𓂃 ۶ৎ toji taking all his pent up horniness out on you !
"you're too good for this," he murmurs, though his hands don't stop moving one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. his breath is ragged against your neck, like he's been running, though neither of you have left the bed in hours. "i'm sorry, baby," he says again, not sounding sorry at all, not when his teeth scrape your shoulder right after.
you don't mind. you never mind with him. toji's always like this when he gets like this, all rough edges and muttered apologies, like he can't decide whether to wreck you or worship you. so you let him, arching into the drag of his calloused fingers, the heat of his body pressing you deeper into the mattress.
"thank you," he groans, hips snapping forward, and you'd laugh if you could breathe. thank you? as if you're doing him a favor and not just chasing your own pleasure right alongside his. but that's toji impossible to predict, even now, when you know exactly how he moves, how he tastes, the way his voice cracks when he's close.
your hands scramble against his chest, fingers curling into the sweat-slicked planes of muscle as the pleasure crests into something unbearable too much, too fast, the relentless pace of his hips turning your thoughts to static. you whimper, twisting away instinctively, but he catches your thigh, dragging you back with a grunt. "nah," he rasps, breath hot against your ear, "you don’t get to run now." his grip tightens, fingers digging in, and then he’s fucking you like he’s got something to prove, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs.
the tears come without warning, streaking down your cheeks as your body shakes, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. he notices immediately, because of course he does toji misses nothing, especially not when it comes to you. his rhythm stutters for just a second, his rough hand sliding up to cradle your face, thumb brushing away the wetness. "shh," he murmurs, lips pressing against your temple, tender in a way that shouldn’t be possible with how deep he’s buried inside you. "just take it, baby. you can take it."
and you do, because you always do for him. the mattress groans beneath you, the headboard rattling against the wall as he drives into you harder, like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. his kisses are messy, trailing from your jaw to your collarbone, alternating between biting and soothing, like he can’t decide whether to ruin you or put you back together. you cling to him, nails scraping down his back, and he hisses not in pain, but in approval, his hips jerking forward in a way that makes you sob.
"that’s it," he growls, voice thick with something raw and unguarded. "let me hear you." his hand slides down to your throat, not squeezing, just holding, his thumb pressing gently against your pulse. it’s possessive, the way he touches you, like he’s reminding you both who you belong to. and god, you do body, breath, every broken moan, all his.
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You’re forced into an emergency medical protocol that pairs you with a highly compatible alpha to survive your first heat. The only match? Toji Fushiguro, a stranger who’s already agreed to the assignment, and whose presence affects you far more than it should.
⸝⸝ pairings: Alpha!Toji x Omega!Reader
⸝⸝ tags: omega verse / abo dynamics, medically assigned mates, forced proximity, possessive behavior (instinctive), strangers to lovers, explicit sexual content, fingering, unprotected sex
Once again, the clinic smells like antiseptic and artificial lavender.
You sit on the edge of the chair in the consultation room with your hands folded in your lap, fingers laced too tightly, knees pressed together like you are trying to make yourself smaller.
The doctor is still talking. Something about onset windows. Hormonal escalation. Monitoring requirements. You hear the words but they don't stick. Your pulse is way too loud.
“He’ll be here in a moment,” she says gently.
Your stomach flips. You nod even though you are not sure what you are agreeing to. Assigned alpha with eighty seven percent compatibility?
The number keeps echoing in your head like it means something more than biology.
A knock sounds against the door and your spine straightens instantly. The door opens and he walks in.
Toji Fushiguro fills the doorway without trying. Broad shoulders, dark clothes, the kind of physical presence that makes the air feel heavier.
Your body reacts before your brain does, heat floods your face and your pulse jumps. Something low in your stomach pulls tight and then drops.
His eyes find you immediately. Your throat goes dry.
He steps inside, shutting the door behind him, and the subtle shift in space makes you hyperaware of how close he is even though he is still several feet away.
“This is Toji,” the doctor introduces him. “Your assigned alpha.”
Assigned, right.
He gives a short nod toward you. You nod back too fast.
Embarrassing.
You look down at your hands, then immediately force yourself to look back up because looking submissive feels worse somehow. His gaze is steady. Assessing you but not where it's invasive.
“You feeling alright?” he asks. His voice is low and rough around the edges.
You swallow. “Yeah. I mean. Just nervous.”
Something in his expression shifts. Softer, almost?
“Normal,” he reassures
The doctor continues explaining protocol. Monitoring vitals, hydration, environmental safety and most importantly consent requirements.
You try to focus, but your awareness keeps drifting toward him. It's his scent. It is faint but unmistakable. Warm wood and something darker underneath. It settles in your lungs every time you breathe.
Your shoulders loosen again without permission. You shift in your seat, embarrassed by your own body. He notices, of course he notices.
His posture changes slightly. You would not have caught it if you were not already hyperaware. The scent in the air deepens just a fraction.
The doctor asks if you both consent to proceed. He answers first. “Yes.”
With no hesitation, Then he looks at you, his gaze isn't pressuring, nor demanding, just--waiting.
Your chest tightens. You nod. “Yes.”
The doctor smiles like this is routine but to you it feels like stepping off a cliff.
The car ride is quiet.
You sit in the passenger seat with your hands folded again, staring at the dashboard while trying not to notice how large he feels beside you.
His forearm rests on the steering wheel. Veins visible under his skin. A faint scar crossing one knuckle. Your eyes linger too long. You look away quickly.
“What do you do?” he asks after a few minutes.
The question surprises you.
“Oh. Um. I work at a publishing office. Editing mostly. Manuscripts. Nothing exciting.”
He nods once.
“You like it?”
You hesitate.
“Yeah. I mean… it’s stable.”
That sounds sad when you say it out loud.
He glances at you briefly. “Stable’s good.”
“What about you?” you ask, even though you already know from his file.
“Private security.” The way he says it is casual. Like it is not a big deal. But the image clicks into place immediately. Of course.
“You mean like… bodyguard?”
“Sometimes.” He shrugs slightly. “Executive protection. Escort work. Depends on the contract.”
That explains everything. His size, his presence, the quiet confidence.
“Is it dangerous?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
“Sometimes.”
Your fingers tighten together.
He notices again.
“It’s controlled,” he adds after a moment. “Planning matters more than fighting.”
That reassures you more than it should.
“You’ve done it a long time?”
“Yeah.”
You want to ask more. You want to know everything suddenly. Where he works. Who he protects. What his life looks like when you are not in it. You bite the questions back. He glances at you again.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
Your face burns.
“I just… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit quietly.
“With this?”
You nod.
He is quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to know,” he says. “That’s my job.”
Your chest tightens at that unexpectedly and you feel heat run through your body. You stare at your hands so he does not see your expression.
His building is nicer than you expected. Not luxury, but solid and secure. He walks slightly behind you as you enter, his presence close enough that you feel it like a shield.
The elevator ride is silent.
You are suddenly very aware that you are going to be alone with him. In his home. Your stomach twists at that.
He unlocks the door and steps aside to let you enter first. The first thing you notice inside is the scent. Not overwhelming, just everywhere.
It wraps around you instantly. Familiar already. Comforting in a way that makes your knees feel weak. You hope he does not notice the way you inhale slightly deeper.
He does
“Too much?” he asks.
You shake your head quickly.
“No. It’s fine.”
Your voice comes out softer than you intended.
The apartment is clean. Functional and masculine without being cold. A black gym duffel sits near the entry, partially open. Hand wraps, a water bottle, the edge of what looks like tactical gloves visible inside.
Near the wall is a tall cabinet with a lock built into the handle. Subtle and discreet. You glance at it for half a second too long.
“Equipment,” he says.
You nod quickly.
“Right.”
The kitchen is simple. Coffee maker. Protein containers. Meal prep boxes stacked neatly in the fridge when he opens it to grab water.
“You can take the bedroom,” he says. “I’ll use the couch.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you say immediately.
He looks at you, like really looks.
Your stomach drops.
“You’re the one going through heat,” he says. “You get the bed.”
You nod.
“Okay.”
You wander a little, pretending to look around normally even though every step feels loaded with awareness.
His bedroom is simple with a large bed, dark sheets, clean lines. His scent is strongest here. Your omega settles instantly. Relief floods you so fast it is almost embarrassing.
You sit on the edge of the mattress without thinking. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. “You feeling anything yet?” he asks.
“A little warm,” you admit. “Restless.”
He nods once.
“We’ll monitor it.”
You nod too.
Silence settles.
You fidget with the edge of the blanket. “What’s your schedule usually like?” you ask, mostly to fill the quiet.
He shrugs slightly. “Train in the morning. Contracts during the day if I’ve got one. More training. Eat. Sleep.”
“That’s it?”
“Mostly.”
“You don’t get bored?”
“No.”
The simplicity of the answer makes you smile a little despite yourself. “You like routine,” you say.
“It works.”
You hesitate. “Do you live alone all the time?”
“Yeah.” No hesitation.
“Don’t you get lonely?”
The question slips out before you can stop it.
He studies you for a second. “Not really.”
You look down at your hands again. Your fingers are twisting together in your lap. He pushes off the doorframe and steps closer. He stops just in front of you. Close enough that you feel his body heat.
“You nervous?” he asks quietly.
You nod before you can pretend otherwise. “Yeah.” His hand lifts slightly, then pauses like he is giving you time to object.
You don’t.
His fingers settle lightly against your wrist. He is warm and steady. Your shoulders drop without you realizing it. “You’re alright,” he says.
The words hit somewhere deep. You swallow. You hate how safe you feel, You hate how much you do not want him to move away, and you hate that he can probably tell. Because your body is already leaning toward him just a little.
The apartment feels different at night.
Quieter than you expected. No traffic bleeding through the windows, no neighbors moving around. Just the low hum of the refrigerator somewhere down the hall and the faint creak of the building settling. It makes everything feel more intimate. Smaller. Like the space has closed in around you.
You stand in the spare bedroom doorway, fingers curled into the hem of the oversized T-shirt he gave you earlier. It smells like clean detergent with something underneath that is unmistakably him. Warm. Masculine. Heavy in a way that makes your chest feel tight.
“It’s clean,” he says from behind you. “Sheets are fresh. Bathroom’s down the hall.”
His voice is calm, steady, but the air between you still feels charged. Like something is waiting to happen and neither of you are saying it out loud.
You nod. “Thank you.”
A pause stretches.
You are aware of him standing close. Too close. Your shoulders feel warm where his body heat reaches you even without contact.
Then you step into the room, putting distance between you before your brain can overthink it. You set your bag down on the chair, smoothing your hands over the fabric like you need something to do.
Behind you, you hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway. A door opens. Closes.
Only then do you breathe out properly.
Sleep does not come easy.
You turn once. Then again.
The mattress is comfortable. The sheets are soft. None of that matters because your body feels… wrong.
Warmth pools low in your stomach, spreading slowly outward in waves that make your thighs press together without you meaning to. Your skin feels sensitive where it brushes the fabric. Even the air feels heavier against you.
It’s nerves.
That’s all this is.
New place. New person. New situation.
You roll onto your side, pulling the blanket up higher, burying your face into the pillow.
The scent hits immediately.
Him.
It is faint, probably just from the apartment itself, but it is enough to make your breathing stutter. Something in your chest tightens. Your stomach flips.
God.
This is so embarrassing.
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything else. Counting breaths. Thinking about work. Tomorrow. Normal things. But the warmth keeps building. Minutes pass. Maybe longer.
You are just starting to drift when you hear it. A sharp inhale from the hallway. Your eyes open. The bedroom door pushes open slowly, hallway light spilling across the floor.
And there he is.
Toji Fushiguro stands in the doorway, shirtless, wearing only loose sweatpants that hang low on his hips. His hair is messy like he just woke up, and his expression is different from earlier. Almost predatory. Your pulse jumps immediately.
“Did I wake you?” you ask quietly.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he steps into the room. One step, then another.
His eyes stay on you the whole time, dark and heavy in a way that makes heat curl through your stomach again. You become painfully aware of yourself. The way you are sitting. The way the blanket is pulled up to your chest. The way your thighs are pressed together.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, softer now.
He stops beside the bed.
Up close, you can see the tension in his jaw. The way his nostrils flare slightly, like he is scenting the air. Your heart starts pounding.
“You feel that?” he asks quietly.
You blink. “Feel what?”
A long second passes. His gaze drops to your throat, then to your mouth, then lower. When his eyes come back to yours, something in them has changed.
“Your scent,” he says.
Confusion hits first. “I showered before bed, I don’t-”
“It’s not that.” His voice is lower now. Rougher.
Your stomach flips.
“I could smell it from my room,” he continues. “Shift started.”
Shift?
“No,” you say immediately. “No, I would know if-”
“You wouldn’t,” he cuts in calmly. “First heat after suppressants fails is messy. Body doesn’t follow a schedule.”
Heat crawls up your neck.
Embarrassment mixes with something else. Something heavier. Your thighs press together again without permission.
You hate that he notices. Because he definitely does.
His eyes drop briefly, then come back up.
“Hey,” he says, quieter.
You swallow. “I’m fine.”
You are not fine.
Your skin feels too tight. Too warm. There is a restless energy under it, like you want to move but do not know how. Your pulse is loud in your ears.
He steps closer. Instinctively, you lean back into the headboard. You don't even realize you are doing it until his hand comes down on the mattress beside your thigh. Not touching you. Just there. Solid. Grounding.
“You’re not fine,” he says.
The words should annoy you. Instead, they make something in your chest loosen. “I can manage,” you whisper.
His jaw tightens slightly. “Didn’t say you couldn’t.”
Another step closer. Now he is right there. Close enough that you can feel his body heat. Close enough that his scent wraps around you fully and your stomach drops in a way that is almost dizzying.
God. This is bad. Your fingers curl into the blanket.
He notices that too. “You took your temp before bed?” he asks.
You shake your head slightly.
“Pulse?” Another shake. His eyes narrow just a fraction. “Thought so.” Before you can react, his hand lifts toward you. Slow and deliberate.
You freeze.
His fingers brush lightly against the side of your neck. The contact is gentle. But the effect is immediate. Your breath catches.
Heat rushes straight through you, pooling low in your stomach so fast it almost hurts. Your thighs press together harder. A soft sound escapes you before you can stop it.
Both of you freeze. His pupils blow wide.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. “Shift’s definitely started.”
Embarrassment slams into you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper automatically.
His brows pull together. “For what?”
“I don’t know. I just-” You swallow. “This is awkward.”
Something changes in his expression then. His hand slides from your neck to your jaw, thumb resting lightly near your chin. You lean into it, you didn’t mean to. The moment you realize, you try to pull back.
His grip tightens slightly. Not enough to hurt but enough to stop you.
“Easy,” he says quietly.
Your pulse is racing now. Your brain feels fuzzy around the edges. Every point where he is touching you feels too intense. Too aware.
Your breathing gets shallow. His scent is everywhere. Warm. Deep. Comforting in a way that makes something inside you want to curl closer. You hate how much you want that.
“I’m not…” you start, voice unsteady. “I’m not trying to…”
He watches you for a long second. Then his thumb brushes lightly over your lower lip.
Your stomach drops.
“You are,” he says quietly. “But your body’s louder than your head right now.”
Heat floods your face. You should move. You should say something. Instead, you stay perfectly still while his gaze darkens.
“And if it’s already hitting you this hard,” he continues, voice dropping lower, “we’re not waiting until morning.”
Your breath stutters.
“What does that mean?” you whisper.
His hand slides from your jaw down to your throat, resting there briefly, feeling your pulse.
“Soften up,” he murmurs.
Your body does immediately.
His eyes flicker with something dark and possessive when he feels it happen.
Then he leans closer. Close enough that his breath brushes your lips.
“If I don’t start helping you now,” he says quietly, “it’s gonna get a hell of a lot worse.”
Your fingers clutch the blanket.
“And you don’t want that,” he finishes, voice rough.
You swallow. Your voice barely comes out.
“…No.”
His forehead almost touches yours.
And then his hand slides down your arm, over your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as he pulls you closer toward him.
Without a word, he reached out his hand gentle but firm as he hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest.
The movement was effortless, his strength evident but controlled, like he knew exactly how fragile you felt right now.
Your back pressed to his solid torso, the heat of his skin seeping through your thin shirt.
"Easy now," he murmured, voice low and commanding, lips brushing your ear.
"I've got you. Just breathe through it."
You whimpered, the sound involuntary as another wave of need crashed over you. Your hips twitched, seeking friction against nothing, and Toji's grip tightened just enough to hold you still.
His free hand slid down your side, tracing the curve of your hip before dipping between your legs.
The proximity to him amplified everything, his scent wrapping around you like a blanket, making your thighs clench involuntarily.
Toji's free hand came up to cup your chin, tilting your face to meet his gaze.
"Look at me," he said, tone soft yet unyielding.
Satisfied with your compliance, he shifted, maneuvering you so you lay back against the pillows.
He looks at you and hesitates before his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, gripping the fabric and slowly peeling it upward.
Your nipples hardened instantly, pebbling under his scrutiny. He groans as his eyes darken as he drank in the sight of you.
Next came your shorts, his fingers deftly unbuttoning them and sliding the zipper down. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband, along with your underwear, and pulled them off in one smooth motion, leaving you completely bare before him.
Naked and vulnerable, you shivered, but he noticed and his presence chased away the chill.
He stripped off his own shirt, revealing the sculpted ridges of his abs and the faint scars that mapped his chest, then kicked off his sweatpants.
The outline of his cock sat heavy underneath his boxers.
He didn't rush. Instead, he settled beside you again, pulling your body flush against his once more, skin to skin.
His erection pressed against your thigh, hot and insistent, but he ignored it for now, focusing on you.
"Touch me," you whispered, voice breaking.
"Patience, i'll get you there"
His hand trailed down your side, over the swell of your hip, before dipping between your parted thighs. You were drenched, your pussy slick with arousal that coated your inner thighs. He groaned at the feel of it, his fingers gliding through your folds with ease.
"Shit, you body's begging for it."
He started slow, his middle finger circling your entrance teasingly before pushing inside.
your walls fluttering around the single digit as he pumped it in and out, shallow at first to let you adjust.
You arched into his touch, a moan spilling from your lips. Toji's other arm held you steady, his bicep a solid pillow under your head.
"That's it, relax," he encouraged, lips brushing your temple.
He added his index finger, stretching you further, the dual thickness curling upward to stroke that bundle of nerves deep inside.
The rhythm built gradually, his fingers thrusting deeper, twisting slightly with each pass to heighten the sensation.
His thumb found your clit, pressing down in firm circles that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
You rocked your hips, chasing the friction, your hands clutching at his shoulders.
Nails dug into his skin, but he didn't flinch
Sweat slicked your bodies as he worked you higher, the wet sounds of his fingers moving in your heat filling the room.
He scissored them apart, opening you up, preparing you for what was to come.
Your breaths came in pants, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably. Restraint fading as Toji nuzzled your neck, inhaling your scent, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there without biting.
"Let it out" he commanded softly, his voice laced with that assertive edge. The orgasm crashed over you, your body seizing as waves of pleasure rippled through your core.
You cried out, back bowing off the bed, but Toji held you down gently, riding out the tremors with steady strokes until you went limp.
But the relief was fleeting. The heat roared back, fiercer than before, leaving you hollow and aching.
"Toji," you gasped, turning in his arms to face him fully. Your hands roamed his chest, down to where his cock now fully erect behind his briefs, throbbing against the fabric.
"I need more please,"
His eyes searched yours, a flicker of concern beneath the hunger.
"We'll need to start slow" he said, gently cupping your face. "It'll fill you up, stretch you good. But I'll make sure it feels right. You trust me?"
"Yes," you breathed, nodding eagerly.
He guided you onto your back, settling between your legs.
His hands hooked under your knees, spreading you wide, exposing your dripping pussy to his gaze.
"Hold onto me," he instructed, positioning himself at your entrance.
The tip of his cock nudged your folds, parting them as he rocked his hips forward. Inch by inch, he sank in, the stretch intense, bordering on pain but laced with exquisite pleasure.
You whimpered, fingers digging into his biceps.
"Breathe through it,"he soothed, pausing halfway to let you adjust.
His hand stroked your thigh, thumb rubbing calming circles.
"You're doing so well. Halfway there. Push out a little--yeah, like that."
With a gentle thrust, he seated himself fully, his balls resting against your ass.
The fullness was overwhelming, your walls stretched taut around his girth, every vein pulsing inside you.
He stayed still, leaning down to finally capture your lips in a deep kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a mimicry of what his cock would soon do.
Slowly, he began to move, pulling out just a fraction before sliding back in, the drag sending shivers up your spine.
His pace was languid, each thrust measured, building the heat between you without overwhelming.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him closer.
Toji's hands braced on either side of your head, his muscles flexing with every roll of his hips. He kissed along your jaw, your collarbone, nipping lightly at your skin.
"Tell me how it feels," he murmured, voice husky.
"Does it feel good?"
'Yes,' you moaned, hips lifting to meet his. "M'so full... don't stop."
The softness of his dominance shone through--assertive in his control, but tender in his attention to your reactions. He angled his thrusts to hit that spot inside you repeatedly.
As your pleasure mounted, the heat demanded escalation. You clawed at his back, leaving red trails.
"Harder, Toji. I need it rougher. Please."
His response was immediate, eyes flashing with alpha instinct. Shifting his grip to your hips, fingers bruising as he lifted you slightly.
He pulled out nearly all the way, then slammed back in, the force jolting you up the bed.
The gentleness evaporated into raw power, his thrusts deep and punishing, cock pistoning into your pussy with relentless speed.
The bedframe rattled, headboard thumping against the wall in time with his hips. Toji's sweat dripped onto your breasts, mixing with yours as he fucked you harder, the slap of skin echoing loudly.
"Take it," he grunted, restraint completely gone as his hand slid up to pinch your nipple, twisting it sharply.
He flipped you suddenly, onto your stomach, yanking your hips up so you were on all fours. Re-entering you from behind, he set a brutal pace. Each thrust bottomed out, his balls slapping your clit, the sensation building to a fever pitch.
Toji's other hand reached around, fingers rubbing your swollen nub furiously. "Cum again," he demanded, voice rough with his own building release.
Your second orgasm hits walls convulsing around him, milking his length as you sobbed into the pillow.
Toji moaned, burying himself to the hilt and erupting, hot spurts of cum flooding your depths, marking you from the inside. He kept pumping through it, prolonging your bliss until you collapsed, spent.
Toji pulled out slowly, a gush of his seed following, then gathered you into his arms, spooning you close. His cock, still semi-hard, nestled against your ass.
"Rest a minute," he whispered
"We'll go again soon. I'm not letting this heat win without a fight."
You melted into him, the ache dulled for now, knowing he'd guide you through every wave. His hand stroked your hair, possessive yet gentle, as the night stretched ahead, filled with promises of more.
The minutes blurred into a haze of recovery, your body humming with aftershocks.
Toji's touch never strayed far, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm, keeping you grounded. But the heat was insatiable, stirring once more with a vengeance.
You shifted, pressing back against him, a soft plea on your lips.
"Again... I need you again."
He hummed in approval, rolling you onto your side to face him.
His cock had hardened fully against your thigh, ready for more. This time, he lifted your leg over his hip, entering you in one smooth glide, the angle allowing him to hit even deeper.
The stretch was easier now, your pussy accommodating his size with slick eagerness.
He started soft again, rocking into you with long, deliberate strokes, his free hand cupping your breast, thumb flicking the nipple.
"Feel how wet you still are?"
You clung to him, nails raking his shoulders, the intimacy of the position making every sensation more intense.
Toji's dominance asserted itself subtly at first--his hand guiding your hip to meet his thrusts, controlling the depth.
But as your moans grew louder, he flipped the script, pushing you onto your back once more and hooking your ankles over his shoulders.
The new angle folded you nearly in half, his cock plunging impossibly deep. "Hold on tight," he warned, then unleashed a barrage of rough thrusts, hips snapping with alpha ferocity.
The bed shook violently, your breasts bouncing with each impact.
Toji's hands pinned your thighs, keeping you open as he railed into you, grunts escaping his lips.
"Fuck, you're taking it so well."
Your hands fisted the sheets, body arching as the pressure built. Toji chased his own peak, thrusts erratic as he filled you again, cum overflowing and trickling down your ass.
He collapsed beside you, pulling you atop his chest, both of you panting.
Toji's arm banded around your waist, holding you possessively even in the quiet aftermath.
"Hey," he murmured, voice gravelly from hours of grunts and commands. His free hand came up to brush damp strands of hair from your forehead, fingers lingering to trace the curve of your cheek.
"You with me, omega?"
You blinked up at him, a lazy smile tugging at your lips despite the exhaustion. "Yeah... just floating." The heat had finally receded to a dull warmth in your core
Toji nodded, satisfaction gleaming in his green eyes.
His body was a map of your passion--red scratches down his back, bite marks on his shoulder where you'd sunk your teeth during one particularly brutal thrust.
But he moved with purpose, scooping you into his arms like you weighed nothing.
"Time to clean you up. Can't have you all messy."
You protested weakly, nestling into his neck, inhaling the comforting alpha scent that now carried traces of your own. 'M'fine... stay here.'
"Not fine. You're leaking my cum everywhere."
His tone held that soft assertiveness, brooking no argument
While the tub filled, Toji knelt before you, his large hands parting your thighs with care.
You winced slightly at the pull, your folds swollen and slick with his seed.
"Easy," he soothed, dipping a washcloth into the warm water and wringing it out. He pressed it gently between your legs, wiping away the sticky remnants with deliberate strokes.
You wake up warm and heavy, your cheek pressed to bare skin, an arm wrapped securely around your waist.
For a moment you don’t move. His heartbeat is slow under your ear. Steady and grounding. Then memory hits.
Heat floods your face.
You go still.
The arm around you tightens slightly.
“Relax,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
“You’re fine.”
Embarrassing how natural it feels to be here. Curled into him. “You okay?” he asks.
You nod against him. “Yeah. Better.”
A pause. “Good,” he says. After a second, you tilt your head up. Toji is already looking down at you, eyes heavy but focused.
“This is temporary, right?” you ask quietly.
His expression stills for a fraction of a second.
“Protocol is,” he answers. But his arm tightens around your waist anyway, keeping you close.
The apartment is too quiet. Toji stands in the kitchen, glass of water in his hand, staring at nothing while the back of his neck prickles.
Something feels off.
At first he thinks it’s leftover adrenaline. Lack of sleep. The stress from monitoring you all night.
Then he catches it. It's his own scent.
His jaw tightens. “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He sets the glass down slowly, palm flattening against the counter as awareness settles in his body like a switch flipping. Heat under his skin. Pulse heavier, and instinct sharpening at the edges.
Timing could not be worse. Not with you down the hall. Not when your heat just started stabilizing. Not when his control is already stretched thin.
Toji drags a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose.
If his rut hits while you’re still here… His eyes flick toward the hallway leading to your room.
“…Shit.”
And the realization lands all at once. It’s closer than he thought.
You’re forced into an emergency medical protocol that pairs you with a highly compatible alpha to survive your first heat. The only match? Toji Fushiguro, a stranger who’s already agreed to the assignment, and whose presence affects you far more than it should.
⸝⸝ pairings: Alpha!Toji x Omega!Reader
⸝⸝ tags: omega verse / abo dynamics, medically assigned mates, forced proximity, possessive behavior (instinctive), strangers to lovers, explicit sexual content, more to be added
PROLOGUE...
The clinic smelled like antiseptic and overbrewed coffee--sharp, sterile, and vaguely nauseating.
You sat on the edge of the exam chair, paper crinkling under your fingers as you twisted them together in your lap. Your doctor, Dr. Hayashi wasn’t usually this serious. She normally smiled, asked about work, reminded you to hydrate.
Today she had a tablet in her hands and a crease between her brows. That alone made your stomach drop.
“I’m going to be very direct,” she said gently. “Your suppressant has been discontinued. Permanently.”
For a second, the words didn’t register.
“…What?”
“The manufacturer pulled it from distribution last month after regulatory complications. Pharmacies are no longer able to refill prescriptions. We attempted to source alternatives, but your hormone profile doesn’t respond safely to the substitutes available.”
Your pulse started climbing.
“No--I’ve been stable for years,” you said quickly. “I’ve never had a natural heat. I can’t just you can’t just stop them.”
“I know.” Her voice softened. “That’s why we ran new labs when you called about the refill delay.”
She turned the tablet toward you.
Hormone levels. Charts. Numbers you didn’t understand except for the highlighted red zones.
“Your endocrine markers indicate you’re already entering pre-heat escalation,” she continued. “We estimate onset within three to five days.”
The room tilted slightly.
Your first heat, unmanaged and unbonded.
You swallowed hard. “What… what happens if I just ride it out?” Dr. Hayashi hesitated never a good sign.
“With first-cycle omegas who have been suppressed long-term, complications can include severe dehydration, syncope, hormone shock, and in rare cases organ stress. Without compatible alpha pheromone stabilization, symptoms are significantly worse.”
Your fingers tightened around the exam paper. “So what am I supposed to do?” you whispered.
She tapped the screen again.
“There is a medical protocol designed for this situation.”
You stared at her.
“A supervised compatibility assignment,” she explained. “Unbonded omegas experiencing their first heat may be paired with a medically approved alpha whose biological compatibility exceeds eighty percent. The alpha provides pheromone regulation and physical stabilization during the cycle under consent-based guidelines.”
“…You’re assigning me an alpha?”
“Only temporarily. This is not a bond agreement. It’s a medical intervention.”
“No.” The word came out immediately. “No, I don’t I don’t even know anyone--”
“We already ran your compatibility registry.”
Your heart skipped. “And?” you asked cautiously.
Dr. Hayashi exhaled. “There was only one qualifying match above the safety threshold.” She turned the tablet fully toward you.
A profile filled the screen.
ALPHA COMPATIBILITY REGISTRY — MATCH RESULT
Name: Toji Fushiguro
Designation: Alpha
Compatibility Score: 87.4%
Dominance Index: High
Bond History: None
Medical Clearance: Approved
Consent Status: Accepted
Your brain snagged on one word.
Accepted.
“He… what?” you said.
“He has already agreed to participate in the protocol,” she said calmly. “We contacted him after the match result.”
You stared at the photo.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair falling over sharp eyes that looked like they’d seen too much and cared too little. A faint scar at the corner of his lip. Expression unreadable almost bored.
He looked dangerous.
He looked like the exact opposite of someone you wanted anywhere near you during something as vulnerable as a heat.
“I don’t know him,” you said faintly.
“That’s normal,” she replied. “Compatibility registry matches are typically strangers.”
Your throat felt tight.
“He scored significantly higher than average,” she added. “For reference, most emergency assignments fall between sixty and seventy percent. Eighty-seven is exceptionally stable.”
Which somehow made it worse.
Because your instincts -- traitorous, biological things were already reacting to the idea.
High compatibility meant your body would recognize him easily.
Trust him easily.
“I don’t have to do this,” you said, clinging to the words.
Dr. Hayashi met your eyes.
“You always have a choice,” she said. “But medically, this is the safest option available to you.”
Silence stretched.
Then, quieter,
“We would begin cohabitation within forty-eight hours to allow pheromone acclimation before onset.”
Your stomach flipped. Cohabitation. With him?..
That evening, you were pacing your apartment while your friend sat cross-legged on your couch, watching you spiral.
“You’re wearing a hole in the floor,” she said. “I’m going to die,” you replied. “You’re not going to die.”
“I’m going to embarrass myself so badly I’ll wish I died.” She snorted. “Okay, dramatic.”
You groaned and flopped beside her, shoving your face into a pillow. “They’re assigning me an alpha,” you muffled. “A stranger. I have to live with him. During my heat. Do you understand how horrifying that is?”
She leaned over. “Did you at least see what he looks like?”
You lifted your head slowly and showed her the profile on your phone.
Her eyes widened. “…Oh.”
“Oh what?” you demanded.
“Oh,” she repeated. “He’s hot.”
You smacked her arm.
“That is not the point!”
“I’m just saying if you have to survive a medical crisis, at least the guy is attractive.”
“I don’t care if he’s attractive,” you said, voice rising. “He’s an alpha with a dominance score labeled ‘high.’ That sounds like a warning label.”
She laughed.
“You’re nervous,” she said more gently.
You were. Terrified, actually.
“What if my instincts go crazy?” you admitted quietly. “What if I… depend on him? What if he expects something? What if I panic?”
Your friend nudged your shoulder.
“Then you deal with it one step at a time,” she said. “It’s medical. There are rules. And you said he consented before even meeting you, right?”
You nodded slowly.
“That probably means he’s taking it seriously,” she said. “Not just some random jerk.”
Maybe.
But the image of Toji Fushiguro sharp eyes, unreadable expression lingered in your mind.
Three to five days, that’s what the doctor said Your first heat was coming.
And a stranger with 87% compatibility was about to become the most important person in your world, whether you were ready or not.
you match with Jeon Jungkook, your old high school rival, and the tension picks up right where it left off. sarcastic flirting turns into a charged bar meetup, where competition slowly gives way to undeniable attraction. neither of you wants to admit it, but the chemistry has always been there.
⸝⸝ pairings: jungkook x f!reader
⸝⸝ tags: dating app au, enemies-to-lovers, mutual pinning, alcohol consumption, jealousy themes, explicit sexual content
⸝⸝ wc: 4k
( 𝜗ৎ ) this was rushed, but thank you for 600+ !
you’re not even paying attention when you open the app.
it’s muscle memory at this point. thumb flicking up the screen while you half watch whatever is playing on your tv. profile, swipe left. profile, swipe left. a guy holding a fish. immediate no. another one with a group photo where you cannot tell which one he is. also no.
you sigh and sink deeper into your couch.
dating apps were supposed to be fun. or at least distracting. lately they just feel repetitive. same bios. same poses. same conversations that go nowhere.
you almost close the app. then the next profile loads. you freeze. there’s no dramatic moment. no music swelling in your head. just this sudden jolt of recognition that hits before you even consciously process why.
it’s him.
Jungkook.
your brain takes a second to catch up with your eyes.
the first photo is a mirror selfie at a gym. he’s shirtless, phone held low in one hand, the other resting behind his neck like he wasn’t even trying. sweat darkens his hair at the temples. his shoulders are broader than you remember. defined arms. sharp lines down his stomach. there’s a smear of chalk on his palm like he just finished lifting.
you blink.
okay.
you swipe to the next picture.
he’s wearing a black compression shirt this time, sleeves pushed up, boxing gloves hanging around his neck. there’s a bruise blooming faintly along his cheekbone. he’s smiling, crooked and cocky, like he knows exactly how he looks. you roll your eyes even though there’s no one there to see it.
“of course,” you mutter to yourself.
third photo. casual. sitting on what looks like a balcony railing, city lights behind him. jeans, hoodie, messy hair. he looks older. not in a bad way. just more settled into himself. more solid.
your chest does something weird. you scroll down to the bio.
“probably stronger than you.
i talk a lot of shit but i’m nice, promise.
if you can outdrink me i’ll buy the next round.”
you let out a short laugh.
that is so him.
familiar.
a memory flashes before you can stop it. high school gymnasium. the sound of sneakers squeaking on the floor. him across the court, grinning after scoring like he’d just personally offended you.
you shove the thought away. this is ridiculous. you have not seen him in years. you barely thought about him after graduation. there is no reason your stomach should feel tight right now.
you should swipe left.
obviously.
instead your thumb hovers over the screen. you tilt your head slightly, studying the first photo again. the confidence. the expression. the fact that he clearly put that shirtless picture first on purpose.
god, he’s so full of himself.
you swipe right.
immediately regret it.
“what am i doing,” you mumble, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you. it buzzes not even two seconds later. you stare at it.
no way.
you pick it up slowly.
it’s a match.
your stomach drops. for a full five seconds you just sit there, staring at the screen like it might change if you wait long enough. then another notification pops up.
jungkook:
well this is unexpected.
your mouth falls open.
he messaged first.
you type back before you can overthink it.
you:
unfortunately.
three dots appear almost instantly.
jungkook:
still mean.
you snort.
you:
still annoying?
jungkook:
still obsessed with me?
you actually laugh out loud at that.
some things really never change.
the conversation slides into place without effort. like stepping back into a rhythm you didn’t realize you remembered. the teasing comes naturally. the sarcasm. the little jabs.
he asks what you’ve been doing since school. you give a vague answer. you ask about him.
jungkook:
trainer now. boxing too.
you glance back at his profile photos.
yeah. that checks out.
you:
so you get paid to stare at yourself in mirrors?
jungkook:
only when you’re not around to do it for me.
you roll your eyes but your face feels warm.
why does this feel so easy?
you haven’t talked to him in years. back then half your interactions were arguments. competing over grades. sniping at each other during group projects. trying to prove who was better at whatever random thing came up.
you were both stubborn. neither of you ever backed down. it should feel awkward now. it doesn’t.
if anything, it feels… familiar. comfortable in a weird, slightly dangerous way.
your phone buzzes again.
jungkook:
you still get that wrinkle when you’re annoyed?
you pause.
you:
what wrinkle?
jungkook:
between your eyebrows
your chest tightens.
he remembers that?
you stare at the message longer than you mean to.
you:
you’re imagining things.
jungkook:
am i?
another pause.
then:
jungkook:
we should get a drink.
your heart does an immediate, traitorous jump.
you stare at the words.
you should say no.
that would be the logical response. safe. normal. mature.
instead you type:
you:
why? so you can brag about how strong you are in person?
jungkook:
obviously.
you bite your lip, thinking.
jungkook:
what’s wrong? scared?
there it is.
that stupid competitive trigger he always knew how to hit.
you shake your head, already typing.
you:
not even a little.
jungkook:
then come out.
you hesitate for maybe three seconds.
then:
you:
fine.
his reply comes almost immediately.
jungkook:
tomorrow?
the next evening you tell yourself you’re only going because you’re curious. closure, maybe. that’s what you call it in your head while you’re getting ready. just seeing how he turned out. catching up. proving to yourself you don’t care anymore.
you definitely don’t spend too long deciding what to wear. you definitely don’t check your reflection twice before leaving.
by the time you get to the bar your nerves are buzzing under your skin, though you refuse to label it as nervousness. you pick a stool near the middle. order a drink. check your phone even though you know he hasn’t arrived yet. your knee bounces lightly.
you take a sip. the alcohol burns just enough to settle you a little. the door opens behind you and cold air brushes your shoulders. you don’t turn right away. there’s this strange awareness prickling along your spine. then you look.
and there he is.
he’s wearing a black jacket over a dark shirt, jeans, boots. casual. effortless. taller than you remember. broader too. his hair falls slightly into his eyes as he scans the room.
when he spots you, his expression shifts. recognition. then that familiar half smile. your stomach flips.
he walks over like he’s completely sure of himself. like there was never a chance you wouldn’t be here. he stops in front of you.
for a second neither of you speaks.
up close, he looks even more different. older. sharper. his presence fills the space in a way it never did when you were teenagers.
“you look different,” he says.
“good different or bad different?”
“good,” he says immediately. then, quieter, “grown.”
your stomach flips in a way you do not like.
you deflect. “you look exactly the same. ego included.”
he laughs softly and slides onto the stool beside you. close enough that your arms almost touch. and just like that, the past and present blur together. same teasing. same energy. except now there’s something else underneath it.
something you definitely did not plan for. and you have a feeling this night is not going to stay simple for very long. there is a pause, heavier this time.
“you really hated me back then?” he asks suddenly. the question catches you off guard. you frown. “you were competition. you acted like everything was a game.”
“it was a game,” he says. “with you.”
“that doesn’t make it better.”
“i know.” you blink again. that was not defensive. not teasing. just honest. you look down at your drink. “you were always trying to one-up me.”
“because you were the only person who could keep up.”
you glance back at him. his expression is different now. softer around the edges. “you know,” he continues, “i thought you hated me for real.”
“i didn’t hate you,” you say quietly.
he raises an eyebrow. “no?”
“you just… got under my skin.”
“still do?”
your breath catches. you should say no. instead you shrug. “maybe.”
he watches you for a long second, like he is trying to read something deeper. “i missed this,” he says.
“arguing?”
“you.”
your heart stutters. you laugh to cover it. “that’s dramatic.”
“i’m serious.”
he turns his body more toward you now. closer. your knees touch again and this time neither of you moves. “do you know how many times i almost messaged you first?” he says.
you blink. “what?”
“before we matched,” he clarifies.
“you didn’t.”
“because i figured you’d ignore me.”
you stare at him. “i almost unmatched you.”
he grins. “see? i was right.”
you shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “you’re unbelievable.”
“but you’re here.”
his voice is quieter again.
there is something building between you. not sudden. not explosive. just steady pressure, like a door being pushed open inch by inch. “why did you come?” he asks.
you hesitate. honesty feels dangerous.
“…closure,” you say finally.
he studies you. “and are you getting it?”
you swallow. “i don’t know yet.”
he nods slowly. then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches over and tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. the touch is brief. your whole body reacts anyway. “you’re tense,” he murmurs.
“i’m fine.”
“you’re not.”
you exhale sharply. “you make me nervous.” his eyebrows lift slightly. “me?”
“yes, you. you’ve always had this… energy.”
“what kind of energy?”
you hesitate, then admit it. “like you’re about to do something reckless.”
he smiles, slow and knowing. “maybe i am.”
your pulse jumps. “what?” you ask. instead of answering, he finishes his drink, sets the glass down, and stands. “come on,” he says.
“where?”
“outside. it’s loud in here.”
you hesitate for half a second. then you slide off the stool and follow him. the night air is cool against your skin when you step out of the bar. the noise fades behind the door. streetlights cast everything in warm yellow. you turn toward him. he is already looking at you.
closer now. much closer.
“so,” he says quietly, “closure.”
“yeah.”
“do you feel it?”
you shake your head before you can stop yourself. “no,” you admit.
his jaw tightens slightly, like he is holding something back. “me neither,” he says. the space between you feels charged. your hands are inches apart.
“jungkook,” you start.
he moves first. one step forward, hand sliding to your waist, pulling you in like the decision was already made hours ago.
the kiss hits fast. not tentative. not polite. familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. you grab his shirt without thinking. he exhales against your mouth like he has been waiting years. when you finally pull back, both of you are breathing harder.
his forehead rests against yours.
“closure,” he murmurs.
you laugh softly, dizzy. “yeah. definitely closure.”
but neither of you lets go.
the kiss leaves both of you a little disoriented.
you are still standing outside the bar, his hand warm against your waist, your fingers curled in the front of his shirt like you forgot how to let go. the city noise hums around you, cars passing, muffled music leaking through the door behind you, but it all feels far away.
he pulls back first, just enough to look at you.his eyes are darker now. less teasing. more focused. “you live far?” he asks quietly.
you shake your head. “ten minutes. walking.”
he nods once. “okay.” neither of you says the obvious question. you just start walking. for the first minute, your hands brush accidentally. then again. then he finally just takes yours, like he is done pretending it is coincidence.
“you’re quiet,” he says.
“i’m thinking.”
“dangerous.”
you bump his shoulder lightly. “shut up.” he laughs under his breath. there is something different about him now. the cockiness is still there, but softer around the edges. like he is paying attention in a way he did not before.
“you always walked this fast?” he asks after a moment.
“i’m not walking fast.”
“you are. you’re nervous.”
you glance at him. “i’m not nervous.”
he squeezes your hand slightly. “you kissed me like you were.”
your face heats. “you kissed me too.”
“yeah,” he admits. “i did.”
silence settles again, but it is not awkward. just heavy. full. “do you regret it?” he asks. the question hits deeper than you expect.
“…no,” you say.
he nods slowly. you can see his shoulders loosen a little, like he was bracing for the opposite answer. “good,” he murmurs.
you reach your building sooner than you want to. you stop at the entrance, turning toward him, suddenly aware of everything again. the height difference. how close he is standing. the way your hands are still linked. this is the moment where people usually say goodnight. you both know that. neither of you moves. “so,” you say, a little breathless, “this is me.”
he looks up at the building, then back at you. “nice,” he says. you huff a small laugh. “you haven’t even seen inside.”
“wasn’t talking about the apartment.”
your heart skips.
“jungkook…”
he studies your face, searching.
“tell me to go,” he says quietly.
your throat goes dry. you could. you probably should. instead you hear yourself say, “do you want to come up?”
his answer is immediate. “yeah.”
the elevator ride feels shorter than it is. you can feel the heat coming off him in the small space, your shoulders almost touching, the tension climbing with every floor. when the doors open, you both step out a little too quickly.
your hands shake slightly when you unlock your door. he notices.
“hey,” he says softly.
you look up. his expression is gentler than you have ever seen it.
“we can just hang out,” he adds. “no pressure.”
that somehow makes it worse. because now you want him more.
you open the door and step inside. he follows, glancing around your apartment with quiet curiosity. “this feels like you,” he says.
“what does that mean?”
“organized. but not boring.”
you snort. “wow. glowing review.”
he smiles, then his eyes land back on you. the air shifts again. you are standing close. closer than you realized.
“come here,” he murmurs.
you do.
this kiss is slower than the one outside the bar. deeper. less shock, more intention. his hand slides to your waist again, thumb brushing your side through your clothes, and your breath catches into his mouth.
years of tension sits right under the surface. when you pull back, you are both breathing harder. “still want closure?” he asks, voice rougher now.
you shake your head slightly. “no,” you admit.
his forehead rests against yours for a second.
“good,” he says quietly. and this time, when he kisses you again, neither of you is pretending anymore.
he doesn’t give you a chance to think. his hands slide from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. your knees nearly buckle, and you cling to him for balance. his mouth is demanding, tracing yours with a kind of familiarity that makes your chest burn.
you gasp softly when he tilts your head, deepening the kiss. one hand threads into your hair, tilting your face just right. you press against him, and he hums, low and satisfied, his body warm and hard against yours.
“you’re… still impossible,” you murmur between kisses, breathless.
“yeah?” he replies, voice rough. “still like it?”
your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer. your hearts are racing in sync, breaths short, heat building between you. he leans back slightly, scanning your face as if memorizing every detail, before crashing back in.
the room shrinks until it’s just the two of you, pressing, moving, all teasing and tension. you stumble back toward the couch, him right behind you, hands never leaving, lips never leaving.
your clothes brush against each other in ways that make your stomach flutter with a mix of anticipation and shock at how fast this is escalating. every touch, every press of his body against yours sends sparks you weren’t expecting, and you realize that all the teasing and rivalry has funneled into this one moment.
he whispers against your lips "i don't remember you being this needy?" that makes your knees go weak, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, heart hammering.
he lets out a low chuckle, hot and teasing, and presses you further back, hands sliding lower, his touch more urgent.
he tasted like whiskey and mint, his mouth devouring yours as if he'd been starving for this. you bit his lower lip hard enough to draw a groan from him, and he retaliated by grinding his hips forward, the friction sending sparks up your spine.
his hands roamed, sliding under your blouse to cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked under his touch. you arched into him, hating how good it felt.
he pushed you down onto the couch, following you until he was straddling your thighs, his weight pinning you in place. the tension coiled tighter, every touch laced with the edge of your old competition--who would break first?
his fingers worked your blouse open, exposing your lace bra, and he didn't hesitate, shoving it up to latch his mouth onto one nipple.
he sucked hard, tongue flicking relentlessly, while his hand pinched the other, rolling it between his fingers.
your legs parted instinctively as he settled between them, his clothed cock now rubbing directly against your core through your skirt. the fabric barrier was maddening; you rocked up against him, chasing the pressure, the heat building low in your belly.
he lifted his head, eyes dark and hooded. "you want this as bad as i do. admit it."
his voice was rough, challenging, and it ignited that fire in you. instead of answering, you flipped him over--or tried to, but he was stronger, laughing as he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. the other dipped under your skirt, fingers brushing the edge of your panties.
"jungkook," you breathed, the plea slipping out despite yourself. he smirked, that infuriating look, and hooked his fingers into the fabric, yanking them down your thighs. cool air hit your exposed pussy, already slick with arousal, and he groaned at the sight.
his free hand traced your inner thigh, teasing closer but not quite touching where you needed him. the tension was unbearable, your body thrumming with anticipation, every nerve on edge from the push-pull of your history.
"touch me," you demanded, voice edged with frustration.
"say please." he leaned down, breath ghosting over your clit, and you bucked up involuntarily.
"please," you muttered, hating the word but craving his mouth.
satisfied, jungkook released your wrists and dove in, his tongue flattening against your pussy in one long, slow lick from entrance to clit. you cried out, hands fisting the couch cushions as he lapped at you like a man possessed. his lips closed around your clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, the pressure building that coil inside you.
he ate you out with focused intensity, tongue circling your clit before dipping lower to thrust inside you, tasting your wetness. "fuck, you taste good," he growled against your folds, the vibration making you shudder.
his hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as you writhed, the rivalry forgotten in the haze of pleasure. but not entirely--every flick of his tongue felt like a challenge, pushing you toward the edge only to pull back, keeping you teetering.
"jungkook, don't stop," you panted, hips grinding against his face. he hummed in response, one finger sliding into your pussy, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
he pumped it slowly, then added a second, stretching you as his mouth worked your clit relentlessly.
you were close, so close, when he pulled away abruptly, leaving you whining and empty.
he was already shedding his shirt, revealing the toned muscles you'd only glimpsed in high school. his jeans followed, cock springing free, thick and hard, pre-cum beading at the tip.
"condoms?" he asked, voice strained as he stroked himself once, eyes on your glistening pussy. you shook your head, the reality crashing in--no protection, just raw want. "shit, i don't have any." the words hung between you, tension spiking anew. part of you wanted to stop, but the pull was too strong.
jungkook's gaze darkened. "then ride me. i want to feel you bare." his words were a command wrapped in desire, and before you could overthink, you were straddling him, knees bracketing his hips on the couch.
you sank down slowly, inch by inch, gasping at the stretch. no barrier, just skin on skin, his thickness filling you completely.
"fuck," he groaned, hands clamping onto your ass, guiding you deeper. you bottomed out, pussy clenching around him, the sensation overwhelming--full, exposed, vulnerable in the best way. the tension hummed, your bodies locked in this intimate battle, who could hold out longer?
you started moving, rolling your hips in a slow grind, feeling every ridge of his cock drag against your walls. jungkook thrust up to meet you, the slap of skin echoing, his grip bruising as he urged you faster. he panted, eyes locked on where you joined, watching your pussy swallow him whole.
you leaned forward, nails digging into his shoulders, using the leverage to bounce on him, each drop sending jolts of pleasure through you.
his hands roamed up your back, then down to squeeze your breasts, pinching your nipples as you rode him relentlessly. the pace built, tension coiling like a spring--sweat slicked your skin, breaths mingling in harsh gasps.
"you feel so fucking tight," he growled, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit in tight circles. the dual stimulation pushing you closer to the edge. your hips stuttered, thighs quivering as you ground down harder, feeling his cock throb inside you, pre-cum mixing with your arousal. it pushed you higher, your movements turning frantic, chasing that peak.
"come for me, show me you can't resist."
his words tipped you over, orgasm crashing through you like a wave, pussy spasming around his cock as you cried out his name.
he followed seconds later, thrusting deep and spilling inside you, hot cum flooding your core.
you collapsed against his chest, both of you heaving, his arms wrapping around you in a possessive hold. the aftershocks rippled through your joined bodies, his cock still twitching inside your sensitive pussy.
the tension finally breaking into sated exhaustion.
you felt the spark reignite--the tension far from resolved.
you rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him--sweat, soap, something uniquely him--and for a moment, the teasing, the rivalry, the tension all dissolve. he shifts slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “you okay?” he murmurs. his voice is softer now, almost vulnerable.
“yeah,” you say, voice low. “you?”
“never better,” he admits, but you catch the faint edge of uncertainty beneath it. the cocky facade hasn’t fully returned. just a man who’s spent years missing this closeness and maybe too stubborn to admit it.
you laugh softly, a little breathless. “so… we’re really doing this?”
“doing what?” he teases, nudging you gently.
“this,” you whisper, gesturing vaguely between you, the quiet aftermath, the lingering warmth.he smirks, but it’s tender.
“guess we are.” for a while, neither of you talks. you lie there, limbs tangled, just feeling the other’s presence, hearts slowing, breaths aligning. he drifts slightly against you, light snores mixing with your own soft exhales.
after a lazy stretch and a quiet breakfast of leftovers from last night, your phone buzzes on the table. you glance at it and freeze.
jungkook:
so… about last night.
you stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. your chest tightens, a little flutter of nerves that hadn’t been there since he walked into the bar.
you:
what about it?
jungkook:
thinking. maybe we should make a habit of this.
your eyebrows shoot up. “habit?”
you:
oh? so now we’re scheduling hookups?
jungkook:
no. not just that.
you:
what do you mean?
jungkook:
we should see each other… again. like properly. not just random nights.
your heart skips. the teasing is gone from the message, replaced by something quieter. serious. maybe even a little vulnerable.
you:
you’re… serious?
jungkook:
yeah. i’m serious.
you in?
you stare at the phone for a long second. the sun hits your hand as you scroll through the messages again, and you realize this isn’t just the same cocky guy from high school. he’s still competitive, still teasing--but he’s also… thoughtful.
you:
i’m in.
he replies almost immediately.
jungkook:
good. didn’t want to push you…
but i had to ask.
you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. the app that started it all, the ridiculous swipe that brought him back into your life, suddenly feels like the doorway to something you didn’t know you’d been waiting for.and somewhere, deep down, you know this is only the beginning.
being supervised for a week sounds humiliating enough. being supervised by your older, cocky, unfairly attractive neighbor who the entire town worships? absolute torture.
when your parents ask him to live in your house while they’re away, he takes the job a little too seriously. surviving the week together quickly becomes less about supervision — and more about resisting something neither of you are willing to admit out loud.
⸝⸝ pairings : babysitter!jungkook x f!reader
⸝⸝ tags : dominant jungkook, forced proximity, power dynamic themes, brat/brat tamer dynamics, mutual pinning, reader is a bit mean, two year age gap, explicit sexual content, wealthy neighborhood au, praise / teasing elements
⸝⸝ word count est : 14k (not proofread)
monday 7:56 am
monday morning feels louder than it should.
cabinet doors opening. footsteps moving back and forth. your mom calling your name from somewhere upstairs even though you’re already awake.
you stare at the ceiling for a second before rolling over with a quiet groan, sunlight cutting through the curtains in thin gold lines.
today.
right.
they’re leaving today.
a week-long trip. conferences. dinners. whatever adult things they do when they disappear together. and that means...
jungkook.
your stomach does something small and annoying at the thought.
you shove the feeling down immediately and sit up. it’s not a big deal. he’s just the neighbor. family friend. the golden boy your parents trust with literally everything.
including, apparently… you.
you pull on shorts and an oversized tee before heading downstairs, the smell of coffee already drifting through the house.
your parents are in full departure mode bags near the door, your dad checking his watch, your mom doing that last-minute “did we forget anything” loop through the kitchen.
“there she is,” your mom says when she sees you. “good morning, honey.”
you mumble something back, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. and that’s when the front door opens. you don’t need to look to know it’s him.
there’s just… a shift.
a presence.
footsteps that are heavier than your dad’s but familiar enough that your body recognizes them before your brain does.
“morning,” jungkook says.
his voice is confident. you look up. and there he is.
black hoodie. gray sweats. hair slightly messy like he ran a hand through it on the way over. he looks annoyingly good for someone who probably woke up ten minutes ago. your parents light up immediately, of course they do.
“jungkook! perfect timing,” your mom says, walking over to hug him.
he hugs her back easily, smiling that polite, respectful smile he always pulls out around adults.
“ready to escape?” he teases your dad. your dad laughs. “don’t tempt me.”
you watch the interaction over the rim of your mug, trying very hard not to notice how broad his shoulders look under the hoodie. or how his eyes flick toward you for half a second. just long enough to acknowledge you’re there. then back to your parents.
golden boy mode activated.
“seriously,” your mom says, lowering her voice slightly like you’re not literally five feet away. “thank you again for keeping an eye on her.”
your jaw tightens. keeping an eye on her. like you’re twelve. jungkook glances at you then quick, unreadable before looking back at her. “don’t worry,” he says easily.
then, with the smallest curve of his mouth: “i’ll take good care of her.”
your stomach flips. you hate that it does. you roll your eyes dramatically. “i’m standing right here.”
your dad chuckles. “we know, we know. but humor us.”
jungkook’s gaze returns to you. steady and amused. like he’s enjoying this way more than he should. and you suddenly feel very aware of yourself. of your bare legs. of the oversized shirt slipping slightly off one shoulder.
of his eyes noticing.
your mom starts running through instructions food in the fridge, emergency numbers, don’t forget to lock the doors--while your dad grabs the last suitcase.
you half listen, half don’t. because jungkook moves closer. not touching.
just… near.
close enough that you can feel his warmth at your side, close enough that his shoulder almost brushes yours when he shifts. your pulse picks up. it’s ridiculous. he hasn’t even done anything “you good?” he murmurs quietly, low enough your parents can’t hear.
you glance at him.
he’s looking down at you slightly, expression calm, but there’s something else under it. something observant. like he’s already reading your mood.
“i don’t need supervision,” you mutter. his mouth twitches. “didn’t say you did.”
“you literally did.”
“your parents did.”
“same thing.”
he leans a little closer.
voice softer.
“relax,” he says. “i’m not here to babysit you.”
your stomach drops. because the way he says it doesn’t sound reassuring. it sounds like a promise of something else.
before you can respond, your mom claps her hands together.
“okay! we have to go or we’ll miss the flight.”
quick hugs happen. your mom kisses your cheek. your dad squeezes your shoulder.
then they’re grabbing bags, heading for the door. jungkook helps carry the last suitcase out like the perfect son-in-law prototype he is.
you follow more slowly. the driveway is bright with late morning sun. car doors slam. last reminders are shouted. then your mom points at jungkook again. “call us if she gives you trouble.”
you groan. “mom-”
jungkook laughs under his breath. “i’ve got it,” he says. your dad gives him a knowing nod. and then they’re in the car. engine starting. waving goodbye. you stand there, arms crossed, watching until they pull out of the driveway and disappear down the street.
silence settles.
thick.
sudden.
different.
you don’t realize you’re still staring at the empty street until you feel it--
him. behind you. close. very close. “so,” jungkook says.
low. you turn.
and nearly collide with him. he didn’t step back. you didn’t either. for a second you’re just… there. face to face.
his eyes drop briefly to your mouth. then back up. heat floods your chest instantly. “guess it’s just us,” he finishes.
your throat feels dry. “…yeah.” a slow smile spreads across his face. not the polite one. not the neighbor one. this one is different.
more cockier and aware.
“try not to get into trouble,” he says softly.
you scoff, defensive immediately. “i don’t get into trouble.”
his eyebrow lifts.
amusement flickers in his eyes.
“we’ll see.”
and for the first time since your parents left--
you realize something that makes your pulse spike.
this week isn’t going to be normal.
not even close.
the kitchen still smells faintly like citrus cleaner and whatever protein shake powder he’d dumped into the sink earlier.
you’re perched on the counter stool with one knee pulled up, a glass of water sweating in your hand while jungkook moves around like he owns the place.
it’s distracting.
not just because he looks good --which he does, annoyingly so but because he’s comfortable.
too comfortable. your kitchen. your house. and somehow he’s the one acting like you’re the guest.
he shuts the fridge with his hip, twists the cap off a bottle of water, and drinks half of it in one go. his throat moves when he swallows, head tipped back slightly, damp hair still clinging to the sides of his neck from the gym.
you look away. immediately. because staring would be obvious.
“you should eat,” he says, voice casual.
“i just got back from my run.”
“exactly.”
you roll your eyes. “i’m not five.”
“didn’t say you were.” he leans against the counter across from you, forearms braced behind him, posture loose but deliberate. like he knows you’re looking. like he wants you to. “what do you want?” he asks.
“for what?”
“lunch.”
you shrug. “i don’t know. takeout?” he makes a face. “what?”
“you had takeout yesterday.”
“and?”
“and you complain about feeling tired all the time.” your eyes narrow. “are you judging me right now?”
“i’m observing.”
“that sounds like judging.”
he smiles a little. cocky. “i could cook,” he says. you snort. “you? cook?” his eyebrow lifts slowly. “you’ve seen me cook breakfast,” he reminds you.
“eggs aren’t cooking. that’s survival.” he pushes off the counter, stepping closer. you feel it immediately --that shift in space when someone enters your personal bubble. your pulse does something stupid.
“i make a pretty good stir fry,” he says.
“wow. impressive.”
“you’re rude.”
“you’re bragging.”
he stops right in front of you. close enough that you have to tilt your chin up slightly to meet his eyes. close enough that you can smell his body wash again — clean, warm, faintly masculine — mixed with the lingering scent of sweat from the gym.
it shouldn’t smell good. it does. “you always like this?” he asks quietly.
“like what?”
“defensive.”
your spine straightens. “i’m not defensive.”
“sure.”
you cross your arms. “i just don’t need someone telling me what to eat in my own house.”
“your parents asked me to make sure you were taken care of.”
“i can take care of myself.”
his gaze drops briefly — your crossed arms, your legs, the flush creeping up your neck — then returns to your face.
there’s something different in his expression now. less teasing. more focused. “i know you can,” he says.
pause.
“doesn’t mean you always do.” your chest tightens. you hate that he’s not entirely wrong. you look away first.
“fine,” you mutter. “cook whatever you want.” his mouth curves slightly, like he just won something.
—
you expect him to move away.
he doesn’t.
instead he reaches past you toward the cabinet behind your shoulder. your breath catches. his arm brushes your side — barely — but enough that heat sparks under your skin. he grabs a bowl, then another, still standing too close. on purpose.
definitely on purpose.
“you’re crowding me,” you say.
“you’re sitting in the middle of the kitchen.”
“it’s my kitchen.”
“still in the way.”
you glare at him.
he just smiles. cocky. patient. infuriating.
—
cooking with him turns out to be… worse than you expected. because he’s competent. like actually competent.
knife moving quickly through vegetables, movements efficient, confident, controlled. you lean on the counter watching, pretending you’re not impressed.
“you can help,” he says without looking up.
“i am helping.”
“watching isn’t helping.”
“moral support.”
he chuckles under his breath. “come here.” you hesitate. then slide off the stool and step beside him. he hands you a cutting board. “slice those.”
you pick up the knife. “i know how to cut vegetables.”
“we’ll see.”
you start chopping. after about ten seconds he reaches over, stopping your hand. his fingers wrap lightly around your wrist.
warm.
firm.
your pulse jumps instantly.
“like this,” he says. he shifts behind you. close. too close. one hand guiding yours, the other resting lightly against your hip to adjust your stance.
your brain goes completely blank for a second. you can feel his chest near your back. his breath near your ear. “relax your grip,” he murmurs. your throat feels dry. “i am relaxed.”
“you’re not.”
his fingers slide over yours slightly, correcting the angle of the knife. the contact lingers longer than necessary.
definitely longer.
heat spreads through your stomach. you pull your hand back quickly. “i got it.” his eyebrow lifts. “didn’t say you didn’t.”
“you were hovering.”
“i was helping.”
“controlling.”
“guiding.”
you scoff. he smiles again. god, you want to wipe that smile off his face.
—
you end up back on the stool while he finishes cooking. watching him.
again.
it’s embarrassing how easy it is to just… look at him. the way his shoulders move under his shirt. the flex of his forearms when he stirs the pan. the concentration on his face. you catch yourself staring at his mouth when he tastes the sauce.
you immediately look away.
he notices. of course he does. “hungry?” he asks.
“…maybe.”
“good.” he plates the food and sets a bowl in front of you without asking what you want. like he’s decided for you. you hate that a tiny part of you likes it.
you take a bite.
it’s good. really good. you try not to react. fail slightly. he sees. “told you,” he says. you roll your eyes. “don’t get cocky.”
“too late.”
—
for a few minutes you eat in comfortable silence. then he speaks again. “you dating anyone right now?”
you blink. “…what?”
“it’s a question.”
“why?”
he shrugs. “curious.”
you narrow your eyes. “since when do you care about my dating life?”
“since your parents asked me to look out for you.”
“that has nothing to do with dating.”
“it does if some guy’s wasting your time.”
your stomach flips unexpectedly. you poke at your food. “…no.”
“no what?”
“no, i’m not dating anyone.”
he nods slowly. “recently?”
you hesitate. “…kind of.”
“kind of?”
“it didn’t work out.”
“why not?”
you sigh. “he was annoying.”
jungkook’s mouth twitches. “that’s descriptive.”
“he just… didn’t get me.”
“how?” you shrug, staring down at your bowl. “he thought i was too much sometimes.” jungkook goes still.
“too much?” he repeats.
“like… opinionated. stubborn. emotional.” you laugh lightly, but it comes out a little forced.
“you know. difficult.”
there’s a quiet pause.
then--
“that sounds like his problem,” jungkook says.
your eyes lift. his expression is serious now. focused. “not yours.”
something warm spreads through your chest before you can stop it. you look away quickly.
“…you don’t have to say that.”
“i’m not saying it to be nice.”
his gaze stays on you. steady. intent. “you’re not too much,” he says. your stomach flips hard. “you just need someone who can handle you.” your heart starts beating faster.
“…handle me?”
the corner of his mouth lifts.
“yeah.”
pause.
“you’re a little bratty sometimes.” your head snaps up.
“excuse me?”
he chuckles softly. “you are.”
“i am not.”
“you argue about everything.”
“because you’re wrong about everything.”
he leans closer across the counter. “and you hate being told what to do.”
“i don’t—”
“you do.” his voice drops slightly. “especially when you know you should listen.”
heat rushes up your neck. “you’re unbelievable.”
“and you’re predictable.”
“i am not predictable.”
“sure.”
you glare at him. he just looks amused. patient. confident. like he knows exactly how to push your buttons. and worse --like he knows you like it.
—
you stand abruptly, grabbing your bowl. “i’m done.”
you move toward the sink. he steps into your path. not blocking. but definitely not moving either. you look up at him. your chest feels tight again. “what?” you ask. his eyes flick briefly to your mouth. then back to your eyes. “…nothing,” he says.
but his voice is quieter now. rougher. and for the first time since he got here, you realize something that makes your stomach drop slightly.
this isn’t one-sided. he’s feeling it too. and that’s way more dangerous than you expected.
the afternoon settles into something quieter after lunch.
not calm. just… charged.
like the air in the house has shifted a few degrees warmer without either of you acknowledging it. you tell yourself you’re going to go to your room. get space. reset your brain.
instead you end up in the living room, curled into the corner of the couch with your laptop open and absolutely no idea what you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes.
you hear him before you see him. footsteps slow. he leans against the doorway, arms crossed loosely over his chest. just watching you. you feel it instantly --that awareness crawling up your spine.
you glance up. “…what?”
his mouth curves faintly.
“you’ve been on the same page for a while.”
heat creeps into your face.
“i’m reading.”
“sure.”
you glare at him. “why are you staring at me?”
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
he pushes off the doorway and walks in, dropping onto the opposite end of the couch. close enough that you feel the cushion dip. close enough that your knee is maybe six inches from his thigh.
which suddenly feels like nothing. too close. you shift slightly. he notices.
of course he does.
“relax,” he says lightly.
“i am relaxed.”
“you look tense.”
“maybe because someone keeps hovering around me.”
he chuckles under his breath.
“i live here right now.”
“temporarily.”
“still counts.”
you roll your eyes and try to focus back on your screen.
you fail almost immediately.
because you can feel him looking at you again.
your skin prickles.
you snap the laptop shut.
“what?” you ask.
his eyes flick over your face. slow. intent. like he’s studying something. “…nothing,” he says. your stomach flips. you hate that word from him. nothing. like there’s something he’s not saying. “you’re being weird today,” you mutter.
“how?”
“i don’t know. just… weird.” he leans back slightly, arm draped along the back of the couch behind you. not touching. but close enough that you feel surrounded. “maybe you’re just noticing me more,” he says.
your heart stutters.
“that’s not--”
“it’s okay,” he continues, voice calm, almost amused. “i notice you too.”
the words land heavier than they should. your throat feels dry. “…what does that mean?”
his gaze drops briefly to your mouth. then back up. “whatever you want it to mean.”
your pulse jumps.
you look away first.
coward.
—
an hour later you’re both still in the living room.
you switched to a movie at some point, more for background noise than actual interest.
jungkook ended up closer without either of you acknowledging when.
your feet are tucked under you.
his knee brushes yours occasionally when he shifts.
every time it happens, your stomach does something stupid.
you pretend it doesn’t.
halfway through the movie he nudges your foot with his.
“what?” you say.
“you always sit like that?”
“like what?”
“curled up like you’re five.”
“it’s comfortable.”
“you’ll cramp.”
“i won’t.”
he reaches over suddenly, grabbing your ankle.
you jolt.
“hey—”
he pulls your leg gently, stretching it across the couch toward him.
“there,” he says. “better.”
your heart is beating way too fast.
his hand is still around your ankle.
warm.
firm.
you swallow.
“…you’re bossy.”
“you’re stubborn.”
“same thing.”
“not really.”
his thumb shifts slightly against your skin.
barely. but enough that heat sparks up your leg. you pull your foot back quickly. he lets you. but his eyes are on you now. sharp. focused. like he noticed exactly what that did.
—
“you wanna do something?” he asks after a minute.
“we are doing something.”
“you’re half watching and half overthinking.”
you scoff. “you don’t know what i’m thinking.”
“i know you.”
“you don’t know me that well.”
his head tilts slightly.
“i know more than you think.”
your stomach flips again.
“…like what?”
he studies you for a second.
then:
“you act tough when you’re uncomfortable.”
your chest tightens.
“i don’t--”
“you do,” he says calmly. “you get sarcastic. defensive.”
you cross your arms.
“maybe because you’re annoying.”
he smiles faintly.
“maybe.”
pause.
“or maybe because you feel things more than you want to.”
your pulse stumbles. you look away. “…you’re overanalyzing.”
“am i?” you don’t answer. because he’s not entirely wrong. and that’s the worst part.
—
he stands suddenly.
“come on.”
you blink. “where?”
“outside.”
“why?”
“because you’ve been in your head all afternoon.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re coming.”
you narrow your eyes. “you don’t get to decide that.”
he steps closer. right into your space. “yeah,” he says quietly. “i kind of do.” your breath catches.
“why?” you challenge.
his gaze drops briefly to your mouth again. then back to your eyes. “because you won’t say no.”
your stomach flips violently.
“…watch me.”
you grab your phone, standing up.
he reaches out, fingers closing around your wrist. not rough. but firm enough to stop you. electricity shoots up your arm. your heart starts racing instantly. “don’t,” he says softly. your chest rises and falls faster. “don’t what?”
“run away every time something feels different.” the words hit somewhere deep. you stare at him. he’s close. so close you can see the tiny scar near his eyebrow.
the darker ring around his pupils.
his thumb shifts slightly against your wrist. not letting go. not tightening either. just there. steady. grounding.
“…i’m not running,” you whisper.
“you are.”
your pulse pounds in your ears. “from what?” you ask. his voice drops. “from me.” silence stretches between you. thick. heavy. your stomach twists. because you know exactly what he means. and you don’t have a comeback.
—
he releases your wrist slowly. “come outside,” he says again. this time you don’t argue.
—
the backyard is warm with late afternoon sunlight, shadows stretching across the grass.
you sit on the patio steps while he grabs two water bottles from the outdoor fridge. the quiet feels different out here. definitely less suffocating, but the tension between you is still there. maybe worse.
he sits beside you, shoulder brushing yours lightly. neither of you moves away. for a few minutes you just watch the sky shift colors.
then he speaks;
“why do you think you pick the wrong guys?”
you blink.
“…what?”
“earlier,” he says. “you said you haven’t found someone who gets you.”
your stomach tightens.
you shrug. “i don’t know. bad luck.”
“no,” he says softly. “not luck.”
you glance at him--his expression seems thoughtful.
“you go for people who don’t challenge you,” he continues. “or people you think you have to prove something to.”
your chest feels tight again.
“…you don’t know that.”
“i do.”
“how?”
his eyes meet yours.
steady.
“because you’re used to being the one in control.”
your pulse jumps.
“i am not controlling.”
“not controlling,” he corrects. “independent.”
pause.
“but you still want someone who can handle you when you push.”
your breath catches.
the words land deep.
too deep.
“…and you think you’re that person?” you ask, trying to sound unimpressed.
his mouth curves slightly.
“maybe.”
your stomach flips.
you hate how confident he sounds.
how certain.
“you’re cocky,” you mutter.
“you like it.”
“i do not.”
he leans closer.
just a little.
“yeah,” he says quietly. “you do.”
your heart is pounding now. his face is closer. your knees brush. neither of you moves. the air feels thick. charged. you can feel his breath. warm. your eyes drop to his mouth without meaning to. he notices.
of course he does. his voice drops to almost a whisper. “see?”
your pulse is racing so hard it feels like your ribs are vibrating. “jungkook,” you say softly. you don’t even know what you’re going to say. his hand lifts slowly.
fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face gently. the touch lingers. your stomach flips violently.
“you know this is going somewhere,” he murmurs. your breath catches. the world feels very small suddenly.
just you.
him.
the space between your mouths. he leans in slightly. not all the way. giving you time to move. you don’t. your eyes flutter. your heart is pounding.
and for a split second you think he’s going to kiss you-
then he stops.
forehead almost touching yours. breath mixing. “not yet,” he says softly. and somehow that feels more dangerous than if he had.
the argument starts small.
so small you don’t even realize it’s turning into something bigger until it already has. you’re both back inside after the backyard moment ,--after the almost kiss, after his stupid not yet that’s been replaying in your head on a loop you can’t shut off.
you’re restless. on edge. and he’s watching you too closely. like he knows. like he can see exactly what’s happening under your skin.
you grab your phone from the counter, scrolling without actually reading anything.
he leans against the island across from you, arms crossed. “you’re quiet,” he says. “i’m fine.”
“you don’t look fine.” you sigh sharply. “why do you keep doing that?”
“doing what?”
“analyzing me. watching me. acting like you know what i’m thinking.”
his jaw tightens slightly. “because you’re obvious.”
your head snaps up. “i am not obvious.”
“you are when you’re flustered.”
heat shoots up your neck immediately. “i’m not flustered.”
his eyebrow lifts.
“you’re impossible,” you snap. “you’re defensive again.”
“because you keep pushing.”
“maybe because you keep running.”
your chest tightens.
“i’m not running from anything.”
“you are,” he says calmly. “from this.” his hand gestures lightly between you. the implication lands heavy. dangerous. “there is no this,” you say quickly. his eyes narrow slightly.
“right.” the sarcasm hits a nerve. “you’re so full of yourself,” you mutter.
“am i?”
“yeah. you think every girl wants you.”
his mouth twitches.
“most do.”
your stomach flips with irritation.
“god, you’re insufferable.”
“and you’re lying.”
“about what?”
his voice drops.
“about not feeling this.”
your pulse jumps.
“you don’t get to decide what i feel.”
“i don’t have to,” he says quietly. “your body does it for you.”
your heart stutters. you hate that he’s right. you hate that he knows it. “you know what?” you say sharply. “maybe you should worry less about me and more about your own ego.”
something shifts in his expression then. subtle. but real. “my ego?” he repeats. “yeah. you walk around like you’re some perfect golden boy who has everything under control.”
his jaw tightens.
“that’s what everyone thinks,” you continue, words coming faster now. “you’re always helping people, always so patient, so nice--”
“you think that’s fake?”
“i think you like the attention.”
silence.
you realize you crossed something. but pride keeps you going. “and maybe you think you can control me the same way,” you add.
his eyes darken slightly.
“control you?” he says quietly.
“yeah. telling me what to eat, where to go, acting like i need supervision.”
he pushes off the counter slowly. steps closer. the air changes instantly.
“your parents asked me to look out for you,” he says.
“i didn’t.”
“no,” he agrees. “you didn’t.”
you swallow.there’s tension coiled in his posture now. not anger exactly. but restraint. tight. coiled. you look away first.
“i’m getting snacks,” you mutter, turning toward the pantry.
—
you stand there staring into the shelves without really seeing anything. chips. granola bars. cereal boxes. your chest still feels tight from the argument. from the way his voice changed. from the way he looked at you. footsteps approach behind you. you don’t turn around. “we should go out,” he says.
“no.”
“yeah.”
“i’m not going anywhere.”
“you are.”
you scoff. “you’re unbelievable.”
“put your shoes on.”
you turn then, glaring. “why?”
“because you need to get out of the house.”
“i don’t.”
“you do.”
his voice isn’t loud. but it’s firm. decisive.
the same tone he used earlier when he said come outside. your stomach flips. “…fine,” you mutter.
—
the walk to the convenience store is quiet. the sky is darker now, evening settling in with soft streetlights flickering on. you’re hyper aware of him beside you. his shoulder occasionally brushing yours. his presence steady.
grounding.
you hate that word.
grounding.
inside the store, fluorescent lights buzz overhead. you grab a basket, wandering down aisles without really thinking.he stays close. not hovering. but close enough that you feel him whenever you move.
you reach for a bag of chips on a higher shelf. before you can grab it, his hand reaches past you.
his chest brushes your back slightly.
heat shoots through you instantly.
he hands you the bag without a word.
your fingers brush. linger. you both feel it. neither comments.
—
you’re near the drinks when it happens. a guy steps into your space. too close. “hey,” he says, smiling. you blink, surprised. “hi?”
“you come here a lot?” you shift slightly, uncomfortable. “not really.” he leans closer. too close. “you’re beautiful,” he says. your stomach tightens. you glance past him instinctively. jungkook is already moving. his hand lands on your lower back.
firm, and possessive. pulling you slightly toward him. the guy notices immediately.
jungkook’s voice is calm. low. but unmistakably sharp. “she’s with me.” the tension in the air shifts instantly. the guy hesitates, eyes flicking between you. “…oh. my bad.” he backs off. jungkook doesn’t move his hand. not until the guy is completely gone.
your heart is racing. “i could’ve handled that,” you say quietly. “i know,” he says. but his hand stays on your back another second longer.
then slides away.
the absence feels noticeable.
—
the walk home is different. quieter. charged. jungkook’s jaw is tight. his posture tense. you can feel it radiating off him. inside the house, you set the snacks on the counter.
neither of you moves for a second.
then he speaks. “you okay?” you nod. “…yeah.” he studies your face. like he’s checking. like he needs to be sure. something warm spreads in your chest. you look away quickly. “i told you i could handle it,” you mutter. “i know.”
“then why did you--”
“because i wanted to.”
the words land heavy. you turn toward him. he’s closer now. you didn’t notice him step forward. your pulse jumps. “you don’t have to protect me,” you say softly. his eyes lock onto yours. “i know.”
pause.
“i want to.”
your heart stutters. the air feels thick again. charged. dangerous.
“jungkook…” you whisper.
his hand lifts slowly. fingers brushing your jaw. tilting your face up. your breath catches.
his voice drops.
“you have no idea what you're doing to me,” he murmurs. your stomach flips violently.his other hand slides to your waist. pulling you closer. your bodies touch. full contact. heat explodes through you instantly.
“you push,” he says softly. “you argue. you act like you don’t feel it.” his thumb brushes your bottom lip. your knees feel weak. “but you do,” he murmurs.
you nod slightly before you can stop yourself. that’s all it takes.
he kisses you.
like he’s been holding back all day.
your hands grab his shirt instinctively. his grip tightens on your waist. pulling you flush against him. the kiss deepens. heat spirals fast. dangerously fast. his mouth moves against yours again and again, slower now, more deliberate.
like he’s savoring. your head spins. his forehead presses briefly to yours. breath uneven.
“last chance, tell me to stop,” he murmured. but you didn’t.
you shake your head immediately.
that control in him snaps. his fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you forward before you could second-guess the heat pooling low in your stomach. jungkook didn’t give you time to think--his mouth crashed against yours, insistent, all teeth and desperation.
You gasped, and he took advantage, slipping his tongue past your lips like he’d been waiting years for permission. you clutched at his shoulders just to steady yourself.
one hand slid up your side, fingers pressing into your ribs like he was memorizing the shape of you. the other cupped your jaw, tilting your head back just enough that you had to rise onto your toes.
Jungkook groaned, low and rough, when your nails scraped against the nape of his neck.
“fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, and then he was walking you backward, never breaking contact, until your hips hit the edge of the kitchen counter.
the cold marble bit into your thighs, but you barely registered it--not when jungkook’s hands were sliding under your thighs, lifting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing. his hips slotted between your legs, and you arched into him instinctively, your breath hitching at the hard press of him against you.
he laughed, breathless, his lips trailing down your throat. “you’re so-” he bit lightly at your collarbone, and you jerked, your thighs tightening around him.
“fucking responsive.”
you didn’t have time to retort. jungkook’s mouth was on yours again, swallowing your whimper as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him.
the friction was maddening, just enough to make your toes curl but not enough to relieve the ache building inside you.
you rocked against him, desperate, and he broke the kiss with a sharp inhale. his eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the warm brown you loved so much.
“bedroom,” he growled, and before you could nod, he was tapping your ass twice--a silent command.
you didn’t hesitate. jumping down, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and Jungkook hooked his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly.
your legs locked around his waist as he carried you down the hallway, his mouth hot against your neck.
the trip felt endless and too short all at once, every step sending a jolt of anticipation through you.
when the back of your knees hit the mattress, jungkook dropped you onto it with a quiet thud. he followed immediately, his weight pressing you into the sheets as his lips found yours again. there was no hesitation now, no teasing--just hunger, raw and unchecked.
his hands were everywhere, tugging at your clothes, his touch leaving trails of fire in their wake.
you reached for the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel skin, but he caught your wrist, pinning it above your head with a smirk. “patience,” he murmured, though his breathing was just as ragged as yours.
you arched beneath him, trying to free your wrist, but jungkook only tightened his grip. his free hand slid down your side, slow and deliberate, until his fingers brushed the waistband of your pants.
He paused, his gaze locking onto yours, and you knew--this was the last chance to stop.
you didn’t.
jungkook’s fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your pants, his touch searing even through the fabric.
you gasped, your hips lifting off the mattress involuntarily, seeking more of the pressure his hand denied you. he chuckled, dark and satisfied, his thumb tracing slow circles just above the sensitive skin he hadn’t quite reached yet.
“you’re so fucking eager,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.
“like you’ve been waiting for this forever.”
you wanted to snap back, to tell him he was the one who’d been driving you insane all night, but the words died in your throat when his fingers finally slipped lower, brushing against the damp fabric between your thighs.
your back arched, a broken sound escaping your lips as jungkook pressed his palm firmly against you, his eyes never leaving your face. “fuck,” he breathed, his own hips grinding down into yours, the hard line of his cock unmistakable even through his sweats.
“you’re already-”
you cut him off by surging up, catching his bottom lip between your teeth.
jungkook groaned, his control slipping for just a second--long enough for you to twist your wrist free from his grip. you didn’t waste the opportunity.
your hands shoved at his shirt, pushing it up until he had no choice but to pull it off, the fabric hitting the floor with a soft rustle.
his chest heaved as you dragged your nails down his stomach, reveling in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.
“who’s eager now?” you taunted, though your voice was shaky, betraying you.
jungkook’s eyes flashed, and before you could react, he flipped you onto your stomach, his body pressing yours into the mattress. one hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath catch, while the other yanked your pants down your hips in one rough motion.
the cool air against your bare skin was a shock, but not nearly as much as the feel of his teeth grazing the curve of your ass.
you whimpered, your fingers clutching at the sheets as his tongue replaced his teeth, laving over the spot he’d just bitten.
“jungkook--” you choked out, but he ignored you, his hands spreading your thighs wider as he settled between them.
his mouth was relentless, kissing and biting his way up the inside of your thigh until you were trembling, your nails digging into the mattress.
when he finally, finally dragged his tongue over your clit, you nearly sobbed, your hips jerking against his face.
jungkook growled, his hands clamping down on your hips to hold you still. “stay,” he ordered, his voice rough, and then he didn’t give you a chance to disobey. his tongue circled you, slow and deliberate, before he sucked lightly, just enough to make your vision blur.
you were already close, teetering on the edge, when jungkook slid two fingers inside you without warning. your cry was muffled by the sheets as he curled them, his thumb pressing against your clit in tandem.
it was too much, not enough you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but writhe under his touch. jungkook didn’t let up, his pace relentless, his mouth trailing wet kisses along your spine as he murmured filthy praise against your skin.
“that’s it,” he coaxed, his fingers fucking you deeper. “come for me.”
your body tightened like a coiled spring, every nerve alight as jungkook's fingers worked you mercilessly.
you tried to muffle your cries against the pillow, but he wrenched your head back by your hair, forcing you to take gulps of air between choked moans. "no hiding," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear.
"i want to hear every fucking sound." his fingers crooked again, hitting that spot inside you that made your thighs tremble, and you shattered with a sob, your back arching off the bed as pleasure ripped through you.
jungkook didn't let up, dragging out your orgasm until you were limp, your muscles twitching with oversensitivity.
he pulled his fingers free with a wet sound, and before you could recover, he flipped you onto your back.
the smug look on his face would've pissed you off if you weren't so desperate for more. his sweats were tented obscenely, the fabric straining against his cock, and you reached for him instinctively, but jungkook caught your wrist. "ah-ah," he tutted, pressing your hand back into the mattress.
"my turn." his fingers hooked into your panties, dragging them down your legs so slowly you wanted to scream.
when they finally hit the floor, he knelt between your thighs, his gaze raking over you like he wanted to memorize the way you looked spread out, wrecked, his.
jungkook's fingers traced idle patterns up your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him most.
you whimpered, bucking your hips, but he just smirked. "so greedy," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your clit. just enough to make you jerk.
then, without warning, he gripped his cock, stroking himself slowly as he watched you.
the sight of him--veins standing out along his length, his tip flushed and leaking--made your mouth water.
"you want it?" he asked, though the way his voice cracked betrayed how badly he wanted it too.
you nodded frantically, reaching for him again, and this time he let you.
his breath hitched when your fingers wrapped around him, your thumb swiping over the slickness at his tip.
jungkook’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before he forced them open again, dark with need.
“fuck,” he gritted out, his hand covering yours to guide your strokes, showing you the pace he liked slow, then rough, his grip almost painful as he dragged your hand up and down his length.
you could feel the way his thighs trembled, the way his abs flexed with every movement, and it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs.
jungkook suddenly stilled your hand, his fingers tightening around yours.
“enough,” he rasped, his voice wrecked. before you could protest, he was pushing your thighs apart wider, his hands sliding under your knees to hook them over his shoulders.
the position left you exposed, vulnerable, and you barely had time to register the blush creeping up your chest before he leaned down, his tongue dragging a slow, torturous line up your slit.
you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he licked into you, his mouth hot and insistent. he groaned against you, the vibration making your back arch off the bed, and you tugged at his hair desperately. “jungkook, please--”
he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his lips glistening. “please what?” he taunted, his breath fanning over your clit.
you whined, your hips bucking, but he held you down effortlessly, his grip bruising. “don't worry i know what you want”
you swallowed, your throat dry, and jungkook’s patience snapped. he ducked his head again, his tongue circling your clit with ruthless precision while his fingers slid back inside you, crooking just right. your moan was loud, unrestrained, and jungkook drank it in, his free hand clamping over your mouth to muffle the next one.
“shh,” he murmured against your thigh, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “you’ll take it quiet, yeah?”
you nodded frantically, but quiet was the last thing you could manage when jungkook added a third finger, stretching you deliciously.
his mouth was relentless, his tongue flicking over your clit in quick, sharp strokes that had your toes curling into the sheets. the pressure built too fast, your orgasm cresting before you could stop it, and jungkook knew--of course he knew.
he pulled his fingers out abruptly, leaving you gasping on the edge, your body trembling with denied release. “no,” you sobbed, your nails digging into his shoulders. “jungkook, don’t--!”
he ignored you, rising onto his knees to shove his sweats down just enough to free his cock. the sight of him--thick, flushed, the tip dripping--made your mouth water. jungkook gripped himself, stroking lazily as he watched you, his chest heaving.
“you ready?” he asked, though the way his voice cracked made it clear he was barely holding on.
you nodded, spreading your legs wider in invitation, and jungkook’s control snapped. he lined himself up, his tip pressing against your entrance, and then he was pushing in, slow and relentless, until his hips met yours.
the stretch was exquisite, the burn making your breath hitch.
jungkook paused, his forehead dropping to yours as he fought for control. “fuck,” he panted, his fingers digging into your hips. “you feel-” he cut himself off with a groan when you clenched around him, your body adjusting to his size.
then he was moving, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, the force of it driving the air from your lungs.
jungkook set a brutal pace from the start, his thrusts deep and unforgiving, his hands keeping you pinned beneath him.
every snap of his hips dragged a moan from your throat, every grind of his pelvis against yours sent sparks shooting up your spine.
he leaned down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as his hand slid between your bodies, his thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts.
the dual stimulation was overwhelming, your orgasm building faster than before, your nails raking down his back in desperation.
jungkook groaned into your mouth, his hips stuttering. “come on,” he urged, his voice ragged.
“let go.” his words tipped you over the edge, your body clamping around him as pleasure crashed through you in waves.
jungkook followed with a broken moan, his hips jerking erratically as he spilled inside you, his forehead pressed to your shoulder.
for a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing.
then jungkook shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him, your body draped over his chest.
his fingers traced lazy patterns up your spine, his heartbeat loud beneath your ear.
"fuck," he muttered finally, his voice rough, "that was-" he broke off with a breathless laugh, and you felt his chest rise against you as he inhaled deeply.
you lifted your head just enough to see his face. his lips swollen, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat--and something possessive twisted in your chest.
jungkook caught you staring and smirked, his thumb brushing your lower lip.
"what?" he murmured, his fingers tangling in your hair to tug lightly. you didn't answer, just leaned down to kiss him again, slower this time, your teeth catching his bottom lip when he tried to deepen it.
jungkook groaned, his hips jerking beneath you, his half-hard cock pressing against your thigh. "you're insatiable," he breathed, but he didn't stop you when your hand slid between you, your fingers wrapping around him.
he hissed through his teeth as you stroked him slowly, his grip on your hair tightening. "thought you were done," you taunted, though your own voice was shaky.
jungkook's eyes darkened, his free hand sliding down your back to grip your ass. "never with you," he growled, flipping you onto your back again with terrifying ease.
you gasped as he settled between your thighs, his cock dragging against your clit before he pushed back inside with one smooth thrust.
this time, he took his time, his movements languid, his mouth hot against your neck as he murmured filth into your skin.
the slow drag of him was maddening, every inch of him pressing against spots inside you that made your vision blur.
you dug your nails into his shoulders, your legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper.
jungkook groaned, his forehead dropping to yours. "you're gonna be the death of me," he muttered, but he didn't speed up, just kept that same torturous pace, his hips rolling against yours in slow, deliberate circles.
when your orgasm hit, it crept up on you, washing over you in waves until you were shaking, your thighs trembling around him.
jungkook watched you fall apart beneath him, his lips parted, his own release following soon after with a choked gasp, his fingers digging bruises into your hips.
afterwards, he collapsed onto his side, pulling you against his chest with a sigh. "fuck," he breathed again, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"we should—" he gestured vaguely at the mess between you, but his arms tightened around you when you tried to move. "later," he mumbled, his voice already thick with sleep.
you laughed quietly, curling into him as his breathing evened out. outside, the moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light across the rumpled sheets and tangled limbs. jungkook's fingers twitched against your waist even in sleep, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
you closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you under.
you wake up slowly. not all at once. first there’s warmth. heavy. comfortable. your brain registers it before your eyes even open — the weight across your waist, the heat along your back, the steady rise and fall of someone breathing behind you.
someone. your stomach drops. memory hits in flashes.
his mouth. his hands. the way he said your name.
your eyes snap open.sunlight spills softly through the curtains, pale gold across the sheets.
you’re in his bed. no. he’s in yours. his arm is wrapped around you, hand resting low on your stomach, fingers splayed like they belong there.
your body is pressed against his chest, his legs tangled loosely with yours under the blanket. and you’re very aware that you’re not wearing much.
heat rushes to your face instantly.oh my god.oh my god. last night wasn’t a dream.
your pulse starts racing. you stay completely still, afraid to move, afraid he’ll wake up and you’ll have to face him immediately. but then—his arm tightens slightly around you.
a soft exhale against the back of your neck.
he’s awake. you know it before he even speaks. “…you’re thinking too loud,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
your heart jumps into your throat. “i—” your voice cracks. you clear it quickly. “i’m not thinking.”
he hums quietly behind you.
“liar.”
his nose brushes lightly against your hair.the intimacy of it makes your stomach flip.panic mixes with something warmer. dangerous.
you shift slightly, trying to create space.his arm tightens again, pulling you back against him. “don’t,” he says softly. your breath catches.“jungkook…”his hand slides slowly along your waist, settling again just above your hip.
not sexual. not demanding. just… there. grounding. possessive. “you okay?” he asks quietly. the question hits you harder than you expect. because he sounds careful. not cocky. not teasing. careful. you swallow.
“…i don’t know.” honest. he’s quiet for a second. then he shifts, propping himself up slightly behind you. “look at me,” he says gently.you hesitate. then turn. your heart stutters immediately. his hair is messy from sleep, falling over his forehead, eyes still heavy but focused completely on you.
there’s no regret there.no awkwardness.just intensity. and something softer underneath. your chest tightens. “…we-” you start. his mouth curves faintly. “yeah,” he says. heat floods your face. “that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“wasn’t it?”you blink.he studies you. serious now. “you think that came out of nowhere?” he asks quietly. your stomach twists.
“…i don’t know.” he brushes his knuckles lightly along your arm. slow.reassuring. “i’ve wanted you for a while,” he says. your breath catches. you stare at him.“…what?” his expression shifts into that familiar confidence again, but softer. less sharp than usual. “you’re not exactly subtle,” he adds.
your eyes widen. “i am subtle!” he huffs a quiet laugh. “sure.” you shove his shoulder weakly. he catches your wrist easily.
holds it. not trapping. just holding. his thumb traces lightly over your pulse point. your heart is racing again.
“…are you freaking out?” he asks.you hesitate. “…a little.”
he nods slowly. “okay.” no judgment. no teasing. just acceptance. it makes your chest feel tight in a different way.
“do you regret it?” he asks after a second.
your stomach flips violently.because the answer comes immediately. “no.” his eyes soften. his grip on your wrist loosens, sliding down to your hand instead. fingers threading with yours.warm.steady. “good,” he murmurs.
silence settles between you again. but it’s different now. not tense. not awkward. full. you study his face.
“…are things weird now?” you ask quietly.
his eyebrow lifts slightly. “you think i’d let them be weird?” your stomach flips.
“you’re very confident.” “about you?” he says.
“yeah.”
heat spreads through your chest.you look down at your joined hands. “…what does this mean?” he tilts his head slightly.
“what do you want it to mean?” you hesitate.
your heart is pounding. “…i don’t know yet.” he nods once. “that’s fine.” his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles. “we’ll figure it out.”
we.
the word settles deep.warm.safe.you look back up at him. “…my parents are going to kill us.” he grins. full cocky now.
“they trusted me to take care of you.”
you scoff. “this is not what they meant.” “debatable.” you laugh despite yourself. he watches you for a second, something soft flickering in his expression.
then he leans forward. presses a slow kiss to your forehead. gentle. protective. your stomach flips again.
“…you okay?” he asks one more time. this time you nod. “…yeah.”and for the first time since waking up, you actually mean it.
because whatever happened last night--whatever this is now, it doesn’t feel like a mistake. it feels like something that was always going to happen.
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streets are growing darker — stabbings, robberies, and reports of stalking leaving the city on edge. then it happens to you. footsteps when no one should be there. strange messages. security glitches. the feeling of being watched that you can’t shake.
jeon jungkook, a decorated officer is assigned to your case. calm, steady, always nearby. he tells you you’re not imagining it, that he’ll keep you safe. but the closer he is, the more you realize: someone is following you. someone is always there. and the line between protection and obsession starts to blur. and by the time you notice, you’re already in a headlock.
pairings: detective!jungkook x fem!reader
tags/warnings: psychological thriller, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, stalking/obsession, threatening situations, violence, slow burn, mentions of drug use & alcohol consumption, heavy manipulation, jealousy themes, mentions of death (more to be added)
being supervised for a week sounds humiliating enough. being supervised by your older, cocky, unfairly attractive neighbor who the entire town worships? absolute torture.
when your parents ask him to live in your house while they’re away, he takes the job a little too seriously. surviving the week together quickly becomes less about supervision — and more about resisting something neither of you are willing to admit out loud.
⸝⸝ pairings : babysitter!jungkook x f!reader
⸝⸝ tags : dominant jungkook, forced proximity, power dynamic themes, mutual pinning, two year age gap, explicit sexual content, wealthy neighborhood au, praise / teasing elements, (more to be added)
⸝⸝ word count : 20k (est)
⸝⸝ full fic here
he knew agreeing to this would be a bad idea.
he just didn’t expect it to be this bad.
jungkook leans against the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching you tear through the pantry like you’re personally offended by every snack option available. cabinet doors opening. closing. opening again. muttered complaints under your breath like you forgot he can still hear you from three feet away.
he should probably say something responsible. something that sounds like the trustworthy, dependable neighbor your parents practically begged to stay here.
instead, he just watches.
because watching you has always been the problem.
your sleep shirt rides higher when you reach for the top shelf, exposing more of your thigh than you realize, and he clenches his jaw, forcing his gaze back up to your face before his brain can spiral somewhere it absolutely should not be going.
a week, he reminds himself.
just one week.
“you’re making a mess,” he says finally, voice calm, even, controlled.
you glance over your shoulder at him, unimpressed. “i’m choosing snacks.”
“you opened five boxes.”
“i like options.”
he pushes off the counter, walking toward you slowly, deliberately, like he’s stalking instead of supervising. you notice — he sees it in the way your shoulders stiffen slightly even though you don’t turn around fully.
he stops beside you, reaching past your arm to close one of the boxes you abandoned. his forearm brushes yours in the process, and the contact is brief — accidental enough to be excusable — but you both go still anyway.
your breath falters.
he notices.
he always notices.
“you do that on purpose,” he says quietly.
“do what?” you ask, still facing the pantry, but your voice sounds tighter now.
“act like you don’t know what you’re doing.”
you huff out a soft laugh, turning toward him fully this time. “maybe you just think everything revolves around you.”
his eyebrow lifts, slow and cocky. “you’ve been testing me since sunday.”
“you agreed to babysit me,” you fire back.
he steps closer, forcing you to lean back against the counter, hands planting on either side of you without touching. he leaves just enough space to keep it technically innocent. technically.
“i didn’t agree to babysit you,” he corrects smoothly. “your parents asked me to make sure you don’t get into trouble.”
you roll your eyes. “same thing.”
“not really.”
you tilt your chin up at him, defiance sparking in your eyes. “they trust you way too much.”
“that sounds like jealousy.”
“that sounds like ego.”
the corner of his mouth twitches, amused. you’ve always been like this — sharp-tongued, reckless, pushing until someone pushes back harder. most people cave when you get like that.
he never has.
“your dad literally said, and i quote, ‘jungkook’s the only one responsible enough to keep you in line,’” he says casually.
your expression tightens instantly.
he files that reaction away.
useful.
“he doesn’t get to decide that,” you mutter.
“he didn’t decide it,” jungkook replies, leaning slightly closer, voice lowering. “you did. every time you gave him a reason to worry.”
your breath catches, and satisfaction flickers through him before he can stop it. he hates how much he enjoys getting under your skin. hates how easy it is.
you stare at him, eyes flashing, lips parted like you’re about to argue again — but you don’t step away. you never step away when things get like this. you hold your ground like you’re daring him to cross a line.
“you’re enjoying this,” you accuse softly.
“what, supervising you?”
“having control.”
he laughs quietly, shaking his head. “if this was about control, you’d be in your room right now instead of standing here arguing with me.”
you hesitate.
he notices that too.
“you’re a brat,” he says, voice softer this time, almost thoughtful.
the word lands wrong again. heavier. sharper.
your entire posture stiffens, eyes narrowing. “stop calling me that.”
“then stop acting like you want me to chase you every time you break a rule.”
“maybe i just like watching you pretend you’re unaffected,” you shoot back.
his pulse kicks harder.
cocky confidence settles into his expression, but underneath it, something darker stirs. something that’s been building all week every time you look at him like you’re challenging him to prove how much restraint he actually has.
“you really think i’m unaffected?” he murmurs.
you don’t answer.
your gaze drifts to his mouth again — quick, but not quick enough.
he steps closer.
the air shifts immediately. heavier. charged. your back presses fully into the counter now, hands gripping the edge behind you like you’re bracing yourself for impact.
“you have no idea how much your parents trust me,” he continues, voice lower, rougher. “they think i’m the safe choice.”
your breathing stutters.
he leans down slightly, stopping just short of your lips, close enough to feel your breath mix with his.
“they think i’m here to keep you out of trouble,” he adds.
your fingers tighten against the counter. he watches the movement like it personally affects him. because it does.
“and you are,” you whisper.
his thumb brushes lightly against your hip before he can stop himself — testing, cautious, giving you time to pull away.
you don’t.
dangerous.
“yeah?” he murmurs. “then why do you keep trying to get a reaction out of me?”
your eyes flicker with something softer. more honest. it disappears almost instantly, replaced by that stubborn defiance he’s come to expect from you.
“maybe i just want to see how far i can push you,” you admit quietly.
his restraint cracks a little more.
his hand presses more firmly against your hip now, not enough to be inappropriate. not enough to cross the line. just enough to make your breath hitch in a way that sends heat straight through him.
“you’re playing a risky game,” he says.
“you’re the one who keeps letting me.”
silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. his gaze drags slowly across your face like he’s memorizing you. like he’s trying to convince himself this is still harmless.
it stopped being harmless days ago.
“you have no idea how hard it is to stay patient with you,” he admits quietly.
your throat bobs when you swallow.
“then don’t,” you whisper.
that nearly destroys him.
his forehead almost brushes yours as he leans closer, stopping at the last possible second. his hand tightens slightly against your hip, and he feels the way your body reacts to it — subtle, but unmistakable.
“if i stop being patient,” he says slowly, voice dropping into something darker, “this stops being a friendly favor to your parents.”
your pulse jumps under his gaze.
“maybe it was never friendly,” you breathe.
his jaw tightens.
for a moment, he considers it. considers what would happen if he just—
he pulls back instead.
again.
his hand drops away like the contact burns.
“go upstairs,” he says, tone rougher, more commanding than he intends.
your eyes widen slightly. “jungkook—”
“now.”
authority settles into his voice naturally. effortlessly. it’s the same tone he uses when he’s absolutely serious about something — the same tone that makes people listen without arguing.
you stare at him for a long moment, chest rising and falling unevenly, before pushing yourself off the counter. your shoulder brushes his as you pass — deliberate this time — and he has to physically stop himself from grabbing you and dragging you back.
you stop at the hallway, glancing over your shoulder.
“you’re not as in control as they think you are,” you say quietly.
then you disappear upstairs.
jungkook exhales slowly, dragging both hands through his hair, staring at the empty hallway like it personally betrayed him.
because your parents trust him.
they trust him to keep you safe.
to keep you out of trouble.
and if this tension keeps building the way it is…
he’s starting to realize he might be the biggest risk you have all week.
