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Fifteen years ago, almost to the day, a young boy was placed into the pool for the first time. On his arms were two floats to keep him upright, and behind him stood an old lady making sure he wouldn’t drown. For many, swimming lessons are there to stop childhood drowning, but for Jeon Jungkook this was the start of his future. From a small town, a prodigy began his journey.
It takes a lot of dedication to reach semi-professional status within a sport, hundreds of thousands of hours refining and redefining the limits of your own body. Lap after lap after lap of the pool; kicking, pulling, sculling, drills, tumble-turns, touch turns. Hours in the gym squatting weights and doing pull ups, before and after school. The emotions of not achieving your goals, not performing up to standard, having to push on with your next event after your coach telling you they’re disappointed. This experience builds you as a person, but never fully prepares you for what is to come.
For the past fifteen years, Jungkook had been preparing to walk through these doors. The national training centre, his home for the next three years. Yes, he did have to study around this, but that’s not what was important to him. What’s important to him was the heart of this campus, the pool. Some may think a pool is a good way to end a stressful day, but for him, the pool is life. Growing up in a small town, being the sports prodigy of his team, going to nationals, competing for the country, it has all led up to this one point. On the wall was poster after poster of Olympic swimmers, world medallists, the best of the best. All had trained at this centre. All had given performances of a lifetime. One, in particular, stood out to Jungkook. A swimmer he had looked up to all of his life, who first competed at the Olympics twelve years ago. A swimmer who, like Jungkook, had come from a small town in the middle of nowhere. His idol, Park Jimin.
An idol, who is now his swim coach.
He stopped for a while to stare at the poster, it had a list of Jimin’s (never ending) achievements: national titles, Olympic medals, even a world record. There was a quote at the bottom “Without hard work, the road to success is hidden. But discipline is the sacrifice to reach its end.”. In the centre was a photo of Jimin ready to dive into the pool, a photo from his Olympic debut.
He walked through into the changing rooms, getting ready for the start-of-year trials, ready to prove himself as the next Park Jimin. As he changed into his racing suit, he thought about the future he was diving into. About getting the best training in the country, proving himself to his peers, competitors, and his coach. A year from now he could be trialing for the world championships. He could even make an Olympic team. But it all depended on his performance today. To make it into the top squad, the squad that Park Jimin coached, he needed to be on top form. He needed to show his abilities, be in the top five swimmers out of the hundred incoming freshmen. He needed this to be his best session yet.
“Take your marks…” Silence spread around the pool. The starting buzzer sounded. Jungkook flung himself as strong as possible off the blocks, entering the water in perfect streamline. As the cold water spread around his body, his muscles tightened to deliver a strong fly kick as he pulled his arms down to his side. He glided, waiting for the perfect time to breaststroke kick his arms back up to the streamline position and break the water. At fifteen meters, his head broke the surface and he was off. The calm of the underwater phase juxtaposed the strength and power of his first breaststroke pull. Exhaling hard, he pushed himself against the resistance and towards the wall. He poured every ounce of effort into this race; to guarantee his spot on the team, he needed at first place in the 50m breaststroke to gain enough points to make the cut. One pull… two pulls… three pulls… at nine pulls he pushed himself into the wall and slammed into the timing pads. Looking up, he watched the timing board.
“5 | Jeon Jungkook 00:24.70 | 1”.
He had done it, first place. He had made the team.
The first few months under Jimin’s coaching were nothing like Jungkook imagined, and yet, somehow, everything he had dreamed of. The training was brutal, but it felt purposeful. For the first time, Jungkook felt like he was being sculpted into something more than just talented. Something elite. Jimin rarely praised, once (after a timed 200m individual medley set) he nodded in Jungkook’s direction and said simply, “Good”. That single word had kept Jungkook awake all night. He repeated it to himself like a mantra, the faintest sign of approval enough to ignite weeks of renewed effort. But as time wore on, “good” never came again. The sets grew longer. Harder. Jimin’s gaze grew sharper. There were no more nods. No more recognition. Only correction after correction, a constant reminder that perfection was the bare minimum. Jungkook pushed harder. Not for medals. Not even for the team. Just for him. A single miscounted stroke during a main set earned him 800 meters of butterfly. No fins. A barely late start to warm-up meant an entire session swimming with paddles on backstroke. No explanation. Just the punishment, and the same cold words: “You know what this is for.” Still, Jungkook endured. He convinced himself it was the path to greatness. That Park Jimin, his idol, was pushing him because he believed in him. That this was how champions were made. But sometimes, alone in the locker room after practice, Jungkook would sit on the bench, his hair still dripping, and wonder when the joy had left. Why the water now felt heavier. Why his heart raced for the wrong reasons. Not excitement. Not adrenaline. But fear. And yet he still showed up early every morning. Still waited for that single word.
“Swimmers, your set is on the board. Be in the pool by the top,” Jimin called, walking along the edge of the pool with a stopwatch slung around his neck. He scanned the swimmers standing on poolside, watching as they dove in for warmup. As usual, Jungkook was the first in the pool. But it wasn’t to prove himself anymore. That fire had long burned out. Park Jimin - the man he had idolised all his life - wasn’t a superhero in disguise. Yes, he was a good coach. He made fast swimmers. But he also ruled with something close to hatred. Jimin was strict, merciless. He did not tolerate weakness and he did not allow crying; “The best swimmers have no weaknesses.”. He had said it so many times the words echoed in Jungkook’s head. Discipline is the sacrifice to reach the end of the road.
Jungkook now dove in first not out of pride - but to avoid becoming Jimin’s next example.
He had managed to stay out of Jimin’s bad books, sometimes only by an inch, but was one of the few people who hadn’t been publicly humiliated on poolside. He made sure his elbows were high on his freestyle pull, his feet turned out perfectly on his breaststroke kick, his body undulated smoothly in butterfly. His head stayed low on every breath, and he never inhaled or exhaled into a wall on a turn. Every stroke was textbook. Every session was performed with perfect precision.
This obsessive attention to detail had greatly improved his performance in races. But was the increase in performance worth watching his passion slowly float away in the current? He still wanted Jimin’s approval. He still clung to the hope of hearing, “You’re doing it right. It’s worth it.” But that now seemed like an impossibility. And yet, he pushed through anyway, always hoping for that moment to come, always doing exactly what was asked of him.
Now that they had finished warm-up, the squad was ready for their main set. With mid-seasons just a week away, today’s focus was race practice, pulling together everything they’d trained for over the past few months and aiming for qualification times for the end-of-season meets. This was the time he needed to shine.
As Jungkook held his starting position on the block, waiting for the starting whistle, his foot slipped. He fell into the water. To say Jimin’s face was livid would be an understatement. Fear pooled in the pit of Jungkook’s stomach as he climbed out of the water and onto the poolside. “Jeon Jungkook, wait behind after the session. I want to have a few words with you. Privately,” Jimin said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the team. The other swimmers turned to look at Jungkook, some with pity and others with the faintest smirk of satisfaction. The golden boy had finally cracked. His untouchable streak of perfection was broken.
Throughout the entire session, Jungkook’s mind spiralled with fear and stress. He had never made a mistake before - especially not one that public, that obvious. He prided himself on perfection, on effort, on never slipping up. There would be no praise now. Not ever. He was no longer the exception. No longer untouchable. Just like the others. Not good enough. As the clock crept toward the hour, every minute stretched unbearably. What felt like a year later, the session finally ended. The swimmers filed out toward the changing rooms, talking quietly among themselves. Everyone left. Everyone but Jungkook.
“Into my office,” Jimin hissed, not even looking at him. “Now.”
Jungkook walked into the office, this was his first time inside the office - only the worst performers ever got that privilege. The room was sterile, nothing on the walls except a whiteboard tracking the team members’ progress. The desk was pristine, with neatly stacked files and pens arranged perfectly in a holder. Nothing looked out of place.
“Sit,” Jimin said curtly, already rummaging through a drawer in the filing cabinet. He pulled out a folder with Jungkook’s student photo clipped to the front and flipped it open. Jungkook sat down without a word, his eyes locked onto a single spot on the desk. He didn’t dare look up. Jimin turned toward him. “You’ve been perfect for so long…” His voice was low, not angry, but something else. Measured. Deliberate. Jungkook’s heart jumped at the word. Was this praise…? “I was wondering when you’d finally slip up,” Jimin continued. A beat. “Or should I say... off?” Definitely not praise. Jungkook shifted his eyes to meet Jimin’s, hoping to read something, anything, in his face. But all he got in return was an intense, unreadable stare. “Do you want to be treated like the rest of them now?” Jimin asked. Jungkook froze, confusion flickering across his face as dread settled in his stomach. His thoughts spiralled. What did he mean by treated like the rest of them? Would he be kicked off the team? Barred from mid-seasons? “Or…” Jimin leaned slightly forward. “Do you want to prove you’re still different?” His words hung between them like steam in the air. Jungkook didn’t respond, but the flush on his cheeks gave his answer away. Jimin’s eyes did not waver, “Do. You. Want. To. Prove. It?” Jungkook’s breath hitched, uncertainty warring with something hotter beneath the surface. He didn’t answer. Jimin stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “If you want this… if you really want this, you have to ask.” Jungkook’s chest rose and fell rapidly. The swimmer’s voice caught in the back of his throat, but he nodded - a small, trembling motion. “That’s not enough,” Jimin said, his voice low. “Say it.”
A beat of silence.
“…I want it,” Jungkook whispered, barely audible. Jimin watched him for a long moment, and only then did he move. His gaze still not softening, but a flicker - of approval or, maybe, anticipation - crossed his eye. “Then show me.”
The space between them vanished. Jimin’s hand brushed Jungkook’s jaw, tilting it up - not roughly, but with certainty. His thumb ghosted over Jungkook’s bottom lip. “Still quiet?” he asked, almost teasing now. Jungkook’s eyes widened as they made contact once again with Jimin’s. “Now, are you completely sure?”
“Yes,” Jungkook said in return.
“Yes, what?” Jimin said sternly.
“Yes… sir?”
Jimin’s eyes darkened at the word. Something flickered behind them - hunger, possession. His thumb pressed a little harder against Jungkook’s lip, then dragged downward, leaving it slightly parted. “Good,” he murmured. “Now don’t move unless I tell you to.” Jungkook swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room, and nodded. Jimin leaned in, just enough for his breath to skim Jungkook’s cheek. His lips barely grazed the corner of Jungkook’s mouth, a near-kiss that left heat in its wake. “You’ve been holding back,” he whispered. “I’ve seen it. That tension in your shoulders, the way you grind your teeth when no one’s looking.” His hand drifted down Jungkook’s chest, slow and purposeful. “You want to be good, but you want to break, too.” Jungkook let out a shuddering breath. His hands clenched into fists on his lap.
“Hands on the desk,” Jimin said, voice low but firm.
Jungkook obeyed.
Jimin walked around him, hands lowering to his waist and fiddling with the band of his trunks. Jimin’s fingers hooked beneath the elastic, tugging just enough to feel the give of resistance. He didn’t pull them down, not yet. Instead, he leaned in close, his mouth near Jungkook’s ear. “Still with me?” he asked, voice a low rasp.
“Yes, sir,” Jungkook breathed, his voice tight, barely holding steady. Jimin smiled. He could hear the strain, the anticipation thick in the syllables. One hand stayed at Jungkook’s waistband while the other slid up, palm flat against his stomach, warm and firm.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, almost fondly. “That’s good.”
With deliberate slowness, Jimin peeled the trunks down, letting them slide inch by inch until they caught at Jungkook’s thighs. The cool air kissed bare skin, and Jungkook’s breath hitched, sharp in the silence. He ran his hands up the chest of the younger once again, pinching his nipples hard. The younger gasped at this action. Jimin stepped back, eyeing the boy up and down. “Come here,” he commanded, “take the trunks fully off.” Jungkook obeyed almost instantly, shuffling to the centre of the room where the coach stood.
“Stand in streamline position, on your tiptoes.” Jimin instructed, watching as the boy’s arms moved up behind his head and his hands clasped together. “Stay in this position. Do not move until I say you can. Do you understand me?” Jungkook nodded. A loud crack echoed around the room as Jimin slapped him. Jimin’s voice cut sharp through the air. “What part of don’t move did you not understand?”
Jungkook’s eyes widened. “S-sorry. Yes, I understand.”
“Then say it the first time,” Jimin said coldly. “No excuses. Discipline.”
Jungkook stood there in the streamline position for what felt like hours, watching as Jimin returned to his desk to complete some paperwork. Every muscle in his body ached with the effort to stay still—his calves burned from balancing on tiptoe, arms trembling slightly above his head. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to push past the sting in his shoulders, the urge to fidget gnawing at him. Yet, he couldn’t help the blood pooling around his throbbing lower regions.
His arms twitched slightly, edging closer to his head.
Jimin looked up from his desk, eyes narrowing at the movement. “Arms,” he spat coldly, standing as he strode toward the boy. “I can’t even finish my work with you twitching like that. Do you need constant attention?”
Jimin stopped in front of him, arms crossed, gaze unrelenting. He studied the younger, a slight smirk appeared on his face as his eyes travelled over the swimmer’s hardening cock.
“You think discipline is optional?” he said, voice low and controlled. “You can’t even hold a position for five minutes without slipping. How do you expect to improve if you fall apart the moment no one’s watching you?”
He stepped closer, his tone colder now. “This isn’t about muscle. It’s about mindset. If your body is shaking, you hold it anyway. If it hurts, good - remember it.”
He leaned in slightly. “Or do you want to stay mediocre forever?” Jimin’s hands started to travel along the swimmer’s naked body, Jungkook letting out a little moan as the coach softly touched his chest and moved down towards his balls, giving them a slight squeeze. “Since you’re begging for my attention,” he stopped for a second, taking in the sight of the muscular boy under his command, “I will give you it. If you move, even an inch, I stop and you will go home. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” Jungkook replied meekly, slightly distracted by the burning sensation in his arm and the hand fondling his balls. Jimin’s hand pulled away at this response, as he dropped to his knees. He took the swimmer’s cock into his hand and bringing his face closer. He gave a small lick to the slit on the end, eyes maintaining contact with Jungkook’s, an almost-evil smirk on his face. A shiver travelled down the swimmer’s spine, but he did not move. He was going to be good. He was going to prove himself. Jimin continued to lick the end of Jungkook’s cock, slowly taking more and more length into his mouth before giving a long suck. Jungkook moaned loudly, but held his position like the good boy his was. Jimin’s tongue was playing with his foreskin, almost as if he was trying to fuck it whilst he sucked the head confidently. His eyes never wavered from Jungkook’s face, which scrunched up cutely as he tried his hardest to obey the coach’s orders. Jungkook let out a load moan, “P-please, sir” he gasped as the elder took his entire length into this throat, “feels good.”
Jimin’s hands moved back to play with Jungkook’s balls as he deep-throated him, tongue running along the underside of the younger’s length with skill. He hummed slightly, the vibrations travelling along the skin, causing a wave of pleasure to travel down Jungkook’s body once again, pre-cum leaking uncontrollably into the coach’s mouth. He pulsated as he grew closer and closer to finishing in the elder’s mouth, but held back knowing subconsciously he would not be allowed to come without permission. “S-sir, please can I come?” He moaned as the pleasure began to overcome his control. The elder stopped and moved away, almost immediately. A smirk crept back onto his face as he rose, locking eyes with the swimmer.
“You’re dismissed,” he said coolly, the satisfaction unmistakable in his voice.
The boy was stricken. His arms fell limply to his sides. “B-but…?” he gasped, confusion etched across his face.
Jimin raised an eyebrow. “I can’t reward bad behaviour now, can I?” His voice was calm, unyielding. “Discipline is the sacrifice you make to reach the end of the road to success."