The university sprawled across emerald hills like a playground built only for the obscenely wealthy. Marble walkways gleamed under the sun, ivy clung to ivy-covered towers, private sports complexes shimmered with Olympic-sized pools and floodlit pitches. Every student here drove something foreign and stupidly expensive, every dorm room looked like a penthouse suite, and every party ended with someone fucking on a yacht docked at the private marina.

And then there was Tae.

She stepped out of the blacked-out Range Rover like sin wrapped in pastel pink. White skin so flawless it looked airbrushed, full lips painted a glossy bubblegum shade that begged to be ruined. Her long black hair spilled down her back in glossy waves. The tiny cheer top—Namjoon’s team colors, navy and gold—barely contained her heavy tits; the fabric stretched tight across her nipples, the hem ending just below the undercurve so every breath showed a teasing sliver of underboob. The pleated skirt was criminal—microscopic, flipping with every step, flashing the thin white thong that disappeared between her fat, juicy ass cheeks. Her thighs rubbed together softly as she walked, the outline of her plump pussy lips visible if the light hit just right.

Heads turned. Whistles followed. Phones came out. She smiled sweetly at everyone anyway—kind Tae, always kind—even when boys adjusted themselves shamelessly or girls shot her jealous glares.

Namjoon waited at the edge of the quad, all 6’3” of him in his letterman jacket, broad shoulders filling it out, biceps straining the sleeves. Dark hair tousled, sharp jaw, dimples that only appeared when he looked at her. The second he saw Tae his grin turned filthy. He grabbed her by the waist, yanked her flush against his hard body, and kissed her like they were already alone—tongue deep, one big hand sliding under her skirt to palm her ass right there in the open. She giggled into his mouth, legs parting instinctively so his thigh could press between them.

“Missed you, baby,” he murmured against her lips, loud enough for the crowd to hear.

“Missed you more, Joonie,” she purred back, grinding once on his thigh before he let her go.

The campus called them the golden couple. Star quarterback and his slutty-cheerleader goddess. Untouchable. Unbeatable. Disgustingly in love—or at least disgustingly horny for each other.

Across the field, leaning against the goalpost with his arms crossed, Jeon Jungkook watched the whole display like he was swallowing glass.

Tall. Inked. Dangerous. Black hair falling into dark eyes, tattoos crawling up his forearms and disappearing under the sleeves of his rival team’s black jersey. Muscles carved from years of brutal training. Jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked. He hated them. Hated how Namjoon’s hand looked so fucking possessive on her ass. Hated how Tae’s laugh carried across the pitch like honey. Hated—most of all—how his cock twitched every single time she showed up in that tiny uniform.

Especially on match days.

Today was one of those days.

The stands were packed. Two teams warming up. Namjoon’s side in navy and gold, Jungkook’s in black and silver. The whistle blew. The game started hard and fast.

And then Tae and the cheer squad hit the sidelines.

She moved like liquid sex. Hips rolling, tits bouncing under the thin top, skirt flying up with every high kick to flash that white thong wedged tight against her puffy pussy lips. The fabric was already damp—she got wet just from performing, from knowing hundreds of eyes were glued to her body. She spun, ass jiggling, dropped into a low squat and popped back up so the skirt flipped completely, showing the perfect heart shape of her ass and the thin strip of fabric soaked against her slit.

Half of Jungkook’s teammates fumbled.

One missed an easy pass because his eyes were locked on Tae’s bouncing tits. Another tripped when she bent over to adjust her shoe, ass in the air, thong pulled so tight it outlined every curve of her fat cunt.

Jungkook’s teeth ground together until his jaw ached.

That fucking slut.

He stole a glance at Namjoon—smirking on the other sideline, proud as hell, like he owned the prettiest piece of ass on campus. Like he’d won something Jungkook could never touch.

How the fuck did he get her first?

The final whistle blew. Namjoon’s team won. Again. Cheers exploded. His teammates mobbed him, slapping his back, laughing. Tae ran straight into his arms. He lifted her clean off the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist as they kissed—filthy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding, his hands gripping her ass under the skirt so everyone could see he was squeezing her bare cheeks. She moaned softly into his mouth, loud enough for the nearest players to hear. Someone wolf-whistled. Namjoon grinned against her lips, smacked her ass hard once—crack—and set her down only to palm her pussy over the thong right there on the field.

“Such a good girl cheering for me,” he growled low. “Gonna fuck you stupid tonight, baby.”

“Promise?” she breathed, nipping his bottom lip.

Jungkook turned away before he punched something.

An hour later the campus had quieted. Most people were at the victory parties. The long hallway leading to the locker rooms was empty.

Tae was humming softly to herself, heading to meet Namjoon, when a hand shot out and yanked her sideways.

Her back hit the wall hard. Breath punched out of her.

Jungkook loomed over her, caging her in with his massive frame. One tattooed forearm braced above her head, the other gripping her hip so tight she’d bruise.

His eyes were black with fury.

“You think shaking your fat ass wins games?” he snarled, voice low and vicious.

Tae’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Jungkook, I—I was just cheering for my team—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He stepped closer. His hard cock pressed right against her lower belly through his sweats, thick and throbbing. He rolled his hips once—slow, deliberate—grinding the fat head of his dick right over the outline of her pussy through the skirt and thong.

Tae gasped. Her thighs clenched instinctively. A tiny, broken sound slipped out.

“You like that, huh?” he mocked, grinding again—harder this time. The ridge of his cock dragged over her swollen clit through the thin layers. “Look at you. Already fucking soaked and I’ve barely touched you.”

“I didn’t—ah—I didn’t do anything wrong,” she whimpered, hands coming up to push weakly at his chest. “I just danced—”

“You danced like a cheap little whore,” he spat. “Flashing your cunt to my whole team. You know how many of them jerked off thinking about bending you over right there on the sidelines? You make me sick.”

His hips snapped forward again. Another brutal grind. The friction against her fat pussy lips was obscene—her thong soaked through now, clinging to every fold. She could feel how big he was, how angry-hard, the head nudging right where she ached.

“J-Jungkook—” Her voice cracked. Her hips twitched forward despite herself, chasing the pressure.

He laughed—mean, dark. “See? Even you can’t help it. Pathetic. Namjoon’s little cum-dump getting wet for the guy who hates her guts.”

He gave three more punishing grinds—slow, filthy, dragging his cock up and down her slit until her thighs shook and a wet spot bloomed on his sweats.

“You’re gonna shake for real one day,” he growled against her ear, hot breath fanning her neck. “Not for pom-poms. For my cock. I’m gonna ruin this slutty little cunt until you forget his name. Until you’re crying for me to stop and begging me to keep going at the same fucking time.”

Tae’s head fell back against the wall. Her lips parted on a shaky moan. Her pussy clenched around nothing, dripping down her thighs.

Jungkook stepped back suddenly. Left her there—back arched, skirt rucked up, thong soaked, chest heaving.

He adjusted his obvious erection with a rough hand, glaring down at her like she was dirt.

“Stay the fuck away from my field, whore,” he bit out.

Then he turned and stalked away, leaving her trembling, panting, thighs slick, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her clit.

Tae slid down the wall until her ass hit the cold floor.

She pressed her palm between her legs, whimpering at how swollen and sensitive she was.

And she hated—god, she hated—how badly she wanted him to come back and finish what he started.