"To be utterly consumed by someone—to have them want you in ways that make the earth tremble beneath your feet—is both a pleasure and a curse.”

Y/N'S POV

"Why on earth are you tugging at my skirt?" I whirl around, glancing over my shoulder just in time to catch Jungkook lifting the hem of my skirt and ducking his head beneath it. "What do you think you're doing?" I exhale sharply, my voice laced with exasperation, though a faint flicker of amusement dances beneath the surface. "I’m in the middle of changing a lightbulb, and you’re supposed to be holding the ladder steady for me, not—whatever this is." 

"I am holding the ladder," he retorts, his tone teasing as he wiggles his left hand, which is indeed gripping the ladder with a firmness that contrasts sharply with the mischief in his actions. I feel the warmth of his breath fanning against the delicate fabric of my thong, sending a shiver skittering up my spine. The sensation is both maddening and electrifying, a silent promise of something more. 

I turn back to my task, determined to ignore the way his right hand glides up and down my leg with a deliberate slowness that makes my breath hitch. My fingers tighten around the lightbulb as I screw it into place, my focus wavering with every brush of his touch. Just as I prepare to climb down, his hand squeezes my thigh, firm and insistent, halting my movements. I arch an eyebrow, though I know he can’t see my expression. "Stay right there," he murmurs, his voice low and raspy, tinged with a pleading undertone that makes my stomach flutter. 

I let out a huff, half-hearted and unconvincing, before turning back to the ladder and resting my elbows on its top rung. The air between us feels charged, thick with unspoken tension, as his lips find the curve of my ass. He peppers soft, lingering kisses across my skin, each one sending a jolt of heat through me. My breath catches in my throat as he gently grasps my ankle, coaxing my legs apart with a tenderness that belies the hunger in his actions. 

A quiet groan escapes me when I feel his finger trail along the fabric covering my slit, the touch feather-light yet impossibly deliberate. He drags it upward, tracing a path that leaves me trembling, before looping his fingers around the band of my thong. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulls it aside, securing it against my cheek and leaving me utterly exposed to him. The cool air brushes against my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his breath as it hovers near my most intimate place, sending a wave of anticipation crashing over me. 

I feel his head drawing nearer, and a sharp hiss escapes my lips as his tongue flicks out, tracing a deliberate path from my clit all the way to my asshole. Really? My mind stutters, a mix of disbelief and exhilaration coursing through me. He’s actually eating me out while I’m perched on a ladder? Not that I’m complaining—far from it. The sensation is intoxicating, and another long, languid drag of his tongue wrings a low, involuntary sound from me. But just as I begin to lose myself in the rhythm, he pulls away, leaving me achingly empty.

I whip my head around to glare at him, my voice laced with a mixture of frustration and incredulity. “Really? You’re going to stop now? Don’t you dare—”

Before I can finish, he cuts me off with a swift, almost effortless motion, tossing me over his shoulder as though I weigh nothing. My breath hitches as he strides purposefully toward the bedroom, his left hand still firmly gripping my upper thigh, the thin fabric of my thong secured in place. Meanwhile, his right hand finds its way back to my bare pussy, his fingers working in slow, deliberate circles that send sparks of pleasure shooting through me. Another loud groan escapes my lips, unbidden, as he teases me with an almost maddening precision.

By the time we reach the bedroom, I’m a trembling mess, my body alight with anticipation. He sets me down gently on the floor, his movements brisk but careful, before hopping onto the bed and lying back, his chest rising and falling as though he’s the one who’s been thoroughly ravaged. His cheeks are flushed, his lips slightly parted, and his eyes dark with desire as he waves me over. “Come here,” he says, his voice rough and breathless. “Sit on my face.”

A slow, wicked smile spreads across my lips as I begin to crawl toward him, my movements deliberate and teasing. “A girl can’t say no to that,” I murmur, my voice dripping with playful seduction. His hands find my waist almost instantly, his grip firm as he tries to guide me closer, his impatience evident. I can’t help but laugh softly at his eagerness, the sound light and breathy as I pause at his waist, prolonging the moment just to watch him squirm.

“Come on, hurry up,” he grumbles, his voice thick with need. His eyes roam over me hungrily, taking in the sight of my outfit—the purple flowy miniskirt that clings to my hips, the grey crop top that barely contains my breasts, its thin fabric revealing the faint outline of my nipple piercings. He knows how much he loves them, and the way his gaze lingers sends a thrill of satisfaction through me. “You look so fucking hot in this,” he mumbles, his fingers plucking at the skirt’s fabric as though he can’t decide whether to admire it or tear it off.

His words, raw and unfiltered, send a flush of warmth through me, and I feel a surge of power at the way he looks at me—like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. Slowly, deliberately, I continue my ascent, my body hovering over his as I prepare to give him exactly what he’s asking for.

He looks as though he’s fallen into some sort of trance, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. His hands begin at my shoulders, their warmth seeping into my skin as they glide down with a deliberate slowness, tracing the curves of my chest before pausing to cup my breasts. The slight squeeze he gives them sends a shiver through me, his touch both possessive and reverent. His palms continue their descent, sliding over the dip of my waist before settling on my ass cheeks, where they linger, kneading gently as if committing every detail to memory.

His hands slide lower still, gripping the backs of my thighs with a firmness that makes my pulse quicken. “Come on,” he whispers again, his voice husky and insistent, urging me to move higher. There’s a hunger in his tone, a quiet desperation that sends a thrill coursing through me.

I roll my eyes playfully, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips as I oblige him. With a deliberate slowness, I loop my left hand around the side of my thong and slide it down my legs, letting it fall to the floor with a soft whisper of fabric. I’m about to do the same with my skirt, but his voice stops me, low and commanding. “Leave that on,” he mumbles, his words barely audible but laced with an intensity that makes my stomach flutter.

I roll my eyes again, though the smirk on my face betrays my amusement. “And this?” I ask, gripping the hem of my shirt and tilting my head in mock question. “On or off?” He licks his lips, his eyes darkening as they flicker over me, and the way he looks at me—like I’m the only thing that matters—sends a rush of heat through my veins. “Off,” he says, his voice rough and unwavering.

I give him a playful wink, my movements slow and deliberate as I begin to pull the shirt over my head. My eyes never leave his, and I can see the desire burning in his gaze, the way it flickers down to my body as more of my skin is revealed. For a brief moment, my vision is obscured as the fabric passes over my head, and I toss the shirt aside, letting it join the discarded thong on the floor.

Jungkook lets out a low, guttural groan, the sound vibrating through me as his eyes fixate on my breasts with an almost reverent intensity. “I can never get enough of you,” he murmurs, his voice breathy and deep, each word dripping with a raw, unfiltered hunger that makes my heart race. His hands press lightly against my back, guiding me until my right nipple is mere inches from his mouth. He licks his lips, the gesture almost predatory, before closing his mouth around me with a hunger that borders on desperation. The sensation is electric, his mouth hot and insistent as he sucks hard, drawing a gasp from me that I can’t suppress.

An audible sigh escapes my lips, soft and breathy, as my fingers tangle in the tousled strands of his hair, urging him closer. He releases my nipple with a soft *pop*, the sound sending a shiver down my spine, before trailing open-mouthed kisses and gentle sucks across my skin. His attention shifts to my other breast, his hand moving from my ass to cup and massage the slick, saliva-slicked flesh he’s just left behind. I glance down, my breath hitching as I take in the constellation of hickeys blooming across my chest, dark and possessive. My eyes follow his movements as he repeats the process on the other side, his mouth leaving a trail of heat and marks that make my head spin.

When he finally releases me, he leans back slightly, his eyes scanning his handiwork with a satisfied gleam. “Perfect,” he murmurs, a small, almost boyish smile tugging at his lips. The sight of it makes my heart flutter, even as his next words send a jolt of anticipation through me. “Now, please, sit on my face so I can really taste you.” His cheeks flush a deep crimson as he speaks, the vulnerability in his tone at odds with the hunger in his eyes.

I can’t help but kiss him then, my lips brushing against his cheeks, his nose, before finally capturing his mouth in a slow, lingering kiss. We lose ourselves in it, the world narrowing to the feel of his lips against mine, the press of my chest against his, the way his hands roam my body—one resting at the dip of my waist, the other kneading my ass with a possessiveness that makes me ache.

When he pulls away, it’s with a groan, his voice rough and pleading. “Come on, Y/N, you’re killing me.”

I smirk, my voice teasing as I reply, “Well, I’m right here, babe.”

“Not where I want you to be,” he whines, his hands tightening on my hips. “Stop teasing. Don’t you want me to taste you?”

I laugh softly, the sound warm and indulgent, before pressing one last quick kiss to his lips. “Fine, fine,” I concede, my tone playful as I begin to shift into position. “I’ll do what you’ve been begging for. Enjoy, babe,” I add, hovering just above his face, my body poised and ready.

“You’re still not close enough,” he mumbles, his voice muffled but laced with impatience. Before I can react, his hands grip my waist with a firmness that leaves no room for argument, and he pulls me down with a force that steals my breath. My full weight settles onto his face, and I let out a jagged gasp, my hands flying to the headboard for balance. “Jesus Christ!” I exhale, the words trembling as I feel the bridge of his nose press against my clit, the sensation sharp and electric.

I can’t see his face, and I realise now that’s likely why he insisted I keep the skirt on—the fabric drapes around us, creating a private, intimate space where his every touch feels magnified, every breath against my skin sending sparks through me.

Something tells me this is a kink of his. Is he trying to suffocate himself? The thought barely registers before I attempt to lift myself slightly, but his hands clamp firmly around my waist, holding me in place with an unmistakable possessiveness.

"Don't move. I want you right here," he murmurs, his voice barely audible against the warmth of my core, smothered by my arousal. A soft chuckle escapes me at the sheer audacity of it all.

"Alright, baby, I won't move. Promise. Just tap my thigh when you need to breathe."

"Alright," he muffles again, his words swallowed by the slickness between my thighs.

A gasp tears from my lips as I feel his tongue delve into my entrance, my body tensing before melting into the sensation. He groans, his face pressing even closer, his nose buried deep in my wetness as though he wants to drown in me.

"Fuck," I exhale, my breath hitching as he guides my hips, urging me to ride his face. The silent command is one I don’t hesitate to obey, rolling my hips in slow, deliberate motions. For someone who’s never done this before, he is dangerously skilled—so effortlessly good at it that it makes my head spin.

Moans, curses, breathless whimpers—they tumble from my lips, unbidden, as he devours me with unrelenting hunger. He eats me as though I’m his last meal, and he’s been starved for an eternity.

By the time I’m utterly spent—having come on his face five times—I can barely function. My limbs tremble as I peel myself off him, collapsing onto my stomach with a blissful sigh. My face sinks into the pillow, and just as I begin to catch my breath, I feel him tug at my limp arm, wiggling it insistently.

"Baby," he whines, his voice thick with desperation. "On a scale of one to ten, how tired are you? Let me do it one more time. I wasn't finished. You're the best thing I've ever tasted, and now I’m addicted." His words come out as a mix of pleading, grumbling, and adoration all at once.

I exhale dramatically. "Today drained me. I’m going to sleep now—you’ve officially worn me out." I swat his hand away, my voice laced with drowsy finality.

His next words are laced with hope. "When you wake up?"

A lazy smirk tugs at my lips as my eyelids flutter shut. "Then you can have me for dinner."

A pleased hum vibrates from his chest, and I barely register the press of his lips against my back before I feel him lift my skirt and drape himself over my bare ass.

"Really?" I ask, my tone dry with amusement.

"What?" he mutters, completely unbothered.

I can practically hear the shrug in his voice as he sighs contentedly. "It’s my happy place."

The last thing I feel is his arms wrapping securely around my thighs before sleep finally claims me.

Words count- 2605 💗

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