jeonsg1rl

elí | 22 ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ minors dni

[vinylopall]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 | j.jk

⤷"mini" one-shot!! in which....The perilla leaf debate in general is supposed to be nothing more than a stupid internet argument, until Jungkook nearly starts a war at dinner over Jimin helping you separate yours.

pairing: bestfriend!jungkook x fem!reader

warnings: friends to lovers, jk is down horrendous, jealousy over vegetables, mutual pining, lovesick idiot behavior, perilla leaves almost ruin a friendship, secondhand embarrassment, yearning, jimin stirs the pot for fun, kissing, tooth-rotting fluff, jk loses the perilla leaf war but gets the girl word count: 1,5k

masterlist

The group chat has been blowing up since 4 p.m.

taehyung: pls tell me someone wants to go have dinner tonight. i'm dying of academic boredom hobi: literally same. i haven't seen sunlight in 3 days namjoon: i found this place downtown. it's called "korean fusion." wait, i'll send the address. jimin: i hope everyone is coming... unless i might have to delete a certain someone's animal crossing save files you: threats??? really??? jk: she's coming you: umh??? i didn't even answer yet jungkook: you're coming

The restaurant is the most Instagrammable place you've ever seen, and you would have gotten there faster if your roommate hadn't been in desperate need of moral support over a situationship. You see Jungkook look up at you the second you enter his peripheral vision.

"Finally," Taehyung says.

"Sorry, sorry." You slide into the booth, and there's only one spot left, wedged between Jimin and the wall, directly across from Jungkook. "Emergency friend duties."

"More important than us?" Hobi asks.

"You'll live," you say, but you're not paying attention because Jungkook is still staring at you. Your eyes meet. He doesn't look away. Your stomach flips, and you wonder if you should have done this another day because emotional rollercoasters don't sound like a great idea on an empty stomach.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," you say back.

A few minutes later, the drinks and the banchan arrive. Jungkook is laughing at something Taehyung is saying, beer in hand, but he keeps glancing at you every time you reach for the banchan. You don't notice as you are trying your best to separate the stack of perilla leaves.

"Oh my God," you mutter, trying to separate them with your chopsticks. "Why are they like this?"

"Here," Jimin says, and his chopsticks slide in from your left, holding the stack steady while you pull one free.

"Thank you," you breathe, relieved, and you don't see the way Jungkook's knuckles go white around his glass.

You look up, and Jungkook is staring at Jimin, and it's nothing like the soft, longing looks he's been throwing your way all night. Jimin, oblivious, or perhaps not, hums as he sets the separated leaves on your plate.

"Jungkook-ah," Namjoon says from across the table. "Pass the garlic?"

Jungkook passes it without looking up.That's when you realize he's staring at the perilla leaves.

Oh.

Oh no.

You know about the perilla leaf debate. Everyone knows about the perilla leaf debate. It's a stupid thing where people argue whether it's okay to help someone else's partner separate their perilla leaves, whether it crosses a line, or not. Usually, usually, it's just internet debates and topics for variety shows.

Jungkook, however, looks like he's about to flip the table.

"So," Jimin says, "how's work been? Did you finish that powerpoint presentation?"

"Yeah, finally," you start to say, but Jungkook cuts in.

"She finished it yesterday," he says, pouring soju into your glass without asking.

Jimin's eyebrows lift. "Did she?"

"Mhm. She texted me at three in the morning," Jungkook says.

Namjoon looks up from his phone. Hobi pauses with his mouth full.

"Jungkook, that's not-" you say, blushing.

"Do you want some meat?" he asks instead, grabbing the kitchen scissors and carefully cutting the grilled pork belly into bite-sized pieces before placing them on your plate.

"Thanks..." you say slowly.

Jimin watches with his head tilted. He looks between you and Jungkook, then back to the perilla leaves.

"Ah," Jimin says softly.

"Ah what?" Taehyung asks.

"Nothing," Jimin says with a grin. He reaches for the perilla leaves again. "Do you want another one? These are really good." His chopsticks hover over the stack.

Jungkook's chopsticks hit his plate with a clatter.

"You don't have to. I'll do it," Jungkook says quickly.

"It's fine," Jimin says sweetly, separating another leaf. "I don't mind."

"I said," Jungkook replies, enunciating each word, "I'll do it."

He takes the leaf from Jimin's chopsticks and places it on your plate himself. Then he looks at Jimin with an expression that makes your stomach flip.

"Jungkook..." you say quietly.

"Eat," he tells you, looking at you with those soft eyes that could kill you.

Jimin leans back, studying Jungkook.

"What is it?" Hobi asks, looking between them.

"Just... perilla leaves," Jimin says. "You know the debate, right? Whether it's okay to help someone else's person with their leaves?"

The table goes absolutely silent and you want to disappear into the floor.

"Guys, seriously, it's not-"

"Some people think it's too intimate," Jimin continues, looking at Jungkook.

"And what do you think?" you ask.

Jimin shrugs playfully. "I think intention matters."

"What's your intention?" Jungkook asks.

Jimin holds his gaze for a long moment. Then he laughs, breaking the tension, and reaches over to pat Jungkook on the shoulder.

"Relax, maknae. I'm just teasing."

The rest of dinner passes quickly. Every time Jimin speaks to you, Jungkook finds a reason to touch you or get your attention. For the first time, it's not meant to be subtle. It's almost like a competition to see who hands you your coat when you leave or who walks closest to you on the way out.

Everyone agrees to walk to the Han River, grab some ice cream from a convenience store, and sit on the benches by the water. None of you are ready to go home yet.

You hang back, letting the others drift ahead. Jungkook stays beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"You didn't have to do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Mark your territory."

He stops walking. You stop too, turning to face him.

"Is that what you think I was doing?" he asks.

"I don't know what you were doing, Jungkook. You acted like Jimin committed a crime by helping me with dinner."

He looks away. "You don't get it."

"Then explain it to me."

"The perilla leaf thing is stupid. I know it's stupid. But...I always want to be the one helping you. And I know I don't have the right to feel like that, but I do."

"Jungkook..." you say softly, trying to get him to look at you.

"Don't say whatever you're going to say. Let me just... let me have this one moment where I pretend it's okay that I feel this way, even though I'm your friend and I'm supposed to just be cool with Jimin flirting with you."

"He wasn't flirting."

"He was," Jungkook insists, finally looking at you. "Maybe he didn't mean it like that, but he was, and I hated it. I hated it so much. I wanted to be the one helping you, even with something as stupid as perilla leaves."

"You know," you say softly, "you could have just said something instead of starting a silent war at the dinner table."

"I don't know how to say things," he admits. "I only know how to... want... from a distance."

"That's the problem," you say as you reach out, your fingers finding his. His hand relaxes, and he threads his fingers through yours. "You think you're being subtle, but you're not. Everyone at that table knows exactly what's happening."

"Did you?"

"Yeah." You smile. "I know... and I think I've been waiting for you to help me with my perilla leaves for a pretty long time now."

"Don't joke."

"I'm not joking."

"Jimin was testing you, Kook."

"Testing me?"

"Yeah. He was messing with you. It was so obvious he was challenging you. He wanted to see if you'd finally do something about it." You smile. "He's not stupid. He saw it before either of us did."

Jungkook groans. "So I played right into his hands."

"And you were very dramatic about it," you say with a sigh.

"Shut up," he says, smiling.

"I liked it. I really like it when you stop being quiet about wanting."

He takes another small step closer. "So... can I help you with your perilla leaves next time?"

"Only if you're not doing it just to be polite."

He smiles nervously "I'm doing it because I want to be the person you reach for."

You look at him, at the tiny chocolate-chip mole beneath his lip that you've wanted to kiss for months.

Then you do.

You have to.

He's standing there with his heart in his hands, offering it to you like it's nothing.

His hands come up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing softly along your jaw as he kisses you back.

When you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours.

"Does this mean I won the war?" he asks, breathless.

"You were the only one fighting it, you idiot," you laugh, giving his chest a light shove. "Jimin wasn't actually interested. He has a crush on the barista at his coffee shop."

Jungkook blinks. "What?"

"Namjoon told me last week."

He stares at you, dropping his head to your shoulder. "I made a fool of myself for nothing."

"Not for nothing," you say, running your fingers gently through his soft hair. "You finally stopped being quiet."

He lifts his head.

"I can be loud," he says. "If you want. About this, about you."

"Show me."

"Gladly."

And he does. He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you smile against his lips.

Then Taehyung's voice carries over from farther up the path.

"Finally! Took you long enough!"

You laugh into his mouth and pull him even closer.

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tysm for reading! <3 divider

masterlist

[femme11fatale]

O F F • S C H E D U L E

summary | Jungkook’s workout videos shouldn't be enough to change the way you look at your boyfriend, but you should have known that he has always been the exception to most rules, and now, you’re curious as to exactly what you’ve been missing at the gym… pairing | gymbunny!jungkook x f!reader word count | 3.4K elements | blowjobs; sexual tension; lust; 🔞; shameless wanting; established relationship; gym Jungkook author's note | I’m meant to be working and from nowhere this idea came to me, so I just wrote it, I guess I had Jungkook on the mind heavy since the recent lives. This man is just too hot for his own good, istg. I wanted to wait for the weekend to post this as it’s pretty soon after my last JK fic, but I developed a guilty conscience at the thought of gatekeeping it, hehe! 💜 Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and as ever, please excuse any errors I may have overlooked. This was written in one sitting with the quickest editing process I think I’ve ever undertaken! You can probably tell from the rush-job title, right?? 🥹 •𓂃𝜗𝜚 bts masterlists ( ❛ p a r t • o n e ❜ ) | ❛ p a r t • t w o ❜ ) ( ❛ bts taglist ❜ ) ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 jungkook masterlists | p a r t • o n e | p a r t • t w o

Your heels hurry down the hallway, keenly seeking out Jungkook, where you knew you would find him working up a sweat in the home gym. Anticipation builds in you rapidly as you break into a slight run, impatience growing to catch whatever it is the rest of the world seemingly had developed a taste for lusting over. 

You’ve been fantasizing about it since the first time you had caught sight of the snippets of his workout segments on those live vlogs. Watching your man as the veins bulged on his strong arms, chest flexing, those broad shoulders rippling as he pulls down the bars, and then of course there were the series of breathless grunts that should come with a severe warning label. Those were not good for your sanity. 

And all the while, Jeon Jungkook had the audacity to look at the camera between reps with the cutest, widest, doe-eyed innocent look, as if he had no fucking idea how many panties were getting wet over his escapades. It was deliberate, you were sure of it. 

Yet here you were, slacking off work where you would have been eyes-deep in a yawn-fest of corporate takeovers and contracts that managed to stretch out what could be said in a few simple bullet points to over a hundred needless pages of over-complicated words. 

Now, surrounded with the smell of sweat, rubber and body spray, some adrenalin-pumping music drifting out of the speakers, you wonder if you had made the right call coming home early. You rarely came to the home gym, opting to go instead on outdoor runs in the fresh air at stupid o’clock in the mornings. You preferred the fresh air to being confined. 

Only a couple of hours earlier, you had made the mistake of accidentally clicking onto Jungkook’s latest upload, some intense, high-tempo workout involving him in a vest that clung to the defined, toned expanse of his body as his handsome face sheened with the sweat of effort. Seeing that had been like a direct yank to your core, releasing some feral desire to bury your head between those lean, muscular thighs and see if you could bring out more of those delicious sounds from him. 

You linger at the doorway for a beat, and already you can hear the sound of weights clattering, peppered with those sinful grunts every so often. You sigh, feeling the dull ache of arousal throb in your cunt. Slowly you enter, careful not to make any noise as your feet carry you towards the sound, knowing you would find him hard at it, headphones in his ear and definitely not expecting anyone, least of all you. You smile to yourself. This was going to be a surprise Jungkook would remember for a long, long time. 

It isn’t that you haven’t seen him work out before, you had seen glimpses here and there, but you hadn’t really paid it much mind. Distracted with work, your own scheduling, and not wanting to get in the way. You should have taken more notice.

He’s on the treadmill when you see him, back to you, the machine only at a brisk walking pace. You smirk and watch him for a few seconds —well, you’re really looking at his firm ass this time, while you try and restrain yourself from literally jumping on him. It wasn’t often that you even really saw Jungkook during or even after workouts, your respective work and fitness schedule such that both your times didn’t really orbit within one another’s —so this was a rarity. However, it was fast becoming apparent that you had in fact been missing out. 

You remove your heels and place them at the side, before walking up behind him, the rubber flooring silent beneath your feet. Jungkook would likely not have heard you anyway, as you can see the earbuds in his ears. The treadmill quickens, and he hums. You smile, he’s so lost in his workout, in his own world that even without the earbuds he probably wouldn’t have heard you anyway. It’s adorable, and it’s sexy. 

You want him. Bad. 

Heat pools in you as you near him. You can already smell the scent of his skin, the saltiness of sweat mixed with the masculine, musky scent he wears. Every sensible thought abandons you as he increases his pace. You’re close enough to really get a good look at him, see the sweat that darkens the fabric of his t-shirt, clinging to the muscles of his back and shoulders invitingly. 

You stop and continue to observe him, almost mesmerised as you take in how his legs move in a relentless rhythm, effortlessly, and the muscles in his thighs flex beneath his shorts with every stride. Every so often, he exhales a puff of breath and drags a hand through damp hair that falls across his forehead when he runs. 

You feel a little cheated at the unfairness, because you had definitely been missing out. 

Then suddenly, as if he had sensed you staring, Jungkook turns. His eyes find yours immediately, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile of both surprise and amusement. You don't look away. His expression changes into something that only exacerbates your arousal, hungry and predatory. He reaches for the buttons on the treadmill and brings the machine to a halt, slowly easing off without taking his eyes off you. 

You must look totally out of place, still dressed in your work attire of pristine white blouse and strict black pencil skirt, suit jacket done up with a single button and your hair pulled up tightly into a stylish chignon bun. 

Jungkook reaches up and pulls out his earbuds, thrusting them into his pockets. “Y/N,” he says, voice deep and edged with the last signs of breathlessness from exercising. “—What are you doing down here?”

Being asked the question so directly seems to put you at a loss for an answer, but before you can even attempt to claw one together, you see Jungkook smirk as he comes towards you. He’s all hard muscle, glistening sweat and pure, dark eyes and unadulterated sin.  

"Having fun?" he teases, biting the corner of his pierced lip. 

The motion is immediately followed by the swipe of the tip of his tongue, and your knees weaken, raw lust cascading over you in uncontrollable waves. You gasp as he nears, a nervous giggle escaping you as he comes to a halt a mere few inches away from you. 

“Uh, I…” you begin, your face reddening with guilt. “I had a free morning, so I thought I’d come back home and—”

“And what?” he interjects, raising an eyebrow. 

The small, curved barbell threaded through the outer edge catches the light in a sharp glint against his warm, sweat-dampened skin, The piercing always somehow makes him look even more dangerous when he's focused, all concentration and intensity, softening only when his gaze rests on you. It’s just adding to his appeal right now, and you swallow, your throat suddenly dry. 

Amusement registers in his eyes, and it’s as if he already knows exactly what you're thinking. The grin that appears is devastating. “It’s not like you to be lost for words,” he states teasingly. “See something you like?”

You fold your arms, pretending to consider the question, but you have zero ability to withstand the sheer sex appeal of your man, most especially when he’s looking at you like that.

"I just came to say hi, let you know I’m back," you finally manage. 

Idiot. What would you say that for? Now he’s going to go back to his workout and leave you needing to vent under a cold shower while he—

"I don’t believe that for a minute,” Jungkook says, his attention entirely on you. "You've been standing there watching me for a good few minutes now.”

Oh fuck! He’d known you were there? You’re mortified now. The man must have eyes in the back of his head or something, or some crazy intuition levels. “How did you—?”

“Your perfume,” Jungkook replies. “You think I can’t smell you a mile away?” 

You actually laugh at that, he never failed to surprise you. “So, you knew the whole time?” you say, narrowing your eyes. “That means you were definitely doing that on purpose."

"Doing what?" he asks, as if butter wouldn’t melt. "What am I doing? I’m just doing what I always do, Y/N —working out."

You gesture vaguely towards all of him. "You know exactly what you're doing."

He smirks dangerously in a way that usually means trouble for you. Jungkook moves in, reaching for a towel from nearby and mops the sweat from his face, his eyes never leaving yours. His breathing has deepened now, controlled but heavier than before. Something about seeing him like this, strong, focused, and completely in his element, makes it difficult to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

“Maybe I do,” Jungkook says, his voice low and husky. He throws the towel to one side with a flourish and within seconds, his arms snake around your waist and pull you to him. “But you were loving it.”

Stunned, you look back at him, your mouth parting as if to say words but nothing comes out. You watch as his expression changes, the cocky teasing disappearing to be replaced with the kind of intensity he reserves for what he really wants. Your hands come up to rest on the firm heat of his chest as you feel his fingers splay over the small of your back. You feel so tiny in his arms, like a bird in the claws of a panther. 

“Koo—” you breathe. 

“It’s nice to see you down here,” Jungkook murmurs, his eyes searching yours, his inked hand lifting to cup your face. “I’ve always wished you would join me.”

You curl your fingers around his wrist gently. “Maybe I will next time.”

"Good," he says quietly, his thumb rubbing across your chin before travelling up to rest at the flesh of your bottom lip. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You can feel the way you’re unravelling under his touch, even though he’s barely done anything at all. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and already you’re burning as if you’re covered in sunrays unprotected. A soft hum leaves you as he presses his thumb down onto your lip with the slightest increase of pressure, the way he did when he held you down on the bed, pinned beneath his weight, and fucked you senseless. 

“I was trying to impress you, you know?" he confesses with a smile, thumb finding the corner of your mouth now. “I wanted you to want to be here with me.”

“You must have wanted it badly,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. 

"I like you looking at me like that,” he says, pushing the tip of his thumb between your lips and onto the flat of your tongue. 

You moan, succumbing to your need as your tongue swirls around his digit sensually. You hear how his breath hitches, and your mouth closes around him, sucking at him. You can see the switch inside him flick as he pulls your body tighter to him, enabling you to feel his arousal hardening against your lower belly. 

You ease back a little and reach down between your bodies to palm over it over the fabric of his shorts as you nip at his thumb. He hisses, eyes onyx orbs that enthral you. Your hand climbs beneath his t-shirt, flexing against the skin of his abdomen, loving the heat and muscle of his body under your fingertips, feeling how he trembles when you go lower, fingers dipping under the waistband of his shorts. 

“Fuck, baby—” he gasps, reaching down to still your hand. “I’m all sweaty…”

You tiptoe and steal a kiss from his stunned mouth, disengaging away his hand from yours to resume your journey into his shorts, emboldened by the way he’s reacting to you. “I don’t care about that,” you tell him, kissing him again, open mouthed. “I want you.”

Jungkook takes your face in his large hands and kisses you hard, his tongue finding yours, pushing and probing into you. Meanwhile, your hand slides under the hem of his boxers, reaching in and making contact with the velvety smoothness of his stiff cock. 

He moans into your mouth as your hand wraps around the base determinedly, stroking his shaft bottom to top, your thumb gliding over the head to rub in his the precum that beads out all over the tip. Your mouth waters as you pull back from Jungkook’s kiss, regarding him with an almost defiant look as you slowly drop to your knees where you stand. 

“Oh, fuck!” you hear Jungkook whisper raggedly. 

You look up at him from where you kneel, hands working efficiently to free him from the constraints of his garments. Jungkook lifts his t-shirt, revealing his toned abs and giving you easier access as he stares down at you with glazed, lust-filled eyes. Moments later, his cock springs out, thick and wide and veiny, flopping up against his stomach as it stands to attention. 

He had such a beautiful cock. Jungkook’s eyes close as your fingers curl once more round the thickness, your head coming forward, tongue outstretched to collect the glistening beads of precum that continue to seep from his slit. The hit of salt travels from the tip of your tongue all the way to the back of your throat as you lick at him, invoking one of the filthiest sounds you had ever heard Jungkook make to fill the air. 

You can’t hold back for even another second as you flatten your tongue against the thick column of his cock, sliding it all the way from end to end. Your tongue protrudes to trace the prominent vein at the underside in a line from base to cockhead, before your lips surround his cock and pull it slowly into the wetness of your mouth. 

“God!” he grunts, one hand flying to the back of your head and embedding itself in your hair, tugging at your bun firmly to keep you in place, his cock desperately searching for more of your heat. “—Fucking hell, baby!” 

Your fingers stay curved around the base, pumping at him as your mouth works him simultaneously with deep, hungry sucks. You let his cockhead sit on your tongue as it swirls at him, swallowing down his precum, before he pushes his cock all the way into your mouth, enough that the tip hits the back of your throat. You fight to contain your gag reflex, insistent on delivering the best pleasure to him you could manage. 

Jungkook moans as he throws his head back, fully immersed in the attention of your mouth on his cock. He even seems to forget his own strength as he grips your hair, pushing your head between his powerful thighs, your throat impaled further by his thick, leaking cock. His moans are deep and guttural, the way he growls your name primal and animalistic. 

Your motions speed up, tongue flicking back and forth over his slit, more precum filling your tastebuds, his length throbbing in your mouth. Your eyes water as you bravely allow his cock to delve further into your throat with every surge into you, your arousal growing as you deepthroat him, gripping the base with one hand while your other hand works in tandem with your mouth. 

Jungkook holds you in place with unrelenting strength, his groans deepening as he edges towards release. You cup his heavy balls, stroking at them as you suck, and it takes him to a whole new level. The hairpin in your hair comes loose under his vigorous jerking, causing your tresses to fall down your back. Jungkook wastes no time in fisting a handful, fingers digging in so deep they press by your scalp with a heady mix of pain and pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls. “How did you get so fucking good?” He grunts, shoving himself against you so you almost choke. “—I’m close!” 

You moan yourself, the intensity of Jungkook’s arousal increasing your own. The feel of the vibration of your sound sends him spiralling and he begins a series of filthy hot verbal as he pulls your hair, looking down at you working his cock. 

“This what you wanted, hm?” he breathes raggedly. “Want to taste my come? Want me to fill you up, baby, is that it?”

You hum your response, sucking harder and deeper at him, hands stroking him more firmly, lubricating at his length with your saliva. You’re drooling now, his thick cock almost too much for your mouth to handle without choking, but you soldier on despite the ache in your knees. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m—” Jungkook rasps, voice breaking as he groans loudly one last time, gripping at you so hard as he thrusts his cock so far into your mouth you whine in protest. 

But he doesn’t even hear it as his cock pulses and throbs, jerking against your tongue as thick streams of hot, creamy liquid bursts into your mouth, coating your tongue and finding its way down the back of your throat. You struggle to keep up with swallowing down each new wave as Jungkook thrusts into your mouth endlessly, moaning throatily as he empties himself into you. 

The sight of you swallowing him down causes his legs to buckle as he moans, rocking his hips as he tells you not to stop. You’re there for a good couple of minutes before finally he’s spent. You feel his cock twitch exhausted against your tongue, oversensitive as you lick every salty tang off him. You let his cock slide out of your mouth with a soft pop and he tucks himself away, before holding your hand and bringing you back to your feet. 

His expression is wrecked, mouth still parted, golden skin coated with the sheen of sweat. He looks breathlessly stunning. You lick your lips with a smile, filling with pride that it was you who had brought this gorgeous Adonis to this state. He looks back at you with lowered lashes, and gives you a devastating, satiated smile. 

“Satisfied?” he asks, eyes dropping to your mouth, watching carefully as you wipe at your wet lips with the back of your hand. 

“Mmhmm,” you say with a nod. 

He draws you to him, caressing your cheek with long fingers. “I think I can better that,” he tells you, his dark eyes glinting dangerously. 

One look at him standing there flushed from his climax, damp hair curling at his forehead, eyes shining and looking at you as if he could do a few hundred more rounds is enough to remind you how succeeds in seducing you so easily every single time. 

A fresh wave of arousal overcomes you, but before you can say another word, Jungkook’s arms tighten around you and he lifts you up, hoisting you over his shoulder as if you weigh nothing more than a bag of feathers. 

“Koo!” you squeal in a way that sounds more like excitement than a protest of any description. “—What are you doing?”

Jungkook laughs. “I hope you’re ready, baby” he says. Your heart thumps as he carries you out of the gym and towards the bedroom. “Because I’m missing a workout—.”

thanks for reading |

[yeskookii]

Shower head

PAIRING: bf!jungkook x gf!reader

Tags: explicit sexual content, switch!jungkook🤤, the duality is crazy, blowjob, curvy dick, she calls herself his fuck toy, no gagging(period), slapping her face with his COWK, hes ROUGHHCHFJJD(a lil bit), he just slapped her face omg, tears, cum swallowing

Mdni 18+

The sound of the running water echoed quietly through the bathroom. Steam gathered quickly, fogging the glass and leaving a thin layer of moisture over the tile. The air is heavy with the scent of vanilla body wash and something very musky, very manly.

Jungkook was standing under the main showerhead, his head bowed down, eyes closed, one forearm braced high against the wet tile. Water slides down the hard lines of his chest, over the defined ridges of his abs, tracing the deep lines of the V-lines that point down where you kneel.

You’re on your knees on the textured shower floor, the heat of the water spattering your back and shoulders. The sight of his cock, thick and fully erect, curving proudly upward his hard, trembling stomach. A pearl of precum leaks from his pink tip, glistening even in the fogged air. It makes your mouth water.

“Please..” he whispered, voice barely audible over the steamy rush of water. He leans back against the tile behind, arching his abdomen towards your face, as he gazed down with a pleading eyes, desperate for the feeling of your mouth on him.

Although, you very much enjoy edging and teasing Jungkook to submission, but you’re very desperate for his taste as well. You don’t wanna wait longer, so you lean forward and take him into your mouth in one smooth, deep motion.

A broken, guttural moan tears from his throat, raw and needy. His hands, which were loosely hanging at his sides, planted against the tile behind him, shoulders still resting against the wall. His knuckles turn white. His hips arch towards you, rutting his hips into your mouth, yielding to the sensation, as if your mouth is a gravity he cannot and does not want to resist.

You let him move into your mouth, establishing a rhythm that’s relentless, hungry, and needy. Hes a whimpering mess. Hes so loud, keening moans and words barely coherent slipping out of his mouth. His eyes are trying so hard to stay open, but the sensation is driving him wild. Your mouth feels so heavenly.

“Mmh..ah yesyesyesyesyes-” his breathing so heavy and hot, it sends a electric, warm sensation through your core. So you hollow your cheek and suck, hard.

Your head bobs, your lips creating a tight, wet seal as you move back and forth. The sounds are obscenely perfect in the steamy enclosure: the slick, wet pop as you pull off the head, the choked, heavy breaths from above, the low, continuous moan that seems to vibrate from his very core. His legs shaking as you swirl your tongue around the sensitive head, your hand holding him still as you nudge the slit with the tip of your tongue.

“Stop stop stop stop-“ his hands fly off the wall, yanking your head away, “I almost fucking came,” his thighs are trembling violently, chest heaving up and down fiercely. A breathless laugh escaped him, “Don’t do that, baby. You know.. i cum.. so fast like that,” breath still heavy between his words.

“My bad, you taste and sound so good.” You muffled through your squished cheeks, his palms unknowingly holding your face tight, they are trembling with his whole body. Damn, that tongue motion got him so bad, but you need his cock in your mouth again.

“Please, kook,” you whine, your hands gently parting his away from your cheeks, “fuck my face, use my mouth.”

You move forward again, but this time you nudge his pelvis, peering up at him pleadingly. You want him to completely use you, you want him to own your mouth and fuck it till you pass out.

“Oh baby, look at you,” he’s smiling devilishly, fingers threading through your wet hair, nudging you close to him, the other holding his dick up your face, watching your lips parting obediently.

“You want it?” He teased, slapping his heavy girth against your cheek, “you wanna taste my cum, don’t you” his voice getting rough, along with the hand in your hair. Fingers tightening, as he gently rock his hips onto your mouth.

“Please.” His cock sliding back and forth your open lips from the side, laving the hard throbbing veins along his shaft. You love when he is like this; completely owning you, using you how he please. And you take it every time, always happy to be his living fuck toy.

He finally slid his cock inside your mouth in a slow, steady motion. Still sensitive from his tip, moving his hips intentionally. His other hand feeling your neck, as his cock slide in and out of your throat.

“Fuck, you feel that?”

Slap!

“Answer me.” He knows you can’t speak, but he wants to feel the vibration of you trying to let out noises with his cock down your throat. So you whimper, a very long moan just to feel his hips shake under your hands.

“That’s it, keep moaning.” Voice trembling from the sensation, his movement getting faster, rolling his hips so intensely.

His eyes are dark, droopy with lust, glazed and drunk. His mouth wide open, never shy from slipping filthy noises. Hes looking at your face, watching your eyes well up from the overwhelming sensation.

You continued to moan his name around his cock, sensing his orgasm from his heavy chest and the way he trembles, taking the lead and bobbing you head.

“Fuck, just like that. Don’t stop,” His grip in your hair tightens. “Gonna come,” he warns, his voice shaking. “Baby please... gonna cum.”

You hum in answer, the vibration drawing a broken shout from him. You increase the pressure, bobbing faster, your own need coiling tight between your legs, ignored but pulsing with every beat of your heart.

“Please… take me..” god how much you love this part, him whimpering and pleading you to take his cum, his voice getting loud while his hips rutting in tiny, uncontrolled thrusts as he reach his peak. You could cum just from the sight of it.

A hot, bitter flood spills into the back of your throat as he grinds himself deeper, his hips stuttering. You swallow eagerly, taking every drop as he empties himself with broken moans, his body bowing over you.

For a moment, there is only the sound of the shower and his heavy breathing. Then, slowly, he softens in your mouth. You pull off with a final, gentle kiss to the tip.

He looks down at you, utterly spent, his expression a mix of awe and raw hunger. He sinks to his knees in front of you, the water crashing over both of you now. His hands cup your face, kissing you so deeply, his tongue swiping against your wet lips, tasing himself on you.

“Sit on my face?”

A/N: WOW IM WET FNNDJDKDKDKD

Hope yall enjoyed it just as much as i did🫠

[mercurygguk]

head over skates · jjk ; part v.

··· SUMMARY; jeon jungkook is the captain of the hockey team and one of the biggest fuckboys on campus. you happen to have known him for as long as you can remember but he is not who he used to be and you simply can’t stand it.

so what happens when you’re suddenly stuck doing a project with him for three weeks?

SERIES MASTERLIST · # TAG · MOOD BOARDS

PAIRING; hockey player!jungkook x f. reader

GENRE; fwb au, childhood friends to enemies to lovers au, college au

WORDCOUNT; 1,048

RATING; 18+

WARNINGS; none really lol just jk being sweet and y/n being herself

a/n; AHHH YOU GUYS!!!!!!! pt. 5 of hockey jk is out! apparently this was basically finished, it just needed an ending lol so im sorry for keeping you waiting for so long :( i hope you like it still love y'all <3

[3:19 PM] menace(y/n): where are you?

[3:20 PM] jungkook: i’ll be there soon, got held up for a min

[3:19 PM] menace(y/n): i’ll wait inside

Jungkook lets out a rather heavy and almost guilty sigh as he stuffs his phone back into his pocket, speed-walking across campus until he can see The Nook that’s located on the corner of one of the older buildings on campus. Once he’s closer, he jogs the rest of the way and heads inside once he reaches the entrance. He looks around for a second before spotting you in the far corner. You’re shrugging off your jacket and pulling out your laptop when Jungkook approaches the table.

“Hey,” he breathes, slipping off his backpack and his jacket. He dumps it on one of the chairs before sitting down across from you.

You glance up briefly, your voice low and unwelcoming as you greet him back, “hey.”

The two of you agreed – Jungkook practically forced you, you weren’t much for it – to meet up at the campus café the other day, agreeing on 3PM which Jungkook wasn’t very good at maintaining. He doesn’t dare to tell you why he was late, the unspoken and yet very true prejudices you have of him already would only be confirmed.

“Sorry for being late–“

You shake your head and offer him a tight-lipped smile, “don’t worry about it.”

Jungkook blinks at you, your reaction not what he was expecting. He lowkey expected you to scold him or at least snap at him. But you’re not doing anything… nothing at all.

“Well, I’m still sorry,” he starts again, wanting to make sure you don’t question his determination to work on this project and finish it. “I was in the–“

“Jungkook,” you interrupt him. Ah, there it is – the snapping. You cut him off before he can come up with a cover story for what he was doing before coming here and a part of him is relieved. He feels his heart jump when your unreadable eyes meet his. “I don’t care, alright? Let's just get to work… the sooner, the better.”

He doesn’t utter another word as he lets out a defeated sigh, watching you for a second as you scribble something down in your notebook before turning to your laptop. 

You’re wearing your glasses today – he can’t remember the last time he saw you in your glasses. They suit you, that much he knows because they always suited you. He purses his lips in thought as he watches you, wondering what it’ll take for you to let him off the hook and move on from your years apart. He wants to be your friend again but he can tell you’re not interested – if your behavior and attitude towards him is anything to go by, that is.

“So what’s the plan?” He asks, pulling himself from his thoughts and turning his focus to his laptop to open the document you’ve created for the two of you to use.

“We need to agree on a theme for the portfolio,” you mutter, scribbling another thing down in your notebook before pushing your glasses back up on the bridge of your nose, a small habit you still have after all these years. You glance up at him as you hand him your notebook, pointing to a list you’ve made. “I listed some ideas. Let me know if any of them catch your eye or if you have some yourself.”

Jungkook nods in understanding as he reads the list of ideas you’ve made, smiling ever so lightly to himself as he instantly recognizes your handwriting. It hasn’t changed at all since the two of you were in high school, some of the letters are just as crooked as back then – especially at the end of words. It’s almost as if you get lazy by the end of each word, the sloppy last two letters exposing you.

He can read it perfectly though. Always could.

“I like the idea of taking photos of the city,” he says after a moment of admiring your handwriting, glancing up at you with a gentle smile. “There’s a lot of potential in that one. You can capture different moods, colors, and emotions – depending on which direction you wanna take it.”

You nod in agreement, the corner of your lips lifting in a half-smile, “yeah, definitely.”

Jungkook’s eyes stay locked with yours for a moment, something within him stirring. He feels it in his bones and yet he has no idea what it is – he has never felt that kind of sensation before and a part of him finds it slightly terrifying yet he wants more. He shakes his head as if to shake himself out of it before closing your notebook and handing it back to you.

“Yeah, let’s make the city our theme,” he says, clearing his throat as his voice seems a little strained. “We can go snap some photos this weekend if you want? If you’re not too busy, of course…”

“I already have plans this weekend,” you tell him, your voice clipped as you turn your attention back to your laptop.

“Oh-”

Jungkook feels himself get a little disappointed at your instant rejection of hanging out with him this weekend. It’s fair that you have plans already, he has no right to demand your attention nor company, but he was kind of hoping the two of you could hang out like you used to. The way your expression softens as you lift your head to look at him has him feeling like a puppy that has just been kicked. He doesn’t need you to feel bad for saying ‘no’. He can handle rejection. 

Besides, it’s not like he asked you out or anything.

“Maybe some time during next week?” You suggest, your tone soft.

Jungkook nods, the corners of his lips turn his faint frown to the tiniest smile.

“Sure,” he says, frozen in place for a second before clearing his throat and turning back to his laptop to do some research for some photogenic spots in the city.

Deeply focused on his newfound task, he doesn’t even notice the way your eyes linger on him for just a mere second before you smile to yourself.

[jung-koook]

260728 - jungkook’s weverse live thumbnail

[vsthv]

selfish — jeon jungkook

synopsis: “I am so fucking selfish for you, and I am done seeing and helping you go on dates that you have right in front of my fucking face because I’m obligated to take your orders and pretend I don’t want to be the man sitting in front of you the whole, damn, time.” pairing: waiter!jungkook x hostess!reader genres: co-workers au, friends-2-lovers, heartbreaking jealous jk, lowkey blind reader (doesn’t realize the man that loves her is right in front of her), lovesick reader, supportive “friend” jungkook, smut, fluff, pretty much angst, this sounds so crunchy in my head. :D

“are you ready to open?” you ask, hands trying to tie and adjust the apron that was part of your uniform. you’ve never been able to properly tie it yourself, your hands only flexible enough to reach behind you but struggling to tie a knot invisible to your eyes.

“yep! here, let me help you, again.” jungkook offers with a playful roll of his eyes. this was almost a routine, one he’d taken the role for every day.

sighing, you drop your hands to the side and feel his substitute. “thank you so much, my life would be over without you.”

“I can tell you’re being sarcastic, but you know it’s true.” he scoffs, pushing you by the shoulder with his index finger yet he’s so strong it nudges you a little further than expected.

“well, I guess so. but, I do have mary here who would be willing to help, right mary?” you teased the girl at the counter that leaned forward to admire you both.

“nah, seems like those two pair of hands are enough.” she smiles, eyebrows rising and falling in a hidden message between the two of you.

jungkook finishes the knot, tying it so it won’t fall off at any cost. “hear that? I’m the only one that cares enough about your untied apron.” he smirks, tone low.

“well shit, I guess you are important.” you slouch, quickly dropping the small skit and heading to the door. flipping the sign from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ was your job, along with many others.

you could never really determine how well the restaurant would run on weekdays, expect maybe fridays. on weekends, no kidding it’s a wildfire. but on random tuesdays like today, shit was never predictable.

In the back, you heard the cooks starting to heat up the pans and the waiters started to adjust the chairs, the squeaks on the floor like chalk on the board.

jungkook stayed in the same spot for a while, staring at you as you did what you had to do, and somehow, you made it seem like it was the coolest thing in the world. he didn’t realize he was staring, but he didn’t really like that word. he would call it, admiring.

your hair would sway in the ponytail you wore, nicely put and sometimes with a little braid or a design you came up with depending on your mood. he noticed things like that, small but so important. if you wore the plain hair tie with no cute detail, you weren’t in your best mood and it always surprised you when he would ask if you’re doing okay.

he never noticed how much attention he paid to you, more so how he knew you so well with just minor little touches. and he didn’t think much of it.

“hey, I know she’s beautiful but you gotta get to wiping the tables.” mary tapped him, grinning at him on her way to the bar.

mary knew, and she knew damn well about the dent in jungkook’s heart he ignored or never thought about. he’d smile as you would talk, he’d smile as you would arrive, and he’d smile as you clocked out. god, you can’t even miss those rosy cheeks as you got even an inch closer to him than usual.

but, no one’s dumber than two lovers.

jungkook scoffed lightly, giving you one last look as you set up the menu for today outside before moving to grab a wet cloth.

you took your job quite seriously, but you let loose sometimes, hating a stressed and strict environment. it was hard once in a while, but you had to greet your customers with the smile you weren’t aware to be loved by your co-worker.

as a team, or group, most of you would go out on days you could to have a small dinner, perhaps a lunch. it was cute, everyone would take turns to treat the whole table. but there was one thing everyone noticed. jungkook seemed more lively when you were around, barely talking when you weren’t. and sometimes, if you announced of your absence beforehand, he wouldn’t go at all.

jungkook had a job and he did it well, at least when he wasn’t distracted with your presence.

“jungkook, I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to speed things up.” the manager sighed, his eyes already on the young man as he entered the room. he wasn’t tall, in fact probably the shortest person there but who was measuring?

he was getting older, internally growing green hair with the amount of stress he seemed to always be under. his blue button up was barely holding on, wrinkled and stained and probably lacking a nice wash. jungkook still remembers the day he was hired, the last day he had seemed to be in a good mood. he wasn’t mean, but he sure was backhanded.

jungkook nodded, turning back to wipe the cloth on the barely dirty tables quicker than before. “I don’t want to fire any of you, but you have to do the job right.” the older man complained, a tone of annoyance in his voice as he grimaced at himself.

“calm down, scrooge. the man’s doing a good job, the tables are barely dirty.” you wink at jungkook, earning a smile accompanied by a scoff. “we left them squeaky clean yesterday.”

the elder stared you down, eyebrows furrowed. “y’know I don’t have to give you the raise you say you’ve earned.” he grunts, breath smelling like cigarettes and face sweaty. yeah, nevermind. he is mean.

you watch him walk away, shaking your head at his inability to be helpful or at the very least peaceful. looking back at jungkook, you meet his slightly worried eyes. ‘It’s fine,’ you mouth, his gentle nod coming your way.

surprisingly, more people came to dine than usual this tuesday, which also meant more tips. but it also meant more interactions, ones you were used to.

a group of guys came into the restaurant, and you made your way towards them, a bit intimidated. It’s usual, I mean who doesn’t feel nervous or whatever even by just passing a group of guys on the streets.

“can we get a table of nine?” the tallest one asked you, his hair blonde and in a buzz cut. “we’re a lot, sorry.”

“no, no, it’s okay. let me check if we have tables available.” you smile, putting a pace in your step. there weren’t currently many customers which meant more tables were free and cleaned.

“hey jungkook!” the man turned to your voice calling him, eyes wide. “I need help moving these tables, we got a big group.”

he nods, sprinting your way. “how many?”

“uh, one of six and one of four. there’s nine.” you inform him, selecting the tables you’ll move in order for the group to comfortably sit.

jungkook lifts the smaller table of four, placing it right next to the bigger one of six to combine them into one big table. he adjusted the chairs and containers, leaving them perfectly in place. “I’ll take their orders.” he reassures you, still bending over.

“yep, thanks.” you nod, hurrying back to the entrance after patting his shoulder and sending him a grin. “follow me, I’ll lead you to your table.”

the guys follow behind you, hearing some snickering and others laughing. “one of our waiters will come take your orders shortly, the menus are here.” you smile, giving them each a booklet with the dishes before noticing jungkook approach and heading back to your spot at the entrance.

from far away, you watched as your friend took down the orders on a sticky note, his eyes wide as he paid attention to each of the guys as they ordered. his lips were slightly pouting, occasionally parting to ask questions. he’d seem intimidating from his tattoos and piercing, but really he was just a sweetheart.

“I’m sorry, can I have a table?” you snap out of your long lasting stare, noticing the elderly couple waiting for you to attend them.

“oh! I’m so sorry yes, of course.” you apologize as they slightly chuckle at you.

jungkook was busy, people to attend all over the place and he considered himself lucky knowing he wasn’t the only waiter which made it easier. but, fuck he was sweating and his feet were tired.

the group of guys from earlier were starting to finish their food, only talking and laughing for some time. as jungkook passed by, they called out to him. “hey, dude! would you mind passing this to the girl that brought us here?” a brunette asked, grinning at him.

jungkook looked at him, paused and trying to find a way to answer. “uh, well,” he looked at you, noticing you talking with another hostess. “sure.” he muttered, a pain in his throat traveling from his heart as if it hurt to say it.

he didn’t know why it was, but he hated the way he agreed and took the small paper from the guy’s hand. he hated the way the guy looked at him as if winning a trophy jungkook could never get. he hated the way it hurt to swallow his erupting feelings.

he wanted to throw it away, crumble it up and rip it to pieces if he could, but he also thought about you.

maybe you would want this, maybe you needed to explore and find the one for you. he was no one to stop you, no one.

fuck, why was he acting like this? since when did he become such a…

“what’s wrong?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. just one look at you, and he was already folding. and despite all the signs, he didn’t know what it was. who was he becoming?

shaking his head as he looked at you, approaching slowly. “nothing, just.. this is for you.” he looked down at his hand, the paper slightly crumbled from his hold. you looked at the piece of paper with ink on it. “from the table of nine.” he swore his voice cracked, like a teenage boy experiencing puberty.

“oh, interesting.” you pouted in question, reaching for the ‘message.’ “It’s a phone number,” you paused reading further. “more like a love letter.”

“what’s it say?” he curiously looked over, eyes big.

“well, it just calls me pretty and such but, I’ll think about it i guess.” and his eyes softened, a pout to be disguised with confusion rather than disappointment.

he nodded, leaving to distract himself with other customers and taking orders. the good thing about being at work at the moment, is he can distract himself from you. otherwise, he didn’t know what he’d do.

he’s done this before, actually. he’s passed you notes that people handed to him in order to get to you. he could do this one more time, right?

you were somewhat hesitant when jungkook left you with the piece of paper in your hand, but looking over at the said table, it’s like everyone was waiting on your response. you decided you’d maybe be able to get to the guy when he’s leaving.

they stood up from the table, leaving a quick tip before heading closer towards you. jungkook took a quick glance, maybe expecting you to be alone but he saw you talking with them. the worst part were your rosy cheeks, how they blushed for him. you barely knew them.

his chest tightened, and he still didn’t know why.

mary looks at him from afar, smiling as she gets reminded of how incredibly stupid he is. she’s brought the matter up so many times, yet he’s no where close to figuring it out. it pisses her off sometimes, but at the end of the day he’s just another boy in love.

this wasn’t the first time you’d been on a date with someone that asked you out on your shift, in fact it’s been many times. It might be a little weird, but you find peace in this restaurant, so it only seems right for you to share it with the person in front of you.

also, if anything goes wrong, mary and jungkook are right there. not to mention you trust them with your heart, and you know what goes on in the kitchen and you know everything’s clean.

jungkook has witnessed you come through those doors with rather elegant and beautiful dresses, and it hurt to see you each time. and he swore to himself it was only because you’re his best friend, and he’s watching you grow.

but really, the dent in his heart says otherwise. this time, his gaze never leaves you, watching as you walk hand in hand with the man he now hated, all beautiful and perfect.

this dude didn’t deserve you, but maybe it was selfish of him.

note: THIS IS NOT THE END!!! I decided to make this a two parter since tumblr started malfunctioning on me 💔 I’m so sorry for being so late guys

[femme11fatale]

• H E A D L I N E S •

summary | Loving a man the world’s eyes are on comes with the possibility that just one photograph had the potential to shake something precious. When a rumour leaves you feeling vulnerable, boyfriend Jeon Jungkook reminds you that some truths can never be found in a headline —only in the person standing next to you…  pairing | idolboyfriend!jungkook x f!reader word count | 2.2k elements | established relationship, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, protective boyfriend jungkook, kissing, idol/celebrity culture, rumours  author's note | I bet Jungkook gets super fed up of the rumour mill, if only he could get some peace from it. Anyway, hope you enjoy this short one, and as ever, please excuse any errors I may have overlooked!  •𓂃𝜗𝜚 bts masterlists ( ❛ p a r t • o n e ❜ ) | ❛ p a r t • t w o ❜ ) ( ❛ bts taglist ❜ ) ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 jungkook masterlists | p a r t • o n e | p a r t • t w o

The first lie that you tell yourself you aren’t going to succumb to the temptation to click on it. The second is that you are only doing so because you’re curious and have a right to know. 

But the reality is that you are not curious because you already know how these things work. A blurry photograph taken out of context, a vague caption to suggest just enough to turn a whisper into a wheel that keeps turning, and then a few anonymous comments from people who know nothing about your life that suddenly becomes thousands of strangers that feel entitled to decide what is happening inside a relationship they have never seen. Leaving the people whose lives are subjected to the microscope feeling naked and judged before the self-assembled celebrity court. 

Usually, you can ignore it. Usually, you are better at remembering that Jeon Jungkook is one of the most recognisable people in the world and that rumours are simply another part of the noise surrounding him. But today the headline catches you at the wrong moment.

| Jungkook spotted with mystery woman; fans speculate new romance.

You hate that your stomach twists before you even read the rest. You hate that there is a tiny, irrational part of you that wonders whether there is something you have missed. Whether his busy schedule, the late nights, the cancelled plans and the moments where he seems lost in thought, have nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with someone else.

You know him. You know the way he laughs when he is genuinely amused, the way he gets embarrassed when you compliment him too seriously, and the way he pretends not to care when you tease him but always ends up smiling. You know the man who steals the last piece of food from your plate and then acts offended when you call him greedy, the same man who falls asleep holding your hand because he claims it is more comfortable, even though you are fairly certain he just likes knowing you are there.

But the internet does not know any of that, and unfortunately, for a few minutes, neither do you.

You close the article and place your phone face down on the table. It should be easy to move on —except when Jungkook comes home later that evening, you are quieter than usual. Not enough that anyone else would notice, but he picks it up. Jungkook isn’t some perfect mind-reader, but he’s been in your life long enough to know what your ordinary is. He knows what your silence sounds like when you are tired and what it sounds like when something is bothering you.

He drops his bag near the door and looks over at you sitting on the couch, the phone still in your hand. “What’s wrong?” he asks, face already creasing with worry as he slips off his jacket and hangs it up.

“Nothing,” you reply, a little too quickly, feeding his suspicions. 

His pierced eyebrow lifts. “Doesn’t look like nothing, baby,” he says. “What is it? Did something happen?”

You sigh despite yourself, because that is exactly the kind of observation that makes it impossible to stay upset around him. “Why do you have to know me so well?” you mutter under your breath, not really meaning for him to have heard you. 

But a small smile appears on his face as he walks towards you, he’s clearly heard every word. “Hey,” Jungkook says. “I like that I know you well. It means something.”

The softness in his voice makes your expression falter. He sits beside you, turning towards you and reaching out to turn your face gently to him. “Talk to me,” he urges. “What is it?”

You hesitate. It feels silly saying it aloud. It’s almost embarrassing because you know the truth. You know him and trust him —but feelings don’t always wait for permission before appearing.

“It was just something I saw online,” you blurt out. Jungkook wouldn’t have let it drop without you telling him anyway. 

His face changes slightly, concern etched clearly over his handsome features. “What kind of something?”

You swipe your phone on to unlock it and show him the article. For a moment, he’s silent, his expression hardening. Then he exhales quietly. “Seriously?” he states, clearly annoyed. “That must have been why my phone was going crazy; I have a zillion missed calls and messages from management.” 

“I know it’s probably stupid,” you say quickly. “I know rumours are rumours. I just—” You stop when you see his face drop, wishing you hadn’t let the whole thing affect you this much. Jungkook didn’t deserve it. 

He looks at you. “Just what?”

You look down at your hands, feeling like you let him down. But you couldn’t help your feelings, being in this situation was hard for both of you. You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Koo,” you tell him. “I just hate that sometimes I feel like I have to compete with a version of you that everyone else has created.”

He stays quiet, wide eyes taking you in without words as the room settles around you, the television playing softly in the background, forgotten. Then slowly, he reaches for your hand. “Y/N, you never have to compete with anything or anyone.”

You look at him hopefully. “Koo, I know. I just—”

“No,” he interjects gently. “I don’t think you do.” His inked fingers stroke over yours with a familiar touch as he looks you right in the eye. “The people who write those things don’t know me. They know a picture, a performance about a person they don’t know. They make up whatever story they want to make because it gives them something to talk about.”

Your heart aches for him. The almost shy boy that he was behind the global idol image, who wanted nothing but to laugh, play games, eat good food and be free to ride his motorbike. Who wanted to wake up beside you and feel loved. You hurt because you know standing at his side means you would have to keep up the strength to hold up those barriers together with him, because on some days they were just too heavy. 

“Honestly, I don’t even remember when this picture was taken,” he says thoughtfully. “I don’t even recognise who she is, I promise. I think I was running on two hours of sleep that day. They must have just…” He groans exasperatedly, body tensing as his jaw clenches. “—Fuckers. Now whoever she is, she’ll probably be getting a load of shit because of this. Fuck!” 

Your hand squeezes his back with affection, wanting him to know you were with him. That you shouldn’t have let doubt creep into your heart. “Relax,” you say softly. “Your company will handle it, right?” 

He sighs. “They will, but they shouldn’t have to,” he says frustratedly. “This is bullshit. They can’t keep dragging people into the firing line like this.”

It was typical Jungkook that he was thinking more of others than himself, and you love him all the more for it. “It’ll be okay, Koo,” you say. “It’ll die down, just like all the others did.”

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “It still sucks. And on top of all that, you know I get a bit… tetchy when I haven’t eaten properly.”

“You are quite annoying without food,” you tell him lightly. 

He gives a small laugh. “Sometimes.”

“Let me make you something,” you offer. 

But Jungkook’s expression has become serious again. “Not just yet,” he tells you. “I need you to understand something, Y/N.” You meet his eyes. “There is no mystery person, and no secret relationship. There is nobody else, baby —no one I’m choosing over you.” 

His words are to the point and hearing him tell you with so much sincerity means everything.  Jungkook has never been the type of man who makes grand speeches or makes promises just because they sound romantic. When he says something, it is usually because he has given it a lot of thought about it.

“I would never hurt you,” he says. “You believe me, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you reply. “I trust you, Koo.”

His face visibly relaxes. “I hate that you were sitting here feeling like this alone,” he says. “I’m so sorry I was late tonight. Rehearsals went over.”

Your heart constricts in your chest. “I shouldn’t have brought all this up,” you say. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

His expression immediately changes. “You’re never a bother,” he says firmly. “Don’t ever think like that. I’m here for anything for you, you know that.”

The answer comes so quickly that you believe him before you can even question it. He moves closer and pulls you to him. You rest against his broad shoulder, inhaling the woodsy scent of him, content that you were here and nowhere else in the world. 

“You know what gets to me?” he says. 

You look up at him. “What?”

“That you think you have to hide things from me because my life is complicated,” he answers. “I never want you to feel that way.”

You swallow. “I just know how much pressure you’re under,” you explain. “I don’t want to add to that.”

“And I know how much pressure you’re under too,” he retorts. You look away, but he gently turns your face back towards him. “Please don’t make yourself smaller because of my job.”

The tenderness in his voice nearly breaks you. “Koo,” you whisper. 

“I mean it, Y/N. I don’t want you to feel like you must be the strongest person all the time just because I’m the one people are watching.”

You smile faintly, leaning into him again. “You’re getting very serious tonight,” you tell him, wanting to lighten the mood. He didn’t need the added stress of a pointless situation. 

“I’m always serious.”

You raise an eyebrow and shoot him a sceptical look. Immediately he breaks out into a laugh and holds out a hand. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Maybe sometimes.”

“That’s more accurate.”

He shakes his head with a grin and pulls you back to him. You relax against his chest, and you both just sit in silence for a few minutes. You listen to his breathing, feel the warmth of him beside you, and let the reality of the moment replace the imaginary version created by strangers.

“When I see rumours about myself, I usually ignore them,” Jungkook says suddenly. “But when it affects you, I can’t stand it.”

You place a kiss against him, and he strokes your shoulders slowly. “You’re the one person who sees everything,” he goes on. “You see the person behind everything else. The person who gets nervous and overthinks, who sometimes needs reassurance.”

A smile tugs at your lips. “You just described yourself pretty well.”

“Exactly.” 

He looks pleased that he managed to make you laugh and holds you tighter to him. “You still love me, right?” he asks tentatively. 

You nudge him in the ribs. “What kind of question is that?” you say. “You know I do.”

“I was just testing if you were still paying attention.”

You smile to yourself, relieved that your Jungkook was here. “You’re terrible!” you tell him. 

“So terrible that you can’t help but love me,” he counters.

You can’t argue with him, so instead you reach up and bring his face down, brushing a kiss against his lips. You look at him when you pull back, watching how his eyes darken as he looks back at you. 

You kiss him again, your earlier insecurity banished, the action reminding you both that these ordinary moments you share away from the eyes of the world mean more than any headline. Jungkook’s hand settles gently against your cheek as he kisses you back, and the affection between you feels far more real than anything written by someone who has never met either of you.

“Better?” he whispers when you break for air. 

You think about it for a beat. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I’m still annoyed.”

“At me?”

You smile, settling against him. “No, not you Koo —at the stupid internet.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Koo?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” you say. “For making me feel like I’m allowed to have feelings about this.”

“You’re allowed to have every feeling, baby,” he says. “But next time, talk to me before you spend an hour convincing yourself something is wrong.”

You look guilty. “Was I really that obvious?”

“Yeah, you kinda were,” he replies. You laugh, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, you know?” 

Your eyes shut as you bury your face into his chest, his strong arms closing around you like a protective barrier against everything negative, reassuring you that he’s yours. “I love you too, Koo,” you whisper against him. 

The rumours will disappear eventually, and another headline will inevitably replace them, and then a different story will be invented by people who will never know the truth. But you will still have this. 

Jungkook’s hand holding yours, his voice reminding you with quiet certainty that whatever the world thinks it knows about him, the person beside you is the only truth that matters.

thanks for reading |

[yzzart]

⋆˚࿔ I'M CHECKING YA OUT...! ── JEON JUNGKOOK

oh, a notification from WEVERSE? your boyfriend dared, in pure transparency, to surprise everyone, a fact; and during the karaoke dawn, it would be no different and did not allow you to stay out.

୭˚. ᵎᵎ pairings: idol!jungkook x f!reader.

୭˚. tags + warnings: Jungkook needy, messy kiss, climbing on the lap, mention of alcohol, reference to the last live.

The instrumental melody, a few dramatic final compositions, of "you don't know men" by BUZZ didn't rush to end, fueling the dark and melancholic atmosphere of the room; perhaps the chosen song seemed destined to match the mood.

Maintaining a moderately healthy weight, you couldn't deny or disguise the slight burning sensation in your eyes, feeling quite emotional. — Or, perhaps, you was really drunk enough to whine over a simple karaoke performance.

To make things even better, it was your boyfriend who was singing; he was also a little drunk and his singing was contagious.

“It was supposed to be a duet, Jagiya…” — The microphone interrupted his mid-sentence, intentionally, his voice echoing through the room; Jungkook opened another lollipop. — “I remember you asked us to add this last night.” — He reflected, looking at you and pointing the candy in your direction. — “Geojit mariyeyo?”

By your count, that was the third lollipop of the night or early morning; he wasn't in the mood to care. — And you tried to steal one from his mouth a few minutes ago; that was while Jungkook was on his way to the kitchen, continuing with the live.

“Sorry, Koo.” — You lamented in a drawn-out voice, unable to disguise the sweetness and tenderness in your tone; a result of being slightly drunk. — “But you did very well and didn’t even need support.” — Reaching for your cell phone, you checked the time and ignored the notifications and messages on the device.

Jungkook clicked his tongue, holding the lollipop and leaning freely on the sofa; throwing his head back, looking at the ceiling. — His eyes were heavy, as if sensitive to any trace of light, brightness, but he refused to close them; the image before you pleased him.

Even with the collar of his leather jacket, his neck was exposed, and the necklace remained subtly visible; his tattooed fingers moved the toothpick, and the rings gleamed against the dim lighting. — Admiringly, one of them signified the union between you and him.

“And even though i thought the choice was very moving, almost bringing tears to my eyes.” — You shook your head in denial, wanting to dramatize the comment; your words received a hoarse, muffled laugh from the young man. — “We can choose a cartoon opening next time.” — You joked, shrugging. — “Or…”

“Huh? Another promise that won’t be kept, huh?” — Jungkook nodded toward you, looking at you with those tired eyes, but wanting to challenge you, and maintaining a cheeky little smile. — “We can take a break, Jagi.”

“Course, Koo…” — You moved across the sofa, preferring to get closer and snuggle up to Jungkook; who quickly understood the idea and settled into the position, opening his legs slightly. — Without haste, and slowly, your legs were around the oldest's waist, you could feel the friction of his hips against your skin; as well as the slight burning sensation of the leather of his jacket.

It wasn't anything malicious or cunning — well, it wouldn't be permission from either of you — it was all about comfort, pure affection between you; you couldn't stay apart, separated. — It was nauseating in other people's eyes; it was necessary for Jungkook.

He dropped the stick, letting the lollipop rest loose on his palate, and moved his hands to your waist, letting one slip onto your thigh. — Jungkook wanted to escape the exhaustion, the suffocating feeling; he couldn't remember the last time those sensations had captivated him. — perhaps he did remember, but he didn't want to dwell on it.

“A coin for your thoughts?” — Your voice illuminated the young man's mind, interrupting his train of thought, which was causing him to exhale smoke from his head; you were smiling at him, with those lips that Jungkook was in love with, bewitched by. — “It would be too little, i know.” — You ran your finger along the tip of the toothpick.

“Do you have another offer?” — He asked, raising his eyebrows; Jungkook liked being bold with you, of course. — “I know it can get better.”

“Oh, look at that!” — Your hips pressed even harder against your boyfriend’s waist, admiring the sight of Jungkook closing his eyes at the movement. — “I forgot my boyfriend can be stingy when he wants to.” — Your fingers gripped the lollipop, signaling for him to release it from his mouth, and upon getting the candy, you began to savor it.

“Ah, jagiya.” — Jungkook’s hands returned to your hips, guiding you down, pressing against the bulge in his pants; a movement so natural, not disrupting the rhythm of the conversation. — “Uhum.” — He murmured shyly, wanting you to move even closer to him.

Your hands wandered over Jungkook's shoulders, as if prioritizing a gentle balance and yielding to his request to stay closer. — The sensation of your nails on his neck sent slight shivers through Jungkook; even with the low temperature of the air conditioning, he couldn't say it was because of him.

It was because of you; always you.

“Ili oseyo…” — He pleaded, barely concealing his need for your touch; he was never satisfied, of course. — Without prolonging the longing, Jungkook pulled that damn candy from your mouth and, without wasting a single miserable second, yielded to your lips; granting a presumptuous, impudent, and slightly messy kiss.

There was a mixture of whiskey and vanilla with chocolate, from the lollipop, burning in the kiss; caused by your boyfriend. — It wasn't an unexpected combination, but he could savor it for hours.

The coldness of the piercing against your lips was something that obsessed you, almost driving you crazy; by the gods, you couldn't hide that you liked it more than usual, more than you could. — Maybe you never confessed to Jungkook; maybe he already knew.

That kiss was a complete mess, pure lust, so libertine; it wasn't an exaggeration on either of their parts. — One of your hands touched Jungkook's chest, your nails scraping without fear or subtlety, while the other held part of his face; thus, the oldest's hands held your waist, continuing to press against the shameless erection in his pants.

The atmosphere settled with heavy sighs, muffled and embarrassed moans, which synchronized at certain moments; just like at karaoke. — Sometimes, a few small laughs, coming from Jeon, filled the moment; he laughed at the desperation he felt in his body for you and the alcohol he was using.

“I knew it could get better.” — He teased, licking his lips and pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, Jungkook's gaze drifting from your mouth to your eyes. — “Aniyo?” — He gave a little push to get a quick kiss, leaving a small lick on your mouth.

“Oh, shut up.”

[lilac0re]

COME BACK - j. jk

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x fem!reader

synopsy: Once inseparable childhood sweethearts, you and Jungkook built a life around promises that quietly unraveled under the weight of distance, ambition, and broken promises. When he appears outside your house in the middle of the night, determined to save a relationship that has already begun to die, you are finally forced to confront the difference between loving someone and choosing yourself. Because love, sometimes, is not enough.

genre: break up | angst

warnings: mentions of infidelity. nothing really, just pure angst for when you feel like you need a sad read. a cigarette is mentioned but there isn't really a scene where he smokes.

notes: Honestly, I've written this piece a long time ago and I've tweaked it a little bit because it felt somewhat incomplete. If you listen to music when you read, please do listen to "Coming back" by James Blake and SZA - that's what I listened to as I was editing it and I feel like it perfectly matches the mood. By the way, I know I allude to the fact that he's a singer but I'm not really picturing it as an idol - more like a solo artist who's not, like, globally famous.

As always, do tell me if you notice some mistakes - I reread everything but English is not my first language and I may not notice everything!

For you, Jungkook had always been breathtakingly handsome. He was handsome as a child, when he'd come to school with swollen eyes because he'd spent the entire night playing video games until the sun had risen and his eyes were adorned with violet hues underneath them. He was handsome as he grew older, when he wrote his first verses with his black headphones on his ears, and his eyebrows furrowed in utter concentration. He was handsome when he grew the courage to confess his feelings to you, stealing your first kiss with an awkward gesture and flushed cheeks. And he was handsome even when he tore your heart out of your chest, without any mercy.

You probably should have seen it coming.

However, you had always been quite naive.

You let yourself be tricked by the gentle kisses he placed on your bare shoulder as he laid beside you in the darkness of night, and by his pretty doe eyes - always so sweet and honest, shining with love. They deceived you, trapped you in a lie you desperately wanted to believe in, locked you in a fiction that you begged was real. But it wasn't - not anymore.

That warm summer night, you were staying at your parents' house in Daegu. You had decided you'd finally take advantage of the reduced number of appointments over the past few months and managed to get your boss - the owner of the tattoo shop where you worked in Seoul - to give you some time off for a brief vacation. You wanted to escape the capital city for a while to forget all your problems and let yourself be distracted by your family's superficial squabbles.

Maybe, unconsciously, you wanted to distance yourself from Jungkook for a while - give him his space and return as if nothing had changed. As if you were still the same as before. As if he were still the boy who, in the earliest hours of the day, before leaving for the studio, would shower and write on the fogged-up mirror, "See you later, I love you," or "Good morning, my love" with a winky face drawn next to it.

Maybe you hoped that by leaving for a few days, you'd be able to forget the past few months - the incessant arguments, the unbearable silences, the frequent tears - and leave them behind. Because it was far easier to run away and pray that things would fix themselves than to try to find another impossible solution.

It was five in the morning when your phone started ringing out of nowhere. Usually, you didn't sleep with the ringtone on because you hated the thought of being woken up by a stupid message; however, that week, you never turned it off. Maybe because part of you wished to receive a message or a call from him. Maybe because something in you knew what was going to happen.

Your phone started to vibrate, signaling an incoming call. Yet you remained still, completely paralyzed - staring at the lit screen with an indecipherable expression on your face, exhausted from another sleepless night and unable to process who was calling you at that hour.

Why now? Why look for me when I'm no longer here?

Why not when we were together? Why did you wait?

The call went to voicemail, but, before you could even reach for your phone to pick it up or turn it upside down, it started ringing again, and the contact photo of the two of you kissing at the entrance of Lotte World popped up on your screen like a cruel and insensitive mockery. Your eyes lingered on your bodies pressed together - your arms circling his neck as he bent to kiss you better while he pulled you against him with his arms, circled around your waist. Then, with trembling fingers, you finally answered the call, bringing your iPhone close to your pierced ear with both anticipation and gnawing anxiety.

You said nothing - your mind unable to even come up with a greeting of some sort. Instead, you started twirling one hair strand around your finger while waiting for him to break the silence.

On the other side of the call, you could clearly hear a heavy breath - as if Jungkook was inhaling deeply as he pondered how to start the conversation, trying to remember how he used to do it before. Back when he used to call you every night you didn't share a bed, unable to sleep until he wished you goodnight. Then, abruptly, his soothing voice started speaking - always so hypnotic that you couldn't help but feel your heart swell at its sound.

A simple hello, voiced out with a slight hint of uncertainty, «Hi, love.»

Love - he hadn't called you that in at least a month. The nickname that always made your heart skip a beat when he used it to greet you or call your attention was one of the first things he took away from you when the arguments began. For him, for the past few months, you were nothing more than just your plain name. Y/N, only Y/N.

Why do you call me that again now?

Why not before? Why not when I was by your side?

You heard the sound of his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth while the sound of the cicadas outside your house suddenly felt deafening as they entered your bedroom from the half-closed window facing the garden. It was a strange habit of Jungkook's, clicking his tongue loudly: he always did it whenever he had to fill an awkward, uncomfortable silence. With you, he had never done it before. When you were together, the silence between you two felt like a comforting, protective blanket. It was never oppressive or unbearable - never something you needed to break with a few pointless chatters.

«Can you come downstairs?» he asked slowly, as if he was afraid to express that question. As if he wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. «I want to see you».

«I'm not in Seoul, Jungkook» you replied as you bit your nails, your voice barely a whisper. Your eyes fixated on the white wall in front of your bed, now illuminated by the lamp on your bedside table which you'd just switched on.

«I know. You're in Daegu. And I'm right here, outside. So come down, please» he immediately answered, a hint of despair evident in his usually serene tone.

You remained silent - surprised that he had found you, or that he had even tried looking for you in the first place. It didn't seem possible - not after all those months he spent neglecting your relationship. Always coming back so late into the night that, at one point, you'd stopped waiting for him to eat dinner together - especially after all the nights you had to throw his food in the garbage because he hadn't shown up without ever telling you beforehand. Or when he started skipping the usual gym date you'd go on on Friday mornings, only justifying himself with a shrug of his shoulders and a brief, "Y/N, I have too much going on at work. I can't afford to waste my time like this, right now".

«Okay, I'm coming» you agreed before ending the call.

You didn't even know why you were so quick to accept his request - as always, just one small sign of emotion or vulnerability from him and you immediately worried and complied to whatever he desired.

So you got out of bed, but stood still. For a second, you thought that maybe it was your mind, so pathetic and delusional, that had imagined the call - that he couldn't have possibly come to Daegu at four in the morning just to see you, just to talk to you. So you checked your phone again and saw Jungkook's contact at the top of your call log.

It was true; he was waiting for you.

You quickly put on a black worn out hoodie, pulling up the hood to hide your freshly dyed pink hair. Suddenly, you felt deeply ashamed of what you did a few night before and wished you could tear out every strand to keep your boyfriend from noticing the colour still fresh on your mane. The same shade that colored his hair, that cherry blossom pink that had set him apart for months.

It had been an impulsive, definitely stupid decision. You hadn't thought it through—after all, you were completely drunk after a night out dancing with some girls you used to hang out in high school and that DIY pink dye on your parents' store shelf seemed like the perfect solution to fill the emptiness you felt in that moment. Completely alone, in your hometown, without him by your side to relive every memory together. It felt as if by having the same hair color as him you could hold on to him, share something, reforge your connection.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the nagging doubts, and, grabbing your keys from the bedstand, you slipped out of the house furtively. The old wooden stairs slightly creaked under your feet, but you were soon relieved as you heard your father's snoring. You continued rushing downstairs on your tiptoes, hoping you weren't making any sound. It felt like being seventeen again - sneaking out in the middle of the night while Jungkook patiently waited for you by the rusty gate outside, ready to hold you close and kiss you until dawn as soon as you stepped out in the street and threw yourself in his arms.

Back then, it was the first time you experienced what love felt like.

When you stepped outside, the cold air hit your pale face like a cold shower in the burning heat of summer. The sky was pitch-dark, and the only light came from the shy crescent moon - hidden among the rooftops across from your house -, and from the streetlamp outside your parents' garden. The sound of the cicadas felt even louder, echoing in your ears as you trod across the humid lawn.

Under that artificial light, a motorcycle you were quite familiar with was parked. The Yamaha you used to ride with him often, because he insisted that it was much more romantic to travel like that - bodies pressed together as he drove into the city traffic -, rather than distanced apart in a car where he could barely hold your hand as he focused on the road in front of him.

You walked up to the entrance but, as you wrapped your fingers around the handle to open it and step out, you hesitated. Your hold suddenly loosened as you wondered if it was the right thing to do - as if opening a rusty gate was suddenly the hardest thing you'd ever done.

You weren't sure if you wanted to see him anymore. Perhaps a part of you didn't want to face him yet, preferring to put it off one more time so that you could better gather your own thoughts and be firm in your decision. But, at the same time, another part of you screamed to free yourself from that enormous weight suffocating your soul and stop postponing what was plainly inevitable.

His voice broke the silence, «You came down.»

He looked surprised - eyes zeroing in on your hand still frozen on the handle, before lifting to your face. Maybe he thought you had lied and would leave him waiting down there for someone who would never show up. To make him feel like you had felt in these past months.

«What are you doing here, Jungkook?» you asked feebly, ignoring the astonished tone with which he greeted you.

In response, he threw the cigarette he was smoking on the ground before getting up from his bike and walking over to the still-closed gate with his confident stride. Though, this time, you could see the usual cockiness he displayed was somewhere hidden deep inside him, far away from this small city. Then, when he finally reached you, he raised his right hand—the one with the tattoo you gave him on his twentieth birthday, after he'd begged you for months —and swung open that tarnished barrier.

He looked at you, taking in your swollen eyes, the purple circles right underneath them, the split skin of your lower lip. Ones he had seen before, back when you were in Seoul, but which he'd never commented on because he was so scared to initiate that conversation that he preferred pretending not to notice how you were slowly wilting in front of him, instead of talking it out. He felt his heart sink - yet he knew that he didn't deserve to feel compassionate towards you.

«I told you, I wanted to see you» he replied as you stepped outside and he made space for you.

He was dressed all in black, from the loose jeans falling over his worn combat boots to the oversized hoodie brushing his knuckles. The only exception was his gray bucket hat, which left a few messy strands of his overgrown bangs sticking out. Even those were dark, having replaced the familiar pink with a dark brown shade.

You couldn't stop yourself from asking, «Why?».

«Because you're my girlfriend. And I missed you» he replied in a flash, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world and it was stupid for you not to deduce it on your own.

That label felt foreign now - as if you had forgotten all the times he'd addressed you like that.

You had always prided yourself on being able to read anything that crossed Jungkook's mind just by looking into his pretty doe eyes. Ever since you were kids, there was never any need to say every thought out loud between the two of you. It was as if there was a thread that linked your minds, letting the other know every word and every sentence left unspoken.

Yet, now, Jungkook's eyes seemed like empty hollows, and you felt like you couldn't read anything in them. You saw nothing inside, but your own reflection and the streetlamp behind you.

So you did what you did best: deflected, once again.

«You dyed your hair» you observed as your gaze focused on the few strands left exposed by the accessory on his head.

«Yeah, I got tired of pink,» he replied, confused by your unexpected remark. Unconsciously fixed his hat, before adding, «Besides, I thought you didn't like it that much. I thought you preferred my natural color.»

The moonlight shone brightly against him, casting an enchanting light on his sculpted face - the sharp angle of his jaw, the curve of his chin, the slope of his nose. It felt cruel how handsome he looked while you were slowly dying inside.

«I dyed mine too, you know?» you said with a bitter smile, pulling down the hood of your sweatshirt until your head was completely exposed. «Look.»

Jungkook pressed his lips together, frozen.

Your long hair, proudly chestnut since you were born because you deeply loved your natural hair colour and didn't want to damage it with bleach, was now painted a pale pink - the exact shade he had until a few days ago. As if you had gone to the hairdresser with a picture of him on your phone and asked them to make you look just like him. But, at the same time, he had gone to another one and removed all traces of that color, to try and go back to the way he was.

You'd taken a step forward to reach him, but he'd taken a step back without even realizing it.

His eyes lingered on you, slowly moving from your roots down to the ends of your hair as if he were trying to grasp what you had just shown him. His rosy lips parted, though he wasn't certain about what to say, but no sound came out of his throat, and soon he closed them again.

«What a stupid thing, right?» you murmured, lowering your gaze to the untied shoes you had briskly slipped on before leaving. «I wanted to try to be like you. I thought if I had something like you, maybe I would understand you better. Or maybe we'd go back to understanding each other. You know... being a little bit alike. God, how much more pathetic can I be?».

Your voice cracked as you spilled out word after word, and the tears began flowing - completely uncontrollable. You had promised yourself you wouldn't do it, that you wouldn't dare expose your heart once again just for it to take another hit and completely fall apart. Yet, as soon as you saw him standing in front of you, you forgot everything you'd told yourself.

He reached for you without hesitation, pulling you into his arms as if he wanted to become one with you. He used to be able to do that: hold you so tightly you felt like your souls had fused together, entwining the red threads that connected your hearts and tying an unbreakable knot. Now, though, the grip of those threads had loosened.

«You're not pathetic, okay? You're not, and you never will be. But you didn't need to do this, my love. I know how much you adore your hair... You shouldn't have changed it because of me. You and I are alike. We always understand each other, don't we?» he said, hands cradling your weeping face and tilting it to meet his gaze, while his thumbs brushed against your cheekbones to dry your tears. «Just like when we were kids, remember? When we said we could communicate without speaking because we spent so much time together that our brains had gotten in sync.»

You kept staring at him, your irises reflecting the crescent moon behind Jungkook. You were so in love, and it was so overwhelming to be in your boyfriend's embrace after so long that, for a moment, you wondered if it was worth suffering a little longer. You almost convinced yourself that what you'd finally resolved to do before coming out was too drastic a solution, and maybe you could allow yourself a little more time to bask in your love story. No matter how many fights awaited you, or how many times Jungkook would hurt you again.

He stepped impossibly closer - the tips of his shoes brushing against yours as his face inched towards yours and his soft lips ghosted over your parted mouth. It felt so incredibly natural: the way his palms delicately pressed against your burning cheeks, and the way his warm breath started mixing with your own as he tentatively grazed your lips.

You got lost in the feeling for a split second, savouring the memory of his enticing kisses and unconsciously leaning forward, until your lips brushed against each other. Remembering how you used to lose your mind every time he showered you with his love, forgetting your surroundings because you were too mesmerized by the dichotomy of his tender touch and his firm hold on you.

But those arms, so seemingly comforting, were pulling you once more into that pit you had barely managed to climb out of. Full of wounds. Cuts. Scars that should have reminded you of the pain, but now appeared like testaments of the love you'd once shared.

No, you couldn't do it.

You couldn't fall in that suffocating hole, once again.

So, for the first time, you broke free from Jungkook's embrace - your hands firmly pressing against his chest until he staggered backwards.

«We always understood each other, that's true. But we're not kids anymore, Jungkook, and now we're different. Too different. How can you not see it?» you burst out, cheeks still wet and your voice utterly broken, so fragile and drained. As if you had held back those words for too long and now you had to vomit them out, expelling what had been poisoning you for so long.

Jungkook instinctively lifted his arm to reach for you - grabbing your arm and getting you near him, like he always used to do when the two of you fought. Because he felt like erasing the physical distance would help you eliminate the emotional one. But, before he could actually do it, he restrained himself. Forced himself to keep his arm anchored by his side, as his eyes started getting glassy.

«I... We're not like before, I know. But that doesn't mean we don't understand each other anymore, okay?» he retorted, glancing away for a second and sniffing to keep himself from crying, «I know I've been a terrible boyfriend these past months, but I'm here now. And I can do better - I will do better».

He couldn't help but continue, words escaping him from his mouth before his mind could even process what he was actually uttering, «Nothing is lost, love. I'm here because I love you, because I want you and I'll always want you in my life.»

It was so beautiful and surreal to hear him say it.

If you could, you'd have grabbed those phrases and dug a little hiding place in your heart to bury them and keep them with you forever. If you could, you'd have accepted his sweet apologies and let yourself kiss him, pretending that everything would be alright.

But you couldn't keep loving so much that you forgot yourself, blinded by your total devotion to him and to your life together. You couldn't keep suffering just to love him for a little longer. Until it killed you.

«It's too late, okay? I can't do it anymore. I haven't been able to for months, but you never realized,» you whispered slowly, wiping your cheeks with your hoodie sleeve. «Please, go. Go back to Seoul.»

«Don't say bullshit, please. This is just an argument - a bad moment we can fix. It's always been you and me. You're my first and only love, Y/N» he replied sharply, surrendering to his instincts and grabbing your wrist to pull you closer - where he thought you'd always be.

Your eyes noticed for a second the bold writing you had permanently etched on his honey skin as he held you firmly, just like he did every time you tattooed other parts of his body, from his ribs to his upper chest, because "The pain feels bearable if you hold my hand, love".

«No! Don't try to diminish what's happened!» you shouted at him, the overwhelming anger tightening your throat, suffocating even the hint of sadness that lingered there. «You have no fucking idea of what I've been through, Jungkook! You hurt me so many times, and I kept forgiving you. Every single time. Because I love you so fucking much. But I can't do this anymore.»

Jungkook stood still, petrified. As if Medusa herself had appeared before him to stop him from making up excuses, excuses, and more excuses. As if she had looked him straight in the eyes and, just before he froze, she'd whispered a phrase he'd been trying to ignore for months - Stop it, let her go.

«I love you, okay? But sometimes love just isn't enough,» you sighed, moving away his fingers that still circled your wrist - now in a weak, resigned grip. «And you don't love me. Not like before. Not since you met her, right?»

Her - one of the most beautiful girls you'd ever seen in all of Seoul. You'd tried to hate her from the start. When you first met her outside the recording studio and saw her laughing and joking with Jungkook, like you weren't able to do anymore. When you heard her sing and had to admit her voice was as sweet as honey. But you couldn't hate her, because she wasn't a bad person and it wasn't her fault. Because this wasn't a fairy tale where good and evil are clearly defined, but reality, where the antagonist of your story could be the heroine of another.

Jungkook's lips trembled imperceptibly.

This wasn't what he wanted, it wasn't what he thought would happen when he hopped on his bike after having discovered where you were staying from one of your shared friends. Sure, he knew he'd made mistakes, but he didn't feel confused - not about your relationship, not about his love for you. No, no, no. For him, the taste of her lips had simply been the confirmation that you were the only one he loved.

But was what he did right?

Was it right to hurt you behind your back and pretend nothing had changed because he had realized that you would always be it for him?

That all those months neglecting you, all these nights spent screaming at each other, were nothing but a few hardships you could overcome together?

«Go, Jungkook,» you repeated with a trembling voice - your eyes watery, your face utterly crumbling as you stopped trying to mask the complete devastation you were feeling, «It's the last favor I ask of you. Go, please.»

He stared back at you, before blinking, once - twice - and tilting his head back for a moment, his eyes settling on the pale sky above you. A slow breath left him through his nose as he swallowed hard - as though he could force the lump in his throat back down.

That wasn't the love you'd known anymore. And the boy in front of you -with teary eyes and tousled brown hair - wasn't the breathtakingly handsome boy you'd fallen so madly in love with years before. He was just the last knot left to untie in that long red ribbon that had kept you tied up for so, so long. It was time to loosen it. And say goodbye.

He repeated your name, just once.

A whisper in the air, left unanswered.

Then, as he took in your shaken appearance and understood the suffering he had caused you, he took a step back, reaching his motorbike. Felt another lump in his throat, as he realized the implications of what he was doing. Yet, he continued moving - turning his back towards you and grabbing his helmet painfully slowly, still wishing that he'd suddenly hear you call his name and ask him to stay.

You didn't - your face not even directed towards him but oriented towards the sun starting to rise.

Perhaps if you didn't see him leaving it wasn't going to hurt as much.

He put the helmet on, fixing it safely before he swung a leg over his bike. Quivering fingers wrapped around the handlebars as he flipped up the kickstand and lingered an instant - his brimming eyes hidden under the visor. Unable to bear your total indifference any longer, with his heart pounding so loud that he feared you could hear it from where you stood a few meters away, he started the engine.

For a second, you almost turned towards him - leaped towards the bike to stop him from disappearing. Almost ready to pretend that the conversation, that entire night and the months before didn't happen. But for the first time your heart was suffocating from something that wasn't the crushing love you held for him: the lucid awareness that the pain he made you feel had exceeded the happiness he had once brought you.

So you sank your front teeth into your lower lip and closed your eyelids while you heard his bike cruise past you and veer into the alley right opposite your house. Not once opening them until you could no longer hear the sound of his loud engine near you.

Only then you allowed yourself to open your eyes.

The street fell silent again, and dawn had begun to break over the rooftops as the song of the cicadas started disappearing. Though perhaps the lack of noise was due to your muffled hearing rather than the conclusion of their lullaby.

A cascade of tears started pouring down, but your chest strangely felt lighter - as if the weight which had for so long sat on it was gradually vanishing with the water falling from your tired, sleepy eyes.

[ifwmikah]

CABIN

──── Life's been pretty hectic already. But getting mindlessly fingered on a full flight, surrounded by people didn't really work on your stressful mind, or did it?

❪ 전정국 ❫ ㅤㅤ: : ㅤㅤ♱ ㅤㅤ18+ nsfw MDNI.ᐟ ㅤㅤJungkook x Female!Reader ㅤㅤslice of life idol AU hectic life ㅤㅤcw ⫶ ⫶ smut physical intimacy mentally and physically wiped characters flight airplane intimacy flirting dirty talk fingering teasing humiliation and degradation if you squint public edging crying arousal begging scratching orgasm use of pet names ㅤㅤwc ⫶ ⫶ 2.5k+

❪ Taglist ❫ ㅤㅤ: : ㅤㅤ@j0cgr0c. ㅤㅤcomment to join the taglist.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ──── ୨୧ ────

You’re humming under your breath to the wild beat hammering through your headphones, thumbs flying across the screen to shoot your mom a quick “I’m good, about to lose signal” before the plane seals everything off. The cabin lights have that soft, pre-takeoff glow, recycled air humming around you.

You tilt your head and sneak a peek beside you. His phone screen lights up his face as he taps post on the shot on his story that he snapped minutes ago, casual as hell, like he isn’t about to spark another wave of chaos online.

“Aren’t you wiped?” you murmur, voice low against the engine rumble, pocketing your phone while your knee brushes the armrest between you.

He sighs, deep and gravelly, eyes following your movements as he tucks his own phone away. “Yeah. Fucking drained. But the timeline would riot if I didn’t drop proof I’m still alive and kicking, angel.” His gaze lingers on you a second too long in the dim light.

“Aww.” You grin wide, wriggling your eyebrows in that exaggerated way that always feels a little ridiculous mid-flight.

His fans really do live rent-free in his chest—like the kind of devotion most people only fake in group chats.

You hold his gaze for another long moment, letting the quiet stretch, before you finally sink back into the seat with a slow sigh. Your shoulders loosen, melting into the thin cushion as the plane’s low hum settles deeper into your bones.

“You should sleep,” you mumble, voice already softening at the edges while your eyes flutter shut. “It’s gonna be a long one.”

Since the tour kicked off, the two of you have been bouncing between cities nonstop—private jets most days, but tonight it’s a regular flight, seats that still feel too tight for the distance ahead.

The other members are scattered a few rows up and back, mixed in with strangers who’ve already gone quiet. The whole cabin holds its breath, nothing but the low drone of engines and the occasional shift of someone trying to get comfortable.

This haul from New York back to Seoul stretches out like it might never end, two continents and an ocean sitting heavy between takeoff and touchdown.

You feel it in the way your body sinks into the seat, the faint buzz of altitude pressing against your ears while his presence stays warm and solid right beside you.

You were planning on drifting off.

Almost did.

His hand settles on your thigh like it belongs there, warm through the thin fabric, the kind of casual cling that’s become background noise between you two. Nothing wild. Just the steady weight of it grounding you against the plane’s constant vibration.

Until it doesn’t stay put.

His fingers start sliding higher, slow and deliberate, tracing the seam of your pants with enough intent that your breath catches for half a second.

Then his hand lifts away completely. A beat of nothing but the plane’s steady rumble fills the space.

You figure he’s finally tapping out, drifting toward sleep like you should be doing.

Until his fingers slip right under the waistband of your sweatpants and dip beneath the edge of your panties in one smooth move. Your eyes snap open, pulse kicking hard as the sudden heat of his skin meets yours.

Your head snaps toward him, breath hitching sharp in your throat the second his palm presses fully over your mound, warm and unhurried like he owns the space.

He’s leaned all the way back against the headrest, eyes closed, face the picture of calm relaxation while his fingers move with quiet confidence between your legs.

Your hand flies up on instinct, covering his, torn between shoving him off and holding him right there as he drags a slick finger slowly through your folds, spreading the growing wetness with lazy precision.

“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath, nails biting into the back of his hand. “Jungkook.”

“Hmm, angel?” His voice comes out low and raspy, lazy as hell, like he’s half-dreaming while his fingertip circles your entrance with deliberate care. You have to force your racing thoughts to slow for a second just to form words.

“What are you doing?” you manage, voice barely above a whisper.

“Keeping you from dying of boredom on this endless flight,” he mumbles, low and rough like the words scrape straight from his throat.

“We ca—” The protest dies in a sharp yet low, involuntary gasp as he suddenly pushes one thick finger inside you, stretching the tight heat with zero hesitation. Your walls clench around the intrusion, slick and fluttering while the rest of your body stays frozen in the seat.

His eyes finally slit open, dark and focused, and he leans in close enough that his breath ghosts your ear. “Shh. Wouldn’t want the whole cabin knowing how easily I can entertain you, would you?” He eases back just enough to lock eyes with you, holding that charged stare as he slides a second finger in alongside the first.

The fullness hits deep and sudden, forcing a quick, ragged inhale through your nose while pleasure sparks hot up your spine in the middle of all that quiet altitude hum.

He starts moving his fingers with purpose, slow at first, then building into a steady, curling rhythm that drags against that perfect spot inside you every time.

The slick sound is faint but obscene under the plane’s drone, your arousal coating his knuckles as he works you open deeper, scissoring just enough to make your thighs tremble against the seat.

Your mind blanks for a second, heat flooding your cheeks while pleasure coils tight and low in your belly. You slap one hand over your mouth halfway through a broken moan, teeth sinking into your palm to muffle the noise, eyes squeezing shut as another wave rolls through you.

The other hand remains on his arm, nails raking hard over his forearm and the back of his hand where it disappears beneath your waistband, digging in like you can’t decide if you want to yank him out or force him deeper.

He doesn’t stop. His fingers thrust faster, thumb pressing firm circles over your swollen clit, the pressure relentless and filthy in the cramped space.

Every curl sends sparks shooting up your spine, your walls fluttering and clenching greedily around him, soaking his hand as quiet, wet sounds mix with your ragged breathing.

You’re biting harder into your palm now, body arching just slightly into his touch despite yourself, the risk of the quiet cabin only making everything sharper, hotter.

“Fuck, you’re dripping, angel,” he breathes, voice dark and amused, fingers pumping steadily while his thumb keeps that maddening rhythm.

Your nails scratch down his arm again, leaving red trails, but he just chuckles low, adding a third finger that stretches you so full your eyes water and a whimper slips past your fingers.

The pleasure builds heavy and urgent, your hips twitching helplessly into his hand, chasing the friction while you fight to stay silent, every nerve lit up and screaming in the middle of thirty-thousand feet of nothing but thin air and the very real chance someone might glance back.

He keeps that brutal rhythm going, fingers plunging deep and curling just right while his thumb grinds tight circles over your swollen clit, pushing you right to the edge.

Your thighs shake, walls pulsing hard around him as the pressure coils tighter and tighter in your core, so close you can almost taste it—hot, blinding, right there.

Then he stops.

His fingers still completely inside you, buried knuckle-deep but motionless, thumb lifting away from your throbbing clit.

The sudden denial hits like a slap, leaving you hanging on that razor-sharp edge, body screaming for release while nothing comes.

You almost cry out, a frustrated whimper catching in your throat behind your palm as tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes.

Your hips twitch desperately against his hand, chasing any friction, but he holds perfectly still, letting you feel every thick inch of his fingers stretching you without giving an inch more.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing against your ear as he leans in again, lips brushing the shell like he’s savoring your desperation.

“Not yet. I want you to realise that you shouldn't have tried to stop me before I let you fall apart.” His fingers give one lazy, shallow pump—just enough to make your walls flutter wildly around him—then stop again, thumb hovering maddeningly close without touching.

You scratch harder at his arm, nails dragging red lines as fresh slick leaks around his knuckles, your whole body trembling with the ache of being held right there, denied, while the plane hums on like nothing filthy is happening in the dark.

He leans in closer, breath hot. “Look at you… so fucking greedy. You gonna cry for it, angel?” Another tiny curl of his fingers, then stillness, dragging the torture out until you’re biting your palm bloody trying not to beg out loud.

Every tiny shift sends fresh sparks through your overstimulated nerves, your pussy clenching helplessly around the thick stretch while slick drips steadily down his hand and soaks into the fabric of your sweatpants.

You’re shaking now, thighs pressed tight together like that might force some relief, but it only traps his wrist there, making everything wetter and hotter.

Tears blur your vision as the denied orgasm throbs painfully in your core, so close it hurts. You press your palm harder against your mouth, muffling the broken, needy sounds that keep trying to escape, while your other hand claws frantically at his forearm, nails digging crescents into his skin like punishment for stopping.

“Please…” The word slips out muffled and pathetic behind your fingers before you can stop it.

He chuckles softly, dark and satisfied, lips grazing your ear again. “Please what, angel? Use your words.” He gives one slow, torturous thrust, curling perfectly against that spot before freezing again, thumb brushing feather-light over your pulsing clit only to pull away.

The tease is cruel, leaving you right on the brink, body wound so tight you feel like you might snap. More tears slip down your cheeks as frustration and overwhelming want crash through you, hips rolling shamelessly against his still hand, chasing anything.

“You’re making such a mess,” he whispers, voice thick with amusement while he holds you there, suspended in that agonizing edge.

Another shallow pump, then nothing, the denial dragging on until your whole lower body feels electric and raw, every breath a struggle not to sob out loud in the silent cabin.

Your hips jerk desperately against his unmoving fingers, tears slipping freely now as the ache becomes unbearable. “Please,” you repeat, voice a wrecked whisper behind your palm, broken and shaky. “Please let me come… I need it so bad, fuck—please.”

He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your ear like he’s been waiting for exactly that. “That’s it. Beg so pretty for me, angel.”

Then he finally moves—fingers thrusting hard and fast, curling relentlessly against that spot while his thumb presses firm, perfect circles over your swollen clit.

The sudden onslaught rips a muffled cry from your throat, your hand barely containing it as pleasure slams into you like a wave.

Your walls clamp down tight around his fingers, pulsing wildly as the orgasm crashes through you, hot and blinding. Slick gushes around his knuckles, soaking his hand and the seat beneath you while your thighs shake uncontrollably, toes curling hard in your shoes.

He doesn’t stop, working you through every shuddering aftershock, drawing it out until you’re whimpering and twitching, oversensitive and spent.

Your nails rake down his arm one last time as the intensity peaks and slowly ebbs, leaving you boneless and panting against the headrest, tears still wet on your cheeks and your pussy fluttering weakly around his fingers. The cabin stays mercifully quiet, engines droning on like nothing just wrecked you completely in the dark.

He finally eases his fingers out of you with a wet, obscene sound that makes your cheeks burn hotter.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, still fluttering from the aftershocks, leaving you slick and empty and strangely aching for more even as your body tries to settle.

Then he lifts his hand, glistening with your release, and holds two fingers right in front of your lips. The scent of you is thick in the small space between you.

“Open,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding, that teasing edge still there. “It’s rude not to clean up your own mess, don’t you think?”

Your heart stutters. Still hazy and trembling from the orgasm, you part your lips without thinking, leaning forward just enough to take his fingers into your mouth.

The taste of yourself hits your tongue—tangy, warm, unmistakably filthy—as you suck obediently, tongue swirling around his knuckles to lick every drop.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light, cheeks hollowing while you clean him thoroughly, the act sending another shameful throb through your spent core.

He watches you the whole time, breathing a little heavier, thumb brushing your bottom lip when you finally pull back with a soft, wet pop.

He leans in close, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, lips grazing the shell as he whispers, “We’re definitely finishing this when we land. Don’t you think?”

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ──── ୨୧ ────

The car hums along the familiar streets, city lights streaking past the window.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the quiet from the passenger seat, half-laughing as he eyes the angry red scratches running down his arm. “I swear I saw you board with us. How the hell did you pick up marks like that in fifteen hours? Looks like you wrestled a damn tiger.”

You keep your arms folded tight over your chest, staring hard out the window from the backseat, cheeks still warm from the memory of how those marks got there.

The less eye contact, the better.

“Tiger… or maybe a tigress,” he replies, that grin evident in his tone even if you refuse to look.

Yoongi snorts, unimpressed. “Whatever. Not curious enough to dig. Light’s red.” Yoongi mumbles, as Jungkook pulls the car to a halt by the red light.

You finally risk a glance forward and catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, dark and knowing.

The second your gazes lock, he winks—slow, filthy, full of promise. Heat floods your face all over again.

You snap your eyes back to the buildings, thighs pressing together at the fresh reminder of exactly what kind of trouble you let yourself in for.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ──── ୨୧ ────

Masterlist !

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𝒮.𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : : closed and completed. (Oneshot)

© Ifwmikah, 2026.

[rkvist]

TAKE A LEAP | JJK

synopsis: During a trip with your friends, you spotted a guy who started to get crowded by a group of girls. Upon taking a closer look, you realized it was a member of your favorite boy band, Jeon Jungkook of BTS. Without hesitation, you bit the bullet and swooped in to save him. In doing so, the trajectory of your life changed forever.

pairing: idol!jungkook x fem!reader

genre: idol au, fluff, angst, smut

series warning: this story will follow the timeline of when jungkook’s solo album, golden, dropped! the members of bts will, of course, be mentioned in here at some point as well as other celebrities/idols! i will provide each chapter with warnings of what they’ll contain! this will mostly focus on real life scenarios but i might make some social media edits to support the plot! any photos used for the edits are for the purposes of mimicking how media/fans would be like; imagine reader as anything you’d like! chapters that will contain mature content, i will list it with “(m)”!, and last but not least, this is for entertainment purposes!!! everything that i write is fictional and it does not portray how jungkook or anyone else are actually like!

note: this is my first series and i hope you enjoy it!! 🥹🥹 if you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please let me know in the comments! i also don’t have a set schedule for when i will publish each chapter but i will send out an announcement before releasing them!

index:

teaser — coming soon.

chapter one — coming soon.

© rkvist 2026 / all rights reserved.

[eliess]

Jeon Jungkook: search by trope

I’ve wanted to do this for a while, so here it is! It took some time, but it was necessary for me to better organise everything. It will keep being updated. I hope it can help anyone find fics they like. Also, I would like to thank all those amazing authors for giving us such amazing stories! Happy reading🫶🏾

Minors don’t interact please!

angst

arranged marriage au

best friend’s brother au

bodyguard au

brother’s best friend au

ceo au

cheating au

college au

coworkers to lovers au

enemies to lovers au

established relationship au

exes to lovers au

fake dating au

fake marriage au

fantasy au

fluff

forbidden au

friends to lovers au

friends with benefits to lovers au

hospital au

idiots to lovers au

idol au

parents au

pregnancy au

roommates au

single parent au

smut

soulmates au

spider-man au

strangers to lovers au

unrequited love

[uzispidey]

ON THE RUN 一 JEON JUNGKOOK ꒷꒦꒷ , series ❪ SNIPPET ❫

﹟WHO WANTS A PERFECT LOVE STORY ANYWAY ᵎᵎ

starring: criminal!jungkook x fem sexworker!oc

synopsis: after stealing millions from the organization that raised him, he becomes the target of an international manhunt led by the very family he betrayed. with nowhere left to run, a chance encounter in a forgotten Arizona town brings him face-to-face with a woman desperate to outrun a past of her own. as corrupt cops, ruthless hitmen, and old loyalties close in, their unlikely alliance turns into something neither of them expected. but love has a price, and in a world where betrayal is paid for in blood, escaping the past may prove impossible.

✰ genre: dark romance, action, mafia-like, thriller, smut, angst, age-gap romance (if you squint), themes of violence, taboo topics.

✰ status: on-going series.

✰ maturity rating: NC-17.

✰ warnings: this book contains foul language and graphic themes. it delves into a little bit of thriller, romance, and explores sensitive topics related to murder, religion, sex, prostitution, etc. it may provoke discomfort or challenge deeply held beliefs. reader discretion is advised.

✰ author's note: i deeply and wholeheartedly appreciate you guys for taking the time out of your day to read this book. i will forever love you and be grateful for you doing so. feedback is greatly appreciated along with your interpretation of how you think things are going to go, thoughts among the characters, or even questions. don't be discouraged to even contact me. i love interacting with people. there is an fem original character, but if you rather do reader instead of oc, then be my guest, imagination is limitless. the themes and topics will NOT be romanticize, instead to shed light on the dangers on sex work, prostitution, etc out of respect for a family member that passed away from doing such. can't stress this enough and I beg, if any of you find yourself in such predicament, PLEASE BE SAFE and stay VIGILANT. much love, s.

HARSH WHITE BEAMS from the circling helicopter lights carved through the night, slicing across their bodies as if trying to peel them apart. Red‑blue strobes from the swarm of police cars bled over their skin, painting them in frantic color while officers crept forward with guns raised, their hesitation a thin veneer over fear. She didn't see any of them. All she saw was him. She lay sprawled across his chest, her breath coming in ragged, uneven pulls, each one trembling with a broken cry that tore from her blood‑slick mouth. Her fingers-shaking, desperate-clawed at his shirt, at his jacket, at anything that tethered him to her. She shook him harder, her voice cracking as she begged him to stay awake, to stay with her, to not leave her in this collapsing world.

The bullet lodged in her side burned like a brand, but she barely registered it. The warm pool spreading beneath them, the metallic scent rising around them, the dizzying tilt of the ground-none of it mattered. Pain was secondary. Fear was distant. He was the only thing in focus. Her vision blurred at the edges, the world smearing into streaks of light and shadow, but his face-pale, slack, too still-remained sharp. She pressed her forehead to his, her tears mixing with the blood on his skin, whispering his name like a prayer, like a curse, like a promise she refused to let the universe break.

Around them, the officers shouted warnings. Demands. Orders. But she didn't move. She would burn with him if she had to.

OR

in which she has an unpleasant guest showing up at her doorstep.

© UZISPIDEY do not copy, repost or modify my work. comment or dm for tag !

[luvismenu]

┈┈ ・・❥ 𝗧𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗜 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗡𝗔 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗡𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗬 :: 𝗷𝗲𝗼𝗻 𝗷𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗸𝗼𝗼𝗸 / 𝗼𝗻𝗲-𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘁

After another brutal day, you seek comfort in your favorite quiet bar — only to find yourself finally crossing the line with the tattooed bartender who’s been subtly flirting with you for months. What starts as familiar teasing quickly turns heated when Jungkook closes up and takes you home, where he shows you exactly how well an older man can ruin you.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Bartender!Jungkook × Reader (Exhausted Office Worker)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: explicit smut, alcohol consumption, age gap (jungkook 37, reader 25) she likes them older fr, she is in heat tbh, making out, oral sex (m!receiving) / blowjob, handjob, titty fucking, cumming on her tits, big dick jk, rough sex, doggy style, dirty talk, they're both very .. vocal (lots of talking) / praising each other, ass spanking, begging, slight power play, use of petnames: “baby” & “princess”, body worship, unprotected sex, creampie. 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗻𝗲-𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲𝗿.

𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲𝗿 / 𝘀𝗻𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗲𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.5k

𝘁𝗼𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1k

⊱ ──── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ──── ⊰

The rain clung to your coat in cold, insistent beads as you stepped into the bar, the familiar creak of the heavy door announcing your arrival like an old friend. Warmth enveloped you at once, carrying the layered scents of aged wood, and also the faint, smoky trace that always seemed to linger in the rafters no matter how thoroughly the place was aired out.

You’d been coming here for months now — ever since that first night when work became.. incredibly exhausting, and you’d stumbled in seeking nothing more than a quiet corner away from the noise of your life. Back then, the bar had been busier, voices overlapping like scattered notes, but Jungkook had noticed you anyway.

A single glance across the counter, a perfectly poured drink slid your way without question, and a low, “First time? You look like you could use this,” and that had somehow eased the knot in your chest.

From that evening on, it became a quiet ritual. You returned on the worst days — when deadlines bled into one another and the weight of.. literally everything pressed too close — and he was always there. Subtle at first: a knowing tilt of his head when you sat down, a drink prepared before you even asked, the occasional remark that lingered just long enough to feel intentional. He never pushed, surprisingly, he never crossed into anything overt, but the flirtation hummed beneath every interaction like a low chord.

Jungkook looked up from the glass he was drying, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled high, revealing the intricate paths of ink along his forearms that you’d memorized in stolen glances over the weeks. “Rough one today?”

You slid onto your usual stool at the end of the counter, letting your bag drop with a dull thud. “Don’t even ask.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and unhurried as he reached for the unlabeled amber bottle. “Yes, ma’am.” One perfect cube of ice cracked gently into the glass before he slid it toward you. “Here. Looks like it might salvage what’s left of the evening.”

You took a sip, the smooth burn spreading through you, and smiled to yourself — small smile that lingered behind the rim of the glass. You found him quietly magnetic like this: older than you by more than a decade, mature in a way that made everything else feel chaotic and half-formed. Attractive in that understated, steady manner — the calm confidence in how he moved behind the counter, the low timbre of his voice that always seemed to ease and smoothen the sharp edges of your day.

He helped you through things sometimes without even realizing it, just by being there with his quiet attention, turning the worst nights into something bearable.

“How about you?” you asked softly, tilting your head. “Tell me what happened on your side of the bar today. Entertain me a little.”

His dark eyes met yours, amusement flickering there. “My day?“

You nod.

He tilts his head too, “And what do I get in return for that?”

You raised an eyebrow, lips curving despite the exhaustion. “A generous tip, obviously.”

“Hm.” He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping. “Was thinking of something else, honestly.”

“Oh really?” Heat stirred low in your stomach, the same subtle pull that had hummed between you for weeks. “Like what?”

His smirk was faint, almost boyish, but there was nothing boyish in the way he held your gaze. “I’d like to leave that to your imagination, Ms. ___.”

You let out a soft laugh, tracing the rim of your glass. “So mysterious.”

“Me? Mysterious?” He straightened with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Please. I’m just a bartender. Nothing mysterious about this old soul.”

“Old?” You tilted your head, studying him: the sharp line of his jaw, the way the low light caught in his hair. “Thirty-seven isn’t old.”

He gave you a look, one brow arched in a way that made your pulse skip a little. You’d danced around this territory before, but never quite this far.

“What?” you asked.

He just smiled to himself, a small curve of his lips as he wiped down the counter again. “I don’t know if you’re being polite or—”

You cut him off, voice steady. “I’m honest. I really don’t believe that thirty-seven is old.”

He shook his head, still smiling, the expression softening the edges of his face. “Good to know.”

You paused, the whiskey warming your chest as a quiet thought settled in. For all the months you’d been coming here, for all the nights you’d sat on this same stool pouring out the pain of your days, you realized how little you actually knew about him.

He listened so easily, drew things out of you without effort, yet he remained this calm, composed presence behind the counter — ink on his arms, quiet competence in his hands, a maturity that felt miles deeper than anyone your age. You’d talked for hours across these nights, and still he was mostly a silhouette you filled in with glances and half-formed impressions.

“Why don’t I know more about you?” you asked suddenly, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them. “I come here all the time, talk your ear off, and… I don’t even know the basic things.”

“Well, no,” he said, tone light but honest. “You only ever talk about yourself.”

“Don’t say it like that,” you muttered, cheeks warming under his steady gaze.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some kind of narcissist or something.”

“You’re not.” His tone was gentle, still sincere. Then he leaned in again. “I just like hearing people talk about their lives. The way they carry their days.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” You smiled faintly. “You’re kinda like my non-professional therapist at this point.”

Jungkook laughed outright then, the sound rich and unguarded, rolling through the quiet bar like warm honey over stone. It caught you off guard, pulling a genuine smile from your lips as the low lights cast shifting shadows across his face. The jazz record had faded to a softer instrumental now, saxophone curling lazy and low through the space between you, mingling with the faint clink of ice in your glass and the distant patter of rain against the windows.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, still chuckling as he leaned one hip against the counter, arms crossed in a way that pulled the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders.

You traced the rim of your glass with a fingertip again, the cool condensation kissing your skin. The alcohol had loosened something in you tonight, unraveling the tight coil of exhaustion into a quieter, warmer haze.

“I am serious about what i said, Jungkook.”

He raises a brow.

“I want to know more about you. All this time, I’ve been unloading my entire mess on you — about the deadlines, my bad days, the whole chaotic spiral — and you just listen. Pour drinks. Smile like you’ve got the patience of a saint.” Your voice softened, eyes lifting to meet his. “It doesn’t feel fair. Tell me something about yourself. Literally Anything.”

He watched you for a long moment, that dark gaze steady. The small mole beneath his lower lip catching light as he pressed it between his teeth. Then he exhaled, a quiet sound that seemed to carry the weight of all the nights he’d held back. “What do you want to know?”

“I told you — anything,” you said. “Like how long have you been doing this? The bar, the late nights. What do you do when you’re not pouring whiskey for exhausted girls who don’t know when to stop talking?”

A slow smirk curved his mouth, the kind that made heat bloom low in your stomach. “Careful. You keep calling yourself exhausted like it’s a flaw. I happen to like the way you look when you walk in here.” He reached across the counter, refilling your glass without asking, his fingers brushing yours deliberately this time. The contact lingered, warm and calloused. “As for me… been behind this bar five years now. Before that, a few other places. Music gigs on the side when I can. Guitar and Violin, but guitar mostly. Nothing glamorous. Just… figuring things out, same as anyone.”

You leaned in closer. “Guitar, huh? I can see that. Those hands look like they know how to handle more than just glasses.” The words slipped out bolder than you intended, but the way his eyes darkened made you press on. “Bet you’re good with them.”

His chuckle was lower this time, rougher even. “You’re flirting with me now? After months of playing it safe on that stool?”

“I think I’m tired of playing it safe,” you murmured, holding his gaze. The air between you thickened, charged with all the almost-touches and weighted silences that had built like storm clouds. “You’ve been doing it too, you know. That little smirk when I sit down. The way you remember every little detail i tell you. The way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Jungkook’s tongue darted out to wet his lip, a small tell that sent a thrill through you. He glanced around the bar, noting the sparse handful of customers who looked content with their last drinks and showed no sign of ordering more. With a quiet decisiveness, he came around the counter, wiping his hands on the towel before sliding onto the stool beside yours. His knee brushed your thigh, solid and warm through the fabric of your clothes.

Up close like this, the age difference felt less like a gap and more like gravity — the mature steadiness in his posture, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes that spoke of nights weathered and survived. “You notice all that, hm?”

“Hard not to,” you admitted, turning toward him until your shoulders nearly touched. “You’re… attractive like this.”

He tilts his head slightly. “Like what?”

“Like someone who actually knows what he’s doing. Who could handle more than just.. pouring drinks.”

The flirting wove between you like smoke, light touches of conversation that grew heavier with each exchange. He told you about a song he’d been working on late at night, voice low as he described the chords, and you countered with how his laugh made the worst days feel lighter.

Then, minutes stretched, the bar was shrinking around the two of you until the outside world felt distant and irrelevant. His hand eventually found its way to the back of your stool, fingers brushing the small of your back now and then — accidental, then intentional. Each graze sent amazing sparks skittering across your skin.

Eventually, the words built to a tipping point. You took a breath, heart hammering against your ribs. “Jungkook… come with me tonight. After you close up. Don’t send me home alone like you always do.”

He stilled, eyes searching yours with a flicker of surprise. The hesitation was there, plain in the way his jaw tightened, the slow exhale he let out. “You’re asking me to come home with you?” His voice had dropped, rough. “Or are you asking for more than that?”

The polite dance you’d both maintained for months cracked open. You met his gaze head-on, exhaustion and want twisting together into something raw. “Yes,” you said simply, giving up the careful act. “I’m asking for you to touch me like you’ve been thinking about it too. I want you to stop holding back..”

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, the gesture tense, conflicted. He looked away for a second toward the darkened windows, rain streaking silver paths down the glass, then back to you. His hesitation hung heavy — responsible, mature, the kind of man who thought things through even when desire clearly burned in his eyes. “I… fuck. I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You’ve had a long day. You’re tired. And I don’t know if I should..”

You shifted closer, your hand finding his knee, sliding up just enough to feel the muscle tense beneath your palm. Vulnerability edged your voice, but you pushed through it. “Do you not find me attractive?”

“No,” he said quickly, almost sharply, turning fully toward you. His hand covered yours on his knee, large and warm, gripping with sudden intensity. “No— I mean, Fuck, I really do. I find you attractive as hell. Every time you walk through that door; it drives me fucking crazy. I don't know if you noticed but I’ve thought about you more nights than I should admit. I've thought about what it would be like to pull you close, taste the whiskey on your lips, feel you let go under my hands. God. You’re so beautiful. So tempting. Way too much sometimes.”

The confession hung between you, raw and honest. Your eyes widen a little, you certainly did not expect him to say all of that.

You find it kind of cute honestly.

His thumb stroked over your knuckles, a soothing contrast to the heat building in his gaze. “I just.. don't want you to regret it.”

You shook your head, leaning in until your forehead nearly touched his. “I won’t. I’m not fragile, Jungkook. I know what I want. And I want you. All of you.”

He searched your face for another long beat, the internal battle playing out in the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his breath hitched. Then something shifted. The hesitation cracked, desire winning out as he cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek with tenderness.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice low and rough like aged whiskey. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. With no regrets. And I want to take my time with you, princess — I want to make sure you feel every second of it.”

You blinked, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the heat pooling in your stomach. “Princess?”

He tilted his head, studying your expression with that steady, attentive gaze, thumb tracing slow circles on your cheek. “Don’t like it?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you leaned into his touch. “No, I do. I’m just glad it’s not something silly like babygirl.”

Jungkook’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, warm and genuine, “Noted,” he said, the word laced with quiet amusement. “Princess it is, then. Suits you anyway — strong, a little untouchable, but cute when you let someone close.”

His fingers slipped higher, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with careful reverence, the gesture so tender it made your breath hitch. The bar lights had dimmed to a golden haze around you both, turning the familiar space into something intimate and new.

“Shall we go?”

⊱ ──── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ──── ⊰

hope you liked the snippet!! full version will be posted months later . but ! you can get early access to the full one-shot here: [ TONIGHT I WANNA GET NASTY ] under the [ ARCHIVE ] tier where you'll also find other oneshots and additional bonus exclusive content! (one-shot is also available as a single product) <3 thank u for ur support! x

+ 𝗹𝘂𝘃𝗶’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: i asked one of my friends to help me come up with a solid plot because my brain was NOT braining </3 so, he (my friend) suggested the whole "quiet night + flirting with the bartender + soft vibes" idea, and honestly... he helped shape so much of this fic. — huge credits to him for coming up with the main concept and helping me with a bunch of scenes/dialogues throughout the one-shot <3 [he prefers to stay anonymous, but i know he's reading this... so thank you ho 💔] // and also, just so y'all know — he insisted i make this patreon exclusive/early access (bro thinks he's a genius 👎)

[inthelow]

SORRY, WRONG NUMBER ! — jeon jungkook (index).

pairing: student! fem reader x student! jeon jungkook

summary: when you finally get your crush’s number, you expect the start of an epic love story— not a random guy making fun of you because he thinks the guy you’ve been obsessed with for the last six months gave you a fake number. Jeon Jungkook, the one who replies, finds it entertaining and helps you chase the guy… at least until he finds out that the person he’s been helping date another guy is you, the girl he’s been obsessed with for the last two years.

genre/warning: this is a smau fic!! with narration included in some chapter but it’s mostly messages/tweets. very unfunny jokes. this is mostly crack/fluff.

authors note: ‘but u have to update ur other fic blah blah blah’ umm shut the fuck up?. anyway this is my first time attempting smau fics so be nice to me thank u. ngl i was VERY high writing this but it made me giggle when i read it again. hope u hehe a lil with this. iloveu.

— find more here: masterlist | spotify

｡･:*˚:✧｡ Chapter Index:

01. fundraising event! (w)

02. wrong number!

03. pervert freak of a man! (w)

04. my wingman!

05. jungkook’s little crush! (w)

06. my name is jungkook!

07. holy crash-out!

08. home-wrecker era!

09. side quest: to yearn!

10. funny story!

11. broken fantasy!

12. let’s sleep together!

13. boy in love!

14. my girl my girl!

15. happy wife happy life!

00. epilogue

w = written.

THE “SORRY, WRONG NUMBER !” CAST:

SWAG ACTIVATED — (group chat)

twitter priv profiles: you, jimin, jin, hobi.

THE HOES SQUAD — (group chat)

twitter priv profiles: jungkook, taehyung, yoongi, namjoon.

i know this is not my usual type of writing but idk i was feeling silly and i always wanted to try smau. this is for giggles and shit! — gift credits in the watermark??

permanent taglist: @lovingkoalaface @dna-black-and-blue @hoemeprazole @deedeeps @taegiekookk @gukihoney @sftlrmin @libbieminie @savorghost @nhyunn @yooforeaa @kelsyx33 @jjkszn @st4rbbg @senaqsstuff @connnn @rpwprpwprpwprw @llallaaa @lovelye79 @jjkkkk15 @nellbyy @jkmommymilkies @chaerinmin @kaiparkerwifes @wvndkoo @pradaheeseung @annyeongbitch7 @tastykookoonut @whoa-jo @zsazshiiing @taylorluvation @parapiop7 @j0cgr0c @elinaki92 @osakis-gf @mar-lo-pap @angeleclipsey @jkayy-prodian @bjoriis @sweetnspicyworld

[dreamersparacosm]

cowboy casanova ⟡ jjk

SUMMARY. After a brutal breakup, you pack up your entire life into your Honda Civic and drive 24 hours to a new life, away from the liars and dirty cheaters of New York City. Fortunately for you, there’s a new man on the terrain, and he adores you from the bottom of his boots to the top of his hat.

word count. 13k

warnings/genre. cowboy!jungkook, corporate!reader, strangers to lovers??, this is based in texas, usa which earns its own warning, alcohol consumption, smut, fingering, car sex, you ride him while wearing his cowboy hat

note. howdy yall! yeehaw brethren! or whatever they say out there in bumblefuck texas 🙊 cowboy jungkook is near and dear to my heart after he put on a bandana and a cowboy hat … he’s literally just a walking wet dream. this is just the plot of a porno so enjoy sluts! (inspired by this tiktok so pls go watch)

ok final final thing: tysm for 9k i still cant believe it!!!!!!! i love all you horndogs sm here's to love here's to honor if you can't cum in her, cum on her

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| playlist

banner creds | masterlist

At some point in life, everyone must find themselves alone in a run-down bar in the middle of Texas, drinking whiskey and wearing a blazer.

Or, well... maybe that's just rock bottom for you specifically.

You don’t even fucking like whiskey. You’re not a masochist. But after the day you’ve had, self-inflicted suffering feels like the least you deserve. 

You set the glass down and take a look around the bar. 

The place is called Coyote’s—it’s the first place you stumbled upon on your drive home from work. There's a coyote skull mounted above the door, walls wood-paneled and covered in neon beer signs and old license plates. The floor is sticky with mysterious liquids, heels glued to them when you walked in. Somebody’s boots are keeping time to the Zac Brown Band song bleeding out of the speakers, and two men in actual, non-ironic Wranglers are playing pool in the back while eyeing the girls in skimpy outfits. 

It’s a disorienting environment, especially when you’re still dressed in a blazer and slacks after your first day at your new job. 

You had upped sticks in need of a change from New York City, without bothering to think much about the vast differences between Austin, Texas and New York City. 

New York City bars had exposed brick and cocktail menus with names like “Forbidden Muse” and men who wore blazers for their fancy, high-paying finance jobs. Nobody dared to wear cowboy boots, definitely not when they were surrounded by their stuffy superiors. 

New York City was crawling with men that were exactly like your conniving, narcissistic ex-boyfriend, Daniel. 

Fucking Daniel.

You take another sip of the whiskey you don’t like.

You’d caught him on a Wednesday. Not even a Friday night—a Wednesday. He couldn’t even be bothered to cheat on you on a respectable day of the week. You had come home early from work, key in the door, bag on your shoulder, and there he was in your shared apartment. Balls deep in a girl who was, insultingly, very pretty.

Then, he had the nerve to act surprised to see you in the apartment you two shared. 

Texas was never supposed to be in the cards. In fact, it wasn’t even a blip on your radar. It was a job offer that paid two times what you made in New York, but giving up your city lifestyle had sounded deranged. You only applied because a very eager recruiter reached out to you and begged you to. 

But getting cheated on really put things into perspective for you, and before you knew it, being a marketing director at a regional firm in Austin that paid good money, offered a fresh start, far enough away that you wouldn’t have to see Daniel’s face sounded ideal. You’d accepted it at 11PM that same Wednesday, half a bottle of wine deep.

You look down at your outfit again. Silk blouse underneath your blazer, tailored slacks and pointed heels. Nothing like the girls line-dancing by the jukebox, batting their eyelashes flirtatiously at the men with cowboy hats on. 

Honestly, you didn’t think cowboys were real up until you landed in Texas three days ago. Lo and behold, they’ve managed to outdo your wildest fantasies. 

Clearly, you’ll need to redo your wardrobe if you plan on enjoying your new gig. Your boss wore a bandana around his neck in the office, and if that was the norm, you were either severely underdressed or accidentally cosplaying as someone’s accountant.

You take another slow scan around the room, mostly to give yourself something to do that isn’t drinking whiskey you hate and thinking about Daniel.

The women here seem to move differently. Easy and dallying, hips finding the beat of the music. A line of them near the dance floor step and turn in unison, boots striking the wood, and there’s something hypnotic about it—they laugh without covering their mouths, take up space without apologizing for it. Not for the first time tonight, you feel like you’re watching a nature documentary from behind glass. The men in Texas are far more shameless, with no pretense of disinterest. A guy in a tan Stetson tips his hat when a brunette catches him staring. She grins back, winking. 

Your gaze drifts toward the back, toward the crack of pool balls and low laughter. Groups of men pile around the table, clearly big-dicking each other. They all look similar. Tall, muscular, chiseled, charismatic…

Your eyes land on the far right of the pool table, where one man in a black cowboy hat stands. His arm is covered in tattoos, hair poking out underneath the hat in what you assume is a mullet. His tongue pokes out, toying with the lip rings adorning his bottom lip. 

And despite the commotion buzzing around the bar, or the game of pool that’s been ongoing for at least an hour, he’s not paying attention to any of it. He’s watching you. 

Your neck snaps back toward the direction of the bar, struggling to focus as the bartender, Stacey, pours bourbon into a glass for a patron. You’d barely gotten a full look, but you’d caught enough, you think. Broad shoulders filling out a black button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow, black cowboy hat pulled low and a black bandana tied loose at his throat. 

Fuck. You need another drink. Or about two shots of straight whiskey to handle the kind of eye contact that man is making with you. 

“Uh, Stacey?” You’d only learned her name an hour ago, but now’s as good a time as any to use it. She whips to face you, blond hair tousled from the rush. “Am I able to get another glass of whiskey?”

“Sure thang, sweetheart.” She grins. 

While she pours, your eyes make a point to not care about the man staring you down across the room. He can’t possibly be looking at you, what with your corporate outfit, heels, and resting bitch face. There are better options in this bar, ones who know how to two-step and ride a horse. 

Stacey places the glass of whiskey in front of you. “This one’s on the house. Looked like you needed it.”

Before you can protest, she tosses you a wink and saunters off to serve two men. Clearly, you’re not as unreadable as you thought you were. 

The brown liquid slithers down your throat, burning your lungs. The thing about drinking whiskey neat is that you’re not going to remain a respectful amount of tipsy for long. Instead, you’re going to teeter on the line of drunk, something you don’t normally allow yourself to get. 

And transparently, drunk you wants another look at the dark-haired cowboy. 

Maybe you should let her. Maybe you should stop being so weird about it. It’s not like you’re not going to marry the man. Maybe you just need to get fucked.

Your eyes scan the crowd, lingering on every man wearing the same black bandana, half-convinced one of them might transform into him. With each passing moment, your heart skips in your chest like a toddler playing hopscotch. 

Maybe he went home. Probably realized the women here were duds and made his grand exit. Honestly for the best. You can’t even remember the last time you flirted with someone who wasn’t Daniel, and look how spectacularly that turned out.

You down the rest of your whiskey in one go. Stacey whistles playfully from the sidelines. All you can manage is a feeble smile in response. It feels as though the lights dim a little lower, the sound of boots hitting the hardwood floor echoing in your ear. Euphoria pumps through your bloodstream, and then Country Girl (Shake It For Me) starts blasting on the jukebox, and well—your brain just sort of short-circuits. 

“Can’t possibly be comfortable in that outfit, sugar.”

Warm breath fans against your ear, woodsy cologne trailing close behind. Your heart thumps, almost as if the organ knows who it is before you do. 

Slowly, you turn to face the owner of the voice. 

The first thing you see is a black bandana. Your eyes travel further up, up, up, until they snag on the plumpest mouth you’ve ever seen on a man, two metal rings looped through the bottom lip. They continue their climb, landing on captivating eyes that sink their teeth into you. Dark brown tresses poke out from under the brim of his hat, but you can still make out every inch of his sharp features. 

“Never seen you ‘round here before.” He raises an eyebrow. “Anyone with that outfit on gotta be from the East. Ain’t seen a girl in heels in this bar in my whole life.”

“Maybe I like standing out,” you say, tilting your chin up and puffing your chest out. The whiskey’s doing wonders for your nerve. “Someone’s got to remind you boys what real shoes look like.”

The edges of his mouth curve upwards, pondering if he’s impressed or amused by your bite. Secretly, you hope it’s both. 

“Sugar, those things are a workplace hazard. You’re tellin’ me you can run in ‘em?” Under the dim lights, his eyes twinkle, setting your chest ablaze with something other than the burn of whiskey. 

“I don’t need to run anywhere. I’m a New Yorker. We walk at a fast pace in 7-inch heels.” You’re not well-versed in the whole flirting thing, but this has to be what it’s like… right?

That gets a real laugh out of him, head tipping back, and you feel an absurd little spike of pride at having caused that sound. 

“That so?” He moves from behind you, leans an elbow against the bar, angling his body toward you. He travels in languid movements, like he’s got nowhere else on earth to be. “And here I thought you Yankees just had bad manners and worse weather.”

 “We’re not rude,” you scoff. “We’re blunt. Honest. There’s a difference.”

He takes a step closer, and the scent of him encroaches, your brain turning fuzzy. “Mm. Didn’t realize those were the same thing.”

“Cousins. Close enough.” You shouldn’t have downed that drink. Now you really need another, because you’re certain you won’t make it out of this conversation in one piece.

“Then let me ask you somethin’, since you’re so honest.” His eyes flicker to your parted lips before jumping back to your eyes. 

“Go ahead.”

The music comes to a halt, and Carrie Underwood’s voice blasts through the speakers. You’ve never really liked her music all that much, but her misplaced pep talk might be exactly the kind of bad influence you need.

His head tilts in your direction. “You ever met a Southern boy before me?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“So you must not have heard ‘bout Southern charm, sugar. That’s supposed to be our whole thing down here.” His eyes dare you, jaw twitching with glee at the way you press your thighs together.

“I’ve heard that.” Carelessly, you shrug. “Haven’t seen much evidence of it yet.”

“Keep talkin’ like that and I might have to prove it to you,” he says, voice only a little mocking. 

Your body can’t help but lean in his direction, like sunflowers facing the light on a warm summer’s day. “I’d like to see you try, cowboy.”

“Mm.” The man hums, studies you for another moment. Then, he straightens and reaches for the brim of his hat. “Well. Where are my manners?”

He pulls the hat off his head, revealing disheveled chestnut hair that’s longer than you anticipated. You want to run your hands through it, know what it feels like to tug on the locks. The gesture is almost comically formal against the backdrop of the bar, but on him, it doesn’t look like a joke at all. He reaches for your hand. His palm is warm, calloused, swallowing yours whole. “Jungkook.” His eyes don’t dare leave your face. “And who do I got the pleasure of speakin’ to?”

A shuddering breath escapes you, legs clenching. 

“[Y/N],” you stumble over your words, trying to find your voice. 

“Pretty name for a pretty girl. Must be my lucky night,” he grins, and you have to wonder if he says that to every girl who isn’t from here. You stick out like a sore thumb in this bar, but how his eyes track your every movement suggests he doesn’t mind one bit.

“What’re you drinkin’, sugar?” he asks, nodding toward your empty glass. Oh. That. You had almost forgotten it was there, lonely and sad. 

“Whiskey.”

His eyebrows lift, mouth curving into disbelief. “You sure about that? You don’t seem like a whiskey girl to me.”

He’s right, which only makes it worse. Turning to the bar, he lifts two fingers. “Stace. You mind makin’ one of those strawberry margaritas for our city girl here?”

Stacey’s already grinning cheek-to-cheek before she even gets close, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Absolutely.”

While Stacey works, you take the opportunity to look at him properly without the panic of being caught. He’s tall, like most cowboys that are written in romance novels. His chest looks like it could double as a wall. A very nice wall you wouldn’t mind being pressed against. 

Stacey slides the margarita across the bar, sugar-rimmed and flamingo pink. “Here you go, hon.”

“Add it to my tab,” Jungkook says, not bothering to glance over.

“Of course, Kook.” She tosses you another friendly wink, and the swell of confidence bubbles up inside you.

He nudges the glass another inch toward you with two fingers. It’s a little dominant, something you’re not normally used to. But you follow the order, taking a sip. It’s exactly what you wanted. Cold, candied, the tequila barely whispering under the sugar, and you have to stop yourself from outright moaning at the bar.

“So why you out here, sugar?” he asks, “Don’t seem like a bar for a girl like you.” Jungkook places his hat atop his head again, and you’re almost devastated to see his hair go. 

You set the glass down, lick a stray grain of sugar off your bottom lip. His eyes stalk the movement. “I live here now. I work downtown.”

His gaze doesn’t move from your mouth fast enough. “Like a corporate job?”

“Indeed.” As you speak, you notice his pupils are blown so wide there’s hardly any brown left. He hasn’t moved his eyes from your lips. “And I’m assuming you ride horses?”

He barks out a laugh, loud enough that a couple heads turn near the pool table. “A little more than that.” His finger points off toward the back of the bar, toward a broad-shouldered man laughing with the group by the pool table. “That’s Namjoon. Owns a ranch a few miles out. I handle his shit. Y’know, paperwork, horses, bulls, all of it.”

“So you’re a rancher.” You toy with the straw in your glass, and you can’t miss the way he seems entranced by every move you make. 

“I’m a lotta things.” His tongue runs over his bottom lip. “Rancher’s one of ‘em.”

“What are the others?” 

There’s something lingering in the air. New city, new boy, new life. You’re back to square one, the bottom of the societal food chain. You get to forge your own path here in Austin. For one night—and maybe other nights—you get to be someone else. 

“Depends who’s askin’.”

“I am,” you retort coolly. 

“Then I guess you’ll find out,” he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear “Eventually.”

The bar noise fades around you, Carrie Underwood’s righteous fury bleeding into another tune, until it’s just the two of you and a few inches of space neither of you seem all that interested in closing yet. “Hmm,” you hum. “Horses and bulls sound dangerous.”

He chuckles. “Knowin’ how to handle somethin’ wild is mostly about knowin’ when to be gentle and when not to be.”

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor?” 

“Could be." He shrugs. “But also, I just really like my job, sugar.”

“As do I,” You take another sip, making a point to pucker your lips around the straw. 

Jungkook’s gaze is different, far more scandalous than any other man you’ve been with. It almost feels dirty when his eyes scan your face. “Figured someone like you’d be home by now. What is this, your first night out since you got here?”

It is, in fact, your first night out since you got here, and you’d rather die than confirm it.

“I wanted to immerse myself in the culture,” you say instead, lying through your teeth with admirable conviction. “It’s one of my greatest fantasies, actually. Cowgirls, horses, the whole lot of ’em.”

“Oh really?” he smirks. You’re distracted by the strand of hair flopping from beneath his hat, and you wonder if the curtain matches the drapes. “How ‘bout cowboys?”

“I’m still gathering data on them.” You tap the rim of your glass thoughtfully. “Field research, if you will.”

His knee brushes against yours as he leans in. The man has never heard of personal space. “I would love to hear your findings.” 

“Well, actually, I think I need to run a few final experiments.”

“Like what?” He tuts, fingers migrating from the bartop to your pant-covered thigh. They linger, not pressing down harshly. “Humor me, sugar.”

A burst of confidence rushes through you. You get one chance, and you really, really, really don’t want to make the same mistakes again. Reaching up, you pluck the hat right off his head. 

It’s heavier than you expect, but soft in your grasp. Warm, like it’s been sitting against him long enough to steal some of his body heat for itself. You settle it on your own head, tipping it back so it doesn’t slide down over your eyes. You must look ridiculous, blazer and silk blouse under a cowboy hat that’s seen ranch work.

But how he’s looking at you, you might as well be wearing nothing at all.

Jungkook’s jaw goes taut, gaze darkens, and the fingers placed on your thigh flex before relaxing. 

“Well, sugar.” His voice drops several octaves, and the whole bar spins on its axis until you nearly topple over. “If you’re gonna wear my hat, you know what they say?”

Your response is no louder than a whisper. “What?”

Smirking, he leans in until his breath ghosts your ear. 

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.”

Oh god. 

Your eyes flicker down to his lips, then his captivating eyes, and he follows suit. If he really wanted to, he could probably kiss you right now, could take you right on the bartop and you’d let him. The sugar from the margarita and the whiskey swirls in your stomach, mixing with butterflies you haven’t felt in years. There are moles scattered across his face, a few near his lip and some under his cheek, and you think that you could connect them into a constellation if you had a pen and several more drinks.

But then he steps back, and tips two fingers toward the brim of the hat that’s no longer on his head.

“I’ll see you ‘round, sugar.”

He strolls off toward his friends, and you blink into the void, hat heftier on your head than when you first put it on. 

God help you, you really want that ride. 

Frankly, this is the most desperate thing you’ve ever done. 

That’s really saying something, considering one time, you sprinted after a situationship four blocks down Fifth Avenue in four inch heels, caught your foot on a crack in the sidewalk, and introduced your face to the concrete in front of a hot dog stand. Or, there’s also the time you showed up to a first date a week early, realized halfway through appetizers that something felt off, checked your phone, and had to sit alone with a bread basket before leaving. 

All of that pales in comparison when you realize you’re sitting at the same bar, in your corporate outfit, awaiting a man who you may never lay eyes on again. 

You take a nervous sip of your strawberry margarita, the periphery of your eyes doing more work than usual. Coyote’s is quieter tonight, a few stragglers nursing drinks at tables, and playing something slow on the jukebox. No pool game in the back, no men in cowboy hats, no broad shoulders filling out a black button-down. 

You’ve probably made a colossal mistake. 

“Need a refill on the marg?” Stacey circles back after tending to some older men at the end of the bar, brows raised.

“Nah, I’m okay,” you sigh. “Thanks though.”

Slowly, Stacey looks around the bar, stares at the drunk men at the end of the bar, and decides you’re more worth her time. She places both elbows on the bartop and leans in. “You lookin’ for someone special, hon?” 

“No!” you yelp, practically leaping out of your stool in dissent. “Absolutely not. I just—don’t even know anyone here. I just like the margaritas.”

“Uhu,” Stacey nods, something in her eyes twinkling. 

“I really do. You make a mean marg.”

“Sure you do,” she toothily grins. Her eyes pan over your outfit, a similar vibe to the one you wore yesterday to work. Today, you’re wearing a silk blouse and a pencil skirt that jugs your curves. “You know, most people take their work clothes off before they come out for a drink.”

“Well, I came straight from the office.” You square your shoulders, puff out your chest as though you have something to prove. 

“Two nights in a row?”

“I’m testing out the bars in the city,” you quip. 

“Mhm.” She doesn’t believe a single word coming out of your mouth, and she’s not even trying to hide it. “What is it you do, exactly?”

“Marketing director. I just started.” You take a sip of your cocktail to bide time as Stacey widens her eyes in shock. 

“No kidding.” Her eyebrows lift. “What brought you all the way out to Austin? You don’t exactly scream Texas, no offense.”

“None taken,” you giggle. You’re not entirely sure how your silk blouse and skirt could come off as anything but condescending, uppity New Yorker. “Believe it or not, an ex-boyfriend who doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants.”

Stacey’s pupils blow up, and she throws her head back to cackle, loud enough that one of the older men down the bar glances over. “Oh, honey,” she says, reaching for the cocktail shaker without seeming to realize she’s doing it. “You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“Well,” you swallow, exhale a shaky breath. And then you say, keeping your eyes on nothing but your near-empty glass, “My boyfriend of three years was always upset I was busy at work. He said I cared too much about it, but not about him. I thought I was doing a good job at dividing my time equally… but I guess not. Found him in bed with a girl on a Wednesday night in our apartment we shared.”

Your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to the roof. Retelling the story allows you to replay the night like a horror movie film outtake reel. And everytime, you ask yourself, how could you be so stupid? So naive? So nonchalant?

Stacey slides a fresh margarita across the bar. “Please tell me you at least threw something.”

“Nope. Just stood in the doorway, said his name, turned around and left.” Even now, it’s as clear as day; you marched out, heart drumming in your chest as you fled down the stairs of your building, not even bothering to listen if he even said your name or chased after you. It didn’t matter either way, because he never once tried to beg for you back.

He let you go. 

“Men,” Stacey snorts, shaking her head. “Wouldn’t know a good thing if it slapped them ‘round the head.”

“Men,” you agree.

Sometimes, you can’t help but blame yourself, and wonder if it’s less about men, and more about your inability to care about anything but your career growth. 

“You know what your problem is?” she says, pointing at you. "You’ve been datin' the wrong kind of man. All that New York finance guy, blazer-wearing, artisanal-coffee-drinking bullshit. What you need is a little Southern charm.”

“Oh really?” You have to hide the smile that threatens to bloom on your face. 

“I’m just sayin’ what the people are thinkin’.” 

“No one, especially me, is thinking that.” Except you are. More precisely, of one that loaned you his hat and never claimed it back. 

“It’s what I’m thinking," she says, wiping down the bar. "You ever even dated someone who works with their hands? Outdoors?”

You open your mouth to argue and realize you don't have a rebuttal for that. Every man you’ve ever dated has had some stuffy job, like finance or law, which is somehow the most depressing thing that’s popped into your head all week. 

“I just need to get back on my feet,” you say instead. “New city, new job, new start. I’m not looking for anything.”

“Sure, sure.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll pretend I believe ya.”

You slump forward on the bar. “I just need to focus on myself for a while. Get settled. Figure out what I actually want without someone else’s opinion clouding everything.”

“Healthy, but you’re no fun,” she pouts, flinging the rag over her shoulder. “Look hun, your ex sounds like a real piece of shit. But you deserve way better than that.”

“Yeah,” you swallow past the lump in your throat. “I’m starting to think so too.”

Stacey wipes her hands on the towel over her shoulder, turning back to you. “A fresh start in Austin, Texas. You picked a hell of a place for it.”

“Yeah…” Your eyes avert around the shoddy bar. You try not to make eye contact with the coyote head. “It’s a lot.”

“You’ll love it. Give it a month.”

“You think?”

“Ella Langley didn’t write Choosin’ Texas ‘bout us just for shits n giggles,” she chuckles. “People come here thinking it’s temporary and then they wake up one day and they’ve got boots and a favorite two-step song.”

A shiver runs down your spine. “Good god.”

“That’s just Texas, hon.”

You laugh, and she looks awfully pleased with herself. The two men down the bar gesture her over, and her eyes flick over your shoulder before a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. 

“Southern charm might be closer than you think,” she murmurs, and then saunters off to her customers. 

Shaking your head, you take a sip of the margarita, and you swear it’s stronger than your last. Stacey clearly plans on fucking you over. 

“Didn’t think lightning struck the same place twice. Guess I was wrong, sugar.”

The hair on the back of your neck stands tall. Anxiety and desire blend in your stomach until the two become indecipherable. 

The sip of your margarita stalls its path down your throat, making a home, and an embarrassing croak exits your mouth. Your eyes water, one hand firmly placed on the bar, looking like one of those warning ads for choking customers.

A strong hand lands between your shoulder blades. Pats once, twice, with an ease that makes your heart rate kick up a notch. 

“Easy there. Bar’s not the place to go out.” You can hear the sarcasm in his tone, the smirk that’s probably curled upon his pink lips. 

“I’m fine,” you wheeze. 

“Uhu.” He takes the stools beside you, coming into plain view. You;re not sure what you expected him to look like this evening, but somehow, he looks even more delectable than last time. He’s sporting a new cowboy hat, a black one with white detailing that matches his jeans and top. Once he settles, he signals to Stacey for a drink with two fingers. “Surprised this place didn’t scare ya away after the first time.”

You square your shoulders, wiping the final tears from your eyes. “New Yorkers are resilient.”

“Hmm,” he mindlessly hums, letting his eyes drag up and down your figure, a clear assessment that has your thighs clenching to hide the arousal pooling in your panties. “Nice to see you again, by the way.”

There’s a smudge of something on his forearm, below the edge of his tattoos. Dirt, maybe, or grease. You wonder if he came straight from work, or errands, or whatever it is Jungkook does with his day besides looking like a wet dream. 

“Is corporate attire all you own, sugar?” He tosses bills on the table as Stacey slides a cold beer toward him. You do your best to ignore her pointed smirk. 

“Are boots and hats all you wear?” you retort. 

He laughs and leans an elbow on the bar, angling toward you the same way he had last time, almost as if his body naturally points in your direction. As you gaze into his brown irises, you can’t stop thinking, can’t slow the waterfall of thoughts gliding down your brain. You’re not from here, don’t dress like anyone in this bar, don’t know the words to a single song on that jukebox, and can’t two-step to save your life. There are women in this city right now who are objectively better suited for him. Your brain implodes trying to understand his interest in you. 

“Can I ask you something?” you say.

“Go ‘head.” He takes a swig of his beer, lips shiny from the liquid.

“Why are you over here?” 

He deadpans. “Come again?”

“I mean…” Vaguely, you gesture around the room, at the bar that’s filling up with women laughing near the jukebox. “You could be anywhere in this bar right now. Talking to anyone. So why are you sitting here talking to me?”

A flash of expressions shift across his face. “You think you’re not worth talking to?”

“Never said that.”

“Implied it,” he grins. He pauses, traces the condensation on his beer bottle. “Maybe I’m intrigued.”

A feeble laugh escapes you, but he doesn’t mirror the action. Oh. He’s not joking. “For the record, I don’t know how to ride a horse.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re real terrible. Don’t know why I bother.”

“I am serious. I have no plans on learning either.”

He holds your gaze for a moment. “Never asked you to get on one, sugar.” His eyes rake over your face as if he’s searching for more, and finally, he pushes on, voice steady. “I’m over here because I wanted to be. That a problem?”

It’s an offer as much as it is an out. If you told him it was a problem, you’re certain he’d leave you alone, never talk to you again. But you really, really don’t want that. 

“Not at all.”

Jungkook nods in finality and takes a pull of his bar. Silence follows, but it’s not uncomfortable. 

“Can I ask you something now?” he says.

“Fair’s fair.”

“You don’t got someone back in New York, right?” 

“No,” you sigh. “Not anymore, at least.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “He let you go?”

“Kind of.” You don’t really feel like elaborating, and he lets it go, but you don’t miss the way his jaw clenches, there and gone in a breath. 

“His loss.”

“What about you?” you wonder. “You’ve got to have someone, or something.”

“Ain’t got a girl,” he shrugs. His body slants toward you so that your knees brush. Your cheeks warm at the contact, but he doesn’t move away. 

“No?” Your margarita is watered down and vile now, but you take a sip anyway. 

“Ranch takes up most of my time. Sun up to sundown, most days. Not a lot of room left over for much else.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” you ask. 

He considers it, tilts the neck of his beer bottle between two fingers. “Sometimes… but it’s a good life. I don’t need a lot. Just the ranch and the right company, every now and then.”

His pupils are blown so wide you can’t spot any brown in them. He’s staring at your parted lips. “I could probably settle for the right girl. A good girl. Smart, funny, prettiest in the damn room.”

You think he’s talking about you. He must be. It might be wishful thinking, but just maybe, just this time…

“That’s a very specific type,” you retort. 

“Gettin’ more specific by the minute.” With that, he takes a swig of his beer, eyes never leaving yours. 

You pick up your own drink, taking a long sip that burns your esophagus. “Stacey made this too strong,” you awkwardly laugh. It feels like someone turned the temperature up on the thermostat by ten degrees, shut all the fans off. 

“Stace always does,” Jungkook shrugs. 

When he sets his beer down, you can calculate how little space exists between his stool and you. Mere centimeters divide the two of you, and you can soak up his scent, a woodsy musk. “If you’re up for it, I’d love to show you the ranch sometime. Horses get real excited around pretty girls. Scout’s honor.” He holds up two fingers. 

“You were a boy scout?” you laugh. 

“Three weeks in the 4th grade. Got kicked out for letting the ponies loose at the state fair though,” he shrugs. “In my defense, they looked very unhappy.”

He watches, mystified, as you laugh again. “I don’t know if the ranch is for me.”

“It’s just horse, open land, some fresh air. Nothing like what you’re used to, I’d imagine.”

“Exactly,” you knowingly smile. “All we have is smog, overpriced coffee, and tall buildings.”

“Can’t have that.” Disapprovingly, he shakes his head. “Come out to the ranch. I’ll make you coffee that costs nothing and tastes better than anything you’ve had in your life.”

“Bold claim, cowboy,” you tease. 

“Think you can tell I always get what I want, sugar,” he retorts. You open your mouth to reply with something witty, but a tingle, pins and needles, lands on your thigh, and when you look down you see Jungkook’s veiny hand resting. Fingers splayed wide, palm radiating heat through the thin fabric of your slacks.

“How many horses do you have on the ranch?” Your voice has gone airy. 

“Seven right about now. We lost one last spring, and Joon took it hard.” His hand doesn’t waver. Instead, his thumb moves, carelessly tracing patterns on your pants. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you mumble, staring daggers into how large his hand is compared to the rest of you. 

“It’s the nature of it. You get attached. Hard not to.”

“Do you…?” you pause, swallow thickly until your tone gets warbly. “Get attached?”

The double entendre isn’t lost on him. “I do.”

You are going to need Stacey to pour a glass of ice water directly over your head. His thumb traces another path up the inside of your thigh. Your mouth dries up like the Sahara desert in late August. 

You want to be someone who leans into this. Want to be the girl from night one, the one with liquid courage and reckless new-city energy. You want to tilt toward him and let whatever this is become whatever it wants to be. But underneath it, a quieter voice resides within you. 

The one that remembers thinking everything was fine right up until it wasn’t.

“I don’t know if I’m..” you start, then press your lips together. He taps your thigh twice, urging you on. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be attached yet.”

Automatically, your body is bracing for impact, like he’ll toss you on the side of the road for something shiner, something ready. 

But Jungook’s expression does not falter. He finishes the last of his beer and sets the bottle down, rising from the stool to his full height. “When you’re ready, sugar,” he reaches out, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “you know where to find me.”

For most, life isn’t sunshine and rainbows.

And it’s not like one wakes up and the color has drained from everything overnight. It’s small increments, tiny ones, that add up, and they’re unrecognizable until you can’t remember the last time you did something for yourself. You used to believe in love the way meteorologists believed in weather—inevitable acts of nature that happened to everyone sooner than later, in its own time, in its own particular way. You believed that people who found each other meant to find each other. 

But just like weather, the clouds part and things unravel in messy ways. The couple in your freshman dorm who were so in love you deemed it aggressive, who broke up over Thanksgiving and couldn’t look at each other in the dining hall after. Your college roommate, whose boyfriend of four years sat her down on a Sunday morning and said I just don't think I’m in love with you anymore. She sat very still for a long time after she told you, and you thought I will never let that be me.

But then it was you, it was your own demented heart, it was your own boyfriend who cheated on you, and you suddenly didn’t know which ordinary Tuesday was the last good one. 

You still don’t know if there was a last good one at all. 

“You gonna liquidate my bar tonight, hon?” 

Stacey’s shrill voice cuts through your train of thought, and you blink back into the bar. The neon sign flickers above the bar, and the usual horny men sitting down the bar tip their hats at you.  A shudder of disgust travels through you. She’s leaning on the bar in front of you, brow arched, nodding at the margarita you’ve been nursing for the better part of an hour, contemplating the nuances of life. 

“Perhaps.”

She refills your water glass without asking and props her chin in her hand. “You know damn well not to do all that thinkin’ round my bar. Tell me what’s wrong, I might be able to help.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you sigh, playing with the straw wrapper. You slump against the bar, the fatigue of your mind raving catching up to you. 

“I ain’t Sherlock but I can tell something’s up, sweetie.”

You could deny it one more time, but you think Stacey will dropkick you out of the bar and leave you without any more alcoholic beverages. 

For a week, you’ve avoided this very bar. Thus, you haven’t run into Jungkook in a week. It was on purpose, simply because you couldn’t give him the hope that you were ready by running into him again. But bars that you felt comfortable being alone at were far and few between, and you knew Stacey would be waiting for you. 

It’s been seven days of you daydreaming of walking into this bar and scanning the back corner by the pool table before you’ve even found a stool, of telling yourself you’re not looking while very obviously looking, and telling him you’re ready for whatever he wants to offer. And at the very least, give it a shot. 

One week feels longer than it should for a man you’ve spoken to twice. You don’t know his middle name. You don't know his family lore or his favorite pair of boots or whether he’s ever read a book for pleasure or what he sounds like when he’s just had a bad day. 

But you do know one thing: he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, like he was ready to lean over the bar and devour you whole. 

No one’s looked at you like that in a long time. 

“Fine,” Stacey squints her eyes into evil little slits. “If you won’t talk I will. You’ve looked at that door eleven times since you sat down, and I’ve got a fresh margarita with your name on it, and sometimes thinkin’ about nothing looks a whole lot like thinkin’ about something… or someone.”

A massive gulp of your margarita slithers down your throat. Then another, and another, until you set it down and peer at Stacey with drunk goggles. Her jaw is set in a no-nonsense way, and you recognize how she’s only ever seen you at your most pathetic across this bartop.

What’s one more time to add to the tally?

“Am I stupid for not hooking up with Jungkook?”

Stacey’s face remains stone cold. She reaches for the tequila. It’s not your usual brand, a more expensive one you haven’t touched since New York.

“The thing is, I wanted to.” Stacey should really file a restraining order against you for sharing your deepest, darkest thoughts with her under the influence of one very strong margarita. “I really wanted to. He’s very attractive. And he’s not how I expected him to be, like a bimbo cowboy.”

Stacey says nothing. Continues making the margarita, pouring strawberry puree into the shaker. 

“And it’s not even, it’s not like I’m opposed to it. I am a grown woman. I know how sex works. I’ve had one night stands before, and they’ve generally been fine, sometimes better than fine, and Jungkook looks like he would be better than fine, which is part of the problem too.”

Her hair flips wildly as she mixes the shaker behind her shoulder. You barrel on, “I don't know if I’m actually not ready or if I’m just scared, and I don’t know how to tell the difference anymore between self-preservation and self-sabotage. Daniel made me feel like an idiot.”

You prop your chin in your palm. “Was it my body? My personality? Was it the way I talked too much at dinner parties or the fact that I can’t fall asleep without the TV on or just, like, was I boring? Was I just boring to him? Am I even hot?”

A glass filled with pink liquid slams in front of you, dropping with a decisive thunk, sugar on the rim. 

“Drink.”

Your nose scrunches up in disgust as the smell of tequila wafts into your nostrils. Stacey rolls her eyes, smacking your arm playfully, and you fold under zero pressure. 

“Sweetheart, even in that god-awful collared shirt, I can see you’ve got a hell of a body on you. I would throw you down on that pool table and find out for myself if I swung that way,” she nonchalantly shrugs, and it takes all your might not to spit out your drink. 

“Stacey,” you scold. 

“Nuh-uh,” she tuts, “You’re stunning, darlin’. You are not the problem. You were never the problem. The problem is a man who ain’t know what he had and traded it in for a girl who’s probably not even half of you. That’s his cross to bear, not yours.”

When you sip the margarita, the tart taste of strawberries floods your tastebuds. Stacey has ruined every margarita you will ever have anywhere else for the rest of your natural life.

She raises an eyebrow. “What are you scared of with Jungkook, specifically? Ol’ Kook has been around the block, but he ain’t dangerous.”

“Well… I’m more scared that it’ll be good.”

It even sounds ridiculous leaving your mouth. You know it’s idiotic to place all of your emotional baggage on a cowboy who wants to fuck you. 

“I’m scared it’ll be good. That he’ll be… that it’ll be good, and I’ll want more of it, and wanting more of it means having something to lose again, and I just,” you stifle a humorless laugh. “I just got here. I just put my furniture in an apartment I’ve never lived in, in a city I don’t know yet, in a state I didn’t grow up in.”

Stacey purses her lips in the way your mom usually does when you know you’re being irrational. “I’ve worked at this bar for nine years. I’ve watched a lot of people sit on that stool and talk themselves out of things, and not one of them has ever come back and said I’m so glad I stayed scared.”

“Whatever.” You wave your hand in the air dismissively. “I don’t even know why I’m getting all worked up over this. He probably doesn’t even think about me. Probably just another girl on his list to bother when he’s drunk.”

Stacey deadpans, expression souring. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Uh, I don’t think so.” Although, after two of her strong margaritas, you might be. 

Her dish rag comes flying across the bartop, smacking you straight in the arm, leaving a vibrating pain in your arm. “Ouch!---”

She flings it again, leaving another welt on your skin. “Stacey, what the fuck—”

One more on the other arm to even the score out. “Alright, enough with the smacking, I’m a customer—” “You’re my charity case and you’ll take what you can get.” She tucks the rag back into her apron. “That man has come into this bar every single night for the past week lookin’ for you, only to take one look around, find me instead, and leave lookin’ like somebody canceled Christmas. I’m insulted.”

Before you can even roll your eyes, the rag comes flying out of her pocket once more, aimed at your arm. 

“I said enough—”

“Then don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“I didn’t even—”

“Kook doesn’t care about girls,” Stacey continues. “Never has. He’s got his ranch and his boys and that’s the full extent of his social calendar. He doesn’t go out of his way to chase people.”

Then, as almost an afterthought, she adds, “I ain’t never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you in those little work outfits.”

Under wishful thinking and margarita-induced delusion, you have been trying to ignore the truth of her words. Even as you think about that first night when you met him, you remember it as the most natural thing in the world. Neither of you seemed to be searching for anything other than a drink in the bar. But of all the connections people make in this world, you two stumbled upon each other.

Jungkook could’ve kissed you that night, you think. You probably would’ve let him. But then he let you have the out, left you sitting there with his hat on your head, the hat that sits on your windowsill now as a reminder of your almost. 

Stacey’s expression resembles compassion, eyes softening as she watches the gears turn in your head. “Can I tell you something without you waving your hand at me again?”

“Probably not, but go ahead.”

“He did ask me about you the other day,” she says. “Asked if I’d seen you and if you were doing alright. Last night, you two just missed each other. He sat right where you’re sitting now for twenty minutes nursing one beer before he gave up and left. Kook nurses a beer for nobody.”

“He doesn’t even know me,” you snort, gathering the condensation of your watered-down drink. 

“He knows what kind of drink you like. For some men, that’s further along than most.”

And that’s a lot more than you plan on giving to anyone else but him. 

“Stacey, can I ask you something else?”

“‘Course, darlin’. Anything for you.”

You know what to do. It’s as clear as the sun after a summer storm. 

“What do cowgirls wear?”

Oh god. 

Oh god. 

Who knew cowboy boots were this tight around the calves? The white fabric digs into your skin, leaving imprints you’re sure will never erase. The hem of your ridiculously short denim shorts rise up your ass, practically digging into your thong. Before you left your apartment, you made a promise to yourself—one you’re very close to breaking—that you won’t pull those shorts down. 

This get-up can’t possibly be comfortable, but never mind what you think. It’s not about you or your outfit choices tonight. 

This was not what you had in mind when you asked Stacey what cowgirls wear. What you had in mind was something tasteful. What Stacey had couriered to your apartment via her cousin Deanna, who runs a boutique off Fifth Street, was a white lace top cropped to somewhere just above your navel, distressed denim shorts, and boots the color of fresh cream that zip up the side and are currently engaged in warfare with your calves and ankles.

You felt like a prize cow up for auction. A very well-dressed prize cow, but one nonetheless. 

You swing the door open to Coyote’s. It’s rowdier on a Friday night. The place is packed shoulder to shoulder, girls in outfits like yours and boys in their finest everything, hats and buckles and boots, the jukebox fighting to be heard over the noise of two dozen conversations happening at once. You push your way through the packed space, fighting your way to the bar where Stacey and her counterpart are furiously making drinks. 

God, these shorts are really tight up your ass.

Her hair whips around as she tries to tend to five people at once. You don’t dare try to get her attention on a busy night like this. But as if she can sense your presence, she turns around, and the shaker nearly flies out of her hand. “Good god almighty.” Her eyes grow to the size of saucers, then lets out a whistle that anyone can hear above the music. “Atta girl!”

She slaps the counter with one palm, then grabs her colleague by the sleeve without looking at him. “Pete. Pete, turn ‘round.”

The aforementioned man turns around, mimicking Stacey’s expression. “Well. Welcome to Texas, ma’am.”

You smile politely. “Thank you, Pete.”

“Told ya,” Stacey squeals, reaching for the tequila, pointing at you like she’s won first place at an arcade. “Told you. Did I not tell you?”

“You told me.”

“What’d I tell ya?”

Your brows furrow, racking your brain as you try to remember words, which for your sake, were many. “That I had a hell of a body and you’d throw me down on the pool table—”

“No!” she rolls her eyes. “That you’d clean up nice,” 

She shoots Pete a look that makes him stop ogling your tits and find the other end of the bar very interesting. She starts on your margarita, and you settle onto your stool and try not to let your eyes do the thing they want to do, which is scan the back corner by the pool table.

Three older men are nursing beers at the far end, next to a couple sharing a basket of fries. A row of women line the jukebox, scanning the room in hopes of finding their cowboy for the night. Somehow, you relate to them now more than ever. 

“Ain’t no way a pretty girl like you is all alone tonight.”

A man’s voice appears behind your left shoulder… and it’s completely and utterly the wrong fucking voice. Not the right timbre, or warmth, or scent underneath it that makes you want to lean into it. 

Said man sidles up beside you, and you peer up at him. All things considered, he’s not unattractive. Brown hair, good jaw, a Miller Lite in one hand and a handsome smile that’s probably worked on most people. He tips his hat and leans against the bar. “Colin,” he offers.

“Nice to meet you. [Y/N].” You give him your hand to shake, and he does so politely. 

“You new ‘round here?” His flirting is more than apparent. 

“That obvious?”

“Little bit.” He grins. In a life where you hadn’t spent the last two weeks being dismantled by a man with a lip ring and a ranch, you might have smiled back with intention. “Can I get you a drink?”

“She’s got one.”

Stacey slams the margarita down on the bartop with enough force to make the sugar on the rim jump, and looks at Colin with an implacable expression. “Move it Colin. This one’s Kook’s girl.”

Colin’s hands defensively come up, the universal gesture of a man who knows what hills are and are not worth dying on. “My bad. Have a good night, ma’am.”

“Sorry about her,” you call after his retreat. Colin was perfectly nice and none of this is his fault.

“Don’t you dare apologize to him,” Stacey scolds. “You’ll be fending ‘em off all night with that outfit. I hope you prepared.”

You gaze down at yourself, and a flicker of doubt moves through you. “I don’t look dumb, do I? Be honest. I can handle it.”

“Sweetheart, the only person in this bar who’s gonna think you look dumb is you.”

Of their own accord, your eyes drift around the bar again. 

Stacey takes the time to add, “And Jungkook, is definitely not going to think you look dumb.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes for the nth time since you’ve met her. 

“Move along,” Stacey says, turning back to her next customer, waving you off with the dish rag, “Go on. I’ve got work to do.”

“I haven’t seen you care about a work since the day I met you—”

“Scram, kid.”

You peel your hand off the bar like a kid being dropped off on the first day of school, a pit of reluctance settling in your stomach. 

Almost immediately, the attention begins. A few men tip their hats at you, while another does a double take while aggressively elbowing his friend in the ribs. Someone lets out a low whistle that you feel in your spine, and you nod politely, keep moving. 

It’s profoundly strange. Sure, you can recognize you’re a pretty girl. But in New York, you were invisible, which is to say completely unless someone wanted something from you. Here, people look at you like you’re someone they want to be near, no matter what they can get from you. You just wish it was one specific person doing the looking.

Migrating towards the back, you push through clusters of people, squeezing through gaps in the crowd. The women are less forgiving than the men. Some eye your outfit, then look away in disgust. 

Eventually, you find a sliver of wall near the back and stand near it, not on it, margarita held tight to your chest. From here, you can see the layout of the bar. The dance floor, the jukebox, bodies packed between you and the exit. Groups of men cluster together like men do at bars. 

“Kook! Over here, man!”

Your eyes find the source before your brain catches up. A blonde, fit man weasels through the crowd, waving down the one person you’ve been hoping to see. 

There’s no slow motion, no cinematic lighting change, no romantic song swelling up from the jukebox at the precise moment. People around him part without noticing they’re doing it, a gap opening up like the bar itself is making room for Jungkook’s grand entrance. 

Your stomach drops through the floor. Butterflies that you want to convince yourself are just anxiety or tequila detonate all at once, wings beating against your ribs so feverishly you press your hand flat to your chest to hold it all in.

This is stupid, you think. This is so stupid. He’s just a man.

He reaches his friend, and you can see him under the dim lights. Jungkook’s in a black jean jacket, wife beater underneath, black hat adorned on top of his head. He’s smiling, saying something, unaware of you pressed against this wall.

Two women near the jukebox drop their voices, heads together as they giggle. A girl in red boots nudges her friend while eyeing him. 

Fuck. You hadn’t once stopped to think about all the competition you might have. 

You wonder how many girls he’s offered a ride, or to see his ranch. 

His eyes move across the bar, and on instinct, your spine straightens. He seems to scan the bar, eyes moving through the crowd. Past the jukebox, the dance floor, past the bar.

And then, after what feels like eons, his eyes land on you. 

The noise of the bar goes fuzzy around the edges, heart leaping into your throat as you hold his gaze. His eyes drag down the length of your body, pausing at the sliver of your waist. He continues on, past the shorts and down to the boots that hug your feet. From meters away, you watch his jaw set and gaze darken. 

Jungkook tips his hat, and you raise your glass. 

Turning to the friend beside him, he whispers something brief into his ear. The friend turns to look at you then swivels back to Jungkook to shove him in your direction. 

Electricity lights behind your sternum and radiates outward, down your arms, into your fingertips where they’re wrapped around the cold glass, and you think Carrie Underwood was right. Those damn cowboy casanovas. 

He moves through the crowd in your direction, eyes unwavering from yours. His musky, tree-like scent hits you first. Up close, the black jean jacket sits across his broad shoulders. His lips are curled into a sinister smirk that would scare you if you didn’t find him unbelievably attractive. 

“Howdy, cowboy,” you grin up at him. 

Jungkook cocks his head. His hand comes out, two nimble fingers catching the hem of your lace top. Your heart leaps clean out of your chest and goes somewhere it can’t be retrieved from. “This all for me, sugar?”

“Don’t get too cocky.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I’ll try not to.” He doesn’t bother pretending he’s not ogling you. 

“Trying to get in touch with my Texan roots, y’know?” you joke, playing with the straw in what you hope is flirtatiously.

“Yeah? C’mon then.” He holds his hand out, chin tilting up. “Give me a twirl, sugar.”

With a smile, you place your hand in his and turn, jutting your hip out. You rotate under the light and when you come back to face him, his eyes have darkened enough that you can hardly see the brown in them. 

He politely whistles, still holding your hand but bringing it down. “Well. If I knew Texas was gonna do that to a city girl, I’d have started recruitin’ from New York a long time ago.”

“You scouting for others?”

“Never,” he chuckles. He braces one hand against the wall beside your head. “You know, I’ve had a cowgirl fantasy or two as well.”

“Have you?”

“Mhm. Used to think it was about the boots." His eyes drop to your shorts, the way your hips hug the fabric. “Think I might’ve been wrong about that.”

“What’s it about then?”

“The girl wearing ‘em.”

“Scout’s honor?” you tease, and the smile that curls upon his lips sets your insides on fire. 

“Always,” he salutes. “I was getting worried I wouldn’t see you ‘round here no more.” 

From here, you can really see the height difference between you two, the way he towers over you. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

“Is this a goodbye, sugar? Don’t break my heart,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. 

Involuntarily, you grin. “I wanted to make sure when I came back here, I knew what I wanted.”

For a moment, he’s quiet, expression shifting. His fingers are still intertwined with yours, and his thumb rubs circles on your knuckles. “And now what do you want?”

“Hi, Kook.”

It’s one of the girls you spotted earlier. She’s batting her eyes like she’s got a speck of dust in it, and is eyeing Jungkook in a way that makes her intention crystal clear. 

“Hey.” Jungkook glances at her for a second, maybe two, before his gaze is back on you. 

“I wanted to come over and say hi. Know it’s been a while since we last saw each other,” she purrs, ignoring your daggered eyes. 

“I guess,” he shrugs, a protective finger looping through the belt holes in your shorts to pull you an inch further into him. Suddenly, you feel painfully inadequate. She’s actually trying to dissuade him to pick her instead of you. 

“Remember when we spent that night under the stars last month? Just you, I, and a bottle of Jack—”

She shifts her weight onto her other foot, and she casts a furtive glance at you as if to question your presence. You’re questioning your existence right about now too. 

“Hm.” He interrupts, tucks a strand of your hair behind your ears. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Her lips twist as though she’s just bit into a lemon. Then she sends a harrowing look in your direction, and you’re reminded that you’re the reason he won’t give her the time of day. You don’t really give a shit, though. 

“Oh. Alright, then. Have a good rest of your night.” Her tone is tinged with hurt as she turns on the heel of her boots and flocks back to her group of girls, all of whom are busy throwing dirty looks at you. 

Jungkook nods, but he doesn’t pay much mind. His dark eyes are still fixed on your face, thumb still looped through the hole. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” you say into your drink. 

“You want me to be nice to her?” he coyly smiles. 

You think you’d rather lose all your limbs in a fire. 

You shrug in silence. Jungkook tilts your jaw up to meet his eyes. “You were about to say something before.”

“Was I?”

“Before we were interrupted,” he retorts, settling his hand in your jean pocket. 

“Oh.” Finding the words doesn’t come easy, even if you know exactly what you want to say. Instead, you settle on, “Did you drive here?”

“‘Course, sugar.”

“Well… you wanna get out of here?” 

Amusement crosses his face. “Damn right I do.”

He plants a warm hand at the small of your back, guiding you toward the door. You drop your half-drunken margarita on a nearby table. As you let yourself be steered by him, there’s a smug smile glued to your face, especially when you catch the eyes and whispers of girls. There’s something about this city, this man, that makes you confident in yourself. 

Jungkook parked his car in the back of the filled lot. From there, the noise dissipates into nothingness, nothing but the sound of bugs chirping and cars in the distance on I-40. Out here, you can forget about your old life. 

“Earlier, you asked what I wanted.”

“I did, sugar.” He’s loitering with his keys in his pocket, a smirk evident on his lips as he leans against the driver’s door of his pickup truck. 

You gnaw at your lower lip. “I think I want to repay my debts to you.”

“Really?” In the dark of the night, you can hardly make out his obsidian eyes, the shadows on his face settling. “How do ya plan on doing that?”

“Think I owe you that ride still.”

His lips come crashing down onto yours, large hands weaving into your hair, tugging on it. You unabashedly moan into his mouth as he tugs you further into him, like he wants you to live in his skin. Your hand lands on his chest, and you feel the broad muscle under his tank, the rapid flutter of his heart. His tongue licks into your mouth, sloppy and full of desire, and you don’t even care about how your whimpers sound against him. It’s all so sudden your body takes a moment to find its rhythm, but when you do, you realize how soft his lips are, how such a good fucking kisser he is. You probably shouldn’t have expected anything less from the Austin's communal mattress, but that’s neither here nor there. 

The hand once pressed against your back wanders down, down until he’s cupping your ass firmly. He kneads the skin, and he groans into your mouth, lips hot and wet against your own. Austin, Texas is known for its sweltering heat, but with Jungkook’s body against yours, the brisk, night air can’t even cool you down. 

His lips trail off your lips, pressing against your cheek, and you feel the cold metal of his piercing against your burning skin. “You look so pretty in this outfit, sugar.”

Your body combusts under his weight and words. His tongue slides back into your mouth, hand moving from your ass to your neck where he gently clutches around it. “Wore it for you,” you whisper between kisses. 

“Hm.” he pecks your lips once more. “I was hoping so. Must be real lucky to be the first cowboy to have you.”

“And the last,” you say before leaning back in for another messy kiss, drunk off the way he tastes, more than any alcohol could ever give you. 

His hands come down to cradle the back of your thighs, and before you can protest, he’s lifting you, pressing your back against the door of his truck. Gasping, your hands scramble for purchase around his neck, thighs snugly hugging his waist. Jungkook’s lips press against your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses wherever he can. You want all of him, more of him, by any means you can get it. Your fingers entangle in his dark locks, tugging at the nape. He groans, “F-fuck, we need to get in the car, sugar.”

“Mhm, take me there, then,” Your smile is dopey as he carries you around to the passenger side, opening the door and sitting down so he can plop you directly onto his lap. His thighs are firm muscle beneath you. He slams the door shut, lips finding yours once more. Your knees cage him in, and he digs his fingers into your flesh. You can hardly keep up with the movement of his tongue, can’t really do anything but open your mouth and take whatever he gives you. 

For once, you don’t care about anyone seeing you, or what anyone might think. Luckily, the lot is empty, save for people who are far more worried about entering the bar than leaving, or whatever you’re doing in this vehicle. 

“Lift your hips up for me, doll,” he mutters, lips hardly breaking from yours, fingers deftly unbuttoning your shorts. You do as he says, allowing him access. He slides your shorts down your legs, depositing them on the floor of his truck. Your knees feel like jelly, quivering with anticipation as he tugs your underwear off next. Desperately, you fall back into his lap, clit pressed against his jeans for as much friction as possible. 

Beneath you, you can feel his hard length poking through his jeans, and your cheeks warm up at the thought of him getting hard from just some kissing. You gently test the waters, hips rolling into his crotch. He grunts, hands steadying your movements. “Fuck, sugar, I won’t last long if you plan on doing that.”

“Who says I want you to last long?” you whisper, lips tracing the shell of his ear. And then he’s grabbing you by your jaw and pulling you in, in, in, kissing you like he wants to swallow your essence entirely. He pulls the straps of your top down until your tits pop out. You gasp at the sudden exposure, cold air causing your nipples to perk up. His fingers come to play with the pert bud, and you whimper atop him. 

“Most perfect tits I’ve ever seen, sugar.” He trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck to your collarbone, tongue licking a path down to your breasts. His lips wrap around your perked nipple, and a choked moan escapes you. 

Your fingers intertwine in his hair, tugging, and that elicits a groan from him. His tongue flicks the nipple up, down, and your back arches against the dashboard. You tug at his hair as he messily sucks your tits, leaving bruises you’re sure will last weeks. Jungkook’s hips rut into your sopping entrance hopelessly, and his length pokes into your inner thigh. You’re pretty sure you’re creaming all over his pants, not that he even minds. On every hitch of his hips forward, his teeth grazes your nipple, undoing you. 

Truth be told, you’ve been soaked since the moment you laid eyes on him. Since the moment you saw the hat upon his head, muscles bulging out of everything he owns. You push his jean jacket off his shoulders, seeing the tattoo that extends across his biceps and collarbone, a myriad of color. 

Finally, he peers up at you, swollen lips and blown pupils. You waste no time in pressing your lips to his again. He can probably taste the remaining sugar from your margarita on your tongue, and if anything, the thought seems to excite him, the thought that other parts of you may be sweet as well. Gripping onto his biceps, you can feel the veins that trace up his arms. A whine exits from the back of your throat. “Jungkook, touch me.”

“Hm, where, sugar? Use your words.” He presses a chaste kiss to the edge of your lips. 

Words aren’t something you can muster, so you take his hand and place it against your clit, right where he can feel how fucking soaked you are, dripping onto his jeans. “Shit,” he curses, swallowing thickly. “You’re dripping. You been like this the whole time?”

Eagerly, you nod like a broken bobblehead. 

One finger dips between your folds, gathering your essence before taking it back to his mouth and licking it clean off. “Just as sweet as I imagined.”

There’s no air left in your lungs to form words with, no brainpower beyond the feeling of wanting more, more, more. His finger finds your clit, and you throw your head back, moaning loudly that you’re damn near certain the entirety of Texas heard you. Toothily, Jungkook grins, pointer and middle finger rubbing circles against your clit. His tongue comes to lick a trail up your neck, sucking the sweet spot behind your ear. It’s like he has a map to you, knows exactly where to touch you to have you writhing. 

A finger slides through your wetness before finally pushing into your entrance, down to his knuckle. Your fingernails rake down his biceps, leaving red marks in its place. He fucks the finger steadily in and out, thumbing at your clit simultaneously. “Ngh—fuck, don’t stop,” you moan, grinding into his finger. Just one isn’t enough, you know it won’t be, need to feel him fill you up. 

“P-please,” you beg, although you’re not quite sure what you’re begging for. But he seems to understand, pushing a second finger inside you, curling upwards to your sweet spot. Your body jolts forward, nails now digging crescent moons into his skin. “Oh fuck, feels so good.”

“Can’t wait to be inside you,” he groans. “Your pussy’s so tight and warm. Gonna be a dream to fuck you, sugar.”

“M-me either.” You shiver, and on autopilot, your shaky fingers come to undo his belt buckle, unzipping his jeans. “Please fuck me, Kook. I want it. Want to feel you inside me.”

“Yeah?” He presses open-mouthed kisses against your cheek and nose, “Want me to fuck you the way you deserve?”

A long, languid moan escapes you, anticipation leaping into your throat. “Please. Please l-let me give you that ride.”

“If you insist,” he devilishly smiles, pulling his fingers out of you, licking them clean once more. He pulls down his boxers as much as he can with you on top, gets out his cock, and hisses as he strokes himself a few times. 

Shit. You should’ve known he would be big, but he’s at least twice the size of your ex. Saliva pools in your mouth at how veiny and red his cock is. His hat hangs over his eyes as he looks down at his cock, chest heaving and bottom lip tucked underneath his teeth. 

It’s like a lightbulb flashes over your head, with an idea so sinister you almost can’t believe you came up with it yourself. 

You get your hands on the soft fabric of his hat, nudging it off his head and placing it on yours. It’s a little too big, hangs over your eyes, but Jungkook’s jaw goes slack nonetheless. “You gonna give me that ride while you wear my hat?” His cock twitches in his palm as he lazily strokes it, eyes never leaving yours. 

“Uhu,” you agree, replacing his hand with yours on his cock. He’s girthier than you imagined, can hardly fit the whole of him in your palm. He quickly moves to kiss you again, and you take the opportunity to glide the tip of his cock through your folds, gathering the arousal that’s pooled. You both moan in unison. 

“Fuck, don’t tease me, sugar,” he grunts, eyes glazed over with lust. 

Whimpering, you obey him, and his cock enters you in one go. Your walls stretch to accommodate him, and it’s a slow, torturous slide down, until your folds hit his pelvic bone. He sharply inhales, cursing as his head hits the headrest. Your legs tremble with how full of him you feel, how much of him bulges in your stomach when you look down. “Fuck, Kook. Y’you’re so big.”

Jungkook’s calloused hands run up and down your sides. His face is mostly hidden behind the shadows in his car, but you can make out his rosy lips and cheeks. “I know, baby, but you can take it. Go ‘head and give me that ride you owe me.”

Slowly, you move up and down, only a mere inch at a time. Just enough to see the bulge inside your stomach move a tad. The hat slides further over your eyes as you gently move. He tips it back, cupping your cheek so he can see how fucked out you look already. “C’mon, use me, sugar. Show me how you ride dick.”

You nod in response, your cunt clenching around his length. Arousal drips down his cock onto his abdomen, and your head hits the ceiling as you use all your strength to bounce on his cock. Loud whines and curses fill the space, Jungkook’s mouth buried into your neck, hands coming to spread your ass cheeks so you can take him deeper. “Yeah, that’s it. Ride my fucking cock, sugar.” 

The sounds fog up the window—your pussy squelching with each thrust, the slap of his balls against your ass, his throaty groans. 

“These fucking tits. Wanna see them bounce in my face all the time,” he says, a hand coming up to slap your hardened nipples, and you moan. A trickle of sweat falls down your back, falling into the fabric that has now pooled around your waist. “You doing good, sugar?” His voice is sinful, and your cunt clenches around him again. 

“Mhm. Your cock is so deep inside me.” Bouncing becomes more tiresome, thighs trembling with pent-up desire. Unfortunately, it’s not as easy to ride cock as one had hoped, but you’re determined to get you and him over the edge. 

His hair is ruffled by your fingers as he trails a path of sloppy, wet kisses to the valley of your breasts. “You look so fucking good with my hat on.” Even though the edge is tipping over your eyes again, he fondly peers at you, how utterly blissed out your expression looks, cheeks ruddy. 

Somehow, he must feel the exhaustion creeping upon you, because he plants his boots onto the floor and bucks up into you, causing moans to elicit from you. “Fuck, your pussy’s so tight n’ wet. It’s like a fucking drug, sugar,” he croons into your neck. 

His cock plunges in and out of you with more force. Jungkook wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you tight, tight, tight to his chest, tits bouncing against him. You hold onto the hat, leaning against the dashboard so he can hit your sweet spot, just where you want him. “Oh—fuck, right there, Kook!”

His teeth drag against your skin, hips pistoning in and out. Puffs of breath escape his mouth and hit your skin. “If you were mine, would never let ya go,” he babbles, clearly pussy drunk. “Ain’t never letting you get near another cowboy. You’re all mine now, sugar.” 

Clearly, your body takes a liking to the buckets of filth he’s pouring in your ear, and your walls clench around his length, your imminent orgasm creeping up on you. “Jungkook,” you whimper, and the pit in your stomach grows and grows, the knot almost coming undone as he continues hitting what you think might be your cervix. 

You swear you feel him in your stomach as he says. “You gonna cum? Gonna cum all over my cock? Make a mess of my truck?” 

“Gonna cum, Kook. Please make me cum,” you chant, and then it’s a gush of wetness escaping you, back arching far enough that the hat falls onto the console, thighs trembling and jaw slack. Normally, you’d be embarrassed, but all you can think about is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, walls frantically clamping down on him as you ride out your orgasm. 

“Are you gonna cum inside me?” You’re sure you sound desperate when you ask, but he peers up at you with hooded eyes and responds, “If that’s what you want, sugar.”

It only takes a few more pumps of his hips to send him over the edge as well, hips stuttering, before groaning and emptying himself inside you. Slumping against his chest, his cock twitches, then softens inside you, and all that can be heard in the truck is the sound of you two struggling to catch your breath. 

“Holy shit,” is all you can say. 

His nails gently run down your spine, sending goosebumps blossoming across your skin. “Good ride?” he jokes, pressing kisses down the slope of your shoulder. 

“Totally worth it.”

And you mean it, every ounce of it. Can see the sunshine and rainbows, the things you thought were once hidden behind dark clouds. 

Just like you thought it would, it was good. Probably even better than that, probably impossible to find a word in the English dictionary to describe it. Enough so that maybe, you’ll extend your year-long lease in Texas. Make it two, perhaps. 

“Jungkook?”

“Hm, sugar?”

“Can you take me to the ranch?”

A chuckle reverberates through his chest, and you feel it everywhere his skin touches yours. “Yeah, darlin’. How ‘bout tomorrow?”

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[guksfairy]

petty ex boyfriend! Jungkook x fem ex girlfriend y/n

mentions of cheating, use of y/n, and sexual topics so MDNI ♡ jk is bold / yn is italic

Petty Ex Jungkook who rolls his eyes every time he sees you walk up to him and the group with your hand intertwined with his. Stupid Namjoon.

Petty Ex Jungkook who snickers when Namjoon makes a speech at your birthday dinner party when he says “I love you so much. Even though we’ve only been together a couple months, I feel like I’ve known you forever” because Jungkook actually has known you forever. Since you were three. Still. Forever.

Petty Ex Jungkook who makes a jab at Namjoon after he left you alone at a table when the group outing that night was a random nightclub that just opened.

“Really? He’s just gonna leave you all alone—“

“He went to get us drinks, Jungkook,” you say through your teeth as you remove nonexistent lint from your skirt.

“Yeah well when I was yours, if you recall, I’d take you with me to the bar so weird guys wouldn’t hit on you,”

“Like you’re doing now?”

“I’m not hitting on you,” he answers defensively before adding, “unless you want me to,” and giggles when you gently push him away with an eye roll.

Petty Ex Jungkook who casually calls your dress ugly.

“That looks hideous—not you! The dress,” he says looking down at the baby blue sundress.

“That’s not nice,” you mutter, running your hands down the dress to smooth it down.

“I’m just being honest, pretty”

The dress actually was okay or whatever. He thinks you look gorgeous in absolutely anything you wear. But he watched your Instagram story in which you bragged about Namjoon buying you said dress. So in turn, he hates it.

Petty Ex Jungkook who still refuses to cancel any subscriptions he started when he was with you.

He had subscribed to each and every one you wanted when you both started dating and gave you the passwords to them.

IHeartYN4Life

Now you sit here before him saying, “Isn’t it weird? I mean we’re broken up—have been for close to a year now. Besides, Namjoon offered to give me his passwords,” and you shatter his heart into a trillion little pieces.

Petty Ex Jungkook still refuses to remove pictures of you and him from when you were still together.

22 posts.

A couple group photos, a selfie here and there, some of his dog. 14 of you and him.

Of you kissing his cheek.

Of him holding your waist from behind, his head nuzzled near your neck as you both stare at the mirror in which you take the picture in.

One candid of you staring at him with so much love for him.

“You should remove them. At least respect her new relationship?” Taehyung says as he scrolls through Jungkook’s profile in front of him.

“What relationship? That thing she has with Namjoon? She’s smart. Sooner or later she’s gonna realize he’s just a rebound and come home to me,”

“Oh my god,”

“What?”

“How are you still in denial? It’s been months—“

“Shut up Taehyung,”

And he does.

Petty Ex Jungkook who still wraps an arm around your shoulder when you stand next to him in group settings. Whether or not Namjoon is present.

You don’t even realize it half of the time. So used to the feeling of his arm around you.

It had only occurred to you when Namjoon spoke to you privately about it. Telling you he didn’t appreciate it.

You tried to stop it from then on. Trying to stand away from Jungkook as far as possible.

But he still found a way. Always making someone move so he sits next to you. And if you sat in a booth he’d get bold.

Setting his hand on your thigh. Again, something you didn’t even notice the first few times.

Petty Ex Jungkook who genuinely cannot for the life of him figure out why you’re dating Namjoon. The guy can’t even lift half of what he can.

“Why is he here?”

“Because I invited him,” Taehyung says as Jungkook glares at Namjoom sitting on the bench as he finishes his set.

“Traitor,”

“Jungkook the guy seems like he genuinely likes y/n and she likes him—“

And like a child throwing a tantrum, Jungkook covers his ears and walks away.

Petty Ex Jungkook who texts you in the middle of the night.

hey

hi?

you ok?

yea. can’t sleep though :/

what’s up

the sky lol

please answer

stop leaving me on read

what do you want jungkook

I told you. I can’t sleep.

That’s not my problem

Entertain me?

What?

Entertain me

Please

Like

Like the way you used to

That’s highly inappropriate jungkook

I am in a relationship

Yeah yeah w that weird Namjoon guy

He’s actually really nice

That’s it?

What?

You’ve been w the guy for like 3 months and all you’ve ever said about him is he’s nice

Never anything else

You sure you like him

Woah did I hit a nerve

It’s been 5 mins answer me :(

Answer me pretty girl

What do you want me to say?

idk

I miss you

Like a lot

Stop. Ik where this is going and I can’t do that to him yk I can’t

Oh c’mon

The guy’s a joke

Probably can’t even make you feel good can he

Inappropriate

yea?

Very much so.

So he treats you well?

Yes. If you must know we go on lots of dates and such

“And such” ok sure

But yk that’s not what I mean

leave me alone

c’mon pretty I know you miss me too

Otherwise you wouldn’t keep answering

🙄

wanna try something

What?

Petty Ex Jungkook who walks into Hoseok’s apartment for game night on Friday with a smile and a new glow

“What’s up with you?” Hoseok asks, handing a beer over to the younger.

“What?”

“Don’t what me. You have a smile on your face like you did something,”

“I did someone,”

“Oh yeah? Who? That chick from chem?” Hoseok asks with a smile in his face. Finally his friend was moving on!

“I don’t kiss and tell, hyung” Jungkook says as he walks into the living room where everyone else sat.

Taking a seat next to some girl he didn’t even recognize and Yoongi as they play a random card game.

His gaze wanders for a moment before it lands on you. You who is sitting on Namjoon’s lap.

You who had bruises on your waist and thighs. You who probably still has some of his cum dripping out of you from last night. You who pops a cough drop into your mouth because for some odd reason you had lost your voice.

You who had hickeys on your thighs, breasts, and neck.

He’ll give it you. You did a good job at hiding them.

But who can blame Jungkook when you yourself admitted to him that no, you and Namjoon haven’t slept together. He was just giving you some well deserved pleasure.

Petty Ex Jungkook didn’t leave you alone once you opened the door once.

Making those nightly visits a weekly thing before they became a day thing.

Going to your place every chance he could. Sometimes minutes after Namjoon leaves.

Fucking you stupid until all you could think about was him, him, and him. No one and nothing else.

Not your projects due. Not your unfinished homework assignments. And certainly not your stupid “boyfriend” that Jungkook was sure you’d get rid of in a few weeks if he played it perfectly.