I ADOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE THIS LITTLE SMAU 🥰 like this jk is absolutely funny and sooo into oc!! i absolutely adore this & wouldn't mind at all reading more parts in the future 👀
You thought you were finally on the right path with Taehyung. Nothing prepared you for how quickly things could fall apart. Or for the version of Taehyung standing in front of you.
warnings: unhealthy use of alcohol, cursing, verbal fighting
word count: 4.5k
a/n: another chapter, another drama. I’d say I’m sorry but I enjoyed writing this a little too much.. Enjoy and hope you’ll have a beautiful weekend♥️
Wednesday, October 2nd
It’s barely October and the office already looks like pumpkin has puked all over the place. Fake autumn leaves are scattered through the lobby, with some halloween decorations hanging off the ceiling. And you can almost smell the pumpkin spice from the coffee shop tickling your nose.
The holiday spirit that took over the office has somehow influenced you to order a fall themed latte instead of your regular order. And the overly sugary drink with the artificial flavor is not.. good. The sweetness is almost nauseating. You scrunch your nose in a slight disgust after you take another sip from your drink before placing it on your desk.
You return to focus on your computer and open your calendar, you need to schedule a meeting with your team. As you go over your calendar, you see the recurring invite you created for your Thursday’s lunch with Taehyung. You realize that you haven’t heard from him since Friday. You usually text here and there, or that you meet for a smoke on the roof occasionally.
Also, during your workout two days ago Jungkook asked you if you heard from him but you didn’t give it much thought back then. Now, you realize that it’s weird.
You grab your phone, deciding to check how he is.
[03:35 pm] You: Hi!
[03:35 pm] You: haven’t heard from you all week
[03:35 pm] You: what are you up to?
You see the three dots appear and disappear a couple of times before you receive a response.
[03:37 pm] Tae: just busy
[03:38 pm] You: oh
[03:38 pm] You: ok
[03:38 pm] You: do u have a preference for lunch tomorrow?
He doesn’t respond for a while, so you go back to work, pushing aside his cold answer, hoping you could ask him what is going on over lunch.
[04:13 pm] Tae: need to cancel, I have meetings tomorrow.
Oh, so you guess you won’t be able to do that.
Thursday, October 10nt
This is stupid.
You can’t stand the fact that Taehyung is, apparently, pissed at you and you have no idea why.
You thought it best giving some space, maybe something happened to him.
And you tried, you didn’t bother him.
But he canceled your lunch again with some half assed excuse.
After avoiding you all week.
You even went to his office once, tried to invite him out for a smoke break, but he said he had a meeting.
It was 6:38 pm.
Who the hell has meetings at this hour?!
You also tried to pry on with Jungkook. But he didn’t have anything intelligent to say, only that Taheyung is a complicated person.
No shit.
Fuck.
It makes you more angry than you want to admit.
Before you even process what you’re doing, you’re marching towards Taehyung’s office.
The door is open and you barge in, shutting it behind you.
He looks up from the papers scattered on his desk, surprise paints his features for a millisecond, before they return to their indifferent mask.
God. This infuriates you even more.
"What the fuck is your problem?!"
Taehyung puts down the pen he is holding against his temple and crosses his arms on his chest, leaning back in his chair.
You mimic his position, tilting your head as you hold his gaze, Taehyung silently questions you with a cock of his brow.
You stare at each other in silence, challenging gazes to see who will break first.
To your delight, he does.
He drops his gaze for a moment before exhaling softly.
"What are you talking about?" voice weirdly calm as he asks.
"What am I talking about? You’ve been avoiding me for almost two weeks," you practically bark at him.
And you don’t let him answer as you continue, "I don’t know what is this hot-and-cold game you're playing with me, but I’m over it. So you tell me what is going on."
You don’t know where this sudden burst of courage is coming from, how you manage to say those things to him. You’re usually not that brave and honest. Or vulnerable.
The honesty seems to take Taehyung aback a bit, his mask starting to crack a little, you can see his eyes widen.
He blinks a couple of times before he returns to his original stance.
"I don’t know what you want from me, I was just giving you space."
And he shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
But it isn’t.
Space? Why?
You have no idea what he’s talking about.
"Space?" Your tone is somewhere between exasperated and pissed.
"Yeah," he says evenly, but as he continues, something twitches in his face. "You left on Friday with that guy. Dean." He says his name almost like it discusses him to say it aloud. "And Sohee told me he’s your ex. And he threw me looks all night. You can tell him I’m not planning to get in between you two."
"What the fuck Tahyung?!"
What the actual fuck. You feel the blood boil in your veins.
"So you just come up with stories in your head and you go along with them without talking to me?" you snap at him.
He doesn’t answer, just sits there quietly.
You take it upon yourself to continue, "To make the story straight - the last time I talked, or had any contact with Dean, was that Friday. There’s nothing between us to get into. So there’s no need for this ‘space’ you decided for us. And if you talked with me during these past two weeks, maybe you'd know that."
Taehyung processes what you told him, you see it on his face.
"You don’t need to tell me all of this." He says dismissively.
"Obviously I do!" you’re borderline yelling at this point.
He doesn’t answer. Not right away.
The mask cracks a little more, and you see something dark wash over him. You can’t really decipher what it is exactly.
Whatever it is, Taehyung doesn’t let it affect his composure when he finally talks.
"So why did you leave me to go with him?"
He says it so called, that if you didn’t know any better, you’d thought he doesn’t even care. There is a moment of quiet, but he continues.
"Because as far as I know, the moment that guy got there you basically forgot my existence."
His voice gets somewhat louder, you can hear the anger and frustration in it as he has more to say to you.
"How convenient it’s for you to play with me when you don’t have any better option, and then to just act like I don’t fucking exist the moment you have someone else."
You’re so heated at this point that you don’t even give attention to the meaning of all of this. And it’s the frustration bubbling up within you from the last two weeks that makes you fire back.
"Last time I checked, there’s nothing between us. So I don’t think I owe you something."
It’s bitter. It’s bitter and angrier than you wanted it to be.
Because you know, and Taehyung knows, that whatever the undefined thing that is going on between you two, isn’t nothing.
But right now you’re angry, and you're hurt. And maybe you didn’t realise it until now, but you feel rejected.
The vulnerability he wears for a moment gets to you, and you almost fold and take back your words. But then, his gaze is changing into something harsh and cold. An expression you never saw him wearing.
"Oh, okay. I knew you had your walls, that you act all nonchalant like it might protect you. But I didn’t know you were a liar."
The word hits harder than you expect. Your laugh is sharp, humorless.
"You don’t get to call me that," you say coldly. "Not when you didn’t even give me a chance to explain."
Taehyung scoffs, pushing himself up from the chair, suddenly standing. The movement alone shifts the air in the room.
"Explain what?" he snaps. "That you disappeared with your ex for - I don’t know how many hours? That you didn’t even look back?"
"I didn’t disappear," you fire back. "I talked to someone who was part of my life before you even knew me."
"Before I even knew you?" he breathes out in between his teeth. Almost like it isn’t intended for you.
"And that makes it okay?" he asks, incredulous. "To act like I wasn’t there?"
"What did you want me to do? To ignore him?"
He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight. "You don’t get it."
"Then explain it to me," you challenge. "Because from where I’m standing, you decided how I felt. You decided what I was doing. And then you punished me for it."
"I didn’t punish you."
"You disappeared," you say flatly. "You iced me out. You canceled plans. You avoided me like I did something wrong."
Silence stretches between you.
"Because you did." He says quietly, as he sits back in his chair. "But obviously you don’t think so because there’s nothing going on between the two of us, right?"
"Yeah, and you made that very clear by shutting me out instead of talking to me." You shoot back.
"No, you’re right. There’s nothing here. So why are you so worked up?" he says in a cold tone, almost condescending.
You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "Don’t twist my words. You really don’t hear yourself, do you?"
He looks at you, unimpressed. "Enlighten me."
"I’m worked up because you don’t get to make decisions for both of us, and then act like I’m crazy for reacting to it," you say, voice tight.
His jaw clenches. "I reacted to what I saw."
"No," you correct him. "You reacted to what you assumed."
"Anyone would I assume that if they saw how you switched up from flirting with me to clinging to this man in an instance."
"That was your interpretation, Taehyung."
"And you never thought to clarify it?"
"I tried," you snap. "I texted you. I asked you to lunch. I showed up at your office. You shut me out."
You step closer now, as if shrinking the space between you will somehow help you explain it better.
"And then you have the audacity to act like I don’t care?"
Something flickers across his face — irritation, maybe guilt, or shame — but it hardens quickly.
"It doesn’t matter," he says flatly. "Clearly, we’re not on the same page."
You feel something crack.
"You know what? You’re right. Sorry for wasting your time," and you turn on your heels and leave the room. Cutting this argument cold.
Maybe even cutting whatever could have been.
Saturday, October 12
You felt like doing nothing this weekend, so you invited Gabby and Sohee for a chill night at your place. And honestly, it felt like it was forever since the last time you hung up just the three of you.
You didn’t even feel like cooking so you just got some take out.
You still baked a cake. No need to be over dramatic.
You all settle down at the leaving room with more wine after finishing eating and cleaning up.
"So, you wanna tell us what’s bothering you?" Sohee goes straight to the point.
It’s not like you’ve been sulking the whole time, but your friends know that something is going on. You also told them you’re not in the best mood when you suggested staying in tonight.
You take a mouthful of your glass.
"Is it because of Dean?" Gabby adds before you finish swallowing.
You shake your head, "No, it was actually okay, even nice seeing him again. I also haven’t talked with him since."
Gabby nods thoughtfully, "so what is it babe?" she says in a soft tone, concern is laced in her words.
Both of your friend gazes are on you, waiting for you to tell them what is on your mind.
You finish the wine in your glass in one long sip.
"It’s.." you trail off for a second, your eyes flickering between the waiting look on both of your friends.
"It’s Taehyung," you say with a sigh. Letting your eyes close momentarily, like you’re exhausted from this. And maybe you are.
When you open your eyes you see how your friends’ eyes are slightly wider, but they don’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.
So you continue, even if it sounds like you talk about it reluctantly, and you force your words out.
"We haven’t really talked for.. Well actually two weeks now, since Friday, when we went to this place with Jungkook’s friends?" you look at Sohee’s direction and she nods.
"Well, he’s not talking to me. To be more precise," it comes off irritated. You huff as you lean forward to grab the bottle to pour yourself another glass.
Gabby tilts her glass in your direction, gesturing for you to pour for her as well.
"Do you know why?" she asks as you fill up her glass.
Sohee answers for you, "I have an idea."
"He wasn’t really pleased to see you leave with your ex that night," she adds.
"I wasn't leaving with him!" you snap.
"Do you think he’s jealous?" Gabby asks.
You exhale before you answer, "I don’t know. I think that he’s mad."
"About Dean?" Gabby questions with a confused tone.
You nod. "That's what it sounded like when I confronted him," you say with a wince.
Sohee lets out a little gasp and Gabby looks at you like you told her you went out and murdered him. Now, you’ll admit that’s a little out of character for you, but your friends are a tad too dramatic.
You look down and let out a shaky breath, "yeah, not my proudest moment."
"And how did that go? I assume not well," Sohee says before she takes a sip from her glass while giving you a side eye.
You shake your head as you look back down, "not good at all."
You take a big breath in before you continue, "I went to his office. After almost two weeks of him avoiding me, canceling our lunches, zero communication between us. So I was pissed. You know?"
They both nod, understanding your point.
"So I went all angry, ready to get some answers from him why he’s acting like that."
You take a break for a second, taking a small sip as you fill your blood boil again as the argument comes back to your mind.
"He told me he wanted to give me some ‘space’ because he saw me leaving with Dean - well he thought I was leaving with Dean - and he didn’t want ‘to interrupt’ whatever I had with him."
Your friends are looking at you with wide eyes, like you're telling them the best drama of the century.
You continue, "And then, I snapped at him. I kinda lost it. He asked me why I left with Dean and I told him that I don’t owe him explanations, that there’s nothing going on between the two of us." Your tone is now sadder, almost exhausted, "and then it just got into an ugly fight."
You looks at your friends, grimacing slightly, "so yeah, I fucked up."
Gabby rub your arm in a soothing way, and looks at you with empathy, "I don’t think you fucked up. You got mad - for a good reason - and both of you aren’t good at communicating."
Sohee nods, "Teribale at it."
It makes you chuckle a bit and she continues, "I don’t think you fucked up. Like, this is bad, but I think it just proves that he actually cares. In a very stupid and unhealthy way."
There’s a moment of silence between the three of you. You try to take it in what they said.
You want to believe that they are right, but right now everything is so messy and you don’t know how to fix it.
"I don’t know what to do now," you say quietly.
"I think you two should talk, calmly and when you are cooled off," Gabby answers softly.
"So you think I need to go and talk with him? It went so horrible when I tried." you ask.
"I don’t think it's bad, but you definitely should wait a little. Let things cool off a bit. And maybe plan a little ahead what you want to say," Gabby advises.
"I think you should wait. Let him come to you," Sohee says firmly.
You bite down your lips. "Don’t you think that he’s done?"
"Hell no," Sohee says.
Gabby shakes her head, "I’m sure he’s not done," she adds.
With a groan, Taehyung pushes himself off the sofa to open the door for Jungkook.
He feels exhausted, even though he hasn’t really done anything all day. He tells himself that’s the reason he turned down Jungkook’s invitation to go out tonight.
Jungkook is meeting up with the girl he’s been seeing for the past two weeks, so he’d suggested stopping by first for dinner.
Jungkook leans against the doorfront, a bright smile on his face, a bag of takeout fried chicken in one hand and a sixpack of beers in the other.
"Your wish just came true," Jungkook says in a cheerful tone.
Taehyung scoffs and rolls his eyes, before turning around to head back to the living room.
Jungkook closes the door behind him and follows inside, he chuckles his signature chuckle. "Someone is in a good mood."
He drops the food and the beers on the coffee table and eyes the whiskey bottle and the almost empty glass beside it, "I see you started without me."
He grabs the beers, goes into the kitchen and returns with a low glass.
Immediately, he goes into unpacking the mountains of food he brought, while Taehyung just slumps there on the couch.
When he finally finishes unloading the absorbed amount of food for two people, he takes a piece of chicken and leans back while taking a bite.
With a mouthful of food he turns to Taehyung, opens his mouth like he’s about to say something — then narrows his eyes, focusing on something on Taehyung’s neck.
"Is that.. Is that a hickey?!"
Jungkook reaches out instinctively, pulling down Taehyung’s collar.
Taehyung slaps his hand and readjusts his shirt, like it could hide what’s on his skin, but he doesn’t say anything.
"Taehyung," Jungkook says sternly.
"What?!" he snaps back at him. He really doesn't want to explain it to him.
Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he drops it.
"So, you gonna tell me what is going on with you?"
Taehyung takes a bite and looks at Jungkook with a cocked brow, not ready to give up just yet.
But unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on what mood he’s in, Jungkook wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily.
"Drop the bullshit, Tae. I know something is going on, I barely heard from you in the past couple of weeks," Jungkook says in a more serious tone.
"And I know you also didn’t talk with y/n," he adds.
Taehyung snaps his head to look at Jungkook with the mention of your name, how does he know?
Before Taehyung can say anything Jungkook continues, "She asked me if something happened to you because she couldn't get you."
Taehyung feels a pang in his chest, he made you worry? He feels bad. But also, in a selfish kind of way, he likes it. That you care.
Then, he remembers Thursday. How awful it went. And his mood just gets more sour. He reaches for his glass and takes a sip.
"Is it because of what happened two weeks ago?"
Taehyung’s lips are stretched in a thin line, the reminder of that night makes his stomach drop he suddenly loses all his appetite, he reaches instead for his glass and finishes the remainder of his drink.
Jungkook watches him silently before letting out a sigh, "Tae, if you’re worried she’ll get back with her ex we can figure this shit out."
He takes a sip from his own drink, "You haven't really tried with her, you yet have made a real move, don’t give up without a fight. I’m not sure she actually knows how you feel about her."
Taehyung hates every word Jungkook says, he hates how it makes him feel. He reaches out to the bottle and purrs himself another glass. He takes a big gulp, trying to mask the aching in his chest with the burn in his throat. Trying to numb the storm in his mind. But it’s already barely burning like he wants it to.
He knows he fucked up.
He fucked up majorly.
Not only with you, but also more than that.
He fucked up in ways he’s ashamed to confess even to Jungkook. After everything his best friend has done for him the last year, he knows he let him down badly.
"She’s not getting back with her ex," Taehyung says flatly before taking another sip from his glass.
His tone is more angry than he wants it to be, and he doesn't know what for, Jungkook hasn’t done anything that deserves he’ll direct his anger towards him.
But Jungkook doesn’t let it bother him and he says in a cheerful tone, "That's great! How do you know that? Have you talked to her?"
"I wouldn’t say that we talked," Taehyung says as he lets out a sigh while he rubs his forehead with his fingers.
"More like we barked accusations at each other," he continues and takes another sip.
Jungkook stays quiet as he looks at him, waiting for Taehyung to continue.
Taehyung takes a big breath, puts his glass down on the table and leans back onto the backrest, bracing himself for unfolding the shitshow of yesterday.
"She came to my office yesterday. She got tired of my shitty behavior, and she was pissed. I basically accused her for abandoning me that Friday for her ex. She told me that she actually hasn't left with him and that she hasn't talked to him since that night."
He closes his eyes, rubbing them, embracing himself to repeat the words that have been replaying in his brain for the last 48 hours, "And that I had no right to be mad at her because there’s nothing going on between us."
Jungkook listens quietly but winces when he tells him what you said.
Taehyung sighs and continues, "I know she said it because she was mad. That she didn’t really mean it. And I don’t blame her for that, she has every right to be mad at me, I acted like a fucking idiot."
He grunts and leans his head on his palm, disgusted by his own behaviour, "And the idiot that I am, I just agreed with her, that there’s nothing between us, and acted like a jerk. I pushed her away."
After a few moments of silence Jungkook asks with frowned brows, "and then what?"
"And then she left. That's it, this is how it ended."
Jungkook hums, his eyebrows are almost touching while he ponders about what Taehyung told him.
Eventually he says, "You are an idiot. You’ve been an idiot about her since the start. And you did fuck up."
Taehyung doesn’t wait for him to finish, "Jeez, thanks," he says with a scoff.
Jungkook narrows his eyes, not pleased with the interruption. "I was saying, you made a mess but I think you can fix this."
He takes a pause, thinking how the phrase what he has to say, "I know we have a very different method with ladies," Taehyung gives him a no-shit face, and Jungkook continue to explain, more sternly, "but I think it’s time for you to be straight with her."
He continues, trailing off the topic, "I actually think you should have been straight forward from the begging, but you had to act like ‘I just see her as a frie–’"
"Yeah, I’m stupid. Your point Kook?" Taheyung cuts him off.
Jungkook scoffs, "Oh, now you listen to me?"
"Anyway, you need to make the first move. Go to her, tell her you’re sorry, that you didn’t mean what you said, take responsibility. Maybe add a nice gesture, bring her flowers or something. Something that it’s obviously not a ‘just friend’ territory."
Taehyung presses his lips together, thinking about Jungkook’s suggestion.
Jungkook doesn’t wait for him to continue, "look, she already knows that you’ve been bothered by the idea of her being with another dude. That you’re jealous." Taehyung opens his mouth to protest, but before he can say anything Jungkook lifts his hand, "Don’t."
And then he adds, "So she basically knows you think there's something between you two. She just needs to hear you say it."
"Do you think it could actually help?"
"Yeah, I think you have a good chance. She obviously also cares about you. More than just a friend, she wouldn’t be so angry by you acting like an idiot if she didn't."
Taehyung nods, taking in this observation, "maybe I should wait a couple of days before approaching? Let things cool down?"
Jungkook shakes his head, "I wouldn’t wait. But if you need more time to get courage, so be it. I know you’re a little bitch."
Taehyung flips him.
“Well, you know what? Wait at least until that hickey disappears,” Jungkook adds and flicks his neck.
Taehyung rubs the spot and rolls his eyes.
“Real helpful,” he mutters.
Jungkook just grins, unbothered. “We need to think about some romantic gesture you can do.”
“I’m not thinking of a grand gesture,” Taehyung snaps automatically.
Jungkook lifts a brow. “See? That’s your problem. You need to be more proactive.”
Taehyung exhales through his nose, staring down his glass. The truth sits heavy in his chest, uncomfortable and unavoidable. He has been thinking about it. About all the shit he has done. About your face when you stood in his office, eyes sharp, voice shaking with anger. About the way you looked hurt more than furious when he agreed there was nothing between you.
He hates that part the most.
“What if I go there and she just… shuts me down?” he asks quietly. “What if it’s over for her?”
Jungkook’s teasing expression fades, just a little. “I really don’t think that it’s over for her. And if so, at least you’ll know.”
Taehyung swallows. “I don’t want to fuck this up even more,” he admits.
“You already did,” Jungkook says bluntly, then softens. “But that doesn’t mean it’s unfixable.”
Silence stretches between them again. This time, Taehyung doesn’t fill it with excuses. His mind keeps replaying Jungkook’s words — she just needs to hear you say it — over and over, like a challenge he can’t dodge forever.
“I’ll talk to her,” he says finally.
Jungkook raises his glass. “Miracles do happen.”
Taehyung shoots him a look, then adds under his breath, “If I chicken out, you have permission to punch me.”
“Oh, I was going to do that anyway.”
Despite himself, Taehyung lets out a short, breathless laugh.
It fades quickly, replaced by nerves twisting in his stomach.
sooo i’ve been eating this up for the past 3-2 days and let me tell you that this is AMAZING!! this is honestly such a light and easy read and it was absolutely something i needed (but didn’t know it 😅) every chapter gets better and better and Tae and oc are to die for!! i i absolutely love them and can’t get wait for the next part!! if you haven’t read this yet, you definitely should!! thank you so so much for writing it, it’s amazing ❤️❤️
context: you and jungkook dated for six months before everything ended in the pettiest breakup imaginable — or at least, that’s what he thinks. but even with all the bitterness, jealousy, and wounded ego, jungkook still wants you back… badly.
pairing: pathetic ex-boyfriend jk x petty,stubborn oc
genre/tropes: exes to lovers / smau / twitter au / stubborn idiots vibes / humor / jealousy / explicit language / explicit themes
the air feels heavier when he walks in. denim clings onto his body like a sin; tighter where it shouldn’t be — making the outline of his body too visible for your devouring gaze. your eyes follow along the lines, tracing them without even hiding. and he of course notices it. he always does.
“you’re staring,” he states, voice low and you can hear the hint of tease. he thinks it’d make you flustered.
“you’re askin’ for it, couldn’t help myself,” you reply back without a second thought and this makes his eyebrow raise, not expecting this remark from you.
he then grins and gets rid of the jacket and drops it into the ground as he moves towards you slowly. he’s naked now — well not really. his abs are full on display, those ink in his body has you biting on you lower lip.
it’s the first time he’s revealed his new tattoos, before this he’d always showed up wearing something that covered his chest. but now he doesn’t hesitate.
once he’s only a few inches away, you reach for him. hooking your fingers into the edge of his denim jeans and until your breathe mixes. faint musk and his smell floods your senses making your body go numb for a while.
his hand slides down your back, pulling you closer — like even skin against skin isn’t enough. the other grips your jaw, firm and full of dominance, thumb tracing your bottom lip with slow and dangerous intent.
“don’t start something you can’t handle,” he murmurs.
you don’t answer. instead, you grab the back of his head and pull him down, crashing your lips onto his. it’s not a kiss. it’s survival, breathless and messy, like you need it in order to live. your body melts into his, holding him like he might disappear if you let go.
both tongues clash for dominance, neither willing to give in, until his hand slides lower, gripping your ass hard, a slap that rips a quiet moan from your throat. he takes that moment and deepens the kiss until it’s all heat and teeth. your head tilts back as he follows, pressing you against the wall, his breath hot against your mouth.
his fingers drag up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. he breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you, chest rising hard, eyes blown wide and hungry. the kind of look that warns and tempts at once.
“still think you can handle it?” he rasps.
you nod or maybe you just breathe his name. either way, it’s enough. he leans in again, lips brushing your jaw, down to your throat, and you can feel the smirk against your skin before his teeth graze it.
his lips trail lower, slow and unhurried, each touch pulling a sound from you which he’s clearly enjoying. his hands are everywhere now. greedy, searching and claiming.
you can feel the edge of control slipping between you, the air thick with something that makes it hard to think, harder to breathe.
he exhales against your ear, voice low enough to make your stomach twist.
“then show me,” he says.
the world narrows down to the heat between your bodies, the weight of his stare, the promise in his tone — and then, you finally reach for the button of jeans. unlike him you quicken your pace, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper, you sit on your knees. the cold floor contrasts with the heat that comes out of your body.
you lick your lips, the anticipation making your mouth water as your hands palm jungkook through his boxers. the heat of him seeps through the thin fabric, and you trace the thick outline of his cock, feeling it twitch under your touch, already straining and heavy. with your free hand, you tug down both his pants and boxers in one smooth pull, letting them slide to his ankles.
he’s completely bare now, his cock springing free to slap against his toned abdomen, the flushed tip glistening with a bead of precum that trails down the underside.
jungkook’s eyes flutter shut the instant your warm breath ghosts over the sensitive skin, a low hiss escaping his lips. but he forces them open, gaze dropping to meet yours. you’re on your knees before him, lips parted, eyes locked on his with raw hunger, ready to swallow him whole. his fingers weave into your hair, not pulling yet, just holding, guiding you nearer with a firm but gentle pressure.
you don’t hesitate, leaning in to obey, your tongue darting out to lap at the tip slowly, savoring the salty taste of his precum as it coats your taste buds.
his reaction is immediate—jaw clenching, brows furrowing in that rough, intense expression that sends a thrill straight to your core. emboldened, you grip his thighs for leverage, nails digging lightly into the firm muscle, and drag your tongue from the base all the way up to the head, once, twice, feeling every vein pulse under the wet glide.
then, with a deep breath, you part your lips wider and take him in, inch by girthy inch, until your nose brushes his pelvis. he’s massive, stretching your mouth to its limits, the thickness filling you completely. you pause, relaxing your jaw with deliberate care, adjusting to the sheer size as your throat relaxes around him. your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily, the fullness overwhelming in the best way, tears pricking at the corners from the effort.
jungkook groans softly, his free hand coming up to brush away the stray strands of hair that curtain your face, fingers lingering but not tucking them away. he wants this view unframed, unfiltered. he’s been craving this moment, the sight of you like this fueling the fire that’s been building all evening. when you tap your fingers against his thigh in a subtle signal, he gets it, hips rocking forward in a slow, controlled thrust.
the motion of your tongue doesn’t stop; it swirls around the head each time he pulls back, flicking teasingly before he sinks deeper. the heavy flat of it drags along his shaft as you hum, the vibration rumbling through him, making his grip tighten just a fraction. pleasure coils low in your belly from the act alone.
your pussy aches, slick and needy, the wetness soaking through your underwear without you even realizing your thighs are clenched together, seeking any friction against the building throb.
awareness hits you like a spark, and you slide one hand free from his thigh, dipping it between your legs. your fingers press over the damp fabric of your panties, rubbing firm circles on your swollen clit. the dress rides up your hips with the movement, exposing the way your hand works yourself, the outline visible under the thin material. jungkook’s eyes darken as he watches, his thrusts faltering for a beat, breath hitching at the erotic display. “fuck, baby,” he rasps, voice strained, “keep touching yourself like that, let me see how wet you are for my cock.”
you moan around him, the sound muffled but sending fresh shudders through his body, your fingers quickening as his pace picks up slightly, each slide in and out drawing out more of those deep, appreciative sounds from him. the dual sensations— his thickness claiming your mouth, your own hand chasing release, push you both toward the edge, the air thick with shared heat and the wet, rhythmic sounds of your devotion.
your moans vibrate around jungkook’s cock, pushing him closer to the brink, but he pulls back suddenly, the wet pop echoing in the room as he slips free from your mouth. strings of saliva connect your lips to his throbbing length, and you gasp for air, chest heaving, tears streaking your cheeks from the intensity. his eyes burn into yours, dark and commanding, a smirk tugging at his swollen lips. “not yet,” he growls, voice low and gravelly, laced with that rough edge that makes your pulse race. “i’m not done with you. turn around. ass up, now.”
you scramble to obey, heart pounding as you rise from your knees on shaky legs. the dress clings to your sweat-damp skin, but jungkook doesn’t give you time to adjust. his hands grip your hips roughly, spinning you toward the window where the city lights blur beyond the glass. he shoves you forward, bending you over the sill, your palms slapping against the cool pane for balance. the position exposes you completely, your ass presented to him like an offering, the hem of your dress hiked up to reveal your soaked panties.
“fuck, look at you,” he mutters, one hand sliding up your spine to fist in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to arch your back. the pull stings deliciously, sending sparks down your neck, and you whimper, pressing back against him instinctively. his other hand palms your ass cheek, squeezing hard enough to leave faint red marks, before he delivers a sharp smack— once, twice, the crack resounding through the room. your skin blooms with heat, the sting morphing into a throbbing ache that pools straight between your thighs. “this ass is mine,” he snarls, possessive heat in his tone, leaning down to bite the curve of your shoulder, teeth sinking in just enough to mark you with his claim. the pain mixes with pleasure, making you cry out, your pussy clenching around nothing.
he doesn’t stop there. his fingers hook into your panties, ripping them down your legs in one brutal tug, the fabric tearing slightly at the seams. cool air hits your dripping folds, and you feel his gaze devouring you, the vulnerability heightening every sensation.
jungkook steps closer, his hard cock nudging against your entrance, the thick head sliding through your slickness teasingly. “you’re so fucking wet for me,” he rasps, free hand coming down again in a firm spank that jiggles your flesh. “say it. tell me who you belong to.
“yours,” you gasp, voice breaking as he grinds against you, coating himself in your arousal. “i’m yours, jungkook—please, just fuck me.” the words spill out desperate and needy, and he chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating against your back as he presses his chest to you.
“good girl.” with that, he thrusts in, hard, deep and with no warning. his cock stretches you wide, filling you to the hilt in one possessive stroke, the burn of the intrusion making your walls flutter around his girth. you’re soaked enough that he slides in smoothly, but the sheer size of him has you gasping, toes curling against the floor. he doesn’t give you time to adjust, hips snapping forward in a punishing rhythm, each back shot driving him balls-deep, his pelvis slapping against your ass with lewd, wet smacks.
his grip in your hair tightens, pulling your head back further so your cheek presses against the window, the glass fogging from your ragged breaths. from this angle, he controls everything; the pace brutal and unrelenting, his free hand alternating between spanking your reddening cheeks and digging bruises into your hip. “take it,” he demands, voice rough like gravel, breath hot on your ear. “every fucking inch, mine to use.” another bite lands on your neck, sucking hard to leave a dark hickey blooming under your skin, marking you as his in a way that’ll linger for days.
the dominance in his movements overwhelms you, his cock hitting that spot inside with every thrust, dragging against your sensitive walls. pleasure builds fast, coiling tight in your core, your clit throbbing untouched as you rock back to meet him. the spanking sends jolts through you, each slap heightening the sensations, your ass stinging beautifully under his palm.
“harder,” you beg, lost in the haze, and he obliges, thrusts turning savage, hair pulled taut enough to make your scalp tingle, his growls mixing with your moans.
jungkook’s pace falters only when he’s close, but he doesn’t pull out. “gonna fill you up,” he warns, tone possessive and feral, one last spank landing before his hand slides around to pinch your nipple through the dress. “no one’s else gets this— only me.” the words tip you over, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave, pussy clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses, milking his cock as you scream his name. he follows seconds later, burying himself deep and spilling hot cum inside you, ropes painting your walls, claiming you from the inside out.
he stays lodged in you as you both come down, breaths mingling, his hold softening from rough to almost tender. but even in the afterglow, his fingers trace the marks he’s left. bites, handprints, the pull of your hair still echoing in the ache. “mine,” he murmurs one last time, pressing a kiss to the fresh bruise on your shoulder, the promise of more hanging heavy in the air.
Summary: “And with that, a picture of Jungkook flashed into your mind, his fingertips caressing your cheek and his gentle and affectionate smile sending shivers down your spine as you admitted to yourself that yes - you wanted him.“
It’s easy to despise Jungkook when your contradicting magic doesn’t allow you to touch each other without fatal consequences - but what if your eternal enemy turns out to be your soulmate with whom you, unfortunately, do fall in love?
pairing: Jungkook x female reader
rating: 18+
genre: enemies to lovers, soulmate!au, fantasy!au; fluff, a ton of angst, smut
warnings: characters fainting, near major character death, light swearing, some fighting, characters crying, explicit sexual content, oral (f. & m. receiving), bit of a handjob, fingering, temperature play, soft sex, rough sex (yes, both), unprotected sex (there’s magic, don’t do it irl, guys), breast play, marking/biting, ass grabbing, y/n and jk feel a lot of pain but choose to ignore it cuz loveee; uh i think that’s it?
word count: 17.9k (SORRY)
a/n: welcome back! this fic was created for the “spring will come again”-event hosted by @bangtanarmynet (prompts at the end of the post) and is also my submission for this month’s theme ‘bloom’ for @thebtswritersclub! again, a big thank you to @dee-ehn for this beautiful banner and to my betas @missgeniality , @venusiangguk & @voiceswithoutlips!! you made this story what it is right now! and now, enjoy!!
uploaded to AO3, too (for those who prefer pdfs or mobile readings!)
listen to: out of love (alessia cara) | in the fall (hwa sa) | talking to the moon (bruno mars) | already gone (sleeping at last) | medicine (jc stewart) - recommended by @moonsetlover
➳ read the sequel scattered stars: collision here! (both can be read as stand-alone fics!)
MASTERLIST | WIPs | MOODBOARD
Your flower hadn’t bloomed yet.
Despite having turned 21 quite a while ago, the lightly faded imprint of your tattoo - or birthmark? - hadn’t moved a bit. Every once in a while you’d give it a peek, seeing that all the blossoms, leaves, and colours were still the same, and it did nothing to ease your tension.
Your mother would always complain about this as if it was your, and your fault only. Remind you on a daily basis how Eva had already found her companion, the love of her life, and settled with him, an engagement ring decorating her pretty hand.
oh my gosh, you reread scattered stars?? catie 😭 i remember when you first read it!! it’s been years, i can barely believe i’ve known you for so long lol. and i’m blushing, the fact that you still remember and love it… thank you babe 💕
just finished rereading it again & it made me cry all over again 😭 reading it with the song forbidden fruit in the background sounded absolutely perfect!! after all these years, it’s still a good read 💕 and yeah, now that you said it, we’ve known each other for so so long, it’s crazy!! for sure, i’m forever thankful to have met you and that you share with us all those wonderful fics 💕
kiss and forget — jeon jungkook ! mini series (repost)
summary: he waits for her, wants her, but she never stays. and when she pulls away, he finds comfort in someone else. someone who never tells him no. someone like you. but how many times can you kiss and forget before it starts to mean something? before it starts to hurt?
genre : smau + written , drama + angst , uni au — engineers, art students etc.
warnings: one-sided love triangle, toxic situationship, unspoken feelings, unrequited love, emotional denial, push and pull vibes, mixed signals, jealousy, leading on, bad decisions, regrets, implied smut. big spoiler: sad ending 🩷
note: the song ’adore’ by cashmere cat ft.ariana grande lowk inspired me to write this , just the vibes tho not a direct adaptation !!!
originally; started: 5 march 2025 & ended: 27 april 2025
wooow this left me absolutely speechless!! this hit way too hard, especially since i was able to put myself in oc shoes as i also navigated a love triangle some years ago & let me tell you that it’s messy and painful, which was beautifully depicted here! thanks a lot for writing this & sharing it with us!! this was wonderful and painful at the same time 🩵
context: you and jungkook weren’t exactly friends in high school — he was the shy kid who once confessed to you, and you rejected him. years later, he’s back, hotter and more confident than you ever remembered.
note: new mini smau !!! finally posting something fresh after all those reposts lol. had to scrap and rewrite this whole thing after jk blessed us with the gym vid/pics 🌷 also lmk if this is mini-series worthy cuz i have plans for pt.2 🥴
warnings ; public sex, mirror sex, light fingering, almost getting caught by a poor civilian, he hits it from the back while you grip the weight rack for dear life, dirty talk, unprotected sex, i'm sorry there's a whisper of plot but not really
prompt ; in which you blur the lines of your complicated ‘friendship’ with jeon jungkook.
wc ; 3.5k
There are only two ways you foresaw today’s workout session going: 1) you’d end up crawling out of here with arms so fried from bicep curls you wouldn’t be able to brush your teeth tonight or 2) your legs were going to give out after two sets of squats and and you’d have to explain to EMTs why you were face down in the middle of your apartment complex’s gym floor.
Jeon Jungkook promised you he was going to fix your form—spoiler alert: he’s doing a pretty bad job at it—and had spent more time letting his hands roam while he spotted you during squats than actually offering gym advice.
And then one thing led to another and well…congratulations. Neither of the ways you predicted today going were accurate. Instead, your ‘friendship’ with Jeon Jungkook has been voided. Nulled.
Expired in every conceivable way.
It shouldn’t have come as a shock to you; the two of you have been riding the coattails of sexual tension since Park Jimin, your best friend, introduced you two a few months back. You should’ve known better the minute he tugged you onto his lap at a house party because he liked ‘keeping his friends close.’ Should’ve known better the second he punched Kim Seokjin because he tried to kiss you.
In hindsight, you should’ve known a lot of things. But it’s kind of hard to remember those things when you’re currently pinned up against one of the gym machines, his mouth exploring yours, lips hot and insistent.
The kiss is far from clean. It’s undeniably filthy and wet and everything you’d been daydreaming about for months.
Jungkook’s mouth rips away from yours long enough to pepper sloppy kisses down your jaw, hand cradling the burning skin of your chin. “So much for friends, right?”
You make a noise that is, in no universe, friendship-appropriate. “Please shut the fuck up,” you hiss, “More kissing, less talking.”
“You know,” His lips travel down to the base of your throat. Shutting up has never been his strong suit. “It’s not very friendly of us to kiss like this.”
You mentally chat fuck, fuck, fuck, because there’s no reason his words should sink to the depths of your chest.
Without thinking, you reach up and trace the lines of his fresh chest tattoo he had gotten a few months ago. He walked in an hour earlier, only wearing a black tank top to your workout session (which you now realize was on purpose) and the ink turns you on more than you want to admit.
“You’re so…” Your voice breaks on the last syllable Because you’re doing this. With him. In a gym, one that you frequent everyday. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
He lifts his head from your neck an inch, laughs against your collarbone. “Mhm. Say that again.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Mm.” His hand travels down the front of your body, past your sports bra, south to the waistband of your leggings. His nimble fingers toy with the elastic fabric. “I don’t know if you’re supposed to think your friends are sexy.”
His teeth scrape your neck—God help you, he’s going to leave marks—little nicks on the skin that scream property of not-your-friend, Jeon Jungkook.
Your hand grips the hair at the nape of his neck, head resting back on the cool metal of the machine behind you. “If you’re gonna stick your hand in my pants, you might as well go all the way.”
“I’m getting there, baby.” His breath is hot against your skin. “Excuse me if I want to take my time with the girl I’ve been crushing on for five months.”
Feeling’s mutual, buddy. And if he doesn’t stick his dick into you in the next five minutes, you’re going to turn into a rabid animal.
You’re halfway into forming a coherent comeback when his fingers start wiggling past the waistband of your leggings, and you choke on your own breath. He doesn’t stop his exploration until he gets to the fabric of your underwear, the barest barrier, and he’s brushing over it. One of his long fingers sweeps over the flimsy fabric that covers your clit, and your eyes flutter shut. Oh god. You’re not surviving this.
He chuckles and tilts his head at you. “This wet? For a friend?”
Your words fumble as his fingers trace your wetness through the fabric. “K-Kook. Come on. Don’t—ah—fuck with me.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” His lips graze your ear. “You’ve honestly put me through hell the past few months. First, you almost fuck Kim Seokjin in front of me. Then, you tease me everyday in front of our friend group with those sundresses. And now, today, you invite me to work out with you and you show up in a little sports bra and leggings. Me fucking with you should be the least of your concerns right now.”
Your eyes open slightly—he looks ridiculously good. Black tank clinging to every inch of his sculpted body, silver chain reflecting under the gym lights, full tattoo sleeve flexing as he holds you upright. You can smell his soap and musk combining in your nostrils, creating something so undeniably him you want to bottle it up and sniff it forever.
His lip ring catches on the shell of your ear, sending a bounty of shivers down your spine. “Baby, you have no idea how long I’ve been dying to get my fucking hands on you.”
“Yeah?” Your legs are shaking. “Tell me. Tell me e-everything, Kook.”
You’re clinging to your sanity by a thread. That might be too generous, though—at least threads have structure. You’re clinging to something flimsier. Maybe one of those cheap hair-ties you know will snap the second you try to double-knot it.
“Well, for starters.” His fingers are moving in featherlight circles around your sensitive nub. “Did you know I had to go to the bathroom the first time Jimin introduced us? I had to go to the bathroom and jerk myself off so I didn’t look like a creep in front of you.”
No, you didn’t know that.
“Or how about,” he continues, pressing deeper into the fabric. You wiggle under his touch, “that time you showed up to the bar with that pink sundress on? Thought about lifting it up and taking you right there.”
Didn’t know that either.
“Yeah?” You card your fingers through his hair. “W-why didn’t you?”
“Wanted to be patient. Wanted to take my time with you, baby. I knew once I had you, I wasn’t letting go.”
He leans back to look at your face; your swollen lips, your big eyes staring at him intently.
“Please,” you beg, humiliatingly close to whining.
“Please what?” His lips ghost over yours, nose nudging against your own.
“Anything, Kookie. I’ll take anything.” You know him well enough now that the nickname will ignite him. It always does.
Sure enough, it does in one go. Your leggings and underwear are peeled down so swiftly you barely register the rush of cool air against your bare skin. You’ve never been so exposed in your entire life.
He glances around (pointlessly; it’s empty during lunch hours). Then looks down at you with those dark brown eyes you’ve come to adore. “Fuck, you’re insatiable.”
Jungkook’s tattooed fingers glide through the wetness that’s collected between your thighs. Two fingers tease your entrance, but don’t actually enter. When his thumb brushes your clit, you gasp loud enough to slap a hand over your own mouth. He’s rubbing circles with his thumb now, with more momentum than before. Your eyes flicker up to watch his features contort; his lip ring is tucked in between his two front teeth, laser-focused on how wet his fingers are.
He pulls back for a moment, observing the shine left behind on his hand, the strings of your arousal under the light.
“I-I—” You don’t know why you feel the need to defend yourself.
His eyes darken when he brings them to your lips. “Taste yourself,” he says simply.
You part your lips obediently and let him push his fingers in. It’s salty but sweet—feminine hygiene for the win—but also intimate. He watches as you suck on them, other hand gripping your hip to steady you against the machine.
“Fuck,” he exhales, pulling his fingers out slowly. “I need to be inside you.”
Your hands run over his chest for the billionth time—he’s going to think you have a kink for hisn new chest tattoo which, yes, you do—and you kiss him, let him get a taste of you. He moans into the kiss, fingers imprinting on your hips.
“I want you,” you speak in between kisses, “to fuck me.”
You barely have time to breathe before he’s spinning you around, spine to chest, navigating you towards the mirrors in front of the weight rack. It’s all a blur until your gaze snags on your reflection—wide eyes, lips disgustingly plump, leggings down to your knees. You look like someone else, someone who no longer has any business calling Jeon Jungkook “just a friend.”
His hand lands on the plane of your back, bending you downwards. “Palms on the rack. Steady yourself.”
You have to hide the smirk threatening to appear on your face. You can pretend all you want that this isn’t what you envisioned when you batted your eyelashes at him a week ago and told him you needed help with your squat form. You;ve got him right where you want him, and now he’s telling you to hold on to a piece of metal for dear fucking life, basically.
There is nothing about this that is going to be quiet. You know it, he knows it, the mirror knows it.
You’re a little mad you won’t get to bounce on him like a cowgirl but whatever. You’re fairly certain this won’t be the last time you do this.
You do as you’re told, pressing your hands flat against the cold metal. Your heart’s throttling around in your chest, anticipation coiling in your chest as he positions himself behind you.
Jungkook’s large hands skim over your ribs, over your sports bra until he’s tugging it down. The elastic snaps, spilling your tits into his palms. “Ngh, fuck.” A strangled sound escapes you as you bite down on your lip. His thumbs flick over your nipple, and in the mirror, you catch his grin. His tongue plays with the two lip rings looped in on his bottom lip.
Leaning into you, he whispers into your ear, “Been dying to see how well you take me. Did you know my last girlfriend could only take the tip?”
Oh, fuck.
You really, really hope he’s exaggerating.
You swear you feel a drop of arousal drip down your thighs at his words. “Yeah?” you challenge. “I can take it, Kookie. I swear.”
One hand braces your hips, and the other tattooed one glides through your folds with ease. “I bet you will. I bet I can slide right in with how wet you are.”
You buck into him, pushing your hips back instinctively. Your grip on the rack tightens as heat pools in your stomach embarrassingly fast. You refuse to cum with just his fingers. More. You need more, more, more.
“I’ll make this quick as long as you’re quiet, baby. Think you can do that for me?”
One glance at yourself in the mirror—breasts spilling, eyes blown wide— and you know there’s no chance.
Nodding incessantly, you agree. “Y-yes, Kook. I’ll be good. Just please, please fuck me.”
He takes a step back from you, and there’s a moment—one single, devastatingly long moment—where you think maybe he’ll walk away. That he decided your friendship (if that’s even what it ever was) isn’t worth risking.
And then you hear the rustling of fabric, and you watch through the mirror as he shoves his gym shorts down.
“Oh my god.”
There’s no other logical reaction to what’s behind you (or in front of you, with the mirror showcasing it all.)
He’s stroking himself lazily, head thrown back. His cock is beyond hard, but that’s not what stops you in your tracks. The man was not exaggerating. This is indecent. It’s long and thick, veins standing out along his shaft, flushed tip gleaming under the harsh gym lights.
He notices your stunned expression in the mirror and smirks, “Think you can handle it?”
You’re going to do more than just handle it.
You make a sound between a scoff and a whimper. “Yes, Kookie. I want you to fill me up.”
Jungkook shakes his head to himself, whispering something explicit under his breath. His free hand slides over the warm skin of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh. The head of his cock brushes against your sopping entrance, and then he’s dragging it upward, gliding over your clit.
You jolt forward, knees buckling, palms clutching the rack. You’re going to leave permanent indents on your hands. “Oh my god. Pleasepleaseplease.”
He could care less what you beg for—the tip of his cock continues to nudge your clit until you’re trembling.
“You want me inside that bad?” He groans.
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, hoping to string together some form of a sentence. But it never comes because he’s pushing inside, the stretch immediate, and everything dies on your tongue. It’s just the tip but you feel more full than you have with any other man.
“Fuuuck.” His head falls back before spreading your folds and observing how you look with him inside you. “You look so good, baby. So good for me right now.”
His palm lays flat against your spine as he pushes in slowly and your jaw drops. He bottoms out and your brain is scrambled, no longer good for use. “Oh shit,” you moan, high-pitched. “You’re—fuck—so fucking big, Kookie.”
Behind you, Jungkook moans at your words. “I told you, baby. But you’re doing so good for me. Taking me way better than my ex ever did.”
You do not want to hear about this other girl, but your heart swells with pride at the thought of his cock nestling itself so perfectly inside you.
You stare at his reflection in the mirror—hair damp and falling into his eyes, chest tattoo darker against flushed skin, biceps flexing as he pulls your ass flush to his pelvis.
Every vein drags along your wall, every thick inch of him seeded deeply.
In the mirror, you watch in awe. His hips roll forward, walls sinking around his cock. There’s a wet sheen forming where you’re joined, cream collecting at the base of his length.
“Hmm, you’re dripping onto the floor, you know that?” Jungkook rasps, catching your stare in the glass. One of his hands moves over your stomach, pressing down so you can feel him deeper, if that was even possible. “I knew you’d be good. I knew it the moment—ahh—I saw you.”
Your ego couldn’t possibly get any bigger; it was inflated to the size of a bouncy house. You knew you had an effect on him the moment you met, but to this extent? To receive all his praise and adoration? To have him crack in the middle of the day at your apartment gym? You have him in the palm of your hands.
His pace picks up as he folds forward to murmur in your ear, “Crazy to think we were friends an hour ago.” Another deep thrust that has you gasping. “Now you’re soaking my cock. You gonna explain that to me later?”
You shake your head wildly, legs quivering.
“Yeah,” he tuts, answering his own question. “Didn’t think so.”
The sound echoes off the walls; skin slapping, weight rack rattling, Jungkook’s little moans. You never thought he’d be so vocal. The mirror in front of your mouth is beginning to fog up, each hot exhale of air turning the reflection hazier.
“This pussy,” he slams into you, eliciting a squeak from your mouth, “you were hiding this from me? Saving it for Seokjin?”
“N-no, Kookie,” you let out a strangled moan, “I wanted you. I always wanted you to fuck me.”
“Good girl.” His tattooed hand tugs your sports bra down even further, tits bouncing with each rough thrust. His fingers catch one nipple, rolling it between calloused fingertips. He pinches until you let out a babyish yelp.
His hips piston faster, rack creaking with each movement. “I swear to god, I should film this shit so Seokjin leaves you the fuck alone.”
The aforementioned man wants nothing to do with you after you drunkenly admitted to him you wanted to deepthroat Jungkook’s cock, but that’s nobody’s business but your own.
You let out a broken sob of pleasure, hands clawing for purchase anywhere you can reach.
For a woman who usually has so many words to impart, you have none.
The incessant moans falling from your lips (there goes the promise of being quiet) and Jungkook’s groans don’t allow either of you to focus on much else.
But the unmistakable jingle of keys near the door causes panic to flash through you both.
Thank god your apartment building requires keys to gain access to the gym.
Jungkook’s eyes avert to yours in the mirror, and for a second, you both freeze—caught mid-fuck like two idiots who definitely shouldn’t be here.
Before you can tell him to pull out, that you love your complex and don’t want to get kicked out, his hand clamps over your mouth, muffling any noise that punches out of you as his cock twitches. “Don’t you dare fucking move, baby.” His voice is barely audible.
In an act of pure evil, he resumes his thrusting. Torturously slow. Painful. You leave teeth marks in his palm as you try not to cry out.
The keys jangle again, a hand on the knob.
But Jungkook’s already pitching his voice louder, trying to sound as nonchalant as humanly possible. “Hey, we’re renovating the gym right now. Come back later.”
A pause. A long, horrifying pause where you think you're getting evicted. Finally, the person on the other side sighs loudly and mutters something about the landlord being a dick, followed by retreating footsteps.
Your chest heaves as you blink rapidly, trying to make sense of the situation. You also hate how your heart skipped multiple beats at the prospect of getting caught. Jungkook’s hand drops from your mouth and he slams his hips forward.
“Renovating?” you pant, breathless giggles escaping. “You’re crazy.”
He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade before biting down softly. “Well, you’re the one letting me fuck you in your gym, baby. That’s not exactly sane either”
Fair enough.
You’re too riled up anyway to be a submissive good girl anymore. “C-can we still be friends, Kookie?”
His hand slithers up to wrap around your throat loosely, forcing your jaw in his direction so you can meet his eyes. The view is even more glorious than you imagined. You’re going to kiss his tattoo artist for that ink across his chest.
“Friendship’s out of the fucking question, sweetheart.” His chain swings with each thrust. “After this, I'm not letting a single man touch you. Especially not Seokjin.”
This vendetta he has against poor Seokjin makes your pussy tingle with glee.
Whatever self-control Jungkook had snaps like the cheap resistance bands in the bucket next to you. He lets go of your jaw, forcing your face back to the fogged-up glass.
“Fuck—your pussy is addictive. Gonna make me cum so fast.” His thumb is on your clit now, circling quickly as his own legs tremble from how tightly your walls suck him in. Your stomach coils, white-hot sparks ricocheting through your whole being.
“Jungkook—” It’s mostly a warning. You’re so close, so fucking close. You’ve never been so eager to finish for a man. You want him to cum too, preferably inside you.
“Cum for me. Cum all over my cock. Wanna feel it.”
Your orgasm rips through you violently, legs buckling. Jungkook has to hold you upright like you’re a ragdoll. Cries tear from your throat, filling up the room as your walls clench around him excessively.
“Ah, shit, I’m gonna—fuck.” His fingers cram into the flesh of your ass. “I’m gonna cum so fucking hard.”
“Inside me? Please?” You jut your bottom lip out playfully, catching his hardened gaze in the mirror. He looks absolutely scrumptious, even more than before. You can’t believe it took you five months to have him at your mercy.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that.” His voice cracks on the last word before he’s cumming, ropes of hot cum painting the inside of your walls. Every sound that leaves his mouth is primal, some mixture of curse words and your name.
You watch it all play out in the mirror as he empties himself inside you. Somehow the man is still finishing. Is this even humanly possible? “F-fuck, I can’t, I—”
He’s basically combusting in front of you. You’ll give yourself a pat on the back later for your magical pussy.
Jungkook finally lets out a deep breath, leaning over to press wet kisses along your spine. He’s still inside you, but you can feel his cum already starting its slow descent out of you.
And even though you got exactly what you wanted, you can’t help but play with him one last time. “So… friends?”
He tilts your jaw to face him, landing a messy kiss square on your lips. “Like hell we are, baby.”
note ; loolllllll i am fucking unbelievable 😂😂😂 mind you i have to finish chapter four of iwwu and start chapter nine of otr yet here we are. this is what i spent my day working on. all because of a stupid little picture that some fuckass trainer posted. this is disgusting. horrible work. porn with no plot. i'm honestly embarrassed to post this but here's hoping that someone out there is just as hornknee as me 🫵
you've tried, but you can't help yourself from crushing on your best friend's dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter's birthday party, you don't expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do.
repost. slightly edited. originally posted as OLDER.
⌗ from the grande series.
pairing: dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader
genre: smut, angst, dilf au, best friend's father au
warnings: porn with some lots of plot, age gap (oc 21 | jk 38), dom jk, sub reader, voyeurism, messy blow job, fingering, oral (f receiving), bit of tit play (small chested reader yayy), two (2) spanks, unprotected sex, cum eating, dirty talk, a bit of degradation, but also praise, pet names, ANGST :P, she falls first he falls harder??? but miscommunication sadly, forbidden love
word count: 17.4k
author’s note: wellll… hey people 🤭 guess who’s back! i don’t wanna make this long so i won’t say too much, we can take this to the inbox if u guys want 💋 for those who remember me, hello lovies!!! i’m thinking of reposting some of my old fics before giving you new content hehe ! special thanks to my day ones who fought hard and brought me here again even through my hesitation, you know who you are 🥰🩷 love u!!! enjoy!!!
In the backseat of his car, you stare forward at his hands gripping the steering wheel. There's something hypnotic about the way his fingers curl around the leather. You bite your lips, an attempt to suppress the heat easily pooling low in your belly, your thighs rubbing together to conceal the effects of your lewd thoughts.
One in particular stands out. It’s the one that puts a shameless, selfish smile on your face when you fixate on the fourth finger of his left hand lacking a gold band.
It's been a few months since that day — since Areum, your best friend, showed up at your door in a frantic state, her finger jabbing the bell over and over in a panicked rhythm that jolted you from your bed.
You had nearly tripped down the stairs in your rush to swing the entrance open, and when you did, you were instantly tackled by your friend collapsing into your arms, her tears soaking through your shirt.
Kicking the door shut, your hands busy embracing Areum with your eyes wide, you tried to steady both her and yourself. In between her uncontrollable sobs, shaking you to the core, she let her worries tumble out her mouth. Words came in a torrent, fast and breathless, barely giving you any time to fully process them as she buried her face in your neck.
It took a moment for the huge news to break through your thick, slowed down brain, but then it struck you, Areum chanting it repeatedly as if she couldn’t grasp her mind around it: her parents were splitting up. Divorce was imminent.
Your own disbelief mirrored hers, but for very different reasons. You felt it in the way your shock turned into excitement; indecorous, depraved exhilaration, with your heartbroken friend still in your arms.
Even as her sobs echoed, your mind latched onto one single thought, repeating like a mantra: he’s single. Mr. Jeon is single.
You felt terribly guilty when you sensed a smile that you couldn’t quite suppress stretching over your features, and the jittery sensation that came with it flowed your body and reached your hands, tightening harder around Areum to try and squeeze the shame out of yourself.
Since that day, you’ve lost count of how many afternoons you’ve spent at the Jeon’s house. You've been doing your best to be the friend Areum needs, to keep her company when what she fears the most is loneliness. You’ve been a constant presence, helping her through the mountain of neglected work she left piling up, distracting her with baking sessions, or mindlessly binge watching entire seasons of Friends on lazy evenings. Anything to keep her mind off the pain.
But each visit is an opportunity. A fleeting chance to see him. To study how he moves around the house with an intensity that still manages to feel like a calm, steady current filling every room.
You’ve memorized many of his mannerisms. The way his eyes soften when he looks at Areum; the way his mouth twitches into a faint smile when she tries to cheer him up; the way he nods at you in recognisment, silently letting you know he’s grateful for what you’re doing to help his daughter.
You wish you could help him too. In other ways. Ways you know you shouldn’t be thinking about.
You can’t avoid it, though. You've witnessed him come back home from work countless times now, watched the tension etched across his features as he steps through the door, wished you could be the one to ease it off his shoulders. Let your hand travel down his chest, reach his belt.
You feel disgusting unfailingly, but how can you not let your mind wander when he groans so deliciously every time he loosens the tie around his neck and kicks off his shoes?
You know exactly what his next move is, the imperceptible sigh melting the weariness off his face the moment he greets his daughter, a tender smile breaking through his exhaustion.
“Any requests for dinner tonight, girls?” He always asks, his gaze jumping between Areum and you on the living room couch, waiting for a response.
After your friend replies she likes whatever her daddy cooks, your stomach twists with nerves when his eyes meet yours to make sure there’s no complaints, and you quickly shake your head, biting your lips to keep from saying something foolish. Is your dick on the menu? Perhaps?
And the man can cook. Exceptionally well. He moves around the kitchen with purpose in his every movement, each dish you have the honor of tasting better than the last.
While you help setting the table, you catch yourself staring more times than you should. You can’t help but wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at. Fuck. Is there even a single flawed bone in this man’s body? With every day you spend at his house, you’re convinced there can’t be.
You want him to notice you, the same way you notice him. You tell yourself you’re just being a good friend to Areum, but you know there’s more behind your constant visits.
There’s definitely more behind the way your skirts get shorter, your tops tighter, your bras purposefully not worn.
You feel crazed when you convince yourself his gaze falls upon your exposed thighs when he puts a plate in front of you at dinner, or when his eyes seem to be caught, only for a fleeting second, by your hardened nipples, evident through your poor excuses of shirts.
Even when your interactions don’t go further than a brief exchange about college and Areum or quiet, polite smiles in passing, the mere thought of being around him sends a rush through your veins.
You’ve been seeking more and more of that after one particular night, your feet making their way down the stairs after Areum had fallen asleep and you had rathered take your leave. You found him stretched on the couch, a drink in his hand.
His eyes hazily followed your movements, voice low and slightly slurred, “Are you leaving already?”
Hearing him acknowledge you outside of the usual context of Areum’s presence made you stop dead in your tracks, your reddened cheeks turning to face him, the dark color spreading all over your features when you fully took him in.
He was cladded in a comfortable attire, one you almost never saw on him, black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt deliciously hugging his shoulders, the short sleeves revealing the intricate ink designs running all over his right arm.
You shook yourself out of your trance suddenly, stuttering, “Huh… yes. Didn’t wanna be a bother.”
He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, “Oh, you’re not. I wish all of my daughter’s friends were like you.”
His words hung in the air, filling it with sincerity and a sudden tension landing right on your chest. You quickly brushed it away with a laugh, a nervous, shaky sound escaping your lips, trying to mask the way your heart was racing with desperation for the gods to grace you with the depth of his tipsy voice all night.
To this day, you still think your horny and delusional prayer was heard when he nodded to the empty space beside him, lifting his glass slightly, “Care for a drink? You’re 21 now, right?”
You only nodded shyly, more out of reflex than actual thought, slowly making your way to sit beside him just as he had instructed. The proximity sent a wave of heat through your body, your insides melting with the lava, the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent replacing the burned ground with a trail of flowers.
You were willing to do whatever he wanted from you at that moment, even if it meant downing the harsh liquor he poured into a glass for you. You took a sip, struggling not to grimace at the burn that followed. He smiled.
It was probably the alcohol loosening his tongue, but that night, for the first time, you saw a side of Mr. Jeon that he kept carefully hidden away, his vulnerability a strong characteristic of it.
His words tumbled out in an almost confessional tone. He spoke about his marriage, about how he had always felt somewhat trapped. Still a teenager himself, he was only 17 when he found out his soon to be wife was pregnant with Areum; 23 when they decided to marry. Voice soft but tinged with sadness, he admitted he never felt like he got to live his youth to the fullest, certainly blessed with his perfect baby, but also chained down by responsibilities and a tightening pressure he shouldn’t have had to deal with at such a young age.
Then, with his eyes burning into your shiny and equally flaring ones, he paused just for a moment, and you felt he could see right through you, into the very core of your being. That he had you all figured out.
“When I look at you,” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, gaze traveling down your bare thighs, squished together on his couch, “I feel like I get a bit of that youth back. You're so full of life, so fresh, so… full of love for my daughter. I'm glad she has you. Glad we have you.”
As he found your orbs again, you noticed his had significantly darkened. You were sure your heart would have failed you if you had kept navigating in his gaze; instead, you looked down at your hands folded in your lap.
That night, he paid for your uber and insisted you sent him a text when you made it home. It was only read the morning after, and left unanswered.
Even now, you’re convinced that if it weren’t for the whisky, those words would have stayed locked away in his mind, never seeing the light of day. Not even if he were forced to speak them at gunpoint.
Still, you’re grateful for the magical effects of alcohol and how they’ve brought you a tiny bit closer to give a look into his complicated world. It has awakened something in you, which led you to the conclusion that you always want to be there for him. Help him through the doubts and regrets. Be the youth he missed. Take the weight off his shoulders. Let him use you on that couch.
That feral, undomesticated monster inside you is a hundred times hungrier when, exiting the library building with Areum by your side, babbling in your ear about today’s plans, you see his sleek Mercedes parked outside.
He honks, getting his daughter’s attention too, who excitedly walks over the car when she spots it. The sound works as a pavlovian trigger for you, it has your mouth salivating and your senses alert, catching up with your friend and getting in the backseat.
It has been a few weeks since you last saw him, both you and Areum too busy with assignments and outside activities, and his charming smile as he asks about the day cuts the breath from your lungs.
You’re silent as your friend fills him in, your ears struggling to pick up her speech as it only takes a few more seconds for your eyes to be caught by an interesting detail, one that has your world rocked: he finally took his wedding ring off.
The wedding ring that has stood as an unspoken boundary between you and your reckless fantasies is gone. The realization hits hard, and suddenly your mind veers into dangerous territory, conjuring visions that feel too real. You can almost feel his left hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you in, claiming you. And the images are so vivid, so consuming, that you don’t even notice when Areum nudges your shoulder.
You don’t register her calling your name until the sound finally cuts through, pulling you back to the present with a jolt. You blink a few times, trying to ground yourself, before turning to face her, Areum’s voice light but her expression amusedly curious, “Dad asked you a question.”
Your whole face drops, panic clear in your features, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks. You've been zoning out, lost in a daydream about the very man sitting in front of you, the one you literally just ignored, too busy thinking of him. The irony is almost too much.
Your eyes find his in the rearview mirror, and the slight smirk on his lips only makes you look even dumber, stuttering all throughout your explanation, “Sorry, Mr. Jeon. I— um. I was distracted.”
He simply chuckles, low and clearly not offended by your lapse in attention. His focus is back on the road, but as he speaks you keep yours on the words he’s directing at you this time, “It’s okay. And I always tell you, just Jeongguk is fine. I was asking about your day, you seem a little worn out.”
“Oh. I—it went well! I guess I'm just a bit tired,” the words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you hope they sound convincing enough. You just can’t stop your eyes from falling on his left hand.
“Well, you can’t be!” It’s Areum’s excitement interrupting your furious imagination and bubbling over, “You need to help me set up for tonight. Then, we’re gonna do our makeup, our hair, and dress up. I'm so excited!”
Right. The reason why you could finally see Mr. Jeon after weeks and why you’re currently driving to his house is because it’s Areum’s birthday.
The day feels significant in so many ways. You're excited to witness your best friend turn a year older, especially with all the hardships she’s been faced with. Honored that you’re the one she’s chosen to help make this night perfect, ensure every detail is just how she’s pictured this moment to be like. And you can’t deny that you feel slightly nervous at the prospect of tonight, knowing there are going to be faces you’re not that well acquainted with. You'd say you’re a bit awkward with new people, but you’ll try to bear through it for the sake of Areum’s happiness.
But mostly, you feel guilty. Because no matter how much you try to focus on your friend, the thought that truly makes your insides all mushy with fuzziness is the fact that you’re going to be in the proximity of her dad, again.
You crave for the smallest moments. The brief second where you’ll catch his gaze. The way his cologne will subtly linger in the hallways of his home. Your eyes have a habit of drifting to his hands, those strong, veined, tattooed hands that move so smoothly whenever he speaks.
Even now, in his car, as you glance at his side profile, there’s a ridiculous and almost cosmic sense of gratitude. Like you’ve been chosen. Blessed by whatever God to exist on this planet at the same time as him, to simply witness his presence.
It should be enough. It really should. But you’re a sinner. You're greedy, wanting more. Always more.
That buzzing sensation sticks with you throughout the entire day, hours packed with anxious over-organization, both you and Areum moving as if every step had to be executed flawlessly. And with all the chaos, he’s there in the back of your mind. Mr. Jeon.
He helps for a while, joining you in the backyard as you set up for the evening, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the whirlwind around you. But then he disappears into his studio, into his own space, leaving you to your tasks, and you don’t see him until hours later.
Yet, you still feel him, as if he’s always near. His upstairs studio’s window faces the garden, and it’s enough to make you hyper-aware of your every gesture. You straighten your back, slow your steps. Because even though you don’t know if he’s really watching, it feels like he is.
Getting your makeup, hair and outfit ready with Areum does slightly ease that sensation off your chest. You love these moments with her. Shared girlhood when you do each other’s eyeliner, the flutter of excitement as you zip up dresses, as you rummage through her closet, searching for the perfect piece to complete your look.
But even then, you’re brought back to the man working just a few rooms down the hallway. It's astonishing how easily Areum has access to everything she wants. The power her dad holds, the kind of wealth that makes life feel effortless in ways you can’t help but envy. For her, money isn’t just something that buys things. It shapes her world. It’s as simple as snapping her fingers.
You don’t resent her for it, not really. But it makes you wonder what it would be like to live in a world where nothing is out of reach. Where everything, even the man who haunts your thoughts, could be yours with the right words or a simple gesture.
When you see him again, you’re standing in his kitchen. Areum is still upstairs, fixing the tiniest details to her makeup, but you decided to come down early, just in case the first guests arrive, wanting to be helpful, wanting to keep yourself busy.
You’re momentarily lost in the view outside the window, the backyard garden bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights, soft hues blending beautifully with the sage and pastel yellow decorations. It pulls a small smile to your face, knowing your hard work paid off.
The quiet peace is soon interrupted by the sound of a cupboard cracking open behind you, and you startle, your heart giving a quick jump.
You turn, following the noise, and there he is — Jeongguk, bent over as he retrieves a bottle of red wine from the lower cupboard. As he straightens up, bottle in hand, he finds your eyes already staring in his. He's uncharacteristically deliberate as he lets his gaze wander up and down your figure.
You’ve dressed carefully for tonight, choosing a flowy pink dress that flutters delicately against your thighs. The corset top hugs your waist in all the right ways, accentuating your shape. It’s the kind of dress that makes you feel just a little more confident, a little more seen.
But now, under his gaze, you feel rather exposed, as if he’s seeing more than just the fabric of your dress. His eyes linger, and when his orbs dip to your chest, it’s almost as if he hesitates, like he’s trying to tear his eyes away but can’t.
You’re not even sure if the engrossed look on his face is real or just the product of your own twisted fantasies.
Still, your body responds instinctively, your hand drifting up to play with your necklace, an unconscious gesture, while your other arm wraps around your waist, as if you’re trying to hold yourself together under the intensity of his stare.
When his eyes return to your wide ones, he gives a subtle nod towards your dress, and although the smile that curves his lips is warm you can’t decipher that something else it wants to communicate.
His voice is smooth, literal honey, sweet and rich, dripping out from his pillowy lips, “What a beauty. You look very pretty.”
Now, you weren’t expecting that. It steals the breath from your lungs. It's not just the words, or even the way he says them, velvet wrapping around your senses. It’s how he seems to drink you in, his refined wine nothing in comparison. Like you’re something to be savored just as carefully.
At this point, you’re seriously questioning if there was a stronger substance in the liquor you and Areum shared earlier, even if you hadn’t taken big quantities. But you figure it must have been enough to distort the current reality around you. Or maybe, Mr. Jeon is the inebriated one.
You don't know how you find the voice to speak, or if you even do, the word escaping your lips in an uncoordinated mess, almost imperceptible, “Thanks.”
He hums deeply in response, and it vibrates through the space between you. You let out a shaky exhale the moment his gaze finally shifts away. He resumes the task at hand, effortlessly opening the bottle of wine and turning his back to you as he reaches for a glass from the higher cabinet.
The muscles in his shoulders shift under his shirt, and for a split second, you’re unsure what to do. Whether to stay, add anything else, flee the room entirely. Make small conversation about Areum’s birthday. Comment on his look, too. Oh, you’d have a lot to say about it.
You can tell he just wrapped up his work-related tasks for today from the way the first three buttons of his white shirt are opened, revealing his deep cleavage. His hair slightly tousled, but in a way that looks perfectly intentional, unintentionally. His slacks hug him deliciously, rounding the curve of his ass and making you swallow hard.
Your eyes can’t resist trailing over him, but they quickly move up to stare at the ceiling, feigning deep thought when he turns back to face you and the counter.
Surprisingly, he’s the one to break the silence first, again. The rich sound fills the air as he pours his red wine, the motion so precise, so fluid, it feels like witnessing an authentic art form.
He doesn’t bother looking up at you as he asks, seemingly casual, but slightly amused, “Is there a boy you’re trying to impress tonight?”
The way he steers the conversation makes you less agitated, suddenly confident. Especially with the question thrown your way. Teasing, almost belittling. You can see he’s not even trying to hide his pretty smirk, his focus on the wine flowing into the glass.
The question lingers, and you twirl your necklace around your fingers, smoothing down your dress with your other hand, your eyes flitting to his naked left hand, “Mh… you could say so.”
Of course, you’re not thinking about a boy. Mr. Jeon is no boy — he’s a man. The kind women dream about but know they’ll never find. The kind that belongs on the big screen or in the pages of a novel, with his effortless charm, wealth, looks that stop you in your tracks.
But he’s in front of you. And he’s tall, muscular, with hands that could crush or caress, tattooed in a way that makes your mouth dry up and water all at once.
It’s him you want to impress. You want to affect him the way he affects you. You want to pull him in, make him look at you the way he makes your world tilt on its axis with just a glance.
You’re hypnotized as you witness him in one of his rich man activities, performing a ritual with the wine glass. He brings it to his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the aroma. It’s sensual, the way he handles the glass, its liquid dancing with precision, as if even this simple act holds meaning. You can’t look away.
When he's satisfied, he finds you again, and your mouth is slightly open without you even realizing it. The moment he lifts the glass to his lips, you bite your own, almost harshly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
His smile is soft. He must know exactly what he’s doing to you.
Jeongguk mutters into the glass, his words resounding even stronger, “Well, he’d be a fool not to fall for you.”
The implications of his comment make you swallow audibly, while he downs his first sip of the wine with fine ease, his Adam's apple bobbing with it. The whole time, his eyes never leave yours.
A thick silence stretches between you, and you wish you could break it but you don’t know how. Your mind spins with the unspoken tension, instead he seems entirely comfortable with it. He places the glass back on the counter, the soft clink of it slicing through the quiet. Smoothly, he nudges it in your direction, his movements slow, as if testing the waters.
His voice is inviting, even more than usual, “You want to try?”
”Is that wine?” You instantly cringe at the way you sound strained.
He hums, a low sound of affirmation, watching you carefully. You briefly glance at the glass, "I've never had it.”
”Have it, then.”
With a slow twist of his fingers around the base, he slides the glass toward you. As it moves across the marble surface, you notice how he rotates it imperceptibly, but purposefully, so that the side where his lips touched the rim is now facing you. The gesture is subtle, but the intent behind it is clear. At least to your deranged fantasies.
There’s a faint lip mark where his mouth had been, and the sight of it pulls you in, making your pulse pound in your ears. You look back up at him, finding his gaze still on you, expression unreadable.
Without a word you lift the glass, your fingers wrapping clumsily around its stem. You bring it to your lips, mouth closing over the spot his lips had just pressed on.
The wine hits your tongue — bitter, sharp, and unfamiliar. You gulp hard, the liquid burning slightly as it slides down your throat. Your face scrunches involuntarily; the richness of the flavor is too much for you, and you can’t help but grimace as the aftertaste lingers.
He watches, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. When you set the glass down, he effortlessly picks it back up and brushes his fingers across the rim.
His tone laced with amusement, he asks, “Love it?”
You shake your head quickly, trying to hide your discomfort.
His chuckle is low, a soft rumble that makes your stomach flip. Swirling the wine gently, he muses, "I heard there’s going to be alcohol tonight.”
You grumble lightly, slumping your shoulders, “Ugh, I know.”
The endearment rolls off his tongue like a secret meant just for you, his voice dipping into something softer, more intimate, “Make sure you don’t drink too much, pretty face. I'll be around.”
Just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your thoughts spinning. Pretty face?
What just happened? You're not so sure, but eyeing the glass left alone on the counter, you impulsively grab it and decide to gulp its remnants down, groaning immediately after. Taking wine as a shot might not have been the best idea, but you’re certainly going to need all the possible devices to shake this feeling off.
It’s hard to do so, even as the birthday party kicks off. The energy in the backyard shifts as more guests arrive. Lively voices and unfamiliar faces begin to fill the space. Areum’s laughter cuts through the hum, infectious and bright, drawing everyone in. With your best efforts, you start engaging with others, smiling as you talk to some classmates and mutual friends, but it’s all surface-level. Your mind is elsewhere.
It's only later, as the evening progresses and the party settles into a rhythm, that you begin to relax. Mainstream music plays in the background and it inevitably involves everybody, some classic party games becoming the main entertainment.
Long after the cake and the gift-opening, the group gathers into a loose circle, throwing each other Never Have I Ever questions. You can’t help the way you all are still too young, and how you still get foolishly excited whenever the topic turns hot and hints at anything that is sex related. Childish and immature, you know, but your ears still perk when the first probing question is tossed out.
“Never have I ever been fingered.”
Areum instantly shushes it, her eyes panickedly looking back to the house in hopes her dad isn’t around. laughter bubbles just as quickly, both because of the question and the girl’s reaction.
As expected, many reach for their drink, and you do too. The few present boys holler in a teasing manner, gaining some eye rolls.
Sheepishly, the plastic cup touches your lips and you take the smallest sip of your punch. You can’t appear unbothered like your other peers, your cheeks subtly flaming as the embarrassing memories rush to your mind.
It’s silent, the small plea you telepathically send to anyone that might be listening. You pray for the topic to shift to something else, something that won’t inevitably put you at the center of the attention. Something you can relate to.
But of course, God is not on your side. The questions only dig deeper, wandering in uncharted territory (at least for you), and you never reach for your glass again.
You can only sink further in your chair the more everybody else around you seems even more lively with the way the game has turned, sharing their experiences, giggling as they listen and refill their cups. Beside you Areum buzzes with energy, and every question is just something for her to drink to, nothing that shocks her or that she isn’t familiar with.
Never have I ever given head.
Never have I ever been ate out.
Never have I ever rode someone.
It’s undeniable, your skin heating up. With how you’ve been spending your whole day, fantasizing about the man who’s probably already asleep in his bedroom by now, your friends sharing their adventures only fuels your imagination. You feel dirty when you put yourself in those scenarios, and for every daring moment they relive, the figure that appears beside you is always Mr. Jeon.
If only you turned your head, just for a moment, and glanced toward the kitchen window that faces the backyard, you would have seen the same man dominating your thoughts, staring intently at the scene unfolding outside.
Jeongguk is swallowed wholly by the darkness of the house, every light turned off. Maybe that’s why neither you nor Areum notice him.
You don’t see him. For once, you don’t feel him. You’re too caught up in the moment, too consumed by your own desires, unaware that the man that put you in that same condition is standing so close, watching.
Jeongguk intently studies how your face dips down at every new question, how your smile seems just a little too tight, too forced when listening to the stories, the ones that make you shift uncomfortably in your chair.
If you don’t notice it, he does almost immediately — the moment the attention in the circle shifts toward you.
The glances thrown your way become layered with a subtle curiosity, laced with something that looks like concern. But then, in the eyes of a few, Jeongguk catches a faint trace of judgment. It’s there, in the tilt of their heads, in the exchanged fleeting looks with one another, as if they sense your uneaseness and interpret it as something lesser. Something they can pick apart.
His jaw tightens as he observes, that familiar protective instinct stirring within him. It makes his hands twitch by his side, but he stays rooted in place.
Eventually, the moment you clearly seem to dread the most (it doesn’t take a genius to know. It’s written on your face. Or maybe, he got so used to studying you. It comes easy to him. Knowing you,) follows.
It makes you want to vanish into the thin air caressing your legs, how you can sense that the question is put out with intent, an only pretending-to-be-careful tone wrapping it, all pairs of eyes instantly directed in your direction.
“Never have I ever… had sex.”
You feel trapped, a momentary panic bubbling in your chest as you reach for your cup, hesitant. The rim hovers near your lips and you try avoiding every expectant glance, taking the smallest sip you can manage.
A murmur ripples through the circle. You can’t decipher it, too busy feeling the heat spread across your face. It's only later that you realize no one else drank. The question had been crafted specifically for you, a test.
Lara exhales, a teasing smile playing on her lips, “Woah, I was getting worried for a second there, ___.”
You barely have time to react before Areum steps in, her voice sharp in your defense, “What’s wrong with never having had sex, either way?”
“Nothing, but—”
You’re not sure why you speak, and why you choose your speech that way specifically. You cut in before you even realize what you’re doing, driven by a sudden urge to explain yourself, an unshakable need to clarify forcing itself up your throat, "I only took a small sip, though.”
The group’s collective curiosity spikes, attention zeroed in on you like never before. You feel it — everyone waiting for you to continue, to reveal something you’ve kept to yourself until now. So, you give in, words tumbling out against your better judgment.
You clear your throat, straighten your back against the chair, your tone evasive, “I technically am not a virgin, but… When we— did it, he um… he got his tip in, but— God, this is embarrassing.”
“C’mon, tell us!”
You sigh, pressing forward with an explanation they do not deserve, “He came, like, two seconds after. So, I felt nothing.”
The laughter that erupts is immediate, your friends covering their mouths in shock and amusement. You can only chuckle nervously, shrinking in your seat with a deep, liberating exhale.
Yunjin pats your shoulder beside you, “That’s so sad, babe. We need to find you a real man.”
A strange sense of relief courses through you, the adrenaline from finally being acknowledged and validated by your friends swelling within. You don’t know why, but you keep talking, oversharing, feeding into the newfound attention, “Oh, I've been waiting for one in particular.”
You quickly become the center of attention for different reasons than the previous ones, now. Voices overlap, but you dismiss them all with a playful shake of your head, giggles bubbling up as you try to evade their questions.
But just as quickly as the moment came, it fades when you glance to the side, and your smile drops.
Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours immediately.
The intensity of the gaze knocks the breath from your lungs, and you immediately straighten in your seat.
He’s been watching the entire time, arms crossed, muscle in his jaw tensing as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. There’s an unusual frustration etched into his expression, a subtle irritation with your friends’ behavior. But it’s more than that.
Your confession had softly revealed your inexperience. Your innocence. The untarnished parts of you he’s only beginning to realize he wants to corrupt.
Truth is, he’s known for a long time. Longer than he’d like to admit, really. But he’s never let himself feel it fully until now. It wasn’t something that hit him all at once. No, it crept up on him slowly, over the months. He’s always known you were beautiful, in that distant, untouchable way. You’re his daughter’s best friend, after all.
But he couldn’t help his eyes from lingering on you a little too long when you’d come over to hang out with Areum, how he’d feel the tension of his work day melt when he’d let himself be coddled by the warmth of your helping actions, the way his muscles would instead tense when he’d catch sight of you lounging by the pool.
He’d been good at keeping it under bay. But you weren’t subtle, not even the slightest, and it all made it harder. Even more when you’ve been nothing but the proof that angels exist, and at some point he convinced himself you were sent on Earth to fill the void he felt his whole life, with your unconditional care towards his daughter and your pupils widening whenever they’d land on his.
Maybe it was seeing you tonight, all grown up and standing there in that dress, hugging your figure deliciously. How you carried yourself, confident yet unsure, mature yet untouched.
Hearing you talk about your inexperience, about that brief, awkward encounter with a boy who clearly didn’t know what he was doing. Watching you squirm under your friends’ teasing questions, witnessing how you tried to explain yourself.
It’s like it all clicks into place for him. And for the first time, he’s letting himself acknowledge it.
Jeongguk wants you.
He knows it’s wrong. So wrong. He's never felt this way about someone so much younger than him, and yet, the need to be the first one to truly touch you, to show you what it means to be wanted by a real man, makes his blood run hot.
Yet, he feels disgusting. Selfish, his stomach swirling with nerves. Dirty, his fingers twitching and begging to free his insides from such feelings.
There’s simply no ignoring it anymore, no pretending like you’re just Areum’s friend. That boundary he set in his mind is starting to blur. He's old enough to know better, but old enough to know exactly what he wants.
Your eyes widen with terror, meeting Jeongguk’s own hardened gaze. He wants to tell you, wants you to know, but the way your startled expression lingers in his narrowed eyes makes him hesitate.
The contact is abruptly interrupted when one of Areum’s friends, an older kid she’s met through her dad’s colleague, crashes into you from behind, draping his weight over your shoulders.
You struggle not to stumble forward, holding yourself on the arms of your chair while you look to the side, and immediately try to pull away when you realize the unwanted proximity.
But you’re weaker than the boy’s embrace, holding you still and wiggling his eyebrows, his tone playful as he ruffles your hair, “Is it me?”
The people around you laugh, but the way your body stiffens, the clear discomfort in your eyes — Jeongguk notices. And he also notices (reluctantly) the ugly feeling making space in his stomach the more that guy’s face moves closer to yours. His jaw twitches, the muscle at his temple ticking.
He can’t just stand there doing nothing anymore.
The sudden sound of the door to the garden opening catches everyone’s attention, and your gaze flies over in that direction.
Jeongguk steps out, presence commanding, and Areum’s eyes grow wide, instantly sensing something wrong in the way her father is looking at the scene. His eyes are too dark, too sharp, and if no one else detects it, you and his daughter surely do.
Still, the taller boy behind you moves up again, taking a step back from your seat, and Jeongguk seems to reserve him a look you find hard to decipher.
“Areum,” he calls, soft but firm. She’s quick to move toward him, and you can’t help but try to listen in on what he’s saying to her.
But the voices rise again, loud and boisterous, filling the space with chatter, drowning out any chance you had of overhearing. You sigh, returning to your slumped position on the chair. As you do, you can’t ignore how all the girls around you are sneaking glances at him, their giggles piercing through the air as they whisper among themselves.
Jeongguk has always had a certain effect on people, and tonight is no different. You hear some of their comments, but they don’t fully register in your mind. All you can focus on is the bitter feeling rising in your chest.
You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. It sickens you, the way you have to share the image of him with everyone else. You wish only your eyes had been granted the gift of looking at him, of admiring the way his shirt stretches across his chest or how his hair falls perfectly, even when tousled. Instead, he’s a spectacle for everyone to enjoy, and you hate it.
When Areum returns, it’s with a slightly slumped posture and her energy deflated. Behind her, Mr. Jeon stands with his arms crossed, a small, condescending smile tugging at his lips.
Areum’s voice is low as she announces, “The party’s over, guys.”
The subtle groans of disappointment echo around you as your friends gather their things, saying their goodbyes and slowly trickling out, only after trying to argue about it, giving up when met with no possible negotiation. Once the last guest has left, it’s just the three of you, left to clean up the remnants of the night in the dimly lit garden.
The air is tense on your skin. You can feel it in every movement, every glance that passes between you and Jeongguk, though he barely looks at you now. His focus is elsewhere. On the mess, on Areum, on anything but you. It’s silent for a while as each one of you picks up their own task. Teamwork seems to be efficient, every area of the backyard slowly regaining its original aspect.
Until Areum yawns dramatically, stretching her arms above her head as she makes her way over to you and her father. She mumbles, blinking heavily. "’M so sleepy."
Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. He teases lightly, voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "Oh, really? You’re just gonna leave all this mess behind?"
For a moment, you and Areum both freeze, glancing at each other with wide eyes, unsure if he’s serious. However, you don’t seem to notice Jeongguk’s lips curling into a soft, knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Just kidding,” he chuckles, tone warm now, the joke clear. “Go sleep, c’mon. It’s past your bedtime.”
Areum sighs with exaggerated relief, rolling her eyes before stepping forward to wrap her arms around her dad in a loose hug. She mumbles into his chest, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. I don’t have a bedtime.”
He chuckles with a lightness foreign to you until that moment, and he leans down, pressing his lips gently to the top of her head, voice a low and tender whisper, “Whatever you say. Happy birthday, Reumie.”
It’s such a simple moment, nothing grand or elaborate. Still, you watch them with stars in your eyes, completely captivated by this rare portrayal of vulnerability from Mr. Jeon. You almost feel like an intruder, yet you keep contradicting yourself when you can’t help but want to be part of it, too. Want to bask in his love, the one he keeps hidden but the same one that shapes him whole. That fills him from head to toe, never spilling, always quiet. Makes him the brave man you only know through your best friend’s admiring eyes, never from his words.
He doesn’t like talking about himself, but you’d kill to know what truly goes through his mind, even for just a second. You’d gladly settle in a cramped house in his brain, pay rent and everything.
When Areum finally pulls away and turns to you, her expression sleepy but content, she asks, “You coming with me?”
You hesitate, glancing at the mess still surrounding you. You speak with a small, reassuring smile, only looking at your friend, “I'll be there in a minute. I wanna help clean up first.”
She just shrugs, too tired to argue, and heads inside. Jeongguk's eyes follow her briefly before flicking back to you.
His lips part as if he wants to say something. Maybe to insist that there’s no need to help, that you should join Areum inside and get a good night's sleep. But the words never come. Instead, he watches you silently for a second longer, before turning his attention back to the garden.
Now, it’s just the two of you.
The quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. The subtle hum of the night seems louder now without the chatter of party guests, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze fills the air as you move around the small round tables, readjusting the chairs.
You’re trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind keeps drifting to other regions. In your distraction, you clumsily trip over your own feet, your breath catching as you stumble forward.
Before you can fall, though, a strong hand grips your arm, steadying you instantly.
“Oops. Careful, little one,” it’s Jeongguk’s deep voice murmuring close to your ear, the warmth of his touch grounding you.
Your face flushes immediately, heat spreading across your cheeks and down your neck. “Sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him through your lashes, feeling ridiculously small under his intense gaze.
“It’s okay,” he instantly replies, tone so gentle it almost makes your heart falter.
Silence falls again, but this time, it’s thicker, and maybe even uncomfortable. You both remain still for a moment, his hand loosely gripping your arm, and you feel yourself burn where his fingers rest. His thumb brushes your skin lightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but it’s enough to make you gulp audibly.
Finally, he releases you, stepping back slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, "Thanks for making my daughter happy today. I really appreciate that. I appreciate you."
Your mind races, trying to find the right words to respond, but all you can manage is a stutter, “Oh. I—”
His voice is firmer when he gently cuts you off, “Go sleep now. I'll finish here.”
You want to protest, but the way he’s looking at you — dark eyes locking onto yours, holding you in place even with his hand now by his side — makes it impossible.
There’s something about the way he’s speaking, like he’s being careful with his words, almost spelling them out, making sure you’re paying attention to each one, “If you need anything, you know where to find me. Yeah?”
You swallow hard, nodding slowly. His gaze is unwavering, and it feels like he’s saying something more than just the words themselves, something you can’t quite grasp yet. You stammer, “Right. Yes. I—I’ll… goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
It’s not exactly a good night for you. In a sense, maybe it is. You always welcome dreams like these when they decide to visit. But right now, it feels more than a little awkward.
Worst timing ever. You’re lying next to Areum, the daughter of the very man who’s making you wet with just a few flashes of imagery dancing behind your closed eyelids.
At first, it’s soft, almost serene. You see a beach, engulfed in warm, blurry tones that blend together like watercolors left to bleed in the sun. The sea is flat, unmoving, and glimmers like pearls under the flaming light.
A weight presses down on your exposed thigh. The sensation feels so vivid that it pulls you deeper into the dream, and as you glance down, you instantly recognize the large, familiar hand resting there.
Jeongguk's hand. His left one. On the fourth finger, a gold ring.
When you lift your head, his face greets you with a wide, unusual smile. His hair is wet, slicked back as if he’s just come out of the water, droplets clinging to the tips. He bites his lip, and you see it. A double piercing sits on the side of his mouth, the silver studs gleaming as he plays with them using the tip of his tongue. Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t just see it there. On his eyebrow, a matching piercing catches the sunlight, giving him a rebellious edge.
You remember them from old pictures Areum showed you once. Jeongguk, in his younger days, rougher, wilder, and undeniably charming.
It must have left a deep impression on you because your subconscious has dug it up now, weaving it into this dream. Deep in your slumber, you unconsciously whine.
His hand kneads the soft skin of your leg, and his grin stretches wider, eyes crinkling into familiar crescents, but with an edge you’ve never seen on him before.
"You wanna take another bath?" His voice is husky in your ear, filled with suggestion. He's leaning in now, closer, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin. Before you can say anything, his hand slides higher, fingers grazing the hem of your swimsuit. "Come on. Just you and me."
Jeongguk’s hand is still playing with the laces of your bikini, and he’s slow and teasing as he pulls one of them. When he fully undoes it, you’re bare in front of him.
But he doesn’t look down just yet. He keeps staring in your eyes, his smile gone now, replaced with something more serious, more focused.
Jeongguk leans closer to your ear, pillowy lips brushing your lobe, and it feels way too real when he whispers, “Let me make you feel good.”
It’s with a jolt that you wake up, the low sound still echoing in the depths of your brain, and you struggle to take in your surroundings at first. On your right, Areum is sleeping soundly, even snoring softly. You'll tease her about it in the morning.
If the thought initially puts a smile on your face, it morphs into a frown when you register the reason why you’re now awake, and you brim with guilt. You have to get away from your best friend. Need to get away from your brain, if possible. Wash it all with a glass of cold water.
You make sure not to cause too much noise as you slowly sit up, the covers falling from your figure and the air welcoming you with goosebumps on your skin. Your naked feet tentatively touch the ground and you force yourself to stand on them, padding on the floor and exiting the room, gently closing the door behind your shoulders.
At first, you only hear it. Faint, muffled noises; fussing; heavy panting; groans.
You blink rapidly, convinced your hazy brain is still cozily wrapped around the blankets, finding it hard to let go of the images that had flashed behind your eyelids and adapt to the new state of consciousness.
But as you make your way to the stairs, the sounds get closer, and more vivid. It's not just your mind playing evil games anymore.
It’s shushed moans, and eager whines. And they seem awfully close to how you’d always imagined Mr. Jeon would sound like. In that situation.
Having lost control over your own brain a long time ago, it feels like you’re now being ordered around by it, no freedom of choice whatsoever.
Your feet move on their own, following the source of that delicious music, and you swear your eyes get teary with joy when you find that the door was left ajar.
You feel delirious. The small gap is more than enough to give you a view into what you never thought you’d have the honor of witnessing: the man of all your desires has his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing it, then dragging it up and down in slow movements that you just know are torturing him, from the way he harshly bites his lower lip, to the way his furrowed eyebrows almost meet at the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on his doings.
Nonetheless, he loves it. His mouth opens every time he brushes the tip of his thick dick with his palm, releasing small whines, followed by quiet moans when he uses his other hand to play with his balls.
He cusses repeatedly, then grips his base and halts his movements. Only to go over the punishing pattern again, bringing himself closer to the edge then retraining when he feels like stepping over it.
The sight of Mr. Jeon edging himself makes your knees weak. It takes over you physically, you genuinely have to find support in the wall beside you.
You need to be there with him. You need it to be your hand; need him to guide it just the way he likes it; need him to teach you how to please him. His groans make your head spin, and you need to get closer.
You’re not thinking when you instinctively take a step towards the slightly open door, but when you do, the floor cracks under you.
You’re paralysed. In the silence of the house, wrapped in night time, the otherwise small sound is amplified, and he stops his hand.
With the little power you still possess over your actions, you move your back to the wall beside the door. Your breaths are ragged, too overwhelmed with the mixture of fear and lust, and you think of running away to hide but a huge weight is chaining you down, and you find yourself unable to move.
You can only register fussing from the other side, the soft thump of his feet on the floor and the door opening alarmingly. When he looks to the side, he’s met with his expression mirrored on your small face, your eyes wide but willing themselves to keep looking in his.
If you were to look down, you’re not sure you could keep yourself composed, knowing his cock is hard and unattended in his pajama pants.
“____? What are you doing up?” His voice quickly takes on the calm that characterizes him so well, instilling some of it in your startled figure.
Still, you stutter all throughout your answer, making it clear what you just spied into with the way your face changes color, “I— Water. I wanted— There’s no, huh, water in the fridge.”
Mr. Jeon does a weak job at hiding the confused amusement on his features. Nonetheless, he nods, a small grin on his lips while he says nothing, just walks to the stairs and makes his way down them. You follow hastily, careful not to trip.
There's plenty of water in the fridge, but he doesn’t question it. He takes out a bottle and pours a glass for you, sliding it over the counter.
You take the smallest sip, afraid you might choke with the way he stands facing you, staring so intensely into your orbs.
When you put the still full glass down, he smirks. You see his hands gripping the edge of the table in front of him, “Nightmare?”
The depth of his voice translates into heat pooling right in your lower stomach and staining your shorts. You're a mess just from the blurred sight of him. You shake your head, “More like… a weird dream.”
He smiles taut, having to break the prolonged eye contact and look elsewhere, his grip getting tighter and his patience wearing thin.
He won’t be able to control himself much longer if he doesn’t get out of this kitchen, especially with the effects of your effortless charm flooding down his pleading dick.
You’re in front of him, eyes fond with a feeling that scares him, only the counter dividing your bodies, and you’re wearing the tiniest satin shorts paired with a white tank top that leaves little to the imagination, the cut dangerously low and your nipples evident through the material.
He’s a gone man.
His eyes no longer anchoring you, your gaze automatically travels to where you shouldn’t be looking, for your own sanity. The outline of his cock is so delicious, it makes your mouth water with want.
You’re not sure if it’s your own eyes deceiving you, but you swear you can see it throb, and at that moment you realize he’s not wearing any underwear. Just thin, loose pants covering his length.
You gulp, clenching around nothing. You feel him sigh, and the sound makes your head spin with greater force.
He looks back at you, but you’re too enthralled by your current view, the effects of it almost completely shutting out your hearing and your rational thinking, as you round the counter and leave his words hung in the air, "I'm sorry for… what you probably saw. Should’ve closed the door.”
Apology silently dismissed, or simply ignored (why would he even apologize for blessing you with such an unforgettable sight?) you now stand next to him. As he turns to you, you’re faced with his chest, and you have to bend your head upwards to meet his curious eyes.
Your body has long forgotten to trust the thin amount of rationality that could still be found in your brain, and that’s how you find yourself leading your hand to cup his cock through his pajamas.
His face is stoic, staring at you intensely. He doesn’t startle, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t move away. But you feel him. If the contact does something to him, he doesn’t show it. He keeps looking down at you, in your eyes.
Then, he speaks, his voice steady, “What are you doing.”
You’re suddenly aware of your actions, and you fall victim to them, feeling small because of his stern, composed gaze while you feel like melting under it.
Your voice is frail, barely a whisper, too weak to sound as convinced as you truly are, and your words come out slurred, “Wanna help you.”
He doesn’t break, doesn’t seem affected by your desperation, but his pupils are blown out, knuckles white from grasping the counter, “You already did enough.”
Your hand is still on his clothed dick, unmoving. No one dares break the moment, though. If anything, being this close to him, feeling him while you both search for something in each other’s eyes, is only spurring you further.
You get on your tip toes, your perky nipples brushing against his chest, your voice low while you tilt your head to the side, “What were you thinking of? I'll be that for you.”
Immediately, his hand flies over yours. He doesn’t move it, just holds it still. The look in his eyes is a lot darker, his eyelids droopy, his jaw clenched, “Stop this.”
The electrifying spark that buzzes you the moment you feel his skin travels from your hand to your whole body, and it significantly weakens you.
You don’t know if you fall to your knees because they genuinely give up on you, but it’s how you find yourself facing his hardness, your eyes never leaving his glossy ones, highlighted by the dim light shining through the curtains of his kitchen.
“___. Get up.” There’s a tremor in his voice, and the hand that was blocking yours now falls by his side, twitching.
You see it in his eyes. Sense it in the tension of his muscles. He's holding back. But you don’t want him to resist you.
“Please,” your beg is muffled and quiet, your nose brushing against his length and following a torturous path that makes him hiss.
He groans deliriously, willing himself to tear his orbs off your big, pleading ones staring up at him, but he doesn’t do anything to move you away.
“Fuck,” the chuckle that follows is feverish, his body on fire with the forbidden, but so wanted touch, “Don’t make me have to reject you, doll.”
“You don’t have to,” you’re unexpectedly quick in your answers, your conscience coming back to you but letting it be taken over by a dark feeling, the one that makes you kiss his tip through the thin material, and lick along his length, finding his eyes, "I want you.”
Jeongguk inhales, his lower lip bleeding with the harsh biting, and he swears his knees are shaking with the effort of keeping even the slightest, thinnest thread of sanity intact.
He wishes he could stop you. Knows he should. But he can't. He can only watch as your slim fingers hook under the hem of his light pants and lead them to pool down his ankles.
The way his cock springs free and brushes your smooth, pure face makes him huff out a deep exhale, his jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed as he takes in your eyes widening at the sight of his length.
Mr. Jeon is long. And thick. He's veiny, and perfectly shaved. It looks almost unrealistic, but he’s in front of you in all his glory and he throbs. Leaks pretty precum to coat his angry tip.
He doesn’t know how he manages to speak, especially when you look up at him through your droopy eyelids, pupils blown and tongue ready to take him.
His voice is rough, as if it wants to stay stuck in his throat, but he forces one last warning out, “___. Don’t do it.”
Any and all kinds of inhibitions are nonexistent the moment you attempt a kitten lip at his wet tip, and the simple action makes his head fall backwards, a way too loud growl escaping him. His breaths are heavy, broad chest moving with them as he looks down at you again, too tempted to look elsewhere.
He curses as soon as he does, his lust-filled orbs swimming in your equally craving ones, and he believes this view is crafted by the hands of a God, not slightly comparable to anything his mind came up with back in his room, not too long ago.
The reason why he’s gotten rock hard under his covers, it’s you. The yearning he couldn’t suppress anymore, the hunger making him salivate, the need to be consumed by your love, the desire to be touched by you, to be cured by your innocence, only to taint it.
He’s thirsty, wants to drink all of you in. Wants to finally have you, taste you, feel you. He's tired of fighting it.
Jeongguk doesn’t know how to decipher his heart doing literal flips in his chest when you fully take his cock in your mouth, and he lets out a sound he’s never heard his own self ever produce. It’s high-pitched, whiny, delirious, and it leads himself to subtly push himself forward, to bury his length in your throat.
You inevitably choke at the new sensation, your eyes fluttering shut to keep the tears welling up under your eyelids from spilling out, but you go relentlessly, just as hungry.
You tentatively bob your head up and down his length, messily taking him as best as you could, probably accidentally scraping him with your teeth a few times, and you try to make up for it with your swirling tongue, slurping thirstily.
He almost coos at your eagerness, and as badly as he wants to bask in the sensation, having to keep himself from pounding into your mouth, he holds your silky hair in a ponytail and gently pushes you away.
When you find him again, your eyes are glossy and your eyebrows drawn up with worry.
You don’t want this moment to end. You don’t want your insecurities to be proven right, don’t want him to ward you off, to still think of you as nothing more than a childish girl with an evident crush. You're on your knees for him to finally see you.
Jeongguk instantly reads your thoughts.
His voice is quick to sooth you, a sweet smile painting his face with an expression you rarely see on him. It's soft, just like his voice, “Come up here, angel.”
You want to listen to him, want to follow his every order. But you’re not sure how to when he’s regarding you with a care you’d never thought would be directed at you, one that empties you of any strength. When the pet name rolling off his tongue that easily seems so natural, you want to think it’s all he’s ever seen you as.
With a delicate tug at your hair, he leads you on your feet again. Still, you’re weak, your chin falling on his chest as you look at him through your lashes like he’s hung every single star in the sky.
His hand leaves your locks only to cup your face, promptly helping you stand straight to study your features.
If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’re high off the strongest substance you could find. Your pupils cover your orbs in a dark, wide circle, a lazy smile on your pink lips as you let yourself be handled by him, no control over your body, almost falling over his bigger one again before he steadies you by your hips.
He lets out an amused chuckle at the state you’re in because of him, and he hopes you know just how much you’re affecting him, too. He wants to swallow you, pill after pill, overdose on you.
When he’s sure you don’t need his help keeping you still anymore, leading your palms to rest on his wide shoulders, he takes your face in his big hands and forces you to swim in the intensity of his gaze.
His words are spoken slowly, a low whisper fanning over your lips, “If I kiss you now, I won't be able to control myself anymore.”
Your eyes jump relentlessly between his own orbs and his mouth, the latter winning the battle when you fixate on it, and speak just as weakly, “Please, kiss me.”
You barely manage to get the words out before Jeongguk is all over you. He devours you, pushing your lips open and finding your tongue, playing with it in a mess of slick and heavy breaths.
His fingers travel through every angle of your body they can find, pulling your face impossibly closer by your nape, leaving goosebumps along your bare arms wrapping around his neck, falling down your torso and squeezing harshly as they rest by your sides.
Your moan is inevitable when his palms reach down the curve of your ass and shove you against him. You feel his hardness meet the softness of your lower belly, his wet tip poking at it and making him hiss on your lips.
He does his best to swallow all your sounds, your muffled whines and whimpers his favorite meal as of now. It's a wince of slight pain that you let out as he positions you in between his body and the counter, the border pressing on your lower back.
When he moves from your kiss, even with your lungs being unable to breathe anymore and begging for a break, your head follows his movements to try and bring him back on you again.
The chuckle he lets out is almost belittling, the right side of your face being completely engulfed by his palm to put distance between your mouths, his other hand keeping you still by your waist, and his own hips push against you.
You quickly glance down to where your bodies meet, and you whimper when you take in the way his cock is just above your core, his balls brushing against your clit. You only need to lift yourself a little forward to fully feel him.
But it’s like he instantly knows what’s making your head spin, his grip tighter but still mindful not to hurt you. The sudden squeeze has your eyes finding his, feeling ridiculously smaller under the weight of his heavy gaze.
He makes sure you keep your whole focus on him, and as much as registering the way your orbs are glossy with anticipation and desire is making him almost regret his next words, he lets them out, steady but soft, in your face.
“You had your fun, baby. Now, you’re going to listen to me. Hm?”
This time, your reaction comes promptly following his request. You're hanging from his lips, tracing their every move and sound, immediately nodding at the order.
It’s not enough, and Jeongguk ensures to sound a bit firmer, ”Use your words.”
”Yes, Mr. Jeon.”
The way your response rolls off your tongue with seemingly no hesitation, your pupils still on his, the words you choose to say, make him let out an amused chuckle.
Your eyes widen, and he drinks in your state, cheeks flushed and lower lip trembling. You need to bite it in order for it to stop shaking when he narrows his eyes, his left palm rising from your hip and finding its way under your top, his remark making you startle, ”You’re such a bad girl. Aren’t you?”
Jeongguk makes up for the way more tears seem to well along your bottom lashes by cupping your small breast in his larger hand, swirling his thumb around your nipple, and you need to fight against the loud moan traveling its way up your throat, the choked sound getting stuck as your mouth hangs open, your eyebrows furrowed.
It only takes some more of his degrading tone for you to let out an unashamedly loud noise, his fingertips pinching your nipple, ”Calling me that only because it gets you off. Doesn’t it? You’re not so innocent after all, angel.”
He quickly swallows your sounds with his lips on yours, and both of you can’t help but hum lowly at the contact. Jeongguk thinks he could keep kissing you for hours on end. But he badly wants to feel every other inch of your body, too.
Unexpectedly, the kiss gets broken when he turns your body around with ease, your back now pressing against his front, and you steady your shaking figure by planting your hands on the counter.
The access to your ear comes effortlessly, he just needs to bend his head down to cover your height difference and make sure his whispered words meet you as close as possible, “I’ll give you what you want. But you need to be quiet and good for me, understood?”
You’re not sure if you should use your voice or stay silent, but your body doesn’t give you the chance to ponder over it before letting out a whiny Yes. You’re not exactly being quiet, but can he blame you?
The man you’d get to talk to for more than five minutes only in your dreams is now promising you he’s going to give you what you want. And his cock is perfectly nestled in between your ass cheeks. You're positive you’ll have to throw your shorts right in the bin after he’s done with you.
Though, the scoff resounding in your ear makes you regret not even trying to lower your volume. You really want to be good for him. Don’t want to disappoint him.
That’s why when he taps two fingers under your chin, without him having to express it for you, you part your lips open, tongue out. From the corner of your eye, you see the side of his face scrunched with a long dimple before he shoves the digits inside your wet mouth.
You instantly wrap yourself around his long fingers, coating them in your warm slick, and you can tell it’s affecting him with the way the hold on your hip tightens, and he shifts between your thighs.
With your tongue swirling around the two digits, your eyes search for his face. Looking up at him through your lashes, you clench around nothing when you take in the effortless way he towers over you, his body engulfing your whole smaller figure.
The sinful eye contact leads him to spur you on further, his voice rough with desire, “That’s right. Suck on them like you would my cock.”
You hum deeply at the encouragement, fluttering your eyelids shut as you energetically bob up and down along his fingers. You think you can still feel the taste of his precum lingering on your tongue, and you whine, wishing you could have him again.
The noise gets cut from your throat when he forces his digits out, the slicky sound lustful, and it makes him groan lowly.
With his other hand, he delicately pushes your head forward to bend you over the marble counter, the same one where hours ago he passed you his glass of wine to take a sip from.
The surface is cold against your cheek and he’s out of your vision as he stands straight. Not being able to see what he’s doing, the expression on his face as you lay folded for him, makes the anticipation flood even stronger in your veins.
You feel him pull your shorts down enough to reveal yourself to him, hear him hiss as he’s enthralled by the way your pussy glistens, all for his eyes to admire.
The curse that follows is instant, “Fuck. No panties?”
You’re embarrassed for your straightforward bareness, whimpering at his surprise with your fist tightening and your nails imprinting crescents in your palms, but you’re also so impatient to feel his touch.
Tentatively, you wiggle for him, hoping to brush against his length, but it’s to no effort as he instantly stills your movements with a hand on your lower back.
He scoffs incredulously, feeling your bare ass against his palm, “It’s like you knew this would happen. You dirty, naughty girl. Always giving me those eyes.”
It’s light, the spank that meets the side of your butt, but you gasp nonetheless. You need to bite your lower lip harshly in order to suppress the loud moan from escaping your throat, and you’re sure it bleeds when he strokes the spot he hit.
The hand soothing you now travels to your front, torturously putting pressure on your sensitive stomach and following a slow pattern, only to reach your wet core.
He finally touches you where you’ve been needing him the most, and you both groan when he uses his already soaked pointer and ring finger to spread your lips, his middle one tracing your slit.
You inhale deeply as he repeats the motion, and when you exhale you can’t help small whines from leaving you, the pleasure already too overwhelming.
You feel like passing out when his body weight presses on you again, his mouth directly on your lobe, the intention in his voice dripping on your skin, “You think I wouldn’t notice? You know how hard my cock gets everytime I see you in these tiny clothes of yours, huh? You’re quite literally the death of me, doll.”
Then, it’s like all your senses come back to you the moment he pushes his digit in, and he immediately reaches around you to put his other hand over your mouth the second he sees it opening, your eyes rolling up.
You cry in his palm, the sound muffled with his fingers tightening under your jaw, his body still leaning on yours. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear and stills his middle finger inside you, getting you used to his presence, “Shh, princess. Good baby, you’re doing perfect.”
The contrast to his earlier shaming tone only makes you whine more, your eyes squeezing closed to try and keep the noises in. You’re sure you bite his palm when he starts moving inside you, the finger curling tentatively and soon being joined by another one.
You shake your head weakly, feeling yourself reach delirium, and you manage to stammer out, “Can’t— can’t do this.”
“You can baby, c’mon. You wanna be a good girl f’me, don’t you?” His tone is still low, warm breath fanning over your nape, and you melt under the sudden change in attitude.
You nod, not because you believe you can actually get through this without your heart failing and the whole neighborhood hearing you in the process, but because you do want to be his good girl.
He hums, “That’s right. I need to stretch you out if you want to take my cock.”
You choke in his wrap, now looser around your face, surprised at his words, and you clench hard at the mention of his cock inside you. You throw your head backwards in search of more of his proximity, and you mumble nonsense, your brain completely melted, “Yes! Want your dick.”
“I know you do, little one,” with your head nestled between the crook of his neck, his hand now falls to your throat, and he holds you gently by it while his fingers pick up a faster pace.
He's ruthless as he moves them inside you, effortlessly finding your sweet spot with a curl of his long, tattooed digits, and you whimper at the foreign sensation, unable to moan like you really want to.
You feel like screaming the more he keeps going, the only possible reaction to what is happening to you. One moment ago you were dreaming of this, and now it’s your reality.
Mr. Jeon is fingering you and calling you his good girl. His large figure is behind your smaller one bent over the counter, his palm around your throat, his hard length pressing against your ass.
The moment he uses his thumb to flick at your clit, you arch your back into him and you hear him fight to suppress a surprised moan.
“Shit. You’re so impatient, sugar. Dripping around my fingers. Wanna taste your sweet juice, can I?” It’s a rhetorical question, hushed slurredly in your ear, because after he lets it out his fingers leave your hole, and find a new home on his warm tongue.
He purposefully moves your chin to make you a witness of his sinful action, humming deeply around the taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut, his digits popping out drenched.
Your mouth hangs, your tongue unconsciously peeking out as if asking to be made a participant, but Jeongguk only smirks and stands straight once again, his wet hand leaving another light spank on your ass cheek, “Turn around, sweets.”
You do as asked, making sure your palms are still steadying your weight on the counter now behind you, afraid your legs alone won’t be able to. You soon find out you won’t have to put much effort into that when Jeongguk lifts you with ease and sits you on the surface, your slickness meeting the cold marble.
You don’t have to lift your head to look at him anymore, your heights now the same. But finding yourself directly in front of his hardened gaze makes you feel even more intimidated.
Especially when he traces your inner thigh, his eyes never leaving yours, “Every time you stand up to leave after dinner, you always leave a puddle on my chairs. And I’m left to clean it up.”
You swallow audibly at the accusation, and you can feel your eyes water once again, biting your lips to conceal the shame.
He only grins amusedly at your state, the tip of his tongue coming out to play with his lower lip. The hand on your leg now forces it to move to the side, his face only getting closer to yours, his tone deeper, "I've thought about licking it up, you know? But then I always stopped myself, because I knew I'd get to taste your pretty, wet pussy.”
You gasp, a shaky moan leaving you uncontrollably, and your fingers hover over his figure, wanting to find support in him but unsure whether to touch him.
He finds your mouth in a short kiss, almost reassuring, but he’s back to spitting sins the moment he lowers his face between your spread legs, and the way he looks up at you is almost scandalous. He looks devilish, his orbs visible through his lashes, his tongue wetting his lips. He takes your uncertain hand and places it between his tousled hair, directing himself to you, instructing you how to use him.
He presses a peck above your clit, still drinking in your reactions, his smile wicked, “I knew you’d crumble soon. You little minx. Going after your best friend’s dad. So naughty.”
Your head is thrown backwards at his words, ones that only add to the pleasure that takes over you when he latches at your pussy, the wet sounds ungodly.
The shame and guilt mixing in the back of your mind generate a profane sense of bliss you’d never think you could reach, and even though deep down you feel dirty being confronted with the truth he sputtered out so easily, you can’t help getting off to it right now.
Jeongguk is ravenous as he finds your drenched lips, lapping furiously at them and drinking the juice that continuously drips out. He flicks the tip of his tongue up and down your swollen clit, and your hand that he himself put on top of his head now tugs at his curls, forcing him closer to you. He’s trapped, your legs squeezing around his head, his nose nuzzled in your slit, and he can’t stop the hand that reaches to stroke his pleading dick.
You think you hear him mumble something along the lines of taste so good as he teases your hole with his wet muscle, and you’re a gone woman the moment you look down, your eyes fluttering open.
His own are closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration, his nose relentlessly grinding against your sensitive nub, and the way he seems so affected by the act of pleasuring you breaks something inside you.
You feel it begin to crumble when his tattooed hand reaches up to lift your top just enough to expose your breasts, nipples hardening with the cold air and the stimulation, and you swear they hurt deliciously when he starts kneading at your boob, fondling it with care.
The deep hum generated from his throat vibrates against you, and the flick of his thumb around the center of your tit matched with the way your clit is being continuously abused unexpectedly leads you to your orgasm.
It’s fast, unannounced, and you find support in his hair, your body taking over your brain and relentlessly grinding against Jeongguk’s face, suffocated between you, unable to stop reaching for the heavenly, and so awaited high.
Your whines are frantically high pitched, but the moment he feels you cum all over his mouth everything around him disappears except you, and all he cares about is slurping you, drinking you as you let it all out because of him.
He pants, breathless, opening his eyes to witness your climax, to admire you breaking under his doings, chest swelling with pride and a primal sense of protectiveness.
When he hears you whimper the more he keeps sucking on your clit, your slim fingers pulling at his locks, he finally lifts himself up.
On the path he follows to come back up to meet your face, he finds your nipple with a sweet kiss, his tongue teasing your nub, and he smiles against it, teeth gently pinching it. When seeking with his eyes for your reaction he sees your own rolling back. Next, his mouth is on yours, smearing your wetness all over your lips and mixing it with his spit on your tongue, connecting in a frantic, hungry dance.
His forehead rests against yours when he breaks the kiss, breaths heavy, the lazy grin on his face the only thing you can focus on, hanging on his gentle words, “Did so good, babe. Came so hard all over me.”
Your eyes inevitably fall down to his cock, painfully hard against his stomach, the tip angry and slicked with precum.
You feel your core buzz, kissing him to conceal the unshameful desire building up so fast again, but still you can’t help from mumbling against him, “Wan’ you to fuck me.”
The hum of pleasure coming from his throat reverberates on your lips, and he smiles at your confession. Even chuckles, one hand resting at your hip and sliding you closer.
“That what you want, baby?” Your legs wrapping around him, he kisses along your neck and travels to your collarbones, leaving small bites to keep himself from marking you like he truly wants to.
He slips his palms under your thighs and lifts you up the counter effortlessly, your legs squeezing tighter around him in order to keep yourself balanced. The new position has his cock perfectly meeting your core, your slit brushing against his tip as he walks you two over the living room couch, his mouth promptly swallowing your whimpers.
When he lays you on the sofa, he straightens himself to fully admire you. You're sprawled for him, your hair framing your head like a halo, the sweat pearling your forehead adding to your angelic state.
Your hands are on either side of your face, fingers dainty and slender, and your tank top is lifted up enough to show him your small breasts, slightly spilling from the sides with the new position.
Your shorts still rest under your ass, and with a swift motion he fully takes them off you, giving him access to your center. But the attention is taken away from your wet cunt when he lets his eyes come back up to your face, your cheek resting on your shoulders, trying to hide your embarrassment at his ravenous observing.
He smiles, becoming impatient with the feeling that only grows inside him, and he walks out of his pants still pooled down his ankles, taking off his loose t-shirt and letting it fall on the ground.
Your eyes widen at his sculpted physique, now finally in front of you, his buff dimensions intimidating you, especially when your orbs follow his V line and put you face to face with his huge cock, so close to your watering hole. He teases it with his length, sliding it up and down your slit, then slapping it against your clit. You arch your back, groaning.
“Am I the real man you’ve been waiting for? You wanna be fucked by this big man, don’t you?” His sinful words only make you nod dumbly, becoming potty under his control.
At your eagerness, he wastes no time. Aligning himself with your hole, he enters you. The stretch is deliciously painful, his tip boldly splitting you open for him. He knows your wail is coming, so he lowers himself on you to block your sounds with his mouth. But, truly, he’s the one that needs to be silenced.
The moment he feels your tightness around his bare dick, he growls. His sounds grow more desperate as he sinks himself deeper, the grip on your waist enough to wreck you, and you’re expecting it to leave a mark
You hum roughly against his lips, your nails scratching along his shoulder blades in search of any kind of grounding you can find. It’s too much, his dimensions way oversized for what your hole can take, and the fact that you can’t help but grip him even tighter isn’t helping.
He reads you, your broken whines and the tear falling from your left eye, and the moment he bottoms out he stills himself, his face in the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling the warm skin in a reassuring manner, “Shh, baby. I got you. Let me make you feel good.”
The whispered words are the same ones that jolted you from your sleep, the dream almost too real, and paired with his middle and ring finger circling your sensitive nub they cause you to emit a pleasured squeal, your chest arching into his.
At this point, you’re afraid you’re still trapped deep in your slumber. that none of this is actually real, it can’t be. You’re so convinced that it’s just too good to be true that you test it, scraping your nails harshly in his back, and when he bites the skin under your jaw in protest you gasp shakily.
It's definitely real. Jeongguk is fucking you. Almost. Not yet.
With the way your clit is being stimulated by his long fingers, the initial sharpness turns into more slick, and you impatiently groan, “Fuck me, please.”
One final kiss is left on your lips before he lifts his torso up, his hands roaming along your sides and grasping a hold of your tits. He teases you with a playful smirk on his face, your disappointed pout only resulting in a devilish chuckle from him as he massages your soft boobs. You can feel him throb inside you the more you swallow him in, and you know he’s just as impatient. You buck your hips up in search of friction, and the sudden motion makes the both of you moan.
He’s suddenly resolute as his palms fall to your waist and effortlessly holds it up as he begins fucking into you. With each stroke he picks up his pace, and he’s soon pounding your tight hole wrapping around him.
The both of you find out it’s impossible to be quiet. Your sounds are stuttered and pornographic, and it makes Jeongguk afraid he’s never going to be able to get them off his brain.
His own noises are heavenly, deep growls and surprised whines falling out his pillowed lips, slightly agape in bliss, brows drawn up.
Your eyes roll back and never come back, your vision patched, and you think you weren’t built to survive this kind of pleasure. It's almost deathly when he finds that one particular spot that makes you see stars.
Your skin slapping is louder than his hushed speech, but he makes sure the words reach you and translate into wetness coating his length even more, drenching it, making it soaked in your juices, “That’s how you need to be fucked. That’s how my girl needs to be fucked, hm?”
“Mhm, fuck, yes!” It’s breathless, but you want him to hear you. You feel yourself get closer just watching him smirk proudly at your state, his pupils blown out.
His palms are back to playing with your breast, kneading it harshly, and you enjoy the way he seems to be hypnotized by the vision, “Fuck. Love your tits. Fit just right in my hand. You were made for me, angel.”
Your head is thrown back between the cushions, your legs wrapping tighter around his ass and pushing him even deeper, the anticipated sensation building simultaneously in both of your trembling bodies.
“I'm not gonna last long, baby. This pussy’s too tight. Trappin’ me inside it,” Jeongguk’s voice is rough, the words leaving him slurredly and all his effort put into snapping his hips against yours, his eyes focused on the relentless in and out motion.
You wail, mumbling nonsense, but at the same time the most sincere words you’ve ever sputtered to him, “It’s yours, Jeongguk. F—fucking yours. Forever. Ah— fuck.”
He hums, feeling you contract around him the more he speaks to you, “That’s it. My pussy to fuck, baby. Mine to play with, mine to fill up.”
Your eyes widen at his territorial remarks, and when they meet his hazy ones they water with overwhelming ecstasy. The possibility of his cum filling you up is what does it for you, your nerves undoing once again and making you spasm around his throbbing dick. He talks you through your orgasm, praising you for cumming so good all over him, drinking in your blissful sounds and your hips rutting against his.
He’s just as close, and the realization that you came the moment he mentioned painting you in his seed makes him a crazed man, his motions stuttering sloppily, “Fuck. Aren’t you a naughty one, doll. You really want me to come inside you? You want it, huh? I bet you do.”
Your repeated nodding and the way your body is so pliant in his hold, letting it be completely handled by him with no functioning muscle, pervades his senses with a primal force that he puts into fucking your sensitive cunt.
He smirks wickedly, “You’d look so pretty. All stuffed. Want me to fill up this tight pussy? Want my mature cock in so deep you can’t breathe?”
You think you scream at his continuous suggestions, but you can’t be sure when all your senses are clouded, the oversensitivity turning you into a literal doll for him, no power over your actions. He looks just as fucked out, his lips parting as he basks in the feeling of being in control of you, eyes fighting to stay open and keep you in his vision.
When he feels you contracting around him in overstimulation, his breath stutters and he feels himself reach the peak, quickly pulling out of you to spill his cum over your naked skin. You gasp at the sudden emptiness and the warm liquid that keeps falling over your stomach, his cock being pumped in his fist and milked from all he can give you. You both pant in exhaustion, your legs loosening their grip around him as he dips his weak knees on either side of you on the couch.
He hums when he fully takes in your figure, marked by his cum, and he smiles when he sees your eyelids struggling to not fall. But you spasm once again when you feel his finger slide over your stomach, the wet liquid being collected, “Now, you gonna clean this up for me. Open your pretty mouth, baby.”
You don’t even ponder on the request, you just follow the order. Your brain is reduced to thoughts that are only related to him, and it automatically complies to anything that he orders from you. You engulf his digits promptly, swallowing his semen, looking up at him through your lashes and unashamedly clenching at his lazy smirk.
He makes sure every drop of his is collected and sucked by your hungry mouth, smiling when you don’t ever complain, “Mh, good girl. Get them neat.”
Only when he’s satisfied, he hovers over your face and finds your tongue in a sensual, slow kiss, both of you moaning at the exchange. With a sloppy sound, he parts from you only to disappear between your thighs, his eyes mischievous, “Gonna clean you up too.”
You gasp at the feeling of his mouth wrapping around your core once again, slurping your juice and lapping at your inner thighs, and you’re not sure how this is going to help in getting you clean. You only feel yourself becoming even wetter.
Leaving a kiss above your nub, he straightens up with a boyish smile softening his features, and with the fond way he’s looking at you, nobody could tell he just made you cum twice.
He moves your bangs from your forehead, closing the distance between you once again to leave small pecks over your still reddened face, “You did amazing, doll. Made me cum so hard.”
You hum contentedly, snuggling closer to him, your body unconsciously gravitating toward his warmth. Your hand lifts to thread through his hair, but before you can touch him, he shifts, pulling away.
The warmth he provided vanishes, replaced by the cold emptiness of the couch. Panic surges in your chest, washing away any remnants of fatigue. You prop yourself up on your forearms, eyes tracking his movements.
You don’t want him to leave you here alone, bare and vulnerable, maybe a bit confused and uncertain, and deep down deathly scared of whatever will come after this.
Your brows furrow, heart picking up a painful speed when you see he’s getting dressed — tossing on his shirt, pulling on his pants. And for a second, your pulsing organ clenches with dread. Is he leaving?
Then you notice him picking up your shorts from the floor, his expression softening as he walks back to you with that same gentle smile that had made your heart flutter earlier.
Relief washes over you.
He handles you delicately, as though you’re something fragile. His fingers brush your skin as he slips your shorts back on, pulling down your top before encircling your waist with his strong arms.
You squeal lightly when he pulls you onto his lap, settling back on the couch with you cradled against his chest. His hands never leave you, securing you to him. You settle into him easily, sighing in appreciation as the warmth of his body returns, your legs draped across his lap, arms circling his neck.
For a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels like it’s in its right place, like this is where you’ve always belonged. It feels so natural, so easy, being wrapped up in him. His deep, slow breaths lull you into a state of calm. His chin rests on the top of your head, hand rubbing soothing strokes along your spine.
You press even closer, breathing him in, feeling like you could get used to this, like you already have. Like you’ve always known this is where you should be. Your fingers trace absentminded patterns along his tattooed arm, the one holding you secure under your legs. You feel the need to look at him, to admire the man that marked you as his.
But when you glance up, you’re a bit startled when you notice the shift in his expression. His face is hardened, jaw clenched tight. He's not relaxed like he was just moments ago. His gaze is distant, staring intently at a spot across the room as if lost in thought. Yet his hands continue to cradle you, almost unconsciously, like holding you has become second nature to him.
Jeongguk’s mind is a whirlwind of emotions, and they only scatter all over the place as he feels you move closer, impossibly so. You seek warmth, care. Nuzzle your fragile body against his for protection, something more that he fears he can’t give you. Love.
He once thought he’d drained himself of it, had nothing left to offer. Now, with you in his arms, the smallest spark flickers to life, burning its way up his throat until it feels like it’s going to consume him.
He wants to give in. He wants to hold you tighter, trap you against him, keep you with him. Give you everything.
But he can’t do that to you. Can’t make you go through the same path that took everything from him. not without ruining you in the process.
He knows what comes next. What always comes next. Love turns into suffering, it’s inevitable. And could he survive seeing the look on Areum’s face when she finds out? How would she react if she knew the truth about what he’s done, about how he feels? About how he truly wants to act upon his feelings? The thought makes him feel sick, even as his heart beats steadily against yours, comforted by your presence.
Why doesn’t he feel disgusted? Why isn’t there shame gnawing at him, making him pull away? Instead, there’s only bliss. The sheer joy of having you this close, of holding you like this, makes him forget everything else.
He wishes he could be immature, for once. Wishes he was your age, and that nothing truly mattered. That he still could allow himself to make stupid decisions.
Maybe then, you’d be his, and reality wouldn’t catch up to him.
“Jeongguk? Are you okay?”
Your soft, honeyed voice pulls him from his spiral, and he startles slightly, caught off guard. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with concern, searching his face for answers.
He tries to hide the storm brewing inside him, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Huh? Yeah. I'm okay.”
Of course, you don’t believe him. An ugly feeling makes space in your stomach, and the weight of everything begins to press down. You don’t want it to take over you just yet, want to be coddled by the moment a little more, want to try and believe there’s nothing to be afraid of.
You offer a tentative smile, hoping to ease whatever tension is growing between you. “You… you seem worried.”
“I'm not, baby. I'm just thinking.”
“About?”
“Stuff.” His voice is clipped, and the small wall he’s building between you becomes clearer.
The distance stings, and your heart sinks as you try to hold onto the moment that felt so perfect just a second ago. Desperate to reach him, you place your hands on his face, tilting his chin down to meet your gaze.
Your eyes glisten with emotion, but you manage a genuine, if small, smile. “You can tell me, you know. You can talk to me.”
One simple, small smile spreading across his lips makes you doubt all of your worries. It makes you want to believe that maybe, there’s truly no reason to be scared. That maybe, this can go well.
“I know,” it’s whispered on your face, his hand coming to play with the hair that frame your cheeks sweetly. “Let’s get you to bed now, hm?”
Before you can protest, he’s lifting you off the couch with ease, cradling you in his arms bridal style as if you weigh nothing at all. You clutch onto him.
You feel your insides fuzzy with the gesture, and you wiggle yourself closer in his embrace, looking up at him expectantly, “Your bed?”
It breaks his heart having to disappoint you, tone soft as he tries to make up for it with his thumb brushing your thigh, “No, baby. You gotta go back to Areum’s room.”
“But— but… I wanna sleep next to you,” you plead, your voice small and almost childlike as you pout up at him, hoping to sway him.
He looks away, focusing on the stairs as if looking at you would break his resolve. “We can’t, dove. You know we can’t.”
His words feel like a punch to the gut, and your eyes well up. “We can't?”
The silence that follows is louder than any answer he could have given, and it weighs heavy between you, suffocating. There's no actual explanation to it, and the realization leaves both of you uneasy.
At Areum’s door, he sets you down gently, making sure you’re steady on your feet. He's careful with you, like he always is, his voice low, “Go wash up. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“No…”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Don't make this harder.”
You frown in protest, keeping eye contact, but he doesn’t break. His gaze is steady, resolute.
You want to argue, want to push, but the exhaustion settles over you, and you slump, defeated. You still sway sweetly for him, your hands tied behind your back, “Okay… Can you kiss me?”
Your voice is small, muffled behind your pout as you seek for him with anticipation, a sheepish smile making its way on your lips.
When he doesn’t move closer, you get on your tippy toes and lean in his direction once again, your eyes almost fluttering shut before you hear him clear his throat, and take an awkward step back.
You’re back on your heels with a thump, the same one reverberating in your chest with your heart falling, your mouth hanging open with confusion written all over your expression.
You go to say something but he’s quicker, his voice solemn, “Goodnight, ___.”
Jeongguk smiles, but it’s nothing like the ones that took over his whole face just minutes ago on the couch, his eyes full of you. You're not even sure if you can define it as a smile. It’s polite, almost too polite, and it only results in feeling tremendously distant from him. Completely disconnected from you.
He retreats, long legs carrying him away, his back to you as he slips into his room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound final, and it echoes in the hollow space.
You stand still, the weight of his absence pressing heavily on your chest. The spot where he left you feels like a grave, your feet sinking into the cold floor as if it’s pulling you under. The warmth he offered, the fleeting sense of safety, is gone, and you’re freezing. Your throat is tight with the effort to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. It's useless, though.
Your bare feet shuffle against the floor, but you can’t move forward. You can’t go back. You can’t do anything except stand there and feel the weight of it all crash down on you.
You’d been so afraid this would happen. How could you have been so foolish? Even in the midst of the sweetness, you knew it was too good to be true. A part of you always knew. And yet, you let yourself believe for a fleeting moment that something real could come from it. That you could be enough.
You’d have done anything to prove it to him. To show him your loyalty, your willingness to make it work. You still would. You'd give him every part of yourself, if he’d only take it. If he’d only look at you the way you want him to.
The full weight of your reality sinks in. In the end, none of it was truly real.
A sob breaks free from your chest, raw and painful. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, bouncing off the walls that now feel oppressive, like they’re closing in on you. This house, every corner, it’s all stained now, tainted by the memory of what just happened, by the lie you let yourself fall into.
your ex-husband is and was always in love, he just couldn’t properly expresss it. it comes to him too late, and he respects your wishes and agrees to the divorce; then you tell him you’re pregnant.
ex-husband taehyung still wears his wedding ring even after signing the papers. he tells himself it’s out of habit, but the way his thumb rubs over the band whenever he thinks of you says otherwise.
ex-husband taehyung never changes the passcode to the penthouse because it was your birthday. even after you move out, he still punches in those six familiar digits like a prayer.
ex-husband taehyung doesn’t touch the empty side of the bed. he sleeps stiff and angled, convinced the lingering warmth of your absence is the only part of you he still has permission to hold.
ex-husband taehyung rehearses conversations with you in the mirror, but always forgets the words when he sees you in person. he’s still trying to figure out how to say i’ve loved you the whole time without it sounding like too little, too late.
ex-husband taehyung finds out you’re pregnant from a voicemail. your voice is shaking, soft and steady like you rehearsed it a hundred times, but you hang up before the message is even complete. he listens to it twelve times that night. then he drives to your place and falls asleep in his car out front, just in case you want to talk.
ex-husband taehyung buys a small speaker and starts playing classical music against your belly. he doesn’t say why, just sits cross legged on the floor next to the couch while you nap, the soft sounds of violins floating between you like lullabies. sometimes, he hums along. and when your daughter kicks for the first time, she does it to the sound of his voice.
ex-husband taehyung starts holding your belly to ease the pressure on your back, it’s practical at first. his hands slide under your bump while you brush your teeth or stand too long in line, gently lifting and supporting. “i’ve got you,” he murmurs, grinning secretly into your hair as you sag against his chest with a groan.
ex-husband taehyung doesn’t let go of your hand once. not through the contractions, not through the screaming, not through the panicked moment when the nurse mentions an emergency c-section might be necessary. he’s there, foreheads pressed together, breath matching yours, his voice low and trembling as he repeats, “you’re okay, no matter what happens, i’ve got you.”
ex-husband taehyung never sleeps that first night. you’re sleeping from exhaustion, but he holds each baby like they’re stitched from gold thread, whispering apologies they won’t understand yet—i’m sorry i wasn’t softer, i’m sorry she didn’t know, i’m sorry it took this. then he kisses the tops of their heads and murmurs, but i love you. so much. and i love her too. still.
ex-husband taehyung learns to swaddle from a YouTube video at three in the morning, using one of the nurses’ clipboards as a makeshift changing table. when he finally gets it right, he lifts your daughter like a treasure and says, “there we go, sweetheart. appa’s got you,” with a smile that still aches around the edges.
ex-husband taehyung holds your hair back when the postpartum nausea kicks in. he wipes your mouth with a warm cloth. he rubs your back in slow, grounding circles. when you cry over nothing and everything, he says, “let it out, jagi.” and when you whisper, “i don’t think i’m strong enough for this,” he kisses your hand and replies, “then we’ll be weak together.”
ex-husband taehyung calls you every night he’s not there. asks if you’ve eaten, if you’ve slept, if you’re drinking enough water. when you tell him the babies are fussy and you’re too tired to shower, he shows up thirty minutes later with dinner, your favorite almond body wash, and fresh towels. “you take the first half of the night,” he says, already lifting your son from the bassinet. “i’ve got the second.”
ex-husband taehyung starts wearing the baby carrier everywhere. grocery store? baby on his chest. walking the dog? baby on his chest. brunch with his mother? both babies, one on his chest, one in a stroller, as he calmly explains the difference between breastmilk storage bags and formula. you watch him from the doorway and wonder how you ever thought this man didn’t love you.
ex-husband taehyung falls asleep on the couch with the twins tucked into his arms like they’ve always belonged there; your heart aches watching them. and when he stirs with bleary eyes, voice rough, he says, “you can come lay with us, if you want.” like he’s inviting you back into something you never really left.
ex-husband taehyung takes the twins to the park every sunday so you can have a moment to yourself. he packs snacks, wipes, toys, a change of clothes, even your daughter’s emergency glitter wand. when he sends you videos, it’s always your son stomping puddles in his little rain boots and taehyung’s laugh trailing behind like sunlight.
ex-husband taehyung always waits in the entryway during drop offs. even when it’s a hectic day, or he’s running late. you asked why and he shrugged, eyes tender. “i like watching you say goodbye to them. it makes them feel safe.” what he didn’t say was, it makes him feel safe, too.
ex-husband taehyung asked if he could come with you to the twins’ first day of preschool. he waited downstairs for you in front of your apartment with your favorite chai latte and a bouquet of the same flowers he got on your first anniversary. neither of you said anything about that.
ex-husband taehyung never raises his voice in front of the twins. not even when they draw on the walls with crayons or pour orange juice into his shoe “to make it smell better.” instead, he crouches to their level, eyes gentle, and says, “let’s clean it together, okay?” like patience is stitched into his DNA.
ex-husband taehyung is the first to notice when you’re overwhelmed. a glance, a sigh, a slight slouch in your shoulders; he sees it all. and when you whisper “i’m okay,” he simply nods, picks up both toddlers with ease, and murmurs, “go take a bath. i’ve got them.” he always does.
ex-husband taehyung barely looks up when you ask if he’s planning to start dating soon. “no,” he says quickly, too quickly, brushing it off with a shrug. “i don’t want to confuse them.” but then there’s a pause, just a second too long, and his voice goes quieter when he asks, “are you?”
ex-husband taehyung doesn’t ask to stay the night anymore. he just… never really leaves. his toothbrush finds its way into your bathroom. his cologne sits quietly beside your perfume. the twins start asking why appa always comes back after he leaves, and neither of you really have an answer.
ex-husband taehyung confesses on a tuesday. not with a huge gesture, just over grilled mackerel and kimchi stew at the kitchen table, the twins snoring softly in the next room. “i think…” he says, staring at his bowl, “i was in love with you even when we were strangers. i just didn’t know how to say it without hurting you.”
ex-husband taehyung kisses you like he’s making up for every day he didn’t. slowly with both hands cradling your jaw like you’re fragile and a goddess and entirely his. and when you whisper, “maybe we don’t need the papers this time,” he smiles like it’s the first day of spring.
ex-husband taehyung still introduces you as the mother of my children when you’re out. even after he moves back in. even after you’ve started wearing his shirts to bed again. it’s not until your daughter blurts out, “eomma and appa kiss now,” to her teacher that you realize you’ve become his person again.
ex-husband taehyung buys a new ring. simple, elegant, no fanfare. he slips it onto your finger one night while you’re folding laundry, as if he’s just remembering something that’s always been true. “no grand ceremony,” he says, voice low. “just us. just this. forever, if you’ll let me.”
in which you try to play a silly little prank on your boyfriend and end up getting fucked silly instead
pairing editor jk x youtuber fem reader
genre established relo, fluff, smut (18+ minors dni)
word count 4.5k
content based on this request, some teasing and banter, calling my boyfriend my friend prank, lingerie kink i think, cunnilingus, choking, much much dirty talk, daddy kink, degradation kink, um i got carried away, dom jk, oc reverse cowgirls on the d, accidental sex tape, creampie, product of sleepy brain ignore errors
author’s note okay but this is actually just porn… bro promised an angsty unhappy ending fic and then drops one where jk is a down bad, obsessed coochie destroyer .. umm well yes that does seem to sum up the entire brand
“Hi guys!” you chirped, voice sweet as you gave a little wave to the camera. “Today’s video is super exciting…”
You smiled, glossy lips curling as you smoothed your hand over the front of your oversized tee. “I’ve been sponsored by Seafolly,” you continued, eyes flicking briefly to the side, “and they sent me their new summer bikini line to try on and show you guys!”
Next to you, your boyfriend was perched on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lazily on your thigh and the other loosely draped across his own lap. His eyebrow lifted slightly in curiosity as his gaze turned to you. The corner of your lips twitched as you suppressed a giggle. You hadn't told him what you were filming today.
Your fingers toyed with his tattooed hand resting comfortably in your lap and you turned back to the camera, the blinking red light reminding you it was recording. Not that you’d forget, especially after he’d already distracted you halfway through setting up which forced you to have to redo your hair and makeup entirely.
You took a deep breath, willing yourself not to laugh as you continued, “So I thought I’d bring my friend, Jungkook, to rate the swimsuits out of ten! Whichever one he likes the most, I’ll wear it to my other friend’s pool party themed event next week.”
The silence was fucking palpable. His gaze snapped to you, staring at you like he was seeing things, eyes scanning your face like you’d just told him you hated him and wanted him to choke.
You didn’t dare look directly at him. You’d laugh and you knew it. “Did you want to introduce yourself, Jungkook?” you asked, head tilting innocently, eyes flitting to him for a millisecond before twisting back to the camera.
He didn’t respond, just blinked at you for five silent seconds. Then, his mouth quirked up into the smallest, most incredulous smirk as he shifted his gaze back to the camera.
“Hm?” you prompted, lifting your hand to pat his shoulder in a friendly gesture. Yeah, that did it.
His eyes squinted and his tongue poked into his cheek as he slowly turned to you, his expression equal parts amused and offended.
“JK… are you alri—”
“Jungkook? JK?” he interrupted with a humourless laugh, his brows furrowing as he leaned closer. “What is thi- what are you doing, baby? Your friend? I’m your friend?” His head tilted, daring you to agree.
You choked on a giggle. “I—”
“Do you let all your friends fuck you in the a—”
“BABY,” you screeched in defeat, your hands shooting up to cover his mouth as your laughter spilled free. “Shut up, oh my god! I was just kidding!”
His eyes fucking sparkled above your fingers, and the smug little glint in his gaze told you everything you needed to know. This video was not safe in his hands. He edits your content, which means this moment is most definitely making it into the final cut in some way, shape, or form.
You felt his teeth grazing your palm, a little nibble that had you giggling and pulling your hand away. He licked his lips, satisfied. Your laughter finally subsided as you shook your head softly, resting your hands on his thighs to lean up for a kiss. He tasted faintly like vanilla and strawberry—your gloss, no doubt. Lathered on his lips after your makeout sesh thirty minutes prior had turned into you getting flipped over and fucked on the very bed you were now perched on.
You pulled back cheeks pink, but Jungkook leaned in again, hooking your soft side with his hand and catching your lips with a quiet grunt. You smiled against him, fingers curling into the fabric of his boxer tee. “Okay,” you laughed against his mouth as his kiss grew greedier.
Jeon Jungkook happily ignored your queue to continue the video, lips drifting lower along your jaw before dipping down to your neck. You let out a soft, involuntary breath when he gave a gentle, wet suck. You could already picture the tiny red mark blooming just below your ear, your stomach fluttering at the thought of it being there in your haul for everyone to see.
“Okay, baby,” you whispered, your voice catching. “L-let me redo the intro. Hold on—”
His tongue licked over your skin one last time before he leaned back, his hand sliding down to your bare thigh just below view of the shot. His dark eyes danced with amusement as he tilted his head, clearly enjoying how flushed you looked now.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Go ahead, friend.”
After successfully finishing the intro again, you pressed a quick kiss to Jungkook’s cheek as you stood, the hem of your—well, his—shirt fluttering slightly as you passed him.
“I’ll be back, my love,” you said softly, bending down to grab the first bikini set from the bag tucked under your bed.
He hummed in acknowledgement, his fingers rubbing along your warm thigh as you bent, before letting you slip into your ensuite.
The pink set you picked first was sweet and girly with ribbons at the hips. You tied the last knot, smoothing the fabric and checking yourself in the mirror with a soft hum. You knew he was going to like it.
Your boyfriend didn’t really do obvious. He didn’t gush or fumble or get flustered easily. But you could always tell when he was affected. His silence got heavier, his eyes a little darker, and he looked at you like you were something he couldn’t touch even though you were already all his.
You opened the door and he moved his focus from checking that your recording software was optimised properly to you. He didn’t say anything, but the pause was more than enough. Your bare feet padded over fluffy white rug as you stepped into the centre of the room.
“Thoughts?” you said lightly, voice lilting as you did a slow turn. You literally felt his eyes glued to your ass.
Jungkook’s gaze dragged slowly up your body when you faced him again. His head tilted slightly, elbows resting on his knees as a tattooed thumb dragged slowly over his bottom lip. “That’s the first one?” he asked, voice low as his eyes flicked up to meet yours.
“Mhm,” you smiled. “What’s your rating, love?”
He looked at you for a long moment as he gathered his thoughts, then leaned back again, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth for a second before replying.
“Eight.”
“Eight?" you echoed with a smile as his eyes drank you in.
“It’s pretty,” he said, nodding slightly. “Soft. Matches that lipgloss you wear.”
You tilted your head and stopped yourself from cooing at the cutie. “What would’ve made it a ten?”
His lips twitched, eyes flicking up to yours. “If I was the only one seeing it.”
Your stomach fluttered. “Hm. Gotta learn to share, baby,” you hummed, turning away and making sure he had a nice view of your ass. You heard the tiny amused scoff he gave under his breath as you slipped back into the bathroom.
The second set was black. A little tinier. The bottoms had double ties at the hips, and the top hugged your tits in a way that was probably going to get your video reported a few times. You smoothed the cups in tiny adjustment, then ran your fingers through your hair before stepping back out. You walked slowly and let your boyfriend’s eyes find you.
And god, did they.
He sat straighter, arms resting on his thighs and inky hands pressed flat and hard together. You wondered what he was praying for.
You watched his brows twitch slightly, lips parting before closing again. You stopped in front of him with a breathy little laugh at his reaction. You gave the same little turn, received the same burn on your asscheeks, and faced him again. “Well?”
He inhaled once, slowly and deeply. “That’s not gonna make it to the party.”
You raised an eyebrow, pretending not to smile. “It’s not?”
“Not a fucking chance,” he shook his head in almost disbelief, staring at your tits almost spilling out of the excuse for fabric. “Is this even going to be allowed to go on YouTube?”
You giggled, looked at the camera and checked you were both well in frame before turning back to your boyfriend privately. “Yes, baby. I read up on it briefly and I’m pretty sure if there’s no nipple, it’s fine. And I have nipple covers on.” You leaned down to let him look into the cups of your bra to see the flower shaped silicone pads. He nodded and pressed a kiss to the outside of your nipple before blinking once.
“Six.”
You laughed, squinting down at him. “You’re such a liar.”
He blinked, unbothered and not bothering to deny the accusation.
“Six?” you repeated, still smiling. “I like this one... It’s hot, no?”
Jungkook’s eyes dropped to your tits, then your tummy, then your thighs. “It’s a ten,” he nodded, “and that’s the problem, baby.”
You saved the last one for the end on purpose. It was… a lot. A barely-there high cut in his favourite shade of red with very cheeky bottoms and a top that looked more like a suggestion than actual coverage.
You tied the last string behind your back, letting your hands fall to your sides as you looked in the mirror for a beat. You almost snorted under your breath. He was going to lose his shit.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, Jungkook didn’t react at first. He was still on the edge of the bed, absently doing that spinning thing he does with his vape between his fingers. Then when he glanced up, his jaw twitched.
You didn’t say anything, just stepped in front of the camera like it was nothing and posed sweetly. Like this wasn’t about to end everything.
“Well?” you asked after a beat, your voice light but breathier than before. “Last one.”
Jungkook nodded once. Slow, quiet, like he was confirming something to himself. Then his brows furrowed. “Baby…” he said softly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at your back. “You left the tag on.”
Your lips morphed into a pout. “What?”
“Turn around.” You did a slow spin, trying to crane your head to see over your shoulder, turning again like a dog chasing its tail. “Where? I don’t see it—”
“C’mere,” he murmured, holding a hand out without looking away from you. “I’ll get it.”
You stepped toward him. “Be gentle with it, please. I still need to take shots for the Instagram post,” you said, turning your butt to his hand so he could pull the tag off.
One second your boyfriend’s hands were tightening over your bare hips, then the next you were being flopped like a ball of dough right onto your bed. You yelped as you bounced lightly against the mattress, hair spilling around your face. “Baby—”
“Stay,” he said simply. And like a dog, you did.
You just blinked up at him as he hovered over you, his heavy lidded eyes dragging slowly down your body. The camera was still blinking behind you, that much you knew, but neither of you moved to stop it. You both worked with cameras and film for a living… This was hardly the first time you’ve recorded yourselves getting freaky, accidentally or otherwise.
Jungkook’s hands slid down your waist again, big palms warm and slow like he needed to feel every inch of you with care before doing what he was about to do.
“Wore this on purpose,” he murmured almost to himself, eyes fixed on your chest as his fingers toyed with the thin fabric. “Knew I’d lose my shit.”
You smiled cutely. “Maybe.”
He let out a half-laugh, half-groan before leaning in and kissing the swell of your boob just above the line of the bikini. His teeth grazed the edge of the cup, dragging the strap down slowly with his mouth.
“Looks better off, I think,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin as he pulled the top and pathetic covers aside.
His mouth closed around your nipple before you could reply, and your back arched immediately with a soft gasp. His tongue was hot, swirling over the plumping bud before his teeth caught it gently, pulling a dirty breath from your lips.
Your hands reached for his hair on autopilot, fingers threading through the shorter strands as best you could while he sucked and kissed greedily down your chest. His hands were already sliding lower down your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed with an easy tug before sinking to his knees.
You felt his breath before you felt his mouth, his exhale hot and slow against your inner thigh. You moaned softly, hips twitching toward him.
“So needy,” he muttered, dragging the bikini bottoms down with a slow tug of his fingers. “Like I should reward needy girls that give me fake innocent looks during a shoot.”
“Maybe I was being innocent,” you tried, your voice breathy as you leaned on your elbows and internally cast an incantation to make his fingers hurry up and move lower.
Jungkook looked up at you with a slow blink, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip. “Right,” he mocked, kissing your plushy inner thigh before digging in.
You gasped as his mouth finally pressed against you, his big tongue easily parting your folds. Your hands flew to his hair again, falling back onto the mattress as his lips wrapped around your clit. You felt him swallow, heard him groan, watched the ceiling as your thighs clenched around his head when he flicked the hardening bud beneath his tongue.
“Oh, fuck yes, baby-”
He grunted into your cunt, the sound vibrating against your core as his fingers slid up to spread your lips into a V shape.
“Taste like fuckin’ heaven, baby,” he mumbled into you. “So fucking good.”
He leaned back down and slurped your pussy up like it was his favourite meal. And well, it kinda was, really. The long fingers of his left hand held you open while the long fingers of his right slipped up between his greedy tongue and your sopping heat. Coating his digits in spit and slick, he slid them down from your twitching clit to your weeping entrance.
“Ohhh, fuh-huckkkkk,” you moaned dumbly, eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of two big fingers feeding into your cunt.
Your hips were bucking into his face, nothing eligible or coherent sounding from your throat, just fucked-out whimpers as his wet mouth continued its torture on your clit.
“Jungkook baby, oh goddd I’m gonna cum, fuckk,” you whimpered, not even bothered nor surprised at how quick he brought you to it. He’s good like that.
Your hips stuttered as your walls clamped down hard on his thick fingers curling in and out of your leaking hole, tongue licking and lapping at your beating bud. “C’mon then, beautiful,” he coaxed into your pussy. “Cum.”
And god, did you.
A pathetic scream left your lips as your hands clutched the strands of his hair. His grunt of approval at the pain was filthy as you rode the waves of your orgasm, his lips still suctioned to your clit, his fingers still massaging the plushy soaked walls of your hole.
He didn’t stop until you were writhing with tears in your eyes at the pain that hurt so good. Didn’t pull away until he’d licked every drop of your slick and juice from your weeping cunt. Didn’t quit drinking until his thirst was quenched and you were coating the inside of his throat.
When he finally pulled back after your whimpers had turned croaky and you had enough strength to lean up and rest on your elbows, you took in his messy form. Wet mouth, chin glistening in your slick, eyes completely gone. His pupils were blown wide after finally getting a hit of his favourite drug, hair fucked from your pulling while he drank in hungry breaths.
You let out a tired, happy grunt as your boyfriend licked over his glistening lips and lifted a hand to the back of his neck, tugging his shirt right off. You reached out for him with greedy, grabby hands and a pout, legs spreading on their own. “Inside, please…”
Jungkook nodded softly, giving you a kiss on your bare tummy before slotting between your open thighs and capturing your mouth with his. His tongue slipped in like it always did to let you taste yourself on his tongue and you moaned in satisfaction, puffy lips wrapping the big muscle to suck it all off.
“Baby,” he murmured against your mouth, letting you finish your assault on his tongue before pulling back, a trail of spit still connecting you. He broke it with a suck before glancing down at the last shreds of the bikini still clinging to your body. “This bikini is a fucking joke.”
Before you could decide whether to tease him or agree, he tugged on the bottoms. Hard. The thin string snapped clean, and you gasped in surprise as the remaining pieces of the swimsuit gave up entirely.
“Jung. Kook! My Instagram photos!”
He didn’t answer, just reached up and tore the top straight down the middle like it was nothing, the little heart-shaped ring at the centre clattering somewhere off the bed.
You narrowed your eyes at him before breaking into a fit of giggles at your boyfriend’s deadass gaze stuck on your now naked body. His eyes dragged over your bare chest, your soft belly, the slick between your thighs. Then he exhaled harshly and murmured, “Ten.”
You choked on your laugh, your head tilting back against the comforter. “Ten? Now you give a ten?”
“Mhm,” he whispered, crawling back over you, his hand sliding up to cup your breast with his full palm. “Very much approve.”
You giggled again, but it melted into a whimper when his thumb brushed over your nipple and his mouth was back on yours. It was the kind of kiss that felt like a claim, all teeth and tongue, his heavy weight pressed down onto you in the way he knows you love. His hand kneaded your breast like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be sweet or filthy, but your hips rolling up and grinding hard against the bulge in his jeans made the decision for him.
He groaned into your mouth as you fumbled blindly with his belt, too desperate to stop kissing him but too horny to prolong him being inside you. He gave a final sip to your tongue before sliding his wet lips down your neck and sucking another bruise into your skin while you wrestled with the button of his jeans.
“Let me—” you grunted through a moan, head tilted so he had better access to mark you while eager hands shoved at the denim that was holding your reward hostage.
Jungkook lifted his hips slightly, helping you shove them down and biting back a groan when your bare foot slid under the waistband to kick them off with a little grunt.
“God, you’re good at that, baby,” he muttered into your neck.
You blinked at him innocently as your foot hooked his socks off too. “You should see what I can do with my hands.”
He bit back a laugh and smushed a kiss to your lips. “M’well aware of what your hands can do, angel.” His mumble cut off with a hiss when you ground your bare pussy against his covered hard-on, wetness soaking through the fabric. “What d’you want, baby?”
You kept up your slow grind, letting your slick coat his clothed cock in warm, lazy rolls. “You.”
“Fuck,” he groaned at your unhelpful response, eyes fluttering shut. “You want me to bend you over? Your ass has been driving me fucking insane, baby.”
Your teeth dug into your lip as he grabbed a greedy handful of each cheek when you rocked into him again. “Or,” he rasped, eyes just open enough to watch your tits bounce with your movement, “could fuck you like this and watch your tits bounce in my face.”
You pouted at both lovely options, unable to choose. “You’re gonna have to decide, baby.”
He didn’t answer, just grabbed you suddenly and flipped you until you were straddling him reverse cowgirl, thighs spread wide over his hips.
“Oop,” you gasped, steadying yourself with your palms on his thighs.
“Good,” he murmured, giving the position a onceover with a little nod. His hands slipped back down to your ass for another squeeze. “This works.”
The camera was still going, and beside it, the monitor captured your position and nudity in full. No wonder he wanted you this way. He had the best of both worlds.
“Look at you,” he groaned, squeezing your ass before flicking his gaze up to your chest on the screen. “Fuckk. Look at those tits, baby…”
Your cheeks heated but you didn’t stop grinding down, eyes on the monitor as his jaw clenched every time your pussy dragged over the thick outline of his cock. His hand came up, wrapping around your neck from behind to drag you back into his chest. You whimpered into the messy kiss he pulled from you as his fingers flexed and his hips jutted up into your needy cunt.
Pulling back with a slow suck on his bottom lip, you reached down beneath your ass and pushed the band of his briefs low enough to free him. His thick, leaking length slapped up against his stomach when you gave it the space, and your mouth watered a little before turning back toward the monitor.
You leaned forward with one hand on his warm thigh, the other wrapping around the base of his cock to line him up, and the second you sank down, Jungkook’s eyes rolled back.
“Jesus,” he grunted at the feeling of home, hands sliding up your soft sides to hold onto you just in case. You fed the shaft into you slower this time as this angle always made every ridge and vein feel thicker. When you reached the hilt and were stuffed full, your now-empty hand joined the your other on his opposite thigh.
“Shit,” you breathed, your walls pulsing around him before beginning to move. His hands slid from your waist to cup your tits, squeezing, teasing and watching them bounce in a dirty rhythm on the monitor as you lifted up and sat back down with a thwack.
He was fucking gone—head tilted back, mouth open, hair damp with sweat already. “Yeah, baby,” he rasped. “Fuckin’ just like that. Ride me, ride my fucking dick, angel, come on.”
You bounced harder, trying to imprint the shape of his cock into your stomach. You were soaked and dripping, the sound of wet skin slapping filling the room. You wondered if it would pick up well in the recording.
Jungkook couldn’t stop groaning, his grip on your tits tightening, hard nipples digging into his palms. “Gonna fill this fucking pussy up, baby,” he panted as you fucked him into the mattress. “You want that? Want me to stuff you full with my fucking cum on video?”
You moaned so loud it nearly threw off your rhythm. “Yeah?” he growled, losing his control and thrusting up into you, balls slapping against your leaking lips. “That’s my fuckin girl. So fucking sexy, baby.”
Your thighs trembled, fingernails digging crescents into his skin. He growled louder at the sting, hand shifting from your tits to your neck. He leaned up against the headboard, pulled you flush to his chest and pounded up into you like a fucking fleshlight.
“Dirty fucking slutttt,” he barked as you choked on your spit and moans, your hands reaching up to grip the headboard in pleasured anguish. “Starting to think you want me to leave this in the video. Let everyone watch you take what I give you like the cock-drunk fucking whore you are.”
“Uhhhhfuckk, baby!” you screamed as the head of his cock beat into your g-spot. “Yes, god, I’m your dirty little whore, daddy,” you cried in tune with the headboard banging loudly against the wall, your body trembling with each brutal thrusts.
“I know you are, baby,” he hummed into your sweaty neck, tongue licking the salt from your skin. His fingers tightened around your throat and your eyes rolled white, hand loosening from the headboard to grip the back of his thick neck. “The best whore for daddy, huh.”
When the hand not clasped around your throat slid down past your jiggling tits and plushy stomach to your needy clit, a strangled gasp spewed from your lips. “Oh, y-yes daddy, yes, rub it- rub my fucking clit, please, please, I’m so fucking closeee—”
He hovered his fingers over the bud for a drawn out second before hammering a thrust so deep it knocked the air out of you. His balls twitched at the feeling of you clenching and he knew he was there. So he demanded, “Cum,” teeth scraping your skin while his fingers began furiously circling your clit. “Cum on daddy’s cock, baby. C’mon, baby, fuck, c’mon!”
You shattered with a scream, your throat contracting under his grip as your pussy clenched down in sore spasms. Jungkook didn’t last a second fucking longer. He slammed up once more and buried himself to the hilt, cock twitching violently in your hole as his seed splattered right through.
He cursed through his teeth, big arm wrapped around your waist as you spasmed on his dick through your high. Your moans were pitched and broken as he filled you with the cum he promised, hips rolling slow to ride out the aftershocks, balls emptying every last drop into you.
You all but collapsed in exertion, letting your boyfriend hold the full weight of you in his arms as he gently turned you around, length still snug and stuffed inside. Your mascara was done for, your hair tousled and messy, and your lip gloss was smudged over both his lips and yours. And to Jungkook, you’ve never looked prettier.
Tugging you into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around you and shifted you until you were curled around him like a satisfied koala. Neither of you moved for a while, just caught your breath and soaked in the afterglow.
“We should so start an OnlyFans.”
Jungkook’s hand smoothing over your ass gave it a firm little warning smack at your comment. “You’re insane.”
You grinned, nuzzling into his sweaty neck with a pleased purr. “Insane for you, my love.”
summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.
after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?
pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader
genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff, slight angst
word count: 7.7k
warnings: swearing, they actually talk about their feelings :0, explicit sexual content (mdni), kissing, making out, hickeys, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (be smarter than them pls), a bit of banter, petnames (baby), they're really fucking cute in the end it makes me sick, let me know if i missed anything!
notes: idk if this counts as my first completed series buttt... i'm gonna act like it does. thank you so so much to all the love and support you guys have given me for the past two parts, i'm genuinely so beyond grateful for it all :<< hopefully, you guys enjoy this part too!!
ps. READ PART ONE HERE & PART TWO HERE!!
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You open his chat window again like it’s muscle memory. Like your thumb don't know how to not betray you.
It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.
And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.
You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.
But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.
You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.
Then pick it back up five seconds later.
Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.
You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.
Why did you let this happen?
Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?
You were supposed to be smarter than this.
You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.
Except it wasn’t.
Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.
And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.
That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.
You haven’t heard his voice since.
You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.
It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.
Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.
But then, why didn’t you reach out?
Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?
Because you’re afraid.
Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.
Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.
Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.
You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.
Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.
Kook 🍜: hi
One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.
Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.
You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.
You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook
It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.
Three dots appear.
Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.
Then come back.
Then vanish again.
You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.
A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.
Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?
You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?
You feel sick.
There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.
Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.
You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.
You should’ve been more careful with your heart.
But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.
You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.
You: Where?
Kook 🍜: i can come to yours
You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.
You: What time?
Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?
You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.
You: Okay
You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.
You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.
But you know you won't cancel.
Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.
You need to know for sure.
Jungkook is fucked.
Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.
He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.
He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.
Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.
He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.
The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.
It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.
And it just… hit him.
The weight of it. Of you.
He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.
And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.
Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.
You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.
And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.
He hadn’t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."
So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.
And now you’re pissed.
Rightfully so.
He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.
He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.
What the fuck is he even going to say?
Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?
Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?
Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?
The elevator dings.
Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.
He’s here.
Fuck. He’s actually here.
Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.
You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.
But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.
“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.
You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.
He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.
You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.
He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.
He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.
You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.
You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t
He doesn’t even try.
Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”
His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.
“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”
You raise your eyebrows, waiting.
He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.
You narrow your eyes. “Well?”
He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.
You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”
You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.
“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”
You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”
He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.
“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”
You stay silent.
He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”
You scoff under your breath and look away.
“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”
You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”
He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.
“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”
Your chest tightens.
You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.
So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.
Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.
“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”
His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.
“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”
You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.
“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”
The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.
You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.
Jungkook takes another step toward you.
“When I brought you back to mine that night… when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”
You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”
He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”
Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”
That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.
“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”
You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.
Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.
“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”
Silence again.
Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.
“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”
You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.
You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.
And now he has.
He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.
“I hate you,” you say quietly.
It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.
Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”
You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”
His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."
You pause, pressing your lips together.
“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.
His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.
“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.
He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.
“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”
He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
You stare at him.
Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.
His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.
And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.
So you move.
You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.
You kiss him.
Not out of impulse. Not for show. You kiss him because you need to. Because your chest feels like it’s going to split open if you don’t.
At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips — careful, slow. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.
But then he sighs against you — not loud, not dramatic, just a sound full of relief — and it unravels something.
His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and when your tongue brushes his, everything tilts.
The sweetness melts fast.
He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.
You kiss him harder.
His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. Not rough, not rushed. Just firm. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.
The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.
You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just feeling.
The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.
You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.
“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”
You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”
Then he kisses you again. Rougher this time. Desperate in a way that makes your knees go soft.
He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.
He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.
His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear, slow and deliberate, and your eyes flutter shut.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.
You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.
Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.
You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.
He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.
“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.
He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”
His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.
You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.
“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”
You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.
His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.
His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.
“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”
You smile, drunk on the feel of him.
“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.
He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.
He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.
When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.
You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.
Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.
You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”
You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.
“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.
You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.
You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”
The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.
Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.
“Koo,” you whine out.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.
“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.
You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.
“Please.”
He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.
He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.
“Gonna let me take these off?”
He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”
“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”
You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”
He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.
You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”
You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”
He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”
His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.
The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.
Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.
Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.
He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.
“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”
He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.
You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.
“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.
He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.
“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”
You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.
He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.
“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.
He moans, but his movements don't stop.
Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.
Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.
His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.
You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”
You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”
“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”
He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.
His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.
"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.
He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.
He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.
“Better?” he asks, voice low.
You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.
Your legs part without hesitation.
His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.
He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.
His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.
He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.
You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.
He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.
“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”
You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.
He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.
His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.
The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.
“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”
That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”
He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.
“You promise?”
The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.
He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.
The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.
“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”
“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”
The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.
When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”
You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.
“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”
You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.
Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”
He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.
His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.
Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.
Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.
His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.
Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.
He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.
“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.
He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.
“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.
“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”
He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”
You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.
“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”
He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”
You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”
“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”
You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”
He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”
There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.
“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”
You snort. “So humble.”
“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”
You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”
His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”
“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”
“I already want to punch you.”
“And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”
“This is my bed, dumbass.”
He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”
You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.
He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.
You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”
“Oh, so now you’re picky?”
“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”
“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”
in which jungkook's sleepless night leads to an intimate shower with his girlfriend, where tender washing and lovemaking takes place.
pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader
genre — established relationship, slice of life, domestic vibes, slight angst, smut, fluff
warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, mentions of insomnia, mental health struggles, emotional conflict and vulnerability, smoking as a coping mechanism, hurt and comfort, love confessions, tattoo descriptions, intimate washing, late night sex, shower sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), eating out, face riding, tongue fucking, clit stimulation, cum eating, breast play, nipple play, making out, hickies/marking, mentions of bruising, rough sex, hair fisting and pulling, oral sex (m. receiving), cock palming, fist fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, sex from behind against the shower wall, creampie, loving aftercare, they love each other so muchh
wc — 5.1k
a/n — this one is requested by darling @cuntygguk !! <3
m. list
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The night felt heavy with the moonlight slipping through the curtains of your shared apartment.
The clock on the nightstand read 2:50 am.
Jungkook felt restless, proof of the grip of insomnia that won't leave him.
The room was quiet except for the occasional noises of the city outside.
Jungkook laid beside you, his body taut with too much energy, eyes were fixed on the ceiling above.
His hair messily clung to his forehead, damp with slight sweat and he breathed shakily.
Each exhale felt exhausting from the sleeplessness he was facing.
Night after night.
He was facing this.
You were curled up beside him, body comfy inside the warm blanket. The small light highlighted your features, the pink flush on your cheeks.
The way your lips parted slightly as you breathed.
Deep in sleep.
Jungkook's eyes softened, landing on you, heart swelling with all the adoration he had for you.
You were his light in the darkness.
The only person who made the world feel bearable for him.
His deep love for you scared him sometimes—he loved the way your laughter comforted him in his worst days, your touch and your entire presence made it worth it for him.
You saw him for who he was truly, flaws and all and you still chose to stay.
You were his only girl.
Forever.
And he didn’t have the heart to wake you up now that you slept so peacefully beside him, looking so cozy.
He would do anything to protect your sleep.
Never wanting to wake you.
You always had a way of trying to help him, soothing him in your own ways—making chamomile tea with honey exactly how he liked and trying to make the bed softer for him to sleep in.
Anything for him to get sleep.
You would also wrap your arms around him at night, your warmth helping him, whispering words of comfort to him.
Late night talks about nothing and everything.
You’d tried everything.
But his insomnia was stubbornly there, always clawing at him no matter how much you tried.
It rarely let go.
Jungkook hated the idea of pulling you into this sleeplessness of his, of stealing the rest you deserved.
So he struggled alone.
He always did, trying to shield you from his problems.
With a quiet sigh, he slid out of bed.
He moved carefully, not wanting to disturb the stillness of your sleep.
He slowly walked to the nightstand table, broad shoulders hunched slightly with tiredness.
He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the dresser, fingers trembling faintly as he pulled one out.
Smoking was very rare for him.
He only went for it at night when the insomnia was too deep, his chest feeling heavy.
He stepped onto the small balcony.
The city beneath him felt distant, almost unreal.
He lit the cigarette using a lighter before he inhaled deeply, smoke burning his throat as he exhaled.
The nicotine did little to quiet his mind.
But it gave his hands something to do, a momentary distraction from all his thoughts.
Back inside, he paced the room.
He stopped by the bed soon, eyes drawn to you.
Like a magnet.
He could watch you sleep for hours, memorize every detail of yours.
Your chest rising and falling, a rhythm that grounded him.
Even now.
A piece of hair fell on your face and he resisted the urge to reach out, tuck it behind your ear.
You were so damn beautiful.
So perfect in your vulnerability.
And his chest felt tight, aching with a love that bordered on pain.
He wanted to crawl back into the bed, wrap himself around you and to let your warmth chase away all the demons he was facing.
But he knew it wouldn’t help.
Not tonight.
Instead he decided to shower, hoping the water might help his racing mind.
He moved to the bathroom, the door clicking behind him.
He stripped off his sweatpants, since he was shirtless already.
His eyes falling on his reflection in the mirror, his body sculpted by several tattoos, eyes falling on his most favorite one—a tattoo with your initials hidden in it.
A secret only he knew.
All his tattoos told stories of his struggles, his passion and his love for you.
The shower turned on and the water fell like rainfall from the showerhead.
Jungkook stepped under the spray, water streaming down his body and all his hard muscles.
He tilted his head back, a sigh escaping his mouth, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead.
Sharpening his features.
The warm water helped in loosening the tension in his shoulders but his chest still felt tight.
Something that wouldn’t go away.
Back in the bedroom, the muffled sound of the shower stirred you from sleep.
Your eyes fluttered open, half lidded.
Immediately noticing Jungkook’s absence even before you saw that he was gone.
Whenever his warm large frame wasn’t around you.
You just knew.
Like your body had a mind of its own.
The bed felt emptier without Jungkook's presence, the sheets cool beside you.
Where his body should have been.
A pang of worry hit you, heart aching at the thought of him facing insomnia once again.
You sat up.
The sound of the shower confirmed where he was and the realization that he hadn’t woken you.
Hadn’t reached for you.
Made your throat tighten with sadness
You slid out of bed, bare feet hitting the floor.
You approached the bathroom, the door was ajar and you pushed it open, immediately being greeted by the steamy air.
The mirror was fogged with the condensation.
Jungkook stood under the shower, back to you, water cascading over his shoulders.
The sight of him infront of you.
His naked beauty stole your breath.
The bare body you have seen and touched countless times in your relationship, yet he always makes your heart flutter.
Tall, strong.
Yet so exposed—your heart hurting, a furrow in your eyebrows from pain.
“kookie…”
You breathe.
Barely audible over the water.
He turned, dark eyes widening slightly.
A mix of surprise and guilt flickering across his face.
“Baby, what are you doing up?”
His voice rough with exhaustion but also with tenderness.
Reserved for you only.
“You should be sleeping.” he said.
“I heard the shower.”
You step inside the bathroom.
“Why didn’t you wake me? you’re struggling again aren’t you?”
He looked away, jaw clenching tightly as he ran a hand through his wet hair.
“I didn’t wanna bother you,” he admitted.
“You were sleeping so peacefully and I... I... hate dragging you into this.”
His eyes meeting yours, filled with emotions and vulnerability.
“I can handle it baby, you know I always do.”
Your heart broke at his words.
At the way he tried to hide his pain just to protect you.
You stepped closer.
“You’re not a burden, jungkook.”
You said, voice steady, eyes searching his.
“You never are. I wanna be there for you just like you're always there for me.”
“It hurts me when you shut me out.” you croaked.
He reached for you, wet hand brushing your cheek, leaving a trail of wetness on your skin and your eyes closed at his touch.
“I’m sorry, sweet girl.”
His voice breaking slightly.
“I just… I don’t want you to see me like this… so fucking troubled. You deserve better than that, hm?”
“You’re not a trouble.”
You said fiercely, stepping closer but still away from the water.
“You’re human and it’s okay to not be okay all the time, koo… and please don’t say that. I love every part of you no matter what.”
His gaze softened.
“You’re too good to me.” he murmured.
His thumb brushing over your lower lip, jaw clenched tight.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I thank god every day that you’re mine.”
Your heart swelled, tears welling in your eyes as you reached for him, fingers brushing his wet chest.
“Let me take care of you tonight… please.”
He nodded, eyes intense on you and you didn’t hesitate.
You pulled off the t-shirt you were wearing, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.
Your body bare beneath it.
Jungkook's breath hitched, nostrils flaring, dark eyes roaming all over you, taking in the curve of your hips.
Your soft full breasts and the way your nipples hardened under his stare.
You blushed softly under his gaze, not used to being so confident and direct, so you looked away, biting your lower lip.
The steam surrounded you as well as you stepped in the shower.
Water soaking you now and your hair clings to you.
“Can I wash you?” you ask, softly.
Reaching for the shampoo bottle. The vanilla scent filled the air as you poured it into your hands.
He didn’t protest.
His eyes locking on yours, never losing eye contact, like they can read all of your secrets.
A mix of gratitude and desire in them.
You reached up, standing on your tiptoes, fingers running through his wet hair, massaging the shampoo there with slow gentle movements.
He was so tall, his frame towering over you, making it harder for you to reach him.
He sank to his knees for you, a gasp leaving you.
The sight of him kneeling before you, his head tilted, eyes half closed in relaxation, sent a rush of warmth through you.
Your heart raced but your fingers continued working, massaging his scalp and the soap ran over his shoulders, down his muscled back.
His face was in level with your hips, eyes falling to the space between your thighs.
Your pussy was wet—not just from the water but from his intense stare.
And the intimacy of the moment.
His hands rested on your thighs, thumb brushing the sensitive skin and a shiver ran down your spine.
“Fuck,” he hums.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. Look at this pussy right here, so wet and pretty for me.”
He says, huskily.
Your cheeks flush, lips parting at his lewd words, your thighs squeezed together instinctively wanting to take his gaze away, but it stayed locked there.
“koo…” you whimper.
Your hands shook as you tried to focus on rinsing the shampoo from his hair.
“You’re supposed to be relaxing.”
“I am.” he said.
His lips curling into a smirk, hands slid higher, thumbs brushing closer to your swollen folds.
“But how am I supposed to relax when you are standing here looking like this, pretty girl?”
“This pussy—it’s all mine, isn’t it, hmmm?” he asks
“yes”
A whine leaves your mouth, struggling to focus on washing away the soap suds from his hair.
“all yours.”
He groans, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, fingers almost bruising your skin.
“I wanna bury my face in you, taste you until you’re screaming my name... god, you’re killing me.”
You giggled softly, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, heart pounding as you reached for the conditioner next, pouring it into your hands.
You worked it through his hair, detangling it with care as you applied gentle scratches to his scalp with your nails because you knew he always liked it.
He sighed, gulping, shoulders relaxing under your ministrations.
“Feels so good, baby,” he mutters.
“You always know how to take care of me.”
“You deserve it.” you huff.
Voice thickening with emotion.
He looked up at you, hands cupping your ass, making you let out a small squeak.
A warm, deep chuckle vibrated from his chest.
“I don't know how I got so lucky... I'd be lost without you.” his voice breaks.
Your heart swells, a tear slipping down your cheeks, unknowingly and you lean down to kiss his forehead.
“I’m not going anywhere.” you whisper.
Finalizing it.
He remains quiet after that, letting you focus on him.
You finished rinsing the conditioner, leaving his hair shiny and soft.
“My turn.” he rasps.
His voice authoritative and commanding and the sudden shift in his demeanor sends a thrill through you.
He gets back to his feet.
Reached for the body wash, pouring it into his hands, a scent he loves on you so much.
A floral smell that clings to your body.
He starts at your shoulders, calloused hands gliding over your skin and you lean onto him.
He washed your arms with concentration, fingers tracing each and every curve.
He moved to your back, hands cupping your waist as his thumb pressed gently into the knots of tension he found there.
“Oh, mhmm.”
Your head falls back, breasts heaving with your pants.
“You’re so tense, princess,” he murmurs.
Lust and care in his voice
“Gonna make you feel good.”
You sighed, arching into him, resting your head against his chest.
His hands and the water soothing you in too many ways.
His hands trailed upward, slowing as they reached your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples.
You gasped, body arching into his touch as you clutched his shoulder.
He didn’t stop.
He circles them, teasing them, the soap making his fingers glide easily.
And the sensation of his calloused, slick fingers from the body wash felt too much.
And your nipples felt overly sensitive, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through you.
“Hahh… koo.” you called out.
“Mm fuck, look at these tits,” he growls.
“You’re squirming already and I’ve barely started.”
A rumble vibrates from his chest against you, making your clit pulse at the same time with your heartbeat.
“jungkook…” you whimpered.
Your nails digging into his skin, trying to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensation.
“It’s too much.”
A pout on your lips.
“Too much?” he teased.
His lips brushed your earlobe, fingers continuing their slow, torturous circles.
“You’re such a good girl… letting me play with your tits.”
“Look at how hard they are, always begging for more huh?” he grumbles
You moaned, water falling over both of you as he continued to wash your body.
His hands were slow, taking his time worshipping your body.
As if memorizing every inch of you.
He washes your hips, hold strong and possessive as he also applied subtle massages whenever he wanted.
He then moved to your hips, fingers kneading the muscles, the soap making his movements easier.
Almost obscene in a way that even the innocent touches cause wetness to pool in your cunt.
He knelt, face inches away from your core once again.
You felt your breath catch as he looks up at you, eyes wild with hunger.
“Spread your legs for me, baby.”
His deep, gravelly voice make your thighs tremble.
“Let me see that little pussy.” he hums.
You obeyed, breaths shaky, parting your thighs.
His hands slid up your inner thighs and you felt your pussy clench in anticipation.
“Goddamn, you're so wet.” he grunts.
Fingers brushing closer to your folds.
Teasing but not touching
Not yet.
“Not just from the water, are you? You're dripping for me... aren't you pretty girl?”
“Yes.” you gasp.
Hands bracing against the shower wall for support, your voice needy and choked.
He groans, eyes fixed on your quivering heat, his hands gripping your thighs as he leaned forward, breath hot against you.
Your clit pulsing as his breath hits it, making your hips buck.
He parted your folds using his thumbs, tongue darting out, licking a slow stripe through your folds, collecting your arousal and you let out a startled cry.
Hips rocking into his mouth.
“so good I could eat this pussy all night baby”
His voice muffled against you as he went on with his torturing motions, tongue flicking at your clit.
His hands kept your thighs spread to give him better access.
Not letting you any space to move anywhere.
Completely submitting to him.
No escape from his delicious torture.
The heat of his mouth, the warmth of the water and the slickness of the soap—it was too much.
Sensory overload.
You tremble, letting out uncontrollable noises.
He grabbed one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder, supporting your weight since your legs were getting weak.
And it gave him the upper hand to control you better.
“jungkook, oh my god.” you moaned.
Your hands tangling in his wet hair, pulling him closer.
“Don’t stop. Pease. Please.”
You begged, mindless.
“Never.” he exclaims.
The vibration has you letting out a shaky cry, his lips closing around your clit, sucking it hard and you pulled his hair.
Your hips thrusting on his mouth, almost riding his tongue.
“Come for me, baby… let me feel you fall apart on my tongue.”
The pressure built quickly and the coil tightened in your belly so fast, tears glistened in your eyes.
“Ahh gosh, koo!”
Your moans echoed in the small shower.
“jungkook I'm gonna—oh fuck, I’m coming.”
Your body shuddering as orgasm crashed through you so suddenly you almost fell over.
Jungkook held you upright as he licked you through it, drawing out the pleasure until you were panting and mumbling.
You pushed his head away, gasping, covering your mouth trying to control yourself.
He stood, lips glistening with your arousal and some dripping on his chin.
The sight of you so wrecked turned him on like crazy.
He snarls, pulling you into him in a rough hungry kiss, tongue tangling with yours as you taste yourself, making you mewl on his mouth.
“I love you so much, my baby… you have no idea.” he whispers.
Against your lips.
Hands cupping your ass and you clutched onto his chest, heart thudding.
“Love you too, kookie.”
Lips swollen from his kiss.
As you still struggle to get back from your orgasm.
“Continue taking care of me…” He rasps.
A lazy grin on his lips as he so obviously takes enjoyment from teasing you.
Making you wait.
You flush and a scoff leaves you.
Him knowing that you won't ever resist or deny taking care of him even if you're aching.
You reached for the body wash he used on you a few moments ago, pouring some on his body.
Beginning to wash him in return.
Your hands slide over his chest, tracing all of his tattoos, lingering on the ink as your fingers traced the patterns.
A habit of yours from countless nights before.
He exhales, satisfied, loving your hands on his body.
There was a small design on his chest your initials hidden there.
A secret he’d shown you one night.
His voice soft and loving as he confessed it was for you.
“You’re inked in my body forever.”
He’d said then.
The memory still makes your heart swell.
Your hands move lower, washing his abs, taking advantage of the moment and groping him and touching his skin.
You can tell his enjoyment by the way his muscles flex underneath your touch, the deep rumbles from his chest.
A grunt leaving his lips as you get near his hips.
When you reached for his cock, he was already hard and heavy.
Your soap coated hand wrapping around his thick bulge, fingers barely meeting from his sheer size
“Baby.” he hisses.
Hips bucking into your hand.
The soap and water makes your touch smooth and you begin to stroke him slowly, thumb circling the tip.
Your eyes stay focused on his and his intense dark bedroom eyes make your pussy clench, despite the hard orgasm you faced moments ago.
His nostrils flared, jaw clenching and you knew he was holding back for your sake.
Letting you take things at your own pace.
A rare moment.
You lean in, pressing loving kisses on his chest, lips brushing over his tattoos.
“Mmm, you’re so hard, kookie…”
“Shit, princess.”
His hands grip your hips tight, thrusting into your hand.
“You keep talking like that and I’m gonna lose it.”
“Good.” you breathe.
Smiling shyly against his skin as you continue to stroke him, the other hand helping wash away the soap suds from his body.
Taking care of every inch of him.
His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts again, weighing them in his hands as he kisses you again.
Desperate and hurried.
“I need to be inside you,”
He rushes out.
“now.”
“Then take me.” you whispered.
All your restraint faded, bottom lip quivering in want as you looked at him with teary eyes.
He didn’t hesitate.
He spun you around in a fast motion, pinning you against the shower wall.
His rough manhandling knocking the breath out of you.
Your breasts press on the wet tiles, nipples brushing against them, making you ache with a mix of pain and pleasure.
But he keeps you pressed there, not letting you move.
The water still falls over you both like rain, making the moment more sensual and comforting for both of you.
He grips your hips, tilting them to position himself behind you.
“You want this cock, hm?”
Voice rough with need as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your folds.
Teasing but not entering.
Making you pant and clutch the wall tightly.
“Want me to fuck this cunt until you’re coming?”
“Yes, pleaseee.”
Your body trembling with anticipation.
His eyes fixed on how your earlier release still leaks out of your slit.
The sight so naughty and obscene and he was running out of patience.
“I need you so bad.”
You begged, voice pitched.
He doesn’t make you wait longer.
He enters into you in one smooth thrust, cock stretching you and filling you so completely.
It felt like he reached your stomach in one go, the position allowing him to go deeper.
Leaving you in a very vulnerable and exposed position.
“Oh gosh… gahhh.” you cry out.
He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust as he begins to move, hips rolling.
Almost like he was taking his frustrations out on you.
You loved it when he was like this, rough and taking what he needs.
Like an unrestrained animal.
Ready to devour you.
“koo! nghh, you’re so big—ohh gosh.”
“You’re so tight and warm around me… you love this fat cock, don’t you?”
He asked, voice gruff, hips moving faster.
“mhmm?” he grits out.
When you don’t answer and you know he doesn’t like it when you remain quiet, not voicing your answers.
But the pleasure was too much, you couldn’t keep track of everything.
“Yes. Yes.” you whined.
Head falling forward as he thrusts harder and faster.
The sound of skin slapping against skin mixes with the sound of the water falling.
Creating a lewd music.
Your own cries and his grunts mixing with it.
Each of his thrusts hitting that spot inside you again and again.
“Right there! there—”
A sob leaves you.
“Right there? You like it there baby?”
He hums out a deep chuckle.
His voice almost predatory and dark, hips going in the same rhythm, hitting that exact spot like the expert he was.
And you were a squirming mess on the wall, clawing at the tiles.
Your mouth remain parted.
Drool trickling down your mouth.
You were seeing stars at this point.
“You’re mine.”
He says huskily, a moan leaving him when you clench on his cock.
“My only girl… my everything, gonna make you come so hard… mmm.”
He was trying to prove a point, almost like he wanted to reward you for always being there for him.
Taking such good care of him.
“jungkook. jungkook. jungkook”
You were only capable of chanting his name.
Each of his thrusts sends your body sliding on the wall due to the wetness.
His hands holding your hips, the constant brush of the tiles on your nipple.
Was causing a dual stimulation
And it was too much all at once.
“ohs” and “ahs” left your mouth at each of his thrusts.
“I’m gonna come ahh—”
A broken sob leaves you, struggling to hold onto the wall, nails scratching it.
Needing something to hold onto.
He reached around, never giving you a break.
His fingers find your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.
“Come on,” he hisses.
“Let me feel this pussy squeeze my cock… come for me.”
His hands fisting your hair, pulling you back to meet his brutal thrusts.
Your orgasm came crashing over you and you let out a loud scream that ended in a sob.
“Ohh, kookie!” you cried.
Your walls clenching around him as painful pleasure ripped through you.
Your moans fill the shower, raw and desperate as he fucked you through it.
Your throat aching from all the noises.
He breathes shakily, thrusts faltering, chasing his own release and you can feel each of his throbs inside you.
Your pussy clenching on him repetitively, overstimulating both of you in the process until you both were letting out broken moans.
“Gonna fill you, sweetheart.” he grits out.
“Hnnn, do it, please. jungkook, come inside me.”
You gasp, trembling, whimpers spilling out of your mouth.
He thrusts one last time, deep and hard and then he comes, his release hot and intense.
He spurts inside you and groans your name.
You feel the warmth of his release, he reaches such deep parts of you and you groan.
Body still pressed against the wall as he holds you close.
You both pant, tangled together.
After a few moments he pulls out slowly, making you gasp at the emptiness.
Both your arousal mixed together leaks out of your pussy.
Your legs no longer supporting your weight, completely defeated.
He turns you around to face him, picking you up and you wrap your legs around his waist.
Supporting your weight.
He kisses you this time gently with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.
His tongue exploring your mouth, coaxing small whimpers from you.
He pulls back, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily.
He holds you close to him, your arms encircling him as he buries his head on your neck, leaving small open mouthed kisses.
His lips sucking gently at first then harder, leaving marks.
Claiming you as his.
In every way.
Your voice tremble, running your fingers through his wet hair as he faces you, your lips brushing his.
Both of you breathing the same air.
“You know I’m always here for you… right koo?”
He leans down, pressing a delicate kiss on your shoulder, lips lingering, sucking another hickey there.
You can feel his shoulders shake from the weight of his emotions, from hearing your words and you clutch him to you tighter.
You place soft kisses beneath his ear.
Each kiss a mark of his love.
His need for you.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says.
Voice strained.
“But I'll spend every day trying to be worthy of you.”
You sign, nuzzling onto him, bodies were still warm from the water, the steam around you both.
“You’re more than enough, Koo,” you coo.
“Always, you’re my home.”
He was your safe place.
You both eventually step out of the shower, movements slow and intimate.
He helps you dry off, wrapping a towel around you.
He helps himself by wrapping one around his waist.
You tell him to wait in bed.
He protests as he wants you in his arms, but your request makes him let you go.
Reluctantly.
You go to the kitchen and make his favorite chamomile tea, a drink that's his favorite.
You know it comforts him.
And you don’t forget to add honey to it.
Back in the bedroom, you hand him the mug, fingers brushing against his.
His heart full with how much you cherish him, he pulls you in his arms.
Wanting you close to him as he sips on it slowly.
His eyes never leaving you.
The love and gratefulness in them were so intense, your chest pained.
He guides you closer to him until his head rests on your bare breasts.
An act that always comforted him.
He loved to do it.
He would tell you to get naked and he would rest on your chest like that.
It wasn’t always sexual, just a loving act you both shared.
You ran your fingers through his damp hair, a contented hum leaving him.
The faint brushes of his hair on your taut nipples still send tremors through you, but you focus on him.
Hoping and praying he can finally get some sleep.
He deserves it.
The room was quiet now and you soon felt his body relax against yours.
The tension of the night finally easing.
The sex, love, your presence—it was enough to quiet the restlessness in him.
His breathing slowed, arms wrapped around you, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.
You buried your face in his hair, breathing the fresh smell of the shampoo.
He soon drifted off from your tender touches.
His face peaceful at last.
His lips slightly parting, a sign that he was in deep sleep and was actually resting.
The usual frown on his face when he cannot sleep was gone.
Now replaced with restfulness.
His breath warm against your skin and your eyes traced all the details of his handsome features—his lips, the curve of his jaw, the small scar on his cheekbone.
Your thumb brushing over the tiny mole beneath his lips.
You adored it so much.
He looks so much younger in sleep.
The weight of the world finally lifted off his shoulders.
Tears filling your eyes, finding happiness from the sight of your man finally resting.
You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
“Sleep well, baby…”
You ran your fingers through his hair, warmth and joy in your chest from seeing him like this.
summary : filming a steamy beach scene with your co-partner Namjoon is always a good idea
pairing: pornStar!Namjoon x pornStar!Reader
wc: ~2.3k
warnings: oral (f and m receiving), fingering, nipple play, edging, creampie, dirty talk, doggy style, they have fluffers on them while they get ready, use of a toy!! jungkook makes a teeeny tiiiny appearance, public sex, duh! slight woman on woman ?
This wasn’t your first shoot, and it wasn’t even your first time working with Namjoon. You loved shooting with him. There was an effortless chemistry between you two that made every scene better. As two A-list performers in your industry, you knew this job would pay well, and the director was clearly invested, working on a fresh project for a premium site.
The briefing had been clear: the scene was set on a beach during golden hour, and the director wanted you both looking ready and messy before the cameras even started rolling. So here you were: seated in the prep chairs, with your robe hanging open, with a guy already between your legs.
His mouth locked on your pussy, his tongue sloppy and his chin shiny with your juices. Two fingers stretch you open while he groans into your cunt.
Next to you, Namjoon’s sitting back in his chair. A girl’s on her knees for him with her hands wrapped around his thick shaft, stroking slowly while she sucks the head.
“Damn,” Namjoon mutters with his jaw tight. “She’s drooling all over my cock.”
You glance over. You watch her suck him in again with deep and slow moves. Damn, that girl is good. You moan when the guy between your legs starts circling your clit harder.
Your thighs shake and your hips roll against his mouth, but you fight the urgency to come. “Joon” you breathe out, hips twitching as the guy’s tongue drags flat over your clit, “are you going to that rooftop party Saturday?”
Namjoon blinks, letting out a curse when the girl deepthroats him again. “Which one?”
“Fuck– shit, right there,” you gasp. Your fingers tangle in the guy’s hair. You glance down, breathless, looking at those brown, big eyes. “Wait… what’s your name?”
He leans back just a little and answers as his fingers are still stroking deep inside you. “Jungkook,” he says as he gives you a smile.
You moan again, louder this time. “Right there, Jungkook– fuck.” You grab his hair tighter, riding his mouth, then turn your head back towards Namjoon. “Um… Mina’s? With the infinity pool?”
He grunts. “I think so.” Then, to the girl between his legs, he murmurs, “A bit deeper, love… there you go.” She takes him deeper, and he sighs before glancing back at you. “I’m pretty sure my agent RSVP’d.”
“Oh – God,” you mutter, then yelp when the guy adds a third finger, curling them deep inside you.
He looks down at the girl between his legs. “Shit, love… your throat’s fucking dangerous.”
“Don’t come yet,” the girl teases, pulling off to stroke him slowly. “You know how mad they’ll get if you show up soft.”
Namjoon chuckles. “You better slow down then.”
You lean forward as your makeup artist applies gloss to your lips while the guy keeps eating you out. “Can someone get on my tits?” you say casually, blinking up at the sun. “I want them to be perky and sensitive.”
Another girl walks up, bends down, and starts sucking your left nipple, hands cupping both tits. You sigh and relax back into the chair.
“God, I love this job.”
The guy - Jungkook, was his name? - between your legs stands and disappears behind the equipment for a moment. He comes back holding a dildo.
“The director wants to speed things up,” he says as he kneels again between your thighs. “So we’re using this to get you ready before Namjoon goes in.”
He pops the toy into his mouth, coating it with his spit. You watch the way his lips wrap around it. Fuck, that 's hot.
Lining it up at your entrance, he checks with you. “I’ll go slow. Just say the word if you need to stop.”
You smirk lazily and your hips tilt forward in invitation. “I’ve had them bigger,” you say. Smirking, you tilt your hips forward, in invitation “I’ll be fine.”
Jungkook laughs softly under his breath. “Lucky girl.”
He presses the tip inside you – just the first inch. You feel your body instinctively tighten around it.
“Everything’s ok?” Jungkook asks with a gentle tone.
“Yeah,” you breathe as your head tilts back slightly. “More.”
He pushes in a little more, inch by inch, watching intently as your pussy stretches and adjusts around the toy. His hand stays firm on your thigh. “Damn, Y/N” he murmurs. “You take this so well.”
“Told you,” you whisper with a soft smile. “Its not my first rodeo.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Namjoon smirking as the girl moans around his cock, spit dripping messily down her fist. His eyes are locked on your body, watching how the toy disappears inside you, his cock visibly twitching at the sight.
When the toy is finally buried to the hilt, Jungkook pauses and watches your body clamp down on the base.
You let out a breath, eyes half-lidded. “Mm… yeah,” you murmur, voice low. “It’s good – but nothing like a real dick.”
He leans down slightly, his breath is warm against your thigh. “You’ll be getting the real thing again in a few minutes.”
You barely have time to respond before he dives back in, and his mouth seals around your clit while his fingers start to work the toy in and out of you slowly.
Namjoon leans back, chuckling low as the girl sucks him harder. Spit drips down her chin as his hand grabs her hair, pulling her closer. “Holy fuck. Okay, stop. Stop or I’ll cum.”
“You two!” the director calls out from across the sand, his voice sharp over the sound of waves. He’s standing with a hand on his headset, the other waving a clipboard. A production assistant scrambles beside him, adjusting a reflector. “Positions, now.”
Namjoon stands as the girl wipes the spit from her chin and gives him a cheeky wink. He smirks and reaches into the pocket of his robe, pulling out a sleek black card and handing it to her.
“Call me whenever,” he says, slipping the card into her hand with a lazy smirk.
She grins, biting her lip. “Oh, I will.”
Jungkook kisses your thigh before pulling back and sliding the dildo out. The girl at your chest gives your nipple one last suck. You smile at her, and she winks before disappearing.
“Let’s go!” the director calls. “Golden hour won’t wait.”
You and Namjoon walk barefoot across the hot sand toward the set. It’s made to look like a washed-up wreck: broken wood, a shredded sail, bits of rope, and fake seaweed scattered around like props from a low-budget disaster film. The ocean sparkles behind it, timed perfectly with the golden hue of the setting sun.
“Alright, everyone, places!” The assistant director yells.
You glance at Namjoon, smirking, and he nods in response.
“Silence on set!” the director calls. “And… action!”
Namjoon grabs a fake oar, dragging it behind him like he's just washed up on shore. You fall onto the sand dramatically, pretending to cough.
Namjoon stumbles towards you like he’s been searching for you. You crawl toward him, panting. “Oh my god. I thought you were dead,” you say, breathing hard. You grab his face with both hands, fingers digging into his jaw.
“I couldn’t die without fucking you one last time,” Namjoon says, getting close.
You crash into each other, mouths colliding with messy, open-mouthed kisses. Your hands dig into his hair, his slide down your back and grab your ass hard.
Your legs wrap around his waist, and he flips you onto your back in the sand, kissing down your neck, mouthing at your tits. The fake urgency is addictive – Namjoon knows just how you like it. You’ve shot enough scenes together for him to read your body like a script.
“I need you now,” you moan into his ear, and he growls, sitting back on his knees.
The director’s voice cuts through the moaning. “Y/N, all fours. Let’s get raw with it.”
You flip over and arch your back, hair falling in your face as Namjoon moves behind you. He slaps his cock against your ass a few times, the wet, loud smacks echoing in the warm air. Then he rubs the tip slowly up and down your slit, teasing and slick.
You whine, desperate. “Put it inside me, Namjoon. Please.”
He growls, gripping your hips tight, then drags the tip through your soaked folds before slamming into you hard.
“Fuck!” you cry out as your head drops.
His hips snap into you relentlessly, rhythm savage and sharp, like the world is ending around you and this is your last shot at pleasure. Sand kicks up with every thrust. He grunts above you, fingers digging into your hips.
You’re moaning freely now, each thrust rocking you forward. You glance over your shoulder. “Harder. Don’t stop, Joon, fuck– Harder!”
He grabs your hair, and pounds into you faster. You’re loud now, not faking a damn thing – moaning, gasping, ass bouncing with each thrust, hands gripping the sand. You feel him throb inside you, getting close.
The sun slips behind a cloud, and the golden light softens.
“Cut!” the director yells out of the blue. “Light dropped. We’re taking 5 minutes!”
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, pulling out slowly. “I was right there.”
You chuckle darkly. “Join the club.”
Namjoon huffs as he sinks down to sit in the sand, legs stretched out, cock still half-hard but drooping slightly in the cooler breeze.
“Damn it,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were so close.”
You roll onto your back beside him with your legs still slightly spread. You can feel the slick between your thighs against the salty air. “Yeah,” you exhale, breathy. “I was about to black out.”
A shadow casts over you both.
“Need help with that?” the girl from before says sweetly.
You both glance up. She’s standing there with her lip gloss slightly smudged, eyeing Namjoon’s softening cock.
He smirks. “Be my guest, pretty girl.”
She drops to her knees and wraps her hand around his shaft, her tongue already flicking over the head. He grunts and his legs tense.
You turn your head lazily, watching as she bobs down slowly, taking him in. Your fingers drift down, stroking between your own thighs, just soft circles on your clit to keep the heat simmering under your skin.
She pulls back with a pop, stroking him with one hand, looking proud as he thickens back up. “There we go,” she hums, then glances at you. “May I help you too?”
Before you can answer, her other hand slides between your legs.
“Oh, shit,” you breathe, spreading your thighs a little more to give her room. Her fingers move quickly, finding your clit right away and rubbing it in small, practiced circles.
You moan softly, hips shifting toward her touch. “I get why you gave her your number, Joon” you murmur, one hand drifting to your own tit, pinching your nipple.
Namjoon watches with half-closed eyes as the girl’s hand makes his cock swell fully again. You moan again, louder this time.
“Back in position! Everyone look alive!” The director calls.
The girl slips away, wiping her lips, and Namjoon gives his cock a few strokes, hard again. You drop to all fours, sand sticking to your thighs. He kneels behind you.
“Camera rolling. Take 2. And… action!”
Namjoon lines up and pushes into you in one smooth, deep thrust, making you gasp.
Namjoon groans, hips snapping forward again.He starts moving fast. Sand shifts beneath you as he drives into you, each thrust rocking you forward.
“I thought we were dead out there,” he mutters. “The only thing I could think about was getting back inside you.”
“You’ve got me now,” you moan.
He grips your hips tighter, thrusts faster. “I need to fill your pussy. Now. Before it’s too late.”
You whine, pushing back against him. “Do it. Fill me up.”
He leans over, one hand slipping around to rub your clit. “You want it?”
You nod fast. “Yes, yes! Fuck– I’m close.”
“Cum for me,” he pants, still fucking you hard.
You gasp loud, body tensing, then shake as your orgasm takes over. “Oh. Fuck, fuck!”
Your pussy clenches hard around him, and he groans deep. “I'm cumming!”
He holds deep, cock twitching as he spills into you, breathing hard. After a few seconds, he pulls out slowly, letting the camera catch the thick drip of cum sliding out of you.
Then, with a low groan, he pushes it back in. Your thighs twitch as more of his cum slips out, sticky and warm against your skin.
“That’s it. Great energy. Stay like that for a sec, the camera’s still rolling.”
Namjoon lets out a breathy laugh, resting his hands on his thighs as he catches his breath.
You drop your head, your body still slightly shaking from all the pleasure. “I– I need a second.”
A crew member jogs over, holding a towel and two robes. She crouches beside you, gently dabbing between your legs, careful not to interrupt the shot too early.
Namjoon accepts his robe with a nod and a small smirk.
The director’s voice cuts through the moment. “Alright, everyone– one hour break and then we’ll go for scene two!”
hit record - jungkook (roomate!jungkook, OF creator, furure fwb? hit pause prequel)
summary: your roomate asks you for help to film a video for his OF, and you agree
pairing: roomate!Jungkook × reader
wc: ~3.1k
warnings: sex on camera, tit sucking, tit play , unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it !! ), blowjob, yn rides him! he calls her baby and beautiful and that makes her feel funny
a/n: I thoght I could give our hit pause couple a bit of background! what do you think? As always, english isn’t my first language, so please be kind!
The second you open the door, Jungkook’s already calling out from his room.
“Hey, Y/N, you home?”
You kick your shoes off, drop your bag, and yell back, “Yeah! Why?”
His door swings open. He’s shirtless, wearing just some loose shorts, and his messy hair looks like he just woke up.
You’ve been living together for almost a year now. You found out through some friends that Jungkook was renting out a room in his place. You’d just gotten out of a relationship and weren’t looking for anything permanent – just somewhere to crash for a while while you sorted yourself out.
When you met him, he told you right away what he did for a living: he’s a content creator – making videos, streaming, all that stuff - the adult kind of content. But honestly? You didn’t care much. His job wasn’t that important to you, as long as you got along.
Living together just kind of happened, and you actually really like living with him. There’s something about how easy it feels around him, and sometimes, you get this little tingly feeling inside. But you usually push it down, not wanting to read too much into it or complicate things.
He leans on the doorframe. “Are you busy?”
You narrow your eyes. “Why?”
He grins. That one he pulls when he’s about to say something stupid. Or nasty. Usually both.
“So…” He scratches his neck. “I got this custom request. A subscriber wants a full POV of me sucking tits.”
You blink. “Okay… and you’re telling me… because…?”
He shrugs. “Mmmm…I have this silicone doll this brand sent me and… The tits are fine, I guess. But they don’t jiggle like real ones. It’s not gonna look real.”
You’re still waiting for the punchline. He gives you a fake innocent look. “I thought… yours would be way better,” he says, pointing at your tits.
You cross your arms. “You wanna suck my tits for a video?”
“I mean…” He steps closer, eyes on your chest. “You’ve got the most perfect rack I’ve ever seen. Big, round.”He makes a rough circle in the air with his hands. “Would look crazy on camera.”
You raise an eyebrow.
He smirks. “I’ve seen you in your gym stuff enough times. I noticed–” he drags his eyes down, then back up, real slow, and gives a small shrug “Anyway. It’s just for the video. No face, I promise. Just my mouth and your tits. You just lay back and enjoy it while I do all the work.”
You snort. “That 's all?”
He tilts his head. “Unless you wanna do more.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re already smirking. “Mmh. Sounds good. I’m down.”
His face lights up. “Seriously? Fuck – thank you. You’re saving my ass. They paid extra for this request and I was starting to get pretty stressed.”
You lean on the wall with your arms crossed under your chest, watching him practically bounce with excitement.
“So… when do you want to do it?” you ask.
He gives you a look. “How about now?”
Your brows shoot up. “Like now, now?”
“Yeah,” he says, already stepping back toward the hallway. “I’ll head to the studio, get the lights and setup going. Just bring that black lace set. You know the one.”
You squint at him.“How do you know I own that?”
He pauses at the door, shoots you a wicked little smirk over his shoulder.
“I’ve seen your laundry. Those panties with the tiny bows? Burned into my brain.”
You head to your room, the door clicking shut behind you. For a second, you just stand there, staring at your dresser like... what are we doing?
Still, you’re already moving. You grab the black lace set he mentioned and toss it on the bed while you reach for your make up bag.
As you lean over the mirror, dusting some bronzer on your cheeks, you pause. “My face isn’t even gonna show,” you mutter. “Why the hell am I doing this?”
You slip on the lingerie, then throw a loose tee over it and then a pair of shorts.
You walk down the hall, heart thumping like crazy even though you’re just about to let Jungkook suck on your tits for his OF. At his door, you knock twice.
The door swings open right away and you see Jungkook. You see the camera set up on a tripod behind him and a few softboxes. You’ve been here before – the spare room turned into a studio. It smells like his cologne. The bed’s made with plain sheets, simple. He steps aside as you walk in.
“Mmm, you look good,” he smirks. “Did you put on makeup for me, pretty?”
You snort, feeling a little blush creep up your cheeks. “Shut up.”
He closes the door behind you. “Alright” he says. “Sit on the bed. Back against the frame.”
You nod and move over, climbing onto the mattress. Your tee rides up as you sit with your legs stretched out and your back against the headboard, hands resting behind you.
You glance up at him. “Like this?”
“Perfect,” he says as he reaches to adjust the camera angle.
Jungkook finishes adjusting the camera, checking the screen once more before turning to you. He runs a hand through his hair, then leans against the edge of the bed.
“Before we start – anything you don’t want me to do?”
You tilt your head, thinking for a second, then shrug. “Not really. I’m good with whatever.”
With that, he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off in one smooth motion. Now it’s just him and his basketball shorts, with his abs and tattooed sleeve on full display.
Your eyes drop without meaning to, tracing the faint trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband. He catches you looking and smirks again. “Your turn.”
You blink. “Hm?”
“Shirt. Off.”
He watches you almost as if he was waiting for any sign you’ll back out. But you don’t. You grab the hem of your tee and pull it off slow, knowing he’s watching.
He stares, just for a second “...fuck.”
You shift a little under his gaze, raising a brow. “What? Something wrong?”
Jungkook snaps out of it, shaking his head slowly. “No! No. That black really suits you.”
You chuckle as your fingers brush along one strap. He clears his throat, and glances back at the camera. “Okay – quick rundown.” You nod, sitting a little straighter.
“So, I’ll hit record,” he says, moving around the bed. “Then I’ll come close, say something to set the mood, get the audience ready.”
You hum in agreement. “Right. Then what?”
“Then I get to work.” He grins.
You nod again, glancing down at your cleavage. “Should I unhook the bra or…?”
He cuts in, shaking his head. “No. Let me pull the cups down. Waaaay hotter. Makes them look even fuller when they spill out like that.”
You laugh. “You sound like you’ve done your research.”
“I jack off to this kind of shit. Of course I have.”
That earns a grin from you, and then he’s climbing up onto the mattress, grabbing the remote for the camera. His knees press into the bed, positioning himself between your legs.
“Alrighty,” he says, looking at you one last time. “Ready?”
You nod, biting your lip. He hits record, then moves forward, kneeling between your thighs as his face drops toward your chest. The red light on the camera clicks on.
Jungkook’s voice drops an octave. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Bet you’ve imagined this…”
You bite your lip, and your heart skips a beat. “Yeah…”
But then you realize – he’s not looking at you. He’s talking to the camera. You clear your throat, trying to play it cool as he starts kissing your collarbone, just above your bra where the lace meets your skin.
“Damn…” he mutters, pulling back just for a second to look at you. “You’re beautiful.”
Something tightens in your chest at that.
Yes, you’re used to him calling you pretty, yes – but beautiful? You don’t know why, but that just hits differently. You push the thought away before it sticks.
He leans in again. His tongue presses over your nipple through the fabric of your bra.You exhale, shifting slightly under him. He sucks gently, slow and wet, letting the sounds hit just right for the camera.
“Can’t wait to get these pretty tits out,” he whispers. His fingers slip under the bra and eyes never leave yours. Then he tugs the cups down, and your tits spill free.
“Fuck me,” he breathes, quiet. His eyes go wide, as if he forgot the camera was on. “They’re even bigger than I thought.” His hands move up, feeling warm on your skin. He rubs your nipples, then pinches them. You arch your back with a sharp breath.
“Ah. Fuck.”
He groans low, clearly loving the sound. “You like that?” he mutters, tugging again, this time slower, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers.
“Yeah – shit. Keep going,” you breathe.
“So sensitive,” he mutters, giving your nipples a slow tug. You moan, and he smirks. “Just a little touch and you're already making noise.”
He groans as his mouth moves across your skin. “They’re so big, I bet I could fit them both in my mouth.” He grabs your tits, pulling them to his face. His mouth opens wide, sucking both nipples. You let out a moan.
He stops for a second and looks up at you. His mouth curls into a dirty little smile, then he dives back in.
“Shit, Jungkook…” you pant, thighs tightening around him without even trying, “I–I think I’m close…” you pant.
He pauses for a moment, watching your face as you squirm beneath him.
“Are you serious right now?” he asks. “You feel like you could cum… just from this?”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Fuck, I feel like I could.”
That lights something in him. His mouth opens to say something cocky, but he stops. “Damn, baby…” That damn nickname again, making you feel all funny inside.
Jungkook groans, sucking your nipple hard. Your thighs tighten around him and your fingers clutch the sheets. His other hand grabs your other tit, pressing them together as spit drips down your chest.
“God, yes – fuck! Don’t stop,” you whimper.
“You gonna cum for me?” he growls against your nipple. “Just from this? From me sucking on your perfect fucking tits?”
“Y-Yeah. Jungkook, I –” You come hard, grabbing his hair. Jungkook keeps licking, growling as you shake under him.
“Damn,” he mutters “You really came. All from my mouth on your tits.” He pulls back a bit. “You gonna tell your future hookups some guy made you cum off tit sucking alone?” he teases, raising his eyebrows. “’Cause I feel like that’s a flex.”
Still trying to come down from your climax, you let out a shaky breath.
“No – but,” you say, dragging a hand down your face. “That wasn’t just some orgasm. That was... the orgasm.”
“Yeah?” He leans in again and his nose brushes your breast. “Damn, baby. You’re gonna give me a god complex or something.”
You roll your eyes. “Mpfh. Like you don’t have one already.”
He smirks against your skin, and gives your tits with one last squeeze before he sits up on his knees. “Alright, I’ll stop the camera,” he says, reaching toward the remote.
But before he gets there, you notice it – the bulge in his shorts. He's hard and you bet he’s been holding back this whole time. Your eyes move up to his face, and he catches you looking.
You raise an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna walk around hard like this?”
He freezes for half a second, then chuckles under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I mean… wasn’t really planning to, but – ” He glances down at himself, then back at you, grinning. “Hard not to be when you’re sitting there moaning like that.”
You sit up a little. “So you’re telling me…” you start, playfull, “you made me cum… and you’re just gonna leave yourself like that?”
He licks his lips slowly, gaze flicking down your body like he’s rethinking everything.
“…didn’t say that,” he mutters. “Was probably just gonna go jerk off in the shower or something.”
You watch him for a second. He’s trying to play it cool, but that bulge says otherwise. Your eyes drag down to it again, and then back up. “Come here.”
He blinks. “Huh?”
You tilt your head, smirking. “I wanna suck you off,” you say.
His breath stutters, eyes darkening. “You wanna – yeah?”
You nod. He shoves his shorts and underwear down in one motion and his cock springs free, hard. His hand wraps around himself, stroking slowly as his thumb smears pre-cum across the head.
He drops back onto the bed and you move between his thighs, fingers curling around the base of his cock. He’s hot, heavy in your hand, and your grip tightens as you start to stroke him, watching his breath hitch.
“Fuck,” he mutters, barely audible.
You lean in, tongue flicking out to taste him, dragging a slow lick from base to tip. His hips jerk. Then your mouth closes over him, lips sliding down his length, tongue working the underside. You take as much as you can, and your hand strokes what your mouth doesn’t cover.
“Shit,” he mutters, eyes wide, locked on you. “You’re actually— okay, fuck.”
You hollow your cheeks, pull back, then sink down again.
His hand drifts up your chest and his fingers brush your skin before he finds your nipple. He rolls it between his fingers, slow at first, then pinches, watching the way your body responds. You moan around him, and his cock twitches in your mouth.
He groans as he keeps playing with your nipple with his fingers. His hips shift, fighting the urge to thrust deeper. Every time you pull back to breathe, you lick at the head, your tongue circling before you take him again. He’s panting.
His thumb wipes a streak of spit from your chin, then lingers at your lip, watching the way you take him. You suck him deeper making your jaw ache, but you don’t stop. He’s close – you can feel it in the way he tightens beneath you, the way his breath breaks.
“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Because I wanna fuck you so bad right now.”
You let him slip from your mouth to speak. Your lips are swollen, a sheen of spit glistening on your chin. “Yeah.”
He lets out a breath, “Thank fuck,” he mutters, already reaching for you.
He leans in, kissing you hard, and his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer. It stirs something inside you, a mix of wanting and nervousness, but neither of you says a word. One hand slides down to the waistband of your shorts, tugging them and your panties off in one smooth motion. They hit the floor somewhere behind him, forgotten.
His fingers trail slowly up your thigh, pausing just a breath away from where you need him most. Then they slip between your folds. You gasp into his mouth as one finger slides in, then another.
“God,” he mutters against your lips, “you’re soaked.”
His fingers move and his mouth never leaves yours. “Jungkook” Your hips jerk up, chasing his fingers, trembling around them.
Jungkook slips his fingers out slowly, and his lips brush against your neck as he pulls back a little. He moves lower, positioning himself at your entrance, feeling how wet and ready you are.
He pushes forward, his cock stretching you open. You gasp.
“Shit,” you breathe. “You’re … big.”
He groans at that, and his head dips to your shoulder as he sinks deeper. “I’ll go slow,” he mutters. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”
You shake your head, panting. “No. Just – mmmh. Don’t stop.”
He stills when he bottoms out your walls clench tight around him.
“You’re so tight,” he growls, grabbing your hips as he drives into you. “Moan for me,” he pants. “I want to hear you”
“Jungkook!” you cry out.
His hands grip your hips tight, then with a quick move, he flips you over so you’re on top. You settle down slowly, riding him, grinding as his hands slide over your waist. Your hands grip his shoulders and Jungkook watches your tits bounce.
“I wish you could see how hot you look right now, riding me like that” he groans. “I love watching your tits bounce” He reaches up, cupping one, squeezing it tight, watching it jiggle under his hand.
“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he groans. His hips snap up to meet yours.
Skin meets skin as the rhythm quickens. You bounce harder, keeping up with his pace. Jungkook drives deep, each thrust harder than the last. You grip his shoulders. “Jungkook, I’m close,” you gasp.
His grip on your hips tightens, pulling you closer. “Cum for me, baby,” he says.
Your body shakes, as you reach your climax, but Jungkook never stops thrusting.
“Fuck, I’m cumming,” he growls. His hips jerk hard, driving deep as he spills inside you, groaning your name.
You collapse over his chest with shaky breath, and press a quick kiss to one of his pecs.
He asks softly, “You okay?”
You nod.
“Mmm, I like being like this,” he says. He stays still for a moment, then slowly thrusts again. You let out a low moan, feeling he’s still inside you, not soft yet.
“Jungkook!”
He chuckles, brushing his lips over your skin. “What? I like being inside you. Could stay here all day. Watch a movie or something.”
You giggle. “So… you recorded the whole thing? But you’re not going to upload everything, right? Like, the entire thing?”
He smirks against your skin. “Nope. What happened after you came the first time? That’s private content, for my eyes only.”
You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Good. Some things should stay between us.”
He wraps an arm around you tighter. “Exactly. And honestly, we could do this more often – with or without the cameras.”
summary: in the middle of an awfull date, when the hot waiter gives you a note: 'meet me in the bathroom'. And you don't hesitate to follow him.
warnings: public, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT GUYSS!!), oral - female and male
wc: 1k
a/n: SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG, but this is based on this ask!! thank you lots for the request, I'd love to hear what you think about it!
You wanted to leave from the moment you arrived at the restaurant. Your date, a finance bro your parents set you up with, hasn’t stopped talking about himself since the appetizers hit the table.
Stocks, crypto, podcasts… you stopped listening five minutes into the date.
You look up. The hot waiter walks past your table. Your eyes meet for half a second before he looks away.
The man you share a table with keeps wrambling. You sip your drink. Glance over again, the waiter refilling waters a few tables over and you make eye contact with him again. When he comes back to your table to refill your cup, his fingers brush yours. You look at him.
“Anything else?” he asks, looking straight at you, not paying any attention to your date.
“I’m good,” you say, almost whispering.
He nods and turns away, but not before sliding a folded piece of paper onto the edge of your plate.
“Meet me in the bathroom.”
You give your date some lame excuse, and get up.
You step into the women’s bathroom, with your pounding like crazy in your chest, and the note clutched tight in your hand. The last stall door is cracked open adn you know he’s waiting.
You push it open and he grabs you instantly, pulling you in with one hand on your waist, the other locking the door. A few instatnt laster, his mouth is on yours. He presses you against the wall, his body tight to yours and hips grinding with zero subtlety.
You break the kiss, "I don’t even know your name."
He smirks, "I'm Jungkook. Now you do."
"Y/N." you whisper back.
"Now we are not strangers anymore." And then you’re kissing again, like you’re the only people in this world.
He drops to his knees shoving up your dress and dragging your panties along your legs. Jungkook spreads your legs and dives in like a man starved, tongue licking through your folds.
Your body shakes as he sucks on your clit and his tongue working filthy circles until your knees almost give up. You cum quick and hard between cries of pleasure.
"My turn." You say.
Dropping to your knees, you unbuckle his belt, and take his underwear down his legs. His cock springs free, leaking due to all the teasing from before.
You give a few slow licks up his length, teasing, then take him into your mouth inch by inch, your tongue swirling around the head.
"Shit…" he breathes, and his hand slides into your hair.
As you work him deeper, his other hand reaches for the top of your dress and you don’t stop him. With one quick movement, he pulls the neckline down, exposing your tits completely.
"God," he groans, staring. "They feel better than they look. I swear I could't stop thinking about them the whole night."
He cups them while you suck him, pressing his thumbs over your nipples, squeezing them in his hands.
"You look so fucking hot like this," he mutters, while you keep sucking, cock still in your mouth. "Pretty tits bouncing while you choke on my cock."
You moan around him, and he tightens his grip in your hair, thrusting deeper. When he pulls you off with a wet pop, you’re gasping for air, lips swollen.
"Turn around. Now."
You do, placing your hands against the stall door. He hikes your dress up again and pulls your panties the rest of the way off, now laying on the floor.
His hands slide up your body, grabbing again at your tits from behind, softly pinching your nipples while his cock grinds against your ass.
"Fuck, these are perfect," he mutters, hands still caressing your tits, "So soft… so big."
He strokes himself once, and lines up.
But before he can thrust in ,the bathroom door creaks open. You hear the sound of heels on the floor, and freeze... but he doesn’t.
While he covers your mouth with one hand and the other is still squeezing your tit, he slides into you with one swift movement. You whimper into his palm, but he doesn’t stop.
"Shh," he whispers in your ear. "You have to stay quiet."
He keeps fucking you with slow but strong thrusts. You try not to let out a cry of pleasure from all that you’re feeling. His hands never change: one at your mouth, the other pinching your nipple.
That’s when the woman in the bathroom flushes and you hear her washing her hands. She 's gone. When you hear the door close, Jungkook grabs your hips, slamming into you harder, tits crashing against the stall door.
"You did so fucking good," he pants. "Took it so quietly… but you wanted to scream, didn’t you?"
You whine, nodding, barely able to speak.
"Let me hear it now."
You cry out as he fucks you deeper and faster. His hand slips between your thighs and finds your clit, rubbing tight circles.
You hit your orgasm with a moan and your legs shaking. He keeps fucking you hard, untill his orgasms hits him, spilling inside you as he preases his forehead to your back. Both of you stay silent.
He pulls out and tucks himself in. While fixing your dress, you meet his eyes in the mirror above the sink. No words needed to understand what happened between you two.
"This never happens. Again." you say to him.
He nods, but when you push open the bathroom door, every part of you already knows: this wasn’t the last time.
dededos
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
theartofmadeline
titsay
stormborns
kaledo-art
