D&Details👶🏿

What the fuck? Who’s left here at this hour? 

You gasp, spinning in your chair. Jungkook stands in the doorway of the newsroom, backlit by the hallway lights. His lip piercing snags on the light when he tilts his head, white button-up rolled to the elbows, sleeves shoved up to show off the ink snaking down his veiny forearm.

He should’ve left hours ago, along with the rest of the Fox crew. 

“What are you—”

He doesn’t respond. Rather, he steps inside and closes the door behind him. Slowly, he turns the lock until it clicks. 

Gulping thickly, you inhale, trying to gather whatever oxygen is left in the room now that he’s in it. He takes a few footsteps, nearly towering over you once he reaches your chair. God, you haven’t seen him since before you two… since before…

And god, you want it bad. 

Your eyes drag up the length of him, his slacks unable to hide his half-hard length. He places his forearm on the desk, caging you in. Your mouth is as dry as chalk. 

With a smirk, he says, “You miss me?”

“What—I—Jungkook—”

All the usual banter disappears from his tone. His gaze darkens, something like out of a trashy AO3 fanfiction. Regardless, nothing matters, because the fire that burns between your thighs doesn’t give two shits about your alleged smear campaign against him. 

“Get up,” he orders.

You do. Your legs feel like jell-o, and every part of your brain flags this as irrational, but you listen. He walks you backward until your hip hits the edge of the desk, hand falling to your waist to steady you. Up close, you can see his plump lips, the mole right below his bottom lip. 

Don’t kiss him, don’t kiss him, don’t…

And then his mouth is on yours, like a moth to a flame, one hand fisting in your hair. His other arm sweeps your keyboard, notes, color-coded case file clean off the desk in one motion, pulling you upwards onto the desk so you can fit him between your thighs. Papers flutter to the floor, pens clatter against the carpet. 

All you can feel is the arousal pooling in your panties. He nudges your thighs wider to let his hand desperately under the hem of your dress to see for himself just how bad you crave him. You tug him by his collar toward you, even though there’s not an inch of safe space between. His hot, wet tongue runs along the seam of your mouth, and you let him in, chasing the taste of him. Kissing him isn’t like kissing anyone else. It’s a hit straight to the bloodstream, has you chasing the next one before you’ve even come down from the last.

His thumb brushes over the wet spot on your panties. “Already soaked for me.” your body jolts forward at the glimpse of pleasure he’s allowing, thumb rubbing circles over your clothed clit. “Gotta make this quick, sweetheart. There’s not much time.”

“It’s okay,” you hastily reply. “No one’s coming.” Tugging his jaw toward you, you slot your mouths together like a key in the lock, automatically finding each other with no restraint. His free hand fumbles with his belt buckle, and he’s pushing his jeans down before you even really get a chance to think much more. Even if you wanted to, coherent thoughts aren’t capable of being formed right now. 

You feel his hardened cock over his boxers, stroking the length. When your lips divide from him, a string of saliva remains, but not long before he’s pulling you back into another sloppy kiss. In college, you watched as girls missed exams over a boy, skipped classes just to fuck. You used to make fun of those girls. 

But there’s a version of you right now that would burn the whole newsroom down and not even blink, and you’re starting to understand. 

Your hand comes to touch the exact ridge of his cock, breath rasping against your jaw as he kisses you wherever he can. His fingers dig into your hip like he’s trying to leave proof behind, something to look at when you wake up in the morning. Pushing aside your panties, he pushes into you, every inch of him. “Fuck!” you gasp, legs scrambling to tighten around his waist for stability. You whimper, tip your face back, part your lips. 

“So fucking tight for me,” he grunts, fingertips bruising your skin as he lets his length twitch inside you. He’s just as affected as you are, and the realization of it all almost shocks you, does your head in, world spinning off its axis. Jungkook pulls out carefully, and you feel each inch, each vein, before slamming back in and setting the pace. 

“You’ve wanted this so bad, hm?” he groans, snapping his hips forward, and there it is, his normal amount of insufferable for him during sex. You’re too blissed out to care, to respond, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your skull when his thumb comes to play with your clit. He drops his forehead to yours. “You in love with me yet or what, doll?”

Huh?

Even this is too cocky for Jungkook. Sure, he’s insufferable, sure, he’d absolutely think it, would probably imply it with an eyebrow raise and let you do the mental math yourself. Weird. 

“Y-you wish.” Your nails rake down his arm, scrambling for purchase as his pace hits your sweet spot, walls clenching furiously around his length. 

His hand slides up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face to his, and you brace for another filthy line, something crude enough to make you roll your eyes even as you cream around his cock.

Your eyes bore into his as he says, “Just like you dreamed about, hm?”

You never dreamed about it. Or him. 

Wait. 

You never told him that. 

With a gasp, you bolt upright, sheets twisted around your legs, comforter hanging off the bed. Your heart is running a hundred miles an hour, sweat cooling against your skin, your popcorn ceiling glaring back at you. The aircon hums, indifferent to the fact that you just had a fucking wet dream about Jungkook Jeon. 

Unbelievable. You get to have the best sex of your dream-life and your subconscious still finds a way to ruin it. 

Running a hand over your face, you groan and roll over to check your phone. Your bleary eyes look at the homescreen. 5:30 AM, which is a bummer, since you’ll have to fully up for another day of torture in about an hour. You swipe through your notifications, see what emails are already waiting for you. 

And then, you stumble upon one message from Rosalie. With her new France timezone, it’s probably another picture of her and Taehyung outside some museum, captioned in French like je ne sais quoi even though she took four years of Spanish in high school and you watched her fail the final. You unlock your phone, already composing a sarcastic reply about croissants in your head.

Rosalie: checking in on my mission for you. have you fucked anyone yet???

No ‘bonjour.’ No context. No picture of a pastry. God, you’d rather listen to her recite the French dictionary, anything but this sexual torture. 

You drop the phone face-down on the mattress, and flop on your stomach into the pillow. A guttural scream escapes you, one that you’re sure your neighbors, with your flimsy walls, can certainly hear. The cops should be at your house in five minutes. 

Fuck. You are undoubtedly, tremendously, diabolically screwed. 

Sleep proved itself to be elusive, which, fine, you guess you can’t really expect much else when you’ve woken up from a sex dream with a man you’ve been trying to forget exists below the neck. Your body’s out of whack, running on forty minutes of REM sleep and an old chocolate donut you found in your kitchen. By the time you’ve showered, dressed, and downed half a Celsius on the way, your eyes are drooping shut with every blink, caffeine doing nothing to override the exhaustion brewing inside you. 

Like a zombie, you shuffle through the hallways, badge limply swinging off your hip, and by some miracle make it to your desk without walking into a wall. Everyone else is already deep in the trenches, keyboards clacking, arguing with sources over the phone. 

The sight of your desk gives you motion sickness. It’ll take a miracle to not throw up all over it today. 

You plop into your beside Emma and let out a wheezing sigh, so loud that it causes Emma to glance over at you and snort. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks. It’s what I was going for today.”

“I mean it.” And you really have to commend her ability to be brutally honest, because no one else will report on the fact that your undereye bags are vicious and your socks are mismatched. “Did you get hit by a bus? Trampled by one of those White House tour groups?”

“I didn’t sleep, that’s what happened,” you sigh, pulling your laptop out of your bag and booting the power on. The bright light reflecting off it makes you squint in pain. 

“Groundbreaking,” she dryly chuckles. “None of us sleep. It’s basically a company benefit at this point, right up there with the shitty government health insurance that doesn’t cover therapy.”

You rub your eyes, regretting it when your mascara smudges against your knuckle. Great. Perfect. Add that to the tally of shitty things that happened to you today. “Bad dream.”

Emma’s fingers pause over her keyboard. “What kind of bad dream?”

“You do not want to know.”

Really, she has no idea just how serious you are. Her distaste of Jungkook stems from you. Everything you’ve shared with her about his vile personality has turned her off completely, and you pride yourself in playing a massive role in that. You can’t backtrack on it now. Bad for the brand. 

“Oh my god.” She swivels her chair to face you now, eyes lighting up with a twinkle you haven’t seen in months. “Was it a stress dream? Did you show up to an interview naked? Did Delgado somehow end up in it? Please tell me Delgado was not in your dream, I will need to go home and never come back.” 

You roll your eyes. “Not Delgado.”

“Oh, but it was someone,” she pauses, and you watch the gears rotate in her head. She’s too smart for her own good. “It was a sex dream?”

No comment. 

Her eyes widen. “No fucking way. Who was it? Please say it was that hot NBC correspondent.”

Your eyes dart to your laptop, then back to Emma, then at the ceiling, which looks oddly familiar to the one from your dream… and goddamnit. 

“Oh my god. No,” Emma’s entire expression shifts. “It was him.”

“Pfft,” you wave her off. “Who?”

“You know who.”

“No, I’m stupid.”

“Okay, so it was Jungkook—”

You lunge across the space between your desks and slap your hand over her mouth, nearly upending your laptop in the process. Emma’s pupils blow up, muffled indignation vibrating against your palm. A few rows over, Paul’s head pops up like a prairie dog sensing danger, and some guy from two rows down who never remembers your name swivels his chair around. You can now add assaulting a coworker to your growing list. 

Leaning in, you hiss, “Do you want the entire floor to hear you?!”

Emma peels your hand off her mouth. “I feel like that was an overreaction.”

“Absolutely not. Even implying such a thing is—is—heinous! Firable offense,” you retort. 

You slump back into your chair, dragging both hands down your face, mascara be damned. “It’s not him. Obviously. Why would it be him? That’s insane. That’s the most insane thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Emma studies you with her beady little eyes. “Okay. Fine. It’s not him.”

“Exactly.”

“Though if it was…” she twirls her hair around her finger. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, that’d be like dreaming about Satan.”

“You get it,” you nervously chuckle, and you wonder if she can sense the anxiety radiating off you. “That’s exactly what he is.”

You don’t even get a moment’s worth of peace before Jenna’s voice booms through the office, too chipper for a Tuesday. “Morning, everyone!” She has your coffee on hand, and a brown bag with what you hope is bagels, and there’s a spring in her step. 

Jenna sets your cup on your desk, then drops her designer bag onto her own, clapping her hands together in excitement. “Big day!”

“Hm?” you say, because your brain is currently operating at 15% capacity. Most of your processing power is still tied up in damage control from the Emma questioning and the residual, humiliating warmth unfurling in your belly. 

Jenna slowly blinks, as if she’s questioning whether or not you’ve lost your ability to understand fluent English. “Monroe…? First on the record interview? Everything you’ve been working toward?”

“Oh, that’s not until next week,” you smile. “The 26th.”

Jenna pulls her phone out, tapping at it like the millennial boss she is. “Um. Last time I checked my calendar,” She turns the screen toward you. “Today is the 26th.”

The letters and numbers stare back at you unforgivingly. The digital proof of your incompetence, laughing at you from her screen. 

It feels like a vat of cement slides down your throat, settling somewhere in the pit of your stomach to join the rest of the debris accumulating there. Between the catastrophic mess that is you and Jungkook, you had forgotten. 

Today, you need to sit next to Jungkook Jeon in a room, focus on Monroe and asking the right questions, without a single hitch. 

“Right,” you grin widely. Almost too wide, to the point where you think you look like a serial killer. “The 26th. Yep. Totally knew that.”

Jenna narrows her eyes, inspecting your state. “You feeling okay? You look a little gray.”

“I’m wonderful. Never been better.” You force what you hope resembles a smile and not a grimace. 

Thanks to whatever entity resides up in the clouds, she drops it. “Cool. I’m excited for you. This is a really big deal for CNN, and I mean… if this makes front page, who knows what’s next for you?”

Hopefully, a good night’s sleep. 

Emma’s fingers, which had resumed their usual aggressive typing rhythm, go still. “That’s awesome,” Emma chimes in, although her tone falls flat. “Big win for you.”

“For all of us,” Jenna corrects, “This is a CNN win, Ems. Team effort.”

Emma nods, eyes focused on her computer screen. You really should ask about what articles she’s working on—it feels like you two have hardly a chance to catch up on all things work related. 

“Don’t let Jungkook walk all over you today, [Y/N]. Seize the moment with Monroe,” Jenna gets in these motivational moods where everything’s a team effort until it’s bonus season, and then suddenly, it’s an individual sport. “Grab him by the balls.”

Emma snorts, and you sink lower, lower into your chair until your limbs are dangling off. “Will do.”

“That’s my girl. Go get ‘em!” she smiles before sauntering off with her laptop in tow. 

You slump so far into the chair you nearly slip off. “Good luck grabbing Jungkook Jeon by the balls today,” Emma teases. “Try not to enjoy it too much.”

Oh, if only she knew how that ship has already sailed. Set sail, circumnavigated the globe, and docked itself in your brain, given the whole wet dream situation you’re still repressing.

As it turns out, you are not the cool, calm collected working woman you always perceived yourself to be. The thought of seeing Jungkook Jeon sends your blood pressure into numbers your parents would send you to the hospital for. It’s been easy to avoid him, especially with your system in place. Leave the office by 4 PM sharp, before he’s back from wherever Fox sends him for the day. Route all communication through email, CC Jenna on everything, and keep every subject line clinical. Just how it should be, like you’re not two people who know exactly what the other one sounds like when they cum.

But you knew this was coming. Knew it from the moment you agreed to go to his apartment, from the kiss in that hotel hallway in New York, from every moment you’d subconsciously been collecting like stamps on a passport. Unfortunately, you can’t email your way around a joint on-the-record interview. You can’t CC yourself out of Jungkook Jeon. 

It’s the whole reason why you don’t mess around with coworkers, or entertain anyone who can take away what you’ve built for yourself. You keep people at arm’s length for a reason. A very good, very functional reason that has kept your life orderly and heart intact for years.

Your heartbeat can’t seem to contain itself as you make your way to the room where you know he’s sitting, waiting with some conniving joke to throw you off your game. Maybe he stole your questions somehow, dug through your bag when you weren’t looking. 

At least, that’s what you’re hoping for. That he’ll be exactly that—insufferable, competitive, the Jungkook you’ve spent eight years perfecting an immunity to. 

The alternative is Jungkook being human. A human with real emotions, ones that might surround you. 

Hands trembling, you push the door open, sweaty from your brisk jog across the lawn. Immediately, you spot him. Chair positioned across from the empty couch where Monroe will sit, notepad open on his lap. From the back, you can make out his broad muscles, white button-down pressed and ironed. 

You sit down in the remaining chair beside him, clutching your notebook to your chest. His eyes don’t dare flick over to you, he keeps doodling or writing. You can’t tell from this angle, and you refuse to lean over and find out. 

You open your own notepad instead, scanning through your questions. Luckily, Monroe’s story has already been dissected by you and Jungkook, over and over, and you both are on the same page: help clear Monroe’s name and show Delgado as the misogynistic, cheating pig he is. 

“Your coffee’s over there by the way. Thought you’d want it today.”

Slowly, your head turns. And there it is, sitting on the side table next to your chair, condensation already beading down the plastic cup.

He fucking brought you a coffee. Your coffee. 

Probably no rat poison, you think, staring at it like it might grow legs and walk away. Ninety percent sure. You’d put decent odds on it, given the general trajectory of your relationship with this man over the past few weeks. 

Your throat’s doing that thing again, that vat-of-cement thing, and if you open your mouth right now there’s a tangible risk that something humiliating and honest might fall out of it instead. You take a sip, let the cold hit the back of your throat. 

For a few moments, the sound of his pen scratching on paper, and your slow sips fill the room. 

Words are the one thing you’ve never been afraid of. Words are the one tool you’ve always trusted to get you out of anything. 

Some old, buried, seven-year-old-packing-her-own-lunch part of you knows that thanking him for this means admitting he saw you. Admitting someone paid attention to you without being asked to, without it being owed to them, without a transaction attached. You don’t know what to do with people who give you things and don’t want anything back for it. You’ve never had the practice.

Either way—what possibly could Jungkook want in return from you?

“You’re avoiding me.” He doesn’t meet your gaze, doodling in his notepad as though that’s the most important thing worth focusing on. 

You inhale sharply. “I don’t avoid people, Jeon.” 

He snorts. “Understatement of the fucking century.” 

“Don’t start—-“

“You know, I don’t get you.” His scribbling gets faster, more frantic. Even as you try to avert your gaze, you can practically hear the boiling steam coming out of his ears. “For someone who says they hate me, you sure as hell spend a lot of time doing the fucking opposite.” 

Your brows knit together. “What are you—“

“Never mind.” He slams his notepad shut, finally looking up to meet your eyes. You inhale a sharp breath, your nerve endings lit on fire like a match was struck to them. “It’s not worth my breath, clearly.”

“Jungkook, I don’t think we should talk about this before we’re about to go on the record with Monroe,” you argue, wincing at how casual your words sound. How do you possibly explain that nothing about the way your heart thumps at the thought of him is casual?

Maybe that’s the thing—it was never going to be casual. 

One-time things are for people you meet in hotel lobbies. People whose apartment you’ll never see again, whose families exist only as framed faces you glimpse on your way to the bathroom. People who won’t remember you in a month.

One-time things are transactions. You exchange something physical, then you leave and it’s over. It doesn’t change anything about who you are or what you want or how you see the world.

One-time things don’t leave marks on your breasts that you see every morning when you get dressed. They don’t have photographs of you on their shelves.

One-time things don’t make you feel like you’re at the top of a rollercoaster, looking down, with the fear and excitement of falling wrapped in one. 

He lowers his eyes, playing with his expensive cufflink. It looks familiar, probably from the pictures in his apartment. “Later, we can talk. It’s better than the alternative.” 

“Which is what, exactly?” 

“Not talking to you at all.”  

And just like that, your one simple, load-bearing belief came crumbling down: that your presence was something to be endured. That you were the itch under his collar, the competitor he tolerated because losing has never once been something Jungkook Jeon has done with grace. A thorn in his side. 

But your absence costs him something. The hole you have created in his life takes up more space than you could ever imagine. 

Not once had you ever stopped to envision it like that. Not in the eight years you’ve been arguing in classrooms and newsrooms alike, not in every panel where you both angled for the same soundbite. 

You used to dream of days without Jungkook, a life that’s peaceful, one where you’re not constantly checking behind your shoulder. 

The strange thing is, you can’t picture it. 

There’s no press room where you don’t instinctively know which seat he’s in before you even look. No byline that goes up without some private part of you checking Fox first. No argument you’ve ever won that didn’t taste better because it was him you beat. 

“Jungkook, I don’t want us to—”

“What?” he sneers. “Never speak again? Because you made that clear that’s what you wanted after… it.”

“Was I not supposed to leave after we were done?” 

You’re walking a fine line, one so thin you’re teetering off the edge. 

“Oh, we’re doing this now?” He turns his body to face you, and now you can finally see his face—the undereye bags that droop like he’s hardly getting any sleep either. Exhaustion is spelled out across his entire body. “We had sex, [Y/N]. Great sex, if we’re being honest, which, shockingly, we never are with each other. And then you literally ran out of my apartment like the grim reaper was waiting for you.”

“I had a busy day the next morning—”

He cuts you off, laughs. “God, do you ever listen to yourself when you speak? I’ve seen you corner senators in rooms for less than that.”

Heat crawls up your neck. “Don’t use my job against me.”

But he’s right, he’s so fucking right, and no one has been this honest with you in years. 

“You will interrogate everyone in this goddamn city except for yourself.” He sits back in his chair and huffs a breath. 

For a second, you wonder if he’s done, if he’s gotten it out of his system. 

“I’m not some dick who’s mad you left. I just thought, even after everything, you had more respect for me than that.”

“Because I didn’t know what to say!” It comes out louder than you mean it to, your own voice startling you. “What was I supposed to say? There’s no version of that conversation that doesn’t end with one of us getting hurt.”

He blinks rapidly, and your heart nearly shoots through the floor when you catch what he’s doing. 

“One of us is already hurt,” he murmurs. 

For the first time in longer than you can remember, you don’t have a comeback ready. Not a single sly remark. 

“Sorry I’m late, darlings,” Monroe’s voice echoes through the room, but you can barely register it, ears ringing from Jungkook’s words. A cloud of her perfume wafts through your nostrils, contributing to the nausea settling in your stomach. “Traffic on the parkway was an absolute nightmare.”

When she finally plops herself on the couch across you two, she glances between you and Jungkook. “Well,” she begins, crossing one leg over the other. “Isn’t this cozy?”

“Are you ready?” you ask, hoping to sound as professional as possible, voice curt. 

“As ready as one can be.” She pulls out her compact mirror, looking at herself, although this won’t be recorded on camera. “I suppose you two are ready with your questions.”

“Absolutely,” you and Jungkook reply in unison, and you ignore his eyes on your face. 

“Well, let’s begin,” Monroe clears her throat. 

You and Jungkook reach for your recorders at the exact same moment, sliding onto the coffee table between you and Monroe. The red button flicks on. Old habits die hard, no matter how emotionally compromised you are. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Monroe says, folding her hands in her lap.

Leaning forward, you click your pen on. “Let’s start simple. Recount how you and Delgado met?”

“A policy retreat in Virginia two years ago. I’d heard things about him beforehand. Nothing flattering.”

“Such as?” Jungkook interrupts, just as your lips part. You shoot him a side glare. 

“Arrogant, entitled, snobby, the usual of any senator,” she grimaces. 

“But you got involved with him anyway. Why?” you cut in. It’s Jungkook’s turn to narrowly peer at you. 

She shrugs. “People rarely fall for who they expect to.”

As you write down her words, your hands tremble. 

Jungkook picks up your loose ending; June, the beginning, who initiated it, how they kept it hidden, whether anyone on the Hill suspected. A familiar swell of competition flares back to life beneath your ribs. Even now, even after everything, your body craves to beat him to the better follow-up.

Relief washes over you. At least the rivalry remains intact. 

Monroe gives you the story in fragments. You have to actively fight the urge to glance at Jungkook, see if he’s making the same connections you are.

Secret hookups in rooms. 

Someone almost caught them. 

Always giving enough just to keep her around. 

You ask about September, and her posture immediately flinches. “An intern caught me leaving his office. That’s how it started falling apart.”

“Falling apart how?” Jungkook inquires. 

“He started creating distance. After all, we had just been caught, and we were about to be front page news. But I guess he had already decided he was going with a different story.”

Your heart buzzes in your chest, at the thrill of the story cracking wide open. 

“There’s been reporting,” you say, “suggesting the Senator has characterized you in private conversations with colleagues as unstable and vindictive. That you were who pursued him.” You watch her face for the tell. “Is that accurate?”

“He’s called me a lot of things. None of them true, all of them convenient. As a man, he gets to walk into any room in this city and be believed. I have to prove everything, and they’ll say I’m fake.”

“And you’ve never spoken publicly about the imbalance,” Jungkook says. 

Monroe dryly chuckles. “What would be the point of that? He talks, and somehow I get punished,” she pauses, staring at her manicured nails. “We were in love. He was going to propose. I have a text message where he told me he’d never felt like this about anyone. I could show it to you right now and none of it would matter. In politics, a man’s word outweighs a woman’s proof every single time.”

Jungkook's pen has gone still on his notepad. 

“I’ve never deleted a single text from him,” she continues. “I can try to hate him, but I can’t bring myself to delete any of it.”

“Do you regret it?”

She turns her rings, wedding band notably absent. “I regret being surprised by how it ended. I shouldn’t have been. Men like him are always upfront about who they are. I just chose to ignore it.”

“What would you want people to take away from this?” you ask. 

“That loving someone doesn’t make you stupid.” Her eyes bounce between you and Jungkook. “It’s what makes us, even politicians, human.”

You peek at Jungkook from your peripheral. He’s looking at you. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” you say, and Jungkook nods in agreement, both of you reaching for your recorders, thumbs hovering over the stop button. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Monroe says, rising and smoothing down her skirt, “I’m going to need a moment outside.”

Perfume fills the air as she vanishes out the doors. 

Flipping through your notes, you highlight quotes to share with Jenna. Beside you, Jungkook powers down his recorder, sets it gently on the table, rubs a hand over his face. 

Your instinct is to peer over his shoulder at his notes, steal a few key points. Maybe set fire to his belongings. Yet, the urge never comes. 

His gaze rose to yours, big eyes pinning you in your chair, and every muscle in your body goes taut. 

You are in so much fucking trouble. 

“I’m gonna check on her,” you say, scrambling toward the door before he can get another word out. 

The hallway offers minimal relief. In no particular direction, you walk, putting distance between you and the room that holds Jungkook. 

It feels as though Monroe handed you a preview of your future and you’re too far gone to turn around. 

A cough interrupts your train of thoughts, coming from somewhere past the end of the hall. You follow it until you reach a set of doors cracked open, overlooking the floors below. Monroe stands there, one arm wrapped around her waist, other lifting a cigarette to her pursed lips. Smoke floats up into the air, disappearing before taking shape. You hesitate in the doorway, hand resting against the frame, unsure if you’re intruding on something private.

She’s not necessarily the friendliest. But you step out either way. 

As you push the door open further, it creaks, announcing your entrance. Monroe peeks over her shoulder, then turns back. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, settling against the railing a respectful few inches away, 

“I’m okay. Been better.”

“That bad?” You almost slap yourself at your words. Of course it’s that bad. She’s practically the laughingstock of the Capitol. 

“Reliving my failed romantic escapades on camera for a national audience? Never better, actually.” A dry, humorless huff of a laugh. “You should try it sometime.”

“I’ll pass,” you crack a smile. 

“Smart girl.” She taps ash over the railing, watching it scatter and disappear before it hits the ground. Then, places her sunglasses over her eyes as if that’ll shield her from your reading of her emotions. 

For a while, neither of you says anything, silence filled by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of wind through the garden hedges below.

“If you told me two years ago how this would end, I wouldn’t have changed a damn thing,” Monroe studies the cherry of her cigarette. 

“Wow,” is all you can utter. 

“That’s love. Makes you do crazy shit,” she smirks. “I was always a rational girl. Top of my class at law school. And then I let some dude with wrinkled suits gaslight me and my career.”

You let out an undignified snort.

“You had options. Your career, your reputation, your independence. You could have walked away at any point. Why didn’t you?” you ask, and Monroe takes a long drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke disappear into the cool air. 

She peers at you over her sunglasses as if she were sizing you up. “Darling, you really think power protects you from feeling things?”

“Doesn’t it give you the power not to?” You press further, and you don’t even know what you’re looking for from her anymore. Maybe something to dull the ache in your brain.

She cocks a brow, tapping her cigarette to let the ash fall. “Not really. Power, in my opinion, gives you everything except immunity from your own heart.”

You scoff, struggling to hide the anxiety that coils inside your stomach. “But you knew who Delgado was. You knew his history. You knew he’d—” 

“Hurt me? Of course I knew,” she chuckles, inhaling again. With her next exhale, she says, “But knowing something intellectually and protecting yourself from it emotionally are two very different things.”

“So you let it… happen?” 

“I didn’t let anything happen. I made a choice. I chose to love someone who could hurt me. You can’t live life with the fear that people will hurt you. I have spent my entire life being strong and strategic and all the things I dreamed of as a little girl. And you know what that gets you? Lonely. So fucking lonely.” 

You can’t look at her. Can’t let her see whatever expression is on your face right now.

She drops her cigarette on the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of her shoe. “May I ask you something personal?”

You swallow thickly, a lump of cement dragging down your throat. You nod. She continues on, “The other journalist working on this story. Jungkook Jeon. Is he the reason you’re asking me all these questions?”

“No, no,” you rush to argue, but the speed in which you deny only adds further gasoline to the flames, to what she possibly already knows. “No, this is for the story—”

Monroe’s lips spread into a tight smile, a pitying one. “I know what it looks like when someone’s trying to logic their way out of feeling something.”

Bile rises up your throat, and despite the fact that you’re outside, it suddenly feels like there’s not enough air in your lungs. 

“Does he know?" Monroe asks. 

“There’s nothing to know.”

Your stomach churns. Emotions whirl inside you like a hurricane, a storm that was brewing offshore for years, gaining momentum everytime you told yourself the skies were clear. 

Monroe chuckles, reaching into her purse for another Marlboro. “That’s what I said too. Right up until I couldn’t say it anymore.”

“It’s really not like that with us.” You try to steady your tone, but it comes out uneven. “He’s… he’s competitive, and he doesn’t care about who he hurts in the process to get to the top. He’s too ambitious, cocky, too—”

“Too much like you?”

Everything feels off-kilter. Maybe it’s the cigarette smoke hazing your brain, making every fuzzy at the seams to where you might think she’s right. You open your mouth to argue—to list all the ways you’re different, all the reasons this isn’t the same—but the words die in your throat because they’re not real reasons at all. They’re excuses.

“He and I couldn’t be further from the same.” 

“Oh, honey,” Her eyes soften, and you concentrate hard to ignore her gaze. “You know that’s not true.”

Feebly, you mumble, “It is.”

“[Y/N]...” she shakes her head, ashing her cigarette. “The heart doesn’t care about things like success or career goals. It just shows up and changes everything you thought you knew about yourself.”

Your fingernails dig crescent moons into your palms. “It’s just professional rivalry. Tension… it’s nothing more.”

Monroe studies you. Looks at you, past the wall you’ve built up, past the facade you’ve been hiding underneath. It’s as though she’s stripped away every defense you’ve ever built, seeing straight through to the parts of yourself you’ve spent decades burying. She takes a deep inhale of her cigarette, then offers it out to you subtly, but you shake your head. 

With a soft smile, she says, “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

She’s wrong, you know she is, because that’s not possible. And despite everything you tell yourself, even though you’re terrified of the answer, you ask, “How does he look at me?”

“Like you’re the only one worth debating.”

The cigarette falls from her hands to the floor below, letting the flame burn out on its own.

“Y-You don’t know him.”

“I don’t need to to recognize a look. I dated a man who works in politics, remember?” Monroe pulls out her lighter, works absently at the flint. 

“It’s just really not that.”

Except maybe it is, and you want out. You need out right now. 

“Why not?” she presses, lips curving up. 

“Because… well, I told you.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she lowers her voice an octave, “Not that I’d have anyone to tell. God knows I’ve burned through most of my friends this year. But for what it’s worth… and I recognize it’s coming from someone whose life just imploded on camera, so take it accordingly… avoiding it does more harm than good.”

For once, your brain, so quick to build a case, so practiced at finding the counterpoint, draws a blank. 

“Anyway,” Monroe straightens. “I should head back in before your charming, transparent colleague comes looking for both of us.”

“He’s not that charming.”

She cocks a brow, shakes a head, and walks past you down the hallway. 

The smell of smoke still lingers in the air, and you feel lightheaded, world tilting on its axis. 

When you left his apartment, you weren’t thinking about whether or not you made the right choice. You needed to escape. It needed to be over, terrified of what would happen if it didn’t, if you let it continue, if your toe dipped even deeper in that pool. So worried it would begin to mean more than it already did, that your heart would be on the line for a fleeting orgasm and a man who knows you better than you know yourself. 

Because guys like Jungkook Jeon… confident guys, intelligent guys, ones that can command a room with their presence, guys like that break you apart without a second thought. 

And you can’t deal with the wreckage anymore.

But it doesn’t matter, because some twisted part of you doesn’t care about your constant denial. 

He wants you for some reason, and possibly, you might want him too. 

What the fuck? Who’s left here at this hour? 

You gasp, spinning in your chair. Jungkook stands in the doorway of the newsroom, backlit by the hallway lights. His lip piercing snags on the light when he tilts his head, white button-up rolled to the elbows, sleeves shoved up to show off the ink snaking down his veiny forearm.

He should’ve left hours ago, along with the rest of the Fox crew. 

“What are you—”

He doesn’t respond. Rather, he steps inside and closes the door behind him. Slowly, he turns the lock until it clicks. 

Gulping thickly, you inhale, trying to gather whatever oxygen is left in the room now that he’s in it. He takes a few footsteps, nearly towering over you once he reaches your chair. God, you haven’t seen him since before you two… since before…

And god, you want it bad. 

Your eyes drag up the length of him, his slacks unable to hide his half-hard length. He places his forearm on the desk, caging you in. Your mouth is as dry as chalk. 

With a smirk, he says, “You miss me?”

“What—I—Jungkook—”

All the usual banter disappears from his tone. His gaze darkens, something like out of a trashy AO3 fanfiction. Regardless, nothing matters, because the fire that burns between your thighs doesn’t give two shits about your alleged smear campaign against him. 

“Get up,” he orders.

You do. Your legs feel like jell-o, and every part of your brain flags this as irrational, but you listen. He walks you backward until your hip hits the edge of the desk, hand falling to your waist to steady you. Up close, you can see his plump lips, the mole right below his bottom lip. 

Don’t kiss him, don’t kiss him, don’t…

And then his mouth is on yours, like a moth to a flame, one hand fisting in your hair. His other arm sweeps your keyboard, notes, color-coded case file clean off the desk in one motion, pulling you upwards onto the desk so you can fit him between your thighs. Papers flutter to the floor, pens clatter against the carpet. 

All you can feel is the arousal pooling in your panties. He nudges your thighs wider to let his hand desperately under the hem of your dress to see for himself just how bad you crave him. You tug him by his collar toward you, even though there’s not an inch of safe space between. His hot, wet tongue runs along the seam of your mouth, and you let him in, chasing the taste of him. Kissing him isn’t like kissing anyone else. It’s a hit straight to the bloodstream, has you chasing the next one before you’ve even come down from the last.

His thumb brushes over the wet spot on your panties. “Already soaked for me.” your body jolts forward at the glimpse of pleasure he’s allowing, thumb rubbing circles over your clothed clit. “Gotta make this quick, sweetheart. There’s not much time.”

“It’s okay,” you hastily reply. “No one’s coming.” Tugging his jaw toward you, you slot your mouths together like a key in the lock, automatically finding each other with no restraint. His free hand fumbles with his belt buckle, and he’s pushing his jeans down before you even really get a chance to think much more. Even if you wanted to, coherent thoughts aren’t capable of being formed right now. 

You feel his hardened cock over his boxers, stroking the length. When your lips divide from him, a string of saliva remains, but not long before he’s pulling you back into another sloppy kiss. In college, you watched as girls missed exams over a boy, skipped classes just to fuck. You used to make fun of those girls. 

But there’s a version of you right now that would burn the whole newsroom down and not even blink, and you’re starting to understand. 

Your hand comes to touch the exact ridge of his cock, breath rasping against your jaw as he kisses you wherever he can. His fingers dig into your hip like he’s trying to leave proof behind, something to look at when you wake up in the morning. Pushing aside your panties, he pushes into you, every inch of him. “Fuck!” you gasp, legs scrambling to tighten around his waist for stability. You whimper, tip your face back, part your lips. 

“So fucking tight for me,” he grunts, fingertips bruising your skin as he lets his length twitch inside you. He’s just as affected as you are, and the realization of it all almost shocks you, does your head in, world spinning off its axis. Jungkook pulls out carefully, and you feel each inch, each vein, before slamming back in and setting the pace. 

“You’ve wanted this so bad, hm?” he groans, snapping his hips forward, and there it is, his normal amount of insufferable for him during sex. You’re too blissed out to care, to respond, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your skull when his thumb comes to play with your clit. He drops his forehead to yours. “You in love with me yet or what, doll?”

Huh?

Even this is too cocky for Jungkook. Sure, he’s insufferable, sure, he’d absolutely think it, would probably imply it with an eyebrow raise and let you do the mental math yourself. Weird. 

“Y-you wish.” Your nails rake down his arm, scrambling for purchase as his pace hits your sweet spot, walls clenching furiously around his length. 

His hand slides up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face to his, and you brace for another filthy line, something crude enough to make you roll your eyes even as you cream around his cock.

Your eyes bore into his as he says, “Just like you dreamed about, hm?”

You never dreamed about it. Or him. 

Wait. 

You never told him that. 

With a gasp, you bolt upright, sheets twisted around your legs, comforter hanging off the bed. Your heart is running a hundred miles an hour, sweat cooling against your skin, your popcorn ceiling glaring back at you. The aircon hums, indifferent to the fact that you just had a fucking wet dream about Jungkook Jeon. 

Unbelievable. You get to have the best sex of your dream-life and your subconscious still finds a way to ruin it. 

Running a hand over your face, you groan and roll over to check your phone. Your bleary eyes look at the homescreen. 5:30 AM, which is a bummer, since you’ll have to fully up for another day of torture in about an hour. You swipe through your notifications, see what emails are already waiting for you. 

And then, you stumble upon one message from Rosalie. With her new France timezone, it’s probably another picture of her and Taehyung outside some museum, captioned in French like je ne sais quoi even though she took four years of Spanish in high school and you watched her fail the final. You unlock your phone, already composing a sarcastic reply about croissants in your head.

Rosalie: checking in on my mission for you. have you fucked anyone yet???

No ‘bonjour.’ No context. No picture of a pastry. God, you’d rather listen to her recite the French dictionary, anything but this sexual torture. 

You drop the phone face-down on the mattress, and flop on your stomach into the pillow. A guttural scream escapes you, one that you’re sure your neighbors, with your flimsy walls, can certainly hear. The cops should be at your house in five minutes. 

Fuck. You are undoubtedly, tremendously, diabolically screwed. 

Sleep proved itself to be elusive, which, fine, you guess you can’t really expect much else when you’ve woken up from a sex dream with a man you’ve been trying to forget exists below the neck. Your body’s out of whack, running on forty minutes of REM sleep and an old chocolate donut you found in your kitchen. By the time you’ve showered, dressed, and downed half a Celsius on the way, your eyes are drooping shut with every blink, caffeine doing nothing to override the exhaustion brewing inside you. 

Like a zombie, you shuffle through the hallways, badge limply swinging off your hip, and by some miracle make it to your desk without walking into a wall. Everyone else is already deep in the trenches, keyboards clacking, arguing with sources over the phone. 

The sight of your desk gives you motion sickness. It’ll take a miracle to not throw up all over it today. 

You plop into your beside Emma and let out a wheezing sigh, so loud that it causes Emma to glance over at you and snort. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks. It’s what I was going for today.”

“I mean it.” And you really have to commend her ability to be brutally honest, because no one else will report on the fact that your undereye bags are vicious and your socks are mismatched. “Did you get hit by a bus? Trampled by one of those White House tour groups?”

“I didn’t sleep, that’s what happened,” you sigh, pulling your laptop out of your bag and booting the power on. The bright light reflecting off it makes you squint in pain. 

“Groundbreaking,” she dryly chuckles. “None of us sleep. It’s basically a company benefit at this point, right up there with the shitty government health insurance that doesn’t cover therapy.”

You rub your eyes, regretting it when your mascara smudges against your knuckle. Great. Perfect. Add that to the tally of shitty things that happened to you today. “Bad dream.”

Emma’s fingers pause over her keyboard. “What kind of bad dream?”

“You do not want to know.”

Really, she has no idea just how serious you are. Her distaste of Jungkook stems from you. Everything you’ve shared with her about his vile personality has turned her off completely, and you pride yourself in playing a massive role in that. You can’t backtrack on it now. Bad for the brand. 

“Oh my god.” She swivels her chair to face you now, eyes lighting up with a twinkle you haven’t seen in months. “Was it a stress dream? Did you show up to an interview naked? Did Delgado somehow end up in it? Please tell me Delgado was not in your dream, I will need to go home and never come back.” 

You roll your eyes. “Not Delgado.”

“Oh, but it was someone,” she pauses, and you watch the gears rotate in her head. She’s too smart for her own good. “It was a sex dream?”

No comment. 

Her eyes widen. “No fucking way. Who was it? Please say it was that hot NBC correspondent.”

Your eyes dart to your laptop, then back to Emma, then at the ceiling, which looks oddly familiar to the one from your dream… and goddamnit. 

“Oh my god. No,” Emma’s entire expression shifts. “It was him.”

“Pfft,” you wave her off. “Who?”

“You know who.”

“No, I’m stupid.”

“Okay, so it was Jungkook—”

You lunge across the space between your desks and slap your hand over her mouth, nearly upending your laptop in the process. Emma’s pupils blow up, muffled indignation vibrating against your palm. A few rows over, Paul’s head pops up like a prairie dog sensing danger, and some guy from two rows down who never remembers your name swivels his chair around. You can now add assaulting a coworker to your growing list. 

Leaning in, you hiss, “Do you want the entire floor to hear you?!”

Emma peels your hand off her mouth. “I feel like that was an overreaction.”

“Absolutely not. Even implying such a thing is—is—heinous! Firable offense,” you retort. 

You slump back into your chair, dragging both hands down your face, mascara be damned. “It’s not him. Obviously. Why would it be him? That’s insane. That’s the most insane thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Emma studies you with her beady little eyes. “Okay. Fine. It’s not him.”

“Exactly.”

“Though if it was…” she twirls her hair around her finger. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, that’d be like dreaming about Satan.”

“You get it,” you nervously chuckle, and you wonder if she can sense the anxiety radiating off you. “That’s exactly what he is.”

You don’t even get a moment’s worth of peace before Jenna’s voice booms through the office, too chipper for a Tuesday. “Morning, everyone!” She has your coffee on hand, and a brown bag with what you hope is bagels, and there’s a spring in her step. 

Jenna sets your cup on your desk, then drops her designer bag onto her own, clapping her hands together in excitement. “Big day!”

“Hm?” you say, because your brain is currently operating at 15% capacity. Most of your processing power is still tied up in damage control from the Emma questioning and the residual, humiliating warmth unfurling in your belly. 

Jenna slowly blinks, as if she’s questioning whether or not you’ve lost your ability to understand fluent English. “Monroe…? First on the record interview? Everything you’ve been working toward?”

“Oh, that’s not until next week,” you smile. “The 26th.”

Jenna pulls her phone out, tapping at it like the millennial boss she is. “Um. Last time I checked my calendar,” She turns the screen toward you. “Today is the 26th.”

The letters and numbers stare back at you unforgivingly. The digital proof of your incompetence, laughing at you from her screen. 

It feels like a vat of cement slides down your throat, settling somewhere in the pit of your stomach to join the rest of the debris accumulating there. Between the catastrophic mess that is you and Jungkook, you had forgotten. 

Today, you need to sit next to Jungkook Jeon in a room, focus on Monroe and asking the right questions, without a single hitch. 

“Right,” you grin widely. Almost too wide, to the point where you think you look like a serial killer. “The 26th. Yep. Totally knew that.”

Jenna narrows her eyes, inspecting your state. “You feeling okay? You look a little gray.”

“I’m wonderful. Never been better.” You force what you hope resembles a smile and not a grimace. 

Thanks to whatever entity resides up in the clouds, she drops it. “Cool. I’m excited for you. This is a really big deal for CNN, and I mean… if this makes front page, who knows what’s next for you?”

Hopefully, a good night’s sleep. 

Emma’s fingers, which had resumed their usual aggressive typing rhythm, go still. “That’s awesome,” Emma chimes in, although her tone falls flat. “Big win for you.”

“For all of us,” Jenna corrects, “This is a CNN win, Ems. Team effort.”

Emma nods, eyes focused on her computer screen. You really should ask about what articles she’s working on—it feels like you two have hardly a chance to catch up on all things work related. 

“Don’t let Jungkook walk all over you today, [Y/N]. Seize the moment with Monroe,” Jenna gets in these motivational moods where everything’s a team effort until it’s bonus season, and then suddenly, it’s an individual sport. “Grab him by the balls.”

Emma snorts, and you sink lower, lower into your chair until your limbs are dangling off. “Will do.”

“That’s my girl. Go get ‘em!” she smiles before sauntering off with her laptop in tow. 

You slump so far into the chair you nearly slip off. “Good luck grabbing Jungkook Jeon by the balls today,” Emma teases. “Try not to enjoy it too much.”

Oh, if only she knew how that ship has already sailed. Set sail, circumnavigated the globe, and docked itself in your brain, given the whole wet dream situation you’re still repressing.

As it turns out, you are not the cool, calm collected working woman you always perceived yourself to be. The thought of seeing Jungkook Jeon sends your blood pressure into numbers your parents would send you to the hospital for. It’s been easy to avoid him, especially with your system in place. Leave the office by 4 PM sharp, before he’s back from wherever Fox sends him for the day. Route all communication through email, CC Jenna on everything, and keep every subject line clinical. Just how it should be, like you’re not two people who know exactly what the other one sounds like when they cum.

But you knew this was coming. Knew it from the moment you agreed to go to his apartment, from the kiss in that hotel hallway in New York, from every moment you’d subconsciously been collecting like stamps on a passport. Unfortunately, you can’t email your way around a joint on-the-record interview. You can’t CC yourself out of Jungkook Jeon. 

It’s the whole reason why you don’t mess around with coworkers, or entertain anyone who can take away what you’ve built for yourself. You keep people at arm’s length for a reason. A very good, very functional reason that has kept your life orderly and heart intact for years.

Your heartbeat can’t seem to contain itself as you make your way to the room where you know he’s sitting, waiting with some conniving joke to throw you off your game. Maybe he stole your questions somehow, dug through your bag when you weren’t looking. 

At least, that’s what you’re hoping for. That he’ll be exactly that—insufferable, competitive, the Jungkook you’ve spent eight years perfecting an immunity to. 

The alternative is Jungkook being human. A human with real emotions, ones that might surround you. 

Hands trembling, you push the door open, sweaty from your brisk jog across the lawn. Immediately, you spot him. Chair positioned across from the empty couch where Monroe will sit, notepad open on his lap. From the back, you can make out his broad muscles, white button-down pressed and ironed. 

You sit down in the remaining chair beside him, clutching your notebook to your chest. His eyes don’t dare flick over to you, he keeps doodling or writing. You can’t tell from this angle, and you refuse to lean over and find out. 

You open your own notepad instead, scanning through your questions. Luckily, Monroe’s story has already been dissected by you and Jungkook, over and over, and you both are on the same page: help clear Monroe’s name and show Delgado as the misogynistic, cheating pig he is. 

“Your coffee’s over there by the way. Thought you’d want it today.”

Slowly, your head turns. And there it is, sitting on the side table next to your chair, condensation already beading down the plastic cup.

He fucking brought you a coffee. Your coffee. 

Probably no rat poison, you think, staring at it like it might grow legs and walk away. Ninety percent sure. You’d put decent odds on it, given the general trajectory of your relationship with this man over the past few weeks. 

Your throat’s doing that thing again, that vat-of-cement thing, and if you open your mouth right now there’s a tangible risk that something humiliating and honest might fall out of it instead. You take a sip, let the cold hit the back of your throat. 

For a few moments, the sound of his pen scratching on paper, and your slow sips fill the room. 

Words are the one thing you’ve never been afraid of. Words are the one tool you’ve always trusted to get you out of anything. 

Some old, buried, seven-year-old-packing-her-own-lunch part of you knows that thanking him for this means admitting he saw you. Admitting someone paid attention to you without being asked to, without it being owed to them, without a transaction attached. You don’t know what to do with people who give you things and don’t want anything back for it. You’ve never had the practice.

Either way—what possibly could Jungkook want in return from you?

“You’re avoiding me.” He doesn’t meet your gaze, doodling in his notepad as though that’s the most important thing worth focusing on. 

You inhale sharply. “I don’t avoid people, Jeon.” 

He snorts. “Understatement of the fucking century.” 

“Don’t start—-“

“You know, I don’t get you.” His scribbling gets faster, more frantic. Even as you try to avert your gaze, you can practically hear the boiling steam coming out of his ears. “For someone who says they hate me, you sure as hell spend a lot of time doing the fucking opposite.” 

Your brows knit together. “What are you—“

“Never mind.” He slams his notepad shut, finally looking up to meet your eyes. You inhale a sharp breath, your nerve endings lit on fire like a match was struck to them. “It’s not worth my breath, clearly.”

“Jungkook, I don’t think we should talk about this before we’re about to go on the record with Monroe,” you argue, wincing at how casual your words sound. How do you possibly explain that nothing about the way your heart thumps at the thought of him is casual?

Maybe that’s the thing—it was never going to be casual. 

One-time things are for people you meet in hotel lobbies. People whose apartment you’ll never see again, whose families exist only as framed faces you glimpse on your way to the bathroom. People who won’t remember you in a month.

One-time things are transactions. You exchange something physical, then you leave and it’s over. It doesn’t change anything about who you are or what you want or how you see the world.

One-time things don’t leave marks on your breasts that you see every morning when you get dressed. They don’t have photographs of you on their shelves.

One-time things don’t make you feel like you’re at the top of a rollercoaster, looking down, with the fear and excitement of falling wrapped in one. 

He lowers his eyes, playing with his expensive cufflink. It looks familiar, probably from the pictures in his apartment. “Later, we can talk. It’s better than the alternative.” 

“Which is what, exactly?” 

“Not talking to you at all.”  

And just like that, your one simple, load-bearing belief came crumbling down: that your presence was something to be endured. That you were the itch under his collar, the competitor he tolerated because losing has never once been something Jungkook Jeon has done with grace. A thorn in his side. 

But your absence costs him something. The hole you have created in his life takes up more space than you could ever imagine. 

Not once had you ever stopped to envision it like that. Not in the eight years you’ve been arguing in classrooms and newsrooms alike, not in every panel where you both angled for the same soundbite. 

You used to dream of days without Jungkook, a life that’s peaceful, one where you’re not constantly checking behind your shoulder. 

The strange thing is, you can’t picture it. 

There’s no press room where you don’t instinctively know which seat he’s in before you even look. No byline that goes up without some private part of you checking Fox first. No argument you’ve ever won that didn’t taste better because it was him you beat. 

“Jungkook, I don’t want us to—”

“What?” he sneers. “Never speak again? Because you made that clear that’s what you wanted after… it.”

“Was I not supposed to leave after we were done?” 

You’re walking a fine line, one so thin you’re teetering off the edge. 

“Oh, we’re doing this now?” He turns his body to face you, and now you can finally see his face—the undereye bags that droop like he’s hardly getting any sleep either. Exhaustion is spelled out across his entire body. “We had sex, [Y/N]. Great sex, if we’re being honest, which, shockingly, we never are with each other. And then you literally ran out of my apartment like the grim reaper was waiting for you.”

“I had a busy day the next morning—”

He cuts you off, laughs. “God, do you ever listen to yourself when you speak? I’ve seen you corner senators in rooms for less than that.”

Heat crawls up your neck. “Don’t use my job against me.”

But he’s right, he’s so fucking right, and no one has been this honest with you in years. 

“You will interrogate everyone in this goddamn city except for yourself.” He sits back in his chair and huffs a breath. 

For a second, you wonder if he’s done, if he’s gotten it out of his system. 

“I’m not some dick who’s mad you left. I just thought, even after everything, you had more respect for me than that.”

“Because I didn’t know what to say!” It comes out louder than you mean it to, your own voice startling you. “What was I supposed to say? There’s no version of that conversation that doesn’t end with one of us getting hurt.”

He blinks rapidly, and your heart nearly shoots through the floor when you catch what he’s doing. 

“One of us is already hurt,” he murmurs. 

For the first time in longer than you can remember, you don’t have a comeback ready. Not a single sly remark. 

“Sorry I’m late, darlings,” Monroe’s voice echoes through the room, but you can barely register it, ears ringing from Jungkook’s words. A cloud of her perfume wafts through your nostrils, contributing to the nausea settling in your stomach. “Traffic on the parkway was an absolute nightmare.”

When she finally plops herself on the couch across you two, she glances between you and Jungkook. “Well,” she begins, crossing one leg over the other. “Isn’t this cozy?”

“Are you ready?” you ask, hoping to sound as professional as possible, voice curt. 

“As ready as one can be.” She pulls out her compact mirror, looking at herself, although this won’t be recorded on camera. “I suppose you two are ready with your questions.”

“Absolutely,” you and Jungkook reply in unison, and you ignore his eyes on your face. 

“Well, let’s begin,” Monroe clears her throat. 

You and Jungkook reach for your recorders at the exact same moment, sliding onto the coffee table between you and Monroe. The red button flicks on. Old habits die hard, no matter how emotionally compromised you are. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Monroe says, folding her hands in her lap.

Leaning forward, you click your pen on. “Let’s start simple. Recount how you and Delgado met?”

“A policy retreat in Virginia two years ago. I’d heard things about him beforehand. Nothing flattering.”

“Such as?” Jungkook interrupts, just as your lips part. You shoot him a side glare. 

“Arrogant, entitled, snobby, the usual of any senator,” she grimaces. 

“But you got involved with him anyway. Why?” you cut in. It’s Jungkook’s turn to narrowly peer at you. 

She shrugs. “People rarely fall for who they expect to.”

As you write down her words, your hands tremble. 

Jungkook picks up your loose ending; June, the beginning, who initiated it, how they kept it hidden, whether anyone on the Hill suspected. A familiar swell of competition flares back to life beneath your ribs. Even now, even after everything, your body craves to beat him to the better follow-up.

Relief washes over you. At least the rivalry remains intact. 

Monroe gives you the story in fragments. You have to actively fight the urge to glance at Jungkook, see if he’s making the same connections you are.

Secret hookups in rooms. 

Someone almost caught them. 

Always giving enough just to keep her around. 

You ask about September, and her posture immediately flinches. “An intern caught me leaving his office. That’s how it started falling apart.”

“Falling apart how?” Jungkook inquires. 

“He started creating distance. After all, we had just been caught, and we were about to be front page news. But I guess he had already decided he was going with a different story.”

Your heart buzzes in your chest, at the thrill of the story cracking wide open. 

“There’s been reporting,” you say, “suggesting the Senator has characterized you in private conversations with colleagues as unstable and vindictive. That you were who pursued him.” You watch her face for the tell. “Is that accurate?”

“He’s called me a lot of things. None of them true, all of them convenient. As a man, he gets to walk into any room in this city and be believed. I have to prove everything, and they’ll say I’m fake.”

“And you’ve never spoken publicly about the imbalance,” Jungkook says. 

Monroe dryly chuckles. “What would be the point of that? He talks, and somehow I get punished,” she pauses, staring at her manicured nails. “We were in love. He was going to propose. I have a text message where he told me he’d never felt like this about anyone. I could show it to you right now and none of it would matter. In politics, a man’s word outweighs a woman’s proof every single time.”

Jungkook's pen has gone still on his notepad. 

“I’ve never deleted a single text from him,” she continues. “I can try to hate him, but I can’t bring myself to delete any of it.”

“Do you regret it?”

She turns her rings, wedding band notably absent. “I regret being surprised by how it ended. I shouldn’t have been. Men like him are always upfront about who they are. I just chose to ignore it.”

“What would you want people to take away from this?” you ask. 

“That loving someone doesn’t make you stupid.” Her eyes bounce between you and Jungkook. “It’s what makes us, even politicians, human.”

You peek at Jungkook from your peripheral. He’s looking at you. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” you say, and Jungkook nods in agreement, both of you reaching for your recorders, thumbs hovering over the stop button. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Monroe says, rising and smoothing down her skirt, “I’m going to need a moment outside.”

Perfume fills the air as she vanishes out the doors. 

Flipping through your notes, you highlight quotes to share with Jenna. Beside you, Jungkook powers down his recorder, sets it gently on the table, rubs a hand over his face. 

Your instinct is to peer over his shoulder at his notes, steal a few key points. Maybe set fire to his belongings. Yet, the urge never comes. 

His gaze rose to yours, big eyes pinning you in your chair, and every muscle in your body goes taut. 

You are in so much fucking trouble. 

“I’m gonna check on her,” you say, scrambling toward the door before he can get another word out. 

The hallway offers minimal relief. In no particular direction, you walk, putting distance between you and the room that holds Jungkook. 

It feels as though Monroe handed you a preview of your future and you’re too far gone to turn around. 

A cough interrupts your train of thoughts, coming from somewhere past the end of the hall. You follow it until you reach a set of doors cracked open, overlooking the floors below. Monroe stands there, one arm wrapped around her waist, other lifting a cigarette to her pursed lips. Smoke floats up into the air, disappearing before taking shape. You hesitate in the doorway, hand resting against the frame, unsure if you’re intruding on something private.

She’s not necessarily the friendliest. But you step out either way. 

As you push the door open further, it creaks, announcing your entrance. Monroe peeks over her shoulder, then turns back. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, settling against the railing a respectful few inches away, 

“I’m okay. Been better.”

“That bad?” You almost slap yourself at your words. Of course it’s that bad. She’s practically the laughingstock of the Capitol. 

“Reliving my failed romantic escapades on camera for a national audience? Never better, actually.” A dry, humorless huff of a laugh. “You should try it sometime.”

“I’ll pass,” you crack a smile. 

“Smart girl.” She taps ash over the railing, watching it scatter and disappear before it hits the ground. Then, places her sunglasses over her eyes as if that’ll shield her from your reading of her emotions. 

For a while, neither of you says anything, silence filled by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of wind through the garden hedges below.

“If you told me two years ago how this would end, I wouldn’t have changed a damn thing,” Monroe studies the cherry of her cigarette. 

“Wow,” is all you can utter. 

“That’s love. Makes you do crazy shit,” she smirks. “I was always a rational girl. Top of my class at law school. And then I let some dude with wrinkled suits gaslight me and my career.”

You let out an undignified snort.

“You had options. Your career, your reputation, your independence. You could have walked away at any point. Why didn’t you?” you ask, and Monroe takes a long drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke disappear into the cool air. 

She peers at you over her sunglasses as if she were sizing you up. “Darling, you really think power protects you from feeling things?”

“Doesn’t it give you the power not to?” You press further, and you don’t even know what you’re looking for from her anymore. Maybe something to dull the ache in your brain.

She cocks a brow, tapping her cigarette to let the ash fall. “Not really. Power, in my opinion, gives you everything except immunity from your own heart.”

You scoff, struggling to hide the anxiety that coils inside your stomach. “But you knew who Delgado was. You knew his history. You knew he’d—” 

“Hurt me? Of course I knew,” she chuckles, inhaling again. With her next exhale, she says, “But knowing something intellectually and protecting yourself from it emotionally are two very different things.”

“So you let it… happen?” 

“I didn’t let anything happen. I made a choice. I chose to love someone who could hurt me. You can’t live life with the fear that people will hurt you. I have spent my entire life being strong and strategic and all the things I dreamed of as a little girl. And you know what that gets you? Lonely. So fucking lonely.” 

You can’t look at her. Can’t let her see whatever expression is on your face right now.

She drops her cigarette on the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of her shoe. “May I ask you something personal?”

You swallow thickly, a lump of cement dragging down your throat. You nod. She continues on, “The other journalist working on this story. Jungkook Jeon. Is he the reason you’re asking me all these questions?”

“No, no,” you rush to argue, but the speed in which you deny only adds further gasoline to the flames, to what she possibly already knows. “No, this is for the story—”

Monroe’s lips spread into a tight smile, a pitying one. “I know what it looks like when someone’s trying to logic their way out of feeling something.”

Bile rises up your throat, and despite the fact that you’re outside, it suddenly feels like there’s not enough air in your lungs. 

“Does he know?" Monroe asks. 

“There’s nothing to know.”

Your stomach churns. Emotions whirl inside you like a hurricane, a storm that was brewing offshore for years, gaining momentum everytime you told yourself the skies were clear. 

Monroe chuckles, reaching into her purse for another Marlboro. “That’s what I said too. Right up until I couldn’t say it anymore.”

“It’s really not like that with us.” You try to steady your tone, but it comes out uneven. “He’s… he’s competitive, and he doesn’t care about who he hurts in the process to get to the top. He’s too ambitious, cocky, too—”

“Too much like you?”

Everything feels off-kilter. Maybe it’s the cigarette smoke hazing your brain, making every fuzzy at the seams to where you might think she’s right. You open your mouth to argue—to list all the ways you’re different, all the reasons this isn’t the same—but the words die in your throat because they’re not real reasons at all. They’re excuses.

“He and I couldn’t be further from the same.” 

“Oh, honey,” Her eyes soften, and you concentrate hard to ignore her gaze. “You know that’s not true.”

Feebly, you mumble, “It is.”

“[Y/N]...” she shakes her head, ashing her cigarette. “The heart doesn’t care about things like success or career goals. It just shows up and changes everything you thought you knew about yourself.”

Your fingernails dig crescent moons into your palms. “It’s just professional rivalry. Tension… it’s nothing more.”

Monroe studies you. Looks at you, past the wall you’ve built up, past the facade you’ve been hiding underneath. It’s as though she’s stripped away every defense you’ve ever built, seeing straight through to the parts of yourself you’ve spent decades burying. She takes a deep inhale of her cigarette, then offers it out to you subtly, but you shake your head. 

With a soft smile, she says, “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

She’s wrong, you know she is, because that’s not possible. And despite everything you tell yourself, even though you’re terrified of the answer, you ask, “How does he look at me?”

“Like you’re the only one worth debating.”

The cigarette falls from her hands to the floor below, letting the flame burn out on its own.

“Y-You don’t know him.”

“I don’t need to to recognize a look. I dated a man who works in politics, remember?” Monroe pulls out her lighter, works absently at the flint. 

“It’s just really not that.”

Except maybe it is, and you want out. You need out right now. 

“Why not?” she presses, lips curving up. 

“Because… well, I told you.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she lowers her voice an octave, “Not that I’d have anyone to tell. God knows I’ve burned through most of my friends this year. But for what it’s worth… and I recognize it’s coming from someone whose life just imploded on camera, so take it accordingly… avoiding it does more harm than good.”

For once, your brain, so quick to build a case, so practiced at finding the counterpoint, draws a blank. 

“Anyway,” Monroe straightens. “I should head back in before your charming, transparent colleague comes looking for both of us.”

“He’s not that charming.”

She cocks a brow, shakes a head, and walks past you down the hallway. 

The smell of smoke still lingers in the air, and you feel lightheaded, world tilting on its axis. 

When you left his apartment, you weren’t thinking about whether or not you made the right choice. You needed to escape. It needed to be over, terrified of what would happen if it didn’t, if you let it continue, if your toe dipped even deeper in that pool. So worried it would begin to mean more than it already did, that your heart would be on the line for a fleeting orgasm and a man who knows you better than you know yourself. 

Because guys like Jungkook Jeon… confident guys, intelligent guys, ones that can command a room with their presence, guys like that break you apart without a second thought. 

And you can’t deal with the wreckage anymore.

But it doesn’t matter, because some twisted part of you doesn’t care about your constant denial. 

He wants you for some reason, and possibly, you might want him too. 

A pathological litigator to the bone, Jeon Jungkook DOES NOT accept anything he hasn’t read or written himself. He doesn’t break any laws just to get a win of course, but he most certainly walks around them every once in a while to get his way. It’s crucial to be assertive but NOT aggressive, otherwise he can’t lull the other party into agreeing to his terms. You’re no exception to the rule.

Which is why he packages your impromptu meetup as “Let’s get coffee” rather than “I wanna negotiate how I’m gonna use you for my personal gratification.” 

He hasn’t penned a deliberately verbose “Terms of Use” to bury his motive under a pile of ‘hereinafter’s or anything. There is no 50 Shades-style cringe contract to sign. He just asks for one thing, and it’s so concise and straightforward that his motive stands before you buck naked. 

With a blinding spotlight cast on it for good measure.

“For 24 hours, I own your whole life, so think it over carefully,” he ends his pitch. “And if you decide you wanna do it, give me a three-day window.”

“Three-day wi— Why even?” you stare at him, slightly suspicious.

“Where’s the fun if you know exactly when it’s gonna happen?” he flashes you a devilish grin. 

So think you do.

It isn’t what Jungkook might have you do that you contemplate so hard, staring at your bedroom ceiling. You interrogate yourself brutally to find out how much trust you’ve really deposited in him over the years. Whether it’s enough to let him take the steering wheel of your life, even if it’s for 24 hours. Feelings or not, there is no other person you lean on as much as him when it comes to serious matters, but… 

What if he doesn’t consider this serious at all? What if this is just not that deep for him? At the end of the day, it’s just a game you play. 

Are you overthinking this for no reason at all? It’s not like the guy’s gonna have you rob a bank—the most he’ll do is ask you to suck his dick somewhere risky. 

But how risky? 

Would he just not give a shit because he has the reins for one day? Would you somehow find yourself between a rock and a hard place? What if you agree despite all his disclaimers and still end up in a situation where you have to say no? Would he be disappointed? Would you be disappointed by what he asks of you?

Do you not trust him enough after all? 

Well, it’s not like you have to say yes. Your cab negotiations had NO condition that you have to give him unlimited access to have sex with him. Technically, you can just say no to the free use part, tell him it might be a bit much for you, and still keep fucking him. Dude’s been getting no action for three years; it’s not likely that it’ll be a dealbreaker.

But your morbid curiosity eats the last bit of your trust issues like Pacman after a three-year fast. YOU HAVE TO KNOW WHAT THIS IS LIKE!

You grab your phone and send a text to Jungkook, declaring your three-day window as Friday to Sunday. Before you can assume a sleeping position, however, your phone goes off with notifications back to back, vibrating itself to the very edge of your nightstand.

From: HAHA JK (unless? 👀) tomorrow night before you go to bed change the batteries of your bullet sleep naked with that inside you in OPERATING condition and don’t leave your keys in the lock istfg i’ll call a locksmith

Reading that to-do list, your stomach does three front tucks back to back and sticks the landing perfectly. You know your entire blood supply is rushing to your face right now because the pillow feels colder out of nowhere. Jungkook’s going to be here to own your life for one day. He will say, and you will do. It suddenly feels like you’re going to get on one of those rides that freefalls from a jillion feet tomorrow night.

Wait, tomorrow night?

You lunge at your phone and wake up your screen. The time shows 00:04 and the day tag reads “Thur”. You haven’t discussed “business hours”, but does he intend to be here at 12 a.m. sharp or something? 

So… in less than 24 hours? 

On a business day?

HOLY FUCK THAT’S SOON!!!

You spend your entire Thursday with your heart clawing at the bars of its enclosure. Did he deliberately ask for a THREE-day window so he could pick a business day no matter what? Is he actually going to come to work with you tomorrow? And if so… what for… exactly?

All of a sudden, you catch yourself looking at every corner of your office with an interior designer’s critical eye. Your desk, the couch across it meant for your guests, the conference table, the gigantic windowsill… And once you see the ultra HD porn that manifests in your mind, depicting how you’d get fucked senseless on each surface with him breathing down your neck, you just cannot unsee it! 

You may have had a hands-free microorgasm, but that’s besides the point.

You deliberately bury yourself in work for the rest of the day just so you’d be tired enough to go to bed early, but NO fucking dice. No matter how much you try, you can’t sleep a wink because of whatever frat party’s going on in your chest and stomach. It’s such a jumbled mix of emotions that you can’t tell what it really is. Is it fear? Excitement? Anxiety? Anticipation? Fexcitetycipation?

Before you can properly decipher the Inside Out situation, however, Jungkook’s spare keys turn in the lock, and you hear your front door open at exactly 12 a.m. It wasn’t even part of the ‘assignment’, but in a panic fit, you decide that you’re gonna pretend you’re asleep, hoping your heart thumping in your ears isn’t audible from the outside.

The rest of your senses are so alert that you can hear a hair strand fall, really. 

The front door closes, and keys slide into the lock again, turning with satisfying clanks. Footsteps approach closer. Jungkook’s cologne walks into your bedroom long before he does, bringing a bit of night chill with it. Something like a duffel bag softly thuds against the floor. The rustle of clothes being discarded fills the room, but there is no movement towards you. The footsteps fade away. In the distance, the squeak of a faucet melts into high-pressure water bursting from the showerhead, immediately followed by Jungkook humming a tune to himself. 

You almost crack up. 

His presence in the house gives you so much peace that it erases whatever weird amalgam of emotions was pressing on your ribcage earlier. All you feel is giddy excitement now, glowing with a bit of the warm and fuzzies.

Shortly after, the water stops running. The shower door slides open. The footsteps approach again, but this time, there is movement towards you. You feel a balmy breeze blowing your way courtesy of the scalding hot water Jungkook loves showering with, carrying hints of your shower gel with it. You’re not supposed to peek to keep your façade, but you’re dying to know what he looks like half-naked under the sultry lights of your nightstand lamps. 

Well, it’s dark enough. You just need to make sure it’s not obvious.

“Hey, beautiful,” he softly whispers.

IS THIS FUCKING PART OF IT? 

The way your heart races would put the entire F1 roster to shame. Does he know you’re awake, or is he saying shit because he thinks you can’t hear him in your sleep? In any case, you’re glad to be protected by a fabric firewall because that throb between your legs would snitch on your lack of REM sleep big time. 

Turns out it’s probably gonna snitch anyway since Jungkook decides your hiding days are over.

The bed dips a little with his weight, and he carefully peels the thin blanket off of you. When the heat you’ve been preserving under the covers vanishes into air, the chill that licks your body marks the wet parts with a frigid X. 

You have not realized you were dripping a little on your sheets. 

But you know the bullet has nothing to do with it. You know because the pulsating sensation only manifested after Jungkook set foot into your house. The moment he set foot, actually. 

Simp much?

A satisfied hiss hits your ears, and you feel the warmth of his skin on your thighs, large hands delicately caressing you. When you finally jump the gun and open your eyes the tiniest bit, you kinda understand why he wanted something stimulating you in his absence.

He’s drooling like a starving hyena staring at your sopping wet pussy.

“Delllicious,” he licks his lips, contently exhaling. “Thinking good thoughts of me?” 

The correct question is, when do you ever not?

He settles between your legs and removes the bullet very very carefully as if he’s trying not to knock down a Jenga tower. He clicks it off, and out of nowhere, places the most tender kiss on your clit.

Obviously you would flinch!

He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask you if you’re awake or not. He just chuckles with his eyes closed and continues with his kisses. Maybe that’s his way of trying to lull you to sleep, who knows?

He slowly gets back on his knees, removes the towel clinging to his waist, and drops it on the floor. Yet again, you can’t be sure if he’s putting on a show or just doing things knowing you’re “not there” to perceive him.

But when he smears your slick on the bullet all over his cock and gets hard right in front of you…

HOLY F—!

“All of this is mine to play with now,” he presses his tip on your pussy. “I wanna show up in your wet dreams.”

AS IF he doesn’t already!

You think this is the part where he starts fucking you, but he seems to be just teasing himself. Jungkook must be the only man in existence who holds up the promise of “Just the tip” because his tip is literally the only thing that’s in, fucking you only very very shallowly. He can just full-on bury himself inside you, but he just strokes his cock to accompany that barely-there contact.

Maybe he’s a man after your own heart, relishing the climb a lot more than the fall.

“I wanna be the only thing you think of when you pleasure yourself,” he quietly utters, which turns into a grunt like he’s in mild pain. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.”

The correct question is, when is he ever not?

Oh, you can’t pretend. You can’t pretend you don’t hear him. You can’t pretend you don’t feel him. You can’t pretend you’re not about to lose your damn mind watching him float in ecstasy just from this much; there’s just no fucking way. 

“Do it properly,” you urge him, voice convincingly hoarse from keeping silent. “This isn’t hard enough.”

Jungkook sees your half smile and reflects it back at you with a maniacal one. He throws your legs on his shoulder, getting ready to hit deep.

“Did you see me in your dreams?” he whispers, even though there is no one else sleeping in the room.

“Will you cum inside me if I did?” you clasp your hands behind his nape.

“I’ll cum inside you even if you didn’t.”

Cannonballing into your lips, he takes off, precise thrusts hitting just the right spots. He refuses to let your lips go, even if it means less oxygen for him. The sounds he makes would make an unsuspecting listener think he must be having the meal of his life, the way he moans in delight with such wet sounds. 

When he notices he’s about to hit the finish line, Jungkook picks up his pace, sprinting at full speed, but he only allows the first burst inside you. Then he quickly pulls out, fervently stroking himself to coat your pussy with himself through and through. Watching those thick strings drip from your clit down to your hole…

If he physically could, he would cum again.

He settles between your legs and spreads them as wide as he can, just admiring the view of your creamed cunt. So vulnerable, all spread for him to please. So delicious. Absolutely mouthwatering. He licks a long drag from your entrance to your clit, smiling into your pussy when it makes you shiver. He wraps his arms around your thighs, closes his eyes, and begins to have the meal of his life.

For real this time. 

Of course he notices you moan louder when he stimulates certain spots, but he doesn’t care. He just indulges in your taste mixed with his however the fuck he wants, licking, sucking, slurping to his heart’s content. But his heart’s only. He doesn’t care if you pull fistfuls of his hair when you cum, arching into his mouth with a damn near scream. He doesn’t care if you thrash under him, trying to get away from the ticklish feeling. He doesn’t care if you beg him to stop. He just eats.

And eats.

Then eats some more.

“Shh, shh, shh, you can take it. Just enjoy what it feels like to selfishly receive,” he kisses your clit.  “And you’ll receive a lot today.”

Jesus christ, if you knew this was what the Free ‘The Big Spook’ Use™ was, you would have suggested it eons ago!

“Jungkook, I… I need to get some sleep,” you yawn, finally feeling the weight on your eyelids after the massive relief. “Work… tomorrow.”

“Then sleep. I’m not stopping you.”

“You know I can’t when you…! You know when you’re… You… You know…”

“Then that’s just too bad,” he serenely smiles at you. “I’m so in the mood to play.”

Play… Playing with him… Being his plaything when… he’s so in the mood…

What the fuck is this Satan’s spawn doing to you? Are you somehow getting bewitched?!

The play part is all fun and games, but there is only one problem with it. And it’s a big one.

When you agreed to this, you were somehow under the impression that Jungkook was going to treat you like an object, and you were fully prepared for it. Because he made it sound like something super dark, physically and mentally taxing, with high potential to leave a very bad taste in your mouth. You were expecting to feel bad, or at the very least… challenged. You expected to struggle.

Yet what he’s doing, the way he’s moving…

It’s a lot more dangerous than the alternative. It moves like a duck, quacks like a duck, but you’re supposed to convince yourself that the cute white fluff waddling your way is NOT a duck. Because you kinda have to.

Otherwise you’re gonna believe he loves you, and not like a friend at all.

“Turn around,” he taps the side of your thighs. “Arch your ass for me. There you go.”

Oh, okay, there it is.

This is the shoe, and it’s about to drop. This is where you get your ass spanked, hair pulled, and get called a bunch of profanities while he drills you into this bed. You get into position as instructed, and when you feel his heat behind you, you brace for impact.

Something does land on your body, but it’s not a smack. It’s just a kiss between your shoulder blades. A wet one that makes loud sounds.

You’re going to draw your last breath in this bed tonight.

He makes his way down, kissing along your spine, and stops on the small of your back. You feel his hands on your hips, and he continues kissing your waist as if he wants to suck some poison out of you. His breath on your skin is like a hallucinogen, making you imagine a reality that will never exist. 

Every time he presses those damn lips on you, you’re getting a little more delusional.

His kisses move further down. It tickles when he grazes his teeth on your hips, taking gentle bites from it, and a moan cuts your giggles in half when his tongue dips into your pussy. He licks into your hole like he wants to quench his thirst after being forced to stand under the desert sun for hours.

“Shh, steady,” he urges as he fondles you a little harder. “Hold it.”

“B–But I’m… I’m s… c–close.”

“Should I stop?”

“NO!”

“Didn’t think so,” he chuckles. “Don’t interrupt my fun now. I’m really enjoying myself here.”

If he doesn’t want his goddamn fun interrupted, then maybe he should fucking take it easy with the very thing that’s gonna RUIN IT!

Of course he doesn’t stop. He just keeps licking, licking, and licking, gradually sinking his fingers deeper into your supple flesh as a pseudo-warning with each glide of his tongue, but you can’t help it. 

How can anybody help it when they are fucking ascending in his mouth?!

“What did I just tell you?” he heaves an exasperated sigh.

“I’m… s–sorry, it was just… too good,” you speak through your stuttering breathing.

“Is that supposed to be a good excuse?”

Jungkook doesn’t seem amused at all. His face is straight, his voice is stern, and he gives you zero clues to correctly guess whether he’s playing a part or not. Your only fallback option is to take his annoyance at face value and assume he’s indeed not kidding.

“Are you mad?” you hesitantly ask.

“No, but I’m upset,” he responds with a pout, brows knitting tighter together. “I asked for one thing, and you completely ignored it.”

“Can I make it up to you?”

“I don’t think you have a choice in the matter.”

He flips you around to face him, then grabs his cock, pumping himself to full hardness.

“Now I’m gonna fix myself another plate, with extra frosting this time,” he rubs his tip around your sodden folds before he aligns his cock with your oozing hole. “If you interrupt me again, I will not be as nice, and everything you’re paranoid about will happen.” 

A sense of dread settles in your chest. Okay, so this is the shoe. You won’t be able to resist his relentless attempts to snap you, and he’s finally gonna have his excuse to punish you.

Who knows just how much your acute worry is blaring on your face, the way his features instantly soften.

“But if you make me happy, I’ll make you happi–er,” he emphasizes. “Are you gonna behave now?”

You just nod in response as if you have swallowed your entire vocabulary. He flashes you a warm smile, and something tingles in your chest.

“Then let’s kiss and make up,” he steals your lips for the umpteenth time.

The phantom death grip on your throat suddenly loosens. With every kiss, whatever anxious feeling was trying to break in gets shunned away. It’s like you’re spellbound. 

He is bewitching you, you’re sure of it now.

Arms and legs tangled with one another, Jungkook fucks you dangerously slow and deep, and it’s so much worse than having him pass through you at berserk speed. Because you can feel every inch inside you. You can feel exactly how his girth grazes against your swollen walls. You can feel that spot the curvature of his cock hits just right. You would much rather get fucked senseless and messy, preferably with his soft kisses replaced with spanks, because then you could guarantee with absolute certainty that you wouldn’t cum. 

Yet this motherfucker is HELLBENT on forcing an orgasm out of you.

You steady your breathing to the best of your ability, trying to distract yourself by thinking the unsexiest thoughts. The overstimulation helps a bit, but at the end of the day, you can’t put a leash on fucking biology. 

You can’t put a leash on your fucking feelings!

Your mind is damn near convinced you’re fucking a boyfriend who’s insanely in love with you because the only thing missing from the scene is Jungkook whispering ‘I love you’s in between his kisses. He holds you in his arms, playing with your hair, kissing you endlessly, softly moaning with every thrust, and you’re on the very brink of just screaming at his face, “Either marry me, or give my fucking sanity back!!!”

And when he moves his kisses from your lips to your neck, something finally snaps within you. You do cum, but he doesn’t seem mad this time.

“I’m really sorry! I just… I couldn’t help it!”

“Shh,” he soothes you immediately. “That was some solid effort.”

“You’re not upset?”

“I’d never get upset when I know you didn’t just drop the ball. It’s the thought that counts,” he runs his fingers through your hair with a smile. “You made me very proud.”

He then sits down to finish his plate with extra frosting, and you find yourself in a ceaseless loop. He eats. Then you fuck. Then he eats. Then you fuck. It’s like the man runs on unlimited stamina, and you realize you’ve literally fucked until morning when your alarm goes off.

To no one’s surprise, you’re thoroughly and utterly spent.

“Good morning,” he grins at you. “Slept okay?”

“Oh, fuck you, Jeon.”

“Still? Damn, you are insatiable.”

You slap his arm and break into a smile yourself, albeit a very fucked out one, and grab your phone to turn off the alarm.

“Alright, I need a freezing ass shower to stay awake for the rest of the day,” you lock your screen and rub your eyes.

“Turn off your phone.”

You look at him questioningly, but he doesn’t flinch, looking dead serious. You fulfill his request, and he pulls you back to bed again.

“Now turn off your brain.”

You’re not sure how you’re supposed to do it, but it kinda helps when he kisses your forehead.

“Today, you do everything I say, no questions asked. You do it to make me happy,” he caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers. “And if you make me happy?”

“You’ll make me happier?” you snort.

He offers a click of his tongue paired with a wink as wordless confirmation. 

“You seem a bit too giddy about all this,” you observe.

“Fuck yeah, I am. I’m the birthday boy, and today all my wishes come true,” he lands a slap on your hips. “Get your ass up, I’m making pancakes.”

“Are you sure you’re doing this right?” you furrow your brows as you get up from the bed. “Everything so far was as if I’m the birthday girl.”

“They haven’t published a strict rulebook to follow yet. Might just spoil you rotten, who knows?” he smirks. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Hm?”

Jungkook gets on his feet and walks to you, holding your face in his hands. He looks into your eyes with so much meaning that you don’t even have to ask, “Are you for fucking real right now?”

“Starting right now, you do not talk unless I let you,” he instructs. “Is that clear?”

Oh, okay, so this is the shoe, then. Right?

You nod as you try to remember what you had on the calendar for today. Not that you have much of a choice after everything that transpired…

“Good,” he places a tender kiss on your lips. “Go take your shower while I make breakfast.”

You’re properly dazed when you get under that water because nothing about this makes any goddamn sense. Bro claims he has trouble getting hard and sustaining it, which he calls an affectile dysfunction—a.k.a. he allegedly only gets turned on to specific things. The circumstantial evidence from a club alley and steamy hotline action kinda sorta suggests he has a bit of a thing for cum. And mayyybe the idea of sharing his partner as well as being watched. So far, so good.

Yet this morning, the aching between your legs begs to fucking differ.

It wouldn’t be entirely off the mark to call what you did all night making love. Not a shred of kink, except for his staple cum thingy. That was quite literally softer than all the sex you had with your actual exes combined. Is it ridiculous to think he popped a pill last night to be able to perform? Or…

Is Jungkook… lying to you about some things?

You wake up from the thoughts you’re lost in when the shower door suddenly slides open. Jungkook randomly joins you to take a very quick shower next to you in silence. Once he’s done, he reaches for the shower door, but stops at the last second.

He grabs the loofah from your hands and turns you around to wash your back. Since you’re on “timeout”, unless he says things, it’s dead quiet, and the lack of snarky remarks starts to feel awkward. You need something to remind you that he’s still the egomaniacal asshole, otherwise…

Otherwise…

Jungkook hands you the loofah back, and with yet another quick peck on your lips, he finally exits the shower, leaving you to rinse your body. You wonder if you’ll be able to wash some other unwanted things off if you scrub yourself hard enough. 

Unbothered to operate a blow dryer, you just blot up the excess moisture from your hair with a towel and follow the delicious smells with your fluffy robe still on. When you reach your destination, however, the breakfast table is so damn lavish that it makes your jaw drop, hard enough to cause a sizeable dent in the floor. 

Did he fucking SHOP last night because you didn’t even have this much stuff in your fridge!

“No, that’s not where you sit.”

When Jungkook majestically cockblocks your blossoming fling with the scrambled eggs, you stare at him a little annoyed, still standing. He holds your hand and pulls you towards himself, pointing at the floor with his eyes. 

“On your knees for me.”

Oh…

No, that’s… Is that the shoe?

“No, I’m not gonna make you eat there,” he responds as if he can read your mind, then takes his cock out of his gray sweatpants. “Fluff me.”

Maybe you’re a little bit ashamed of the sigh of relief you discreetly let out.

When you get on your knees, you realize Jungkook really meant what he said last night. It was by design, but all you did was indeed selfishly receive. Everything. You didn’t even lift a finger for his pleasure.

You look up at him with a smile and drag his sweatpants all the way down, spreading his legs a little wider. Your hands caressing his sides, you start with kisses on his thighs and move your way up to his balls, then his shaft, then start climbing towards his tip. You trace the bulging veins on his cock with your tongue, relishing the breathy moans he lets slip, but before you even take him in your mouth, he stops you.

“Fuck, you’re gonna ruin my appetite if you keep doing that,” he flashes you an already fucked out smile. “Come up. I saved you a seat.”

When you rise to your feet again, he undoes the belt of your robe first, taking a moment to enjoy the view. He then turns you around and makes you sit on his lap.

Directly on his cock.

“Comfortable?” he asks, pushing a little further inside you. 

You nod and reach for the fork to seduce the pancakes this time, just to get cockblocked yet again.

“No,” Jungkook grabs your hand and puts it back down. “I’ll feed you.”

FEED YOU?

Oh, god, this is even worse than the kiss-fucking. Just what the hell is he PLAYING AT?!

Other than driving you clinically insane, that is.

“Point. Which one do you want?”

You point at the raspberry ones you’ve been rizzing up, and Jungkook sticks a fork in one, cutting it up into little pieces, then feeds you the first bite. Your eyes roll back with how orgasmic that taste is. 

“Good?” he smirks at your enthusiastic reaction. 

You fervently nod, and Jungkook begins his princess treatment in earnest.

He actually hand-feeds you everything you want, one arm wrapped around your waist caressing you from time to time. You feel him get hard inside you, occasionally throbbing, which makes you silently giggle. But he’s treating you so well that you’re getting suspicious as to when the use part will begin.

When you’re finished with your pancakes, you reach for the little bowl that has cut-up peaches in it, and he immediately stops you again, but this time, you stare daggers at him and break free. He heaves a deep, annoyed sigh, clearly about to get mad, but when you turn to him with a piece of peach hovering over his mouth, he instantly softens. He lets you feed him the plump fruit, licking the juices on your fingers a little, and having absolutely no impulse control, he pulls you into a kiss.

WHY IS EVERYTHING SO SOFT?!

His kisses are a bit heated this time, turning into gentle bites. He starts fucking into you with his idle fingers playing with your clit.

“God, I can’t stop…” he pants into your neck. “You feel so good.”

The whole thing is like a summer rain. It quickly escalates, he rains on you, and it’s all clear skies and sunshine again. He calms down as he catches his breath in the crook of your neck, then continues with the breakfast as if nothing had happened just now. It makes you chuckle.

“Full?” he asks when you stop his next bite. 

You nod.

“Did you like it?”

You nod again.

“Then give me a kiss.”

FUCKING STOP!

But of course you don’t, because the day you say no to kissing Jungkook, you need to be checked into a psych ward. Of course you kiss him even though it’s horrendously domestic. Your heart flutters when he kisses your breasts.

“Now that you’ve finished eating, I can start.” He taps on your side for you to get up and clears half the plates to make space. “Sit on the table.”

You look at him all incredulous, but considering how he sits back on the chair, it wasn’t a figure of speech. You sit on the table, and he pulls his chair closer, pulling something out of his pocket that looks like a lube bottle. He opens the cap and holds it under your nose.

“Does it smell good?”

You nod.

“It’s edible,” he grins. “Spread your legs for me.”

Unlike his M.O. that you know by heart by now, Jungkook doesn’t dive right in. He drips a bit of the oil into his palm and coats his hands with it, then starts massaging your lips carefully to soothe the “burn”, observing your face every once in a while for any signs of discomfort. 

Then comes the happy ending. Well, sort of.

He buries his head between your legs, but is extra gentle with the way he moves. Nothing rash or hard. Just little licks and a lot of kisses, keeping you wet, as if he wants to relax you rather than “have sex” with you.

And while watching him work, you take the deepest breaths of your life to not make a sound. 

“It’s okay, you can moan,” he graciously permits. “It doesn’t count as talking.”

He makes you whimper a little bit with his salacious spa treatment, but makes no effort to make you cum. Because this isn’t to make you cum. 

True to his word, the man is literally just having breakfast.

“Time to go get ready for work,” he checks his watch when the alarm goes off, then starts clearing the table. “I’ll take care of this.”

You don’t know what to feel as you change. It’s like you’re in a limbo, stuck between cloud nine, ten, eleven and recurring car crashes. Does Jungkook have an actual motive here, or is he just winging it? If he’s winging it, why is he winging it like that? 

If you somehow survive these twenty four hours and find yourself holding onto a shred of hope, you’re fucking doomed.

“Pencil skirt. Hot.” 

It’s uncanny how he keeps manifesting when you’re mid-spiral, and this time, he aborts your self-talk as you do your finishing touches in the bathroom.

Come to think of it, this might be the very first time Jungkook sees you in business casual.

“If I was your boss, would you stay late for me?” he puts his hands on your hips, gently rubbing you. “Let me take the day’s stress out on you?”

You’re slowly starting to believe your own theory that he uses some sort of enhancement because just how can he be this horny all the time? He has to be on something!

But maybe it’s a bit contagious because you find yourself grinning at his reflection in the mirror with a nod.

“Of course you would. You’re my plaything,” he hikes your skirt up to your waist. “God, the way I’d make everyone die of jealousy, fucking you all over my office at all hours of the day.”

You stop moving as he drags your underwear down, watching him take his cock out in the mirror. It’s like you suddenly can’t multitask at all.

“Shh, just do your makeup,” he urges as he slides inside you.

This is like the breakfast table all over again. His thrusts are lazy because he doesn’t fuck you to cum. It’s just for fun. Just because he feels like snacking a little bit. 

Fucking easier said than done—you’d like to see how he drafts his deposition when you suck his dick. Christ!

Once he gets his fill, he puts his pants back on, but removes your underwear altogether. He stares into your soul in the mirror as he licks it.

“No panties for you today. I’ll be keeping this,” he rolls the fabric into a ball and puts it in his pocket. “Oh, I almost forgot.”

He has something in his hand that looks like a microscopic vinyl sticker. He removes it from the paper and carefully places it right behind your ear, clearly loving what he sees. 

“Beautiful,” he kisses your neck with a content smile. “Ready when you are.” 

When he leaves the bathroom, you hold up a hand mirror to see what the heck you’ve just been branded with. It’s not a microchip to track your GPS or anything; it’s indeed a sticker of sorts that looks like a fake tattoo.

It just has the letters JK on it. 

As Jungkook drives you to work, you try your best to come off your strange high to no avail. The fresh air that caresses your face, the coffee you’re sipping from the gigantic tumbler, nothing seems to work. Your heart still beats erratically, and you feel entirely disoriented.

“I’ll pick you up at 6, and we’ll get some dinner, okay?” 

What?

So this tantric torture is supposed to continue outside. Very cool. You curse a mouthful at yourself for your self-fulfilling prophecy with the “Haha yeah the most he’ll ask is to suck his dick somewhere risky.” There you have it. 

You nod at him and open the car door, but he grabs you by the arm before your feet can touch the ground.

“No kiss?”

JUST WHAT THE FUCK IS HIS PROBLEM?

That’s it. By the end of these twenty four hours, which suspiciously feel like forty eight, you’re going to have a massive meltdown. You’d like to call your lawyer to revise your last will and testament before you say goodbye to this cruel world, but unfortunately, your lawyer is Jeon Jungkook!

Yet he looks at you with such sad eyes that one has to be a heartless monster to say no to him. Of course you kiss him even though it’s horrendously domestic. You kiss him with too many butterflies in your stomach, and you start dying immediately when he lingers.

Free use, my ass. Dude’s straight up free using your heart.

You successfully make it to noon without going crazy. At least the ache between your legs seems to have soothed. There are no meetings scheduled and no fires to put out—it’s one of those legendary Pokémon status rare days where you can just lock in and be productive without any interruptions.

So naturally, that’s when your door opens without a knock, and Jeon fucking Jungkook struts in wearing one of his damn bespoke Pradas, looking like an absolute whore.

“Thanks, Aileen,” he flashes an extremely charming smile at your secretary, but when he closes the door, his face turns almost demonic. You stare at him with an expression that yells, “The FUCK are you doing here in your harlot attire?” pointing at the suit that seems brand new.

“Oh, this?” he dusts off his shoulder and adjusts his cuffs. “Figured I should look nice for our lunch date.”

You almost spurt the water you’re sipping on in a very Looney Tunes fashion, but he doesn’t seem like he’s joking. He approaches your desk in slow motion like the OG demon that invented lust and speaks very very quietly against your lips.  

“Found this great restaurant that serves the best food,” he tugs your bottom lip down with his thumb. “Thought we could spend your lunch break there. Sounds good?”

You nod, unsure if you’re a little scared or massively turned on. Jungkook holds your hand and helps you get up, but when you reach for your bag, he suddenly stops you. 

“I didn’t say the restaurant was outside,” he smirks, running his fingers down your cleavage. “I almost turned the fucking car around after dropping you off. I barely made it to lunch.”

He starts hiking your skirt up again, and your head inadvertently turns to the door. 

“Shh, it’s fine,” he quietly reassures you. “Do you trust me?”

DO YA?

Just how many prophecies have you come up with within the span of a few days? It’s like every drastic “What if” you tried to workshop decided to go “Actually, nuh uh”, coming true one by one scarily fast.

But it’s Jungkook. If you’re not gonna trust him, then who can you possibly trust?

You eventually nod.

“Good girl,” he kisses the tip of your nose. “Stay like this.”

You have no idea what the heck is going on when he lies on your desk out of nowhere. He lets his head dangle off the edge, looking up at you, then pulls you by your hips to mount your pussy on his mouth. Once he positions you, he unbuckles his belt and frees his cock, gently pressing on your back to lower yourself on him. You can’t believe that you oblige without so much as a “Uh, hello?” tap on the shoulder.

Are you… fucking sixty-nining this man on your DESK right now?

You can’t tell if it’s because of the gargantuan amounts of risk, but you don’t remember ever feeling this much thrill in your entire life. The heroinesque high seems to even change Jungkook’s taste as he fucks into your mouth. He’s suddenly this sweetest forbidden fruit that you have to take a bite from at least once a day, his decadent flavor growing more and more intense on your tongue. It’s as if time stops. You can’t perceive, nor care about anything that isn’t Jungkook. Just Jungkook’s taste. Jungkook’s scent. Jungkook’s pleasure. Jungkook.

Jungkook. 

Jungkook.

When you convulse on his face with muffled moans, he finally lets go and floods you, holding onto your hips for dear life. He sounds completely out of it, and you’re no different. Consuming every last drop, you peel yourself off of him, wondering if he was relentlessly kissing you to nuke whatever inhibitions you may have.

Because you feel full-on drunk.

“Had to make it a standing lunch for time constraints. We’ll get a private room next time,” he bites your lips, then lands a playful smack on your ass. “See you in a few hours, beautiful.”

After Jungkook leaves, you just plop down on your chair, just zoning out. A literal case of “no thoughts, head empty”. The purpose of today is to have you spiral out of reality, apparently. What the heck just happened? Even when you were appraising the porn-tential of your office furniture yesterday, this wasn’t one of the possibilities. 

On the bright side, you strangely feel full as if you’ve had a 10-course meal.

Unfortunately, the glow of the day ends there when Aileen drops a bombshell in your office, requiring you to get into a nasty fight with corporate communications. In the blink of an eye, it’s like your horny delusions only happened in your head because there is zero drop of elation left in your veins with how red you’re seeing.

“Oh, FUCK YOU, how many times are we gonna have to tell you to do your fucking JOB?!”

Your afternoon from hell reaches its climax with you fervently pacing in the room, spelling out extremely basic stuff on the phone, frothing at the mouth and getting frighteningly close to going on a rampage. You’re so deafened by your fury that you don’t even realize Jungkook is standing by your door until you turn around. Still cursing away, you check the time, then cover the receiver.

“It’s 5:30. You’re early,” you address Jungkook rather quietly, then immediately return to your call. “AS IF you know how to follow a deadline. I wasn’t talking to you!

“You’re talking,” he speaks, brows dangerously knit together. 

“It’s work,” you echo his tone to a T before ending your call. “Oh, jesus fucking christ, just do whatever you want!”

You slam the receiver back in the cradle, rubbing your temples to come down from the extreme stress high. Meanwhile, someone doesn’t think you deserve that kind of break. 

“You think this is a fucking game?”

You open your eyes and look at Jungkook, in sheer disbelief that he’s actually serious right now. The expression on his face reads like a mixture of anger and disappointment. 

You should declare yourself a witch at your earliest convenience because the very thing you’ve been dreading to come true is actually coming true.

“Jungkook, this is—”

“Work, yeah,” he starts taking slow steps towards you. “What was the very first thing I told you? This does not happen at your convenience. It happens at mine.”

“I know, but it’s—”

“I asked you to think it over carefully, and I told you I own your life for 24 hours,” he recounts the terms of your deal you already know too well. “This is how you hold up your end of the bargain?”

“Will you calm the fuck down?!” you protest in frustration, quickly dimming your volume to a loud whisper. “If someone hears this, I’ll get fired!”

“Then you need to decide,” he stands right before you, barely two inches away. “You either trust me, or you don’t. There is no in between.”

Do you not trust him enough after all? 

Jungkook is the most cautious man you know. He makes a living out of fine print and loopholes, which gives him some diabolical superpower that makes him think of conditions that never occur to anyone. It’s probably why he has a huge zero under his “Cases Lost” column. 

And it would be a lie to say that his OCD meticulousness isn’t a huge source of reassurance for you.

“You either actually believe that I do shit with complete disregard of consequences on your life,” he continues slowly, “or you don’t.” 

Jungkook is… the most cautious man you know. To the point of insufferable actually. And not too long ago, you even said it to him yourself. 

You’d never do something without covering your own ass first. You’re way too cautious.

Why do you feel fucking duped all of a sudden?

“What were you talking to Aileen about this afternoon?” you ask him, slightly annoyed.

He doesn’t answer you. He’s not necessarily smiling, but something in his features has changed. You know that look from somewhere, and it makes you wanna choke him to death for playing elaborate tricks on you.

“I’ll ask you one last time,” he insists. “Do you or do you not trust me?”

“I do,” you reply with no pause this time.

“Show me.”

You have no idea how you can provide conclusive evidence that you trust him, so you do the only thing you can think of. You hold his face and kiss him, and Jungkook’s knees almost give way, quick to melt into your lips. 

But when you pull away, he changes his personality at the snap of a finger like he’s changing shirts.

“Since you loooove talking so much, I’ll give you a few words to say,” he crosses his arms over his chest. “Apologize for your disobedience.”

Way to put you on the spot like that.

You don’t even know what anything is anymore. The lines between reality and make-believe are completely blurred. One minute, he is Jungkook; in the next, he is this repulsed-by-disobedience dom from hell.

Which one are you talking to?!

“I–I’m sorry,” you avert your eyes from him.

“Tsk, you can do better than that,” he purses his lips. “Apologize.”

What does he want exactly? If he had given you a syllabus that mentioned apology methods were going to be on the test, you would have surely studied accordingly!

“I… apologize,” you try your luck again.

“Still not convincing,” he shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”

He takes one more step towards you and puts his hands on either side, trapping you between him and the desk.

“Because you’re not sorry for what you’ve done, are you?” he leans in. “You’re sorry you got caught.”

He sneaks a hand under your skirt, caressing your pussy with a single finger. You gasp when he harshly turns you around, breathing down your neck just like the ultra HD porn that has manifested in your mind the day before.

“Are you gonna do it again?” he snarls into your ear.

“I won’t.”

“Promise me.”

“I–I promise.”

He reaches into his pocket and takes out the underwear he’s been carrying around the whole day, making you bite on it as a suppressor again. You hear the belt unbuckling behind you, and flames swallow your body whole.

“If you break your promise to me one more time,” he aligns his cock with your entrance, “I will not be so forgiving.”

He rams himself into you with a sharp thrust, but even though he moves hard, it’s no different than what’s been happening the entire day. He’s not fucking you to cum, nor is this a punishment. He just communicates with sex. It’s literally body language—when he gets mad, so does his body. When he feels calm, so are his touches.

“Get your stuff,” he puts his pants back on after maybe only ten seconds. “We’re leaving.”

After sufficiently collecting yourself, you walk out for the first time the whole day, and what you see, or rather don’t see, surprises you. There is no one outside. 

It’s as if… someone told them to… vacate the floor… or something.

It’s tense when you get in the car. Real or not, Jungkook still looks super mad, but also super hot with his tongue pressed inside his cheek, driving with one hand with his legs spread wide. He takes an exit and gets on the freeway to beat the rush hour traffic. The road is empty. It’s silent. You have the optimal conditions to think of ways to get in his good graces again. 

If you try the playful route, you’ll probably get hit with “Don’t get cute with me. I’m still mad at you.” If you get aggressive, it’ll probably make things worse. You think and think and think, and at long last, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

You can communicate with body language, too. With words that are “Up to his standards.” 

Maybe he will find it creative.

“W–What are you doing?” he stutters in panic when you reach for his belt.

You act like he doesn’t even exist, just minding your own business, and take his cock out. You can see drops of you have dried on him, and it puts a perverse smile on your face. You start with a few licks to clean up after yourself, and soon after, he’s already melting in your mouth. One hand on your head, he guides you up and down, loving the way you work him.

When he hits a critical threshold, he switches to the left lane and slams on the gas. 

The speedometer climbs to the right side as if to match your faster rhythm. The needle is at the one o’clock position when he tangles his fingers in your hair. Then two o’clock when you start moaning into him. Then three o’clock when you start sucking him harder. 

Then four o’clock when you take him deep, deep down your throat.

“Oh, fuck. FUCK!!!”

His fingers let go of the wheel when he cums, and those two seconds he allows himself to possess no sanity are the hardest rush he feels his entire life. He’s so high that he is NUMB from head to toe. His autopilot abruptly kicks in, and he slows down, eventually pulling over and killing the engine. He leans back with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths and trying to come back down, but he’s at the stratosphere. 

How are you not supposed to break into the most smug smile anybody has ever flashed with how proud you are?

You gently tap on his shoulder, and he somehow musters enough strength to roll his head to his right and half-open his eyes. 

“You fucking killed me,” he quietly utters, extremely fucked out. “Switch with me. I forgot how to drive.”

“I believe I earned the right to talk now?” you rhetorically ask with annoying amounts of confidence.

“Oh, hell yeah, you even earned the right to make me your bitch for life,” he enthusiastically approves.

“It’s concerning that all it took was getting your dick sucked,” you roll your eyes.

“I may be a world-class whore, but you can’t catch me folding like a napkin just for anyone,” he instantly refutes. “Jesus, that was some god-tier head. I’m still seeing stars.”

“That means you fake-forgive me after your fake tantrum, I guess,” you knowingly smile at him. “But if I catch you telling my people to start fake fires to test me one more time, I’ll fucking kill you, Jeon.”

He smiles back and looks at you with something different in his eyes. Something that makes your heart race again. He reaches for your face and leans in, and when he kisses you in that darkness of the empty freeway, it feels like you’re back in your bed with him again. 

“We’ll make a stop before dinner,” he puts in an address in the navigation and stretches one arm behind you. “Drive, baby.”

<< previous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Jungkook, nice to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’ve you been?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door opens.

“Oh, hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First attempted seduction: Unsuccessful. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no!

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

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

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

“You won’t believe what just happened!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got it.” 

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

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

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

“Don’t know.” 

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

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

“Don’t know.” 

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

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

What? Your eyes widen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

Jungkook loved the thought of finally living alone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’ve you been?”

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

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

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

“Doesn’t that cost, like, a ton?”

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

“Not when you do the job yourself.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s the night it happened. 

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, do you need a hand?”

Fuck you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah… I’m sor—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… the radiator?”

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

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

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

You nod, “And you like me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Imagine if I was naked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re—you’re so pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you think of anything while watching me?”

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

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

“You, of course.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Showtime. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒮𝓅𝑜𝓉

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately, you beat him to it. 

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

Fuck off, what do you mean? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never used the term perfectionist to describe yourself. And that’s honestly because you think ‘perfection’ is bullshit. It’s just an illusion. Something to keep artists from giving up, a hope that sparks their creativity. The teeny tiny voice in the back of their heads that say; this could always be better. 

Because it’s true. Nothing is ever good enough. So what keeps the wheels spinning is the hope that one day, you’ll be satisfied. Sadly, you never are, so you push yourself to limits that leave you bleeding and bruising… which has ultimately lead you to the top of your class. 

But as the cliche goes on… as every tortured artist before… you’ve just hit a wall. There’s a blockage, forcing your mind to blur and wipe away the routines you thought were etched into your memory. And the blockage isn’t just a mental, psychological wall that only exists inside your head. It’s just a few doors down the hall, pounding away at a heavybag. 

The reason for the immediate attraction you felt towards Jeon Jungkook was your similar mindsets. He too bleeds and bruises for his passion, however that’s the usual outcome of a boxing match. 

It all started with a completely innocent meet. About three months ago, he had stumbled upon the practice room you were in, lured in by the soft music. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for him to take a quick look inside. And there you were, polishing an already great choreography. Your hair was slightly tossed, tiny strands slipping out of your bun, framing your flushed face. 

The choreography wasn’t anything outstanding or groundbreaking, but for the untrained eye, it looked breathtaking. Jungkook pushed the door a bit further open with the tip of his sneaker, watching how you moved to the glittering music. He admired the way you were so immersed by the moves that your eyes never drifted to him. You hadn’t even noticed he was there. 

You just stared back at your own reflection, watching over as your body folded, then arched, toes pointed and light. There weren’t any abrupt pirouettes, you just tiptoed lightly across the floor, your lips parting as small exhales made their way out. 

When the melody softened, so did you. Your steps slowed, and your body folded once more, into a grand, quiet motion. You stood before the mirror, eyes closed, arms hugging your body, as you breathed out and let the music die down.  Jungkook thought it was the most precious thing he had even seen. 

Until you turned around.

You weren’t really startled that someone was watching you practice, it was common for people to feel drawn to the gentle melody and take a quick glance inside. What struck you was him, the fact that Jeon Jungkook, the brutal boxer, was watching you with an expression that could only be read as admiration. 

Everyone at the academy knew him, knew how ruthless he was. The best there was, truly, an undefeated boxing champion that was praised by the entire administration. He had talent, and he was going somewhere. 

But what you didn’t know was the inner battle Jungkook was constantly fighting. How he wished things would’ve been different, that people felt safe, maybe even comforted by his talent, instead of frightened.

Boxing wasn’t exactly something he was forced to do, but something he knew he couldn’t give up. There was too much pressure now, for him to become the best the country had ever seen. It was sad, feeling trapped in a sport he once fell in love with as a child. It spoke to him at a young age, and quickly became a way to release all his pent up aggression. But as he grew older, the thought of pounding recklessly away at someone until their vision wiped out seemed more and more like a horrible coping mechanism. 

That is why watching you, Jungkook felt a curl bloom in his stomach. Seeing someone move so freely, seemingly without being tied down… it was wonderful. He thought there was this blissful beauty to it, like nothing except you and your weightless body mattered once the music played. You had later on tried to explain that ballet is one of the roughest forms of art there is, but it’s hard telling that to a boy with a broken nose and bleeding knuckles. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he lowered his neck in a subtle bow, trying to appear as small as possible in the doorframe, which was almost swallowed whole by his broad figure. 

You stood facing him with your feet still in position, pointing outwards, the ribbons digging into the soft flesh of your calves. Your chest moved up and down underneath the sheer wrap, and you realized you were suddenly at loss for words. 

He had been wearing a large hoodie, the zipper open to reveal yet another black piece of clothing. It looked like he was covered in sweat, so you gathered he came from training himself. It was late at night, and all the other students were already buried deep underneath warm blankets back in their dorms, something apparently both you and Jungkook took advantage of. The perfect time to be alone in the practice rooms. 

You inhaled deeply, placing a hand on your hip as you steadied your breathing, “No harm done,” you said, swiping away a drop of sweat falling from your temple. 

“Is that for a performance?” Jungkook pointed his finger towards you, now leaning against the doorframe. Your brain worked unbelievably slow as he questioned you. The fact that you were now a person of interest in the life of the boxing prodigy before you had your thoughts mushing together. He wasn’t at all what you expected. His voice was a lot softer in person, and he seemed almost flustered. 

You nodded, your nostrils flaring as you breathed in, “Mhm, yeah. Just needs some polishing,” you said, turning around to the cassette player behind you, which had now gone completely silent. Jungkook’s eyes never left you. He stood tall by the door, fingers twitching at his sides, all too nervous to take a step further into the room. And he just kind of stood there for a beat, breathing in and breathing out before settling, looking over at you through thick lashes.

“… Do you mind if I watch?” 

The two of you instantly connected after that first meet. You think it was your mutual passion for passion. Even though you already had friends to attend to, you made room for him in your everyday life, letting him watch you stretch and practice late at night. Every night. He never spoke during your routines, never picked up his phone, never disturbed. He simply stayed quiet, admiration blooming in pink flush on his cheeks. 

It bothered you at first that he never let you watch him fight. You were allowed to watch him from outside the ring when all he did was train, but never once had he let you attend any of the events that turned physical. But you realized he wanted to shield you from just that part, so you let it go. 

Jungkook never told you why. He didn’t want you to know he worried that much. He wasn’t shielding you because he didn’t want you seeing him bruised and blood-covered, you had seen that before. He hid that world from you because he was willing to do anything in his power to keep you from seeing him hurt others. 

“Don’t you think it’s a fucked up hobby?” he muttered, sitting in a lotus position on the soft mat of the ring, re-applying the bandages covering his hands and wrists. 

You were leaning forward against the ropes, eyes narrow as you had just watched him spiral over not moving his feet quickly enough. It always hurt you seeing him beat himself up over the smallest imperfections, but you stayed quiet about it. You knew you act the exact same way, and that he’s just more aggressive.

“This, like, beating people up for fun?” his words were said silently, more to himself than you. 

The ring ropes dug into your elbows before you decided to pull them apart, lowering your body to step inside, and walking over to Jungkook who kept his eyes glued to his wrists as he wrapped himself up. “It’s not for fun, though,” you reassured, your lips curling into a stiff smile. “It’s more like a job? Right?”

He still didn’t bother looking up at you, and you weren’t really sure whether he was actually looking for you to answer or not. You stopped before him, standing tall above his hunched body. His hair was a mess, wet tangles forming in long waves over his eyes, dripping sweat down onto the soft ground. The black compression shirt had almost melted with his chiseled figure, and you watched his plump chest heave with every intake. 

You lowered yourself onto the sweat covered mat, using your hands to steady yourself as you copied his posture, folding one leg inward over the other. You let your hands rest in your lap. 

“People work at the morgue too,” you tried searching for his eyes, but you remained unsuccessful. You hated when he did this, when he got all in his head. You wanted to brush his hair back, cup his face, ask where are you? But you didn’t. Instead, you tilted your head, listening to the way his breathing slowed. “It doesn’t make them any worse than others. It’s just a job.”

It went silent after that, the only sound being the soft click of the overhead clock above the entrance. He nodded, you nodded. And he went on about his training, letting you slip out of the ring once again to observe him. Strained hisses slipped from his lips with every jab of his first, every swing of his arm. Sweat covered his temples, running down the sides. 

And things stayed like that for a while. Your relationship was gentle and intimate, completely different from all the other friendships you had made before. You met with your friends on the weekends, he met his, and you didn’t really talk or interact in groups. No one had so much as a hunch that you knew each other. Which made it all the more precious, a friendship built on late night meetups, revolving around what the two of you loved the most in the whole wide world. 

So why did he have to tear it apart?

The time shows 11:34 pm. You’ve been at it for almost three hours now, your body aching as you push it to the furthest limit possible. You have no idea if it’s to keep your mind from wandering, or to punish yourself. 

Your reflection stares back at you, perfect lines, perfect posture, but the eyes that meet yours look different. Startled and out of place… a deer caught in headlights. You exhale sharply, rolling your shoulders back to prepare your body. It knows this choreography better than your own heartbeat. You execute it flawlessly… and still, your chest tightens.

Again.

You repeat the sequence, slower this time. You land a turn so clean it should have satisfied you… but it doesn’t. Your mind can’t seem to let you rest. It works you open, tearing you to shreds as you stand there in the practice room; alone for the first time in months. 

Why. Why did he have to be so mean?

It’s not easy practicing when your mind has traveled outside your body and physically tries to drag you back to the moment that led up to this tension. You try shaking your head, try telling yourself out loud “no”, but there’s no helping it. 

You try again. You flex your aching feet, rising once more onto pointe, your muscles trembling with strain from being pushed too far. You work through the routine again… and again… and again until you feel yourself get dizzy. Your ribbon digs deeper and deeper into the soft flesh of your back, and you realize you’re having a hard time breathing.

“Fuck!” you hiss, stopping completely in your step, hands flying up to cover your face. Your hair has fallen completely out of your bun, loose strands falling over your shoulders, hugging you as you tremble. You can’t get him out of your head. You were fine before, happy, even. 

But now… you’re losing it. 

It hadn’t struck you as odd when Jungkook had suggested going for a walk around the campus. It was late at night, and maybe he just needed a break. You knew he wasn’t usually one to rest, neither were you, but you agreed. Wanting him to finally breathe out, to roam around freely without any further thoughts. This was maybe three days ago? A week? You have no idea. The days have started blurring together ever since. 

He stood waiting for you outside your dorm, telling you he wanted to walk to the pavilion centered in the park. For a moment the two of you walked silently through the hallway, side by side. Jungkook had never been much of a talker, unless he was completely freed of nerves, which had usually been around you. But tonight, Jungkook seemingly had a lot on his mind, so you let him stay quiet. 

You tried stealing quick glances of him, but his profile was swallowed by a large, black hood. All you could see was the tip of his nose, slightly red. You felt him shift a bit when you turned to him, tugging on the hem of his hoodie, his fingers curling around the thick fabric. You knew he had an upcoming fight this week, but you’d never seen him like this. He’d usually be more energetic, thrilled even, so this was completely unknown territory for you.

“Who are you fighting on Friday?” you asked, breaking the gentle silence between you. He muttered a name you didn’t recognize, still not looking at you or giving you any form of attention what so ever. You huffed out a laugh. “You sure? Seems like you might have to fight some inner demons before that.” 

“I’m kinda working on it right now,” he finally laughed, a gentle sound rumbling in his chest. 

The summer breeze wrapped around you as you exited the housing complex, and it was colder than you expected. You hugged your arms tightly against your chest, shivering a bit as your thin sweater tried blocking the wind. But you didn’t say anything, you just kept walking.

But in the crook of your eye, you saw Jungkook reach for his zipper. 

And without asking, without letting you brush away his kind gesture, he let his black hoodie slip off his shoulders before gently handing it to you. He didn’t even meet your eyes, it seemed almost like a subconscious effort. And it kind of was, he usually did things like this without thinking. Opening your gym bag for you when you reached for it, closing it again when you were done. Finishing your sentences when you searched for words, not to rush you but to help.

“Thanks,” you pulled the large jacket on, still walking, the fabric swallowing your frame. Your eyes darted to his now exposed arms. Goosebumps had already started blooming there, tiny strands of hair rising on his forearms. He noticed and immediately hid them behind his back, one hand holding onto his own wrist. 

The path curved, widening into the stretch that led through the small campus park. You looked more at the ground than the path before you, watching the rhythm of your shoes and his heavier ones scuffing next to you. Your steps were somehow synched. “Is Simon still giving you a hard time?”

Simon, Jungkook’s coach, a mean bastard, had been trailing him for the past few weeks. Non stop, scolding him for apparently not being in the right headspace to fight. He was ruthless, an extremely impatient man, and Jungkook had told you just how mean he could be. Telling him that it takes a special form of dedication to become the best, and that Jungkook’s had seemingly started to fade. 

You had tried reassuring him, telling Jungkook that Simon only wished the best for him. That he knew just how stubborn Jungkook could be, and that rough words were the only way to get through to him. And Jungkook had been a bit distracted lately, picking away at himself for messing up. So you couldn’t really blame the desperation in his coach’s scoldings. Jungkook was the best the academy had ever trained, so it really was crucial for them not to lose him.

“Yeah, now more than ever,” he scoffed, staring ahead through the silken fringe that brushed loosely over his forehead, almost covering his eyesight. 

A gust of wind swept across the open lawn you had reached, pushing a loose strand of hair across your cheek. Before you could tuck it behind your ear, you heard Jungkook’s hand shift halfway out of his pocket, like he was going to fix it for you… then thought better of it. He stopped the motion right away, fingers curling back inside. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

The wooden boards creaked under your shoes as you stepped into the pavilion. You slipped your hands out of the thick sleeves, running your thumb against your palm, trying to look as casual as possible, even though the anticipation was killing you. Jungkook stayed a few steps behind you, then finally moved forward, avoiding your eyes. 

His hair moved with the wind, and you finally saw it.

A bruised slit down his eyebrow. A blue spot blooming on his cheekbone. It shouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary, you’d seen him bruise before. But only after fights. And to your knowledge, his last one was two weeks ago. This seemed fairly recent, not yellow in a healing way, but dark red. 

He didn’t give you any time to react. The second your eyes settled on his face, Jungkook shifted, angling his body half away from you, pretending to check the railing of the pavilion as if it suddenly needed his attention. You sighed, letting your shoulders drop low. 

“Jesus, Kook, this is starting to get really weird,” you groaned, turning your body away from him, walking over to the built-in bench of the pavilion. Before you turned to sit down, you tilted your head, watching over as Jungkook shifted shyly in his stance. “You can’t even look at me.”

“You’ll get mad.”

“No, this is making me mad. Just look at me and talk to me like I’m a normal person.” 

He did, turning his body to face you. The state of him had your stomach turning. 

His eyes pierced through you, glistening with a soft gloss that made them seem even rounder, softer. His pupils looked a little blown, staring over at you as he stood a few feet away. The muscles around his eyes were tense, pulled slightly inward, giving him this fragile, almost pleading expression he probably wasn’t aware of. 

Your eyes darted down to your feet, giving your head a slight shake before looking up at him again. This was unlike anything you’ve seen from him before. It was strange seeing this big, beefy boy stand before you, looking so lost. It tugged on your heartstrings, and you instinctively shifted in your seat, making room for him beside you. 

“Come, sit.”

His body settled heavy beside you, and you finally felt a brush of his shoulder against yours. He was shivering a bit, but it could just as well have been from the cold. You were wearing the jacket that was supposed to shield him from the wind. 

His hands fell into his lap where his thighs were parted. He twiddled with his fingers, and you looked down at his dark knuckles. They were always like that, split and swollen skin, dark bruises melting with his tattoos. But they didn’t usually twitch like this. 

He sighed beside you, his loose t-shirt moving in gentle waves with the breeze. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking over at him through your lashes. His hair was flowing similarly to the way the fabric of his shirt was, he pinched one eye together when his bangs got in the way. Your eyes drifted to the two tiny dots on his lip, the marks that were left behind from his piercing. He would usually take it out when training or fighting, to prevent more damage. Same with the one in his eyebrow. 

Your eyes moved further up his face, to the dark slit that laid between the soft hairs of his brow. But you noticed he was still wearing his piercing. Weird. He was usually so cautious about removing his jewelry before engaging in a fight. Maybe this one came out of the blue. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to talk about something?” you nudged his shoulder, your lips curling into a soft smile as you kept your eyes locked on his face. He sighed again, nodding just once before looking up at you. With those wet, puppy-dog eyes. 

“Yeah sorry—I’m just…” he said, his eyes flicking over your face trying to detect if any of the anger from before was still there. “Coach has fucking… been on me lately.” 

He huffed, his fingers twitching in his lap. You didn’t blink as you held his eyes, breathing in and out deeply. His eyebrows curled together just the slightest on his forehead as he sensed you were inspecting his face more than just looking at him. 

“Did he do that?” you tipped your chin towards the bruising on his cheekbone, and by the looks of it the damage was pretty recent, given the fact that his skin was pulsating underneath. He rolled his eyes with a loud sigh, his gaze drifting from you. You scoffed, a bit affronted by his gesture. “I’m not worried, I’m just asking!”

“That’s not for you to care about.”

His tone was so distant and casual you almost didn’t register what he said. Ouch. Why was he acting like this. You backed up a bit, letting out a laugh that was mostly a just a short breath of confusion and disbelief. Your mouth hung open, lips parting as if you were about to say something, but you were too flustered. He had been short at times, sure, dismissing. But it was never directed towards you. 

Jungkook clicked his tongue, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His hands came up to his face, dragging his down his forehead before letting his fingers run through his hair. You were still just looking at him, completely lost, extremely confused as to why this weird tension in him was suddenly poured out on you. He didn’t speak for a while, and neither did you. 

“Sorry, fuck, it’s just—” his head tipped down, the muscles underneath his large t-shirt moving in waves as he hunched his back further. “I’ve been all in my head lately.” 

It didn’t feel like you needed to add anything to that, so you stayed quiet, waiting for him to finish. You watched over as his face came to rest on his knuckles, breathing in once before continuing. “And I have this big tournament next week.”

Yeah, you knew all about that. He couldn’t stop talking about it. It would be the first time he’d be able to show off his skills to an international audience, possibly landing deals with companies big enough to take him anywhere. He had always been humble, but when talking about this tournament it seemed like modesty didn’t matter. It would be his time to shine, and he unapologetically took it. 

“… and coach can’t have me acting like this.”

“It’s just a mental block, Koo,” you tried reassuring, leaning a bit forward and searching for his eyes. He still didn’t look at you, he kept his eyes glued to the tall, dark trees outside the pavilion. 

“Not according to coach.”

“He’s just trying to make you realize that all this in-your-head stuff is eating away at you,” your palm slid to his back, caressing the twitching skin and muscle. He really was gone. You knew just how weird he could get when pressure took ahold of him. You thought maybe this was the case now too. That he was so nervous about showing himself off to a new world, that his mind was fogging. 

“Well, he’s being fucking unreasonable.” he said, breathing out through his nose. 

“He’s older and more experienced… he’s your superior,” your other hand fumbled forward, reaching for Jungkook’s face. Your tiny palm cupped his soft cheek, angling him towards you. And his eyes finally found yours. “I think you should just listen to him. He knows best.”

A twinkle appeared in Jungkook’s eyes, just a flash of sparke across his soft pupils. He nodded, looking up at you as was he still hunched forward, with only his head facing you. “But you’ll hate me.”

You shook your head, giving him a comforting smile. There was no way you could hate him, your bond was the purest form of friendship there was. You were certain nothing could break it. Although you did stutter a bit over his words. Why would you hate him?

He sighed, moving his head away from where it laid in your palm, straightening his back. His hands were still in his lap, but this time they weren’t twitching, he wasn’t fiddling with them. He just looked down at the ground, firm posture. And spoke.

“I’ll have to give this tournament, the fight on Friday… everything from now on… my all.”

You watched the back of his head as he spoke, straightening as well, sort of subconsciously copying him. Your eyes fell to the trees before you, and you stayed silent as Jungkook continued. 

“And since I’ve been so weird these past weeks…” he stopped halfway in his sentence to breathe out. You continued looking straight ahead... until he finished. “I have to distance myself from all distractions.”

Your vision blurred. The trees before you turned into dark green fog, the starlit sky disappearing. Your head tipped down before your brain could catch up. Of course. You’ll hate me. 

The next inhale Jungkook took was more shaky, but you didn’t even notice. All you could hear was the ringing in your ears, the three words repeating themselves over and over and over. You’ll hate me. Oh, Jungkook.

“… that means you.”

You had already gotten to that part by yourself, thank you very much, but hearing him say it out loud made your stomach turn. Jungkook saw you as a distraction. What a cliche. You tried shaking your head, still looking down at your feet, who were now curling inwards. You’d never felt more dumb in your life. Here you thought you had made a real connection with someone, over something so gentle as being in love with your two sports. Sharing the hope that one day you’d be the best there is. Apparently you just stood in his way.

There wasn’t much to say to that, really. What do you say in that situation? You can’t beg him to choose your friendship over his future, that’s not only an extremely unrealistic expectation, but also inhuman. You can’t change his mind, telling him you’re nothing but a supportive spectacle in his life. He needed you to stay away, so why was it so hard to accept that?

“You’re not allowed to have friends anymore, that’s what this is?” you stared straight ahead, your tone humorless, even though a breathy laugh accompanied your words. “You’re gonna isolate yourself, be a loner? A tortured poet? That’s what this is?”

“Fuck—I’m allowed to have friends, jesus,” Jungkook’s face flew to his palms, dragging them down his eyes, his cheeks, resting them at his chin. He inhaled deeply before his next words, to prepare both himself and you. “It’s just that… you’re—you’re not like my other friends.”

Your stomach curled, thinking you already knew where this was headed. 

“You know, all my other friends they’re… they’re guys, mostly boxers. You know? They don’t distract me. But you’re… you’re just a—“

Huh? Your mind stilled, but you kept staring forward, eyes almost twitching with restraint. Apparently this wasn’t going where you thought it would be. 

“… you’re just some girl, you know?” 

You could feel tears pricking in the corner of your eyes, you could practically see the drops blurring the edges of your vision. It was like all the organs inside you had been wrung out and torn open from within you. You couldn’t move. You actually couldn’t move a single bone in your body. So now you were forced to sit beside him, trying to push the tears down, even though all you wanted to do was to scream out. 

Once again, Jungkook tipped his head down, the weight of his forehead pressed flat against his palms. He sighed, a bit shaky, a hurtful sound. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

“I’m sorry… but I’ve only known you for a few months. This—” he stretched his hands out slightly, gesturing toward the campus, “—is my life. My whole life.”

What on earth were you supposed to say to that? Just some girl? It was like everything you thought you knew about your relationship was flushed down the drain. The boy that had been so kind, so attentive, suddenly vaporized beside you, and what was left behind was this cold shell of a man. And when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, when you had decided you had heard enough, he kept going. Digging himself even deeper into the mess he had started. 

“And we both know we don’t have anything in common. I mean… it’s not fair of me to burden you with my fights when you’re supposed to focus on your cute dances.”

Your head turned to face his, abruptly enough that your hair flew across your face, a few strands sticking to your glossed lips. 

“My cute dances?”

“You know—” he stills, “I have to focus on what’s serious… I can’t spend time looking at you twirling around. You know what I mean.”

You didn’t. How could he, after seeing you strain yourself day in and day out, only view what you care for the most in this world… as twirling around? That did it. You had no intention of trying to shove any sense in his head, there was no reason to. If this was how he wanted to end your friendship, then fine by you. 

With a groan you brushed away the remaining hair stuck on your face and pushed yourself from off the bench. 

“I’ll make this easy for you, then,” you hissed as you got up, your bones nearly vibrating with anger and frustration. You turned to get a last look at him, but he couldn’t even bring himself to meet your eyes. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees while his head was tipped down, dark strands of hair covering his face. Maybe not seeing his eyes made it easier for you. “I don’t want to see you again. Even when you realize what a dick you’re being and feel the need to apologize. I don’t want you near me.”

He remained unmoving, it didn’t even look like he was breathing. Maybe he felt bad, but you didn’t care. If there was human decency still left in him, of course he would feel bad. But that wasn’t for you to attend to, all you wanted to do was to get as far away from him as possible. 

“Hope the fight on friday doesn’t knock you brain-dead.”

You spun around so fast you almost got a head rush. Or it might’ve just been the blood in your veins traveling at an extreme speed. Even though your ears were ringing, you still tried clearing your head. Hoping to hear his voice one last time. Hoping that he might call out your name and apologize, explain what he really meant. But he didn’t. There was no other sound than your own breathing, some distant chatter from further down the park. 

And there was nothing left to say. You don’t even remember walking out of the pavilion. Your feet just carried you, hurried your body away from him. The boards groaned under your steps, then there was grass, then gravel, then the open stretch of the park swallowing you whole.

Your fists curled deep inside the sleeves of the hoodie you had been given. His hoodie. It seemed so strange how he could suddenly turn so cold, acting like a complete different person than the boy you thought you knew so well. The thought of it burned in your chest, your feet moving in a frantic pace. You could’ve just as well have been running. 

But as you reached the path lined with lampposts, something within you started to give. The anger and frustration suddenly wasn’t all that prominent when you were all alone. And you realized how hurt you were, how incredibly painful it was to be dismissed by the one person in the world who you thought understood you. 

Sadness hit you without warning. A full, suffocating wave that rose up from inside your throat and made it impossible to swallow. A breath caught, then another, and before you knew it, your vision blurred once again.

There was no way of stopping it. You kept walking while tears just… slipped out. Silent streams that burned your cheeks on their way down before disappearing into the fabric of the hoodie. It was embarrassing, extremely hurtful. You tugged the hood over your head, pushing it low enough to hide half your face. With a strained exhale, you dragged both sleeves up to your face, trying to blot everything out as fast as it appeared. It did no good.

New tears kept falling, streaking even harder the more you tried to stop them. You buried your hands deep within the fabric of the hoodie, and trying to stop sounds from leaving you, you put one sleeve over your mouth, muffling your cries. And that’s how your night ended. A complete disaster, the cherry-on-top being the insufferable loneliness you felt as you were walking, down the familiar path, completely alone, crying ugly tears into the sleeves of Jungkook’s hoodie. It still smelled like him, which almost instinctively made you gag. 

The pavilion was long gone behind you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look back. You knew he was still sitting there, probably exhausted, slightly embarrassed by his choice of words. What you didn’t know, and what you didn’t see, was the single, wet tear falling from his thick, dark lashes. The trembling of his chin before letting it all out. Of course he waited until you were gone.

And now, as you’re back in the training room, you’re left as stupid pieces of broken, fragile porcelain scattered all over the floor, unable to recall any of the moves that before came so naturally. You find it almost humorous that Jungkook went on and on about how distracting you were, only for him to ruin your concentration completely. 

It’s almost like you can’t recognize the girl that’s staring back at you in the mirror. Her hair is the same, her clothes and body look the same. But it’s her eyes you can’t recognize. A pair of heavy, dark eyes staring back at you. 

Fuck Jeon Jungkook. 

You tell yourself, alright — one last time, and you get into position. Your feet rise onto pointe, but your ankles tremble harder than they should. You exhale through your nose, force your posture straight with a roll of your shoulders, and continue the sequence. But it doesn’t last long, you manage maybe six counts before your chest tightens and your mind wanders… again. 

It’s not that you feel lonely, now that he’s not here watching you. It’s knowing he’s just down the hall, so close, yet he doesn’t want anything to do with you from now on. He could easily, just by taking a few steps out the door of his practice room, be right here. He could be standing in the doorway, like the first night you met, looking at you with big, stupid, wet eyes. But he has chosen not to. 

All because you’re a distraction. All the while you thought the two of you were equals, but apparently you weren’t all that similar after all. Because he’s a fighter, a champion. About to be world renowned for his work. Whereas you’re just a glittering obstacle without any real significance. Just watching from the sidelines. 

Your ankle twists, and you stumble in your steps, hair flying to cover your shoulders, “Fucking—” you yell out, trying to ground yourself by crouching down, burying your face between your knees. Your chest heaves, and the music sounds muffled and strained around you. The ribbon digging into your back aches, and breathing suddenly feels all too hard. 

That bastard has your brain fogging, only for him to remain blissfully unaware of the war that’s going on inside your head. And he’s right there… so close. 

Fuck. 

Your feet move before your brain can register it. They take you to the stereo, and your fingers press down, cutting off the music. The silence that follows is soon interrupted by your hurried footsteps, moving towards the door. But you still for a moment. Your pointe shoes hurt like hell, it’s like they’re trying to melt into your skin and become one with your body… that’s how tight they are. You can’t let them throw you off, so you bend over, loosen the ribbons and rip the shoes off. They’re thrown away carelessly, landing wherever, somewhere inside the practice room. 

It doesn’t take long before you reach the door, push it open and embark on your journey down the hall, toward the familiar muffled sound of fists slamming into canvas. 

The door opens with a loud slam, and you follow right after. Your eyes pierce through the dimly lit gym, gaze going straight to the ring that stands alone in the center. Inside Jungkook stands, frozen in his step. 

He had been mid-combo, fists flying, shoulders tight, sweat dripping from his jaw onto the mat, but the second the door bursts open, he stops cold. His chest is rising and falling heavy, his hair damp, sticking to his forehead and temples. And at his sides, his hands are wrapped, the peeling tape revealing a pair of red and swollen knuckles. Looks like he’s been at it for a while. 

Slowly, almost humorously slow, he turns to you, eyes wide and blood-shot. 

“You had no right being that mean.”

Your words come out shaky, even though you really are doing your best to keep it together. Your fingers twitch at your sides, and you curl them around the hem of your sheer skirt, gripping onto the pale fabric just to keep your hands from shaking. It doesn’t hide much of your spiral, as you unwillingly pout, your chin giving a tiny tremble, enough to betray you. 

As Jungkook turns to face you fully, straightening his back, looking over at you from a distance, you take note of the beige bandage that covers up the bruise on his cheekbone from the day before. Or maybe it covers up a new cut, a bleeding one. You don’t want to think about it, this isn’t the time for you to feel bad for him. So before he has time to process anything, you move. 

Your steps are quick, almost frantic, carrying you straight towards the ring, and you stop just before the ropes, staring up at him through heavy lashes. 

It’s ruining you, looking at him like this, knowing it was you who broke, you who’s now seeking him out first. Jungkook still doesn’t move, he just stands a few feet away from you, trapped inside the ring, sweat dripping down his temple. But his eyes move, flicking over your flushed face, to your heaving chest, then back up to meet your eyes. His eyebrows rise just slightly, softening his look. And your stomach curls. 

There’s no helping it, your eyes water, and your voice falters, “Why were you so mean to me?”

You try pushing the tears away, but one manages to slip out, gliding down your cheek. It’s pathetic standing below him, crying over being dismissed, but it hurts. And it doesn’t help seeing the change in Jungkook’s face. 

His nostrils flare, his lips parting only to quiver, and you can tell he wants to explain, but that he’s holding back. You wish he wouldn’t, you wish he could just muster up the courage to tell you what’s going on. But instead, his head tips down, a drop of sweat falling from his forehead and onto the soft mat below him. “I’m sorry.”

“Just shut up for a minute,” your voice trembles, but you push through it. You try ignoring the way his pupils dilate, his eyes turning into black, glittering voids. “You owe me that much.”

Jungkook looks back up at you and swallows, after comes a gentle pout, one that makes him look like a sulky little boy. Normally, you would’ve thought it was the most adorable thing ever. Right now it’s just downright insufferable. But he at least nods, letting you take the lead of the conversation, mentally taking a step back. 

You tug on the sheer fabric that’s bunched in your hands, “You said this didn’t really matter since we haven’t known each other for that long,” you start, the tone of your voice more stable now that you’ve gotten accustomed to his flustered state of being. “But I don’t know, I kinda treasured what we had?”

The way Jungkook gently sways back and forth in his place, almost unconsciously, has your stomach turning. He really is just the same, restless boy that you’ve grown to care so much about. 

“And sorry if I’m wrong but I really thought you did too.”

“I’m sorry,” his nostrils flare once again, a pleading expression blooming across his face, but you hastily dismiss it. 

“Don’t make me feel bad for you,” you hiss, taking yet another step forward, standing just below the ring, while he still hovers a bit in the middle, a few beats away from you. “That’s not fair.”

The ring ropes stand tense before you, forcing you to look at him through the gaps. Jungkook’s chest heaves, the tight fabric of his white tank sticking to his sweaty torso, hugging his chiseled figure with every intake. His hands hang loosely from his sides, the tape around his wrists and knuckles ripping at the edges. His fingers twitch just once before he lets you continue, breathing in deeply. 

“You could’ve just said you thought we would be better off without each other — I could maybe live with that,” your breath wavers, and you narrow your eyes as if you’re trying to bore the next words into him. “But you had no right being that belittling.”

A flash of glisten wavers in his eyes, something just short of tears, you think. It makes you want to vomit, seeing him so hurt. But he did this to himself. You’ve been in a far worse state these past days, so this only serves him right. “You know how hard I work. You were in that practice room with me every night. Still you have the fucking nerve to make me feel that small.”

“I said I was sorry!” he’s getting desperate now, throwing out his hands before him almost like he’s begging for you to accept his apology. But you can’t, you’re hurting too much.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say then, huh?” he yells out, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. You still, your head retracting just an inch as your breath catches. Jungkook’s eyes flick over your face, from one side to the other, before he continues. “You want me to say I still can’t focus? Huh? That I can’t fight anymore?”

His hands fly down to his sides again, and it seems like the desperation has turned into surrender instead. And when he speaks again, you’re afraid your knees might buckle.

“Want me to say I can’t fight because I see you everywhere?” his voice has still that cracked, defeated sound, the sound of it vibrating in your eardrums. “That the only thing I can think of when I break in people’s skulls are your eyes?” 

A single tear, that’s all you give him. You try holding it back, but it slips out anyways, falling down your cheeks, leaving a stinging mark. 

Jungkook continues, almost out of breath now, “That I can’t fucking live with the thought of you seeing me like that. Being around someone like that. Someone who causes other people that much pain.”

You don’t know what you were expecting, but it most certainly wasn’t that. Your throat clogs, a tight and stinging pressure building in it, the kind that makes it hard to swallow. The fallen tear reaches your chin, and rests there for just a moment before dropping onto the ground. And it’s almost like the sound of it is enhanced by the silence, the tiny droplet meeting the soft mat and sinking into the surface. 

He looks straight into your eyes, never leaving, his bottom lip quivering with restlessness. And you can’t bring yourself to speak. So he does instead.

“Coach said it would be better if I didn’t tell you. If I just shoved you away,” a drop of sweat falls from his temple, landing on the mat with a soft, muted pat. Jungkook never takes his eyes off you, his soft, puppy-dog eyes glued to yours. His shoulders have dropped a bit lower, rising along with his chest with every breath he takes. “I just… I’m sorry I was so rough. I just thought it would be better if you hated me than missed me. Maybe you’d see it as good riddance.”

A shaky breath follows his words, as if it’s leaking out of him rather than being released. His shoulders slump further, and for a moment the undefeated champion in him is nowhere to be seen. There’s something so soft with him like this. You’ve always seen him as a soft and gentle guy, completely different from his boxing persona. But now he seems more vulnerable, and it eats away at you. He’s hurting just as much as you are. 

Your fingers twitch around the hem of your skirt, and then you move. 

You step closer until your knees brush the edge of the ring. The ropes are right in front of you, stretched tight, dividing the two of you. Your hand lifts. 

The ropes give under your palm, elastic and warm from the light overhead. You slide your other hand beneath the top rope and pull it upward, parting them just enough for your body to slip through. And at seeing this, Jungkook’s breath catches. 

The soft mat dips slightly under your weight, the feel of it warm and gentle… and you suddenly remember that you’re barefoot. Your feet tap lightly against the ground as you near him, trying to walk as gently as possible even when it feels like your knees are about to buckle. 

Jungkook doesn’t move, he doesn’t make a sound. His chest rises sharply, then falls in a trembling exhale. Sweat glides down the side of his neck, tracing the line of his collarbone before disappearing into the fabric of his tank. And he lets you get closer. But you stop just a foot from him. 

“I’m not this fragile little thing you have to protect,” a trembling pout appears on your face, a completely involuntary expression, but you can’t help it. 

His head tilts, and a tiny wince follows along with the click of his tongue, “I know, I just…” his head tips down, and for the first time, he avoids your eyes. His hair falls in wet tangles in front of his eyes, and you see the veins in his shoulders spasming underneath his soft skin. “I… I wish I could be someone else for you.”

You shake your head before you realize he can’t exactly see you when his head has dropped this low, so without even thinking any further, you reach for him. Your palm cups his soft, warm cheek, lifting his face gently to meet your gaze. You’re standing a bit away from him, and your arm stretches out as far as it can for you to be able to reach him. He finally looks back at you, towering above you, his broad figure blocking out the light beaming from the overhead lamp far behind him. 

Once again, you give your head a small shake, “But the thing is; I already kinda like this guy,” you say, your lips curling into a comforting smile. “I just wish you could see it yourself.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker, fast and barely noticeable, but you catch it. Again, that short-of-tears look, where his eyebrows rise and curl on his forehead. His lips part, not enough to speak, just enough to breathe. The feel of you touching him so gently makes his whole face twitch with restraint. And his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up, guilty and unsure. 

“I didn’t mean a word of what I said that day… I—” he stops, his throat working and brows twitching. “I hope you know that.”

“Now I do. But you still hurt me,” you whisper. Your thumb drags softly along the edge of his cheekbone, brushing over the warm skin near the bandage. Jungkook exhales again, shakier than before, his shoulders sagging and his entire posture collapsing inward. Finally letting himself feel how exhausted he really is, tired of restricting himself. 

“I’m sorry…” his eyes shut close as he’s breathing in slowly. Preparing himself for his next words. “The truth is… if it’s between boxing and you… I’ll choose you. Every time.”

Your eyebrows crease, and your breath is stolen from you. Thankfully, Jungkook continues instead of expecting you to answer.

“But coach didn’t really like that idea,” he angles his head, making you stare up at the pale bandage covering the bruise on his cheekbone. He winces as you press a soft fingertip against it, breathing out when you retract. “I never wanted to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.”

His eyes move over your face in slow sweeps. He takes in your flushed cheeks, your baby hairs sticking to your damp temples, the nervous tug at your lower lip. He looks absolutely ruined by it. His pupils are blown wide, pleading and defeated, flicking over your face in nervous, frantic swipes. 

“Then don’t make me leave,” you breathe out. 

Your words have Jungkook’s eyes widening even further, flicking over your face again. Like he can’t believe what you just said. You just nod, caressing his soft cheek, letting your words sink into him. And when they do, he breaks.

He leans in a breath’s worth, just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him… but he stops himself. His nose twitches, his jaw tightens, and you can practically see the internal battle tearing through him.

He wants to… he’s scared to. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

You close the distance just a little more, stepping into the space between you. Your hand slides from his cheek to the side of his jaw, fingers resting against the curve of his neck. His breath stutters at the touch, a tiny inhale that sounds like he’s fighting not to crumble.

“Kook,” you murmur, barely audible.

His eyes snap to yours, and with it time stretches thin… until he leans forward. The move is slow and searching, and it keeps until his forehead hovers just inches from yours. You feel his breath fan across your lips. He hesitates one last time, holding absolutely still, waiting for any sign that he’s misread this.

But there’s no chance he has, because you don’t step back. You don’t dare to let go. And before you, Jungkook’s gaze flickers down to your mouth again, and he exhales, a tiny, broken sound that gives him away completely.

Then, like he’s testing the waters, he nudges his nose against yours. Barely there, just a faint brush. His lips ghost over yours without actually landing, the lightest possible contact, and you feel his eyes close against your skin, the tingle of his eyelashes fluttering shut brushing against you. 

You breathe out shakily against his mouth, he feels it… and that’s all it takes.

His lips meet yours in the softest, most careful kiss imaginable, and you’re not even sure if your knees will be able to keep you stable anymore. You stand completely still, eyes still wide open, and it feels like your heart is about to leap out of your chest.

Jungkook’s hands hover at his sides, wrapped fists trembling, because he doesn’t trust himself to touch you yet. That is of course until your eyes flutter shut, and you kiss him back. 

The moment you do, everything in him changes. His breath hitches, his shoulders shudder, and a small, almost relieved sound slips from the back of his throat. His hands rise, settling lightly at your waist, fingertips barely grazing fabric. And with his touch, the kiss deepens. 

It starts soft, but there’s a hunger beneath it, months of restraint cracking all at once. The gentle press of his lips turns firm, then needy, until his tongue pokes through. You feel the shift in him as if a switch has been thrown. Jungkook pulls you closer by the waist, and you stumble into him with a soft gasp, your hands sliding instinctively up his chest. He walks you back slowly, blindly, like he’s not even thinking about where he’s taking you, only that you’re in his arms now and he’s never letting go.

The mat gives a muted squeak under your bare feet as he guides you back with steady steps. The kiss grows more desperate, teeth grazing lips, breathes mingling, his chest pressed tight to yours. Your back meets the ropes with a soft thump, the tension of the cords stretching behind you as your weight leans into them. He cages you in, forearms braced against the ropes on either side of you, every muscle tight with restraint.

But his mouth show no such signs, it work you over relentlessly. It’s a beautiful kind of madness, the way he kisses you, open-mouthed and shaky. His lips part yours again and again, tongue brushing, sighs shared between broken kisses. He groans softly against your lips, a deep sound from somewhere in his chest, and you react by gasping into him, fingers climbing to tangle in his damp hair, tugging gently. And thats when he breaks.

His arms slide around you, fully now, pulling you into his body; one arm tight around your waist, the other sliding up your back, palm flat against your spine. You can feel his heart hammering against your chest, the tremble in his arms, the way his breath hitches every time you shift even a little against him. You arch into the contact, your hand slipping under the edge of his tank top, meeting bare, sweat-warmed skin. His whole body jolts, and he chases your mouth harder.

“Fuck,” he breathes between kisses, his voice wrecked and hoarse, lips brushing yours with the word. “Never ever do as I say again. Don’t leave me again.”

You barely manage a sound, a soft whimper caught between your lips, and that only pushes him further. The ropes creak behind you, tension growing as he presses you gently into them. But he doesn’t hurt you… he never could. Even as he cages you in, making it impossible for you to move, his hands are careful, trembling in soft spasms. 

Jungkook pulls back just slightly, barely a breath of distance, and it’s just enough to look at you. His eyes scan your face with a rawness that guts you, wet and dark eyelashes, his lips swollen from kissing, parted with breathless awe. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, almost to himself. “Never leave me.”

Your hands cup his jaw again, thumbs brushing the sweat-slicked edges of his cheekbones, and you giggle involuntarily. “Don’t be corny,” you whisper. “Just fucking kiss me.”

He makes a sound, something that borders on a whimper, and kisses you again. This time, there’s no hesitation like the first meet of your lips. His large hands splay across your back, pulling you against him as if he can fuse you to him. The desperation of his kiss grows, and he parts your lips to let his tongue slip in, meddling with yours. You feel his hand slip from your back, trailing slowly down your side, fingertips grazing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric. The touch makes you shiver. And it doesn’t help when his fingers dip lower.

Only his knuckles are covered in tape, and his fingers are free to travel down your body. They ghost along the edge of your hip, skim over the flare of your skirt, and then, kind of hesitant, he finds your thigh.

Your breath catches instantly. It hitches hard in your throat, and your body tenses under his hands.

And when Jungkook feels it, he freezes. He pulls back just an inch, his forehead still resting against yours, but his voice comes out low and wrecked, full of restraint, “Is this okay?” he says, he’s barely holding it together, but still so gentle, not wanting to overstep any boundaries you might have. 

You’re not exactly sure how you’re gonna answer this. Because you don’t really know… you’ve spent your whole life focusing on ballet, and along the way, you’ve forgotten men and pleasure. How on earth do you tell him you’ve never experienced anything like this? How on earth do you tell him you’re a virgin? You exhale shakily, lips brushing his as you answer.

“Mhm,” you hum, voice trembling with permission. “It’s just...” your eyes flutter shut, and you brace yourself for his reaction. “I’ve never… done this before.”

Jungkook stills completely.

“You…” his voice breaks, his tone more high-pitched than usual. “You’ve never…”

You give your head the smallest shake, looking up at him with a wide, doe-eyed expression. With it, Jungkook’s lips part, but nothing comes out, just a gentle groan. His hand slowly retracts from your stocking-covered thigh, only for it to tremble at your side. And after a loud swallow, he continues. “Any of it?”

Once again, you shake your head. Your hand stays on his jaw, fingers flexing gently against his skin. And as you breathe through your nose, a small sound escapes you, making Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch high on his forehead. 

His eyes are wide now, pupils blown, his whole expression swimming somewhere between being completely flustered and impossibly turned on. He lets out a long, shaky exhale, and his forehead dips back to yours. “Shit, that makes this…” he murmurs, lips brushing yours again. And at that, you feel his fingers make their way back to your thigh, rubbing slow circles into the soft stockings. “… fucking impossible for me.”

When his hand tightens slightly around your thigh, you whimper, and the sound that slips from him in return is something between a breath and a groan. You feel his other hand drift down your back, splaying wide across the base of your spine, anchoring you to him. The space between your bodies vanishes as he pulls you in, flush against his chest, every inch of him trembling with the restraint he’s trying so hard to hold on to.

You lean in to kiss the crook of his mouth, then his chin, then the edge of his jaw, “Don’t hold back, Kook,” you breathe out alongside your gentle kisses. “I’m not so fragile.”

He shudders at the mixture of your silken voice and soft lips against his skin. His fingers trail slowly up the outside of your thigh, tracing the soft line of your covered skin, then down again, smoothing over the back of it in taunting strokes. You feel the ripping edges of the tape that’s wrapped around his knuckles, the feeling causing you to shiver. Never once had you imagined his touch to be so gentle, such a large contrast from the way his hands usually act. 

Jungkook’s mouth returns to yours, this time with more heat. The kiss turns messier and deeper, but it’s less more claiming than desperate now. He tilts his head, opening you up for him, and you let him take and take, because you’re giving just as much. Your fingers tighten in his damp hair, pulling him closer, letting him in. 

He presses his thigh between yours, and that’s when you feel it. The outline of him, the large, bulking outline straining in his shorts, pressing into you. It draws a soft gasp from your mouth into his, the sensation completely new and unexplored. 

“I’ll take it slow,” he breathes into your mouth, voice cracked, already unraveling just from being this close. He wants you to know he’ll be good, even though it pains him to hold back as much as he is right now. “And you tell me when to stop.”

You want to tell him no, say you want all of him, but you only shake your head, kiss him again, breathe out against his mouth in a soft moan as he presses into you once more. The ropes behind you groan under the tension, your body arched between them and him, but you don’t care. You’re not going anywhere. Whatever it is you’re feeling when his erection brushes against your hip, that blooming ache in your lower belly, you want more of it.

His lips drag down from your mouth to your jaw, slow and scorching, brushing kisses along the underside of it. You tilt your head, offering him more of your neck. His nose skims your skin, then his mouth opens against the delicate space beneath your ear, and you shudder.

As your head tips back and your lips part in a gentle breath, Jungkook’s hand shifts, sliding down your thigh, fingers curling under your leg… and before you can even process it, he lifts.

You gasp, your hands flying to grip his shoulders for balance as your leg bends at the knee, your thigh hitching up against his side. He supports the weight easily, his strength effortless, like you weigh nothing to him. The new position presses you closer, hips aligning in a way that sends heat rolling up your spine. 

But it’s the next move that truly steals your breath. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs again, pushing your skirt higher. The fabric flutters uselessly around his wrist now, no barrier at all. But this time, he feels the resistance. His brows furrow when his fingers glide up and meet the sleek, elastic edge of your stockings.

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he smiles against your lips, “Why do you ballerinas always have to wear so many fucking layers?” 

You would’ve laughed if your whole body wasn’t shaking with need. So you kiss through his smile, tiny and desperate pecks against his parted lips, brushing over his teeth, his chin, the crook of his smile. A softer laughs escapes from him as he senses your cute starvation, but the sound turns into a frustrated groan as his fingers fumble uselessly for the hem. 

He pulls at the garter line, then slides down to your thighs again, trying to slip his hand between the fabric and your skin, but the resistance only makes him more frantic. You can feel it in the way his breath stutters against your cheek.

But you’re honestly no better… you might be worse. You feel fevered, hands twisting in the soaked fabric of his tank, hips twitching against his grip, nerves frayed from the tension. The silk and mesh clinging to your legs isn’t just slowing him down, it’s slowing you down. You need more. You need him, in a way that kind of concerns you. You’ve never had this feeling for a man before. You didn’t even think you were that much of a sexual person… but with Jungkook here, that thought goes flying out the window. 

So you lean in, lips brushing his ear, breath hot and trembling. “Just rip them off,” you whisper. “Tear them apart. It’s okay.”

Everything stills. Jungkook’s entire body freezes, completely, and you feel the sharp intake of breath against your neck. And when you pull back, you see it on his face; disbelief and restraint collapsing all at once. His jaw tightens, his eyes flicker, wide and blood-shot, then drop to your legs, the delicate fabric stretched tight against your thighs.

“You’re serious,” he says, voice low, stunned.

You nod and shake your head all at once, lost in desperation, biting down on your lower lip gently before you speak. “I don’t care. I just want you.” your voice comes out softer and needier than you’d like, but you’re too far gone to get embarrassed by it. And by the looks of it, the gentle tremble and high-pitch of your voice is what sends Jungkook over the edge. 

His hand slides back up, gripping the hem of your stocking where it cuts high across your stomach, and with one hard pull, he rips. 

The sound is sharp. The fabric splits at the seam with a jagged tear, slicing up and inward, and the air hits your skin immediately. You feel the rush of cool against your now-exposed skin, the torn stocking peeling back around the hole he’s made. Your panties show through, suddenly bared to the flickering gym light. And Jungkook apparently stops breathing.

His gaze drops, locking onto the sight of you, half-dressed and ruined by his hands. The silky pink of your underwear framed by the tear in the stocking… a mess he made. His mess.

“Fuck,” he whispers, reverent and broken, his lips brushing your cheek, your jaw. “Fuck, you look…”

You whimper softly, pulling him closer, your hands tangled in the fabric of his tank. And then you feel it… his hand, slow and sure, gliding up your thigh through the torn opening, testing just how much you’ll let him touch. But you let him have your all. Quite frankly, you’d let him do anything he’d like at this point. So you shift against him, restless and needy.

When you move, Jungkook rips the other side just the same, another hole splitting the opposite stocking, tearing a hole that ripples through the hem, opening you fully to him. 

He breathes out an unsteady breath against your lips, before his mouth ghosts along your cheekbone, lower, to your jaw, then to the soft space beneath your ear. Your breath hitches just the slightest as you feel his hand move again, never stopping. 

It slides higher, over the part of your thigh that’s now exposed, fingers splayed wide, his palm hot and trembling against your skin. His voice falters, a beautiful whimper releases from him. With it, his fingers dip, seeking the edge of your panties. And when they find it, the delicate band of lace clinging to your heat, his breath stutters against your throat. 

Your head tips back, and you’re so tense from anticipation that your stomach coils in tight knots. You breathe out, close your eyes, and his name falls of your tongue softly. 

“I know, don’t worry,” he exhales, and you feel his eyes flutter shut against your neck, his eyelashes tingling against your skin. His lips gently suck down on your throat before he speaks again. “I’ll make you feel good.”

Jungkook exhales, slowly, and slides his tattooed fingers beneath the lace.

The contact instantly has you moaning, the unknown feeling so electric that your muscles tense unwillingly. It feels so incredible different from your own fingers, Jungkook’s long and thick digits sliding in between your plush folds, brushing against the spot that aches and pulses for him. 

It’s incredible. His fingertips barely graze the wetness gathered between your legs, and your body jerks, the muscles in your stomach contracting tight, your hips twitching into his touch on instinct. Your eyes widen with the shock of it, the smallest touch, and yet it feels like a flame has just been lit low in your belly.

“Fuck…” Jungkook breathes, voice shredded and low. “You’re soaked.”

You whimper, your soft lips parting as your head tips forward, and he shudders at the sound, his forehead dipping to rest against yours.

The first stroke is slow. One finger, sliding up your slit, dragging deliberately through the slick heat. But Jungkook takes his time, and it’s killing you. He just watches you, watches how your lashes flutter, how your lips part, his gaze flickering from your face to where his hand is hidden between your thighs.

His eyebrows furrow, concentration blooming on his face, and his fingers run through you once again. A second pass from your entrance and all the way up, stopping at the swollen bundle of nerves he finds there. When he circles it, just once, experimentally, your thighs tense around him and a small gasp tumbles from your lips. The noise seems to wreck him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, more to himself. “Just like that…”

He rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clit, mapping every tiny reaction he draws from you with the pads of his fingers. Your back arches into him, your hands clutching at the fabric of his tank, and your breath quickens. The sensation is maddening, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. It should be embarrassing how you’re holding onto him for dear life, how he steals needy moans from you by just flicking his index finger over your sensitive clit… but you can’t help it. It feels absolutely wonderful. 

But he grows bolder… and lowers his hand, finding your entrance again, leaving your clit spasming and neglected. He groans as he maps out your sopping hole, and with a slow stroke, he presses in.

You inhale sharply as his finger slides inside, slowly, so carefully. The stretch is supposedly small, you should barely feel it, but your walls flutter tight around him, unused to the feeling. He moans at that, one of the most beautiful and sinful sounds you’ve ever heard, muffled against the skin of your neck.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he whispers, almost in disbelief. “Jesus…”

He doesn’t move at first. He just stays there, his tape covered knuckles covered in your slick, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, letting your body grow familiar with him. You feel your muscles pulse around him, but he eases you through it, kissing the hollow beneath your jaw to soothe the tension.

Then, slowly, he starts to move. In and out in gentle motions, his finger gliding inside you in a rhythm that builds gradually, each curl dragging against that sensitive spot deep inside you that makes your breath catch. You realize you might’ve never figured out there was any pleasure to find back there if it wasn’t for Jungkook, his fingers so much longer than yours, reaching places you could only dream of. 

He adds pressure with every thrust, curling deeper, testing angles. The sound of it, the wet, quiet slick of your arousal around his finger, fills the space between your bodies, obscenely intimate. He leans back to look at you, and the expression on his face is devastating.

Eyes half-lidded, lips parted, sweat clinging to his temple. But more than that… he looks awestruck. Like touching you like this has undone something in him. His thumb drifts upward again, brushing lightly over your clit in tandem with the movement of his finger, and when the sensations overlap, the slow curling inside with the teasing flicks above, your legs nearly give out.

“Oh—oh my god,” you moan, soft and high, and your head drops forward to rest against his shoulder.

“Does that feel good?” he breathes, still working you open. His eyes never leave yours, and he studies the way your face crinkles with pleasure. He presses his lips together, breathing through his nose, causing his nostrils to flare. 

You nod frantically, too wrecked to form words, your eyebrows creasing, eyes growing into soft, pleading voids. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, dragging his thumb in a tight circle that makes your thighs shake. “You like how I touch you, baby?”

Your hips rock into his hand now, tiny desperate movements that he mirrors, meeting you stroke for stroke. You feel the tension mounting fast, white heat curling low in your stomach, every muscle clenching as your pleasure begins to build.

“Want more?” he asks, voice cracked.

You nod again, breathless. “Please…”

Jungkook’s lips part, a shiver rolling through him, and then he gives it to you. Without hesitation, he adds a second finger, and the stretch makes your breath hitch, your thighs trembling against his hips. But it’s good… god, it’s so good. He moves with both now, curling them inside you in slow, deep thrusts, his palm grinding gently against your clit with every motion. The pressure is overwhelming, a delicious, aching fullness that you didn’t know you could crave.

“You’re taking me so well,” he pants, fingers buried deep. “It’s not to much, baby?”

You whimper as you shake your head, hips bucking into his hand now, and he groans in response, the sound of it wrecked and helpless. His fingers move faster, building a rhythm that matches the desperate rock of your body. Your breath stutters, your eyes roll to the back of your skull, and your knees buckle. He catches you with one large arm around your waist, holding you steady, his other hand still working you with relentless precision.

“Don’t—please don’t stop, Koo,” you cry out. You’re close. So close that stars have started to blur your vision. If this is what real pleasure is like, then dear god let this become your everyday life. You’re so close that you’re dripping all over his hand, soaking the bandage that covers his knuckles. 

Jungkook knows you’re on the edge. He can feel it in the way you squeeze around him, feel it in the way your gasps catch and your thighs tremble. And so he leans in, lips brushing your ear, “Cum for me.”

And with one last curl of his fingers, one perfect circle over your clit, you do.

The orgasm rips through you like a wave, your body clenching tight around his hand, breath stalling in your throat before bursting out in a cry that echoes softly through the gym. Your legs quake, your hands claw at his back, and through it all, Jungkook doesn’t stop. He slows just enough to help you ride it out, coaxing every last pulse of your orgasm with his skilled fingers.

“Fuck,” he groans, watching you unravel in his arms. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

You collapse into him, boneless, face pressed to his neck, and he holds you. Just holds you, arms around you, fingers finally still, lips pressing soft kisses into your hairline. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. He just rocks you gently, your body still trembling with aftershocks, shivering in his touch. 

After you’ve caught your breath, Jungkook pulls back just enough to see your face again, flushed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like you’ve run miles. But you see his eyes widen, his eyebrows rising, and a flash of sparkle brushes over his wet gaze. He swallows hard, jaw flexing once, twice… and his eyes drop to your thighs.

He takes in the state of them, still trembling. Still parted for him. Still pulled up around his waist. His breath hitches, “Let me…” His voice cracks, but he tries again. “Please. Let me have you.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s already moving, slowly at first, afraid you’ll tell him to stop. His hands slide down your hips. He lowers himself, shoulders dropping, eyes never leaving yours until he absolutely has to.

And then, to your surprise… he sinks to his knees.

Right fucking there… in the ring… before you. His hands bracket your thighs, spreading you gently, looking up at you like a boy who’s about to cry. And your spasming, overstimulated pussy leaks at the sight of him. Here you thought you were needy and embarrassing, but this might take the cake. 

His head dips forward, his forehead falling to rest against the inside of your knee for a moment, breath trembling against your skin. He looks up at you from the floor again, eyes dark, pupils blown, expression nothing short of worship.

“Tell me I can,” he whispers, voice hoarse, breath hot against the tender skin of your thigh. “Want to taste you.”

Your breath is shallow, chest heaving as you look down at him, this undefeated fighter, kneeling for you, begging to have his lips on you. His hands tremble where they hold your thighs, just looking up at you waiting for your answer. He doesn’t even move, he just stares at you with those dark, burning eyes. 

It’s insane to you. Just a few minutes ago, the only thing that had breached you were your own fingers… the thought of Jungkook’s tongue following seems so incredibly distant from before. But of course you can’t resist it. Not when he looks like that, a boy in full surrender, his large palms cradling the back of your thighs. 

“Mhm,” you whisper, the hum torn from your throat. “Yes, please…”

His exhale is sharp, almost like a sob, complete relief… and he lets himself move. 

His mouth presses to the inside of your thigh, soft at first… a gentle kiss. Then another, and another, slow, his lips trail upward, open and wet, a line of heat up your skin. You feel the scrape of his teeth once, just a graze, just enough to make your breath catch and your hips jolt.

You feel the softness of his lips, the heat of his mouth, the whisper of breath he exhales every time he presses closer to the apex of your thighs. And then he stops. Just before your center. His nose nudges the lace of your soaked panties through your torn stockings. 

He breathes in sharp. A shudder rocks through him, and you feel the tension ripple down his arms. His grip tightens around your thighs, grounding himself after letting the scent of you sink in.

Then comes the slow slide of his fingers curling into the waistband. He peels both your ruined stockings and panties down so slowly it’s almost cruel, dragging the soaked fabric down your thighs, letting you step out of them until the fabric hits the mat below you. His eyes follow every inch of your newly exposed skin, and when the lace clears your core, a thick, reverent sound escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a growl.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked, and you can feel his hands tighten as he tries to control himself. His lashes flutter as he lowers his head again, mouth parting, breath washing hot over where you ache for him.

And now that you’re bare, he presses in, taking his time before he’s just a breath short from you… he kisses you. Soft, small pecks over your heat, on your thighs, everywhere except where you need him the most. He feels you shiver above him, gasping for hair, and smiles devilishly before diving in… licking you. 

A long, deliberate, devastatingly slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, his tongue flat, broad, and hot. The sound you make isn’t human. Your whole body jolts, your hands flying to grip the ropes behind you, knuckles straining as your legs shudder against his shoulders, “S-shit.”

Humorously enough, Jungkook groans like he’s the one overwhelmed. Like the taste of you is dragging him under, drowning him. He licks again, a little firmer this time, flattening his tongue and dragging it up the same path, slow and thorough, letting it spread your slick. At the top, he pauses, then licks across your clit, barely brushing the swollen bud, just enough to make you flinch and gasp.

Your hand flies to his hair, burying in the damp strands as he licks again, deeper now, more confident, the flat of his tongue sliding through slick heat like he’s starved. He groans against you, the sound sending vibrations through your core, and your hips jerk forward again, but he doesn’t let you move far. 

As you try moving, Jungkook grabs ahold of the back of your knee, hooking your leg over his shoulder, opening you further for him. Your balance is unstable, but his grip is strong enough to keep you in place. He follows your twitching hips, tongue circling your clit, teasing, then flicking precisely where it makes you gasp. His nose presses against you, breath hot and wild, and his mouth moves messily against your soaking pussy. 

The ropes behind you creak again as your body fights to stay upright, your leg shaking where it rests over his shoulder. But Jungkook is strong, too strong to falter, keeping you in place so you can’t run away. And when he sucks your clit into his mouth for the first time, you cry out helplessly.

His eyes snap open at the sound, looking up at you, watching your face twist with every flick of his tongue. He moans into you, the vibration making you clamp down around nothing, desperate and aching.

“Jungkook—” your voice breaks, “Please—don’t stop—”

Of course he doesn’t, he wouldn’t dream of it. Instead, he moves faster, tongue flicking and sucking in a rhythm that feels unbearable. His grip on your thigh tightens, pinning you in place. His other hand slips around and presses just above your mound, right where you’re throbbing. It adds pressure, forces every sensation to sharpen.

“Oh god, don’t stop!” you wail, scrambling for purchase, your fingers ending up tangled in his hair. 

He chuckles against your pussy, amused by your surrender, before he licks lower, tracing down to your entrance, and you feel the heat of his breath there… followed by the wet glide of his tongue pushing inside. And he fucks you with it. The textured heat of him slides into your soaked core, and the intrusion is overwhelming. But it’s not exactly the stretch, it’s the fact that it’s him. The fucking rawness of being opened and filled by his tongue.

You let out a sob, and he groans like your sounds feed something inside him. His nose presses against your clit as his tongue pushes deeper, and the combination makes you shake. He dips his head back and forth, his tongue thrusting inside you as he nudges his big nose against your swollen nub, again and again. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, legs trembling. “Jungkook, I—”

You can’t even finish. Because his tongue pulls out, and before you can catch your breath, his mouth closes around your clit again. He doesn’t hold back this time. His tongue moves fast, tight, slick flicks against the swollen bud of nerves. He sucks you in between every flick, the suction making your toes girl and vision white out. He circles faster, alternates pressure, and you feel yourself rising again. Pleasure coiling hot and fast at the base of your spine, winding tighter with every pass of his tongue.

And Jungkook is fucking restless, he doesn’t fucking pause. Not even once. He doesn’t even come up for air. He just keeps going, licking you like a starved man, groaning into your pussy like he’s addicted. His hair is damp against your thighs, sweat and heat rolling off him, and he doesn’t care. His whole mouth is soaked with you, and all he does is lick deeper, suck harder.

He pushes two fingers back inside without warning, and the gasp you let out is almost a sob.

“Jungkook—fuck, I can’t—”

“You can,” he breathes against you, fingers curling inside in perfect sync with his mouth. “You’re doing so good, baby. But i need you to cum on my tongue.”

Your legs lock around his shoulders, your body arching into him. You can’t even hear a word he says, the pulse in your ears so loud that everything else is muted around you. Your climax builds like a wave, higher, higher, dangerously high, and he doesn’t let up. His tongue licks relentlessly until it finally hits.

You come with a cry, every muscle clenching, your body snapping tight like a drawn bow finally let loose. Your hips grind against his mouth, helpless, and he moans into you, holding you there, sucking your sensitive clit into his wet mouth. 

Your orgasm crests and crashes, but Jungkook doesn’t pull away. He licks through it, coaxing you down with gentle, adoring strokes, his tongue easing the tremors in your thighs, his lips pressing soft kisses to the oversensitive nub of your clit.

It’s the greatest thing you’ve ever felt, almost like a ruse. Your vision can’t make out anything all that clearly, until you feel Jungkook’s mouth retract, and you see a large silhouette rise before you. 

Your leg slips down from his shoulder, and he catches you before you can fall, one arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck. His forehead presses against yours, his breath still ragged, lips swollen and slick with your taste.

His hand tightens on your thigh, hitching it back up around his waist, and your breath stutters against his lips. His forehead rests to yours, his chest heaving with restraint. And you feel him again, hard and flushed, pressed right against your core. 

Your fingers knot into his hair, dragging him close again. Even though your brain is fogged by your two previous orgasms, you know you need all of him. Need to please him. “I want you,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I want to feel all of you, Jungkook. I can’t wait anymore.”

His breath catches, and for a second, he just stares at you, eyes wide, chest rising, his body shaking against yours. Upon seeing the pleading, helpless expression on your face, his lips crash into yours with such force it knocks a gasp out of you. His kiss is fevered and rough, his tongue rolling in soft waves against yours.

Your back presses harder into the ropes as his body cages you in completely, his hands gripping your thighs, your hips, your waist, everywhere at once. The ropes dig into your back, stretched taut under your weight, but it only adds to the tension, the pressure you’re drowning in.

You tighten the grip of the leg that’s hooked around his hips, pulling him flush against you. The shift draws a low, wrecked sound from his throat. He leans into you, grinding his hips forward, and you feel him drag right over your exposed and overly sensitive pussy, so close to being inside that your head tilts back with a cry.

“Feels so good,” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. “Please, Kook. Need more.”

Instead of giving in to the desperation tearing through both of you, he finds your mouth with a kiss. His hand slides down your thigh, cupping beneath it, lifting your leg higher so your hips surge forward, tilted open for him. The sheer fabric of your skirt is still bunched at your waist, clinging uselessly to your skin. His other hand ghosts down the small of your back, slipping just beneath the hem of your wrap-top where sweat has collected. 

“Think you can take me?” he whispers against your lips. Then he grinds forward, dragging the length of himself against you, through the thin fabric of his shorts. 

Your entire body jolts, “Jungkook—”

“Shit—I’ll be good,” he mutters, voice guttural, breath catching as he does it again, digging further in, dragging the covered length of him through your fluttering folds. “I’ll be so fucking good to you.”

You gasp, hands clinging to his shoulders, back arching further into the ropes. Every inch of his cock presses against your center, teasing and torturous as he slowly rocks his hips forward. The way the swollen head of him catches on your clit through the ruined fabric, and it’s unbearable. Your hips chase his movement, breath faltering with each teasing grind, your thighs trembling.

“Please,” you beg, lips brushing his. “Don’t tease me—”

Jungkook doesn’t move for a long moment. Not until your fingers are curling into his damp tank, not until your hips shift forward, pressing your heat against the rigid length of him, thick and aching between his thighs.

He groans softly against your mouth, the sound barely human, and when he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are wild, but still holding onto that thread of control he’s so close to losing.

“You don’t…” he rasps, swallowing hard. His voice edged with panic. “I’m not small, baby. You’ve never done this, and I—”

“Don’t care,” you whisper, your voice trembling but sure. “Can’t wait anymore. I trust you.”

His face twists, his jaw locking so tight it looks painful. His hand flexes at your waist, “I’m gonna go slow,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing to yours. “So fucking slow. You tell me the second it hurts, and I’ll stop.”

You nod, but he doesn’t move. Not yet. Because he’s scared… so scared of hurting you that his whole body trembles. But then you look at him, deep into his eyes, and something soft flickers in your gaze. Your hands cup his face again, thumbs brushing over his damp cheeks, and you smile so gently that it breaks him. “Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

That’s when he moves. With shaking fingers, Jungkook reaches between you, dragging his shorts lower. And then… you feel it. The hot, heavy press of him against your bare slit, and your breath stops entirely.

He’s… massive. You’d felt it before, against your thigh, gliding through his shorts, but nothing compares to the heat and weight of him now, bare and pulsating. The thick crown of his cock rests against your entrance, already leaking, and the rest of him is just… obscene. You can feel it without seeing it, the kind of size that makes your heart stutter with something between awe and terror.

You inhale shakily. “Shit…”

Jungkook’s voice is breathless. “You okay?”

You nod, breath catching in your throat. “You’re… really big…”

He chuckles, because of course that’s something every man loves to hear. But still, he eases you. “I know,” he pants. “I know, baby. That’s why I’ll go slow—just—just hold onto me.”

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, trembling, as he brings a hand down to guide himself. You feel the broad tip of him nudge against your entrance, and everything in your body tenses.

“Relax,” he whispers, brushing a kiss to your temple. “It’s just me. You’re good. Perfect.”

Slowly… he starts to push in. The pressure is immediate, the tip of him stretching you open, breaching you for the first time. Your walls resist instantly, muscles fluttering involuntarily, and it’s not even pain, but the sheer size of him makes your body lock up with tension. He barely presses in half an inch before your nails dig into his shoulder.

Jungkook stops instantly, “Breathe,” he murmurs, forehead against yours, his voice shaking as he holds himself still. “Just breathe, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You exhale shakily, humming with a nod of your head, forcing your body to relax. Your thighs fall open a little more, your hips tilt, and that’s all he needs… a soft, aching invitation. He pushes in again, just a little deeper, and you feel the stretch grow. The thick crown of his cock slides in slowly, inch by careful inch, and the fullness is overwhelming.

You gasp, body going taut again, eyes clenching shut as the feeling of fullness crashes down on you. 

“I know,” he pants. “I know, baby. You’re so fucking tight…” His voice trembles, and when you glance up again, his jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed in tortured restraint. Sweat beads at his temple, his whole body shaking with the effort not to slam into you.

“I c-can take it,” you whisper, breath hitching as your muscles flutter around him. “Please… ‘need more.”

He kisses you again, and then he slides in deeper. The stretch is sharp now, bordering on painful. Your walls are straining to accommodate the thick width of him, your body fluttering and twitching as he inches further inside. You’ve never felt so full in your life, and he’s not even all the way in yet. Jungkook groans against your mouth, trembling all over. “So tight, baby. So fucking tight. Trying to keep me out…”

You whimper at the punched sound of his voice, the strain behind every syllable. His hand slides behind your thigh, lifting your leg higher around his waist to open you wider, tilting your hips. And when he thrusts forward again, slow and deep, he sinks further.

You cry out, not in pain exactly, but in pure overstimulation. Your fingers dig into his arms, clutching him, and he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your throat, “Taking me so good,” he breathes, voice cracked. “I’m almost there, baby. Just a little more—just—fuck—you’re doing so good for me—”

Your breath hitches as his hips finally press flush against yours, and you realize… he’s in. All of him. Inside you. And you feel stretched to the point of breaking, the dull, constant ache of fullness throbbing low in your belly. Your breath stutters in your chest, your legs trembling where they wrap around his hips.

He’s not moving… he can’t. He’s buried to the hilt, completely surrounded by your tight, untried pussy, and his entire body is shaking with restraint.

“Holy—fuck—” he gasps, his face buried in your neck. “I’m inside you…”

You nod against his shoulder, unable to speak. The sensation is too much, too big, too deep, and you think you might actually lose it. You feel every twitch of him inside you, every heartbeat echoed in your core.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Is it okay? Is it too much?”

“You’re—so deep,” you breathe, dazed and aching. “So full… I can’t think.”

He kisses your jaw, slow and trembling. “I know, baby. I know. I’ve got you.” He doesn’t move right away, he just holds you through it, lets your body adjust, lets the stretch settle until you’re able to breathe out comfortably. His hand caresses your side, your thigh, your hip, grounding you. And then, when your breathing evens out, when your fingers loosen just a little on his shoulders… he pulls out.

Not all the way, just a few inches. So slow and torturous that you feel the heavy drag of him against your soaked, fluttering walls, and low in your belly. But before you’re able to cry out at the retraction, he slides back in. You gasp insanely loud, your entire body jolting at the push. Your thighs try to close but he keeps you open, whispering soft praise in your ear.

“You’re taking me so good,” he murmurs. “So perfect. So tight for me…”

His pace is slow, impossibly gentle. He moves beautifully, mapping out every inch of how your body molds around him with his large palms. And for every shallow stroke, you feel the friction build, a heat that tightens your belly, coils through your spine. You cling to him, moaning soft and breathy. The stretching ache is still there, but it’s turning into something else entirely. A blooming, hot pleasure that’s completely unknown to you, a euphoria you’ve never before experienced.

Every deep thrust brushes somewhere new, and your body responds instinctively, rolling your hips to meet him, welcoming him, “Oh my god,” you gasp. “I—Kook, you feel so—”

He groans raggedly, burying his face in your neck. “Yeah? Not too much? Like my dick inside you?”

You nod as his thrusts grow firmer, still careful and controlled, but deeper inside you, hitting a spot you’ve never been aware of before. The slick and wet sounds of your bodies meeting fill the quiet space of the gym, underscored by your soft cries and his desperate, broken groans. You wrap both arms around his shoulders, holding him close as you try to stable your faltering knee that’s not resting around his waist. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers again, pressing a kiss to your lips. He holds you tight to him, not letting you go even for as much as a second, your bodies melting together. “I’ve got all of you.”

When you whimper at his words, his thrusts start to shift. Each stroke more precise, dragging the full length of his cock through your tight, slick pussy before pressing all the way back in, his hips meeting yours with a low, rhythmic slap that echoes through the gym.

You’re soaked, arousal dripping from your core and down to his thick cock, covering him in slick… and it only seems to make him more desperate. He watches the way your lips part, the way your eyes flutter shut and your nails dig into his shoulders as you moan beneath him. His jaw clenches, his entire body humming with restraint. He’s trying to take his time. He’s trying to be good. But you’re clenching so tightly around him, soft and trembling and still adjusting to every inch of him, and it’s driving him insane.

“I’m not gonna last,” he groans into your skin, his breath ragged against your neck. “You feel too fucking good—look so adorable like this—”

You whimper, your hips rolling up to meet his, and the friction of it, your soaked, sensitive pussy dragging over every swollen vein on his thick cock, makes you shudder.

“I’m close,” you breathe, eyes rolling to the back of your head, your voice turning needy and pathetic. “You f-feel so good, Kookie.”

The sound of his nickname undoes him. His hands tighten around your thighs as he drives into you deeper, faster. The ropes behind your back groan. His grip is still gentle, but the power behind his thrusts is growing, because he can’t help it. The pleasure is overwhelming now, buzzing like lightning in his spine. 

“Look at me,” he pants, his voice shaking. “Let me see you when you cum.”

Your eyes flutter open, just barely, but when they lock with his, it’s like the world narrows to a single thread. He’s above you, panting and flushed, sweat running down his jaw. His hair is damp and messy, stuck to his forehead. But it’s his eyes that break you, his beautiful bunny-eyes blown wide with awe. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, voice cracking. “My little doll…”

Your breath catches.

“You look so pretty like this. All stretched out on my dick—dripping all over me…”

Your back arches at his words, the heat inside you cresting into something unbearable. Your walls flutter around him, clenching tight and milking him, causing him to gasp, his hips stuttering. “Shit—just like that—” he moans, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re so close, I can feel it—”

“Fuuck,” you gasp. “I’m gonna—Kook, please—”

He cuts you off with a kiss as his fingers slide between your bodies again. They find your clit, slick and swollen, and he rubs you in tight, perfect circles that make you cry out into his mouth. “Want us to cum together,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me, baby? Hm?”

You nod frantically, already shaking, your walls clenching and pulsing around him. The pleasure is white-hot now, curling through your spine, your belly, building into a sensation that wipes out your vision and makes you cry out into his mouth. 

Your beautiful moans has Jungkook completely ruined. His thrusts grow erratic, his cock hitting the perfect spot again and again, dragging along every sensitive nerve until your entire body is coiled tight. “Cum with me,” he groans. “Come on, baby—let me feel it. Let me feel your little pussy clench around my dick.”

His words are all it takes. The orgasm slams into you, your entire body locking up, your mouth falling open in a broken moan as your climax rips through you. Your thighs shake, your stomach tightens, and your pussy clamps down around him so tight it pulls a ragged cry from his throat.

“Shit—baby I can’t hold it anymore… please—can I cum inside you?” he pants, his eyebrows furrowing as his concentration falters. 

You cry out through your orgasm, your soft pussy spasming and milking him dry, “Fuck—yes, Kookie—need your cum in me so bad!”

“Fuck—fuck, I’m—” he chokes out, hips snapping forward once, twice… then he follows. His release hits like a punch to the gut, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he spills himself with a loud, desperate groan. He stays buried in you, pressed as deep as he can go, his arms locked tight around your waist, holding you through it, as if he could anchor you to him forever.

You feel every hot wave of it, every twitch, every pulse. Your body spasms with the aftershocks, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness. You’re both breathing hard, your bodies trembling, clinging to one another while your chests heave against each other. 

Jungkook shudders against you, his head dropping to the nape of your neck, growling and panting into your skin. You instinctively let your hand come to the back of his head, pulling him closer, caressing the wet strands of hair. His grip tightens around your waist, before his hands travel further.

He still doesn’t pull out of you, he just lets his hands roam, until they find the back of your thighs. In a swift motion, like you weigh nothing, he picks you up and meets your eyes before leaning in to kiss you once more. 

It’s a soft kiss, the two of you humming and whimpering as you’re still connected and sore. And to be honest, your core is burning with pain, so overstimulated and stretched out that the feel of him picking you up, widening you even more, has you whimpering against his lips. 

“You did so good,” he breathes, one hand traveling up your spine, finding the back of your neck to pull you in, deepening the kiss, while his other hand stays underneath your thigh. You clamp your legs together, let your arms fling over his shoulders, trying to steady yourself around his waist, moaning softly at the feel of him being buried balls deep inside you. 

His hand under your thigh moves to the small of your back as he feels you clinging to him, pressing you further against him. You’re both so sweaty and warm, but the feeling of having him still buried inside you is so wonderful that you can’t think of anything else. You feel the mixture of your slick and his hot cum dripping from you, coating his abdomen and your ass in warm ropes. 

“Don’t ever leave me again,” he says between his kisses, the intensity of them turning into small kitten licks against your swollen lips. “Even if I lose my mind and tell you to… please don’t go. You’re the most beautiful, precious thing I know.”

Your hands come to cup the back of his neck, fingers running upwards and into his hair, tugging at it so the kiss deepens. You breathe out shakily against him, your eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Having a stupid, all-consuming crush is something that defines girlhood. Shoving everything of importance out of your way in order to see, or spend time with said crush is really the only fair option as a young girl. 

However, when the crush has lasted for almost a decade, and you still have yet to make any further progress… it borders on obsession. And it’s incredibly embarrassing.

You see, there’s this video store in town, this tiny, kind of grungy shop that contains every single piece of media imaginable. Old and dusty traveling magazines that no one bothers reading, records and CD’s you spend months saving up for… and what is seemingly a collection of every single movie ever made. 

And behind the counter of that blockbuster shop, there sits a boy you’ve been pining after since the sixth grade. 

Jeon Jungkook. A boy so painfully attractive and charming that he has simply ruined every other man for you, ever. And so incredibly out of reach that you feel like he’s more of a distant dream rather than a real human being. 

The first spark of attraction appeared a few weeks after your twelfth birthday. You saw him through your window, which overviews the park. And there he was, the sixteen-year-old Jungkook, lighting up a cigarette near the entrance, watching patiently over the narrow path as a girl with dark hair approached him. 

At your ripe age, this was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen. The way his hand snaked underneath her coat when she hugged him. How he seemingly whispered something in her ear, grinning back at her when she retracted. 

A few days later, you found out who the girl was. Tina Agnello’s cousin, who was in town for the week. You had overheard Tina talk about it during lunch break, sitting a few tables down from yours, and you almost choked on your yoghurt. 

“Isn’t fourteen a bit young for a sixteen-year-old?” you huffed, mostly to yourself. But your friend picked it up, frowning at you. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Nothing.”

It shouldn’t really have surprised you that Jungkook grew up to be the town’s Don Juan. 

He became sort of a community ride… a town bike, if you’d like. At first, you maybe thought there was something incredibly wrong with him, like some serious mental problems. Because why else would he be pounding around town? 

But at fifteen, when you stumbled into the new video store in town, trying to escape the rain that had started pouring down outside, you unexpectedly fell head first into a real-life interaction with him. And weirdly enough, he seemed perfectly normal. Disgustingly charming, that is, but normal. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Jungkook’s voice wasn’t all that deep, but it was soft, curling low in your stomach. 

You stood leaning against the glass door, your wet hair clinging to your temples, droplets falling onto the floor. “What?”

He pointed towards the street behind you, “The rain.” 

Maybe it was your brain short-cutting, but you didn’t understand what he meant… like at all. Your brows furrowed, and you repeated your question. “What?” 

“It’s this thing I do to spark sales. Trap the costumers inside.”

“You make it rain?” 

He chuckled at his own joke, incredibly stupid, but also numbingly cute, “Yeah, I find rain-dances to be very affective.”

It made you kind of mad that this guy had a captivating personality on top of his unfair looks. It would’ve honestly been better if he was just a dumb, stupid idiot, sleeping around town. But he made you laugh… and made you buy unnecessarily amounts of items from his store.

Was he a good salesman? No… not necessarily. But he was so damn flirty that you thought he might marry you if you watched the Star Trek chronicles. 

And now, at your grown age of twenty fucking years old, your bookshelf is short of books and filled to the brim with Jungkook’s movie recommendations. It might be embarrassing, but it has become a weekly ritual. Every Saturday, you stop by his shop, return last week’s watch and pick up a new one. 

“Now, how was it?” he leans forward, bracing his elbows on the counter. His eyes smize at you, trying to read the expression on your face. 

You almost can’t answer because of how close he is. Even though you’ve known each other for five years, he still has this weird hold on you, and you have to clear your throat before you speak. “I liked that the bad guy’s name was Lord Humungus.” 

He presses his lips together, his lip ring getting caught in the motion, and his eyebrows rise high on his forehead. “Yeah?” he nods, teasingly, and you want to go home and puke and cry. “That’s all… or…?” 

The chuckle he lets out brushes against your face… yeah, he’s that close, and your brain short-circuits. Your eyes dart down to your hands, where the VHS tape dangles from your fingers, and you slide it across the counter. “It was better than the first one.”

“I told you it worked as a stand-alone, you didn’t have to bore yourself with the first,” he smirks, the smile tugging on only one side of his lips, bearing just a bit of his bunny-teeth. 

You shrug, “I like to make up my own opinions, thanks.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

It might be a bizarre way to describe it, but his voice is laced with sex. Constantly. Like there’s always some hidden innuendo behind his words. And with the way he’s leaning forward, his biceps straining through the fabric of his navy uniform-tee, your mind runs laps, completely fogging and erasing every word you try uttering. So you just roll your eyes, trying to act casual. 

“Sorry if I don’t love macho-car-movies,” you scoff, letting your hands slip away from the counter only to tremble nervously at your sides. It’s like your whole body is vibrating just by being near him, and this isn’t anything new. It’s always been like that. He’s just that charming. 

Jungkook hums, nodding slowly before narrowing his eyes, a wondering look appearing on his face. Just to not seem like a lost sheep, you copy his facial expression and glower right back at him. 

“Mhm,” he bites down on the inside of his cheek, his eyes skimming over your face before traveling lower. You have to compose yourself, shifting a bit in your stance, trying not to burst into flames. Jungkook takes his time before he speaks, finally locking with your eyes again. “You’d watch anything I tell you to, right?”

Holy mother of god. Of course you nod. Because you’re an idiot, and you’re certain your voice is going to crack halfway through your answer. And when Jungkook smirks at your obvious flustered state of being, your pulse spikes. His tongue flicks over the metal in his mouth, inherently seductive, even if it isn’t intended to be, and you think you might have to go cry in the backroom. 

Then, without a word, he backs off from the counter and turns to the shelf behind him. He skims over the many cassettes in front of him, searching for something without speaking. You swallow behind him, finally freed from his captivating gaze, forced to stare at the way his back muscles move in waves underneath his tee while he stretches tall before the shelf. 

His tattooed arm reaches out for a tape high above him, but it hesitates before it once again falls back to his side, “It’s here somewhere…” 

You try waiting patiently for him to find whatever movie he’s looking for, but you can’t help yourself. Your gaze drifts, drops actually, and lands on his butt… unfortunately. It’s tightly hidden underneath his dark-washed jeans, accompanied by a pair of strong thighs. Such a nice and perky butt. Your head tilts a bit, taking in the view, if you’d like, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. 

It’s a shame that this is the exact moment Jungkook gives up on his search and turns abruptly. Your eyes widen, and you flinch, hoping he didn’t just see the way you were drooling over the chiseled shape of his ass. 

But instead of commenting on your awkwardness, he drops to the ground, crouching down on the floor to inspect the hallow counter which contains several more blockbusters. 

He grunts and groans while his fingers flick through the options, never landing on his target. 

“Digging for gold?” you tease, boldly leaning over the counter to look at him. He doesn’t even meet your gaze, he just keeps searching, his eyebrows curled together in a knot on his forehead. 

“Give me a second.”

You hear him pulling out a large cardboard box, watching over as his muscles tense as he drags it forward. And with a grunt, he lifts it, getting up on his feet and dropping it onto the counter. As you peek over the edge of it, you see it’s filled to the brim with identical black CD-covers, just with different scribblings on the side. 

Jungkook’s slender fingers brush over the covers, flipping through the countless pieces until he finally grabs ahold of one. The one with the title Memento poorly written in white marker on the edge. 

“Ah, there you are.” He pulls out the piece from the pool of covers while letting out a sigh of relief. “Thought I’d lost her.”

You lift your chin, looking over at Jungkook who is seemingly lost in his own little world that only contains him and this very neutral tape. “Memento?”

“It’s fucking great.” His eyes dart up, meeting yours, and you almost chuckle at the way they light up. It’s such a cute thing for a guy to have a hobby, to be in love with something. That is of course if you look past the excruciating mansplaining that follows. “A man with short term memory loss—so the entire movie is shot backwards. From end to beginning. You learn the plot with him, it’s insane. He uses these post-it notes to keep track of time, place and faces. Revolutionary, I’ve neve—”

“Shush,” you rip the cover from his hands, cutting off his monologue. You know just how long he can go on if he’d like. There have been times where you’d wondered if he might be on the spectrum, given the fact that he’s constantly restless, and a complete nerd when he wants to, but you don’t like to dwell on that. It’s cute, and it obviously works for him, so you let him act a bit strange. “Let me find out for myself.”

“Mhm, brat.”

You nearly gush at the new nickname, your nostrils flaring as you breathe in deeply. Your hands fall to your sides, and you unconsciously sway a bit in your stance, not really sure if you want to end the interaction here, or if you want to stay, maybe fling yourself over the counter, straddle this man like a horse. The ladder might not be the best idea, so you start searching for coins that are buried deep in the tiny back pocket of your jeans, eager to get the hell out of this place. 

“4.99?” you ask, as if you don’t already know the price. You’re here every week, so it really is etched in your memory. But so is everything he tells you. 

Jungkook smirks, his gum-drop eyes narrowing, “On the house. Since Mad Max wasn’t really your thing.”

“Don’t be stupid, I’ll pay.”

“Keep your money, peach, I don’t want it.”

Ugh, you hate when he calls you that. Peach. It sounds like some awful pet name that your dad would call you. So you’d really like for him to stop, but the one time you asked him to, it seemingly just fueled him. So you pray that one day he might see you as someone other than this little girl who buys stuff from him without second guessing his opinion. Maybe he’ll one day see you as a woman. Yesss that would be good. And you already know what it is he loves to do with women. Half the moms in town has slept with him. 

Jesus your mind is wandering. You scrunch your nose, trying to act affronted by his arrogance, when really your mind is running through every woman in town who has gotten the taste of him. The jealousy blooming inside you is like a kid’s rage when they’re not allowed candy on a weekday. Why can’t you also have nice things?

“Fine, but I’ll repay you if I love it.”

“Deal,” he nods, his large hand reaching out before him, gesturing for you to shake it, “And don’t worry, peach. You’ll love it.”

Your entire apartment smells of butter and salt as you wait for the microwave’s timer to drop. There’s not a lot you know about this movie, but popcorn is always a good idea, so you’re hoping it won’t be too disturbing, ruining your appetite. 

The CD is waiting for you inside the player, all you need to do is pad over your floor, sink down into the couch cushions and press play on your remote. 

You’ve already brushed off all other plans for the night, your friends scolding you for throwing your life away only to watch some mediocre movie to please Jungkook. “You’re a source of income, you buy everything from him.” 

Hah, bet they’ll be sorry when they hear you actually got this one for free. Mhm. Or maybe not. It’s been five years… it’s the least he could do. 

The timer dings. Yey, showtime. You open the microwave door, the warm and salty smell travels through the air and settles deep within you. You grab the paper bag, tearing it open with a quick tug. Now you’re ready. 

The cushions give in the moment your body meets the couch, and you immediately melt with them, sinking further and further down. You grab onto the soft, pink blanket that’s thrown carelessly over the armrest, and pull it over your body, letting yourself get incredibly comfortable. Although this ritual, watching a movie every Saturday, cozying up in your living room, is supposedly ‘me time’… you know deep inside you do this for him. Your friends are right, you do want his approval. So you’re hoping you’ll like this. Let’s watch, shall we?

You stretch your arm out, reaching for the remote control, and you press play. 

The screen stays black for a moment. No music, no production mark. Weird. You wait for a moment, resting your head back on the soft cushion behind you. Still nothing plays. Mhm, maybe he gave you an empty disk? Or maybe your TV is broken?

You’re about to press play again, wondering if you maybe hit a wrong button the first time… when your whole body freezes. 

The tape starts rolling, but it’s not Memento. Or, it possibly can’t be. That would be too bizarre. Because what plays on the screen is an amateur video… of Jungkook. Seemingly at home, staring straight into the camera, so close that his face blocks all surroundings. All you see is the concentration on his face as he fumbles with the record button, his eyes wide and searching. 

You chuckle. Cute, he misplaced the CD. But what’s not so cute is when Jungkook moves out of frame. 

Ho-ly-shit. 

Your jaw actually drops, your mouth hanging wide open as you take in what’s playing on the television before you. Jesus fucking christ. When Jungkook is out of sight, you realize the camera is placed in his bedroom, and the sight has you gasping for air, your hand flying to cover your mouth. Because on his bed, there lies a girl… in only her underwear. 

“Am I in the frame?” she asks gently, looking up at Jungkook who is still out of sight, her eyes doe-like and glistening. Pure seduction. 

“Mhm,” Jungkook hums, and finally he moves forward, ushering for her to move further down the bed to make room for him by her side. And you think you might actually cry when he’s back on camera. 

Walking into frame, the sight of him has your eyes widening, the hand covering your mouth slowly dragging down your chin. Leaving you gaping. 

Jungkook is completely naked. Butt-ass-naked. On camera. And fully erect, that is. He walks over to the bed, eyes locked with the girls’, his large hands hanging by his side. 

It’s not a modest sight. He looks absolutely insane. His shoulders broad, arms straining with veins and muscle, while his torso is rather lean, a small waist accompanied by a set of washboard abs. But that’s not really what steals your breath away. Because as he’s completely naked, your eyes immediately go to his abdomen. His hips are beautifully defined, his thighs chiseled and muscular, and his cock. Well, that’s just unfair. 

He’s huge when erect, thick and heavy, the tip of him a beautiful, deep red, and as he moves closer, you see the leaking precum that drips from him, running down his veiny shaft. 

You immediately pause the video, too stunned to do anything else, but that doesn’t really help as the still-frame of Jungkook’s heavy cock and deep, lust filled eyes continues to show on screen. So you turn the whole television off instead. 

The screen flatlines, and you’re left frozen on the couch. 

What on gods green earth did you just watch. And why the fuck did Jungkook give this to you. It has to be a mistake. He couldn’t possibly know he gave you this? It’s just a horrible fail, he misplaced the CD. Put it in the wrong cover. What the hell, you don’t even know how to make this sound reasonable. 

Your eyebrows have almost reached your hairline, and your mouth still hangs wide open. The popcorn by your side remains untouched. Because you just simply can’t bring yourself to indulge in a snack right now, as you think you might vomit. Not because you’re disgusted… it’s the other way around actually. What you just saw has you feeling dizzy, a low, curling sensation building low in your stomach… and that’s what you find disturbing. 

He probably never intended for anyone to ever see this, and here you are, on a Saturday, all snuggled up on your couch, watching his homemade porno. 

You can’t be doing this. Let’s stop here. Here, but no further. You inhale deeply, straightening your posture as your torso lifts slowly from the couch, resting your elbows on your knees. The curling pleasure in your stomach has turned into a deep and horrific realization that this is such an invasion of privacy that you should probably be locked up for good. Even though you never intended to watch this, you still did, and you feel evil. 

The black screen stares back at you. Your pulse thunders in your eardrums, you can practically hear your heart leaping out of your chest. As you reach for the remote, optioning to press ‘retract disk’, you stop. Something inside you stills. An evil thought forms. 

This is like the marshmallow test. A kid with an unlimited access to a big bowl of marshmallows, which is in your case a recording of Jungkook finding his own release. Okay. Dilemma. Do you stop here, tell him about the mistake, return the tape immediately. You should. You definitely should. 

Or do you continue? He won’t know just how much of it you saw…

You’ll obviously return it. Apologize. You check the small watch standing on the coffee table. It reads 7:32. The shop closes at eight. Okay. You have plenty of time. You just need to see what you’re dealing with here. Right? 

You’re evil. But it’s impossible, it’s like having a gold mine before you, no one to stop you, not a single person in sight telling you for the love of god, woman, get a grip. 

Your fingers curl around the remote… before you ultimately press ON — play — fast forward. 

The screen turns back on, the recording forwards in quick frames, and you shut one eye as if that blocks out your shame and guilt. You land on a still that seems inviting. The girl, on all fours, Jungkook propped up behind her. 

His hand comes up to his mouth. He sucks in his cheeks before spitting out a glob of saliva, moving his glistening fingers to the girl’s heat, which is perched in the air before him. Jungkook looks down at the view, gliding his fingers through her folds, immediately having her cry out with pleasure. 

“Sshhh, baby, not yet. Want you crying on my dick.”

You shudder at the sound of his voice through the crispy speaker, his tone teasing with a hint of frustration. Your lips press together as you watch him line himself up, the girl’s face crinkling before it falls forward, burying her head in the pillow. 

He thrust inside her with a grunt, his mouth falling open with a strained moan as he’s balls deep inside her. She whines a muted scream into the pillow, her fists clenching around the sheets. He’s probably too big for her. 

Jungkook chuckles at her pleasure-filled misery, starting out with deep and slow grinds before pounding into her. The sounds are wile, having you turn down the volume with embarrassment, afraid your neighbors might tune in. Your jaw is practically on the floor as you watch Jungkook’s facial expressions. He’s smiling. His eyebrows curl together on his forehead as he plunges forward, retreating shallowly just to snap his hips against her ass once again. 

Jesus. You press your legs together, trying to fight the obvious burn in your abdomen. Suddenly, your breath catches. 

Jungkook looks up from the view of his cock driving into the girl’s heat… and his eyes lock with yours. Well, not yours, but he stares back at the camera, his nostrils flaring as he breathes in and out. 

This just got increasingly more embarrassing. You’re indulging in something that feels very illegal here, so can he please look away? As if he’s watching you through the screen, your throat tightens. You can’t bring yourself to look away, it’s like a car crash. You can’t not stare at it. Your eyes flick from his face, to the way the muscles of his torso tighten with every snap of his hips. His palms run over the curve of her ass before it comes down to smack hard, causing her to tip her head back with a yelp. She’s so lost in pleasure that she can’t even talk. 

But he does… and your brain-activity cuts short. 

“Feel dirty?” 

Huh? You still at his words. 

He speaks again, grunts actually, “Filthy girl, wishing this was you.”

Oh my god. He’s talking to the viewer. He’s looking directly at the camera and speaking to you. Or whoever’s watching this. This was intended to be seen. Oh my god. Insert viewer porn. 

You’re very certain this wasn’t for you to see, but someone was in mind when making this. Jungkook’s fingers curl around her hips as he drives harder and harder and harder into her cunt, the sound of skin on skin almost blocking out his next words. 

“Wish it was my dick instead of your tiny, little fingers?” he growls, wincing as the girl wrapped around him clenches, milking him as he pounds into her. His words are stolen from him for just a second, before he bites down on his lips, continuing. “Still want you to cum for me, baby, want you to cum all over yourself.”

Help, you’ve probably fast-forwarded a bit too far into the tape, you didn’t know you were supposed to be touching yourself. Yeah, you won’t be doing that. It would just feel all too wrong. 

You shift a bit in your seat, breath hitching as you feel how sensitive you’ve grown to any form of friction that brushes against your body. Jesus, you should turn this off, it has gotten really strange. Jungkook keeps looking directly at the camera, and although his eyes show nothing but need and desire, you kind of feel as though you’re being judged. 

His moves turn frantic, and you realize the girl bent before him climaxes, screaming out, calling out his name in a row of desperate whines. This just fuels him to keep going, now forgetting all about the camera, his eyes darting down to her ass while his cock disappears inside her again and again and again. 

He’s about to come. Your eyes widen as you see his face turn flushed, the sounds he releases being nothing short of grunted whimpers, desperate to find his own release. It’s fucking overwhelming, watching as the girl goes limp before him, listening to the sinful yet beautiful noises he’s producing. 

Again you repeat here, but no further. 

The remote has been resting in your soft grip ever since you turned the TV back on, and with a subtle press of your thumb — the screen goes black. 

Okay. What you just saw might’ve just ruined your relationship on every level. You just electrocuted your tiny and insignificant bond, hoping it might spark something inside you. It did… but that only makes everything worse. And, sorry, are we just brushing over the fact that he’s making porn on his free time?

You’re quite overwhelmed, every forming thought being overpowered by another, more horrific one. But what you wish the strongest, is for this to just be a mistake. For you to be the idiot in this situation, sitting through about ten minutes of Jungkook’s sextape. Not for him to gift you this… knowing what’s on the disk, knowing you’re going home to watch him get his dick wet. That’s a whole other layer to this very weird scene that you don’t really want to take into consideration right now. 

All you know is that his shop closes in about twenty minutes, and you can’t let this tape marinade in your video player. You’re going to have to return it, and that is tonight. 

You feel like you’re about to melt with the snow that creaks underneath your boots. The CD-cover is buried in the pocket of your coat, burning its way into the fabric like some constant reminder of what an awful human being you are. 

You’ve already thought over the conversation. You are to tell him about the mix-up, apologize, and sadly never show your face again. The two of you have had a good run, but it’s over now. There’s no way in hell you’ll be able to ‘casually’ rent a dvd from him every week when all you can picture is his face when he’s about to… jesus, let’s not even go there.

Why did you do it — why, why, why, you stupid meatball of a woman. Why did you have to let your curiosity get the best of you?

You can see him through the windows of the store as you cross the street. He’s alone (thank god), so it’ll be less humiliating for you to admit the horrible mishap. Your breath leaves in a fog as you exhale, your mouth shaping itself in an ‘o’ as you reach the glass door. You inspect Jungkook, who stands behind the counter with a pen perched between his fingertips as he notes down whatever on a piece of paper.

Let’s do this. It won’t be that awful. You’re a grown woman, you can own up to your mistakes.

“I’m sorry!” 

Jesus. The apology sort of just tumbles out of you as you push the door open, mingling with the overhead bell that notifies your arrival. You’re not sure if yelling out that you’re sorry is the best way to start this conversation, but it’s too late to take it back now. Even though you want nothing more than to grab the exclaim by its neck and shove it back down your throat. 

Jungkook’s gaze lifts along with his eyebrows, staring over at you as you stand covered in snow at his doorstep. It hits you that this is sort of similar to your first official meet, you drenched in bad weather at the door, Jungkook unbothered and dry behind the cashier. Oh how you miss those times, when you were just a girl with a stupid crush, blissfully unaware. Nostalgia will be the death of you. 

As you haven’t really gotten to the next part of your apology, Jungkook clears his throat, his eyebrows forming in a confused knot high on his forehead, “You’re sorry?”

“I’m sorry!” you repeat, fully entering his shop, hurrying over to Jungkook while leaving sad and wet little footprints behind you. It seems to amuse him that you’re completely out of breath and quite frankly horrified, as he tongues his cheek watching the way you rush over to him. You tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ears, ignoring the way your cheeks flush when fully exposed — even though it’s probably due to your mortification, you can brush it off as you going red by the cold.

You stop a few steps before the counter, chest heaving underneath your coat, and now that you’re here… you’ve forgotten your prepared monologue. What the hell, you know the basics of it. Let’s just give it a try.

“Euh—uh…” you stutter, now realizing you have no idea how to actually tell him this while looking him dead in the eyes. Hello, Jungkook, yes, it is true — I did in fact watch you pound away at some girl I don’t know. Yes, I could have turned it off, yes I realize that now. No, I don’t have any manners. 

Jungkook frowns before you. Maybe he’s wondering if you slipped on ice on your way over, if you maybe cracked your skull open and that small bits and pieces of your consciousness is slowly seeping out of you. He crosses his arms loosely and leans over the counter, resting on his forearms. “Ah, I see,” he teases, grinning at the way your mouth hangs open. 

This is getting more embarrassing by the minute. You try snapping out of it, putting one hand out in front of you, a flat palm. Okay here it goes. 

“You gave me the wrong tape.” 

Your shoulders slump the moment the words leave you, finally ridding you of the heavy burden. All you hope is that he might not ask about the tape, that he’ll take it back, maybe watch over it in private, realize his mistake and then not wonder why you’re not returning to his shop. 

Because you quite frankly can’t ever set foot in here after what you just watched, not when all you can picture is the way his eyebrows crease when the girl wrapped around him pulsates, spasms, sucking him dry. Fuck, it was beautiful, but oh so inappropriate. So wildly inappropriate.  You can’t ever see him the same way. Not that he was some virgin Mary before this, you’ve always known what kind of guy he was. But knowing he makes his own pornos just makes it absolutely impossible for you to keep your cool around him. 

Jungkook bites down on his bottom lip, letting your words sink in. The piercing catches between his teeth, making a small clicking sound that cuts right through the unbearable silence that fills his shop. Pursing his lips, examining you, he prepares to speak. “Mhm, did I?” 

“Yeah,” you say, taking another step forward. You fish out the CD-cover buried in your pocket, handing it to Jungkook once you’re close enough to reach him. He doesn’t grab for it, so instead you place it down on the counter, trying not to look at it. It’s just this little black, plastic item — something that has managed to ruin your life (or so it seems like). “I just—I’m sorry. I wanted to return it as fast as I could.” 

He stares at you for a moment before reaching for the tape, fingers curling around the plastic then picking it up. You’re kind of weirded out by this. He doesn’t ask any questions, nor does the contains of the tape you watched seem to matter to him. Instead, his eyes skim over the cover’s back for a second, before he puts it down again and shoves it out of sight. 

“That’s too bad, huh?” His eyes meet yours again, and you almost faint. There’s this sparkle in them, a flash of glisten that disappears the moment he blinks. His eyebrows raise just a tad on his forehead, giving him just a teeny tiny pleading look. Alright, this has to be intentional — he knows what effect he has on women. 

You can’t deal with him anymore. It was fine before, when it was just a stupid crush. But it’s slowly turning into something else, something shameful. You want him so bad that you could cry, because there is no way in hell he would ever lay a hand on a girl like you. And now you’ve seen all of him — every admirable inch of him. There’s no way you can keep him in your life without going insane. 

Your lips curl into a thin line, and just as you’re about to speak, Jungkook cuts you off. 

“Is there anything I could do for you?” 

Quite frankly, no. You just need to be left alone, honestly. Curl up underneath your covers and die of embarrassment and lust. So you shake your head, trying to get out of this shop as quickly as possible. You don’t want the actual movie you rented, you just wanted to return the faulted one and flee the crime scene. 

“No-no,” you say, waving a hand in front of you. “There really isn’t. Again, I’m sorry.” 

You haven’t told him what the CD contains, but he’ll find out eventually. And there is absolutely no way that you’ll be here when that time comes. You have to get out of here. This didn’t really go as planned, you apparently don’t have enough courage to own up to your mistake. But you’ve returned the tape nonetheless, so your mission is complete. 

You give Jungkook an almost believable smile, and prepare to walk off. Your feet are about to send you off, and you turn away from Jungkook, setting out on your journey to the door — when you feel a tug on your coat. 

Jungkook has wrapped his fingers in the soft fabric, tugging on your back, keeping you from leaving. Reaching for you over the counter.

Neither of you speak for a moment, you just still the moment you feel resistance. Your chest heaves, you have no idea what’s going on, why he’s holding you back. It’s almost like all the air in your lungs in ripped from you, and when you hear his voice, your knees almost buckle. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want me to do?”

You can’t see his face, but his voice is enough to send you over the edge. It’s a low purr, but you also detect some worry. He can’t possibly be that sorry for lending you the wrong tape. It would at least make him great with costumers, but it can’t just be that. Oh god. He can’t possibly know… can he?

“W-what?” you ask, still not turning to face him. You just stare straight ahead at the snow that falls outside the window, the glass door. And Jungkook’s hand stays knotted in your coat, making it impossible for you to move. 

“Come on…” he rasps, tugging you closer. Your feet stumble backwards, but you still don’t turn, honestly just because you don’t dare to. Looking him in his beautiful eyes right now might make you jump over that counter and fling your arms over his shoulders. So you stand still, your lower back meeting the edge of the counter. And after a while, after you’ve gotten used to the way Jungkook’s breath keeps brushing against the back of your head, he speaks again. “I know you like me.”

Mary mother of christ. There it is. He knows. Of course he knows — how could you be so stupid? You’ve been pining after him for almost a decade. How could he not know? 

Goosebumps bloom on the back of your neck and your breathing turns shallow. This can really only mean one thing. 

He didn’t give you the wrong tape. 

You slip from his hand, turning abruptly, looking at him with wide and frightened eyes. For some reason, you can’t control your breathing. Your chest moves in heaves, and every sentence you try forming in your head dies on its way out. His nostrils flare before you, and as if you’re not having a hard enough time breathing, Jungkook’s eyes roam over your body, taking in your state of shock. 

“Wha—what?” you repeat, still not sure any of this is real. Because how can it be. It’s straight out of a very weird and long porno. Fitting, given the tape he’s gifted you. 

“Look—I’m sorry about the video,” he starts, running stressed fingers through his hair. You’ve never seen him like this, it’s out of character for him to not be teasing or mocking you. But he’s allowed to be nervous, as he has just confirmed to renting you a porno of himself. That has to be some sort of felony. When he’s done messing up his hair, he places his hands flat on the counter, chuckling at his own words. “I just—I don’t know. Thought you needed a push.” 

“Needed a push?” You stick your neck out, baffled and not really sure if you just heard right. Was this an attempt to seduce you? In what messed up world would that work? “I’m sure you could’ve thought of some other way to wring the truth out of me.”

Jungkook shrugs, keeping his eyes glued to yours. “Sure. But I wanted you to see what I could do to you.” 

Your pulse drops, and it almost feels as if someone has spilled a bucket of ice water down your neck. Oh my god, this has to be some kind of joke. Maybe he’s recording this too, and that he might just be a very messed up guy. Because never in your twenty years of living would you have thought that Jeon Jungkook could ever come onto you. Especially not like this. 

For some reason, you can’t speak. But your face gets embarrassingly warm, your cheeks heating up and doing absolutely nothing to hide just how flustered you are. You try cooling it off, letting your knuckles meet the warm skin, not even caring how stupid it looks. 

“Also,” Jungkook tilts his head, smiling at you. You immediately avoid his eyes, looking down at his hands instead, the thick, silver ring that’s wrapped around his left thumb. He notices, bending a bit down trying to search for your eyes. “It’s fun making you blush like this.” 

“You’re—” you start, blushing even more when he points it out. Trying to recover some kind of bravery, you jerk your neck, flaring your nostrils. “This is insane behavior.”

“Romeo killed himself for Juliet—I would argue I’m not insane enough.”

You instantly frown, very taken aback by this absurd analogy. “Are you seriously comparing you giving me porn—your own porn—to Romeo and Juliet?”

“Yeah,” he says dead serious while straightening his posture. His eyes sparkle in your direction, and you gulp as you keep getting lost in them. He has apparently lost his damn mind… but it seems it might be because of you. That can’t be right. 

“I'm sorry—but are we just brushing over the fact that you make your own porn?” Your eyebrows crease so bad it's actually hurting, but you can't for the life of you understand what on earth is going on.

Jungkook scratches the back of his head. “It was—it's something I do for fun—sometimes!” he tries explaining, tumbling over his own words. “I'd never do that to you—I just thought giving you the tape might open your eyes. Show you what I bring to the table.”

What a crazy mindset. Also, you already know what he brings to the table — every girl in town knows. He could’ve just told you ‘hey, I like you’ and it probably wouldn’t have been as strange.

As you part your lips, preparing to speak, your words are ripped from you. Because the moment your words are about to leave you, Jungkook decides to move. He takes a step back from the counter, eyes never leaving you, and starts making his way around, fingertips tracing the flat surface. The veins on his forearm strain against his skin as he moves, as his arm stretches, follows where he goes. And in a matter of no time, he manages to snake around the counter and take his first steps towards you. 

There’s nothing else for you to do but tumble backwards, not knowing if its all because you’re trying to keep your distance from him or if it’s your brain subconsciously keeping you from making a stupid decision — keeping you from flinging yourself over Jungkook’s neck. 

“I swear I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he stresses, slowly walking towards you. “And I know it was a crazy gesture—but the thing is… I kinda am crazy about you.”

You stop in your tracks, letting him close up on you. Your throat clogs as you hear his confession, a row of words you’ve only encountered in your dreams. Maybe you’re dumb and naive, but you’ve been so insatiably in love with him for these past years that the thought of him maybe feeling the same way has your vision blurring. 

What snaps you back to reality is the tape, the way he spoke. How he carries himself, the fact that every girl in town has gotten a taste of him. He must be calculated. This isn’t a love confession — this is a damn ploy. 

“That’s not funny,” you say, nostrils flaring. 

He’s close enough to touch you now, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stops before you, eyes skimming over your flushed face, moving from one eye to the other before settling on your lips for way too long. He takes a deep breath, one that has his shoulders lifting with the large intake. “I’m not trying to be funny, peach.” 

That fucking nickname. Just this once, you wish he might’ve been able to drop it… just this once. 

His fingers twitch with restraint at his sides, and his tongue brushes past his lips as his eyes are still fixed on your mouth. “If you think I’m just saying all this to win you over—do you really think I’d wait this long?” 

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter, and your voice comes out more strained than you hoped, almost like every word you’re trying to say hurts in your throat. 

One second passes, and without noticing at first, you see Jungkook’s hand lift. His palm comes to cup your cheek, his ring-covered thumb brushing against your warm skin. Your breathing comes out ragged, and your eyes flick over his face like a deer-caught-in-headlights. Trying to ease you, Jungkook brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, caressing your skin along the way. 

“That tape was just a snivel of what I’d do to you if you let me.” 

Oh god, maybe you’re in over your head here. You know you want this, that you want nothing less, but as you’ve established — Jungkook is crazy. And this might just be Jungkook’s brilliant way with words, but every single nerve in your body is tuned to him, and you find yourself glued to the floor, unable and not wanting to move. 

Just dive in without thinking. Allow yourself this indulgence. You never do anything fun, you never take any fucking risks. So just take the leap. 

You tip your chin up, better meeting his eyes, taking in a deep breath. “Then what’s stopping you?” 

A small, devilish smile tugs on Jungkook’s lips, before they surge forward, colliding with yours without giving you a second to breathe. The metal in his mouth brushes against your bottom lip, the strength of his kiss urging for you to open your mouth for him, bare him your tongue. 

You do so without thinking, inviting him in, letting the wet muscle of his tongue roll against yours in an addictive dance, while his hand shoves your face harder against his. You’re on your tippy-toes now, stretching as far as possible to reach his mouth. He chuckles against your kiss, but not for long, not when he hears how your breathing has slowed and a small moan escapes you. Because it unfurls something in him, and soon enough his free hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

He groans at the feel of your thick coat against his chest, probably eager to rip it the fuck off, but trying to keep his cool nonetheless. It doesn’t work all that well. “Is it that cold out?”

His words aren’t teasing this time, he actually seems more furious. So you immediately find it funny, smiling still when he keeps kissing your stretched lips. “What, you don’t like my coat?” 

“Hate it, actually,” he purrs, nudging your face away with his forehead just so he can latch onto your neck. You shiver the moment his lips meet your jugular, the wetness of them sending sparks all the way to your fingertips. He licks and sucks as if to mark you, while the hand on your waist takes on a new road, coming to fiddle with the top button of your coat. 

You giggle as the button resists, catching in the soft fabric, refusing to give in. As Jungkook hears this, he retracts from your neck, straightening his posture to look at you with narrow eyes. 

“Oh, we’re laughing, are we?” He tilts his head, giving you just a teeny tiny smile that’s almost unnoticeable. His lips have gone slightly red, a bit swollen, giving him a disheveled look that’s enough for you to lose your damn mind. You pout, looking up at him with wide and unknowing eyes, trying to lure his lips back to yours, but instead you feel his hand move from your button. “Laugh, again—I dare you.”

In one easy motion both his hands grab ahold of the back of your thighs underneath the long coat, and without struggle he manages to lift you, wrapping you around his waist. Your breath hitches, the fabric of your coat rides up, and you instinctively fold your knees around his torso, steading yourself. And as the small breath of air leaves you, Jungkook swallows it with another kiss.

It's like you’re nothing in his arms with the way he so easily handles you. He manages to turn, walk further into the store, still lavishing you in openmouthed and wet kisses. Your arms have wrapped around his neck, and soon enough your fingers are tangled in his silky hair, brushing through the strands that form the rough mullet. Until you remember something crucial. 

“W-waitwaitwait—” you hiss against his lips, retracting to look him in the eyes. They haven’t gone heavy lidded like you’re used to when lathering boys in kisses, Jungkook’s eyes have actually doubled in size, it seems. He stares back at you with two black, glistening voids, wondering why you’re cutting his pleasure short. You raise your eyebrows, because the door remains unlocked. And you’re not so sure if you’re all that keen on going at it with Jungkook while someone could just simply walk in without restraint. “The door?”

Jungkook chuckles as he keeps moving both your bodies across the room, walking past shelves, different sections, until he stops for a second. “There’s another door here, peach.” 

And just like that, almost like it magically appeared with his words, he pushes open a door — already slightly ajar — with the tip of his boot, a door which seems to lead to the backroom. It’s filled with boxes, shelves. It’s just a mess, honestly. And without any further words, Jungkook turns the lock and walks to one of the shorter CD-shelves, propping you up on it. 

Your feet barely dangle above the floor, and you immediately miss the feel of his lips once he leaves you. Needy as you are, you reach for his shirt, trying to pull him back, but he stops you right away. 

“I’m gonna need that coat on the floor before anything else.” 

Fuck.

You were honestly hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Maybe that he would let you sleep with him fully dressed. 

It’s not because you’re self-conscious in any way, you’re actually quite proud of your figure. No, this is way worse. Because underneath your coat lies a dark secret: Your horrible sense of style when it comes to lounging around at home. 

To be honest, you thought you’d spend the night all alone. Well, it’s movie night, so you usually do spend it alone, on your couch, with soda stains on your chest. But you set out on a quest tonight — honestly just to return the tape and never see Jungkook again. You didn’t think he’d be undressing you by the end of the meet, so you didn’t bother to change your clothes… which now you realize was a grand mistake. 

You look up at Jungkook with wide and pleading eyes, “May the coat stay on?”

He just frowns in response before taking matters into own hands, lunging forward and shutting you up with a kiss so harsh your lips might bruise. Jungkook sucks down on your bottom lip, causing you to let out a soft moan in his mouth as he distracts you from the way he’s roughly tearing open your coat, not caring if the buttons rip at the seams. Suddenly, the coat hangs open, and with a begrudging lift of your hips, you let him slip it off your frame. 

Your hands come up to cup his neck, the hair that grows long there, forcing him to not look down. But he does anyways… and stops completely. 

His hands rest by your waist, and his eyes roam over your body, eyebrows creasing with something that might read as disgust, or maybe just utter confusion. 

“What the hell are you wearing?” he scoffs, skimming over your outfit. Rightfully so, because what the hell are you wearing? 

It’s embarrassing, but it’s comfortable. And you don’t care if you stain it. You tread it over your body the minute you get home, you always make sure to wash it before going to bed just so you’ll be able to wear it again the day after. We are of course speaking of your Snoopy-suit. 

Weird name, yes, but there’s no other way to describe it. Because it is a Snoopy-suit. A white sweater with tiny nightgown-Snoopy-figurines all over, everywhere, no inch left uncovered — with a pair of matching sweatpants. The text on your chest reads ‘Sleepy Snoops’. We won’t even get into what’s written on your ass.

You part your lips, but no sound comes out, which has Jungkook frowning ugly in front of you. With minimal strength, you shove at his chest. It does little, as he comes right back again, leaning forward while his palms rest on either side of you down on the shelf’s surface. The veins in his forearms pop as he rests his weight on them. 

“Wha—well I didn’t think I’d be stripping when I got here!” You try defending yourself, but realize it still doesn’t answer Jungkook’s question. Because you quite frankly have no idea what it is that you’re wearing. Thankfully, Jungkook latches onto your words instead of keeping his attention glued to your outfit. 

“You so did,” he chuckles, planting a soft kiss on your temple. 

You keep trying to defend yourself while his kisses continue. “I didn’t!”

“Yeah-yeah, okay—I can’t have you wearing that, though.” He starts by letting one hand brush over your thighs, a move that immediately sends shivers down your spine and all the way to your cervix. Jesus, he must be a sorcerer. The hand keeps moving, fingers brushing underneath the hem of your sweater, lifting it slowly while still kissing you, lips moving down your neck, biting down on your skin as his fingers meets your stomach. 

Eager to strip out of this god-awful outfit, you help him, reaching for the hem of your sweatshirt and giving it a quick tug. Jungkook’s hand replaces yours, and he lifts the fabric off your body, over your head, over your lifted arms, until it falls completely off and is thrown forgotten to the floor alongside your coat. 

The moment you’re bared to him, he chuckles against your skin, pleased to know you’re not wearing a bra. His hand which is not holding onto your waist comes to cup one of your soft breasts, rolling it in his palm where it fits so perfectly. 

You mewl underneath his touch, back arching instinctively as he keeps kneading your breast with his warm palm. He steps in between your parted knees, the hand on your waist pulling you further into him, and the moment you meet his hips, you let out a breathy moan. 

He’s straining against his jeans, a bulge so big it still surprises you, even though you’ve already seen all of him. You’ve seen every vein, every inch — just not up close. And the anticipation is killing you. 

“Take the sweatpants off,” he breathes against your neck, now starting to move lower, kissing your collarbone, your chest, before his lips meet the gentle curve of your breast — the one not trapped in his palm. 

In a hurried motion, your fingers find your waistband, and you rip the soft fabric off, lifting your hips and wiggling out of the pants, kicking off your boots along with the legs of your sweats. Thankfully, your panties aren’t atrocious as well, just a simple, white lace that you’re hoping to be rid of soon enough.

Jungkook grinds into you the second you lose the pants, breathing roughly against your skin when he feels your bare figure hug his frame the moment his hips roll forwards. His mouth moves lower, and after giving your already hard nipple a soft lick, he closes his mouth around it to suck down on it. The hand on your breast gives your skin a deep knead before brushing lower, letting his fingers play with the waistband of your panties, snapping the band against your hip. 

“Kook—please,” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head when Jungkook’s tongue starts circling your nipple, flicking over the nub, coating it in his spit. “Don’t hold back with me.” 

He groans against you, running the tip of his tongue back and forth over your hard nipple, “Couldn’t even if I wanted to.” 

His fingers move from the waistband, and in a motion so sudden his palm cups your wetness, squeezing tight, feeling how you’re dripping through the lace fabric. Your breath hitches, and your head lolls back as the friction of his hand cupped so tightly against your clothed cunt. Chasing his touch, your hips buck forward, a move which steals a hummed laughter from him. 

Your completely soaked through. There’s no inch of lace left untouched by your wetness, and the fabric clings to you like a second skin. You’re so wet it almost embarrassing, and every squeeze Jungkook’s large palm bestows upon you has you gasping for air. 

He sucks down on your nipple, releasing it with a slick pop. “Fuck, you’re soaked through,” he almost whispers, his breath against your breast sending sparks through your body. 

“Mm-hm,” you hum in agreement, a needy sound you try repressing as you bite down on your bottom lip. But it doesn’t work that well, especially not when Jungkook runs a single finger all the way from your core to your clit, which both are spasming underneath the drenched lace. Your forehead drops to Jungkook’s shoulder for some kind of support, but suddenly the surface is removed. Because Jungkook has taken on a new path. 

Tracing your bare torso in wet kisses, he makes his way down, both hands now coming to tug on the waistband of your panties, ripping it of in one go with the help of a compliant lift of your hips. 

“Have been dreaming of this,” he purrs, “… for so fucking long.”

His palms slowly spread your knees apart, thumbs pressing into the supple skin of your inner thigs, and you feel it like a pulse in your core. You almost can’t think straight, seeing him on his knees between your legs. Although he might be teasing — you actually have been dreaming of this. And now that it’s finally happening, every nerve in your body feels ignited. 

As you let out a small whimper, Jungkook’s eyes flick up, catching yours from between your legs, and you swear your lungs collapse when he smirks, so slight it’s nearly imperceptible. 

Still keeping eye contact, his knuckles brush the slick that’s already coating your folds. Your eyebrows crease at the touch, and your mouth falls open without letting any sound release, just a row of desperate breaths. He lets his fingers stretch, the pads of them trailing down your slit, feeling the way your juices cling to him. It’s a sight he can’t keep away from. 

His eyes dart down, now fixed on the sight of you bare and dripping. The way your clit pulsates, begging and needing to be touched. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you.” 

You’re too wet to be embarrassed, to fucking wrecked from the anticipation to be coy or smart. All you want is to audibly beg for him, but you still have some pride you’re hoping to keep intact. You’ll fuck him in the backroom of his shop, alright — but you’re not begging. Well, not yet, at least. 

There’s apparently no need for you to beg this time, as the next thing you feel is Jungkook’s mouth pressing a kiss on your parted lips, right to your clit. 

You immediately jolt forwards, the feel of his lips so unreal that stars start dancing in your vision. But he holds you back with his palms, and with a low rumble, he darts his tongue out, dragging an experimental lick through your folds. He parts them with ease, his tongue flat and broad, starting from the bottom and gliding all the way up to your clit. Your thighs shudder, but he still doesn’t let you move. His arms snake around your legs, pinning you down and locking you open for him. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he purrs in between licks, the tip of his tongue circling your clit, flicking over it once or twice to feel the way your twitch in his grip. You throw your head back, a moan ripping from your throat as his sucks your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it with obscene precision. The suction is gentle, at first, just enough to have your back arching and your fingers flying into his soft hair. 

You feel the piercing in his lip move as he shifts, the cool of it slipping through your folds when he sucks down harder, tearing uncontrollable whines from you. Easing you after the harsh suction, he presses his tongue flat against your clit and rolls it, slow and so incredibly fucking skilled. 

“Oh fuck—fuck, Jungkook—”

He only groans in response, the vibration of it traveling through your entire body. When he shifts his mouth again, you think you might black out. He locks eyes with you, his black marbles staring back up at you as a sly smile appears on his face. His tongue rapidly flicks up and down your clit, and just when he sees your eyes roll to the back of your head, he delves down wrap his lips around the nub, sucking tightly at it. 

You can’t see shit. You don’t know if it’s your eyes who have retreated to your skull, or if it’s your vision blurring due to the intense pleasure — whatever it is, it’s too damn good to care about right now. And with the way he chuckles against your cunt, you bet your ass he’s watching your every reaction. 

Because he loves it, he drinks it in. Every moan, every twitch of your hips, every grip of your fingers in his hair — he can’t get enough of it. Especially when he retracts, licking a fat stripe over your pulsating clit, and you let out a breathy whine, desperate for the orgasm he just teased you with.

Unapologetic and lost in deep pleasure, you look back down at him, eyebrows lifting and eyes widening. “I loved the tape you gave me,” you breathe, tugging gently on his hair. 

“Yeah?” He smiles against your wetness, locking eyes with you as his licks turn slow and torturous. His lips have gone all shiny, his chin too, probably, although you can’t see it. 

A smile tugs on your lips, and you nod, slowly starting to roll your hips against him, following the movement of his tongue. “Yeah,” you purr, your eyes fluttering shut every time Jungkook’s flat tongue moves over the most sensitive spot of your clit. “Loved seeing you. Your arms, your thighs, your dick.” 

Your words come out breathy and seductive, egging him on. It works immediately, as he seals his lips around your clit, sucking down while his tongue messily laps over the nub. His spit and your slick mix together in a thick liquid that coats both him and your thighs, running down to the slit that parts your cheeks.

“Anything else?” He lets up from his sucking as his tongue explores you more deeply, slipping down to your entrance, circling it before slowly pushing inside. 

Your entire body jerks. “Ah—yes!”

He starts shamelessly fucking you with his tongue in low, deep strokes, his nose pressed against your clit, his grip on your thighs tightening as you writhe against his face. 

“I wished it was me—so bad Kook.” The words roll of your tongue, and you ramble mindlessly as his tongue curls inside you, his nose rubbing tightly over your clit. “Wished you’d fuck me just like that—fuck me until I can’t walk.”

He loves the sound of your breathy praise, loves the way you keep spasming whenever he hits the sweet-spot buried deep inside you. He knows exactly what it is you need. So he pulls his tongue out, licks his way back up and circles your clit again — but this time, his fingers join in. 

You’re so wet and pliant you almost don’t notice them at first, but when he goes deeper, your eyes widen. There’s two of them, thick and lock, who push inside you so smoothly that your mouth drops open, a broken sound escaping you before you can stop it. His mouth doesn’t let up during the intrusion, his tongue flicks fast over your clit as his fingers curl inside you, exactly where you crave pleasure the most. Your walls pulsate around his digits the moment he teases the spot.

“Ah—fuck, right there—oh my god—” you pant, eyelids fluttering shut as he keeps stroking in rhythmic pulses, his mouth never leaving your clit. The combination is unbearable, and your hips involuntarily rock into his touch. You tug on his hair, pull him closer, and you feel the pleasure in your stomach starting to knot together. “Oh my god, Kook—I’m so close—”

Jungkook flicks his tongue faster, circles your clit tighter, until your vision wipes out, until your legs are shaking around his shoulders, your orgasm building so fiercely you can almost taste blood. 

No one has ever known their way around your body this way, and you thank god for his previous experience, because with the way he’s working you over right now — there’s nothing else for you to do. His long fingers keep curling inside you, not even caring about the fact that your juices run down his palm, his wrist, coating his forearm. He instead hums in appreciation against your clit, wrapping his lips around it, his lip ring slipping inside your glistening folds, and he sucks down viscously on your clit like a starved animal. 

“Fuck—Kook, I’m cu—” is all you’re able to get out before your orgasm hits you. Your legs quiver, your whole body breaks open against his mouth, your head lolls back and you cry out. You grind against his face because you simply can’t not, because you need him deeper, everywhere, you’re actually losing your mind in this orgasm. And Jungkook eats it up, literally. He moans into your climax, tongue lapping ever drop of arousal, fingers starting to pump in and out of you, meeting every grind of your hip. 

Even when your thighs begin to twitch in overstimulation, he doesn’t stop. He slows, of course, but he stays, licking lazy strokes over your cunt as if he’s cleaning up his mess. And under his touch, your body is melting. You actually feel boneless, a trembling mess — who has also seemingly made a mess out of the boy between your legs. 

His hair is a mess from your hands, his lips have gone red, swollen and shiny, and his chest heaves like he’s the one who just came. And when he feels you starting to tug harder on his hair, trying to pry him off your body, he lets up, giving a final peck to your clit. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hands, eyes never leaving yours. It doesn’t really help, his lips are still a wet mess, a mess he doesn’t seem to bother. His tongue darts out again, brushing over his lower lip, savoring the taste of you. 

“Voila,” he jokes, bracing his hands on his thighs as his posture straightens. 

You don’t even care that he’s being a cocky asshole now, all you want is for him to rid himself of those god damn clothes. It’s all you can think of when your vision comes back — how he’s still covered. How the tight tee he’s wearing hides his glorious figure from you, how his pants cage in the length and width of his. A cock so big your mouth is already watering. 

Your voice comes out softer and a bit more embarrassing than you expect, “C-can you… take it off?”

Jungkook tilts his head, eyebrows lifting, being a little shit. “Take what off?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, eyes darting toward his still clothed body, toward the heavy bulge that’s straining visibly through the dark denim. Jungkook grins viciously when he notices your lingering and hopeful grin.

“Everything?” he asks, still in that oblivious and teasing tone that weirdly enough turns you on so much that a new wave of arousal seeps from you. You instinctively press your knees together, suddenly a bit self-conscious about being the only one butt-naked here. So you nod, shyly, letting him know you do want him to take everything off. 

His hands move immediately, but his breath hitches and his mouth opens in a wide gape. Of course, teasing you. “Such a forward young girl,” he says as if he’s affronted by your demand. You just roll your eyes at him, even though you’re screaming internally.

He rises to his feet, towering over you with a frame so broad you gulp, his shoulders squared, hair falling into his eyes as he glances down at you with hunger. Eyes never leaving you, his fingers start moving to the hem of his tee. And it’s torture, the way he peels it off, revealing himself inch by inch. The fabric clings to his back as he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside. 

Jesus fucking christ, it’s even better up close. A camera can’t possibly do such a man justice, the way he looks as if he’s sculpted by the gods. Sharp collarbones, thick chest, deep dips between every line of muscle, and somehow a lean waist. Unfair is what it is. And his inked up left arm is just too stunning, the way the tattoos curl around his biceps, his veins. Unfair.

Your gaze traces his torso, licking your lips subconsciously. 

“Like what you see?” he asks, extremely cocky. 

“Shush,” you say as you shake your head, hoping to might snap out of the weird horned up trance he has you in by just removing his tee. 

He chuckles, dragging one hand down over his own stomach, flexing his abs. “Not something I usually show the customers. You’re getting some real special treatment here, peach.”

“I somehow don’t believe that,” you frown, trying your hardest not to laugh when he grunts, flexing even harder. He might be ridiculously hot, but he still can’t escape the idiocy that comes with being a boy. 

His mouth opens, gape widens, and his eyebrows crease. “Are you slut-shaming me?”

“I so am.” You brace your hands on either side of your body, leaning backwards, stretching subtly before him. Gloating in the way he’s undressing before you. Because next go his boots. He tows them off one at a time and they land somewhere far off in the small room. Then go the jeans. 

The second the belt is out from its loops, your stomach flips. He pops the button, drags the zipper down, and your mouth dries when he peels them off. The denim clings to his thighs, and you see now just how thick they are. His legs are strong, dense with muscle, strength that only comes from real, physical work — carrying boxes, lifting crates, whatnot. He can maybe add ‘carrying you around’ to that list, if he wants, of course. 

Now, there’s only one barrier left between you and every inch of him. His black boxer-briefs. And what’s underneath them is already impossible to ignore. 

He’s hard, so hard, straining against the fabric, the outline of his cock bulging beneath the waistband. Long and thick, his girth alone has your core clenching in anticipation. You saw him in the self-tape, of course, you know he’s big already. But knowing he’ll bestow the length upon you feels like you’re maybe in way over your head. The tip of him presses against the cotton, and there’s a darkened spot where he’s already leaking. 

Jungkook giggles (weirdly enough) at the way you swallow hard before him, and jerks his head to the side. “Three—two—one.”

He actually counts down the big reveal, hooking his thumbs under the waistband and dragging the fabric down. 

Your jaw almost reaches the floor. 

Jungkook springs free flushed, veiny and think in a way that’s almost greedy. The head of him is swollen and red, glistening and leaking at the tip, and you feel drool trying to make its way down your chin. You shut your mouth immediately, but you take a big breath in through your nose. He’s absolutely, obesely big. This can’t be good for neither you or him. 

Upon seeing you so baffled, he chuckles low in his chest, stroking himself once from base to tip — just for you to watch, and for him to see your reaction. “You said you didn’t want me to hold back, right?” 

Your thighs squeeze together and part your lips, “Uhm.” God you’re an idiot. Uhm? Well, your reaction is kind of fair, you didn’t expect him to be this absurdly big. But maybe you’ll grow accustomed to him, to his size. You pray to god that you will, because you’re not backing out now. “Right—right. I’m ready.” 

He lets out a chuckle and steps in close, close enough that your knees part for him again, close enough that his cologne and body scent wraps around you like a second skin. He leans forward until his hands land on either side of you, palms flat against the shelf. 

You’re caged in. His arms bracket you completely, veins standing out along his forearms, sleeve tattoo stretching and flexing as his weight settles in. There’s nowhere for you to go — not that there’s anywhere else in the world you’d like to be right now. You could absurdly enough die happily in this position, naked underneath the eyes of equally naked Jungkook. His face is inches away from yours, breath warm, eyes glistening as they flick between your eyes, mouth, chest. 

“Need another countdown?” he asks as he leans in, softly kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear. 

You shudder, eyes fluttering shut. But still — please don’t count down. It was weird enough the first time. “Rather not,” you giggle, wiggling away from his kisses as they start to tingle. This only eggs Jungkook on more, resulting in him blowing air behind your ear, biting down on your skin, humming in appreciation as you try shoving him away. “Stop Kook, it tickles—oh—”

Oh. It was a distraction. 

Because suddenly you feel him… all of him, pressing heavy against you. He shifts his hip as he feels you still completely, and drags the length of him upwards, through your folds, coating himself in your slick. 

“Shiit, you’re so soft.” Jungkook’s voice is no more than a whisper, speaking directly into your ear before biting down on your earlobe. One of his hands come to rest on your thigh, squeezing the supple flesh there, as his other hand moves between you to grab himself — guiding himself as he drag his cock upwards to circle your clit with his heavy tip. 

You gasp, and your head falls to Jungkook’s shoulder. It’s obscene how sensitive you are, how easily your body reacts to him. You’re still slick from his mouth, and the slide of him against your soaked cunt has you toes curling instantly. 

Jungkook groans under his breath, retracting from your neck to watch how you drip all over him, how his cock slips so easily through you, how the head of him catches at your clit and makes you tremble. “Fuck—looks so pretty.” The thick length of him glides through you from bottom to top, the head pressing against your clit, guiding his leaking tip just right, flicking it up and down your spasming nub that crowns your mound in torturous drags. 

“Oh—” your breath stutters and your hips jolt forward, hands snaking around his frame to drag your long fingernails down his back, hard enough to make him hiss. As your head falls back, Jungkook lets the hand on your thigh move to your neck, and he presses your mouth against his. His tongue slides into your mouth, and you melt into it immediately, lips parting, moaning softly when you feel his cock glide through you yet again. 

He doesn’t push inside you, he just drags himself through your slick over and over again. Each pass is wonderful, the head of his cock nudges your clit, circles it, presses into it to hear how you whine into his mouth. The size of him is impossible to ignore. He’s so heavy, so thick, that you’re starting to worry about how on earth he’s going to fit inside you.

You lift your arms and tug at his hair, fingers curling into his soft strands. “You f-feel—ah—so good.”

Upon hearing your praise, he chuckles softly and kisses you harder, pushing to tighter against his lips. His tongue strokes slow, his open mouth steals every sound you make, swallowing your moans while his cock continues its relentless pass through your folds. 

You’re soaking him, his cock slipping as it reaches your clit again, involuntarily flicking over your clit as you're so wet his cock can't even keep a straight path. You feel yourself pulsing around nothing, clenching with the hope that he’ll soon fill you, that he’ll soon give you exactly what you want. And as you start growing impatient, tugging harder on his hair — Jungkook starts to play with you. 

He nudges your clit side to side, the hand wrapped around his own length guiding his cock precisely where you’re spasming. New waves of arousal leak from you, mixing with the pearls of precum that continues to run down Jungkook’s shaft. With a gasp, you break from the kiss, feeling your legs starting to shake and the coiling pleasure low in your belly building by the second. “N-no more—”

“Fuuck, but—” he breathes out a low growl, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Feel how hard I am for you, peach.”

His hips roll forward, his own hand making sure he slips perfectly though your folds. He flattens the length of him against your slick heat, and when you feel him twitch, when you feel just how close he is himself, a sharp pulse travels straight through your core. Your hands slide down his back, nails digging into his skin, your whole body arching up into him. You can’t take it anymore — he has teased you for long enough. All you want is for him to fill you so good, to actually split you in half, all you want is for him to make you cry in overwhelming pleasure. 

“I could probably cum like this,” Jungkook rasps, still resting against your shoulder. You feel his eyes flutter shut, his eyelashes tingling against your skin. He lets out a deep breath, and actually whines when he presses one last, heavy glide through your folds. As he reaches your clit again, he lingers there, circling thrice until your nails scrape harshly along his back, until your back arches and all you’re able to do is moan his name. He chuckles, although there’s absolutely nothing funny right now, “I bet you could too.”

Well, apparently you’re not allowed to, as his hands find your hips in a sudden motion. Before you can fully catch your breath, let out one last moan, he’s lifting you off the bench, pressing your body flush to him. All the while his cock is still nuzzled between your folds. 

The change of scenery has you gasping for air, arms flinging over his shoulders and legs wrapping tightly around his slender waist. You try balancing yourself, although there seems to be no need as Jungkook doesn’t falter. It doesn’t look like the lift strains him, he doesn’t even blink. He just holds you like you weigh nothing, easily hopping with you in his arms, making you whimper as his cock once again presses against your clit. 

“I don’t know if it’s you that’s light as fuck—or if I’m just stupidly strong,” Jungkook laughs, and there’s a grin tucked into the corner of his mouth, a grin you kind of want to wipe right off his face, no matter how much you want him right now.

He turns with you cradled against him, your bare chest pressed to his, and he walks the two of you a few feet across the backroom, his bare feet making duck-like waddling sounds against the concrete floor. As sensual as this is supposed to be, you giggle, kissing his cheek for the first time. And oh my god. They’re so incredibly soft. They swell up when he smiles, grinning as you continue pressing tiny pecks all over both his cheeks. 

“I’m about to fuck you dense and you’re babying me?” 

You continue smothering him in kisses, not caring if his words actually kind of frighten you… because how much denser could you possibly become after this? The thought doesn’t stick for long, as you’re suddenly being pinned back against one of the tall VHS-shelves. It’s cold against your spine, and you gasp as the wood presses harshly against your skin.

And yet again — you’re caged in. Oh no… you’re trapped beneath Jeon Jungkook, his body flush against you, the hard line of his cock now pressed hot between your legs… oh no, how awful.

You’re still dripping for him, and you swear you can feel your slick smear across his skin as he shifts. Because he leans in, his mouth immediately latching onto your neck again. And as his mouth works you over, he slowly puts you down, without any tremble in his arms, without any struggle whatsoever, until your bare feet meet the floor. 

At this height, you have to get on your tip-toes if you want Jungkook to continue his kisses down your neck — so you do. You lift your heels off the floor and invite his mouth, his mouth which softly presses just beneath your ear. He drags his lips down the line of your throat until you’re tilting your head back to give him more. But then his mouth opens, and he starts sucking, tongue and teeth coming into play as he bruises the skin above your collarbone.

You inhale a soft gasp or moan, you have no idea, and you subconsciously arch your back off the shelf, your hips nudging against his abdomen.

He groans against your skin, and shifts his grip, suddenly losing all the strength he has used to hold himself back. His tattooed arm slides under your thigh, lifting one leg up and hooking it over his forearm. The stretch of it opens you up for him completely, your core exposed, flushed and needy. He reaches between your bodies with his other hand, wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, and lines himself up.

“Ah—Kook.” Your stomach flips, and your nails drag against his shoulders. 

The head of him is nestled right at your entrance, obscenely thick, already slick from both the teasing from earlier and the precum that leaks from him. Just the feel of him has your walls fluttering for him, begging shamelessly. “Split me open.”

He groans against your neck, a guttural sound that comes from hearing you plead so submissively, wanting him to tear you apart with the width and length of his cock. Lifting his mouth from you skin, he looks down at where his cock presses into you, circling your swollen entrance with a sick grin on his face. The deep red of him disappears so beautifully inside you, causing your head to loll back in pleasure-pain. As his tip retracts from you again, your walls clench around nothing, and you breathe out his name, making Jungkook look up at you, lock his eyes with yours.

“Hold onto me,” is all he says, before slowly pushing into you — agonizingly slow.

Your breath stills in your lungs the moment the thick crown of his cock starts to breach you, stretching your entrance around him. The pressure is immediate, he’s so big that your muscles clench without permission, trying to accommodate him. But you arch your back further off the shelf, shoving yourself further onto his cock as he’s still not even halfway through yet. 

“Fuuck,” he grits with his jaw clenched, eyebrows knotted, eyes locked on where your bodies melt togheter. “You’re so tight—jesus.” He only sinks in an inch more, and still, your breath hitches like it’s being pulled from the base of your spine. You might’ve asked for him to split you open, but now that he actually might, your vision blurs and your mouth falls open.

His hand slips from your thigh to your hip, and he uses the hold to pull you down, just a little, just enough to sink another inch into you — then he holds you there. He pants like a madman, almost going cross-eyed from the unbelievable tightness of your heat, the way you already clench and pulsate around his cock, so un-accustomed to the width of him. 

“Shit—okay, ready?” he asks, eyes flicking up to meet yours. They’ve gone completely dark now, swallowed by his black pupils, and there’s a strange, pleading look to him. You’ve never seen this in him, the way his eyebrows crease high on his forehead, the way he nods at you for permission. It sends a wave of pleasure through you, and your walls start fluttering uncontrollably around him, causing his head to tip back, his lips to part as soft gasps leave him. 

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding back at him. “R-ready when you are.”

The second your breathy confirmation slips past your lips, he exhales something between a moan and a curse and begins pushing in again, torturous inch by inch. The drag of his cock through your walls has your mouth falling open, head thumping softly against the shelf behind you. Because you finally feel every part of him, every thick ridge, every beautiful vein as he opens you in a way that’s probably going to ruin you forever. 

Your eyes squeeze shut when he sinks deeper, but Jungkook’s threaded voice pulls them open again. “Eyes on me,” he pants, cupping your jaw his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he holds your face. “Wanna see your pretty face when I’m bottomed out.” 

Who the hell would say no to that? Probably someone who haven’t laid their eyes on Jungkook and his eyes which are so big you could easily get lost in them, even though you’ve spent years mapping them out. 

So you watch him closely, watch the strain in his expression as he slowly feeds you more of his cock, his brows tights and his lips parted. You feel the tremble in his thigh, the flex of his arm beneath your leg, how even he is fighting to stay in control. He’s all flushed muscle and restraint, every inch of his body working to not wreck you… yet. He’ll get to it, don’t you worry. 

But as of now, he keeps sinking deeper into you — and it feels fucking endless, the stretch so incredibly slow and agonizing that you might decent into madness soon. By the time he’s nearly fully inside you, your legs start shaking, your nails carving half-moons into his inked shoulder. “K-kook—” you pant, the snug fit of him starting to ache inside you. “You have to move.”

It surprises you when he moans loudly, shuddering against you while holding eye contact — something so extremely attractive that you almost come undone right then and there. He pants wildly, groaning as he tries entering you fully. “Almost there,” he whines, eyes glued to yours.

And then finally, finally, his hips press flush to yours. He bottoms completely out, something that has the two of you moaning out loudly in the small backroom. 

His head falls to your shoulder, and you feel his sweat drip down from his forehead and onto your collarbone. You moan out yet again at the fullness, the way he presses impossibly deep, stealing all the air from your lungs. He stays still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, letting your walls pulse and quiver around him as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck. 

“Fucking fuck,” he mutters against your skin. His next words have him sounding like he’s in disbelief. “I’m actually gonna split you in half.”

You nod as your head lolls back, feeling stretched to the edge of your limits, but somehow you’re burning for him, needing more from him. Because he doesn’t move yet, he savors the way your body molds around him, his nose nudging your neck as his lips brushes over your skin with shaky exhales. And he prepares himself to pull out. 

When he does, it’s only an inch, but he thrusts right back in with a quiet growl, grinding his hips into yours — his abdomen rubbing beautifully against your clit. You whimper, back arching as the motion drags along your inner walls. And just like this, the head of him nudges at the sweet spot buried deep inside you, causing your moans to die in your throat and your core to clench around his cock.

“Found it on the first fucking try,” he chuckles, biting down on the soft skin of your shoulder when your spasming tries milking him for every drop he’s got. “Shit, just like that.”

You’re barely able to find your voice as he’s pressed heavily against your g-spot. “K-kook—more please—”

He needs no more encouragement, because as the words leave you, Jungkook starts setting a rhythm. It starts out slow, letting you feel all his girth with every stroke. His cock drags out of you almost completely before sliding back in, every inch punching a moan out of both your lungs. You’re equally lost in pleasure, him panting against your neck, you melting with the shelf. 

His arm trembles beneath your thigh, and as he breathes out a quick breath, he decides to pick up the pace. 

“Yes, r-right there—oh my god,” you ramble mindlessly as his thrusts grow sharper. You can hear the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking into you, your slick coating him, dripping down both your thighs. The shelf behind you shakes with every thrust, VHS tapes toppling onto the floor, forgotten as the two of you moan uncontrollably with pleasure.

You’re a fucking mess — crying out over his shoulder, your body bouncing with every stroke, and he’s right there with you, his voice raw in your ear. “It’s good we didn’t do this earlier,” he grunts, his nose scrunching with every rapid thrust. “I’d be doing this all day—and you’d be fucking limp by now.”

The hand on your hip snakes between your bodies, and somehow he finds your clit even without looking. Two of his fingers press against you, working tight circles against the swollen bundle of nerves, slick from your arousal, his mouth brushing the edge of your jaw as his cock drives rapidly inside you. It’s almost animalistic, the way he’s handling you, the sounds he produces, the sounds of his hips slamming into you and the wetness that coats his dick. You’re being taken apart in degrees.

You can fucking feel him in your ribs, if that’s even possible, the weight of him in your belly — and all of it is spiraling higher and higher with every pass of his fingers over your clit. It doesn’t help that you feel your tits pressing so tightly against his plump and delicious chest, that you feel him kissing your throat, open-mouthed and desperate, licking and sucking on your skin. You’re being stimulated at every end, and it feels like you’re about to light on fire.

“Yes—yes—yes—god yes—” The words coming out of you just fall off your tongue as your mind is clouded, thinking about nothing but the feel of his cock against your g-spot and his fingers rubbing your clit. You’ve been teased for so long that you’ve entered a strange, delirious state, not even caring about how desperate and needy you sound. “Fuck me just like that, Jungkook—ah—oh god—”

You cry out, choking on your words as his cock slams into you, the unbearable length of him punching into the spot that makes your vision go white. 

“Shit—you’re gonna cum,” Jungkook grits out against your collarbone, almost as if it’s a revelation. His hand on your clit moves in sloppy motions, because he’s simply just trying to push you over the edge, pinching the swollen bundle of nerves between two fingers, rubbing lazily over it. “Holy f-fuuck, yeah—fucking soak me.”

It’s like you’ve entered the gates of heaven, or something in the likes of it — because you never knew such pleasure could ever exist. His cock hits your sweet spot so perfectly with every erratic thrust, his fingers working you open like your release is the only thing Jungkook wants right now… which it kind of is. 

So who are you to hold back? 

The coiling pleasure in your stomach is almost overbearing now, and you can’t seem to produce any words, just sound, just breathy moans that Jungkook immediately swallow with a deep kiss. When he rolls his tongue into your mouth, you almost choke, unprepared for the sensation. You taste the sweat that’s dripping from his upper lip, and somehow it’s enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh my god—I’m cumming—oh my god, Jungkook—don’t stop—”

You clench and pulsate viciously around his cock, gasping for air as the euphoria of your orgasm takes ahold of you and causes your vision to wipe out. Your hands move to his hair, tugging on the dark and sweaty strands as he continues to fuck himself into you again and again and again. It’s absolutely unbearable, right as your orgasm hits you, you somehow lose your consciousness. Your thighs start trembling uncontrollably, the shake so extreme that the leg which is not help up in his arms actually gives out, completely overpowered by his size and speed. 

“Oh fuck—” Jungkook immediately hooks your limp leg over his arm, holding onto your ass, trying to keep you upright. He repositions, lifting you with a tiny hop, his arms wrapping around you, one right around your waist, the other in between your shoulder blades, pressing your dead body flush against him. His cock is still buried deep inside you, and his thrusts slow down, reaching deeper and deeper inside you as your body lies weightless in his arms. Your head has fallen to his shoulders, your fingers are tangled and unmoving in his hair, and all you’re able to do is breathe against him. “Are you—are you good?” Jungkook asks, pressing a reassuring kiss to your shoulder. 

“Y-yes—I just—” your voice comes out shaky, but you try clearing your head. And that is for the sole purpose of holding out, keeping him inside you with a deep need to feel him cum — to feel the thick ropes coating your walls and clinging to you, seeping out of you once he pulls out. “—I need your cum.”

Jungkook chuckles, biting down on your skin. He starts caressing the skin between your shoulder blades with the pad of his middle finger, just as lazy strokes as the ones of his cock. Although lazy, you still feel the burn of him, wincing every time he goes too deep, or even deep at all. 

“You’ll get my cum, alright,” he purrs, nudging your head to face his, stealing a kiss from your swollen lips. “Can you stand?” 

You only shake your head. 

“Alright, then—” He smiles against the next kiss, not even closing his eyes. “Get on your knees. Wanna cum in that pretty mouth.”

Oh my god — roundabout. You might be a bit sad that he won’t paint your walls with his cum, but the thought of tasting him on your tongue almost gives your body new life. It takes a second for your muscles to respond, but he’s already helping you get down, his hands guiding your legs and knees on the floor. The loss of his cock is a sharp ache, well, a deep sting actually, but it’s replaced by something else entirely when you’re all the way down on the floor, looking up at his tall, bare and sweat-covered frame. 

His cock stands proud before you, glistening with your slick, twitching in the open air. He fists himself once, twice, brushing his thumb over the tip, spreading both your and his arousal over his length. You can tell he’s close, incredibly so, as he’s swollen, leaking constantly — something that has your mouth watering. 

“Open up,” he demands with a gentle voice, moving closer to you. 

You do just as he says, mouth parting obediently, tongue falling out slightly to meet him. He brushes the tip along your tongue first, letting your taste the mix of both of you. And as you want him to break, as you’re so desperate for his cum, you stick your tongue out furthermore, circling the head of him, flicking over the slit gently, teasing before your lips wrap around him.

“Ohhfuuck, just like that,” he moans hoarsely, and his hands go to your head, cradling it while his eyebrows knot high on his forehead. He tastes of you, of himself — it’s strange and addictive. But he hasn’t exactly shrunken in the past minute, so just getting him down your throat is a task so hard tears immediately brim your eyes. A sight which apparently has Jungkook losing his mind. 

“Fuck—are you crying on my dick?” he asks in disbelief, moaning uncontrollably when you hollow your cheeks to take him in deeper. You slide your lips down his shaft, hands wrapping around what won’t fit — because he is quite frankly that big. Jungkook’s whole body shudders. “You look so fucking beautiful.”

You try hiding the fact that you flush immediately at his words, and let one of your hands tug on his balls, playing gently with them as you suck him as deep as his cock can go. It’s a straining task, and you unfortunately gag when you take him in too deep, moaning around him — the vibrations traveling straight through Jungkook’s spine. 

He looks down at you with wild eyes, sweat clinging to his temples, and as you cradle one of his balls, you feel it tense. He’s stupidly close. 

His hips jerk forward without warning, letting you know just how close to the edge he really is. The sound he makes is so beautiful, so sinful, that you kind of wish you were recording this — so you could pocket his moan, keep it with you wherever you go. His eyes never leave you, and he’s sweating and panting like what you’re doing to him actually makes him lose his mind.

“F-fuck, peach—your mouth—shit,” Jungkook pants, his voice torn open and uneven, one hand slipping down from your cheek as you suck him deeper. “You’ve got some fucking mouth—ah—”

Your eyes are brimming with tears now, real ones, from the sheer stretch and effort of taking him. Your jaw aches, throat tight around the thick girth of him, your lips puffy and soaked. But you don’t stop — not even when it hurts your throat so bad that the unshed tears finally fall down your cheeks. Because you need to feel him cum. 

And judging by the frantic way his hips twitch against your mouth, the way his hand tightens in your hair — you believe he might be close to losing it. And you’re right by that. 

“Shit—shit—I’m gonna cum—fuck, baby, I’m—”

Both your hands move to the back of his thighs, digging your nails gently into his flesh, shoving your head all the way down his cock, not caring that your throat hurts so bad you could scream. Because when you look up at him, when you see his eyes roll to the back of his head, see the way sweat runs down his temple, down his plump chest, there’s no stopping you. 

His entire body shudders. “I’m cumming—baby, I’m cumming—holy fuck—”

With a deep, desperate moan, he spills into your mouth, thick and hot ropes of cum that hit the back of your throat before you can blink. You moan around him, swallowing as fast as you can, not wasting a single drop. 

Jungkook doesn’t stop twitching. He pulses again and again, his free hand trembling on your jaw as he now watches you gulp down on his cum, watches as both his release and your spit seeps from the corners of your mouth and down your chin. He watches in complete awe. Would you look at that? You’ve got the Jeon Jungkook, your fucking childhood crush, your fucking real time crush, wrapped around your finger. Or wrapped around your tongue, would maybe be better wording here. 

“Fucking look at you,” he moans, voice unhinged. “How are you real?”

You keep going, soft sucks to his oversensitive tip, tongue tracing along the underside of his shaft where a veins throbs beneath the skin. You want him clean, completely. So you don’t stop until there’s nothing left, until his cock is wet with only your spit, your tongue dragging slowly along every vein. 

He shudders, twitches again, and suddenly retracts from you, leaving your throat sore and hurting. “Stop—stop,” he pants franticly, suddenly getting down on his knees before you, almost meeting your height. Without further notice, he wraps both hands around your waist, pulling you flush to him, closing the distance with a sloppy kiss. “Fuck—you’ll be the death of me.”

You’ve never had a guy do this — kiss the mouth that just swallowed ropes own his own cum. His tongue rolls into your mouth, not even caring about the bitter aftertaste of his release, moaning against you as you press your tits against his sweaty chest. 

So there you are, on the floor of the backroom, VHS tapes scattered across the floor alongside all your clothes, making out heavily as if you haven’t just ruined each other completely. 

“Think you can walk outta here?” Jungkook laughs against your lips, not even letting you answer before his tongue breaches your mouth again. 

You gasp for air, running your fingernails down his chest, leaving white marks all over him that will certainly turn red in a moment. “Probably not.” 

“Too bad then,” he breathes, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, eating you up. “I’ll have to carry you everywhere now. What a drag,” he teases, not leaving as much as an inch of your skin untouched by his lips. 

“Oh no,” you mock, trembling in his arms as his kisses find the sensitive spot of your neck. 

“Can I ask you something weird?” he breathes against your collarbone, licking and sucking on your skin as he waits for your answer. You only nod above him, eyes shutting close as he lavishes you in wet kisses. His next words come out low, almost unnoticeable, but your eyes widen the moment you hear them.