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#Bts x you
yoongiofmine · 2 days
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LY: Love You Better | JJK | Five
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Pair: Idol!Jungkook x Playmate!reader
Summary: Jungkook never wanted a playmate of his own before. While living a busy life, touring the world, being one of the top kpop idols alongside his Bangtan hyungs, he had everything he could possibly need. But now that responsibilities call and his brothers are starting to focus on their solo careers before eventually enlisting one by one, Jungkook feels lonely. Maybe hiring a companion to take care of his needs and fill in the empty space in his life isn’t such a bad idea anymore…
Chapter warnings: ………yes, smut again, don’t come for me. Dom Kook, competitive Kook. 
WC: 6.3K
[Membership]
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“Come on, Kook, do this with us!” Jimin pleaded, a drink away from draping himself over the maknae’s lap. 
“I’m not in the mood, hyung, I’m sorry.” the youngest shook his head, more than happy with just sitting where he was, on one of the red couches of the bar Hoseok decided to close down to have his birthday celebration at. 
“But we have a routine!” Taehyung insisted, shoulders down and slumped. 
“Yes, a routine that we don’t need. That we haven’t needed in years.” Jungkook pointed out, bringing the beer bottle to his lips for a sip. 
“Just because we don’t need it, doesn’t mean it’s not fun.” the second to youngest continued. 
Jungkook was never the most outgoing of his members. The idol much preferred small get togethers or dinners at one of the other guys’ homes. But Hoseok hyung, being as friendly as he was, and with his impending military leave happening soon, chose to hire a whole bar in the middle of Itaewon for his close friends and some family members to celebrate with him. 
It was closed enough that he knew none of the guests would post anything about tonight, everyone was enjoying good company and drinks, not worried about their phones. It was nice, really, and Jungkook knew he’d start relaxing after a few beers. 
But for now things still felt a little weird. 
Their group wasn’t complete, Jin hyung didn’t have enough military days to request a leave yet. Joon hyung was already lost somewhere with Soyoon, a singer Hoseok had introduced to him last june, at the Jack in The Box listening party, and Jungkook was pretty sure they were secretly hooking up. The fact that this would be the last birthday he’d celebrate with Hobi hyung was also sitting heavy in his chest. 
“Alright, you two, leave him alone.” speak of the devil, the birthday man was doing his rounds to be a good host, shooing Jimin and Taehyung away with a wave and a laugh. 
“But–” Jimin tried, being shushed by Hoseok. 
“Let him get a couple drinks in, I’m sure he’ll join you in your mischief in a minute.” Hoseok sat next to Jungkook on the yellow, stained, leather couch, hand resting on the younger man’s thigh. 
Jimin and Taehyung were huffing for all of two seconds before linking arms and laughing about anything they planned on doing next. If Jin hyung was there, they’d most likely rope him into their doings.
“How are you feeling tonight?” Hoseok asked him with a squeeze to his knee. 
“I’m great, hyung, this place is cool.” was his answer, which sounded a little airy as it was delivered on the mouth of the beer bottle. 
“Yeah, you look like you’re having the time of your life.” sarcasm laced the hyung’s words, but the laugh that accompanied it softened the blow. “I saved your ass right now, but you won’t be alone here all night.” 
“Where’s Yuna noona? I like you better when she’s around.” Jungkook poked, pout covering the end of the bottle to chug a sip. 
“Yah, I’m just looking out for you while I can!” the older man was laughing again, pointing with his head to the side where his playmate was. “She’s with Yoongi hyung over at the bar.”
Jungkook’s eyes scanned the place, taking in the atmosphere. He had never been to this particular bar before, as it was on the smaller side, so it would most likely be packed with tourists and locals if the hyung hadn’t closed it down for his party tonight. 
The first floor was for the bar, a makeshift dance floor and sitting areas, where the second half-floor apparently had some games like old school video game machines, pool tables and coin karaoke booths. 
The bar itself was near the door and, just like Hoseok said, Yoongi and Yuna were there. The hyung was sitting on a tall bench, legs parted so the woman could fit in between. Yuna was laughing at something Yoongi said, hand on his chest as she pushed him playfully; his pink gums were out as he smiled like a fool in love. 
It was a scene that brought a twist to Jungkook’s stomach, turning back to Hoseok, who was also watching the scene unfold. 
“Shouldn’t she be with you? It’s your birthday.” the maknae asked, slightly worried. 
“She’ll come home with me tonight, that’s what matters.” Hoseok shrugged, bringing his glass to his lips, eyes only leaving his girl and his best friend when he continued: “It’s important for them to get used to each other, so there’s no awkwardness when she starts to work for him.”
“Again, you’re okay with that?” 
“Have to be. She needs the money, and I’d rather she works for Yoongi than someone random.” the hyung sounded worried, no doubt having talked about his enlistment plans with Yuna. After working together for so many years, his absence was something she needed to be aware of. “It’s easy for idols to feel entitled when it comes to playmates, you know? Nolichingu is a good agency, but there are horror stories about places that let their workers get mistreated and abused if it meant bringing more money in.”
“Really?” Jungkook’s eyes were wide, as he never gave the playmate thing much thought before wanting to hire his own, lines forming between his brows as he wondered about your experiences. 
If you’ve been in that career for half a decade, you must’ve had as many bad experiences as good ones. 
“You’re a better man than I am, hyung.” the younger man admitted, eyes finding Yuna and Yoongi again. As the woman typed something on her phone, the hyung stared at her with stars in his eyes. Jungkook wondered if Hoseok could see it too. “If that was Yn–”
“You’re a jealous boy, Jungkookie. Always have been.” Hoseok shrugged, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m only telling you this because, like I said, I’m trying to look out for you. Yuna, Yn, any other playmate… They aren’t ours. They work with us, yeah, but don’t let yourself get carried away. They don’t belong to us.”
“I know that, hyung.” Jungkook grumbled, gaze dropping to focus on the green bottle between his fingers, tracing the bumpy patterns on the glass. 
“Good, then.” Hobi hyung didn’t sound all that convinced, but steered the conversation nonetheless. “I take it you’re getting along?”
“Y-you could say that.”
His stuttering only came out when Jungkook grew nervous, cursing himself for his own slip. The man sat beside him gasped and turned around to properly face him. 
“Ohhh, Jungkookieeee.” Hoseok mused, high pitched laugh and eyes wide. “You mean you two…? I wasn’t sure you’d ask for that part of the service, I’ll be honest.”
“I didn’t technically ask for it. It, uh, just happened.” Jungkook shrugged, downplaying it. His neck felt hot, and the smile on his lips was telling. 
If this was Taehyung or Jimin, they would have demanded the sordid details, but Hoseok was kind enough to only ask: “Was it nice?”
“We didn’t have sex yet.” he explained, voice low. “But we kissed. And stuff.”
“And stuff?”
He nodded. “It was nice, yeah, very nice.”
“So that’s why you weren’t interested in wingman-ing with Jimin and Tae?” 
Before he could agree with the hyung’s conclusion, heeled steps approached the two of them, making both men turn to see Yuna and– 
“Heeeey, you made it!” Hoseok was getting up as he saw you standing with his girl, a pretty smile on your glossed lips as you opened your arms to hug him. 
“Happy birthday, Hoseokie-oppa!” 
Jungkook had last seen you this morning, when he dropped you off at the building you lived at, no hopes of seeing you again before Monday morning. He had asked you if you were coming tonight, knowing being friends with Yuna and Hoseok would mean you were invited, but you told him there were things you and your roommate needed to do at your apartment, so you’d be unable to make it. 
You looked really good tonight, with a black mini-skirt with the tiniest red heart prints and a long sleeved, body fitting, black cashmere shirt with buttons at the front; the buttons of your top near your chest were fighting for dear life, sitting snug against your breasts. Layers of necklaces sat on your collarbones and that’s where he pretended to look when he got up to greet you. 
“Hi, Kook!” you hugged him next, your chunky boots making you a couple inches taller than he was used to. 
“Didn’t think you were coming.” he said quietly, breathing in your perfume; soft and floral. 
“Her roommate is an asshole sometimes.” Yuna explained before you could. 
You gave the group a half hearted nod of agreement as your arms unwrapped from Jungkook’s middle, moving to stand beside him. 
“You want a drink?” Jungkook was the one offering, but before he could keep you, Yuna held your hand and pulled you away. 
“You already have her five days of the week, aren’t you tired?” Yuna teased, but you whined a complaint at the underlined insult. “We need some gossip time, I’ll bring her to you in a second.” 
Jungkook couldn’t argue, nor defend himself as you were taken away towards the bar so you and your friend could talk. Him and Hoseok were still standing when the hyung patted him on the back. 
“You, my friend, got it bad.” 
“Excuse me, how can you say that after watching a five second interaction?” Jungkook pointed out with a frown, but he already felt more awake just from the simple fact that you were here. 
“You were sniffing her hair.” the man deadpanned and Jungkook felt his face flush. 
“So?” he chided, one hand inside his pockets to feign nonchalance. “I sniff your hair all the time.” 
“You have known me for twelve years.” 
“She smells good!” was his defense, a very poor one at that, but it’s what he had. 
Jungkook was particular about what kind of smells he liked, he’d always been that way. His mother used to joke that it was because of his big nose that he could smell things a lot more strongly than others. He had no idea if it was accurate, but strong scents made his nostrils burn. 
He never had that problem with you. Your body wash was mellow and the perfumes you liked to wear were always soft and floral, a little on the sweeter side, which seemed to match you. 
Besides, Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit to his hyung just how bad he had it for you. 
Now that Yuna was busy with you, Yoongi joined the two-person group of Hoseok and Jungkook near the yellow couch. Jungkook took his seat again, leaving his empty bottle at the small table in front of him, Hoseok on the other cushion and Yoongi on the armchair right beside it. Not too long after, Namjoon and Soyoon turned them into a five piece group, all of them ignoring how the lips of the newcomers were swollen and slightly red. 
Yoongi spoke of his tour and how he hoped all tickets sold out, going over the venues he'd perform at, wishing the rest of the members would come see him. Jimin definitely would. Hoseok wasn’t sure if he could. 
Soyoon mentioned her collab with Namjoon, who was staring at her mouth the whole time. The woman was sweet. Nerdy too, kinda bossy in a fun way; it was surprising that the hyung would go for someone like that. 
Conversation floated around him, but Jungkook’s eyes were trailed to the bar, where you and Yuna were talking animatedly about something he couldn’t hear. The maknae thought he saw slight annoyance on your features at some point, or something akin to disappointment. Yuna noticed it too, giving you a hug and ordering more shots of whatever you were having.
When both of you had full glasses of colorful drinks, you made your way to the group again, making Jungkook fix his posture a bit more. 
“Relax, kid.” Yoongi was the one to notice, muttering behind his whiskey glass. “Play it cool.” 
Jungkook nodded, back resting against the couch as he draped an arm around the back of it, knees parting in a hopefully-natural manspreading. He pretended not to notice you walk this way, laughing at whatever Hoseok was saying. 
Yuna was the first to reach the seats, taking perch on the arm of the couch beside Hoseok. 
“What did we miss?” Yuna asked, slight slur to her words, which made Hoseok smile fondly and wrap a protective arm around her hips. 
“Nothing much.” he replied, kissing her on the arm under the attentive eyes of Yoongi. 
That was a mess Jungkook didn’t plan on getting involved with, nor would he be able to as you sat by his side on the couch, tucked under his stretched arm, glossy eyes and lips around the plastic straw you were sipping from. 
“Hi.” you greeted again, knocking the air out of his lungs. “You look handsome.” 
“I was about to tell you the same thing.” his lips were pulled up at the sides as his head tilted downwards to study your face. He liked the shimmery makeup on your lids. 
“No one ever told me I’m handsome before.” you giggled, proud of yourself for that little joke. 
“I meant I was about to tell you I’m handsome.” Jungkook played along with a grin, any noise around the two of you getting muffled, as if you were in a bubble. “You’re just pretty.” 
You were laughing sweetly, pastel pink nails a contrast to your red drink and the black  sleeve of your shirt. Jungkook didn’t think he ever saw you in clothes with colors. Not that he minded, his own closet was filled with blacks, grays and the occasional white. It was just something he noticed.
“What are you drinking?” he carried on, watching you slip the straw from your mouth. 
“No idea what it’s called, but it’s strawberry.” you lifted the glass towards him in offering. “Wanna try?” 
Jungkook gave you a small nod, liking the way your eyes followed the movement of his lips as he drank from your straw, tasting your gloss along with the alcohol, feeling the sticky of it on his mouth. 
After the sip, the fingertips from the hand that was behind you on the back of the couch dragged on the side of your neck as he said:
“You like it sweet and gentle, don’t you, doll?” he meant the drink, which was too sweet and not strong enough for him, but Jungkook loved the way you squirmed next to him, a small puff of air leaving your lips. 
Your mouth parted for you to speak, but you were interrupted as your bubble was popped and Taehyung plopped down on the couch on your other side. Hoseok and Yuna were no longer there, but Jungkook would have no clue about when either of them moved. 
“Hey, Yn.” Taehyung smiled brightly and you had to sit a little more angled so you could look at him, which pressed your side to Jungkook’s. 
“What’s up?” you smiled back, sweet tilt to your voice as you greeted his friend. 
In the almost three weeks you had been working for Jungkook, Tae hyung and Jimin hyung made visits to the house to see you; either bringing take out or drinks to be shared. None of those times had Jungkook been embarrassed by his friends, but he was still warry, letting his arm drop down your back to rest around your waist. 
“Do you like being a playmate?” Taehyung asked; leave it to him to choose that topic to make conversation. 
“Yeah, of course, or I wouldn’t be doing it.” you giggled, most likely taken back by the question. “I think it’s fun. Allows me to travel around and meet cool people.” 
“Is that what you want to work with forever?” the hyung continued, just as Jungkook’s fingers lightly squeezed your sides. 
“Why, you have another job for me?” you laughed, still getting used to Tae’s slightly random ways. “I’m not really looking for a change in career for now.”
“For now?” Jungkook surprised even himself by the glimmer of hope he felt at the prospects of a future you didn’t work with this. 
Jungkook would never shame you for what you did, especially now that he knew what being a playmate really entailed. But he couldn’t help but think about the future… The future where your Playmate/Client relationship might blossom into something more. 
“Well, being a playmate doesn’t really give you longevity career wise. While we look young and pretty is all good, but when we get older… Well, let’s just say you don’t get as many clients picking you in the sea of younger girls.” you explained, looking between Jungkook and Taehyung. “I don’t have plans to stop now, but in the future I might have to do something else.”
“Maybe we can do a drama together in the future!” Taehyung offered, knowing you wanted to be an actress. “That would be fun. We could make a cute on-screen couple.” 
“I think it would be more fun to play a villain.” you added, and Jungkook didn’t want to delve in the relief that flooded him. “Maybe with a nice death at the end of the season…” 
You and Taehyung got lost in the subject, where the hyung told you about how fun filming his death scene in Hwarang was, you asked him questions about his experiences on the set and if he planned on doing anything like that again. 
There wasn’t much that Jungkook could say, as the most acting he’d done was during the filming of VCRs for BTS concerts. But he would still nod and smile whenever you looked back at him, never wanting to feel left out. But Jungkook was more than happy just to hold you like this, gently running his fingers up and down your sides, occasionally kissing your shoulder as if it was the norm. 
A loud yelp coming from the bar interrupted the conversation, Jimin almost slipping from the bench he was sitting at while talking to one of Hoseok’s friends. It made Taehyung laugh at the drunk hyung, but he took his leave with the explanation of ‘someone better keep an eye on him’. 
When it was just the two of you on the couch, everyone else moving around and mingling, you left your empty cup on the table nearby and turned to face Jungkook. Your face was a little flushed from the alcohol, eyes a little unfocused as you studied his face. 
“I like your freckle.” you decided, pointer finger touching the bottom of his lip. “And your face.” 
“I like your face, too.” he chuckled, wondering if maybe your drink was stronger than he thought, or just how many shots you had with Yuna. “Should we get you some water?” 
“Alcoholic water?” you giggled, resting your hand on his thigh, slightly higher than he expected, making him gulp. 
“Water water.” Jungkook told you, making you pout and frown. You shook your head, cute as can be. 
“That’s boring, Kook, this is supposed to be a party.” you pointed out to him, looking around yourself and settling your attention on the stairs on the other side of the room. “What’s upstairs?”
“Some games, I think.” he shrugged, smile growing as your eyes widened. “Wanna check it out?” 
“Will you come with?” you chirped and he nodded, as if it wasn’t intended that he would. 
Jungkook didn’t plan on leaving your side, unless you asked him to. It should be weird, how he already spent his days next to you. But the more he had of you, the more he wanted. It was addicting really, from your personality to the way you looked. It was almost too good to be true. 
You stood up first, offering your hand to Jungkook to take, and led the way on wobbly knees to the stairs. The two of you passed by a winking Jimin and a red eyed Namjoon, receiving a thumbs up from a dancing Hoseok. 
The idol let you walk up first, keeping a hand on your hip to keep you from tripping over your heavy boots. And if he had a nice view of your ass, then that was an unplanned perk. 
“Air hockey!” you squealed as you saw the game table, leaving Jungkook behind as you walked to it. “I used to love this, my brother and I would spend our allowance on the arcade by the mall when we were growing up.”
“Why did you stop growing?” Jungkook asked as he patted your head, making you laugh prettily. 
“Stop that, my whole family is short, okay?” you batted his hand away, not minding his joke. “Wanna play?”
“I only play for a prize.” his arms crossed at his chest as Jungkook rested the side of his hips against the air hockey table. 
“What do you want?” you mirrored him, but as your arms crossed, your shirt became a little tighter and your breasts were just so…
“I win, you lose a button.” his mouth was speaking before his brain could catch up. 
It made you laugh and look down at your chest. “If you want to see them, all you gotta do is ask.”
“I like to earn it.” Jungkook’s shoulders raised and fell, relieved you weren’t offended by his bluntness. 
“I can think of a way or two you can do that.” your arms uncrossed and you touched his chest with a small hand. 
“Yeah?”
“Start the game, Kook.” 
You suddenly sounded sober, which was bad for his competitiveness, but good for his morals. 
Each of you went to an end of the table and as you took the bright yellow pushers and sent one sliding towards Jungkook, the man pressed the button to make the machine light up and tiny puffs of air covered the surface. The red disk was released on Jungkook’s side of the table, which gave him higher chances of starting the game with a score. 
“Hey, Kook?” you called, making him look at you. He froze on the spot as your fingers popped a button on your shirt, letting him see more of your chest, the black lace of the top of your bra a contrast with your skin. “A head start for you.” 
“Jesus, doll–” 
Your smile was almost innocent as you bent down a little more, so you could better look at the table and move your pusher over it to block any of his movements, but it also meant Jungkook had the perfect view of the plump mounds inside your flimsy top. 
You weren’t playing fair and the two of you knew it, too, but you still batted your eyelashes at him, waiting prettily for him to make the first move. 
At least he could say he tried. 
But it was a game lost from the start. 
Not only were you annoyingly good at the game, with fast moves and even quicker blocks, nothing got past you. Unsure if it was his worst nightmare or sweetest dream, your breasts would jiggle and bounce with your movements, which meant Jungkook was too distracted to block any of your own attacks. 
You made one point after the other and when the score was 6x0, you allowed the disk to slip into your side of the table, giving him a pity point. At your seventh point –an ironic number, if he could say so himself–, the table announced your victory. 
While you squealed and celebrated, Jungkook rolled his eyes and huffed at his loss. 
Jungkook hated losing. 
“Why are you called the golden maknae again?” you teased, licking between your lips. 
“You didn’t play fair and you fucking know it.”  he grumbled, shaking his head and avoiding your eyes. 
His attitude made you laugh harder as you walked toward him. “Damn, you’re a really sore loser.” 
“And you’re an unfair player.” 
“You’re cute like this, you know?” you stated and Jungkook’s cheeks betrayed him as he felt the blush creeping up on him, not getting much better as you took his wrist. “Come. I want my prize.” 
Jungkook would give you anything you ever wanted, no matter how annoyed he was. Especially as you walked to the furthest side of the barely empty second floor, the sway of your hips and the round of your ass too enticing for the young man to ignore. 
He had been right before and there really was a coin noraebang up there, which is exactly where you were leading Jungkook to. You pulled the flimsy door open and allowed him to walk in first. 
The cabin was a little claustrophobic, but big enough so his head wouldn’t hit the ceiling and the two of you could stand inside without bumping into each other. The walls were dark blue, reflecting the colorful strobe lights that made the interior feel like a club. A default song was playing, something by an old kpop band his parents used to listen to, as the instructions on how to use the karaoke system were displayed on the LED TV. 
“I don’t have any coins on me.” Jungkook patted his pockets even if he knew he didn’t even carry cash on him. 
“That’s okay, we won’t be singing.” 
Jungkook let his back hit the wall behind him, legs parting slightly as he rested against it. The man was smirking softly as he held you by the hips and let you fall into him. 
“What are we doing, then?” one of his eyebrows arched, even if he could read it in your eyes, and in the way you licked your lips, just what you wanted. 
“You’re my prize.” 
You were standing between his legs, hands on his chest, sliding up to link at the back of his neck as you pulled him closer to you. Jungkook squeezed your hips encouragingly, pressing your body just a bit tighter against him. He let you be the one to press your lips together, mouths moving in slow drags against each other. 
He hadn’t kissed you again since that night in his kitchen, when he came in his pants from dry humping you –mostly because he didn’t know how to ask for it–. Even if you did grow closer and your touches grew more constant. It was obvious he missed your mouth, with how eager Jungkook was to deepen the kiss; bold hands dragging down until your short skirt turned into soft skin and his grip turned firm. You gasped against his mouth, allowing his tongue to lick into yours. 
One of your hands slipped into his long hair and you squeezed it between your fingers, the burning on his scalp making Jungkook kiss you harder. His tattooed hand started inching higher, under your skirt, slow enough that you could tell him to stop if you didn’t want his advances, but all you did was push your ass into his hand. 
Jungkook felt his heart on his throat and blood rushing south with each flick of your tongue, each smack of your lips and each pretty little sound you made. He found lace when he squeezed your ass cheek, making you moan into his lips and press your body harder into his. The pressure on his cock, which was already filling up rather quickly, made him hiss and break the sloppy kiss. 
“Aren’t you glad you lost the game?” you whispered against his mouth, but Jungkook couldn’t answer when you took his bottom lip between your teeth, letting the meaty pillow drag as you bit and pulled. 
“It feels like I won.” he finally answered, long fingers flexing on your ass. 
“For a boob-guy, you seem to like my ass a lot.” you giggled, hand leaving his hair to touch his chest, down to his abs, making him flex his muscles. 
“I like all of you.” he admitted easily, but his hand left your ass to hold your waist. Between kisses delivered to your mouth, he murmured: “You’re my perfect little doll.” 
“Your doll, huh?” 
You weren’t denying it, but Hoseok’s words stubbornly made it to the forefront of his drunk thoughts. ‘They aren’t ours. They don’t belong to us’. It made Jungkook swallow the bitter lump that was starting to form, self doubt trying to grow roots in his heart. Thankfully your lips touching his neck was plenty of distraction. 
You licked and nipped at his skin as his hands roamed your body freely. Jungkook could hear voices and yells outside the booth, Hoseok’s friends playing whatever game was available, but instead of making him nervous, the possibility of one of them walking in on you was exciting. 
He was breathing hard, head tilted back as you explored his neck with your mouth, eyes closed shut. The hand that was resting on his stomach started moving south again; lower and lower until you cupped his erection, humming in appreciation as you felt the size and weight of it. 
Jungkook’s hand stopped at the back of your neck, giving it a light squeeze as you palmed him, rubbing your small hand up and down his cock over his dark denim. 
“Doll.” Jungkook whispered with a whine. You kissed his chin and hummed questioningly. “You feel really good.” 
“I can tell.” there was a smile on your lips as you kissed the mole under his bottom one. 
“But I don’t wanna cum in my pants again…” 
Not only wasn’t it the most comfortable, there was no way he’d spend the rest of the night with his own drying cum in his pants. The probability of him making a mess and someone noticing it was also substantially high. 
“Who said you’re going to?” 
You answered him with a question, but it didn’t make a lot of sense; or at least his blood really was rushing so low on his body that his thoughts were a little sluggish. You dropping to your knees between his legs was clear enough, though. 
“Fuck–” he cursed under his breath, looking at you get eye level with his crotch, hand still rubbing his erection on top of his pants. 
“Is this okay?” you asked, fingers reaching for his button. 
“Yes.” Jungkook hissed, biting his lip to stop a louder moan from echoing in the small booth. 
You batted your lashes at him, quickly undoing his button and zipper and pulling his pants down to his knees. Your pretty eyes widened and your lips parted as you could see the bulge inside his black boxers; apparently you didn’t get a good look at him when you caught him jerking one off with the thoughts of you, as you were taken back by his size. 
Jungkook grew up with six other boys, and boys being boys, they talked, measured and compared. He knew he was well above average, long and also thick. The way you were looking at him, unmoving, as if wondering how you could make it fit, stroked his ego deliciously. 
“Go on, doll.” he encouraged, hips bucking into your hand. “Don’t get shy on me now.” 
“Not shy–” you pouted, fingers hooking on the elastic band of his underwear. “Just highly impressed.” 
His boxers met his pants around his legs and Jungkook’s cock bounced free, leveled with your mouth, making Jungkook dizzy and throbbing. You held him by the base, small hand sliding up and down slowly as you felt the veins and ridges on your palm and fingers that didn’t meet all the way around him, breath heavy as you licked your lips. 
“You’re really big.” you said, face inching closer. 
“Do you not like it?” Jungkook smirked from above you, how you felt about his cock was pretty evident. 
“I like it very much.” you still answered, lifting his cock so you could kiss the underside of it, making him hiss. 
Jungkook’s hands were on his sides, fingers twitching to hold you by the head and push his cock into your mouth. There was no way you didn’t feel it pulsing on your hand, the tip was leaking pre-cum as you kissed up and down his shaft as if you had all the time in the world. 
When you leg go of his cock, your hands rested on his muscular thighs and you looked up at him, mouth open and tongue out. You brought your parted mouth to his cock, letting his tip drag on the flat of your tongue, slight bobbing movements as your wet muscle caught the clear beads leaking from his tip. 
“Close your lips around it, baby.” Jungkook instructed with a horace voice, fingers caressing your pink cheeks as you did so. “Good girl. Now suck on it a little, hm?” 
Your mouth was full, so you didn’t answer him, wrapping your lips tight against his dick and sucking on the head. Your tongue swirling around it inside your mouth was making him sweat and curse obscenities, upper teeth sinking on his bottom lip. The tip of your tongue swiped and poked at his slit, making his hand slip to the back of your head to take hold of your hair. 
“Put some more into your mouth.” Jungkook asked, watching you slide lower, jaw relaxing to fit more of his cock. He loved how obedient you were. “That’s it… Fuck, let it touch the back of your throat–” 
It didn’t take much for him to feel the constriction of your mouth, the tightness of your throat as you pushed him deeper, just barely reaching the middle of his cock. You threatened to pull back, but his hand forced you down. When you looked up to his face, Jungkook searched your eyes for discomfort or uneasiness, but all he found was pleasure and want. 
He watched as you forced him a little deeper, the squeeze around his cock making him groan lowly. Tears rimmed your eyes when he let you pull back; spit connecting your lips to his tip. You spit the excess in your hand and used it to stroke him up and down and you got your breath back. 
“You’re hot like this.” you told him with a raspy voice that made you grimace. “Telling me what to do.” 
“That’s because you’re a doll that likes taking orders, aren’t you?” he teased, collecting your hair in a makeshift ponytail so it’d be out of your way and so that he could better see your face. “And you like being good. Will you be good for me?” 
“Yeah, I’ll be so good.” you whined, pressing your legs together, eyes fluttering as he tightened his grip on your hair. 
“Then open that pretty mouth for me.” he asked, and you did, swollen red lips parting instantly. With his free hand, Jungkook held his own cock and tugged it up, using the hold on your hair to bring you closer. You understood what he wanted, clearly, as you eagerly licked at his balls. “Be gentle, doll… Yeah, just like– oh, fuck.”
You took one of them into your mouth and suckled slowly and carefully while he stroked and pumped his cock, waves and wakes of pleasure washing over him. You mouthed and licked the other one and it was almost too much for Jungkook. 
“Let me have that dirty mouth.” Jungkook sighed, trying to collect himself, but it was almost impossible with the way you looked on your knees for him. 
“You can have anything you want.” 
If only you knew all he wanted to do to you, with you, you might not offer it to him so willingly. 
Jungkook let you take his cock in your hand and you immediately brought it into your warm and wet mouth, slurping and sucking as you were determined to make him reach his end. The idol held onto your hair but didn’t push or pull you, he let you please him however you wanted. 
While your small hand squeezed and stroked what you couldn’t fit into your mouth, your head bobbed with want and need. His tip would constantly hit the back of your throat and you’d swallow around him. Spit was licking from the corners of your lips as you picked up your pace according to the sounds and moans leaving Jungkook. 
You could read his face, notice the spasms of his body, his quickening breath. Jungkook’s balls were drawing up as his stomach tensed, there was a slight tremble to his legs, a little pressure on the back of your head. 
“Gonna cum, doll, fuck–” he admitted what you both already knew. 
It encouraged you to suck him harder, slurping sounds ricochetting on the walls. Your mouth felt so good around him, so tight and warm and messy. You looked like fucking sin; determined, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Your mouth focused on his sensitive head as your hand tugged him up and down, flicking and twisting fast and hard. 
“Yeah, yeah, don’t stop– ahh, fuck–!” 
Jungkook forgot his surroundings when his lower abdomen clenched and he couldn’t hold back the inevitable no more, not even having the strength to warn you before his cock released thich ribbons of white. You were undeterred as you kept going, slower this time, taking all his load like the perfect good girl, swallowing each spurt, humming and moaning around him. 
You milked him of his last drop, pulling him out of your mouth to kitten lick around his tip to clean him up. When his head tilted forward, half lidded eyes focusing on you, you opened his mouth to let him see you swallowed everything down. 
“Such a good girl for me…” Jungkook cooed, letting go of your hair and caressing your red cheek. “Come up here.” 
You kissed the low of his stomach as you pulled his underwear up, carefully tucking him in, but he handled you to put you back on your feet to smack his lips against yours. You melted into him, arms around his neck as you allowed him to lick around your mouth, tasting himself. 
“I’ll take that water now–” you admitted with a small giggle, sore throat after all your hard work. 
“You can have anything you want.” 
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wintaerbaer · 1 day
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things we don't say: part 6 (TEASER) (kth)
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banner credit: @itaeewon
summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.
pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)
rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)
genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff
word count: 1.2k
teaser warnings: a very sad boy, references to sexual situations, brief mentions of child abuse, vomiting, someone has a wet dream, guilt, shame, a haircut
a/n: sincerest apologies that this series has gone so long without an update. i was struggling with some aggressive writer's block these past few months, but i think we're back in business! <3
PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST
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To say he falls into a state of depression may be an understatement.
He barely eats, barely sleeps, and while Taehyung has always considered you to be the center of his universe—his entire being oriented to you like a star—you’ve begun to haunt him in ways that you never have before. Reminders of you creeping into every minute of his days.
It’s passing your favorite ramen place on his way home from a photoshoot. Or finding a can of your favorite sparkling water buried in the back of his fridge. Or flipping past the cooking show you used to watch together or stumbling upon one of your sweatshirts in his closet or the fact that he still has that damn photo of you hanging up behind his desk.
You’re everywhere—your being so deeply ingrained into his life that he couldn’t erase you even if he wanted to.
And he certainly doesn’t want to erase you; he’s too selfish for that. Even now, even after he’s fucked up to catastrophic degrees by forcing his feelings on you, he still can’t bear to face you directly. Because he knows it would be the end of him for you to reject and abandon him too, even if he can’t blame you for it.
It keeps him up at night, thinking about what he could’ve done differently. How he somehow lost his handle on the control which he has always internally prided himself on (sans a drunken conversation with Namjoon last year where he spilled his guts as was met with a lack of surprise on his friend’s part). He’s always promised himself that he would never burden you, that his love for you was not your responsibility but something for him to manage on his own.
And yet, with you sitting so close on the hotel bed—looking absolutely beautiful in your simple PJs even after he spent the day with you all dressed up—his defenses had crumbled the second you pressed into his side and asked him the final question of your fateful game.
How could he not kiss you then? How could he not give you what you asked of him when he wouldn’t hesitate to lay down his very life if you required it?
But still, he spends hours each night staring at the white expanse of his ceiling wishing he had held back like he always did. Years spent training himself to resist the way his blood calls out for you reduced to naught the second he got his first taste of your lips. And now you likely hate him.
And as if it’s not enough for his brain to put him through this nightly torture, the guilt eating him alive, when he finally does manage to scrounge up a few hours of sleep, there’s the matter of the dreams.
He revisits the hotel room every night. Can taste you again, hear your moans, feel your mouth on him and your warm skin underneath his hands as his mind drags him back through every minute detail on a loop. It’s agony, having to both wrangle with the knowledge of how it felt to be with you as well as face his sins every time he closes his eyes. Realize just how badly he fucked up when he wakes to once again find the other half of his bed empty.
Because in spite of him spending years convincing himself that you were never meant to be, there’s still a small part of Taehyung’s subconscious that’s always carved out space for you in his life. It’s the part that stocks your favorite drinks in his fridge, keeps that photo of you pinned behind his computer, leaves a side of the bed open for you because he became so damn accustomed to sleeping next to you in high school.
He’d found that the bruises from his father didn’t hurt as much when you were sitting next to him making him laugh in your bedroom. That his brain would quiet enough from the terrors to allow him to sleep if you were there lying next to him. That he didn’t feel the dull pain, only the gentle touches of your fingers, as you carefully applied makeup onto the dark patches of skin before school.
It had been easy, then, to dedicate himself to providing you with the same support and care you had shown him in any way he could. To wish for your happiness above all else—his guardian angel through and through.
At least, that is, until he lost control in that hotel room.
One night, after a particularly vivid dream involving your body under his, he awakes to sheets that are soaked around his middle. He blanches at the evidence of his body’s desire for you even now, the horror at the audacity of his unconscious mind causing bile to churn and rise in his throat.
He bolts for the bathroom, barely making it there before he empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet. His body shakes as he retches above the porcelain, guilt rattling his bones until he can hardly keep himself upright.
When the waves of nausea stop, when he can finally pull himself up to lean his elbows against the sink, he stares hard at the mirror and man he sees there.
He looks haggard, dark splotches sitting under his eyes and hair hanging limp around his face and over his forehead. The pale skin of his cheeks and lips is surely due, in part, to the vomiting, but there’s no denying that he’s a shell of his former self. A ghost just going through the motions of a past life.
And it’s there, peering through the darkness at his own reflection, that Taehyung decides he hates himself.
He’s not sure if it’s the raw disgust or the unrelenting shame that has him reaching for the hair clippers, but as his sable tresses begin to fall in chunks over the bathroom counter and floor, Taehyung thinks he deserves this.
He deserves the torment of his dreams. That disturbing combination of his wildest fantasies and nightmares rolled into one.
He deserves to wake up alone. To be reminded of his transgressions at the break of each day.
And he deserves to lose you.
Hell, he never deserved to have you.
The silence that follows the buzz of the trimmer seems at odds with the roaring in his head. Still, he manages to scoop the mess of hair into the trash before dragging himself back to the tangle of his sheets.
He finds himself right back in that cursed hotel room.
When he shuffles into the living room the next morning, still fighting the lingering tastes of bile and your lips, Jungkook and Jimin are already awake at the kitchen bar drinking coffee. They freeze at the sight of him; the pastry that Jimin was halfway to putting in his mouth hits the ground with a thud as Jungkook lets out a low whistle and simply shakes his head.
“That bad, huh?”
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a/n: may or may not go back and revise this again for the final draft. in the meantime, a reminder that my ask box is always open! <3
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joonsproperty · 6 hours
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jungkook x fem!reader (nsfw)
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authors note: I need him to do this shit to meeeee!
tw: breeding kink ?, oc is obsessed with his cum, cum eating, overstim, edging, spit play, blindfold used, dirty talk, dumbifaction, what else ?
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚
He got you naked, and himself. He wanted you so bad, he knew what kind of slut you were the minute you both started dating.
He placed a pink blindfold over your eyes, pinning your hands over your head. He kisses you messily.
"Keep still for me." He spoke between each kiss, praising your lips, pressing his tongue against yours.
You whine, "ah mh!"
"Shh, you'll get what you want." He teases his length on your folds, pressing the tip of his needy cock on your clit making your mouth fall open.
"Kookie!" You gasp his arms, but he pushes them away, pinning them over your head.
His tone is deep, "what did I say?"
You don't answer, you only grind your hips in the air, begging for some friction. You needed his cock inside you so bad.
"Mmh?" He gripped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.
You grunt, "keep my hands where you told me to?"
"That's right-" he kissed your lips and groaned. He knew you were gonna make him feel good. "Can I fuck you?"
You nod desperately. It was pathetic how badly you needed it. But you were too cock dumb to understand that.
He pushed his thick girth into your tight pussy and moaned loudly, "fuck baby."
"Ooh, ah so- b-big!" You keep your hands over your head and squeeze the sheets.
He growled, "ahh, shit so tight!"
You were so desperate, you started to move your body up and down on the mattress to get him to move, but he grabbed your hips to keep you still.
"Jungkook!" You gasp as you feel his cock hit your gspot over and over again, "ngh!"
"Shh princess, I'll fill you up soon." He rasps, thrusting himself in and out of your cunt. He felt you clench around him to suppress the feeling of your coming orgasm.
You moan, "fuck, please let me have your cum. All of it!"
"All my cum? You can't handle not being full of my damn cum?" He mocked you, slapping your thigh roughly leaving a heaving mark.
You cry, "ah!"
"Let me fill you to the brim, mh?" He groaned as he slapped his skin against yours, feeling his climax approaching.
You moan softly, "mmh, jungkook-"
"That's right." He went a little slower to savor your orgasm. "Wanna see you overflowing with cum."
"Please- fuck me." You breathe. You were so close, you couldn't take it anymore.
He bent down a little to kiss your lips messily. He breathed deeply, in and out of your mouth as he kisses you, losing all patients.
"Let me take care of you, mmh." He slips his tongue in your mouth, moaning dirty words. "Such a pretty girl, taking my cock so well hm?"
You nod, letting his saliva enter your mouth. You felt nothing but pleasure and a hit of a coming release.
He thrusted fast again, gaining up on his orgasm before your own. He let his hot cum fill you up, and with each thrust came a low moan leaving his lips.
"Just, ah- just like that!" He pumped his cock slowly in and out of you just to get his cum deeper. He pulls out to admire his cum dripping out of your small cunt.
You whine, "mh fucking love your cum." You stuff your cunt with your fingers to get his cum deeper.
"Oh, you naughty girl." He watches with amusement and affection. "Do you like it when I cum inside you?"
You nod, "more- please more."
"Yeah?" His tone was teasing. He knew you loved to be claimed as his, by taking every last drop of his cum. He took off your blindfold and saw your eyes, they were red and needy. "Now I can see you when you cum."
You pull your fingers out and place them in your mouth, swallowing him, moaning at the taste. It satisfied you.
"Eating my cum like a good girl?" He scoffed as he kissed your forehead, aligning his cock with your entrance again.
He pushed in, "Ooh, fuck!"
You shake a little, feeling a little overwhelmed. You just came, and him wanting to do it again made you feel exhausted.
"Shh, I'll go slower this time." He kissed your lips, getting a good taste of himself as he does.
He thrusts slowly but deeply, hearing your soft moans and whimpers. He kissed your cheek, leading his lips down to your neck and nape.
He whispered, "gonna fill you up till you can't take it anymore."
"Kookie!" You gasp and squeeze his arms. You feel your clit swelling up again you couldn't help but be sensitive.
He leans in closely and kisses you passionately, feeling a sense of desire and deep connection. "You're going to be so full."
"Mmh, ah- ah!" You felt his cock drive deep into you, hitting your soft spot over and over again. You couldn't help but whine and shake in pleasure. "P-please, I wanna cum."
He exhaled, "then cum, I won't stop you baby. Cum on my cock like a good girl."
You groaned and pulled him down. All you wanted was him. You kissed him deeply and cried. You were so close and you don't do well when you get edged.
"Agh, fuck!" He let out a low moan as he came again. He filled you up, making you feel full. His cum had painted your walls completely making you feel a bit better.
You whimper, "please kookie, mm so close!"
You chuckled as he bent down to kiss you again. He lapped your lips to tease you, hearing your desperate whines. You begged for release.
He kept his eyes on yours as he put his hand between your legs. He pushed his fingers into you making you let out a shaky squeal.
"Ah, yeah-" you gripped the arm that he was using on you, feeling too sensitive. But you needed it. "Please, please, please!"
"It's okay baby, you can cum." He kisses your forehead and feels your hot breath hit his neck over and over again. "So sexy baby."
"MH MMH AH!" You cum, finally. You roll your eyes back and buckle your hips. He kept his stride on your pussy and continued to finger you through your heavy orgasm.
He smirked, "so pretty when you cum."
"Kookie!" You gasp for air as your orgasm still shoots through you. His cum leaked out of your sore hole and you felt like your body was thanking you. You needed to cum desperately.
He pulled his fingers out and let the rest of his cum leak out. You didn't feel so full anymore, and you couldn't help but feel humiliated.
"Feels good, huh." He kissed you, "did such a good job princess."
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kookielips · 2 days
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─ jeon jungkook (nsfw)
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soft dom!jungkook x sub!reader
gender / tags: sexual content without a real plot, established relationship, pussy eating, fingering, f penetration, unprotected sex, slight aftercare, slight mention of sweat and other bodily fluids.
word count : 771
notes: english is not my first language, please take this into consideration and overlook any mistakes. let me know what to improve/if you liked it <3
"just one more, hmm?" you felt his breath on your neck, his fingers caressing the purple marks on your thighs "can you do this for me, baby? can you take one more finger?" you nodded quickly, seeing him tilt his head to place kisses below your navel, a smile appearing on his face as he felt you shiver.
he skillfully moved your body so that your legs rested on his shoulders, he kissed the inside of your thighs before his lips took your clit and simultaneously inserted another long finger into your cunt. the cold metal of the lip piercing made you shiver, his movements were slow, torturously too slow, which only made the knot in your stomach grow, offering no real relief other than the small sensation of pleasure that only accumulated into more lust. every time you thrust your hips towards him and let out another needy moan he would laugh teasingly against your spot, the vibrations it sends through your body almost being too much at that moment. jungkook was in no rush when it came to you, he would truly spend hours teasing you just to get these little desperate reactions from you.
when he eventually settled into a rhythm that could send you over the edge, he pulled away, his lips left your core and he retracted the wet fingers that were poking your g-spot, only to, hovering over you, stretch them towards you "suck it" his authoritative tone contrasted with the man who was laughing softly at you as he ate you out little by little, this duality it still impressed you. you did what he asked without thinking twice, tasting yourself, running your tongue around his fingers slowly "that's it". he smiled, satisfied, as he took off his own clothes and positioned his already leaking cock at your entrance.
jungkook loved this moment, where your bodies came together, he felt so close to you and so loved that he could come with just that. thought. he enjoyed the short moments when he didn't move inside your hole as much as the moments he did, waiting for you to get used to it and relax around his length. he wanted to memorize everything, her face contorted in pleasure with the stretching of her pussy, her mouth slightly open, her breathing short, her nails digging into the sheet.
his hands slid down her body until they reached her breasts, he curled his hands around her around and gave it a light squeeze, getting a whimper from you. he skillfully played with your nipples between his fingers and began moving his hips against yours, fucking you expertly, the way he knew you liked it. he could be teasing when it came to foreplay, but he was relentless the moment he was inside you, chasing his own climax while doing his best to make you feel good too.
"oh, please!" the most pornographic noises left his mouth as he threw his head back, lost in the ecstasy you were making him feel, giving him a perfect view of his toned chest shining with sweat. he pulled her legs so they were better positioned around him, giving him a better angle to hit her. his tattooed hand grabbed your jaw and his thumb caressed your pink lips, a silent signal for you to open, that authority in your expression from earlier was visible now too. your eyes shone with lust as he pressed his thumb against your tongue gently, your eyebrows furrowed and you felt his dick twitch inside you.
his movements became more difficult, producing wet sounds that echoed through the room, his tip hitting your g-spot with each quick movement, that familiar feeling formed in his stomach. your vision became blurry and with a cry you came first, writhing in the sheets, your hands reaching for the headboard for stability. "i'm close" he came soon after, murmuring your name repeatedly, with last strong thrusts dumping his load inside you. he pulled away as soon as he regained consciousness just to watch, with his head half tilted and a satisfied expression, the mixture of fluids that stained the silk sheets as they left your cunt.
he sighed softly and left a lingering kiss on your forehead, his hands busy caressing your thighs. “you did so good for me, sweetheart, it was incredible” jungkook wrapped his arms around you, leaving kisses on your neck and the back of your head as he guided you to the bathroom for probably a second round.
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Text
Dark Moon | Chapter Ten
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Pairing | yandere!JImin x Reader
Word Count | 3,6k
Warnings | 18+, smut noncon, yandere themes, triggering content, drunken sex, forced anal sex, rimjob, fingering, sadism, violence, lots of crying and screaming, teasing, humiliation, blood, hatred, angst, attempted murder, serious injuries, use of a knife, sea of blood, first hints of Stockholm Syndrome, be careful: this chapter is darker than the other chapters and from now on Dark Moon will be much more violent.
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This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.
I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.
This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.
Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.
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⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.
And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.
That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.
He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.
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➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys ❤️ Today's chapter was particularly difficult to write, it is very dark and from here on we get into the heart of Dark Moon, which I always remember is a highly yandere story, I recommend reading it to readers who are age +18 and who already have experience with the yandere genre, Dark Moon is not a story with a normal relationship, it is a yandere. For those who will read the chapter, let me know what you think of it and what you believe will happen in the future!
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Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse, @jiminismine4ever
Taglist is open!
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Chapter List - Previous - Next
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Perhaps it was the alcohol swirling in his body or perhaps his sadistic nature, but he didn't think twice about ripping off even that one too many garments, Y/N squeezed her eyes shut huddling her head between the blankets that smelled of Jimin, everything about that room smelled of him and she felt suffocated by his oppressive presence.
Jimin ran two fingers over the entrance hidden by the young woman's panties, reached out to her clitoris circling it through the fabric, but did not dwell on it for long, without uttering a breath he lowered Y/N's panties badly, finally putting on display what he was really aiming for.
He eagerly squeezed the girl's soft, perfect buttocks, his hands carefully palmed that velvety flesh, she could not understand what his intentions were, why was he talking one way but touching her another?
The boy lowered himself to kiss her back, inhaling her scent that reminded him of the scent of his bubble bath present in the bathroom, she had not confined herself to books, he thought amused, there was something sick about her, something she did not even admit to herself, even as she actively sought something that would make her closer to the man she so professed to detest.
"Jimin..." there, she had once again used his name, the man couldn't hold back any longer, spread her buttocks revealing the small, tight pink hole, and lowering his head the boy left a wet, warm streak of saliva in that never-violated spot, "What the hell-?!" exclaimed Y/N, stiffening in shock.
Jimin was... he was licking her right there?!
Between shame and disgust she tried to slip out of his hands, but the man squeezed her tightly and together with his weight prevented her from moving, continuing to circle around that ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue, occasionally entering a few millimeters.
Forced there and under those attentions, Y/N felt strange, with horror she realized that she was not just trembling with fear, she was feeling a strange warmth that was affecting her lower abdomen, the sinuous movements of the man's tongue continued to wet and stimulate the little hole, saliva slowly slipped from her buttocks to the throbbing, soaked cleft of her pussy.
Pleasure and humiliation mingled causing her emotions so strong as to be unbearable, she untangled herself once again from his grasp and this time managed to free herself, crawled away and by a hair's breadth the man came back to grasp her ankle again, bringing her back under him.
"You're a goddamn animal!" exclaimed Y/N between her teeth, Jimin sneered pushing his pelvis against her, who distinctly felt the rigid presence between his legs.
"Now I recognize my little whore" he murmured in her ear making her shudder, "From the way you're acting I bet no one has ever touched this cute little ass" he slapped a buttock as if to punctuate his words and the woman winced, "Somehow I'll still have a virgin part of you" he growled forcefully and without any regard pushing two fingers into that tight and rigid hole, a scream dictated by pain and shock left the girl's now pale lips.
"No, no, no! Stop, I don't want to!" she was in a panic, Jimin's fingers made no hint of leaving her, the stretch was uncomfortable and burning like hell, the man was already anticipating that moment, he wanted her to scream in pain and sorrow, he wanted her to regret that stupid attitude she had held with him all along.
As he penetrated that tight little cave, he finished lowering his boxers with his other hand, freeing his hard, aroused cock.
He slid down to the young woman's slit without penetrating her, merely gathering over the entire length what little liquid arousal Y/N had produced against her own will. The girl felt the thick presence behind her and feared that it would end like last time, too bad Jimin had something much worse in mind.
Without saying a word he released those tight muscles from his fingers, Y/N almost collapsed from the pain, but Jimin grasped her hips tightly sinking his fingers into her flesh, the girl buried her head between the pillows already imagining the painful twinge that would rip through her core, but she was not prepared for the excruciating pain Jimin's thrusting caused her when he forcefully entered her ass, a sharp, breathless cry left her throat in despair, she wriggled on the bed like a trapped animal, but Jimin easily pinned her down by pounding inside her without any mercy, his hoarse breaths increased in volume as he sank repeatedly into that hole that clenched hard and in pain around his cock, he fell back on the young girl's small body with all his weight, forcing her to spread her stiff, trembling thighs wide.
"It hurts, please stop! It hurts so much, I can't take it!" she cried for air, she had thought Jimin's fingers were enough to feel pain, she had not expected a situation like that, his thick, hard cock was practically opening her in two, she frantically shook her head against the pillow with each stroke of the man's hips, who smiled addicted to that pleasure.
"How can I stop when-uhm..." he paused for a moment trying to contain himself and not explode inside her right away, "When you hold me so tight?" he finished in a voice pregnant with lust, penetrating her completely, who arched her back with a choked scream at that umpteenth assault.
"Now tell me, do you prefer it when I fuck your pussy or your ass? " he asked, increasing the speed of his strokes, aware of the harm he was doing to her not only physically, he wanted to humiliate her to such an extent that no light of defiance remained in her, his balls began to slam violently against her empty, dripping slit, the walls tightened around nothing, and another wave of tears slid down her face, realizing the strange combination of pain and pleasure that was being created in her.
Jimin moved his body slightly from hers, just the slightest bit that helped him to see himself sinking into her once more, the tiny ring of muscle had finally adjusted to his size despite the force with which he still enveloped his cock, he spit a trickle of saliva between them increasing the lubrication of the intercourse and began to give deeper and slower thrusts.
"You didn't answer me," he chuckled, penetrating the entrance to her intimacy with his middle finger, finding it incredibly moist.
He groaned breathlessly as he imagined himself in there, squeezed by that infinite, delicate softness, cradled by the elastic grip of her trembling walls.
"Fuck, can you hear yourself? If you hadn't behaved so badly this is where I would have come in, and we would have both enjoyed it," he growled in her ear, "But that's okay too, isn't it? You're soaked all the same, maybe you really are perfect for the Dark Moon" he taunted her, ramming into her countless times, feeling his balls swell and his cock shake, Jimin's small, intense moans of pleasure slid over the girl's now helpless body, which catatonicly welcomed the man's semen on top of her, he stood there still between her buttocks, pouring the white, viscous cum inside her asshole, before climbing out of her and gazing with satisfaction at that destroyed little hole soaked with his essence, Jimin slid away wearily on the bed, gazed breathlessly at the ceiling, a glance between his legs and noticed on his still half-erect cock drops of blood.
He grinned, satisfied with his work.
"Now you are no longer a virgin."
Y/N turned her head away, unable to move, feeling pain everywhere, even inside her soul.
Jimin had ruined her forever.
"I hate you" was the only thing she managed to say between dry, trailing lips, lost in a spiral of thoughts that only she knew.
Jimin stared at the walls of his bedroom with a sigh.
"You can hate me all you want, it doesn't change what you are and where you are," he muttered, beginning to close his eyes to fall asleep.
You are my whore, mine to have and mine to torture.
He had not said it, but that was what he meant.
The woman felt the man's breathing become lighter after about twenty minutes, twenty minutes of interminable silence.
Her gaze was no longer lost in the void, but steady on the boy's closet, there where she had previously discovered one of his little secrets.
She tried to calm down, not to do rash things, but he had no respect for her, had used and raped her, going so far as to force her into anal intercourse for which she had not been properly prepared. He had used her like a rubber doll, she thought with disgust written all over her face.
She lifted herself up slowly, preventing her complaints from escaping her lips, although she felt destroyed, her legs staggered on her own weight, and lowering her gaze she saw the blood etched between the sheets.
Panic gripped her chest, that same sordid spectacle she had experienced years before, when she was just a naive little girl who did not understand the malice of the world. The girl's tears became constant, but she still maintained silence. No, she could not relive such a thing and do nothing about it, not this time.
She angrily wiped away her tears and with another glance at the closet opened the doors slowly, rummaging through the bottom and finding what she was looking for, she forced her fingers on a small raised dowel and slid the wooden wall to her right, which revealed the presence of a dark duffel bag.
With unsteady hands she unzipped the thick zipper, revealing its forbidden contents.
She tightened her lips, casting a glance at the sleeping figure of the boy, the alcohol had finally taken its toll along with the sex, that monster would no longer be a threat to her.
That morning Jimin woke up with his mind strangely silent, his demons were not there, he stretched out casting a glance to his side and found the place previously occupied by Y/N, empty.
She was gone.
A gnawing in his stomach caged him, making him incuporated. Why the hell should he have cared?
He couldn't remember exactly what he had done that night, but he remembered perfectly well that he had enjoyed it, that was the important thing, wasn't it?
He got up slipping on the boxers left on the floor and headed to the bathroom to clean himself up.
He washed himself by eliminating the smell of sex from his skin, he looked at the bubble bath without a hint of emotion on his face, just remembering the smell of the girl, indeed it was one of the few things he remembered from the previous night, but his mind was still fixed on her, who would not decide to give in for good, he had come back pissed off like a hyena that night; Because she would not give in to him, because Hoseok had made those insinuations, because now everyone believed that he depended on her.
He wasn't. He was still Park Jimin, the independent, strong man. She, on the other hand, was just his tasty and tender plaything.
When he finished his shower he emerged from the bathroom with a towel tied to his hips, his athletic, slender figure a joy to behold, his dark soul sighing in pleasure at the screams of his victims.
He returned to the room to dress and had only time to put on clean boxers and a pair of shorts before he heard the thud of an object falling and shattering on the floor.
He frowned, immediately heading toward the source of that sound, "Y/N?"
He went to the living room looking around, on the floor were the broken and scattered pieces of a vase, but no trace of the girl.
"Y/N? Y/N!" he was getting pissed off, "We don't have a cat, I also doubt it was the wind, so I suggest you-!" an excruciating twinge blocked the breath in his throat.
His gaze dropped to the silver blade of the knife that had penetrated his side, the handle of that knife was clasped in the small hands of the woman who only hours before was under him in his bed.
Now there was shock and surprise on his face, he watched the girl wordlessly before his eyes narrowed in pain.
Y/N, whose face was transfigured with anger, watched the boy take deep breaths, as if he was used to those kinds of blows, and that pissed her off more.
She had waited all night for that moment, she didn't want to hit him while he was unconscious, she wanted him to be lucid and awake so she could hear him scream, but he wasn't screaming, he didn't look scared, and that made her angrier. She wanted Jimin, for once, to show that he was human and not just a crazed kidnapper and heartless killer.
"Why don't you scream, why?! Fuck!" she shouted before pulling out the blade with a revolting sound, then sticking it again in a spot not far from the previous one, Jimin jerked it away from himself, holding tightly to a shelf to prevent himself from collapsing to the ground, gritting his teeth to try not to scream, he pressed his hand on the first wound, not daring to pull the knife out of the second one. Had he done so, he would only have caused more damage.
He squatted slowly on the floor, pale and unable to think of a solution; there was already sweat on his upper lip to testify to what was going on inside him.
He tried to reason lucidly without losing sight of Y/N, who looked like a lion locked in a cage, paced around the living room holding her head in her slimy bloodstained hands, crying and shaking to herself, he forced himself to keep calm because in that condition he would only hurt them both.
"Y/N, where did you get this knife?" he hissed between his teeth breathing hard, she didn't answer but there was really no need for her to, the man had recognized him, it was part of the set he used during the missions, "Never mind, now be a good girl and hand me the phone" he was shaking, his body couldn't handle that condition yet and he seriously needed help, he had to call Seokjin and get help sent, immediately.
But Y/N stared at him fearfully, if she called his teammates they would surely kill her, Hoseok's threat was still alive in her mind and she began to shake her head.
"The phone is in my room, Y/N...fuck, go get the phone!" he blurted out moaning breathlessly, in response the girl began to run to the front door.
But no, she couldn't know the security code, right?
Jimin's brain threw a warning bell when he heard the typical sound that signaled the apartment was open.
"Shit!" he threw all his good intentions to the wind, began to run after her heedless of the suffering he was subjecting his body to, found himself removing the knife from the wound, shrugging off the consequences, it was incredibly painful and slow to do so, but when he saw her go through the emergency exit he chased after her jumping up several steps at a time.
Y/N's vision was flooded with tears, she did not understand why Jimin had not reacted as she expected he would, he had not turned around screaming in pain, he had not railed at her, and that made her feel bad, made her feel like the monster of the situation.
She had stabbed a man in the back, no matter who he was, she had done it.
And now she was going to die, Jimin would never let her go unpunished, much less his friends, she was screwed in every sense of the word now.
She grabbed the doorknob of the exit, preparing to scream and call for help, but she never got as far as throwing it open.
Jimin was quicker, grabbed her by the hips lifting her off the floor, she screamed in shock as she was dragged away, back into the apartment.
The boy closed the door with a loud roar, but he did not let her go, he slumped to the floor with her still pressed against his body, Jimin's hot, labored breathing tickled her neck, he did not seem to be intent on punishing her, then she felt something wet her clothes, something that horrified her.
Jimin's blood was flowing copiously from his wounds, and despite the lack of a shirt she could not tell where it came from, the blood was so thick and plentiful that it covered the deep cuts.
"Y/N..." he said again, she clearly sensed the torment in his voice and if possible felt even worse, "I need your cooperation," he said bitterly.
The girl silently nodded after a few moments, Jimin closed his eyes, his complexion was increasingly ashen.
"My phone is on the bedside table, bring it to me," he let her go and she got up in pain, between running and the wild sexual intercourse she had a few hours earlier, she was not in a very good state, but she tried to be quick in retrieving the object in question. She could have called the police, asked for help and reported Jimin, but she did not think about those possibilities at all, what was wrong with her?
She felt like a horrible person, how had she become this way?
When she returned to Jimin she found him trying to hold his deep gashes to stem the flowing blood, his movements were getting slower and slower, but he reached for the phone, it took seconds too long to unlock the phone and find Jin's number, but when he did he was relieved.
"Jin," he called, licking his dry, purplish lips, "I have a problem," he coughed.
In the meantime, the woman hurriedly looked around, saw some tea towels in the kitchen and didn't think twice about picking them up, ran to the man who was continuing to talk to his boss and with trembling fingers pressed on the wounds firmly, causing Jimin to spasm, who immediately clenched his teeth. There was so much vermilion liquid that her head spun, she must have been crazy for doing such a thing, she did not kill people.
"... I lost a lot of it, yes... No, she is here with me," he was saying, and that made her blanch. It was over.
Her chest began to lower and rise more and more slowly, Y/N was witnessing the boy's condition and could do nothing, for either of them.
Fuck, she didn't know if Jimin would protect her, he would probably be the one to give the order to slaughter her, assuming he didn't keep the honor for himself, but dead Jimin was pretty much sure she would follow him immediately.
When the boy put down, he took to staring at her without saying a word, he was quiet, he wasn't ranting at her, he just seemed...surrendered.
"Why did you do that?" he asked weakly, she squared him with glazed eyes, "Why did you stab me?"
"You hurt me," she said with a knot in her throat, "Before, it was different... you were like him," she sobbed, leaving Jimin strangled and confused .
What had he done and who was "him"?
Jimin tried to remember his actions, he had come home drunk, this was clear to both of them, and he was angry, very angry.
Suddenly he remembered everything, frowned.
He had... he had....
Why did he feel so bad at the thought of what he had done? After all, this was not the first time, he had done it before, he was interested in feeling pleasure, and he had even punished her, she deserved it! But looking at those tear-filled eyes, it wasn't just the wounds that cut off his breath. Perhaps death was fucking with his brain.
"Y/N..." he seemed to want to tell her something important, perhaps it was about his last breath, but-
"Jimin! Jimin!" tense and nervous voices interrupted that moment full of unexpressed feelings, Y/N turned toward the men dressed in black who with weapons in hand began to check the whole apartment, some she recognized, she had already seen them in the company of the boy.
Other men ran to attend to him, beginning to check his vitals and oxygen, strong, angry hands pulled her away from the man and she found herself screaming in fear.
"It was you, right! Fucking-"
"Hoseok, let her go immediately!" exclaimed Jimin as he pushed one of the doctors aside, his pale, tired face glowering at the man behind the girl's back, "Do you hear me?" he huffed furiously, Hoseok tightened his grip on her, hurting her.
"What do you want me to do then? We can't leave her so fucking unpunished!"
"Lock her in her room," ordered Jimin with a cold stare, Y/N whitened, "She is not to come out of there, just as no one is to enter her room until I return, understood?"
The grip on her shoulders vanished, but another made her get up in a rush, the woman saw Jimin being carried away by the medics, while someone else slammed her violently inside her room, she fell ruefully to the floor and held her arm in pain.
She cast a glance at the culprit and recognized him as Taehyung. He seemed beside himself.
"If I don't kill you now it's only because Jimin doesn't want to, but don't expect mercy from us," he spat, distraught at the image of his friend reduced to that condition.
He slammed the door behind him and the lock was heard to close.
It was really over.
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chimcess · 2 days
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Waterlog || pjm (3) (teaser)
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Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Teaser wc: 391 Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: toxic relationship (not reader and jimin), arguments, cheating (not reader and jimin), talks about previous child abuse, anxiety attack, strong language, crying, emotional abuse (not reader and jimin), mentions of depression and mental health, lots of angst in this one, finally making some progress though, age insecurity, mutual pining, lots of side character development in this one, they really are so sweet together, jimin just being the nicest boy in the world, so much PDA, physical touch is his love language 👀👀👀, more in the official posting...
Release date: April 6th, 2024 at 6pm EST
masterlist || playlist
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Jimin and I said our goodbyes and I promised the blue haired boy I would call him in the morning to set up another meet up. He called it a group date, something neither Jimin nor I disagreed with, but it did make me feel queasy. Depending on how our conversation goes, we may never spend time together outside of training. I felt like I was going to vomit.
“Let me drive?” Jimin murmured as we parted ways with the couple. 
I nodded, digging in my purse to find them. “Mind reader, I swear. Get out of my head, kid.”
He snickered, “Who says you weren’t in mine, granny”
The queasiness dissipated and I felt like I could breathe a little bit easier now. Being alone with Jimin had never felt this nerve wracking before, not even the first time we met, and it was hard to explain all of the thoughts and feelings going through my head. We were finally having the talk, but I had never imagined it going this way. Handing him the keys, I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Whoops,” I mocked. “You know me and my bad eyesight, kiddo.”
“Watch it,” He hissed, rubbing the spot. “Don’t want you breaking anything. You know you have frail bones.”
I laughed, “Don’t make me give you a knuckle sandwich, punk.”
Sliding into the passenger seat felt less daunting after the light hearted exchange. Still, my blood was pumping as Jimin clicked his seatbelt in place. I had no idea when the conversation would shift into murkier waters, but I needed to start thinking about what to say to him. 
Denying my feelings would only make things worse, and I did not think the younger man would believe me. In fact, he would be offended that I thought he was dumb enough to get bamboozled in the first place. Lying did not seem like the right call anyway. My feelings were not something to feel ashamed about, but they were very frightening. 
“When is later?”
I gasped, startled out of my thoughts. We had been driving for over ten minutes already. Time seemed to slip by when I was lost in my own head. Jimin apologized for scaring me but repeated the question once I reassured him that I was fine.
“Now,” I mumbled. “I guess later is now.”
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Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio @tae-with-some-suga @sumzysworld @chimmisbae
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Let me know if you want to be added/deleted from the taglist. -Lex
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kingofbodyrolls · 1 day
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My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | eight
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🐴Chapter summary: with Jessi in a wheelchair you’ve taken on every task around the ranch, and finally realize how hard it is to run. But it’s a welcomed escape from Jimin, though it doesn’t help when Jungkook tries to push you two together again.🐴Chapter title: Love You, Hate You 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main) 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au + smut, humor, fluff, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact! 🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of blood from a head wound, some blood from a cow giving birth and otherwise the standard angst and angriness. Yep, sorry again 😭 Things will somewhat start to look up in the next chapter!! ☀️ And if you feel like you need a reminder where the story is heading, read this spoiler 🫶 🐴Status: ongoing 🐴Word count: 9.5k
🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,
*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.
🐴Now playing 💿 “Love You, Hate You” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: I really feel like I’m putting my characters through hell 😂 I really do feel bad for Jimin and MC — but we’re almost there!!!! (also, when do you think one of them will snap and finally talk to each other???). 
It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there.Wanna see the book cover?
← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next (Monday) →
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“Hate you, love you, want you and I need you It’s not easy It makes me cry Need you, want you, hate you Love you, need you, want you Gotta go, say goodbye, say goodbye” - ‘Love you, Hate you’ by Rebecca Lavelle
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Once more, Jungkook propels the car with an urgency that flirts with recklessness, yet you refrain from voicing concern. The unspoken agreement between you acknowledges his competence behind the wheel. Witnessing the transformation, his tears replaced by a steely resolve as he assumes control, leaves you in awe. The shift in his focus is palpable, a laser-sharp intensity that cuts through the emotional haze.
The familiar road unravels beneath the wheels, leaving a veil of dust in the truck’s turbulent wake. Your gaze fixates on the passing landscape, a silent witness to the gravity of the night. The realization dawns that informing the girls is not just a practical idea; it’s a lifeline to assuage their likely anguish. Retrieving your phone from the snug pocket of your jeans, you declare your intention, fingers poised to bridge the distance between uncertainty and reassurance. “Just gonna inform the girls.”
Jungkook nods, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the road ahead. You embark on a mission, fingers dialing Soo-ah’s number with a determined precision. The phone ascends to your ear, the ensuing silence pregnant with the unspoken gravity of the message you’re about to deliver. 
The moment Soo-ah’s voice resonates through the phone, an undertone of anxiety and fear punctuates the connection, mirroring the collective uncertainty that binds you all. “Jessi’s been in a car accident, and we’re en route to the hospital,” you disclose, your voice carrying the weight of recent tears. However, amid the distress, you impart a tentative reassurance, “She’s alive, but there’s something off—her words were slurred. I think she hit her head. But we will know more when we get to the hospital.” 
Turning to Jungkook, you observe the fierce determination etched in the pallor of his knuckles, a testament to the vice-like grip on the wheel. Traces of dried tears mar his cheeks, a visual echo of the emotional tempest that has swept through him. In that moment, a palpable lump lodges itself in your throat, an involuntary response to the profound vulnerability laid bare in the silent interplay of clenched fists and tear-stained faces. 
The remainder of the journey unfolds in stifling silence, the cabin suffused with an unspoken tension that hangs thick in the air. The specter of fear, like an insidious intruder, stealthily reclaims its place within the confines of your bones. 
Anxiety courses through you—for Jessi’s well-being, for the unknown revelations awaiting, for the uncertain terrain that stretches beyond. The all-encompassing fear becomes an insidious force, its weight rendering the atmosphere within the confined space utterly paralyzing.
The hospital materializes on the horizon, a beacon of both hope and trepidation. Jungkook, propelled by urgency, deftly navigates the maze of parking spaces, abruptly silencing the truck’s ignition before catapulting out of the vehicle with a sense of purpose. 
In tandem, you and Jungkook storm into the emergency department, urgency pulsating with every step. As you approach the desk, a receptionist greets you with a smile—her eyes, pools of warmth and empathy, mirroring the softness of her welcoming expression. 
“We’re looking for Jessi,” Jungkook declares, a pillar of tension leaning against the elevated desk. 
The receptionist’s nod is both swift and affirmative, a reassuring beacon in the sea of apprehension. “Room 134340,” she utters, the numeric sequence hanging in the air like a lifeline. 
In unison, you and Jungkook practically bolt towards the imposing doors, a shared urgency propelling you forward. The corridor becomes a labyrinth of tension as you navigate the sea of room numbers, each passing moment marked by the thunderous cadence of your hearts echoing within your chests. 
Please let her be okay.
At last, the numbers the receptionist shared come into view, and with a delicate touch, you ease the door open, unveiling a serene image—Jessi, reclined on the bed in peaceful sleep. Your gaze lingers on her slumbering form, taking in the telltale signs of the ordeal she endured—bandages encircling her head, a cast cradling her right arm, and another enveloping her left leg. 
The scene before you paints a grim reality, a tapestry of injuries that whispers tales of struggle. Yet, in the midst of this stark portrayal, the ember of relief flickers—she’s alive. 
A lump lodges in your throat once more, and with teardrops poised in the corners of your eyes, you approach your sister. Jungkook follows in your wake, settling on the bed. Leaning in, he tenderly caresses her cheek, mirroring the gentle touch that first bridged the gap between his fingers and her skin at the scene of the accident. 
Your gaze lingers, capturing the rivulets of tears tracing Jungkook’s expressive contours once more. In the soft luminescence of the room, his eyes shimmer with a profound mixture of emotion, fixated on your sister. 
A hush descends as the door swings open, ushering in a figure clad in the sterile garb of a doctor. Your attention pivots, fixating on this harbinger of information. 
“Hello. Are you Jessi’s family?” The doctor’s gaze oscillates between you and Jungkook, and your response is encapsulated in a silent nod. Words seem to elude you once more.
“Yeah, This is her sister, and I’m her friend,” Jungkook affirms, his voice carrying a burdened undertone that hints at the unspoken complexities and tensions simmering beneath the surface—an emotional undercurrent that has woven its threads through the past weeks. 
The doctor’s nod carries a weighty reassurance as he imparts the diagnosis. “Alright. Jessi has a minor concussion; the impact against the steering wheel caused some bleeding. She’s also dealing with a broken arm and leg, along with a few bruised ribs. Thankfully, that’s the extent of her injuries,” he imparts. 
“When can she come home?” Jungkook’s voice, simultaneously textured with rough edges and a tender timbre, resonates in the room. He reaches for Jessi’s hand—the one untouched by the cast—infusing the question with an unspoken urgency and a touch of vulnerability. 
“As a precaution due to the concussion, we’d like to keep her under observation for a day or two. After that, you can take her home. However, she’ll need to use a wheelchair, and rest is absolutely crucial,” the doctor informs you, leaving a weighty prescription for recovery in the air. With that, he departs, leaving the two of you alone with Jessi, still in the embrace of a healing slumber. 
Your gaze locks onto Jungkook, and as Jessi’s fingers stir against his, a soft gasp escapes you. Jungkook, attuned to the subtle movements, shifts his attention to your sister’s face. Her eyes, a slow dance of reawakening, flutter open, and she casts a weary but genuine smile at both of you. “Hi,” she utters, and the simplicity of that greeting carries a profound weight, a testament to resilience and the indomitable spirit that endures even in the face of adversity.
A shared chuckle resonates between you and Jungkook, but he takes the lead, concern etched in his question, “How are you holding up?” 
“Everything fucking hurts,” she confesses, the words escaping through gritted teeth, and a wince that lingers in the air. 
As you observe, her speech is no longer marred by slurs, and a glimmer of hope flickers within you. Offering a gentle smile, you cling to this positive sign, a fragile beacon of recovery in the aftermath of the accident. 
“We were worried there for a second,” you admit with a smile, your heart still tethered to the lingering uneasiness. 
“I’m fine. I’m gonna be fine,” she reassures with a languid smile, her eyes retaining a drowsy allure. 
Jungkook continues to tenderly stroke her hand, a lone tear betraying his emotion as it slips from the corner of his eye. 
“Why are you crying?” Jessi inquires in a weary tone, her question carrying a subtle mix of curiosity and fatigue. The fatigue in her tone, juxtaposed with the curiosity in her eyes, creates a moment of vulnerability and curiosity, inviting the reader to delve deeper into the emotional intricacies of the scene.
“Because you look so bad,” he chuckles through a teasing sob, a bittersweet smile dancing on his lips as he attempts to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. 
Jessi scuffs, “If I could slap ya, I would,” she drags out, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, “Sis, can you do it for me?” 
You shake your head, a fond smile playing on your lips as you observe their usual teasing banter. Despite the ordeal, the fact that she can still summon her playful spirit brings a sense of relief, a small but reassuring glimmer in the midst of uncertainty.
Your laughter lingers in the air, but a subtle sadness creeps into your voice as you inquire, “What happened?” 
She groans, eyes rolling in frustration as she recounts, “There was this red car that appeared out of nowhere in the turn, driving on the wrong side of the road.” 
Your eyes widen with concern, a gasp escaping your lips. “What happened to the red car? Did it just drive off?” 
“Managed to dodge the car, but ended up colliding with a damn tree instead,” she says, a hint of frustration in her tone. 
“And to top it off, the guy just speeds away like nothing happened!” she scoffs, her irritation palpable and echoing the injustice of the situation.
“Do you have any idea who that was?” Jungkook demands, a mix of curiosity and sternness in his gaze, his fist clenching at his side as if ready to confront the reckless driver.
“Some arrogant city slicker. Never seen that car around here. Clearly not a local,” she scoffs, disdain dripping from her words as she curses the reckless driver.
“Can you call Namjoon for me?” she suddenly requests, locking eyes with you. You find yourself curious about why she specifically wants to talk to Namjoon at this moment.
When you shoot her a quizzical look, she adds, “I want to tell him something.”
“Can’t it wait?” you counter, not quite grasping why it’s so urgent for her to speak with Namjoon right now.
“No.” 
Fine. You reluctantly pull out your phone and dial Namjoon. Describing the situation, you implore him to come as soon as possible, and he assures you he’ll be there swiftly.
As the minutes tick by in the hushed room, the tension thickens, yet an unspoken understanding binds you, Jessi, and Jungkook together. Silence reigns, pregnant with the weight of shared concern, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.
The hospital doors burst open, revealing a disheveled Namjoon sprints in, clutching a bouquet of flowers. His eyes scan the room, taking in the sight of your sister lying on the bed, and his breath catches in a mix of relief and worry.
His voice laced with concern, Namjoon places the bouquet on the bedside table, his eyes fixed on your sister. “It looks bad. Are you okay?” he inquires, his worry echoing in the sterile hospital room.
“Fuck you. I’m fine,” she retorts, a smirk playing on her lips. The room fills with laughter, and seizing the moment, you gesture to the couch on the other side of the room, silently signaling to give Jessi and Namjoon some space. Jungkook rises from the bed, joining you on the couch.
Without a hint of preamble or consideration for the weight of her words, Jessi suddenly declares, “I want to break up.” Her words echoing through the room with a weight that sends a jolt through both you and Jungkook. You exchange a glance, realizing you’ve stumbled upon a moment too intimate for your presence.
Namjoon wears a puzzled expression, questioning, “Are you sure about this? Is it the concussion talking?” 
Definitely, she shakes her head.  “No, my mind is crystal clear.”
Regret lingers in her eyes as she confesses, “I’m sorry, but I can’t be with you anymore. I want to break up.” Her gaze, tinged with sadness, speaks volumes as she nervously bites her lip, the weight of her decision palpable in the room.
Namjoon nods thoughtfully, “Okay. No hard feelings. I understand.” His gaze shifts to Jungkook, a hint of unspoken understanding passing between them. “You can always call me—whether it’s just to talk or if one of the animals gets sick. Friends?” The air seems to lighten with the sincerity of his words.
“Friends,” she breathes out, the words carrying the weight of a burden lifted from her heart. Her gratitude spills forth, a sincere “And thank you, Namjoon,” echoing in the room.
She shares a smile with him, and his response mirrors the sentiment. From your perch on the couch, the intimacy of their moment feels oddly intrusive, and you can’t shake the sense of being an unintended witness to the delicate unraveling of their relationship.
Namjoon pivots, offering a parting nod and a soft farewell before gracefully exiting the room.
As his presence fades, you exhale the breath you’d been clutching, the room finally free from tension. “Well, that was uncomfortable.”
Jessi chuckles, seemingly unfazed by the awkwardness you just witnessed, her laughter echoing through the room.
You rise to your feet, stretching your tired body, and with a gentle tone, you ask, “Do you want to head home now, Kook?”
Jungkook remains seated on the couch, exchanging a meaningful glance with your sister. “I was actually thinking about staying and bringing her home tomorrow,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet determination.
Your eyes flicker open, but you quickly compose your expression, offering them both a gentle smile. “I’ll call Soo-ah to come pick me up then,” you say, your voice carrying a mix of understanding and reassurance.
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Jessi doesn’t possess a single bone wired for relaxation. Despite the doctors’ earnest advice to take it slow and steady, does she heed it? Absolutely not.
With determined grit, she maneuvers the wheelchair around the house with one hand, attempting to shoulder every task single-handedly, only to find herself faltering at each turn.
In her quest for a simple glass of water, disaster struck – the glass slipped from her grasp, dancing precariously on the edge of destruction before miraculously escaping the fate of shattered fragments.
Your sister’s unwavering stubbornness has sparked numerous discussions, leaving you weary from the incessant cycle of repeating yourself.
“Why can’t you just stay put and let me handle it?” you groan at her futile attempt to set the dinner table. Exasperated, you snatch the plate from her hand and expertly arrange it on the table.
You’ve relocated all her belongings to the guest room, a practical move given her current inability to navigate the stairs. It’s a convenience for everyone, yourself included.
Exasperated, you burst out, “Sit your ass down!”
Her laughter rings through the room as she retorts, “I am sitting.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at her playful defiance.
Kneeling down, your eyes lock onto hers, a plea in your gaze. “I can take care of everything for you. Pushing yourself too hard will only slow down your recovery. Is that what you really want?”
Her gaze shifts away, words escaping in a soft mumble, their meaning lost in the air between you.
“What was that?”
Her response is a defiant whisper, almost a rebellion against her own vulnerability. “No. I don’t want that. Fine. You can do everything. It’s just not in my nature to let everybody do everything for me.”
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When you told your sister you could handle everything on the ranch, little did you anticipate the relentless demands that awaited. Now, sweat beads roll down your hairline, and sticky shirts cling to your fatigued body—your new normal. Soreness and exhaustion threaten to overcome you, yet you persist. The unwavering support of Soo-ah, Ara, and Ha-rin becomes your lifeline, and you find yourself profoundly grateful for their presence. Without them, the daunting tasks ahead would be impossible.
Despite the relentless physical and mental demands, there’s an undeniable love that fuels your every effort. It’s in the rhythmic cadence of working with the horses, the joy of discovering ripe veggies in the garden, the satisfaction of feeding the cattle and horses. Cleaning the stable, tending to the yard, and meticulously fixing the fences become more than just chores—they’re threads woven into the tapestry of a passion that now defines you.
As if the outside challenges weren’t enough, the list of tasks inside the house seems never-ending—cleaning, organizing, tackling taxes, and conjuring up dinners that dance on the taste buds. The sheer magnitude of it all makes you marvel at Jessi’s ability to juggle these responsibilities, leaving you to wonder how she navigates this intricate dance without succumbing to the relentless rhythm of exhaustion.
In the whirlwind of responsibilities, Jungkook offers to lend his hands in fixing one of the fences on your property.
The anticipation of Jungkook’s assistance becomes a beacon of relief in your hectic schedule, and a mischievous thought flits through your mind—wondering if you could sweet-talk him into tackling the entire task, granting you a rare and much-needed moment of respite.
In the driver’s seat of your brand-new pickup truck, a lustrous shade of dark purple that gleams in the sunlight, you reflect on its arrival, replacing the ghost of the white one marred by Jessi’s unfortunate accident. The former wreck, irreparably damaged, made way for this sleek, modern model, boasting enhanced comfort that transforms every drive into a genuine pleasure.
As you turn the key in the ignition, the hum of the engine beneath you, and shift the truck into first gear, anticipation courses through you. The Eastern paddock awaits, its fence in need of repair, and Jungkook has promised to join you. The radio provides a lively soundtrack, and you find yourself singing along with joy, only to fall into a hushed silence as the familiar silhouette of a blue truck comes into view, neatly parked beside the fence.
Cursing under your breath, frustration seizes you as you realize Jungkook— that damn traitor, has sent his brother to handle the job he promised to do. 
The betrayal stings, especially considering the current strained terms between you and Jimin. Anger simmers within, escaping in a low, gritted scoff as you pull your car up beside Jimin’s.
Jimin dives into the task at hand, effortlessly measuring wire lengths and expertly cutting them to fit the fence. There’s no denying it, not that there ever was – Jimin is undeniably attractive. As you observe from the comfort of your car, your gaze lingers on his sweaty forehead, his biceps flexing beneath the rolled-up shirt. Another curse slips from your lips; why does he have to look this good?
A whirlwind of emotions courses through your veins – desire entangled with frustration. Jimin’s effect on your mind is infuriating. Yes, you still crave him, but the bitterness lingers. He chose someone else without engaging in a conversation about what transpired, a choice that feels painfully immature.
Relaxing your crossed arms, you swing the door open and step into the sweltering air. You circle the car to grab your tools and approach Jimin, who doesn’t bother to cast even a fleeting glance your way.
You scoff and roll your eyes. No greeting? This is a new low. You expected, at the very least, a bit of small talk. Seems like even that was too much to ask for.
“Hey, Jimin,” you say, attempting to mask the tension growing thick in the air. He remains silent, his focus fixed on his strong and calloused hands diligently working on the fence.
At least you’ve chosen to be the bigger person, maintaining your politeness. You dive into the task at hand, assisting him in measuring, cutting, and applying the new wire. The absence of conversation hangs heavy, a stifling silence that feels more like a heavy weight on your chest. It’s uncomfortable, this void between you two, and you can’t help but despise it with every fiber of your being.
In the suffocating silence, you realize that attempting conversation is futile, as he remains resolute in ignoring your every plea. Determined to endure the unbearable tension, you find yourself silently cursing Jungkook in your mind for orchestrating you into working with Jimin. There’s no question about it— you’ll have a serious talk with him later about this stupid plan of his!
Your hands accidentally collide with Jimin’s a few times, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a sensation you hastily withdraw from as if burned. The lingering touch awakens something buried deep within, a sentiment you’re determined to suppress. Those residual feelings must be banished, relegated to the recesses of your heart.
You can’t help but notice Jimin’s persistent gaze fixed upon you, and it’s disconcerting. The emotions swirling in the air are indescribable, leaving you puzzled about the cause of his intense scrutiny. Yet, the expression etched on his face is far from one of happiness or satisfaction; instead, it bears the weight of pain and unresolved sentiments.
The realization hits hard—there’s no denying it now. You and Jimin let your moment slip away, a truth that’s crystal clear now.
As a heavy sigh escapes your lips, you find yourself yearning for a past rewritten, a canvas of memories painted with different hues.
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“It’s official!” 
In an exuberant burst of joy, you proclaim the moment, your voice echoing in giddy celebration as you sit on the grass. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, and the tranquil scene unfolds with Holly and Marshmallow leisurely grazing on the grass.
Ecstatic, he declares, “We’re in business, baby!” His laughter resonates, and his radiant smile competes with the brilliance of the sun. You join in the laughter, though the pet name doesn’t quite sit right with you.
Playfully, you groan, “God, please don’t call me ’baby’,” as laughter continues to ripple between you. His response is a simple, hearty chuckle.
As the sun dips below the horizon, a serene quiet blankets the hilltop, providing a perfect backdrop to absorb the significance of the moment. You and Yoongi, now proud business owners of a wild horse gentling venture, revel in the excitement of the journey ahead. The prospect of working with more horses and bringing joy to people through these extraordinary animals fuels your anticipation.
With a hint of emotion in his voice, a touch of longing, Yoongi shares, “I’ve already found our inaugural customer.” Intrigued, you turn to face him, your eyes prompting him to reveal more about this exciting news.
With a weighted voice, laden with deep emotions, Yoongi reveals, “There’s a guy not far from us. He’s taken an interest in Holly.” Your gasp resonates with the dread that settles in—oh no, not Holly.
“But isn’t she yours to keep?” you ask, a tinge of sadness reflected in your eyes. Expectations of Yoongi keeping Holly for himself, the first horse you both worked on, echo in your question. The bond he shares with her seems uniquely special, so why part with her?
“I truly adore her, but she’s just a horse. And this is business,” he sighs, his voice carrying the weight of the decision as he gazes at the sunset. A lump forms in your throat, and tears well in your eyes. The thought of selling Mikrokosmos, your horse, feels almost impossible. She’s not just a business asset; she’s a part of you, and the idea of parting with her is heart-wrenching.
“Well, I hope she’ll love her new home,” you say with a bittersweet smile, gently shoving him playfully on the shoulder. The mixture of emotions swirls between you two, acknowledging the business aspect while secretly hoping Holly finds as much happiness in her new home as you both found in each other’s company.
“I hope so too,” he murmurs, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deep affection he holds for the horse is evident, and you sense the internal struggle he’s facing. This decision weighs on him, and you find yourself sharing in the silent understanding of the emotional complexity tied to their parting.
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting hues of warm orange and pink across the sky, you remain on the hilltop, sharing the tranquil moment with your horses grazing beside you. In the company of Yoongi, your best friend, you reflect on the genuine bond that has grown between you. His presence is a comforting constant, a reliable listener, and a confidant you deeply appreciate.
In a moment of vulnerability, you confess, “You know... I’ve never really felt at home anywhere since I left the ranch.” The weight of emotions settles over you, and tears threaten to escape. 
Sensing your need for comfort, Yoongi turns to you, wrapping you in a gentle hug that speaks volumes without uttering a single word.
Amid the hues of the setting sun, Yoongi poses a poignant question, his voice laden with a mix of emotion and weariness. “Do you feel at home now?” he asks, and a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a response teeming with a complex blend of gratitude, uncertainty, and the subtle realization that ’home’ might be more than a physical place.
“I actually do.”
Words tumble from your lips as you gaze over the ranch from the hilltop, the golden glow of the sun casting a warm aura. “I never thought I would feel at home again. But this place has a way of working its magic on everything,” you confess, a testament to the transformative power your surroundings have woven into the fabric of your heart.
His smile echoes the sentiment, and he envelops you in a tight hug, as if the embrace itself is a testament to the enchantment this place has cast upon your lives. 
“That it sure does,” he murmurs, a shared acknowledgment of the profound connection you both feel to the land beneath your feet.
In the vast expanse of uncertainties, you shudder at the mere thought of navigating through the challenges without Yoongi by your side, a reliable anchor in the unpredictable sea of life. The gratitude for his friendship lingers in your heart, a sentiment too profound to be expressed in mere words.
“Will you come over tomorrow? The guy that wants to buy Holly will come and pick her up in the morning…” You discern the unspoken plea in his eyes, and with a tender smile, you draw closer, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence.
“Of course I’ll be there, Yoon.”
After the sun’s final bow, Yoongi rides back to the Park ranch, and you descend the hill towards your home. The term ’home’ once felt foreign, but now it wraps around you like a familiar embrace, an unwavering truth – your refuge, always and forever.
The next day, fueled by a hasty breakfast, you dash to the stables, the eager anticipation of your visit to Bell Ranch propelling you forward. Your task at hand: preparing Marshmallow for the journey ahead.
In the quiet embrace of the barn, you exchange a warm greeting with Marshmallow, ushering him into the center of the space. There, you deftly equip him with a saddle and bridle. As you guide him outside, the crisp morning air envelops you, and the gentle caress of the early sun bestows warmth upon your skin. A deep inhale fills your lungs, and with a graceful exhale, you mount Marshmallow. With a subtle nudge, you prompt him into a rhythmic gallop, traversing the lush expanse of green that unfolds before you.
The journey feels fleeting, far too brief for the solace it provides. Arriving at the stables, you swiftly dismount and tenderly remove Marshmallow’s tack. Leading him to one of the paddocks, you release him to the embrace of the open space, allowing him a well-deserved respite while you prepare to work with Yoongi.
You make your way to the pen, where Yoongi bids farewell to Holly. His arms envelop the brown mare’s neck in a tight embrace, soft pats accentuating the silent conversation between man and horse. Tears trace a path down his cheeks, and unexpectedly, you find your own emotions stirred, empathizing with the bittersweet parting, even though Holly isn’t your horse.
You acknowledge him with a quiet nod, hesitant to disrupt the tender moment between him and Holly. Leaning against the fence, you observe the heartfelt exchange. Holly emits a deep, resonant whinny, and for a fleeting moment, it feels as though she comprehends the impending separation.
As the sound of a truck pulling a trailer draws near behind you, the realization dawns—it’s time. Yoongi lifts his head from its resting place on Holly’s neck, offering her a final, affectionate pat before reluctantly stepping away.
With a heavy heart, Yoongi guides Holly towards the waiting trailer in the yard. The man has preemptively opened the trailer door, and as Holly steps inside, Yoongi closes the latch with a palpable reluctance. Standing on the sidelines, you observe the exchange—the man handing Yoongi some money, their handshake resonating with unspoken emotions. As the man returns to his car and drives away, Yoongi walks over to you, a profound sadness etched on his face.
“It’s okay,” you offer a comforting reassurance to Yoongi, wrapping him in a gentle hug.
He shares a bittersweet acknowledgment, a tinge of sadness coloring his smile, as both of you reluctantly shift your focus away from the departing car.
“Do you want to work on Mikrokosmos? I feel like I need something to do to keep my mind off Holly,” his request hangs in the air, laced with a subtle vulnerability as he looks at you with a sheepish smile. A shared understanding passes between you, and you nod in agreement, both silently making your way toward the stables, seeking solace in the comforting routine of working with Mikrokosmos.
With a confident stride, you retrieve Mikrokosmos from her stall, guiding her down to the pen without the need for a rope or halter. Yoongi walks beside you, a wistful smile playing on his lips.
Swinging the gate wide, you usher Mikrokosmos into the pen, her graceful steps echoing within the enclosure. Yoongi assumes his customary perch atop the fence, his observant eyes tracking the movements of the spirited mare.
Allowing Mikrokosmos to explore your scent, you initiate a tactile connection by stroking her forehead, tracing the path down her elegant neck, and along the sinewy contours of her shoulders. As your hands ascend to her back, you apply a gentle yet firm pressure, echoing the techniques you observed from Yoongi weeks ago, establishing a silent rapport with the magnificent mare.
Feeling the mare’s ease under your touch, you gradually increase the pressure, traversing her back with a comforting rhythm. When your eyes seek Yoongi’s for guidance, a silent understanding passes between you. Without a spoken word, he reads your unspoken query. “She’s ready,” he asserts with unwavering confidence, his voice a testament to the bond you’re building with Mikrokosmos.
Emboldened by Mikrokosmos’ serene response to your touch, you decide to take a daring leap, mimicking Yoongi’s approach with Holly. With a sense of excitement and trepidation, you pull yourself up onto her back. To your delight, she remains unfazed, allowing you to settle in, planting your bum securely on her back. It’s a moment of triumph, a testament to the trust building between you and the spirited mare.
In a breathless moment, Mikrokosmos stands still, and then, breaking the silence, she releases a soft whinny. Your heart swells with a mix of wonder and joy. As you pat her neck, a gentle coaxing with the press of your legs encourages her to move. Together, you embark on a slow journey around the pen, a newfound connection unfolding beneath you. From atop the fence, Yoongi grins widely, witnessing the magical communion between rider and horse.
A surge of pride and accomplishment courses through you. It’s a defining moment, a testament to the progress made. Confidence radiates from your every move as you navigate the pen on horseback, a triumphant smile adorning your face.
As a sudden pressure builds in your bladder, frustration wells up internally. Of all the moments, it has to be now. Succumbing to the inevitable, you voice your discomfort, “I need to use the restroom. Can you look after Mikrokosmos until I return?”
Yoongi acknowledges with a nod, and you smoothly descend Mikrokosmos’ body, grounding your feet in the sand. With a burst of energy, you vault over the fence, sprinting all the way up to the main house.
You forgo the courtesy of knocking, opting to swing the door wide open as you make a beeline for the bathroom.
As your fingers extend toward the door handle, it unexpectedly swings open, catching you off guard and sending a jolt of surprise through you.
As the door swings open, you’re met with the unexpected sight Deiji, draped only in a towel. Her damp hair and glistening skin hint at a recent shower, and the small droplets of water sparkle in the light. A startled shriek escapes her lips as her gaze locks with your equally surprised and wide eyes.
Panicking, you blurt out, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Your words stumble over each other as the sound of approaching footsteps from upstairs adds to the awkward tension in the air.
Down the stairs descends Jimin, clad in nothing but a pair of snug grey joggers, his feet bare, hair wet, and your jaw practically hits the floor.
“What’s the matter, babe?” He queries, running a hand through his damp hair. His eyes find your startled form, and he instantly eases into a more relaxed demeanor.
You’re caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Your heartbeat skyrockets, and you’re torn between the urge to look away and the magnetic pull keeping your gaze fixed on Jimin. Every contour of his physique, from well-defined pectorals to a happy trail of natural brown hairs leading down to his crotch, leaves you both captivated and flustered. He is everything you imagined and more. 
A sudden wave of heat engulfs the room, making you feel as if you’re suffocating. You become acutely aware that you might have been staring for too long, as both Jimin and Deiji shoot you concerned glances, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
“What are you doing here?” Jimin inquires, casually flexing his abdominals with a smirk playing on his lips. It’s a dirty move, and he knows it. Why does he have to look so devilishly good, practically flaunting something you can’t have? It’s not fair—Park Jimin is a temptation, and you can’t help but feel he might be your downfall.
As realization dawns, you suddenly recall the purpose of your intrusion. “I have to pee,” you blurt out, a mixture of embarrassment and urgency in your tone.
Amused laughter fills the room, and Deiji graciously clears some space, saying, “You can use it; I’m done anyway.”
Nodding, you flash her a grateful smile, a strange mix of nerves and curiosity swirling within you. As you pass her, a trail of her sweet floral scent lingers, enveloping you. Just before slipping into the bathroom, you steal a glance at Jimin. His face wears a smirk you can’t decipher. 
Suddenly, it dawns on you - this is the first time he has spoken to you in weeks.
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Basking in the midday sun, a gentle breeze toys with your hair, allowing its tender touch to dance across your neck as you gallop through the undulating hills astride Marshmallow.
Thundering across these expansive landscapes, a spirited gallop grants temporary solace to your heart, momentarily eclipsing the tumult within. Damn Park Jimin and his angelic and devilish looking face. The ache intensifies witnessing him with his infuriatingly perfect girlfriend; a pain that lingers, leaving you uncertain if you’ll ever get over him.
Granting Marshmallow unrestrained freedom, you traverse diverse landscapes—dense forests, the serene lake, and finally, the ranch’s Eastern expanse. Yet, an unsettling discord interrupts the tranquility, an eerie cry that echoes of an animal’s distress. Tensing the reins, you guide Marshmallow toward the source of the ominous noise.
Arriving at the scene, your eyes widen at the sight of a cow standing in the paddock, its posture awkward, and a pair of feet protruding from its laboring form. A gasp escapes you as the realization dawns – the cow is giving birth.
Dismounting from Marshmallow, urgency propels you toward the struggling cow. The rhythmic movement of the legs suggests the birthing process, something doesn’t seem right and you don’t know what to do. In a quick reflex, you pull out your phone, dialing the only person you know what to do.
The ringtone echoes anxiously, each second an eternity as you plead silently for the familiar voice to answer. The urgency in your chest intensifies with each passing ring. Please, just pick up, dammit!
Relief floods over you as Namjoon’s voice resonates through the phone, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “This is Namjoon,” he declares, and in that instant, it’s as if the universe aligns to bring order to the chaos around you.
“Thank god! Can you come and help? There’s a cow giving birth in the Eastern paddock, and it sounds like she’s in distress!” Your urgent plea pierces through the phone, echoing the distress emanating from the laboring cow.
“You know these animals can handle calving by themselves, right?” He chuckles on the line, and you roll your eyes, dismissing the notion with a hint of impatience. There’s no time for a history lesson; immediate action is what you need.
“The baby cow’s legs are moving back and forth—is that normal?” Your voice carries a hint of sternness, convinced that this situation isn’t within the realms of normalcy. Silence greets you on the other end, and for a brief moment, you fear he might have hung up.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible!” His voice, once calm, now carries a sense of urgency and stress, and in that moment, you grasp the gravity of the situation.
“Try to see if you can pull the calf’s legs out until I arrive, okay?” His urgent plea echoes in your ears, mingling with the distant sound of a car door opening and closing on the line, signaling hope that he’s racing to your aid.
“Pull its legs out?” Your frantic voice echoes into the void as the call disconnects. A heavy sigh escapes you as you gaze at the distressed cow. Uncertainty clings to you like a shadow; you’re torn between the fear of causing harm and the weight of Namjoon’s expertise urging you to act. He’s the vet, after all, and if he says it’s the necessary step, you steel yourself for what needs to be done.
Rolling your sleeves up, you step forward, determined to help the distressed cow. Your hand rests gently on its back, employing the same calming touch you would use with a wild horse. Slowly, your hand traverses down its body to its hindquarters where the legs protrude awkwardly. With a careful grip, you attempt to pull, but to no avail. It becomes apparent that the helpless calf is firmly lodged inside, presenting a daunting challenge.
Beads of sweat mingle with the dust on your brow, the relentless struggle to free the trapped calf becomes a desperate dance. The distant hum of an approaching engine brings a surge of hope, and relief washes over you as Namjoon’s truck roars to a halt behind you. Oh thank god!
With a swift, purposeful stride, Namjoon emerges from his truck, the familiar cadence of urgency echoing in each step. In his firm grip, the vet bag swings like a lifeline as he hastens toward you and the distressed cow.
Apologies linger in Namjoon’s voice as he swiftly dons a pair of absurdly long, cerulean gloves from his well-stocked bag. His keen eyes scan the scene, assessing the situation as he poses a question that cuts through the tense air, “It’s still not out?”
Retreating to give Namjoon the space he needs, you watch in awe as he envelops the tiny legs with his gloved hands, channeling the strength of his entire body into each determined pull.
“It normally doesn’t take this long to birth a calf…” sweat beads on Namjoon’s forehead as he exerts more effort, a hint of concern in his voice. With a final determined tug, the calf emerges, first the legs, then the head and the rest of its body. Namjoon carefully lowers it to the ground, leaving the newborn covered in a mixture of slime and blood.
Namjoon discards his gloves into a wash bag, his eyes shifting from the exhausted cow to the newborn calf finding its bearings on the grass. “Calling me was the right move; it didn’t appear the cow could manage to push the calf out on her own,” he remarks, a touch of relief in his voice.
Gratitude fills your words as you express, “Thanks for rushing over and handling everything – I mean, doing the heavy lifting for me.” A soft chuckle escapes your lips, acknowledging the reality that pulling out a calf was far beyond your strength.
“No problem,” his response is accompanied by a warm, bright smile, radiating reassurance. As he stows away his bag in the truck, he turns to you, locking eyes with you.
“How’s Jessi doing?” His question comes with a warm smile, yet beneath it, a subtle dance of curiosity and nervousness in his browline. A soft chuckle escapes you as you contemplate the enduring care he holds for Jessi, even after the end of their relationship. It’s nice that they are able to stay friends and still care for each other like this.
Your smile mirrors his, genuine and bright. “She’s holding up well, still bossing everyone around. Though she’s confined to crutches for now, the silver lining is that the casts are scheduled to come off in just a few days.”
His smile widens, and he nods appreciatively. “Well, that’s a relief to hear.”
You chuckle again, the sound echoing in the air. Namjoon, a genuinely good guy, radiates warmth, and it’s a bittersweet realization that things didn’t work out between him and your sister. Deep down, you silently wish him a future where he finds someone who can fulfill the desires that shimmer in his eyes – a quest you sense he’s earnestly pursuing.
“I’ll get going then. Everybody needs my help today.” He chuckles, his robust frame resonating with the warmth of his laughter, and Namjoon announces his departure. Acknowledging his unwavering commitment to helping others, you nod in farewell, watching as he steps into his truck and drives away.
You return to Marshmallow, your hand gently caressing his neck in appreciation before seamlessly mounting him. With a swift swing of your leg over the saddle, you guide him on the journey back home.
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“Why are we subjecting ourselves to this culinary chaos again?” you groan, placing yet another dish onto the grand table in your dining room, glancing at Jessi for an answer.
Jessi gracefully moves around the table, lending a hand in setting up while ensuring everything is perfectly in place. “It’s all in celebration of liberation from the cast!” She jubilantly shakes her once-encased arm and leg, now liberated. You can’t help but roll your eyes; your sister’s idea of a celebration might be a bit eccentric, but it’s her party after all.
In the bustling kitchen, Ha-rin and Ara work tirelessly to craft an array of delectable dishes, infusing the house with a symphony of tantalizing aromas. Meanwhile, you, Jessi, and Soo-ah engage in a meticulous dance, setting the table with precision and placing each carefully prepared dish, allowing wisps of steam to rise and tantalize the senses.
As the feast approaches, your sister has extended invitations far and wide, and that inevitably includes Jimin and his girlfriend. The mere thought of encountering him again prompts a preemptive groan, and you find yourself yearning for a way to evade the impending interaction. Alas, with him being your neighbor and frequent collaborator on ranch-related endeavors, avoiding him proves to be a challenging feat. You scuff at the predicament, silently longing for a different reality.
With an audible clunk, you assertively place the plates on the table, the reverberation echoing the intensity of your emotions.
“Easy there!” Your sister scolds, her tone a playful warning, as she delicately places the glasses in front of the plates.
You chuckle, a lightness returning to your mood, and set the plates down with a flourish before heading into the kitchen to collect the utensils.
Anticipation gnaws at you as you set the table, a desire to get through this dinner quickly, fueled by the looming presence of Jimin. His silence has become a heavy weight, and ever since that unexpected glimpse of him almost naked, unwanted thoughts and vivid images intrude your mind. You scold yourself, reminding that he isn’t yours to entertain such thoughts about. It’s not fair to him or Deiji, and you need to push these images aside.
As you mope around the dining room, preparing for the gathering, the atmosphere shifts with the arrival of guests. Jungkook bursts in, enveloping your sister in a warm embrace before turning his attention to you. His hug is almost too tight, prompting a small squeak to escape your lips, and he responds with hearty laughter that fills the room.
As Jimin and Deiji make their entrance, you acknowledge them with a subtle nod, instinctively creating a bit of space between you. The air seems to tighten with unresolved tension, and you navigate the space carefully, aware that every step brings you closer to a rendezvous with emotions you’d rather keep at bay.
Hoseok strides into the room, with Yoongi next to him, he’s the first to envelop you in a warm embrace, a radiant smile on his face. He peppers you with questions about how you’ve been, and with a reassuring nod, you assure him that everything’s going well. Then, seamlessly, Yoongi joins in, encircling you with his arms, a reassuring and tight embrace that momentarily eases the complexities lingering in the air.
“Missed you,” he chuckles, his arms refusing to release you as you playfully roll your eyes. Amidst the friendly banter, you can’t help but notice Jimin’s intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes darken, and the once bright smile on his face transforms into a subtle frown, leaving you with a sense of unease.
Your heart sinks, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Does Jimin not know that Yoongi is gay, and that his kiss was merely his attempt at figuring out his sexuality? It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t. After all, Yoongi hasn’t openly shared his sexual orientation, and you’ve kept it confidential as well. The pieces start falling into place, and you comprehend the anger simmering in Jimin’s eyes. If he assumes that you and Yoongi are a couple, it would explain the tension and frustration etched on his face.
How do you convey to Jimin that your relationship with Yoongi is nothing more than a deep, platonic friendship, without revealing Yoongi’s sexual orientation?
And in the grand scheme of things, does any of this even hold weight now? With him having a girlfriend, laying the truth bare seems futile. Why would confessing change a thing? He’s maintained radio silence for months, a streak of silence that shows no signs of breaking, so why break it now?
Yoongi releases you, and you respond with a playful slap on his shoulder. As he steps back, falling in line behind Hoseok, you can’t help but catch the subtle way his gaze traces Hoseok’s figure.
As you glance over, you spot Namjoon and Seokjin in the hallway, each holding a bottle of wine. A smile plays on your lips as they make their way toward you, meticulously placing the bottles on the table before joining in the gathering.
Namjoon envelops you in a warm, tight hug, his curious voice breaking through the buzz of the room. 
“How’s that calf doing?” he inquires, while Seokjin raises an intrigued eyebrow at him.
Gratitude warms your voice as you assure Namjoon, “He’s doing fine with his mother and the rest of the herd. Thank you so much for helping.” A warm smile accompanies your words, and you motion for them to take a seat.
“That’s great,” he remarks, pulling out a chair and settling in beside Seokjin.
Ha-rin and Ara make their entrance into the dining room, their foreheads glistening with the sweat earned from their hard work in the kitchen.
You take your seat beside Yoongi and Soo-ah, casting a glance across the table where Jimin and Deiji have settled. Jessi and Jungkook, positioned next to each other, are engaged in a playful banter that echoes the dynamics of a married couple, the subject revolving around trucks and bikes. Despite your eye roll at their antics, a sweet smile tugs at your lips, warming your heart with the familiarity of their friendship.
Ha-rin’s exhausted yet earnest voice scolds gently, pointing with pride at the array of delectable dishes that have emerged from the depths of her labor in the kitchen throughout the day. “Please, eat your heart out. I’ve practically lived in that kitchen to create this feast,” she urges, her eyes reflecting the passion poured into every culinary creation with the assistance of Ara.
Expressions of gratitude fill the air as your entire group starts delving into the carefully crafted dishes before you. The aroma is irresistible, and your anticipation intensifies as you eagerly anticipate the first savory bite, your hungry stomach protesting its emptiness.
Savoring the heartiness of the meal, you indulge in a bit of everything, each mouthful a symphony of delectable flavors. A wave of gratitude washes over you for having Ha-rin on the ranch, as her culinary skills elevate the dining experience, compensating for your own culinary shortcomings.
Seokjin, caught in the rapture of each bite, pauses to express his culinary admiration. His eyes gleam with appreciation as he licks his lips, savoring the flavors. “Ha-rin, this is truly incredible. Would you mind sharing the recipe later? I don’t want to miss out on a single secret behind this delightful feast.”
Ha-rin’s laughter, a melodic accompaniment to the clinking of cutlery, fills the room. A subtle blush tints her cheeks, and a bashful yet confident smile reveals her teeth. “Thank you,” she responds graciously, “I can send you the recipe later, no problem.”
You can’t help but chuckle, observing her graceful gesture of tucking a strand of short, black hair behind her ear. Her eyes, adorned with a spark of admiration, linger on Seokjin as he savors every bite.
As you glance around the table, a warmth spreads through you, witnessing everyone relishing the moment. Namjoon gracefully pours wine for those seeking a more refined sip, while others opt for the familiar companionship of beer or the simple refreshment of water.
You relish a small glass of red, a rare indulgence that harmonizes beautifully with the culinary symphony on your plate, you’re about to shift your attention back to the feast when you feel the weight of Jimin’s gaze. His eyes pierce through the air, intense and fervent, as though etching a connection with the depths of your soul.
A nervous gulp courses through you, a fleeting warmth that fans the flames of self-consciousness. Your throat tightens imperceptibly, a subtle reminder of the unspoken tension in the air. Summoning courage, you lock eyes with Jimin, your gaze unwavering. The question lingers in the charged atmosphere – why is he studying you with such intensity?
Deiji’s laughter echoes, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Jimin’s eyes. With narrowed gaze, you shoot back a piercing stare, mirroring the frustration and pain you’ve bottled up. Unnoticed, your fingers tighten around the utensils, and red begins to flare behind your eyelids.
“Calm down,” as frustration tightens your grip on the utensils, Yoongi’s calming whisper in your ear nudges you back from the edge. With an exasperated huff, you release your clenched hands. Jimin’s persistent gaze lingers, a puzzle you can’t decipher. Annoyed, you shoot him a furrowed frown, determined to focus on your meal. If he has something to say, he can use words instead of cryptic glances. You refuse to grant him more of your time without a proper conversation.
You practically spear the defenseless food on your plate, the residual anger simmering within. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, a sound that offers a glimmer of solace. In the midst of your inner turmoil, it’s a relief to know someone can find enjoyment in this tense dinner.
Throughout the remainder of the dinner, laughter dances in the air alongside light-hearted conversations, a melody you struggle to fully engage with. Purposefully steering clear of Jimin, you catch his occasional glances in your direction, each one like an unspoken question lingering in the room.
As the final bites are savored and the dinner concludes, a collective effort ensues to tidy up the remnants of the feast. While some bid their goodbyes and disappear into the night, a handful remain, drawn to the allure of the terrace to indulge in leisurely drinks before ending the day’s festivities.
Soo-ah, Ara, Ha-rin, Yoongi, and Hoseok gravitate towards the terrace, creating a lively ensemble beneath the canvas of a sky painted with the remnants of a sunset that bid its farewell just hours ago. The air, now a gentle embrace, cradles the warmth of the departed sun, fostering an ambiance ripe for drinks and smalltalk.
You cradle the red wine in your hands, the rich hue mirroring the depth of your thoughts. It’s only your second glass, but who’s keeping track anyway?
You exhale with a profound sigh, sinking back into the chair, as if the weight of the day is lifting off your shoulders in that single breath.
Hoseok gazes at you, concern etched across his face. “What’s eating at you?”
You let out a frustrated groan, a desire to yank at your own hair bubbling beneath the surface. Uncertain about revealing the source of your vexation, you debate whether to open up about what’s truly bothering you. Given that your friends are well aware of your feelings for Jimin, it’s not as if you’d be sharing some profound secret.
“I’m just tired of Jimin,” you confess with a deep exhale, absentmindedly twirling the wine glass in your fingers, the crystal capturing the soft glow of the terrace lights.
Yoongi chuckles knowingly; he’s been a willing listener to your rants and frustrations about Jimin countless times. The girls exchange sympathetic glances, silently urging you to share more of your feelings.
“It’s frustrating, really. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since that awkward encounter when I met him and Deiji coming fresh out of the shower. The only thing he did say was to question why I was there. And now, he keeps looking at me with this strange intensity and weird look and I just can’t figure out what’s going on in his head,” you confess, letting out a heavy sigh.
Hoseok bursts into laughter, breaking the tension with his infectious humor, “Maybe he wants a threesome?” Your eyes roll at his playful comment, appreciating how he effortlessly lightens the mood, a skill he seems to master whenever things get awkward.
“I’m sure he doesn’t. Not that I’m interested!” Laughter ripples through the group, a collective release of tension that eases the weight on your shoulders.
“Maybe he just wants to talk then?” Hoseok suggests, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope beneath the terrace’s soft glow.
“If he wants to talk to me, he should just do it instead of giving me those fucking angry eyes,” you scoff, the frustration and deflation evident in your voice.
“I’m just so angry!” you declare, your body tensing with each word before finally releasing the built-up tension.
“We get it,” Soo-ah remarks, her voice understanding and sympathetic.
“Love is hard,” she adds with a touch of melancholy, her gaze lingering on Hoseok. You know that she likes him, but you don’t know if Hoseok feels the same for her. 
You let out a bitter, angry chuckle, the sound escaping from deep within as a manifestation of the frustration and tension bubbling inside you.
“By the way, does his girlfriend look familiar to any of you?” you inquire, turning to face them, only to be met with a chorus of laughter. Their unexpected reaction leaves you bewildered and searching for answers.
Ara quirks an eyebrow, suppressing a smile behind her delicate hand, and gently teases, “You haven’t realized yet?”
You shake your head. Realized what?
“She looks like you.” Ha-rin’s revelation is like a sudden thunderclap in the midst of a quiet storm, her words hanging in the air with a weight that sends a shiver down your spine. 
She looks like you? 
Every fiber of your being comes alive, reigniting the small fire you had extinguished for Jimin. The embers, once dormant, now glow and dance, casting an unexpected warmth that spreads through the chambers of your heart. The uncanny resemblance between you and Jimin’s girlfriend becomes a flickering flame, illuminating the shadows of your emotions and casting doubt on the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around your feelings.
Could this mean what you think it does?
Fuck.
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Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜
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yoon4koo · 3 hours
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— playing in the park lot ★ with: jjk!
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#pairings: bf!jungkook X reader #synopsis: after getting a little too angry at a random guy wanting his girlfriend, jungkook decides to give him a present. #tags: pwp, angry sex, public sex, no condom, spit kink, both drunk. #notes: JUST STREAM HOPE ON THE STREET! #wc: 1,4k blog em português
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"no, don't even start, jungkook!" you muttered as soon as you saw your boyfriend staring at the guy on the other side, bringing the beer bottle to his mouth and swallowing the liquid in visible hatred.
"i'm not starting anything! the guy over there has no respect and is eating you with his eyes," muttered, still staring at the man.
"half the party is also staring at you and eating you up with their eyes, and that's not why i'm freaking."
"of course not, you like this shit!" he said loudly, pulling your waist against his.
don't take this the wrong way, jungkook was the perfect boyfriend, he cared for you too much, he'd face a bullet for you or whatever, he just fucking loved you and wanted to protect you from everything and everyone.
but sometimes he went overboard, and that was one of the times.
god, jungkook was completely irritated just because a guy looked at you from afar, and yes, you knew it wasn't an innocent look, but you just ignored it.
"do i like that shit?" you asked offended. "jungkook, if I wanted to fuck with another guy, i would have done it a long time ago." you rolled your eyes, continuing to roll around to the music that was playing. "relax, baby, hm? you know i'm just yours, don't you?"
you stood on your tiptoes, trying to give your annoyed boyfriend a kiss, but it didn't do much good, jungkook was actually angry about the situation, god, how could anyone be so stupid?
for the next few seconds, your boyfriend finally calmed down a bit, continuing to dance with you. that was one of the things you liked most about jungkook, he wasn't the kind of guy who held your waist and expected you to roll around on him all night, he just drove you crazy with him. pressing his hips against yours, rubbing his cock in your body, dancing with jungkook was begging to get wet in his arms, and you liked it that.
due to the large amount of alcohol you had consumed, the need to go to the bathroom became apparent, so you left, heading for the bathroom and leaving jungkook on the dance floor.
you waited a few minutes, the waiting line was infinitely long and peeing yourself silly was always an event.
a comical event, by the way.
but as soon as you'd finished, washed your hands and touched up your lipstick in the mirror, you left the bathroom, looking for your boyfriend on the dance floor.
or at least trying to, since a large hand grabbed your waist.
and you knew that hand wasn't your boyfriend.
"hey, kitten, decided to give your boyfriend a break, have you?"
"don't touch m-"
you didn't even get to finish, because the next second jungkook was punching the face of the guy who tried to kiss you.
and that's the story of how you and jungkook got kicked out of the club.
shit.
"there's no point in getting angry, jungkook! i didn't do anything."
silence.
"fuck, aren't you going to say anything?"
his boyfriend didn't answer, keeping silent all the way to the parking lot where the car was.
and that's where you got angry. fuck, it could have been anyone's fault but yours, you'd done absolutely nothing.
"jungkook, it's not my fault you're a lunatic who doesn't know how to socialize in public, stop acting like i did something." you pulled him by his arm, spitting the words in his face.
"you knew he was dying to fuck you."
"and what the hell do i have to do with it? literally the only person who fucks me in this world is you, shit! if i wanted to give it to another guy i would have given it to him ages ago, now, if you're going to get angry about something that didn't even happen, maybe i should go back inside and fuck with him!" you shouted.
you didn't even see how it happened, but the next minute jungkook's body was pressing you down on the hood of the car, his wet tongue making a mess of your mouth and his hard cock rubbing against you as he pulled your skirt up roughly.
"jung-jungkook, the cameras." you tried to say, the words being swallowed by the mouth on yours.
"now you care if anyone can see you?" he laughed. "you don't want to fuck, sweetheart? you're going to fuck me right here, right now!"
it would be a lie to say that it didn't turn you on, unfortunately that was a truth you were forced to deal with, jungkook's jealousy made you horny, very horny, and the insanities he committed after a crisis gave you the best orgasms ever seen in the history of the face of the earth.
in the process of lifting your skirt, he ended up breaking the zipper, and too irritated, he just ripped the strap of your thin blouse, exposing your breasts there as he leaned over the hood and started sucking on your nipples.
his nimble hand went to your wet hole, rubbing his middle finger over the lace panties you were wearing. yes, it was a fact that you intended to end the night with jungkook's cock inside you.
you just didn't count on the element of surprise that it would happen to him in the parking lot of the club.
"that dirty little cunt got wet seeing me jealous, didn't it? go ahead, whore, you love it when other guys get desperate to cum in you and i get angry."
without any warning he penetrated your middle and ring fingers, quickly establishing a punishing rhythm while biting and sucking on your nipples.
you moaned something disconnected, your boyfriend looked so handsome with rage and that made you even hornier.
a third finger was added and with your loud scream jungkook took the opportunity to spit in your mouth, slapping you across the face immediately afterwards.
it was pathetic how he put you over the edge in such a short time, and it was only a matter of seconds before you screamed that you were going to come on his fingers.
but he wouldn't let you.
jungkook flipped you onto your back in an aggressive way, the cold metal of the car in contact with the nipples of your breasts was enough to make you cum, but everything got even better when jungkook put his thick cock in your cunt, slamming it hard against you while bending your body even more on the hood of the car.
"my cockslut, you're such a beautiful little whore for me, baby. let me fuck your hot little hole right here where everyone can see you."
and you contracted hearing those words.
"you like it, don't you? desperate for your man to fill your pussy with my cum, you'll take anything i want, right?"
the heavy hand slapping against your ass, leaving red marks, while you drooled on the hood of the car because you couldn't even close your mouth.
"i'd like to take you back inside and spurt in your pussy in front of everyone. you'd love it, wouldn't you? everyone seeing that you're so desperate for cock that you'll accept me fucking you anywhere."
"j-jungkook!" you moaned, and your boyfriend understood what that moan was all about.
jungkook moved his middle finger to your clitoris, making relaxed movements while he thrust into you, calling you a whore, a slut, a bitch. you could only moan.
and when he pressed your face even harder against the side of the car, you came, so hard that Jungkook came right after, filling your hole with his warm liquid.
"good, baby, you were so good! so perfect for me…"
you smiled, feeling good about your recent orgasm.
"shhh, hold on, don't get up yet!" jungkook took his cell phone out of his pocket, squatting down to record a short video of you lying on the hood of the car and leaking his cum. "so beautiful, so fucking mine, i love you so much, princess."
jungkook kissed your back, and as you lifted your head you saw that he was staring at a specific point in the parking lot.
the guy who hit on you was watching everything from the other side.
your boyfriend laughed before helping you into your clothes, or at least what was left of them…
he blew a lazy kiss to the man who was staring at everything and opened the car door.
"you're bad, jungkook!" you laughed.
"me? fuck, princess, you're the one who agreed to give it to me this cunt in the middle of the parking lot."
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carakook · 1 day
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⋆˚・༓☽ Master List ☾༓・˚⋆
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☆Jungkook☆ ❥Bloom (series): Cheater!Jungkook x Fem "Mistress"!reader Synopsis: Despite Jungkook not being the type to cheat, he had been cheating on his wife with you for a while, and he grew to genuinely love you. Seasons change, flowers bloom and then die, and people drift apart; what will happen after things end? Will fate bring you back together or will karma fuck you up? ❥A "Coquette" Misunderstanding: Fuckboy!Jungkook x Fem!reader Synopsis: Jungkook isn't one to commit, especially after his last relationship ended so messily... that is, until he met you. You and Jungkook have been fucking for a while, and he has recently come to the conclusion that he is, indeed, falling for you; but he knows he needs to do something extra special to show you he's serious about making you his girl, and he has the perfect gift in mind... but of course, it all turns to shit.
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☆Namjoon☆ ❥Shut Up: Boss/Writer!Namjoon x Co-writer!reader Synopsis: After taking a job as a co-writer, you quickly find that you and your “boss” just don’t get along. After several disagreements, you grow sick of it one day when he embarrasses you in front of your coworkers and you sort of lose your shit... only to find his "conflict resolution" is not one you expected.
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☆Seokjin☆
❥The Astronaut: dad!Kim Seokjin x mom!reader
Synopsis: Being a new parent is hard, especially for moms… but Kim Seokjin would argue that isn’t always the case. He’s going through it, truly, just as sensitive as you. He’s a mess after your daughter, Saebyeol, got her first round of shots. Now you must comfort him before he turns into a damn baby himself.
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*Other members coming soon*
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frmisnow · 3 months
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˙✧˖ ?! — KEEPING YOU IN BED (CAUSE I'M DOWN BED). - MDNI !!!
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— ‧₊˚ — 🍵 : "wonder where your colleges think you are, they'd never guess i'm balls deep into you huh"??"
summary. going to work on your boyfriends single day-off already sounds like a death sentence, things only become worse when he makes it especially hard to leave the bed.
notes. SLEEPY HORNY KOOK AASHHSSHSH my roman empire... 😭 SORRY FOR THE TITLE I HAD A LIL GIGGLE OKAY ???
warnings/includes: (NSFW) dom! jungkook x f! sub! reader, starts sleepy + wholesome, turns a lil unhinged..., pounding, overstimulation, he's just a bit mean in second half (but we love it)
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you rub your eyes, the morning sunlight blinding you through the sheer curtains - soft and rhythmic breathing audible beside you when you look over you find your boyfriend's chest rising and falling slowly, one of his arms still wrapped around your waist, in pure peace still somewhere in the deep roams of sleep.
after all it was his day off, a rare sanctuary in the hectic schedule of hislife, and yet, there you were, inching away from the warmth of his embrace, preparing to face the day ahead.
but as you attempted to free yourself from the tangle of sheets and limbs, a sleepy murmur escaped him, a half-formed quiet plea, "just few more minutes" His arm instinctively tightened around your waist, drawing you back into his tight hug, nuzzling his face to your middle body. quick little peeks placed all over tummy, almost like rubbing his face over you, his hands lazily tracing circles over your sides, "just a little longer"
he shifts his position, now completly lying over you, trapping and preventing you from leaving, wrapping his arms around your neck, "love you so much" whispered into your nape.
you giggled in response, your hands hugging his back, travelling under his shirt, rubbing over the skin gently, "you're trying everything to lure me in longer huh"
kook smiled sleeply against your skin, his head moved to your shoulder so he could look at your face better, lips roaming over your collarbone, settling on them for a split second, "is it working?"
"don't know, might have to try a bit harder" you answered in a joking tone, your fingers tracing light patterns on his back.
he squints his eyes, a faint smile on his face, raising his eyebrows, "oh really?" fake innocence added into his tone.
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you were stupid.
in fact very much so.
out of experience you should've known that jungkook has an unbelievable amount of sheer competitivness inside him and if you unleash that - you're pretty much fucked.
you should've recognized that familar grin, you should've recognized those wandering hands of his that would do anything just to prove you wrong, just to remind you that nobody doubts him without well- consequences!
those consequences may include: him in the beginning softly manhandling you (in his own way y'know) which turns into him throwing away any sense of tiredness or gentleness he had before, sentences like "feel me fuckin pounding, listen to it" or "so much fuckin cum" rolling over his tongue as he overstimulates you over and over again.
damn well keeping that clock on the night stand at the corner of his eyes, just to rub it into your face, "how easy it was to get you to do this" or "wonder where your colleges think you are, they'd never guess i'm balls deep into you huh"
and oh he's looking for answers from you too, "what are you gonna tell your boss now?" half mumbeled half groaned as he slams into you once more chasing that 3rd orgasm, obviously knowing you're way to brainfucked to understand think about even responding.
"should've kept your fucking mouth shut, don't you think?" and all you can do in response is whimper and moan like a little bitch.
weirdly enough that's what satisfies him - the slutty expression on your face, the way your mouth stays slightly parted, the way your pussy tightens around him, the way your tits just fit so easily in his hands like they were made for him (which he'll openly say 2!), the way you sound, the way your body looks when he fucks you senseless - everything about you like this is so endearing to him and worth repeating over and over again.
he can be real sweet after, acting like it never even happened, bringing you breakfast to bed while you were lying bare trying to regain your brain acess again, innocently saying smth along the lines of: "i called you in sick for today" then adding, "it's not like it's worth going anyway might just spend the day with me" okay whatever you say kook :3
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kissforyouu · 3 months
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pent up stress
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pairing : husband!jungkook x wife!reader
genre : smut , fluff
warnings : there is a babyy , oc is a stressed mom , jk relieving all her stress , nicknames used : sweetheart/honey/my love , sexual : clit play , fingering , cum eating , making out , oral sex (f recieving) , lactation kink , p in v , mate press (?)
unedited.
"shh, shh, it's okay, baby."
you gently pat your baby's back, switching from patting it and rubbing it up and down every second.
"my baby, hmm, it's fine. don't cry, don't cry, my love." you rock your baby up and down while spinning around the room, walking back and forth, doing all sorts of things to calm the baby down.
"sweet baby." leaning your head down to press a soothing kiss onto your baby's forehead, then another, another, and another and so on. there's a small smile forming on your face once your baby calms down a little.
"come on, shhh. goodnight, my love..." you carry your baby to his nursery, tip toeing, not wanna risk anything as you slowly bend your body forward to place the sleeping baby on the crib. and just as you do that—
"waaaahhhhhhhh! "
ah. yeah. right.
quickly retrieving back to your old position, your hand immediately flies to lay on top of your baby's back meanwhile your other arm is wrapped around your baby's body.
letting out a sigh mixed with exhaustion, you press your baby's head onto your chest, letting him listen to your heartbeat. please go to sleep. earlier you read an article saying that letting the baby listen to the mother's heartbeat makes them sleep better. please work.
don't get me wrong. your son is the best the best thing that has ever happened to you. he's your everything and you've always wanted to be a mom. but sometimes, it's just so hard. but you're aware that this is not something you can avoid and is prone to happen. and seeing your son's cute bunny smile at the end of the day was worth all the struggles. no matter how exhausting it can get sometimes.
it was around 3am now, after all.
your back was pressed against the headboard as you cuddled your baby into your embrace. half lidded, you watch your turn his face from side to side on your chest, trying to find a comfortable position and a few small squeaks leaving him here and there.
there's a small smile on your face while you rub your baby's back soothingly. meanwhile also trying not to fall asleep on spot.
but just as you were about to go against your own words and fall asleep, the door creeps open, making you jolt back up to look for who it is, only to see your husband's head peaking from behind the door.
he walks in, taking big but silent steps towards you.
jungkook smiles, "how's my babyboy doing?"
"he's a very bad baby tonight." you huff with a small grin, playfully, "but i managed to put him to sleep."
jungkook giggles, leaning forward to press a kiss onto your sleeping baby's cheek. your son squeaks, shifting his face from one side to another while comfortably laying his head on your chest.
"gimme the baby, honey. i'll put him to in the cot. you should get ready for bed." he pats your hair, twirling one of your strands.
"hm, okay." you get up, gently placing the baby in your husband's arms. but then—
the baby suddenly yelps, fists clutching onto your shirt tightly. you're startled, but you handle the situation just fine.
"ah, ah, ah, my baby." you're groaning, you're tired. but it's okay. you look at jungkook, the dark circles around your eyes very clear, but it's okay.
"oh, come on, baby. come to papa, it's okay." jungkook hums a small tone, one that your son for sure likes, as you slowly sneak the baby into his arm.
without even noticing the change of positions, your baby just snuggles into the familiar warmth of your husband's chest.
sigh. you sigh, sitting back on the bed.
"get ready for bed, my love."
you nod, just getting up from the bed and walking back to your shared bedroom.
by the time jungkook manages to fully calm your baby down and place him in his crib and come back, he finds you still on the bed blankly staring at the wall.
he's confused. shouldn't you be in bed already?
"honey, what's this? not sleepy?" there's concern written all over his face.
"are you okay?"
the moment he asks that, he notices your face turning completely sour with a big pout forming on your face. oh no, he knows that face very well.
"hey, hey, what's wrong?" jungkook quickly rushes to sit next to you, his hand now on your back, rubbing up and down and flattening any wrinkles on your shirt.
without any warning, you pull your husband closer by his arm and hugs him tight, face buried deep in his neck.
"i feel so exhausted." a small mumble.
your husband sighs, immediately noticing the problem.
"i know, sweetheart, i know. it's okay. just calm down for now, hm?" he leans his back against the headboard, pulling you closer to his body as you curled up into a small ball and let yourself be comforted by your husband's soothing heartbeat.
"we had this talk before, remember? days like this are prone to happen. and we have to get through it somehow." he whispers into your ear, pressing kissing in between his sentences as well. you hum, lightly nodding your head, agreeing.
"it's for our little baby. you're the best mommy i know and ever will know. just imagine us telling sannie about how much of a hussle he was when he's older." he chuckles, placing kisses on the crown of your head.
you smile into his chest, nodding.
"it's for our sannie." you mumble and jungkook hums, gently massaging your head. jungkook brushes his fingers through your hair, gently, soothingly, almost making you fall asleep. he had his head leaned downwards, forehead pressed against the crown of your head as he planted small pecks all over your forehead and eyelids.
"jungkook." you pull on his shirt, slowly making your way out of his embrace.
he just hums, caressing your cheek so softly.
stop. you love him so much.
you touch his hand on your cheek, leaning forward to connect your lips with him. your husband immediately smiles into the kiss, his fingers holding your face so gently as your lips moved against eachother perfectly.
his tongue licks your lower lip, slowly sneaking its way in your mouth. the tip of your tongues meet eachother, smoothly gliding against eachother as you to make out. like, really hard.
there's soft little noises coming out of the smacks of your lips, both of you eating eachothers faces out. not being able to hold back, you whimper, your fingers gripping onto jungkook's biceps.
you makeout for a few more seconds then breaking out for air.
jungkook couldn't help but let out a small squeaky laugh.
and oh, that laugh. it brought you back to the days where you both were just two highschoolers starting to like eachother. made you feel like a little girl having her first crush.
thinking about that had you forming the biggest cheekiest smile on your lips.
jungkook was a little confused at your change of expressions, but he just smiles it off. you sit up on his lap again, pulling your husband in for another kiss.
so you kiss.
but then, jungkook manages to get you to lay down on your bed on your back and him slowly getting on top of you. almost sneakily.
breaking from your kiss, you groan, letting your head fall onto the bed. jungkook snickers, almost evil, body laying softly on top of yours as he pulls you into another kiss. now, your legs are crushing his thighs, caging him between them while both your hands gripped onto his shoulders.
while you both are eating out eachother's faces, jungkook's hand slithers under your baggy sweatshirt, massaging your soft stomach.
"hm..." he hums, squeezing your tummy fat.
you both open your eyes at the same time, jungkook breaking down to a small giggle again. the tip of your tongues brush past eachother over and over again. fuck, you're getting so hot. you bet your face is as red as a tomato right now.
your husband brings up his other hand to hold you face by your cheek, then his tongue leaves you for a brief moment—and instead, he spits a globe of spit down to your mouth.
"swallow."
gladly, you swallow it down, opening your mouth again with your tongue out to show that you've done as he said.
jungkook huffs, smirking—fuck, he's so breathtakingly attractive.
"my amazing little wife. best woman in the world. best mama." his words flutter your stomach entirely. you swear you could see the butterflies flying out of your stomach.
you just smile in return, and that's more than enough for him.
"are you feeling any better, my love?" jungkook caresses your cheek as if you were the most fragile being on earth, touching you with so much gentleness.
you just hum with a small nod. but your hand touches jungkook's one that was on your cheek, then you put his fingers in your mouth.
jungkook watches you with amusement as you wet his fingers with your saliva. once you felt satisfied enough, you pull his fingers out. lifting up the hem of your sweatshirt using your other hand, you glide jungkook's fingers down your body, leaving a small trail of saliva on your stomach.
once you've reached your pelvis, you lift up little shorts, pushing his hand inside.
"touch me, jungkook." you moan out.
and i swear to god, jungkook swore he's never ever seen his wife hotter than this moment. he felt all the blood rush down to his pants, his dick hardening each second.
"shit—" his voice was so breathy, "you're so hot. baby, i'm gonna lose my mind." he takes a deep breath before diving straight down to your neck. he begins to kiss and suck on your neck, nibbling here and there, biting too. meanwhile, jungkook also makes sure to add a little bit of pressure to your clit. not doing anything but just pressing onto it subtly. tease.
you moan as your husband continues to suck and bite all over your neck, leaving little hickeys all over.
"i need you so bad, kook. please take care of me..." the last bit of words leave you in a whisper. jungkook almost feels dizzy from your words, god he loved it so much.
"i'm so tired, hm. need you to make me cum to relax me." you're caressing the top of his cheek with the pad of your thumb.
jungkook loved seeing you needy.
"alright, honey." he places one final kiss on your forehead.
jungkook spreads your legs further apart, fingers skimming over your soft cotton shorts over and over. and once he sees the little wet spot in between your thighs, it almost makes him drip the drool out of his mouth.
"ahh, pretty." his thumb rubs over the wet spot, caressing it and pressing onto your clothed clit. through your shorts, jungkook pinches your clit, making you let out a small squeal.
"just get to it, hmph." you groan. jungkook's smirk just widens more. your husband nods, taking off your shorts.
"ah, fuck, prettiest pussy ever, baby." the tip of his fingers dips in between your mushy folds, collecting some of your arousal. he brings it to your clit to get it wet, then gently rubbing circles on top. you whimper, nodding.
jungkook lowers his body down, hooking his arm behind your thigh, hoisting it up a bit. his body lays fully flat on the bed, between your thighs with his face pressing kisses all over your thighs. he also bites your flesh, not too hard but not too soft— well, hard enough to form little marks for sure. he bites a spot on your thigh inches away from your pussy, then flicking his tongue on that area, gently sucking it afterwards.
like this, your husband makes sure to leave small hickeys all over your thighs and take his time. while you were left squirming and the puddle in between your thighs just growing and growing.
i thought you said no teasing?
jungkook swipes his thumb over one of your hickeys, caressing it and then leaning forward to press little kisses over it.
"love these fuckin' thighs."
and without a warning when your eyes were closed, your husband decides to dive into the messy in between your folds with a long lick.
"ah!" surprised, you hook your fingers into jungkook's hair. he hums, licking stripes of your pussy. kitten licking your hole, his fingers tease your clit. he circles your clit slowly while his lips latch onto one of your folds, sucking on it.
jungkook pulls away with a groan, making you let out a long relieved sigh.
"more."
"hm."
he gets right back to licking your pussy, making long strokes from your hole to your clit. then he spits on your clit first, tongue immediately swiping over your clit repeatedly. it was the perfect stimulation to beg you for more. his eyes were closed, he seems to be in the moment enjoying your pussy as if it was his last meal. while making out with your clit, he decides to have some mercy on your hole.
your husband plunging two of his fingers in your pussy was the cherry on top for you.
"ah— ah, ah! mmh...!" your grip on his hair tighten. back arched, face thrown back, whimpering and moaning so fucking loud.
"shhh, you might wake sannie up, my love."
you nod vigoursly, pushing your husband's face deeper into your pussy and grinding. jungkook was going at an animalistic pace, his face completely smothered all over your pussy. your arousal mixed with his drool was all over his face. his jaw was already beginning to ache, but he didn't care. all he cared about was whether his pretty wife was satisfied or not.
his fingers thrust in and out of your hole sloppily. the scene was so messy. he loved how squishy your pussy felt. and that just made him think more about how you'd feel wrapped around him again.
one last tug and bite on your clit, you let out one last long moan, pulling onto your husband's hair roots as your cum gushed down your cunt.
"shit, oh fuck" your husband whines at the sight of your swollen cunt.
he caresses up and down your cunt with the back of his middle and ring finger. you hiss at the cold feeling of his wedding ring pressing onto your clit as if that whole finger wasn't just inside you just a minutes ago. jungkook realises you liked it. so he smirks, slapping your swollen cunt with the back of his fingers repeatedly, especially making sure his ring is slapped against your clit over and over again.
"kook!—whine haaaaah! haah, hh!"
he slaps your thigh harshly to get you to stop squirming around. once his wish is fullfilled, he forces open your thighs, diving right back into your slit again.
"jungkook!" you were already overstimulated enough.
his eyes were closed once again and nails digging into the flesh of your thighs. face buried deep in your pussy again, he carefully lapped at your sweet juices away with long satisfied hums against your cunt.
"hm, hmm, hm— so good." he reassures.
and a last little kiss was on top of your swollen clit. you let out a small mewl followed by relieved sigh.
"how are you feeling, baby?"
"good, so good. thank you." you pant.
"anything for my heart." he coos, kissing your temple.
aw. he said "my heart". your heart melted.
jungkook pokes your cheek with a smug grin as he lifted his body up and got off of the bed. huh.
"where are you going?"
"to clean you up?" he raises his eyebrow at you, slightly confused.
"what?"
"what do you mean what?"
"well— uh, i thought you were gonna..." you pout.
"hm?"
"kook, please fuck me. i am so horny and i need you so bad." there we go. jungkook's jaw was on the floor for the second time today. i can't lie, he was loving this new side of you. bold and straightforward. you're more vocal about your sexual needs now. you never were before.
he opens his mouth to say something, but shrugs while biting his lips, hurriedly getting on top of you again.
"shiiiiiiit, let me take care of you, mama."
your husband's fingers hook onto the hem of your shirt, pulling it upwards to take it off of you. he gawks at the sight of your tits, squished in your bralette. he hurries to take it off, throwing it away not caring where it may land.
his big hands impatiently grab your tits which were filled and heavy with milk. he looked completely hypnotised. squeezing and massaging your tits, his eyes glued to the milk that's leaking out of your nipples. swiping his thumb over your nipples over and over, jungkook looks over to you, asking for permission.
you nod.
immediately taking in one of your nipples in his mouth, your husband begins to suck relentlessly.
"oh, jungkook...!" your hand was on the back on your husband's head, instinctively massaging his scalp while he dived into your breasts.
he spits on your nipple then swirls his tongue on the saliva, dragging it all over your chest. the artwork being created on your chest was very messy, like always. he playfully bites your soft flesh and pulls it as if he could just bite a chunk off of you.
"tastes surprisingly good."
"surprisingly good?" you crack up a laugh, tilting your head to the side as you ruffled his hair.
"yeah."
he squeezes your breast again, fingers travelling from there down to your pussy again. with a smug face, jungkook parts your legs again, getting in between. he playfully flicts your clit just to earn an annoyed groan from you. apologising with a little kiss on your clit, your husband begins to rub himself through his boxers.
pulling his cock out, he slaps it on your clit a few times, making sure your clit was covered in his precum. then, he glides it down to your hole teasingly slow. spitting on his cock to use it as lubricant, he finally glides it in your drenched cunt.
"ohhh"
"ohhh"
both you and jungkook moan at the same time, loving—obsessively loving the feeling you just got. shit, that felt good. like so so so good. especially after waiting for his cock to slide in you.
"so warm, mama. so perfect for me. you're all mine." he just cups your face, staring at you so lovingly. jungkook holds up your legs by your thighs, pressing your knees to your chest. his cock goes in and out of you steadily. short timed pants from the both of you take over the room, mixing well together and creating a small harmony even.
jungkook couldn't get over how pretty your pussy looked. so pretty and perfect for him. he was aware that you did have a bit of insecurities building up after your pregnancy. but being the sweet loving husband he is, he had a talk with you and reassured you that he still saw you the same, and of course he will for the rest of his life. you were everything to him. so perfect.
he spits a ball of saliva onto your clit, watching it dribble down to mix with his thrusts. he swipes his thumb over the small patch of hair on top of your cunt, groaning.
watching jungkook act completely mesmerised with your cunt only made you wetter and his thrusts grow even rougher.
his thighs snap into your ass like a drum, the sound of skin slapping and moans and whines filling the room. mostly yours. but you knew better to keep it on the low.
"shit, oh, mama!"
jungkook spreads your legs by the knees now, both your knees ending up on the sides of your head. his body leaned down to yours, breath fanning against your lips as he quite literally manhandled the fuck out of you.
the sex wasn't rough, though. it's like he didn't want to make it rough. but it felt so good. but he made sure to increase his pace at odd times just to rile you up.
"mm, haaaaaa!"
he knew you needed to come from clit stimulation though. so to make it easier, your husband moves your left leg to his right hand, his hand holding both your legs now as he fucked into you.
"oh my god, jungkook!"
immediately squeezing your eyes shut at the sudden stimulation on your clit, your breath hitches and toes curl. your husband rubs your clit in the form of an eight, pinching it then and there too.
"hmmmm, you're gonna cum?"
you nod repeatedly, eyes squeezed shut and feeling completely fucked. no pun intended.
"yeah? cum. cum so i can fuck it deeper into you." he rubs your clit faster, increasing his pace. you whine out loud as your sweet cum comes down, making your body shake under your husband's grasp. jungkook groans once your juices coat his dick as he fucks you through your orgasm.
"oh my god, i love you...so much!" you choke out, nails digging into your bedroom. shit, that was just what jungkook needed to release.
"fucking hell, say that again." he throws his head back, bringing both your legs up in the air again and pressed against eachother as he fucked into you.
"i love you!"
"ahh, shit, shit..." he groans, thrusts getting sloppier as he cums down your cunt. he collapses right next to you, hugging your thighs close by your knees. while both you and jungkook regain consciousness while laying on the bed for a few seconds, you also make sure to admire his afterglow and also to tuck a few of his hair strands away.
jungkook gets up fast though, but never misses to kiss your hand. he quickly grabs a tissue and cleans in between your legs.
you yawn, snuggling into the sheets.
"you just wanna go to sleep?"
you nod. but you get up, making a quick trip to the bathroom to pee. by the time you're back, the sheets are changed are new, neatly tucked too. your heart immediately warms as you smile widely, wrapping your arms around your husband and kissing his cheek.
"i love youuu!"
"i love you more, baby!" he pecks your pouty lips. he tells you to dress up while he goes to check on your baby. once he comes back, you're happily tucked in your bed with a big fat smile on your face.
"someone's feeling better, huh?" he scrunches his nose up.
"uhhuh!" you nod also, patting the vacant spot next to you on the bed. jungkook happily lays there, inviting you to lay in his arms.
"i love you, mama. god, i'm so crazy for you. thank you for all you're doing, honey."
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venusjeon · 5 months
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angel in the marble
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after you fail to pickpocket him, the famous yet arrogant artist Jeon Jungkook takes you off the streets to make you his servant, and the more you know him, the more you realise he's not as detestable as everyone claims he is.
♔ PAIRING: michelangelo!jungkook x servant!reader
♔ GENRE: high renaissance au, angst, smut, humour
♔ WORD COUNT: 8k
♔ WARNINGS: homelessness, stealing, mild swearing/violence/drinking, 90% of this is bickering lmao, mentions of minor characters' death, jealousy and kinda possessiveness?, referenced unconsensual groping (not by jk), a bit of blasphemy, making out, groping, fingering, rough angry sexxx, choking, slapping
♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: fun fact this is mostly historically accurate! jk's characterisation, the grocery list doodles, the sack of rome, the beef with his brother, the encounter with his rival (raphael)... are all taken from michelangelo's actual life, even some stuff is quoted from his letters lol. man was fanfic material.
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1529, Rome
“How much for that one?”
“No, that one’s sold already.”
It was a lively morning. After days of heavy rainfall, those of high social class were eager to get out and meet under the gentle sun of spring, whose glare reflected on the precious stones of their jewellery; while those of low, out of necessity, couldn’t wait to reopen their businesses or set up their stalls and get back to work. You liked to eye them all as you strolled the streets of Rome.
“To whom?”
“Your friend Taehyung.”
“Agh… How much is that prick paying you?”
The point of the matter was that it was bustling, some colliding if they looked away from where they were going for more than a breath. It worked in your favour for it was then easier to make yourself scarce right after stealing bags of coins, such as those of the three men seemingly bargaining by a workshop’s entrance out of which a large block of marble was being dragged. Perfect.
“Three ducats.”
“Three?! He’s robbing you of two ducats. I’ll pay you the five it’s worth.”
You kept your head low as you approached the pair that seemed wealthier and with those stealthy hands of yours unfastened the bags tied to their belts. After all, pickpocketing was a skill you’d had under your own for some years now, so this was bound to go smoothly.
Because you didn’t realise there was a guardian with them, perhaps you’d grown arrogant.
“I’m sorry, maestro. It’s reserved.”
“But it’ll become a waste in his possession!”
As you slipped away into the crowd, mouth watering at the fresh-baked bread you were going to devour as soon as bought, this brown dog leaped up at you out of nowhere, ignoring your desperate efforts to shake him off. If anything, they caused him to bark.
No, no, no…
The three men turned to the scene playing out not so far, and thinking his dog was bothering you one of them shouted, “Bam, come here, boy!” but as he obediently ran to his owner, you were too slow to hide the bags in your hands. It only took the pair a second to make them out, check whether theirs still hung on their belts, find them not, work out you’d stolen them, look back up, and find you not either.
Of course, you’d made your escape by then, dived into the sea of people and swum through them as quickly as possible, only stopping when you reached an empty vaulted alley to catch your breath.
That was ridiculously close. If you weren’t more careful next–
Your train of thought was interrupted by someone grabbing you by the arm from behind and pushing you against the nearest wall. A grunt accompanied the thud, and a gasp followed at the sight of the two men from before—dog included. Pinned in place, it’d be a bad idea to fight back or attempt to run away again. Fuck’s sake.
“Do you know what happens to thieves?” the one cornering you asked so close that when the cold breeze rustled his hair, some strands grazed your face. You looked away to avoid the tickling rather than out of fear, or so you wanted to believe. “They have a hand cut off. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Jimin?”
By contrast, that Jimin didn’t look intimidating, otherwise still catching his breath from the chase, but he did snatch the coin bags from your hands. “It doesn’t have to be so, maestro. We got our money back. She’s… just a girl.”
“And that exempts her of crime?”
“Please, don’t report me,” you begged, humiliating as though it was.
“Why shouldn’t we?” the maestro scoffed. Maestro… You were being threatened by a damned craftsman, the other one probably his assistant.
“Because I don’t want to lose a hand?”
“Oh, but we wanted to lose money, did we?” You rolled your eyes, and he released his grip only to step away. “Take us to your father, brat. He’ll answer for you.”
It took you a moment to respond, “I don’t have a father, or anyone... Only I can answer for my actions.”
“You’re a beggar?” Jimin asked, taking pity as he studied your appearance for the first time. Dishevelled hair, tattered dress, unpleasant smell… Yes, they should’ve guessed.
“She doesn’t beg, though, does she? She steals.”
“Only from cunts.”
His head snapped to meet your glare, and Jimin laughed, “You seem to not know whom you speak to.” He could be Jesus for all you cared. Uninterested, you petted the dog, Bam, seeing as he’d leapt up at you again. “This is Jeon Jungkook.”
You froze. The Jeon Jungkook? The famous artist who painted and sculpted for the Pope? Whom faraway kings and even emperors commissioned? The one whose genius was said to be changing the world?
At the lack of attention, Bam returned to his master, and that snapped you out of your shock to ask, “Then why do you whine?” The two men frowned, having clearly expected an apology paired with the usual bootlicking. “As if you need that bag more than I!”
“What nerve,” he scoffed again, making you wince by grabbing your arm tighter than before and starting to drag you into the next street. “You’re going straight to the authorities!”
“Wait,” Jimin intervened, thank God. “Weren’t you in need of a servant, maestro?”
“So?”
Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.”
“I would rather have a hand cut off.”
“I would rather have her hand cut off too.”
Jungkook tried to resume dragging you, but Jimin blocked his way with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”
“Y/N…”
“Do you know how to take care of a household?” Slowly, you nodded, melancholy engulfing you at the memory of cooking or sweeping the floor with your mother once upon a time. Somehow, she always found a way to make chores fun... “Then you qualify for the job. You’ll have three meals a day and a bed to sleep on. And you, maestro, a servant who’ll work her hardest, lest you fire her and she ends up in the streets again.”
Both you and Jungkook reluctantly glanced at each other. Truth be told, you didn’t prefer losing a hand to living with him, you just didn’t like him. Despite being a celebrity, he was a stranger. It just wouldn’t work.
But then, why were you holding your breath, hoping he’d accept?
“We shouldn’t have left Namjoon’s workshop. The marble is about to be delivered,” he said walking away. The air left your lungs in disappointment. It seemed you were to remain a stray cat. Jimin pressed his plump lips apologetically as he gave you enough coins to buy that bread, and you nodded, grateful all the same for his trying. You watched him rush to Jungkook’s side but when this one saw him, he turned around. “Hurry up, brat. If Taehyung gets that block of marble, I’ll not take you in.”
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Since the first day, you could attest to Jeon Jungkook’s nature being as rough and uncouth as the rumours claimed, and after living alone with him for two months still believed gossip such as that he’d got the scar on his left cheek in a tavern fight—in which, if you’d chanced to be present, you would’ve rooted for the other individual.
It appeared it wasn’t just others Jungkook was harsh to. However rich his talent had turned him, he behaved like a poor man, consuming food and drink sparingly and out of necessity instead of pleasure, spending only the money required to live decently, sleeping little in order to work on commissions from dawn to midnight…
Why he chose to take little care of himself was a mystery to someone who previously had not been allowed a choice, even if putting work before all was in order to thwart Kim Taehyung’s plans of ruining his career, as he claimed. You doubted his rival was obsessed with him so, but had learned to agree with whatever Jungkook grumbled to avoid disputes. Most times.
Deep down, you had a feeling your boldness amused him. Who else dared get on his nerves?
“I think all you artists fluttering around the Pope are no more than slaves to money,” you let drop once while making his bed. Bam was sleeping peacefully under the window, while Jungkook leaning against the door’s frame behind you, offended to the core. He could help, you thought, or at least loosen my corset a little…
“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.”
“Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets.
“You missed a wrinkle there.”
Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?”
“On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.
Not his finest jibe, but the metaphor did stay with you. An angel inside the marble… It perhaps applied to Jungkook himself, though you’d never tell him.
One instance it came to mind was recently, when his assistants and apprentices were invited over for dinner.
Usually, he’d tell you which meals he liked and you’d ask at the marketplace which ingredients to buy, but now that about ten meals were to be cooked a list was needed. So there he sat on his desk in his study, inking said list as you waited in front of him, fiddling with the undershirt that peeked out of your dress’ sleeves. Given that your eyes were fixed on it, you only learned Jungkook was done when the sound of his quill scratching the paper ceased.
“Be back no later than dusk,” he ordered, “I bet there are still Germans and Spaniards lurking about.”
A year had passed since the Sack of Rome, but the mention of it sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Whatever the political reasons for it, you hated everyone involved, for Hell itself would’ve been a more beautiful sight to behold those nine months when the Tiber’s waters remained painted red…
You were lucky to make it through. Your family wasn’t.
“Yes, master.”
“Here,” he said handing you the paper, then picked another letter from a pile of correspondence he’d been going through before your arrival. Jungkook was about to snap its wax seal when he looked up to realise you hadn’t moved an inch. “Why are you here? Away with you!” He saw the reason in the way you avoided eye contact. “You can’t read, can you?” Met with a silence charged with embarrassment, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Give me the list.”
Getting hold of the quill again, Jungkook began… doodling?
You tilted your head but couldn’t see well what he was drawing until he finished and returned the list to you. Then, your lips parted. Each item on the list was illustrated next to its name: ten loaves of bread, a jug of wine, tortellini, four anchovies, two fennel soups…
“I’ll teach you to read when I have time. This will do for now.”
“You’d do that?” For me?
Jungkook ignored you, before he went back to reading his letters complimenting the good gesture with an irritated, “Hurry up.”
That night his co-workers arrived one by one, Jimin the first. The sight of him when you opened the door brightened up your mood.
Unlike a certain someone he was always sweet to you, genuinely interested to know how you fared even if you were just a servant. He claimed that mattered not to him, that you were both commoners and thus equals.
“Look at this place, it’s spotless! And you know I’m furtive, so I won’t get in your way,” you told Jimin as you escorted him through a hallway, bright from the torches hung on the walls that you’d lit up earlier.
He laughed, “I cannot make you my servant, Y/N, you’re maestro’s.”
“But he’s going to drive me mad… To tell you one of many examples, he often falls asleep in his clothes, and who but I is to take his boots off so they don’t get the sheets dirty? If the chalk on his fingers or the dust from the chiseling on his hair won’t already. Bam is far cleaner…”
Jungkook had a workshop he barely set foot in, preferred his team made use of it instead to not be bothered by their idiocy. His words. So it was in a chamber on the ground floor of this house he gave way to artistic insanity. In your book, that meant constant cleaning.
Jimin looked at you fondly. “Sounds nightmarish.”
“It truly is!”
As soon as the two of you entered the dining hall, Bam ran from Jungkook’s side by the fireplace to Jimin, who was as excited to see him.
“Good night, maes–”
“Do you think I’m deaf, ungrateful brat?” Jungkook interrupted him to bark at you. “Rome is full of people begging to get a piece of me, so if you don’t like it here, I’ll just get someone else!”
“You say that and yet keep me like a prisoner!”
“As if you don’t have it better here than anywhere you’ve burdened with your presence before!”
“There, there…” Jimin interjected to de-escalate, kneeling to better stroke Bam. “Maestro, I’ve seen your latest sketch of the Virgin and Child. She resembles Y/N.”
Both you and Jungkook failed to fight off the embarrassment, gazes unable to find a place to settle. Sitting down on the large table, he explained, “It was just one time… I had used Yoongi as a model, but the Madonna looked too masculine... and rather than going through the trouble of finding some girl and hiring her, I had Y/N pose for me… So what! Why bring it up out of nowhere…”
“Because maybe you just need a bit of distance from time to time. With permission, I too would have Y/N pose for m–”
“Absolutely not.”
“Now, why the hell not?” you groaned stamping your foot, startling poor Bam. Hope had been born inside you in a second and cruelly crushed in the next.
“Because I say so. And watch your tone with me.” As usual, the mutual glaring would trick anyone into thinking the next step would be murder. Jimin, who knelt there awkwardly, certainly thought so, at least until the bell rang. “Now go answer the door!”
What happened later, though, rendered the fury Jungkook had evoked in your heart nonexistent and instead seized the thing in a clasp of distress.
In the morning, he walked in when you were sweeping the kitchen. At once you forced the sobs to stop and turned around so he wouldn’t see you wipe your tears.
“It’s past nine, where’s breakfast?” he asked in shock that you hadn’t even started making it, the table there empty.
You swore under your breath before leaving the broomstick leaning against the nearest wall, flushed face kept out of Jungkook’s sight, then in a haste fetched a plate, a knife, and a leftover bread loaf. “Apologies, master, I forgot. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”
Sniffling betrayed you, at which Jungkook frowned. “Are you crying?”
Great, the question just about especially designed to make one well up. Not trusting your voice anymore, you shook your head. Jungkook approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the task at hand, now cutting a few slices of the bread.
“Have you broken something?” You shook your head again, the suppressed sobs making your chin tremble. Jungkook took a deep breath before asking with a surprisingly soothing tone, “Then what’s wrong?”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
Within an hour, he’d summoned a meeting consisting of all who’d attended dinner the previous night.
A seemingly calm Jungkook was sat at the head of the table, elbows sunk on it and fingers interlocked. You stood behind him, head still low out of shame. A tense silence had fallen in the chamber some time ago, and sick of it, Jimin shattered it.
“Have you anything to tell us, maestro?”
“I was waiting for Biagio to do so.”
The man was one of Jungkook’s favourite assistants who had worked with him for years, even longer than Jimin. And if it was possible for your position to be trickier, he belonged to some noble family.
“Me? But I’ve nothing to say, maestro.”
Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “My servant will, then. Y/N?”
Bastard. If you are going to fire me, why make me go through this?
“Last night, w-when I left this hall to go refill the wine jug… Messer Biagio followed me into the kitchen, and… h-he trapped me from behind, and started t-to touch me…” Your vision soon blurred, hence why you couldn’t see clearly how concerned Jimin was for you, or how Biagio jumped up in outrage. “I managed to push him away, and ran upst–”
“How dare you slander me, wench? Maestro, you do not believe this!”
“Do I not?”
“She’s lying! I caught her stealing sketches from your study, likely to sell them, so she’s trying to get rid of me!”
You almost scoffed. Only an idiot would choose the one occasion guests had come over and her absence would be noticed to carry out a theft.
Jungkook tilted his head. “I thought you had nothing to say. Why would you keep such a thing just now?”
Biagio gulped. “I deemed it best to mention it later, in private... You won’t believe a pickpocket before an old friend, will you?”
Silence returned, your breath still as you saw all the assistants and apprentices visibly take pity on him. The only one who didn’t was Jimin, but even on his face there was a hint of hesitation. Jungkook’s, you couldn’t see from behind, but after an eternity he stood up and walked over only to put a hand on the shoulder of Biagio, who smiled in relief.
A quiet sob broke through your lips, heart sinking. You’d needed Jungkook to believe you in this. Not because of the consequences his protection as your master could save you from, but because, like it or not… he was the closest thing to family you had.
It turned out he did believe you, judging by the punch landed on Biagio’s jaw out of nowhere. And the next one on his cheekbone, and on his nose. Before everyone around the table had barely stood up to stop Jungkook, he’d already thrown Biagio down and straddled him, pulling his doublet’s collar in a close, tight grip as he continued beating him up. Blood was drawn, but for once, you didn’t mind having to scrub it later.
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Jungkook’s influence trumped a whole noble house’s, you learned in the course of the months Biagio tried his mightiest and failed most miserably to have him arrested. Perhaps because of the Pope sitting on his shoulder.
That he’d taken your side was still hard to believe, all he’d grumbled with a shrug when you thanked him while tending to his wounds from the fight being, “I’d been waiting for the chance. I always thought Biagio was a weasel.”
With the matter resolved, life returned to normal—well, whatever that meant in Jeon Jungkook’s household. Because calling for you at the top of his lungs like a madman was not normal. The first time he’d done it you’d raced downstairs, afraid something horrible had happened, only for him to have you close a window as it was getting chilly. Devil rot him. You rushed no longer after that, much to his complaints.
Today, he didn’t notice right away when you appeared under the cased opening, and good thing he didn’t, for he was polishing a bust with sandpaper… shirtless.
Product of hours carving stone into his desired shape or occasionally beating someone up, he could brag of having muscles, which the current task had covered in a layer of sweat and dust. The way they flexed with each movement had you compelled, wanting to reach out, feel if his skin was as hot as the blood pumping through your veins faster and faster. Then your gaze moved to the bust and whatever spell you were under broke.
Hardly an angel was that widowed noblewoman, whom you wished had stayed trapped inside a block of marble. Her name was Madonna Maddalena, and she’d come some weeks past to make a commission covered in pearls, gold, and boldness.
“My friends refused to accompany me today. You’re said to be… disagreeable, which I’m sure is untrue. However, all of them do want to know if you’re as fine-looking as is also rumoured, maestro” she told Jungkook within minutes of meeting him, still by the entrance!
Now you can tell them he’s not, you bit your tongue before it remarked, as this wasn’t Jimin but a patron not to be scared away by your bickering. It wouldn’t be true anyway. All your master lacked in manners, he made up for with looks… Which you’d never say out loud. You’d never say either that he looked even better when irked.
“I’ve heard many rumours about myself, most of them nonsense. My appearance was involved in none.”
She smiled seductively. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to spread them.”
“The weather is pleasant today,” Jungkook changed the subject, flustered beneath the formal demeanour. “Shall we have wine in the garden?” You left to prepare it not before catching Maddalena raise her brow at you in disapproval. She must’ve been able to tell you thought she was a pompous cunt.
The beautiful flowers you cared for tried their best outside, but the air didn’t get any better.
Sat around a small table, Maddalena explained she wanted a bust of herself by his talented hand to decorate the main hall of her palazzo. You served them wine, not really listening until Jungkook started playing hard to get. The hundred times you’d told him it wasn’t a good tactic to make his labour out to be too prestigious had apparently fallen on deaf ears.
“Any other artist could carry this out, Madonna. I am working for the Pope these days…” he subtly scolded her, a mere mortal, for wasting his precious time. And he wondered why he had a reputation for being arrogant.
Maddalena put his thoughts into plain words, “So why should you stoop to taking commissions from an insignificant widow?”
“Correct,” you said under your breath, luckily heard by none from the background, where you stood holding a wine jug until the madonna raised her cup and you approached to refill it.
“It is then fortunate I’m to marry a nephew of the Pope’s.”
Swayed by her future influence, Jungkook smiled back. “So it is.”
“But not for another week. ‘Till then, I belong to no man.” The suggestion in her tone almost drove you to spill wine all over her. No, better yet: order Bam to sic on her. He’d do it.
Just, who did this woman think she was? And why did Jungkook not kick her out right afterwards? It made you wonder whether he’d enjoyed the flirtation. Whether he would’ve been the one to take things further had his inconvenient servant not been present. It was common for men to have affairs and lovers, but it didn’t sit well with you that Jungkook might. Not that you ever imagined him doing any of that, for goodness’ sake–
“What took you so long?”
Jungkook’s voice brought you back to the present, under the cased opening.
“I was lazing about, as always,” you quoted his favourite false reprimand, making him roll his eyes, your own dropping to the floor when he walked closer.
“In that case, prepare a bath for me.”
“Yes, master.”
You sighed at all the work ahead. That being a servant was worlds better than living in the streets didn’t mean you looked forward to collecting gallons of water from a well, carrying them back, heating them, transferring them to a tub, then washing Jungkook—because you did wash him.
Biagio had hurt his left shoulder bad and ever since, he’d needed assistance in certain activities. Curious how he could otherwise chisel a goddamned bust without problem.
Jungkook’s full nudity only made you blush if you stopped scrubbing, so knelt with tucked up sleeves before the wooden tub he was reclined on, scrubbing away the dirt on his skin with lavender-scented soap you were. Maybe all the stupid feelings you’d been suffering lately stemmed from there…
Head resting on the edge, he was exhausted from the long day of work, taking your rubbing as a relaxing massage. You, however, couldn’t ignore the stinging guilt, what with the scar on his shoulder right in front of your face. He probably felt your breathing on it.
“I’m sorry you got hurt…”
Jungkook fought heavy lids only to see you avoid him. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him was embarrassing, as when he’d caught you crying, but he didn’t take advantage of the fact to humiliate you. Jungkook may be an ogre, but he wasn’t cruel.
“I’ve received worse for less,” he assured you in a calm, low voice. It sounded soothing to your ears.
“That, I don’t doubt,” you scoffed, glancing at his other scar on the cheek. “Did you also get that one in defence of some lady?”
“You’re nowhere close to a lady.” It could be done, you mused. Drowning him. “This was courtesy of my brother.”
“You have a brother?” It dawned on you how little you knew of him. Surely, most had heard it all about the divine Jeon Jungkook, but you’d never cared enough to learn past the shell of gossip, even after months of living with him. In fairness, he’d never asked about you either. You preferred it that way.
“Brothers,” he corrected you. “The one who did this to me was a wayward fool. Had to teach him a lesson.”
“Looks like he taught one to you.”
“I left with a scratch, he with a limp.” The conception of two brothers hurting each other so harshly widened your eyes for a second, and Jungkook noticed, for he added, “He was whoring around, wasting the money I worked hard to send, bullying our other brothers as well.”
Much made sense about Jungkook all of a sudden. Not his personality, that was incomprehensible. But why he killed himself to earn money and yet barely spent it… He had a family to provide for. Once again, you were reminded of his metaphor. Could an angel be in there?
Carrying on washing Jungkook, you dragged the sponge over to his neck. Then his collarbones, his chest, his abs just peaking above the water... They did look like a sculpture’s, especially wet and soaped, reminiscent of polished marble when the light of the torches reflected on them. Swallowing hard, the back of your fingers gingerly graced Jungkook’s muscles, both soft and firm. Slippery. Whatever possessed you to keep feeling them, you lacked the will to expel from your body, and so without realising your grip on the sponge loosened until it fell to float away, fingertips now free to roam over his abs.
You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.
Sat upright, Jungkook was glaring at you so fiercely you feared for your life. But he didn’t say anything and instead just breathed hard, jaw clenched… almost as if he was holding back. Your rising heartbeat was deafening in the silence waiting for something to happen, anything, but what did wasn’t what a side of you anticipated with excitement.
Jungkook just let go of your wrist and returned to his previous position, and you got hold of the sponge and finished washing him, albeit holding your breath the entire time.
Days later, you came dangerously close to being fired.
The Pope had summoned Jungkook—something about a portrait commission—and you were to carry his bag filled with sketches for him due to his shoulder injury. As you navigated the ever-busy streets of Rome with him, the cold autumn breeze made you regret not putting on an overgown. The cioppa you’d bought with your own salary and not stolen. It brought a smile to your lips that faded at the realisation your mother would’ve reminded you to put it on before going out.
The sorrow pestering you turned to confusion when Jungkook stopped walking and tsked, telling you loud enough to be heard by all, “Look at him, the chief of police, with such an assemblage.”
A well-dressed man and what appeared to be his entourage walked in your direction, halting near enough. You didn’t have to ask to know this was his rival, the renowned painter Kim Taehyung.
“Whereas you, like an executioner, walk alone,” he mocked Jungkook, then noticed you standing behind him like a timid child. “Not completely, my mistake. Maestro, where in your barren soil did you plant such a flower?” He walked over to you, intentionally bumping Jungkook’s wounded shoulder as he passed, causing him to grunt lowly. From up close one was bound to marvel at how handsome Taehyung was, but you didn’t need proximity to tell he was a prick. Miles away, you would’ve known. “Why don’t you come work for me, flower? I’ll make you my muse.”
Jungkook scoffed again, “What, for your horseshit paintings? She’d be a fool to.”
Taehyung turned around to face him, feigning confusion with a smile. “But, maestro, how could they be so if you were once heard saying that all I have in art, I got from you?”
"You naturally have to resort to plagiarising my master’s genius if all you do is horseshit,” you countered, earning surprised looks from every man present, some laughs too, you were proud to say. Jungkook was certainly smirking. Taehyung opened his mouth, but you walked past him uninterested before a response came out of it.
“Good girl,” Jungkook laughed while leaving the crime scene, and for some reason your cheeks burned hot.
The incident happened once inside the Vatican.
Its grandiose corridors alone made you feel small, too unimportant to walk them, whereas Jungkook did so with determination, knowing he belonged at the top of the world. What with your tempestuous relationship, it was easy to forget he was famous throughout Europe. His feet would still never be kissed by you. Someone had to humble the man, right?
At some point the two of you arrived at a door flanked by guards, and averse, you grabbed the sleeve of Jungkook’s doublet.
“Do I have to go in?”
“Too good for the Pope, are you?” He shook you off. “Come on.”
“Damn you…” you muttered.
“What did you just say to me?”
“After you, master.”
Telling himself he’d be late if he scolded you, Jungkook turned and nodded at the guards, who opened the door of a chamber whose walls were frescoed with angels and saints, likely by Taehyung, giving off the impression one was in Heaven. When you saw him sat on a golden chair, old and grey, enjoying the tune of a lute player, you felt as though you’d just entered Hell.
The audience lasted for ever. While you stood by the door, Jungkook showed the Pope some sketches of the portrait for him to choose his favourite and then they talked and talked of politics. All you could do was fix your gaze somewhere on the floor and sigh.
“Yes, Your Holiness, this is the servant I mentioned…” A frown proceeded your looking up to see Jungkook somewhat embarrassed, scratching his nose as if to hide his face. He talked of you to others? Doubtless to complain…
With a sweet voice as if he was talking to a little girl, the Pope asked you, “What is your name?”
“None of your business, Your Holiness.”
The musician’s tune ceased abruptly, allowing Jungkook’s faint gasp to be heard. Then fell a short silence spent by the Pope blinking, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.”
Jungkook was quick to fake a laugh, though sweat formed at his temples. “A jest! She meant no offence, Your Holiness, but to make you laugh.”
You held the Pope’s glare in defiance, indifferent to the fact he was the most powerful man in the whole of Christendom.
By some miracle, he let it go, and you left that chamber minutes later with your head as yet attached to your body. Your arm wouldn’t be for much longer, though, given Jungkook was forcibly dragging you all the way out to the streets, pushing you into the first alley he saw.
“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted, towering over you menacingly. Unlike the day you’d met, you weren’t scared, rather furious as him as you stood your ground. “That was the Pope, you fool!”
“So?”
Jungkook was in utter disbelief. “He could’ve ordered your execution– mine too!”
“Well, nothing happened!”
“Nothing?! I’m sure to fall out of favour!” He paced around, anxiety quickening his breath. “Years of pouring my soul into my craft, of grovelling before the right people, all thrown away! Good God, your attitude may cost me everything…”
“And what about me?! Everything lost to me does not matter?!”
Jungkook stopped to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”
It was now you who walked up to him. “I didn’t have a job, or a reputation, or admirers. I had only a family, and I never wished for anything else! That monster you work for took them from me. When the foreigners’ armies came and everyone rushed to Castel Sant’Angelo, he gave the order to close the gates as soon as he was safe behind them! You must have been there with him, weren’t you? Well, we weren’t. We were left outside to be slaughtered. And I wish I had been, like my parents, so I didn’t have to suffer the likes of you any longer!”
Tears were streaming down your face by the end, Jungkook just staring back at you. It didn’t surprise him that your parents were dead or that they’d been killed during the Sack, but that it was so deep a wound left festering in your heart that you didn’t mind being put out of misery. He surmised your disrespectful behaviour towards him was also fruit of your pain, especially if you deemed him an ally of the one who caused it.
“The few things I own… They’re wasted on me. Throw them away or give them to your next servant,” you sobbed, taking for granted you were fired. Anyone with half a brain would indeed have you dismissed, and part of you knew it was bound to happen, that you would go back to breaking in fucking churches to spend the night.
So you turned around into the main street, set on wandering until your legs became too sore not to collapse. With any luck, a carriage would run over you. But warmth then surrounded your hand, and you looked down to see Jungkook’s holding it tight enough to force you to halt. Though still mad, a hint of compassion sparkled in his eyes.
“Let’s… Let us just go home.”
Home. His house had felt so for a while now, truth be told. Himself too.
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After that, you non-verbally agreed on a ceasefire—avoiding quarrels, that is, which was quite the task for both.
Such as now that Jungkook had you inking down a letter in his name. First of all, did you look like a scribe? If you’d known in advance the lazy arse would teach you to read and write for this, you’d have chosen to remain illiterate. And second, this was your short break before making dinner, intended to be spent playing with Bam. The poor thing was also in the study, at least being stroked by his owner, who was sat beside you on the desk.
“… I send you my regards, may God keep you from all harm. Jeon Jungkook in Rome,” he finally finished dictating, and you recording. “Give it to me, I’ll seal it.”
He was melting the wax with which to do so when the bell rang, to his surprise. Sighing, you stood up and went to open the door to whom turned out to be Jimin. The sight of him brightened you up, and yours stretched his lips into a smile.
“Evening, Y/N.”
“Good evening! I didn’t know the master was expecting you.”
“He isn’t…” You welcomed him in, brows joining at how he continuously chewed on his aforementioned lip and breathed deep through his nose as he followed you. Had something happened…? A decision to eavesdrop was made en route to the study.
Though Jimin requested for you to stay once there, and nothing could have prepared you for the reason why.
“This actually concerns Y/N…” You and Jungkook exchanged confused looks, him leaning against the desk and crossing arms as though he didn’t like the sound of that. Jimin fixed his already perfect clothes before addressing him, “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your jaw dropped. “I know it’s sudden at the lack of previous courtship, but I thought I should ask for your permission before engaging in it, maestro. She’s a lovely girl… and I think she’d be happy as my wife. Worry not, I won’t ask for a dowry or for her to stop working… Although on second thought, fewer hours of service would be ideal.”
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.
Jungkook must be thinking the same, for he squinted to ask, “Are you drunk?”
“N-No, of course not.”
“Are you sure? You want to marry a servant with little to her name.” He had a point, so you weren’t offended. If politics weren’t the reason for a union, did this mean… Jimin had feelings for you?
“Maestro, you say it as if I were a lord,” he chuckled. “I don’t care about Y/N’s possessions, I’ll provide for her anyway. I’ve… always been fond of her. And I dare say she shares the sentiment.”
Betrayal hid safely behind a look that asked if there was any truth to that. Obviously not! There was no romance in your own fondness for Jimin. If anything, you had thought he saw you as a younger sister to look after, therefore as a protective older brother you saw him. But so shocked were you still that no words managed to come out, and Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to Jimin.
“I’ll think about it. You may go.”
A curt tone was the norm for Jungkook, it was not being granted his blessing that disappointed Jimin. He knew for a fact he was an honourable man, so why wouldn't he entrust you to him?
“Quite well… I’ll show myself out.” he uttered, before making his leave failing to hide his low spirit by giving you one last shy smile you hadn’t the heart to return.
An awkward silence filled the air that even Bam daren’t break. Only once the front door was heard shutting did you walk closer to Jungkook.
“You won’t agree to this, will you?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.”
“Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?” you asked, voice rising. How a servant could be so was unknown to you until, like wooden ship toys did when you’d submerge them in a bucket of water as a child, certain guesses surfaced in your thoughts. Trying to pickpocket him, the constant clashing, Biagio, that bath, the Pope… Yes, you may perhaps be described as a burden. But you didn’t want to leave. With a calmer tone, you pleaded, “I’ll behave from now on. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”
Jungkook didn’t deign to look your way as he left, followed by Bam. “You have to marry at some point, Y/N. Otherwise people will gossip.”
Since when did he care about what people said of him? And why should you?
Winter having dropped its anchor, nightfall arrived early. Not early enough, you brooded as you cooked dinner, longing for the day to end once and for all. With any hope, all of this was a nightmare and upon waking up in the morning life would go back to normal. You didn’t even know why you wanted to stay with Jungkook, as the occasions in which you’d begged Jimin to employ you to leave this house were countless. The only certain thing was that you were upset.
Later, after washing all plates and cups, you began to put off all torches lighting the house, finding out in the hall that Jungkook hadn’t moved from the seat he’d dined in. You considered carrying on with your job and leaving him in the dark, but he wouldn’t find it as funny. Instead, you stood before him.
“Will that be all, master?”
The coldness in your expression made him sigh, “Y/N–”
“I shall retire, then.” You turned to leave but were made to stop in your tracks.
“It’s an advantageous proposal for you,” he lectured to whom he must believe an idiot. “Jimin works for me, he’s wealthy. A better match than you could ever aspire to. And he asks for no dowry because he doesn’t want money, he wants you…” His words were tainted with resentment. “He’ll take good care of you.”
Skirt of your dress swirling along, you faked a smile. “If you think so, master, then it must be so.”
He shook his head as he leaned back in defeat. “Suit yourself, but I won’t be the one to reject Jimin. You crush his heart.”
A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.
Jungkook had appeared annoyed, but now he was mad. “Who?” He stood up abruptly—chair’s feet scratching against the floor making you wince—and walked so close you were backed against the wall, face forced to turn to a side. In a low, deep voice, he repeated, less as a question and more as an order this time, “Who.”
There was no way in the nine circles of Hell you’d say it, when you didn’t want to believe it in the first place. For fuck’s sake, why? Jungkook only ever made you want to get away from him. That was the case right now, but then… why were your feet frozen?
Some unreasonable part of you seemed to have prevailed upon the others, casting away all resistance from your body and allowing yourself to indulge in Jungkook’s proximity. You met his eyes without fear, held his dark gaze. It didn’t take him long to work it out, yet he kept close, so close your unsteady breaths mingled, the effect akin to intoxication. He was visibly trying to hold back, telling himself it’d be a bad idea, but you prayed he wouldn’t care.
By God or the Devil, your prayers were heard.
Jungkook finally smashed his lips into yours, devouring them with a hunger you shared and felt growing as he gripped your waist to press you against him. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have imagined his tongue belonged inside your mouth, swirling around your own, and now you wanted it all over your body. As if reading your mind, Jungkook broke the ardent kiss to move down to your neck, which he licked painfully slowly before sucking hard, making you hiss with pleasure. He knew that would leave a mark, the bastard. You wondered if it was meant for Jimin, so he’d see you were Jungkook’s, and in such case you didn’t mind, let your eyelids close to enjoy it.
Steered by the lust possessing you, one hand grabbed his soft hair in a fistful, keeping his head in place where he was sweetly abusing your neck, while the other travelled southwards until it reached his crotch and held it over the trousers, feeling his cock stiffen. Jungkook groaned—a vibration to your skin—in retaliation lifting your skirt. You’d thought he'd take his time, tease you, but after ensuring you were wet enough by gliding his middle finger along your core, he slid it inside and began making beckoning motions.
“Master…” you moaned, legs shaking. Jungkook forsook your neck to pull back, watch how you struggled to keep it together as he added another finger, curling and uncurling them both, hitting all the right places, and unwilling to give him that satisfaction without consequences you groped his erection with the same vigour. Although he was in good control of his expression, his breath quivered against your lips, so he kissed them again, biting hard into your lower one.
He exhaled, “You’re driving me to sin…”
Indeed, the same fingers that held the brushes when he painted religious artwork were buried deep inside your cunt, bringing you the most sinful ecstasy. It made you chuckle. Jungkook took that as the mockery it was and, crossed, pulled his fingers out of you to drag you by the arm to the edge of the table, where he had you sit. Without delay he lifted your skirt again, only this time he also pulled down his trousers to reveal his cock, thick and throbbing, which he pumped as he watched you spread your legs eagerly, ready to take all of him.
With his free hand Jungkook cupped your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip, coated with saliva and reddened still from when he’d bit it. He could sense your desire, that you craved him inside, had for a while. Desperately. And however much tempted he was to make you beg for it, his own arousal led his cock to your entrance and eased it inside already, another groan hitting the back of his bared teeth. You didn’t have time to gasp, his thrusts so quick they earned only moans, so wonderful did it feel.
Jungkook’s hand on your cheek then wrapped around your neck. “Do you know how often I’ve fantasised strangling you?”
You chuckled again as you slapped him across the face. Jungkook halted his movements in shock, glared at you. “And I slapping you?”
It took him a moment, but he scoffed and pushed you back so that you were lying down, climbing next atop you, confident that the wooden table was sturdy enough to hold both. So legs hooked around his torso and arms around his neck, you welcomed his thrusts, rough enough to make your eyes water. But it felt heavenly, how he ravished you... The mutual irritation and tension building up for over half a year translated into indescribable pleasure.
He kissed you again, flicking his tongue against yours as he pounded into you without mercy. Overwhelmed by the sensation, all you could do to express you were nearing your limit was sink your nails into Jungkook’s biceps at each side of you, moan inside his mouth. He took the hint and fucked you as fast as his body would allow, within mere seconds your walls clenching tight around him. The sight of you collapsing under him, overcome with bliss, made him reach his own highest shortly, spurting his warm seed inside you.
As his movements gradually ceased, so did your panting. Before a complete silence fell, you asked, “Am I still to marry Jimin?”
Jungkook grabbed your face and growled against your pouted lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”
5K notes · View notes
wintaerbaer · 1 month
Text
bottle up old love (jjk) (m)
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summary: Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.
pairing: Jungkook x Reader
rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)
genre: exes to lovers, the holy trinity of angst/smut/fluff
word count: 4.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble 💀)
prompt: JK + exes to lovers + "I'm sorry" + "I hate you" + "Don't fucking touch me" + "Leave" (for @btsborahaee <3)
warnings: language, a short harassment scene at the beginning (nothing too intense), explicit content including: unprotected sex (DO NOT), fingering, praise kink, biting, marking, spanking, cum eating (sort of?), big cawk soft dom jk, cowgirl (yeehaw), creampie, cockwarming, i think that's all but this also wasn't supposed to be too smutty so clearly idk what's going on lol
MASTERLIST
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“Don’t fucking touch me!”
You spit the words at the man in front of you, pushing him back as he tries to make another grab at your arm.
“Why do you gotta be like that?” Seungcheol whines. “I thought we were having fun.”
“You and I have very different ideas of fun.” You take a step backwards towards your building. Somewhere down the sidewalk, footsteps clatter against the pavement.
“C’mon.” He matches your movement, reaches for you again. “Invite me up. You enjoyed the last time, didn’t you? I told you that was just a warm-up.”
The building’s brick wall is closer than you thought, and you bang your shoulder against it as you try to sidestep him. “Last time you didn’t follow me to a bar I didn’t even invite you to. How did you know where I was anyway?”
“Let me come up, and I’ll tell you,” he rumbles with a flicker of his eyebrows. He has you fully backed up against the wall now, and you press against the muscle of his chest to no avail.
“Stop!” you shout before he’s ripped away from you so suddenly that you’re left blinking in confusion, huddled against the brick.
There’s a thud–the sound of a fist hitting flesh–and a yelp before Seungcheol is reeling back with his hands clutching his nose. Blood seeps out from beneath his fingers, black even under the glow of the streetlamps.
“What the fuck?” he shrieks, and it’s only then that you take a proper look at your savior, looking every bit like he’s stepped straight out of the shadows with his dark hair, ebony clothes, and deep brown eyes.
And a lead weight drops into your stomach as you recognize him.
Jungkook sets himself between you and Seungcheol, looming over the latter as he continues to cover his face, whining. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get out of here.”
“Who the fuck are you?!”
“Ten,” Jungkook growls, taking a step in Seungcheol’s direction. “Nine.”
Seungcheol straightens–clearly a last-ditch attempt to look intimidating. Spitting blood onto the concrete, he peers at you over Jungkook’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, bitch.”
Then he spins and takes off running down the street.
Your hands grip your elbows. It may be a balmy summer night, but you’re shivering where you stand, unsure whether you’re more affected by Seungcheol’s behavior or the ghost who’s unexpectedly in front of you.
“Are you okay?” he quietly asks, gaze fixed on your face. You stare at your shoes and give him a brisk nod as a response before turning away, punching in your building code, and walking through the front door.
He follows closely, slipping in behind you and trailing a few feet. You let him for a little while, guiding him through the modest lobby and up the first flight of stairs. But when you’re halfway up the second stairwell–almost to your floor–you pause on the landing, spinning his way.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
His eyes are gentle, sincere. “Making sure you get in safely.”
“There’s no need for that,” you assert. “I’m already in my building. There’s a keypad. I’m good.”
“The keypad does almost nothing. I followed you in no problem.”
“So I should be worried about you then?”
He flushes, the tips of his ears going pink. “Please just let me see you inside.”
You want to argue back, want to shout at him and make a scene, but you know it’s no use. Know that he’s stubborn as a bull and will get what he wants one way or another.
It’s how he broke up with you after all.
You say nothing, only hustle up the last set of steps and down the dimly-lit hallway until you’re in front of your door, Jungkook tailing you the whole time with his hands in his pockets. You practically fumble your key in your haste to get it into the lock, letting out a satisfied sigh as the latch finally clicks open.
“There. I’m in,” you say as you step over the threshold, waving a dismissive hand at your unwanted companion. “Leave.”
But he hesitates just outside the doorway, teeth chewing at the corner of his lip. “What are you going to do if he comes back?”
“That’s my problem, isn’t it? I stopped being your concern when you dropped me out of nowhere a year ago.”
Your eyes sting at the memory, tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want him here. Don’t want to see him or have him anywhere in your vicinity. Not when it still hurts like this.
Though, truth be told, you don’t expect to ever be fully over him.
“We’re done, Jungkook,” you murmur. “You made sure of that.”
And you close the door in his face.
The distress subsides quickly once he’s out of sight–like he was never there to begin with–and you don’t linger, dropping your bag on the sofa and heading straight for the bathroom. This is how you’ve made it a year without him; it was weeks of crying before you realized that wallowing was doing you no good, only fueling your misery instead of providing any kind of catharsis. So you’ve done your best to simply push past it and crush down the anguish that bubbles up every time you think of him. Put him in a tiny little box that you refuse to touch.
You shed your clothes and turn the shower to a temperature that you’ll probably regret later. But for now, you savor the way the water sears your skin as you wash away the day with all of its unpleasant surprises. Taking your time, you scrub every inch of your body and carefully shampoo your hair (trying not to fall back into the fantasy that’s plagued you on occasion where it’s his hands and not yours spreading the bubbles over your form).
The self-care continues as you step out of the shower and leisurely work through your skin care routine, even taking the time to blow dry your hair. By the time you exit the bathroom, the fog on the mirror has dissipated, and you’ve once again successfully tamped down the memory of Jungkook and his hands and eyes and everything you ever felt for him.
Or so you think.
After popping into your bedroom to pull on some pajamas, you pad back into the living room for a glass of water, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the front door. Regret attempts to push its way into your consciousness against your better judgment. The man broke your heart, yes. But you do feel a little guilty slamming the door in his face after he just fought off a creep for you.
And speaking of Seungcheol, what if he does come back? You’re pretty sure he saw you punch in the building code the night you brought him home with you, and given his behavior, you wouldn’t be surprised if he filed it away in his head.
Anxiety winning out, you creep to the door and peer through the peephole. The hallway looks empty, drab beige walls taking up most of your field of view, but you jump as you spot a hulking shadow to the right. Your heartbeat races then slows, a closer look revealing hunched, unmoving shoulders wrapped in a familiar black t-shirt.
Jungkook swings his head to look at you as you open the door and glare down at him. His legs are pulled up, arms resting on his knees, and it might be endearing if not for the fact that he absolutely, positively should not be here.
“What are you doing?” you ask him for the second time tonight.
“He might come back.”
“And you’re going to what? Fight him?”
He shrugs. “If I have to.”
“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “You’re going to sit out here all night?”
He shifts where he sits, wiggling his hips like he’s firmly planting his butt into his chosen spot. “Yes.”
You roll your eyes at him but don’t doubt that he would. Again, if there is anything you know this man to be, it’s stubborn. “You’re going to scare the neighbors.”
“Who, Mrs. Kwon?” A tiny smile plays on his lips as he glances in the direction of your elderly neighbor’s apartment. “I think she’d be delighted to see me.”
If you’re being honest, she probably would be. She’s always adored Jungkook and praised him as the “kind, handsome young man” who helped her put away groceries and fixed her leaky faucet one time. In the months following your breakup, she’d asked about him once or twice, patting your arm reassuringly when you awkwardly told her she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.
“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “He’ll come around.”
Well she’s turned out to be right in that he’s certainly back here again, still watching you from his spot on the floor. And you don’t know whether it’s his big doe eyes or the fact that he really would guard your apartment all night if you let him or the genuine fear that one of the other neighbors will make a fuss at his presence, but you feel yourself softening.
Turning abruptly, you stride into the kitchen for your glass of water, walking out of sight of the door, which is still wide open.
“You coming?” you call, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard.
There’s a rustle as Jungkook stands and shuffles into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. For someone who was so determined to defend you tonight, he seems uncertain now that he’s actually inside. His hands are once again stuffed in his pockets, and his eyes flicker around like he hasn’t been here a thousand times. Hasn’t cooked you breakfast in this kitchen in nothing but his boxers. Hasn’t watched The Notebook with you on this TV and held you as you both cried.
Hasn’t made love to you on the couch.
You slide a water his way, and he murmurs his thanks, sipping at it lightly. It’s strange–seeing him here again–and you can’t help but think about the last time he stood in this room. It’d been a maelstrom of accusations and hurt feelings that culminated in him storming out, the slam of the door echoing in your ears.
“You never cleaned that?” He gestures at the rug that covers most of the sitting area in your living room, eyes on the dark purple stain roughly the size of your hand.
You gulp down your water and try not to follow his line of sight. Try not to remember how you’d knocked over a glass of wine in your haste to get his clothes off during another movie night less than a month before your breakup.
“I kind of forgot about it,” you say. “Stopped noticing it after a while.” 
It’s a lie. There was never a time when you didn’t notice it, the memory of him haunting you every time you sit down on the couch and stare at the garish stain. And still, you haven’t been able to bring yourself to try and erase it.
Silence worms its way between you again. With only the soft light from the tabletop lamp glowing next to the couch, Jungkook’s face is cloaked in shadow. And so you barely see his lips move when he speaks. Barely hear it with how quietly his whisper slips into the room.
“I’m sorry.”
Your glass almost drops from your fingers, droplets splashing across your knuckles as you catch it at the last moment and steady it on the countertop. Turning to face him, you find his gaze already on you, melancholy tinting his expression.
“What?”
He tongues his lip ring, shoulders dropping a fraction. “For how things ended. I’m sorry.”
You can see the sincerity in his posture, can see the sadness in his form. And yet, his words only fill you with a hot anger that bubbles out of you before you can swallow it down.
“I don’t know why you would be,” you challenge, “being that you didn’t even respect me enough to give me a proper reason.”
Jungkook huffs at that; you think he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Did it really matter?”
“Yes.”
He gnaws at his lip again, no longer looking at you, and his lack of an answer only riles you up further.
“Was there someone else?” you demand, causing him to flinch. It was the same thing you asked him when he told you he thought you should break up, standing in almost this exact same spot.
“No,” he murmurs after a moment. “There wasn’t anyone else.” He pushes a hand through his dark, silky hair. “There hasn’t been anyone else since either.”
This surprises you. Jungkook is, in your eyes, the handsomest man you have ever come face-to-face with, but even from an objective standpoint, he is exceedingly attractive. There is no doubt in your mind that he would easily be able to land a woman if he so desired.
“So then why?”
He sets his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and fixes his stare out the window. And it’s this final refusal, this steadfast dedication to not explaining himself, that finally has tears tracking down your cheeks.
The sight of you crying has his attention snapping back your way, hands reaching out as if to hold you.
“Don’t touch me,” you gasp, recoiling until you’re out of reach. “I…I hate you.”
It almost seems as if your voice lands physically, and Jungkook staggers back like you’ve slapped him, remorse immediately wiggling its way between your ribs. You know you don’t mean the words even as they fall from your mouth, but it feels pointless to take them back now, the sentiment already thrown out there and hovering in the hollow space between you.
Jungkook muddles towards the couch–more of a defeated slump dragging his steps than anger–and you think he’s going to sit down before he whirls back towards you at the last second.
“The gala,” he mutters. “That’s when I decided.”
You know which one he’s talking about. Hosted by your medical school to celebrate the end of the academic year, it had been a night of food, dancing, and socializing. You had, of course, brought him as your date and introduced him to your friends and classmates, excited to finally allow him to put faces to names. As you comb through your memories of the night, you can’t pinpoint any warning signs, only remembering the way he’d smiled at you throughout. The way he’d pulled you close and danced you around the room.
“I don’t…I don’t understand.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair again, tossing strands of night over his forehead. A sad chuckle looses itself into the thick air of the room, and the final dregs of his resolve flicker away. “I realized that I didn’t deserve to stand next to you. That you could do much better than me.”
Whatever you thought his reason had been–whatever theories or thoughts had kept you up night after night for the past year–this is not even close to what you expected. And while you always thought finally receiving an answer would be freeing, would offer you some semblance of understanding, you’re surprised at the rage that boils in the pit of your stomach, bile rising in your throat.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” you growl, taking an angered step towards him. “You were feeling insecure, and you made the decision to break up with me without even thinking to, I don’t know, discuss it with me first?”
His hand goes to the back of his neck now, embarrassment showing its face as he peers at you from under his lashes. “I was stupid–”
“No, shit.”
“But can you blame me?” he presses. “There we were: you, about to be this incredible doctor with all of your doctor friends…” His voice falters, sorrow lacing his tone. “And I’m just a tattoo artist.”
The defeatist way he says it helps to dampen your ire some, even if a heap of frustration remains–the sad shape of his doe eyes softening your edges.
“Just a tattoo artist,” you repeat. “Jungkook, I have always been so, so proud of you. I was never anything but proud to have you as my partner. You must’ve known that.”
His teeth worry his lip, and though he nods, he doesn’t seem fully convinced.
So you continue on, closing the distance between you a fraction more. “You started your own business from nothing. And I saw how hard you worked: to get the building, to hire other artists, train your apprentices.” You shake your head–half in irritation, half in awe. “And look at you now! You’re thriving. The last I heard, if you want an appointment at Golden Tattoo, you need to book months in advance.”
His eyes are alight now, some hidden emotion glimmering under the surface, but he stays quiet as he soaks in your words.
“So how can you possibly act like you weren’t enough?” you push. “You are amazing, Jungkook. And I never gave a shit about any job comparisons people may have made.” One more step, and suddenly you’re almost chest-to-chest. As always, you’re unable to resist the pull of his gravity. Yanked right back into his orbit. “I only wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted y–”
He cuts you off with his mouth, strong hands snagging your hips to pull you against him, and your own fingers reflexively tangle in his black hoodie as your subconscious gives itself over to him. Like it’s been waiting for this.
“I’m not. Not thriving,” he mumbles against your lips. “Not without you. Been miserable without you.”
And in spite of your anger, in spite of the fact that you were ready to kick him out a mere hour ago, you find yourself kissing him back, relishing the slick glide of his tongue as he licks into your mouth.
You startle as the backs of your knees suddenly bump against the couch, and then Jungkook is spinning as he settles onto the plush seat, pulling you along to straddle him. He sucks at your neck until you can feel the blood blooming under your skin, painting you like the pretty ink on his arm.
Speaking of.
The fabric of his hoodie whispers as you pull it up and over his back and head, tossing it over his shoulder and into a corner. His arms now bare to you, you trace over his tattoos with your eyes and fingers until you find the one you’d picked out for him; the lovely orange of the flower petals seem to glow even in the dim light of the room.
“Beautiful,” you whisper.
“Just like you.”
You look at him then, the twinkle of tiny galaxies in his eyes betraying his hope. And before you can go any further, you need confirmation.
“You left.”
“I did.” Fingertips press lightly against your waist like he’s afraid you might be the one to disappear now. “I’m sorry.”
“Jungkook, if…” You lick your lips. Can almost taste his regret. “If we do this and you leave again–”
“If we do this, I'm not going anywhere,” he insists, tugging your hips down to grind against him and ghosting a kiss at your jaw. “Just wanna be here with you. Just want you.”
And it’s all you need to hear.
You shed the cotton shirt you had thrown on after your shower and move to yank his own off, tossing it in the same corner as his hoodie. The muscles of his pecs and abs shift under your hands, burning hot where your fingers trace the contours of his torso. 
“God, I missed this,” he groans as he buries his face between your breasts, nipping at the skin there before laving the spot with his tongue.
You’d agree–echo the sentiment that your body has been aching for this–if not for the fact that you’re too busy trying to get the two of you naked, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts.
But a tattooed hand covers yours, eases it away to take its place. “No,” he rumbles. “Let me.”
Wide palms and long fingers span your hips and thighs, grasping as much skin as possible even as he drags your shorts and panties down your legs and helps to steady you as you kick them off. They join the tangle of his own clothes
“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls at the sight of you finally naked in front of him. And with such speed that it almost seems like it’s involuntary, an impulse outside of his control, he’s immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs.
“Baby, this wet for me already?” A breathy sigh passes from his mouth to yours, almost laughing at the ease with which he glides through your folds. “Hell, I could just–”
A finger slips in and you gasp, Jungkook smiling wickedly at you as he quickly adds a second and curls them against your walls. You force your eyes closed as they roll back in your head, and you keel forward, babbling incoherently against the line of his collarbone.
“Use your words, love; you can do it.” He says it as if his fingers aren’t currently buried in you down to the knuckle. As if he’s not making you see stars behind your eyelids right now.
You choke down a breath, desperate for the oxygen. “Insane,” you pant. “I said you’re fucking insane.”
“Only for you,” he says before sliding his digits out of you and dipping them into his mouth. He moans at the taste, and even with his lips closed tightly, you can see the way he’s working his tongue around each finger, unwilling to waste a single drop of your essence.
Like you said. Insane.
He gives you a moment to catch your breath until you’re the one who’s getting impatient, hastily undoing his belt and tearing it from his pants with a hiss. But as you shift off of him so he can slither out of his pants and boxers–his length springing free to slap against his smooth stomach–you’re hit with an untimely realization.
“Jungkook, I don’t have condoms.”
He freezes, the color draining from his face (though admittedly, that may be because all of his blood has clearly gone south). The two of you stare at each other for a long second before he suddenly leans over, rummaging back through his pants pockets. He pulls out his wallet, rifles through it, then tosses it across the room in frustration, head tilting back against the couch as he groans at the ceiling.
“Fuck, me neither.”
You chew at your lip, a loaded quiet settling over the room as Jungkook wipes a hand over his face.
“I’m still on birth control,” you whisper, and Jungkook whips his head around, eyes wide and questioning like he’s not sure he heard you right. But you don’t repeat yourself, only hold his stare until he’s tentatively reaching out to graze his fingertips along your thigh.
“I told you. There’s been no one else.” His expression is earnest, eager. You trust that he’s telling the truth, and yet you also know that if you refused him, if you said you weren’t comfortable, he wouldn’t push.
So you swing a leg back over his lap, drag your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, but he leans in to bite at your lower lip with a growl before pulling back to search your face.
“You?”
It hurts that he even feels the need to ask. Because how could you even want someone else? Who could possibly measure up?
You brush a reassuring, barely-there kiss against his already swollen lips. “No one else for me either.”
This seems to please him, but you still see hesitation behind his eyes as he asks, “What about the guy downstairs?”
A drunken mistake was what that was. All sloppy lips and fumbling hands that had left you feeling more empty than anything, and which resulted in you sending Cheol away before he had even gotten a peek at your bedroom.
“We made out once,” you admit, hating that you’re even having to think about another man when Jungkook is here in front of you. “But nothing else happened.”
“Good,” he grunts, but his fingers dig into your backside like he’s trying to reclaim you. And just a fraction of a second later, he’s devilishly tonguing his lip ring as he winds his palm back to bring it down harshly against the meat of your ass, the smack echoing between the walls almost endlessly.
“Ride me, baby.”
You’re quick to line him up–desperate, at this point, to have him inside of you–and begin to ease yourself down slowly, trying to give your body the space and time to adjust to the burning stretch of his girth. He’s always filled you to your absolute limit, tested the furthest boundaries of how much your body can take with his size.
“Yesss,” he hisses, nipping at your neck once again. “You’re doing great, love. Always take me so fucking well.”
You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push of him. If you were a betting woman, you’d put money on your intestines being somewhere in the area of your throat right now.
He wraps his inked arm around your waist, continuing to whisper his praises against the shell of your ear as he starts to guide your body up and down. Intoxicated by the smooth slide of his length, you soon find your pace, and your shared moans fill the room–the whole city probably able to hear you right now.
You move that way until the pressure building becomes too much and your legs start to tremble, quivering against Jungkook’s own muscled thighs.
“It’s okay; I’ve got you.” He bands his arms around you and presses you to his chest, holding you in place so he can thrust upwards.
Hard.
You’re practically screaming now, burying your teeth into his shoulder so as to muffle your sounds and not scare the neighbors. It’s all you can do to hold on for dear life as he rapidly pistons his cock inside of you, the slap of your hips like a metronome.
It builds and builds until it breaks and you’re falling apart in his arms, the spasms of your inner walls pulling him over the edge with you as he empties his seed deep inside.
The silence that follows in unlike the others you previously shared this evening–tension traded for serenity as you sit on the couch holding each other, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. He traces the ridges of your spine in a soothing pattern that has your eyelids drooping, your cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck.
“I missed this,” you whisper once your brain has finally remembered how to construct human speech.
“I missed you.”
You pull back so you can rest your forehead against his and gently run a finger over the lines of his face. “Where do we go from here?”
He hums. Tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Take it day by day?” he suggests. “We don’t need to rush into anything if you don’t want to.”
“Mm, that does seem like a problem for tomorrow.”
A dark eyebrow quirks, teasing. “And what about right now?”
“Now?” you ask. “Do you remember the way to the bedroom? Or…” You shift your hips, already feeling him twitching inside of you.
“Or.” He jolts forward to capture your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it, whole again. “Or sounds good.”
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a/n: pls like, reblog, reply, and/or send an ask if you enjoyed! <3
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taintedjeon · 6 months
Text
‘𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞…’ 𝐦𝐲𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬; 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦
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✞ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: alternative!yoongi x reader ✞ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k ✞ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: yoongi has tongue pierings, bigdick!yoongi, dirty talk, raw sex, riding, nipple play, nipple biting, minor hair tugging, size kink, using a polaroid during sex, mention of dacryphilia to open
disclaimer: this is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. yoongi is used solely as a face and a name for the story. this is not a representation of real-life scenarios.
series masterlist | main masterlist
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“Don’t hide your pretty noises. I want you to cry for me.” Yoongi emphasises his requests as he speeds up his pace. His lips bathing your shoulder in kisses as he makes his way up to the sensitive part of your neck, causing you to shiver under his touch.
His name leaves your lips in a sinful prayer for the man in between your thighs. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, all you’re able to do is feel him filling you to the brim with all of him as tears wet your eyes, obscuring your vision.
“You’re fucking perfect,” you hear Yoongi muttering into your chest as you move yourself up and down, impaling yourself on his cock, “treating me well, ni—ah, fuck baby!”
Yoongi’s head is thrown back against the plush grey headrest of the couch, his bottom lip caught in between his teeth as he grunts in pleasure. One of his hands rest on your hips, the warmth of his palm and the coldness of his rings decorating his lithe fingers causes shivers to run over your body.
He is incredible. Insatiable even. Yoongi knows your body better than you know it yourself. He knows just how to fuck you right, every single time.
With your body shaking and eyes screwed shut tight in arousal, you miss Yoongi reaching out beside him. A click, accompanied by a quick bright flash takes you by surprise, causing your eyes to flutter open.
Halting your movements, you peer down at Yoongi who is staring straight into your eyes — blackened, blown out and filled with lust. You clench your pussy around his cock and smile at the polaroid in his hands.
“Want to remember this moment.”
“Well let me help you,” you tell him as you grab at his hand and place it on your tits, guiding him to palm you. Yoongi is more than happy to indulge you and plays with your nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger, tugging at the bud, watching it harden under his touch. You lace your fingers with his and then watch as he snaps a new image of him groping you.
One of your hands comes to rest on the back of his head, fingers gripping into his long strands of raven hair and giving them a soft tug in that way he loves. You lean down and kiss Yoongi with a surge of urgency. It’s wet and messy as your tongues tangle and lips smack against each other. His dual tongue bars give the kiss an added edge as he usages it to his advantage to lick against your lower lip before pulling at the skin in between his teeth. From below, you feel Yoongi lift his hips causing the tip of his cock to press deeper inside of you. A strangled moan slips past your kiss bitten lips at the welcomed pleasure.
Yoongi is thick and heavy inside of you, stretching you loose in ways no man ever has done before. Sex with Yoongi is always exciting and with added kinks to explore with each other, he always leaves you wanting more every time.
“How’s my angel doing?” He whispers as he plays about with the settings on the camera before pointing the lens back in your direction.
“G-good, want to keep going—fuck!” You curse at the end as he moves his hips again and snaps another image of you as your face contorts in unadulterated pleasure.
“G’on, move for me princess, show me how cock drunk you get for me, yeah.”
You don’t need to be told twice. You slid your hands across his chest, tracing the lines of the dragon tattoo that spans across his well built upper body. Through lustful eyes, you watch as Yoongi bites his lip at your touch and you keen, knowing that you’re the one to bring Min Yoongi down to this state with you.
Lifting your hips, you glide your cunt from his base to the tip, managing to feel every vein that wraps around his pretty length.
“Fuck, wait stay there. Let me get a picture of this, holy shit…” Yoongi proclaims and takes the third picture on the polaroid. “Don’t move. Keep yourself hugging my tip, fuck you gotta see how wet you got my cock princess.”
You do as you’re told and you keep your body positioned above him, cockhead nuzzled snuggly in your small hole as you await the polaroid to print the film.
Minutes pass and it doesn’t take long for your legs to start trembling from your muscles being stagnant in this position for a little longer than you’re used to.
“Yoongi, I wanna fuck!” Your protest comes out whiny as you fight the urge to drop yourself down to begin fucking him again.
The sound of the polaroid printing is heard between the both of you and you watch as Yoongi reaches for the film, shaking it in the air for a few seconds before looking at it.
He groans, and you feel arousal build up and leak onto Yoongi’s cock. The sounds that Yoongi creates, every moan, every rumble of his chest pushes you to keep still.
Next thing, Yoongi is twisting the picture around for you to see with your own eyes and what a sight it was. His length looks swollen with use, hard and stunningly decorated in those pretty veins you enjoy giving attention when he allows you. His length glistens under the flash of the camera from the juices he has spilled from your pussy and now it’s your turn to moan.
“Can you see too? The way I barely fit inside you…” he trails off. “Look at you struggling to take my fat cock in your tight cunt, I’ve never seen anything so fucking stunning. This is art.”
Warmth spreads around your body at his words as you look at the image as he speaks to you with so much filth. You flutter around him, utterly brain dead from Yoongi’s cock.
You’re not given enough time to think before Yoongi rocks his hips up, stroking your walls beautifully as he pulls you down to bury himself back in the hilt of his home which is your pussy. Tears gather in your eyes, giving them a sparkle that Yoongi loves to coax from you as he throws the camera back to the side in order for him to guide you up and down his throbbing dick.
The burn in your thighs is present and makes itself apparent as you continue to work your muscles into overdrive as you ride Yoongi like your life depended on it. Yoongi wraps both his hands around your back, palms resting against your clammy skin as he whispers filthy praises and prays of you into your skin, absolutely lost in the lust that is you and your tiny cunt.
You scratch at his chest, digging your nails through the dragon tattoo, breaking the skin and knowing that there will be a trail of red desire marked into his skin for the evening.
“You’re so big!” You hiccup, feeling Yoongi increase the speed of his hips into you, his ego swelling at your words.
“Ah, your pussy is leaking all over me, making such a mess of me angel.” Yoongi punctuates his words with a firm buck into your cunt, Yoongi highlights the loud squelching sounds of your ministrations.
One of his hands finds your wrist and brings it up to his mouth where he places kiss after kiss on each knuckle. He guides your hand further down until it finds the column of his throat and you rest there.
“G’on princess, choke me a little,” Yoongi grunts through gritted teeth and so you do as you’re told, applying a light amount of pressure around Yoongi’s throat. You watch as Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth opens in pleasure, his tongue coming out to lick at the corner of his lips. The glint of his tongue ring makes you whine. Your body manages to fight through the overstimulation of his cock fucking into you over and over again as you take over as much as Yoongi is allowing you.
Now, you’re using each other and it’s never felt so fucking pleasurable. You eye the polaroids that Yoongi had taken early scattered around the sofa around his body and you smirk as the tears are rolling down your cheeks in small rivulets. You are both drowning each other in sex so intense, the pleasure borders on almost painful.
With each drop off your hips, you feel him deep in your stomach. Your body burns in overexertion but you don’t stop until you’ve both reached your ends.
“I’m taking you so well, Yoongi, can you feel me!?” You swivel your hips as you ask.
“Nobody got a pussy like yours… best pussy I’ve ever fucked, princess, swear.” Yoongi rasps through your hold on his throat. At his words, you squeeze your fingers just a little tighter around his throat.
“You gonna come, angel?”
You nod at him. “I’m so close, please. Please, I need to!” You beg him to let you finally reach your climax, your hips working faster.
“Just like that baby, you’re doing so good.” you could hear that his voice is straining as his hips become sloppier in their movements. Your spare hand reaches for the headrest of the sofa behind him.
“Fuck, yes, keep going, keep going, I’m gonna fill you to the fucking brim, gonna watch you bloat with my cum,” Yoongi is loud, not afraid who around you both hears his promise to you. 
The living room fills with moans and skin slapping against skin as the pair of you use each other to reach your climaxes. Finally, yoongi leans forward and takes a nipple in between his teeth and runs both his tongue bars over the hardened bud back and forth. Yoongi bites down hard and in return, your pussy vices him in and your hands release from his neck. All at once, Yoongi’s breath hitches as the air returns to his burning lungs and comes inside of you, filling you with his hot sticky white seed as he paints your body with filthy praises.
Soon after, you meet your orgasm shortly behind his own. Your body stills as you tremble above him as your body releases your arousal all over Yoongi, making a mess of him and probably the couch underneath.
He is quick to wrap his arms around you, holding you as your body twitches through your orgasm. Yoongi can’t help but give tiny shallow thrusts to help aid you through it.
You both bask in the glow of intense sex as you both collapse onto each other. Yoongi is the first to move as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you up off of his softening cock. The feeling of him moving through your sensitive cunt causes you to hiss but you pout when he has fully removed himself.
After catching his breath, Yoongi guides you to lie down on the sofa as he reaches once more for the polaroid.
“Yoongi, what’re you—,” you’re cut off with the familiar click of the camera and bright flash momentarily brightening up the living room before bathing it back in it’s natural darkness.
“I can’t fuck you that well and not get the money shot, can I?” You hear the smirk in his voice. You feel a hand wrap around your ankle and then your legs are being pried apart slowly. “C’mon, let me see how messy you are for me, yeah?”
Now it’s your turn to laugh as you indulge Yoongi in his request, giving him the opportunity to get the device up close and personal to your cunt before snapping a new image.
“Yeah, these are definitely going into the wank bank for later.”
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© 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.
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taegularities · 7 months
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colour me in: seven | jjk (m)
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Summary: At first, it's an argument that causes the unwanted, childish distance between Jungkook and you. And then… open blazers and a lip ring.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: est. rel.; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: an argument, cute couple-y things but also they're dorks n cringe sometimes, seven jk (incl the promo pics, laundromat hoodie bf koo, and drenched in the rain koo!!), fighting over food, they're a bit mean to each other, but they adore each other too, brief mention of a rough childhood, sexual tension, taeun being everything, kissing, dumb jokes, period and pms mention!!, a photoshoot!, subtle hints to the future of the main story :'); explicit sexual content: ahh.. making out, dirty talk, oral (f. & m. receiving), brief spanking, face-fcking, light choking, sweet and rough sex, dom jk, big dick jk, whipped simp jk, petnames, multiple orgasms, sex on the couch n on the floor? :'), he loves her a$$ and tiddies, multiple positions, cockwarming!!, mention of aftercare... the ending lol :D ➳ word count: 25k lmfaoo it's oneshot sized yall 😁 ➳ a/n: hi!! welcome back!! this is part of my series colour me in, but you can read it as a standalone-oneshot!! tysm for supporting me and encouraging me, guys, it means so so much. this is also unbeta'd, so pls go easy on me LOL. and since this was a piece of worrrrk.. come and talk to me about it, it makes my day fr fr <33 ➳ listen to: seven by jungkook | full collaborative playlist 🤍
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SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs
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In hindsight, your argument was blissfully domestic after all. In hindsight, maybe even comedic.
You’ve seen these things on TV and read about them in novels; didn’t experience them growing up because your parents didn’t really fight over such harmless matters. They never needed to lift a finger in their ultramodern kitchen, filled with up-to-the-minute equipment to fill their table.
But Jungkook and you don’t rely on such luxuries. You do things for yourself. So, such a couple-y, casual life leads to couple-y, casual arguments. Requires it. Fighting is healthy; entangles two souls some more.
Which is exactly where you are now. Exactly what you’ve become: A true unit. Quarrelling over trivial, everyday things.
Just to end up folded in half, holding onto the very last of your sanity, biting back more inappropriate screams.
In regards of making up, you’re perhaps not that casual. Because he’s a relentless, brutal beast.
Wrecking you right where everything began.
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Monday
The end of the day begins with a giant hole in the middle of your thoughts.
Your previously whirring brain tossed away all thoughts of advertisements and seasonal launches, vacant and dark until your senses shut down everything that wasn’t vital to survival.
Like the lights of the evening as your car passed the streetlamps. The tired faces on the pedestrian zone, the odd wrinkles in your skirt, or the scent wafting from the kitchen when you step out of your heels.
Your mind operates on reflexes and automatic movements; the ball of your palm rubs against your eyelid, realising too late that you’re probably smearing your eyeliner.
A sense of reality only truly returns when you hear a familiar voice call out your name, muffled through the walls between you.
You exit the bedroom with fingers scratching the nape of your neck, tiny steps floating over the floor and past the living room. On the coffee table, you register one or two dishes. Rice, too. Smells so good, but…
As you reach him in the kitchen, you halt at the threshold, eyes scurrying to the few pots and ladles in the sink. He’s diligent and fast; cleans up when dinner simmers. Minimal work left after the meal.
For a moment, you take in the cleanliness of the kitchen, and when your eyes move up to the man himself, you beam.
He’s wearing an apron – baby blue with little flowers and rainbows imprinted on it. His mom bequeathed him with one of her old ones, and he’s been boasting about it ever since.
You saw one with astronauts, moons and telescopes once; you might purchase it for him at some point, not least of all because it includes all the things the two of you love.
A tattooed hand pushes back his mane, messy and pointing in all directions the way it does after his showers. His fingers card through the fine tresses two more times before he turns towards you — an immediate smile, similar to yours, spreads across his face.
The tiny little dimples over the corners of his mouth distract you for a second until you see his hand at waist level, beckoning you into the kitchen and a greeting, sweet embrace.
Compared to the cold outside, his oversized, full-sleeve, white shirt offers a familiar warmth. He always smells the same, musky and fresh; not like cherry blossoms at all, but he reminds you of their softness.
Mixed with the scent of tonight’s meal, you inhale it all, wrapping your arms around him as your eyes close in exhaustion. If he wasn’t swaying you in his hold, you’d probably fall asleep, right there against his chest.
A kiss to your temple, and he asks, “Hungry?”
You’re not sure. You cuddle into the apron and whatever’s visible of his shirt, and mumble against him, “Not too much… to be honest, I was gonna shower and sleep.”
“Oh?” he wonders immediately, traces of disappointment in his voice. “But I made this for you.”
You smile again. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll eat, don’t you worry.” You take a deep breath, and then lift your head off his chest without letting go. “In all honesty. I saw the food outside and thought you had it delivered.”
“So you were gonna waste something you thought was restaurant food?”
You laugh. You’re sure you could see his rosy pout even if you weren’t looking straight at him.
“No. It just looks very good… I would’ve heated it up tomorrow. But since yours was a one-person-effort,” you pat his back in pride, watching as strands of his bangs fall back into his eyes, “we shall eat.”
“And it comes from the heart, too.”
“Right. It comes from the heart, too.”
You rub his back once, soon backing away. There isn’t much to do for you anymore, but you still grab a couple napkins, chopsticks and spoons as he carries some water into the living room.
The couch feels soft, true Heaven, when you sink into it. Your heartbeat slows down, your mind at ease; when you tilt your head, your neck cracks.
But clinking your glasses of water with someone who cherishes you enough to step back and forth in a kitchen for hours… It's a comfort that’s incredibly close to a peaceful night’s sleep.
And it’s worth the effort, too. Despite the conversation and your complaints about work, you can’t help but compliment dinner every other moment. Possibly another endearing habit you picked up from him.
But you slow down when fatigue returns bit by bit, your eye twitching when you feel a well-known tickling in it.
You’re careful of potential spices when you lift your thumb and rub your eye with the back of it, fighting the itch. For a moment, you stop chewing, and Jungkook only lifts his gaze to you when the movement against your eye continues, circling motions.
“Hey,” he says, grasping your wrist, pulling it down slowly, “that’s bad for the cornea.”
“Yeah, I mean. It’s not like my cornea's been nice to me, either.”
You resume chewing, swallowing the mushy remnants of the rice. Your attention falls back to the bowl of food, and your chopsticks aimlessly poke around for a second before he asks, “Why? You okay?”
“Mhm,” you say, nodding gently. “It’s just,” you point to your eyes, chopsticks dangerously close to your face, “that eye thing. It might be an infection or something. It’s so bad today that it’s hurting my head.”
You’ve complained about the issue a couple times — back when it was just an itch, you assumed it was the dusty town, perhaps even sleep deprivation. But the itch has transformed into a relentless pain, moving up your temples and across your forehead.
“Again, yeah?” Jungkook asks, following with a tender gesture of tucking your hair back. The pad of his thumb brushes over your eyebrow. “I’ll massage your head before we go to sleep.”
You sigh in relief, tired eyelids shutting briefly as you claim, “You’re the fucking best, you know?”
“Yeah.” He delivers a nonchalant, drama-esque shrug of his shoulder. Unmistakable smirk. “I guess I do know.”
The giggles from when you started dating still remain. You remember annoying the hell out of your friends back then, high school butterflies visible through your stomachs and in your bright grins.
Jungkook’s ears would redden, a smile even in your eyes. You can imagine how irritating the honeymoon phase felt to them — not that the two of you ever snapped out of it.
Even now, you’re drowning in it.
Well, until you’re not.
Because the moment he slings his arm around you, leaning back, his plate and bowl empty, you move forwards. Place your own dishes onto the table, cuddling further into him.
Only, he seems to interpret it differently.
“Aren’t you eating anymore?”
Not the message you intended to deliver. But perhaps… he’s not wrong after all.
Because…
While the evening ended on a gentle note, much needed, you’re done with today by now. Craving a warm bed, strong arms around you. A sweet, soft sleep.
And the meal is worth a thousand culinary stars, but your appetite keeps dwindling, and hadn’t he put so much effort and affection into all this, you would’ve probably headed straight to bed.
So you answer truthfully, “I can’t eat more…”
“Hmm.” He briefly points to your portion. “You just ate half of it.”
Brief silence. It must’ve gotten late, because among the quieter traffic on the main road afar, you hear a couple nightlife bugs chirping, too.
You look between the bowl and him slowly, blinking, unsure what to say. The arm around your shoulder doesn’t match his tone, so it feels a little awkward now.
You mutter, “I’m sorry.��
Because should you force yourself to scarf all of this down now, you probably won’t be able to sleep.
But Jungkook’s hums and insecure voice are making you feel bad — you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s the puppy-doe nature, a combination of forlorn, soft eyes and pouty words.
“Ah… It’ll go bad by tomorrow, but…” he starts, but you cut in—
“Fridge?”
An immediate shake of his head, a click of his tongue. “Not with that one. I mean, we could, but it’s gonna be all dry and unpalatable in the morning, y’know?”
You don’t fully have a right to be annoyed. Neither of you does. But the day’s been irksome, work a mess, paper sheets flying around — on top of that, you finished your blister pack of birth control last Friday.
The period, probably approaching tomorrow and meddling with your busy schedule, is already putting you in a sour mood.
So the current lack of a solution doesn’t help your drooping eyelids and still partly tumultuous mind.
You push yourself forward on the couch, sighing before you suggest, “Okay. Then I’ll eat.”
“Woah,” he immediately voices, dropping his arm. He attempts to pull the bowl out of your reach, but you grip it tight, swallowing a small bite of rice. “I’m not forcing you to.”
“Yeah, but still.”
Another sigh of frustration falls out of you, your full stomach crying, but you pull the bowl to you, another bite ready between your chopsticks. But a moment later, Jungkook pushes your hand down again, every rice corn falling back to its prior place, fortunately never leaving the bowl.
Unbelieving, you shoot an aghast glare at him, to which he responds, “Don’t force it. Seriously.”
A rice corn still sticks to your lower lip, and you pull it in with the tip of your tongue. You place the warm meal back onto the table, half turning to Jungkook, voicing an irritated, “Dude!”
“You don’t have to,” he assures, but he looks clearly offended. Looks away, rubs his thigh, eyeing every object on the table before he adds quieter than before, “You know… That’s happened a couple times in the last few weeks.”
“…What did?”
“I’d cook for you and you wouldn’t finish it.”
“Babe… The last few weeks have been tiring.”
“I know,” his voice grows higher at the end of the syllable, but then calms again after a sigh. “But we refrigerated a lot of stuff, some of which I shared with Joon or Tae the next day. Or threw away.”
“Nah.” The ridiculing smirk you respond with isn’t intentional. You drop it right away, but still shake your head in disbelief, defending, “You know I eat up most of the time, especially when you cook. Just today, I can’t do more than this, okay?”
He gulps. Two fingers scratch his ear, eyes once again skimming over empty plates or remnant-filled bowls. He drops his digits back to his thighs, rubbing once more, and then puffs out a breath between rounded lips before he comes to a stand.
And then, all he does is nod; shooting a simple, “Alright.”
His tone is stern. You recognise the expression — his eyes still big, but different now. Usually filled with warm sparkles, they look pissed now. Not because of his dropping lids or the missing crinkles.
Jungkook doesn’t need to move a lot of muscles to look angry; the lack of the glimmer is just enough. 
His lips are shut, not parted as they usually are when he focuses on something like his art or cooking or cleaning up. He’s exhaling and inhaling deeply through his nose, hands working on the dishes, but the fall and rise of his chest…
“You’re mad,” you conclude.
He looks back at you, the corners of his mouth never moving. His tone remains flat as he tries to convince you, “No. All good.”
Straightening his back, he attempts to walk away, hiding away in the kitchen until you’ve fallen asleep. He and you don’t argue too much — the little, couple-y, casual fights aren’t quite fights at all.
But they do end with a short distance until one is ready to approach the other and communicate again. A good strategy to cool your minds. You wouldn’t wanna discuss such a thing right away.
This time, however, you don’t want him to leave.
You pull him back again, holding onto the cotton shirt, and he protests with a loud call of your name and furrowed eyebrows as you insist, “No, you are mad.”
Your hand pushes against the couch, your body lifting, and you look him in the eye with a frustrated crease between your eyebrows. “Kook, I just am not capable of finishing it right now. You’re making a bigger deal out of it than you sho—”
“Yeah. Okay,” he interrupts, feigning acceptance and understanding, “it’s fine.” You scoff; sometimes, he’s truly as moody as you. “Things are different here, it’s fine.”
…What?
The sentence nearly comes out as a whisper as he finally starts walking away, and you only register it when he’s halfway out of the room. He balances the dishes in both hands, and you follow him to the kitchen.
Ask, “What’s different? Where’s here?”
“I work, too, you know? I get tired, too.”
“Jungkook,” you try again, slamming the hand against the counter; the sound’s muffled by a bright green cleaning cloth. “What are you talking about, things are different here?”
“Just.” He doesn’t seem to wanna talk. Carefully, he places the empty stuff in the wash basin, working on finding containers to dump the leftovers in them. “I get tired from working in the city, too, but I guess I grew up differently.”
…Huh.
You wait.
Let him collect his thoughts until he tells you, “In the countryside, you work for food, so you get used to finishing dinner. I know people around here rely on supermarkets, and honestly, I do, too,” his shoulders rise as he shovels the tofu dish into a box, “and I guess that’s why it makes sense why it’s easier for you to leave leftovers.”
Wow. Some statements in this world you live in are genuinely unfair.
You understood each of his words and lectures perfectly, but you still voice a little, “Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re not being serious.”
“Maybe.”
You blink. Then blink a couple times more. Observe as he closes the boxes and puts them in the fridge with a sigh. And you feel bad, you swear, you do. But that unnecessary turn of events…
“So what, you mean we don’t work for our food, right?” you counter, a hand on your waist. “We might do less physical labour, so that must mean we don’t appreciate what we get, yeah?”
Damn. And what if there’s more to that? What if—
“Or do you think it’s because I’ve always had enough money to not worry?”
Okay. Perhaps a long shot. He didn’t say it, but what if that’s exactly what his thought process was, too?
Your inner panic, invisible on the outside, grows when he doesn’t answer, lips firmly locked as if they didn’t just spew some crisp bullshit. You fold your arms, sucking air through your nose, and then demand, “Apologise.”
And when his eyes lift to yours, you freeze. God, they’re deadly. And his ingenuine laugh even more so as he throws back, “No, you apologise. Especially for assuming things I neither said nor thought of.”
“You were rude. I’m asking you nicely to take it back.”
“As nicely as I cooked for you. World’s in balance again, I guess!”
He throws his hands up, staring at you until he’s passed you by, eyes rolling. His nonchalant, idle movements rile you up more, and you can’t help but participate further in that odd exchange.
“You douchebag,” you call out, shutting the bedroom door as you reach inside, “I’m not a snob. I’d always finish my stuff, you can even ask the cook in my old house. He loved me because I wasn’t a picky eat—”
“Listen,” he interjects again, “I know. It's fine. I’ll sleep,” he points to the bed, “because this tired me out. Just drop it.”
“So you can drop it as you please?”
“Nah, just asking you to rest,” the first word comes out louder than he anticipated, his shrug vexed and vexing. He clears his throat. “And I’m sure you’re tired of this, too.”
You groan.
“And if I want to—”
“It’ll just escalat—”
“Dude, I—”
And once more, he showcases his annoyance when he glares at you from the other side of the bed, shutting you up, blanket already lifted. You anticipate another rude remark, a way of justification or to blurt something he doesn’t mean.
But despite his recent idiocy, you don’t deem him an asshole. Not to you, at least. Which proves right as he takes a breather, one knee hitting the mattress as he finally states—
“Let’s sleep over it, okay?”
The tone still isn’t as peaceful as it could be; you know it’s a tactic to dodge a fight. You might not be on your best domestic side tomorrow yet. But his question is final and his gaze even stricter.
So you reluctantly sigh, eyes still fiery as you breathe, “Fine.”
But it’s not fine. And the turbulent week ahead, filled with chaos for you and peak comedy to others, might just be about to prove it to you.
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Tuesday
You chew on your bites until the taste turns bland.
Still distracted from last night’s exchange, you barely register the tart spicy quality of your dinner; a shame because this restaurant is your favourite place to frequent with friends.
Today, you’re toying with your cutlery, catching a glimpse of your grim reflection in the spoon every now and then. Whenever Jungkook’s elbow touches yours, your heart skips a bit, bleeding as much as your eyes want to water.
With how he’s smiling at your friends, appetite never faltering, you could burst into tears — because somewhere inside, you miss him despite the constant proximity.
Perhaps he does, too.
Because you notice when he drifts closer on purpose, casually putting his hand over yours. Seemingly lost in conversations, he rubs his thumb against the soft back of your hand; but when you look at him, you can’t muster a smile just yet.
It’s your ego, your stubbornness. Pieces of you want to stay pissed. You keep your cool, but try to avert your eyes whenever possible.
And when you, obstinate as last night, pull your hand from under his, you register the defeated sigh.
But instead of starting a new topic, he retracts his fingers, putting his arm on his table as he busies his other digits with his meal. When you dare a glance, the pretty curves of his blooming lips tug upwards, listening to Taehyung’s story.
Either hiding the discomfort between you or not feeling it.
Odd, because he’s your constant centre of attention.
“Yeah, I mean. Every job is stressful, you know? But it’s wholesome, too,” Taehyung narrates. You blink the silent pining away, and focus. “Like, one of my patients is an elderly man, a lot weaker than his wife. And she always comes with him, every single time.”
“She just waits for him the entire time?” Jungkook asks.
Next to Taehyung, Eun nods; she’s probably heard the story before.
“I mean, she entertains us, is more like it,” Taehyung explains. “He’s been getting geriatric physiotherapy to regain some strength, so he needs all the motivation he can get. And those two are such… dorks. They bicker all the time.”
You smile. Reminds you of when Jungkook and you first met. Persistent, pointless rivalry.
Perhaps Eun hasn’t heard all of this after all. Because as she cuts her dinner, she asks before stuffing her mouth with a bite, “How so?”
“Like. She’ll tell him to not be a baby and take that last step during gait training.”
From your right, Jungkook’s laugh reverberates like a melody from above, sickeningly sweet and amused. “Sounds like me and you at the gym, doesn’t it?”
Taehyung rolls his eyes, flicking away stray hair with his forefinger, “Yeah, only because you can lift weights that’d break my arms.”
Another chuckle from the side. Even you smile a little.
Your man is strong, alright — and you’ve always admired it, experienced it a couple dozen times.
You’ve yet to see him work out at a proper gym; the home workout sessions barely count.
Ugh. The violent heartbeat beneath your chest picks up on pace again, and you take a deep breath to calm it just a little.
“Anyway,” Taehyung continues, “then she’ll tease him how the neighbour downstairs has much more flexible legs than he does and he’ll argue how she should’ve married him… and then she tells him that she would’ve if she didn’t love his old ass so much.”
When you giggle, covering your chewing mouth behind your hand, he adds, “I swear! It’s the most standard old couple banter if I’ve ever seen one. Thought that stuff only happens on TV.”
Eun, still busy with the remnants of her meal, doesn’t look up but asks, “So they joke around like that? They don’t get mad at each other or anything?”
“They act like they do. Not a sliver of jealousy or anger in them, though. Insane… and adorable. I guess when you’re married long enough, that’s how relationships turn out. And they should, too, you know?”
Hmm…
You side-eye Jungkook for just a moment, but don’t say anything.
You don’t know what’s written in your future. No clue whether he’s a permanent presence in it, a firm part of your fate or not; you strongly hope for an eternity.
You want to picture him and you grey and old. Wrinkled hands, adorned with blue veins holding each other. Weak smiles and crinkles around his eyes, hidden behind glasses, ever-present.
If he’s your future, you hope to laugh about such fights one day. Hope to let people wonder whether you’re actually furious with each other, veiling unbridled affection behind snarky remarks.
Just… right now, you can’t laugh about it just yet. You still feel oddly offended by his words last night, and it doesn’t help when tonight seems to drift towards a similar ending.
Because as you ask for the bill at the end, Jungkook still pays. You don’t think about it too hard, letting him do, staying seated to finish your drinks.
But your exhaustion reaches a new, entirely unnecessary peak when he starts cracking his fingers. On any other day, you’d put a hand over his, reminding him not to and move on.
Today, you’re in a bad mood, and your demands come out accordingly piqued.
“Stop it.”
“Hm?” he voices, looking at you, the warm light of the restaurant reflecting in his dark brown eyes.
“This,” you point to his fingers, “stop that.”
“Why?”
“Because you know it makes me cringe. A bit annoying.”
Eun, still unaware of the tension between him and you, shrugs her shoulders, “I know that irks a lot of people, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”
“Because you do it, too,” Taehyung complains; she mocks him with a sly smirk and a quiet, Yeah, yeah. He adds, “I can’t stand it, either.”
You lift an open palm towards him, nodding, “So you understand.”
“I’ve seen you do it, too,” Eun argues with a light push against his shoulder, “multiple times!”
“But not as often as you. You start and do not stop.”
You immediately agree, “He’s just like that, too!”
To which Jungkook interjects, his voice still calm; but you still hear the growing aggravation in his voice when he starts, “Honestly, I—”
“He actually has a couple habits that are just—”
You blow a raspberry.
Your interruption triggers Jungkook. And your words, admittedly not quite the sweetest, don’t sit well with him, either, because a moment later, he’s leaning forwards again. Looking at you directly before he continues his irritating bone-cracking.
You grit your teeth and repeat, “Stop that.”
“What?” he shoots back. You flinch. “A habit you despise so much, yeah? I don’t get the same intense reaction when I do something nice for you.”
So untrue.
Fucking hell. He’s talking about yesterday again.
You exhale through your nose, possibly resembling a bull ready to attack; Taehyung and Eun shrink in front of you, grimacing at each other. You’d laugh if it wasn’t you trapped in that exasperating back and forth of exchanges.
“Oops,” Eun whispers, yet overshadowed by your words as you defend, “That’s not true.”
“Maybe,” Jungkook says, shrugging a shoulder with an outrageous smirk, “but you never get that angry when I crack them at home.”
“I just don’t say it.”
“Oh? What else do you not say, hm?”
Taehyung dares an attempt, “Guys.”
But you’re too heated, a little stupid, very ridiculous as you spit, “Like, how irritating it is that you smack your lips every other second.”
Jungkook puffs out a breath. Looks to the side, straight into Eun’s direction who sinks a little more. He curls his lower lip in, running his tongue over it, jaw clenched and sharp. If you weren’t so focused on your temper, you’d find it scorching hot.
In a harmless little fight, you’d keep annoying him until he lost it eventually, mounting you and shutting you up in the very tempting Jungkook-esque way he knows.
But not here, not right now.
Instead, he fucks you up further as he sneers, “Right.”
“Or,” you continue, “that you don’t clean up your working space after painting.”
“What?” He furrows his thick eyebrows, ignoring Taehyung’s call of Jungkook’s name. “I mean. You have all your documents scattered on the desk. I might need it, too, y’know?”
“Why don’t you say it then?” you ask, tilting your head with one cocked eyebrow of yours.
“‘Cause I wanna let you work? ‘Cause it’s important for me that you’re able to focus?” He looks away again, tutting; his shoulder moves with his deriding laugh as he mumbles, “The fuck, really.”
Somewhere inside, you feel bad. You know his words are true. But you can’t tell him yet; so you just glare at him.
As silence finally falls upon you, Eun moves towards the table again, glancing between the two of you as she wonders, “What’s wrong with you guys?”
Everything.
“Nothing,” you say.
“…You wanna go?”
You wait. Jungkook doesn’t answer. Looks to the ground. When you don’t respond either, his eyes lift to yours, still big but not as enthusiastic as usual. Intimidating even.
You stay still, so he only voices, “Uh-huh.”
And the couple, enduring your awkward moment, lets you go gladly. You pack up, finishing your drink, and when you leave your table, you notice just how many people were staring at you.
Still are.
You really embarrassed yourself in front of a crowd, huh?
As the daughter of rich parents, owning a huge ass clothing brand, this isn’t something you should’ve done. But you pray and hope that you won’t wake up to a headline, or that journalists won’t interpret your little feud as a reason to break up or some nonsense like that.
Trouble in Heaven, they’d call it. Predictable little cockroaches.
You trudge past the customers with a deep breath in; Jungkook doesn’t seem to care much, because he walks ahead, hands in the pockets of his linen cotton slacks. Doesn’t look around.
Only bids Taehyung and Eun goodbye; tells you to buckle up when the two of you get in your car; curses once or twice when he misses the green light by a second.
And when you’re at home, sighing as the night approaches its end, you shake your head. Unbelievable whatever transpired back at that place. And you thought you were warming up to each other again.
Guess it’s your fault this time.
Which is why you hum when he calls your name, watching you put on your nightwear; bed ready while you still need to take off your makeup.
His question baffles you; more so with the slightly irate tone.
“Will you still give me a good night’s kiss or?”
You roll your eyes. Don’t say anything; grab your skincare products before you get to work.
He sighs once more; you see the shake of his head before you disappear into the bathroom, hear him say, “Whatever.”
But when you come out with a light rosy scent on your skin and jump under your blanket, you still shift towards his slowly drifting body. His arm under his head, eyes closed, lower lip pouting that you target carefully and—
Press the lightest kiss against.
Immediately, you turn around. Imitate his position.
He doesn’t reach out to you as he usually does, pulling you into his arms. But you still feel the petal-soft brush of tender fingers against your arm before the touch retracts again — and eventually, you fall asleep.
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WEDNESDAY
The only reason Jungkook accompanied you to the laundromat is because your clothes gathered into a huge mountain. Neglecting your responsibilities at home, you brought two bags, and he insisted on helping you out.
It's late afternoon. Work tired you out, dinner is still pending; you don’t want to be here. And the place is empty; a yawning void. Just you, alone with your tank-top and grey-blue zip up hoodie clad, messy-haired boyfriend.
The retro plastic laundromat seats tired him out, so he’s standing at the far back. His eyes follow the tossing and turning of the clothes in the washing machine, and sometimes, they trail back to you.
And you — you’re sitting in a corner, arms folded, still uncertain whether you should wait for an apology or opt for one yourself.
The distance is childish. You’re way more mature than that.
But your fight is childish, too, and you guess sometimes, even healthy couples fall back into kindergarten routines.
Once the clothes are done and dry, the journey back home approaching, he helps you out. Tramps to you, mutters a little, “Gimme. I’ll take this.”
The bag strap drags his hoodie off his shoulder a little, revealing the flowery tattoo. He doesn’t fix it; lost in thoughts and silent until home. As if he wants to say something, but doesn’t.
In the apartment, he asks, “Dinner or takeout?”
And you, learning and indisputably craving his affection in any shape or form, answer, “We can make dinner.”
“I’ll do it. Get some rest.”
You sigh in relief. There’s solace in your gratitude — today was arduous, much like the preceding days of this week. You bide your time until he’s done, and then help him set the table and clean the kitchen.
The evening passes without any hostility, but ends without many gestures of fondness, too.
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THURSDAY
“You don’t need to come, too. I bet you’ve other stuff to do.”
Jungkook adjusts to your steps. He snatched a jacket way too insufficient for the frosty weather, but he won’t hurry if you don’t. Doesn’t stray from your side.
So you walk faster. Then he does, too.
He rubs his nose, shrugs a shoulder and responds, “I’ve nothing much to do today, really.”
“Yeah, but,” you pull at the sleeves of his jacket, urging him to rush through the wind, “you’ll get bored. And I’m a big girl.”
“I know that. But it’ll be fine. Wanna make sure you’re okay, too.”
He nudges your elbow. You can’t pinpoint whether he’s daring an attempt to set things right or is genuinely concerned. Or both. In some way, the tension between you lingers, and you can’t shake off the awkward feeling just yet.
So you only nod, holding off an answer for a moment. Staring ahead, you listen to the soft sounds of the city, blinded by headlights soon passing you by. A bit longer and the first snow will fall.
The consoling feeling of winter days draws closer, feels warm despite the frigid wind. Hot chocolatesque. There’s just something about wool shawls and warm jackets and old, animated Christmas movies.
One thing you miss about living in your parents’ big, fancy house in your very old neighbourhood is the chimney. The soft yellow and orange of the crackling fire, melting the cold over your skin.
Sometimes you’d sit on the fleecy white carpet, protected by a thick, warm turtleneck sweater, watching the dancing flames.
You wonder again — if Jungkook and you are truly written in the stars as one, will you move into a bigger place one day? Save money and expand the comfort of the current apartment, investing in even more soothing walls with a couple little additions.
Not the lush, exaggerated luxury you grew up with. Not necessarily anything snobby.
But casual, domestic things, like a fire side you can sit in front of, drinking tea, slow dancing and giggling in the dark. Lit by the chimney fire; familiarity.
You sigh.
“It’s been long since I went to the dentist, too,” Jungkook then says, and you hum. That’s sudden.
“You should go then.”
“Yeah,” he says, eyes darting from your face to your hands. You unintentionally bury them in the pockets of your jacket the moment he reaches out for you; and when he understands that you didn’t notice, he curls his fingers into fists. “Maybe I can get an appointment now? Do they take walk-ins?”
You furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t know.” Then, upon realisation, you laugh a little and say, “I’m not going to the dentist.”
“What?”
“What?” You stare back with eyes as big as his. “Optometrist, Koo.”
His raised eyelids are nothing new. He’s attentive when it comes to you; recognises, notices and remembers every little thing. But you guess he truly has been tired, too.
And you feel bad for not considering it as much as he considered it. The reason he cooked for you in the first place, right?
You press your lips into a line, stare down to a puddle on the ground; an aftermath of the rain.
“Oh,” he makes, “why did I think we were going to— Sorry. My bad.”
In actuality, you did wonder if he knew. He didn’t ask questions when you told him you were leaving; simply announced he was going with. You were pulling socks over your ankles as his rushing form scurried across the room.
You guessed he’d figured it out. But the fact that he was ready to accompany you without a certain clue where you were heading makes you a little giddy.
Clearing your throat, you clarify, “No worries. It’s about that pain in my eyes. Remember?”
You wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t. Preceding your fight by perhaps a couple minutes, you don’t think the tiny statement still holds any relevance to him anymore.
Right?
Wrong.
“Yeah,” he answers, “yeah, of course. You thought it was an infection.”
“Mhm,” you hum, ignoring the butterfly wing slamming against your insides, “I’m so sure it’s an infection.” You click your tongue. “Itch first, and now it gives me migraines.”
“Yeah, you told me… But. It’s nothing serious, I just know.”
You look at his sculpted side profile.
You know him. Jungkook doesn’t actually know, of course — that’s not why he’s saying that he does.
But because hope is better than pure uncertainty; and he likes trying to manifest. He believes in little miracles like this. Knocks on wood a lot, tries not to voice potential disasters in case they might actually roll around.
So you take the reassurance. Walk to the clinic in silence. Attempt more small talk in the waiting room until they drench your corneas in those odd, blinding eye drops, dilating your pupils.
The brief, quick tests follow; the assistant is young and gentle, and you try your best to be a good patient. She seems to enjoy your temporarily formal behaviour, perfected in the years you grew to be a reputable heir.
You drop it once you’re in the waiting room again, awaiting the final consultation and results.
Jungkook is a restless companion. No matter how irritating, you’re used to the constant swaying and the movements of his legs. One might think he is anxious for you, eyes locking on the head doc’s office door every now and then.
Yet, he wonders, “Are you nervous?”
“Nervous?” you repeat, breathing out a tiny, amused laugh. “Nah. He’s really nice. And it’s just some eye stuff.”
“Well, eyes are important.”
The words come out quickly, but the last syllable dies gradually.
You smile.
Jungkook sometimes reminisces about a time when he’d hide from relatives or eat lunch at the back of class back in elementary school. He tires out the term introvertness, and you repeatedly retort with a certain ambivertness.
At times, he’s loud, flirty, annoying and confident — gives you a hard time believing that he ever averted a girl’s gaze or hid behind his cousins.
But then… there are moments when you see it.
Like now.
The puffy cheeks, the youthful pout, the big, big eyes flashing to the ground. Unsure what to say, unsure what you’re thinking of him.
Until he gulps, keeping his voice quiet and low as he continues, “Have you ever had a private optometrist?”
Huh. Not a question you expected. You guess starting the week with a discussion about wealth makes him think of such things these days.
“Yeah,” you say, shifting in your seat. You can still not see him clearly; his features are blurry, and you squint. “When I was younger. Big, bright places and top notch equipment.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I mean… It's not like usually used equipment, like here, is any worse than theirs. Also, same reason as why I went to a public college. Normalcy, I guess.”
“Odd.”
“…Why?”
“Because,” he draws a sharp breath, staring ahead. “Despite all the normalcy, you’re as extraordinary as can get. Money or not.”
A heartbeat passes. Among the sounds of the quiet chatter around you and the ads in the TV at lowest volume, your breath mingles with the hushed noises like a whisper.
His slowly blinking eyes are genuine, your reflection in his dark brown orbs clear. White dots sparkle like constellations in the sky, bright and plenty. It’s nice that they remind you of the sentimentality in his heart after every single serious or dumb, big or small fight.
For a moment, you keep looking. Your fingers twitch, urging to reach out, but as they start moving off your knee, you hear a call of your name.
Jungkook leans back, clearing his throat, smiles at you as you get to your feet and meet the doctor’s stare, kindly gesturing inside the examination room.
A couple more tests, a friendly conversation, more orders from his side before he gives you a diagnosis and a prescription. 
And when you head out, Jungkook’s still sitting right where you left him. One leg restless again, leaning forwards, arms on his thighs and hands intertwined. His head is hanging between his shoulders; even from afar, you see his lashes move, eyes slowly blinking.
You can’t quite explain it, but you love this point of view — when you can see his parted lips, the lower one pillowy, partly hidden behind his button nose. Cheeks round. You truly do love this watching-from-above-angle.
Even though it clearly suggests he’s bored out of his mind. Beyond done with this place, but still here, waiting for you.
You clutch the strap of your bag again, sighing, and then move towards him with light steps. The back of your fingers reaches out then, brushing against his temple a tiny moment before he detects your shoes and looks up.
“Oh. That was fast,” he says; his eyes are drooping. He had a long morning in the attic. “What did he say?”
He gets off the seat, moving his stiff neck and cracking it a little, hand flashing up to his shoulder. You explain, “I need eye drops. Two to three times a day.”
“Ah. Then we could get them right now.”
You nod, allowing a little smile, telling him as you head out, “My eyes are okay, though. Somehow, my vision has improved, too.”
Jungkook’s lips form an excited Oh, but when he sees your expression, he says, “But you seem bummed about it.”
Ah. Well.
You feel ungrateful thinking that way, but…
“In some way?” you admit. “I’d rather have an infection that can be fixed with antibiotics and won’t come back so easily instead of… you know. Having to constantly rely on eye drops. It just sounds so permanent.”
Another deep sigh; you’re exhausted as well. “And I’ll have to remember to use them.”
“Hmm,” he voices, holding the door open for you. He zips his jacket close as you step out; an immediate breath cloud forming when he exhales. “Set an alarm, yeah?”
“Yeah. Just knowing myself…”
“I’ll remind you then.”
The suggestion is immediate, albeit accompanied by a seemingly nonchalant shrug of his shoulder; jacket’s sleeves adorably pulled over his hands.
“Once in the morning. You set an alarm for lunch and then I remind you again when you take your birth control pill at night. Yeah?”
The bitter feeling of the fight vanishes a little; you try to ignore the residual awkwardness, apologies probably still due. But right now, your conversation follows a different path, so you settle on a soft, little, “Thank you, Kook.”
He always does that. Remind you of your meds.
Your vitamins, your pills, that one nose spray hydrating your nose flora to prevent your mucosa from drying out or whatever your ENT doc told you. He did last night, too.
He always does — even if it means forgetting about his own responsibilities.
You blink a couple times, rubbing your eyelids before you admit, “Still hurts. Can barely see… and the streetlamps are so bright?”
“Lemme look.”
He stops in his tracks and you follow; his hand catches your wrist, pulling your fingers away from your eyes, and you turn to him slowly. You’re still attempting to clear your vision, so he orders, “Stop blinking.”
And once you do, he moves in. Takes your face in his already warm hands, staring, squinting, humming. He looks focused, and you raise your eyebrows, waiting for a conclusion until he finally mutters, “Damn.”
“What?”
He seems impressed. Looks a bit longer. You repeat, “What? Are they red? Swollen or something?”
“Nah,” he lets your face go, already stepping back as if dodging your proximity. “But,” he starts; you stare like a puppy, only breaking when he adds, “they’re pretty as fuck.”
Your playful punch rises as if on instinct.
One part of your relationship that never changed was your bicker, starting with annoyance and morphing into frisky, flirty remarks. You consider it the foundation of what makes the two of you a unit.
You grit your teeth, but can’t bite back the smile.
“Dude,” you scold, and he covers his arm instinctively, evading the punch looming over him.
But you don’t deliver it after all, dropping your hand, shaking your head instead. You say, “If you hadn’t helped me survive today, I’d—”
You steer towards him, attempting another scare, and he plays along with a flinch just before he starts laughing again. Hums and nods emphasise his words when he agrees, “You survived like a true champ. A big girl, you said, right?”
“Sure am.”
“Mhm. …My big girl?”
“Gross. Shut up.”
The atmosphere will stay odd for a while. That’s okay, you guess. At least it allows for a bit of amusement, hard to hide as you smile a little, bite your lip.
You lower your head, veiling your beam behind your hair, but you know he sees. Matches your smile — perhaps even a bit brighter than your own.
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FRIDAY
The fast approaching weekend usually eases a week’s tension. But considering the mounting workload you tackled today and the endless Saturday you’ll be dealing with very soon, your muscles don’t relax just yet.
Imprisoned behind the bars of work, your thoughts circle around the schedule for tomorrow. In that sense, you come home late and can’t quite bother with the stress that spread throughout the first half of the week.
Jungkook already scarfed down tonight’s dinner, comfortably laying in bed and balancing the laptop on his stomach. From the sound of it, he’s watching videos of various genres.
Sitting on the living room couch and indulging in a short story for just a bit, you hear the enthusiastic voices of chefs rattling down recipes every now and then. It’s a hobby of his, but you can’t help but feel bad.
He studies those YouTube videos to improve his cooking skills, and you, ungratefully, leave the rest of his effort in the goddamn fridge. You sigh.
If you had the energy and will to talk it out, you’d do it now. You couldn’t all day.
He was still asleep when you left, and after work, you went to a brief dinner with a coworker to dash through details for tomorrow. Looking at the plan, you hope for at least a sliver of fun amidst the photoshoot chaos.
When you returned home, Jungkook was gaming right where you’re sitting now. You showered, only to find him back in the bedroom, with his eyes glued to said laptop. And now, as you approach the bed to end the night, he walks past you with falling eyelids.
He rubs them with the back of his tattooed hand, a tired pout on his face contradicting the seemingly badass image that the ink usually gives him. Hard shell, soft core and all.
“Be right ba—,” Jungkook’s hazy voice informs, last syllable broken by a yawn. “Go to bed, okay?”
His palm moves across your upper arm as he passes you by, and you nod, steering towards the inviting, warm mattress. Its surface melts with your body when you drop. God, you’re exhausted; can barely think.
You don’t think it’ll take you particularly long to drift away; and just when your consciousness slips, you feel an arm around you.
A soft hug, enveloping you. He drops his face to yours, lips gently pressing against your cheek for a moment before he adjusts the blanket over the two of you.
A current of warmth courses through your veins, and you draw a deep, long breath of affection when he cuddles into you. He must be thinking you’re asleep but slowly falling out of dreams, because he pulls you in and rubs your arm.
An effective tactic he usually wields to help you fall asleep. 
He puts a leg gently over yours, his body so close to yours that you feel bits of the combustion of your heart.
Because…
Despite your stupid feud, you’re kind of happy that he’s joined you under the thin blanket, pressing more featherlight kisses against your scalp. Sighs against it.
And you can’t withhold the smile when he brushes over your clothed tummy and whispers, “My feisty little girl.” 
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SATURDAY
You remember to unclench your jaw.
The stress hardens your muscles. Your limbs are stiff, eyes unblinking until they dry out. Fingers wrapped around your phone, you hold the device firmly, shutting out the telling vibrations of notifications.
This cannot be.
There are a hundred fires burning around you. Erupted chaos causes panic, and in the middle of it are you, clueless and vexed beyond measure.
It’s one thing cancelling a shoot a couple days before it takes place — and another thing to call sick at the very last moment. You didn’t think the model would ditch you like this… but now that he has, you can’t figure out how to replace the missing piece of the shoot.
Your troubled co-workers call out a dozen names, but you don’t say a word, gazing around with a crease between your eyebrows.
This whole thing needs to be out in the open by Friday, and the photographers and editors need time. So, postponing this to Monday and the release of the ads to another weekend won’t work, right?
No.
You’re at the headquarters of this brand. And you’re one of the organisers of this shoot and project. Every single shop will need to postpone if you do.
Unprofessional. Goes against the schedule.
The complaints are still on full blast when you see a calm movement from the corner of your eye. You move your head to the left, peeking through the glass door, and on the other side awaits—
A wide-eyed man, staring inside, observing the tumult like he’s stepped into the jungle. He’s wearing a white shirt, tucked into jeans, long bangs hanging into his eyes and enhancing the sweet gaze so wonderfully.
Pieces of your stress melts — but you still can’t figure out why he’s standing there.
You walk to the door automatically, throwing a tiny smile when he detects you among the staff. A big hand waves in tiny, and you open to let him in.
“Hey,” you greet, pushing back to where you stood before. He follows. “What are you doing here?”
As you come to a stand, he puts a hand on your waist lightly, drawing close to press a kiss to your temple. Then, he responds, “Picking you up?”
“Wh—”
Oh. Shit.
You were going to go out and celebrate the end of the stressful week. He’d suggested it last weekend because he already knew how hectic today would be.
Ughhhh.
You’re terrible.
Jungkook realises your forgetfulness the moment your expression changes into a guilty one. His curious, innocent look drops with his eyebrows, and he sighs when you say, “I’m sorry, Kook.”
When he stares down at his shoes, you feel a wave of shame; the noise around you fades for just a second as he half sullenly, half disappointedly asks, “Really?”
“I swear… It’s not my fault.”
It’s not an excuse; not a lie.
He looks disheartened; knowing him, stupid argument or not, he was probably looking forward to this. Fuck, you feel bad.
Despite his obvious drop in mood, he doesn’t say anything much. Instead, he nods and assures, “It’s fine. What happened?”
You look around again. From afar, you see a coworker approach. She looks hopeful and you take the crumbs, but you still explain, “Everything should be done by now. We got most of the pictures, but… one of the guys bailed on us.”
“Shit, really? What now?”
You shrug your shoulders, once again racking your brain for a solution. People here are counting on you, but it’s not you who brings the very first somewhat reasonable suggestion of today.
Only somewhat reasonable, though.
Because the coworker approaching ogles at Jungkook like a pirate at a treasure, pupils big and wondering as she suddenly says, “Hold. Did you come up with that?”
You blink.
Then ask, “What?”
“You called him here?”
“What?” you repeat, a confused, little parrott.
She rolls her eyes, “He,” she points at Jungkook with a thumb, “is not allowed in here. Usually. So I assumed you called him as a replacement.” She tilts her head. “And he’s freaking perfect!”
Per—
What? No, no, no. That’s absolutely nothing you planned or permitted.
“No?” Instinctively, you take a step to the side, right in front of his broad shoulders as if to protect him from harm. You argue, “He’s not a model. He’s an artist.”
From behind, you hear, “I’m just an artist.”
“Yeah, but,” she throws back, “you’re art, too. I won’t lie.”
Another step back until your back almost touches his chest. His fingertips graze your hip, as a warning before you stumble over his feet. You can imagine the subtle rosy dust on his cheek; he’s fond of compliments.
As everyone is, you suppose. But. 
“Hey, careful,” you tell her, disguising it as a joke, but feeling the lightest burn in your stomach when he laughs at her words.
She raises her pretty lips to a prettier smile, nodding in reassurance as she promises, “Yes, I know he’s taken.”
Another quiet chuckle from behind you, and you cock an eyebrow before he changes the topic and admits, “Seriously, I’m not a model at all and barely know what these things are like…”
To which she waves off his concerns and explains, “Oh, you just need to look good. We’d put some make up and clothes on you, a few pics and we’re done.”
Sounds easy enough. A bit like an insult to actual models, kind of putting those to shame who ran across stages for years to study, internalise and perfect their movements.
But you don’t correct her because you’re desperate, too. And right now, this sounds the easiest.
Still, he murmurs, “I’m not sure.”
“I understand if not,” she says. Her tone changes, fragments of frustration in it. “It’s just that we’re running out of options.”
Once more, you play out the upcoming week mentally. Postponing the last shoot. Postponing the release. Postponing the seasonal launch.
None of this is your fault, but you’d still be the one to get all the wary looks.
As if on cue, Jungkook squeezes your hip, and you look at him with worry painted across your face. You know he sees it immediately, but he still asks, “Is it that bad?”
You nibble at your lip, putting a hand over his as you say, “Yeah. We do need someone.”
“Is that allowed? Can I just replace a guy?”
“I’m technically the boss here, so you’d just need my permission,” you take a breath and then click your tongue, “I mean, usually we’d just reschedule, but we don’t have the time and those shoots already take hours. And in your case, we’d do all the paperwork, contract stuff later.”
“Would it help you?”
He’s considerate. Even in a stressful moment like this, the gentle tone, the deep care makes you weak. The answer’s already clear, but you still tell him, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Again, it… might take up to two hours or so.”
“But it’d help you, babe, wouldn’t it? Unless you don’t want me to. Then I won’t.”
You don’t have a single problem with this; in fact, you’d be happy to put him in front of a camera. His genuine thoughtfulness liquefies you — you’re a puddle at this point.
“Oh, I… Jungko—”
Juri intrudes, “I’m sorry,” carefully, she inches closer, nodding over her shoulder, “Just wanna say that we have a lot of designers in our team. They do logos and make the posters and all. Maybe, if they saw you — because the country already knows you as her artistic man from newspapers — they could teach you some digital art stuff.”
“I…” Jungkook starts. He’s probably thinking the same — which he confirms when he adds, “I’m not sure how me modelling for you might relate to artistic stuff. But I already know a lot about digital art.”
Yeah, exactly. Of course he does; what else did he wade through college for throughout these years?
“But,” she lifts a finger, infinite force in one word already, “have you ever tried expensive equipment and all?”
Oh oh. You feel bad.
Is that the group of society you represent? Maybe you guys are a little pretentious after all, dealing and seducing with money.
But he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t dare to challenge her when he steps next to you and says, “I can do it, but not for that digital art offer.” He puts a hand on your back, rubbing lightly and briefly, “For her.”
You fold your arms under your chest; less to show dominance, but more to press against the butterflies. There’s a type of nausea falling in love elicits, deep in your stomach where everything appears so surreal and beautiful that it makes you oddly sick.
The first time your pupils took on their heart shape was the first moment Jungkook practised that effect on you; made you realise what inevitable emotions he was pulling you into.
That effect has not faltered; your guts still twist.
At least, for a couple minutes.
Because the second your coworker-vultures attack him and drag him to the back room, something changes. Nervousness, you guess. You know the clothes that are awaiting him, but stepping out of makeup and into the spotlight leaves you gasping for air.
From afar, he’s leering at you.
Wearing a snow white shirt, tucked into his pants, priorly tousled hair still messy but styled in curls. Yes, you might know your collection — but you didn’t think it’d fit him like second skin.
Why did you doubt it, though? Jungkook could wear a trash bag and still compete against Adonis.
For a moment, he stands still, entangling his fingers, looking around. Then, he’s smiling in uncertainty, awkwardly putting his hands on his tiny waist, waiting for directions.
Juri tip-toes towards you, as if you’re filming a scene in a drama. She pulls the clipboard to her chest, one digit pointing to your struggling man before she says, “He’s adorable.”
You nod. “I wonder how he’ll do.”
“Well, yeah,” she murmurs, half distracted; but then she averts her eyes from him, looking from your nervous lips up to your furrowed eyebrows before she assures, “Worst case scenario, we’ll postpone. End of story. At least we tried.”
“Hmm… Well, let’s hope it won’t be that case.”
Which, you soon realise, it certainly isn’t.
A couple professional suggestions by the director and Jungkook gets into position. The initial movements of his hands and body are a little strange and awkward, and you can’t help but want to pull him from this chaos and wrap him in a fuzzy blanket.
But the seemingly feigned adorable stance soon shifts into something unexpectedly dangerous when he raises his chin. Thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, he relaxes his body, lips suddenly forming a tempting, slight pout.
He doesn’t usually look like that…
“Wow,” you whisper, faintly registering Juri’s fascinated nod from the side.
This is still a harmless pose, you think; one the director dared him to do. But you’re surprised by the sudden confidence, the way Jungkook doesn’t fumble or stutter or question anything.
Some of his softness shines through the moment the photographer gives a thumbs up, a tattooed hand cracking the fingers of the others. Doe eyes back, he leans forwards as if he could peek at the pictures like that, asking cautiously, “That okay?”
He looks different. Why does he look different?
“That was great! Perfect start. I promise the rest is just as easy,” the team encourages him, asking him to monitor the pictures they just took.
Jungkook walks to the strangers in slow steps, chest behind the tight, white top heaving once. On his way, he looks up to you instinctively, throwing the same thumbs up at you with a questioning gaze.
And you, still baffled, smile.
Watch as he converses with the people, his grin wide when he likes what he sees — an instant confidence boost, though you still see the nervousness in his stance. Where was any of it when they clicked the photos?
As if a demon possessed him for just a minute. Dual and dangerous.
Then again, he’s not very different in your daily life. A celestial soul on some days, catering to your every whim, never letting your feet touch the ground.
And a beast on others, inhaling your sounds like a starving incubus, never heaving your body off the mattress.
The duality doesn’t disappear with this very first outfit.
When some music starts playing and they tell him to move freely, filming the sequences for the ads, your eyeballs nearly fall out of your eyes. And you finally realise why he looks so different now.
Because the moment his thumb touches his lower lip, mimicking a wiping motion (much like he does after kissing you sometimes), you see the silver-plated jewellery glimmering from all the way from the set.
Lip ring.
Whose idea…
“What did you do back there?” you ask, near-panicking, your heart dropping into your panties.
Juri flinches, asking, “What?”
“Is that a lip ring? You gave him a—”
You puff out a breath; it’s immensely difficult to be mad at him like this. He’s been looking…
“Shouldn’t we have?” her tiny voice asks; her body shrinks a little.
“I mean. I just. It wasn’t planned.”
“Yeah, but look how amazing he looks.”
You’re seeing it, alright.
The subtle touches, the light tugging at his shirt. Movements just right. He looks all serious, like a beast, hotter than motherfucking hell. Transports your saliva into your windpipe with each look he sports.
Until you actually feel yourself choking and gagging once he leaves and comes back for the next shoot twenty minutes later.
Because why on Earth did they omit the shirt under the grey blazer?
You’re close to dashing to costume and makeup, confronting them to ask why they chose to toy with your sanity like this. Because… the lip ring is still there. His hair is suddenly slicked back. Fingers adorned with rings.
And he looks so goddamn good.
Maybe it’s your fault. You told them you trusted them, and that they were supposed to do as they pleased. And they are… they so are.
All of him, like a strong magnet, pulls you in, but you keep your feet firmly on your spot, cementing yourself in place. There’s something incredibly attractive about the way he presents himself — new, talented.
You’re fidgety, a sexually frustrated observer when he touches his jacket, pulling it open just a little. The inked hand is veiny; you see it from here, too. The light gesture allows glimpses of his chest.
Small, perked, brown nipples. Lines and ripples of his abs firm. Ending in his V-line, hidden behind the peeking underwear and blue, baggy jeans.
Heavy chains are already menacing when he shuts his eyelids and parts his lips. Worse when he leans forwards, hazy eyes staring into the camera as if he’s about to devour the camerawoman.
Jeon Jungkook is a hazardous danger to society. The world will want him — and he’ll only want you.
Fuck.
You’re drooling. Drowning in your own puddle. Crossing your legs.
And when they tell him to sit, ordering to open the button of his jeans and push it down his hips just a bit, the little yous in your brain wreak havoc.
A fire starts in the organised office of your mind, red sirens blaring, and you look at Juri as you ask, “Why is he naked?! Why’s the blazer off his shoulder?!!”
“Because,” she defends, hiding behind the clipboard; it’s not her fault. That’s what the other model would’ve done, too. “Underwear ads!”
You’re aware. You just didn’t think it’d be Jungkook ending up in this position. Perhaps you didn’t think it through; didn’t know what it’d do to you.
But his effect pools in your lower stomach; so intense, you might cry.
“What the fuck,” you mumble when he takes the jacket off, sitting up and improvising all of a sudden. A hand covers his mouth, the blazer thrown over his shoulder. “What’s the point of holding it? He’s not even wearing it.”
“Because,” she starts again, “we’re focusing on the underwear.” Where’s the focus on the underwear? You can barely see it. Are people plotting against you? “It’s okay.” She pats your shoulder. “No one’s gonna touch him, love.”
You bite your lip. You know.
You aren’t distressed because you’re mad. But because knowing that everybody will crave him and nobody will get him turns you on more.
The fact that you’re the only one he’ll look at with those starry eyes; with the hunger in his gaze. The only one he’ll press into your bed, lips close to your ears, whispering endearments and filthy, little promises.
This man wants you, and you can barely handle that truth.
New thoughts and ideas form in your mind, too wild and desperate to be occurring right in this moment. So you mentally whoosh them away, holding on for the rest of the neverending shoot until a round of genuine applause sounds around the big set.
God. Okay. Hours of torture later, and he’s done.
A shy bow. No. This monster might convince anyone else, but you know he’s not as innocent as he gives himself.
He jogs over to you, says quietly enough for only you to hear, “Don’t tell them, but that was great.” You can imagine. He backs away, looks down to his defined abs, “I need to change. And then we can head home, they said.”
You blink, perplexed and still out of words. Which he struggles to interpret, looking over his shoulder and then back to you. Unsure, he adds, “Unless you need to wrap things up.”
When a random shout echoes through the room, you awake, inhaling deeply before you tell him, “No, I. I mean, yeah, we’ll wrap things up, but that shouldn’t take too long. Should be mostly done when you are.”
He nods. Waves, and then steers towards the others, shaking hands and exchanging smiles. Short convos. Then, to the back room. 
You’re too out of your mind and tired to chat much with staff. You go through the next steps, talk about waiting for the editor to be done with the photos, list the leftover things on your to-do list before the winter launch.
And that’s it. You meet Jungkook at the exit to the hallway, relieved when the end of the day approaches. On your way back home, you converse lightly, though he stops when you yawn one too many times.
He lets you rest as you pass shops and traffic lights, and holds your hand when you get off the vehicle. Drags you up the stairs; the climb is arduous. And then allows you to get ready for your slumber in peace.
The second the back of your head collides with the cold pillow, your eyes drop shut. The world spins behind your tired eyelids, adjusting to the darkness and the silence.
A sigh of relief pushes out of your mouth; a profound sense of tranquillity calms your lit nerves. Jungkook, next to you, seems just as exhausted because the yawn as soon as he slips under the covers is long and tear-inducing.
He’s blinking away the dampness of fatigue when you look over to him; you haven’t talked much since you arrived home, but Jungkook uses the moment to say, “I had a lot more fun than I expected to have.”
You’re so incredibly thankful for his last-minute rescue. But you can’t help but think of the muscles and expressions an hour prior. The seductive gaze, the lip accessory, the ring-clad fingers.
Perhaps it’s because of the time of the month, but you feel vexed by how affected you feel.
You control your tone, though the word still sounds monotone when you say, “Good.”
Catching upon it immediately, he shifts slowly, sniffling and head propping up on his hand before he asks, “Did you not like it?”
“Oh no, I mean,” you start, “you were amazing. I just didn’t know they’d send you out naked for the world to see. Thought the plan was to close a couple buttons.”
“The stylists told me. I think it was a spontaneous change because—”
You glance at him when he hesitates. A sly smile spreads across his features, just a little guilty yet amused as he watches your curiosity grow.
“What?” you ask.
“Nevermind.”
“Don’t be mean.”
“It’s nothing!” he exclaims. “We just thought it’d look cool. I thought you’d like it, too, actually.”
You did. That’s the issue. You liked it enough for it to burn into your mind, and now you can’t shake the image anymore.
No matter how many times you’ve seen him butt naked, buried inside you without a gap between your skin — something about his confidence and eyes stirred an unknown level of desire in you.
But you can’t tell him. Because the thing you want won’t be possible right now. You keep your thoughts veiled.
Instead, you unleash your annoyance because God, you hate him for being so hot.
“Right,” is all you say.
“Hey, don’t worry. Even if they ask, I’m not doing this again.”
“Might make you famous, though,” you mumble.
He snorts, fingers sneaking to your tummy, “So what? That’s not my profession. I didn’t study to become a model. Will work on my actual efforts.”
“Okay.”
The single word forces a sigh out of him, and he shakes his head, tapping his fingers against your stomach as he whispers your name thrice. Like he’s scolding you.
And then, “Are you jealous?”
“No,” you spit without hesitation, “of whom?”
You’re not. And you know that just for the moment, he won’t believe you. Which is fine. You’ll tell him the truth once your period’s over for the month.
“Of people who might see me and like what they see.”
Okay. Jerk.
At this point, he is doing it on purpose. You see it in the cocky smile and the jesting tone and the way his fingertips draw circles over your shirt, itching to sneak underneath the fabric.
You know him.
He’s so annoying.
“No,” you repeat.
“You sure? Huh?” Fuck, not that sulky voice. You close your eyes, but he raises your chin, making your head move. “Look at me, angel.”
“Hmm?”
“You said no, but you do look a little fiery,” he tells you. Yeah, if he knew that the real reason doesn’t lie in envy or whatever the world thinks of him. “What? My girl is jealous of people I won’t even perceive?”
No.
But she does feel the tickling, flattering lust pooling in her lower stomach, Jeon, thank you very much.
“Jungkook,” you start, although breathier when he moves closer, towards your neck. “Don’t be annoying.”
Which triggers a slightly mocking tone; he tuts before he says, “Baby bails on our date today. Will fight me in a restaurant. And then I’m annoying?”
Your answer is immediate and as shameless as can be.
“Yes.”
And it makes him laugh. Hot and sudden against your skin, his breath makes you shiver more than the relentless cold outside ever could.
“Not gonna lie,” he begins, “that brat behaviour isn’t too terrible.”
“Shut the fuck up, you just—”
He just what? You don’t know. Your sentence floats between you when his nose raises your chin, freeing the path to your neck before he’s nuzzling it slowly.
You feel goosebumps at the back of your neck, hair standing up, tingles across your body where you didn’t deem them possible. Under the blanket, your legs shift, and he hurries to move one of his between yours.
Hand still on your shirt, he places a barely-there, soft kiss to your neck; his fine tresses tickle your face and you crumble.
You have long forgotten your unfinished sentence, but he hasn’t. Asks, “What?”
You bury your nails into his arm, intrigued by the little hiss followed by a subtle laugh. Growing in volume when you say, “I kinda hate you right now.”
“Oh yeah,” he agrees, stretching the second word, “I hate you, too. Absolutely loathe you.”
You silence. Hold onto him when he French kisses between your neck and shoulder. And then breathe, “Then go away.”
“Mhh. Maybe I should.”
“Maybe…”
And then, out of the blue, his teeth dig into your neck like a gentle vampire, stopping immediately when you wince desperately. A hot tongue soothes the bite, a strong hand pushing you down by your shoulder again when your body lifts off the bed just a bit.
He keeps you in place, moving to your jaw. And when you whimper in lust and want, navigating his leg closer to your core, he curses, “Fucking hell, babe.”
Then, he’s inhaling, fingers wandering from your shoulder to your wrist as lips finally clash.
His body moves half onto yours, slowly gauging your reaction to the kiss as if he’s still expecting the burst of cumulated emotions. But when you give into his gesture, granting him your tongue, his face moves further against yours.
Undecided fingers let your wrist go, getting ahold of a patch of your hair. You hold his arms again until you wrap yours around him, fingers on the nape of his neck as you pull him in.
You tilt your heads in unison, deepening the kiss, drinking him up. Let him open your lips with his, keeping them like that, tips of your tongues playing with each other.
His touch drops to your waist and down to your pyjamas, pushing them down a little, grazing your panties. But then, his teasing palm floats up again and settles over one of your tits, squeezing once and drawing a telling moan out of you.
No bra.
He loves your little habits. You live through them casually, never noticing how badly they empty his mind.
Seems your head is blanking just as much at his touches; because you look delirious, lost, breathing in and out heavily. Jungkook basks in the expression, pushing a hand to your neck.
And only when he presses in gently, trapping you in place, do you seem to wake.
Eyes shoot open, and you inhale deeply, as if saved from drowning; remember every bit of today. The lines of his abs. The lip ring. The jewellery on his fingers.
You could ask for him to go on, to wreck you thoroughly. But of all arguments stopping you from doing so, there’s one damn reason that asks to prevent the mess.
Fucking period. Would create a literal bloody chaos. And you’re exhausted.
The thing is — if you asked him, you know he’d give it to you.
He’s reckless and careless. But you can’t risk the state of your sheets and the state of your mind. You have more work to do tomorrow; also, if you continued now, you’d be tired and immobile tomorrow, you know — and you need to be awake for this.
Fully in your senses.
Ugh. Fuck.
And the last damn day of the red waterfall, too. Thinking about it, perhaps that’s the reason for your agitation this week.
In hindsight, you know you’re never bitchy like that — he didn’t give you the nickname of an angel for nothing, right? Fuck PMS. Fuck mood swings.
Your poor boy, enduring the wrath of it.
But maybe you need to act pissed just a bit longer because—
“What?” he asks.
It’s not the time. So you stop him, pushing him away lightly. Shake your head, calling forth a crease between your eyebrows, turning away just a bit.
He falls back, once again keeping his upper body up by his arm. Inquires, “I— are you still mad?”
Truthfully, you answer flatly, “I’m on my period.”
“So?” he answers, laughing until he sees your lips, pressed into a serious line. “I’m not scared of some blood.”
You knew it. He’d give in if you told him to.
But what you want can’t be received during this time of the month. What you want requires unhinged chaos, carelessness, breathlessness. Craze of many minutes, hours.
You want more than a short, cautious session that asks you to peek at the sheets and the towel you’d get every now and then. You want to fucking lose yourself in hi—
“Let’s not,” you answer, your tone nonchalant, “Just. Let’s go to sleep, alright?”
He murmurs your name, trying again; but when you turn on your belly, giving a last sign to end the night, you hear him groan quietly.
You grimace when his head falls onto the pillow with an angry thump, movements under the blanket agitated as he scolds, “My God. Alright. You wanna be pissed for an entire week, then be pissed. I can’t do more than that.”
Oof.
If he only knew. And something in you tells you that he will very soon.
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SUNDAY
Too lazy to work through the preparation process in the kitchen, Jungkook and you quietly decide to spend lunch outside.
The café nearby is a place you’ve wanted to visit for quite some time now. And despite the flaky, dry sandwiches they served, you’re glad time passed quickly, the awkward conversations between you coming to an end.
When you return from the bathroom, the sky above looks grey. Desolate. The weather forecast predicted a surprisingly pleasant late fall day, but the approaching rain is obvious. Which, you anticipated more than the weather forecast did, really.
That’s why an umbrella is leaning against the leg of the table, and you grab it as you watch Jungkook fumble with his wallet, stuffing it into his back pocket.
He gulps down the last sip of his Matcha Latte, dimples above the corner of his lips as he smacks the taste away. Then, he gets to his feet, asks, “Ready to go?”
Absent-mindedly, you nod, glancing to the sky and then back to him again. He looks sweet and domestic; but you can’t quite take him seriously. Not necessarily because of the fight anymore.
It’s been far too many days to still dwell.
But because of the damn lip ring, the open jacket, the gelled back hair. His destructive expressions. Like he could devour you whole.
Jungkook doesn’t stay angry for a long time, you’ve noticed. He always tells you how his temper used to be worse as a teenager, but how he’s learned to control himself.
Agonies of childhood, relationships and friendships taught him patience. And you notice. You truly notice.
Because he hands you your purse sweetly, immediately stretching his palm towards you. A slight smile spreads across his face, and you respond with a weak one of yours. Take his hand and let him lead you home.
You’ll walk the short distance; it shouldn’t take longer than seven or eight minutes.
And as you approach home, the hand holding yours mimics the motions of the one gripping the umbrella — he brings both arms into swing, somewhat euphoric but casual when he says, “The food was so dry there.”
It’s odd, talking to him like that after several days again. But you nod slowly, and agree, “I know. But at least we know where not to go anymore.”
“Yeah. But I mean, great beverages.”
“The milkshake, too.”
He tugs you a little closer, elbows soon touching, “I still think you should’ve gotten something warmer. You get a cold fast,” he looks up with squinted eyes, “and it’s already chilly today.”
You squeeze his hand as a thank you; Jungkook cares for you in little, subtle ways, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t think of it every now and then. You answer, “I feel fine, though.”
“Okay. Hope that stays.”
His palm, soft in yours, shifts until he’s intertwining his fingers with yours, attempting a stronger grip. You lift your eyes from the ground to his face for a second, meeting a gentle smile, and feel more pieces of your heart split.
They wander through your body, along your arm and straight into his chest, merging with his own organ. If you could, you’d push him against one of the unlit lamp posts, parted lips opting for his, breathing into his mouth.
He infested your thoughts and stuck with you, no way to escape the moment you first fell for him. And somehow, he managed to keep this effect intact, digging deeper into your mind and making himself home every damn second of the day.
The desire you’ve been feeling doesn’t just stem from lip rings and talent behind the camera. But you also keep realising that you’re truly this man’s, and that this man is truly yours.
A hard truth to fathom when you’re the subject of interest to one unique Jeon Jungkook.
But you want all of him. Want him over you, around you, taking all of what no other guy will ever be allowed to touch. Want him to show you once again where you belong and that you’re in this for as long as his affection is aligned with yours.
Fuck. Home is too far away.
So you look away from him. Which he interprets in an entirely wrong way.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, an inquiry out of nowhere that has your eyebrows kissing.
“No,” you answer.
“You barely talk to me. And,” he halts to wipe away a raindrop. Guess the clouds are gathering. “And I miss you.”
Your ribs might break. He keeps doing this to you.
“I’m not mad, Kook. Was just PMS-ing before,” you try again, adding a nickname for good measure.
“You sure?”
Jungkook is a free-spirited soul, careless to a healthy degree most of the time. There are only a few things that break his composure; familial insecurities, shitty pasts — and then there’s you.
Topping his list of priorities, you’re the only aspect in his current life that pushes him into spirals of overthinking.
And right now, he’s in the middle one, requiring a thousand reassurances. You want to answer. You really do.
But the distraction from above proves too strong the second you open your mouth. In the middle of your walk, the clouds explode, roaring for a moment before a downpour suddenly showers onto you.
The raindrops are thick, the bursting clouds aggressive.
Instinctively, Jungkook opens the umbrella, hastily working on it, and once under it, your steps pick up on pace. You wrap an arm around your body, closing the jacket, hooking your other arm with his and pushing the two of you forward.
“Shit,” you say; you look up, but can barely see anything. Only hear the thunder.
The wind grows colder, grazing the skin of your face incessantly. Despite the umbrella, the merciless rain wets your cheeks, singular drops flying towards you. Jungkook’s hair covers his face, and he shakes them off his eyes.
You gasp when a literal newspaper flies past you.
“Come on,” you encourage, already shivering. “We can talk about it at home, okay?”
But surprisingly, incredibly lost in his own head, he doesn’t give in. He adjusts to your pace, holding the umbrella in a strong grip, sighs and argues, “We can talk about it anytime.”
“Not now.”
“But—”
“Kook, right now’s not the time for this.”
Holy shit.
This man is a phenomenon. And you wish he wasn’t serious, but you know that he is. A full-on simp-y fool, no matter what.
“You’ve avoided me all week,” he yells over the sounds of the rain, sniffling, looking at the storm ahead, “we won’t die. It’s just rain.”
“It’s a thunderstorm, you idiot!” you exclaim back, moving straight forward and past running passengers. You should be home soon. “And in a minute we won’t be able to see shit.”
Jungkook must be made of cement. Broad shoulders, a well-trained body and willpower seem to combat the storm when he suddenly halts in his steps.
Immediately, you grab the umbrella, keeping it from nearly flying away; and when you remain the only presence under it, you ogle back. Watch him stand there in his red-white jacket, getting soaked by Mother Nature.
What the fuck.
You rush back, grabbing his wrist, pulling him forward as much as you can as you reprimand, “What the hell are you doing? Come on.”
“You’ll talk to me if I do?”
“Jungkook, we’ll die here, I—”
You flinch and gasp when another strong wind blows, once and for all ripping the umbrella off your hand and making it fly a couple feet from you. You watch it break through the fog of rain, mouth wide open with a dozen curses on your tongue.
“Fuck,” you exclaim, gritting your teeth, “I will. Just please, okay?!”
He’s so annoying. The way he looks at you, breathing hard, white shirt drenched and sticking to his body. You tug at his arm, forcing him to run when you do.
It takes you two entire minutes, wordless as you wish them to be, to reach his street and apartment. You tremble in the hallways, rushing up the stairs, and eventually take a seconds-long breath when you step into the flat.
It’s cold. So cold — and you had your jacket protecting your shirt. Your jeans and hair are soaked, your socks a sponge, soaked in a couple millilitres of water.
But it’s relieving when you take the jacket and your jeans off, pulling out the oversized, wrinkled shirt from under your pants, covering half your thighs. Jungkook slips out of his boots and rushes for a towel, approaching your heaving form at the door to dry your hair.
You quiver for a couple more minutes, fearing an approaching cold after all. But once settled on the couch, indulging in the comfort of thick joggers and a fresh cotton shirt, you sigh.
The silence still holding on only breaks when you drop your head back on the couch. A warm hand sneaks to your cheek, and when you open your eyes, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Warming up…” You lean into the touch, though still irritated by his behaviour before. “Thought it’d rain, but that was a surprise.”
“Yeah.” A pause. And then, “Was a little romantic, too.”
Unbelievable.
You roll your eyes at him, head tilting, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s joking. The goofy smile suggests that he is.
“Was it, yeah? You just—”
You click your tongue. Think back to him nearly offering his soul to Zeus just a couple minutes ago. Standing in the heavy rain as if he was the lead character in The Notebook.
“Don’t be mad now. I’m kidding,” he says. His voice isn’t as soft anymore; frustrated when he tries again, “Talk to me. What’s the problem?”
“Seriously? I told you there’s nothing.”
“Nah, cut that bullshit. You haven’t talked to me or properly touched me all week. I’m trying my fucking best.”
“I know. This isn’t what it’s about,” you defend, shaking your head, getting to your feet, “but about that insane little stunt out there.”
And the fact that he’s been driving you crazy. The week’s distress mixed with whatever he made you feel yesterday; today’s insanity further adding to it.
When he doesn’t speak, you sigh, waving it off, and opt to walk away. But all in vain.
You make it two steps away from the couch before he flashes up, too; filmesque, you gasp at the strong grip around your elbow, getting a tiny second to process the situation before he’s twirled you around.
He probably didn’t intend it, but you nearly clash against him, stupidly losing your balance and stumbling over his and your own feet. You put a hand to your temples, fearing the worst — what if you fall and clash against the corner of your glass table?
But no. In slow motion, he keeps you in his firm hold, preventing the fall, but still letting you gently drop onto the fluffy, white carpet. Your investment. You’re happy about it now because it caught you the way the wooden floor wouldn’t.
Your movements towards the grounds are slow — or at least that’s what they feel like. But when he appears above you, pinning your wrists to the carpet hard, he’s breathless; and you think that maybe the fall didn’t happen as slowly after all.
“Okay,” he says through gritted teeth. From down here, his jaw looks as sharp as a ship’s deck, the Adam’s apple bobbing when he challenges, “You’re gonna fucking tell me what’s going on.”
Oh. He’s mad.
His eyes are burning, jaw flexed. Defined chest rising in anger.
There’s nothing going on. At least nothing that warrants another fight.
But you don’t tell him that just yet. Instead, all your perplexed mind and tongue manage is, “What?”
“I forgave you. We were both shitty that day, you know? But I still did forgive you, and you’re still being like that.” His knuckles must be paling, because his grip is iron hard. “Why?”
“I—”
“I’ll apologise if that’s what you want. I did, actually. I’m sorry, okay? There. But this is just,” fingers squeeze your wrists, and you hiss, “ridiculous.”
Your following grimace, lips twitching, eyes squinting, go through to him immediately. The hold doesn’t hurt or bother you too much, but the leg between your knees does. Jungkook wouldn’t wound you; he knows his limits.
But perhaps he thinks he’s going overboard when he loosens his fingers, pressing his palms against your skin, rubbing to soothe the missing pain.
He doesn’t quite move away, though, still stubborn when you assure once again, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”
“So you keep saying.”
“I’m not,” you tell him, heart racing at the proximity. You close your legs around his knee, irritated by the barrier. “I promise.”
He doesn’t give your gesture much attention just yet; doesn’t know that his body over yours is exactly what you’ve been craving. But he does understand the sincerity in your voice. Finally.
When he moves closer, pupils melting to fluid gems, you let out an intentional, teeny tiny moan that you’re sure he confuses for a relieved sigh. He moves his palms onto the carpet, caging you in; you keep your wrists where they are, but dig your nails into your skin.
You want to kiss him so badly. You miss him so much.
“Then tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he demands again, quieter and softer this time.
“I don’t know.”
With the fury evaporating bit by bit, his eyes look bigger and rounder again. The desperation of the week gathers in them and his expression, shooting all the way down to his tongue; and when he whispers to you next, your heart collapses, “Please?”
He’s sweet… so utterly oblivious to your true thoughts.
But you couldn’t feel more embarrassed about the pictures you’ve been painting and the words ghosting in that mind of yours. He’d do all of it, no questions asked. But… fuck.
“This is so dumb,” you answer, fingertips dragging down the carpet and then up to his waist, “like… you’ll laugh.”
The touch encourages him. His arms are shaking now, holding him up in this position for too long, and the wandering fingers along his sides and chest must weaken him like his lines affect you.
“That’s a good thing,” he answers, closer than ever when he balances his weight on his arms now, forearms touching the carpet. “I’d rather laugh than fight.”
But the closeness remains for mere seconds before he pulls back again, sitting up with a groan. Hands on his thighs, he lets himself fall on bended knees. He watches your still helpless body on the floor until you work on getting off the carpet, letting him pull you up when he offers a hand.
You ruffle through your hair, legs folding. Your pout is more directed towards yourself than anyone else; you totally realise you didn’t need to confuse him the way you did. Stupid period.
“Listen, I just…” you start, scraping your scalp.
His knees bump against your legs when he drifts closer; there’s something about the two of you sitting on your living room carpet like this.
“It’s just that I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”
And that’s it. That’s literally it.
He halts. His hand was moving up, probably to touch your face, your hair, anything soft to ease the mood. But he cancels the tender gesture, fingers falling back to his knee when he absorbs your words.
Silences with cocked eyebrows. Processes the way you lick your lips and look away, tugging at his wide shirt. And then, once he’s understood, he tsks. Chuckles.
And you, immediately on guard, push lightly against his shoulder, unsurprised when he doesn’t buckle, and defend, “Told you you’d laugh!”
“No, but,” he says, sweet crinkles around his eyes, head tilting and bunny teeth giving way to the prettiest smile in existence, “what are you talking about, hm?”
He knows. If only his feigned innocence was as sweet as his grin, too.
Still, you opt to clarify, “That thing you did yesterday.”
“What thing?”
Ugh.
“The whole modelling thing!” you exclaim, raising your hands. His beam reaches up to his eyes; his occasional giggles are killing you. “Stop. Do you have any clue what you looked like?”
He has the audacity to shrug. “They let me see the pics on their cameras. They’ll come out well.”
“Well? Dude, you looked…”
“What?”
“Dangerous. Like you could eat me up.”
Eat me up might be accurate. It’s the description floating through your little mind since yesterday.
“Ah,” he says, nodding smugly. You know he’s about to tease you. Because— “You specifically, yeah? I was just doing what they told me to.”
“What, is me specifically wrong? Anyone else you’d wanna eat up or—”
“You’re really fixating on that, huh?” Jungkook snickers. His tongue pokes the inside of his right cheek in a brief pause, and then he adds, “You’ve got a point. Didn’t think it’d affect you, though.”
Slowly, but surely, he seems to grasp his own power over you. You think he’s reminiscing about yesterday’s chaos and confidence; maybe even viewing it all from your point of view.
Because his smirk, albeit subtle, is sly when he asks, “What was it like?”
“I…” You click your tongue. “You’ll take me apart if I tell you.”
“Why so?”
“Because.” A beat of silence. You swallow to wet your throat. Then. “I’d ask you to.”
“Ah…” Another understanding nod, as though you’re lecturing him on NASA’s rocket science and he’s finally grasping its meaning. “Yeah?”
“I saw you from afar,” you point into a direction arbitrarily, as if he’s still several feet from you and not mere inches, “and I wanted to,” you inhale when a finger reaches out, straight to a vein in your neck, gentle, exploring, “let you do anything with me that you wanted to.”
“Ohh.” His palm covers your neck, as if he’s coddling you. But you know what that touch will morph into, so you sneak closer to him, lean forwards. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
“…Right.”
His thumb moves up and rubs under your jaw, then up your face and to your lower lip. The touch is soft and careful, as though gauging your reaction and searching for permission.
Your shaky, little exhale is nearly unnoticeable, but you know he catches it, and you know he already sees the consent in your eyes. But he still doesn’t lean in. Moves his eyes across your face, to his hand, to your neck and then all the way back to your gaze.
And then, contrasting the loving movements and affectionate gesture, he smiles. Mischief spreads in his stare, and his fingers retreat to the back of your neck, pulling you closer by a miniscule inch.
“So that’s what it was all this time? You’re on your knees for me, is that it?”
“Babe…” You look down, daring a joke. “Quite literally.”
You shuffle in your spot when he laughs quietly, hooking your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. You emphasise, “I mean it. Just… If you must know? I would’ve been okay with handing you all the control, okay? All of it.”
You’re aware you’re acting as though he doesn’t wreck your shit every other time, too. In fact, that’s probably how the two of you started out.
His absolute craze at the frat party, drunk. College nights when you’d confront him about your bullshit — weak excuses to make him press you against his dorm walls. A hand clapped over your mouth, your ass out, dick buried inside until you felt him in your guts—
You’ve always been at his mercy — but you want him to split you in half this time.
“You would’ve?” he repeats. “And now? Still want that?”
You look down again. There’s no shyness in that movement, no averting his beastly eyes — your focus lies elsewhere because you have a theory. Which proves true.
The swelling under his joggers, right there between his legs wasn’t there before.
So you gather your voice, and say, “…Yes.”
“Hmm. Why didn’t you tell me?” His fingernails dig lightly into your skin, and right in the middle of the tension, he pouts for a little moment. “I genuinely thought you were still pissed.”
“I was on my period…” You shrug your shoulders. “It was also late. I was so tired, and—”
He waits.
“I knew that you’d do it if I asked for it.”
“I would’ve.” What’s worse? The confirmation or the tickling breath against your cheek? When did he get so close? “I still would. If you want me to.”
“I just said yes,” you tug at the shirt, eliciting an amused grin as the tips of your noses collide, “you’ll keep asking and,” your heart beats at a million miles a minute, “just not kiss me, is that it?”
Your provocation proves effective just the right amount.
Because he opens his mouth, seemingly snarling — you can’t tell for sure, since his lips clash against yours within half a moment. Determined as his hand immediately flashes to the small of your back, supporting you before you fall backwards on the carpet.
And then he kisses you like a man starved. Like he’s run out of saliva, dehydrated. Seeks your tongue, tastes like earthy Matcha Latte and something you can’t quite define — something that’s so uniquely him.
Your kiss muffles his tiny sound, a mixture of a sigh and a moan, body impatient as he tries to push closer to you, though separated by your clashing knees. You understand — you, too, would let him smother you under his weight if you could.
So you pull your folded legs apart, shifting until they surround him and attempting to straddle him. But he’s plotting something else: his fingers hold your jaw, keeping you in place, and the hot, wet kiss breaks when he pulls away.
You catch a brief glimpse of glistening lips before he moves to trail down your body, leaning in to teeth at your shirt, pushing it off your shoulder and kissing your skin for a fleeting second. And when the shirt shifts back into position, his other hand works on your tits.
Grabs your shirt at its hem, lifting it over your mounds until they’re free, nipples perked, home to him. In a haze, the tip of his tongue touches the right nub, and you shiver.
More so when he whispers, “Am so hard for you, I’ll fucking combust.”
For you.
You’ll repent for how badly you want him in your mouth.
You caress his thigh, sneaking up until you reach the swelling under the fabric. You feel it immediately, firm as a rock, big and fat, so sensitive that he hisses once you touch it.
“No,” he commands, the word barely a breath, “no, no. Don’t or I’ll come like this.”
He says it against your neck. Warm and tickling. You feel goosebumps arise, your reactions slow, but your heart fast. His fingers engulf your wrist, leading your palm to his cheek; you feel the smileless dimple under your thumb when he darts out his tongue to wet his lips.
Then, you close your eyes; the pecks against your neck are exhilarating. The moving touch, down to your tits and then back up to your jaw is one of his favourite games; you move your hips against the carpet, soaked panties sticking against your pussy.
“You’re…” you start, fingers in his fluffy hair as he bites your nipple. You moan, your words shaky, “You’re— more into this today.”
“I mean… after everything you just said to me?” He chuckles, moving up, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth brushes yours.
“And I missed her.” Free hand between your thighs, he taps just over your clit; your lips part. “Too crude to say I can’t wait for her to swallow my cock?”
Well. Fuck.
If it wasn’t him, you’d cringe. But it is him, and the truth is that you’re dying for him to press himself onto you. To wrap himself around you, to wrap yourself around him.
You want him to cut you in half, want to be his little toy until you can barely stand.
“Maybe,” you tell him, “but I promise that she wants it, too.”
That’s it, that’s it.
It’s when teeth meet again, the kiss messy, your arms around his neck. He holds you by your waist, pulling you off the floor a little, readjusting his position, so you can climb onto him.
You tilt your head as far as you can, taking him in, drooling, lips and tongue moving wildly to taste all of him. His digits wander from your back to your ass, pushing between your cheeks and pressing against your clenching hole.
The gesture is short lived, but enough for you to rub against him. The urge to rip your panties and part your folds over his girth is profuse; to dampen his length and empty his balls just like this.
But he clenches his jaw, groaning. Halts your movement with a strong grip before pulling at your hair without breaking the kiss. You move your fingers up and down his arm, and then dash it upwards to bury them in his locks, too.
Only, instead of reaching his mane, your hand hits the glass table on your left; you grunt into the kiss and then move away to exclaim, “Ah, fuck.”
Jungkook must’ve heard the sound because he catches on right away, laughing. Gently, he pushes you off his lap, gets back on his knees and then up. He pulls you with him as he says, “Alright. Get on the couch before you hurt yourself.”
“Couch?”
You’re surprised; not the bed this time, is it?
Then again — Jungkook isn’t necessarily picky when it comes to this; cue flashback to bathroom adventures.
So you still listen. Wobbly legs drag you to the sofa, plumping onto it as you watch him follow. The bulge is huge, hotter than hellfire when he palms it and lets go again.
“Too damn lazy to get to the bedroom,” he declares before dropping back on his knees.
You thought he’d climb over you, push you back across the length of the couch. But instead, he seems satisfied with your helpless position, pushing back the carpet and table some to take a seat right in front of you.
You admire his patience — the outline of his cock presses against its confines. Does it not hurt? His expression doesn’t reveal any discomfort as he adjusts against the hard floor; the carpet barely provides any relief.
But the discomfort doesn’t redirect his focus, his touch heading towards you, urging you to remove your joggers at turtle’s pace. He throws them over his shoulder and onto the table, one leg of them dangling off of it.
Left in your panties, you watch his hands curl under your knees, freeing his way to where you want to ache. Lifts your legs, places them on his shoulders carefully, amused and delighted when your bent limbs drag him closer to your cunt.
His tenacious tongue peeks between his teeth, and he fondles your thighs before he reaches the hem of your panties. They bug him — separate your heat from his mouth; in this moment, a crime to him.
“Help me here real quick,” he whispers, and you raise your ass, letting him drag the underwear off of you.
It sticks to your pussy for a second, obscenely flooded with your gradually building arousal. You think he sees, because he halts for a second, eyes flitting up to you before he says, “I think this’ll be fun.”
“You promise?”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
Well…
You shrug your shoulders, but smile tellingly, eliciting a smirk that decorates his gorgeous face, closing in bit by bit. The cool air evaporates the nearer he draws, replaced by his hot breath.
And then… just to test…
He darts out his tongue, the sharp tip of it tickling your clit. Your reaction, much desired, stirs a new type of appetite in him. Because your chin trembles just once, just for a moment. Lashes flutter, and his heart skips a beat.
As he inhales, but never exhales, you question, “What?”
“Nothing,” he assures, blowing against your sex, “just. So very pretty.”
You look down at him. His shoulders look broader from here. Muscular, hair dark and silky. His lips are colourful, handsome, nose ready to bury in your pelvis. If he thinks you’re pretty, then he’s the definition of true aesthetic.
Slowly, you reach for his hair, brushing through it before you bring his head closer to you, hinting at the obvious, and say, “And you.”
“Not like you, though…”
He waits, allowing the both of you a moment of preparation.
And then… he’s kissing your pussy. Lightly at first, up and down, a hand on your inner thigh that moves closer and closer to your folds.
He sighs once before a digit parts your nether lips sticking together, and then licks a stripe between them. You whine quietly; his eyes close. He’s beautiful like this; in a minute, he’ll look at you again, mouth swollen, and you’ll wish for his touch to last and last and last…
“Please,” you only whisper, but he doesn’t answer.
Instead, his sweet kisses turn into something more. Way more wetness, way more tongue. And before you know it, he’s splitting your legs wider, pushing in to start devouring you.
Your moans are intoxicating. They’re sudden, but not surprising, voiced against the ceiling when your head falls back. The heels of your feet dig into his back, pushing him closer when his knees are already touching the couch.
The movements of his mouth are warm, a waterfall. He eats you out until he’s slurping, drenching you further. He’ll slide in effortlessly, you already know. Will bury every single inch of himself inside you, fill you up for the rest of the day.
And your high — it builds up embarrassingly fast. Perhaps because it’s been a while; or maybe because it’s Jeon Jungkook you’re dealing with. Either way, your lower stomach aches, the knot pressing against your guts.
“Kookie,” you murmur, yet again left without an answer.
He knows not to break his focus this time; knows that you’re close, recognises it in your grip around the patch of his hair. Hears it in your desperate whimpers, louder by the second. Words more unintelligible now.
Your thigh is twitching every now and then, quivering, and he takes it as a sign to keep sucking and swirling. Then flicks his wet muscle over your engorged clit, adding to your exclaims when his nimble fingers glide into you swiftly.
Too swiftly. Two of them are barely enough; and he adds a third. Your cheeks heat up, body sliding down — partly because you’re dying inside, partly because he’s pulling you towards him.
Jungkook knows how to navigate your body, how to direct you towards a rationality-breaking explosion. And he does. He does with the plethora of lustful licks, softly circling around your clit. His nose presses against it every time he shifts downwards, tasting you thoroughly.
“I’m almost—” you voice, and he hums, vibrations torture.
It’s a game to him that he’s skilled at; he understands his moves, and he never loses. Neither today as he clamps his hand onto your waist, fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and digging, massaging your favourite spot.
They turn and twist, two fingers of his free hand settling around your clit and raising it for better access.
It takes probably half a minute longer… and then… then…
Your voice grows in pitch, nearly illegal for a Sunday afternoon, but music to his ears. So genuine and sweet. Corners of your eyes glistening. He holds your legs apart as you start begging, but all he truly makes out is the eager repetition of his name.
He wishes your shirt didn’t cover your upper body; wishes he could see the heaving of your chest, the perked nipples, the sweat on your clavicles.
But for now, this is enough.
The way he sees waves of pleasure wash over you, eyes rolled back, not looking at him anymore. Your lips are dry, your tongue probably, too, and he wants to kiss it wet again.
You moan and wince and keen, body restless. The tug of his hair becomes more prominent and palpable, but the sensation makes him smile. You’re probably barely noticing, too.
That is, until your hold and breathing finally calm down. You keep riding the wave, your head turning in odd circle-ish shapes. He kisses your pussy, helping you through it, only stopping when you open your eyes.
“Well, that was…” he says, lips as swollen as you anticipated, shimmering, “a good start.”
“Every single time,” you begin, panting, shaking your head. You watch him as he gets on his feet, moving in to your mouth. “Every single time I think it can’t get better, and then I remember it’s just the fucking beginning.”
He shifts to you slowly, grazing your lips, and declares with a soft smile, “More to come, I promise. Gonna have so much fun with you.”
“Do your worst—”
One more kiss. Shorter this time, but you recognise the familiar, lingering taste immediately. Neutral, not too bad. Fills you with pride, because he never fails to guarantee that he loves it.
But you can’t wallow in it because he retreats quickly, impatient hands freeing his golden body from his clothes. The shirt falls somewhere next to the carpet, his own joggers soon discarded, landing on top of yours and sliding to the ground together.
He’s a menace when he climbs onto the couch, knees digging in and creating a shift on each side of your body. His bulge, still hidden behind his boxers, floats in front of your face; from this close, you see the droplet of precum darken a spot of the light purple cotton.
“Next stage?” he wonders above you, stroking your hair gently, as if he’s not about to explore the back of your throat. “Want or do I rather not?”
“What do you mean with not?” Your breathing is heavy as you lift your palm and engulf the imprint of his dick. He flinches, hips moving back a bit before they come back. “Get this shit off.”
He chuckles. Brings his hand to your cheek, thumb caressing it and voice clear when he says, “You’re so cute. Being demanding and all.”
But he still listens. Gets off the couch, slides his underwear off, leaves you gaping.
Gaping at the hooked and girthy tower. Gaping at how the slit on top of his head glimmers. Gaping at the moles along the stiff length, staring at the thick veins, at the full, firm balls.
“Tongue out,” he orders; you do.
The ink-free hand pushes his dick down to you, tapping it against your tongue as you open up wide. He feels heavy, hot, the skin smooth. Your head moves forward to swallow more, but he pulls back.
Strokes himself for a couple seconds, thumb spreading the precum over his head. You drool. Watch attentively, as though you’re learning — until he eventually guides it back to you and positions it into your still gaping mouth.
Enters it slowly. Slightly salty. Then says, “Breathe. And don’t overthink it too much.”
Huh.
Well. Damn.
Because…
At times, you do worry about your expressions; about your tears when you gag around him, the coughing fits you get in the middle of it all. So that’s a surprise. Attentive. 
But your mind is blank today anyway; so you nod, moving to lick the underside of the tip, and he laughs, mumbling, “Alright. Have it, babe.”
And you do.
Slowly at first, cautious as you twirl your tongue around him. You don’t notice much discomfort just yet, thankful that he’s easing you into this. A third of his length buried inside, you close your lips around him and hollow your cheeks.
Which is probably when the invisible threads holding him back finally break.
“Okay,” he says, “you got this.”
His knees move in, more inches intruding. His fingers drift to the back of your head, and you dig yours in his brawny thighs. He grows harder in your mouth, impossibly bigger the more you drag your lips along his member.
How gratifying. You’ve craved this for hours and days. What was your argument about again?
Your head drops further back when he shoves himself inside, more and more as time passes. You imitate his prior advances — hum and close your eyes. Bring a hand to the base of his cock, pumping all that you won’t be choking around.
When you gaze up at him to analyse his reactions, he leaves your mind vacant. Because his head is raised, like yours, jawline edged and acute. Mouth open until he meets your eyes.
You hope he’s seeing something just as lascivious and mind-numbing from his perspective. Maybe messy hair, laying against the softness of your shirt. Or a cock appearing out of and disappearing behind pretty lips.
Slowly blinking eyes that shut just as slowly again, and a tongue that falls out and licks along a vein whenever your head moves to the side. Allowing you a couple deep breaths.
He must be perceiving it all, too.
Because a moment later, he gnarls, like a wild animal, and states, “This won’t do—”
—Before putting both hands under your ears, holding your head and…
Ramming his cock into your mouth.
You gasp around him, taken aback and delighted at once. Feel the effect between your legs, hoping to not defile the couch too much.
Head still thrown back, falling further, you already feel the ache in the back of your neck. Your attempts of holding onto the couch prove futile because there is nothing to hold onto, armrests too far away; so you return to his thighs.
But he keeps your body steady, held at the spot between his legs. Your head is a different story: it bounces back and forth, the exhales through your nose frantic as he pounds into your throat before he slows down again.
“Good, gooood,” he drags out, observing the glistening veins as he draws back to his tip and then moves in again. “Doing very, very well. Looks so gorgeous, baby.”
You don’t know what he’s talking about — about you, his cock, the position. Everything? 
He keeps up the gentler pace, allowing you a break. Allowing himself the pleasure of this very image. Pretty lips surrounding a pretty dick.
And perhaps your desperate, little moans, accompanied by rapid blinking, set a fuse loose in his brain.
Because a moment later, Jungkook dares a step further — cock already stuffing your entire mouth, he pushes in more. The fat monstrosity reaches far, your gag reflex not as much at bay anymore as before.
The view seems to spur him on, though, and you can imagine why. If you were him, you’d probably enjoy the drooling mess under him, too. Salivating all over his dick, you feel the gross drop of your spit land on your clavicle, throat constricting as he thrusts in.
And just when you’re about to tap his thighs — very reluctantly, too — to catch your breath, he pulls back, fingers immediately digging into your cheeks to straighten your neck and head. You cough, eyes teary, your breathing quick and uncontrolled.
Like a toy, he moves your head to the left, to the right, a sly smirk playing around his lips until he moves down to you, back arched. Amidst your panting, he presses a brief kiss to your mouth, slippery against the dampness.
And then he says, as casually as he shouldn’t, “You’d look so beautiful in leashes.”
“…What?”
But he ignores your mumbled inquiry, instead thumbing at your lower lip. His dark eyes flit from one facial feature to another, pink lip caught between his teeth. The firm chest rises dangerously when he breathes in.
“Should I come in your mouth?” he asks as if you’d ever say no; as if you don’t know that he’s asking because he won’t. “Huh? Shoot it all the way down your throat?”
“Do it, fucking coward.”
…And just like that, he moves back.
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tumblr is cruel and the 1k block limit in the new editor won't let me post the entire thing at once lol so here's the rest in a reblog!!! <3
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back2bluesidex · 7 months
Text
Bad Idea - JJK (18+)
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Pairing: Jungkook X Fem!Reader
Theme: PWP, SMUT, Fluff, established relationship au
Wordcount: 1.4k+
Summary: Accepting Jungkook's invitation to watch him train topless was such a bad idea.
Warnings: Rough sex, sex on a bathroom counter, doggy style, Jungkook is jealous, name calling, little bit of degrading, Jungkook cums on her ass, reader is kinky about Jungkook's back, unprotected sex (wrap it up). NSFW!!
Minors are not allowed in this blog!!
A/N: Sorry but I couldn't help.
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It was a bad idea. 
Accepting Jungkook’s invitation to watch him train was a bad, actually very bad, idea. Because now you are having to clench your thighs tightly thinking of the feeling that you might feel by raking your nails through Jungkook’s toned, thick, manly back. 
You adjust your position in the seat a bit, rubbing your core on the leather of the seat cover in the process. 
This is just pathetic. 
Rubbing yourself off (with the help of inanimate objects) while watching your own boyfriend and being unable to do anything about it, is just so pathetic. 
You gulp your own drool each time Jungkook’s muscles flex. Fuck. This is getting unbearable. 
“He’s sexy, isn’t he?” One of Jungkook’s trainers comes out of nowhere and takes the seat beside you. 
“I - What? Excuse me?” You don’t know what to reply, especially when he is complimenting your boyfriend, who is indeed very sexy. 
“I said Jungkook is sexy.” He smirks at you. 
“Oh yeah. That he is.” You turn your face towards your boyfriend again. He still has his back turned towards you. But your eyes met his, through the mirror. 
“That’s why he has such a sexy girlfriend all for himself.” the man chuckles in a low voice. 
What the fuck. Who is he after? You or Jungkook?
“Who are you after Mister? Me or him?” You raise one of your eyebrows at him. 
“Maybe both of you?” he replies nonchalantly. 
“What-” you start to speak but get cut off instantly. 
“Hey babe. Could you please help me a little?” Jungkook stands right in front of you with his sweaty half naked body glistening under the white light of the gym. 
You smile up at him understanding that he is here for your rescue. But fuck. You probably thought too soon cause his eyes are darker and there is a tick in his jaw. 
You gulp again. 
“Sure. Tell me what can I do?” you mutter, standing up from the seat. 
“Follow me.” he says with a voice a few octaves lower than his usual one. 
So you do what fits best for you. You follow him. 
“Can you take one of the damp towels and wipe my back?” Jungkook should be requesting you but the tension in his voice makes the sentence sound more like an order. 
You take the said object and walk towards the restroom counter where he is leaning forward to give you a good access to his back. 
“What’s wrong? Why do you sound so mad?” You whisper, wiping a strip of his back. 
That fucking back again. Your thighs rub against each other without you noticing. 
“He was flirting with you.” Your boyfriend growls. 
“He was complimenting you. Umm… actually both of us.” You keep on wiping the sweat off of his back. 
“What did he say?” Jungkook asks, his eyes meet you through the mirror again. 
“He said both of us are sexy and he is after both of us.” you gulp, yet again. 
Before you can register what is happening, Jungkook spins on his heels, holds you by your waist and interchanges your positions. So now you are pressed against the bathroom counter and his body is towering yours. 
“He has been eyeing you since the moment you walked in. That fucker thinks I have not noiticed. I gotta tell him who you belong to.” His right hand travels south and grabs your ass harshly. You wince a little at the impact. 
“He has been eyeing you too.” you murmur. 
He smirks, “Mark me then. Tell him that I am only yours.” 
The offer is tempting indeed and you can’t help but fantasize about scratching that back of his. So you quit waiting and crash your lips on his. 
Jungkook kisses you back immediately. He sucks your lips so hard that you fear they might bruise afterwards. His tongue pokes inside your mouth in order to taste you more deeply. 
Granting him access, you warp your hands around his midsection. 
His back is so toned, yet so soft that your nails dig into it in their own accord. 
Jungkook groans into your mouth clearly being satisfied with your scratches. 
He detaches his mouth from yours, a string of saliva connects two of you now. “You think I didn’t see you trying to rub that cunt on the seat? Huh? You dirty little girl.” 
“Not my fault when you have 90% of your body on display like that.” you fight back. 
Jungkook chuckles, “Then why don’t you take the rest of the 10% too? Hmm?” 
His hand leaves your ass and reaches for your exposed inner thigh. It dives down into your skirt without any warning and heads for your clit. 
Jungkook hisses, finding you very wet already. He rubs your clit through the thin material of your panties, arousing you even more. You tilt your head back in pleasure and Jungkook takes the chance to paint bruises all over your neck and collarbone. 
You moan his name as he bits down on the crook of your neck. His fingers slide through the seam of your panties and poke into your entrance. 
You roll your hip to reach out for his teasing fingers and hit his growing bulge with your upper belly in the process. 
“Fuck, Y/N” Jungkook groans “I need to be inside you.” 
You nod somehow, “me too. Fuck. I need you too.” 
“Turn around for me.” he commands and you comply without wasting any time. 
Jungkook pushes your face down on the counter by placing a hand on your neck and holds your waist to still you with another. Once he is satisfied with your position, he hooks two of his fingers on the waistband on your panties and pulls that down. The article of cloth pools down on your ankes and you kick that off readily. 
He hikes your skirt, exposing your ass. 
“God, I love this booty.” A slap lands on your right asscheek without any warning. 
“Ahhh fuck-” You wince in pain mixed pleasure. Jungkook parts your legs and spreads them open. His tattooed arm rests on your ass and the other one tugs his shorts and boxers down revealing his erection. 
Oh how you wish you could see Jungkook right now but the way you are positioned, makes it impossible even to take a look through the bathroom mirror. 
Jungkook pumps his length once and then pushes the head of his cock into your slit. The tip brushes through your clit making you moan several incoherent words. 
“Are you ready to take me in, babygirl?” he asks, rubbing your clit with his tip once more. You nod urgently. 
He collects some of your slick on his tip before pushing his length into your hot, wet core. Once he is midway in there, he pulls his cock back out and slams it all in one go. 
Your body jerks up with the sheer force he has put into his action. 
“Can I move now?” Jungkook whispers into your ear, reaching down to your face and placing a kiss on your temple. 
“Y-yes pl-please.” you manage to reply. 
Jungkook starts moving slowly but he soon takes up an erratic pace. His pelvic area slams into your ass with each thrust he forces into you. 
“Fuck f-fuck Jungkoo- feels s-so good.” you drool on the counter. 
“Yeah? My cock feels good? That’s why you suck it so well, you dirty bitch?” Jungkook’s hoarse voice only adds up to your pleasure by tenfold. And naturally, you feel yourself getting close.
“Gonna c-cum.” you announce. 
“Cum on my cock pretty girl.” Jungkook’s fingers find your clit as he starts rubbing figure eight vigorously. 
“Fuck fuck fuck” and with that you cum on his cock. 
Your legs feel like jelly, you know they might give out at any second. Probably jungkook knows that too, hence, he wraps his tattooed arm around your waist and fucks you into overstimulation. 
Once his thrusts loose rhythm, you feel him twitching inside you. 
“Fuck. We are not using condoms.” Jungkook groans. He pulls is cock out of your hole, jerks it once and cums all over your ass. 
His thick whiteness drips down your ass and thigh. Some spills on the floor, some drops down on your snickers and some gets soaked by your socks. 
Jungkook cleans up both of you, tugs himself back into his boxers and shorts and then helps you in getting into your underwear like the good boyfriend that he is. 
“Let’s go home.” He pulls you into his embrace and kisses the top of your head. 
“Yeah but you will have to carry me ‘cause I don’t think I can walk.” both of you chuckle heading for the door.
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