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mi55delulu · 6 months ago

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movie goers

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

synopsis: starting off on the wrong foot with your new neighbor was not on the top of your bucket list, yet you’ve made an enemy of jeon jungkook in less than 24 hours. unlucky for you, he’s not backing down either.

genre: enemies to friends to lovers (e2f2l)

wc: ~16.4k

cw: not so cute meet, slice of life, slight angst, fluff, mature language, mean jk and mean oc — they get better though, cheating (not main characters), fwb (not main characters), mutual pining, oc is lowkey a hopeless romantic, 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI 🔞, smut, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, love love love. if i got any rules/regulations wrong, i didnt. leave me alone, it’s fanfic 😇✨also written in lowercase bc that’s just how my phone setting is and i’m too lazy to go back to capitalize … ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

a/n: yuh … inspired by real life events. anyways, this is the first time i’ve posted a fic on this page. i’ve been an avid reader (still am) but i’ve been wanting to put something out too. so here’s my gift to close out 2024. also, i miss jk. I MISS BANGTAN. ;-; enjoy and lmk your thoughts!

—

if you had to describe your ideal neighbor in three words, it’d be: mindful, quiet, and kind. cause that’s what your neighbor, mrs. lee, was to you in the last three years you’ve lived in this apartment complex. she kept to herself, walked her small crusty (but cute) senior white dog, and brought you leftover cookies when she baked too much for her grandkids. you always had a feeling she made just the right amount with you in mind, but of course she’d never tell you.

so when she broke the news that she was going to move into her son’s home because they’ve been worried about her living alone, you were happy for her — happy that she’s going to get taken care of, but sad that you’ll be losing a great neighbor.

you tell her whoever moves in after her probably won’t be as good of a baker. she simply laughs and tells you to be nice.

three months pass and you hear footsteps outside your door one afternoon. when you try spying through your peephole to get a glimpse of the commotion, you see boxes stacked on the side of apt# 305.

finally, someone was moving in.

some of the boxes were spilling onto your welcome mat, but that didn’t really bother you. you were more curious about your new neighbor … er, perhaps neighbors. so any clue on whether it was going to be an individual or a family moving in would give you an idea of who you’ll be living next to.

unfortunately for you, all the boxes were neatly sealed off.

“dang it.” you mutter to yourself while squinting at the labels on the boxes. clothes, kitchen, shoes … workout? well, okay no indication of toys so you can safely assume there aren’t any kids … yet.

you look at your clock, it’s about time you head out to get your mail anyways. maybe you’ll bump into your new neighbor(s).

except, it wasn’t as easy to spot who exactly was going to be moving in with all the different movers. you sigh and sift through your mail as you walk up the stairs to your apartment. most of the boxes that were outside had already been moved inside the apartment by the time you returned from the mailroom.

as curious as you were of who your new neighbor could be, you had better things to do … like binge watch your kdramas before your shift starts. maybe if you’re feeling extra nice … you’ll say hi later. no one wants to start off on a bad foot with their neighbor. you fumble around your pockets for your keys and eventually hear your locks click open when you’ve successfully unlocked your door.

“hey, neighbor.”

you turn. now, in all your 28 glorious years of living, you can easily count the times you’ve been starstruck on one hand. seeing the northern lights by accident on your way home in 2024, meeting your favorite youtuber at a late night diner when you were 15 years old, and being noticed by one of the highest ranked players in maplestory’s world chat.

the person in front of you? a sight to behold. tall, killer smile, numerous piercings, and a forearm adorned in tattoos. yeah. you don’t think starstruck would fit for this occurrence, but what you do know is that they’ve gotten you tongue tied.

“welcome!” you blurt out and give a tight-lipped smile before barreling through your entryway. you don’t give yourself another second to study his expression once the door shuts behind you. were you lame to run away from your new neighbor? sure. will you regret this? well, the cringe is already seeping in. you’re probably branded as the weird girl now … whatever.

what’s done is done.

you don’t know if 305 is mindful, quiet, or kind.

but fuck, he’s hot.

—

305 was not quiet.

you know it’s a housewarming party with a couple of his friends. he didn’t have to tell you … you heard them loud and clear through the walls several times as they clinked their shot glasses for the 11th time that evening.

you’re texting your frustrations to dohwan, your boyfriend (?) er … someone you’ve been talking to (and fucking) these last 2 years. he hasn’t quite put a label on the relationship just yet and claimed that he is only seeing you. labels didn’t really matter to you but as time grew, you’ve come to like him a lot and wished for something more. he’s career-driven, great in bed, and knows how to whip up a good breakfast the morning after he stays for the night. he was supposed to come over tonight, but told you he got caught up with work. it’s times like these where you feel a level of uncertainty with dohwan. you spiral and don’t feel as secure as you want to be.

you shouldn’t feel hurt or disappointed … but you do, because hell, alright … maybe you didn’t just like him.

you love him.

you’re not embarrassed that you told him 9 months into seeing each other. has he said it back? no, but that’s okay! everyone has a different timeline when it comes to feelings. you could only hope he meets yours soon enough. why else would he stay for this long?

back to the situation at hand.

you’re not an irritable person, but the least 305 could’ve done was given you a heads up that he was going to have a celebration. you would’ve asked to stay over at dohwan’s in that case.

another round of laughter erupts through your walls and you grit your teeth in annoyance.

“fuckin’ hell,” you throw the covers off your body and march out of your apartment. you find yourself glaring at 305’s door — a juxtaposition from how you usually looked when mrs. lee used to reside here.

god, you missed her.

you knock on the door a few times, taking note how the chattering from the inside decreases and some footsteps grow close to the door.

again, you almost want to want to run back to your apartment when you’re face to face with 305’s handsome confused face.

realizing it’s you, 305 smiles, “oh, hey—“

“it’s nearly 12 a.m. do you mind?” you cut him off.

his smile drops and he leans one shoulder on his doorway.

“sorry,” he says, “we’ll wrap up soon.”

you’d usually drop something this trivial by now, but you’re in a foul mood. unfortunately for 305, this is will be his official first impression of you.

“how much longer is ‘soon?’ it’s been like this for 4 hours,” you really don’t mean for it to come out that way, but the damage is done.

little did you know, 305 wasn’t going to backdown either. he may be new to this complex, but he’s not privy to obnoxious neighbors. the only difference is that he thought you were going to be quiet and shy, much like the first meeting.

“don’t know.” he shrugs.

“i really don’t want to involve property management.” you cross your arms. it’s a half threat — you’ve never called because you never needed to … but you’ll flip through your 50 page rental agreement if you have to.

he mirrors your stance and looks out to your apartment’s door.

“well, sorry to burst your bubble, 307.” he says and you see red, “but management is aware of my get together. it’s not my fault they didn’t inform the other residents.”

“asshole.” you mutter under your breath.

he smiles again, a little less friendly and more condescending this time, “we’ll finish soon, 307. good night.” he shuts his door on you before you can formulate a sentence and you’re left outside in the dark.

—

“yo, jungkook … were we being too loud?” hoseok asks while popping a handful of m&m’s into his mouth.

“yeah, cause your laugh can be heard from all throughout korea,” jimin mocks, earning him a shove from hoseok.

“nah, don’t worry about it. just my neighbor saying hi.” jungkook plops down on the sofa with the rest of his friends.

“oh? should’ve invited them in. we have enough pizza to feed a village.” taehyung nudges his side.

jungkook laughs and shakes his head, “just scale down on the volume and we’ll be golden.”

jungkook loves good company, having lived with his friends for most of his college years, he was a bit reluctant to move out. it’s a little bittersweet, but all his friends are happy for him and his new journey in adulthood. he won’t have to deal with messy roommates and random guests … vice versa. as fun as it was to live in a house full of your best friends, at the end of the day, men will be men. gross, loud, and obnoxious.

not jungkook though, so he thinks.

“ha! called it,” jimin snorts, “you were being too loud, hyung.” this earns jimin a punch to the arm and hoseok’s booming laugh when jimin dramatically falls off the chair.

jungkook knew it was useless to request this of his friends, so he took it upon himself to give the property manager a heads up. lucky for him, the lady seemed more than happy to accommodate. she even left her business card with him after he signed the lease … something about calling her if there’s ever an issue with the apartment — any time of the day.

weird.

what’s weirder was his neighbor. from running away during the first meeting to demanding he end his housewarming on the spot. okay, to be fair, you didn’t, but you might as well have. it didn’t help that jungkook was hotheaded and gets a little irrational when something involved his friends.

so what if he thought you were pretty in your black pajama set? you called his friends loud, when in honesty, they could’ve been much worse. seriously. he knows jimin’s taunting held some truth. hoseok has been responsible for some noise complaints in the past. so this was considered manageable. plus, it’s not like he’ll be inviting them over every weekend.

but if it meant pissing you off, he might consider it.

alright, he wasn’t that cruel and he definitely doesn’t want to make living next to you unbearable. he’ll apologize first thing in the morning tomorrow, but for now, he just wants to enjoy his time with his best friends.

—

jungkook was going to murder you.

not literally, but he could if it wasn’t for the major hangover holding him back. he blinks twice, looks at the clock on his nightstand, reads 7:01am, and lets out a big sigh after another round of drilling vibrates against his wall.

fuckin’ hell.

it feels comical now that he’s in front of your apartment, face still swollen from sleep, but so visibly upset at being woken up at the ass crack of dawn.

“are you serious?” he asks, voice still laced with heavy sleep.

you, on the other hand, look put together and almost too happy this early in the day. jungkook can only rule you out as a psychopath — a pretty psychopath. your hair all in place, lashes kissing your cheeks when you smile at him, and not a single wrinkle on your clothing in sight.

“what’s up,” you peer outside your door just as he did last night, “305?”

he wants to let out a groan, but that’d give you too much power.

“drilling at 7 in the morning? that’s gotta be a violation.” his voice still laced with sleep, though, he’s sure to sound assertive.

“nope! here,” you smile and pull out your phone, the level of brightness makes jungkook squint, “county regulations allow work as early as 6:30am.”

“yeah, if there’s justification. there’s no reason for you to be drilling this early.” jungkook argues back.

you pout, evidently not sad at that revelation, “but my mental health. i was kept up all night by my neighbor and his friends … i need some wall decor to cheer me up. surely you could sympathize, right?”

you don’t allow him to formulate another thought as you’re shutting the door, “i’ll be done soon, have a good day!”

jungkook almost wants to laugh at how irritated he is, but all he can do now is try to get some shut eye before his shift starts. that is, if he can even go back to sleep.

should’ve asked his friends for some earplugs as a housewarming gift.

—

the drilling eventually came to a stop. only because you could not be bothered to wake up earlier than you had to and you think you made your point pretty clear to your neighbor — don’t fuck with me.

honestly, you’re not sure what came over you. you never liked causing issues for people and you’re also well liked by your work peers and friends, so this was out of character of you. it also didn’t help that your friends spurred you on and praised you for one upping him. as the rage dissipated from your system, you’ve come to the conclusion of why you acted out.

your new neighbor was a conventionally attractive man. he probably knows this too judging from the way he spoke to you — like you’d back down just because he said so. he probably was able to schmooze the lease manager into giving him a better rent deal and get pardoned for all the noise he made during his housewarming party. sucks for him; you’re not a fan of pretty privilege.

you had to set him straight, so drilling into a random piece of wood every morning right near his bedroom wall was the perfect revenge. you expected some backlash from him; surprisingly, he didn’t say a word to you after his first confrontation. so, you stopped the antics after the third day.

weeks later, you learned his name is jeon jungkook. not through a formal introduction … only because his mail got mixed in with yours and you tossed it onto his welcome mat. he eventually came to realize your name through the same way too.

though, he’ll always be 305 to you and you’ll always be 307 to him.

that’s fine.

you’ll scowl every time you see him and he’ll stick a middle finger up to you as well.

the feeling was mutual.

“so, are you still battling it out with your new neighbor?” dohwan asks one evening. his head was actually between your legs at the moment. you like having random conversations during sex, but talking about your annoying neighbor wasn’t on the top of your list.

“mm, yeah,” you moan lowly when he flicks his tongue on your clit. “well n-no, not anymore.” you correct yourself, “oh fuck, keep going.”

“good, i’m tired of hearing about him,” he chuckles against you and continues his ministrations between your folds. if you were caught off guard by his comment, you weren’t anymore. the pleasure coursing through your body is enough to make your head spin.

he moves away from your body once you’ve come by his mouth. without warning, he slips inside you and you hiss from the overstimulation, still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

“gonna fuck you so well.”he’s thrusting relentlessly, “it’s what you need, huh princess?”

you nod, too overcome by the power of his thrusts hitting all the right spots. dohwan is a little more vocal tonight — it makes you feel special but you’re also a little self conscious about your nextdoor neighbor hearing things. you’ve always kept it down even when mrs. lee lived next door, jungkook would be no exception.

people fuck, it doesn’t mean you can’t be courteous. you sure as hell don’t want to hear your neighbor fucking given that you’ve seen him bring back several different girls to the apartment these couple of weeks.

one thing you’ll commend jungkook for is not being a loud fucker in the bed.

“baby,” you whine as he pauses a little to listen to what you have to say, “we should keep it down.”

he tilts his head, reaches in between your bodies and circles slowly on your clit with his thumb while he resumes rocking into you. you keen and almost let out a moan.

“why? let the asshole hear.” he grunts when he picks up the pace again. dohwan kisses down your neck and leaves a red hickey on your collarbone. you let out a pretty sigh and wrap your legs around his waist.

“y-you,” he moans particularly louder and it throws you off slightly, “saw the way he looked at me today, right?”

you didn’t, but you definitely saw the way dohwan glared at jungkook and tightened his hold on your waist before entering your apartment. meanwhile jungkook had just come back from his evening run — at least that’s what you assumed since he was wiping away his sweaty hair from his flushed face coming up the stairs.

“baby, are you really going to talk to me about another man while we’re fucking?” you laugh and cup his face in your hands. he huffs in frustration but his eyes soften, it’s opposite to the brutal pace he’s set on your pussy.

“sorry,” he continues fucking into you and the room is filled with wet noises and his panting once again. even though he apologized, he does nothing to lower his volume.

knock-knock. the sound definitely did not come from the frontdoor, it was far too close to hear.

another series of knocks come and you realize it’s your bedroom wall. dohwan pays no attention to those sounds and is far into chasing his own high, but you move your hands over his mouth to muffle his grunts.

jeon jungkook is knocking on your wall.

he knows you’re having sex and you’ve become that obnoxious neighbor. if that wasn’t enough of an instant mood killer, you hear him blasting one of akon’s featured hits “i just had sex” to mock you and dohwan.

yeah, sexy time is over. you push dohwan off you and head into the bathroom to nurse your embarrassment.

shortly that night, dohwan leaves and it’s the first time you’ve gotten into an argument with him where you think he’s in the wrong.

—

people find it daunting to go to the movies alone. you’d agree until you were forced to go alone after no one wanted to go watch twilight with you in high school. it was awkward at first, but once the light dimmed and the movie started, no one cared about their surroundings.

that’s why you liked going alone. no one will pay attention to how alone you were. everyone in there will be focused on the big screen in front — you included. there was always something liberating about doing things alone too. ‘like yeah, stick it … i don’t need anyone.’ kind of energy.

the only thing you wished was to have someone to discourse with after the movie ended. it’s not a dealbreaker though. you could have easily asked dohwan to come with you, but you’ve been ignoring him since last week after the loud sex fiasco.

regardless, you’re watching moana 2 today. you’re sure it’s going to be a full house given that it’s the opening week. you can only pray that you won’t be surrounded by snotty (literally) kids. nonetheless, you’re excited and the theater was getting filled up as more movie goers come in during the preview. your row was nearly full, saved for the single empty seats on your left and right side.

score, no seat partners or snotty kids. you’ve won this time around.

you’re texting your friends and telling them your luck—

“ahem.”

you look up and you see two people standing in front of you. you’re sure it’s for the seats on your left and right side cause you double checked your ticket before sitting down and everyone else in your row has been seated for quite some time.

“can you move?” one person asks. weirdly enough, the voice is familiar.

even though the lights are low in the theater, you can see that it’s a man and a woman. and when you squint a little more at their figure, that’s when something catches your eyes. a tiger lily tattoo, the same one that your neighbor has.

no fucking way.

“hello?? can you move?” he asks again a little more aggressively. there’s no way he can’t recognize it’s you being that the movie screen is bright enough to shine a light on you. doesn’t matter. you weren’t going to move before and you definitely aren’t going to move now. hell, you’ve been asked plenty of times to move by both families and couples in the past — the difference was that they asked nicely. some were generous enough to offer you snacks when you did move for them.

jungkook? nah. no thank you. you’ll stay right where you are.

“nope.” you hold out your ticket to show your seat number and refocus back on the previews playing.

the girl behind him grabs his arm and gently asks him what seat numbers he got.

“k11 and 13.” he mumbles.

yeah, cause you had bought k12.

“oh, um, it’s okay! we wouldn’t even be talking during the movies anyways,” she reassures with a kind smile. “let’s sit so that we’re not blocking anyone?”

jungkook gives her a tight lipped smile and plops down on k11 while the girl takes k13.

“you’re fucking annoying for that.” he says only loud enough for you to hear. he’s angrily eating his popcorn and it makes you want to laugh mockingly. he’s dressed in all black with a silver chain dangling loosely around his neck. his hair is neatly styled and he smells nice. perfect for a first date … minus you being the factor to ruin it.

“i’m not the one that booked shit last minute. do better.” you shrug.

the previews are still playing and you look over at the girl. she’s so pretty and probably too sweet for jungkook’s good based on how she handled the seating situation.

you feel a little guilty, but that feeling leaves you the moment jungkook hands over the popcorn to the girl, spilling a couple on your lap. you glare, he smirks, and the girl unknowingly takes the bucket from him.

well, two can play that game.

“your nails are so cute, where’d you get them done?” you ask.

she beams and shows you her set, “a little shop called banger nails down myeong-dong! they’re great.”

“oh, your nails are so pretty though. where do you get it done?”

truth be told, you haven’t had your nails filled in over 3 weeks … you know they look rough, but you assume she’s just trying to maintain a conversation being that her actual date was a seat away.

you tell her your shop and she tells you she’ll definitely try out that location when she has the chance. she offers you some popcorn and you unashamedly take some, making sure jungkook sees.

he clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes, but makes no move to turn to your direction.

“oh, how rude of me. what’s your name?” you reach out to shake her hands.

“nayeon,” she answers and takes your hand in hers, “you?”

you tell her your name and she nods with a sweet smile. yeah, she’s definitely too good for jungkook.

the movie starts and you’re whispering commentaries and giggling with nayeon. you both held hands during the intense scenes and teared up at the ending. it felt really nice to connect with someone like this right off the bat. she was kind and funny throughout the entirety of the movie too.

you can’t say the same for jungkook. he had his arms crossed with a deep frown stamped on his face for two whole hours.

when the movie credit rolls, jungkook stands up and holds out his hand to help nayeon up. huh, chivalry isn’t dead you suppose. nayeon stands up and waves at you.

“it was so nice meeting you! we should definitely hang out. here, let’s follow each other on instagram!” she fumbles through her purse for her phone and you notice how jungkook closes his eyes in frustration behind her.

you and nayeon exchange contacts and as you’re reclining your seat upright, you hear jungkook ask her, “would you wanna get some froyo? my treat for messing up on the tickets.”

“aw, it all worked out though! i met a new friend,” she gestures over to you. jungkook doesn’t really acknowledge nor claim he has already met you.

why would he?

“i’m glad,” he replies, “still though, i feel bad that we didn’t really hang out. still up for that sweet treat?”

nayeon nods and looks back at you, “would you like to join us?”

unbeknownst to nayeon, jungkook looks at you in desperation this time and shakes his head pleadingly. you think you’ve tortured him enough this evening and you don’t want to subject yourself to hanging out with jungkook. seeing the couple link hands in front of you, you’re sorta missing dohwan a little now … so you’ll reach out to him and see what he’s doing.

“no, it’s okay. you both should enjoy that sweet treat together. i’ll text you on instagram!” you wave and jungkook lets out a breath of relief.

“let’s go?” now, what shocks you is his soft smile towards nayeon. it’s almost a 180 to the attitude you’ve experienced with him. then again, maybe it takes a special kind of person to bring that side out of you. nayeon can definitely do that.

she waves at you again and this time jungkook also waves at you (begrudgingly) too. it’s not a goodbye, but a ‘see you later … unfortunately.’ type of wave.

—

you come back from dohwan’s place a little after midnight.

nothing special happened, just hung out like normally. he didn’t bring up the argument and you didn’t feel like talking about jungkook either. this was a regular occurrence in your relationship with him. fights were always difficult, but the mend was easy … cause you guys tend to just sweep the issue under the rug.

clean slate.

“jesus christ!” you jump at the sight of a tall dark figure when you reach the top of your floor. your hand flies to your chest to hold down your hammering heart.

“relax, 307. just me.” jungkook says.

“scared the shit out of me.” you murmur to yourself. you proceed to open your door just as jungkook gets his keys out too.

“fitting for a piece of shit like yourself.”

“excuse me?” you raise your brows in question.

“you heard me,” he steps back out from his door, “loud for no reason, fuck like you’re the only one in the complex, and don’t even have the decency to move a seat over. it’s no wonder the previous resident moved away.”

you really want to argue back, but he read you for filth. you really have been an asshole, still, the comment about mrs. lee hurt. you’re not what jungkook makes you to be, but you’ve given him every reason to perceive you in this manner.

“look, i’ll apologize—“

“nah, save it. i’m tired of being nice too. have the night you deserve.” with that, he goes into his apartment and you’re left contemplating how you let things get this bad and awkward with your new neighbor.

there’s no point in trying to talk to your neighbor now. it’s late. you’ll process everything first and try talking to him tomorrow.

—

the talk never happened.

because for the next 27 days, you’ve been woken up by a blender at 5 a.m. you let that slide for the first 5 days thinking it was jungkook’s way of venting out his frustrations, but by the end of the week, you were back on hating your neighbor.

today marks day 28. you’ve had a long day at work and dohwan has been dodgy with you this week. you call him during lunch to ask him why he’s been so distant and he immediately goes off on you saying that he feels suffocated and that he likes his space. it hurts. because you thought that when you really like someone, all you want to do is fill your day with them.

it’s the evening after your shift and you barely make it up the top of the stairs before you sit down and cry into your hands. it’s so fucking embarrassing crying over a man, especially for one that you really like. majority of the time, he really does make you feel like you’re on top of the world, but then take you down to the pits of hell.

highest of highs, lowest of lows.

it fucking hurts, but you also don’t want to be more alone than how you are.

you hear footsteps come closer and you immediately wipe away your tears and look to the other side of the railing. the person coming up doesn’t stop and walks up past you.

you know them. you know it’s him. you can tell by his cologne and the black converse he fancies.

when you think he’s far enough and in his apartment, you let yourself cry some more.

little did you know, jungkook stands at the top of the stairs, contemplating on whether he should talk to you. he thinks you’re crying because of the blender. or maybe you’re crying because you have to go home to a shitty neighbor. feels bad and guilty. hates to see women cry or anyone cry for that matter …

you hear footsteps from behind and sniffle into your hands.

“uh, 307?”

“what?” your tone is biting but that’s understandable. you’ve been under a lot of stress.

he sighs, sits down right next to you on one of the steps. his legs are long so his knees fan out a little to brush yours. you scoot away and look at him with your bloodshot eyes.

ah, shit. he feels even worse.

“i know i’ve been a dick to you from the start.” he begins.

you scoff and look away.

“you didn’t make things easy either, okay?” he rolls his eyes, “but if you’re crying about the blender …”

“oh for fuck’s sake! no, this isn’t about the blender, 305.” you huff.

“ah.” he opens his mouth and closes it to think what to say next, “lemme guess … boy trouble?”

“shut the fuck up.”

he does so this time for a few minutes until you start talking.

“look, i’ve been meaning to say this but i’m sorry for being an asshole to you. you’re new here and i gave you a bad impression of me. i don’t want to continue making this a hostile living situation for the both of us.” you meant every word you said and whether jungkook accepts your apology, that’s for him to decide. at least you were the bigger person to apologize and take accountability.

“thanks. i’m sorry for being rude too. clean slate?” he reaches his hand out for you to shake. you look at his tattooed hand and a part of you feels relieved at the prospect of a resolution. you shake his hand in agreement. his hand was warm, a little calloused, but the hold was firm and promising.

“you’ll stop with the blender now?” you muse.

“aw man, i was getting used to the daily fresh green smoothies … but i think the blender is on its last leg. i’ll spare you for now and buy premade smoothies,” he grins and winks jokingly. his smile was friendly, similar to the one he gave to nayeon that one date. speaking of which, you’ll have to text her when you get home … she’ll definitely want to hear this update. you’ve been religiously in contact with her since the movie date and she’s been your person when it came to complaining about jungkook.

you and jungkook stare out at the sunset and breathe in the autumn air. it’s nice and just what you needed.

“hey, 307?” jungkook breaks the silence after a while and you hum in response, “for what it’s worth, he sounds like a dying gorilla when he fucks.”

it was the first time you laughed all day.

—

things have gone back to normal between you and dohwan surprisingly. he apologized to you the next day and said he acted out because work has been on him lately. you accepted his apology.

on top of that, you and jungkook are … getting along? he’s actually not that bad. he greets you every morning and makes small talk with you about the weather when you are both at the mailroom.

oh, and the blender at 5 a.m. have stopped completely. he does complain that he misses his green smoothie, to which you reply that he can still make it … just not when you’re still in deep sleep.

“no thanks, the prep is annoying.” he brushes it off.

so one morning after grocery shopping, you pick up a cup of green smoothie from your favorite shop and drop it off at his door before he’s back from his usual run.

‘drink up, 305. - your lovely, sweet, favorite neighbor 307 ♡’

to which, he dropped off a matcha pastry to you the next day after you mentioned how you’ve been craving it lately.

‘peace offering to the demon. ps. you’re my only neighbor LOL - 305’

needless to say, this started a ritual between you and him dropping off snacks and drinks to each other.

so yeah, things have been good.

tonight, dohwan is taking you out on a movie date to watch wicked. it’s not your first choice, but you love a classic so you’re open to see this modern-day remake. plus, he’s been extra sweet to you too.

you’re standing near the ticketing area waiting for dohwan to get snacks when you suddenly hear, “307?”

you turn your head and it’s jungkook with a girl you’ve never met before. he waves and asks what you’re watching.

you point at a nearby wicked movie poster and he nods.

“we’re seeing the same movie too. sorry, forgot to introduce you both — this is jinah,” he gestures at the girl next to him and she nods at you in acknowledgment, “and this is my neighbor.”

“ohhh the one that drilled for a week?” she marvels at you and you flush at her question.

“three days,” he corrects, “but felt like an eternity.” jungkook looks back at you like it’s an inside joke and you feel warm under his gaze.

“he’s exaggerating. eternity is waking up to a blender for almost a month.” you fire back casually and it earns a laugh from everyone.

“well, you’re here with someone this time right?” he teases since he notices your makeup is done extra nice tonight and you have on a shorter beige skirt that cuts right at the top of your thighs. you looked beautiful whether or not this was for an actual date.

anyways, it’s all said in pure jest and he knows you take no offense in it when you laugh. knows he can joke around with you now — you’ve both established a good rapport.

“mhm. you bought tickets right next to each other this time?” you retort and he snorts at your question.

jungkook stares off from a distance and his gaze changes. he takes hold of jinah’s hand in front of you.

“i’ll catch you later, 307. enjoy the movie, ‘kay?”

“oh, okay,” you stare at jungkook in confusion, “it was nice meeting you, jinah. hope you both enjoy the movie.”

they both turn and head to the the concessions first and you’re back waiting alone again, but not for long.

a hand touches your lower back and you know it belonged to dohwan.

“ready?” he hands over your drink and you both head to the screening auditorium.

there’s an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you push it away once you’ve found your seats.

—

jungkook feels sick.

he’s seated behind you and dohwan. that was fine — wasn’t the problem.

the issue was seeing him be overly affectionate to you once he took notice of jungkook outside the auditorium. he doesn’t want to assume, but that’s the energy he gets from dohwan. it’s too much. though perhaps that’s how he usually was to you — he should be doting to you as someone you’re romantically involved with.

jungkook has a bad feeling about him.

jungkook has been on multiple dates this year, nothing ever leading to more because there wasn’t a spark beyond physical attraction. he doesn’t want to waste anyone’s time or hurt someone in the process if he were to continue something he sees no future with. which brings him to wonder why you still entertain that man when he clearly comes and goes as he pleases.

the sex can’t be that good … based on what jungkook was forced to hear that one evening. plus, he made you cry. that man can’t be good.

well, what does he know about relationships? he’s the “serial dater” while you’ve been with the same person. obviously jungkook is doing something wrong. maybe jungkook was just projecting.

he lets out a sigh when dohwan slips his arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

“you good?” jinah whispers.

“yeah, sorry. didn’t realize how long the movie was. ass is starting to go numb,” he smiles apologetically.

she nods and refocuses back to the big screen. jinah was nice, but a little too uptight for his liking … she would stare back blankly at him when he tells a joke and it makes him question his own humor. he’s sure he’s a funny guy — you always seemed to laugh at his remarks.

shit.

why was he thinking about his neighbor when he’s on a date with another person?

he shakes away those thoughts and zones in on the movie. just a couple more hours till he can go home and relax. a bitter part of him hopes he doesn’t have to see you and dohwan enter your place together tonight.

—

you and jungkook have this thing where you go on walks and get your mail at the same time on fridays. that’s the day you work from home and he’s off.

you never liked walks but jungkook called you out one day for walking extra stiff up the stairs. you can’t help it … sitting for long hours at a desk job wasn’t ideal for your body, but it got the bills paid. by the end of your shifts, you’re too burnt out to do anything. you’re not like him who goes on routine runs at the ass crack of dawn. not everyone was fortunate to have a … wait, you’re not sure what he really did for work.

“305.” you deadpan, trying to maintain your big steps to match his long strides.

“hm?” he takes notice of your walking form and slows down his pace so that you can catch up. his dimples are on full display when he looks at you and it nearly makes you forget what you were going to ask him.

“what do you do for work?”

“what’s it to you, 307?” his brows raise in question and he chuckles when you scowl.

“just wondering. you seem to have a good work-life balance.” you shrug. he has to be making some form of income to afford the cost of living in this part of the city, so if it’s not an office job like yours, you’re curious what his line of work could be in.

“currently a tattoo apprentice, but i do art commissions on the side.”

“oh?” it makes sense. he had this artistic aura to him … tattoo apprentice also made sense too with his sleeve of tattoos. you wonder how many of those he designed himself.

“that’s very cool,” you mean it. you wish you could draw but your art skills could only rival a preschooler at best.

“yeah?” he scratches his behind his head, a habit you’ve noticed he does when he gets a little shy or flustered. “parents were super against it up until they saw what i made on my first commission.”

“it’s always like that with parents, huh? if you’re not a doctor or lawyer, nothing is ever enough for them,” you shake your head. it’s a small revelation, but jungkook feels the weight of your words. he can relate.

“you like what you do?” he tries to change the topic.

“it’s okay, gets the bills paid but honestly i’m developing a shrimp back from sitting at the desk all day.” you confess.

“good thing we’re going on these walks, miss hunchback.” he quips and nudges your arm with his elbow.

you stick your tongue out at him and his smile widens. jungkook takes out his phone and shows you some of the tattoos he’s assisted with on some clients these past months. you zoom in and stare in awe — the line work and colors were beyond beautiful and clean.

“they’re amazing, jungkook.”

his nose crinkles when he smiles at your compliment and cheeks flush at the usage of his real name.

“whenever you’re free, you can come over to check out my commissions.” he offers.

“yeah? you promise this isn’t some secret invitation to get murdered?” you smile cheekily at him and he playfully rolls his eyes.

“no promises,” he says and grins when you dramatically stop in your tracks.

“come on, 307. your lunch break is almost over and i gotta get my mail.”

—

you and jungkook return from the mailroom with stacks of envelopes and coupon advertising from random companies.

he’s behind you looking through his stack. among his many bad habits, one is not having the patience to open his mail in the comforts of his own home. typically by the time you both get to your respective doors, he already has the majority of his envelopes torn open.

men.

you stick your key into your door and hear jungkook gasp.

“shit!” he lets out a string of curses and you glance over where he’s at in front of his door … absolutely decked out in glitter.

“what the hell is this?” he’s dusting himself off, but that only serves to worsen the damage.

all the lights in your head go off. fuck. you had forgotten about the glitter prank order you made during the time jungkook was being a little shit with his blender. you totally forgot to call the company to cancel it …

you feel bad, but you can’t help but let out a series of giggles.

“oh my … jungkook, i’m so sorry,” you say in between your fits of laughter.

he looks at you in confusion but it doesn’t take long for him to piece things together. he tips his head back and looks at you incredulously.

“you did this? 307 … this is too much. how the fuck am i gonna get rid of all this glitter?” he opens his arms out and it makes you laugh even more to see him in this state.

“‘m sorry, i …” you try to catch your breath, “forgot to cancel the request and you were being such a dickhead that time.”

“i fuckin’ look like edward cullen.” he groans, looking at you with a serious expression and that has you doubling over.

he eventually joins you in your laughter, hands clutching his stomach.

“h-here,” you say in between tears, “i’ll help you.”

you dust off some flecks of glitter on his shoulders and reach up to smear it over his cheeks. this has got to be the highlight of your week.

jungkook pulls away and laughs at your antics.

“you think this is funny, huh?” he opens his arms again and you nod while stifling away your giggles, but your demeanor changes when he smirks deviously.

his arms circle around you and presses your face into his hard chest. jungkook is cackling just as hard as you are. he’s rubbing his body on your frame and you’ve accepted your fate cause you’re no match for his strength. you’re both even now. all glittered up, laughing, and having so much fun with this “misfortune.”

you won’t admit you’re enjoying his embrace. you won’t admit you fancy his cologne and aftershave. you won’t admit how you feel so soft against the hard ridges of his torso.

you definitely won’t admit how starstruck you got when he finally lets up and stares at you cheekily, unknowing of his doings and how pretty the glitter flecks frame his cheekbones and nose bridge.

he really was perfection.

little did you know, jungkook was also completely enamored by the way your eyes sparkle despite the crazy amount of glitter now stuck on your face and body.

did time freeze? no one has said a word but you can hear and feel your hearts pounding against each other in this close proximity.

“what the fuck?” a voice pulls both you and jungkook out from that dream-like state.

you look and it’s dohwan. confusion and anger is etched and evident on his face. he’s holding a bag of takeout, for what you assume was going to be your lunch. he stalks over and grabs your wrist and yanks you away from jungkook.

“hey man, it’s not what it looks like.” jungkook says. jungkook’s expression is neutral with a hint of annoyance in his tone. dohwan pays no attention to him and looks at you instead.

“are you cheating on me?”

“the hell, dohwan?” you stare back in shock at his accusation.

realizing how awkward this situation was, you start pulling dohwan towards your apartment. you quickly turn to jungkook where he was still standing, he looks concerned for you, “sorry, jungkook. uh, i’ll catch you later.”

he nods and moves around you and dohwan to get to his apartment door.

when you and dohwan are finally in the privacy of your home, you turn and he’s setting down the takeout on your coffee table. you can tell he’s still upset because he makes no move to sit down — he leans against your wall with his arms crossed.

“well?”

“well, what? it really wasn’t what it looked like, dohwan.” you roll your eyes, making your way to your sink to wash off the glitter on your skin. glitter was a bitch to get rid of, but you’ll do just about anything to distract you of dohwan’s awful attitude. you have about 10 minutes till you have to get back to work and don’t have the time to be arguing.

“don’t fucking lie. you’re always raving about how nice he is to you now. and i’ve seen the way he looks at you. that’s not some ‘friendly neighbor’ shit,” dohwan raises his voice in frustration.

you toss the kitchen rag onto your counter and turn, “what’s so wrong about me talking about how someone is nice to me?! at least you know about the people in my life, but i don’t know jack-shit about yours. i don’t know what you’re insinuating, but you need to check yourself.”

“don’t try to spin this on me. whatever is going on with you and your neighbor, needs to stop.”

“literally nothing is happening between us??” you run your hand over your face, “i can pick and choose who stays in my life, dohwan. you can’t control that.” you try to level your breathing. you hated feeling like your partner laid claim on you as if you were some sort of property and had ownership.

don’t cry. don’t cry. don’t cry.

his eyes soften after realizing what he implied and he comes closer to you. he rubs your forearms and pulls you in for a hug. you let the tears fall now.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean it like that. it’s just … i was insecure.” he confesses.

you sniffle into his chest, “why?”

he chuckles, “my girl hanging around a good looking dude? who wouldn’t be insecure?”

his girl.

“wasn’t aware i was your girlfriend.” you pull away from his warmth and regret seeing the glitter you’ve transferred onto his clothing in the process.

“well … i mean, you’re technically not. who needs labels?” he brushes you off and sits on the couch now. you’re left standing there, another wave of uncertainty washes over you. 5 minutes till you need to start working … do you really want to open the can of worms right now?

fuck it.

“i don’t know. people who love each other?”

he snorts then rolls his eyes when he realizes you’re back in serious mode.

“here we go again. we’ve been through this plenty of times—“

“do you even like me?”

“yes, of course.” he answers quickly.

“do you love me?”

he’s silent.

“then what are we doing, dohwan?” the real question was … what were you doing? it’s hitting year three of this situationship and nothing more has progressed.

“hey, hey … i thought you enjoyed spending time with each other … we agreed that it was just me and you,” he comes close to you again, but you hold a hand out to keep some distance.

“i need to get back to work. can you give me some space?” you mumble, “thanks for the food.”

—

the fallout between you and dohwan was anything but amicable.

you both boiled it all down to two things: you want more. he wants things to remain the same.

you requested for space and a break in the meantime while you figure things out. during that time, you felt yourself distancing from jungkook too. he tried to greet you like normally after dohwan’s confrontation, yet every time you see him, you make a beeline into your apartment.

guess old habits die hard.

you took this time to focus on you. you spoke to a therapist, got in contact with some girlfriends, visited your family, and busied yourself with work. self improvement, if one could call it. your therapist recommended to decentralize men in your life for a while so that you can focus on yourself. which meant no dohwan.

… and no jungkook.

you’ve been keeping nayeon posted on your life and she calls you out for being inconsiderate to jungkook. funny, because she was on your side when he was being rude to you and immediately ghosted him after the movie date (you still haven’t told jungkook you’ve been in contact with nayeon because things have gotten a little crazy). you promised to her you’ll talk to him soon though. he was just unfortunately caught in the crossfire of your messy relationship.

honestly? you missed your neighbor — your friend. but you needed to get your head sorted out and you’d be terrible company either way.

jungkook didn’t deserve that.

the break between you and dohwan meant that you don’t talk to each other till you figured things out.

breaks meant for a reset.

he kept texting you and telling you how much he missed you.

you had to keep reminding him of the boundaries.

he eventually obliged.

thinking you were finally ready to talk weeks later, you went over to his place after work, only to find him in shock, hair disheveled, red scratch marks all over his chest and shoulders.

“oh, um, i—“ you panic, feel your heart drop to your stomach when the realization settles in after you hear another voice call out his name from behind.

dohwan took that break and fell into bed with another woman.

“w-wait, let me explain,” he follows you out his door and nearly topples over you when you turned abruptly to face him.

you feel betrayed — so much for ‘me and you.’ the anger bubbling in your chest has a way of migrating through your body. you tremble, tears threaten to fall from your eyes, and your teeth dig hard on your bottom lip … you can taste metallic.

“we’re on a break,” he says as if you weren’t aware of the terms you originally initiated.

“okay? so that means you go and fuck someone else?” your voice is shaky but you push on, “you cheated.”

“no! i mean, fuck, what did you expect me to do? we stopped talking and it was fucking lonely … i— you can’t put all the blame on me,” he stammers.

so, it was your fault?

“i didn’t make you sleep with someone else. a-all—,” you choke on a sob, “all i asked was for some space and time. you couldn’t even give me that.”

the thing is, dohwan hasn’t given you anything beyond what he was willing to get from you. he liked your company, thought you were a sweet and funny girl, and god were you good in bed. he didn’t feel ready to settle down in a relationship … felt that being with someone officially took the spark out, but he also wasn’t willing to let you go.

so he held out for as long as he could. as a result, you did too in hopes that he could find it in himself to change his feelings for you.

love is patient, love is kind.

you’ve been patient, you’ve been kind. if this is love, why does it break you down?

maybe this love wasn’t for you; but rather, he isn’t for you no matter how long you wait and the number of pennies you’ve thrown into the wishing well.

“goodbye, dohwan.”

—

jungkook hates overly loud sex.

it’s the reason why he takes the extra precaution to put socks on his bed frames to muffle any potential noises. if his partner was a huge moaner, he’d do what any sensible person would … stuff his fingers into their mouth. what? the girl usually doesn’t mind and it minimizes the noises. plus, it was hot.

win-win.

sex didn’t have to be over the top to show that you’re passionate. jungkook knows that very well.

it’s also why he originally lost a lot of respect for you when he overheard you and dohwan having sex that one time. well, mainly dohwan.

fuckin’ gorilla.

jungkook has been worried for you ever since that awkward glitter situation. he wanted to apologize and even talk to dohwan if it’d make things less stressful on your end.

you’ve ghosted him for weeks. no more walks, small talk, snack trades, or trips to the mailroom.

he has a feeling it has something to do with dohwan.

just like how he knows the sobs emitting through his walls tonight has something to do with him.

jungkook hates overly loud sex, but more than that, he hates the sounds of your cries.

—

‘cheer up, 307. you deserve some sweetness in your day. ps. i’m gonna make you run if you keep missing our walks. also? stop avoiding me, it’s annoying - jk’

you smile and sip the banana milk jungkook left outside your door.

he always had a way with cheering you up despite being a headache for some time in your life. your therapist recommended to decentralize men from your life for a while … sure, jungkook fits in that category, but he’s also your friend.

you slowly let him back in.

he’s been good to you. though, you can’t say the same for yourself. you’ve been a shitty neighbor and a shitty friend.

yet jungkook shrugs it off and treats you normally.

you’ve been mending a broken heart and jungkook has been a great company meanwhile.

“you really need to work on your conflict avoidance, 307.” jungkook says one evening. he’s sprawled out on your couch with a bag of chips in his hands. it’s movie night — a tradition he forced upon you because you’ve apparently never watched the movie trolls.

you peel your eyes from the screen and tilt your head, “what do you mean?”

“any time something gets tough, you run away. gotta stop that, say what’s on your mind and work it out.”

“hm.”

“what?” he presses.

“nothing.”

“see? you’re doing it again. just say what you wanna say,” jungkook rolls his eyes.

“fine,” you chew on your bottom lip, “i hate this movie.”

jungkook had picked trolls 2 and it was so much more awful in comparison to the first one you were forced to watch last weekend.

“fuckin knew it. you’ve been spacing out all night,” he laughs, “see, doesn’t it feel good to be honest bout your feelings?” he reaches for your remote to switch to another movie. you watch him. really take him in and almost want to laugh at how horrible your first couple of months was with him and now he’s in your apartment watching awful movies with you to nurse your brokenheart.

you really had read jungkook wrong. he wasn’t just some conventionally attractive man that used his pretty privilege to get his way. he was genuinely a good person.

which makes you think … why the fuck is he hanging around someone like you on a friday night? he could be hanging out with some friends or going on a blind date with a pretty girl. better yet, why isn’t he in a relationship with someone?

was he just like you?

his voice brings you out of your thoughts, “alright, spill it 307. you look like you have something else to say.”

you sigh.

“how are you still single? just … i know you’re always dating different people. it can’t be that bad for you right? i mean, if you’re struggling … i feel kind of hopeless for myself.”

jungkook looks at you, dimples on display as he contemplates on what he wants to say next. the thing about jungkook is that he looks like he belongs in your circle — fits perfectly, actually. has a way of making you feel safe and comfortable about asking hard questions. he may tease you, but he’ll never judge you.

he ruffles your hair.

“just haven’t found the right one. it takes time and i’m in no rush. you shouldn’t either.” you feel yourself soften from his remarks until, “or else you’ll end up with a gorilla again.”

—

jungkook is treading in dangerous territories.

aside from trying to potty train his new doberman puppy, bam, he’s faced with another issue.

he may have developed a small crush on his neighbor. he can’t pinpoint exactly when he started getting that fuzzy warm feeling around you. it was a telltale sign when he’d wake up and sleep to the thought of you.

you can’t really blame all of this on him though. you’ve been a little more open about hanging out with him since your breakup with dohwan. jungkook has gotten used to your presence as a result. some people would see it as using jungkook as a rebound, but he feels anything but that.

you’re a breath of fresh air to hang around after a long day of work. which is funny cause there was a period of time he considered hexing you. now? he longs to see you and fill in gaps of his day with you. when he doesn’t see you, he thinks of you.

that just might be his demise.

even bam has taken a liking to you and often refuses to let you go back home when you are over.

like dog, like owner.

“aw bammie,” you kneel down, “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

bam whines and follows you to the door.

“you can stay if you like, the guys won’t mind.” jungkook reasons. he’s having a small get together with some of his friends and extended the invite to you. you declined, telling him you don’t want to intrude and he should spend some quality time with them.

“just say that you want to be with me 24/7 and go,” you joke. jungkook won’t admit to you he does.

“nah, just need someone to watch bam while i have some bro time.” he teases back.

“hire a dog nanny then,” your hands automatically reaches down to scratch behind bam’s ear. there’s no need to hire one cause you’d willingly take care of bam for free. it’s all fun and jokes, jungkook knows this. he laughs and holds bam back from following you out the door.

“be on your best behavior tonight for your daddy, ‘kay?” you talk to bam like you’re his mom and jungkook’s stomach does flips at the mention of ‘daddy’ leaving your lips, “if it gets too much, you can sleep over at my place.”

bam has a sleeping mat at your place too. you’ve gotten it for him when jungkook comes over to watch movies — insisted that the pup should have a comfortable space in your home.

jungkook feels like he’s sharing custody with you. everything feels more domestic and it’s fucking with jungkook’s head and heart. which is why he asked you to dog sit bam while he goes on a date next weekend with some client’s friend he met at the tattoo parlor. thinks this date would be a good reset from you.

you wave goodbye to him, a playful grin adorning your lips, “have fun tonight, 305. if it gets too much, you can also come to my place too.”

he hates when you tease like this. makes him feel like he holds a space in your life more than he already should. knows you’re joking, but can tell there’s some truth in your statement. you’re attached to him just as much as he is to you.

“also, try not to be too loud tonight.”

“no promises,” he laughs, “hobi-hyung will be over.”

you giggle, you’ve met hoseok in the passing and also teased him too for causing a ruckus at the housewarming party. all his friends like you — it’s no surprise jungkook would eventually too.

so yeah, he’s treading in dangerous territories.

—

you’ve really been focused on yourself and your friendships. on your hardest days where you yearn for intimacy, you force yourself to be okay with the idea and concept of being alone. there’s a lot of bad days, but they get better.

it’s not always about being in isolation though.

it’s about not being dependent on someone to fill a void.

with dohwan, you realized you fell in the pattern of needing to be around him and when he wasn’t there, the world crumbled beneath your feet. over time, you realized he wasn’t good for you.

wrong person, wrong time.

because the right person will always make you feel safe and seen.

jungkook was right. it’ll take time to find that person — there’s no rush.

yet, you have this disquieting feeling when you see him rustling through his home to get ready for his date tonight. what do you do when you feel like the right person might be slipping away under your nose?

right person, wrong time, you suppose.

bam, his not so small puppy, lays his head on your lap and would occasionally lift it when jungkook walks close. if bam is doting with you, he’s completely devoted to jungkook.

doesn’t realize that his dad is gonna leave you both until he puts on his shoes at the door.

“ah-ah, bammie, stay,” you hold him and he whimpers for jungkook.

“well? how do i look?” jungkook does a quick 360 and you wanna poke fun at him, but you can tell he’s on edge for whatever reason. he has no reason to be. he’s charming, handsome, and knows exactly what to say or do to make someone’s heart skip a beat as he’s done so to you numerous times — you’d never admit it.

he’s your neighbor and most importantly, your friend. it’s a sacred relationship and boundary you’re hesitant to break. so you swallow down whatever you’re feeling and smile reassuringly to him, “you look great, jungkook.”

he beams and extends his hands out for a high-five, “thanks, wish me luck.”

your hands make contact with his and it feels electrifying.

“no luck needed, mr. 305 worldwide.” he absolutely hates the new nickname you’ve given him, doesn’t argue back though, simply scoffs and looks at the time on his phone.

“now go before you’re late and bam bolts out the door for you.” you shoo him out his own apartment.

he reaches down to pat bam on his head and give him some tender smooches.

“call me if there’s an emergency or if you’re bored.” he tells you with his hands shoved in his pockets and some of his bangs fall onto his forehead. there’s something so boyish about his mannerisms … you swallow thickly when you feel the knots tighten in your stomach. a part of you wonders if you tell him to bail on the date, would he? you’re not cruel enough to do that to him and his date. they could be soulmates for all you know.

“and what? you’ll come entertain me?” your eyes squint, “go enjoy your date, 305. we’ll be here.”

before you know it, he’s out the door and you’re left wondering what if.

—

jungkook didn’t realize how much of a disaster the date was going until his date seated across from him rolls her eyes.

“i’m sorry … am i boring you with my story?” he was telling her how he had to help you break into your own apartment because you forgot to bring your keys in the middle of the night.

“it just seems like you’re wasting both our times.” she says and places her drink down. her red manicured fingers circle the rim of her cup.

he’s confused. jungkook has been doing his best to keep the date afloat by talking and asking questions. he thought it’s been going well, minus the couple of times he checked his phone to see if he got any emergency texts from you about bam.

“i mean, why are you here when you clearly like someone else?”

“i don’t get—wait, what?”

“your neighbor 007 or whatever.” she says. it’s the wrong number and she knows it, but wants to see if jungkook reacts, “you’ve been talking about her all night.”

has he? he was just making light conversation … you’re a part of his life so slipping your name here and there feels natural.

“look, you seem like a nice guy. you’re obviously good looking too. if you’re not looking for anything serious, we can go back to my apartment right now for some fun. but long term? it feels like you have someone waiting at home for you.”

and the mood goes sour. jungkook is used to this. used to his dates objectifying him as a quick and good fuck — granted, he’s played this to his advantage when he was younger. now? it feels meaningless. he isn’t upset at that.

it’s the utter realization that he does have someone special to him and you’ve been right under his nose all this time. he’s always telling you to be honest with your feelings, yet he can’t even bring himself to uphold that advice for whatever reason.

jungkook apologizes to his date again, pays for the tab, and rushes home.

—

home can be a place, but for jungkook, it’s seeing you on his couch and greeting him with a sleepy smile.

bam jumps off your lap to nudge jungkook’s leg for attention.

“has he been good?” jungkook asks while scratching bam’s head, though he stops momentarily at the sight of you stretching and your shirt lifts a little to reveal the curves of your hips.

“mhm, an angel. how was the date?”

he contemplates on lying, but knows better. needs to practice what he preaches.

“bad.”

“oh? wanna talk about it?”

“uh, i kinda fucked it up,” jungkook toes off his shoes and avoids your eye contact.

“classic, first impressions have never been your strongest suit.” you put on your jacket and jungkook panics at the thought of you leaving early. he exhales a breath he’s been holding when you plop back down on his couch where he soon joins you.

“i’m not always that bad.” he mumbles.

“i know, i’m just teasing you.” you reach over to pinch his cheek.

when he doesn’t reply, it gets you a little worried. you didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.

“sorry—“

“i kept bringing you up during the date.” he cuts you off.

“oof, no girl wants to hear about another girl …” technically, you’re hoping jungkook doesn’t talk about this one … let alone his previous dates or exes.

“i know,” he murmurs, leans his head back, and sighs, “she … called me out on it.”

“good, as she should.”

jungkook hesitates with his next words, but pushes forward, “said it’s cause i liked you.”

you pause. you could hear a pin drop in the room, minus bam’s paws making contact with the hardwood floor.

“oh … um,” you’re not dumb, you understand what he’s implying. you just don’t know how you’re going to run away from this conversation.

“i know you’re already planning your escape, 307,” he chuckles. his laugh sounds a little melancholy and an instant flood of guilt rushes through you.

“what! no! i-i just don’t know what to say,” you nibble on your lips. you’re fucking scared for what’s to come.

“just hear me out, okay?”

you nod, listen to him clear his throat and exhale a shaky breath.

“i’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. maybe it’s cause i’m a creature of habit or whatever … well no, i don’t think it’s that. i like being around you and i’m thankful you’re in my life.” he looks and smiles at you fondly, as if he is preparing himself for the biggest rejection, “i like you … a lot. you don’t have to accept my feelings nor do anything with it. these feelings are mine and i just wanted to be honest with you. at the end of the day, i’d still like to remain friends as long as you’ll allow me.”

you want to fucking cry. he’s always been better at words and expressing himself. you see it in how he treats his friends, his dog, his profession and art … most importantly, you. you also want to be honest with him, but it already seems like he’s accepting the fate of nothing more.

you owe him the truth at least.

“jungkook … i—“ you begin, “i like you a lot too.”

jungkook lets out an exasperating grunt — he thinks you’re pitying him.

“please don’t feel the need to sugarcoat, 307. i just wanted to be—“

you press your lips to his. the kiss was too quick for anyone to process anything. you’ll remember though. you’ll remember his strawberry flavored chapstick, the cold lip piercing barrels, and the way he leans in slightly to chase after your lips when you pull away too soon. jungkook’s eyes widen at the realization that you just kissed him. all too short and he doesn’t think he can stop thinking about you after this anymore even if he tried.

“your feelings are yours,” you hold his hand, “but these are mine too.”

he whispers your name lowly and you shake your head.

“i’m no good with words,” you confess, “i just know that i like you too. but … i’m also a fucking mess, jungkook.”

“huh? no, you’re—“

“yeah, i am. i just got out of something long term … it wouldn’t be good for me to jump into another relationship. i don’t think it’s fair for you to deal with all my baggage when i haven’t sorted myself out.”

he nods, a little dejected but he understands what you mean.

right person, wrong time.

“okay,” he finally says, “nothing will change. friends?”

“friends,” you agree.

it’s a promise out of respect for you. will you regret this? possibly. though, everything feels normal when he walks you to your door later and wishes you a goodnight.

“don’t be fucking weird after tonight. if you avoid me, i’m making you run 10 laps every friday, 307.”

“rude,” you roll your eyes, “i should be saying that to you. don’t be fucking weird or else you’re getting another glitter bomb in the mail.”

“that shit was the worst to get off.”

“funny as hell though.”

“yeah, for you.”

everything feels so natural and safe with jungkook. how he looks at you, laughs at your jokes, eyes twinkle when you do the same for him. you don’t need the night sky when you got galaxies staring back at you.

—

“with all due respect, you’re being stupid.” nayeon says through the speaker.

“how? we both agreed that staying friends would be the best.” you reply a little louder over your sink. your kitchen was overdue for a cleaning and the weekends were the perfect time to catch up on chores.

you’re on the phone with nayeon and it’s a good distraction while you busy yourself with other things at the same time. though, you’re sort of regretting the call now with nayeon berating you for your decision to remain friends with jungkook a month ago.

“people can still date and work on themselves. it’s not a linear thing.”

“yeah, but—“

“you’re just scared. i know you.”

“nayeon …”

“jungkook and dohwan aren’t the same. anyone can get hurt in a relationship, but you shouldn’t deny yourself of something out of fear.”

“yes, but … i don’t think i’d be able to face jungkook if something bad does happen.” you’re serious. running away is your strong suit and you’d move out immediately if shit hits the fan.

“so you’d have no regrets staying like this?”

you don’t reply and that was an answer in itself.

“why are you so hellbent on me and jungkook? i thought you hated him …” it’s sort of funny to be talking to nayeon of all people about jungkook. hell, it’s thanks to jungkook’s mess up on their first tinder date that helped you land your friendship with nayeon.

everything happens for a reason.

“i only hated him cause you did. that’s what friends do, silly. also, if you’re feeling awkward because he and i dated … don’t. there wasn’t anything more. anyways, stop avoiding. you always do this.” she’s right. you’re the queen of avoiding hard conversations.

“i don’t want to lose a friend, nayeon.”

“you won’t. but you’ll lose your chance at experiencing something beautiful, sweetie,” she says, “you owe it to yourself. but hey, i gotta go to my pilates class. i’ll text you later, okay? i love you!”

“okay, love you too. i’m sorry for being difficult. don’t pull a muscle in class!”

“if i do, will you give me a massage?” she laughs, “and no, you’re never difficult. just you being you.”

the call ends and you’re left alone once again with your thoughts. things haven’t really changed between you and jungkook. he’s still his chipper self. you just yearn for more time with him these days. every subtle touch … whether it be his hand on your lower back guiding you upstairs, his fingers brushing yours during the walks, or when he massages your feet upon request sends you into a place where you feel yourself succumbing to your deepest desires.

you want more.

you can tell jungkook does too. he’s unashamed in his affections towards you but he’ll never pressure you or cross that boundary you’ve set.

you realize it hurts to deny yourself of wanting someone who wants you just as equally.

—

you’re at jungkook’s place again one evening. bam is all tuckered out from his walk and jungkook is fixing a bowl of popcorn to snack on while you search through netflix for something to watch.

it’s your pick tonight and you wanted to watch a crime documentary. ghost and thrillers don’t interest you, but crimes? yeah, full body chills because they’re real.

you turn to see jungkook in a big white t-shirt with grey sweats — he looks so comfortable. he’s seasoning the popcorn and catches you staring at him. he shakes his head and smiles back down bashfully at his bowl.

he looks like home … no, he feels like home.

fuck.

you really are torturing yourself.

when jungkook settles onto the couch and the documentary starts, you scoot closer to him. you don’t know if you’re making a fool of yourself, but jungkook pays no mind. his arm circle around you effortlessly and you nestle your cheek into his chest.

so warm — he smells so nice. jungkook sports on a lax expression, yet you can feel and hear the rapid thumps of his heart.

“you sure friends cuddle when they watch shit together?” he mumbles, eyes trained on the television.

“no,” you look up at him, “do you not want to?” you start to move away, but jungkook holds you in place.

he feels your smile through his shirt. yeah, you’re torturing him and he’s enjoying it.

as the documentary plays, jungkook gets immersed in the story. he looks a little silly with his big eyes and mouth slightly ajar as he soaks in all the crime details and backstory. his hand involuntarily moves to massage your scalp and you feel yourself lulled to sleep under his touch.

after a while, he calls your name and gently shakes you awake.

“hey sleepyhead. had a good nap?” he muses.

“mhm, sorry … was so tired from work. did i miss a lot?” you look at the dark television screen and feel guilty.

“just the entire documentary,” he teases, “it’s alright, you wouldn’t be traumatized like me now. i know i’m going to be having nightmares.”

“‘m sorry,” you snuggle closer to him and his breath hitches, “anything i can do to help?”

“hmm …” he holds his thinking pose, “i don’t know, maybe a kiss?”

“just kidding, 307. it’s late, so let’s get you hom—”

“yeah? think a kiss will make you feel better?” you press on.

you knew he was joking, but there’s a surge of confidence coursing in you when you push up on him and he swallows hard. he says your name in warning but he makes no effort to move or push you away. he wants this badly too. been thinking about you and your lips since you last kissed him — never stopped.

“don’t do something you’ll regret.” his hand cradles your cheek.

“i’m not,” your nose brush against his, “i wanna kiss you. please, will you let me?” you ask with pleading eyes and jungkook lets out a shuddering breath and nods.

you look down at his parted lips and back at his hooded eyes. you’re not sure who moved first — it doesn’t matter.

when your lips meet, it’s like heaven and hell collided and made earth — waves crashing onto land, blue horizons, and the smell of pinewood after rain. you don’t think you can let go of this feeling any time soon and when you finally do give into your longings, life feels a little more salvageable … freeing.

jungkook slots his lips between yours, pulling you up to straddle his lap. he moans when your hands tangle in his hair and pulls you in closer if that was even possible.

you lick into his parting mouth when he pants, indulge in the way he sounds as he’s kissing you back. the kiss is hard and passionate — so much more different than the first one you had. there’s a sense of urgency here … like there’s a time constraint or limitation to your affections. you wish you could reassure him; though the best you can do at this moment is to drink him in as much as he allows you to. his hands roam all over your body and you shiver in pleasure when one of his hand travels to the front of your throat possessively. there’s no pressure in his hold, but it’s telling you that you belong here with him.

when you finally do pull away, you plant dainty kisses on the corner of his lips and jaw. he giggles at the tickling feeling and brings your face back to his to give you a much gentler kiss. though you are no longer kissing, your foreheads stay connected in place.

“there, much better, right?” you say breathlessly.

“mhm,” he replies, “should’ve used the trauma card earlier if i knew i’d be getting free kisses.”

your brain is going a mile a second, but you’re sure of this.

“you don’t need to,” you say a little uncertain. jungkook straightens himself in his seated position when he realizes you’re about to say something serious.

“you can kiss me whenever you want … if you want! i know i said we should stay friends, but i think i like you too much to just stay that way. i want to see where things go and i’m fucking scared. i mean, fuck, am i making any sense? please say something,” you’re rambling and jungkook can only smile as you unravel through your confession.

of course he wants more with you.

“just say you want me and go, 307.” he laughs when you pull away cutely. he has no intentions of letting you go and you had no intentions of leaving. it’s too comfortable in his embrace.

“we’ll take things slow, okay?” he kisses your nose in reassurance.

“okay.”

—

fast forward three months, you and jungkook have been dating each other — slow and steady as promised. no official title (yet) but you know he’s exclusively seeing you. you’re enjoying his company and there’s no rush. when there’s something special and secure, it’s all smooth sailing and calm tides. you never have to guess with him.

he feels the same with you.

this marks the 13th weekend date with you and he’s going to do it. jungkook is going to ask you to be his girlfriend. he’s fucking nervous … has a whole date planned: dinner, movies, then back to his place where he’ll officially ask you.

part of him wants to wait for the next weekend because the number 13 was bad luck, but he’s felt nothing but luck with you. luck in the chances of meeting you in this apartment complex, luck in your friendship, and now luck with the prospect of love.

so when your door swings open to reveal you in a short black satin dress, hair done prettily, and your skin dewey and sparkly from your makeup, he knew was going to make 13 lucky no matter what.

“you look beautiful,” jungkook compliments and holds out his hand to walk you down the stairs.

“you don’t look half bad too,” you taunt, taking his warm hand. there’s no malice cause jungkook knows how you feel about him. notices how your eyes rake over his form, has caught you checking him out plenty of times before, felt the way your lips moved on his skin to praise how hot he looked one evening despite him coming back looking like a sweaty hog that’s been run over by a train.

if you’re curious … aside from making out and heavy petting paired with some dry humping sessions here and there, no, they haven’t had sex. probably for the better, it’s already hard enough to separate from each other after every hangout.

slow and steady. you are both fine with that.

“sooo, you gonna tell me where we’re going or is this where you murder me?” you check your lip gloss in the rear view mirror. jungkook’s right hand naturally find its way to your thighs while he drives.

“you’ll find out soon,” he gives you a little squeeze and it sends a little tingle to your core.

—

it’s going terribly.

traffic was absolutely ass for no reason, so they get to their first destination 45 minutes later than anticipated. the restaurant he had reservations for let him know that the kitchen caught on fire the moment he parked in the lot.

okay, fine. to the movies it is.

except, the movie stopped halfway through due to some technical difficulties. he was going to lose his mind, but you were a good sport through it all. jungkook still had one final trick up his sleeve for you.

when you both finally get back to his place with bags of takeout, jungkook lets out a wail of frustration.

“bam, no!”

all the balloons he blew up have been popped. you look past his shoulders to see a torn up sign with the words: wil u e my fren?

bam prances to you and jungkook with his wagging tail, unaware of jungkook’s inner anguish and turmoil. jungkook runs his hands over his face and freezes in place.

“aw baby,” you try comforting jungkook, “it was an accident. bam didn’t know.”

“i know, i just … fuck, gimme a minute.” jungkook stalks over to his bedroom and closes the door. you place the bags of food on the dining table and crouch down to pet bam.

“you really upset your dad, bammie. he worked really hard on this,” you know bam doesn’t understand a single word you’re saying, but you’re disappointed for jungkook too. jungkook really put in the effort and you’re touched by it all. he really wants you and you want nothing more than to be his.

you feed bam his dinner and set the takeout in the fridge, unsure of when you and jungkook will be ready to eat.

hesitantly, you knock on jungkook’s door. know you don’t need his permission to come in — you’ve slept over plenty of times, but still do it out of courtesy.

“can i come in, kook?”

a moment of silence ensues before you hear a little, “… yeah.”

jungkook was on his bed, feet still on the floor with his arms sprawled out. poor boy.

you climb onto bed next to him and lay your head on his shoulder.

he’s visibly upset — not at you of course. he just wanted to make this special.

“that was fucking cute. no one has ever done that for me before.” you say. the best you got from dohwan were a bouquet of roses sent to your workplace. jungkook’s efforts superseded your expectations.

“which part? no dinner, no movies, or the shit show of a sign?”

“all of it.”

“pff, don’t lie.” he sulks.

you throw your leg over his torso to straddle his waist.

“i’m not! you’re so fucking sweet,” you move down to kiss his cheek when he doesn’t look up at you.

“come on, don’t you want my answer?” you place his hands on your hips, wanting him to touch you somewhere.

he cocks his brow at you, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“fine fine, i’ll be your ‘fren’ if that’s what you want.”

he covers his face in embarrassment, “ugh, that shit was so humiliating. bam isn’t getting any treats for the next three days.”

“hey! don’t punish my baby. it was an honest mistake.” you reassure him, “plus, i gave him an earful.” yeah, and his dinner right after. it’s no wonder bam likes you a lot more these days.

“okay, okay … i’m still sorry about today. nothing went accordingly.” jungkook sighs and rubs soothing circles on your hips with his thumbs.

“you’re not allowed to punish yourself either,” you say a matter of fact, “did you mean it though?” you look at him through your lashes.

“hm?”

“want me as your girlfriend?” when you finally say those words, it sets off a bundle of butterflies in your stomach.

jungkook quickly sits up, holding you securely so you don’t topple over, “of course, i do. just wanted to make it special for you.”

you felt fucking special.

so fucking special in how you said yes, saw how he beamed at your answer, kisses you silly, tongue running down your neck, the little bites on your collarbone — you’re on cloud 9.

he involuntarily drags your hips over his clothed length and you whimper upon contact.

“you hungry, baby? we didn’t have dinner yet,” jungkook asks innocently through his heavy breaths, but you’re too busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt. how could he possibly think about food at a time like this? then again, you have to remember he’s the biggest foodie known to earth. he’s caring of your wellbeing so of course he’d worry if you’re hungry.

he’s also your boyfriend now.

you shake your head. you don’t just want him — you need him.

you slide off of him and are on your knees in between his legs. he looks at you through his heavy lids when you clock your head to the side, waiting for the green light to take off his pants.

“you’ve been so good to me, planning this date … lemme show you how thankful i am.”

jungkook loves being praised and rewarded. he especially loves it even more coming from you. he lets out a moan when you run your hand down his clothed bulge. yes, jungkook has had sex before — honestly, don’t ask him about his body count … he’s not sure either. what he’s sure is that he loses all senses when you touch him — like a virgin touched for the very first time.

his pants are down and kicked off to the side, shirt unbuttoned haphazardly, and head thrown back when you settle between his legs to give his hard length a squeeze.

he’s so fucking big in your hand and your mouth nearly waters at the sight of his precum leaking from the slit of his cock. fuck, you don’t know how he’s going to fit in your mouth, but it doesn’t matter. you’re going to make him come undone one way or another.

“baby, i’m literally going to nut if you keep squeezing me like that.”

you laugh, “how long are you going to last inside me then?”

“fuck, you can’t say shit like that.”

“why not?” you press a small kiss on his hip bone and pump his cock with your hand. his eyes closes and mouth drops open at the change of movement.

“gonna nut even faster,” he chuckles.

jungkook hisses when you lick a long stripe underneath his shaft without warning. one of his hand reaches behind your head for support while the other one grips his bedsheets.

“oh god,” he lets out a small moan when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and begin to bob your head at a pace that has him seeing stars.

his cock was lathered with your spit and his precum. the sounds you made while you sucked him off were nearly pornographic. his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head when his cock hits the back of your throat.

“shit, oh f-fuck,” his fingers are caught in your hair and your moans vibrate against him when he gently pushes your head down while he fucks up into your mouth.

if you keep going like this, he wasn’t going to last long and he really wants to … can’t bring himself to cum in your mouth just yet. he really wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to nut quick, so he pulls you away when he nearly cums. you breathe heavily through your swollen lips. jungkook runs his thumb on your cheeks where some mascara has smeared as a result of your doing.

you’re still so fucking perfect.

he lifts you from your kneeled position back onto his lap and kisses you slow and tenderly. jungkook whines into your mouth as he tastes himself on your tongue. your dress has ridden up on your waist, the the thin straps are loose and off your shoulders.

“i somehow fucked up the entire night and you still decided to give me the best head? must really like me or something,” jungkook looks at you endearingly and takes notice of how you’re rutting yourself onto his length.

“you know i do. my boyfriend deserves the best.” jungkook’s heart soars at hearing the word boyfriend leave your lips.

yes, he’s yours.

you shake in pleasure as you roll your hips deliciously slow on him. you’re practically soaked through your thin panties.

“did you get this wet just by sucking me off, baby?”

you nod and trail kisses on his cheeks and jaw, “all for you, kook. you always make me this wet.”

he takes so much pride in how he’s able to get you all worked up like this.

jungkook wasn’t expecting to have sex with you tonight, but it’s like you said … it’s special. the rest of your clothing join his in a pile on the ground. he rolls you onto your back and drinks in your naked form. you shy away from his stares and kiss up at him.

your hand reach between you both while he continues to kiss you and you position his still-hard cock in between your folds for that additional friction. the wet clicks mixes in with both your pantings and synchronized moans. every time the head of his cock slides and catches onto your swollen clit, you shudder and arch your back in pleasure.

“want you to fuck me,” you kiss his pouty lips and down his neck, “please?”

jungkook leans back a little, sits on the heels of his feet, and pushes your thighs close to your chest. the angle lets him move and slide your hips up and down his length even more. you gasp and call out his name in wanton.

he drops your legs down and closes the distance between you both again. his bare chest brushes against yours and he lines his cock at your entrance.

“you’re so perfect,” his breath fans over your face, “so lucky to have you.” jungkook swoops his arms under you in a tight embrace. you look at him through your glassy eyes and wrap your arms around his neck.

your heart swells at his words.

there’s little to no resistance when jungkook finally enters you.

it’s a mixture of sweet, nasty, loving, and primal desire how jungkook fucks you into his sheets. he hates loud sex, but he wants to hear all of you. the way you mewl, whimper, cry, and breathe — all of it.

and when you wrap your legs around him and coax him into cumming inside you while your fingers trace the planes of his back, he knows he’s done for.

you giggle, nudge your forehead on his, hold his hand, and kiss all over his face. the afterglow on you both is stunning.

“you’re right, you didn’t last long at all.” you hum. jungkook raises one of his eyebrows and smiles mischievously. it’s a fucking lie since jungkook knows he made you cum at least twice in the span of fucking you, but who would you be if you didn’t try challenging him a little?

he doesn’t have to say anything before slipping down your body and burying his face in between your legs. he licks up your slit tentatively, watches your brows furrow and mouth part, and moans into your heat when your hand travels to his head to push him down as he did to you.

“don’t worry, i’m not going anywhere,” jungkook means it both literally and figuratively. doesn’t understand how anyone could part from you. it’s their loss.

he continues lapping up your mixed essence, nipping at your inner thighs on occasion when your hips jerk away from the pleasure.

“kook, mmph- yes! just like that,” you encourage when he wraps his lips around your clit. he sucks, soothes, and makes out with your messy cunt. he wanted to draw out the night longer, toy and dangle your pleasure in front of you as a punishment for your teasing. knows he’s the reason you’re this wet, can’t bring himself to edge you on a special night like this — maybe another time when he’s feeling more mean. he has all the time in the world with you; there’s no rush.

tonight is all about you, his girlfriend — his.

“so close, baby,” you look down, hips stuttering under his hold as he doesn’t let up with his ministrations on your clit. he trails his fingers at your entrance, coating them with your juices before entering you slowly.

“yeah? won’t you give me another one? come on, i know you can do it,” he says between bated breaths. you shake and arch your back, mouth parts open but no sound comes out as you let the waves of pleasure ride over. the squelching sounds increase as his fingers fuck into you faster.

“i-i’m fucking cumming,” you cry out and jungkook nods in acknowledgement, moaning with you to draw out your orgasm. when you come for the third time that night, he wants to paint the image in his memory and revisit it on a rainy day. no promises that he won’t sport a hard on every time. the sight of you quivering, hands squeezing your chest and rolling your nipples between your fingers to prolong the pleasure, has his head spinning. jungkook trails kisses down your pussy, takes his fingers out and licks them clean before spreading you wider to clean you up with his tongue. he only part ways with your cunt when you whine for him.

he comes back up your body slowly, presses his lips on your tummy and giggles when you squirm from the sensation. however, when he is finally face to face with you again, jungkook has on this determined look.

he can’t seem to get enough of you and your body. addicted, he is.

“you’re not done with me, aren’t you?” you give him that pretty post-orgasmic smile.

never, he thinks.

jungkook was about to reply until the rumbles of your stomach cuts through the silence. it should be embarrassing but you feel close enough to jungkook that you both laugh at how unserious the situation is.

“come on baby, let’s go eat our dinner.” he pulls you up and puts you in one of his oversized t-shirts.

you still believe your ideal neighbor should be mindful, quiet, and kind. jungkook was certainly not mindful, quiet, or kind with how he entered into your life.

though, he wasn’t just someone who’d be your neighbor by the law of attraction and the cosmic pull of the universe.

love is patient, love is kind.

you know you’ve found your home — you just never expected it to be right next door.

fin.

—

a/n: tadaaaaaa. what’d you think? 😜

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #bts fanfic #jeongguk smut #jungkook enemies to lovers #jungkook friends to lovers

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muniimyg · 4 months ago

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𐙚₊˚⊹ boxer!jungkook⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

boxer jk x neuro doctor oc

post fight vibes

meet cute

note: possibly a mini series but idk

after his home and the ring; jungkook's third home is the hospital.

yet, one thing he will never get used to are the bright lights.

fuck.

they’re always so fucking bright.

it doesn’t matter if he’s in for nearly busting his brain or if he’s just here for a casual IV drip—each time, the lights are insanely bright.

the hospital room is too white too.

too sterile for someone like him.

his eyes flicker down to his knuckles. they’re split and bruised, resting against his stomach, rising and falling with each slow breath. his lip is cut, swollen at the corner, and when he rolls his shoulders back, he winces—just slightly—like he's trying not to show it.

suddenly, the doors burst open and his head turns towards it.

you walk in.

navy blue scrubs, white doctors coat, and your hair is tied high and back.

it’s… love at first sight.

your cheeks are so perfect. that’s the first thing he notices about you. they have this puff that makes him wonder if anyone has ever complimented you on them. next, are your lips. they’re perfectly shaped—so kissable. maybe he’s just that fucked in the head but everything about you looks so perfect. like your eyes are the exact size they need to be. you button nose where your glasses sit so cutely…

god help him.

maybe he got beat up a little too much this match.

jungkook swallows drly as you approach him. you pull out the scans and show him on the monitor. you glance at them and then at him. for a moment, you’re silent and he doesn’t know if he should be saying anything.

should he introduce himself?

better yet, can you introduce yourself?

"you're concussed," you say simply.

jungkook blinks at you, like he was expecting more.

"that bad?"

"you've had worse." you say it simply as you click on the monitor and pull out old scans from months ago. your eyes widen as you look through the ones from the past 3 years. pausing at one scan from 2019, you use your pen to gesture around the areas where he’s been concussed before. “this old one? probably your worst one.”

he huffs out a laugh, shifting in his seat.

"my brain is still here, though. couldn’t have been that bad, huh?"

you don’t humor the joke.

"debatable."

his grin widens, even through the soreness. "harsh, doctor…”

“doctor ___.”

“___,” he breathes. “that’s pretty.”

“doctor ___.” you correct.

“right,” jungkook folds. then, the moment shifts. he can’t help but blurt; “... you sure you're not just mad you had to sub in for my usual guy?"

"not mad," you say, flipping through his chart. "just not impressed."

he laughs again, low and raspy, like this whole thing is funny. like the fractures and bruising on his scans are nothing more than a bad grade on a test.

"aren't you too young to be a doctor?"

you glance at him, raising a brow.

"aren't you too young to have this many head injuries?"

his smile lingers, but he doesn’t say anything for a beat like he's trying to come up with a clever response. like he's trying to read you.

"did you win?" you ask instead.

"huh?"

"your fight."

his grin flickers—surprise, maybe. or amusement.

"yeah. of course."

you nod, flipping the chart closed.

"is it worth it?"

he tilts his head, the movement slow. calculated. like he's trying to see if you're serious. truth be told, he can’t read you. not your tone or your facial expression. it intrigues him… how could someone be so warm and so cold at the same time? you’re lukewarm… but it’s refreshing. it’s scratches his fucked up brain somehow.

"i'll tell you," jungkook muses, "if you go out with me."

you scoff.

"that's okay."

he waits.

"some things are worth asking about," you say, pushing your chair back. you stand up and lean over to check over his vitals. as you fix his IV, you squint as you notice his knuckles. for some reason, jungkook suddenly fights to urge to reach for you. his fingers twitch. you see it. you brush it off and say; "some things aren't worth the answer."

you don’t miss the way his lips part slightly, his brows lifting in surprise.

you don’t stick around to see if he has a follow-up. you grab your clipboard and head towards the door. as you push the door open to leave, you bid him goodbye.

"rest up, mr. jeon."

the next time jungkook is back, it's not you.

"dr. ___ isn’t in today?" jungkook asks, trying to sound… anything but how it came out.

namjoon doesn’t look up from his notes.

“you met her?”

“yeah,” he breathes. “can’t get her out of my head ever since.”

namjoon chuckles as he takes out his slit lamp and examines jungkook’s eye movement. as jungkook’s eyes follow the light, nam joon continues;

"why’s that?”

“dunno,” jungkook confesses.

namjoon can’t take jungkook seriously. he’s never been the type to care about girls since they’ve always come to him one way or another… but knowing you, he should’ve known jungkook would take interest.

“miss her or something?" nam joon teases. “love at first concussion?”

“not my first concussion… and i was just wondering. shit, man.” jungkook shrugs, trying to move past it. suddenly, he’s embarrassed.

namjoon hums, like he doesn’t believe him (because he doesn’t).

"she doesn't date patients," namjoon says, flipping a page and writing down notes from jungkook’s checkup. "definitely not ones with a brain like yours."

jungkook blinks. "is it that bad?"

namjoon grins. "she spends her days saving patients who get injured unwillingly. you? boxing? that's a choice. you're her least favorite kind of patient."

"but am i her type?"

namjoon laughs and shakes his head.

"your brain is fucked up."

when jungkook’s checkup finishes, he says goodbye to namjoon and exits the room.

then, like fate, he sees you in the hall when he's leaving. you're walking in the opposite direction, clipboard tucked against your hip, eyes scanning over charts.

jungkook doesn’t think.

he moves.

jungkook catches up to you and taps your shoulder. as you turn your head to respond, he steps forward and in front of you instead. suddenly, you face him.

"you."

you blink up at him, unimpressed. "me."

"i'm not concussed anymore."

"i'm glad,” you smile at him softly before you lower your gaze back to your charts. “have a good day mr. jeon—"

"i won that match," he says, like it's important. like it means something.

you pause.

"i'm a good boxer," he continues, standing taller. "i don’t get injured that much. when you saw me last… i let the guy get in a few hits. whatever… it was for show, i swear to god… but if you go out with me, i promise to always win and never get a head injury ever again."

you stare at him.

he waits.

you exhale, shifting your clipboard to the other hand. then, before he can say anything else, your fingers push into his hair, ruffling it gently.

his breath hitches.

you drop your hand and step past him.

"i think you're still a little concussed," you murmur.

“i’m not,” jungkook says, voice soft. “one chance.”

you tilt your head at him and for a moment, you really contemplate. his lip looks almost healed. his knuckles are only bruised now… for a moment, you want to give in.

“do you ever lose?”

he scoffs. “no.”

you nod and begin to slip away. jungkook stands there confused at the growing distance. as you walk away, you tell him;

“maybe you should learn how to.”

“why? so you can feel better about rejecting me?"

jungkook tilts his head, lips twitching. he lifts his foot to move to you but you shake your head at him. he stops his tracks. cutely, you mimic him and tilt your head too, feigning sympathy.

"no, so you stop getting concussed."

he grins, sharp and easy. "i told you, i don't get injured that much."

"right… just enough to keep me employed."

his laughter comes quick, like he wasn't expecting that.

"damn," he mutters, shaking his head. "you got a sharp tongue, doc."

you exhale through your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve given him, and start toward the door. with one hand, you wave him off, like he’s not worth the breath it takes to keep talking.

but just before you step out, jungkook hears you murmur over your shoulder—low, teasing, like you’re indulging him for just a second longer.

"good thing you’re used to taking hits, jeon."

jungkook’s smile lingers long after you’ve disappeared down the hall. for a moment, he contemplates on running after you and continuing to annoy you… and then, for the nth time today… he thinks.

he’ll be back.

injured or not—he’s coming back just for you.

#bts fanfic #bts one shot #jungkook one shot #jungkook blurb #jungkook imagine #bts imagine #jungkook meet cute #jungkook fluff #jungkook boxer au #jk boxer #bts boxer au #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #jungkook fic

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luna-thecreator · 2 months ago

Text

Paring: Smoke (Elijah Moore) x Eboni (Black OC) Plot: A quiet singer and a dangerous man cross paths again under the haze of whiskey, heat, and music. What begins in silence soon burns into something neither of them can control. Word Count: 4k Tags: 18+, Minors DNI, language, possessive behavior, power dynamics, emotional tension, SMUT!, dangerous love interest

Eboni stood on the small, dimly lit stage, her back straight, feet planted firmly on the wooden floor of the juke joint. The heat of the evening clung to the air, thick and heavy, the kind of warmth that made you feel like you were breathing in someone else’s secrets. The crowd swayed, some lost in their drinks, others in the smooth pull of Eboni’s voice.

She’d been singing in this place for over a year now, the rhythm of the night sinking into her bones. Each song was an escape, but she never let herself get too lost. Not in front of the crowd.

But tonight, as the last notes of the song floated away, she felt something shift. A presence. Her eyes caught the corner of the room, and there he was. Elijah. Or rather, Smoke. His name didn’t matter. It was the way he stood, quiet and still, as if the noise of the world didn’t reach him. And the way his eyes—dark and heavy—found hers, like he’d been waiting for this moment for years.

Two years ago, they had never spoken a word, but they didn’t need to. They’d shared looks, stolen moments in the same dark corners, their silent understanding hanging between them like smoke. He’d get lost in her voice, until he disappeared, and she hadn’t expected to see him again. But now he was back.

The crowd cheered, but it sounded far away, muffled. Eboni couldn’t look away from him. She took a slow breath and nodded to the band to start another song, her fingers still tight around the microphone. The music kicked in, but it felt different now. Heavy. Personal.

She sang through the next verse, her eyes flickering back to him, the tension building like a slow storm. Smoke didn’t move, not an inch, his gaze locked onto her like it was the only thing that mattered.

When the song ended, the applause was distant, echoing in her chest. She didn’t bother with a smile or a thank-you. She stepped off the stage, her heels clicking on the worn wood, moving like she was walking toward something she couldn’t quite reach.

She made her way to the bar, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as she kept her focus on the two men across the room. Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t let it show. She leaned against the worn oak of the bar, her fingers curling around a glass of whiskey that had already been poured for her—one of the perks of being a regular. Her eyes never left them, even as she took a slow sip.

Stack was there, as always, the easy smile on his face. He was doing what he always did, moving through the crowd with a charm that could melt the coldest heart. He was talking to a few women, laughing, his broad shoulders almost swallowing up the small talk that surrounded him. He liked to be the center of attention, and everyone loved him for it. But Eboni knew better. She’d seen this act before. Stack wore his charisma like a badge, a way to distract from the emptiness underneath.

But it wasn’t Stack who held her gaze. It was Elijah—Smoke.

Even from across the room, she could feel his presence. He was standing by the wall, arms crossed, his face set in that same unreadable expression she remembered from two years ago. The way his eyes followed her, dark and calculating, made her stomach tighten. He wasn’t looking at her like Stack did—like she was something to possess or conquer. No. Elijah watched her like she was a puzzle he’d been trying to figure out for years, and every second he spent looking at her only brought him closer to the answer.

She tore her eyes away, but only for a moment, enough to see Stack stack a cigarette, the tobacco wrapped neatly in a paper that had seen too many hands. He moved with a practiced ease, the kind of movement that said he’d done this a hundred times before—maybe more. His fingers worked quickly, rolling the tobacco into a perfect cylinder before he offered it to his twin.

“Smoke,” Stack said, his voice loud enough for Eboni to hear from where she stood. “You want this?”

Elijah didn’t respond right away. He just lifted his eyes, slow and deliberate, meeting Stack’s gaze. When he finally nodded, Stack’s grin grew, the kind of grin that always made Eboni want to look away.

Stack handed the cigarette to Elijah, his fingers brushing against the man’s hand as they exchanged it. It wasn’t a gesture that meant anything on the surface, but Eboni knew better. That was the kind of touch that meant everything to them, a bond forged in blood and silence.

She swallowed another mouthful of whiskey, her thoughts a muddled haze, and turned her attention back to the stage. But her mind was elsewhere, still following Smoke and Stack’s every movement, every small action.

Eboni had downed about four shots of pure whiskey, the burn spreading down her throat and settling heavy in her chest. It was enough to push the fog in her mind to the back of her thoughts, enough to shake the tension that had wound too tightly in her body. She needed something to fill the hollow feeling, to drown out the noise in her head. And there was only one way she knew how to do that.

She stood, shaking off the weight of the barstool as the music played its sultry tune. The brass band had kicked into a slower, heavier rhythm, the kind that made you want to move, to let everything slip away. The bassline thrummed in her bones, and before she could think twice, she was on the dance floor.

Her hips swayed with the beat, body moving like liquid, each step flowing in perfect sync with the music. She didn’t care who watched. She didn’t care who noticed. The men around her—just a blur of faces—seemed to melt into the background, their eyes fixed on her every move, their hands reaching out in desperate need of a connection they could never quite understand. But none of them mattered. Not tonight.

Tonight, Eboni danced with her demons. She swirled around a sea of bodies, lost in the music and the heat, in the chaos of everything falling apart outside these walls. Bills were piling up, her rent overdue, the landlord knocking on her door at all hours of the night, and here she was—dancing like everything was fine. But she knew it wasn’t. Her personal life was spiraling, and all she had left was this—the music, the sweat, the whiskey, and the rhythm that refused to let her think.

God forbid a woman wanted to let go. To forget the weight of her world for a moment and just move, lose herself in something that felt alive. That’s what the dance floor was—freedom, if only for a song.

The air in the joint was thick with the smell of sweat, cigarettes, and something more, something that Eboni could never quite name. The crowd, hungry for an escape, moved around her like sharks, drawn to the pulse of the beat, the rawness of the night. But none of them understood her like she understood herself—this was her release, her moment to disappear into the shadows of the music.

But what she didn’t know, what she couldn’t have known, was that Smoke was still watching her. From the corner of the room, leaning against the wall as if he had nowhere else to be, his eyes never left her. He’d been watching her since she stepped off that stage, his gaze unwavering, the weight of his attention a constant pull at her spine.

Every sway of her hips, every flicker of her eyes, every step she took was like a thread that drew him in closer, whether he wanted to admit it or not. There was something about the way she danced—free, wild, untamed—that got under his skin. She was a force, a hurricane in the middle of a quiet night, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her storm.

The smoke from his cigarette curled in the air as he took a long drag, his jaw tight, eyes locked on her every movement. He could feel the heat of the room, but it wasn’t the heat of the bodies around him that made his skin burn. It was her.

Elijah knew he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching her like this. He had enough trouble of his own—trouble he couldn’t afford to share with anyone, least of all her. She was trouble enough. She didn’t belong in the world he lived in, didn’t belong in the shadows that clung to him like a second skin. But there she was, moving in a way that made him question every decision he’d ever made.

Stack, ever the talker, was nowhere near as focused on her as Elijah was. He’d caught a glimpse of Eboni, then immediately turned his attention to another woman, pulling her into his orbit with that easy grin of his. But Elijah didn’t look away, didn’t break his stare. Not even when a few people bumped into him, pulling him out of his trance.

Now, as she moved on the dance floor, he felt that same pull in his chest—the same tug that made him want to reach out, grab her, pull her close and make her forget the world around her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Eboni spun, her eyes catching his for a brief second before she turned away again, lost in the rhythm. For just a moment, she felt something shift in the air, something that wasn’t just the heat or the crowd—it was him. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was still watching. She could feel it, deep in her bones.

The crowd had thinned to a whisper. Chairs scraped the floor as bodies filtered out into the sticky New Orleans night, laughter echoing down the crooked streets. The music was gone now—only the ghost of it lingered in the air, like perfume after the woman’s long gone. Eboni stood near the stage, her heels finally killing her, fingers curling around the worn leather strap of her bag.

She was tired. Soul-tired. The kind of tired that couldn’t be fixed with rest. She grabbed her coat from the back of a chair, stuffing her tips into her pocket without counting. Her feet ached, her head buzzed with leftover whiskey and regret.

She didn’t even notice him at first—not until his hand wrapped gently, but firmly, around her arm.

She turned fast, caught off guard. Smoke stood there, close. Closer than he’d ever dared to be.

"I missed it," he said.

His voice was low, thick with something she couldn’t quite name. Not gravel. Not smoke. Something in between. The way he looked at her—it wasn’t like how the men looked at her from the crowd. It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t lust. It was something deeper. Something like memory.

She blinked. “Missed what?”

“Your voice,” he said. “I missed your voice.”

Eboni stared at him, lips parted. She hadn’t expected that. Not from him. Not tonight.

“You always used to stay in the back,” she said, her voice soft. “Never spoke. Just watched.”

“I was listening,” he said. “Always was.”

Eboni felt her stomach twist. His hand was still on her arm, not rough, but like he couldn’t bring himself to let go. She glanced down at it, then back up at him. She should’ve pulled away. But she didn’t.

“You came back,” she said. It wasn’t a question. More like a statement she didn’t know what to do with.

“Didn’t plan to,” Elijah murmured. “But I heard your voice again and—shit—I couldn’t stay away.”

There was a pause, long and heavy. The rest of the room faded. It was just them, the lights humming low, the floor sticky with spilled gin and too many late nights.

Eboni’s throat tightened. “I ain't looking for trouble, Elijah.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m not here to bring it.”

“Then what are you here for?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer with words. Just looked at her with those dark eyes—still, unreadable, but deep. “Come with me,” he finally said. “Just for a while. No music. No crowd. Just quiet.”

She should’ve said no.

She should’ve turned around, walked out, kept herself from falling into the pull she’d tried so hard to ignore. But instead, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and nodded.

The ride to his place had been quiet.

Not the awkward kind. Not full of nerves or forced words. Just silence that spoke louder than anything either of them could’ve said. She watched the streetlights flash across his face in the dark car, gold slicing over his cheekbones and jaw, softening nothing. Elijah didn’t look at her much. But his hand rested near hers on the seat—close enough she could feel the heat of it, like a live wire she was trying not to touch.

When they reached his building, he opened the door like a man who never brought anyone through it. The hallway creaked under their steps, and Eboni had to remind herself to breathe.

Upstairs, the room was dim. No music. No radio. Just the hum of old pipes and the weight of night pressing against the windows.

Eboni stood just inside the doorway, her arms still crossed, as if she hadn’t fully decided to be there. Elijah shrugged off his jacket, draped it over the back of a chair, then turned to her.

“You can sit,” he said gently.

She nodded but didn’t move right away. Her eyes trailed across the room. There wasn’t much to see. One lamp in the corner, books stacked by the bed, a half-full ashtray on the table. It was clean. Lived-in, but quiet, like the man who owned it.

“You live like a ghost,” she said softly.

Elijah turned, brow raised.

“This place…” she said, stepping further in. “It don’t got fingerprints. It don’t got... you in it.”

He paused at that. “I never liked leaving too much of myself anywhere.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated. “’Cause people break the things they know belong to you.”

Eboni sat then, slow and careful, like the couch might bite. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, though the room wasn’t cold.

He moved to the table, poured a drink without asking. Whiskey. He handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers as he passed it over. She held it but didn’t drink.

“I ain’t used to you talking so much,” she said after a moment.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You never gave me a reason to talk.”

“And now?”

He looked at her like she already knew.

Eboni finally took a sip. The burn was sharp and welcome. “You watched me for two years. Never said a word. What made you speak now?”

Elijah stared for a long beat before answering.

“’Cause I realized I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

She held his gaze, and something thick hung in the air—want, memory, something more dangerous than both. She set the glass down, slow and deliberate.

“You still dangerous?” she asked.

Elijah stepped forward, his voice lower now, softer. “Always.”

“And I’m still the girl who’s got no business with danger.”

“I know.”

“But you brought me here anyway.”

“I couldn’t help it.”

She tilted her head. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

Another silence. Another moment where one of them could’ve pulled away—but didn’t.

“You want me to go?” she asked, standing up.

He looked at her like it hurt to answer. “No.”

“Then why you standing all the way over there like you don’t know what this is?”

He didn’t respond. Just crossed the room, slow, until he was right in front of her. He didn’t reach for her—not yet—but his presence was close enough to drown in.

“This ain’t a love story, Eboni,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She looked up at him, steady. “I didn’t come here for love.”

Elijah’s eyes dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “Then why’d you come?”

Eboni’s voice didn’t shake. “Because I couldn’t stay away either.”

That was all it took. One breath between them, then his hand slid up her arm, slow and warm. His other touched her jaw, thumb brushing the curve of her cheek.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Her body buzzed like a live wire under his touch.

And when he kissed her—it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was slow, but deep. The kind of kiss that made the whole room disappear. His hands stayed at her jaw, holding her like she might vanish. Her fingers twisted into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

There were no promises in it.

Just the quiet understanding that both of them were already too far gone.

The door barely clicked shut before Elijah was on her—hands, mouth, breath—all of him. Eboni barely had time to breathe before her back was pressed against the wall, the cool plaster grounding her for one sharp second. Then his mouth was on her neck, dragging slow heat up her throat.

“Couldn’t keep seein’ you dance wit’ them niggas like that,” he muttered against her skin, voice low, ragged. “Had me out my mind.”

She gasped as his hand slid up her thigh, hitching her dress higher. “That why you pulled me like that?” she whispered, breath catching. “’Cause you jealous?”

Elijah pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched. “I ain’t jealous, Eboni. I’m possessive. There’s a difference.”

She let out a shaky laugh, but it faded when his fingers slid beneath the hem of her dress, tracing the inside of her thigh.

“I ain’t yours, Elijah.”

He smirked, sharp and knowing. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

With one hand, he gripped the back of her neck, tilting her head up. The other dragged the straps of her dress down, slow, like he was unwrapping something sacred. Inch by inch, fabric fell, pooling at her waist before slipping past her hips. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t say a word. Her body burned under his touch, and she didn’t care if it showed.

“You been singin’ all sweet up on that stage,” he whispered, mouth brushing hers, “but I know you got heat in you. I see it every time you look at me.”

“Then take it.” she whispered back.

That was all he needed.

He peeled her underwear off one by one—no rush, no apologies. His hands moved like he was memorizing her skin, every curve, every breath. Eboni stood bare under the weight of his gaze, chest rising fast, lips parted.

“Turn around,” he said.

She hesitated—but only for a second. Then she did. Her back faced him, hands braced against the wall. She heard the sound of his belt, the rustle of his shirt hitting the floor.

Elijah stepped close behind her, one hand sliding around her stomach, the other teasing down her hip. His breath was hot against her ear as he pressed his hard dick onto her back.

“You feel that?” he murmured, voice gravel and hunger. “That’s what you do to me.”

She said, “I Ain’t stoppin’ you.”

His growl was low, more animal than man. He slid his dick into her gummy pussy in one slow, deliberate motion that made her cry out, her fingers clenching against the wall.

“O-oh my god..,” she whispered, body arching.

He held her there, buried deep, not moving yet. Just breathing. Letting it build. Letting her feel all of him.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he said through gritted teeth, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “I been thinkin’ about this for years, Eboni.”

She pushed back against him, hips moving slow. “M-me too.”

Hard. Deep. Slow at first—like he wanted to savor every second. His hand gripped her hip, the other sliding up to palm her breast. Their rhythm was rough, needy, matched breath for breath. Eboni moaned, loud and unfiltered, her voice breaking into the night like a song meant only for him.

Elijah bent her forward slightly, his chest against her back now, lips pressed behind her ear. “Say my name.”

She tried to hold it, tried not to give him the satisfaction—but his thrusts made it impossible.

“Elijah—” she gasped.

He groaned, mouth dragging along her neck. “Say it again.”

“Elijah,” she whimpered, nails scraping down the wall. “Fuck…”

Her knees started to buckle, the pleasure climbing too fast, too high.

“I got you,” he whispered, hand sliding between her thighs to find her clit. “I got you.”

It sent her over. Her body trembled, falling apart in his arms. She cried out, shaking as he kept fucking her, chasing his own release. He wet juices pooled on the floor beneath her as he he fucked her sloppy. It didn’t take long—his breath turned ragged, his rhythm breaking. With a final thrust, he spilled into her, holding her so tight it almost hurt.

Silence fell, thick and breathless.

They stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed to the wall, hearts thundering in sync.

“You still think you ain’t mine?” he asked, voice rough in her ear.

Eboni didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not yet.

Because something in her had just changed. And they both knew it.

Elijah didn’t let her go right away. He held her against him, both of them catching their breath in the quiet shadows of the hallway. His lips brushed her shoulder again—this time softer, slower. Less heat, more feeling.

“You alright?” he murmured, voice low.

Eboni nodded, still breathless. “Yeah,” she whispered.

He turned her around, his hands gentle now, fingertips skimming the sweat-slick curve of her waist. He looked at her like he was trying to memorize her face, like this was the first time he’d ever really seen her.

“Come with me,” he said.

She didn’t ask where. She just let him take her hand.

He led her through the dim apartment, past old vinyls stacked on the side table, past the open window blowing in the warm New Orleans night. His bedroom was simple—dark walls, linen sheets tangled from nights like this, heavy silence hanging in the air like smoke.

The door shut behind them with a soft click.

Eboni stood still, suddenly aware of how bare she was—inside and out.

“You always bring girls back here?” she asked, voice trying for sharp but falling soft.

Elijah stepped closer, so close her back hit the edge of the bed.

“I don’t bring anyone back here,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Ain’t nobody ever felt like you.”

She wanted to roll her eyes, call it a lie, but something in his tone cut through her doubt. It wasn’t charm. It wasn’t a line.

It was truth.

“You used to sit in the back of the juke,” she said, eyes on his chest now. “Never said nothin’. Just watched.”

“I was scared if I opened my mouth, I’d say too much.”

She smirked. “You talkin’ plenty now.”

He leaned down, mouth just above hers. “And I mean all of it.”

Then he kissed her again—deeper this time. Slower. His hands found her waist, pulled her in like he couldn’t get close enough. She sank into it, arms winding around his neck, her body aching all over again.

He guided her down onto the bed, lips never leaving hers. The sheets were cool against her skin, but he was warm everywhere. He kissed down her collarbone, across her chest, pausing just long enough to make her breath catch.

“Elijah…” she whispered, fingers curling in his hair.

“You trust me?” he asked.

She hesitated—then nodded. “I do now.”

His fingers ran over every inch—her thighs, her hips, her ribs, her mouth. When he entered her swollen pussy again, it wasn’t urgent like before. It was deep, slow, like he wanted to stay inside her forever.

Eboni gasped, her nails dragging along his back. “God… I don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”

He groaned softly, forehead pressed to hers. “Just givin’ you what you deserve.”

They moved together, breath for breath, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. Her body trembled again, and he held her through every wave, never looking away. He followed right after, his release crashing through him like thunder.

After, they lay tangled in each other, skin warm, limbs heavy.

Eboni rested her head on his chest, her voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t supposed to feel like this.”

Elijah’s hand stroked her back, slow and gentle. “Me neither,” he murmured. “But I ain’t lettin’ you go now. Not again.”

“You don’t even know me.”

He looked down at her, eyes dark and honest. “I know enough. I know your voice makes the world stop. I know you drink whiskey straight but kiss like honey. I know I been missin’ you for two years and it ain’t never stopped.”

She looked up at him, lips parted. Her heart beat too fast.

“Elijah…”

“I don’t want no one else touchin’ you,” he said. “No one else hearin’ those songs like I do.”

Eboni bit her lip, her voice shaking. “Then make me yours.”He leaned in and kissed her again, slow and deep. “I already did.”

#smut #fanfic #sinners 2025 #sinners #sinners movie #michael b jordan #smoke and stack #michael b jordan smut #michael b jordan x oc #michael b jordan imagine #smoke sinners

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awrkive · 4 months ago

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[TEASER] CATCH YOUR WAVE (m) — JJK.

the last thing you expected when you strolled into your new school is to become the favorite project of the 5’11” tatted-up overly enthusiastic, golden-retriever-in-human-form PE teacher, jeon jungkook. he’s all goofy grins, bad math puns, and relentless charm, while you’re busy pretending you’re immune to his antics... spoiler alert: you’re not. and that infuriates you.

alternatively, jungkook tries to prove that opposites don’t just attract — they collide. a classic case of one plus one equals: “oh, no. i like him.”

PAIRING jeon jungkook x (female) reader

GENRE r18+ (fuff, slight angst, mature content) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WORD COUNT ~15k (still working around the final wc)

TEASER WORD COUNT 1.8k words

WARNINGS/MISC teachers!au, pe teacher!jk, math teacher!reader, seven!jungkook, himbo!jk, coworkers!au (works in the same school), oc gets kinda mean sometimes but jungkook likes it lmfao, extremely corny pick up lines.. he tries 💔 2000s romcoms references (sorry) warnings for this teaser: nothing major. just bad math puns delivered by himbo jungkook :')

NOTES inspired by the whole “can she gaf me💔” vibes in the seven mv (by jungkook) and ultimately the click five’s song, catch your wave (hence the title🥸 pls listen to the song for the whole vibes hehe <3). ive been wanting to write himbo jk for awhile bcs all my jks are like … smart so far so i thought wait we need to change that. gahhhh im so so freaking excited ive been thinking about writing this ever ever since i wrote that one himbo jk drabble 💃🏼

[ CYW MOODBOARD ] • [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

RELEASE DATE 2025, JUNE xx | 01:00 AM KOREAN STANDARD TIME (GMT+9)

They say life is a balance of good and bad days, and you’re not a pessimistic person, but sometimes enough is enough. How is your week already this bad when it’s just barely started?

Sunday morning, when you picked up your laundry from the shop, you were too late to realize that you mixed not just one but two white underwear with the colored loads. You’d blame it on the fact that they were too tiny, too flimsy for you to notice. But you know you should’ve double-checked before putting them in the machine. And now you have lost two panties. And in this economy? That shit cost a ton.

When Monday came and the head of the Math Department informed you there was a sudden shift in your schedule for the semester, it meant that instead of teaching three Algebra classes for tenth graders, you’re also teaching pre-Algebra for eighth graders, meaning you’re gonna have to cross the long walk from the high school building to the middle school one, the latter being all the way to the left wing, completely the opposite side of the right wing where the faculty room and your initial classes are.

Today, you’ve woken up with your WiFi not connected to the internet (something you have to talk to your landlord about when you come back home) and just two minutes ago, you realized you forgot to take your coffee order with you from the cafe across your school building, the sad garlic bread you bought along with it staring right at you without its beloved beverage pair.

Truthfully, it might be your last straw. How the hell is this happening to you out of all people? The semester is just starting, for god’s sake, and you’re already hanging on by a thread.

You take a deep breath on your seat before standing up from your cubicle, heading to the coffee machine by the snack bar.

You hate the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep on stocking the pantry with, it’s too naturally sweet – and you don’t like your coffee with sugar.

But you have no choice but to make do. The cafe’s too far out and your first class starts in about twenty minutes.

“Good morning, Ms. Math Genius – ready to crunch some numbers today?”

As if this day couldn’t get any worse, you shut your eyes close for a moment when you hear the familiar voice.

You stir your coffee with downturned lips.

“Only if you promise to flex those brain muscles—” You say, turning to look to the side. Much to your expectation, it’s Jeon Jungkook, leaning casually against the wall with that usual faux suave he keeps on around you – which you can’t take seriously because his big doe eyes tell you a completely different story. He’s wearing some Nike dri fit shirt, one that’s too tight around his chest and accentuates a comparatively tiny waist that you have to force your eyes upwards. But as they do, they land on the biceps that are straining against the poor material. It wasn’t lost on you though that one second after, they’re suddenly flexing. You arch your brow as you glance a look on his face. “—as much as you flex those biceps.”

Jungkook’s lips curl into a huge grin, expecting the jab.

“You know it!” He chuckles, running his fingers through his bangs. “I’m all about solving problems, and I’d say my favorite equation is you plus me equals a perfect start to the day.”

You fight a loud groan from escaping your lips as soon as he says that, giving him a certain look before shaking your head and going back to your coffee.

But you should’ve known better by now, because Jungkook – aside from being a PE teacher extraordinaire and every student’s favorite at that, Thee Football Coach, 5’11” tatted brunette with a long, fluffy hair paired with an objectively, annoyingly attractive face – is persistent.

Most especially when it comes to annoying you.

A few steps, and then you feel him getting closer to you.

“Did you know that—”

You roll your eyes. That’s it. If it’s another one of his corny math pick-up lines again you swear to god—

“Jungkook, you don’t have to keep doing this everyda—”

“—we’re like parallel lines?”

“What.”

“Did you know that we’re like parallel lines?” Jungkook repeats earnestly, just like he always does. When he’s up in your personal space like this, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and your annoyance could’ve been justified if he smelled like shit but somehow, even though he looks like he just got back from a run judging by his running shoes and gym bag, he still smells… okay.

Just okay. As in, you don’t care how good he smells like or how he smells at all.

You make sure to keep that thought at the back of your head.

“No.” You say, hoping to dismiss the conversation right there as you pick up the cup of coffee from the machine, ready to turn on your heel, but then Jungkook laughs ever so slightly and gives your arm a barely-there poke.

“Come on, entertain me a little.”

You squint your eyes at him. He challenges your stare with a growing smile on his face. Scoffing, you roll your eyes again before you put the paper cup back on the table. With a sigh, you cross your arms and look at Jungkook. For a split second, his eyes cast downwards to your chest level but he quickly snaps out of it.

“Okay… we’re like parallel lines… why? Because we’ll never meet?” You say in response to his little request, keeping your tone impassive.

Jungkook’s eyes slowly widen at your words, smile slowly dropping – as if the logic of your words have ruined one of his million pick-up lines again.

“I– no! What? I meant, we’re like, always running to each other! Side by side. Parallel lines.”

“Okay… so still never meeting?” You ask impatiently, brows furrowing.

Jungkook mirrors your confusion. Then, he raises a hand, one finger up. “One second. I’ll fix this–” he takes his phone out from his pocket, types on it quickly, lip jutting out as he reads whatever he’s looking up, and then, “Ohh, I might have meant asymptote lines. We’re like asymptote lines.”

Your face contorts into even deeper confusion. Holy shit, you’re not dealing with this very early on in the morning, especially not after the circumstances of the past hours.

“Asymptote lines are more depressing than parallel lines if we’re talking metaphorically.”

Jungkook squints his eyes at you, suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“I would hope I know my lines, Jungkook. I teach them everyday.”

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners cutely, and you hate how that tugs something at your heartstrings.

You catch yourself right at that moment.

Jeon Jungkook is not cute. You keep in mind. He’s not cute.

Jungkook thinks you’re so cute. Gorgeous, most of all, and unbelievably so. You and your signature furrowed brows and pink pouty lips.

As usual, you have your hair up in a clean bun today, and Jungkook can smell the lace of sweet vanilla from you as he takes a step closer to get a cup for himself.

He loves the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep stocking the pantry with, it’s sweet as fuck. Just like how Jungkook likes his caffeine dose. Kind of like you, he thinks.

Jungkook casts a quick glance at you again, can't really help himself when you're so pretty, although he makes sure to be subtle about it.

You’re wearing another one of your pencil skirts, one that he has to avoid staring at for longer than three seconds lest his mind takes him too far – but the upper view is even more of a torture, unfortunaly for him. Because as much as you wear the same outfit every single day and it should mean that Jungkook should get used to it by now, he can never be immune to your silk long sleeves, where you keep the top three buttons open – and as much as Jungkook tries to pry his gaze away from the exposed skin down from your neck, it’s like there’s a strange force in the universe that keeps him on it. Doesn’t really help that you like crossing your arms under your chest, too, making his mind run a mile per minute at the thoughts that form inside his head when a very apparent cleavage shows—

Alright. Damn. It’s like 8 am.

And you were saying something about lines…

“Yeah? I hope you can teach me too, I need to—”

“Goodbye, Mr. Jeon.” You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, taking your coffee with you as you head to the direction of your cubicle.

The nickname makes Jungkook’s lips curl up. He probably shouldn’t smile, given that you only ever call him that when you want to cut the conversation with him short. But he can’t help it, it sounds sweet coming from your pretty lips.

In an attempt to not look like a fool, Jungkook bites his lip as he watches your disappearing figure, your heels clicking on the floor as you walk away. Your legs look so long in that grey pencil skirt, and it really should be criminal how you look like that even when you’re just showing your back.

In his trance, he forgets about the brewing coffee in his cup and absentmindedly takes it out while the machine is still running, the hot liquid pouring from the nozzle quickly burning the skin on his finger.

“Oh, shit!” He hisses, jumping from the shock, almost knocking his coffee out but thankfully he manages to catch it on time, just as when another member of the faculty walks by the snack bar.

With an awkward smile, Jungkook raises a thumbs up to Mrs. Lee.

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. Looking rad as always.” He cheerfully greets, and Mrs. Lee’s confusion from seeing him fumble with his cup earlier quickly turns into a coo.

“Oh, Mr. Jeon, you charming kid. I was just gonna get my cup of coffee.” She says, walking towards his direction.

Jungkook adjusts the strap of his gym bag to his shoulder and takes a cup for Mrs. Lee with a grin, making her smile.

She thanks him and with a playful salute, Jungkook goes toward the general direction of his cubicle, and because the PE department and Math department are just across from each other, he walks past you, typing something on your iPad before you look around and catch his gaze.

Jungkook automatically waves, smiling brightly, but you only frown, shutting your iPad close and ignoring him.

Amused, Jungkook tries to fight off a huge grin, taking a few long strides to get to his own cubicle.

His day is already off to a good start.

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook imagines #jungkook fic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fluff #bts fanfic #awrkive #p; writing

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ghastghoul · 7 months ago

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I don't draw my Transformers: Animated OCs enough

#transformers #transformers oc #transformers animated oc #tfa oc #oc: pulldown #my art #oc: shift click

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voitier · 1 month ago

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M.P.S - JJK

"Jungkook had a big problem. A serious one, too, at that. He was utterly, desperately obsessed with his roommate. You."

GENRE: oneshot

RATING: 18+

CONTAINS: masturbation (m&f), squirting, spying, stealing, teasing, getting caught, jk isn't as sneaky as he thinks he is, oc loves to play him as she pleases, alcohol, drunkness, obsession, underwear used in improper ways (?)

WORDCOUNT: 2k

TAGLIST: @jeeykey @songbyeonkim @yunhoswrldddd

Divider by @cafekitsune

Jungkook had a big problem.

A serious one, too, at that.

He was utterly, desperately obsessed with his roommate.

You.

You drove him absolutely insane while doing nothing at all to do so, had him gushing over you like a little kid with his first crush, turned him into putty with your words, even though he would never admit or show you that.

At first, he didn't even mind it too much attention. He told himself it was a little infatuation, nothing more nothing less, and it would go away with time, like it usually happened.

That was almost a year ago, though, and it did not go away. If anything, it only got worse.

As time went on, it came to a point where his obsession turned primal, raw, sexual. Slowly, his little crush transformed into a carnal desire he ached to have his hands on. He didn't just want to have his way with you, he itched to worship you the same ways preachers worship their gods. Cause that's what you were to his eyes, a goddess who had blessed him with your presence. And he strived to know what his goddess tasted like, what she sounded like.

He didn’t truly realize how bad he craved you until one particular day of april. Usually, you two would split the house chores and every new season you two would “exchange” chores: you spent all winter taking care of laundry, now it was his time to take care of it. The only boundary you two had agreed on in regards? Underwear needed to be taken care of by its rightful owner. Everything else was “public dominion”.

That day, though, something shifted in him.

“If this world were mine” he hummed freely alongside the song blasting from his headphones, luther (with sza), occasionally bopping his head to the beat while he folded the warm, soft towels, picking them straight from the dryer. You had gone out a few hours prior, grumbling about how much you hated your professor and their incapacity at doing their job. Jungkook smiled amused at your rant, having memorised it word by word as it never faltered, before turning around in his bed and snoozing off for a couple hours more.

“This world, concrete flowers grow, heartache, she only doin’ what–” he stopped singing briefly as he picked up another towel, catching the sight of a white cloth falling to the ground with the cornerof his eye. He bent down, not even watching where his hand was going, his eyes still fixed on the screen of his phone where the lyrics of the song changed every second.

He felt the light texture of the cloth under his fingertips, grazing it softly before bringing it up without too much thought. When he finally turned to look at it, he froze on the spot.

What he had grabbed so carelessly wasn't a normal cloth– it wasn't a cloth at all. Between his fingers, he had the delicate white fabric of your panties, which he must have accidentally thrown into the washer earlier on.

His fingers caressed the fabric gently, hypnotised by something so innocent yet so sinful in his eyes. He ran his thumb over the part where your lips would be, imagining how many times you had touched yourself right in this pair of pure white panties, soaking them in your arousal. His cock twitched at the thought, slowly getting stiffer in his sweatpants, but before he knew it the door of the entryway opened with a click, followed by your loud groan.

He gasped softly, bunching up the fabric in his pocket before darting for his room, closing it behind him as silently as possible, not wanting to draw any attention right now.

He relaxed against the door, exhaling a breath of relief as he heard you marching towards your room, slamming the door shut. His cock twitched again in his pants, begging for attention. His hand reached inside his pocket, fingers trembling as they found the soft, fresh fabric. He pulled them out slowly, bringing them to eye-level.

He exhaled a breath he didn't even know he was holding, his body still alert yet calmer now that he was hiding behind a closed door.

That day, Jungkook spent the whole day locked in his room, fisting his cock furiously while he held the clean pair of panties up to his face, his nose, wrapping them around his flushed red tip, until he had eventually milked himself dry, nothing else left in his spent body.

After that, he had a hard time looking at you in the eyes, and he spent approximately one week avoiding you as best as possible. He couldn't help but feel ashamed and guilty, yet, that wasn't the only time he had stolen something of yours.

That first accident only opened to his lustful mind the opportunity to steal more of your panties, trying to be sneaky about it, only taking one every once in a while. And while he thought he had mastered the art of theft, he didn't even suspect that you had noticed your panties progressively missing, catching the glimpse of your flimsy underwear peeking through the back pocket of his jeans once as he headed back to his room from the laundry room.

He didn't need to know, though.

Some things are better kept private.

You hated men.

Hated how entitled they can get, how stupid, incompetent and useless they are. Most importantly, you hated how much they turn you on, how they can play with you easily before you’re drenched and ready for them, despite all their flaws.

It’s during times like this that you have to remind yourself why the sentence “sexuality isn’t something we choose” is so fucking true to begin with.

You slam the door shut behind you, trying to be as silent as possible as you take off your high heels from your aching feet, accidentally knocking over the umbrella holder by the door. Maybe trying to be sneaky while drunk wasn’t the most intelligent thing you tried to do, but you really didn’t want to wake up your roommate at 3 a.m., especially not now that you had to take care of the tension in your body left unsatisfied by a guy you met at the bar you had spent the night at.

You groan frustrated at the aching throb between your legs, tiptoeing towards the shared bathroom quickly. You push the door closed behind you, switching the light on. Your eyes squint shut, the blinding light sending a wave of pain to your drunken mind, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bathtub for a few moments to recover.

Chills rise on your exposed skin at the cold feeling of the marble kissing your legs, yet it doesn't cool down the fire cursing through your needy body. You can’t help but let a hand travel south between your legs, pulling the fabric of your dress up until it leaves your lower body exposed to the cold room. You shudder, looking down to see a wet patch already soaking your black thong.

In your mind you silently curse the guy from the bar, thinking about the fact that you could have been entangled with his body in his sheets, body arching from pleasure, but instead you had to resort to your own fingers hidden in your bathroom while being silent to not wake up your sleeping roommate.

Your hips jerk once your fingers find your clothed clit, rubbing with featherlike pressure tight circles on your sensitive bud. A soft sigh escapes your lips, shoulders dropping in relaxation as the tension you had endured the past few hours starts leaving your body.

Your eyes close shut, head dropping back as you pull your panties to the side, running a finger through your folds to collect the wetness pooling before pushing it inside you, feeling your walls stretch pleasantly to welcome you in.

Slowly, you start to move your finger in and out your leaking hole, warming up before adding another finger in, curling them just right to hit that spot that has your body jerking in response. Your thumb finds your clit once again, rubbing it softly while you keep fucking yourself.

Your other hand grabs the edge of the bathtub, sliding off it before landing with your butt on the ground and your back slumped against the white marble, fingers still working lazily between your shaky thighs. Sweat glistens on your forehead, brows scrunched in concentration as the band inside you feels ready to snap any moment now, finally relieving your needs.

Soft gasps and moans fill the bathroom, and the wet squelches that echo in the room do nothing to hide what was happening behind the closed door. You pray that Jungkook is still snoring annoyingly in his room, blissfully oblivious to what was happening just down the hall. Just this one time.

Jungkook was, in fact, not oblivious at all to what was happening in the other room.

He had heard you knock over something in the entryway, the bang echoing so hard around the silent house that the whole apartment had probably heard you and woken up. You also weren’t silent at all while heading towards the bathroom, feet dragging to the floor like it physically pained you to lift them off the ground.

Anyway, he didn’t pay any mind to your failed attempts of silence, turning around in bed and dozing off to sleep again. What did catch his attention, though, came a few minutes later, right in the moment when reality and sleep collide in an intricate embrace where it’s not clear if you’re more awake or asleep yet.

A soft sound, coming from the bathroom, followed by another one.

Immediately he was off the bed and on his feet, padding towards the room he knew you were in to check up on you, worrying that the alcohol was making you feel sick and too weak to call for help.

He stopped right in front of the door, peeking through the little space you had left open unknowingly. You weren’t by the sink, that he could see clearly, nor by the toilet. Another gasp came from inside, followed by a broken “fuck” whispered to the air. Only in that moment his sleep drunk brain registered what was probably going on, but it was too late anyway, he had already pushed the door open a tad bit.

And there you were in all your half naked glory looking like an absolute wreck, body arching off the floor as your fingers pumped in and out of you at increasing speed, your orgasm clearly building quickly by the second. Jungkook gulped, hand squeezing the door to keep his body up as his eyes ran up and down your body shamelessly: head thrown back over the edge of the bathtub, eyes closed and lips parted in pleasure, your black dress crumpled and bunched around your waist that gave him the perfect view of your black thong messily pulled to the side to allow your fingers to work their magic, knowing exactly what felt good and what didn’t, thrusting and curling and stroking until your muscles spasmed repeatedly, body lifting briefly from the ground as you moaned loudly. A gush of clear fluids came spraying out of you, soaking your hand, your thighs, the pavement, even your thong. Jungkook’s eyes zeroed on it, quickly thinking of a way to have his hands on it before you could wash it.

His eyes scanned the room frantically while you recovered from the orgasm that had left you a whimpering and shaky mess, making it even harder for Jungkook to focus on his mission. He couldn’t get distracted, though, not when the prize was so damn high. Not when the mere thought had him squeeze his cock through his pants to relieve the throbbing, mouth watering as he imagined how good it would feel to have it in his hands.

His eyes fell to the two baskets under the sink, the ones where you two put your dirty clothes that had to be washed: one for you, one for him. He almost prayed out loud that you would throw the piece of garment in the basket, so that he could sneak in and take it with no problem whatsoever.

He was so focused on his little mission that he hadn’t even noticed your hands reaching for the hem of your dress, pulling it up and over your body then throwing it in said basket. He had to bite his lip in an attempt to not gasp as his gaze immediately snapped back to your oblivious figure now only covered by the skimpy thong, turned around and bent over the bathtub as you waited for the water to become warm before getting in.

“If I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me up,” he thought, feeling his briefs getting wetter by the second at the view of your perfect body now bent over in front of his own eyes. Images of him fucking you dumb right there flashed in his mind, clouding his senses with the hazy haste of lust.

His breath catches in his throat as he watches your fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and mindlessly throwing them away before getting in the bathtub, closing the curtains all around you.

Perfect.

He pushed the door open slowly, hoping it wouldn’t creak all of a sudden. Each step he took was precise, well thought, measured in pace and weight. He kind of felt like a ninja, or a thief trying to break into a bank to steal all the money stored. Except, his prize was worth more than a bank would ever offer to him, and way more rare, too.

His fingers reached for the fabric, wrapping around it before snatching it off the ground, quickly retreating back to his room all giddy and over the top. He didn’t even pay attention to the sound of his door locking behind his back, too caught up in his mind to notice it.

But you did. And you smirked, satisfied as you realized something.

The little mouse had fallen right into your trap.

Perfect.

other works here

part 2 here

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smutmind · 29 days ago

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No Wallet, No Words

Ningning x Male OC

She patted her back pocket again, then her jacket, then the front of her jeans. Empty. A cold sweat broke under her cap despite the heat.

“No... no, no...” Ningning whispered. She turned her phone around—screen cracked, signal dead. The cab line ahead shifted, her moment to stall was gone.

She stepped into the next taxi, fingers clenching her bag like a shield.

The driver glanced back. Mid-forties. Hair thinning under a baseball cap. His sunglasses were crooked, one lens reflecting her panicked expression.

“Where to?”

She held up the hotel’s name on her phone screen.

He nodded, shifted into gear. “You got cash?”

She hesitated. “I… I forgot wallet. Maybe… pay later? At hotel?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at her through the mirror. Slowly, his expression shifted—confusion, then recognition.

“You're that singer girl. From the Korean group.”

Ningning flinched, shoulders tightening. “Uh… yes. But… just me now. Alone trip.”

He whistled low. “No manager?”

She shook her head. “Lost. I was with friends. I… I messed up.”

Silence fell thick and awkward as they pulled out onto the road. Ningning stared out the window, tank top clinging to her body, black sports bra visible in the backlight.

Fifteen minutes in, the cab veered off the main road.

Her heart kicked. “Where we go?”

“Shortcut,” he said.

But they were alone. No cars. Trees pressed close on both sides of the road. The engine idled slower. He pulled over.

“You really got nothing?”

She blinked. “I… I have phone. No signal. I call when—”

He cut her off. “Nah. That won’t work.” He shifted in his seat, turning toward her now. “But there’s another way.”

She didn’t understand at first. Her brows pulled together. “Another… way?”

“You’re a big girl. You know what I mean.”

Her breath hitched. “No. I… I can’t…”

“Then get out,” he said, reaching for the gear.

She stared at him. At the empty road. At the shadowy trees and the sky beginning to darken. Her throat tightened.

Then she whispered, “Just… quick.”

The passenger door clicked. She moved between the seats slowly, cheeks flushed. His zipper came down with a sharp rasp.

He leaned back. “Goddamn. You’re really gonna do it.”

She ignored the way his voice curled with disbelief. Instead, she dropped to her knees in the footwell, hands trembling as she reached into his jeans.

It was already stiff. She paused, heart racing, then leaned in.

Her lips closed around the head, warm and slick. He groaned immediately, one hand gripping the steering wheel. The other found the back of her head.

“Shit. You suck dick like a fucking pro.”

She gagged once as he pushed deeper. Saliva spilled from the corners of her mouth, sliding down her chin. She pulled back, gasping, then went again—faster this time.

Her cap hit the floor. Sweat glistened on her collarbone.

“Mmm…这样对吗…” she mumbled around him, eyes watering. (“Like this…?”)

He groaned. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. She bobbed her head, lips tight, tongue working the underside. His hand moved rhythmically at her scalp, guiding the pace.

When he bucked, she almost lost control—but steadied, letting him use her. Her mascara smudged. She moaned faintly, the sound vibrating through his cock.

“Fuck—I’m close—”

She pulled back slightly, letting the head rest against her tongue. Then deeper again, nose pressed to his belly, throat working hard.

He came with a choked grunt, hips twitching, spilling hot and sudden. She coughed, swallowed what she could, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

The cab filled with silence. His breathing slowed.

She sat back on her heels, wiping her chin, face flushed and unreadable.

He finally exhaled. “You’re full of surprises.”

She didn’t look at him. Just reached for the door handle. “Take me hotel now… please.”

His hand clamped over her thigh, firm. “Not yet.”

Her breath caught.

“I want to feel that little pussy,” he said, unzipping. “You already started—might as well finish.”

She didn’t move.

“你疯了吗...” she whispered under her breath. (“Are you insane…”)

But she knew the road outside—empty, silent, no lights for miles.

“Fast only,” she said, not looking at him. “Then go.”

He pushed his seat back. His cock was already hard, flushed and thick.

She climbed over, knees on either side of him, the cracked leather digging into her shins. Her cap fell off somewhere behind her. Her body trembled—but she reached between them, lined him up.

His hands gripped her waist. “Fuck, that’s tight—”

She sank down slowly, biting back a sound as he stretched her open.

The cab smelled like sweat and vinyl. Her hands pressed against his chest as she began to move, mechanical, small rolls of her hips.

“Ride me proper,” he muttered, slapping her ass once. “Come on—fuck me like you mean it.”

She ground harder, teeth clenched, her body reacting despite her head. Sweat pooled at her lower back, soaking into her waistband.

“Goddamn,” he hissed, mouth dragging along her collarbone, his hand yanking up her tank and sports bra. Her breasts bounced free.

He took one into his mouth, sucking hard. She stiffened but didn’t stop riding.

“Say something,” he groaned. “Tell me you feel it.”

She panted, barely above a whisper. “So big. Can’t breathe.”

He bucked harder. Her body slapped down against his, wet and fast.

Then he gasped. “Coming—fuck, take it—”

She felt it hit deep—thick spurts, hot and undeniable. He moaned through clenched teeth, arms tightening around her back.

She held still, breathing through her nose, counting to ten.

Then she slid off. Slickness dripped down her thigh. She didn’t wipe it. Just reached for her cap, pulled it back on.

“Now. Hotel.”

He didn’t argue. Just drove.

She leaned against the door, arms crossed, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

“再也不要这样了。” (“Never again.”)

#ningning #ningning x reader #girl group smut #kpop smut #smut #female idol smut #male reader smut #kpop idol smut #male reader #ning yizhuo

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kpoplustzone · 2 months ago

Text

Game of Nine - Twice smut

Jihyo x OC

voyeur, smut, breeding, multiple series, sneaky

FOR COMMISSIONS EMAIL TO [email protected]

My name is CHOI HYUK. I am a 26-year-old Korean who was lucky enough to become the manager of one of the most sexy and successful girl groups in Korea. Twice has been popular since its debut and has exploded in popularity later.

Especially their members who were sexy and charming and millions of people around the world fapped to their pictures and fan cams.

I was not an exception to this, and seeing all nine of them smiling at us, the newly hired manager, was a dream come true. I remember Kiho, another newly hired manager, standing beside me and gulping in a daze, seeing the amount of sexiness in front of us.

All nine of them brought out different kinds of charm for the fans, and seeing them perform for the fans, teasing them, showing just enough so that the men can only dream about their thick bodies.

When Choi Hyuk first joined the team as an assistant for TWICE, he thought he’d landed the dream job. Backstage access, travel, and a chance to work alongside the most admired women in the industry. For the first few weeks, things felt surreal. The members were warm, friendly — Jihyo especially. She had smiled at him often, even remembered his coffee order after the second day. He’d catch her humming during rehearsals, sometimes glancing his way with a nod or playful wink. For a quiet guy like him, it felt like more than just professional kindness. It felt personal.

But then Kiho arrived.

Short, round, always laughing too loud — Kiho had a way of making people feel instantly at ease. The girls loved him. At first, Hyuk didn’t mind. It was harmless. But within weeks, things shifted. He noticed the change in the air. They started calling Kiho cute, playfully teasing him, grabbing his arm, fixing his collar. The same smiles Hyuk once got were now all for Kiho. Even Jihyo — especially Jihyo.

She barely noticed Hyuk anymore. Some days, she wouldn’t even greet him.

He’d watch from the corner of the room as she whispered in Kiho’s ear, giggling, brushing against him like it meant nothing. And Kiho… Kiho lapped it up. He didn’t even try to hide it.

Hyuk never said a word. What would be the point? He was just the quiet one now. The background. The one who blended into walls and got forgotten during group dinners. Still, something inside him simmered — not quite anger, not quite heartbreak, but a slow, twisting burn of being invisible.

Which is why, when he woke up in the back of Jihyo’s RV that afternoon, groggy from a midday nap he hadn’t meant to take, he stayed quiet.

He heard the door shut.

Then footsteps.

Then her voice — that soft, teasing voice she used when she was in the mood to play.

And then he heard Kiho.

Hyuk didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He stayed hidden behind the thin curtain, barely peeking through, heart thudding in his chest. What he saw made his throat go dry.

Jihyo — pressed up against Kiho. Smiling. Whispering.

And touching him.

Not him. Never him.

But Hyuk couldn’t look away

Jihyo stepped into the RV, the soft click of the door locking behind her. The dim, amber lighting wrapped around her curves like a spotlight, catching the shine on her skin where her crop top clung tight across her chest. Her jeans, stretched smooth over her hips and thighs, made every step a show. She stretched her arms over her head, back arching, giving her assistant a full view — and she saw the way his eyes dropped, slowly, drinking her in like he was starving.

She smirked.

"You’ve been staring all day," she said, voice low, teasing. Her heels clicked softly as she crossed the small space between them, hips swaying just enough to drive a man crazy. "Why don’t you just admit it?" She stopped in front of him, so close her breath warmed his cheek. Her fingers brushed lightly over his collar, dragging down his chest, slow and playful. "You think about me when I’m not around, don’t you?"

He swallowed hard, too stunned to speak.

Jihyo’s eyes flicked down, then up again, watching his reactions with a wicked satisfaction. Her hands slid to his waist, fingers curling around his belt loop, tugging him closer until they were almost touching. "You're easy to read," she whispered. "And honestly… I kinda like it."

What neither of them noticed was the slight shift behind the curtain at the back of the RV. Hidden in the shadows, Choihyuk had woken the second the door opened. At first, he stayed still, groggy and annoyed, but now his eyes were wide, locked on the scene unfolding just feet away. He didn’t dare move. His breath caught in his throat as he peeked through a small gap in the curtain, heart thudding.

Jihyo leaned in again, her lips just barely brushing the assistant’s jaw. "I wonder how long you can hold back," she whispered. "Should we find out?"

She didn’t notice the way Choihyuk’s hand clutched the edge of the couch, or how hard it was for him to stay still. The tension inside the RV was thick, hot, and humming — one assistant frozen under her touch, the other hidden and burning with a mix of jealousy, longing, and something deeper he’d never dared admit out loud.

Jihyo turned to walk away, but before she could even take a full step, Kiho reached out and grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but not rough — just enough to stop her. She turned back to face him, her heart racing in a way that startled her. There was something about the way Kiho looked at her now — something that was no longer just shy admiration, but something much bolder, darker.

"You really think I'm going to let you walk away like that?" Kiho’s voice was low, his words lingering in the air. There was no mistaking the challenge in his tone now. His hand slid from her wrist to her waist, pulling her toward him with a confidence that made Jihyo’s breath catch in her throat. She could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of her shirt, and the soft pressure of his touch made her pulse race.

Jihyo blinked, her body suddenly responding in ways she didn’t expect. Her skin felt alive, every nerve ignited by the simple, bold touch of his hand. She glanced down at him, her heart hammering in her chest. "Kiho…" she whispered, her voice a little shaky, a little breathless.

Kiho’s hand slid further, just grazing the curve of her hip before sliding around her back. His fingers flexed, pressing her body even closer to his. The warmth of him, the way his chest brushed against hers, made Jihyo tremble, a soft shiver running through her as he leaned in, his lips barely a breath away from her ear. "You don’t have to go anywhere, Jihyo," he whispered, his voice soft, yet filled with an unmistakable hunger.

Jihyo’s heart skipped. She should have pulled away. She knew she should, but every inch of her body was begging her to stay. Kiho’s touch, the way he was looking at her now, with that mix of confidence and desire… It was like a switch had flipped in him. He was no longer the shy assistant. He was a man who wanted her, and he was no longer afraid to show it.

Kiho’s other hand came up, brushing against her cheek, his fingers trailing slowly down her jaw, caressing her skin. She gasped, her body going taut under his touch, the sensation making her whole body tremble. His hand slid lower, ghosting over her neck before landing on her shoulder, his thumb drawing small circles over her skin. The simple, tender touch made Jihyo shudder again, her breath coming faster, deeper.

"You look so perfect," Kiho murmured, his voice rougher now. His hand slid lower, reaching the small of her back, pulling her in even closer. His lips were just a hair’s breadth away from hers now. "I can’t stop thinking about you," he confessed, his breath warm against her skin.

Jihyo's heart raced. Her body responded without thinking, pressing closer into him, her hands clutching at his shirt as if pulling him even closer. She wanted this. She needed this…”

Before she could finish, Kiho’s lips brushed over hers, just a featherlight kiss that made her stomach twist with desire. His lips were soft, teasing, as if waiting for her to respond. She gasped, her body instinctively leaning into the kiss, her lips parting just enough for him to deepen the kiss.

Her hands found their way up to his neck, pulling him closer, desperate for more. The heat between them intensified with each passing second, every touch, every kiss, making her tremble harder under him. Kiho wasn’t holding back anymore. His hands roamed down her body, one sliding to her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss.

Jihyo’s breath was ragged, her body alive with sensations she couldn’t control. Every touch from him sent electric jolts through her, making her skin burn with need. She trembled again, this time more violently, and Kiho noticed. He smiled against her lips, feeling the way her body responded to him. His hands roamed lower, sliding over the curves of her waist, the smoothness of her thighs, exploring with purpose.

In the back of the RV, Choihyuk watched, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes were wide, glued to the scene before him. He had always admired Jihyo, but seeing her like this — vulnerable, trembling, desired — made his heart pound in his chest. He watched as Kiho’s hands traced the curve of her body, feeling like an intruder, but unable to look away. His goddess, the one he had always looked up to, was here, right in front of him, being touched in a way he had never imagined.

Jihyo, completely unaware of Choihyuk's presence, was lost in the heat of the moment, her body pressed tightly against Kiho’s. His hands moved with confidence, each touch pushing her closer to the edge of control. She gasped as he pulled her even closer, his lips trailing down her neck, his hands exploring her body with growing boldness.

Kiho’s lips met hers again, this time with a fierce passion, as if he couldn’t wait any longer. He pushed her against the table, the movement so sudden that Jihyo’s breath caught in her throat. Her body felt like it was on fire, every inch of her trembling with need. And as she clung to him, she couldn’t stop herself from pulling him closer, her body responding to his touch without a single thought.

In the back, Choihyuk could only watch in stunned silence, his eyes wide as he watched the woman he admired more than anyone being kissed, touched, and desired in ways he could never have imagined.

The air in the RV was thick with heat, the moment between Kiho and Jihyo crackling with an electricity neither of them could deny. Kiho, his breath still ragged from the kiss, pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. Jihyo's lips were swollen, her breathing uneven, and it made him smile. He could feel the pulse of desire radiating off her, and it thrilled him.

"Earlier," Kiho said, his voice lower now, each word deliberate as he gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. "When you were performing… in front of that crowd… You were incredible." He paused, his eyes darkening with something more primal. "You made them all watch. You had them all in the palm of your hand, just… lusting after you."

Jihyo shivered at the words, her body reacting to his touch, her breath quickening. "I didn't think you were watching that closely," she teased, her voice a little shaky, trying to act casual, but she could feel the heat of his gaze seeping into her skin.

Kiho leaned in again, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, "I was watching every move you made. And they were all just there, watching you, wanting you… But only I get to touch you like this." His words were almost a growl, filled with possessiveness, yet there was something softer in his tone. Something that made Jihyo's heart race even faster.

Jihyo's breath hitched, and she closed her eyes for a brief second, feeling a mix of heat and anticipation run through her veins. She had always known the effect she had on people, but hearing it from Kiho made her feel something deeper, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to admit.

Her body responded instinctively to him. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and placed her hands on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms. "And what makes you think you’re the only one who can touch me?" she asked, her voice a challenge, though it was laced with desire.

Kiho’s eyes darkened, and he let out a low laugh, the sound rich with a mix of amusement and hunger. "Because, Jihyo," he said, trailing his fingers down the length of her arm until they found the curve of her waist, pulling her against him with a firm but gentle hand. "I can see how badly you want it. I can feel how much you need it." His voice was low and silky, each word sending a wave of heat through her. "And I can see how you’re trembling under my touch. No one else will get to see you like this."

Jihyo gasped, the feeling of his hand on her waist sending a ripple of warmth through her entire body. The intimacy of his words, the way he saw her, truly saw her, was almost too much to handle. She tried to resist, but it was clear that Kiho had found a way to make her lose control.

"You're not just teasing me," Kiho whispered, his lips brushing over her neck as he continued, his voice like honey, "You’re letting me see all of you. And I promise, you won't regret this."

Jihyo’s hands roamed to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as she tilted her head back, giving him more access to her skin. "You think you have me figured out?" she asked breathlessly, her voice a mix of confidence and desire. "You think you're the only one who knows what I want?"

Kiho’s lips found the sweet spot on her neck, his kiss gentle, then more urgent, as though he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. "I know exactly what you want," he murmured against her skin, his hands moving slowly, possessively, up her back, inching toward the curve of her shoulder. "And it’s only a matter of time before you stop pretending you don’t want me too."

Jihyo’s body quivered under his touch, her mind swirling with desire. She could feel the pull, the growing need between them, and the way Kiho’s words — his actions — were slowly unravelling her resolve. She wanted him. She could feel it deep inside, but she wasn’t ready to fully surrender, not yet.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was slow at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But Kiho was quick to respond, his hands sliding down her back, pulling her even closer as the kiss deepened. He tasted like fire, his hands roaming her body with an urgency that sent sparks of desire through her entire being.

And all the while, Choi hyuk remained hidden in the back, watching, his heart pounding in his chest as he saw Jihyo, the woman he had quietly adored from afar, completely consumed by Kiho. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the way Jihyo’s body responded to Kiho’s touch, the way her face flushed with desire. It was like watching his goddess being claimed, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The air inside the RV was thick, almost suffocating, with the weight of unspoken desires. Jihyo stood in front of Kiho, her body electric with anticipation, yet her mind still conflicted, unsure of where this was headed. She could feel the heat radiating between them, a pull she couldn’t seem to escape. Her body responded to him — she could feel the way her pulse quickened with every glance, every touch.

Kiho stepped closer, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. Jihyo's skin flushed under his gaze, her body instinctively shifting, her shoulders back, subtly arching in the way she knew was most seductive. She could feel the fabric of her shirt clinging to her curves, outlining the smooth shape of her chest, her waist, and the gentle curve of her hips.

“You know,” Kiho said, his voice low, almost a whisper, “every time you move… you make it impossible for me to look away.”

Jihyo swallowed, her breath shallow, as Kiho reached out to trace the edge of her shirt, his fingers just grazing the fabric, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The touch was light, teasing, but it felt as though every nerve in her body was awakening. She could feel his eyes on her, sensing the way he was drinking in every inch of her body, as though she was something both forbidden and irresistible.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, wanting to move, but unsure of how. She was playing a game now, a dance that she both feared and craved. The way Kiho looked at her made her feel seen — truly seen — for the first time, as though every part of her body, every curve, was something worth admiring.

“You’re so beautiful, Jihyo,” Kiho murmured, his voice thick with admiration and something deeper. “I’ve seen you on stage… but standing here, with me, it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time.”

His words wrapped around her like a silken thread, tightening, pulling her closer to him. She bit her lip, feeling both exposed and powerful. Her legs felt weak as she took a small step back, almost imperceptibly, but Kiho was quick to follow, closing the space between them once again. His breath was warm on her skin as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear.

“Let me show you just how beautiful you are,” he whispered, his hands sliding up to the small of her back, pulling her toward him so that she could feel the heat of his body pressing against hers.

Jihyo’s breath caught. She could feel the hard muscle beneath his shirt, his body strong and solid against hers, and it made her heart race. The tension between them was palpable — thick, electric. Her skin tingled under his touch, every inch of her body becoming acutely aware of the way he was holding her, the way he was gazing at her as if she was the only thing that mattered.

Kiho’s hands slid slowly, deliberately, to the hem of her shirt. He didn’t rush; his touch was slow, gentle, yet there was an undeniable hunger in the way he moved. Jihyo’s heart pounded in her chest as he lifted the fabric, exposing the soft curve of her midriff. She trembled, unsure whether to pull away or lean into him. Every instinct in her told her to stay, to let the tension between them build even further.

Her body responded to him, even when her mind was hesitant. She could feel the pull of gravity between them, each inch closer, each brush of his hands against her skin, only serving to make her more desperate for the next moment, the next touch. Kiho’s gaze never left hers, his eyes dark with desire, and yet there was something tender, almost reverent, in the way he looked at her.

“I know you want this,” Kiho said softly, as if reading her thoughts. “I can feel it. Don’t fight it.”

Jihyo shuddered under his words. She wanted him. She couldn’t deny it. The way he made her feel — the way he saw her — it was too much to ignore. Slowly, hesitantly, she allowed her hands to drift upward, undoing the buttons of her shirt. Each movement was slow, deliberate, and as the fabric began to fall from her shoulders, she could feel Kiho’s gaze burning into her skin.

She wasn’t sure when it happened — when she stopped being afraid and started giving into the attraction, the magnetism between them. But once the shirt had slipped off, leaving her in a simple tank top that clung to her curves, Jihyo didn’t feel exposed; she felt empowered. She felt desired, in a way that was both intoxicating and thrilling.

Kiho’s eyes darkened further, his breath catching as he looked at her body, taking in every inch of her, every curve that made her uniquely her. The way her waist curved down to her hips, the soft roundness of her thighs, the way her skin glowed under the dim light. He couldn’t look away.

"You’re perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation. "Every part of you is a masterpiece."

Jihyo could feel the heat rising between them. She was trembling, not just from desire, but from something deeper, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

But in that moment, with Kiho’s hands hovering just inches away from her body, she felt something stir inside her — a desire to be seen, to be touched, to be wanted in a way that was undeniable.

ihyo’s pulse quickened with every small movement he made, every slight shift in the way he touched her. His hand rested just above her waist, fingertips lightly grazing the smooth skin of her lower back. His touch was tender, yet there was a quiet confidence in the way he caressed her, as though he already knew exactly how to make her tremble without trying too hard.

She caught her breath as Kiho’s eyes slowly traced the curves of her body. Her chest rose and fell as she fought the urge to pull away, to resist, but something deeper inside of her told her to lean in, to explore the feeling between them, to see where it might lead. She could feel the heat radiating between them, his presence so strong it was almost overwhelming.

“Kiho,” she whispered, her voice low, unsure of what she wanted but needing something. His name escaped her lips like a breath, a question and a command all in one.

Kiho didn’t answer with words. Instead, he let his hands glide down her side, his touch gentle and purposeful. He paused just below her ribs, letting his fingers lightly trace the outline of her body, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his touch. There was no rush, no need to hurry. He wanted to savor this moment, every second, every inch of her. The curve of her waist, the way her body responded to his touch, it was all so intoxicating.

Jihyo’s breath caught as he leaned closer, his lips brushing just above her navel, sending a shiver through her body. She could feel his warmth, his breath hot against her skin, but it wasn’t until his lips made contact that she finally let herself relax into the sensation. His kiss was soft, almost reverent, as though he was cherishing every part of her.

He pulled back slightly, looking up at her with those dark, intense eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. But all he saw was the spark of desire in her gaze, the same desire that burned in his chest. Without a word, his lips found her skin once again, this time lower, pressing delicate kisses just above her waistband.

Her body responded, her muscles trembling at the sensation of his lips on her. She had never felt so exposed, yet at the same time, so alive. The air around them felt thick, the tension between them palpable

Kiho slowly grazed his fingers along the surface of her tank top, and his thick fingers circled around the thick buds that were hard like a rock, and he could feel her body trembling as her back arched, giving him the full view of her huge breasts that were renowned in the K-pop industry. He could not wait to suck on those pink buds that every south Korean men wished to.

Choi Hyuk could barely breathe as he watched from the shadows, his body tensed with raw, burning jealousy. Jihyo—gorgeous, untouchable Jihyo—was trembling under Kiho’s stubby but commanding hands, her breath hitching in her throat, her curves pressed close to him like a dream slipping out of control. She was a vision of pure temptation: her tight tank top straining over her full, perfect breasts, her toned thighs shifting restlessly, as if begging for more. Hyuk's hand instinctively moved lower, trying in vain to soothe the painful bulge growing with every second of the shameless show before him. He grit his teeth, helpless, as Kiho, emboldened by her reaction, slid his hand along her waist, looking seconds away from tearing the thin fabric away and burying his face between those irresistible mountains.

Just as Kiho’s fingers curled under the edge of her top, a thunderous knock rattled the door, making Jihyo yelp in panic. She hurriedly tugged her clothes back into place, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, and threw herself onto the seat beside Kiho, trying to look innocent even as the air around her crackled with unspent heat. The RV door creaked open slowly, and Hyuk’s heart nearly stopped.

There, silhouetted in the doorway like a goddess descending to earth, stood Momo—the only other idol who could rival Jihyo’s lethal allure. Dressed in a short skirt and a tight crop top that left little to the imagination, she stepped inside with a smile that could melt steel, her eyes sweeping over the room before settling on the guilty-looking pair. With a playful glint in her gaze, she closed the door behind her, trapping all that smoldering tension inside the RV.

That is it for part 1. Part 2 continues with sneaky actions inside the RV with Momo and Jihyo at the same time. Kiho, you lucky bastard

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nikixkoo · 13 days ago

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𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌

pairing: jungkook x f!reader.

word count: 6k

content warnings: smut [MDNI], protected sex, dirty talk, oc’s a nightclub dancer.

a/n: hi! it’s niki here. 𐙚 to be honest, i don’t know if this will have a second part, but for now, i hope u enjoyed reading it. lots of love, muak. ≽^•⩊•^≼

summary: You dance beneath the harsh glow of neon lights, each movement a promise, each step a declaration of independence. Living on your own isn’t easy, and the money doesn’t always stretch far. But in the nightclub, you’ve found a place where you can truly be yourself, a place that makes you feel free.

Jungkook is everything you’ve learned to distrust. A music prodigy wrapped in luxury, carrying wealth, fame, and a smile that could melt anyone.

When his world collides with yours one fateful night, neither of you expects what happens next. He sees you, and in that moment, everything changes for both of you.

You fix your lipstick in a mirror that’s seen better days, the fluorescent light above buzzing like it’s got secrets to spill. Behind you, the dressing room hums with chatter, perfume clouds, and the sound of stilettos clacking against worn tile. Someone giggles. Someone curses. You barely hear it.

Your focus is razor-sharp. The crimson lipstick stains your mouth like a weapon. You’ve learned how to wear it like armor.

You step out onto the stage with the kind of confidence you’ve learned to fake until it feels real. The lights are dim and seductive, low purples and moody reds licking across your skin like silk. The air is thick with smoke and perfume, the scent of attention heavy in your lungs.

Love, I said real love…

The opening notes of Cherry drip through the speakers like slow, warm honey, and you feel it before the sound even reaches your ears. It wraps around you, slinks into your spine, and settles in your bones.

You don’t rush. You never rush.

Your fingers trail down your sides, slow and teasing, as your body moves to the rhythm, hips rolling in a lazy figure-eight that draws every gaze like gravity. You let your head fall back, exposing the column of your neck, lips parted just slightly. The music is a heartbeat beneath your skin, and you let it lead you, let it possess you.

A touch from your real love…

There’s a chair waiting center stage. You walk toward it with purpose, heels clicking against the glossy floor like a countdown. You turn your back to the crowd, lower yourself onto the seat like a whisper, and spread your legs just enough for the room to hold its breath.

Darlin’, darlin’, darlin’, I fall to pieces when I’m with you…

You run your hands up the inside of your thighs, slow and deliberate, eyes hooded as you look out into the sea of shadows.

And that’s when you feel him.

You don’t know how or why, but somehow, you know exactly where he is. Back corner. Booth. Dressed in black like sin dressed itself up to behave. His gaze is molten, quiet, and sharp enough to cut through the noise.

You tilt your head slightly, just enough for him to wonder if that glance was for him. And it was.

Still seated, you slide one leg over the arm of the chair, reclining like you belong to the stage, like the world should beg to touch you. Your hand slips up your torso, fingers brushing under your chest, and you arch into your own touch—not for them, not for the money—but because it reminds you this body is yours.

You move like liquid. Like smoke curling in the dark. The song coils tighter, and so do you, legs closing slowly, body shifting with sin-soaked grace. The chair groans beneath you as you lean forward, hands gripping the edges. You let your tongue touch your lip, let the lights catch the sheen on your skin.

And my cherries and wine, rosemary and thyme…

You drag the final steps out like a promise you don’t plan to keep, rising from the chair one last time and walking offstage as if you don’t notice the tension you leave behind.

The dressing room swallows you like a deep breath.

Backstage, the lights are too bright, and the air too still. You peel off your heels, stretch your legs, and lean back against the wall, still in your performance set, still buzzing from the stage. Sweat clings to your skin, the lace of your top damp where it hugs your ribs. You don’t care. That was one of your best sets in weeks, and you felt it.

You think about him. Dark eyes. That stare. The way his presence reached you from across the club like heat from a flame.

You try not to let it linger. You’ve got other things to focus on. Rent, groceries, getting home without your ankle giving out. But even as you wipe off your lipstick and slip into your hoodie, he’s still there, in the corner of your thoughts, in the imprint of his gaze.

Time skips forward.

It’s late now, the club is closing, the night air bites at your skin as you step outside, the sounds of the city soft in your ears. You wrap your hoodie tighter around you, your little backpack slung over one shoulder, heels hanging from your fingers.

The sidewalk is mostly empty. Most of the crowd has already scattered into cabs and Ubers, high on alcohol and neon. You’re about to head for the subway when you see him.

Leaning against a sleek black car parked across the street. Hands in his pockets. Still in that same all-black outfit, like he never left.

His eyes meet yours, and this time, he smiles.

You slow your steps, unsure for just a moment if you should keep walking. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

There’s a quiet confidence in it, something that tells you he’s not used to chasing, but he will, if he has to. You step off the curb and cross the street.

“Were you waiting for someone?” you ask, voice calm, curious. You keep your distance, but not too much, just enough to test the air between you.

His gaze flicks down, then back up. “I wasn’t sure,” he says. “I thought maybe I imagined you.”

You tilt your head, trying not to smirk. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t think so.”

The night hums around you. He still hasn’t told you his name.

“Jungkook,” he says, like he felt the thought leave your mind.

You nod. “You always wait outside clubs for dancers?”

He chuckles. “First time. I guess I got lucky.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, intrigued. “You don’t seem like the type to come here.”

“I’m not.” He leans back against the car a little more. “My friends dragged me. Said it would be good to get out, I didn’t argue.”

“And now you’re here. Still.”

“And now I’m here,” he repeats, like it means something. “What about you? You always leave looking like that and walk straight into the night?”

You shrug, shifting your heels in your grip. “This is me after work. You should see me at rock bottom.”

He laughs again, and this time, it’s genuine. It crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I don’t think you have a rock bottom.”

You glance at him. His jawline sharp in the streetlight, earring catching the glow, one hand dragging through his hair like he’s trying to stay cool. He’s not trying to impress you, he’s just interested, and that’s dangerous.

You’ve learned to be careful with men who have everything.

“You should go home,” you say eventually. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but makes no move. “You got someone waiting on you?”

The question is light, but loaded. You smile, tired. “No. Just bills.”

He nods, eyes flicking down to your heels again. “Want a ride?”

“No thanks,” you say, not unkindly. “If you’re smart, you won’t wait for anyone who dances like I do.”

He raises a brow. “Why’s that?”

You hold his stare. “Because girls like me don’t lead you anywhere safe.”

The moment hangs, then you walk past him, brushing lightly against his sleeve.

He turns as you go. Watches you disappear into the night with that same look he wore in the club, like he’s still trying to figure you out.

The walls of your apartment are thin, not just the kind of thin where you can hear neighbors argue, the kind where it feels like your life could split down the middle if you breathe too hard. You’ve been here six months, and it still doesn’t feel like home.

You’re curled up on your couch, a cup of instant coffee in one hand and your phone in the other, the glow of your banking app reflecting off your tired eyes. The numbers glare at you, mock you. Rent’s due in four days.

You have almost enough. Almost enough to cover bills, almost enough to maybe buy some groceries, almost enough to keep pretending this version of your life isn’t eating you from the inside out.

You rub your thumb over the screen. Your feet aches from hours in heels. Your shoulders are sore. You’ve got another shift tonight.

And still, it’s not enough.

You let your head fall back against the couch. Maybe if you picked up more shifts, maybe if you danced dirtier, maybe if you finally said yes to that older guy who keeps asking for a private show.

You hate thinking like that. But sometimes, surviving means doing things you swore you wouldn’t.

You glance over at your worn-out calendar taped to the wall, two more weeks until your second job pays out, until then, it’s late nights and glittered skin, making magic onstage for strangers who toss money without ever seeing you.

Well… except for one.

You blink that thought away like it’s dust in your eyes. He was just another rich man with too much time and not enough boundaries. He looked at you like he was curious, like you were a mystery, you’ve seen that before.

You set the coffee down, pull your knees up to your chest, and try to breathe through the pressure closing in behind your ribs.

You’ll figure it out. You always do. But damn, you’re tired of surviving.

The club is already breathing heavy when you arrive. Bass pounding through the walls, lights spilling onto velvet floors, bodies moving like shadows in a fever dream.

Your locker’s waiting. So is your routine. But before you can even make it down the hallway, a familiar voice calls after you.

“Got something interesting for you, sweetheart.”

You turn around. Your manager, Dean, is grinning like he knows a secret. You arch a brow. “If it’s another pair of fishnets, I’ll scream.”

He chuckles. “Better. Or worse, depending on how you see it.”

You follow him back to the dressing room, your curiosity sharp. He gestures toward your station, where a black velvet box sits, untouched and elegant, like it doesn’t belong in a place like this.

“What is it?” you ask slowly.

He shrugs. “Open it and see.”

You hesitate. Nothing good comes wrapped like that. Not in this world. Still, your fingers move before your mind can catch up. The lid lifts, and your breath catches.

A choker. Thin, intricate, red velvet lined with diamonds, tiny but real. You can tell by the glint under the lights, it’s delicate and rich and dangerous, it’s the kind of thing worn by women who know they’re being desired.

Dean crosses his arms. “You gonna wear it?”

You close the box. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On who gave it to me.”

He gives you a sly smirk. “Then you might want to take a peek at the lounge.”

Your pulse stumbles. You step out of the room, shoes silent against the carpet now, and look.

He’s there, again. In the far booth. Casually lounging like he’s part of the decor. Black slacks, a fitted shirt rolled at the sleeves, rings glinting on his fingers, one ankle crossed over the other. A drink in front of him, untouched. His eyes already locked on yours.

A smile curves across his lips, you stare back for a second too long, heat crawling up your spine. Then you disappear back into the dressing room. You don’t say a word to Dean, you don’t explain. You just take the choker out of the box and fasten it around your neck.

You change into your outfit for the night, a deep crimson bodysuit, sheer panels that show just enough, long sleeves that hug your arms, heels that add an edge to every step. You keep the choker on.

He gave it to you, and you want him to see it.

The night starts slowly, but you can feel him there. Watching from his booth, nursing that drink he hasn’t touched. You dance for others, smile for them, let them fantasize for the length of a song. But the only eyes that matter tonight are his.

You pass his booth once, on your way to the bar. His fingers tap against the glass lazily, but his gaze trails down the line of your legs, lingers on your throat—on the choker.

“You wore it,” he says lowly as you pass.

You don’t stop walking. Just smile over your shoulder. “It matched the mood.”

He chuckles behind you. The kind of laugh you feel in your stomach.

Later, as the night starts to wind down and the crowd thins, you find him standing at the bar, no entourage or noise, just him. He’s been patient. But his eyes are hungry now.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he says, voice dipped in velvet.

You lean against the bar beside him. Close, but not quite touching. “That’s bold.”

He shrugs. “I’m not good at pretending I don’t want something.”

Your fingers toy with the edge of your glass. “And what do you want?”

“You.” The word drops between you like a spark. “But not like this,” he adds, eyes steady. “Not just in glimpses. I want to sit across from you and hear your voice when the music’s not drowning it out.”

You’re quiet for a moment, staring at him. It should be easy to say no. You’ve had men want more, want what they shouldn’t, but he’s not like them.

There’s no pressure in his words, and… something you haven’t seen in a long time. Something real.

You take a sip of your drink and finally smile. “Maybe.”

His lips twitch. “Maybe’s a good start.”

Your shift ends later than you’d like. The night stretched long with sweaty bills tucked into your thighs and too many hands reaching for a version of you they’ll never truly get. But all you could think about was that choker on your neck… and the way he looked at you like you were the only person who mattered in the whole damn room.

“Goodnight, baby,” one of the girls purrs, already halfway out the door, heels swinging in hand.

You nod, half-dazed. The rush has faded, but your heart still beats fast, because it’s not over yet.

You head back into the dressing room, peeling off the crimson bodysuit, watching your reflection in the mirror as your skin shimmers faintly with leftover stage light.

You change slowly. A black dress that hugs your hips and dips just enough at the front to make your pulse jump. Strappy heels. Clean skin, the faintest trace of perfume behind your ears, and the choker stays on. Of course it does.

Outside, the city is humming. Night air kisses your skin with a bite, but you barely notice, because he’s there.

Leaning against the side of his car, hands in his pockets, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the ink on his arms. His hair is messy in that way that looks styled on purpose, and his gaze is already locked on you the second you step into view.

He doesn’t say a word at first, he just looks at you. From the choker down to your dress, down your legs, then back up again, slower.

You walk toward him, your heels soft against the pavement, lips curved. “Thought maybe meant maybe,” you tease, stopping just a breath away.

He smiles. “You don’t dress like a maybe.”

You tilt your head, heart racing. “You always this smug?”

“Only when it works.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but there’s no denying the heat between you.

He opens the passenger door without a word, and you slip inside, the choker catching the light as you move. It’s quiet in the car, just the pulse of the city and the rustle of your dress as you cross your legs.

Jungkook slides into the driver’s seat and glances at you sideways, eyes dark with something wicked and wondering.

“You look like trouble,” he says.

You smile slowly. “So do you.”

The restaurant is drenched in luxury. Everything glows with a low, golden hue that makes every table feel like a secret. Crystal glasses, flickering candles, linen napkins folded with mathematical precision. It smells like money in here. Old money. And for a moment, you feel like you’re wearing someone else’s skin.

Jungkook walks like he belongs here. He thanks the hostess with a nod, hand resting lightly at the small of your back as she leads you to a booth tucked into the curve of the wall. It’s intimate, shadowed. You slide in across from him, trying not to feel small, or out of place.

When the menus come, you pick yours up slowly. It’s black leather, the font too elegant to be readable at a glance. Your eyes trail down the list, and your heart drops with every number beside every name.

₩92,000 for an entrée. ₩160,000 for a bottle of wine.

Even if it’s not your money, the guilt creeps in. You should be focused on the rent due in four days, not sitting across from a man who smells like spice and sin, making you forget you’ve been scraping coins out of your coat pockets all week.

He notices the way your fingers still against the page. “Hey,” he says, voice smooth and quiet, but pointed. “Order whatever you want.”

You glance up. “I— It’s just…”

“I know,” he interrupts, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But you don’t have to worry about that. Not tonight.”

You hesitate. He leans forward, tattooed fingers wrapping around the stem of his wine glass. “If I bring you somewhere, it means I want you there. Let me have that.”

You feel the breath catch in your throat, because it sounds so simple when he says it. Like indulgence isn’t dangerous. Like pleasure isn’t a slippery slope.

But deep down, guilt bubbles beneath the surface. You should be thinking about the bills piling up in your tiny apartment, you should be clocking into your next shift, counting tips, wondering if you’ll make it.

Instead, you’re here. Wrapped in silk, lips glossed, his choker still hugging your neck, letting a man like him treat you like you’re worth more than what the world ever gave you.

You close the menu slowly, trying to keep your voice steady. “You really are impossible.”

He grins. “That’s not a no.”

And it isn’t. Because no matter how hard your reality pulls, there’s something magnetic about the way he looks at you. Like you’re art. Like you’re a fucking storm.

The wine is deep and red, almost black in the low lighting, and you take the first sip slower than you mean to. It’s sweet, rich, the kind of expensive you’d never order on your own. You glance over your glass at him, lips still wet from the drink, and find him already watching you.

“What?” you ask, setting the glass down with a soft clink.

He rests his cheek against his hand, rings catching the candlelight. “Nothing. Just trying to figure you out.”

You raise a brow. “Good luck with that.”

“I like a challenge.”

You laugh, softly. But beneath it, there’s a hum of something warmer. Something that cuts deeper than playful banter.

“Why me?” you ask before you can stop yourself. The question slips out too honestly, too bare. You hate that it does.

He blinks, then tilts his head like he’s surprised you even have to ask. “Because you walked like you weren’t afraid of being looked at,” he says. “And danced like no one ever saw you the way you wanted them to.”

God. That shouldn’t feel as raw as it does.

“I didn’t think you were watching that closely.”

“I wasn’t watching,” he says, voice lower now. “I was caught.”

You stare at him for a beat too long, your heart hammering in your ears. It shouldn’t get to you, but it does. You look away, your fingers tightening around your wine glass.

“I should be worrying about my rent,” you murmur, half to yourself, half to him. “Not sitting here with a guy who wears watches worth more than my entire apartment.”

He doesn’t laugh, he just looks at you, seriously this time. “Then let me be the exception.”

You meet his gaze again, and for once, he’s not cocky or teasing. He’s… sincere. Dangerous in a whole different way, and somehow, that’s worse. Because you can already feel yourself leaning in.

The car ride is quiet, but not calm.

Jungkook’s hand rests casually on the wheel, his other arm draped along the center console, fingers inches from your bare thigh. You’re still in the same dress, the one that felt powerful earlier, but now it feels tight, like your skin is stretched too thin. Too aware of him beside you. The scent of his cologne. The warmth of his voice still coiled inside you.

You glance at him once, but he’s already looking at the road, jaw tight. You know he wants to say something. You know you want to say something. But neither of you does.

When he pulls up to your apartment, the street is quiet. Your building stands there, small, a little worn down, but home. His engine idles. You reach for the door handle, but pause.

“I had a good time,” you say quietly.

He turns toward you, one arm still resting on the steering wheel. “I did too.”

You linger in that second, waiting for it to end, but it doesn’t. His eyes drop to your lips. His jaw ticks.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask, breath barely audible.

Jungkook doesn’t move for a second. But then, his voice comes low. “Are you sure?”

You nod, heart pounding. He kills the engine and gets out.

You leave the door to your apartment cracked behind you, and the moment he steps inside, he sees all of it. Your life in its smallest, truest form.

Shoes scattered by the door. An old mug on the table. A tiny couch barely big enough for one person to stretch out. This isn’t his world, but he doesn’t blink. He just looks at you.

You slip your shoes off quietly, walking toward the middle of the room, unsure what to do with your hands, your breath, your desire.

“You live alone,” he murmurs, eyes slowly sweeping the space.

“Yeah.”

He steps closer. “Doesn’t feel lonely?”

You shrug. “Sometimes. But it’s quiet. And it’s mine.”

He nods, but his gaze lingers on your lips again. He’s closer now, only a few inches separating your breath from his. And then, like it’s inevitable, you lean in.

Your lips brush his, just barely. You feel his breath stutter. His hands clench at his sides, like he’s holding back. But you’re done holding back.

You press your mouth to his, full this time, and he groans into it, like you’ve finally broken something he’s been trying to keep caged. His hands rise, one threading into your hair, the other gripping your waist.

Your back hits the wall, and he kisses you like it’s oxygen. His mouth moves over yours, tongue tasting, claiming. You gasp when his teeth catch your bottom lip. He swallows it down like a curse.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispers against your mouth, voice ragged.

You whimper, fingers clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s nothing between your bodies but heat.

“You want this?” he asks, lips ghosting along your jaw, down your throat.

“God, yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

And that’s all he needs. He lifts you easily, lips never leaving yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist, letting him carry you toward the bedroom, or hell, ‘cause you’d let him take you right there if he asked.

He carries you through the short hallway like it costs him nothing. One arm under your thighs, the other curled around your back, holding you like you weigh less than a thought. You feel the muscles in his chest flex against you, the soft drag of his breath near your neck, the beat of his pulse hammering through his skin.

You don’t tell him which door. He picks the right one anyway.

Your bedroom is small, barely more than a mattress pushed up against the wall and a rickety dresser, but it’s clean. It smells like you, soft perfume, maybe vanilla, and Jungkook freezes for a second in the doorway.

Like stepping into your space is suddenly more intimate than kissing you. But you’re already pulling him back in.

Your hands are in his hair, fingers tugging gently, tilting his head until you find his mouth again. He groans into the kiss, and this time, it’s needier, more frantic. His hands slide down your thighs as he sets you on the edge of the bed, and he doesn’t let you go, not for a second.

Your legs fall open for him instinctively. His body slots between them like he was made to fit there.

“You’re so—” he starts, but his voice breaks off in a low growl. His hand comes up, brushing hair from your face, then trails down your jaw, over your throat, and lower. “—fucking beautiful.”

You shiver at the rasp in his voice, the reverence tangled in the filth.

Your hands slide beneath his shirt, soft cotton stretched across a lean chest. He watches you as you push it up, exposing inch after inch of inked skin. His abs flex beneath your touch, and he hisses when your fingertips trace the lines between muscle and tattoo.

“You wanna touch me, baby?” he murmurs, voice like honey-drenched sin. “Then do it. Take what you want.”

And god, you do. You lift his shirt over his head, and he lets you, dropping it somewhere on the floor. Your hands roam his body like you’re trying to memorize it. His skin is warm, smooth, and covered in ink and heat.

“Take it off,” he whispers, fingertips brushing the strap of your dress. “Please.”

That please wrecks you. You slide the straps down slowly, teasingly, letting the silky fabric pool around your waist. You’re not wearing a bra, and Jungkook’s gaze drops like gravity’s pulling it.

“Fuck,” he says, almost reverently. His hands rise, hesitating just an inch from your chest.

“Touch me,” you whisper.

His palms cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they stiffen, until your hips shift restlessly beneath him. He kisses your chest slowly, tongue dragging, mouth worshipping. He trails kisses down your stomach, open-mouthed and warm, until he’s kneeling between your thighs, looking up at you like a man starving.

His hands trail up your legs. His thumbs stroke gently along the inside of your thighs, raising goosebumps with each inch.

He looks up at you from between your thighs, lips parted, eyes dark and blown out. “Lay back,” he says softly. “Let me taste you.”

You sink into the mattress, hair splayed around you, your breath already caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat. And when he slides your panties down your legs, leans in and kisses you there, slow and open-mouthed, like you’re something delicate and holy, you swear you feel it in your soul.

The first lick is gentle. Experimental. He watches your reaction as his tongue flicks once, then again, a little firmer. Your legs tremble. Your fingers twist into the sheets.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

He hums like he agrees. His mouth is warm, wet and perfect, tongue stroking with unhurried precision, lips sucking softly, gently. It’s not rushed, it’s thorough, like he’s learning you. Mapping the way your breath stutters when he drags the flat of his tongue up and flicks at the top. The way your hips buck when he moans against you, sending vibrations through your bones.

You’re soaked in seconds, your back arching, one hand covering your mouth and the other clutching his hair, grounding yourself to the only thing that matters right now.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs, pulling back just long enough to speak, then licking a slow stripe that makes you whimper. “You want me to stop?”

You shake your head desperately. “Don’t you dare.”

That makes him grin, mouth shiny with you. “Didn’t plan to.”

And then he dives back in, more eager now, more relentless. His tongue works in tight, steady circles, and when he slips one finger inside you, it’s all too much.

You come with a gasp, legs shaking, voice breaking around his name. He keeps going until your hips jerk from oversensitivity, and even then, he kisses the inside of your thigh like a goodbye.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then rises to hover over you, gaze fixed on your face.

“You’re unreal,” he whispers, brushing hair from your cheek. “Do you know that?”

You shake your head, too breathless to speak, but your body tells the truth.

You pull him down to kiss you again, and this time, there’s nothing soft about it. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the taste of your mouth. Like he’s starving, but still somehow patient, hands braced on either side of your head, his body suspended over yours like he’s keeping himself in check.

He pulls back, staring at you. You drag your palms down his chest, and he watches you with hooded eyes, lips parted, breath heavy.

Then his hand cups your jaw. “I want you,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “But I’m not going inside you without a condom.”

You blink, your breath catching for an entirely different reason now.

God, even when he’s like this, cocky, dominant, eyes dark and body tense with want, he still thinks. He still respects you.

You nod, breathlessly. “Top drawer.”

He leans over you, muscles shifting beneath his inked skin as he slides it open and pulls out a condom. You’re still catching your breath, thighs slightly parted, watching him like he’s something out of a fever dream.

He stands. His eyes stay locked with yours as his fingers go to the front of his slacks, and your mouth runs dry when you hear the slow drag of his zipper.

He slides them down, unhurried, the material catching on the curve of his hips before pooling at his ankles. His black boxers cling to him, the outline of his cock so thick and perfect it makes your head spin.

When he hooks his thumbs in the waistband and pushes them down, your breath hitches.

He’s big. Hard. Veins prominent, tip flushed and glistening, his cock bobbing slightly as it’s freed.

He strokes himself once, just enough to make your thighs press together, and then rips the condom wrapper open between his teeth, a soft hiss escaping as he rolls it on with expert ease.

“Been dying to fuck you properly.”

And then he’s back, one hand braced on your hip, the other guiding himself to your entrance.

You’re still soaked, still aching from the way his tongue worshiped you minutes ago, and when he pushes in, your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Shit,” he groans. “You’re so tight…”

He gives you time to adjust. Every inch deeper comes with a slow grind of his hips, his lips brushing your neck, his breath warm against your collarbone.

And when he’s finally all the way in, bottomed out and still holding back, you swear you’ve never felt so full.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, nails digging into his shoulders. “You can move.”

He starts slow. Each thrust is measured, his hips pressing into yours like he’s savoring the stretch, like he’s mapping out every gasp he can pull from you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. His mouth finds your neck again, sucking softly, tongue dragging over your pulse.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know.”

You moan, your hips arching into his, chasing more friction. But it’s not enough, not yet. He’s still holding back, still careful. Still too gentle.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, voice cracking.

He pulls back enough to look at you. “Yeah?”

Your eyes burn into his. “Don’t hold back. Please.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes, something primal that’s barely been caged.

“You sure?” His voice is lower now. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You shake your head, breathless. “I need it.”

And that’s all it takes. He slams back into you, hard enough to make the headboard knock. He sets a rhythm that’s filthy and perfect, each thrust hitting a spot that makes your toes curl.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he pants, driving into you with rough, perfect thrusts. “You’re taking me so well. Look at you.”

He catches your gaze, and your breath catches. You’re not sure if it’s the pace, or the way he sees you like this, but it’s too much, too good.

Your legs tremble, tightening around his waist, and you arch into him with a breathless cry.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growls. “Let me hear you.”

You moan his name like a prayer and a curse, your body burning at the edges.

He leans down, mouth grazing your ear, voice rough silk. “Feel how deep I am, baby?” He grinds his hips, rolling them just right. “Right where you need me.”

You can’t even answer, only whimper, nails dragging across his back. He groans at that, dark and wrecked.

Then suddenly, he pulls out. You gasp, dazed and blinking up at him, but he’s already grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your stomach in one smooth motion.

“Up,” he commands, voice thick and ragged. “On your knees.”

You obey without thinking, and his hands immediately grab your hips, pulling you back until you feel his cock drag between your folds.

He gives you one slow thrust, then pulls back, teasing. “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, sliding back in, this time hard and deep. “You’re dripping so much for me.”

He snaps his hips, and you cry out, bracing yourself as he fucks you from behind, rough and fast, a hand sliding around your throat as he pulls you back against him. His other hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your clit with ease.

“Come on,” he growls. “One more. I wanna feel you clench around me while I fuck you.”

You’re already so close. Your moans turn frantic, eyes fluttering as his fingers work you faster, his thrusts unrelenting.

“That’s it, baby. Let me ruin you.”

You come with a scream, your body shaking, thighs trembling. You collapse forward, but he doesn’t stop, rides you through it until your body’s boneless, twitching under him.

“Shit—” he groans, and with one final deep thrust, he spills inside the condom, body tensing over yours.

Silence follows, charged and intimate. You feel his weight shift slightly, one arm wrapping around your waist as he lowers both of you to the bed gently.

For a second, neither of you says a word. His breath is hot against your shoulder, lips brushing skin like an apology and a promise all at once.

“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling you to his chest.

You let him. Heart pounding, skin flushed, body aching in the best way. You don’t know what this is, what it’ll become, but tonight, you don’t care.

And in the quiet that follows, with his fingers stroking lazy circles into your spine and his breath steady beside yours, you realize, maybe for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

Even if it’s just for tonight.

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