#heheeheh

You both did a terrible job at keeping your hands off each other in the car, up the stairs to his apartment, the doorway. It’s disgusting, you think, but the sheer thrill of doing this with Jungkook Jeon has sent your brain in a spiral. And god, you want it, you want it bad, because you know that it’s just one time and then you’ll be free of him.

Just this once.

“God,” he chuckles, shaking his head. His front door slams shut behind you and he presses your spine against the door, your work bag dropping to the floor with a thud. “Why do you always do that?” Another kiss is pressed to your jaw. “Can’t stop chastising me for even a second?”

Your neck keens to allow him to gingerly press more kisses down your pulse point, your throat. “No,” you bite back a moan as he sucks on your skin, stopping to inhale your scent. “Can’t let your ego get too big, Jeon.”

“Too late,” he mutters against your skin, and you can feel the shit-eating grin spreading across his lips. His hands find your jacket, sliding it off your shoulders, dropping it somewhere near your work bag. No one cares where it lands.

“You probably have a mirror on your ceiling, don’t you?” Threading your fingers through his hair, you tug on the strands, a low rumble escaping his mouth.

His eyes are darkened when they pull back to look at you, pupils completely blown. You’ve never seen him so disheveled, so utterly lost in someone. The familiar feeling you’ve felt around him bubbles tenfold, grows like a living thing inside you. “You’re about to find out.”

Fuck.

His lips mesh with yours, backing you further into his apartment. Even as you stumble through it, he’s there to catch you, hands firm on your waist, pads of his thumbs pressing into the bone of your hip like they were always meant to be there.

“Jesus Christ, how many shoes do you own?” you ask mid-kiss. You’ve basically tripped over his third pair of sneakers lining the hallway. It’s literally absurd. And you plan to bully him about this even more, just maybe not when his hands are running up and down your sides.

“Stop looking at my floors,” he nips at your bottom lips, “And start looking at me.”

“Hard to do when your apartment’s trying to kill me,” His thumbs brush just under your shirt hem, and your breath catches on its next inhale. Your eyes avert from his, from how good he’s already making you feel, from how undeniably bad you need this—

“Is that a Funko Pop collection?”

Jungkook laughs against your jaw. “You’re killing the mood here.”

“Am I?” You cock an eyebrow, hand wandering down, down to his pants, where his bulge is protruding. Your mind reels at how just kissing you could make him feel like this. His cock twitches against your touch and his eyes flutter closed for a second. “Seems like you’re doing just fine.”

“Fucking hell,” he exhales, hips pressing forward into your palm. Then he’s walking you backward again, faster this time, urgent. “Bedroom. Now.”

“So bossy.” You roll your eyes but your stomach coils with excitement. There’s something so forbidden about Jungkook Jeon—maybe it’s because you’ve spent years detesting his work and him, or because he was always this tangible thing that everyone got to experience except for you. Now he’s in your hands, and it’s not that you ever expected to have it, but he’s here. You’re here with him in his bedroom.

You get approximately two seconds to take in his bedroom—and yes, there’s thankfully no ceiling mirror, but there is an alarming amount of gym equipment in the corner—before he’s spinning you around and walking you backward toward his bed. “Your room looks like a frat house and a sports store had a baby,” you manage to get out one final joke before the back of your knees hit his mattress.

No turning back now.

He hums, thumbing the hem of your blouse, fingers dancing along the skin of your stomach. “You’re standing in my frat house sports store baby room about to let me fuck you.”

Heat runs straight your core at his brash wording. You hate that you want this so badly you can barely think straight.

“Don’t get used to it,” you shoot back.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He pulls your blouse up and over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind him. His eyes drop to your chest, to the black bra you’d worn this morning without knowing this would happen. “Though I gotta say… I’ve thought about this a lot. Maybe more than I should have.

“Yeah?” You refuse to let him see how affected you are by that admission. “Did it live up to the fantasy?”