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hoseoksluna · 3 months

Text

BANANA MILK | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader

genre: smut, a tiny bit of angst

word count: 5.6k

summary: when a porn video accidentally plays on his tv, jungkook makes sure you watch.

playlist: banana milk / pinterest board: wine

warnings: forced and consensual porn watching, crotch grinding, dom/sub dynamics, plenty of desperation, praise and degradation, reader has daddy issues (like the writer,) oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, biting, pet names and a particular title used, handjob, plushie used during intercourse, spanking, raw sex, squirting, size kink, multiple orgasms, cockwarming

note: this can be read as a standalone, however it's a part two of my fic 'wine'. you guys asked for it and i delivered. <3 i wrote this entire fucking thing in a trace and on my phone, and i still don't understand how i managed to do that. even though i struggled in the beginning, i enjoyed writing this as soon as i got into it. there will be a part three as well—from jungkook's pov. so as you read, look forward to it next sunday. let me know what you think in the comments, don't be shy! mwah ᡣ𐭩

Following the shapes of the sunlight on the parquet floors, your small feet are warm. The clicking of fingers on a sleek keyboard takes you, momentarily, into a hazy frame of mind. You feel as though you’re in a novel yourself, and the sound is a mere announcement that your steps, calculated in depth—thought through, plotted, and cared for—are counted by the man a few feet away from you, the writer, the long lost poet. Counted patiently throughout the rising action until they reach, at last, the climax. The notion unfolds within you, unfurls little by little in a way that you like, for it makes you feel exceptionally alive and poetic. It casts a languorous smile upon your shimmery face. Perhaps it’s due to the double meaning because you’re here for a reason. Or perhaps you owe that smile to the easy joy blooming in your chest, one that was sown hardly an hour ago.

You were in a bookstore, skimming through a paperback that enveloped you in blue dreaminess. The language you had the honor to graze with the pad of your finger was flowery in a way that stirred something within you—something that is noticeably sprouting to life. The furniture of the room was dark and antique under the yellow dimmed light, very much like the one you have at home. It was so you, a true personification of your whole being that made it quite difficult to leave, even though you had something to look forward to.

You were convinced it was your home.

A home that you came around to for the first time in your life—how strange.

You bought the book. It had to be yours, and you had to have a keepsake, a direct link to your hideaway. You set it by the wall next to your shoes and your purse with a pink photocard holder, pulling out a certain bottle of happiness that you brought along for your friend.

The sunlight strips take you straight to him, your feet—kissed by the sun—padding softly on the floor; the third step of the rising action. Jungkook sits slumped on his coffee brown couch with his laptop propped on his lap. His shoulders, clad in a denim sweatshirt, hunch in ever persistent concentration, a Word document opened and being swiftly filled with Hangul. Persistent enough that he doesn’t twist his head to greet you. He knows you’re there. Heard the sweet sing-song beep of his passcode being accepted, letting you in into his solitary life. Knows you didn’t forget it this time because he didn’t have to stand to his feet to open the door for you as he so often did in the past.

You wrap your arms around his neck from the back, tits squished against the nape from the low neckline you chose to wear for the day. It shreds his concentration to smithereens; you feel him inhale raggedly through his nose, fingers coming to a halt on the keyboard. You press your lips against his scarred cheek, not as plump as they usually are because they are still pulled taut into a smile, and whisper, “hi, Ggukie.”

He turns his head to face you from the side.

“Hi,” he breathes. There are peachy specks of glitter scattered all over your eyelids and you watch him study them, round eyes flicking between each one of them as if he can’t get enough of them—as if there are more for him to greet the more he looks.

And he’s right. There are.

His tender mien causes your heart to clench, overflow with a continual stream of endearment for him. You notice the mark of your guileless kiss on the apple of his cheek, the lip gloss pink and glimmering. Decide to leave it there. Decide it suits him well.

“Close your eyes,” he says, and you do.

He drifts the pad of his thumb along that delicate skin. Not to disturb the artwork, no. But to acquaint himself further with it. It’s been a long time since you wore glitter. It’s been equally as long since you were this happy—he senses it, the little iridescent stars tell him somehow. There’s so much of it that when he lifts the digit, the eye makeup stays intact, as if he hadn’t touched it at all. Jungkook flicks his eyes to the craftwork of his stained fingertip, the glitter, the stars nuzzling homely within the lines. Smiles as he mumbles, “pretty.”

You kiss him airily as a thank you. No hands, not anything. Just your lips puckering from the little distance between the pair of you. You retrieve the bottle of happiness from your back pocket and hold it against his hard chest.

Confusingly, with lips rounded, Jungkook looks down and gasps.

Banana milk.

“Come here.”

He hauls you down onto his lap like you weigh nothing, his laptop pushed away to the cold side of the couch. You squeal, pulling your hair as you lay against them and try to find a better position, discomfort painting your features in a way that makes Jungkook scrunch his nose adorably. He lifts your neck and gathers your hair, smoothing it down on the leather. You look up at him. The stars have migrated to your glossy eyes.

“Where’s yours?” he asks, hand placed on the crown of your head, the other clutching the chunky bottle protectively like a child.

“I already drank mine.”

Jungkook pierces the paper lid with the slim straw and takes a sip. Lowers it until it pokes you in the line of your lips. Nods at you, encouraging you to drink.

Your heart clenches again, and the thoughtful gesture makes it swell. It suddenly feels like your chest is very tight, like there’s no space for your organs. You massage the feeling away, wrapping your lips around the plastic, taking a few sips. No hands, not anything.

“You’re a sweet boy,” you whisper, a dollop of the creamy liquid adorning the oily pinkness of your lips.

A bright blush creeps along his cheeks, settling along the bridge of his nose as it ever so often does. Gazes down at you, then at your lips. Scrunches his nose again as he shakes his head, bending to peck you delicately, tongue swiping across your bottom lip, cleaning you up. His habit at this point.

“I’m a man.”

Your face grows hot. The imprint of your lip gloss stained his mouth and it worsens your state, deepens your dreaminess. You’re leaving small parts of your being as marks on him. You find that beautiful, in all its simplicity.

“Sweet and pretty,” you add in a hushed whisper, more to yourself than him.

Twinkles, akin to your glitter, flood his eyes and they deepen in thought. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and when he drifts the palm of his hand down your throat, curling around your collarbones, you realize he’s having flashbacks.

Wine. Neck. Tongue.

The cause and effect on your panties in mere seconds.

Your helplessness. The way you apologized for coming because you weren’t allowed.

Jungkook smirks and so do you. Lets his palm roam down to your tits, discovers only with the lift of his finger that you’re wearing a lacy blue bralette under your top.

“So easy to pull to the side,” he comments, more to himself than you. Doesn’t look at you when he begins to fondle them, transfixed by their fullness.

“That was my—”

“How was your day?” he cuts in, a breathy concoction of a hiss and a moan escaping his mouth once he feels your nipples stiffen under his hand. Index and thumb come and squeeze at that nub, coaxing a hum out of you.

Your brain degrades slowly but surely, metamorphosing into mush. You struggle with your memory, abruptly unable to remember where you were and what you did before you were half spread across his lap.

“Good,” you try. “Fantastic, actually.”

Jungkook smiles. Pinches your nipple again, fingers pressing flat and moving up and down. You moan out for him, writhing in a newly, softly burning desire.

“Really?”

“Yeah, went to the bookstore.”

Did you?

“Bought anything?”

His hand drifts back to your neck, never losing skin-to-skin contact, wraps around the column, then goes back down to your tit. This time, to your neglected one. Gives it the same attention.

You don’t remember if you bought anything.

Zoning out, you focus on the pleasure, fluttering your eyes closed. Figure this is just a meaningless talk that doesn’t require truthful answers or any for that matter. You widen your legs, calling out for his touch there. This is what you came here for. He doesn’t need to know about the itty-bitty parts of your soul.

Jungkook grabs your arm and pulls you up, guiding you to straddle him. You poke the banana milk, propped against the backrest, with your knee. Despite your now lustful haze, you’re careful not to knock it over.

A billow of the whole night lines his eyelashes, arousal blanketing his irises. You run your hand through his hair—can’t help yourself, you’re just obeying your body’s intimate wishes—and tip his head back, his soft strands sifting through your fingers. You draw near to his slightly parted mouth as if to kiss him, but you’re here just to tease him, to make him want more just like he did to you, hovering your lips above his. His slowly quickening inhales add much to your wooziness and you go to hide in the crook of his neck, but he stops you dead in your tracks when he says, “you came here to get fucked, didn’t you?”

Your laughter is but a breath. “How did you know?”

You kiss him there, incorporating your tongue, sucking the sensitive skin for a mere beat of time. And just like him, you discover why he likes kissing your neck as much as he does.

A film of goosebumps shrouds the small portion of the exposed skin of his chest that you’re allowed to see. Jungkook moans lowly, gripping your ass and pulling you closer to his semi-hard crotch, sinking lower into the cushion. Eager hands hook under the hem of your top and fling it out of you, latching onto the back of your neck and drawing you to his face.

He doesn’t kiss you.

He begins to talk.

“I waited for you all fucking day,” he murmurs against your lips, sucking in a breath of air as if there wasn’t enough in his lungs, as if voicing out his desire exerted his energy.

“All I could think about were those fucking tits,” he confesses. “Those hips of yours, so small in my hands. That pussy, fuck. I wanna eat it,” he groans, furrowing his eyebrows. “God, I wanna eat it.”

You nod to each and every word of his, grinding your pelvis against his, mewling into his mouth.

“You understand what I’m saying to you, don’t you?”

You nod again, your body begging you to be allowed to arch your back, but the grip Jungkook has on your neck prevents it from happening. The fire of desire burns bright, made bigger and blue by his spluttering sparks.

“‘Course you do, you’re my good little girl, aren’t you? Smart and educated,” he praises and your walls clench. “Let me eat your little pussy.”

“Please,” is all you manage to utter before he holds you steady by the waist and lays you down on the couch.

Your shoulder blade hits the remote control and a sudden echo of a girl’s moan booms through the room. Both of your heads swing to the TV to see a girl humping her teddy bear, barren down to her full femininity except for her panties. She plays with her nipples, pulling on them while flicking her hair back, hips rapidly moving back and forth on the nose of her big fluffy friend. Mesmerized and completely sobered up from your drunkenness, your clit gains a heartbeat, your teeth sinking into the bottom of your lip.

Jungkook hastily rummages around you to find the remote. You stop him.

“Leave it on.”

He blinks at you, mouth agape. You smile at him, thumb brushing along his knuckles as you take the remote from him and place it on the coffee table. The gesture smooths down the wrinkle between his brows. His blush deepens, the color of roses stunning you.

Undoing your jeans, he pulls down your zipper. “You want me to eat you out while you watch porn?”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

Jungkook sighs, sagging your pants down to the middle of your thighs. “Don’t call me sir or I’ll fuck you in the ass right here, right now.”

“Hurry, she’s almost done.”

He spanks you harshly and you squirm, quickly reminded of his need to be in control, but he listens to your need. Rewinds the video back. Slaps the remote back down onto the wood of the coffee table, which makes you burst into giggles and Jungkook smirks, folding you in half, dragging your panties to your jeans pooling above your knees. The center sticks to your core, causing him to growl, hand coming to wipe at the corners. The girl hops on the teddy bear. Moans fill your ears.

He kisses your clit. Pinches the back of his sweatshirt and hurls it at your head, obscuring your view. You huff in frustration, throwing it back at him, but he catches it. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“You should focus.”

“You going all in for me?” you ask, speaking of his nakedness.

Clothes come off on the verge of his climax, never before it; it’s so unlikely of him to discard himself so quickly. He usually keeps at least one item of clothing on, too hasty—too hungry to bother, until he can’t take the heat anymore.

“For you always.”

He dives into your pussy, tongue licking against your folds, nose pressed against your mound, inhaling you. Going up and down, he drinks you. Moans at the taste, eyes lidded and drunk as he stares at you through the little opening of your barely parted legs. You wish to spread them wider, the pleasure forces you to, but you can’t—the tight fabric won’t grant you the satisfaction.

“Take it off of me,” you whine.

He comes up for air. “No.”

You whine louder, fingers grasping at the waistband. Jungkook grabs your hands and pins them down to the cushion, thumbs resting in the middle of your palms. He doesn’t let a drop of you go to waste, sheathes his tongue into your warmth as he fucks you, nose rubbing against your engorged clit. You tip your head back, lose a sight of him for a moment, digits naturally wrapping around his thumbs like a baby. A litany of curse words, broken by your moans that sync to the girl’s sounds of pleasure, fall from your mouth. You don’t even look at her, too busy—too distracted by the man below you, by the way his open mouth works against you, his dimples hollowing into straight lines, so akin to the sunlight strips that led you to him, as he flicks his tongue against your clit.

You brush your fingers through his hair again, hold it at the roots through the small hole between your thighs. It provokes him enough that he looks up at you and finds you staring back at him. He growls against your cunt, a warning, the vibrations sending you back. Your eyes roll into your head and your hips follow, grinding into his glistening face.

Jungkook hums. Sticks around to see if you’re watching the porn, slowing down the pace of his flicks.

You’re not.

Coming down from that wave, your eyes set back down on him.

Jungkook peels his mouth off of you. Bends over you and grips your neck, pushing you down. The other hand spreads your slick all over your cunt, gliding back and forth. No pressure, not anything. Hearing your squelching noises, he mimics you. Also rolls his eyes back. Awakens the butterflies in your tummy.

“Focus,” he hisses.

You mewl. Ride his fingers to at least feel something, but you achieve nothing of the like.

He spanks your pussy, another warning.

You don’t listen. Can’t take your eyes off of him. Of the disheveled mess on top of his head, the sweat that pools at his hairline, the disarrange of his thick eyelashes from having his lids closed against your skin, the sheen of his nose, the wet puffiness of his lips, the kiss mark on his cheek. You take a deep breath.

It’s impossible to focus on someone else other than him. Especially when he licks his lips, the tip of his tongue sailing around the arc of his lips—the arc of your character development. Swallows the dewiness he called out like teacher to pupil.

You were a virgin when you met him. It was him who taught your body to get messy for him like this. His tongue that tasted your girlishness first. All your first times were with him and continue to be under his ever strict but safe supervision.

Under his custody in a way. You do call him Daddy after all.

“I missed your cuntie so much,” he husks, tightening his grip a tiny bit to emphasize the importance of his words. “But I can’t eat it if you don’t watch.”

His index finger turns your head to the side and his other hand travels down to your wet heat. The girl clutches her friend’s fur in her fist and fucks him slowly. With each roll of her hips upwards, you can see the shine of her slick adorning her folds. Jungkook sinks two digits inside. Can barely fit them in due to the way you clench around him. You fight his hold against your cheek, needing to look at him.

“Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he whispers. “My horny little baby.”

He keeps them there, at the beginning of your hole, pumping sluggishly. Doesn’t look at the girl. Didn’t do so ever since the video started playing. His eyes only drink in your reactions, the twist of your features, the little sounds and breaths that break out of your mouth, gracing his ears, making his cock hard.

It disturbs something within you. Stirs it to life. Kindles it radiantly, adjoining it to the fire of your desire. You know what it is, but you can’t bring yourself to accept it. It’s a feigned reality, one of a novel. Not the one that could ever be applied to your life, burst at the seam, engulf the radius until it absorbs you.

You’re not that lucky. You’re not lucky to have him in that way.

You’re lucky enough to have him physically connected to you once a week.

But emotionally?

Tears prick your waterline.

“I want your tongue on my clit,” you croak out, reckon it’s better that you listen to him, watch the girl make herself come, follow her footsteps and go home.

Distance is safe. Distance heals everything, particularly emotional attachments.

Jungkook ceases his slow movement. Lowers your legs down so they repose across his thighs. Strokes the tremble of your muscles, removing your jeans and your underwear. Keeps that dangly fabric hanging off of the edge of the coffee table. Caresses your face as he says, “Daddy wants that, too. So bad. But you gotta be my good little girl and watch it. Then Daddy will play with your little clit.”

“Okay.”

He settles back into his position between your legs, enfolds your thighs around his shoulders. Placing a tiny kiss on your pussy lips, the soft fleshiness of your thigh steals his attention. He begins to plant big, wet kisses there. Alternates between nibbles and those kisses, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t make out.

The girl’s furry friend is drenched in her wetness. You buckle your hips with need.

“I want to hear your apology,” he orders, lips pressed against your skin.

You look at him and mewl.

“Eyes on the TV.”

He bites you.

You hiss in pain. “I’m sorry.”

He kisses the pain he caused. “What for?”

“For watching you,” you whisper, a lump forms in your throat and is softened by the look of endearment he gives you. Doesn’t reprimand you for keeping your eyes on him.

He latches onto the voluptuous part between your hip and thigh, marks you there. “And why did you watch me?”

You bite your lip to cage the words you really want to say behind your teeth, but some of them slip out. “Because you’re beautiful. Too distracting.” Because you look at me, and not at her.

Jungkook hums. Kitten licks your clit to reward you, lips wrapping around the bundle to suck it. Makes a sound of satisfaction, eyes closing to drown in the feeling. Lets go with a pop. Does it again. Suck. Pop. Suck. Pop.

You moan. Near to the last step of your rising action. One more and you’ll reach your climax. You keep your eyes peeled on the girl, her screams guiding you to that sweet release.

“My good little girl. Making me weak. Making me drunk,” he mutters against your pussy, blowing cool air against your dewiness; you shiver and he laughs softly. “Come for me, baby. Please.”

He sucks your clit again, but manages the pressure. Makes sure it’s light, so you enjoy it as much as he does.

“Keep watching it. You’re doing such a good job. Keep those pretty eyes on the TV.”

A new texture rubbing against your pussy surprises you and a moany gasp escapes you. You look down to find his dear Hello Kitty plushie in his hand and the different, rough sensation tears the rope in your belly.

“That’s it. Ride her. Fuck yeah. Make a mess on her for me. Good, good girl.”

You gush out, your orgasm taking over your body. Trembling, squirming, you thrash your hands in search of something stable that would help you ground yourself. Jungkook doesn’t slow down his movement but he finds your hand, finds the other one too, and pins them above your head. Bends over you and watches you closely, watches those waves surging through your body until they still.

He kisses you, then.

“Such a good girl for me. Well done.”

You struggle to catch your breath.

And there’s no oxygen left in your lungs when Jungkook begins to rock his hips against his plushie, the button of her nose pressing deliciously against your sensitive bundle. Your moans come out in staccatos, dry and breathless. Little squeaks of pleasure that make him crazy. Eyebrows furrowed, stare dark and fixed.

“Fuck, Jungkook. Oh, fuck.”

He laughs and you expect to be degraded, having realized that both of you forgot, for the first time in months, to do so, but he rams into her and nudges his nose against yours. Dimples prominent, mouth stretched into a grin. A sight to die for.

“I could come like this, baby. But I want to feel you. Need your little pussy around me. Might go crazy if I don’t fuck you,” he says hastily, chucking the plushie away. “They might lock me up.”

You might have wanted to go home, but who are you to deny him when he’s this desperate for you.

Butterflies swarm in your belly. And you laugh.

“Fuck me, baby. Come on,” you say, the pet name on your tongue scorching your whole body.

Jungkook hums, palms his hardness as the outline of his cock makes you salivate. While you reach for Hello Kitty to hug her because you need something solid to hold onto, he pulls out his heavy length out of his sweatpants. Wanting him naked, your fingers push down the material and you uncover that he’s not wearing any underwear.

You curse under your breath, your pussy drooling for you.

His member slaps against his stomach and you hiss, your saliva collecting in your mouth at the sight. He grips himself, throws his head back. You focus on his red tip, on the evidence of his arousal agleam in the sudden shadows of the room. The video stopped playing; silence replaced it instead. You care very little for it, entranced by his manhood, by his defined abdomen, the hardness and roundness of his pecs and the small, singular mole right underneath. You find yourself longing to kiss it, swipe your tongue against it and you fulfill your body’s wishes.

You get on your knees. Hello Kitty falls in the middle of them. Jungkook curiously watches what you’re doing and when you do what you longed to do, he moans softly.

“Princess,” he sighs, moans again when you brush your fingertips against his nipple. “You make me feel so good.”

“Yeah?” you question, looking up at him, fingers tweaking his nipple and he vocally shows you how much he likes that.

His sounds of pleasure, the variety of pet names and praise makes you feel woozy all over again. Your pussy dampens the plush fabric, adding to the mess.

“Feel how hard you made me,” he whispers, guides your hand to his length, wrapping your fingers around his girth; you show him, too, how much you like that. “Spit on it.”

You don’t have to be told twice.

Spreading your liquid love all over him, you grip him tight beneath the mushroom to coax that delicious hiss you love hearing. You begin to move your hand from there, sliding his foreskin up and down. His groans are a panoply of pure beauty that you wish to own forever. You wish you could freeze time right now. Deem this is as close to paradise as you could ever get.

This is where you want to be, for all eternity.

You lick over his nipple and Jungkook sobs. Sounds just like you when he plays with you and it makes you sob just the same. You hold it in, though, think this is a time reserved for him only. Concentrate on flicking the nub to make him feel good, squeezing his tip. He deserves it.

“I’m gonna turn myself in,” Jungkook whines. “It’s your fault.” He kisses the top of your head. “You made me crazy.”

You laugh, quickening the pace of your hand that soon slows down when he sultrily orders, “hump her for me.”

“Fuck,” you let out, eyes wide and round as you look up at him. “You want me to ride her?”

A rumble of agreement passes through his lips. “Make Daddy proud.”

You withdraw but Jungkook clicks his tongue.

“Keep your hand where it belongs.”

Your jaw falls open.

He guides you back where he wants you, meanwhile you rearrange the plushie and sit down on her nose, cringing at the cold wetness you left there.

You rock your hips once. The dull pleasure numbs your senses, electrifies your body. Before you’re even aware of it, you hump her like your life depends on it. Your hair lifts and falls around you gracefully in spite of your pace, little strays sticking to your flushed face.

“Slow down, fuck,” Jungkook groans, placing his hands on your shoulders and wrist to stop you. “Slow, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You listen, even though it’s evident you don’t like it.

He chuckles. “Good job,” he praises. “Fix your face.”

You smile up at him, cracking into a gentle laughter. Out of breath, out of your mind.

“That’s it.”

He kisses your forehead. Reaches behind him and grabs the banana milk. Points the straw at your lips. You gulp it down loudly. Jungkook fixes your hair in the meantime.

Sitting down, he hauls you onto his lap. Your back presses against his chest, the tip of his shaft aiming at the middle of your belly. It scares you, how deep he can go and you turn your head to look at him with wide eyes.

He squeezes your tits, pulls the fabric to the side. Pinches both of your nipples at the same time before he kneads the flesh. Your roll your hips against his manhood, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

“You’re just too small, aren’t you?” he whispers against your cheek.

You meow a soft sound that confirms his words.

“Won’t even fit in you. Need to stretch out you for me,” he says, hands traveling down your stomach. “Can you even take two fingers?”

There it is, the degradation. But it’s so tender that you can’t even believe your own ears. You mewl again, finding it so hot that he talks to you like this, knowing you took three of his fingers the last time he touched you.

“I can,” you say and there’s allure to your words, your pussy grinding against him.

He hums. Maneuvers you a little so his cock sits against your ass. Plays with your slick just to hear the filthy sound before he plunges two of his fingers inside of you. He curls them and is brutal as he pistons into you in fast jerks, the muscles in his biceps bulging. With his free hand, he makes sure you gaze at him and he nudges his nose with yours. His short breaths fan against your cupid’s bow and in return, you feed him your moans. He swallows each and every one, his pace never faltering, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your stream of pleasure shoots out onto the coffee table and Jungkook would miss it if his reflexes didn’t act out for him. He groans, strumming his fingers against your clit to prolong your orgasm, lifting you to ram his hard length into you.

You welcome him embarrassingly fast, smothering him until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Because he entered you mid climax, it triggers another one and you scream, thrash your body that he encages with his arms around you, one hand flying to your neck to keep you down. He presses his lips against your temple, lulls you with gentle sounds. Mutters apologetic words, words of encouragement, praise and reassurement. All while ramming his cock into you.

You’re forgetting the day and time. Hell, you’re forgetting your own age and name. All you know is dick.

His dick splitting you open as your head knocks back and forth.

He squishes your cheeks, pressing a kiss there, and it brings you back. You open your eyes, blink a few times. Yelp as he fucks you deeply and holds.

“You’re taking me so well,” Jungkook husks. “You always squirt for me, don’t you?”

You nod, dumbly. He plunges his fingers into your mouth to gather your saliva and takes them down to your clit. He rubs it, and he rubs it in fast circles. His other hand finds the soiled plushie and he crams her into your arms. You cuddle her, needing the comfort.

“If I had a vibrator, I’d keep it right here on your little clit the whole time and break you fucking apart.”

You clench around him, signaling him how much you like the idea.

“I know you’d like that. The thought of it won’t let me sleep. Might have to get it for you after all.”

Your surroundings are foggy. Another surge of orgasm reaches for you to get you. Your whole body shakes. You hug the plushie tighter.

You prop your feet on his muscular thighs and weakly, you snap your hips down on him, setting a steady pace that makes you see stars.

Jungkook ceases your movement. Grabs your waist tightly.

“Stop or I’ll come.”

You fight against him, pushing down on him. He lets you.

“You want Daddy to come for you?”

“Yes, please, I’m so close,” you squeak.

“Hold onto her then.”

He meets your thrust, groans at the impact, at the teamwork. Has a deathly grip on you and Hello Kitty that bruises you, stills you as he ruts into you, his balls slapping against your sensitive, abused femininity. You’re losing everything; you’re losing yourself in him, in his manhood, in his desire and pleasure. Submitting all that you are to him, willingly giving over all that you have left of your being. Knowing it will be safe, knowing you will be taken care of.

And with that you come, and you come hard. You coax his orgasm, beckon it out with the one final clench of your pussy around him. You milk him dry, stars clouding your vision and the warmth of his hot spurts of cum filling you to the brim. Jungkook whines.

He loses it completely.

Babbling sets of incoherent words against your cheek, he kisses you there, drags his kisses down to your jaw and your neck, squeezing you and Hello Kitty in his arms as his cock stays sheathed inside of you.

Two things you do make out when you come down.

A string of pet names directed to you. A bunch of ‘baby’, ‘princess’, ‘little girl’, all held close by the prefix of ‘my’. Held as close as he holds you.

And something else entirely.

“I love being inside of you. Whether it’s with my fingers or my dick. I don’t care. I just love being inside of you. You feel like home.”

He strokes your hair, over and over, from the side like that. From the crown of your head, past the curve, down the side of your neck. All while kissing your skin. Tiny little kisses that soothe you, lull you into tranquility, prove you utterly wrong.

But you’re still delirious from your high. You don’t realize what he said.

You don’t realize that your home isn’t within the walls of that bookstore but within the arms of the man that holds you.

And you don’t realize that he feels the same way.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part three

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