#he's so ahhhh 😫😮‍💨 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nemesyaaa · 3 months ago

Text

mattheo is so fucked up. my opinion on this is...we should let him fuck rivers since he's obsessed with the boy while fucking you 😮‍💨 jk but seriously, love to see his crazy ass being jealous bc jealousy means that he cares. the fact the chapter doesn't feel so long because i literally loved every single lines of this. but bahahahaha how many times on the chapter i wanted to slap mattheo's face and reader should 😫😫

Last night still lingers—on your skin, in your throat, between your legs. You feel it in the ache of your limbs and the hollow in your chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It never is. — when i catch him i swear :(

“Why not?” His voice is low, dangerous now, eyes narrowed as he leans in. “Because he’s the one who takes you on real dates? The one you’re actually proud to be seen with? While I get what—sloppy seconds in the dark when you’re drunk enough to forget you don’t give a shit about me?” — look like someone doesn't know what he wants and its embarrassing asf

“…What?” he mutters, voice low and rough. He doesn’t move away from her. Doesn’t drop his hands from her hips. The girl turns slightly, confused, but he doesn’t even acknowledge her. His gaze is still locked on you, half-dazed, half-aware, like he’s trying to decide whether to fight or flee. — we should date pansy. fuck men

He laughs, low and cruel and breathless. “Still acting like you’re better than this,” he whispers, pressing his body flush to yours so you can feel just how hard he is, how much he wants. “Better than me.” — spoiler i am 🫡

And as you step into the cold air, your chest aches, but you don’t know whether it’s because you want him to chase you or because you know he won’t. — and we're back to pain

ahhhh just finished the first part but this is already fantastic. i hope mattheo is gonna suffer in the next chapter because enough mister, enough. we're done 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 but the writing is perfect !!!

WICKED GAME. mattheo riddle.

mattheo riddle x fem!reader. part one. → part two.

summary ; after the war, nothing feels real except him—you’re not together, not really, but that’s never stopped you from crawling back to him when it burns too much to feel nothing at all. it’s cruel and addictive, and things change when your hypocrisy begins to bleed through. words ; 9.5k warnings ; sexual content, angst, toxic situationship, fingering, unprotected p in v, mattheo’s rough, creampie, oral m! & f!receiving, throatfucking, overstimulation, f!masterbation, voyeurism (?), swearing, hair pulling, orgasm denial, dirty talk, degradation, spitting, choking, pussy slapping, spanking, dp (fingers + cock), squirting

navigation. masterlist.

His back is to you when you open your eyes.

You watch as he slides on his jeans—the same blue denim he was wearing last night when he showed up at your door. Listen as his shoes tap against the wood floor. There’s a certain rhythm to it, almost mechanical, like he’s done this a thousand times before. Muscle memory.

He bends down to pick up his shirt from the floor, his movements slow, careful. You can almost hear the thoughts running through his head, though you know better than to ask. He’s good at keeping things to himself, as good as you’ve learned to be.

His muscles flex as he reaches up to slide the shirt over his head, and your eyes catch on the scars littering his back, the faint red lines and the faded, angry stains left upon his spine, holding memories of the days that brought him to this point of roboticism, and despite your best efforts not to think too hard about it, your heart clenches painfully in your chest.

He glances over at you, and for the briefest second, there’s something in his eyes. Something soft, something different, though you can’t quite place it. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by that familiar mask.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, his voice low, but there’s nothing in it. No affection. No real meaning. Just words.

You nod, eyes following his every move as he heads for the door, but you don’t say anything. Because what is there to say?

He leaves, and the silence that follows feels heavier than it should. You stay there for a few moments longer, listening to the sound of the door clicking shut, before you finally let out the breath you’d been holding.

Last night still lingers—on your skin, in your throat, between your legs. You feel it in the ache of your limbs and the hollow in your chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It never is.

Mattheo Riddle had become a ghost before the war had even ended, had already lost his entire sense of self. That moment—when he watched his father turn to literal dust—he couldn’t differentiate between whether the stirring he felt was grief or relief.

The first time you saw him outside of Hogwarts was in a Muggle pub just off Diagon Alley. It had been a couple months since the end of the battle, right around the time you’d returned to a rebuilt version of Hogwarts for an eighth year. You hadn’t expected to see him at all, let alone there—half-drunk in a booth, sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes darker than you remembered. He looked up when you walked past. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just lifted his glass in a sort of salute, like you were two survivors nodding across the wreckage.

You weren’t close, back then. Not really. Before the world went to ashes, you ran in the same circles—shared friends, shared classes, shared the occasional smirk across the room—but that was it. He was always a little too reckless for you to trust. And you were a little too careful, too quiet, for him to notice.

But war changes things.

The boy you remembered—the one who used to tilt his chair back during lectures and talk shit under his breath—he’s gone. What’s left is quieter. Harder to read. He still walks like he owns the ground beneath his feet, but there’s something broken behind his eyes now. Something lonely. You recognized it the moment you saw him again.

How could you not? It’s the same hollow feeling you can’t escape even in your wildest dreams.

That night in the pub, it was you who approached first, who spoke first. What started with small talk about mutual friends—about who made it out, who didn’t—turned into two drinks, then three, and then suddenly you were closer.

You can’t remember who leaned in first—only the bitter taste of whiskey on his lips and the way his hands slid under your shirt, all rough and desperate, as if he was trying to claw his way back into something real. It wasn’t gentle or romantic. Just a pathetic attempt from both of you to bury the feeling of emptiness lodged into your hearts.

He took you back to his dorm that night, and all you can remember was the way he had you pressed up against the wall, his mouth on your neck and his fingers fumbling with the buttons of your shirt like he hadn't touched another person in years.

And then it happened again, two weeks later. And again, and again, until it became a pattern, the months passing by in an unyielding ocean of grievance and lust, the current never failing to pull you under.

No labels. No expectations. Just bodies and silence.

He doesn’t stay the night. Except when he does.

And you don’t care. Except you do.

You pull the silk sheets tighter around your bare chest, the scent of him burning your flesh. It’s riddled with vodka and musk and that cheap ass cologne you pretend not to love. Your eyes flutter shut, drifting back to last night, or more accurately, to every fucking night you’ve ever shared with him, honing in on every time he touched you with a certain gentleness that he usually never possessed.

Despite your better judgment, despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to wake up and face reality, you’ve catalogued each of those moments in the most ornate corners of your brain. The moments when his fingertips glided softly along the ridges of your spine, when you’d moan a certain way and he’d ease the hold he had on your hair, when he positioned you facing him instead of away.

It was pathetic, really. The arrangement was what it was, and there was no underlying meaning to any of the unspoken rules the two of you set. It wasn’t serious, it wasn’t exclusive, and it never would be, but it seemed the walls around your heart were far too fragile, far too decrepit, to ever stand a chance.

You told yourself you could do it. That it was fine. That you really were just helping each other cope and it was only about satisfying a mutual need. The problem was, that need had a different definition for you than it did for him.

You glance to your side, sitting up with the covers pulled just below your arms. His expensive watch is on the nightstand, forgotten again. He always forgets something, and you’ve started to wonder if it’s intentional.

Eventually, you force yourself out of bed, wincing at the sensation of your bare feet hitting the cold floor. The clock’s only just ticked past six—feels too early to get up now for a 9AM class, but you decide you need a shower. To wash away the smell of drinks and smoke and the grease in your hair, but mostly, to wash away last night’s activities. To wash him off your skin.

This cycle, it’s never ending, like a wound that scabs but never heals. Maybe a sane person who actually fucking cared about theirself would have called it off by now, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. Because no matter how much it stings, no matter how bad the fire burns you, it’s still reassuring. There’s an odd kind of comfort in knowing that you’re still able to feel, in knowing that your heart still works, and you’ll take whatever pain comes along with the pleasure to prove it.

Your body feels unfamiliar as you pad quietly to the bathroom, like it doesn’t quite belong to you anymore, your limbs heavy with leftover sleep. You let the door click shut behind you before turning the water on hotter than you should, letting the steam rise and drown out the thoughts bouncing around your skull.

You step under the spray without waiting, eyes shut, letting the heat burn away whatever’s left of last night. It doesn’t work—but you stay there anyway.

By the time you drag yourself out, the mirror is too fogged to show your face, and your fingers are wrinkled from how long you stayed under. You dry off without thinking, dress even faster, and force yourself out of the dorm before your mind can drag you back.

The Great Hall is already buzzing with chatter when you arrive for breakfast but making conversation is the last thing you want to do.

Unfortunately for you though, things never work out in your favor. That’s made clear enough by the sight of a handsome boy in blue robes waving you over. Groaning internally, you give in and trudge over to him and his friends—not that you have much of a choice.

“Hi Rowan,” you offer, flashing him a half-arsed smile as you took the seat next to him, fighting the urge to drop your tired head into your hands.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks with a smile that came too easily.

Peacefully, with another boy in my bed who fucks like a—

“Fine. Well, actually, I slept well.”

“I’m glad.”

Rowan was sweet. You’d been seeing him for a few weeks now. Nothing serious, but just a bit of fun. Dates, kisses, late-night study sessions that turned into something more. It was easier with him. He smiled at you in the hallways, held your hand under the table, asked questions like he genuinely wanted to know the answer. And he wasn’t bad to look at either—or to kiss. But when you did kiss him, when his hands were on your waist, your mind wandered. You couldn't help wishing his hands were rougher, warmer, different.

He pours you a glass of pumpkin juice without asking, like it’s an ingrained habit now. You thank him with a small smile and start picking at a piece of toast.

Rowan leans a little closer, nudging your shoulder with his. “You look tired. Was it the Arithmancy essay?”

You nod vaguely, reaching for the pumpkin juice. “Yeah, something like that.”

He chuckles softly. “Knew I should’ve stayed to help. I would’ve, you know—if you’d asked.”

You manage a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I know. You’re sweet.”

There’s a brief silence as you sip your drink, and then:

“I was thinking,” he starts, hesitant. “Maybe this weekend, you and me could take a trip to Hogsmeade? Just the two of us. I feel like I never get you all to myself anymore.”

You nearly choke on your toast.

“I— yeah. Sure,” you say too quickly, blinking down at your plate. “That sounds nice.”

He grins, all sunshine and sincerity, and you hate yourself a little more than usual.

Because you know you’re going to cancel at the last minute. You always do.

Your eyes flick toward the doors of the Great Hall every few seconds, scanning the entrance like your body’s acting on instinct, searching for him even when your mind insists not to.

Rowan’s voice pulls you back.

“Do you have class after this?” he asks, brushing a crumb off your cheek with his thumb. “I could walk you.”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “Yeah. Defense. With Slughorn.”

He laughs. “Isn’t he Potions?”

You blink again. Shit. “Right. Sorry. I meant… I meant Potions.”

You’re falling apart at the seams and he doesn’t even notice. That might be the worst part.

The weekend arrives with a sickening speed, each day bleeding into the next like ink soaking through thin pages. You’ve kept your distance, save for the occasional glance in his direction—you can’t help yourself. But every time your gaze finds him, he’s never looking back. You don’t get the butterflies, the stupid fluttering warmth a younger, more naive version of you might have felt if he’d met your eyes across the room. Mattheo doesn’t give you that satisfaction, and it eats at you because all you want to know was if it was on purpose—if he was fighting the same fucking battle as you or if he honestly just didn’t care.

Too much to dwell on, you think. Too much to dwell on and too little in return.

Your hands tremble as they gently scoop up Mattheo’s watch from the cozy spot in your nightstand drawer that you’d tucked it into, between freshly washed socks and bras. It felt too intimate, storing something that belongs to him in such a personal space, but you told yourself that that wasn’t your intention, that you were just safekeeping it for him.

Of course, safekeeping would’ve meant more if you’d returned it to him days ago, during one of the countless times you’d crossed paths in classrooms and hallways, and of course you'd thought about it, but you backed down before you even began.

Speaking to him when you weren’t drunk was a risk you didn’t want to gamble.

True, it would give you an advantage; you wouldn’t spew the same utter bullshit and nonsense you usually did when intoxicated. And true, chances were he’d just take the watch and you’d both move along with your days, but fuck, there was also the chance that either he’d ask you something you didn’t want to answer or you’d say something you couldn’t take back.

Being sober means remembering everything, and you refuse to take that chance.

So instead you wait.

You wait and wait until Saturday night rolls around, his watch crammed into your jacket pocket as you stumble down the steps of the dormitories to the common room, where music is blasting so loud it could hardly be considered anything but noise. The air reeks of alcohol and weed, tendrils of secondhand smoke snaking through your nostrils to leave your head throbbing in record time. You haven’t even made it halfway across the room and your skull already feels like it’s cracking open.

The second Pansy spots you—your oversized jacket swallowing your frame, concealing the bare skin shown off by your tiny skirt —she’s practically lunging. Her arm hooks around yours, too tight and too fast, and her breath smells like firewhiskey when she leans in.

“Oh, look at you,” she drawls, eyes glassy, voice syrup-thick. “Looking all dangerous tonight. Who are you trying to kill with that skirt?”

You shift on your feet, uncomfortable. “No one, Pans,” you mutter. “I’m wearing the jacket for a reason.” Your free hand fidgets with the hem hidden beneath the leather, fingers twitching like they’ve got something to hide. “The skirt was the only clean thing I had.”

Pansy’s smirk doesn’t budge. If anything, it grows smugger. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing with a glint that makes your skin prickle. “Mhm. Sure. Nothing to do with a certain someone you’re hoping to accidentally bump into? Saving the view for him?”

God.

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts, but the heat crawling up your neck betrays you. Because she’s right. And maybe you are that transparent. Like someone’s cracked open your spine and flipped through your insides. Public display. Exhibition. Autobiography of your worst decisions.

“Fucking hell, Pansy, give it a rest. Aren’t you the one preaching every day and night about how women don’t dress for men?”

She blanches, her brows furrowing. “Yes. Doesn’t mean I can’t tell when my best friend’s trying to get a certain boy’s attention.” Her voice is softer than before, like she’s trying to ease you into being honest with her, but she’s still slurring her speech and frankly, the words ‘best friend’ give you the urge to pull away. It only takes a couple beats without a response from you for her to rub at her reddened eyes with a fist and speak up again.

“You know he’s fucked up, right?”

Right. That again.

Like it’s news. Like it’s something you haven’t played on repeat in your brain until the record scratched.

“I’m well aware.”

“He’s not built for relationships.”

You smile, sharp as broken glass. “Good thing we’re not in one then.”

She sways slightly, like the ground feels just a little softer than usual, and gives you a look, one that says you’re not fooling anybody, and it’s enough to make your stomach twist.

Eyes flicking to the floor, you bounce up and down on the heels of your feet, running your tongue over your teeth. “I came here to loosen up, not be lectured.”

You slip your arm from hers, gently but firmly, like peeling off a bandage that’s clinging too tight. Her fingers linger for half a second before falling away, and you don’t wait for her to say anything else—you’re already moving. Head low, feet light, weaving through the maze of limbs and smoke and pulsing bodies.

The makeshift bar is a disaster. Half-empty bottles, sticky counters, solo cups stacked like some drunken monument to poor decisions. You grab the first clean-ish one you can find and pour whatever’s within reach—firewhiskey, you think, but it burns sharper than usual when it hits your tongue. You wince. Swallow anyway.

Your eyes skim the room. Just surveying. Being observant. Gathering intel like you’re not standing there in a fucking skirt short enough to haunt a Catholic grandmother.

Swallow again. The burn licks up the back of your throat, makes your eyes sting, but it shuts your brain up for a second. So you pour another.

You don’t even like the taste. You never have, but it gives your hands something to do, and something about the numbness creeping in behind your ribs feels... safe.

You glance around, like you’re doing it casually. Like you’re not scanning the room for a face you know too well.

Your fingers tighten around the cup.

You’re not drinking just to get brave enough to talk to him. That’s not what this is.

This is you having fun. Being normal. Loosening up, like you said.

Right?

You take another sip.

He’s not even your boyfriend. You’re not his. There’s no label, no promises, no rules. Just... blurred lines and late nights and moments that mean too much and not enough all at once.

Your mouth tastes like sugar and regret. You chase it with more alcohol.

But then you catch a glimpse of him. He’s got a short brunette in a little black dress pressed up against the wall with his hands on her hips, the top button of her shirt undone, and worst of all, his mouth on her neck.

The sight hits you like a fucking punch to the gut, jealousy slithering up your spine and coiling tight around your ribs until you feel like you can barely breathe. Your hands tighten into fists without you realizing, the stupid watch in your pocket starting to feel like 50 pound weights, dragging you down every moment you were still standing.

Jealousy slowly bubbles into rage, and you don’t know what pushes you to do it. Be it the alcohol, or bravery, or just pure fucking stupidity, you stomp over, effortlessly pushing through the countless bodies in your way, the hurt giving you power enough to do so.

“Mattheo,” you croak out when you’re closer to him, fingers twitching with a lethal mixture of fury and anxiety. He doesn’t budge, lips still firmly attached to her neck, leaving a trail of red splotches and saliva.

Heat floods your entire body, up your ears and cheeks and neck, leaving you embarrassed for having called to him in front of all these people only to be ignored. Either he didn’t hear you because he’s completely entranced by this girl, or he disregarded you on purpose. Either way, it burns.

“Mattheo,” you call, louder this time.

His eyes snap up, searching his surroundings before landing on yours, hooded, glazed, like he’s not really there. But the second he sees you, something in his expression shifts. Brief and barely visible, but there.

Stomping over, you fish the watch out of your pocket, eyes never leaving his as you get closer. “You fucking forgot this,” you snarl, shoving the dumb thing against his solid chest, hard enough to make him stumble and to make the girl yelp. Without wasting a single second, you turn the fuck back around and walk away.

“What the fuck?” he mutters under his breath, his hand clasping over the watch as to not let it fall before completely disregarding the girl to follow you through the crowd.

You pray that he’ll lose you in the swarm of people, but of course, he doesn’t. He catches up just as you hit the corridor past the main room and grabs your arm—not hard, just enough to stop you, to turn you around—and the look on his face is equal parts confusion and condescension and anger. Like you just ruined his night.

“Are you fucking serious?” he growls into your face, the watch still clutched in his fist. “You come storming in, start throwing shit like a lunatic—”

You yank your arm out of his grip. “Oh, I’m the lunatic?” You laugh, short and humorless. “Sorry, didn’t realize interrupting you sucking face with some random slag made me the irrational one.”

He scoffs. “She’s not random.”

“Yeah? What’s her name then?”

He opens his mouth then closes it. Shrugs like he can’t be bothered to come up with a proper answer. “Does it matter?”

You glare at him, lip curled. “No. Of course not. Why would it? You’ve got a whole fucking lineup, don’t you?”

“You’re one to talk,” he sneers. “You playing house with Rowan fucking Rivers now? Letting him leave his shit behind too? Or do you just shove it under your bed like a good little whore and keep rotating us in?”

The slap would’ve landed if he hadn’t caught your wrist.

“You don’t get to fucking talk about him,” you seethe, struggling against his grip. “You don’t get to say anything.”

“You don’t know anything,” you snap, shoving him. He barely moves, just smirks wider, crueler.

“No?” He leans in again, voice like poison. “I know you kept that watch for a week. Slept with it on your nightstand like some pathetic little souvenir. I know you came here in a skirt that screams look at me, Mattheo, and now you’re pissed that I did.”

You take a step back, voice shaking. “I kept it because I thought you’d come back for it, you prick.”

The silence that follows is blistering. It’s a truth you’ve only just admitted to yourself for the first time.

“You left it in my room on purpose, Mattheo.” Your voice is trembling now, shaking with everything you won’t say. “Don’t act like I imagined that.”

His expression darkens. He lifts the watch, holds it between two fingers like it’s meaningless. “Yeah. Well. It was just a fucking watch.” He lets it drop to the floor between you, doesn’t even flinch when it hits with a metallic clink.

You feel something splinter in your chest. It’s quiet for a while; you can’t even think of what to say anymore.

“I know enough about you,” he says again, and the venom in his voice feels like a slap all on its own. “I know you like it when I fuck the good girl out of you and you still act like I’m the one who should feel dirty.”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, to make you sound like such a needy, sex-depraved little girl, but you know he’s not wrong. Being with him makes you feel alive—that’s how you ended up in this position to begin with. Because you made each other feel real.

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

He takes a step forward, chest nearly brushing yours. “You already did. Again and again. Until you were shaking so hard you couldn’t even see.”

You shove him. Hard.

He lets you.

But then he grabs your arm, pulls you into a corner, out of view, and slams his hand against the wall beside your head, caging you in like a goddamn threat.

“Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he says low, voice almost shaking now. “Don’t act like you came to this party looking like that for anyone else.”

Your mouth opens to argue, maybe, or scream, or slap him again, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

Because suddenly his mouth is on yours—hard, bruising, possessive—like he’s trying to prove a point, or make you forget every name that isn’t his. And you let him. You bite back. You kiss like you’re angry, because you are, and he tastes like smoke and firewhiskey and everything you can’t have but take anyway.

He’s already dragging you up the stairs to his dorm before you can even blink.

He slams the door shut behind you and you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you again, his mouth hot and desperate, hands roaming like he needs to memorize the shape of your body all over again just to spite himself. Your back hits the wall with a thud, and he swarms into you, one hand fisting your hair and the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

“You’re such a fucking liar,” he growls against your mouth, biting at your bottom lip until you gasp. “Walking around with that innocent look, like you don’t fuck like you want to ruin me.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, dragging him closer, refusing to let him think he’s the only one holding the reins. “You ruined yourself,” you spit. “Don’t put that on me.”

You don’t answer. You kiss him instead, messy and open-mouthed, biting down on his tongue just enough to make him hiss. He grabs your throat, not to squeeze, just to hold you there, thumb stroking along your jaw with a gentleness that contrasts his actions.

“You think Rivers would still look at you the same,” he murmurs, “if he saw the way you drool on my cock?”

Your breath catches, humiliation and arousal burning through you simultaneously. He sees it, the way your body betrays you, and it only makes his grin sharper, hungrier.

“Knew it,” he mutters. “Knew that mouth wasn’t just for smart little comments and pretending you’re not fucking dying to be used.”

He tugs you deeper into the room, pulling off your jacket and revealing the skirt you wore underneath. His eyes narrow; the implication is clear. So is the command in his voice when he says, “On your knees.”

Your heart stutters, but you obey, mostly because you’re too proud to hesitate. The carpet bites at your knees as you kneel in front of him, evading his gaze because he’s watching you with a look that makes your skin feel too tight.

“Take it out,” he says, voice low and sharp. “Since you came all this way.”

You glare up at him, but your fingers are already working his belt loose, pushing fabric aside, your hands far steadier than you feel. He’s hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. You swallow hard, shame heating the back of your throat, and he fucking sees it.

He’s thick and hard, and when he hits the back of your throat, you gag, but don’t pull away. He holds there a second too long. Then pulls back. Then thrusts again—harder this time, hand fisted in your hair.

“That’s it,” he grits, hips starting to move. “Take it. Fucking take it like a good girl.”

You whimper around him, hands curling against his thighs for balance, spit slicking your chin as he thrusts deep, over and over. It’s brutal and filthy and not even a little bit gentle.

“You pretend you’re too good for this,” he breathes, cock dragging against your tongue. “Pretend you like him so much, but you never gag on his cock like this, do you?”

Your eyes water. Your throat clenches. You want to hit him, bite him, shove him back and scream, but you don’t. You just moan, low and broken, like you're agreeing with him.

Because part of you is.

“You like when I use you like this,” Mattheo hisses, slamming in again, making you choke. “When I fuck the lies right out of your pretty little mouth.”

He doesn’t stop until your mascara’s smudged, your mouth swollen, and you’re gasping through your nose with tears running down your cheeks.

Only then does he pull out, cock wet and twitching, your saliva glistening down his length.

He watches you pant for breath on your knees, lips red and parted, cheeks flushed.

“Still think I’m the problem?” he asks softly, venom sweet in his voice.

You glare up at him, breathing hard, heart thudding so violently you swear it might crack your ribs open.

“Yes,” you whisper hoarsely, voice raw from his cock.

Wrong answer. He slams his dick back in without warning, so deep his balls are practically pressing against your chin. Your throat constricts in protest and the noise you let out is one of pure, unadulterated shock, but it only spurs him on.

His hands find the hand of your head, wrapping strands of hair around his fingers and moving your head back and forth on his own to meet the thrust of his hips. He’s too strong for you to stop him, not that you even want him to, so you let him fuck your face like a damn fleshlight.

“Cumming,” he groans. “Get ready to swallow every fucking drop— I’m gonna check.”

And after a moment, you feel ropes of warm, salty liquid shoot down your throat, coughing a little as he finally lets you come up for air but still doing your best to swallow. His thumb and forefinger harshly grab your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Open.”

Oh. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d check.

Your lips part slowly, tongue out, breath still hitching from the aftershocks. Your throat is sore, your eyes glossy, but you hold his gaze steady even as your jaw trembles from the effort.

He leans in, one hand still gripping your chin, eyes dark as sin. His thumb drags your bottom lip down further, admiring the mess he’s made. His cum still glistens faintly on your tongue.

“Good,” he murmurs, low and rough. “Good fucking girl.”

The praise hits something dangerous inside you and you swear your body betrays you all over again. You don’t move, don’t speak, just keep holding your mouth open like he told you to, letting him see every bit of you wrecked and obedient. “Keep it open.”

You blink up at him, confused for only a second—until you see him curl his lip, tilt his head slightly, and then—he spits.

It lands right on your tongue, warm and wet and humiliating.

And your whole body clenches with how fucking turned on you are.

“That’s it,” he growls, watching you like a man possessed. “Fucking swallow it. All of it. Like you’re proud.”

You do. You swallow every drop—his cum, his spit, all of it—and then open your mouth again without being told, just to show him.

And the look on his face when you do… God, it’s like you’ve just handed him your soul.

You barely have time to brace before he’s yanking you up from the floor by the hair, your knees scraping the rug as you scramble upright, unbalanced. Your face is hot and slick and wrecked, your mouth still tingling from how thoroughly he used it, and your body stings with humiliation and heat and something even worse: want.

He spins you around and shoves you toward the full-length mirror propped up against the wall. You catch yourself just in time, palms flat against the wood paneling on either side of the mirror’s frame. Your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed and flushed, mascara streaking down your cheeks, lips red and swollen and shiny with spit.

Mattheo crowds in behind you, pressing his chest against your back, trapping you with his body. His mouth hovers just above your ear.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick. “Fucking look.”

Your throat is raw. Your heart pounds. You look.

“Mouth wrecked. Face ruined. Drool all down your chin.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, unblinking. “And your thighs have been pressed together since the second you knelt down. What, sucking my cock got you wet?”

You don’t respond. He laughs, low and cruel, and his hands trail down, slow and mocking, sliding over your waist, the curve of your ass, gripping the hem of your skirt and hiking it up just enough to reveal the way your legs are trembling.

“This what Rivers gets?” he sneers. “This pretty little mess? Or do you clean yourself up for him, act sweet and shy and fuckin’ pure like you don’t choke on my cock every chance you get? Think he’d still hold your hand if he knew what you looked like with your mouth stuffed full of someone else’s cock?”

You blink, furious and humiliated, and maybe just a little aroused by the heat in his voice, the roughness of his grip, the fact that his cock’s already starting to harden again against your hip. Swallowing hard, you still refuse to speak, but your silence damns you more than any answer.

He smirks.

“Take your clothes off,” he says simply, stepping back and folding his arms. “Slow.”

Your breathing falters, but your hands move.

First your shirt, inch by inch, over your head and off your arms. Then your skirt, unbuttoning at your hip, sliding down your thighs and pooling at your feet, then your panties. You don’t rush, not because you’re trying to be seductive, but because there’s something humiliating about doing it this way. Slowly, while he watches, while you watch in the mirror. You’re down to just your bra, skin flushed, legs bare.

Mattheo’s eyes drag over you like fire.

He walks you back toward the bed until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You sit automatically, and he moves behind you, knees bracketing yours as he settles on the edge and tugs you back against his chest.

His breath is hot at your ear as his hands drift up.

One finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it with a single practiced flick. The straps slide down your shoulders, and you make a move to shrug it off, but he stops you, his hand coming around to cup your breast through the lace before it falls away completely.

You suck in a breath.

“You know, every part of you is prettier when it’s ruined,” he says, his hand squeezing once before letting the bra fall away altogether. “Even this.”

Your head tilts back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed for just a second, but then his other hand slides under your thigh, hooks beneath your knee, and yanks your leg up, holding it back so wide you can see the slick mess between your thighs in the mirror. He does the same to your other leg, locking them open from behind, his arms under your knees, your cunt completely exposed.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he mutters. “Not done with you yet.”

You blink at your reflection, the slow creep of vulnerability tightening your chest. You’re fully bare now, curled against Mattheo like some kind of obscene doll, his hands splayed possessively over your body like he owns it, like he owns you.

“You know what I want,” he murmurs, voice rough against your temple. “So do it.”

You hesitate again and his palm tightens under your knee, jerking your leg higher, further apart, until your muscles strain with the angle.

“Do it,” he says again, quieter this time. More dangerous.

Your hand trembles as it slides down between your thighs, slow and uncertain, and he watches you in the mirror like a hawk, gaze burning into every inch of you. You suck in a breath as your fingers reach your cunt, slick and hot and already pulsing.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Come on, baby, make yourself feel good.”

You press your fingers against your clit, drawing slow, tentative circles, but it’s not enough—he makes it feel dirty, degrading, like something shameful when he’s not the one doing it to you. But his eyes are fixed on your hand now, on the way your legs twitch under his hold, on the stutter in your breath.

His palm slides up to your chest again, this time tweaking your nipple between two fingers with a twist that makes your hips buck—and then he’s gone again, gripping both legs now, holding them wide, making sure you stay open as you push a finger inside. You don’t even realize you’re whining, begging under your breath—please, please, please—until you hear him laugh softly, right in your ear.

“Pathetic little slut,” he breathes. “You’re going to cum just from your own fingers? From being watched?”

You nod without meaning to, the pressure mounting too fast, too sharp. You’re close, so fucking close, and your body’s about to give in.

But then, his hand lashes out and grabs your wrist, yanking it away from your cunt just seconds before you tip over the edge.

You choke on a sob, hips rocking up into nothing, your cunt clenching around emptiness as the orgasm dies, suffocates, fizzles out in your gut like ash.

“No,” he growls into your neck, dragging your hand up and away. “You don’t get to cum yet.”

You whimper, chest rising and falling like you’ve run a marathon, still trembling in his arms. His grip on your legs doesn’t loosen. You’re still spread open, still flushed and dripping and unsatisfied, your cunt throbbing from the denied release.

He brings your hand up to your mouth, still wet from between your thighs.

“Open,” he says again, voice a whipcrack.

You do and he shoves your fingers between your own lips, slow and punishing, until your taste coats your tongue.

“Now be a good girl,” he says, breathing ragged against your ear, “and fucking hold it in.”

Your fingers are still in your mouth, tasting yourself on your tongue, when he finally lets go of your legs and shoves you forward onto the bed. You land on your elbows, breath catching, and before you can adjust, he’s dragging you back by the hips, forcing you flat on your back, knees bent and spread wide as he looms over you.

“Fucking mess,” he mutters, looking down at your slick cunt, still flushed and leaking from earlier. “And this is what you’re trying to give to someone else?”

His thumb drags along your inner thigh, deceptively slow, just skimming the edge of where you need him most, but not quite touching. You squirm under his gaze, shame prickling hot over your skin.

“You think Rivers could ever make you look like this?” he sneers. “Think he could make you drip like this, just from talking down to you?”

You don’t answer because you know he’s not waiting for one.

Instead, he grabs your thighs and spits—a sharp, wet sound—and the slick hit of it lands right on your cunt, warm and filthy. You jolt, moaning despite yourself, and his grin turns sharp and mean.

He licks a slow stripe through your folds, tongue flat and dragging, and your hips buck immediately. You can’t help it; you’ve been denied, teased, ruined already, and the wet heat of his mouth is unbearable. Especially when he groans, low and raw, like he missed this. Like he’s been starving for you.

He doesn’t start soft, doesn’t build up. He dives in with a filthy kind of hunger, tongue working in tight circles over your clit, then flattening to lick deep into you like he’s trying to clean out every trace of anyone else.

His hands push down on your thighs, holding them wide, fingers pressing bruises into your skin. You’re panting already, arching into his mouth, and he moans against you like he likes how desperate you are.

“Fucking taste of you,” he growls, voice muffled against your cunt. “Could eat this for hours. Make you forget every single thing but me.”

You whimper, fingers knotting in the sheets.

He pulls back just enough to spit on you again—louder this time, wetter—his saliva mixing with your slick and spreading as he drags his tongue through the mess. The sound alone makes your stomach twist.

You try to squirm away, overstimulated from earlier, nerves already frayed—but it’s useless. His mouth chases you with unrelenting hunger, tongue circling your clit, then sucking on it hard enough to make your legs jerk.

“Stay fucking still,” he growls, and when you don’t, he lifts one hand—crack. Slaps your pussy once, hard.

You cry out, thighs shaking, but he doesn’t give you time to recover. He slaps you again. And then again. Three times in total, each one harder than the last, until your whole cunt is aching and wet and flushed.

You blink through the haze of pain and pleasure, cunt throbbing where he hit you, but you don’t dare close your legs. His mouth is back on you in seconds, licking over the sting, soft for one moment before he starts sucking your clit again like he’s trying to draw every last sound out of you. His nails dig into your thighs. He growls something you can’t even understand because your mind is fucking splitting—

And still, he doesn’t let up.

Not yet.

His mouth is relentless, tongue lashing over your clit like he’s angry at it, like if he sucks hard enough it’ll undo the fact that you ever even thought about being with someone else.

When he pushes two fingers inside you, it feels like too much. They’re thick and rough and he doesn’t give you time to adjust; just starts fucking them into you, curling them with practiced precision until your back arches off the bed and your scream rips through the room.

“Yeah?” he pants, barely coming up for air. “You gonna cum? Gonna soak my fucking face like the little slut you are?”

Your hands fly to his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt, but he only groans louder, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“I said fucking cum,” he growls, fingers driving in even faster. “Now.”

And you do.

It slams into you like a wave, knocking all the air from your lungs. Your thighs clamp around his head, your entire body tensing as pleasure crests so violently it almost hurts. You cry out, raw, broken, and fucked-out, and your cunt clenches hard around his fingers, gushing as your orgasm tears through you.

You thrash, moaning his name like it’s a curse, trying to twist away from the overstimulation, but he’s got you pinned. One arm locked around your thigh, the other keeping his fingers buried in your cunt, his whole body pressed between your legs to keep you spread open for him.

“Fucking look at that,” he growls against you, his voice thick with pride and something almost reverent. “You fucking squirted, baby. All over me. Shit.”

Your body convulses again when he spits on your pussy, again, mixing it with your slick as he keeps working his fingers in and out of you.

“I’m not stopping,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, like he can’t stop. “Not until you’re shaking. Not until you forget every name but mine.”

Your legs tremble around his hands, your breath coming in broken gasps, your vision blurring with tears from how good it feels, how fucking much it is.

And through it all, Mattheo doesn’t ease up.

He just keeps devouring you.

Like he’s trying to crawl inside your body.

Like he wants to tear every trace of anyone else out of you—until there’s only him left.

Your second orgasm hits fast, brutal, not even a minute later. It crashes into you mid-sob, a breathless, splintered sound that makes Mattheo groan like you just fucking fed him. Your nails rake down his scalp, your legs spasm around him, and it doesn’t matter how much you squirm or whimper or cry out—he keeps going.

Because this isn’t just about getting you off anymore.

This is him, laying claim to every last piece of you in the only language he knows—sex, sweat, spit, and everything he’s not brave enough to admit out loud.

He finally lifts his mouth from your cunt, lips swollen and glistening, and you gasp at the sudden cold air hitting your slick skin, but there’s no relief because his fingers are still moving inside you, slower now, deeper, like he’s exploring. Learning you all over again. Your hips twitch when he curls them just right and your voice breaks completely.

“Mattheo, I— fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he cuts you off, low and rough. His voice is almost affectionate now. Almost. “You will.”

His other hand strokes your thigh, deceptively gentle, before landing another sharp slap to your overstimulated pussy. You jolt, a pathetic little noise escaping your throat.

“So sensitive now,” he murmurs, like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Could cum just from my fingers, couldn’t you? Just from this.”

He adds a third finger.

You cry out, legs flying open wider on instinct, your walls fluttering as your body betrays you again, greedy, eager, desperate even when you’re already spent.

“You feel that?” he breathes, pressing against the spot that makes your whole body seize. “That little flutter? You’re so fucking close again, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over my hand this time, too?”

Your answer is a strangled sob and a frantic nod.

But just as your stomach starts to coil, he pulls his fingers out.

You whine, hips lifting off the bed in desperate protest, but he presses a firm hand to your stomach, holding you down.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growls. “You’ll take it when I give it to you. Not a second before.”

Your body trembles under the weight of it, your thighs twitching, breath ragged, heart pounding so hard it hurts, and for a moment, it’s quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl.

Mattheo sits back between your legs, hand dragging slowly down your stomach, through the mess between your thighs. His fingers are wet with you. You. He stares at them like they’re proof—proof of how much you want him, how much you’ll always come back, no matter how many names you let slip from your mouth in the dark.

He drags his hand up, smearing slick across your hip, your ribs, up to your throat, gripping it again, just tight enough to make your breath catch.

Then he leans in, nose brushing yours, voice low and gutted.

“You let him touch you?”

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, mind still trying to catch up. “What?”

He squeezes your throat once, firm, unforgiving.

“Rivers,” he spits. “Did you let him see this pussy?”

“No,” you gasp, voice thin. “No, I— Mattheo, I didn’t—”

“Did he taste you?”

You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes, and it’s not just fear or arousal or shame—it’s the ache underneath it all. The ache that says this still matters to you. That some part of you wants it to matter to him, too.

His grip on your throat softens for a second.

Then he shoves your legs open and flips you over onto your stomach.

You cry out in surprise, hands scrambling against the sheets, but he doesn’t give you time to think. He pulls you up onto your knees, dragging your hips back until you’re arched, exposed—humiliated in the most obscene way. Your face is half-buried in the blanket, flushed and wet, and you can just barely make out your reflection in the mirror across the room.

You look wrecked.

Mascara streaked down your cheeks. Lips red and bitten. Hair wild from where he’s been fisting it all night.

And your thighs are trembling, still parted, slick with arousal.

“Look at yourself,” he snaps, fisting a hand in your hair to make you lift your head. “So fucking beautiful.”

You do look. It’s unbearable.

“You see that?” he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock through your folds. “See what I’ve done to you?”

You shudder as he presses in just a little, enough to stretch you open around the tip, but not enough to satisfy the ache. Not yet.

“You used to act like you were better than this,” he whispers, and his voice is low, hoarse, almost reverent. “All those books. All that fucking perfect posture in class. Just fooling everyone else.”

He shoves forward, burying himself in you in one brutal thrust.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as your body clenches around him, raw and slick and too sensitive, but fuck, you’re full. So full it almost hurts. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He just starts to move, deep and rough, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

Your eyes flick up again, dazed, catching your own reflection, and the look on your face is almost unrecognizable. Pleasure, pain, possession, and everything in between.

He wraps his hand around your throat, pulling your upper body back against his chest. Your spine arches, your tits bouncing with each harsh thrust, and he watches all of it, obsessed, with his eyes locked on the mirror.

"Say it," he snarls, hand tightening at your throat. "Say who you fucking belong to."

You gasp, pulse hammering against his grip, and he spanks you hard when you hesitate. The sting ripples through your thighs and up your spine.

“Try to run and I’ll fuck you into the floor,” he warns, lips brushing your jaw. “Now say it.”

Your chest rises and falls in stuttering gasps, throat working around the pressure of his grip. His cock pounds into you from behind, fast and unforgiving, and the obscene slap of skin against skin drowns out every last rational thought in your head.

“I— I belong to you,” you choke out.

He growls low in your ear. “Louder.”

“I belong to you, Mattheo.”

The hand on your throat tightens, but you see his eyes flash with something deeper. Something you’ve never seen before.

“Fucking right you do.”

He shoves your thighs farther apart, hand sliding from your throat to your mouth, stuffing two fingers between your lips until you're choking again, but on him this time, gagging softly as your tongue flicks against the calloused pads.

His other hand smacks your ass again, harder, the sting blooming bright across your skin. “Can’t even keep your legs closed,” he spits, hips slamming into yours. “So fucking desperate for it— this is what you need, isn't it?”

You nod, moaning around his fingers, mouth drooling, legs trembling beneath you. Every muscle is strung tight, a storm of overstimulation building beneath your skin, burning you alive from the inside out.

Then he pulls his fingers from your mouth and drags them down between your legs, slipping them in alongside his cock, stretching you, fingering you hard while still fucking you deep.

You scream.

He clamps a hand over your mouth this time, muffling the sound, and still doesn’t stop. The rhythm of his hips falters just long enough for him to pant in your ear, “Gonna make you squirt all over me. Gonna ruin this bed, this carpet— fucking everything.”

Your orgasm builds fast and brutal, a hot knot in your gut pulled tighter and tighter with every brutal thrust, every curl of his fingers inside you. You cum with a sharp, guttural cry, convulsing around him, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs. Your thighs tremble, your vision whites out, and then you feel it.

Liquid gushes out of you, soaking the sheets, his hand, his thighs.

He groans like he’s been punched in the gut. “Fuck yes. Just like that. Look at yourself, baby. Look at the mess you made for me. So perfect, you’re so perfect.”

Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror: eyes wild and glassy, mouth open, chest heaving. You don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

But Mattheo does and he’s fucking obsessed.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down.

His hips keep snapping forward, unforgiving, his cock slick with your release, his hand back at your throat now—not tight, not angry, but there. Holding. Anchoring.

“Mine,” he breathes, voice cracked and wrecked against your shoulder as he finally cums, spilling deep inside of you. “You’re mine, you understand me?”

You can’t even speak. Just nod frantically, tears running down your cheeks. And then you feel a little splash on your bare shoulder, so faint you almost think you’re imagining it, but you look up to see his face in the mirror, small tears evidently falling down.

It’s unclear whether the fluttering in your chest is from heartache or hope or pleasure, but it’s there, and it reassures you that he must be feeling something. At least a fucking sliver of the suffering you’ve been dealing with, at least a fraction of the feelings you’re harboring for him.

He suddenly looks so fucking broken, so vulnerable. You want to reach for him, wipe the tear from his face, ask him what the fuck is going on inside his head. You want to ask him why he’s so fucking cold one minute, and then this the next.

But you can’t. Not now. Not with your body still trembling beneath his, still so raw, so exposed. He’s still inside you, still holding you in place as he leans into you, his face resting against your neck.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice hoarse and barely there. His chest presses against your back, his grip on your throat loosening, fingers brushing softly over the delicate skin. “I hate this.”

You let your head fall back onto his shoulder, feeling the weight of his confession. You want to tell him that you hate it too, but it’s a lie. Part of you thrives in this chaos, this connection that burns and stings, even when it destroys you both.

His breath is still shallow, and for a moment, you both just stay there, silent, eyes locked on the mirror. He shifts slightly behind you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets out a shaky breath that sounds almost... genuine.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispers. “I didn’t...”

But his words fizzle out, swallowed by the distance that still stands between you two, even in the most intimate of moments. The words hang in the air, unspoken, a fragile thread that snaps the second you try to hold onto it.

His fingers trace a line down your spine, his touch almost affectionate, but it doesn’t last long. The coldness creeps back in, wrapping itself around his words like a familiar shroud. “You should go.”

It’s not a command, not really. It’s just the unspoken truth of what you are. What you always have been in this twisted dance; temporary. A passing fucking storm.

You turn your head slightly, catching his gaze in the mirror one last time. The rawness of his expression still burns in your chest, and for a fleeting second, you almost feel like he might say something else. Something more.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lets go of you completely, pulls away, and it’s like the warmth he’d offered you was never there to begin with.

”I should go?”

“… Yeah.”

Hm. Okay.

With shaky legs, you stand, slipping out from his grip and collecting your clothes. You force yourself to dress, your hands trembling, but your heart still pounding in your chest.

Before you leave, you glance at him one more time, his eyes averted, his jaw set, the wall around him already back up. You don’t say anything; you don’t need to.

You walk out of the room, the door clicking softly behind you.

And as you step into the cold air, your chest aches, but you don’t know whether it’s because you want him to chase you or because you know he won’t.

reminder that reblogs, feedback, and comments are very appreciated and make me smile :)

part two

#mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fic #slytherin boys #harry potter #slytherin #mattheo riddle oneshot

638 notes · View notes

simp47koreancrackheads · 1 year ago

Text

“The scent conquers up a memory of the soft smile on Jungkook’s face when you’d opened the door that night.” I can practically see Jungkook’s smitten face😭💘💘💘

Ok so, this thing with Jin. I feel like they’d be such good friends. But that’s all I’m sensing here! And not only based on the little time he seems to have for her, but also in their chemistry; love him but I don’t really see them together 🫣🫣

“jagi i’m already up, just for you” my my he’s a literal DEMON!!😮‍💨

shirtless Jk+joggers+puffy hair+good morning kiss+pressing/grinding on her, I- 😫 ngghhh 🫠🫠literally would’ve handled things VERY differently, totally not in an adult way 🤭🥵

“sweet dreams jagi” I AM AT HIS FEET so so sooo sweet💘💘💘💘

Ahhh the wedding. With them messaging about it earlier, I imagine jungkook is also thinking about it! Ahhhh I sense drama!!

“Her eyes widen, as does her smile” MY HONEST REACTION Jajajajajja this jungkook will kill me!!!😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“And then I realized it’s stupid because it’s your job and it doesn’t mean anything. And it’s the same with Namjoon. He was just doing what he does. It didn’t mean anything. … None of it matters. Because at the end of the day, the only one I want is you, Kookie.” YES👏🏼👏🏼 thankyou!! 👏🏼👏🏼I was nervous bc he was jealous and so was her! Love that they comunicated (even when she was drunk af) and cleared it up asap. We don’t have time for miscommunication here!! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

I freaking LOVE that he is at her beck and call!! A man interested that has/makes time for you = HOT!!!!❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

YES THEY FINALLY FUCKED and oh my fucking god AGAINST THE WALL WITH RHE CHAINS ON ❤️‍🔥🥵🫠you - you want me dead. Consider it done. Lord help us, from sunny and from this Jungkook and his dirty mouth. “You like this? Me holding you like this, making you just fucking take it?” I am literally dead. “Come on, jagiya, I wanna feel you,” he wheedles, whining sweetly.” Wrecked. “I am looking, jagiya. You’re gorgeous, all fucked-out like this. Makes me wanna wreck you again.” No words just unholy thoughts 🥵❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥🫠🫠🫠🫠

God this series is soooooo good I am loving every single chapter!!💜💜💜💜💜

Paradise | JJK - Eleven

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: smut, neighbors to lovers (not quite friends but not quite strangers), slow burn, love triangle, Stripper!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, drinking, kissing, grinding, special guest appearances by Stripper!Namjoon and Stripper!Hoseok as well as Jimin and Taehyung, dirty talk, fingering, wall sex, slow fucking, mention of sex toys, the body chain returns, Jungkook is a smirky teasing demon (but what's new), Jungkook's stamina is insane, capitalism is a cockblock, gratuitous use of comic book character dog names, more dirty photos

Word Count: 16.4k (I'm sorry!)

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!

A/N: Sorry this one took so long! I thought about splitting the chapter but ultimately felt it worked best kept as one. I'm technically on a tumblr hiatus, but I finished this today and want to get it out there. I appreciate everyone's patience with this story - I can't believe it's been over a year already! I'm really trying not to have such lengthy periods between chapters, but muses are pretty fucking fickle.

Been excited about getting to this chapter for a while, so I hope you like it! 🥺

Unbeta’d as usual. Please don't be a silent reader, I’d love to hear from you! Taglist is open. 💕

Previous Chapter ♦️ Paradise Masterlist ♦️ Next Chapter

Friday morning arrives with a sense of relief. Not just for the end of the work week, but also for your run-in with Wendy last night and the tiniest possibility that you might have a way out of your job already. Would you seem too desperate if you emailed Wendy as soon as you logged on for work? It’s not like she didn’t understand your current situation - she left your company as soon as she could. But maybe you should wait a few days before reaching out.

The first thing you see upon logging in is an email from your boss, informing you that there will be a mandatory video call this afternoon for your entire department. The announcement is cryptic, only providing a time of one o'clock and a topic of “department changes.” This strikes you as ominous. Then you read an email from one of your coworkers that mentions whispers of possible layoffs looming at the end of this quarter.

You immediately open a blank email and start composing a message to Wendy.

The flowers that Jungkook gave you on your date last week are still sitting in a vase on your desk. Knowing you have a long day ahead of you, you pause long enough to lean over and breathe in, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the bouquet. The scent conquers up a memory of the soft smile on Jungkook’s face when you’d opened the door that night. The vision lingers in your mind as you dig into your work.

An hour later, as you’re fighting with a report that has your head aching with frustration, your phone trills, "Be still, my heaaaaart…”

Of course it’s not Wendy, that would be ridiculously fast for her to be calling already with news of a job opportunity, but you still have a split second of nervous excitement when it goes off. And then you see who is actually calling and grin anyway.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” a cheerful voice greets you. “Hey, Jin.”

“I hope it’s okay that I’m calling. I realize you’re probably working.”

“I am, but I could use the break.”

“Great.” There’s a sigh on the other end. “I’m glad you got home okay last night. I know you said you didn’t mind, but I feel like I should apologize for leaving you at the reception like that.”

“Oh, Jin, it’s fine! Really.” Okay, yes, you were rather disappointed that that’s how your night ended, but you couldn’t exactly blame him for jumping at a great opportunity. The Nosh execs were clearly trying to woo him, he would’ve been a fool to walk away last night, no matter the reason. Right? “Tell me how the drinks at Dionysus went!”

“Well, my agent and I are having dinner tonight with their head of marketing, if that gives you any idea…?”

“Jin! That’s fantastic!” There’s a chime from your laptop. Email from a supervisor asking if your report is finished yet. You stifle a sigh. “It sounds like they’re really excited to possibly work with you.”

“Apparently Hongjoong-ssi’s wife is a big fan of my show, and when he went home last night and told her we’d met, she freaked out!” His windshield wiper laugh makes you giggle. “Told him he’d be an idiot if he didn’t sign a deal with me. So I guess I need to give her a shoutout on my next stream.” He laughs again. “It’s a little surreal how quickly things are moving.”

“But it must be so satisfying, too.” If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Jin in the short time you’ve been dating him, it’s how hard he hustles. There’s something so admirable about the way he’s chasing his dream. Makes you wish you had one of your own to fight for.

“Well, I’m not complaining. But speaking of satisfaction…”

“Smooth.”

“Thank you. Listen, I still want to make last night up to you, if you’ll let me. What’s your weekend look like?”

“Um, tomorrow I have maid of honor duties in the morning, then I have a hot date with Jisoo.”

“Oh, really?” he hums.

“Mmmhmm. But I’m free all day Sunday.”

“Let’s go back to the hot date with Jisoo.”

Rolling your eyes, you grin. “Nothing that exciting, I promise you. I think we’re just planning on doing face masks and a movie or two. What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, there are plenty of things on my mind, if you’d like to know…”

“For our date, Jin, not for me and Jisoo.”

“I was talking about our date! What are you trying to imply?” His pitch rises in mock indignation before your giggles break him. “My offer to teach you how to cook still stands. Any interest in making dinner together?”

“Hmmm, free cooking lessons from an in-demand chef? Why would I say no to that?”

“Perfect. I thought maybe I could take you to see the site of the restaurant my business partner and I are working on. We can use the kitchen there, since it’s bigger than mine or yours.” As if the massive kitchen in his luxury condo would be too small for the two of you to work in. “I can give you a private tour before the place opens and the waitlist gets long.”

“You know, that brings me to an important question - how does it work when one’s dating the chef? Do I automatically get a reservation whenever I want, or…”

“You know I’ll take care of you,” he purrs, and you shiver at the sudden change in his tone. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“Oh, well, in that case…” you trail off, giggling. Your laptop chimes again. Same supervisor, same question. Can’t these people understand that you’re too busy flirting to work right now? “I gotta get back to work. Supervisors are stuffing my inbox.”

“Kinky,” he squeaks. “I suppose I should get up and get moving myself. I need to start planning a menu for Sunday night. Is there anything in particular you’d like to learn how to make?”

“Ummm… honestly, I am a true novice here, Jin. The most complicated dish I can make is a basic stir fry. So I guess… whatever you think would make for a nice beginner meal?”

“All right. I’ll take care of it. And then I’ll see you on Sunday - let’s say I’ll pick you up at 6?”

“Yeah. That sounds good.” A third chime. Your supervisor is really testing you today. “I’ll see you on Sunday, Jin.”

He murmurs a sweet goodbye, and you close your eyes, savoring the gentle tone of his voice before diving back into your report before your supervisor has an aneurysm.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of emails and spreadsheets. When noon arrives, you pad out to your kitchen to grab a granola bar and some grapes, too into the thick of things to want to stop and pick up a real meal.

At 12:30, there’s a jarring beeping next door.

You wonder if Jungkook slept as soundly as you did last night. That’s twice now that you’ve gotten an amazing night’s sleep thanks to your neighbor. He just seems to have the magic touch… even though he didn’t actually touch you last night. Didn’t seem to matter.

If only he didn’t have to work tonight. The offer he made to test Lil Jackson Wang’s range is super tempting, knowing he could put you to sleep with just a few deft swipes on an app, but you want more than just another restful slumber. Not that an orgasm wouldn’t be welcome, but… what you’d really like, tonight, or maybe right now, as you yawn and stretch, would be to fall asleep in his arms again.

Hmmm. Well now. That’s a thought you’ve not really had before. You’ve repeatedly found yourself daydreaming in the past few weeks about Jungkook, but typically in these visions the two of you are doing anything but sleeping.

Staring into space, you sigh, imagining being curled up in Jungkook’s warm embrace at this very moment. Picturing his messy bedhead and soft sleepy smile. Maybe you should’ve called out from work today. Then you could be experiencing this vision instead of simply dreaming about it.

Maybe you could try to convince Jungkook to take a sick day himself.

You grab your phone.

(12:45): I have a confession

Kookie 🦌 (12:45): morning jagi

(12:45): Good morning, I have a confession

(12:46): Something I’ve been waiting for years to tell you

Kookie 🦌 (12:46): fuck

Kookie 🦌 (12:46): keep talking

(12:46): I hate your alarm clock

Kookie 🦌 (12:47): not exactly what i was hoping to hear

(12: 47): Just had to get that off my chest

Kookie 🦌 (12:47): feel better?

(12:48): I do, actually. Thanks for listening

(12:48): What about you? Is your leg okay?

Kookie 🦌 (12:48): just woke up but feels ok so far

Kookie 🦌 (12:48): you want me to get rid of my alarm clock?

(12:49): Would you? I could replace it for you

Kookie 🦌 (12:49): i’m not going to say no to that

Kookie 🦌 (12:49): you can wake me up every day if you want

It’s funny how you can feel his smirk in his words.

(12:49): Not what I meant but

(12:50): Not opposed either

(12:50): Although I don’t know if I’d be any good at getting you OUT of bed

Kookie 🦌 (12:51): come over

Your stomach swoops at his response, and you shift in your seat, rubbing your thighs together, suddenly feeling needy. Just from two innocent words! What is this power that this man has over you?

If only you could go over there right now. Stupid capitalism.

(12:52): For what, practice?

(12:52): Make sure I can get you up?

Kookie 🦌 (12:53): jagi i’m already up

Kookie 🦌 (12:53): just for you

His next text is a photo.

You nearly drop your phone.

(12:53): I can’t believe I’m saying this but

(12:54): I have a stupid important call to jump on in a few minutes

(12:54): Like possibly career changing important

Three grey dots appear and disappear, over and over, making you frown. You just said you don’t have much time. What is taking him so long to respond?

A sudden knock on your door startles you off your chair.

Kookie 🦌 (12:56): let me in?

As soon as the door is open, Jungkook’s arms are around you. Your fingers curl into his thick hair, tugging him as close as you can, and your eyes flutter shut as he kisses you, pressing himself into you, and holy fuck do you regret not calling in sick today.

With a happy sigh, you open your eyes to find him smiling at you. “Good morning.”

He’s shirtless, just a pair of black joggers slung low around his hips, doing little to hide his current condition. His hair is in fact just as shaggy as you’d imagined, a dark cloud on his head, and his eyes are scrunched in happiness to the point that they’ve become thin crescents.

“Mmm, good morning, Kookie.” You sling your arms over his shoulders, keeping him close. His skin is so warm, heat radiating everywhere he touches you, and it’s all you can do not to just drag him into your apartment and straight into your bed.

Why can’t you do that, again? Oh, right. Damn responsibilities. Adulting sucks.

His cheeks redden a little. “I won’t keep you long. Just wanted to say hi.” His eyes fall to his hoodie, which you’ve cloaked yourself in again, and he yanks on the drawstrings playfully.

“Oh. Well. Hi,” you beam, and his eyes crinkle once more as his shy bunny smile makes an appearance. Fuck, how you love that smile. “Be honest. You just wanted to tease me.”

“Always.” The cute bunny disappears, leaving behind a smirky demon, who suddenly grinds into you, and you clap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from moaning loudly in the hallway. After last night’s vocal exercises with the toy, you really don’t need to annoy your other neighbors any further. “Don’t be late for your call, jagiya. And make sure you stay focused.”

You swat at his shoulder. “Fuck, you play dirty, Jeon Jungkook.” He just nods, looking way too pleased with himself, and you laugh as you untangle yourself from his embrace, pushing him away.

He grins as he strolls backwards towards his apartment. “Go on, get on your call. You said it’s important, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then good luck.”

After your meeting, in which your boss informs you that your department will be reorganizing, which is code for ‘downsizing,’ your coworker emails you again, this time to ask just what the hell was making you smile so much.

For the rest of the day, your phone barely leaves your hand. If Jungkook hadn’t already left his apartment while you were on your call, you might’ve been easily swayed to take the rest of the day off to hang out with him. But he had to head to the club to help Namjoon and Hoseok with a new routine they’ve been practicing. From the sound of it, Jungkook helps a lot of the dancers there to perfect their performances. You can’t blame them for wanting his help, replaying Jennie’s lap dance in your mind for the millionth time.

The conversation winds on and on, the two of you discussing anything and everything. Your annoyance with work. His latest commission (a portrait for one of the bartenders at the club). Your excitement about Jennie’s wedding.

When he sends you a photo of himself hugging Taehyung’s puppy, a guest at today’s practice, you make him promise to invite you the next time he dogsits. Then Jungkook mentions wanting a pup of his own, and together you brainstorm dog names that make you giggle harder with every increasingly ridiculous suggestion. Jungkook really likes Peter Barker, named after his favorite superhero, while you prefer M’Barku yourself.

After ordering some takeout for dinner, you crash on your couch for the evening. There’s a random movie playing on the big screen in your living room, but all your attention is focused on the tiny screen still glued to your hand. Even once Jungkook’s started his shift at Paradise, he pops in during breaks between dances. Every time your phone vibrates, there’s a matching flutter in your chest.

The previous night’s lack of sleep catches up to you, though, and soon you find yourself starting to drift off between Jungkook’s replies. He seems to be getting busier as the night wears on, taking longer and longer to respond. You close your eyes for a second, wondering if he’s performing the same routine again, with that same wicked smirk….

A thudding sound wakes you and you sit up with a start, realizing you a) fell asleep on your couch and b) managed to kick your tumbler off the end table in your sleep. You also discover that you’re still clutching your phone, and glance at the time. It’s almost three in the morning.

You have messages waiting.

Kookie 🦌 (11:21): you still there?

Kookie 🦌 (11:56): always falling asleep on me

Kookie 🦌 (12:45): sweet dreams jagi

Saturday morning arrives with sunny weather, a nice break from the gloomy cloudy grey of the week. Despite having slept most of the night on your couch, you feel pretty refreshed, even before you treat yourself to an iced coffee on your way to meet your friends for Jennie’s final wedding dress fitting.

The dress shop is a tiny boutique only a few blocks from your apartment. Halfway there, you cross paths with a man walking an adorable little beagle. The puppy stops to sniff your sneakers, so you snap a quick photo and send it off to Jungkook. Even though it’s early for him, the hour being before noon, he responds immediately, and you’re so distracted by your chat that you walk a block past the shop before realizing you missed it.

While the seamstress helps Jennie into her gown in the store’s only dressing room, you and the other girls mill about, flipping idly through the racks, catching up on each other’s weeks. Your friends are aghast when you talk about your evening with Jin and how he left you at the networking reception. Not even Lisa, the captain of Team Worldwide Handsome herself, thinks it was okay, even though you keep stressing how much it might’ve helped Jin’s career. But you just wave their concern away and change the subject, asking Rosé about her big date Friday night. Clearly, it went well, given the way she’s currently spinning about the room with a giant smile on her face.

“So then Namjoon and I were talking about our hobbies and I mentioned how I’ve been trying to take better care of my houseplants. You remember that orchid you got me for my birthday, Ji? Poor thing’s not doing so hot these days. He offered to give me some tips, because apparently he’s like an amateur botanist! He even said I could bring it over to his place. He’s got a tiny greenhouse out back, and he’ll nurse it back to health for me.” She beams. “Isn’t that cute?”

“Super cute!” Lisa confirms.

“Adorable,” you second.

“I couldn’t believe how sweet he was! Like, he was telling me how his halmeoni taught him about gardening, and he kept giving me this shy smile…” she dips her head, looking up at everyone bashfully, and giggles. “I swear to God, if our waiter hadn’t returned at that moment with our dessert, I was this close to leaping over the table and just eating him up.”

“Okay, you had an amazing time at dinner, we get it. Get to the good stuff,” Jisoo demands.

Rosé sticks out her tongue. “This is the good stuff! Some of us like to actually talk to our dates.”

“I talk to mine!” Jisoo retorts. “How else will they know what I want them to do?”

“I’m talking about having a real conversation, not giving out orders.”

“I have conversations!” Rosé scoffs and Jisoo’s eyes narrow. “I’m serious! I go deep!”

“That’s what he said?” you whisper to Lisa, who giggles and shushes you.

“Oh yes, I’m sure “Come for me” has led you to some very profound discussions about the human condition!”

“Actually, not that you need to know, but yes, it has!”

You and Lisa just roll your eyes as the two squabble. It’s nothing new. They love winding each other up and usually spar until one of them gets bored. Holding a floor-length white sequined dress up to herself, Lisa tips her head as she stares at herself in the mirror near the dressing room.

“So when do I get to meet one of Jungkook’s handsome friends?” She pauses. “Or Jungkook himself, for that matter?”

“You’ve met him,” you insist, and she shakes her head. “Uh. Haven’t you?”

“Not really. Just said hello in passing a few times.”

“Huh.” Apparently you were so used to seeing your neighbor around now, you’d just assumed your friends had all met him. “I guess I could probably see if he and his friends wanted to hang out sometime, if you all wanted to? Like I’m sure Taehyung and Jimin would be in if Ji will be there, and now Namjoon and Rosé…”

“Well, what about next Saturday? The wedding?” Rosé asks. Having abandoned their bickering, she and Jisoo join you at the mirror.

“What about the wedding?”

Rosé gives you a strange look. “Won’t we all get a chance to meet Jungkook there next week?”

“Oh. Um, I’m not sure how you’re gonna do that, since I don’t think he was invited?”

All three of your friends groan your name at various volumes.

“What??”

“Babe. Why haven’t you asked him to be your date?” Jisoo inquires.

“Well, for one thing, I didn’t tell Jennie I was bringing a plus one, and it’s a little late to throw one at her now…”

“Oh, please,” Jennie’s voice calls out from the dressing room. “You know if you want to bring Jungkook, we’ll find room for him! I just assumed you and Jin would be coming together?”

Jisoo snorts.

“Um, well, actually…”

Another chorus of groans.

“Look, I don’t want to make things awkward!”

“How would going with Jin be awkward?”

“I think she meant picking one over the other might be weird, Lis.” Rosé replies.

You sigh, rubbing your temples with the tips of your fingers. “I just don’t know what will happen if they’re both in the same room again. You remember what I told you about Jungkook when I ran into him at Dionysus, right? The way he reacted to seeing me on my date with Jin?”

“Oh yeah,” Jisoo hums as the others nod. “That was ridiculously hot of Bambi.”

Hot or not, it had left your head swimming. “Yeah, well, I’m not looking for a repeat. I mean, what if they get into some sort of argument or something?”

Lisa cocks an eyebrow. “You think they might fight over you?”

You shrug. “I mean, no. Not really. Neither of them seem the type to punch another guy over a girl.” Although Jungkook does seem to have a sharp tongue when he’s drunk. Would he say something rude directly to Jin’s face? How would Jin react? “I don’t think, at least.”

“Well, if you’re unsure, how about we not find out at my wedding?” Jennie suggests cheerfully. “Let’s just keep everything nice and neat and as drama-free as possible!”

Jisoo sighs. “Speaking of drama, Jennie, will you come out already? I think you’ve amped up the anticipation enough.”

“Okay, but only because you asked so sweetly, Ji.”

The kindly grey-haired seamstress reappears, throwing open the curtains to the dressing room, and Jennie emerges. She’s a vision in white, swathed in lace and satin, the train of her gown trailing behind her as she slowly approaches the rest of you.

“Jennie!”

“Beautiful!”

“Oh my god, you’re gorgeous!!”

A loud sob makes you all turn. As you watch with your mouth agape, Jisoo bursts into ugly, full-body-wracking tears. The rest of you coo and rush to hug her as Jennie shakes her head.

“You’re such a softie, Kim Jisoo!” She reaches into the scrum, careful not to get too close and wrinkle her dress, and squeezes Jisoo’s hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Just - just happy for you!” comes a muffled response from where Jisoo’s face is buried in Lisa’s shirt.

“She’ll be okay,” you assure Jennie, rubbing Jisoo’s back gently. “I’ll pull her back together tonight when we’re hanging out. But how do you feel right now? I’m honestly surprised you’re not in here crying with her.”

Jennie inspects her reflection, fingers straightening the lace over her bodice. After a moment, she catches your eye in the mirror. The smile that lights up her face is blinding, and for a second you’re afraid you might start bawling like Jisoo.

“I’m tempted to text Yoongi right now and tell him to get his cute lil’ peach down here so I can marry him this very minute. I can’t wait, I’m just so excited!”

The subject of your wedding date (or lack thereof) doesn’t come up again as the morning fades into afternoon. Your friends are more interested in showering Jennie with love. As are you. But it gnaws at you anyway, as you listen to your friends breathlessly discussing the upcoming ceremony.

Should you ask Jungkook to be your date? Would Jin get upset if you didn’t ask him? How weird would it really be to have them both there? Maybe you’re making a bigger deal out of this than you should.

God knows it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done that.

Jisoo knocks on your door around eight with a bottle of your favorite green grape soju in hand, dressed like she’s ready for the club - black crop top with a keyhole cutout over her chest, scandalously short pink leather skirt, hair pulled up in a high ponytail and eyeliner winged straight to the heavens.

“Holy shit,” you greet her. “You look amazing, but uhhhh maybe a little overdressed for a movie?”

She swans into your apartment, the heels of her boots clicking on the hardwood floor. “The movie can wait. It’s Saturday night. Time to get fucked up.”

“Uh.” The last time you got quote unquote ‘fucked up’ was the night you went to Dionysus, and recalling the morning after makes your stomach lurch a little. Following your friend into your kitchen, you watch as she pulls two shot glasses down from your cupboard, then pours you both a dram. “Okay. I’m not opposed to having some soju with you tonight, but the outfit still seems like overkill.”

“Babe.” Jisoo holds out your glass for you to take. “Obviously we’re going out. We’re too young and gorgeous to be wasting ourselves away on your couch tonight! Do you really want to deprive the world of this?” She waves her hand to indicate the two of you, and you look down at yourself with a raised brow.

“Actually, I think the couch is the only place for this,” you reply, gesturing to your clothes. Leggings and Jungkook’s hoodie. The sweatshirt has become your second skin at this point.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll take care of that,” Jisoo informs you. “We’ll find you something to wear. But first things first.” She lifts her glass in the air. “Geonbae!”

The liquor goes down so smoothly. For all her deadpan ability, Jisoo can’t stop herself from making a face at the tang of the shot. It’s the same face she’s made every time you’ve shared this soju over the years. A wave of nostalgia rolls over you, bringing with it all the memories of evenings spent drinking and laughing with your friend, and you throw your arms around her and give her a tight squeeze.

“I know it’s good soju, but this is a little much,” she mutters from where her lips are smushed into your shoulder.

“Sorry. I’m just really happy we’re hanging out. I’ve missed you.”

“Oh god, you’ve bypassed the funny drunk phase and gone straight to sappy reminiscing, haven’t you? Let’s get you some water, lightweight.”

Double fisting soju and water, you let Jisoo lead you into your bedroom. There’s no point in trying to argue with her about going out, so you don’t. At the very least, maybe if you get ready quickly, you can come home sooner than later. Sitting on your bed, you play dj and queue up some music on your phone while Jisoo stares at your closet in horror.

“There are just… so many hoodies. Why?”

“You sound like Jennie. And what’s wrong with hoodies, anyway?! They’re comfortable!”

Jisoo merely grunts while rifling through your clothes. For a few minutes, you just vibe to the music as your friend rummages, mumbling the occasional “What on earth” or “Oh, babe, no,” under her breath as she flips through the hangers.

“You know I can hear you, right?”

She simply shoots you a tragic look.

“Anyway… I noticed you didn’t say anything in the shop earlier about what you did last night.”

“Nothing to report. I stayed in.”

“Alone?”

Your phone buzzes.

Kookie 🦌 (8:15): matt murdog

Grinning, you glance at Jisoo, still elbow-deep in your closet, before replying.

(8:15): That one’s a bit of a stretch

Jisoo pauses, hands in mid-pull on a shirt you immediately veto with a shake of your head. “Yes. Alone. I’m not always out with someone.”

“Y’know, it seems like you haven’t been seeing a lot of different someones lately. Just Taehyung. Or Jimin. Or both.”

Kookie 🦌 (8:17): pupper potts

(8:17): Honestly, not the worst

(8:18): Woofsbane

Kookie 🦌 (8:18): deep pull

Kookie 🦌 (8:18): respect

Jisoo hasn’t said anything while you’ve been texting, and you put your phone down to watch her studiously skim through your clothing. “Is there anything there you want to tell me, Ji?”

She stops again, this time with a dress you haven’t worn in ages. You start to shake your head, then reconsider, gesturing for her to hand it to you. “If I had anything to tell you, I would. Don’t I always?”

“Yeah. I suppose you do.” Shimmying out of your clothes, you tug the dress over your head. It still fits, and if anything, looks even better now that you’re curvier than you used to be. “Is it me or does my ass look amazing in this?”

“It’s you.” Jisoo laughs, ducking the pillow you throw in her direction. “No, you’re right, you look fucking fantastic. I think we have a winner.” She pours another round of shots for you to tip back.

Settling in front of your makeup mirror, you smile sweetly at your friend. “Do my makeup? Please? I can never get my eyeliner to wing as perfectly as you do.”

“Flatterer.”

As Jisoo rummages through your makeup, you pour more shots. Jisoo clears her throat. “They were both working.”

“Huh?”

“Last night. Tae and Min were both at Paradise.” She gently swipes some color over your eyelids. “That’s why I was at home, alone.”

“I’m sorry, Tae and Min?”

“Stop smiling like that and hold still!”

But you can’t stop grinning at your friend as she frowns, trying not to poke you in the eye with a liquid liner. “You gave them nicknames? And sat at home alone because they were at work? Ji, are you even dating anyone else right now?”

Jisoo rolls her eyes. “Calm down, will you? Otherwise, your eyeliner is going to be less of a wing and more of a smear.” You hold as still as you can, despite the and she sighs. “No, I haven’t seen anyone else in a few weeks. Just Tae and Min, and yes, that is what I call them, and no, it is not technically exclusive. We’ve never discussed anything. I just… haven’t wanted anyone else.” She scowls. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” You glance in the mirror as she finishes your eyes, turning your face left and right to admire her skill.

“Like I have little cartoon hearts in my eyes. I’m not in love. But I am happy right now, and I don’t see any reason for that to change by bringing someone else into the mix. Or whatever. I just… I want them. And right now, I have them. That’s all I need.”

“Well, fuck.”

She arches a brow at your pithy response, and it’s your turn to sigh.

“I just envy you sometimes, you know?”

“Of course you do,” she drawls, flashing you a grin. “But what in particular is it this time?”

“The way you just know what you want, and go for it!”

Jisoo plops down on your bed, assessing you with one of her scrutinizing looks. “Okay, who got in your head now?”

“No one. I’ve just been thinking a lot lately. About what I want. Take work, for example. I’ve gotten stuck in this job because I’ve just gone with the flow for so long. I never intended to end up where I am, but the company kept promoting me, kept moving me around from department to department, and I just went along with it. I never really stopped to think about what I wanted.”

Your friend nods slowly. “And now you’re starting to?”

“Yeah. And there’s just so much to consider.”

“Is there, though?”

“What do you mean?”

Jisoo shrugs. “You said you didn’t think about what you wanted. So that’s all you need to do now. Just go for what you want.”

But you don’t know what you want. Isn’t that obvious? And even if you did, it’s not as easy as Jisoo makes it sound. For you, at least. For her, it is. Anything she’s ever wanted, she’s gone after. No second guessing, no worrying about what others might think or say, not stopping until she obtains whatever her heart desires.

When you don’t answer, she frowns, brows knitting together in concern. “Come on. It’s not that hard, is it?”

“I guess not. I just don’t know where to start.”

“Do you want me to try to help you? Or do you wanna keep drinking and forget your problems?”

Both, honestly. “Help. Help me please.”

Jisoo motions for you to join her on the bed. Curling your legs under you, you glance at the phone in your hand. No new messages. “Let’s play a round of rapid fire answers. I’ll ask you a few questions and you have to answer immediately, no thinking.”

Lifting your head, you give her a funny look. “This is going to help?”

“Yes. It’ll force you to bypass the portion of your brain prone to overthinking, where all the ‘what ifs’ dwell. Trust your instincts, and answer right away. Okay?”

“Fine. Why not.”

“Okay.” She nods, clapping her hands. “What’s better, spring or fall?” She speaks quickly, words clipped as she spits them out, and you answer just as fast.

“Spring.”

“Do you prefer pants or skirts?”

“Pants.”

“Favorite soju flavor?”

“Green apple.”

“Black or white?”

“Black.”

“What’s your favorite word?”

“Mellifluous.”

“Night or day?”

“Night.”

“Jin or Jungkook?”

“Jung - Jisoo!”

“Haaaa!” Jisoo claps again, either to end the questions or to applaud herself for her cleverness. “I knew it!”

“Fuck you, you don’t know anything! I was just in a rhythm.” Your lower lip slides out in a pout. She plucks it between her thumb and forefinger and you dissolve into giggles. Jisoo’s little game might not have helped you figure out your problem, but it did make you laugh, and you feel a little lighter now.

“Sure you were, babe. Also, mellifluous? Really?”

“I think it’s pretty!”

She grins. “As pretty as Jungkook?”

Your phone buzzes.

“Okay, who keeps texting you??” Jisoo snatches the phone before you can, eyebrows rising as she glances at the screen. She whistles before tossing you the device. “We summoned the sexy demon himself. Bambi says hi.”

You flip the phone over in your hands and suck in a breath. Jungkook sent you a photo of his wardrobe for his shift tonight. He’s wearing the body chain again, trailing beneath a low-cut leopard print shirt and tight satin pants. Low-cut doesn’t really do justice to describing the top, which is open all the way down to his navel. That familiar smirk is back, igniting a fire inside you.

“Speaking of nicknames… Kookie?”

Heat creeps into your face. “What? It’s cute!”

Jisoo snorts. “I guess he’s just too sweet, huh?” You resist the urge to whack her with another pillow. “You know, if you want to invite him to go out with us, I would be okay with that.”

“What happened to tonight being just the two of us?”

She shrugs. “I’m just saying. I might want to dance tonight, and I know you’d rather stick your tongue in an electric socket than dance.” She’s right. “He’d probably dance with me, at least. And he looks like he’s going out, anyway.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s actually his stagewear. He’s working tonight.”

“Mmm, I see.” She leans over to glance at the text again, but you tip the screen away before she can read the message he sent after the photo, not wanting to explain to her what he means by asking if you want to play with that app again tonight. “He sent you a photo the other day of his outfit for work, didn’t he? With the same chain?”

“Yeah.”

“So is this a regular thing, then?”

“I guess?” Trailing off, you turn your attention back to your phone, careful not to scroll back too far to the pic Jungkook sent you this morning. No need to share that one with anyone else. “We text. He sends photos. Is that so surprising? I mean, I am dating the guy….”

“You ever send any back?”

“Not yet.” It has crossed your mind, the idea of taking some photos of your own. But you’re not as comfortable in front of the lens as he is. And as long as he enjoys sending you these pictures, you’re sure as fuck not going to complain. “How am I supposed to compete with that?” You gesture to the screen.

“It’s not about competing? But also, have you seen yourself lately? You’re hot as fuck, babe. Stop selling yourself short.” She holds out her hand. “Let’s send him one right now.”

“Ji…”

She keeps her palm out, and you hand the phone over. You can always just delete it if you don’t like it.

“Ok, tuck your legs under you more. Yeah, like that. Now arch your back a little.”

“Seriously? I’m just sending him a photo, not working on a thumbnail for a camgirl vid.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

You grouse a little more, but you do as instructed. Jisoo hums happily as she snaps a pic.

“Oh, that’s perfect.”

She tosses the phone back and you blink. You actually look kinda… hot? Quickly, you send the photo off.

(8:27): Jisoo’s dragging me out tonight

(8:27): Save me?

“Fuck, I might need you to do a whole photoshoot, Ji. Did Tae teach you some tricks or something?”

She wiggles her brows and you roll your eyes.

“Forget I asked.”

“So does Jin ever send you any pictures?”

You shake your head, rising off the bed and grabbing your drinks, heading for your kitchen. “Nope. We’ve mostly just texted about making plans. He has called me a few times.”

“He calls you? Huh.” She snorts. “That’s surprising. You hate talking on the phone.”

“I mean, we haven’t really talked. They’re not conversations so much as us planning our dates.” Not that you’d really paused to think about it much, but Jin hasn’t reached out to you very often. Not like Jungkook has. Of course, communication goes both ways, and you haven’t texted Jin out of the blue, either.

But that doesn’t mean anything, really. Other than the group chat, you’re not much of a texter.

Usually. Except for the last few days. With Jungkook.

“Interesting.” Jisoo hums, and you sigh.

“Ji, enough with the questions! I thought you said the other day you were gonna let me figure this out at my own pace?”

“Figure what out?” The head tilt you give her makes her laugh. She knows you know exactly what she’s trying to get at with all these questions. “Okay, fine, I’m sorry! I just feel like maybe you know what you want, babe. You’re just afraid to voice it.”

Your head is starting to get that swirly sensation that drinking brings. You yearn to lean into it. “I think I’m going to need more alcohol if this is how the night is going to go.”

“That can be arranged.” She starts to pour another shot of soju, but your phone goes off, and she snatches it up instead, dodging your hands as she reads the message out loud.

Kookie 🦌 (8:29): goddamn jagi

Kookie 🦌 (8:29): if i were there you wouldn’t be leaving that bed

“I think he liked the picture,” Jisoo informs you while you chase her down the hallway, cursing your friend’s natural athleticism as she continues to sidestep you. “What should we say back - ooh, wait, what did he say now?”

Kookie 🦌 (8:30): take that toy with you and i’ll make sure you have a good time tonight

Her eyes widen, as does her smile, and you finally manage to grab your phone back, holding up a finger to silence her before she begins.

“Let’s get going and I’ll tell you on the way, okay?”

“Bitch, you better!”

With one last shot of soju, the two of you head out. Jisoo orders a ride, saying it’ll be cheaper to drive out to a bar on the edge of town where she knows the bartender so you can drink for free. You’re too tipsy to question her logic, letting the alcohol carry your thoughts away, hoping your worries will go, too.

Your driver is an older gentleman who politely ignores the two of you as you giggle in the backseat. True to your word, you fill Jisoo in on Jungkook and Lil Jackson Wang’s introduction the other night. Jisoo then regales you with a story of the time she wore a pair of vibrating panties to work, only for them to malfunction and get stuck on the highest setting while she was trapped between floors in an elevator with her boss. By the time the car stops, you’re snorting with laughter at Jisoo’s tale, too swept away in your delight to realize where you are, until you climb out of the vehicle.

To be greeted by the bright neon lights of Paradise.

“Um. Jisoo.” You stand and stare at the building in front of you. “What are we doing here?”

“I told you. I know the bartender here!” Jisoo’s smile is the smuggest of grins. “Come on!”

“You know the… are you kidding me?!” You drop your voice, grabbing her arm as she tries to walk towards the door. “You were talking about Jimin?!”

“Yes, I was talking about Jimin! Why are you whispering??”

“I don’t know!” you hiss back.

Truthfully, you don’t know. You’re caught off guard, not expecting to be here of all places. Although as well as you know your friend, you probably shouldn’t be surprised that she’d decided to bring you back here.

“Well, stop it, because it’s freaking me out.” Jisoo uses your grip on her arm to pull you towards the entrance. “I need a drink!” But she stops at the look on your face. “Uh-oh. What’s going on? Do you not want to be here?”

No, you very much want to be here. When it comes to want, at this moment, unlike earlier, there’s no confusion clouding your mind whatsoever. You want to walk straight through that door and find him.

The question is, should you be here?

Will Jungkook think it’s creepy or strange to have you show up here unexpectedly? It’s not like he’s your boyfriend or anything. Is it weird to visit someone you’ve just started dating at their place of work? Especially if they work at a strip club?

Fuck, maybe you’re overthinking things again. It’s enough to make you dizzy. Or maybe that’s the soju. Maybe you should ask the soju what it would do in this situation - go home? Or go inside?

You’re not sure who made the decision but suddenly you’re walking, gesturing for Jisoo to follow.

“Come on, Jimin’s not going to give me any free drinks if you’re not with me.”

The strip club is packed tonight, blue and pink lighting bathing the other customers in a vivid kaleidoscopic glow. Jisoo heads directly to the bar, propping herself against the counter. The pink-haired man behind it has his back to you, so Jisoo clears her throat until he turns around.

“Kitten!” Jimin smiles brightly, eyes crinkling in joy. Unlike the waiters here, Jimin wears a shirt, but it’s a black mesh top that leaves very little to the imagination. Your eyes dip a little to find “Nevermind” tattooed on his side. “Just give me one second.”

He turns his back again to finish whatever he’s concocting and you take advantage to catch Jisoo’s eye and mouth “Kitten?!” She flips you off before he turns back with a cocktail in each hand, placing them on a tray on the bartop before leaning over.

“Did you come to visit us?” Jimin purrs, fingers lightly tracing over the back of Jisoo’s hand. “I missed you last night.”

“Aw, poor baby. So you mean the video I sent wasn’t enough?”

Oh, you’re so texting the group chat later. But right now, you keep your gaze fixed on a drink menu, trying to pretend like you’re not hearing every word Jimin and Jisoo exchange. They appear to have completely forgotten you’re standing there. It’d be cute if it didn’t feel like they were two seconds from fucking on the bartop.

It occurs to you that that’s not beyond the realm of possibility of things they’re already done, and you delicately remove your clutch from the counter.

“You know it wasn’t nearly enough. Not when I could - “ Jimin whispers something into Jisoo’s ear, making the corner of her mouth curl. The heated look they share lasts so long, you start to feel like you’re intruding on something, and look away.

There’s no one on stage, a slight lull in the usual din as the crowd waits for the next act. As your friend and her bartender murmur quietly beside you, you scan the floor. There are several incredibly handsome shirtless men wandering between the tables, flirting and bringing drinks, but no familiar doe eyes to be found.

So he’s probably giving a private dance right now. That’s cool. That’s a good thing. Make that money. Your nose scrunches. The soju’s loud.

A dark-haired man slides up behind Jisoo, leaning over her and across the bar to grab a couple of drink umbrellas, and you hear, “Well, if it isn’t my favorite kitty cat,” before he moves towards you with a boxy grin. “And my dear friend.”

“Hi Taehyung.” With a smile of your own, you accept the hug he gives you.

“Hi angel. Have you come to see Jungkook?” Taehyung’s deep voice rumbles in your ear as he reaches past you to grab the tray of drinks. You try your best to keep your gaze from wandering too low, but it’s difficult when he’s standing next to you in naught but a tight pair of black leather pants and a smile. You do get a good eyeful of his toned stomach before you divert your gaze.

“She’s here because I promised her free drinks,” Jisoo answers. You catch a slight twitch of Jimin’s eyebrow at the word ‘free.’ “But if Jungkook happens to be around, I’m sure she won’t mind. Right, babe?”

Three pairs of eyes lock onto you. You feel like diving over the bar and hiding, for some reason.

“I mean, if he’s available…” you trail off lamely. Very smooth.

Taehyung surveys the crowd. “He’s out there somewhere. I’ll find him for you.” He flashes that brilliant smile again. “I know he’ll be happy to hear you’re here.”

“Thanks, Taehyung.” He nods and disappears into the throngs of drunken revelers starting to come alive again as another dancer takes the stage. The volume in the room suddenly doubles as people start shouting and throwing money, and you crane your neck until you can make out the figure on stage, spotting blond hair. Not him. With a sigh, you turn back to the bar.

“So, free drinks, huh?” Jimin inquires, smirking at Jisoo.

“Just a line to get her out of her apartment.” You’d protest, but there’s no point. Jisoo and Jimin are in their own world as she skims her fingers up his forearm. “You know I’ll pay. I wouldn’t deny you what you’ve earned.”

Another heated look. You can’t wait to torment her about this later. But right now, you’d like a cocktail and to sit down for a minute, so you bump her with your shoulder.

“Ok, kitten, can we please get our drinks now? I can’t stand in these heels all night.”

With your cocktail in hand - an Adios Motherfucker because they were strong as fuck the last time you were here - you spy a couple of customers vacating a table not far from the stage and claim the spot for yourselves. The rest of the crowd is busy cheering on the very cute blond man working it out on stage. His hypnotic hips have whipped the other patrons into a frenzy, and you and Jisoo happily join in.

“Yes, baby, take it off!” As he tears away his shirt and pants, Jisoo reaches into her clutch and pulls out some cash, tossing it in the direction of the stage. You watch her make it rain with an incredulous expression.

“Let’s give it up for Bang Chan!” the DJ booms, and the man on stage takes a bow before running off. The spotlights dim, the lights in the room coming back up, as the stage is cleaned for the next performance.

“Came prepared, huh?” Snatching one of the bills from where it fell on the table, you wave it in front of Jisoo’s face. “Be honest - were you planning on bringing me here all along?”

Your friend is the picture of perfect nonchalance as she shrugs, sipping on her whisky. “I just thought we could have some fun here tonight. It wasn’t something I’d considered when we made plans earlier this week. Just a spur of the moment decision.”

“But the cash?” Who carries cash anymore?

“Maybe I’ve started keeping some bills on me.” Her shoulders are up around her ears. “Just in case!”

“Just in case…” You trail off as you remember something she’d said in the group chat a while ago, about Paradise being a great place to take a date. Of course. She’s probably been here with one of her boys. Or both. Perhaps she comes alone, to watch them work.

That seems supportive, in a weird way. Or maybe it’s not weird. Maybe you just think it’s weird because now you’re wondering if you should be doing that.

Before you can fall any further down that thought spiral, Taehyung appears at your table. He places two drinks on the table, even though you haven’t ordered more yet, before he brushes his hand down Jisoo’s arm. “Are you ladies having a good time?”

“Of course we are.” Jisoo smiles up at the handsome man, letting her fingers glide lightly over his.

“That’s what I like to hear. But I’m afraid I have some bad news, angel.” You cock your head curiously as Taehyung gives you an apologetic smile. “Jungkook’s a little tied up tonight. He and a couple of the other dancers have been booked for some private parties.” He leans a little closer. “He was very disappointed that he couldn’t come out here and say hello himself.”

“Oh.” And just like that, your heart sinks, nearly knocking you breathless with how unexpectedly fast it dives. Well, of course he’s busy. Who wouldn’t want a dance from him? Or a whole evening of dances, apparently, if he’s been requested for a private party. Multiple parties, actually, if you heard Taehyung right.

There’s a tiny voice whispering in your head right now, filling your mind with all the possibilities of what’s happening in that room. The way he’s probably grinding up on someone, watching them with darkened eyes, teasing them with his moves. You try to shut the flood of images out but can’t.

Your gut twists sharply.

Oh god, you’re jealous, aren’t you? This is so stupid! It’s literally his job to do those things, to entice and seduce, and you know this, yet if you think about it another second longer, you might burst.

“Aw, I’m sorry, babe.” Your face must telegraph your dismay, because Jisoo finds your hand under the table and gives it a little squeeze.

Taehyung nods, warm hand patting your shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, even though Jungkook can’t see you right now, he’s still going to make sure you enjoy yourself.” With one last gentle touch, he winks at you both before sauntering away.

“You gonna be okay?”

Nodding, you drain the last of your drink and reach for the fresh cocktail. “I’ll be fine. I mean, of course he’s busy, right? He’s at work. It was nice of him to send us some drinks, at least.”

“Very sweet of him,” Jisoo agrees. “I’m still sorry, though. I just thought from all those messages from Jungkook earlier that he might like it if you stopped by here to see him. And vice versa.

Obviously, I didn’t count on him being so in demand.” She shakes her head, swirling the ice in her glass. “That was pretty dumb of me in retrospect.”

“Aw, Ji! Stop it.”

She ignores you, rambling on. “I thought we’d have a few drinks, watch a few dances, you’d go sit on your neighbor’s face in one of the champagne rooms. You know, have ourselves a killer night. But now it’s just the two of us.”

“Ji, that’s all I wanted earlier!”

“To sit on Jungkook’s gorgeous mug? I know.”

Smacking her arm lightly, you shake your head. “Fuck off, you know what I mean. I thought tonight was going to be just the two of us anyway. So don’t apologize.”

“All right, are we ready for more?” The speakers overhead suddenly buzz as the DJ addresses the crowd.

The room practically vibrates with anticipation as the lights go down again and the other spectators around you shout their response to the mc’s question. Okay. Sure. You’re sad that you can’t see Jungkook right now (don’t think about what he’s doing, don’t think about it), but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun, right? Just let it all go, all the thoughts and questions and worries, sit back, and enjoy the show.

“Well, it sounds like you’re ready, but I don’t know…” the DJ playfully responds, and the crowd whoops louder. “I’m not sure if any of you are ready for this next double act! Coming to the stage now, please welcome Hoseok and Joon!”

The platinum blond and the blue-haired man bound onto the stage, dressed identically in tight white buttoned-down shirts and even tighter black pants. Instead of heading towards the chairs that have been set up facing each other in the middle, they roam the edge of the stage, pointing into the fray.

“We’re going to need a few volunteers for this one. Is there anyone out there who’d like to help these two out?” From the audience’s enthusiastic reaction, you’d say that yes, there are a few people who would like to help. Just a couple.

Clapping your hands in glee, you grab your clutch, ready to fire off a text to Rosé, knowing she’s going to lose her mind when she finds out you’re about to watch Namjoon dance. But before you can dig out your phone, Taehyung reappears, placing a hand on both you and Jisoo’s backs.

“Ladies, your assistance has been requested. If you’ll please follow me?”

“What?” Eyes widening, you glance up at Taehyung, who smirks, prying your clutch from your grip and placing it on the table.

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch your things. Just come this way, please.”

Jisoo gives Taehyung a questioning look and he bows his head to whisper in her ear. She grins and rises. “Come on, babe!”

Taehyung offers you his hand and you take it, feeling confused. Neither you nor Jisoo had jumped up, trying to get the men on stage to pick you. As Taehyung pulls you to your feet, he dips his head to speak into your ear, to be heard over the yelling of the crowd. “I told you Jungkook was going to take care of you.”

Oh, shit. This is what he meant?

Well, all right. Why the fuck not? The first Adios Motherfucker has joined the soju spiraling through your system. At the moment, you feel pretty fucking good. Why not indulge in a lap dance?

Taehyung stops at the bottom of the stairs and helps you climb onto the stage until Namjoon steps forward, sliding your hand out of Taehyung’s and covering it with his own. “Hi, love,” he rumbles, leading you over to one of the chairs. “You ready to help me show this crowd a good time?”

“Absolutely!”

He laughs at your effusive response, motioning for you to take a seat. Instead of helping Jisoo onto the other chair, Hoseok sits, then pats his lap. Jisoo doesn’t hesitate, looping an arm around his neck as she perches on his thighs. They both look over at where you and Namjoon are as the music begins to play.

“Grind With Me” by Pretty Ricky thumps through the soundsystem as Namjoon drops to one knee. He’s still clutching your hand, lowering his plush lips to the back of it to gently kiss your knuckles. Then he glances up at you with a mischievous look, one of his dimples popping as he suddenly leans forward, burying his face in your lap.

You hear Jisoo hooting gleefully above the rest of the crowd as you cover your mouth with your hands. Hesitantly, you reach out for him, but he slides away, rising off his knees. He dances around the chair, trailing his hands along your shoulders behind you, before he appears in front of you again. With another smirk, he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, rolling the sleeves up as he dances, slowly exposing his forearms. LIke he’s about to get down to business.

And then he straddles you, rolling his hips, and you realize with embarrassment that the loud “Oh shit!” you just heard came from your own mouth. Namjoon winks down at you, grabbing your hands and placing them on his thighs. They’re huge. Like tree trunks, except you’ve never felt a tree flex like that as Namjoon moves. Did Rosé get her hands on them last night? She’s going to completely combust when you tell her about this tomorrow.

Namjoon body rolls himself backwards a few feet, reaching for the collar of his shirt. Rather than unbutton it, he simply tears it off, and both you and Jisoo shout as he tosses the ripped material into the crowd. He dances around you again, toying with the howling audience, throwing out flying kisses and winks, before he places both hands on the back of the chair.

“Come on, love, on your feet.” Again, he takes your hands, urging you to stand. Then he sits, pulling you into his lap. You rest your shoulder against his broad chest, and the spotlight shifts to Jisoo and Hoseok.

“By the way, thank you for setting me up with Rosé,” Namjoon murmurs into your ear as you watch Jisoo and Hoseok switch places, your friend settling herself comfortably on the other chair.

You give Namjoon’s shoulder a friendly squeeze as you nod. You’re about to ask him if he had a good time on their date last night when Hoseok tears off his shirt, whipping it over his head and directly into the audience. He spins around, coming up behind Jisoo’s chair, and you scream with laughter at the surprised expression on her face when he grabs her arms from behind, tugging on her wrists and guiding her to raise them over her head. Then he presses her hands to his chest, sliding them down the rippling muscles of his torso.

“Oh my god!” Jisoo shrieks as Hoseok whirls around the chair again, thighs astride hers. You’re dying, watching her reaction. Jisoo’s the queen of the poker face, but right now, there are a million micro-expressions flitting rapidly across her face as Hoseok takes her hands and puts them directly on his ass. He grinds himself into her lap, hips bucking as she grasps him through his skintight pants, and you know your other friends are going to be absolutely devastated that they’re missing this.

You’ve honestly forgotten that you’re part of this routine too, just having a hell of a time laughing at your friend, when Namjoon gives you a gentle nudge. “Okay, love, let’s switch.”

Once you’re back in the chair, Namjoon and Hoseok glide towards the center space. In unison, they launch into a series of sharp b-boy moves, popping, locking, and dipping down towards the floor. Your voice starts to crack as you cheer for them, catching Jisoo’s eye. She blows you a kiss, and you send one back, feeling nearly euphoric with joy.

But the routine isn’t done. The two men high five as they return to your sides. Still in unison, they both dolphin kick, pushing themselves off the floor with devious grins. Then they slide on their knees over to each of you, grabbing the sides of the chairs and shimmying their way up your bodies. Namjoon takes your hand and runs it through his hair and down his chest, and Hoseok does the same over his shoulder with Jisoo.

The look Namjoon gives you makes you giggle helplessly. It’s too hot, and you glance away, into the crowd -

- to find a pair of dark eyes gazing at you fiercely.

There’s a wild stutter in your chest as you realize that Jungkook is standing by your table, intently watching the performance. Is he done with the private party? Parties?

Namjoon suddenly places his hands on your thighs, lowering his head towards your lap again, and the shift draws your attention back to him. His hair tickles your bare legs and you shiver, giggling, looking back at Jungkook again, automatically seeking him out.

You expect to find him laughing at you. Maybe flashing that sweet bunny smile, nose scrunching in pure bliss at your reactions to Namjoon’s movements. But the expression you spy on his face knocks the wind from you instead. Eyes narrowed under a furrowed brow, mouth drawn in a thin line, jaw firmly clenched.

What the hell?? Is he mad? Or wait. He couldn't possibly be… jealous?

That makes no sense. As dumb as it was for you to get jealous earlier, it’s even stupider to think it’s also happening to him. After all, this was his idea! And even if it wasn’t, he knows this is all an act!

So why do you feel like his gaze is burning through you right now?

And why do you like it?

Instinctively, your thighs twitch, and you attempt to close your legs, but Namjoon holds them apart. “Keep these open for me,” you hear him say before he rises to his feet again and takes a step to your left. Before you can react to his strange instruction, you gasp as he launches himself into a headstand, the top of his head coming to rest on the chair.

Directly in between your legs.

There’s no more thinking about Jungkook, there’s only you screaming as Namjoon thrusts his crotch right into your face. How the fuck is he holding himself up like that? Just gripping the sides of the chair, veins in his forearms popping as his body undulates smoothly. The crowd around you has totally lost their minds, a hurricane of money flying into the air, fluttering in the lights illuminating the two men grinding upside-down over you and Jisoo.

Both men hurtle themselves out of their headstands, deftly landing on their feet before they turn back. Then Namjoon straddles you again, body undulating in time with the heavy beat, and you find Jungkook in the crowd again.

His expression hasn’t changed. Still so sharp. So intense.

A wicked idea comes over you. Maybe it’s time the teaser becomes the teased.

Slipping your hands around Namjoon’s waist, you urge him closer, tilting your head up to peer into his face, biting your lip as you do. He plays along, fingers pressing into yours, leading you to grab as much of his round ass as you can. “That’s it, love, help yourself,” he grins, making you toss your head back in unbridled laughter as he continues to wind.

But you don’t get a chance to see if Jungkook saw your reaction before Namjoon lifts you out of your seat, large hands cupping your thighs as he carries you to the edge of the stage. At this point, the only words you can say are “Oh my god,” which might explain why you’re chanting them over and over.

He lays you on your back, and you turn your head to see Jisoo lying next to you. She’s laughing hysterically as both men simulate fucking you, hips grinding into yours. Namjoon lifts your legs into the air, making your ass bounce with the power of his thrusts, and suddenly it’s Jungkook in your mind, the night of your date, when he’d danced for you. Tipping your head back, you look towards your table again, but from your upside-down point of view, Jungkook’s nowhere to be found.

The music ends and the room erupts into chaos again, more cash pouring onto the stage as Namjoon helps you to your feet. He gives you a big hug, sweeping you into his strong embrace, and you hug him back, a little loopy from all the thrusting. Jisoo slips her arm through yours as you make your way back to your seats, where Taehyung is waiting with a knowing smile.

“Enjoy yourself, kitten?”

You don’t catch her response, scanning the crowd. Where did Jungkook go? There’s no sign of him anywhere. Did he run out of the room? After giving Jisoo and Taehyung a minute, you clear your throat.

“I thought I saw Jungkook a second ago. Was he out here?”

“He came out for a minute to grab a few bottles of champagne for the next party,” Taehyung replies. Of course. He wasn’t done. He only had a second to watch before he had to get back. Totally explains why he didn’t wait.

Makes more sense than him being so jealous, he couldn’t watch any more.

But that look on his face….

“Water. I need water. Can you grab us a few glasses, Tae?” Jisoo flashes Taehyung a sweet smile and he nods, heading for the bar. She leans across the table and grabs your hand. “Okay, so, that happened.”

Despite the disappointment you feel yet again that Jungkook’s not around, you can’t stop giggling about what you’ve just experienced. It hits you that this is probably the routine Jungkook told you about earlier, the one he was helping Hoseok and Namjoon to perfect. If it is, he did a fucking bang-up job.

“Is my head supposed to spin after a lap dance? Because it is!”

“That just means they did it right.” Jisoo’s not a giggler, but she collapses onto her arms on the table, and you feel another bout of delirious laughter bubbling up inside you. “Holy shit, I thought Hoseok was going to hump me right off the stage!”

“I know! Fuck. If Namjoon’s stroke game is anything like his dancing, Rosé’s in for the ride of her life!”

“You’re definitely going to have to give Jungkook my thanks for that one,” Jisoo smirks. “Probably should thank him twice, actually, once for the both of us.”

“I mean, I guess,” you sigh dramatically. “If I must.”

The two of you cackle as Taehyung returns with two waters and two more cocktails. As you recover from your lap dance, downing more drinks, that euphoric feeling comes over you again. Thank god Jisoo dragged you out of your apartment tonight. You’re having the time of your life right now, swaying in your seat to the bass pounding through the club.

Eventually all the drinks you imbibe have you in search of the ladies room. Stumbling down a dimly-lit hallway, you realize you must’ve made a wrong turn somewhere, because you can’t find any doors. It’s nothing but purple velvet curtains lining the walls around you.

More than a little drunk, you trip over your own two feet and grab at the drapery to stop yourself from falling. The heavy material slides aside and reveals a door behind it. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re looking at one of the club’s private rooms. They must all be hidden behind these curtains. You’re definitely not in the right hallway.

Jungkook's behind one of these doors right now. Part of you wants to open them all up, poke your head in each one until you find him. Maybe it’s a big party he’s entertaining. Maybe no one would notice if you slipped in.

Oh, but you don’t want to sit in a room full of people and watch him dance. You want him to dance for you. Just you, and no one else. A private performance.

Well, you’re here. Why not ask for one? You just gotta find him first. Wait, what were you looking for again? Maybe that third drink was a mistake. Fourth drink? Shit. You need to pee. Better find the bathroom.

Turning to retrace your steps, you run into a wall. No, not a wall. A man.

“Jungkook!” you yelp, wobbling on your heels. Before you can tip ass over teakettle, he grabs you by the waist, pushing you up against one of the curtains, the velvet softly nuzzling your legs as his arms come to rest on either side of your head. You let your hands curl into the silk of his leopard-print top, helping to steady yourself.

“What are you doing back here, jagi?”

You hear his question clearly, but it takes you a minute to answer because you’re too busy admiring him. God, he’s so beautiful. The ends of his hair are damp, hanging in his face as he towers over you. There’s a bit of kohl liner smeared around his eyes, giving him a smoky look that takes him from gorgeous to out-of-this-world. And then there’s your little friend, that cute lil mole, decorating his pretty pink lips.

“Trying to find the bathroom,” you finally respond, giggling. “I think I’m lost.”

He merely nods, dark eyes wandering over your figure. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here tonight?” His left hand drops to your leg, rubbing the hem of your skirt between his long fingers.

“Didn’t know. Ji-Jisoo brought me here as a surprise.” You hiccup slightly, extending a finger to tap lightly on the lil mole.

“Oh. So you didn’t dress up for me, then?” There’s a hint of a sullen tone to his voice that makes your chest ache. You wish you had. You want to dress up for him. Just for him and him alone.

A shiver rolls through you as his fingers leave your skirt, skimming up the bare skin beneath. It’s either the Adios Motherfuckers ganging up on you or it's his touch that makes you blurt out, “Is your party over yet?” The chain of his body harness dangles over his chest, and you reach out, lightly grasping the metal links, winding them around your fingers. “I want a dance.”

“Oh yeah?” The silver piercings over his eye shift as he arches his brow. “You didn’t get enough on stage? Seemed to me like Namjoon-hyung was giving you more than you can handle. Although you were sure trying.”

More than you could handle? He has no idea how much you can handle.

“Is that so?”

Shit. You must’ve said that out loud.

“Yes. You did.” Jungkook chuckles as you stare at him, wide-eyed. “How drunk are you, jagi?”

“Dunno. A little.” Tugging on the body chain, you grin as Jungkook is drawn closer to you. The scent of his cologne curls around you, like an ocean breeze. The look on his face reminds you of his expression during your lap dance, and you sigh as you peer at him through lowered lashes. “You wanna know what I think?”

“What’s that?” His hand resumes its path, traveling around the outside of your thigh.

“I think you’re jealous.”

The hand stops. Jungkook exhales a laugh through his nose. “Jealous? Of what?”

“Of the lap dance. Of the way Joon was dancing on me. With me. To me?” What’s the right way to say that?

Actually, should you be saying any of this right now? It feels like you’re talking a lot.

“Joon?” The hand that was on your thigh is now gripping your hip. If anyone walked by and saw him with his hand this far up your dress, it probably wouldn’t be good for him. But he doesn’t seem concerned, so you figure you shouldn’t be either and say nothing.

“Namjoon. Whatever.” Flapping your free hand in the air, you go on. “Irregardless. The point is, you’re jealous. And it’s stupid.”

Even though you’re the one sloshingly full of alcohol right now, it seems like he’s the one struggling to keep up, based on the way he keeps repeating your words.

“It’s stupid.”

“Yes, it’s stupid! Like me. Like, I was stupid earlier, because I was jealous! I couldn’t stop thinking about you being back here, dancing and smiling and flirting and - and I didn’t like it.” Pouting, you drop your gaze to the body chain again, watching the light reflect off the links as you twist them around. “And then I realized it’s stupid because it’s your job and it doesn’t mean anything. And it’s the same with Namjoon. He was just doing what he does. It didn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter if he dances for me, or if Hoseok does, or Taehyung. None of it matters. Because at the end of the day, the only one I want is you, Kookie.”

Wow, that was a lot. The words just sorta wouldn’t stop, just pouring out of you without any thought. Like they’ve been floating around in there for a while now, waiting to be said.

Maybe you’ve said too much, given how silent Jungkook is in the wake of your babbling. Not that you really notice. You’re hypnotized by the movement of his chest underneath your fingers. His breathing seems to have sped up a little at your speech. Rise, fall. Rise, fall.

“Jagiya.” His voice is husky when he finally speaks. “Just me?”

You nod, mesmerized by the way the harness glitters as you twirl it. “Just you.”

He’s quiet again for a moment before he sighs. “I wish I could dance for you tonight. But I’m not free yet. There’s another party coming in.”

“Fuck. You’re super popular, huh? You stay booked.” Humming, you tug on the chain again. “So when do the parties end?”

“Late.” Gently, he covers your hand with his own, untangling your fingers from his harness. Your lip puffs out further, a wordless whimper sounding from your chest. You don’t want to let go, you want to pull him into one of these rooms and ride him like - like -

“Like what?” Jungkook smirks, fingers slipping under your chin to raise your head. “Ride me like what?”

“Wow, okay, I think I might be more than a little drunk,” you confess, staring into his eyes again. In the low lighting of the hallway, they seem to sparkle.

“Yes, you are.” He traces your cheek with a tatted knuckle, and you nuzzle into his touch, leaning forward with pursed lips, but instead of kissing you, he tucks your arm into his and guides you off the wall. “Come on, jagi. Let’s get you back to Jisoo.”

“Noooo, Kookie, I want a dance!” But the haze of lust is burning off, replaced by the nagging pressure of your bladder, and you let Jungkook lead you back to your table, where your friend cracks up before rising to her feet.

“Oh, babe, you’re a mess. Let’s find the bathroom together. Thank you, Jungkook, I’ve got her from here.”

Jungkook nods. His hand rests on the small of your back for a minute before it falls away. “Make sure you drink some more water, okay, jagi?” he murmurs to you. Then he nods at Jisoo again. “Enjoy the rest of your night, ladies.”

And then Jisoo is dragging you away, but when you glance back, you find him still standing there, surrounded by cheering patrons and flashing lights, eyes focused only on you.

You can’t sleep.

It’s been an hour since you and Jisoo left Paradise. After Jungkook escorted you away from the private rooms, Jisoo decided you’d had enough fun for one evening. She made you drink a glass of water, brought you home, made you drink another glass, then tucked you into bed. You’d offered her your couch for the night, to save her the trek home, but she’d waved you off.

“No need, I have a key to Min’s place.” And with one final exasperated “Stop giving me that look!” she left.

And now you can’t sleep.

It doesn’t help that every time you close your eyes, you picture Jungkook’s intense stare. The end of the night is a bit of a blur. You remember running into him in the hallway, remember him having his hands on you, remember wanting to jump him then and there, but everything else about your encounter has washed away with the alcohol. But that look on his face from when he watched your lap dance burns just as brightly in your memory now as it did at the club.

It’s keeping you awake. It makes no sense. Between the long day and all the drinking, you should be exhausted. Not fired up. Ready to ignite.

Why can’t you get that look out of your head? It’s the smirk all over again.

Goddamn it, go to sleep.

…

Well, yelling at yourself isn’t working, so you kick off your sheets with an angry grunt and shuffle towards your living room, yanking Jungkook’s hoodie over your thin satin camisole and shorts as you go. You don’t bother to turn on any lights. Maybe scrolling endlessly through your streaming queue for a while will lull you into slumber. It works most nights.

Naturally, it’s not working now.

Tonight, no matter how long you flip aimlessly through the options, there’s no tricking yourself into sleep. Eventually, you pick something old to watch, an romcom so treasured that you can recite the lines along with the actors. It’s so easy to lose yourself in a silly story like this, one where it’s completely inevitable that the leads are going to get together but you fall into it anyway.

As the credits roll, you pick up your phone. Put it down. Pick it up. Unlock it. Lock it. Put it down.

Inhaling deeply, you breathe in the scent of the ocean. A trace of Jungkook’s cologne lingers in the hoodie.

You pick up your phone, unlock it, open your texts, and fire off five words.

(2:14): Are you still at work?

A quiet creeps over the room again, a stillness matched by the static image of the movie on the screen, asking if you want to watch again or return to your queue. But despite the calm hush, you’re on edge, fingers tapping, pulse racing while you wait for a reply.

Will he respond? Maybe he already left. He’s probably hungry, might have gone to grab some food. Maybe he’s hanging out with the other dancers.

Maybe he left with someone el-

Bzzt! Bzzt!

Kookie 🦌 (2:16): shift’s over. having a drink with hoseok

Kookie 🦌 (2:16): you’re still up?

(2:17): Yeah

(2:17): Can’t sleep

Kookie 🦌 (2:18): need some help?

Kookie 🦌 (2:18): been waiting to play with that app again

No. No toys tonight. You want him.

(2:18): Kookie

(2:19): Come over

His reply is immediate.

Kookie 🦌 (2:19): on my way jagi

As if he were currently just down the hall and not all the way across town, you jump up off the couch, running into the bathroom, pleased to find that you don’t look like a total wreck after the evening you’ve had. You brush your teeth again, then dash into your bedroom, rummaging through the bedside table until you find the box of condoms stashed in there, making sure they’re close at hand.

Halfway down the hall, you turn around, go back to the box, and stuff one in the pocket of your shorts. Just in case.

You know it’ll take him some time to get here. But you’re too keyed up to wait on the couch. So you pace instead. There’s a clap of thunder in the distance. As you roam your apartment restlessly, it starts to pour, heavy drops rapping loudly against the window in the kitchen. Tiny rivulets of water run together, forming large streams that snake their way down the glass while you watch, trying hopelessly to distract yourself again.

It doesn’t work, and when the knock comes, you’re already waiting by the door.

Even without the flash of lightning that lights your apartment, there’s a charge in the air as you and Jungkook stare at each other. His dark hair is damp, ends clinging to his face, and his clothes drip on the hallway floor. He must’ve gotten caught in the storm on his way out of Paradise. Maybe he rode his bike in the rain again. You hope he was careful, but you get the feeling he rushed over here as quickly as he could.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rumbly and deep.

‘Hi,” you reply softly, fiddling with the knob as you lean against the door, suddenly incredibly conscious of your hands, not knowing what to do with them. You want to bury them in his hair, but you’re frozen under his gaze, waiting to see what he’s going to do.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, eyebrow lifting in curiosity. “Are you still drunk?”

You shake your head. Stone cold sober now. Nothing but anticipation flowing through your veins, though you find that’s almost as heady as alcohol. “No.”

“Good,” he sighs, sounding relieved, and then he’s on you.

One of his hands slides around your back while the other cups your chin, and then his mouth finds yours, hungry and desperate. He nibbles at your bottom lip, teeth sinking into the plump flesh, then sucks it, tongue brushing away the sting. Keening, you hold him as closely as you can, hands wandering over the broad planes of his chest, clutching at the soaking material that covers him. He’s so warm. Or maybe that’s you, aflame for him.

“Jagi,” he hums, leaving a trail of kisses along your cheek, “Can I come in?”

“God, yes, come in.” Curling your fingers into his hoodie, you walk backwards, pulling him into your apartment. His greedy mouth follows quickly, whining impatiently until he’s across the threshold and the door is shut behind him and then he’s on you again, kissing you fast and hot and breathless.

You keep shuffling backwards, leading him down the hallway to your bedroom, but it’s slow going, because you don’t for one second want to part from his mouth. Jungkook clearly feels the same sense of frustration you do, because his hands slip beneath your thighs to hoist you into the air. Gasping, you lock your legs around his waist, digging your fingers into his shoulders to hold on tight as he suddenly turns, pressing your back into the wall.

“Do you feel that?” He rolls his hips up into your spread legs, and you moan, feeling him rubbing against you. He’s rock hard. “Been like this ever since you texted.”

His mouth latches onto your neck as he ruts against you again. With you pinned to the wall by his torso and hips, his hands are free to roam, and they paw at your sweatshirt, searching for the soft skin underneath.

“Too many clothes,” he mutters, and then he’s tugging his sweatshirt off of you, dragging your tank top with it. He tosses the offending items to the floor. The vent overhead blows cold air across your skin, making your nipples pebble as Jungkook’s hot hands grope your bare breasts.

“You too,” you pout, grabbing a fistful of his hoodie and trying in vain to peel it off of him, but he refuses to let go of your chest long enough to raise his arms. “Jungkook! Take it off!”

He just grunts into your collarbones as he kisses his way across. Undaunted, you keep tugging until he mutters, “Aish, okay!” and reaches behind his head to pull the sweatshirt off in one swift motion. He barely jostles you, keeping you pressed to the wall with ease, and you marvel at his skills. Probably more tricks learned at Paradise.

Warm metal brushes against your chest. Fuck. He’s still wearing the body chain.

“Better?” he huffs. You nod, running your hands over his soft skin. Your fingertips brush over one of his nipples, and he whines, a high-pitched noise that makes you clench involuntarily. God, you want him so bad.

He grinds into you again, swallowing your gasp with his kiss. His tattooed hand grips your knee, slips up your thigh, and under your shorts, fingers not stopping until they find exactly what they’re looking for.

“Jagi,” he hisses, dropping his head to your shoulder. “So wet. Always so wet for me.”

“Always,” you moan as your lips brush over his ear. He shudders, sliding his finger along your slit. Applying just the right amount of pressure to make you buck slightly, urging him inside. “Please, Kookie.”

He groans, pushing one long finger into your folds. “You drove me fucking crazy tonight. Sending me that photo. Wandering around Paradise in that little dress. Just wanted to pull you into one of those rooms.” His finger strokes your tight inner walls. “Touch you. Taste you. Let you ride me like you said you wanted.”

A second finger enters, joins the first in rubbing away. Meanwhile, his thumb circles around your clit before flicking over the sensitive nub. Your head kicks back against the wall as a jolt shoots through you. Struck by lightning. His husky laugh is the peal of thunder in its wake.

“Next time, jagi,” he continues, “next time, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Take you in a room and make you fall apart.”

His fingers start to pump, and oh, he feels like heaven, fucking you open with a fervid urgency. Like he’s just as impatient as you are, just as eager to bury himself inside you as soon as he can. As soon as you’re ready for him.

“J-Jungkook,” you stutter, nails digging into his arms as you cling blindly to him. “More. Please.”

“You want more?” He licks his lips, tongue pulling the kiss-swollen bottom between his teeth as he adds a third finger. “I’ll give you everything. Whatever you want.”

The two of you are panting, filling the air with hot exhalations and grunts, mixing with the lewd squelching between your legs to create an obscene cacophony. As talented as his hand is, it’s not enough, just has you losing your mind with desire for more of him. For all of him.

Your words come out a broken mewl. “Want you, Kookie, just you. Please!”

“Ah, jagi, don’t say shit like that unless you want me to fuck you right here, just like this,” he groans, eyes closing.

“Kookie.” Groaning his name, you grasp his chin to tilt his head until your gazes meet. “In my-my right pocket.”

He glances at you questioningly, but as his left hand slips into the silky material, his expression shifts, eyebrow rising as he hums. He pulls out the condom and his right hand withdraws. Your feet hit the ground. “Shit, that’s what you want, huh? Right here? Now?”

“Fuck yes, please!”

In an instant, his joggers are around his ankles, your shorts are on the floor, and the empty condom packet flutters to the ground. You watch as he sheathes himself, hurriedly rolling the thin rubber over his already leaking cock. He grabs your thighs, picking you up again, pushing you up the wall until you can feel his tip rubbing through your dripping folds.

His hand reaches between you and grabs yours, guiding you to grab the silver links that dangle down his chest. Immediately, you loop the body chain around your fingers.

“Hold on, jagi,” he murmurs as his face hovers close to yours. His lips quirk into that familiar smirk. You bite your lip, waiting.

And then he slides into you, burying himself to the hilt.

“Fuck.” Your shaky moan elongates the word, turning it into an entire sentence. An entire song. Jungkook slowly draws back and then thrusts in again, prompting another moan. Another melody. He does it again, and again, building up to a steady pace, making you bounce. “Oh, fuck, Jungkook!”

“That’s it, jagi. I wanna hear you.” His hands squeeze your thighs, kneading the flesh as he pins you to the wall with his pistoning hips. “Those moans sound so much better without that fucking wall in the way.”

“Hnnngh,” comes your response. Your free hand roams over his shoulders to lock into the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Fuck!”

White-hot pleasure roils in your gut. That fierce look is back on Jungkook’s face, sweat starting to drip from his brow. His stamina is insane. The fact that he’s holding you up like this while pounding into you like a wild beast rutting away… well, it would blow your mind, but his powerful strokes are already doing that.

“You feel so good, baby, shit,” he growls through gritted teeth, dark eyes staring at where he disappears into your welcoming heat over and over. “Such a tight little pussy. Wanna fill it up. Leave you dripping with me.”

“God, fuck, Kookie, your mouth.” Dirty talk drives you crazy, and this man does it so well. Of course he does. He lives to tease you, to wind you up in every way he can. “So filthy.”

The sound of him fucking into you is just as filthy, between the wet slap of his thighs hitting your ass, and the needy exclamations dropping from your lips. These only increase as he tilts his hips just right, curved cock hitting your g-spot.

“Jungkook!” you gasp, feet flexing, legs starting to tense around him. Reading your reaction, he does it again, and shit, you might actually come just from his cock.

“Can’t help it.” His sweat drips onto your chest, rolling down the valley between your breasts. His right hand comes up to wipe it away before he rubs his thumb over your lips. “Need to tell you how you make me feel. Tell you how fuckin’ good you’re taking me.”

He presses the tip of his finger into your parted mouth, and you obediently suck him in. He groans lowly as your tongue swirls around his thumb a few times before he pulls it back out. It disappears between you, to land on your throbbing clit.

”What about you, jagi? How ’m I making you feel?” He thrusts hard, bouncing you further up the wall, and your eyes roll back in your head. Light reflects off the gleaming body chain with every rebound. You haven’t let go for a second. “You like this? Me holding you like this, making you just fucking take it?”

“Fuck, yes, Kookie, so good!” The fervor with which he fondles your clit is nothing short of relentless. You’re burning up, ready to burst into flames. “Ah, ah, give it to me!”

No one’s ever fucked you like this before. His movements are so raw, so primal. That feeling from earlier is back - the sense of urgency. Of need. And you feel it too, this untamed desire, surging through your veins, setting every inch of you on fire. All you can do is hold on to him, fingers gripping sweat-soaked skin and metal, lips seeking his again and again. You’re pinned to the wall, completely at his mercy, and all you want is more.

“Come on, jagiya, I wanna feel you,” he wheedles, whining sweetly. “Come on this cock for me. Show me how much this pretty pussy likes this.”

His chin tilts up, mouth capturing yours in a sloppy kiss, all tongue. Saliva coats your lips, spills down your chin. Between the sweat, the spit, and your arousal, you’re a sopping mess. You don’t give a single goddamn. All you care about is him.

“Ahh!” With a wordless wail, your climax arrives. Cunt clamping as your clit twitches, pleasure racing through your body with every beat of your madly thumping heart. Jungkook snarls as your walls grip him tighter, but he doesn’t stop, still pumping away as you ride out your release.

“Jungkook,” you gasp when your lungs finally refill with air. “Come on, fill me up, Kookie. I want it.”

He whines, kissing you frantically. When his tongue traces the inside of your mouth, you massage it with yours before sucking so hard your cheeks hollow. His body tenses, and with one, two, three hard pumps, he spills into the condom, cock twitching as he breaks the kiss to moan your name.

Heavy breathing fills the hallway as his hips finally still. He drops his forehead against yours as yours for a few seconds, and then he relaxes his hold on your thigh, helping you ease your legs down until you’re standing on your own. Well, your feet are technically on the floor, at least, but the wall is doing all the work as you lean against it, knees a bit wobbly.

You already miss the feeling of him inside you.

Jungkook seems to be catching his breath already, and you marvel again at his endurance. If that vigorous fucking didn’t exhaust him, then what exactly would it take to tire him out?

That’s a thought for another night, when your legs don’t feel like they’re about to collapse.

“Jesus fuck,” you declare loudly.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “Is that a happy curse, or…”

“Yes. It’s happy. I’m happy.” You beam at him, wiping sweat from your forehead, your cheeks, your stomach. “I’m a fucking mess, Jungkook, look at me!”

He steps forward, arms wrapping around your back. “I am looking, jagiya.” This time when he kisses you, it’s a slow, lingering caress. “You’re gorgeous, all fucked-out like this. Makes me wanna wreck you again.”

“Mmmm,” you hum, leaning back. “I don’t know if I could handle that.”

“Oh?” Goddamn, will you ever get over that sexy smirk? “That’s not what you said earlier. You made it sound like you could handle anything I could give you.”

“Well, that was then. I’ve never been manhandled like that before!”

“Manhandled?” Oh no. Oh, you don’t like the look he’s giving you now. Like you’ve just challenged him. “You want manhandled?”

Your neighbors are definitely awake now, based on the volume of your shriek as Jungkook bends and slings you over his shoulder. You instinctively flail your arms, seeking something, anything to hold on to, but it doesn’t matter. He’s got a firm grip on your legs, keeping you locked in place. So that’s how he carries you to your bedroom, upside-down, ass pointing at the ceiling. He delivers a sharp slap on one of your cheeks, just enough of a sting to surprise you, and you screech before starting to giggle.

He tosses you lightly onto the bed before he disappears into the bathroom, returning without the spent condom. You giggle again as he crawls over you, kissing his way up your stomach and over your breasts. Cupping his face, you urge him closer, pressing your mouths together in a slow burn of a kiss, a kindling flame that grows hotter and hotter until you’re both panting, desperately pawing at one another.

He’s ready to go again and so are you, and you tear yourself away from his hungry lips long enough to reach into your nightstand and find what you need. Once he’s sheathed, he’s inside you again. But now his thrusts aren’t frenzied or hasty. Now, he strokes into you slowly, taking his time, groaning brokenly as your tight walls hug his aching length. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands to the bed above your head as he fucks you like he has all the time in the world, and he’s going to use every single second to give you all the pleasure he can.

You arch your back, meeting his movements with your hips, taking him as deep as possible. Trying to make this good for him, trying to deliver just as much satisfaction with every tilt, every clench. Without your hands, you can’t pull his face to yours, and you have a delirious need to kiss him, taste him, claim his mouth with yours. You whimper, tipping your chin up, and somehow he understands your pitiful whines and slots his lips against yours.

This time, your orgasm doesn’t smash into you. This time, it builds, until it overwhelms you, takes over, wipes your mind clear of all thoughts, all sensations, everything except for him. Your body hums like a guitar string, stretched so tight, strummed by his beautiful hands, ringing out one single note.

“Jungkook!”

He kisses you as his hips stutter, cock spurting hot and white inside you. He doesn’t pull away when his high finally passes, but lies on top of you, head nuzzling into your shoulder. Your hand finds the nape of his neck again, twists the sweaty strands of his hair. It’s a comforting weight, his strong body covering yours. You can’t explain it, but you like it.

Which is why you pout when he finally props himself up on an elbow to gaze down at you, a soft smile on his face.

His bright eyes will be the death of you.

“Are you in need of more manhandling?” he asks.

You laugh, a full, body-shaking belly laugh that jostles him and makes him grin even more brightly. “I think I’m good right now, thank you.”

He rolls onto his side, slinging an arm over your hip as you turn to face him. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

The rain taps a soothing rhythm on your bedroom window as you consider everything running through your mind at the moment. Should you call it a night and get some sleep? Does he want to take a shower first? Maybe together? Do you think you could go for a third round?

But instead of answering him with any of these, what you say is,

“Are you free next Saturday?”

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

Taglist 1: @claricedelune; @teresaisla; @sadxaries; @httpfandxms; @lavienjin; @lovelyfreshfestival; @shadowmoon21; @bangtannoonalvg; @yoonchrisgull; @misohime; @btswithlov; @dasexydevitt13; @nabiolive; @travelleratheart101; @hannahbee12719ficrecs; @reliablemitten; @thataquariusreader; @rumpucis; @moonchild1; @helenazbmrskai; @uselessmags; @kissme-ornot; @kirapaige; @loosewindmill; @synnfulqt; @motscult; @vantxx95; @missbickerbocker; @pperpetuum; @angellife133; @a-beautiful-resident-from-hell; @akane82; @oneposhgirl; @shesoldbutcute; @bobbyboops; @fairy-jaykay: @itsinherited; @hellojeongkook; @jinsearthh; @dntaewithluv; @moonacholy; @music-makes-me-shine; @tucajitadepandora; @schizopasithea; @theestrangeddreamer; @po-tae-tos; @jikookiekosmos; @byunniebaekhyunnie; @pixiefaery

If your URL is italicized, that means tumblr won’t let me tag you! 😤 Check your settings!

687 notes · View notes