met his gaze. He lay back and propped himself up on his elbows again, anticipation thrumming through his veins.

You moved with a slow, deliberate grace, straddling him once again, your bare pussy covering his length. The feeling of his cock against your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you also felt him trembling a little beneath you.

You paused, savoring his gaze locked on you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. Smiling down at him, you slid your pussy against his cock, feeling his head rub on your clit. A simultaneous moan escaped from both of you. The next second, his lips were on your breasts, sucking and squeezing the flesh with both hands, clearly impressed by how responsive and sensitive you were to his touch.

After a particularly harsh suck, he released your nipple with an audible pop, the sound echoing in the still-charged air. A smile spread across his face as he watched the flush recede from your skin, leaving a rosy imprint in its wake.

“Beautiful.” He licked your nipple one more time, gaze locked on yours, as he said, “There’s a condom on the nightstand.”

He didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact, the intensity in his gaze holding you captive.

“Didn’t you wanna take me raw, Channie?” You pouted, sliding forward again. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.”

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working as he fought for control. Your words, so casually spoken, were a potent aphrodisiac, fueling the fire that already burned within him. The feel of you against him, the heat radiating from your core, was intoxicating, clouding his judgment, making it hard to think straight.

The thought of skin on skin, of being completely, utterly connected to you, was a temptation he wasn’t sure he could resist. His gaze drifted up to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the way your hips moved against his. He could feel himself hardening even more, his body betraying his attempts at restraint.

“Fuck, noona,” He breathed. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“So?” you purred, meeting his gaze.

“I’m clean too. Put it in. Please.” The words were a raw plea, a confession of his surrender.

Another soft moan escaped you as you took his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance. You lowered yourself onto him inch by inch. The way he fit inside you felt achingly right, as if your bodies had been carved for each other.

Chan groaned as you took his full length in, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, holding you tight against him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with passion, while you pushed him just a little to lay down so you could use his chest for support. 

“Fuck,” he cursed out, griping your sides. “You feel so good.”

You began to move, slowly at first, teasing him with each gentle sway of your hips. The rhythm between you built, a slow, sensual dance that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your bodies. Chan’s hands tightened on your waist, guiding you, encouraging you, as he moaned softly, his head falling back against the pillows.

“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, voice rough. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” He arched his back, pushing himself further into you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urged you on. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Another slow smile spread across your face. The power you held over him was intoxicating to you, maybe even a little dangerous to your ego. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

You increased the tempo, your hips moving with a newfound urgency of driving him to the edge. The rhythm between you grew harder, more intense, driven by pure need.

You knew you were already close, that the precipice of orgasm was just within reach. The feeling was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. Chan’s eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the tension building within him too, the pressure mounting with each thrust.

You continued to move, faster now, your bodies locked together in a frenzy of desire. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the heat, the overwhelming pleasure. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the fire that burned between you.

A low moan escaped your lips as he pressed against you, his fingers tracing tight circles around your most sensitive spot. 

“Fuck, Chan,” you screamed, your head falling back, eyes closing as the pressure began to feel exquisite.

He peppered kisses across your chest and neck, his touch alternating between quick pinches and slow, tantalizing rolls of his thumb against your clit. Without warning, his hips surged upwards, driving him deeper inside you. You cried out his name again, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That's it, baby,” he commanded, “scream my name.”

One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you against him, while the other braced him against the mattress. He began to thrust into you, a relentless rhythm that belied the fact that you were supposed to be the one in control. But neither of you cared. His cock felt so incredibly good inside you, your pussy clenching around him in a tight embrace.

“Chan!”

The head of his cock found that sweet spot deep within you, and he immediately noticed your reaction, repeating the movement, again and again, until stars began to burst behind your closed eyelids.

The more Chan rhythmically rubbed your clit, the more you felt yourself tightening around him, your release imminent. His breath hitched as you reached your peak, your body shuddering with release. He cried out your name, his own release following close behind as spilled himself inside you. You collapsed against him, your bodies still trembling, your hearts pounding in unison.

The world dissolved around you, the only thing that existed was the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible, lost in a sea of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His arms wrapped around you comfortingly, as if he were afraid you’d run away, and you buried your face in his neck, trying to regulate your breathing and savoring the aftershocks, the incredible feeling of your skin melded together.

Still buried inside you, Chan could hardly believe any of this was real. The reality of you, of this, was almost too much to comprehend. He felt the warmth of you surrounding him, the gentle pulse of your muscles contracting around him, a constant reminder of the incredible intimacy you shared. He looked down at you, your face flushed and relaxed, your eyes closed in contentment.

He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, marveling at the softness of your skin. It was real. You were real. And you were here, with him, wrapped in the aftermath of a moment that had left both of you breathless.

Chan wanted to stay like this forever, locked in this perfect intimacy, lost in the wonder of you. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would do anything to keep it. 

He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, before confessing, “I wanted this for so long.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you met his eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. “Mmm,” you hummed, snuggling closer to him. “Me too.” 

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and Chan blinked. “Really?”

Certainly, he hadn’t expected that. He thought he was the only one clinging to this moment, the only one so deeply affected by it, that he was certain he was thoroughly gone for anyone else. The fact that you felt the same way, that you’d wanted this just as much as he had, sent a fresh wave of warmth through him.

You nodded, your smile widening. “Really, really,” you confirmed, fingers tracing the line of his beautiful jaw. “I’ve been wanting this… for longer than I care to admit.” 

He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief swirling within him. 

“Wow,” he breathed.  “I...I didn’t think…”

“Didn’t think what?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

He hesitated, suddenly feeling shy again. “Didn’t think you felt the same way. I thought… I thought you were just a little bit out of my limit, I guess.”

Looking away for a moment, Chan suddenly felt fascinated by a stray thread on the sheet. Saying that out loud sounded ridiculous, he knew. Seungkwan and Vernon would probably laugh at him if they could hear him now. He was a grown ass man; a successful dancer, yet he felt like a nervous teenager confessing his feelings for the first time to the girl he had a silly little crush on.

Except it was no longer silly for him anymore, and he was sure the feeling burning in his chest was much bigger than a crush. Love? He preferred to think about it after the effects of the afterglow had worn off.

His mind was filled with something else. For instance, the fact that, once, he’d been so sure you were out of his reach, so convinced that he was lucky just to be in your orbit. To know that you felt the same way, that you saw him as an equal, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

You gently cupped his face in your hands, turning his gaze back to yours. “Out of your limit?” you echoed. “Channie, I’m so in your limit that is actually embarrassing. I’ve always been in your limit.”

He raised an eyebrow, another flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “Always?”

“From the moment I saw you on that stage, two years ago,” you confessed. “I saw something in you, something special. Something… that made me want to get to know you better.”

Chan chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. “And you weren’t scared off by my… awkwardness around you?”

You laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Your awkwardness is part of your charm,” you teased. “Besides,” you added, leaning in to whisper against his lips, “I can be pretty awkward myself sometimes.”

He grinned, his earlier shyness melting away. “Is that so?”

You nodded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. But you’ll have to stick around to find out just how awkward I can be.”

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I think,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “I’m willing to take that risk.” Then he paused, a shadow crossing his face briefly. “Can I ask you something, tough?”

“Mhmm.”

“Jongin. Why… why did you date him?”

You sighed a hint of weariness in your eyes. You should have seen it coming.

“Honestly?” you began, “Because at the time, I didn’t think you were interested too.” You met his gaze, your eyes filled with honesty. “Like I said earlier, he showed me the kind of attention I thought I needed. He was… persistent. And you,” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “you seemed… distant. You ran away whenever I tried to talk to you. At least now I know why.”

He winced slightly, recognizing the truth in your words. He’d been so afraid of rejection that he’d inadvertently pushed you away. “I… I was an idiot.” 

You smiled sadly. “We both were,” you shrugged. “But,” you added, a brighter note entering your voice, “we’re not idiots anymore.” You leaned in, kissing him softly. “And now,” you gave him another peck, “I have exactly what I want.”

Chan cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Me too.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you.”

“For what?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“For giving me a second chance.”

You pulled back slightly, searching for his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” you said softly, with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “You just came inside me, I think you earned it.”

A slow grin spread across his face, a mixture of amusement and pure adoration. His eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Oh, is that how it works?” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “So, every time I…you know…” 

You laughed, playfully shoving him in the chest. 

“Don’t get any ideas, Jimmy Neutron,” you said, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your words. “I’m a tough negotiator. You’ll have to work a lot harder than that to earn my gratitude.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m a very hard worker. And, I’m more than happy to put in the overtime for you.”

“We’ll see about that,” you whispered against his lips, though the smile playing on your face suggested you were more than willing to let him try. “You’re incredible, Lee Chan. Don’t ever forget that.”

He smiled, his heart overflowing with love. “I won’t,” he promised. “Not anymore.”

Not even seconds before he fully opened his eyes, Chan already had a smile on his face.

His arm instinctively reached for you, only to find you already curled against him, leg thrown over his, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, your hand sprawled across his bare chest like it had always belonged there. His shirt — the one you’d stolen off the floor around 3 a.m — was hanging loosely on your body, oversized, and entirely too intimate. Your soft breath tickled his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile wilder, fingers lazily tracing circles on your bare shoulder. 

He loved that sight. Your sight. It felt like a livid dream.

Except he knew this wasn’t a dream because last night replayed in his mind on repeat. Every whispered word, every touch, every breathless plea. He had thought about it for so long, imagined it in so many ways and scenarios. Yet, nothing compared to the reality of holding you now.

Morning light slipped through the gap in the curtains, bathing the room—and you—in a soft golden glow. Chan swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment: peaceful, warm, and completely wrapped up in him. His heart swelled as he took in the way your lashes fluttered slightly, the way your fingers still clutched at his arm like you never wanted to let him go.

God, only if you knew.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, tightening his arm around your for a bit. You only stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him with a soft sigh. Chan chuckled under his breath, his hand running down your back soothingly. He wanted to stay like this forever, stay with you here forever. But he also wanted you to feel welcomed in his house, to make you never want to leave.

So carefully, Chan slid out from under you, heart pounding as he sat at the edge of the bed. You curled into the warm spot he left behind, sighing softly like his scent comforted you. He had to bury his face in his hand to keep from screaming into them.

With a quick look around his room — the clothes on the floor, shoes scattered as if they had been thrown off their feet, the hoodie you’d worn discarded on his desk chair — and exhaled a shaky, lovesick breath.

Yeah, he was a total lovesick puppy, and honestly? He didn’t mind admitting it one bit.

Taking just one more look at you sleeping in his bed, dressed in his clothes, looking very much like an angel sent from up above, Chan smiled. He took a mental picture of the sight, hoping it would be the first of many, then slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door without a sound.

The first thing he saw when he entered the kitchen was Vernon pouring cereal like a man who hadn’t slept in three days and was on the verge of starvation. Seungkwan was slumped over the counter, half-dead, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Both looked up when Chan walked in wearing nothing but sweats and a very evident bruised neck.

Seungkwan squinted. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” Chan asked, voice definitely not and octave higher. The look on their faces said it all; they already knew he had something to say. He was terrible at pretending to be nonchalant. 

“Like you’re thrilled to be alive,” Vernon added, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. “Did you see god or something?”

Very close. 

Chan opened the fridge just to have something to hide behind. “I didn’t see God. I just… had a very good night.”

Seungkwan snorted loudly. “You? A good night? With who? Your pillow?”

“Actually…” Chan closed the fridge door, trying his absolute hardest to be casual. “Y/N and I—”

They both rolled their eyes as if to say, ‘here we go again with this subject,’ and Chan did his best to hide the smile threatening to appear on his lips, along with the urge to shout to the four corners of the apartment about what had happened last night. Of course, he held back, because you were sleeping like an angel in his sheets, and he would never risk disturbing you.

“Chan, seriously,” Seungkwan said, exhausted. “It’s time to let it go. You couldn’t even speak in front of her last night.”

Vernon nodded. “Pretty sure her boyfriend came to pick her up anyway.”

“Could you let me finish?” Chan huffed, arms crossing over his bare chest. “As I was saying, Y/N and I… we kinda talked. A lot. And then we… uhm… we—”

“Are you high right now?” Seungkwan cut in.

He blinked. “What?”

“Why are you referring to you and Y/N as ‘we’?”

“Because… last night we finally…”

Vernon stared at him, monotone as always. “You didn’t.”

“I DID!” Chan whisper-yelled, pointing vaguely toward his bedroom. “She was wearing my hoodie and then we talked and the she kissed me and—”

Seungkwan burst into laughter so loud it echoed. “Okay, sweetheart. I love you, but you dreamed that. No way Y/N was in your room last night.”

“I didn’t dream it!”

“You definitely did,” Vernon said, crunching cereal like this was a court trial. “You were drunk. Did you use that thing I bought Wednesday? Seungyoun said the trip was insane—”

Chan groaned. “Guys, I’m serious.”

Seungkawn patted his shoulder sympathetically, shooting his voice like he was speaking to a child. “It’s okay, buddy. One day you’ll kiss her for real. Just maybe not in your dreams next time. Okay?

He opened his mouth to argue, but footsteps echoed down the hallway, making Vernon and Seungkwan look over and watch intently. It didn’t take long for Chan to notice their eyes growing wide in their socket, almost popping out. Vernon dropped the cereal bowl, while Seungkwan looked like his soul had been yanked straight out of his body and shoved back in, choking violently on his iced coffee.

And there you were.

Smiling shyly. Sleepy-messy hair. Bare legs. Chan’s oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder like it was made for you. Blinking in the sunlight and looking way too soft and way too pretty for this hour, and for anyone else’s eyes; he should be the only one allowed to see you like this from now on.

You walked over to Chan like it was the most normal thing in the world, wrapped your arms around his neck, and stood on your toes to peck his lips. 

“Morning,” you murmured against his lips. 

He smiled into the kiss. Vernon and Seungkwan were nothing but white noise now. “Good morning, beautiful. Sleep okay?”

“Like a baby.” Then you finally noticed the two frozen men staring at you. “Oh—hi. Good morning. Do you guys have coffee?”

Seungkwan made a noise so high-pitched only dogs could hear it.

Vernon blinked slowly. “Bro.”

Chan shrugged at them with a smug little smile, arm slipping around your waist. From now on, it was the one place it belonged.

“Told you.”

# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

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It was a constant battle. You always took ridiculously long to shower. Sometimes it was because you were genuinely scrubbing your skin and washing your hair for an hour, or shaving. Most times, it was because the water felt too good — relaxing your muscles until you couldn’t bring yourself to get out.

Meanwhile, Jungkook would be on the other side of the door, pounding and telling you to hurry up because he had to take a leak. And when you didn’t answer, he’d just come in and do it anyway. It wasn’t weird — you two had been friends since you were teenagers. Besides, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

And just like all those other days, here he was again, banging on the door and yelling for you to hurry up.

You rolled your eyes, trying to drown out his voice and lose yourself in the scorching water pouring on your skin. You’d spent the entire morning replying to hundreds of emails, your back aching from hours of hunching over your desk, your neck stiff from turtleneck posture. You just wanted this — a long, hot shower, and the rest of the day to finally relax.

Until you hear an aggravating voice calling your name.

“Please hurry up! I have to stream in a bit and I need to shower!” Jungkook shouts from the other side of the door.

“Kook, I just got in!” you yell back, head tipping back in frustration.

“No, you haven’t! You’ve been in there for half an hour!”

“Well, you’re gonna have to wait!”

He groans, then shouts your name again. “I’m so serious, if you don’t hurry up, I’m going in there with you!”

“Well, I’m not getting out!” you say back.

And with that, Jungkook twists the doorknob and walks in.

“You’re not serious!” you exclaim, seeing his blurry silhouette through the fogged up shower door.

“You left me with no choice, bro,” he says, already stripping his clothes off.

You don’t say another word, completely flabbergasted.

There’s no way. 

Before you could doubt him again, the door opens and he steps into the tiny shower with you, one hand on your bare back as he nudges you forward to make room.

“Jungkook!” you scream, covering your breasts.

“Fuck, why’s it so damn hot in here?” he says, leaning forward and adjusting the water, his bare chest brushing against your back.

“This is so weird, Kook.” you mutter, turning slightly to glare up at him.

“Relax. I won’t even look at you,” he says, eyes squeezed shut as he lathers shampoo through his hair. “I just need to wash up and I’ll be out.”

You try not to look either — you really do — but he’s right there. Water and soap slide down the solid lines of his chest, tracing the dip of his toned stomach before disappearing out of sight. Your gaze follows before you can stop it, curiosity flickering where it shouldn’t. He’s so big, even on soft.

You swallow hard, snapping yourself out of it. Then you turn around and push him back a little, his chest firm beneath your palm.

“You’re hogging, dude. I need to wash my conditioner out.”

His eyes stay shut, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. “No one’s stopping you.”

You’re facing him — way too close for comfort — as you tilt your head back under the water. He finally opens his eyes, but his gaze stays low, focused on the way he scrubs his torso with the washcloth. Foam and bubbles lather over his skin, gliding down the water.

It’s respectful, really. How he isn’t ogling at you — a naked woman right in front of him — like any other man would. And somehow, that only makes it worse. Makes you want him to look.

God, you can barely breathe. He’s so close. His knuckles brush your ribs, a light bump that sends a jolt through you.

“Sorry,” he says in Korean, though his tone is completely casual.

You blink at him. What the fuck? How the hell is he so calm about this? You two have never seen each other naked — not that there was ever a reason to. Are you overthinking it?

He cracks one eye open, catching you before you can even look away. You’re still staring at his chest as he scrubs, and he lets out a low, breathy chuckle.

“Y’know, you're staring real hard for someone who said this was weird,” he teases.

Your eyes snap up, wide. “Shut up. You’re weird.”

“Hm. Okay, perv,” he says with a lazy grin.

“Just- hurry up and get out!” you snap, turning back toward the water to hide your face.

“Well, someone’s hogging the water!” he retorts.

“Hmph!” you huff, crossing your arms before stepping aside to let him under the water.

He rinses the soap from his hair, water streaming down his body and splashing everywhere like a wet dog — droplets hitting you from every direction. Annoyed, you twist the shower to hot, and when the water heats up, Jungkook yelps.

“Bro, you’re actually so annoying. C’mere!” he laughs, grabbing your shoulder and pulling you under the stream with him as he shifts it to freezing cold.

Your back collides with his slippery front, his arm instinctively looping around your waist to steady you. The sudden contact steals your breath — but before you can even process it, the cold water hits, and you let out a scream.

“Jungkook, please!” you shriek, trying to pry his arm off your waist.

“Brat,” he laughs, holding you in place as the freezing water pours down on both of you.

“Jungkook!” you shout again, squealing. “I’m genuinely going to kill you!”

He just laughs harder. Meanwhile, you can barely breathe through your shivers. Goosebumps start to form on your skin, but you can’t tell if it’s from the cold water or Jungkook’s cock pressing into you.

“Okay, seriously! It’s cold and I can feel your dick in my ass, dude!” you finally gasp, twisting in his grip.

He finally releases you and you immediately turn the water back to hot, the rush of warmth hitting your skin in relief and the glass immediately fogging up. He’s still laughing as he opens the shower door, grabbing his towel from the rack and getting out.

“Annoying ass,” you mutter, brushing water from your face.

“Yeah, yeah. Pervert,” he says back, wrapping the towel around his waist as his eyes flicker down to your chest.

“You just looked at my boobs!” you exclaim, brows knitted.

He shrugs. “You were looking at mine first?”

You grab the shower door handle and slam it shut. “Next time, I’m locking the door!”

“Yeah, and try showering faster!” he calls back, leaving the bathroom and shutting the door with a click.

Jungkook has always just been your best friend.

He’s funny, dorky, and has that annoying boyish charm that somehow made him impossible to stay mad at. You’d known him forever — too long to ever think of him that way.

But ever since he hopped in the shower with you the other day, your brain wouldn’t shut up. You kept replaying it — the proximity, his skin against yours, his cock literally pressed up against your ass. And now, every time he walked by, you couldn’t act normal without feeling carnal.

How could you not? It's not exactly normal to shower with your best friend. And this was all his fault, anyway!

You started seeing Jungkook in a completely different light.

The air got colder, and he was back to living in hoodies — cozy, oversized ones that made him look effortlessly attractive in a boyfriend way. His hair was always messy, his face bare, and every time he walked around, you’d get that swooning girly feeling.

And even worse? The sweats. The fucking sweats. The way they hung low on his hips, the way they showed too much. His print visible through the fabric, reminding you how absolutely hung he is.

God, you are a pervert.

You’ve been avoiding him. Leaving the room whenever he walks in. He hasn’t noticed yet — or maybe he has, but he hasn’t said anything about it.

Working from home didn’t help either. You were stuck in the apartment with him every hour of the day since he worked from home too. Your earphones and endless emails were enough to distract you for a while, but once the day ended and you were left in bed with nothing but your thoughts, it got bad.

And it was especially worse when you could hear his voice.

“Chat, I’m not taking off my hoodie,” you hear him say from his room, muffled but still clear through the thin wall. “It’s cold and I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

Then he laughs — low and knowing. 

Fuck.

You’d checked your period tracker earlier. Of course you were ovulating. That probably explained why every little thing he did suddenly aroused you ten times harder.

The ache between your thighs had been building all evening, a throbbing inconvenience that no amount of ignoring could make go away. Your pink vibrator sat in the bedside drawer, tempting, calling your name like a ritual. Quickly, you slid it open, fingers wrapping around the silicone toy.

You pushed the button, and the persistent buzz filled the room. The walls in this apartment were ridiculously thin; every word  came through like he was right there with you. You could hear him, his voice pushing through the barrier as he flirts with his viewers like the little tease he is. If you were able to hear him, he could definitely hear this toy's relentless whirring.

But you didn’t give a single fuck — you needed this too badly to stop or care.

Impatiently, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and panties, yanking them down in one swift motion. The cool air hits your wet and swollen heat, pussy clenching in anticipation and need. You spread your legs slightly on the bed, the sheets crumpling beneath you and you positioned the vibrator.

Then you hear his voice again. “Take it off anyway? Yo, chat! Behave!” He giggles softly.

Why did that make you even hornier? Imagining him there, taking his hoodie off and streaming shirtless, feeding his audience what they want. It makes you wonder if he’ll give you what you want. The thought has you trailing the buzzing tip along your inner thigh first, teasing yourself. Finally, you pressed it firmly against your clit.

The contact was intense — vibrations pulsing directly into that sensitive bud full of nerves. Your body jerked involuntarily, hips bucking as a sharp wave of pleasure shot throughout you, making your toes curl. You cursed quietly, a soft moan escaping before you bit down on your lower lip. 

On the other side of the hall, he drives you to your edge quicker. “No! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook chants, the words tumbling out in frustration. A deep groan followed, guttural and unrestrained. “Goddamnit! I was so close, then I fucking sold!”

He’s losing his shit over a game while you were about to cum from the pathetic sounds he was making.

You circled the vibrator slower now, grinding it against your clit in deliberate movements, the wetness coating the toy. Each stroke sent your nerves radiating, your pussy aching to be filled, but for now, this was enough — more than enough with his oblivious presence so close.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as your back arched off the bed. The vibrator thrummed at its highest speed now, the intense vibrations assaulting your clit relentlessly. All that lust you’d been bottling up poured out in a flood of slick heat between your thighs.

Living with Jeon Jungkook was torturous…

“Chat, one more round or should I end stream for the night?” His tone was casual, yet had you in full effect — oblivious to the way your pussy throbbed at the rasp in his voice.

A muffled moan escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against your palm. Your hips lift from the mattress, grinding your swollen clit harder against the toy. You can feel it coming — the tight coil in your tummy twisting, your walls clenching around the toy as arousal leaks profusely out of you. 

“One more round? Alright, just for you,” he replied to his viewers — that signature giggle slipping out, the one he does when he knows the girls and gays are already folding over the simplest things he does.

But you weren’t some thirsty fan in his chat. No, Jungkook’s effect on you ran way deeper than that — a constant simmer that turned into this frantic need to fuck yourself while listening to him. 

You threw your head back against the pillow, neck straining as you bit down on your knuckle, teeth sinking into skin to muffle the moan clawing up your throat. The pressure surged to its peak, your body locking up as the orgasm took over.

Your clit pulsed under the vibrator’s assault as the pleasure exploded, making your toes curl and your back arch. Slick seeped out of you, coating your fingers and the toy, the wet sounds barely audible over the buzz and your ragged breathing.

As you came down from your high, the overstimulation became too much. You yanked the vibrator away with a gasp, fumbling to turn it off, the sudden silence deafening — you could hear Jungkook tapping away at his keyboard, finger clicking down on the mouse. The toy rolled away as you tossed it somewhere on your bed, too spent to care about the mess on it right now.

One thing was clear: you hadn’t felt like that in far too long — your thighs shaking uncontrollably, your sopping heat still throbbing hypersensitively, that deep, aching relief lingering in your lower stomach. The raw force of it drained you, a sluggish feeling in your limbs.

Post nut clarity hit you like a truck, shame and guilt starting to eat at you: you came harder than ever, all because you were fantasizing about Jungkook, your best friend. That incident in the shower and all the glances you stole — his wet skin glistening under the water, those thick, muscular arms flexing as he lathered soap all over his body, and his heavy cock hanging between his thighs. It had all ignited this secret explosion of lust. It wasn’t forbidden, but it had felt that way since you’d never thought about him like this.

Now, the idea of him walking by while you were in the living room, or coming into the kitchen behind you, peering over your shoulder to see what was for dinner — it all makes your tummy flutter, like a stupid crush. 

No way you could keep living like this.

You managed to successfully avoid Jungkook for the rest of the week. Not that it was difficult — he’d been too busy with his streaming schedule, headset on and door shut most of the time.

It was ironic, really — living with Jungkook and yet not seeing him for days.

Still, you weren’t taking any risks. You’d started taking quicker showers — gosh, you missed standing under the water until your skin steamed. You hadn’t cooked in days either, constantly dragging Jennie out for dinner or inviting yourself over to her place instead. 

Now, the cold air had your hands trembling as you tried to fit the key into the lock. After a few fumbling attempts, it finally clicked, and you pushed the door open, grateful to step inside the warm apartment.

You’d just come back from Jennie’s place after a cozy pasta dinner for two. She had joked about you moving in with her instead, just so you could cook for her like that every night.

And damn, maybe you should’ve considered her offer — because the moment you walk into the apartment, Jungkook’s already there in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up and a pan on the stove. He must’ve just finished streaming. Poor baby probably hadn’t eaten all day until now.

On other days, you’d cook for the both of you. But tonight, you couldn’t shake the guilt crawling up your spine.

“Hey,” he says, glancing over his shoulder as you step inside.

“Hi,” you reply, quick and polite.

But suspicious.

Normally, you’d linger — maybe steal a bite of whatever he was cooking or tease him about the mess he was making. Instead, you head straight for your room without another word.

Jungkook’s brows knit together. That just won’t do.

Your door’s already shut by the time he follows, knuckles tapping against the wood.

You scrunch up your nose, already dreading the conversation you’re about to have with him. How do you tell your best friend of years that you feel guilty because you got off to his voice?

“Come in,” you call, trying to sound casual.

He walks in — looking good as ever. His hair is tousled, his hoodie hanging loose but still fitting him perfectly.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

Shit.

You shrug off your jacket and toss it into the hamper. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. You seem… weird.”

You sigh, turning away from him as you open your laptop, pretending to be busy. “Really, I’m okay.”

It’s quiet for a moment. And just when you expect to hear the door close, you hear him instead.

“Did something happen while you were out?” he asks, voice soft but worried.

You turn around to face him — brows slightly furrowed, that worry in his eyes making your chest tighten.

“No,“ you glance away, fumbling for composure. “I swear, everything’s okay.”

He still doesn’t look convinced.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” he presses.

You let out a nervous laugh. “I’m looking at you!”

You’re not. You’re very pointedly looking anywhere but at him — specifically at your nightstand. Yeah. That one.

“You’re not!” he whines.

“Jungkook, please.” You shut your eyes, trying to sound firm, though your anxiety betrays you.

“No! If something is wrong, you can tell me!” he insists, voice mixed with worry and frustration now. He takes a few steps closer.

“I said everything’s okay! Why won’t you just believe me?” you shoot back, finally looking up at him — a mistake, because he looks unfairly good even when he’s upset. Eyes bigger somehow, brows knitted in that way that makes him look both worried and boyishly stubborn.

“Because you’re not being believeable?” he says, as if obvious.

You sigh, looking down at your hands in your lap, the guilt gnawing away.

Then, quieter, almost hesitant. “Did… did I make you uncomfortable that day?”

Your head snaps up. There it is — the forbidden topic neither of you had spoken about since it happened. It feels foreign, like it shouldn’t have been brought up, but here it is anyway — being brought up.

“No, you didn’t,” you say quickly, almost too quickly. But he still doesn’t look convinced. “Kook, no. I swear you didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Then what’s wrong?” he asks, almost pleading now. He knows you too well — knows the difference between you’re fine and you’re pretending to be fine.

“It’s me, okay?” you blurt out, looking away. “That wasn’t exactly a boundary we should’ve crossed as friends, and now….” You exhale shakily, cheeks getting warm. “Now I feel guilty because I can’t stop thinking about you in ways I shouldn’t.”

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

You can feel his gaze burning into you, and every inch of your body wants to sink straight to the floor. You brace yourself for it — for him to laugh and tell you he doesn’t see you that way. Or tell you you’re like a little sister to him. Either way, you’re already planning to text Jennie and tell her you’re moving in, because there’s no way you’re surviving this humiliation.

“You’ve… been fantasizing about me?”

Your head snaps up. A smug, satisfied look plastered all over his face — it has ego written all over it. His lips curl into a slow, teasing smirk, and his hands slip casually into the pockets of his sweats like he’s enjoying this way too much.

Of course he is. Of course this cocky little shit would love hearing that.

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “Oh my god, Jungkook, you actually need to die.”

“That’s basically what you said, though!” he argues, clearly entertained.

You drop your hands and glare at him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asks, tilting his head, that little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he takes a step closer.

“Don’t be annoying.”

“Okay,” he says, hands raised in surrender — though he quickly slips them back into his pockets, that smirk turning into a soft smile. “I’m sorry.”

Your lips press into a thin line, your face hot. “Well?”

“What?” he asks, blinking at you like he’s clueless.

“Aren’t you going to reject me?” you ask, exasperated. “Actually, do it now so I can start packing.”

He just chuckles quietly. No rejection. No teasing comeback like he usually would’ve done.

“Come here,” he says, nodding his head toward himself.

“Jungkook…” you hesitate.

“Come here,” he repeats, firmer this time — his voice deeper, leaving no room for argument.

You roll your eyes before finally pushing yourself up, dragging your feet toward him like you’re walking into something you shouldn’t.

Once you stop in front of him, Jungkook’s hand slides around your arm — firm but gentle — and he guides you down until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sit, confused, eyes darting up at him.

“What are you trying to do?” you ask warily.

Instead of answering, he kneels down in front of you. His face is level with yours now, expression unreadable but somehow still soft.

“Whatever happened to that guy you were hooking up with?” he asks suddenly.

“Eunwoo?” you blink, caught off guard. “We stopped.”

He hums, leaning in slightly. “And since then?”

You hesitate, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “It’s… been a while.”

His tongue clicks as his lips curve. “You poor thing.” He plants his forearms on either side of your thighs, caging you in. “No wonder you got all weird after the shower.”

You roll your eyes and shove lightly at his chest. “Shut up.”

He laughs teasingly, but doesn’t budge.

“And you?” you ask, lifting your chin, trying to stabilize your voice.

He tilts his head, smiling faintly. “Nope. Too busy streaming.”

He’s so close now, closer than he’s ever been — even closer than that incident in the shower. Your heart pounds vigorously in your chest, your frantic heartbeat echoing in your ears, and you’re sure he can hear it too. Heat floods your face, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“So… if you want to…” he murmurs, leaning in even more until his breath fans hot against your lips.

“Don’t you have a bunch of streamer girls you know that you could fuck instead?” you ask, breath hitching as your thighs clench together instinctively, trying to subdue the ache between them.

“Don’t want them,” he whispers as he closes the gap further.

His lips brush yours — not a full kiss yet, just a tentative bump, testing the waters, giving you the chance to pull back if you want to. But you don’t. You can’t.

The moment stretches, and then he crashes into you like a man starved. His mouth claims yours, lips soft yet demanding, tasting faintly of the sweet balm he slathers on after every shower. His tongue slips past your parted lips, exploring, tangling with yours.

His hands roam boldly now, sliding around your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. He pulls you flush against him, trapping you completely in his grip, your body pinned by his solid weight.

With a sudden surge, he lunges forward, laying you down. He hovers over you, lips never leaving yours, devouring you with sloppy, urgent kisses, sucking on your lower lip before diving back in to taste every flavor of your mouth. 

One hand trails downward, slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings and panties. His palm is surprisingly warm, contrasting deliciously against your colder skin from the air outside.

He wastes no time, fingers delving lower until his middle one grazes your sopping pussy. You’re already so wet, warm slick coating his digits as it profusely drips out. The first touch sends a jolt through you, your hips bucking.

He adds another finger, pressing it firmly against the sensitive bud, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. A muffled moan escapes, vibrating against Jungkook’s mouth.

You break the kiss, turning your head to the side, teeth sinking into your lower lip to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out louder.

“How long exactly is a while?” he asks, voice husky, laced with amusement.

God, you’re not even facing him, but you can hear that smug smirk in his tone, feel it in the way his fingers pause just to tease.

“Five months,” you gasp out, the admission hanging heavy in the air, your body trembling under his touch.

He doesn’t respond with words — just pushes two fingers deep inside your soaked pussy. Your walls clench around the intrusion, slick heat welcoming him, and you throw your head back with an audible moan.

He leans down, lips finding the curve of your neck, starting with a gentle kitten lick of his tongue before his teeth graze the skin. He bites down — not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to mark, sucking the spot until you feel the delicious sting straight to your core.

Your hands fly up, cupping his face, thumbs brushing his sharp jawline as you pull him back into a feverish kiss. Tongues messily clash again. In response, his hand inside your pants speeds up, fingers thrusting in and out with a steady rhythm. The squelching of your arousal grows louder, filling the room.

“You haven’t eaten today, have you?” you manage through moans, your thumb rubbing soothing circles over the apple of his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your touch.

He chuckles low in his throat, the vibration rumbling against your lips as he leans into your hand. “You’re really doing this right now?”

“I-“ Your words cut off as his fingers curl sharply inside you, pressing against your inner walls with precision. A moan rips from your throat, your body shuddering. “I feel bad. Haven’t been cooking for you because I was embarrassed.”

“Don’t. That’s not your job,” he says, his smile evident in his voice, eyes gleaming at how sensitive you are, how every twitch and gasp fuels his ego.

“Don’t wanna starve you,” you whimper, the words tumbling out through the haze of pleasure.

“No?” He tilts his head, that playful dominance shining through as he watches your face contort.

You hum in agreement, shaking your head weakly.

“Okay, I’ll eat then,” he says.

He withdraws his fingers slowly, the sudden emptiness making you whine in protest, your pussy clenching around nothing as your sticky arousal gets on your thighs.

You exhale shakily, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath, but before you could regulate your breathing, Jungkook’s hands are at your waistband. With a forceful tug, he pulls your leggings and panties down your legs in one rough motion.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim, voice pitching higher as embarrassment floods. “What’re you doing!”

“About to eat,” he replies casually, kneeling between your legs hanging at the edge of the bed. “Since you’re so worried about my appetite.”

“This is not what I meant,” you protest, thighs closing in futile attempt to hide.

“Come on,” he whined in Korean, playful but insistent, his accent thick. His hands gently but firmly pry at your knees. “Been a while, hasn’t it? Let me take care of you.”

“Do not use that against me!” you whine back.

He switches tactics, those pleasing eyes boring into yours, one hand resting warmly on your knee. 

You’ve thought about this for days now. The cool press of his lip rings against you, how good he is with his tongue. The thought alone makes more arousal seep out of your entrance. Your legs part instinctively, opening wide for him, a silent invitation.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, dimple peeking as he leans in. He starts with soft kisses along your inner thigh, nipping lightly at the skin until goosebumps erupt. His eyes stay fixed on yours, intense and unwavering. But the intimacy gets too much, and you avert your gaze to the side, biting your lip again.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your thigh. “Look at me.”

Obediently, though with a hint of attitude in your narrowed eyes, you turn back, meeting his stare. It feels exposing, vulnerable, but the command in his voice sends even more arousal out of you.

He pushes your thighs wider, fingers digging into the soft flesh to hold you splayed open, your pussy on full display — swollen, wet, clit begging for attention.

Finally, he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your heated core, making you shiver. His tongue darts out, licking a stripe right over your sensitive clit. Immediately, a sharp wave of pleasure shoots down your spine, your hips jerking into his mouth further. Your thighs quiver, instinctively trying to close in on his head, but his grip is stronger, keeping you spread at his mercy.

He holds your gaze as he buries his face deeper, the metal of his lip rings against your folds. His mouth latches onto your clit fully now, lips sealing around the bud as he sucks — gentle at first, then harder, tongue flicking rapidly against it. 

The suction pulls a quiet moan from your open mouth, your back arching, pressure building in your lower tummy. Slick coats his chin, dripping down as he devours you, humming in approval at your taste, the vibrations adding another blissful yet tormenting sensation.

He lowers his face further, his tongue extending to lap directly into your sopping entrance. The tip of his tongue presses inside, tasting your arousal, swirling against your inner walls as he gathers more of your juices. Then, his nose nudges firmly against your swollen clit, the firm bridge bumping it with just the right pressure.

“Y- yes, Kook, right there,” you moan, the words spilling out in a breathy plea as you lean back on one arm, propping yourself up to watch him work, your free hand gripping onto the sheets. 

He starts moving his head up and down in a steady rhythm, the rounded tip of his nose circling and pressing into the throbbing nub, intensifying the friction. His tongue stays buried inside your pussy, thrusting shallowly, lapping up your warm slick.

A deep hum vibrates from his throat, the sound muffled against your heat, like he’s seeking your approval or praise, dark eyes flickering up to lock onto yours. The lower half of his face is completely buried deep between your spread thighs.

You nod frantically, eyebrows knitting together in ecstasy, your bottom lip caught so tightly between your teeth that you’re convinced you might’ve drawn blood. “Fuck, yes, just like that,” you gasp, the praise fueling him as your body trembles.

Jungkook’s own brows furrow in concentration and bliss, his expression twisting like he’s savoring the richest feast imaginable — and he is, devouring your pussy with all his focus. Breathing is a challenge with your thighs clamped around his ears and your pussy coating his mouth and nose, but the thought doesn’t discourage him; he’d gladly suffocate between your legs.

His gaze never wavers from your face, taking in every detail: the way your features contort in pleasure, eyes half-lidded and glassy, your lower lip now visibly swollen from the abuse of your teeth.

Driven by your reactions, he shoves his face even deeper, the hard ridge of his nose bone grinding harder against your clit, providing relentless friction that builds the coil in your tummy tighter. His tongue plunges further inside, fucking into your pussy with wet, slurping strokes that echo obscenely in the room, pushing you toward the brink.

“Jungkook, baby, I’m already so close,” you moan, your voice coming out hoarse and hushed, strained from all the moaning and restraint.

Your hips start to rock subtly against his mouth, and he hums again — the low vibration rumbling straight through your core, making your clit pulse against his nose and your inner walls clench around his invading tongue. That sensation ignites something within you — your hips buck forward, grinding harder into his face, chasing the pressure as you smear more slick across his skin.

You throw your head back as louder moans tear from your throat, your entire body flushing hot, skin prickling with sweat. The orgasm crashes over you, seizing your muscles in a frozen moment of pure intensity before you convulse, thighs shutting around his head, pussy clenching as your cries fill the room.

After a few blissful seconds, the aftershocks turn into overstimulation, the continuous lap of his tongue and nudge of his nose becoming too much on your hypersensitive nerves.

“Okay! Okay!” you giggle breathlessly as you push at his shoulder with your foot, trying to create some distance while your body still twitches.

Jungkook finally pulls back with a low, guttural moan, his tongue darting out to lick his lips clean of your essence, savoring the sweet taste. He rises slowly, crawling up your body, his eyes low and dark with lust.

You haven’t laid a single hand on his cock yet, but he looks utterly wrecked — face flushed a deep pink, hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead with sweat. Your arousal glistens across the entire lower half of his face, from his chin to the bridge of his nose.

“Your face is all wet!” you giggle again.

He doesn’t respond verbally, just leans down to capture your lips in soft, lingering pecks, as if he suddenly can’t be apart from you for even a moment, sharing the faint tang of your own essence between you.

“Alright, munch,” you say with a teasing lilt, pressing your palms against his chest to create space, sitting up alongside him on the bed. “Go wash up.”

“Fine, fine,” he succumbs, getting off you with exaggerated defeat, hands raised in mock surrender as he stumbles to his feet, legs a bit unsteady like he’s had one too many drinks, his bulge straining obviously against his sweats.

“Need help with that?” you ask, your voice light and teasing, eyes flicking pointedly to the obvious problem between his legs.

“Nah,” he groans, the sound low and rough. “You rest, I’ll take care of it.”

“And eat a real meal, please?” you call after him, voice laced with affectionate concern as he heads toward the bathroom.

“I just did!” he yells back, the playful retort echoing down the hall, followed by the sound of running water.

You snort, a hand coming up to cover your face as laughter bubbles out.

Yeah, you wouldn’t be texting Jennie tonight. You’re right where you want to be.

It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.

And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.

You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.

But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.

You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.

Then pick it back up five seconds later.

Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.

You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.

Why did you let this happen?

Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.

And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.

That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.

You haven’t heard his voice since.

You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.

Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.

But then, why didn’t you reach out?

Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?

Because you’re afraid.

Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.

Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.

Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.

You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.

Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.

Kook 🍜: hi

One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.

Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.

You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.

You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook

It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.

Three dots appear.

Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.

Then come back.

Then vanish again.

You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.

A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.

Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?

You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?

You feel sick.

There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.

Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.

You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.

You should’ve been more careful with your heart.

But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.

You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.

You: Where?

Kook 🍜: i can come to yours

You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.

You: What time?

Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?

You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.

You: Okay

You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.

You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.

But you know you won't cancel.

Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.

You need to know for sure.

Jungkook is fucked.

Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.

He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.

He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.

Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.

He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.

The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.

It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.

And it just… hit him.

The weight of it. Of you.

He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.

And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.

And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.

He hadn’t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."

So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.

And now you’re pissed.

Rightfully so.

He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.

He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

What the fuck is he even going to say?

Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?

Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?

Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?

The elevator dings.

Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.

He’s here.

Fuck. He’s actually here.

Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.

You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.

But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.

He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.

You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.

He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.

He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.

You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t

He doesn’t even try.

Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”

His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.

“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.

You narrow your eyes. “Well?”

He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.

You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”

You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.

“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”

You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”

He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”

You stay silent.

He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”

You scoff under your breath and look away.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”

You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”

He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.

“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.

So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.

Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.

“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.

“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”

You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.

“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.

You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.

Jungkook takes another step toward you.

“When I brought you back to mine that night… when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”

You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”

Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”

That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”

You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.

Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.

“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”

Silence again.

Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”

You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.

You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.

And now he has.

He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.

Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”

You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”

His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."

You pause, pressing your lips together.

“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.

His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.

He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.

“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”

He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stare at him.

Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.

And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.

So you move.

You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

You kiss him.

At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips gently. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.

But then he sighs against you and it unravels something.

His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek.

The sweetness melts fast.

He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.

You kiss him harder.

His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.

The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore.

The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.

You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”

You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”

He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.

He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.

His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear and your eyes flutter shut.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.

You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.

Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.

He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.

“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”

His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.

“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”

You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.

His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.

His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”

You smile, drunk on the feel of him.

“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.

He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.

He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.

You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.

Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.

You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”

You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.

You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.

You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”

The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.

Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.

“Koo,” you whine out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.

You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.

“Please.”

He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.

He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.

“Gonna let me take these off?”

He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”

“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”

He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.

You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”

You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”

He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.

Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.

Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.

He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.

“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”

He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.

You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.

“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.

He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.

He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.

“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.

He moans, but his movements don't stop.

Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.

Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.

His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”

“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”

He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.

His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.

"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.

He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.

He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.

“Better?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.

Your legs part without hesitation.

His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.

He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.

His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.

He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.

He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”

You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.

He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.

His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.

The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.

“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”

That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.

“You promise?”

The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.

The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.

“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”

“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”

You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.

Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”

He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.

His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.

Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.

Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.

His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.

Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.

He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.

“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”

He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”

You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.

“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”

He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”

He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”

There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.

“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”

You snort. “So humble.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”

You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”

His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”

“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”

“I already want to punch you.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”

“This is my bed, dumbass.”

He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”

“Oh, so now you’re picky?”

“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”

“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”

You laugh softly into his skin.

And he just holds you tighter.

Your phone vibrated against the nightstand, dragging you out of the good dream you had just now.

You squinted your eyes at the screen and groaned as you saw Jungkook’s name across it at 6:30 AM.

“You’re joking,” you said when you answered. “Good morning to you too,” Jungkook’s laugh was bright and annoyingly awake, “I’m outside.”

You sat up too fast, “Outside where?” “Your building? 7 AM right?”

You dragged a hand down your face, groaning, “I wake up at seven. I leave at eight, and work starts at 8:30, what part of that sounds like ‘show up at six-thirty’?”

There was a pause, then an “Oh,” then he continued it with, “and this is six-thirty.”

You stared at the ceiling, “You’re insane and you’re very early.” “I can wait down here,” he offered, “I’ll survive.”

“Or,” you muttered, pulling your blanket around your shoulders as you shuffled toward the door, “you could come up before my neighbours think I hired a biker for my morning wake up calls.”

“You’re inviting me in?” he teased.  “I’m preventing scandal,” you corrected, unlocking the door, “Get your ass up here, I need to shower.”

You gave him your apartment number and there he was, your scarf around his throat, hoodie, joggers, and with a smile people make when they show up too early and know it.

“Hi,” Jungkook said. “Come in,” you sighed, stepping aside, “if my neighbour sees you, I’m telling her you’re a courier.” “I’m good at delivering,” he said as he slipped past you.

He took off his shoes, looked around like he just entered a museum. A coat was placed over your chair, a stack of half read books on the coffee table, a scented candle smelling like lavender, and post-its notes on the fridge; pay gas every 2nd week, call your brother back, stop doomscrolling.

“Nice place,” Jungkook said as he sits down on your couch. “Thanks,” you said.

He looked at you for a second, “Do you want coffee? Or should I just wait and sit here?”

“Kitchen’s there,” you pointed, “mugs on the second shelf. I’m going to shower, don’t rob me.”

He dramatically put a hand to his chest, “I would never.” “Also,” you added as you walk towards your bedroom, “the window to the balcony is open and if you see a cat, she’s not mine. She likes to climb from their balcony to mine just to visit, so don't try to feed her anything.”

“Duly noted, manager.”

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You shut your bedroom door and leaned against it a second longer than necessary. The apartment was quieter with him in it, somehow.

In the shower your heart was beating like you just sprinted. You scrubbed too fast, then forced yourself to slow down. It’s fake. It’s fine. It’s a bit. You are not the kind of girl to write a boy's name in the fogged mirror.

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, forcing his legs to move towards the kitchen, but every step makes him more aware that this is in fact, your place.

He opened the cupboard for the mugs, hands embarrassingly sweaty, and a thought crept into his mind that maybe he should’ve just waited downstairs.

He was about to make coffee in your kitchen, and his chest feel like it might burst from how terrifying and intimate that actually was.

Because this wasn’t just any kitchen, again, it’s yours. And standing in the middle of it, Jungkook realised that he wasn’t just nervous, he was falling, fast.

He knows he shouldn’t, he needed to remind himself again and again that this is all just part of your game, your revenge to your friends.

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When you came out of the shower, with face moisturised and a simple sweater and jeans on, you heard the faint sounds of a knife and movements in the kitchen, and the smell of brown butter. You paused, blinked, and move towards the kitchen.

Jungkook was standing in your small kitchen with his sleeves pushed just above his elbows, tattoos peeking as he flipped something in a pan. On the counter you could see shredded cabbage, eggs, and soft bread. He found your sugar, salt, black pepper, and your shameful bottle of ketchup.

“What are you making?” “Toast,” he said without looking up.

He finally glanced over to you, “You look more alive now.” “I fake it well,” you said, stepping closer to him, “You really didn’t have to cook.” “I know,” he said, “I wanted to.”

“You’re really good at this fake boyfriend bit,” you said, sitting on the stool at the counter, “You realise this escalates the narrative.”

He hates when you call it that, when you remind him it was all supposed to be for your revenge, just for the bit.

But he smiled anyway, “Good,” Jungkook said even though he could feel the tight knot in his chest, “Isn’t escalation step two of your master plan?”

He assembled the toast and slid the first sandwich onto a plate, then started another. “Okay,” he said sliding a plate towards you, “Give me your commentary after your first bite.”

You obeyed, the bread was crisp and buttery, the cabbage sweet and savoury from the sugar and pepper, the egg was soft, and the cheese melted in all the right ways. You chewed and closed your eyes like a dramatic YouTube reviewer, then pointed at him with the sandwich.

“I hate you,” you announced.

He froze, “What?”

“For making this taste so heavenly,” you moaned at how good the sandwich is.

The sound you made stopped him for a few seconds. He tried to control his face because your moan has no business in making his stomach flip the way it did.

His shoulders loosened, “Is it that good?” “It’s criminal,” you said around another bite, “You’re never allowed to cook again unless you plan on making my stomach dependent on you.”

“That sounds like a red light violation,” he said, pouring coffee, “Picture?” he asked after a second, nodding to the plates, “for close friends, it’s a good plan, right?”

You wiped your mouth with a napkin, “Right, we escalate,” you dragged the plate towards the window for better lighting, "give me your hand.”

“My hand?” He blinked. “Tattoo,” you clarified like it wasn’t obvious enough, “If you just post a sandwich, they’ll think I made it, let them do the math.”

He set his hand in the frame, fingers relaxed beside the plate, no faces, no giveaways.

“What’s the caption?” he asked, leaning in after you finished taking the picture.

You wrote: he cooks?? tragic for my independence

“You’re going to get a lot DMs,” he warned.

You posted it to your close friends list, the tiny green circle of chaos, “Posted.”

You didn’t have to wait long for your friends to message you.

best girlies 💅💗 Sooyoung: omg is he staying at yours?? Dahyun: when are you going to tell us that you started dating Jungkook already?!

You bit back a smile and turn your phone face down.

“Ready?” Jungkook asked, washing the pan and laying it on the rack.

You hated how much you liked that he cleaned after he cooked.

Domesticity should not be this hot.

You checked the time. 7:55 AM.

“I need shoes and I have to pack my laptop.” “I’ll be by the bike,” he said, already moving towards the door. You caught yourself watching him slip his shoes back on and loop your scarf around his neck again.

You had to shake your head to snap yourself back to reality.

Jungkook is hot and attractive, you can admit that much, at least.

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By 8:10, you were standing near his bike, bag across your chest, hair tied, and lip balm on.

“Hold this,” he said, passing you the helmet. You slipped it on your head, fumbling with the chin strap until it twisted in your hands and you let out a frustrated sigh.

“Here,” Jungkook said softly, leaning in, and his fingers brushed yours as he took over to adjust the strap with practiced ease. He made sure to hear to clicking sound before stepping away. Jungkook realised how much he wants to keep helping you with these little things, wanted it to never just be a prank.

“Picture two?” he asked.

You agreed and took a picture of him sitting on his bike, then added the caption: personal chauffeur to work before posting it to your close friends.

“Ready?” he asked. “Yep,” you said as you swing a leg over the seat and settled.

“You can hold on to me tighter,” he said. “I know,” you replied, and closed the gap between you and him. Your cheek touched his back for a second longer than necessary. And for those few seconds, Jungkook forgot about the fact that this is all temporary.

All he could register was your body against his, how you were closer than last night.

The engine started and he pulled away from the street. Your apartment building disappeared behind you and your office building waited, fifteen minutes away, if traffic was kind.

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“Talk to me,” you called at the first red light, “distract me from the fact that I have 20 emails waiting for me.” “What do I say?” he shouted back.

“Tell me something you’re bad at.” “Parallel parking when someone’s watching,” he replied. You laughed, “Relatable.”

“Your turn,” he said as the light turn green. “I can’t swallow pills without pep talking myself,” you confessed. He shook with what you assumed was laughter.

“Another one,” you said, “Tell me something you don’t say on camera.”

He thought about it for a few seconds until finally admitting, “Sometimes I skip the gym and then post an old workout clip so my trainer doesn’t text me five skull emojis.”

You gasped, “Fraud.”

“Selective honesty.”

“Okay, fine,” you allowed it, “I once faked an allergy to coconut because I didn’t want to eat my ex’s terrible cake.” You could slightly hear him laughing out loud again.

You can feel the wind and how cold it was getting to you, so you tucked yourself in closer to him. Jungkook didn’t say anything, but he lifted his left hand from the handlebar to nudge your knuckles like a quiet check in to make sure you're okay. You told yourself it was just part of the bit and nothing more.

On the way, you passed a bakery and a bookstore with Post-its stuck all over the glass. At a red light, Jungkook tilted his chin toward a cute dog inside of a car, and you tapped his stomach twice to let him know you saw it.

“Question,” he called at the next light, “Since we’re escalating, what’s our next necessary moment?”

You inhaled, “I was thinking,” you shouted, “a selfie, let them finally see us.”

He shook his head like he couldn’t believe the level of your chaos, “You’re terrifying.”

“Thank you.”

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You reached your office not long after. Jungkook slowed the bike nearby and cut the engine. You got off his bike and stood next to him. He unbuckled your helmet's strap before you could and you slid the helmet off and handed it to him. “Helmet hair,” he pointed at your hair.

“I’ll survive,” you replied, “thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

“Thanks for not suing me for the early arrival,” he said.

“Text me when you get home,” you said, then corrected, “I mean, when you get to wherever you’re going.”

“Yes, manager y/n,” he answered.

“Don’t call me manager.”

“Too late. It’s stuck now.”

You rolled your eyes then turned around and walk towards your building.

He waited until you reached the door and you knew he was waiting for you because you didn’t hear the sound of his bike’s engine immediately after you left his side.

Around 15 minutes later, your phone vibrated against your desk.

Jungkook: don’t skip lunch.

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You didn’t exactly want to go but the idea of staying home alone with your thoughts was worse.

So when your colleagues insisted you to join them on their night drinks, you gave in. It was one of those after work rituals.

The air in the bar smells like soju and fried chicken. Music from a nearby speaker mixed with the chatter creating a chaos that makes it easier to forget the rough few weeks you have gone through.

You clink your glasses with colleagues, singing songs together, and they dragged you into photos you know would surface in the team group chat with captions like best team everrr 🥂.

You played along, sipping your soju, trying to remember what it feels like to have fun without the weight of your breakup or the fake relationship you have with Jungkook.

It was somewhere between the second and third round of drinks when he appeared. Not Jungkook, just some stranger.

“Didn’t I see you at the entrance earlier?” he asked, voice loud enough to be heard over the music. You blinked, uninterested, “Maybe, depends if you were looking.” He grinned like he liked that answer, “Guess I was.”

Your colleagues teased you telling you to “go on” and “live a little.”

You rolled your eyes but you didn’t push him away either, because you are single and Jungkook isn’t your boyfriend.

Because the fake thing you two are tangled in doesn't mean you owe him loyalty.

So you let the stranger buy you a drink, you let him lean in a little closer than necessary when he showed you something on his phone, and you laughed at one of his jokes, even if it wasn’t that funny.

Later, you weren’t even sure why you opened your Instagram, maybe it was muscle memory, maybe it was the alcohol.

But you posted a messy collage of clinking glasses, blurry shots of your coworkers, and one selfie where the stranger’s face was right next to yours.

You didn’t think much of it.

You were too busy scrolling and laughing at something your colleague shouted across the bar.

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Jungkook’s phone vibrated once, then again, lighting up with notifications he usually ignored during workouts.

He sat on the bench, towel draped over his shoulders, and earphones hanging useless around his neck. When he glanced at the notification, your username was on his screen and he didn’t hesitate to swipe. He was just checking how your night is going.

And then he saw it.

Your story.

He noticed a selfie with some guy who is too close to you. He blinked, and his jaw tightened, scrolling back like he might have imagined it. But no, it was there, clear as day, you and some stranger.

He dropped the dumbbells back onto the rack with a heavy sound that startled the guy next to him.

“Shit,” Jungkook muttered under his breath.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself you are single, that this whole thing between you two is just a game, a prank to fool your friends, nothing real.

You do not owe him anything.

But his chest is burning. He hates how tight his throat feels, hates the way his stomach knotted when he replays that story in his head. He hates that the thought of you smiling at someone else makes his vision blur for half a second.

It was jealousy, and Jungkook knows it.

He hates how nothing about the way it consumed him felt fake.

He picked up the weights again, lifted once, twice, and then gave up. His motivation was gone and his focus shattered. The mirror in front of him reflecting someone restless with jaw clenched.

Jungkook grabs his phone again, replayed your story, zoomed in like an idiot. He recognised the bar, he knows exactly where is it. And how it's only a 10 minute drive from his gym.

He knows he shouldn’t even think about it.

He knows if he shows up, it might end up with you ending the fake relationship. But before he could stop himself, he was shoving his things into his bag. He changed into his sweater, grabbed his keys, and tugged the sleeves low over his wrists, he put a mask and a cap on as he walked.

By the time he was at the parking lot, his decision was already made. He wasn’t finishing the workout tonight, he wasn’t letting this sit in his chest and overthink it.

He is going to you.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The bar was exactly as he remembered it; crowded and loud.

Jungkook pulled his cap lower, adjusted the mask higher, and pulled down his sleeves until they hide the tattoos on his knuckles.

He looks like any other guy in an oversized sweater and dark jeans. No one looked twice, thankfully. He just wanted to focus on finding you.

His eyes scans the crowd automatically, trained to pick you out even before he admitted to himself that’s what he was doing.

And there you were.

You're at the bar, slouched slightly forward, phone in your hand, scrolling like you were trying to escape into the screen. The stranger was nowhere near you now and your colleagues drifted to the dance floor or outside to smoke, leaving you in your own quiet pocket.

Jungkook felt his chest loosen at the sight of you alone. But the tension was still there as he makes his way closer to you.

He stopped just behind you, close enough that you could hear him even over the music.

“You know,” his voice breathy, “if you keep posting that kind of shit, our friends are never going to believe we’re actually together.”

You turned so fast you nearly dropped your phone, “What? what the fuck?” you said, eyes wide, blinking up at him through the dim lights, “Why are you here?”

“To save our fake relationship,” he said.

You stared at him like Jungkook just lost his mind.

Of all the places you expected Jungkook to show up tonight, the last was here, this crowded bar with your colleagues, and half empty glasses of soju scattered everywhere.

Yet here he was, sleeves tugged over his knuckles and a cap shadowing his eyes.

“You’re insane,” you whispered harshly, “you actually came here? for what?”

He leaned in, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours, voice low so only you could hear him, “I told you, to save our cover.”

“Our cover?” you repeated, “you didn’t have to come here for that, no one cares.”

“Really?” he said, eyes dark as they flicked to your phone still in your hand, "because the guy in your story sure as hell looked like he cares.”

You feel heat across your cheeks, “That’s none of your business and it's not like I was kissing him or anything. It was just a selfie.”

His laugh was dry, “you posted it, you made it everyone’s business.”

You snapped your phone shut and shoved it into your bag, glaring at him, “Why do you even care? This whole thing is fake, remember?”

The word fake seems to hit him like a punch. Jungkook's jaw tightened, “Yeah,” he said finally, “fake.”

You crossed your arms, refusing to look away, “So why are you acting like it’s not?” “Guess I’m just committed to the bit."

You scoffed, “Bullshit.”

You saw it then, the jealousy. The way his chest rise a little too fast for someone who claimed he is just committed to the bit.

“You’re jealous,” you said before you could stop yourself. Jungkook froze, denying your statement, “I’m not.” but his voice betrayed him.

You studied him, watching the way his eyes narrowed like he hates being read this easily. “You are,” you pressed, “You’re jealous over something fake. Remember Jungkook, no feelings or this fake relationship is over.”

He leaned in then, so close you could feel his breath over the mask against your ear, “Don’t push it, y/n.”

A shiver shot throughout your body, though you can't tell whether it was because of his tone or how close he was to you.

Before you could say anything else, his eyes scanned the bar like he couldn’t stand to look at you anymore, “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

“I can get myself home,” you shot back.

His eyes snapped back to you, “Not tonight.”

You opened your mouth to argue but the look in his eyes stopped you. So you grabbed your bag, muttered a stiff, “Fine,” and followed him out.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

The night air was cool, sharp against your heated skin as you stepped outside. The noise of the bar fades behind you, replaced by the sound of passing cars.

Jungkook’s car was parked down the street, sleek and dark, an obvious contrast to the chaos of the bar. He walked ahead, shoulders tense, hands shoved deep into his pockets. You trailed after him, arms crossed tight.

When you reached the car, he opened the passenger door without a word. You hesitated, "You don’t have to.” “Get in,” he said, his voice low, not accepting any argument.

You got into his car, more out of stubbornness to prove you weren’t intimidated than anything else and the door shut behind you with a quiet thud.

The drive started in silence. Jungkook’s hands gripped the wheel tight as he tries to calm down.

He might have just made the greatest mistake by coming to you. He should have just sent a funny message to you after seeing the story. Or made sure you were doing okay through text.

Being jealous like this, the way he just picked you up from a bar without you even telling him where you are is not going to help him.

Jungkook just risked losing you and the fake relationship that he thought would bring you closer.

You tried not to look at him and tried not to notice the sharp line of his jaw and the way his eyes stayed fixed on the road like it was the only thing calming him down.

You really didn't get it. The jealousy was totally uncalled for. It was a normal selfie. He is not even your boyfriend and he crossed the line and boundary you both agreed to. The silence was so loud you couldn’t stand it anymore.

“You didn’t have to come,” you said finally.

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”

His grip on the wheel tightened for a long moment, he didn’t answer, “Because watching you with him made me want to put my fist through something.”

He glanced at you briefly, “Happy now? There’s your truth, you were right. I am jealous, does that make you feel better?”

You turned towards him, words slipping out sharper than you intended, “I wasn’t trying to make you admit it. I just,” you huffed, “You’re so confusing.”

He lets out a humorless laugh, “You think you’re not?”

That one stings, but you refused to let him see it, “You’re the one showing up at the bar I didn't even tell you I was in, dragging me into your car, and talking about punching walls because of a guy I barely know.”

“Exactly,” he snapped, “you barely know him and still.”

“And still what?” you pressed him.

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms,

“God, Jungkook. If this is your version of fake boyfriend, remind me to ask for a refund in the morning.”

He shot you a look, a mix of disbelief and frustration, “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” you said, “most fake boyfriends would just ignore it. Maybe text something stupid like don’t get too wild without me. You? You stormed in like some jealous husband from a drama.”

His knuckles whitened on the wheel, “Maybe I’m not most fake boyfriends.”

The car went quiet again.

You stared out the window, your heart pounding through your chest. You can feel his eyes flick towards you, like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t.

Finally, you whispered, “You know I kissed him back, right?”

The car jerked slightly as Jungkook’s hands twitched on the wheel, “Don’t.”

“I did,” you said, forcing your lie to sound real, testing him.

“y/n.” The warning in his tone made you shiver.

You bite your lip, satisfaction curling in your stomach despite the tension radiating off him, “See? You don’t get to act like it’s fake anymore. Not when you’re like this.”

He didn’t answer. He just kept on driving, faster now, but eyes still locked on the road.

But you caught it, his jaw tightening, the way his breath sounds heavier, and his knuckles whitening on the wheel.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, you were almost relieved. You unbuckled your seatbelt, hand reaching for the door, but his voice stopped you.

“y/n.”

You looked back.

“This was supposed to be fake,” he said quietly, “but nothing about how I feel is fake.”

You inhaled as the air between you thickened, heavy with the lines you aren't supposed to cross. You should’ve laughed it off, should’ve reminded him of the rules. You should’ve walked away.

But instead, you whispered, “Then what is it?”

“It’s me, wanting to kiss you so bad it’s driving me insane.”

Before you could answer, before you could think of what to say, he leaned across, hand lifting to cup your jaw, and his mouth was on yours.

And you don't understand why, but you kissed him back.

The kiss was frustrated at first like he was angry at himself for giving in. His lips pressed hard against yours and his hand tightened against your cheek like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Your hands fisted the front of his sweater, pulling him even closer. Your lips moved against his just as hungry and reckless.

You still don't understand why you're kissing him back. Maybe it's the alcohol taking over or maybe it's the loneliness.

The kiss softened into something deeper, you melted into the kiss, into him, kissing him back softer now as your grip on his sweater loosening.

By the time he pulled back, you were both breathing hard and eyes locked. He stared at you for a few seconds then whispered, “Goodnight, y/n.”

And before you could say anything, he turned away, his hands gripping the wheel again.

You stepped out of the car, you can feel the cool night air against your flushed skin.

By the time you reached the entrance of your apartment, you turned back.

His car was still there and then, just as you opened your mouth to call out to him, the car pulled away into the night.

Leaving you standing there, heart pounding, and no answers.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Jungkook grips the wheel tighter the second you stepped out of the car.

His lips still tastes like yours, but beneath it all was the sharp sting of regret.

He knew he just broke a boundary that kept your little game safe.

He cursed under his breath, forehead pressed briefly to the wheel.

God, Jungkook wanted more.

But all he can think about now is that he might’ve ruined the only chance he has of being close to you. The chance that made him agree to the fake relationship in the first place.

And as he drove off into the night, Jungkook couldn’t tell if crossing that line will bring you closer to him.