"He was restrained, I was tempted-yet in the quiet tension between us, we both burned."

Y/N'S POV

I laugh internally. How ironic-I'm not even remotely drunk. Plan? A success. He hasn't moved a muscle since I threw myself at him. But if I want the second phase of my plan to work, I need him to stop freezing like a deer caught in headlights. Although, I must admit, it's rather endearing. I suppose I can be patient.

"I'm tired, Jungkook," I murmured into his ear, my voice carrying the weight of an exhausted plea. I don't miss the way his skin reacts, goosebumps forming in my wake. "Take me home," I whisper, so close to his ear that my lips almost graze it.

That's all it takes. Like a man shaken from a trance, he immediately straightens to his full height, his movements careful, deliberate. His strong arms wrap securely around my waist, but-annoyingly-he makes a point of avoiding my lower half entirely.

I frown. How utterly disappointing. I went through all this trouble-dragging myself to this club, executing my plan to perfection, even drugging a man's drink (not literally, of course) just to capture his attention-and he won't even place a hand on my ass? Well, no matter. The night is still young.

As he strides towards his car, each step slow and measured, I feel the rough edge of his belt buckle graze against my inner thigh. A shiver courses through me, unbidden. My mind betrays me as it wanders, wondering what state he's in beneath his jeans.

"Cold?" His voice is strained, hushed-barely more than a whisper.

Oh, he's definitely hard.

"Yes, I'm so cold," I whimper dramatically, burrowing closer into his warmth. "And you're so warm."

My words do precisely what I intend. His grip tightens instinctively around me, pulling me flush against him as he continues down the street.

We don't make it far before an unfamiliar voice interrupts us. A woman approaches, her presence barely registering in my mind until she taps his shoulder-the one my head isn't occupying. She leans in and whispers something that makes me internally cackle.

"Your girlfriend's ass is out."

"Oh, fuck," he mutters, his whole body tensing.

I feel the warmth of his hands as they skim lower, an attempt to tug my barely-there skirt down, but it's a futile effort. The fabric stubbornly refuses to cooperate, riding up with every step he takes.

Good. That's precisely the point.

It was a strategic purchase, after all. Though, I must admit, I also thought it was a rather adorable outfit.

"Just leave it," I murmur lazily.

"But-Y/N, everyone will see-" He sounds genuinely distressed now.

"Cover it with your hands, then," I suggest, biting back a smirk.

His Adam apple bobs visibly in his throat. Hesitation lingers in the air, but predictably, he complies. His large, warm hands settle over the exposed skin, shielding me from prying eyes.

I turn my head just enough to meet his gaze, my lips curling mischievously. I knew he wouldn't refuse.

Unfortunately, the fun is short-lived. We reach his truck, and the moment he unlocks the door, reality creeps back in.

"I'm going to put you down now, alright?" His voice is hoarse, edged with something he's trying desperately to suppress.

I nod, letting my voice slip into something soft, something fragile. "Okay."

He lowers me carefully into the passenger seat, his hands lingering just long enough to adjust my skirt-this time for coverage, not temptation. Every fleeting graze of his fingers against my skin sends a new wave of heat through me. God, I'm getting wetter by the second.

Too soon, the moment ends. He leans across me, fastening my seatbelt with a practiced ease before retreating into the driver's seat.

The ride home is silent. Or, at least, it is for him. I, on the other hand, am deep in performance mode. I keep my head tilted, eyes fluttered shut, feigning sleep like my life depends on it.

When I hear the familiar crunch of gravel, I know we've arrived.

The engine cuts out. Moments later, his door opens, followed swiftly by mine. He's quick. Efficient. Within seconds, his voice floats to me, tender and laced with concern.

"Y/N? Wake up. We're here."

His fingers brush against my arm, coaxing me from my faux slumber. I stir, blinking sluggishly before my gaze finds him.

"Where are your keys?" His voice-rough, gravelly-sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

I lazily sling my purse from my shoulder, handing it over without question. He rummages inside, fishing out the keys before extending his hands towards me, palms up, wordlessly inviting me to take them.

I do. But not without theatrics.

As he guides me out of the vehicle, I purposefully stumble into his chest. His reaction is instant. Strong arms tighten around my waist, securing me effortlessly before-without hesitation-he lifts me again. My feet dangle as he strides towards the front door.

The keys jingle. The lock clicks. And just like that, we're inside.

Now, time for phase three.

"Take your shoes off," I mumble.

I hear the faint rustling of fabric, then two soft thuds against the floor. Boots off? Check.

I'm barely upright for a moment before he sweeps me up again. He sets me down gently on the sofa, kneeling to remove my heels with surprising tenderness. Then, just as swiftly, he picks me up once more.

"Where's your bedroom?" he asks.

"Down the hall. Second door on the right," I slur, though we both know he doesn't need directions.

His steps are careful, his movements light as he carries me. The moment he lays me down, he moves to tuck me in, but I stop him.

"Wait."

He pauses, confusion flickering across his face.

"I can't sleep in this," I murmured. "Can you grab my shorts? Top drawer."

The moment the words leave my lips, he freezes. His expression shifts, his throat working as he swallows hard.

He knows exactly which shorts I mean.

I tilt my head, feigning innocence. "The red ones."

He exhales sharply. And I swear, under his breath, he mutters something dangerously close to "Fuck me."

I watch, thoroughly entertained, as he takes a deep, steadying breath before moving towards the drawer. When he returns, he kneels, the shorts clutched tightly in his hands.

But he's missing a step.

"This is still on." I frown, fingers pinching the hem of my skirt.

Another sharp breath. His fingers tremble slightly as they reach for the fabric, pulling it down in slow, agonising increments. His touch is featherlight, his eyes screwed shut in restraint.

I laugh, soft and amused. His gaze snaps up to mine.

"What's funny?" His voice is quiet, wary.

"Oh, nothing," I murmur. "I just think you're cute."

He turns crimson. Even his ears.

He clears his throat, his gaze darting to the shorts now in his grasp. I steady myself against his shoulders as I step into them, but before I can prolong the moment, he yanks them up in one swift motion.

No fun at all.

When he finally stands, our faces hover inches apart. My gaze drinks him in-his soft pink lips, the faint scruff on his jaw, those impossibly deep green eyes.

Slowly, I lean in. He mirrors me instinctively-until, at the last second, he pulls back.

"You're drunk, Y/N." His voice is laced with regret as he gently turns me towards the bed. "I don't want you to make a mistake."

A mistake.

He thinks he's a mistake. That I shouldn't want him.

Damn it.

I sigh, slipping beneath the covers. But I'm not done yet.

"Stay with me," I whisper. "Just to sleep. I promise I'll remember asking in the morning."

He hesitates.

Then, finally, "Okay."

As he slides into bed, I press into him, sighing in satisfaction.

"Goodnight, Jungkook."

A pause. Then, barely above a whisper-

"Goodnight, Y/N."

Words count- 1405 💗

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