pairing: jungkook x reader
genre: smut, fluff, angst
summary: You only have one question on your mind this summer: when did Jeon Jungkook get abs?
warnings: alcohol mention, drinking, explicit sexual content; voyeurism, masturbation, fingering, dom/sub-themes, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral sex (m/f receiving), throat fucking, cum play, grinding, gagging, oc has a muscle kink, jungkook’s character doing a whole 180 halfway through the plot
A/N: This was originally written for the BSC Drabble Exchange and obviously I’m two months late…but also….this spiraled out of drabble territory so fast. But to the person who originally requested this, I hope you see it and enjoy it! Please don’t forget to send in some feedback, and I apologise for any mistakes!
“You’re drooling a little there,” Yoongi mumbles, nudging your arm.
“Will you shut up,” you glare, trying to focus on the article you’re supposed to be reviewing but it’s difficult. How can you focus on Market Upheavals when Jeon Jungkook is doing pull-ups in his backyard.
You don’t know how it happened but when you came back home from college one fine day, Jungkook had just changed. He wasn’t just the kid who stuck to your brother like a second skin, following him around like a lost puppy anymore. He had grown up. A little too much, you think to yourself when he lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat that had collected on his forehead. You think you’re mistaken, but you catch him looking right where you’re sitting, and when he does, you have to hold back the jolt of shivers that threaten to go down your spine.
“Hey, hyung,” he calls, waving his hand to Yoongi before making his way over the short fence. “I wanted to ask if I could go over some of my compositions with you later.”
“Yeah, stop by sometime before 8, my shift starts at 11,” Yoongi responds without looking up from his phone. Jungkook lets out a non-committal hum in acknowledgment before he leans over to you, invading your personal space so all you can see is his sweaty torso. Your eyes budge at the way his muscles flex and follow the way a drop of sweat trails down the side of his jaw, down to his neck. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your skin, his eyes noting your reactions and you swear you see a corner of his lips twitch. “Noona,” he says, voice lower than normal. Your eyes jolt to meet his own, mouth suddenly very dry.
“You’re sitting on my towel,” he points towards the offending cloth placed snugly between the dock chair and your thighs.
“Oh,” you let out, voice uncharacteristically weak but you comply nonetheless, moving so he can slide it out from under you. He grazes the skin of your thigh lightly, and you know he’s doing it on purpose. You don’t know when he got so bold, last time you were home he’d barely even look at you for more than a minute before he was reduced to a blushing, stuttering mess.
But that was two summers ago and the scrawny, awkward boy you used to know is no longer there.
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