𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 || JJK x READER

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛

Y/n's pov
Dear diary,
it's 4 a.m. and in exactly two hours I have to show up at that pseudo art studio to take lessons? To be that lunatic's assistant?

The situation was unclear to me.

After returning home, due to the sedative I had taken that morning, I collapsed into a very deep dream and I think I had one of those wet dreams but, unfortunately, when I woke up I could only feel that whirlwind of emotions and impetus channelled between my thighs.

I had no recollection of what might have happened or with whom.
A vague smell teased my nose and at heel only warm skin enveloped me.

So, both to relieve the stress of the day and to try to remember the sensations of that dream, I put on some sexy background music and began that prelude of ecstasy that I had so much imagined and yearned for.

A scene appeared in my mind: a room lit only by the vague night lights from outside; a man dressed in black, his back to me; me lying on a bed, completely naked, my hands tied to the headboard.

That dark figure approached slowly, stripping off, one by one, the garments he was wearing, only to reveal, finally, a statuesque body, like he was been sculpted with a skilfully used loophole.

I could not put a face to that man but I certainly remembered his eyes: they encapsulated the pleasure they would bring me and the hell they would accompany me to once I gave in to his temptation.

Two orbs so deep, of a darkness so intense that I could no longer remember what the light was.

Two powerful hands went up my body, wandered around exploring me, studying me as if I were a laboratory phenomenon, and my body was at his complete disposal.

I imagined my breasts bearing signs of his DNA after his expert tongue had traced wet trajectories, letting my nipples become taut.

Now a hand was entirely covering my neck.
He straddled me.
His tattooed arm in full view.

Wait a fucking minute. What's wrong with my mind?
A tattooed arm? Really?
Was my mind seriously thinking about 'that' arm?

The only tattooed arm I've seen in my whole life is that of damn Sir Jeon.

Come to think of it, yesterday I had been able to look at those tattoos more closely, more in full, but given the situation, I hadn't been able to study the designs more closely.

Suddenly I gasped, a hand covered my mouth in disbilief.
Now the wet dream was vivid in my mind.

I knew my mind was perverse, but I didn't think it would ever be able to play such a trick on me.
I must write it so I grabbed again the diary.

My mind, totally perverted and subjugated by the gloomy atmosphere in that studio, had reworked, not very faithfully, the pitiful scene I had staged yesterday.

I was on my knees.
In front of me stood him, Jeon Jungkook, bare-backed.

The hand, whose fingers yesterday held that cigarette that never seemed to wear out, now drew a sharp line along my neck, indelibly marking the boundary between what I was and what I would be after his touch.