"You wanna get to know me, you memorized the lines of my thighs. I knew before you told me you'd get it right."

~B.

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Naomi glances at the clock and groans when she sees the time. 1:12 AM, two hours after her head hit the pillow. Finally, she resolves herself to the position of a temporary insomniac, gets up, and goes to the fridge to get herself a glass of milk. It doesn't take a psychologist to know what her true ailment is.

No matter how hard she tries, Naomi simply can't get the image of Kim Taehyung out of her mind. The way he moves, his scent, his torso where she grabbed him during the motorcycle ride. She remembers how his body shifted under her hands in an effort to hide the blood flowing south, but she had only smirked and went further down, ready to blame it on the unsteady road.

He has a voice that's so thick with secrets it could drive anyone insane, but especially her, someone who lives for insanity. It makes her hang onto every word like a child would their teacher. Everything she says is in service of him, just to see that smile of his.

It's like a brand seared itself onto her brain in the shape of his jawline.

Naomi supposes it's karma for being such a tease. She knows she can't get her cake and eat it, too, but God, how she wanted him to pin her against the wall as she intertwined her hands in his hair, all while Jungkook waited for her upstairs, none the wiser. A violin singing to the whim of a bow, she'd wrap her legs around him and suck on his fingers to stop the moans from escaping the seal of her lips.

She'd bet her whole scholarship that he likes kinky shit like that.

Her mind is a broken record, replaying the last moments with him over and over again. He should've kissed her, and he wanted to. She could see it in his face, how his head tilted in anticipation. That's why the air was holding its breath, a vacuum-packed punch just waiting for a release in pressure.

But the release never came, and as he drove off in his motorcycle without a second glance, she turned to the stairway to find Jungkook there, eyes questioning.

Fine. She would use him, instead.

"Is everything-"

He couldn't finish the sentence before Naomi's mouth was on his, hands grabbing at anything she could find. His lips melded into hers a second later as he relaxed into her body; he was used to going back and forth where her whims went, and of course, he was more than happy to oblige. If she yanked the leash, he would follow, knowing there would be a reward for him in the end.

And he knows she needs him, so he doesn't ask questions.

Their breaths intermingled between them as he half-carried her into the empty apartment, barely having locked the door behind them before going at it like wild animals. When Jungkook didn't rip off her panties immediately like he usually did, she didn't bother hiding her impatience, moaning into his mouth to make him go faster.

This wasn't just a quick makeout session. She wanted him to fuck her. Hard.

And so he did.

Pinning her to the wall, he held her arms above her head and began trailing kisses down her collarbone, her chest, her stomach, and finally, with a nod of permission, dipped into her honeycomb as she gripped his hair for dear life. He held her shaking thighs still to go deeper and looked up periodically to see her biting her lip so hard he was afraid it would start bleeding.

However, he took that as a challenge and began sucking on her with fervor, smirking when her mouth unlatched to let out a drawn-out moan. Hearing her like this only made the wait worth it.

And when Naomi felt herself getting close, she gently tugged on his hair, signaling for him to stop; she wanted him to be inside of her when she came.

Jungkook kissed her passionately before being coaxed onto the bare floor, where she began undressing him as she straddled his hips. It was always a sacred process for them, the very last moments beforehand. It was confirmation that they were really doing this, and a way of saying now's the time to back out, though they never did.

Jungkook is far from vanilla. He's not afraid to hold her wrists down as he leaves marks down her chest and teases her nipples with his tongue. But he's the safe type of dominant, the type that doesn't tell her to shut up when she moans or slaps her around. He knows her well enough to know what she likes, and doesn't have to ask before pulling her hair when fucking her.

The lack of furniture in the room made the sounds of their ecstacy echo and reverberate around them until they didn't know where it ended and where it began. Once he flipped her over, she ran her hands along his back muscles, strung with sweat and tension.

They always make love like they're running out of time, fast and messy. Acting like they're doing something they shouldn't excites them for the time being, but afterward, they never feel anything other than cold reality. It's never the love they need.

And Naomi knows it's just fear that keeps them from taking their time. It's the fear of becoming too attached to one another, and it feels better to not explore that part about themselves. Not while they're young and hot, anyway.

Jungkook cums first with a groan, and she feels his hot breath against the nape of her neck, stimulating her further. She whimpers, please, keep going, and he picks up the pace for her. In a matter of seconds, she, too, goes over the edge with a gasp and a moan. They stay in place for a few minutes, panting and exhausted, but they do it all with a secret smile on their faces.

Wrapped up in each other's embrace, they shake off the after-sex euphoria. Retracing their lips, leaving momentos of their passion on heated skin. The realization of their sin slowly spreads into the very corners of the room like vines choking out a flower, but immediate gratification feels better than confrontation. Time becomes an irrelevant factor in their bliss. In a way, she thinks this is what heaven is supposed to feel like.

But all good things come to an end, and through her hazy vision, she sees the sun setting below the skyline. With a sealing kiss on his cheek, she gets up and leaves him to do the same.

The good thing about Jungkook is that he never makes it awkward after the deed. He doesn't insist on romantic gestures or ask what are we, babe? Instead, he lets her dress, gazing at her lazily as he makes himself look decent, then walks her to the door before saying goodbye. They give each other a friendly hug, and that's the end of that. He doesn't text her afterward like Namjoon.

Like, really, dude? She knows what they did 10 seconds ago. She doesn't need fucking reminders.

But even after all that, she still wants Taehyung in the hushed ambience of night, like a dog coming back for seconds. Her fingers aimlessly work themselves down toward her navel, not yet sure of what they're supposed to be doing.

He thinks he's so sly, trying to neg her into submission. Somehow, though, she can't help but think it's working just a little, and by the way her heart races when she thinks about him, it's safe to say he's won a round of their unspoken battle.

Okay. Two can play at that game; he should know that doctors of the mind don't fuck around. In fact, she half-wishes he stuck around to witness her and Jungkook, just to play with his head a little. She smiles, almost bashful about her own thoughts.

Damn. I really turned into a slut in university, didn't I?

But that was only natural. Without her parents watching over her like a hawk, she came into herself, and came to understand that she did, in fact, enjoy sex very much, and that it wasn't a sin to seek her own pleasure. Nonetheless, her mother would have an aneurysm if she knew how many positions her little girl's been in.

When she climbs into her bed again, she can't settle in no matter how much she tosses and turns. The sheets beg her to have someone fill them, even if it's with the last person she had to fulfill that need.

So, despite her better judgement, she types in her password, squinting through the blue light emanating from her phone, then types in Namjoon's name in her contacts. Judging by his previous sleeping patterns, he's definitely awake even at this ungodly hour.

Oh, she knows she's crazy. Hoseok and Lily (and probably even Jungkook) would rip her a new one if they knew about this, and would unanimously vote to take away her phone privileges until she gets a grip. She has more dignity than texting her professor in the middle of the night for a booty call, right?

...Right.

Cursing herself, she anticipates sweet release through the feeling of her nails against tempered glass.

She thinks about what she's doing. She knows she's the dreaded husband's mistress, the homewrecker who'll eventually be used as the scapegoat for a previously healthy couple's emotional trauma. Every time the professor tells her he loves her, that's all she can think about.

In a sick, sort of twisted way, though, it turns her on to know that his own wife can't lift a finger to stop them, and to have someone want her so badly that he'd risk wrecking his whole marriage. She's never considered herself the victim, and she's certainly not the angel everybody thinks she is. But how can she help seeking excitement when she lives in a city full of it, where self-pleasure sits at every corner?

Truly, she wants to feel special so badly it hurts. She's never been special to anyone before.

The sudden sound of her phone ringing makes Naomi yelp, but she relaxes once she sees it's just the professor. Finding it strange that he decided to call instead of texting back, she composes herself with a deep breath, then picks up.

"Hello?" When she hears silence, she's afraid her recklessness has gotten her into some real hot water this time. It's been harder to use her age as an excuse.

Please don't be the wife.

But she doesn't hear the shrill accusations of Mrs. Kim. She doesn't even hear the professor's voice, husky with sleep. All she hears is silence.

Then, breathing. Soft at first, then heavier and heavier until it sounds like growls right beside her ear.

"Hello? Is anybody there?" she says, her voice shaking slightly. Her heart is about to beat out of her chest. The sound is foreign, predatory almost. It tells her to run before it's too late, but for some reason, she is entranced by it. It's like she's waited for this her whole life.

Naomi shakily goes to hang up when she hears the line go dead first. She stares at the screen in disbelief; he really did that, that fucker.

If there's something she knows, it's that fear can turn into anger in a millisecond. Namjoon probably just jacked off into his phone, blew a load, then hung up before she could call him out on it. That would explain the heavy breathing, right? Although she's not sure if he's into that type of thing, she wouldn't put it past him.

Naomi slams down her phone on her nightstand and switches sides on her bed so she won't have an excuse to look at it anymore. She's more disgusted with herself than with him.

On the disconnected line, Lucifer rears His ugly head and tells the prisoner that his time is up. His wrath burns hotter than ever that night, and it's all focused on a weary layman, sleeping and unaware of his own Judgement Day.

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안녕 여러분! Hope this chapter didn't
give you a heart attack ;) What did you
guys think? And what do you think will
happen in the next chapters?
Let me know!

QOTD: Who's your favorite Disney princess?

Mine is definitely Mulan. Like, what a badass.
Saving China singlehandedly with a dragon
and a sickass haircut? Yes pls.
Also, Princess Leia's pretty cool too :')

Comment your answer inline!

Until next time, happy reading!

Love,
Haneul