czy @jchezca - Tumblr Blog

Uncut - JJK (m)

Jungkook’s newest obsession with vlogging turns into the two of you making your first sex tape together.

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - 18+ established relationship au, smut MDNI

wc -3.3k

Warnings - filming sex ofc, lotss of kissing, pet names, big d jk, marking, biting, oral f. and m. receiving, dom jk, fingering, breast play, unprotected sex, crying, praises, riding, missionary, cumming on body, rough sex, overstimulation, some filthy cum play, they're jst really cutee ((

a/n - every time I think I’ve already written the most filthiest thing I could, I somehow come up with something even more ridiculous 😔 oh n I also plan to post one more fic by this week hopefully!!

M.list | kofi☕

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The staff guides you to Jungkook’s room and leaves after opening the door for you. You gently push the door open and step inside to find Jin walking out from the living area. He breaks into a smile greeting you before telling how impatient Jungkook’s been waiting for you all day.

Your excitement dims a little when you realize your surprise clearly isn’t a surprise anymore making him laugh. He explains that Jungkook found out you were coming earlier in the morning from one of the staff.

You end up laughing while Jin leaves dramatically rambling about being fed up of Jungkook's camera. Needless to say that the world has been witnessing Jungkook’s current obsession in real time. For the past week he’s been recording absolutely everything.

kurapikaenia

𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙡 & 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙠.︱ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ oneshot.

when the stoic and devastatingly handsome sir jeon jungkook is appointed as your personal knight, sworn to guard your royal highness with a will forged from steel, you quickly discover that his greatest strength may also be his most infuriating trait, he is utterly immune to you. no matter how tightly you lace your corset, he remains the perfect knight, eyes respectfully averted, jaw set like stone. but while sir jungkook may be a man of steel, you are a princess accustomed to getting what you want, and with every sinful intention of discovering whether even the realm’s most loyal knight could be brought to his knees for you.

⎯⎯ pairing: knight jungkook x princess y/n

warnings: erotica, forbidden medieval fantasy au, porn with plot, age gap, yearning, size difference, oral fixation (f.), unprotected sex, the princess is very horny, cold,dom!knight, bigdick!knight, breeding, pregnancy trope, war brutality, motherhood, subtle angst

word count: 20.5k

The great hall of the royal palace echoed with the murmurs of the assembled court. The King sat upon his throne, his stern gaze sweeping over the line of elite knights who had come to compete for the highest honor in the realm, becoming the personal protector of his only daughter, the princess, you.

The position was coveted for many reasons, but none more obvious than the princess herself.

voyter

VIRGOS GROOVE ⊹ . ݁𓏲 teaser

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader genre. yearner!jungkook. workaholic!jungkook. smut. established relationship. exes to lovers. toxic dynamics.

growing tired of your sexual needs being constantly neglected, you end things with your boyfriend. jungkook, however, is determined to convince you to give him a second chance — and promises to give you everything he's capable of this time. after all, a man who yearns is a man who earns.

FOR TEASER word count. 1.3k words warnings. light angst ? public breakup. jungkook begs. mentions of sex. pet names (baby, babe, honey). argument !! accusation of cheating.

Confrontation had always been something you avoided. You hated uncomfortable conversations, hated the way tension sat heavy in the air and turned everything fragile.

But enduring in silence was worse.

It starts small — swallowing your thoughts back, brushing off your feelings, convincing yourself it’s not a big enough deal to mention. Then suddenly, months pass, and boredom settles into places love is supposed to sit.

raceme2hell

hihihiii just an interest check who wants to be tagged?

the smut part might take me the longest to write because ive never written that before but he’s just inna rut he’s so whipped

gukcnt

《 ONE NIGHT CONTRACT 》 BTS‏

𓊆 ❤︎ 𓊇 ──── seven powerful businessmen have the luxury, the influence and anything they could ever desire — yet none of it makes them feel alive anymore. that is, until they become captivated by a waitress who awakens something inside them for the first time in years. drawn in by your presence, they offer you one night of passion and pleasure in exchange for money, never expecting it to end in such an unforgettable way.

PAIRING ✦ dom!bts x sub!f.reader

GENRE ✦ gangbang au, BDSM, polyamory, eightsome, porn with little plot, smut, fluff

WARNINGS ✦ 18+, explicit smut, consensual rough sex, eightsome, multiple orgasms and positions, creampie, unprotected sex, free use, semipublic sex, breeding and impregnation kink, degradation, power play, size difference, bondage, reader gets passed around, oral sex (f. receiving), double penetration, triple penetration, vaginal and anal sex, anal training, spanking, impact play (use of hands, belts etc), choking and breath play, possible use of sex toys, overstimulation, forced orgasms, cum inflation and belly bulging, pussy eating and fingering, squirting, wet & messy sex, body worship, dirty talk, fisting and gaping, breast play, mentions of safe word (not used), oral sex (m. receiving), sloppy blowjob, throat fucking, manhandling, use of lube and saliva, cum stuffing, use of belt as a collar, reader takes three cocks at the same time, sweetest loving aftercare, more tags to be added...

WC ✦ 30k+ ( estimated )

NOTE ✦ 5k followers special oneshot as i promised to you babes *MWAAAH*

TAGLIST ✦ OPEN .ᐟ

『 MASTERLIST | READ ON WATTPAD 』

➥ TO BE RELEASED ‹𝟹

jeonsdeerbaby

“MY PRETTY, PERFECT, MESSY DRUNK” J.JK

in which jungkook orders pizza, puts on a movie, and fully expects a normal night in — only to end up with a drunk, straddling, hickey-leaving mess of a girlfriend who can't stop complimenting his jawline, and somehow? he's never been more in love.

pairing: idol!jungkook x drunk!femreader

genre: fluff, established relationship, soft domestic vibes

warning/tags: drunk reader, alcohol consumption, suggestive content (no smut), hickeys, straddling, drunk kissing, jungkook being a sweetheart, soft boundaries, pet names, fluff, established relationship, secret idol relationship, lowkey chaotic reader x calm jungkook

wc: oneshot (2k)

masterlist

the seoul night skyline glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a million city lights blurred into soft halos against the inky black.

inside, the house was a sanctuary of low, warm light and the kind of comfortable silence that only exists between two people who have nothing left to prove to each other.

jungkook, in his signature uniform of a loose, washed-out gray sweatshirt and black shorts, was sprawled on one end of the massive sectional sofa. his hair, still slightly damp from a post-practice shower, fell in soft, dark waves over his forehead.

across from him, curled up with her socked feet tucked under a plush throw blanket, was you.

the coffee table was a glorious battlefield of late-night cravings.

the iconic red-and-white box of pizza, half-demolished, sat next to a bucket of golden, crispy fried chicken that still radiated warmth. little plastic containers held pools of creamy ranch, spicy gochujang sauce, and a sweet honey mustard dip.

jungkook cradled a tall, frosty glass of draft beer, a thin trail of condensation sliding down its side, while you hugged a large glass of cold peach iced tea, the ice cubes clinking softly every time you shifted.

“okay, okay,” jungkook said, pointing a piece of pepperoni pizza at the screen where the movie’s opening credits had just ended. “this part? this is the best part. just watch his face.”

you squinted at the screen, watching a grizzled detective stare down a suspect. “he just blinked, koo.”

“it’s not just a blink, baby,” he insisted, his doe eyes wide with sincerity as he took a bite.

he chewed, wiped a stray smear of tomato sauce from the corner of his lip with his thumb, and then pointed at the screen again.

“it’s the micro-expression of a man who has seen too much. the slight twitch in his jaw. the weariness. it’s called acting.”

you snorted, tearing off a piece of juicy fried chicken and dipping it liberally into the ranch. “and you would know about micro-expressions, mr. ‘i-have-three-different-faces-for-every-second-of-a-performance’?”

he grinned, a flash of bunny teeth that melted your heart every single time. “exactly. i’m a professional observer of human emotion. now hush, the dialogue is crucial.”

and so the night went. a rhythm you knew by heart.

he’d dissect a scene, you’d tease him for overthinking a simple action movie. you’d steal a piece of his chicken, he’d retaliate by stealing a sip of your iced tea and making a face because it was ‘too sweet’.

he told you about a new choreography he was struggling with, his hands moving through the air to illustrate a particularly difficult transition. you told him about the ridiculous argument your coworker got into over the last cup of office coffee.

he laughed, a real, full-bellied laugh that crinkled his eyes, and reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your jaw for a second longer than necessary.

“i’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice softer now, meant only for the space between you.

“me too,” you replied, your heart doing a little flip.

even after all this time, the quiet intimacy of these nights still felt like a secret superpower. just jeon jungkook, the biggest star in the world, bare-faced and giggling over pizza grease with his girlfriend.

the movie progressed. the pizza box was reduced to crumbs. the chicken bucket held only a lone, abandoned drumstick. as the on-screen hero prepared for the final, explosive showdown, you found your attention wandering from the screen to the glass in jungkook’s hand.

the golden liquid, the thin layer of foam. he’d always said it was an acquired taste, a ‘grown-up’ drink. you’d always been content with your sweet, predictable beverages. but tonight, watching the light catch the amber depths, a spark of mischief ignited in your chest.

you reached over, your fingers brushing his as you gently tugged the glass from his hand.

he looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “baby?”

“i want to try it,” you said, bringing the glass to your nose. it smelled of bread and something floral, with a sharp, hoppy bite underneath.

he knew you.

he knew your history of getting dizzy after one glass of wine at the company dinner. “you have the tolerance of a hamster,” he said, a warning laced with affection. “you won’t like it.”

“you don’t know that,” you challenged, already tilting the glass.

the first sip was.. a betrayal.

a bitter, carbonated shock that made your tongue recoil. you grimaced, your whole face scrunching up like you’d bitten into a lemon. jungkook laughed, a low, knowing chuckle.

“told you,” he said, gently taking the glass back.

but a stubborn part of you refused to accept defeat. it wasn’t about the taste anymore. it was about the tiny rebellion.

so, over the next twenty minutes, while he was engrossed in the movie’s climax—explosions and dramatic music filling the room—you became a ninja.

a very clumsy, very obvious ninja.

every time he set his glass down on the coaster, your hand would dart out a minute later, and you’d take a quick, furtive sip. gulp, actually.

the bitterness started to fade, replaced by a warm, spreading fuzziness that felt like sinking into a heated blanket. your limbs got heavier. your thoughts got.. wobbly.

the second the movie’s end credits rolled, a triumphant orchestral swell filling the silence, jungkook turned to you to make a comment about the final plot twist. he stopped.

you were staring at him. not your normal, soft, adoring stare. this was a laser-focused, slightly cross-eyed, intense look.

your cheeks were flushed a deep, rosy pink, and your lips were parted in a lazy, dreamy smile.

“you’re drunk,” he stated, not a question. He looked at his glass, which was now conspicuously empty. “you drank almost all of it.”

“m’not drunk,” you slurred, the words melting into each other. “m’warm. and you look.. shiny?”

he sighed, but there was no annoyance in it. only a deep, boundless fondness. “okay, baby. movie’s over. time for bed.”

he started to shift, to stand up and offer you a hand, but you were faster. or, more accurately, you were more recklessly determined. in a movement that was equal parts clumsy and graceful, you swung a leg over his thighs and settled squarely onto his lap, straddling him.

your hands landed on his broad shoulders for balance, and your face was suddenly very, very close to his.

his hands, acting on pure instinct, came up to rest on your waist, his fingers spanning the curve of your hips. he was steady, a solid anchor beneath your sudden, stormy chaos.

“whoa there, angel,” he murmured, his thumbs drawing small, soothing circles on your sides. “you’re a bit tipsy.”

you shook your head, which was a mistake because it made the room spin pleasantly. you leaned in, your nose brushing against his. “no. I’m looking at you. Really looking.”

your words were a syrupy, honeyed drawl. “you’re so pretty, jungkook. like.. so pretty. it’s not fair.” your fingers traced the line of his jaw, the shell of his ear.

“when you work out? and your arms get all.. grrr?” you made a sound that was supposed to be a growl but came out more like a kitten’s mew.

“i wanna bite your biceps. and when you’re on stage.. oh my god.” you closed your eyes, a shiver running through you.

“when you do that thing with your hips? or when you throw your head back and your neck is all there, all sweaty and gorgeous? i almost die. every single time. the stylist noonas have to fan me. they think it’s the heat from the lights.”

he was trying so hard to keep a straight face, to be the responsible one, but a laugh was bubbling in his chest. your unfiltered, drunken rambling was the most adorable thing he’d ever witnessed.

“and you’re so cute when you sleep,” you continued, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“your mouth falls open a little bit. and you make these little.. mmph sounds.” you poked his chest with a finger for emphasis.

“and when you brush your teeth? you just wander around, looking all fluffy and domestic. i look at you and i just want to.. eat you. like, just nom nom nom.” you mimed biting his cheek, and he finally let the laugh out, a soft, breathy sound of pure delight.

“yeah?” he whispered, his eyes sparkling.

“yeah,” you breathed, and then you kissed him.

it wasn't a tentative, sober kiss. it was a needy, open-mouthed, slightly sloppy collision of lips. you tasted like peach iced tea and bitter beer, a strange but intoxicating combination. your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently.

then your lips were on the move, trailing a hot, wet path from the corner of his mouth, down the sharp line of his jaw, to the strong column of his neck.

you found the spot just below his ear, the one you knew drove him crazy, and you sucked. hard. he felt the sting of a forming bruise, a hickey blooming like a dark flower on his skin.

“baby,” he breathed, his hands tightening on your waist. not pushing you away, just.. holding on.

you didn’t listen. you kissed your way down to his collarbone, nipping at the skin visible in the wide neck of his sweatshirt. you pulled the fabric aside and left another mark. you were a woman on a mission, a chaotic, love-drunk little menace.

you grew impatient.

your hands left his shoulders and grabbed his wrists. he felt your small, warm hands wrap around his, and then you were pulling, guiding, placing his palms squarely on your chest, right over your heart that was hammering like a trapped bird.

you looked up at him, your eyes hazy and pleading. “touch me,” you whispered, your voice raw. “please? do something. anything. i need..”

he went very still. the air in the room changed, charged with a different kind of electricity.

but he didn’t move his hands. he just looked at you, his dark eyes soft and full of a love so profound it seemed to absorb all the light in the room.

he leaned in, pressing a single, impossibly gentle kiss to your forehead. then your nose. then each of your closed eyelids.

“no, baby,” he said, his voice a low, steady rumble. “not tonight.”

you whined, a small, frustrated sound, and tried to wiggle in his lap.

he shushed you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, guiding it to rest against his shoulder. “you’re drunk, my love. my dizzy, adorable, chaos-gremlin. and i love you too much to do anything you might not remember perfectly in the morning.”

he started to rock you, a gentle, swaying motion. “tomorrow, if you still want to, you can ask me again. and i’ll say yes. a thousand times, yes. but right now? you need water, and you need sleep.”

he shifted, scooping you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. you let out a surprised squeak, your arms automatically looping around his neck, your face burying itself in the warm, safe curve of his shoulder.

you could feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart against your side.

he carried you to the bedroom, the city lights now a soft, silver glow through the sheer curtains. he laid you down on the cool sheets, pulled a glass of water from the bedside table, and made you drink half of it.

he helped you out of your jeans, pulled his own oversized t-shirt over your head, and tucked you under the duvet like a child.

you were already half-asleep, the world a fuzzy, warm blur. you felt him climb in next to you, felt his arm snake around your waist and pull you back against the solid wall of his chest. he was warm. he was safe. he was yours.

“my little lightweight,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “my pretty, perfect, messy drunk.”

you mumbled something incoherent that was supposed to be “love you.”

he smiled into your hair. “i love you more, baby. even when you’re trying to give me a heart attack.”

he pressed one last, lingering kiss to your shoulder, and let the quiet of the night and the rhythm of your breathing lull him to sleep, holding you like you were the most precious, fragile, and utterly chaotic thing in his entire universe.

and to him, you were.

a/n: i LOVEEEE this one sm, i hope you guys do too! please check out my other fics as well! <3

raceme2hell

PRETTY LIKE AN ACTRESS.

jeongguk x f!reader drabble. filthy smut. 3.8k listen to this while reading ♡ masterlist.

you’re not sure where this vlogging obsession of his started, but it’s been infecting your whole entire life in an annoyingly endearing way.

mei-mei-fics

one night only

pairing: idol!jjk x afab!reader x idol!pjm

synopsis: while bts is on tour in your city, you’re lucky enough to run into jungkook and jimin at the restaurant you worked at. as the eager and sweet fan you were, you kindly asked for an autograph and enthused them about attending their concert later that week. after giving you their autograph, a note and phone number is left for you to call.

wc: 10.4k

warnings: strictly 18+. threesome. dub con. oral sex, vaginal sex, light anal play, signing an nda, extremely filthy dirty talk, hard dom jimin, soft dom jungkook, subspace, submissive reader, teasing, dumbification, sex tapes, sadist behaviors, masochist behaviors, slapping, choking, alcohol influence, etc.

raceme2hell

PRETTY LIKE AN ACTRESS.

jeongguk x f!reader drabble. filthy smut. 3.8k listen to this while reading ♡ masterlist.

you’re not sure where this vlogging obsession of his started, but it’s been infecting your whole entire life in an annoyingly endearing way.

jiminsdolly-deactivated20260601

𝙳𝚄𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸 𝜗𝜚 j.jk

TROPES/WARNINGS -> biker!jungkook, blue collar!jungkook, ex criminal!jungkook, shy reader, age gap, unprotected sex, oral (male recieving), implied abusive relationship, reader is smol, street crime, implied violence, praise kink, size kink, nicknames (angel, doll, sweetheart)

WORDS -> 10.2k (so fcking long, i took a long time on this)

now playing: touchin' me - chandler leighton ⋆｡𖦹°‧

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Sweetheart, you lost?"

The voice came from somewhere behind the cigarette haze and neon glare—rough around the edges like gravel under boots, but with a warmth that didn't match the leather-and-knuckles crowd packed into the bar. You turned, slow, half-expecting some grizzled biker with a beer gut and bad intentions. Instead, you found yourself looking up—way up—into the sharpest brown eyes you’d ever seen.

He wasn’t smiling, but his posture was relaxed, one elbow propped on the sticky countertop like he owned the place. Which, judging by the way the other patrons gave him a wide berth, he might as well have. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing ink that coiled around his forearms like a warning in a language you didn’t know how to read.

"You don’t look like you belong here," he said, tipping his chin toward the door. "Place like this eats angels for breakfast."

Your fingers curled tighter around your drink—some watered-down whiskey you’d ordered just to look less out of place—but the condensation on the glass betrayed your nerves. "I'm fine," you lied, voice smaller than you’d intended. His eyebrow arched, and you swore his mouth twitched, like he’d caught you in something far more interesting than a bad poker face.

"Uh-huh." He leaned in just enough that the scent of motor oil and something faintly sweet—vanilla?—drifted over. Close enough that you could see the way his tattoo disappeared under the rolled cuff of his sleeve, the tail end of a snake or maybe a dragon. "Tell you what," he said, thumb brushing the rim of your glass, "you finish that, and I’ll walk you out. Sun’s been down an hour. Streets ain’t kind after dark."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the bartender—a gnarled man with a scar through his eyebrow—snorted and slid a fresh beer toward the stranger without being asked. "Listen to Jungkook, kid. Only idiot out here’s the one who don’t know when to fold."

Jungkook. The name suited him, all hard consonants and edges. You watched him take a slow drag from the bottle, the line of his throat working, and suddenly the room felt ten degrees hotter.

Your fingers twitched against the glass, the ice inside clinking like a nervous heartbeat. Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver, steady as a sniper’s, and you realized with a jolt that he wasn’t just offering—he was waiting. Like he’d already decided how this would go, and the only variable left was how long you’d pretend otherwise. The bartender wiped down the counter with a rag that had seen better decades, his one good eye flicking between you two like this was the most entertainment he’d had all week.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you muttered, but the words lacked bite, dissolving into the thrum of bass from the jukebox. Jungkook’s chuckle was low, a rumble you felt more than heard, and he set his beer down with a decisive clink.

“Didn’t offer to babysit.” His thumb tapped the glass near yours, a silent countdown. “Offered to walk. Big difference.” The dragon on his forearm flexed as he shifted, ink rippling under the bar’s sickly yellow light. You wondered absently if it hurt when he got them—if he’d bitten his lip like you did during flu shots, or if he’d laughed in the needle’s face.

The whiskey was terrible, but you downed the last of it anyway, if only to give your hands something to do. Jungkook’s mouth curled at the corner, approving, and he nodded toward the door. “C’mon, angel. Let’s get some air.” The nickname shouldn’t have sent a shiver down your spine. It definitely shouldn’t have made your stomach flip.

The night air hit you like a slap—cold and sharp, chasing away the bar’s stale heat. Jungkook stepped out behind you, his presence at your back both unsettling and inexplicably reassuring. The door swung shut with a thud, muffling the bar’s raucous noise into a distant hum. Streetlights flickered overhead, casting uneven pools of yellow onto the cracked pavement. Somewhere down the block, a motorcycle engine growled to life, then faded into the darkness.

“Where’s your ride?” Jungkook asked, nodding toward the mostly empty parking lot. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, shoulders broad enough to block the wind. You hesitated, suddenly aware of how exposed you were out here—no car, no plan, just the lingering burn of cheap whiskey in your throat and a stranger who smelled like trouble and vanilla.

“Didn’t drive,” you admitted. “Walked.”

Jungkook’s expression darkened, just for a second. “From where?”

"Couple blocks over," you said, jerking your chin toward the dimly lit street beyond the parking lot. "Cheap motel with a flickering sign." The admission tasted like defeat, and you hated how small your voice sounded—like some lost kid instead of the grown woman who’d sworn she could handle herself.

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound almost a laugh but not quite. "That shithole by the old laundromat?" He shook his head, leather creaking as he shifted his weight. "Christ, angel. Place’s got more roaches than the city dump." The way he said it—like he knew exactly which peeling wallpaper you’d been staring at for the past three nights—made your cheeks burn.

You crossed your arms, suddenly defensive. "It’s temporary."

"Yeah? How temporary?" His gaze dropped to your shoes—scuffed sneakers that had seen better days—then back up to your face, slow, deliberate. Like he was adding up numbers in his head and didn’t like the sum. "You got someone waiting for you there?"

The question hung between you like a dare, and for a second, you considered lying. But Jungkook’s eyes—sharp as broken glass—seemed to see right through you. "No," you admitted, the word barely louder than the distant hum of traffic. "Just me."

Something flickered in his expression—too fast to name—before he sighed and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. The stubble there made a rough sound against his palm. "Motel’s a bad idea," he said, like it was a fact, not an opinion. "Landlord’s got a habit of ‘forgetting’ to lock doors. Especially for pretty girls traveling light."

Your stomach lurched. You’d known that. Had shoved a chair under the doorknob every night and slept with your keys between your knuckles like some DIY weapon. But hearing it out loud, in that gravel-cut voice, made it real in a way you hadn’t let it be before. "I can handle myself," you muttered, but the protest sounded hollow even to you.

Jungkook’s mouth twitched. "Yeah? That why you’re shaking?" You hadn’t even noticed, but your hands were trembling—slightly, just at the fingertips—and the realization burned like shame. Before you could snap back, he reached out, slow, giving you every chance to duck away. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, just once, warm and calloused. "Cold," he said, like he was offering you an out. "Let’s get you somewhere that ain’t got bedbugs."

His fingers closed around yours, not tight enough to trap, but firm enough that you couldn’t pretend you hadn’t felt it. The callouses on his palm rasped against your skin—rough in a way that sent an unexpected spark up your wrist. "You're not taking me home," you said, more to remind yourself than him. The words came out breathier than you’d intended, like your lungs had forgotten how air worked.

Jungkook snorted, steering you toward a parked motorcycle at the edge of the lot. "Didn’t offer that either, doll." The bike was all matte black and chrome, gleaming under the flickering streetlight like something half-tamed. He grabbed a spare helmet off the back—scuffed red, with a peeling sticker you couldn’t read—and held it out. "Got a couch at the shop. Springs’ll fuck your back worse than that motel mattress, but at least the locks work."

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the helmet. Common sense screamed that this was how people ended up in ditches, but the way Jungkook watched you—patient, like he had all night—made it hard to believe he’d bother luring you somewhere just to hurt you. Hurt took effort, and this man moved like every action was calculated to waste as little energy as possible. "What shop?" you asked, stalling.

"Auto repair. Two blocks north." He tilted his head, studying you. "You can call someone if you want. Or I can drop you at a bus stop." The offer was casual, but his fingers tapped once against the helmet—impatient, maybe, or just restless.

The helmet felt heavier than it should have, the weight of the decision settling into your palms. Jungkook didn’t rush you, just leaned against the bike, one boot propped on the kickstand like he had all the time in the world. His patience was almost worse than pressure—it made you feel like you were the one holding things up, like the night was waiting on you to stop being stupid.

"Bus stop’s fine," you said finally, because it was the sensible thing, the thing you’d tell a friend to do. But the words tasted like ash, and Jungkook’s smirk said he knew it.

"Uh-huh." He pushed off the bike, plucking the helmet from your grip before you could change your mind. "Bus left twenty minutes ago, angel. Next one’s at dawn." His fingers brushed yours as he strapped the helmet onto your head, adjusting the fit with a precision that suggested he’d done this before. The padding smelled like leather and something faintly citrus—clean, unlike the bar’s sticky air. "You wanna stand out here all night pretending you got options, be my guest. But that motel’s gonna smell worse the longer you wait."

The buckle clicked under your chin, snug enough to pinch. You opened your mouth to argue, but Jungkook was already swinging a leg over the bike, the engine growling to life beneath him like a living thing. He jerked his head toward the space behind him. "Up, doll. Unless you’re scared."

The helmet muffled your scoff, but Jungkook’s smirk widened like he’d heard it anyway. Scared. The word prickled under your skin—too close to the truth, too easy a taunt. You hesitated a second longer, just to prove you could, then swung your leg over the bike with more bravado than grace. The seat was warm where his body had been, the leather creaking under your weight. Jungkook glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched. “Hold on tight, angel. I don’t do slow.”

You barely had time to grip his waist before the bike lurched forward, the sudden acceleration pressing you flush against his back. The heat of him seeped through his jacket, solid and unyielding, and you caught another whiff of that vanilla-and-motor-oil scent as the wind whipped past your ears. The streets blurred into streaks of neon and shadow, the bike weaving through traffic with a recklessness that should’ve terrified you—but Jungkook’s hands were steady on the handlebars, his movements precise, like every turn was mapped behind his eyelids.

The shop appeared sooner than expected, a squat brick building wedged between a pawnshop and a boarded-up diner. A flickering sign above the roll-up door read Golden Hands Auto in peeling gold letters. Jungkook killed the engine with a twist of his wrist, and the sudden silence rang in your ears. You peeled yourself off his back, your thighs trembling—whether from adrenaline or the vibration of the bike, you couldn’t tell.

Jungkook dismounted in one smooth motion, plucking the helmet off your head before you could fumble with the strap. “C’mon,” he said, jerking his chin toward a side door. The key scraped in the lock, loud in the quiet street. Inside, the shop smelled like grease and old coffee, the air thick with the kind of warmth that clung to places where engines ran for hours. A workbench littered with tools ran along one wall, a sagging couch shoved against the other.

The couch groaned when you sat down, springs digging into your thighs through the thin upholstery. Jungkook flicked on a desk lamp—its orange glow cutting through the dimness—and tossed a folded blanket at you without looking. It smelled faintly of detergent and something earthy, like the forest after rain. “Make yourself at home,” he said, already shrugging out of his jacket. The motion pulled his shirt tight across his shoulders, the fabric straining over muscles that hadn’t come from gym reps.

You watched him move—efficient, unhurried—as he filled a dented kettle at a sink in the corner. The water sputtered from the faucet, loud in the quiet. “You live here?” you asked, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. The question sounded absurd the moment it left your mouth. Of course he didn’t. The place was half workshop, half storage closet.

Jungkook snorted, setting the kettle on a hotplate. “Nah. Got an apartment upstairs.” He nodded toward a door you hadn’t noticed, half-hidden behind a tool rack. “Shop’s mine, though.” The pride in his voice was subtle but unmistakable, like the gleam on the bike’s chrome.

The kettle whistled, sharp and sudden. Jungkook poured steaming water into two mugs—one chipped, the other with a faded superhero logo—and handed you the intact one. The tea inside was dark, bitter when you sipped, but warmth spread through your chest anyway. “So,” he said, leaning against the workbench with his own mug, “you gonna tell me why you were drinking alone in a biker bar, or am I supposed to guess?”

The mug burned your fingertips, but you clung to it anyway—something solid to ground you while Jungkook’s question hung in the air like a dare. You could lie. Invent some rebellious phase, a bad breakup, a dare from a friend. But his gaze was steady, patient in a way that made fabrications wither before they reached your tongue. "Needed to be somewhere loud," you admitted, tracing the rim of the mug with your thumb. "Somewhere that didn’t feel like four peeling walls and a broken AC unit."

Jungkook hummed, sipping his tea like he’d expected that answer. The steam curled around his lips before he spoke again. "And the whiskey?"

"Liquid courage," you muttered, the words bitter as the tea. "Thought if I looked like I belonged, I wouldn’t feel so…" You trailed off, suddenly aware of how pathetic it sounded—playing dress-up in someone else’s life.

Jungkook’s chuckle was low, more vibration than sound. "Sweetheart, you could’ve worn head-to-toe leather and still stuck out like a virgin at a gangbang." The crudeness should’ve made you bristle, but the way he said it—fond, almost teasing—took the sting out. He set his mug down with a clink, elbows propped on the workbench behind him. The pose stretched his shirt across his chest, the fabric pulling taut over the swell of his pecs. "So who’s got you running to motels and biker bars?"

The question landed like a punch to the solar plexus—direct, unexpected, forcing air from your lungs in a rush. Your fingers tightened around the mug, the ceramic almost too hot now, but the pain grounded you. Jungkook waited, his gaze unwavering, like he already knew the answer and just wanted to see if you’d lie.

"Ex," you said finally, the word sharp and small. "Not—not recent." A half-truth. The breakup was months ago, but the bruises—the ones that didn’t fade—still ached under your skin. You glanced at Jungkook’s hands, the knuckles scarred and calloused, and wondered if he’d ever hit someone who didn’t hit back first.

Jungkook’s expression darkened, a storm passing behind his eyes. He pushed off the workbench, the movement deliberate, and crouched in front of you, close enough that his knees brushed yours. The proximity should’ve set off alarm bells, but his hands—resting loosely on his thighs—were palms-up, open. "He know you’re here?"

The question was soft, but the implication wasn’t. Your throat tightened. "No. Left town." Another lie. You’d taken the first bus out with nothing but a duffel bag and the cash you’d scraped together, but you’d checked over your shoulder every block.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, the muscle flexing under the scruff of his stubble. He didn’t call you out on the lie, just nodded once, slow, like he was filing the information away somewhere dark and dangerous. “Good,” he said, voice rough. His thumb brushed the edge of your knee—just a graze, but the contact sent a jolt up your thigh. “Means he’s smart.”

The couch creaked as you shifted, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was—close enough that you could count the faint scars along his collarbone where his shirt gaped open. The shop’s dim lighting painted shadows under his eyes, sharpening the angles of his face until he looked more like a warning than a man.

“You hungry?” he asked abruptly, pushing to his feet before you could answer. The sudden distance left you oddly unmoored, like you’d been leaning into a wind that vanished. Jungkook rummaged in a mini-fridge by the workbench, the hum of it drowning out the silence. “Got leftovers,” he said, tossing a plastic-wrapped container onto the counter. “Diner down the street makes decent pancakes.”

The mention of food twisted your stomach—you hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s gas station sandwich—but you hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“—feed me,” you finished lamely, watching as Jungkook pried the lid off the container with a practiced flick of his wrist. The pancakes inside were slightly congealed, the syrup crystallized at the edges, but your stomach growled treacherously.

Jungkook shot you a look that said he’d heard it. “Yeah, well,” he said, shoving the container into a microwave that looked like it had survived a war. “You’re skin and bones, doll. Can’t have you passing out on my couch.” The microwave whirred to life, its dim light casting his profile in a sickly yellow glow. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and you caught the way his gaze flicked to your wrists—too thin, the veins too prominent—before darting away.

The microwave beeped, startlingly loud in the quiet shop. Jungkook tossed a fork at you without warning; you caught it by sheer reflex, the metal cold against your palm. “Eat,” he ordered, nudging the reheated pancakes toward you. They smelled like butter and cheap maple syrup, and suddenly you were ravenous.

You took a bite, the sweetness overwhelming after days of gas station pretzels and vending machine crackers. Jungkook watched, silent, as you devoured half the stack before coming up for air. His expression was unreadable—somewhere between amused and pissed off—but his voice was softer than you expected when he spoke. “How long since you ate a real meal?”

The fork scraped against the plastic container louder than you meant it to. You stalled, chewing slowly just to avoid answering. Jungkook didn’t rush you, just watched with that unnerving patience, like he’d wait all night if he had to.

"Couple days," you muttered finally, syrup sticking to your lips. The admission tasted worse than the lie.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. He pushed off the counter abruptly, snagging a rag from the workbench to wipe grease off his hands—though they looked clean enough. The motion was too sharp, like he needed to do something with the tension coiling in his shoulders. "Motel have a fridge?"

You shook your head, staring at the half-eaten pancakes suddenly gone leaden in your stomach. The silence stretched, thick with everything you weren’t saying—the dwindling cash, the way you’d started skipping meals to stretch it further.

The rag hit the workbench with a dull thwack. Jungkook exhaled through his nose—slow, controlled—like he was counting backward from ten. “Right,” he said, and that single word carried more exhaustion than anger. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the stubble rasping against his palm. “Finish eating.”

The command brooked no argument, but his tone lacked its usual edge. You picked at the remaining pancakes, syrup congealing at the edges of the container. Jungkook moved to a cluttered desk in the corner, yanking open a drawer with more force than necessary. The sound of rummaging—metal clinking, papers rustling—filled the shop’s heavy silence. When he straightened, he held a key pinched between his fingers, its teeth glinting under the lamplight.

“Upstairs,” he said, tossing it toward you. You fumbled the catch; the key landed in your lap with a cold weight. “Door’s second on the left. Shower works. Towels in the closet.” He paused, jaw working like he was chewing over his next words. “Fridge is stocked.”

You stared at the key, its grooves biting into your palm. The offer hovered between you, unspoken but unmistakable: Stay. Your throat tightened. “I can’t—”

"—afford rent," you finished, the words scraping your throat raw. The key burned in your palm like a guilty secret. Jungkook snorted, kicking the drawer shut with his boot.

"Didn't ask for rent, angel." He leaned back against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. The movement pulled his shirt tight across his biceps, the fabric straining at the seams. "Place is paid for. You'd be doing me a favor—keeps the squatters out."

The lie was so transparent it almost hurt. You turned the key over in your fingers, the metal warmed by your grip. "Why?"

Jungkook stilled. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hum of the fridge and the distant groan of pipes overhead. Then he pushed off the desk, crossing the space between you in three strides. His hand closed over yours, callouses catching on your knuckles as he folded your fingers around the key.

The warmth of his hand lingered even after he let go, the metal key pressed between your fingers like a promise you weren't sure you deserved. Jungkook didn’t step back, his boots planted wide enough that his knees bracketed yours. Close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow.

"Because I don’t like the way you flinch," he said finally, voice low, like the words were dragged out of him. His thumb brushed your wrist—just above the bruise you’d tried to hide under your sleeve—and the touch burned hotter than shame. "And because I’ve slept on that couch. Springs’ll fuck you up worse than whatever you’re running from."

You swallowed hard, the key’s teeth digging into your palm. The honesty in his voice hurt more than pity ever could. "I don’t—" Your voice cracked. You tried again. "I don’t know how to pay you back."

Jungkook’s mouth curled, something dark and amused flashing in his eyes. "Who said anything about paying?" He reached past you, snagging the half-empty mug of tea off the couch arm. His forearm brushed your shoulder, the contact fleeting but electric. "Consider it a favor between strays."

The key felt heavier in your palm than it should have. Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver, steady as the hum of the fridge in the corner. You opened your mouth—to protest, to thank him, to ask what the hell he meant by strays—but he was already turning away, tossing the empty mug into the sink with a clatter.

“Shop opens at seven,” he said, shrugging his jacket back on with a single practiced motion. The leather creaked as he adjusted the collar, the sound oddly intimate in the quiet. “Don’t sleep through the noise.” He nodded toward the side door, the one he’d unlocked minutes ago. “Upstairs’s through there. Lock’s stiff—jiggle the handle.”

You stared at the key, then at his back as he moved toward the roll-up door. “Wait—you’re leaving?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, too raw at the edges.

Jungkook paused, half-turned, his profile sharp under the flickering shop light. “Got a bike to rebuild,” he said, like that explained everything. His boot scuffed the concrete as he shifted his weight. “You want a bedtime story too, angel?”

The helmet hit the couch with a dull thud when you chucked it at him. Jungkook caught it one-handed without looking, his smirk widening as the foam padding bounced against his palm. "Cute," he drawled, tossing it onto the workbench. The metal clattered against wrenches, the sound echoing in the shop's cavernous silence.

You stood too fast—the couch springs protesting—and instantly regretted it when the room tilted. Jungkook's hand shot out, steadying you by the elbow before you could faceplant into the tool rack. His grip was firm, calloused fingers pressing just above the bruise your ex had left three weeks ago. You froze.

Jungkook didn't. He let go like you'd burned him, stepping back with a roughness that didn't match the careful way he'd touched you. "Watch your step, doll." His voice was gruff, but his gaze dropped to your wrist—to the yellowing fingerprint-sized marks peeking from under your sleeve—before flicking away.

The side door groaned when you shoved it open, the rusted hinges screaming like a dying animal. The stairwell beyond was narrow, the steps uneven underfoot, the air thick with the scent of motor oil and something faintly herbal—like the tea he'd made you. Jungkook's shadow stretched long behind you, his presence at your back both unsettling and inexplicably steadying.

The key turned with a stubborn grind, the lock protesting until you jiggled the handle exactly as Jungkook had instructed. The apartment smelled like cedar and engine grease—lived-in, masculine. A single lamp cast amber light over a threadbare couch and a coffee table littered with motorcycle magazines. The fridge hummed in the corner, its door plastered with takeout menus and a yellowed photo of a younger Jungkook standing beside an older man, both grinning in front of a car with its hood propped open.

You toed off your shoes by the door, the floorboards creaking underfoot. The shower ran hot, thank god, and you stood under the spray until your skin pruned, washing away the bar’s sticky residue. His soap was unscented, utilitarian, but the towel you wrapped yourself in carried his faint vanilla-and-leather scent. It shouldn’t have made your stomach flutter.

The bedroom was sparse—just a dresser and a mattress without a frame, its sheets pulled tight as a drum. You hesitated before sliding under the covers, hyperaware of the way the fabric smelled like him. Sleep came in fitful bursts, punctuated by the distant rumble of engines and the occasional clang from the shop below.

At dawn, the roar of a hydraulic lift jerked you awake. Sunlight sliced through gaps in the blinds, painting stripes across the floor. You found a note taped to the fridge in messy block letters: EAT. DON’T TOUCH THE TOOLS. The fridge was indeed stocked—eggs, fruit, a six-pack of beer. You fried two eggs, the yolks bright as danger signs.

The eggs tasted like heaven and guilt in equal measure. You scraped the last of the yolk with your fork when the shop door buzzed open below—a deep mechanical groan followed by the familiar rumble of Jungkook’s voice, too muffled to make out words. The floor vibrated faintly under your bare feet, the rhythm of tools clinking and occasional laughter threading up through the boards. You washed your plate slowly, deliberately, listening to the cadence of his movements like it was a language you were trying to learn.

A sudden burst of laughter—deeper than Jungkook’s—made you jump. The sponge slipped from your fingers, hitting the sink with a wet slap. You hadn’t realized the shop had other employees. The thought of strangers down there, joking with Jungkook like this was any other Tuesday, made your skin prickle. You wiped your hands on the towel—his towel—and eyed the stairwell door. It stood slightly ajar, just as you’d left it.

The decision to go downstairs wasn’t a decision at all; your feet carried you before your brain could object. The steps creaked under your weight, each groan louder than the last, announcing your descent like a herald. The shop’s fluorescent lights glared brighter than you remembered, bleaching the concrete floor and the two figures bent over a motorcycle in the center bay.

Jungkook straightened first, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. His sleeves were rolled past his elbows, tattoos flexing as he motioned to the older man beside him—gray at the temples, built like a retired boxer. “Jimin, this is—” He paused, just for a heartbeat, and you realized he didn’t know your name.

"Y/N," you supplied quickly, stepping off the last stair. The concrete was cold under your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. Jungkook’s gaze dropped to your toes, then flicked back up with an unreadable expression—somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

Jimin whistled low, wiping his hands on an already-grimy rag. "Didn’t know you were keeping strays upstairs, Kook." His grin was sharp, but his eyes were kind as they flicked between you and Jungkook. "Cute ones, at that."

Jungkook chucked a wrench at him without looking. Jimin caught it with a laugh, the metal clanging against his palm. "Don’t scare her off," Jungkook muttered, tossing the rag onto the workbench. "She’s skittish enough as it is."

You bristled, crossing your arms. "I’m not skittish."

Jimin grinned, tossing the wrench back to Jungkook with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Sure you're not, sweetheart." The nickname rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, but his gaze—sharp beneath the casual charm—lingered on your crossed arms, the way your fingers dug into your sleeves. Jungkook caught the wrench one-handed, his knuckles whitening around the handle for half a second before he set it down with deliberate calm.

The shop’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting stark shadows under the bike’s raised chassis. Jungkook wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving dark streaks across the denim. "Jimin’s the reason the shop doesn’t burn down," he said, jerking his chin toward the older man. "Also why we’ve got a swear jar."

Jimin snorted, leaning against the workbench. "Like you’ve ever paid into it." His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the lines there deeper than they should’ve been for a man his age. You caught the way his gaze flicked to Jungkook—brief, assessing—before settling back on you. "So, Y/N. You sticking around, or just passing through?"

The question hung in the air like exhaust fumes. You opened your mouth—to say what, you weren’t sure—but Jungkook cut in before you could answer. "She’s staying." The words were flat, final, leaving no room for argument. Jimin’s eyebrows lifted a fraction, but he didn’t comment, just nodded and reached for a coffee mug perched precariously on a stack of invoices.

The coffee mug hit the workbench with a sharp clack, breaking the silence that had settled between the three of you. Jimin’s smirk was knowing as he took a slow sip, his eyes flicking between you and Jungkook like he was watching a game of chess unfold. "Staying, huh?" he mused, setting the mug down with deliberate care. "That so, Y/N?"

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how thin your borrowed t-shirt felt against your skin—how Jungkook’s gaze lingered on the way the fabric dipped at your collarbone before he looked away, jaw tight. "Yeah," you said, quieter than you meant to. "If that’s okay."

Jimin chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, it’s more than okay, sweetheart." He nudged Jungkook’s shoulder with his own, grinning when Jungkook didn’t react beyond a faint twitch of his brow. "Our boy here doesn’t bring just anyone upstairs."

Jungkook’s knuckles went white around the wrench he’d picked up again. "Shut up, Jimin."

The wrench clattered onto the workbench with a sound like a gunshot. Jungkook’s shoulders were taut under his grease-streaked shirt, the fabric clinging to the sweat at the small of his back. Jimin’s grin widened—sharp as a blade—as he leaned in to whisper something that made Jungkook’s ears flush crimson. You pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the way your toes curled against the cold concrete.

"Need help with the Kawasaki," Jungkook muttered, jerking his chin toward a bike in the corner—its engine exposed like an open wound. Jimin saluted, winking at you over his coffee mug before sauntering off. The shop’s fluorescent lights buzzed louder in the sudden silence, casting Jungkook’s shadow long across the floor between you.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke. "You sleep okay?" The question was gruff, like he’d practiced it in his head too many times.

You nodded, suddenly hyperaware of his scent on the borrowed t-shirt—motor oil and something faintly sweet, like vanilla sunk deep into his skin. "Better than the motel."

The silence stretched between you—thick with unsaid things—until Jungkook cleared his throat and jerked his chin toward the bike. "Hand me that torque wrench." His voice was rougher than usual, like he'd been chewing on gravel. You blinked, glancing at the tool rack behind you where a dozen identical-looking wrenches hung in neat rows.

Jungkook snorted when your fingers hovered uncertainly over the tools. "Silver one," he said, not looking up from the engine he was elbow-deep in. "Twelve millimeter." You grabbed it by the handle, the metal cool against your palm, and crossed the shop floor. The concrete was gritty under your bare feet, tiny shards of metal catching the light like discarded scales.

When you held the wrench out, Jungkook didn't take it. Instead, he straightened—slowly, deliberately—until you were close enough to see the sweat beading along his hairline, the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. "Closer," he murmured, voice dropping to something low and rough that skated down your spine.

You took a half-step forward, the wrench between you like an offering. Jungkook's calloused fingers closed over yours—not taking the tool, just holding your hand there, his thumb brushing your knuckles in a way that felt anything but accidental. The shop's overhead lights buzzed like angry hornets, casting his face in sharp relief—the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his bottom lip caught between his teeth when he concentrated.

The wrench slipped from your fingers with a clatter, metal ringing against concrete as Jungkook’s grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to make your pulse stutter. His thumb traced the delicate bones of your wrist, rough skin catching on yours, and you realized he wasn’t looking at the tool at all. His gaze burned a path from your parted lips to the rapid flutter of your pulse, lingering where the borrowed t-shirt gaped at your collarbone.

“Jungkook—” His name came out breathless, barely audible over the hum of the shop’s fluorescent lights.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, before releasing your hand. The sudden absence of his touch left you oddly unmoored. “You’re in my light, doll,” he said, voice rougher than the engine grease staining his knuckles.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The air between you crackled with something unsaid, something taut as a wire about to snap. Jungkook’s jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring as he dragged his gaze back up to yours. The wrench lay forgotten at your feet.

The wrench lay forgotten at your feet, but neither of you moved to pick it up. Jungkook’s gaze was heavy, dark with something unreadable—something that made your breath hitch when he stepped closer, the toe of his boot nudging the tool aside with a careless scrape. The shop’s fluorescent lights buzzed louder overhead, or maybe that was just the blood rushing in your ears.

"You’re still in my light," he murmured, but his hands were already lifting, calloused fingers brushing your hips like he was testing the weight of you. His touch burned through the thin fabric of the borrowed shirt, branding your skin even as you swayed into him.

Jimin’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Kawasaki’s leaking oil, boss."

Jungkook didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. His thumbs dug into the hollows of your hips, holding you steady as he glanced over his shoulder. "Fix it," he said, voice rough as gravel.

Jimin lingered by the Kawasaki, wiping his hands on a rag with exaggerated slowness, his smirk widening when Jungkook’s grip tightened on your hips. "Might need your expertise," he drawled, tossing the rag onto a workbench. The fluorescent lights caught the mischief in his eyes as he nodded toward the oil spill. "Unless you’re busy."

Jungkook’s exhale was sharp, his breath warm against your temple. For a heartbeat, his fingers flexed—like he was debating whether to let go or pull you closer—before he stepped back, the space between you suddenly cold. "Stay," he muttered, the word rough as his knuckles brushed your wrist. Then he was striding toward Jimin, his shoulders taut under his grease-streaked shirt.

You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until it left you in a rush, your fingers trembling where they clutched the hem of Jungkook’s shirt. The shop smelled like motor oil and sweat, the scent clinging to the fabric as you inhaled shakily. Across the bay, Jungkook crouched beside the bike, his biceps straining as he tightened a bolt with quick, efficient twists. Jimin said something low and teasing—you caught the tail end of it, something about distractions—and Jungkook’s response was a grunt and a middle finger.

The wrench lay where it had fallen, glinting under the shop lights. You bent to pick it up, the metal cool against your palm, and hesitated. Jungkook’s gaze flicked to you—brief, searing—before returning to the bike. His jaw was set, the muscle there jumping as he worked. You traced the wrench’s grooves with your thumb, the ridges biting into your skin, and wondered how his callouses would feel dragging over your thighs.

The wrench clattered onto the workbench with a sharp metallic ring when Jungkook tossed it aside. His hands—grease-streaked and scarred—hovered over the bike’s engine like he was contemplating violence, but his gaze when it flicked to you was anything but angry. It was hungry. The kind of look that made your toes curl against the cold concrete, your borrowed shirt suddenly too thin against your skin.

Jimin whistled low from across the shop, tossing a rag at Jungkook’s head with practiced aim. “Quit eye-fucking the strays and help me with this gasket,” he drawled, wiping his hands on his jeans. The smirk he shot you was all teeth. “Unless you’re busy.”

Jungkook caught the rag without looking, his fingers curling tight around the fabric before he chucked it back. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it—just a rough edge that sent a shiver down your spine. His boots scuffed against the concrete as he turned, his broad shoulders blocking out the fluorescent lights overhead. “Go upstairs,” he said, voice dropping to something low and private. “I’ll be there when I’m done.”

It wasn’t a request. The command curled around you like smoke, thick and heady, and you found yourself nodding before your brain caught up. Jungkook’s mouth quirked at the corner—just a hint of a smile—before he turned back to the bike, his hands already busy with the engine. You hesitated, your fingers twitching at your sides, before Jimin’s chuckle snapped you out of it.

The stairs groaned under your feet, each creak louder than the last as you climbed back to Jungkook’s apartment. The air smelled like him—oil and something faintly sweet clinging to the wooden banister. You hesitated at the top step, your fingers brushing the doorframe where the paint had chipped away from years of careless shoulders bumping against it.

Inside, the apartment hummed with quiet. The fridge’s motor kicked on with a familiar rattle as you padded across the floorboards, still barefoot. Jungkook’s bedroom door stood ajar, the sheets rumpled from your restless sleep. You hesitated before stepping inside, your fingers trailing over the dresser where a spare set of keys and a half-empty bottle of cologne sat. The scent of it—spice and leather—made your stomach twist.

Downstairs, the shop’s hydraulic lift whined, followed by the distant thud of a toolbox hitting concrete. You could picture Jungkook’s hands—grease-streaked and sure—twisting a wrench with that same focused intensity he’d turned on you. The memory of his thumbs pressing into your hips sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned toward the shower instead, twisting the faucet until the water ran scalding. Steam fogged the mirror within seconds, obscuring your reflection as you peeled off Jungkook’s borrowed shirt. The fabric clung to your skin, damp with sweat and something else—something that smelled unmistakably like him. You pressed it to your face, inhaling deeply before letting it fall to the tile with a wet slap.

The water was still running when the bathroom door creaked open. Steam billowed out in thick curls, obscuring everything except the silhouette of Jungkook's broad shoulders filling the doorway. His boots were off—bare feet silent on the tile—but his shirt was still streaked with grease, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows like he'd come straight from the shop floor.

You didn't turn around. Couldn't. His reflection in the fogged-up mirror was hazy, distorted by condensation, but you felt his gaze like a physical touch trailing down the curve of your spine. The shower's spray drowned out everything except the hammering of your pulse.

"You left the door unlocked," Jungkook said, voice rough as gravel. He didn't move closer, but his fingers flexed at his sides like he was resisting the urge to reach out. The damp air clung to his forearms, highlighting every vein and scar.

You swallowed, watching his reflection blur further as more steam rose between you. "Didn't think you'd be up so soon."

The steam curled between you in slow, heavy tendrils, thickening the air until Jungkook’s reflection dissolved into nothing but a dark silhouette against the bathroom door. His voice, when it came again, was closer—low and rough, barely audible over the shower’s spray. "Told you I’d be here when I was done."

You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. The heat of the water pricked your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze tracing the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips. The mirror wept condensation, erasing you both in slow, wet streaks.

A calloused hand touched the small of your back—just the barest brush of fingertips—and you jerked like you’d been shocked. Jungkook didn’t pull away. His palm settled fully against your spine, the roughness of his skin a stark contrast to the slick heat of the shower. "Still skittish," he murmured, more to himself than to you. His thumb swept a slow arc over the knobs of your vertebrae, pressing just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

The shower curtain rasped aside, the rings screeching against the rod. Jungkook stepped into the tub behind you, his boots—no, bare feet, you realized—planted on either side of yours. The water hit his chest with a dull slap, soaking through his shirt in seconds. The fabric went translucent, clinging to the hard planes of his stomach, the flex of his pecs as he reached past you to adjust the faucet.

The water scalded your shoulders when Jungkook nudged the faucet hotter—deliberate, testing—his knuckles brushing your hip as he adjusted the spray. Steam curled between your bodies like smoke, thick enough to choke on. His shirt clung transparent to his chest, the fabric straining over his pecs as he reached past you to brace a palm against the tile. Water sluiced down his arms, carrying streaks of grease from the shop into the drain between your feet.

"You're still dirty," you murmured, watching the oil swirl in the water. His laugh was a rough exhale against the nape of your neck, the sound vibrating through your damp skin.

"Not for long." His fingers hooked in the waistband of your borrowed sweatpants—his sweatpants—the elastic snapping against your hips before he peeled them down with a single tug. The fabric hit the tub with a wet slap, forgotten as his palm slid up your thigh. Callouses caught on sensitive skin, his grip firm enough to leave marks. "Turn around."

The command sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t move—just tipped your head back against his shoulder, your hair sticking to his wet shirt. Jungkook’s breath hitched, his free hand splaying across your stomach to pull you flush against him. The hard line of his cock pressed against the small of your back, separated only by soaked denim.

The water hit your skin like a brand—too hot, almost scalding—but Jungkook didn’t ease the faucet back. His fingers flexed against your stomach, pressing you harder into the heat of his body as his other hand slid higher up your thigh. "I said," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "turn around."

You shivered despite the steam, your pulse thrumming where his thumb pressed into the soft flesh below your navel. The command curled around you, thick as the humidity clinging to your skin. When you didn’t move fast enough, Jungkook’s grip tightened—not painful, just insistent—and he spun you himself, your back hitting the tile with a damp thud.

The shower spray hit your collarbones now, water sluicing down your chest in rivulets. Jungkook crowded closer, one hand braced beside your head, the other still tracing possessive lines across your hip. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower—lingering where the water darkened the patch of hair between your thighs. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His shirt clung transparent to his shoulders, the fabric stretched taut over his biceps.

You reached for the hem—hesitant—but Jungkook caught your wrist, pinning it to the tile beside your head. "Don’t," he said, voice rougher than the engine grease staining his knuckles. His hips canted forward, the denim of his jeans rasping against your bare thighs. "Not yet."

Jungkook's fingers tightened around your wrist, the rough pads of his callouses scraping against your pulse point. The shower's spray pounded against your shoulders, hot enough to redden your skin, but the heat radiating off his body was worse—thick and suffocating where he crowded you against the slick tile. His other hand slid down your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh there as he ground his denim-clad erection against your thigh.

"You gonna be good for me?" His voice was a rough whisper against your temple, the words half-drowned by the water cascading around you. His breath smelled like mint and nicotine, sharp against the steam.

You nodded—too fast, too eager—and Jungkook's lips curled into a smirk. His grip on your hip shifted, fingers spreading you open with a single, firm stroke that made your knees buckle. "Words, doll."

"Yes." The admission came out breathless, barely audible over the shower's roar.

The shower's steam curled around Jungkook's shoulders like smoke as he pinned you against the tile, his breath hot against your temple. His fingers—rough from years of wrenching bolts and handling exhaust pipes—traced a slow, torturous path down your inner thigh, pausing just shy of where you needed him most. "Tell me what you want," he murmured, his voice rougher than the denim grinding against your hip.

You swallowed, your nails scraping against the slick tile as his thumb brushed your clit—once, twice, just enough to make your legs tremble. "You," you breathed, arching into his touch. "Just you."

Jungkook's smirk was dark as he hooked a finger under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. "That all?" His free hand slid higher, callouses catching on sensitive skin as he teased your entrance. "You can do better than that, angel."

The pet name sent a shiver down your spine, your hips bucking against his hand. "Fuck me," you gasped, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Please—"

Jungkook’s breath stuttered against your temple—hot and uneven—before he crushed his mouth to yours. The kiss was rough, all teeth and desperation, his fingers tightening around your wrist as he pinned you harder against the tile. The shower spray hit your shoulders in scalding waves, but you barely felt it, not when his tongue was dragging against yours like he was trying to taste every inch of you.

"Say it again," he growled against your lips, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hiking it up over his hip. Denim rasped against your skin, the damp fabric clinging to his legs as he ground against you. "Say it like you mean it."

"Fuck me," you gasped, arching into him, your nails digging into his shoulders through the soaked fabric of his shirt. "Please, Jungkook—"

The sound of his name punched out of him in a rough groan, his hips jerking forward like he couldn’t help it. His fingers flexed around your thigh, the blunt tips digging into your flesh as he dragged you closer, until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you. Steam curled around your bodies, thick enough to choke on, but you could still see the way his pupils blew wide—black swallowing brown—as his gaze dropped to your mouth.

The shower spray hit Jungkook’s shoulders in scalding sheets as he crowded you against the tile, his fingers tightening around your thigh hard enough to leave bruises. Steam fogged the glass until his reflection blurred into nothing but heat and muscle, his breath ragged against your lips. "Say it again," he demanded, voice rough as the denim rasping against your hips.

You gasped when his thumb brushed your clit—rough and fleeting—your back arching off the slick tile. "Fuck me," you begged, the words dripping like the water sluicing down his chest. "Right here—"

Jungkook’s growl vibrated through your sternum as he hooked his fingers in his waistband, shoving the soaked jeans down just enough to free his cock. The head brushed your inner thigh, hot as a brand even through the steam. "Look at you," he muttered, dragging his palm up your stomach to squeeze your breast through the drenched fabric of his shirt. "So fucking pretty when you beg."

The first thrust punched the air from your lungs. Jungkook didn’t ease in—just buried himself to the hilt with a single snap of his hips, his groan lost in the shower’s roar. Your nails scraped down his back, catching on the wet cotton clinging to his shoulders. He didn’t seem to notice, too busy mouthing at your pulse point as he set a punishing pace, the tile biting into your spine with every snap of his hips.

The water sluiced down Jungkook’s back in rivulets, tracing the ridges of his spine as he pinned you harder against the tile. His thrusts were relentless—deep enough to steal your breath, rough enough to make your toes curl against the porcelain. Steam fogged the shower walls until all you could see was the flex of his shoulders, the way his biceps strained with every snap of his hips.

"You take me so good," he rasped against your throat, his teeth scraping your pulse point. His hands slid down to grip your thighs, hiking them higher around his waist. The new angle dragged a broken noise from your lips, your nails biting into his shoulders through the soaked fabric of his shirt. Jungkook growled—low and approving—as he felt you clench around him. "Fuck, just like that. Squeeze me tighter, angel."

The pet name unraveled something in your chest, your hips canting up to meet his thrusts with a desperation that made him chuckle darkly. His fingers dug into your flesh, blunt and possessive, as he fucked into you with a rhythm that sent water sloshing over the tub’s edge. The shower spray hit your collarbones like a brand, but you barely felt it—not when Jungkook’s mouth was on your neck, sucking bruises into your skin like he was marking his territory.

One of his hands slid between your bodies, calloused fingers finding your clit with unerring precision. The rough pad of his thumb circled the sensitive bundle of nerves, his strokes deliberate and firm, perfectly synced with the roll of his hips. Your back arched off the tile, a broken cry tearing from your throat as pleasure coiled tight in your gut. Jungkook’s breath hitched, his thrusts turning uneven as he felt you flutter around him.

The water turned lukewarm before Jungkook’s pace faltered. His hips stuttered against yours, the tile biting into your shoulders as he pressed you deeper into the wall, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your throat. His fingers—still slick from your cunt—dug into your hip hard enough to leave crescent marks as he muttered, "Gonna come," like it was a warning, not a plea.

You arched into him, the shower spray hitting your closed eyelids as you gasped, "Inside—" just as his rhythm fractured completely. Jungkook’s groan was guttural, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he emptied himself into you with three sharp, uneven thrusts that made your toes curl against the porcelain.

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the shower’s spray and your mingled panting. Then Jungkook’s hands slid up your sides—slow now, almost reverent—his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the soaked fabric of his shirt. "Fuck," he muttered, lips brushing your collarbone. The word was rough, but his touch was oddly gentle as he traced the red marks his teeth had left on your throat.

Outside the shower, the shop’s hydraulic lift whined—a distant, mechanical groan—and Jungkook’s head snapped up. His gaze flicked to the fogged bathroom door, then back to you, his pupils still blown wide. "Jimin’s downstairs," he said, like you might’ve forgotten. His voice was hoarse, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watched water sluice down your chest.

The shower spray cooled against your flushed skin, but Jungkook’s body heat kept you anchored—his chest rising and falling against yours, his breath uneven where it ghosted over your parted lips. His fingers lingered at your waist, tracing idle patterns through the water beading on your skin, as if memorizing the topography of your hips.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, his voice rougher than usual—wrecked in a way that made your stomach flip.

You weren’t sure if it was from the cold or the aftershocks still rippling through you, but you didn’t get a chance to answer. Jungkook’s palm slid up your spine, pressing you closer until your forehead bumped against his collarbone. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, the fabric translucent where it stretched over his pecs, and you could see the rapid flutter of his pulse beneath the damp material.

Downstairs, the shop’s hydraulic lift groaned again, followed by Jimin’s muffled curse. Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move—just exhaled sharply through his nose before tilting your chin up with two fingers. "You good?"

The bathroom door swung open with a groan, letting in a rush of cooler air that cut through the steam. Jungkook didn’t move—just kept you pinned against the tile, his thumb absently tracing the bruise forming on your hip. Jimin’s voice carried up from the shop floor, sharp with impatience. "Kook! Customer’s here for the Ducati."

Jungkook’s exhale was a warm gust against your temple. "Fuck," he muttered, his fingers flexing against your damp skin like he was debating whether to stay or go. The shower’s spray had cooled to a lukewarm trickle, but his body heat kept you anchored, the scent of his sweat and the shop’s motor oil clinging to his skin despite the water.

"You should go," you murmured, though your fingers curled into the soaked fabric of his shirt, holding him there.

His chuckle was dark, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "That’s not what you said five minutes ago."

The water ran cold before Jungkook finally stepped back, his fingers lingering at your waist like he was reluctant to let go. Steam curled around his shoulders as he reached past you to shut off the faucet, the sudden silence ringing in your ears. His shirt clung to every ridge of muscle, the fabric gone nearly transparent under the spray, and you caught yourself staring at the way it stretched across his pecs when he turned to grab a towel.

"Eyes up here, doll," he murmured, tossing the towel at your chest with a smirk. His voice was still rough, but there was something softer in it now—something that made your stomach flip.

You barely had time to catch the towel before Jungkook was crowding you again, his hands framing your face as he kissed you slow and deep, like he was savoring the taste of you. His thumbs brushed your cheekbones, gentle in a way that contrasted sharply with the bruising grip he’d had on your hips moments ago. When he pulled back, his lips were swollen, his pupils still blown wide. "Stay put," he muttered, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before stepping out of the shower.

The towel smelled like motor oil and Jungkook—that sharp, metallic bite mixed with something warmer, earthier. You pressed it to your face for a second longer than necessary, breathing him in as water dripped from your hair onto the bathroom tiles. Outside, the shop noises filtered through the steam-fogged door: Jimin’s laugh, the clank of tools, the rumble of an engine coughing to life. Normal sounds. Mundane. Like what had just happened in this shower hadn’t rearranged your entire nervous system.

Jungkook’s abandoned jeans lay in a soggy heap by the sink. You nudged them with your toe, your stomach swooping at the memory of how he’d shoved them down just enough to free himself—how the denim had scraped your thighs raw when he pinned you against the tile. The fabric was still warm from his body heat.

The bathroom mirror was fogged over, but you caught a glimpse of yourself in the sliver of clear glass near the sink. Your lips were swollen, your neck littered with bruises that stood out stark against your skin. Jungkook’s shirt clung to you like a second skin, the white fabric gone sheer under the shower spray. You looked wrecked. Owned.

A sharp rap on the door made you jump. "You alive in there?" Jimin’s voice was muffled but unmistakably amused.

You cleared your throat. "Yeah. Just—finishing up."

Jimin’s laugh was bright, cutting through the steam still clinging to the bathroom. "Take your time. Kook’s downstairs growling at customers like a feral dog. It’s hilarious."

You pressed the towel to your face, inhaling the scent of detergent and Jungkook’s sweat. The shop noises filtered through the door—the clang of a wrench against concrete, Jimin’s teasing drawl, the low rumble of Jungkook’s voice threading through it all like a bassline.

The floor was cold underfoot when you stepped out of the shower. Jungkook had left his hoodie hanging on the back of the door—black, frayed at the cuffs, smelling like motor oil and that same warm, earthy scent that clung to his skin. You pulled it on without thinking, the fabric swallowing you whole.

Downstairs, the Ducati’s engine roared to life. You peered through the bathroom window, the glass streaked with condensation, and caught a glimpse of Jungkook straddling the bike, his bare arms flexing as he revved the throttle. Sunlight caught the ink winding down his forearm—a serpent coiled around a dagger—and for a second, he looked every bit the outlaw his cut claimed him to be.

Then he turned his head, as if sensing your gaze, and smirked.

The customer—a middle-aged man in a too-clean leather jacket—flinched when Jungkook stood, tossing the keys at Jimin instead. "Take it for a spin," he said, already striding toward the shop’s backstairs. "Needs new rear shocks."

Jimin’s grin was wicked. "Sure that’s all that needs testing?"

Jungkook flipped him off without breaking stride. The stairs groaned under his boots, still damp from the shower, his shirt clinging to the ridges of his abs where he hadn’t bothered to dry off properly. Steam curled off his skin as he shouldered the bathroom door open, his gaze zeroing in on you drowning in his hoodie, your hair dripping onto the frayed cuffs.

His thumb brushed a water droplet trailing down your neck. "You’re still here."

It wasn’t a question. His voice had that rough undercurrent again, the one that made your knees weak.

You shrugged, acutely aware of Jimin’s laughter drifting up from the shop floor. "Didn’t say where to stay put."

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitched. He stepped closer, his bare feet silent on the tile. His shirt—your shirt now—slid off one shoulder when he reached past you to grab his jeans, his fingers lingering at the dip of your waist. "Smartass."

The word should’ve sounded harsh. It didn’t.

The hoodie sleeves swallowed your hands whole as you tugged them over your fingers, the fabric still warm from Jungkook’s body heat. He watched you with that same unreadable expression—half amused, half something darker—as he yanked on his jeans, the denim clinging to his damp thighs.

"You’re stealing my clothes now?" he murmured, stepping close enough that his bare chest brushed the soaked front of his hoodie where it hung off your frame.

You shrugged, suddenly aware of how ridiculous you must look—dripping wet, drowning in his clothes, smelling like his soap and the shop’s grease. "You told me to stay put. Didn’t specify naked."

Jungkook’s laugh was low, his fingers hooking in the hoodie’s drawstrings to tug you closer. "Keep it," he said, his breath warm against your forehead. "Looks better on you anyway."

a/n: this bar/biker idea is inspired by E85 - by gguksprincess | but its different i swear

requests will be irregular because i sleep like a normal person (unlike him.)

do not copy, repost, or translate without permission.

ggukiebar

sex tape | j.jk

pairing: videographer jungkook x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: looking for a decent job, you stumbled upon jungkook’s job posting on instagram, what could go wrong?

warnings: playfuldom!jungkook x fem reader, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, pussy eating, edging, spitting, degradation, dirty talk, multiple positions, detailed smut, jk is very playful in a degrading way, oral sex, camera sex, pussy slapping, choking, praising, usage of slut, cum eating, marking, multiple orgasms, rough sex, crying, overstimulation, fingering, nipple spitting, penetrative sex, creampie.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“How about being a barista again? There’s a job opening at Moonlit Cafe down the street,” Hari suggested while you sat hunched over your laptop, endlessly browsing through job postings.

You were still a student, graduating next year with bills clawing at your throat. When college started, you wanted independence so badly it ached beneath your skin. An apartment near the university. Your own keys. Your own groceries. Your own life.

Your parents had offered to cover everything without hesitation, gentle and loving as always, but guilt settled heavily in your chest whenever you thought about it. They were already paying your tuition fees. You wanted them to live comfortably too, without worrying about whether their daughter had enough money for rent or food. So you smiled and told them not to worry, drained your savings account for the apartment, and picked up multiple part-time jobs just to prove to yourself that you could survive on your own.

And for a while, you did.

The first two years of college went smoothly enough. You found decent jobs, saved enough money to live comfortably, and even bought yourself a flat-screen TV after months of careful budgeting. Your days blurred into exhausting routines—classes in the morning, shifts at the coffee shop at night, and weekends spent organizing shelves as a bookstore assistant.

You were tired all the time, but it was a satisfying kind of tired. The kind that made you feel accomplished.

Independent. Adult.

Until the coffee shop let you go.

Budget cuts, they said apologetically, avoiding your eyes while handing you the notice. Part-time workers were the first to go.

You still had the bookstore job, but the pay barely stretched far enough to cover groceries, let alone rent, electricity, and university expenses. Asking your parents for help would’ve been easy—too easy—but stubbornness rooted itself deep inside you. There were thousands of job postings online. Surely one of them would take you.

Only they never called back.

Two months had passed, and your savings were bleeding out faster than you could stop them. Every day followed the same suffocating routine: school, assignments, cheap instant dinners, and hours of doom-scrolling through applications until your vision blurred from the brightness of your screen.

You groaned quietly, rubbing your tired eyes before glancing over at Hari, who sat cross-legged beside you on the couch with a milk tea in hand. She had shown up at your apartment earlier carrying takeout bags and your favorite boba, worry written plainly across her face after noticing how little you’d been eating lately.

“I already applied there,” you muttered with a pout, dragging your gaze back to the laptop. “But they want someone full-time.”

Hari sighed dramatically, setting her drink down on the coffee table. “You seriously need to rest. You’ve been staring at that thing for hours.”

Before you could protest, she grabbed your boba and pushed it into your hands. The cold plastic pressed against your palms pleasantly.

“Drink,” she ordered. “And let me do the scrolling before you spiral into another existential crisis.”

A laugh bubbled out of her as she pulled the laptop from your lap, and despite the anxiety twisting endlessly inside your chest, you felt your shoulders loosen just a little.

You pouted lightly, sipping your boba while Hari busied herself with your laptop. Your brows slowly furrowed when you noticed her opening tab after tab with alarming confidence.

“Why are you on Facebook?” you asked with a quiet chuckle, watching her click somewhere else before another page loaded. “And now Twitter? Instagram too?”

Hari rolled her eyes dramatically, her face illuminated by the screen’s pale glow. “Because the jobs on LinkedIn are painfully boring,” she scoffed. “There are tons of part-time job offers on social media. I swear I saw one yesterday.”

She narrowed her eyes at the laptop suspiciously, scrolling with the intensity of a detective solving a murder case.

A laugh escaped you as you leaned against her shoulder, chewing on the tapioca pearls you had missed more than you cared to admit. You’d been saving every spare dollar lately, cutting out small comforts one by one until even buying boba started to feel irresponsible.

“But you don’t even know if those are legit,” you pointed out, tilting your head at her. “The sites I applied to are safer from scams and stuff.”

“I know,” Hari replied instantly. “That’s why we’re looking for jobs with a pay-first policy if it’s online.” She clicked onto another account before adding casually, “And if it’s onsite, we’ll bring a gun in case things go wrong or something.”

You burst out laughing at that, nearly choking on your drink.

“Hari!”

“What?” she laughed too, grinning shamelessly. “I’m just being prepared.”

You shook your head at her usual nonsense, warmth blooming faintly in your chest despite the stress that had been suffocating you for weeks now. Hari always had a way of dragging you out of your own head, even if only for a little while.

The apartment suddenly felt less heavy with her around.

You were honestly relieved that semester break had finally arrived. One whole month without classes. No early morning lectures. No deadlines. No professors piling work onto your shoulders.

But instead of resting like a normal person, you had thrown yourself deeper into job hunting.

Hari hated that.

As your closest friend, she had spent the last week trying to convince you to take a break—to go shopping with the girls, take an out-of-town trip, do literally anything that didn’t involve staring at job applications until three in the morning.

You declined every single invitation.

Your friends understood your situation, but they also thought you were driving yourself insane. Which, honestly, you probably were.

That was exactly why Hari showed up tonight carrying your favorite food and overpriced boba tea, determined to drag you away from your spiral. She kept trying to tempt you into going on a girls’ trip with them, insisting that one weekend away wouldn’t kill you.

But every time you thought about relaxing, all you could picture were your bills piling quietly on the kitchen counter. So instead, you stayed curled up on the couch beside her, stubbornly searching for a job you desperately needed.

Hari was beginning to look almost as desperate as you. Maybe not for herself, but for you—for the way your shoulders had slowly grown heavier these past few months, for the exhaustion permanently shadowing your eyes. She wanted you to land a job already so you could finally breathe again without worrying about rent and unpaid bills swallowing you whole.

Which was exactly why she was now doom-scrolling through Twitter with frightening determination.

“I really don’t think you’re gonna find a job there,” you muttered skeptically, watching her open an alarming amount of random threads. “Most of those look like scams.”

“Wait, wait—look at this!”

Hari suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to the screen, quickly setting her milk tea down beside her like she was preparing for something serious.

Her eyes widened.

“Okay, this one actually looks promising.”

You leaned in slightly as she read aloud.

mnijungkook on ig posted: i’m looking for someone who can take insanely good videos and photos [of me]. i’ll somehow figure out the equipment myself..! please somehow reach out to me! lol, looking for someone to film for me, seriously. and if you’re good at editing too? let’s go on tour together

“There are so many likes and retweets,” Hari said immediately, already opening another tab to search for the original Instagram post. “This has to be legit.”

The second you recognized the username, you nearly choked on your drink.

Laughter burst out of you uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as you clutched the cup tighter. Hari blinked at you in confusion while your eyes watered from laughing too hard.

“Hari,” you wheezed out, “That’s Jungkook.”

She stared blankly. “Huh? The boss?”

Another laugh escaped you.

Hari genuinely knew almost nothing about K-pop or Korean artists in general, and moments like this always reminded you just how different the two of you were.

Meanwhile, you had once been painfully obsessed.

You used to stay up until dawn watching livestreams, memorizing lyrics, collecting photocards you definitely couldn’t afford, and keeping up with every tiny update posted online. Back then, being a fan felt like a second full-time job.

But life eventually became busier.

School consumed your mornings, work consumed your nights, and somewhere in between surviving deadlines and paying bills, your fangirl phase quietly faded into the background. You still listened to their music almost daily, still smiled whenever one of their songs shuffled into your playlist, but you no longer kept up with every post or appearance the way you once did.

You guessed you had simply grown up.

Even so, seeing Jungkook casually asking for a videographer and editor on Instagram felt surreal enough to make you laugh all over again.

Not updated enough to know that Jungkook was apparently posting job offers on Instagram now. Or that he was even on tour.

“No,” you laughed, shaking your head as you finally calmed down a little. “That’s Jungkook. From BTS. They’re, like… insanely famous, Hari. This is probably some kind of joke or publicity thing.”

Hari’s brows knitted together in confusion before realization slowly dawned across her face. She clicked onto the Instagram profile, eyes widening at the blue verification check and the terrifying number of followers sitting beneath his username.

Nearly thirty million.

“Ohhh, BTS,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Wait—I think I’ve seen him before.” She squinted at one of the photos. “Wasn’t he in a Calvin Klein ad or something?”

You snorted. “Yeah. That’s him.”

Honestly, you expected her to laugh it off after realizing who posted it. Maybe call the idea ridiculous and move on to another job listing.

Instead, Hari clicked onto his Instagram story again with alarming seriousness.

“That means…” she trailed off.

“It’s probably a joke,” you interrupted immediately.

“This is good pay,” she said at the exact same time, eyes practically glittering now.

Before you could stop her, she pressed the reply button beneath the story.

Your lips parted slightly. You genuinely couldn’t tell if she was being serious or completely delusional right now. Probably both. But either way, you let her continue typing because there was absolutely no chance Jungkook himself would ever see it.

He probably received thousands of messages every minute. Millions, even.

The thought alone felt ridiculous.

“Whatever,” you muttered with a helpless chuckle, giving up entirely. “I’m heating up the rice bowl.”

Hari waved you off distractedly, already multitasking between your laptop and her phone like this had suddenly become her personal mission.

You shook your head fondly before standing from the couch, grabbing the takeout container she bought earlier. The apartment filled with the quiet hum of the microwave a moment later, warm light spilling across the tiny kitchen while Hari continued aggressively applying for a job that definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent was never going to happen.

You woke up to the shrill sound of your alarm, already preparing yourself for another long day of job hunting.

Hari went home late last night after spending an absurd amount of time DMing Jungkook and scrolling through social media for more “opportunities,” as she called them. Somewhere between laughing at ridiculous job listings and sharing takeout on your couch, the two of you ended up watching an old Disney movie to help you relax.

She still tried convincing you to go on the girls’ out-of-town trip. You still refused.

No matter how badly you wanted a break, your priorities were painfully clear right now. You needed stability first. A stable paycheck. A stable life. Then maybe you could afford to breathe.

After showering, you made yourself a decent cup of coffee and opened your laptop with a tired sigh, mentally preparing to send out another batch of applications that probably wouldn’t get answered.

Then your phone buzzed beside you. An Instagram notification lit up the screen.

You snorted softly to yourself. “This must be Jungkook,” you joked under your breath, absentmindedly opening the app.

What the fuck.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the message sitting in your inbox. The coffee suddenly tasted bitter in your mouth.

What the actual fuck?

“Hari!” you practically shrieked the second she answered your call. “Fuck! I don’t even edit videos! I only know basic stuff! I can’t even record properly without my hands shaking!”

You paced around your apartment while panicking into the phone, one hand gripping your hair as you reread the messages over and over again in disbelief.

Sometime after you went to the kitchen last night, Hari had apparently taken it upon herself to completely ruin your life.

She sent Jungkook your entire curriculum vitae.

Not only that—she also wrote and attached a full cover letter explaining why he should hire you.

The realization alone nearly made you pass out.

And when you discovered she had changed your insta profile picture into a formal-looking one while you weren’t paying attention?

You almost laughed and cried at the same time.

It genuinely looked like you had desperately prepared for this opportunity your entire life.

Your eyes skimmed through the cover letter again, horror slowly mixing with something embarrassingly emotional. Hari had written your entire backstory in there—about struggling financially, balancing school and work, trying to stay independent despite everything.

And then she started lying. Blatantly.

Apparently, according to Hari, you were “highly skilled in video editing” with “experience in cinematography.”

Cinematography my ass.

“Hehe… well,” Hari giggled shamelessly through the phone, completely unbothered by your spiraling. Noise echoed behind her, voices and music blending together enough for you to realize she was already with the girls on their trip. “You have to fake a few things to get accepted sometimes, right?”

“Ugh, I can’t do this!” you cried dramatically, pacing back and forth around your apartment while gripping your phone tightly. “I literally don’t know anything about filming! And what if he sues me for faking my skills? He’s famous and influential, Hari!”

Your eyes darted back toward your laptop sitting open on the table, Jungkook’s message glowing on the screen like a ticking time bomb ready to ruin your entire life.

Hari only laughed harder through the call.

“Girl, just try!” she said between giggles. “Watch a tutorial on YouTube or something. Besides…” her tone suddenly turned suspiciously persuasive, “It’s really good pay.”

“Hari!” you screamed again, horrified.

“God, I still can’t believe he actually replied to you,” she continued teasingly. “You must’ve impressed him with your amazing cinematography skills.”

You groaned so loudly you nearly scared yourself.

The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong about the pay.

Your eyes had nearly bulged out of your skull when you saw the amount attached to the offer. There were so many zeros that your brain genuinely short-circuited for a moment.

That was exactly why you couldn’t let it go.

Out of everyone who probably replied to his story, Jungkook somehow answered you.

You. The probability alone felt absurd.

Thousands of people would kill for this opportunity right now, and meanwhile you were pacing around your apartment like you were preparing for a court trial instead of a job offer.

At first, the teenage fangirl buried deep inside you nearly exploded from excitement. The situation dragged you back to years ago—staying up until four in the morning streaming music videos, binge-watching funny compilations, memorizing choreography you could never actually dance, spending money you absolutely shouldn’t have spent on albums and photocards.

Back then, BTS had practically consumed your life. But time passed.

Somewhere between work shifts, college deadlines, and trying to survive adulthood, you slowly stopped keeping up with them. You still listened to the music, of course, but you no longer knew where they were, what they were doing, or how much they had changed over the years.

Curiosity eventually got the better of you. So you stalked Jungkook’s Instagram a little.

And oh.

Oh, he had changed.

A full sleeve of tattoos now wrapped around his right arm, dark ink decorating skin that used to be bare. Silver piercings glinted against his face in ways that somehow suited him unfairly well. His frame had broadened too, shoulders stronger, body lean and built with the kind of maturity that made him almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered.

You were used to soft brown hair, oversized hoodies, black skinny jeans, clean arms, and those wide doe-like eyes that made the entire internet lose their minds.

Now he looked mature. Sharper. More dangerous somehow.

A man instead of a boy. And annoyingly enough, it looked really good on him.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, finally realizing you’d been staring at a motorcycle video he posted for far too long.

You immediately locked your phone and pressed it dramatically against your forehead.

“I cannot fangirl right now or I’m seriously gonna lose it.”

Hari kept telling you to just go for it. “You literally have a whole month off from school,” she argued over the phone while you spiraled for the hundredth time. “This is basically the perfect sideline job.”

Sideline job. As if working for Jungkook of BTS was equivalent to tutoring kids after class.

Your stomach twisted anxiously as you stared at the message again. Every second that passed made you feel like the opportunity was slipping farther away. With the amount of people probably flooding his inbox right now, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t change his mind the moment someone actually qualified replied to him.

Your eyes skimmed over his message again, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast.

mnijungkook: hey, i saw your cv ㅎㅎ you really didn’t have to explain everything, but i’m glad you did. i can tell you’re being genuine about this. even without samples, the way you talked about cinematography/editing made me feel like you actually care about it and pay attention to details. sometimes that matters more to me than someone trying too hard to look “professional”

also i get the whole semester break thing. a month is still enough time to try something fun and see if we work well together

don’t stress too much about equipment either because i barely know what i’m doing there yet lol

for payment, don’t worry. if you end up coming with me, i’ll make sure you’re paid well — probably around $20-30k usd for the month depending on the schedule + travel and hotel covered.

send me your contact info? we can talk more properly :))

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I am not passionate about cinematography,” you nearly whimpered to yourself, dropping your face into your hands. “To hell with cinematography.”

The amount of lies in Hari’s cover letter was genuinely evil.

And now Jungkook thought you were some hidden creative genius with an artistic eye and a deep love for filmmaking when in reality you barely knew how to stabilize a phone camera.

You felt sick.

But then your eyes drifted back to the payment offer. Twenty to thirty thousand dollars. Travel covered. Hotels covered. Your bank account practically screamed at you to shut up and take the opportunity.

So with trembling fingers and the overwhelming sensation that you were actively ruining your own life, you began typing a reply. A reply that dug your grave even deeper.

You agreed with him. You agreed that you were a “good editor.”

You added your contact details while simultaneously praying that YouTube tutorials could somehow transform you into a professional videographer overnight.

Your fingers hovered above the send button before you forced yourself to press it.

You: thank you so much for even considering me :D i really do believe i’m a good editor, especially when it comes to making things feel natural and cinematic instead of overdone.

i’d genuinely love to work for you if you’ll have me. i’m willing to learn fast, adjust to whatever style you want, and work hard during the whole month of my semester break.

my contact details are below, thank you so much!

The message was sent instantly.

You stared at the screen in silence afterward, horror slowly settling into every inch of your body.

Yeah. You were doomed.

“Wow, what the hell.” Your eyes widened the second you stepped into the hotel room Jungkook had booked for you.

The past few days had moved so fast it almost gave you whiplash. After you sent your contact details, Jungkook immediately messaged you about schedules, filming dates, locations, and travel arrangements as if hiring strangers from Instagram was a completely normal thing for him to do.

Everything had already been prepared before you could even panic properly.

Your plane ticket? Booked.

Hotel room? Paid for.

Transportation? Arranged.

Food allowance? Included.

All you had to do was pack your bags and somehow learn how to film and edit professionally before embarrassing yourself on an international scale.

Easy.

“I am so spoiled,” you muttered in disbelief, slowly stepping farther into the room. It was huge.

Bigger than huge, honestly. The hotel suite looked almost the size of your apartment back home, warm lighting spilling across polished floors and neatly arranged furniture that looked far too expensive for you to even breathe near.

Then your attention landed on the large table sitting near the windows. And your soul nearly left your body.

Equipment. So much fucking equipment.

Two massive black cameras rested neatly beside a smaller handheld one. There was an iPad, a laptop, tripods, microphones, chargers, lighting equipment, and cables so intimidating they looked like they belonged inside a spaceship instead of a filming setup.

Your luggage slipped from your fingers onto the floor with a dull thud as you walked toward the table cautiously, like the devices might explode if you touched them incorrectly.

Your eyes widened even more.

For the past several days, you have been desperately teaching yourself how to edit videos and film cinematic shots. Watching tutorials until sunrise. Memorizing transitions. Learning random camera terms you barely understood.

But you had been practicing with your phone. Your fucking phone.

Meanwhile these cameras looked expensive enough to pay your rent for the next ten years.

You carefully picked one up with both hands, terrified you’d somehow damage it through sheer incompetence alone.

Honestly, you were still shocked Jungkook never asked for samples of your work.

If he had, your career would’ve ended immediately.

The only thing you could’ve shown him was a mediocre CapCut edit with dramatic black-and-white filters slapped over it to make it look “cinematic.”

You groaned loudly, dropping your forehead against the edge of the table.

“Oh my God,” you whispered into the expensive wood. “I’m actually a fraud.”

You nearly lost balance holding the enormous camera in your hands, quickly tightening your grip before your entire future shattered onto the hotel floor in high definition. “Woah, this is heavy.”

Your eyes stayed locked on the equipment nervously as you adjusted the strap around your wrist, trying your best to look like someone who actually knew what they were doing. Because if Jungkook realized how painfully inexperienced you were, he might personally send you back to your country on the next available flight.

You wouldn’t even blame him. The past few nights had been brutal.

You barely slept at all, surviving almost entirely on instant noodles, caffeine, and pure fear while desperately teaching yourself editing techniques through YouTube tutorials. Your laptop had become an extension of your body at this point, constantly running sample footage you filmed around your apartment just so you could practice transitions, lighting adjustments, stabilization, and color grading.

You even studied Jungkook’s editing style specifically.

The pacing of his vlogs.

The soft cinematic filters.

The random zoom-ins.

The casual, natural feeling of the clips.

You analyzed everything like your life depended on it because technically, your rent kind of did. You were getting paid for this. A ridiculous amount, too.

And there was absolutely no way you could afford getting exposed now.

“Okay…” you muttered slowly while fiddling with the camera settings. “This is kinda… easy?”

You said it more like a question than a statement. Still, you forced yourself to keep going.

You searched up tutorials for the exact camera model, watched setup guides, practiced adjusting focus and lighting, and filmed random clips around the room like an aspiring film student fighting for survival.

At some point, you even started taking artistic shots of your coffee cup near the hotel window. For practice, obviously.

Tomorrow was your first official filming day.

According to the schedule Jungkook emailed you earlier, you’d be accompanying him to a golf activity before the concert. He wanted behind-the-scenes footage for the fans—small moments throughout the day, casual interactions, preparations before performing.

And apparently that was only the beginning. Over the next few days, you’d also be filming soundchecks, backstage moments, errands, workouts, rehearsals, and random snippets of his daily routine while on tour.

Basically, your entire existence now revolves around documenting Jungkook’s life aesthetically.

No pressure.

You used his latest vlog as your main reference while practicing, pausing every few seconds to study angles and editing choices carefully. Honestly, the style itself wasn’t impossible to recreate. It leaned more natural than overly polished, which helped calm your nerves slightly.

The problem was you. You weren’t skilled.

And the more you thought about his expectations, the more your stomach twisted itself into knots.

But backing out wasn’t an option anymore.

Not after the cover letter.

Not after the hotel.

Not after the plane ticket.

Definitely not after seeing the paycheck.

So instead of panicking yourself into quitting, you threw every ounce of energy into learning. Practicing. Training.

Like you were preparing for the Olympics instead of secretly faking your way into being Jungkook’s videographer.

You almost had a heart attack when your phone suddenly buzzed while you were testing the cameras.

The heavy device nearly slipped straight out of your hands as Jungkook’s name flashed across the screen.

Your pulse instantly skyrocketed.

Jungkook: hey, i left all the equipment on the table in your hotel room because i had to leave early for rehearsal. camera batteries are charging already, memory cards are inside the small black case, and i think i accidentally tangled all the wires together so… good luck with that honestly ㅎㅎ

there’s also a pass hanging on the chair for backstage access. don’t lose it or my manager’s gonna kill me lol

take your time checking everything first before we head out tomorrow. and if anything’s confusing just call me :))

You stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary, a smile unconsciously pulling at your lips.

His personality somehow translated perfectly even through text messages alone—easygoing, playful, ridiculously approachable despite being one of the biggest celebrities in the world.

It reminded you exactly why he used to be your ultimate bias years ago. There was something naturally charming about him. Something warm.

You quickly typed a reply before you could overthink it too much.

You: yes! i am checking them out hehe.. the batteries are currently charging, the cards are safe, and i’m currently fighting for my life trying to untangle these wires hahaha

good luck with rehearsal!! see you tomorrow!

The second you pressed send, immediate regret flooded your body. You stared at your message in horror.

Why did I sound like that?

Your cheeks burned violently as you reread the multiple “hehe’s” and unnecessary laughter typed into the conversation like a teenager texting her crush for the first time.

You physically covered your face with your hands.

“Oh my God,” you groaned into your palms. It wasn’t like you were trying to flirt.

Or maybe… just a little bit.

Which honestly made the situation infinitely worse.

You used to be an incredibly dedicated ARMY once upon a time, and frankly, this entire situation was making your heart malfunction.

Working for Jungkook.

Texting Jungkook.

Meeting Jungkook.

It all felt unreal in the most dangerous way possible.

But you forced yourself to set the fangirl part aside before it completely consumed you. You needed to stay professional. Calm. Composed.

Otherwise, you were genuinely convinced you’d suffer a stroke before filming a single decent piece of content for him.

So instead of spiraling, you spent the entire night practicing.

Testing the cameras.

Learning the settings.

Adjusting lighting.

Checking the microphones repeatedly to make sure the audio sounded clean.

You edited random sample clips until your eyes burned from exhaustion, determined to familiarize yourself with the equipment enough to at least fake confidence tomorrow.

And somehow, by pure fear-driven determination alone, morning arrived faster than expected.

You woke up early to practice filming one last time before leaving, moving around the hotel room with nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. You were oddly dedicated now—almost desperate—to prove that hiring you wasn’t a mistake.

After showering, you dressed carefully in clothes that screamed “professional videographer” despite the fact that you absolutely were not one.

A black long-sleeved polo, dark slacks and black shoes. You even tied your hair back neatly, staring at yourself in the mirror afterward like you were about to infiltrate the FBI instead of filming golf content.

A knock sounded at your hotel door.

“Good day, Ms. Y/N. Are you ready?”

You immediately straightened up before opening it, greeted by one of the bodyguards Jungkook assigned to escort you. His black shades reflected your visibly nervous expression back at you.

“Yes,” you answered quickly, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Before leaving, you double-checked everything one last time—the batteries, memory cards, laptop, chargers—making sure nothing important was missing before following the bodyguard downstairs.

Outside, a sleek black car waited for you.

Your heartbeat quickened the moment you stepped inside.

You were scheduled to arrive an hour earlier than Jungkook so you could prepare the equipment and set everything up properly before filming started. Which meant you had an entire hour alone to panic in peace.

The ride itself was painfully quiet. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the car while city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Your hands rested stiffly over your bag, fingers nervously tapping against the expensive camera inside while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.

You swallowed hard. “I can do this,” you whispered quietly to yourself.

Though honestly, you sounded unconvinced. The moment the golf course entrance came into view, your stomach twisted so violently you almost gagged.

Oh God. This was actually happening.

The bodyguard escorted you inside shortly after, guiding you toward the smaller private golf area before leaving you alone to prepare your setup.

The silence that followed felt enormous.

You slowly placed the equipment down, inhaling deeply as the morning breeze brushed against your face. The golf course stretched beautifully beneath the early sunlight, calm and expensive and intimidating all at once.

And somewhere in the middle of unpacking tripods with trembling hands, one horrifying realization settled heavily into your chest.

Soon, Jungkook was going to arrive.

You looked around quietly, taking in the golf course while trying to calm the violent beating of your heart.

The place felt tucked away from the rest of the world somehow—small, peaceful, almost unreal in its stillness. Unlike the massive championship courses you usually saw online, this one felt more intimate. The holes were laid out closer together across smooth fairways trimmed so perfectly they looked like green velvet beneath the morning sun.

Small sand bunkers curved around the landscape, soft hills rolling gently beneath clean white flags planted in the distance.

No screaming crowds. No cameras flashing endlessly. Just the distant rustling of trees, the muted hum of golf carts somewhere farther away, and every now and then, the satisfying thunk of a golf club striking a ball cleanly through the air.

Though, it would’ve been relaxing if you weren’t moments away from throwing up from anxiety.

Your hands were already sweaty as you unpacked the equipment carefully, trying not to look like you had absolutely no clue what you were doing. You adjusted the camera repeatedly, searching for decent angles while silently thanking every higher power possible that there weren’t many people around.

Only a few locals occupied the course, minding their own business.

Good.

Less witnesses for your downfall.

You became so focused on testing camera movements and practicing steady shots that you completely failed to notice someone approaching behind you.

It wasn’t until you angled the camera upward during practice that your soul nearly exited your body.

Jungkook stood directly in frame, smiling right into the lens. Your heart stopped.

“Hi,” he greeted warmly, amusement flickering across his face as he glanced at the camera in your hands. “Looks like you’re having fun already.”

A black sports bag rested beside your equipment now, meaning he must’ve walked over while you were too busy pretending to be a professional filmmaker to notice.

Your eyes widened instantly. “Oh my God—”

You almost tripped over your own feet while hurriedly lowering the camera, panic rushing through your body all at once.

“I was just, um—checking the angles,” you explained nervously, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward. “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N.”

You quickly wiped your damp palms against your slacks before offering your hand to him politely.

Up close, he somehow looked even more unreal. Tall, broad-shouldered, with beautiful tattoos curling around his arm, silver piercings catching the sunlight softly whenever he smiled.

And unfortunately for your sanity, he was even more handsome in person. Ridiculously so. The kind of handsome that made it difficult to think properly when he looked at you for too long.

He chuckled softly before taking your hand in his. His grip was warm.

Your brain short-circuited immediately.

Dressed in a fitted white polo shirt and black Nike shorts, a black cap resting low over his dark hair in a way that somehow made him look both ridiculously expensive and effortlessly casual at the same time.

The shirt did absolutely nothing to hide how built he was.

You could see the outline of his muscles beneath the fabric every time he moved, his shoulders broad enough to almost completely block the sunlight from where you stood.

“Hello,” he said warmly, shaking your hand once. “I’m Jungkook. Nice to meet you too.” Your cheeks instantly burned.

Seeing him through a screen was one thing. Seeing him in person felt entirely different.

He was so much more charismatic up close it almost irritated you. His bunny teeth peeked out whenever he smiled, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners while he spoke in that easy, friendly tone that made it impossible not to relax around him.

His entire aura felt bright somehow. Light. Dangerously charming.

You were absolutely screwed.

“I’ll leave the filming techniques up to you,” he continued casually, walking over toward the cooler nearby. “Feel free to film me however you want. No pressure.”

No pressure.

As if your nervous system wasn’t already collapsing in on itself.

He grabbed a cold bottle of water before offering another one toward you naturally, like this entire situation wasn’t surreal at all.

“Thank you,” you answered quickly, taking the bottle before immediately setting it aside again. “Uh—I’ll start filming now!”

You lifted the camera again with almost aggressive determination, eager to gather as much footage as possible. More clips meant more editing options later. More editing options meant a smaller chance of exposing yourself as a complete fraud.

Jungkook raised an amused brow at your sudden seriousness, his gaze briefly traveled over your outfit before returning to your face.

“You sure?” he asked lightly. “You don’t wanna eat first? I still have to stretch and stuff anyway.”

You shook your head immediately. “Nope.”

Your grip tightened around the camera slightly. “I wanna include behind-the-scenes snippets too, so…” you explained, trying your best to sound professional despite your racing heart. “This would actually be good footage.”

The determination in your voice made Jungkook smile again. And for some reason, that tiny look of approval made your stomach flip harder than it should have.

Jungkook chuckled softly. “Alright,” he said easily. “Just tell me if you need specific details or angles.”

Then he walked toward the side of the golf course to begin stretching.

You immediately followed after him with the camera clutched in your hands exactly the way you practiced all night, quickly pressing record before your nerves could stop you.

At first, things seemed to be going surprisingly well. You filmed everything.

His warm-ups were slow, deliberate—like he was already in control of everything around him.

The way he adjusted his gloves with quiet precision. The subtle flex of his arms as he set up his iron, muscles shifting beneath fabric like something effortless and practiced. The clean, confident swing of the club cutting through air before striking the ball with a sharp, satisfying sound. The soft crunch of grass beneath his shoes as he shifted his stance, grounding himself between each shot.

Then the stillness between it all.

Him sitting down beneath the shade, momentarily retreating from the sun. Him lifting a bottle of water to his lips, throat moving as he drank, the back of his hand brushing sweat away from his neck without much thought.

You practically documented his entire existence.

At one point, you even almost followed him toward the restroom before your brain caught up with your body at the last second.

You genuinely thought you were doing an amazing job.

From your perspective, more footage meant more options later during editing. You didn’t want to miss a single moment that could potentially look cinematic or useful.

But from Jungkook’s perspective… It was a little concerning.

At first, he simply watched quietly. He noticed the small mistakes immediately—the way you held the camera too stiffly sometimes, the awkward adjustments of the lens, the shaky transitions between movements.

Still, he tried convincing himself that maybe you were just getting comfortable with the equipment. Maybe you simply needed time.

But as the day continued, realization slowly settled in. Especially when he caught you aggressively zooming into completely unnecessary details before quickly rotating the lens too fast, creating footage that would probably look dizzying when played back.

Beginner.

The word settled into his thoughts almost instantly. You followed him everywhere with unwavering focus, constantly checking the framing, adjusting settings, filming from different angles even when your hands visibly started struggling beneath the camera’s weight.

By the time he returned from the restroom later that afternoon, he paused slightly at the sight of you near the equipment table.

You were rotating your shoulders carefully with a tired grimace, trying to ease the soreness from carrying the camera all day. Sweat clung lightly against your forehead beneath the heat of the sun, and your fingers looked faintly red from gripping the equipment for hours.

Still, the moment you noticed him approaching again, you instinctively reached for the camera.

“I think you have enough footage for today,” Jungkook said quietly before you could pick it up again.

His voice carried something firmer now. Your hands froze mid-motion.

You blinked at him in confusion. “Huh?” you asked, adjusting your grip on the camera. “But you’re not done yet.”

He was still in the middle of playing. There were still shots left, more footage you could take, more angles you could practice.

But instead of continuing, Jungkook simply placed the iron back onto the rack with a quiet sigh.

Something about his body language had changed. Subtle, but noticeable.

The playful brightness from earlier dimmed slightly, exhaustion settling into the slope of his shoulders as he rubbed the back of his neck.

And suddenly, anxiety crept beneath your skin.

Was he disappointed?

The answer was yes. Not angry—he wasn’t angry. But disappointed enough to realize the truth little by little throughout the day.

You don’t have any clue on what you were doing.

The way you handled the camera, the inconsistent framing, the random zoom-ins, the awkward adjustments every few seconds—it was painfully obvious that you were inexperienced.

And for a brief moment, ugly thoughts crossed his mind despite himself.

He trusted you.

Even without polished sample reels or impressive portfolios, he still chose to trust you. Your cover letter had been painfully sincere, especially the part about wanting independence. Wanting to do things on your own so you wouldn’t burden your parents. Wanting to make them proud. Wanting to stand on your own feet.

That part stayed with him longer than it should have.

A lot of people sent him impressive applications. High-quality edits. Cinematic videos. Professional portfolios crafted carefully to catch his attention. Thousands of direct messages flooded his account constantly, most of them blending together into meaningless noise after a while.

But yours stood out somehow.

Maybe it was the formal profile picture that made him laugh- looked strangely earnest among the endless stream of unserious messages. Maybe it was the desperation hidden between your carefully written sentences. Or maybe it was simply because your letter resonated with him more than he expected it to.

He understood that kind of desperation.

That overwhelming need to prove yourself to the world.

He had been independent from a young age too, forced to grow up far earlier than most people ever had to. He knew what it felt like to carry pressure so heavy it started shaping the person you became.

But still—

Maybe you lied just to get close to him.

Maybe you wanted the money.

Maybe you were just another person trying to take advantage of him somehow.

God knew he had already met far too many people like that.

But every time those thoughts surfaced, they disappeared almost instantly the second he looked at you again.

Because you were trying so hard. Too hard, honestly.

The determination written across your face all day felt painfully genuine, from the way you followed him around with aching arms to the sweat gathering near your forehead while you forced yourself to keep filming despite your obvious exhaustion.

You looked less like a manipulative opportunist and more like someone desperately trying not to fail.

Still, disappointment lingered quietly beneath his ribs. A dull ache he couldn’t quite shake away no matter how sincere you looked trying to impress him.

And instead of sending you home immediately, another thought slowly crept into his mind.

Something dangerous.

Something mean.

Something dirty enough to make his pulse slow.

He wanted to punish you for it.

Not enough to truly hurt you—never that—but enough to make you understand exactly what happened when you lied to him. Enough to leave you breathless beneath the weight of his attention, overwhelmed by the consequences of trying to fool him so boldly.

Jungkook had always been competitive for a reason.

He hated losing, hated being made a fool of.

And now that you had managed to slip past his guard so easily, there was no way he was letting you walk away untouched by it.

Oh, he was going to have so much fun with you.

“I wanna film something,” he finally said instead, voice quieter now. More serious.

Your breath caught slightly at the sudden change in tone. The warmth from earlier had faded into something calmer. Harder to read.

“Oh,” you answered softly, momentarily caught off guard. “Okay! What kind of content?”

You quickly stood up and began fixing the equipment into your bags, noticing him grab his car keys from beside his sports bag.

“You’ll see,” he said simply, before turning toward the exit.

Your own brows furrowed in confusion. The schedule he sent clearly stated golf content for today. Nothing else.

Still, you followed him quietly anyway. When he told you to ride with him instead of the escort vehicle, your confusion deepened even more, though you didn’t question it aloud. Maybe he wanted driving footage or some cinematic clips for the vlog.

That had to be it.

Your heart thumped nervously as you climbed into his car beside him, immediately noticing how sleek and absurdly expensive the interior looked. The soft scent of fresh mint lingered in the air, clean and comforting somehow.

The realization that you were sitting inside Jungkook’s car with Jungkook himself nearly made your soul leave your body.

Your hands instinctively reached toward the camera bag.

“No,” Jungkook chuckled softly the moment he noticed. “You’re not gonna film here, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl.

Your entire brain stopped functioning. Heat rushed violently into your cheeks as you slowly pulled your hands away from the bag.

“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Okay…”

You bit your lip afterward, turning slightly toward the window to hide your expression while curiosity twisted tighter inside your chest.

Where exactly was he taking you?

The moment you saw the familiar hotel building come into view through the windshield, confusion settled deeper into your chest.

You followed Jungkook quietly through the lobby, nerves buzzing beneath your skin with every step.

He had gone strangely quiet after golf. Still calm, still composed—but not as bright as before. The easy smiles disappeared, replaced by something heavier lingering beneath his expression, and it made your stomach tighten painfully.

“Uhm…” you started carefully while standing beside him inside the elevator. “Are you gonna get a few more cameras or something?”

The elevator doors slid shut. Jungkook glanced at you briefly, his doe eyes half-lidded in a way that made your throat suddenly feel dry.

“Take a guess.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. Something about his tone made nervousness crawl violently through your body. And when the elevator finally opened onto your floor, Jungkook grabbed your wrist without warning.

You gasped softly, he dragged you out impatiently, long strides carrying the two of you quickly down the hallway toward your hotel room. His grip wasn’t painful, but firm enough to make your pulse race uncontrollably beneath your skin.

By the time you stopped in front of your door, your mind was already spiraling. Jungkook looked down at you expectantly, his pupils dilated, still holding your wrist while waiting for you to unlock the room.

Did he figure it out? The thought struck so hard your chest physically tightened.

Your fingers trembled slightly while pulling out the keycard. Guilt flooded your system all at once, thick and suffocating.

You were scared.

Scared he’d yell at you. Scared he’d confiscate the equipment. Scared he’d have you booked on the next flight home before you even had a chance to explain yourself.

Completely unaware of the way his dark, playful mind worked. Completely unaware of how badly he wanted to punish you.

“Jungkook, I—”

But the words died immediately when he walked past you instead.

He took the camera bag from your hands and moved straight toward the table, pulling out the camera you used earlier before checking the rest of the equipment you left behind.

You blinked in confusion. Huh?

Jungkook grabbed another camera calmly before setting up one of the tripods with practiced ease. The way his fingers moved across the equipment was fast and precise, adjusting settings effortlessly while rotating the camera into position like second nature. His shoulders flexed beneath the white polo each time he lifted the tripod, veins bulging faintly along his tattooed forearms while he fixed the lighting behind it.

Your lips parted slightly without meaning to. He looked ridiculously good doing something as simple as setting up cameras.

“W-What are you doing?” you stammered, confused.

Jungkook glanced back at you over his shoulder while tightening something near the tripod head.

“Sit on the bed for me.”

Your stomach flipped violently. “H-Huh? I mean okay,” you answered quietly, swallowing hard before slowly moving toward the bed.

You sat carefully near the edge while watching him continue adjusting the setup.

With one hand alone, Jungkook lifted the heavy tripod effortlessly and positioned it directly in front of the bed, angling the camera downward toward where you sat.

The veins along his arms flexed again beneath the strain.

Your throat went completely dry. The room suddenly felt much smaller than before.

Hotter too.

You watched silently as he grabbed another tripod, this time placing it to the right side of the bed. Both cameras pointed directly at you now. And for some reason, the sight made your heartbeat pound harder than ever before.

He looked through the camera lens carefully, head tilting slightly as he adjusted the angle. “Lay down on the bed.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “What—”

“Lay down.” he commanded sharply.

This time, his tone came out firmer. Serious. Leaving absolutely no room for argument.

And somehow, the way he looked at you through the camera lens sent a sharp shiver crawling down your spine.

To your own horror, excitement slowly started mixing with the fear curling inside your stomach.

You almost wanted to slap yourself for it.

You swallowed hard before slowly slipping your shoes off, awkwardly climbing farther onto the bed until your back rested against the headboard.

Every movement suddenly felt painfully self-aware beneath the cameras pointed directly at you.

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek thoughtfully while studying the frame through the viewfinder, eventually stepping forward again to move the tripod closer.

Before you could shift yourself lower against the mattress, he suddenly walked toward you instead. Your breath hitched the second he crouched down in front of you holding the clip-on microphone.

He leaned in close enough for you to catch the faint scent of mint lingering on him.

“You forgot these earlier,” he said lightly, though there was something mocking beneath the softness of his voice now.

“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Uhm… I was in a rush, so…” Your cheeks burned instantly from embarrassment.

Of course you forgot the microphones!

Jungkook raised a brow slowly. “You were in a rush?” he repeated with a quiet chuckle before standing back up again.

Then he walked toward the table and grabbed the smaller digital camcorder, casually aiming it toward you.

The amount of cameras pointed at you now made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Instinctively, you tried sitting up straighter, but Jungkook stopped you immediately.

“Stay still,” he said calmly. “I wanna test the cameras.”

“Test the cameras?”

“I think you need a little demo, baby.” Your heartbeat stopped. “You weren’t doing a very good job earlier.” The teasing mockery in his tone hit you like a truck.

And suddenly everything crashed down at once. Your eyes widened in horror.

Fuck.

He knew.

Of course he knew!

Heat rushed violently into your face and neck, humiliation crawling across your entire body so intensely it almost hurt. Your chest tightened painfully while tears burned behind your eyes before you could stop them.

You looked away instinctively, shame flooding every inch of you.

God, this was so embarrassing.

“J-Jungkook, please,” you stammered quickly, panic slipping into your voice. “I’m not trying to scam you or anything, it’s just that—”

He stepped closer until his knees brushed against the edge of the bed.

And somehow, that almost satisfied look on his face made your stomach twist even more.

You looked so shy. So cornered. Like a poor little thing unknowingly walking straight into his hands.

His gaze lingered on you with dangerous amusement, as though you had already become his favorite test subject for the cameras.

Dark lazy eyes dragged slowly across your body, taking their time, shamelessly roaming over every inch of you while his imagination sparked vividly to life. You could almost see the thoughts forming behind his eyes—every filthy thing he wanted to do to you, every position he wanted to bend you into, every sound he wanted to force out of your mouth while the cameras kept recording.

And somehow, what excited him even more was the thought of filming it all. Editing it afterward. Watching you fall apart for him frame by frame.

“Shh,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay.”

Your watery eyes lifted toward him immediately. “I’ll teach you how to film, hmm?” he said mockingly.

“W-What?” Your lips parted in disbelief.

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, dark eyes fixed on yours with an unreadable expression.

“Gonna show you the right angles, baby,” he cooed. “What do you think?” He smiled without humor.

The contrast made you shiver. “B-But…”

“Will you cooperate with me?” he asked, voice smooth and almost condescending, like he was speaking to a child. His fingers tapped lightly against one of the cameras beside him. “We wouldn’t want these cameras to go to waste, would we?”

Your throat tightened. Part of you wanted to disappear completely. To book the next flight home, apologize profusely, and somehow repay every expense he wasted on you.

But another part of you—the younger version buried deep inside your chest, the girl who once stayed up all night watching his videos and smiling at her screen—couldn’t let go of this moment.

Because despite everything, Jungkook still hadn’t thrown you out.

He wasn’t yelling at you.

He was giving you another chance.

And maybe that meant you still had an opportunity to prove yourself.

Thousands of people probably wanted your position right now. Yet somehow, he was still here. Patient enough to teach you himself.

Completely unaware of how dangerous that patience actually was.

Because the lessons Jungkook had in mind were nothing like the ones you were expecting.

So slowly, you nodded.

Hope flickered weakly beneath your embarrassment while your thoughts tangled themselves around one desperate need: to impress him somehow.

“Okay,” you whispered nervously. “I—I learn fast when someone’s teaching me and…”

Jungkook raised a thick brow at you. “Pretty girl’s a fast learner, huh?”

Your cheeks immediately reddened again. You nodded shyly despite the obvious teasing in his tone, unconsciously pouting a little from embarrassment.

His eyes went down to your lips, eyes darkening. “Can you count the cameras for me?” he asked a bit impatiently.

You glanced around quickly toward the setup.

The two cameras mounted on tripods.

The camcorder in his hand.

“There’s three,” you answered softly.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “Good job, baby.” he slowly lifted the camcorder higher, zooming the lens closer toward your face.

“Now look here.”

You shyly looked into the camera lens, your cheeks dusted with pink beneath the warm lights.

The way Jungkook stared at you through the camcorder made you shrink into yourself slightly, suddenly aware of every little movement you made on the bed.

He tilted his head slowly. “So pretty.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Heat crawled up your neck as you shifted uncomfortably against the mattress, fingers curling slightly into the sheets. The entire situation suddenly felt strangely intimate, and for a second your thoughts drifted somewhere dangerous before you quickly forced yourself to focus again.

This is just a demo.

He’s teaching you.

Nothing else.

“Open the first few buttons of your top,” he said, voice quieter now as he continued looking at you through the camcorder.

Your eyes widened instantly.

Did I hear that right?

“W-What?” you nearly choked out, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast despite how badly this entire situation could end for you.

And somehow, against all logic, excitement started curling through your stomach.

“Need you to cooperate, baby,” he answered smoothly. “Come on, do a nice show for me.”

The teasing edge in his tone made your stomach twist nervously.

You hesitated for a moment before slowly bringing your shaky fingers toward your top, feeling painfully aware of the cameras pointed at you from different angles.

Jungkook watched carefully through the lens, adjusting the focus ring slightly while observing the framing.

“That’s it.” he encouraged.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, fingers trembling as you slowly undid the first few buttons of your blouse. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, burning the tips of your ears as the reality of the situation settled deeper beneath your skin.

He’s filming a sex tape.

You were so fucking stupid because instead of panicking properly, instead of running or completely losing your mind, you were following him blindly. Worse—you were getting excited.

Fuck, you should’ve been crashing out right now.

But the way he looked at you— God.

It felt like he wanted to devour you whole. His dark eyes dragged over every inch of exposed skin with quiet hunger, liquid heat pulsed embarrassingly between the gap of your thighs before you could stop it.

“Open your eyes baby, stare at the camera.” he said firmly, an obvious edge underneath it.

You slowly opened your eyes. Your cheeks were already burning, breath uneven as you finished unbuttoning the last one, revealing just enough of your chest to make your thoughts scatter. The camera lens felt heavier now, more invasive, like it was watching you breathe, waiting for you to make the wrong move.

“Hmm…touch your breasts baby, give it a nice squeeze for me.” he whispered, still holding the camcorder, directing it with the ease of someone who knew exactly what every angle captured.

Completely under his control, you obeyed, your hands moving hesitantly at first before you held yourself through the fabric, giving a light squeeze that made your breath hitch. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to stay steady, trying to keep your eyes locked on the camera like he told you, even as your vision softened at the edges and your body betrayed your focus.

The room felt smaller now. Heavier.

You were getting so wet.

Jungkook let out a low groan, eyes still fixed through the lens.

“Remove your top, wanna see your pretty nipples.”

Your ears burned red at the filthy undertone. With shaky hands, you slowly pulled your top off, revealing the white lace bra beneath. The delicate fabric hugged the soft swell of your breasts perfectly, and the moment Jungkook’s eyes settled on them through the camera lens, another wave of heat rushed through your body.

You slowly tugged at the first strap, then the second, freeing your breasts as your nipples hardened, flushed and sensitive against the cool air.

“That’s it,” he instructed, voice steady. “Roll those pretty nipples for me.”

You obeyed, pinching them gently before rolling them between your fingers. Your lips parted at the rush of sensation that followed, breath catching as your panties got more stickier with your arousal.

When your gaze dropped, you noticed the strain in his black shorts—the obvious tent pressing against the fabric. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization that despite his composed, professional expression as he filmed you, he wasn’t unaffected.

He groaned, zooming in on how you were rolling and pinching your nipples, his cock throbbing at the sight, precum leaking from its mushroom tip.

“Bring your hand to your mouth,” he ordered, directing the camera at your face. “Now, spit on it.”

You whimpered. Like a good girl, you gathered your saliva and spat thickly onto your palms, showing it to him after.

He bit his lower lip, his cock getting so hard from your submissiveness. “Good girl, now rub it on your nipples—make it nice and wet for me,” he rasped.

You rubbed the spit on your breast, the warm, sticky fluid on your nipples feeling so raw and dirty, spreading the saliva messily as he watched you through the lens with hooded eyes.

You were getting so horny, the dirty act turning you on so much that you could feel your panties sticking to your core.

“Look at you,” he chuckled, slowly reaching toward you. “I bet you’re so wet right now.”

You looked so pretty—your neatly done hair now slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed from all the things he’d been instructing you to do, pebbled nipples glistening under the camera lights. Your legs trembled slightly, aching to be touched, your lips parting every now and then as your breath turned uneven, eyes hazy and unfocused.

The sight made Jungkook’s cock throb painfully hard.

His pretty little doll.

He handed you the camcorder. “Hold this, baby. Show them who’s making you this wet.”

With shaky hands and glossy eyes, you took the camera and tried to point it toward him, your eyes rolling back when he removed his white polo shirt and black shorts, leaving him in his gray Calvin Klein boxers.

You whimpered as you could see the outline of his huge cock, precum leaking at the tip, wetting the center of the cloth.

“Your angle is wrong,” he raised a brow, noticing how your shaky hands were failing a bit at holding the camera properly.

You panicked. “I’m sorry,” you rushed out, trying to straighten it, ignoring the painful pulses between your legs—your body begging to be touched.

He chuckled, leaning over you. “It’s okay, baby. That’s why we have another camera.”

His hands came up to your cheeks, gently holding and angling your face to the right so you could look toward the second camera set up by the side of the bed. “I bet you’d look so good getting fucked from that angle,” he whispered.

His grip on your cheeks tightened slightly, squishing them just enough as the camera captured everything—the way your eyes fluttered, the way your nipples hardened under his gaze, the way your legs shifted restlessly, searching for any kind of friction.

You gasped loudly when his free hand went down to cup your pussy through your pants, your eyes rolling back as he felt the wetness through the fabric.

“Fuck, let me see how wet you are, yeah?”

With one hand, he unzipped your pants, pulling them down in one forceful motion while his other hand remained on your cheeks, keeping your gaze fixed on the camera. Your other hand trembled as it tried to capture what he was doing below.

“Capture this, baby,” he breathed, guiding your hand holding the camcorder to angle it downward, towards your wet pussy.

You almost dropped the camera when he suddenly slapped your cunt, your panties nearly see-through from how wet they were with your arousal.

“Jungkook~” you whimpered.

He sat up and held both of your legs, spreading them wider until your ankles were almost on either side of the bed.

“You’re so wet, I can see your cute little slit through your panties baby.” He chuckled, leaning down and hollowing his cheeks to spit right above your clothed clit, making it even messier.

You whimpered, your toes curling at the sensation, gripping the camcorder tightly as you felt him crouch down, spreading his spit over your panties. His warm tongue then licked along your pussy through the fabric, slotting between your folds, the wet material pressing inside your slit.

“Make sure the camera can see how good I’m gonna eat this pussy.” He whispered while looking at you, flipping your panties to the side and groaning when he saw how wet and pink you were, his jaw slackening as he took almost your whole pussy into his warm mouth.

It was so wet and messy, and you could see him through the mini screen of the camcorder, maintaining direct eye contact with the lens while eating you out, making sure to pull back your hood so the camera could capture how his lips would wrapped around your swollen clit.

He suctioned around it, spreading more spit, sucking as if his life depended on it, then moved down to gather your juices before sliding his hot tongue inside you, coaxing more from you. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, showing you how he drank every bit of your wetness.

“That feels so g-good.” You moaned, trying to zoom in on how his tongue played with your folds.

He hummed, the vibrations making you twitch in pleasure.

“Yeah? This feels good?” he asked, sucking harshly on your clit as your eyes rolled back, your release building up fast. Your pussy throbbed, your clit growing more sensitive with every passing second.

“I’m gonna-’’

You moaned loudly when he buried his face deeper, never letting go of your throbbing clit, his head moving from side to side as he groaned low against you. When he finally let go of your clit, you gasped as he gathered a thick amount of saliva, hollowing his cheeks to spit harshly down on you, then leaning back in with his tongue out to spread it in slow, kitten-like licks.

When he looked up again at the lens, you exploded, your orgasm so intense you could feel your pussy pulsating so hard you almost saw stars.

‘’Stop, please!” You whined, overstimulated as he kept licking your cunt, your legs shaking from the oversensitivity.

His chin and nose were soaked, his lips slightly red and pouty, his dark locks messy, and his pupils dilated. You gasped when he suddenly removed his boxers; his cock was hard and pretty, curving slightly upward, decorated with thick veins and a red, swollen mushroom tip.

Jungkook took the camera and angled it towards you, wide glossy eyes looking up at him weakly.

“Say… thank you for making me cum, Jungkook.” He breathed, his other hand gripping his cock as he spread the precum along his shaft.

“Thank you for m-making me cum, Jungkook.” You croaked, your legs still trembling from your intense orgasm.

He smiled proudly. “My smart girl, very good at following instructions,” he praised, placing the camcorder down beside you and angling it so it could capture how his mouth leaned down to suck your nipples, while his free hand squeezed and rolled the other bud between his fingers.

“Jungkook—” you moaned as his tongue twirled and sucked around your breast, just like he had done to your clit—messy and pouty with saliva.

He bit your nipple playfully, earning a soft whimper from you, his tattooed hand reaching down to cup your swollen pussy.

You gasped when he inserted his middle finger, your walls tightening around the intrusion.

“You’re so tight and warm.” He murmured against your nipple, letting it go with a soft pop before moving to suck on the other one.

You whimpered, your pussy growing wetter from the way he sucked and played with your nipples, the pad of his middle finger brushing against your spongy spot, making you writhe in pleasure.

“Please- too much.” You moaned, his middle finger going so deep that his knuckles were hitting your ass, his finger curling in a “come here” motion inside you, rubbing your spot deliciously as your tight hole produced more juices, the feeling of your previous release being pushed inside you making you tremble.

He let go of your nipple and leaned in immediately, pouty lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, messy and demanding, tangling with yours as the kiss deepened and turned overwhelming.

At the same time, his other hand moved up to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around the column of your neck, giving it a light squeeze as he held you in place.

Your lips parted in response, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue deeper, exploring every corner of your mouth, sucking on your tongue and swallowing your whines and protests.

His hard cock pressed against your inner thigh, impossibly close to your wet pussy, grinding lightly as he shifted. You could feel his precum, warm and slick, and the firm pressure of his mushroom tip against your skin made you bite back a shaky breath, a mix of pleasure and nerves twisting together inside you.

Your walls tightened around his finger, making it almost impossible for him to move it from how tightly your pussy gripped him.

He groaned, biting your lip and nudging your thighs wider with his legs, inserting another finger and making you gasp from the mix of pain and pleasure. He swallowed your moans, almost bruising your tongue from the way he was kissing you, the air in your lungs growing limited every time he squeezed your throat.

“Shh, behave for the camera.” he whispered, his thumb caressing your throat while his middle and ring fingers rubbed your spongy spot in slow circles.

Tears fell from your eyes, the overstimulation and edging making you cry from pain. You had already come, but you wanted to cum again so badly, your pussy aching and throbbing for another release, his fingers brushing your g-spot in a teasing, ticklish way, making you shake and move your legs in protest.

“Let me cum again, please, please…” you pleaded, fat tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

He gripped your throat a little tighter, making you gasp for air. “Aww, you wanna come again?” he cooed.

You nodded desperately, moving your hips to meet his fingers. “Yes, please.”

He chuckled at you. “So polite.” he said, lazily grabbing the camcorder from the side and angling it down towards your spent pussy. “Spread wide, baby.”

You immediately held your ankles, making yourself completely open for him, desperate for release, your body aching from denied pleasure.

He angled the camera at your twitching hole, filming how your wetness dripped down the sheets. He held his hard cock, spitting down onto his shaft and pumping it a few times before angling himself towards your wet cunt.

You gasped loudly when his blunt head entered your hole, biting your lip harshly at the foreign intrusion, the stretch nearly overwhelming you from his swollen mushroom tip alone.

“So big…” you whimpered, holding your ankles tightly as a new wave of tears gathered in your eyes.

Your breath hitched, trembling as you tried to adjust, the sensation stealing every coherent thought from your mind.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, zooming in on your wet cunt to capture how your walls were sucking him in.

“Your pussy looks so good on camera baby, so tight and pretty.” He grunted, pushing halfway in and earning a loud moan from you.

His bangs stuck to his forehead, his lip ring catching the light as he bit down on his lower lip. His broad chest rose and fell heavily, veins tracing along his neck, flushed and taut with effort. Even like this, he held the camera with unnerving steadiness, like nothing about the moment could shake his focus.

So steady and professional at producing sex tapes.

When he bottomed out, you almost fainted, the stretch overwhelming—painful yet intoxicating—as he pressed fully against you. His balls settled deep, his pelvis flush with yours, the soft trim of hair brushing your clit each time he rolled his hips.

He groaned harshly. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his jaw clenching as your walls enveloped him.

“Relax, baby—you’re gripping me,” he groaned weakly, this time angling the camera toward your face.

You whimpered, trying to cover your face with your small hands, but he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. His sudden hard thrusts made your body bounce slightly with every movement, leaving you breathless.

“Don’t be shy, baby—show your pretty face to the camera,” he drawled lazily, angling it towards your flushed expression.

“Show them how good I’m making you feel.” He grunted, rolling his hips against you. The curve of his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly, buried so deep that he barely pulled out at all—only circling his hips, grinding in a way that made it feel like he wanted to push even further. The sensation drew a sharp arch through your back.

His gaze stayed locked on you through the screen, lips parted, breath uneven—like he was caught between control and losing it. The way your pussy gripped him made his cock throb, his expression darkening with something possessive and unspoken.

“Look at you, whimpering like a pretty little slut.” he said in a condescending tone.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You pouted, your walls tightening around him at his degrading tone.

He raised a brow. “Oh really? You think a lot of people won’t agree once I upload this?”

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your flushed face as his thrusts turned harsher and sloppier, the rhythm giving away how close he was getting. You were almost impressed that he was still managing to keep the camera steady.

“N-No, you are not gonna do that,” you panicked, your eyes wide and glossy, your small hands trying to push the camera away.

He grunted, his cock throbbing as he felt your pussy tighten around him. He shifted just enough to avoid the camera when you reached for it, tightening his grip around both your wrists so you couldn’t move.

“You like that, huh? Come on, pretty—let me film you properly.” He snapped his hips harder, angling the lens toward you while your bodies met in sharp, rhythmic collisions.

The friction made your breath hitch, your clit brushing against his pubic hair in a way that sent jolts of pleasure racing through your body. His grip tightened around the camcorder, breathing uneven as he watched you come apart through the screen, completely drunk on the sounds you were making for him.

“Moan louder.” he commanded.

You moaned loudly, your chest rising and falling as his harsh movements made your body react against him. His eyes rolled back slightly from the way you kept pulsating around him, every drag sending him deeper into overstimulation.

He bit his lip. “My dirty girl, getting fucked on film.” he rasped.

Then, abruptly, he let go of the camcorder and set it aside.

A soft sound escaped him as he pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Before you could fully register it, he was already moving you—pulling your body forward and repositioning you in front of him.

He settled behind you, guiding you into place so that you were now facing the cameras on the tripod, your body fully on display while his broad chest and hard cock pressed close from behind.

“You see those two cameras baby?’’ he whispered behind your ear, spreading your legs wide.

“Yes.” you replied weakly.

You gasped loudly when he entered you from behind, your body settling against his lap as his thighs kept your legs spread wide, positioning you so the camera could clearly capture the way he entered you.

“Smile for them baby, need some footage from this angle.’’ He cooed softly, thrusting his hips upward while his other arm circled around your waist to keep you steady.

You moaned, trembling so badly when you saw how the lights caught both of your bodies—the glittering sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup, and his tattooed colored arms all captured in high definition under the harsh glow.

"My pretty pretty girl, should I post this? show them how I fuck?" he murmured against your skin before pressing a kiss to your cheek, his tongue brushing lightly over the dampness left behind by your earlier tears.

The tenderness of it contrasted so badly with the hunger in his voice that it made your breath hitch. His hand cradled your face carefully, thumb stroking beneath your eye as though he was soothing you and provoking you at the same time, and the way he looked at you through half-lidded eyes made heat rush straight to your chest.

He suddenly grabbed the clip-on mic from your necklace, your eyes widening as you realized he was angling it downward—towards where his cock met your pussy.

“Need to test the mic baby, let the viewers hear how much of a nasty slut you are.”

The mic was so close that every sound was picked up clearly—the wet, obscene squelches echoing as he pushed and pulled inside you, the way he dragged against your tight heat sounding even more intense through the recording. The noise alone felt almost sinful in how loud and wet it was.

“I bet they can hear how tight your pussy is.” he grunted, putting the mic closer to your cunt.

He could feel how slick everything had become, wetting his balls each time he pushed, your arousal makes each movement messier.

“Gonna cum, oh gosh.” You moaned, your body growing hypersensitive as your clit throbbed with the pressure of an approaching orgasm.

He grabbed both of your cheeks when he noticed your head starting to fall back from pleasure, forcing you to look straight at the camera in front of you. “Be a good girl and look at the lens, don’t want my content to be bad quality.’’

His other hand clipped the mic back onto your necklace before sliding down again, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You moaned loudly, your back arching as your orgasm edged closer and closer.

“Cum for me baby, show them your cute little juices.”

Your legs were shaking when you finally reached your orgasm, your clit throbbing so intensely, your limbs giving out as your body hit its peak. Your swollen bud pulsed uncontrollably in fast, erratic heart beats, your walls clenching around his cock as he was still thrusting inside you.

Your eyes rolled back into your head when you felt your orgasm stretch further from his deep thrusts, his mushroom tip brushing against your g-spot and dragging you straight into another wave. You came again, consecutively, your body twitching as overstimulation took over, your legs instinctively trying to close.

"J-Jungkook I can't anymore."

Jungkook forced your legs to stay open, his index and middle fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for the camera, showing how your clit pulsed beneath the warm lights while his cock remained buried deep inside you.

''Mhm.. spit on your clit baby, make it extra wet before I use you." he whispered.

You squirmed, obediently leaning down as his fingers kept you spread open. With trembling breaths, you gathered saliva on your tongue before letting it drip down onto your clit, both cameras capturing the filthy sight in sharp detail.

A low curse slipped past Jungkook’s lips at the view, his grip tightening instinctively as he watched you, completely consumed by the way you willingly put yourself on display for him.

He quickly flipped your body down to chase his own pleasure, entering you again and sloppily thrusting into your wet used walls, pushing your cum deeper and deeper inside you. You were so weak, your heart still racing as you weakly reached for the camcorder to film him.

When he saw what you were doing, he groaned harshly, his grip on your hips tightening so hard it bordered on bruising as he held you down.

“My smart girl, you learned well huh?” He praised you, thrusting fast and hard, the camcorder shaking in your grip as you tried to capture his deep strokes.

"Your little brain functioning well with my cock deep inside you.'' he muttered darkly, thumb brushing against your cheek as he watched your expression unravel for him.

“A-Am I doing a good job?” you asked softly, biting your lip as you adjusted the camera to capture his face this time.

He let out a low growl in response, movements losing their rhythm slightly as pleasure started pulling him apart at the edges. “Uh-huh,” he breathed heavily. “You can be my personal little porn star. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

A loud moan escaped you at the thought, heat rushing instantly to your cheeks as you tightened your grip on the camcorder, suddenly far too eager to keep filming him.

“Gonna fuck you anytime I want,” he breathed, dilated eyes locked on you through the lens. “Film it however I like.”

With a harsh final thrust, he came inside you, grunting as he pushed through the last of it, staying buried as he finished, his body still tense with the release. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, warm cum spilling and pooling, some of it leaking out and staining the sheets beneath you while he stayed balls deep.

The camcorder slipped from your grip, forgotten as you breathed heavily beneath him. You were completely spent, still sensitive as his hips gave a few slow, instinctive movements, as if trying to push his cum deeper despite his softening cock.

“Jungkook?” you asked weakly, fingers absentmindedly playing with the soft ruffles of his hair.

“Hmm?” he hummed against your neck, lips pressing lazy kisses there, his cock still buried deep inside you. The red recording lights on the cameras kept blinking steadily in the background.

“A-Are you really gonna post this?” you bit your lip, glancing back at the two large cameras perched on the tripod.

Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, teeth grazing your skin in a teasing bite. “Mhm. I still need to edit it though.”

“Jungkook!” you squealed, panicking again.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and sharp with need, still carrying that lingering haze of desire. “Do you even know how to edit?” he asked, eyes squinting in playful doubt.

Your eyes widened. “I can edit,” you insisted quickly. “I learned a few things… I kinda know the basics.” Your voice softened at the end, almost uncertain.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he slowly pulled out, earning a shaky breath from you before he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

“Hmm. Okay…” he murmured softly, lifting the camcorder slightly between you. “Edit this video for me, then.”

“What, r-really?” you blinked, surprised that he was letting you work for him.

“Uh-huh,” he said casually. “Then we’ll see if I have to keep you or not.”

You pouted instantly at that, but he was already shifting away from you, looking at the camcorder and checking the footage with the ease of someone far too experienced at this.

The screen’s glow reflected faintly against his handsome face as he replayed a few clips, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Even now, completely relaxed, he somehow still looked annoyingly professional.

“Okay…” you mumbled softly, a little disappointment slipping into your voice before you could hide it.

He noticed immediately. Of course he did.

A smirk pulled at his lips as he lifted the camcorder slightly, teasing you with it. “Make sure you include your pretty moans, baby,” he drawled. “Or else we’ll have to retake this again.”

He stood up then, completely unbothered, removing the cameras from their tripods like the decision had already been made long before you realized it.

Retake.

Oh. He was definitely keeping you.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

taglist: @902c @acuario-de-estrellas @bangtanhotties @btsfan88 @bubblegumdoll @chimdiary @coran-lucifer @daisyisemo @daninap @dany2320-blog @don2coolious @eys-loveskoosomuch @giavnnva @gukkiebsby @ithinkthereforeidont @jk97bam @lachimolili @minjae06 @minminminminoceur @mochiclouds13 @nanmolla @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken @outrokoo @polyqueen101 @rubymar1ne @seokmyballs @skeeyethemost @sturniszn @suzyrobinson @sylverray @taehyungseggs @tell0112 @triblck @tropical-123 @visadora31 @websterss @xoxomargaret @yutakitty @karinananasworld @luvrkoo @xxrinaxsiap @ademsqw @rkidmanic @hennessysthings @imawhoreforjjk @sug4rnspizee @tatyhend @kamiistrz @sc05 @asdghjji7hf

babystarcandyrecs

✨jungkook recs recs vol. IX✨(the spicy version)

compilation of some of my fav jungkook smut fics (vol. VIII)!!! enjoy!!!🩷જ⁀➴ series

🌷acts of service (jungkook x reader) by @jiminsafairy

🌷cult classic (junkook x reader) by @pjminii

🌷deal (jungkook x reader) by @jeonstudios

🌷handyman (junkook x reader) by @pjminii

🌷full swap (jungkook x reader) by @dailynnt

🌷private practice (jungkook x reader) by @seokbite

🌷rumours (and what they can do for you) (jungkook x reader) by @solecize

🌷see you like that (jungkook x reader) by @littlemisskookie

🌷special delivery (jungkook x reader) by @voyter

🌷wonderboy (jungkook x reader) by @pjminii

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ wanna visit my smut library ? ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ back to the spicy members masterlist ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ back to the m.masterlist ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

chwrrybby

── Lucky Charm ⋮ 전정국

After being dragged to an elite underground club, the last thing you expect is to end up seated across from Jeon Jungkook — the society’s most infamous player. But after a reckless bet, a deliberate loss, and a kiss that wasn’t quite what he wanted, you leave the club realizing Jungkook may not be finished playing with you yet.

전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw | underground society au • elite gambler!jungkook • power plays • high stakes poker • champagne & velvet • strangers to something worse • morally grey jk • teasing • slowburn tension • not proofread

⧽ word count ⋮ 3.5k Average reading time ⋮ 15 minutes

┈ [ ✉️ ] Hi angels !! This was a request by anon !! Also I decided for this to be like the introduction part of it so I will like the smut version once I finish with it !! This is honestly not my favorite thing I have written - I guess I js feel like I am better at smut idk lol. Any-whom !! I hope you all enjoy this !!! Happy reading !!! <33

The second you stepped out of Mina’s car, you already regretted coming.

“This place looks illegal,” you muttered, smoothing down the black dress Mina had forced you into less than an hour ago while trying not to trip in heels you barely knew how to walk in.

outrokoo

𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙪𝙨 | 𝙟𝙟𝙠 • 01

˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...

But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.

He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.

For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.

pairing: brother's best friend!jungkook × f!reader

genre : unrequited love(?), brother's best friend trope, angst, fluff, smut, slow burn

wc: 4k+

cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut

>> english is not my first language

prologue | masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

The feeling of loving someone is different for everyone.

Some say love burns you from the inside out. Others say it feels like your heart is about to burst out of your chest.

But loving Jungkook had never felt overwhelming like that.

Loving Jungkook was calm. Peaceful.

To you, he was a source of fresh water in a world that never stopped burning.

There wasn’t a single moment where you didn’t think about him.

Just like you were doing right now.

Dinner with your family used to be your favorite part of the day, but lately, all you wanted was to lock yourself in your room, eat your feelings away, and cry while watching The Notebook for the hundredth time.

“Honey, could you pass me the salt, please?”

Your mother’s voice is soft as she watches you carefully from across the table.

A mother always knows.

At least, that’s what you think.

She doesn’t dare bring it up, though. There’s nothing she could possibly say to make things better.

Still, you can see it in her eyes… the sadness, the pity.

You hate it.

It had been a week since Jungkook proposed to Sophie, and everyone around you was still buzzing with excitement over the unexpected news.

With a quiet sigh, you stand from your seat and begin collecting the empty dishes, desperate for an excuse to disappear into the kitchen.

“You know sis” Dohyun says casually, “Jungkook told me Soph wants you to help her pick out a wedding dress. Isn’t that exciting?”

You nearly drop the plate in your hands.

Slowly, you turn around to look at him.

“Now why the hell would I do that?”

The room falls silent.

Everyone knows you can’t stand Sophie, especially not after what she did.

She cheated on Jungkook barely a month into their relationship, leaving you completely speechless when you found out.

How could someone willingly hurt him like that?

Jungkook was too good for her.

Apparently, she’d been “drunk out of her mind.”- of course she had.

And somehow, he forgave her.

“sometimes loving another person also means giving second chances” he had said.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Dohyun groans. “You know she adores you.”

You let out a humorless laugh.

“Don’t act like it wasn’t Jungkook’s idea.”

“Of course it was, but as far as I know, she eagerly agreed.”

Silence.

Your brother leans against the fridge, crossing his arms as he watches you carefully.

“Please y/n” he says more gently this time. “You know it’s important to him. Aside from Sophie and me, you’re probably the person he trusts most.”

And that’s exactly the problem.

You busy yourself with the dishes again, ignoring the ache building in your chest.

“Fine” you mutter. “I’ll do it.”

Dohyun immediately wraps his arms around you from behind, dramatically thanking you before grabbing his keys and heading back home to his wife.

You were only doing this for Jungkook.

No one else.

.✦ ݁˖

“Girl, you cannot be serious right now.”

Layla stares at you from across the counter like you’ve personally offended her.

“Think about yourself for once. Oh, I’m so going to kill him.”

You snort softly, watching your best friend pace around the coffee shop in disbelief.

“What do you want me to do?” you whisper. “I can’t just say no, Ly. You know that.”

She suddenly points a finger at you, scandalized.

You immediately hide your face behind your hands, painfully aware of the customers turning to look at the two of you.

“I’m serious,” she says. “One word and I’ll run him over with my car.”

You grab her wrist and force her back down onto the chair.

“Oh my God, please shut up. We’re supposed to be working.”

Layla smirks.

“y/n, you could literally be my law agent. I’d be legally protected.”

“Your lawyer, Layla,” you correct with a laugh. “And you know I can’t do that. I dropped out, remember?”

Her expression softens for half a second before she nudges your shoulder.

“Still smarter than every law student alive.”

You roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

The conversation drifts elsewhere as the two of you continue serving customers, Layla eventually ranting about a woman who threw an iced americano at her last week because she forgot extra caramel drizzle.

Honestly, you’re grateful for the distraction.

Your phone suddenly buzzes against the counter.

kook ❤️‍🩹: Movie night at Tae’s today, what do you say? everyone will be there.

Dohyun said he’d tell you, but you know I don’t trust that man :)

Without realizing it, you smile at the screen.

Memories immediately flood your mind.

All the times Jungkook had shown up to pick you up himself after Dohyun forgot about you.

Every single time, he’d scold your brother endlessly while opening the passenger door for you.

“One job” he’d complain. “you literally had one job.”

And every single time, he’d look over at you afterward with a smile so soft you’d almost melt.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

Being ten years younger than everyone else had surprisingly never been an issue for them.

Only for you.

Sometimes, during nights like those, you found yourself standing quietly in the corner while everyone laughed together around you.

Watching instead of participating.

But somehow, Jungkook always noticed.

Always.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t enjoy being around them. It felt natural at this point, almost expected, considering you were Dohyun’s little sister.

Still, there were moments where you couldn’t help but feel out of place.

You: Count me in :)

The three little dots appear almost instantly.

kook ❤️‍🩹: Good.

Would’ve been boring without you there.

Your heart betrays you immediately and you hate how easy it is for him to ruin you without even trying.

“God I hate him,” Layla mutters beside you as she wipes down the counter.

You snort quietly.

“No you don’t.”

“I absolutely do” she says. “Actually, no. I hate you- because why are you smiling at your phone like you’re in a romance movie?”

Your smile disappears immediately.

“I wasn’t smiling.”

“Sure.”

You throw a napkin at her face just as another customer walks in, forcing the two of you back to work.

Still, Jungkook’s text lingers in your mind for the rest of your shift.

.✦ ݁˖

By the time you get to Taehyung’s apartment, you’re already considering turning around and going home.

You smooth down the sleeves of your sweater nervously before raising your hand, barely knocking.

The door swings open almost immediately.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up” Taehyung says dramatically.

You roll your eyes as you step inside.

The apartment is warm, loud in the familiar way you’ve grown used to over the years.

Hoseok and Namjoon are arguing in the kitchen while Jimin and Sophie laugh at something Dohyun says.

“There you are.”

Your eyes immediately find Jungkook across the room.

He’s sitting on the couch, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest, dark hair falling over his forehead.

Your stomach twists.

“You’re late, sweetheart.”

“I’m literally five minutes late.”

“Still counts.”

You shake your head, slipping off your shoes near the door.

After greeting everyone, you wander into the kitchen in search of food.

You open one cabinet, nope, not the right one.

Then another.

Where the heck does Taehyung keep his snacks at?

“Second shelf” Jungkook says from somewhere behind you.

You glance over your shoulder.

He’s now talking to Namjoon while scrolling through his phone, barely paying attention.

Like helping you find things has become automatic over the years.

“Oh” you mumble. “right.”

A few minutes later, you’re leaning against the counter eating while everyone else talks over each other.

You listen.

“You’ve been quiet tonight.”

Your eyes lift slightly.

Jungkook stands beside you now, grabbing a drink from the fridge.

“I’m always quiet.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“You literally never shut up around Layla.”

“That’s because she doesn’t shut up either.”

“Well that sounds like a you problem.”

You narrow your eyes at him slightly as he takes a sip from his beer, clearly entertained with himself.

“You’re annoying.”

“Then why are you here?”

Unfortunately, he had a point.

“I was forced here against my will..”

“Sure you were.”

Before you can respond, Jimin suddenly walks into the kitchen and looks between the two of you suspiciously.

“You know” he says slowly, “sometimes you two act like an old married couple.”

Jungkook laughs immediately, you almost faint.

“Please. She gets annoyed with me after five minutes.”

“That’s because you talk too much!” you mutter, suddenly feeling your whole face getting red.

“See?” Jimin says. “Exactly like a married couple.”

The conversation drifts elsewhere after that, the three of you eventually moving back toward the living room where everyone else is “supposedly” watching a movie Taehyung thought was super cool.

At some point during the night, Sophie makes herself comfortable beside Jungkook while showing him something on her phone.

You try not to look for too long but your eyes betray you.

Sophie is practically glued to Jungkook’s side, legs thrown over his lap.

He looks relaxed beside her, one hand resting on her thigh while he listens to whoever is talking during the boring parts of the movie.

Your stomach twists quietly.

How Jungkook could forgive someone for hurting him like that was beyond you.

But maybe you weren’t the right person to judge him for it.

After all, if Jungkook had shattered your heart into pieces, you still would’ve found a way to hand it back to him gently.

And the worst part was that you could see it so clearly in his eyes whenever he looked at Sophie.

He loved her enough to stay.

Suddenly she grabs Jungkook’s hand.

“Wait, wait!! Show them again.”

You already know what she means before she even lifts his hand into the air proudly.

Jungkook’s engagement ring shines softly beneath the apartment lights, matching the one on Sophie’s finger as she practically shoves her hand into Dohuyn’s face.

“Aren’t they gorgeous?” she screams.

“You almost blinded me with that what the heck-”

Everyone laughs.

You force yourself to smile too.

But your chest feels strangely heavy now, because suddenly it’s real again.

You stare down at your hands before quietly standing up.

“I think I’m gonna head home.”

Immediately, several heads turn toward you.

“So early?” Taehyung complains.

“It’s literally midnight” you say.

“That’s early.”

Jungkook looks up at you from the couch.

“I can drive you.”

“No it’s okay” you answer too quickly. “I drove here.”

His eyebrows pull together slightly like he wants to say something else, but Sophie suddenly grabs your hand excitedly.

“Oh my God, yes!!! tomorrow!”

Right.

You agreed to go dress shopping with her over the phone.

You almost forgot about that.

“We’re still meeting at noon, right?” Sophie asks brightly. “I found, like, three boutiques I wanna drag you through.”

You force a smile onto your face.

“Sounds fun.”

“Yay!” she says.

As you grab your bag from the chair, Jungkook stands too, automatically walking you toward the door.

“Text me when you get home.”

“Bossy.”

“You love it.”

That’s absolutely very true.

But he doesn’t have to know that so you just roll your eyes instead.

You bid everyone goodnight, when Sophie calls out loudly

“Bye y/n! See you! Don’t forget about tomorrow!!”

Your fingers tighten slightly around your bag strap.

Then you turn back with a small smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

.✦ ݁˖

The next morning arrives far too quickly.

You spend almost twenty minutes staring at your closet before finally settling on a simple dress and a cardigan, mostly because Layla threatened to break into your apartment if you showed up looking emotionally unstable.

By the time you arrive at the bridal boutique, Sophie is already waiting outside with two iced coffees in her hands and enough excitement to make you feel sick.

“There you are!” she beams. “I got you vanilla because I remembered you hate caramel.”

You blink slightly before taking the cup from her.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to.”

“Oh stop it! you are so welcome!” she says proudly. “See? I do pay attention.”

You smile politely.

The boutique itself is beautiful in an almost intimidating way… white walls, soft lighting, rows and rows of dresses that probably cost more than your car.

Sophie gasps every five seconds.

“Oh my God, imagine Jungkook seeing me in this.”

You busy yourself flipping through a rack of dresses.

“Mmh”

“No seriously-” she laughs, “do you think he’d cry?”

Yes.

You know he would.

Jungkook cried during movies, during speeches, during that one dog rescue video Namjoon showed everyone a couple of months ago.

So yeah, he’d absolutely cry at his wedding.

“He probably would” you say quietly.

Sophie grins so brightly it almost hurts to look at her.

The next hour is torture in soft lighting.

Every dress somehow leads back to him.

“Jungkook likes simple things, right? Does this look too flashy?”

“He hates huge sparkles.”

“Would he think this is too much?”

And the worst part is that you know every answer immediately.

You hate yourself for knowing him so well.

At one point, Sophie disappears into another fitting room before poking her head out dramatically.

“Okay, be honest” she says. “Which one would Jungkook actually love?”

Your chest tightens as you look down at the dress in your hands for a second before answering softly.

“The ivory one.”

“The silk?” you nod.

“He’d like that one the most.”

Sophie stares at you for a second before smiling.

“See? This is exactly why I wanted you here.”

You hate how much that sentence stays with you for the rest of the afternoon.

By the time the appointment finally ends, your social battery is dead and your feet hurt.

Unfortunately, the day isn’t over.

You’re already reaching for your car keys when Sophie suddenly grabs your wrist.

“Wait- come over for a little bit.”

You blink at her tiredly “Sophie I-”

“Please? Jungkook’s cooking tonight”

“That literally changes nothing.”

“It changes everything!” she argues. “I’m exhausted and emotionally fragile after trying on seventeen dresses.”

“You cried over lace.”

“Because it was ugly.”

Despite yourself, you laugh quietly.

Sophie immediately points at you in victory.

“See?? We can still have fun!”

You should say no.

You really, really should.

Instead, twenty minutes later, you’re standing in front of Jungkook and Sophie’s apartment while she struggles to unlock the door.

You both sigh as you finally get in.

“You guys took forever.”

Your stomach flips instantly.

Jungkook’s sprawled across the couch in gray sweatpants and a black shirt, phone in one hand while the other rests behind his head.

He looks comfortable, domestic.

Like he belongs here.

Which unfortunately he does.

“We were making life altering decisions.” Sophie says while kicking off her shoes.

jungkook snorts softly before his eyes drift toward you.

“You look dead.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He says it so seriously you almost smile.

Almost.

You slip your shoes off beside the door while Sophie disappears toward the bedroom for a second.

Jungkook sits up slightly from the couch.

“How bad was it?”

You stare at him for a second.

“It felt like pure torture.”

A quiet laugh leaves him, not know you were being serious.

Then his eyes narrow slightly.

“Did you even eat today?”

Your expression gives you away immediately.

Jungkook sighs.

“y/n.”

“What?”

“You skipped lunch again?”

“I had coffee.”

“That’s not food.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself before Sophie suddenly reappears.

“She literally survived on caffeine and complaints all day.”

“See?” Jungkook says, looking directly at you now. “That’s why you get headaches.”

Your chest tightens a little.

Because he remembers that.

Of course he does.

“It’s not a big deal” you mumble.

“Mhm.”

He stands up then, disappearing into the kitchen.

A few seconds later, you hear cabinets opening.

“Sweetheart, you still hate mushrooms, right?”

The nickname hits just as hard as it always does.

“Yeah.”

Sophie drops dramatically onto the couch beside you with a groan.

About forty minutes later, Jungkook returns carrying dishes and drinks balanced in his arms.

“You cooked way too much food.” Sophie says.

“You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time.”

He ignores her completely, setting everything down on the coffee table before handing you your plate first.

“Here.”

You look down, watching as Sophie gets her own.

You all start eating when you notice it :

No mushrooms, obviously.

But no onions either.

“You got the onions out too?”

Jungkook looks at you like the question itself is ridiculous.

“You’ve hated them since you were sixteen.”

Sophie laughs from beside you.

“That’s actually insane.”

“No” Jungkook says easily while sitting back down “what’s insane is the fact that she still picks the onions out even when she says she’s too tired to care.”

You stare at him.

“How do you know that?”

He blinks once, then shrugs casually like this is all obvious information.

“You always do it.”

And maybe that shouldn’t feel intimate.

Maybe it shouldn’t make your heart ache the way it does.

But it does.

The three of you eat while Sophie explains how the entire shopping trip went.

“At one point” she says, pointing at you with her chopsticks “I asked her which dress you’d like most.”

You nearly choke.

Jungkook looks amused already.

“And?”

“She went for a minimal dress, said you’d hate the overly-shiny ones.”

His eyebrows lift slightly.

“Really?”

“It wasn’t a big deal” you mumble quickly.

“Yes it was” Sophie argues. “You immediately went, ‘Jungkook would hate the sparkly ones.’”

“I do hate the sparkly ones.”

Jungkook laughs softly under his breath before glancing toward you again.

“See y/n!! You were right!” Sophie says excitedly, hands on your shoulder as she shakes you a little.

“Well to be fair, she knows me pretty well.”

The words settle strangely in your chest as you look down shyly.

Later, Sophie disappears to shower while some random movie plays quietly in the background.

The apartment gets quieter without her voice filling every corner.

You’re curled into the far end of the couch now, exhaustion finally catching up to you.

Jungkook glances over from beside you.

“You got a headache?”

You blink slowly “what?”

“The way you keep rubbing your temples” he says.

“You only do that when your head hurts.”

Oh.

Before you can answer, he’s already standing.

“Wait there.”

“You say that like I was gonna sprint away.”

“You’re unpredictable when your head hurts.”

You watch him disappear for a moment before he comes back holding water and painkillers.

The exact brand you always buy.

Your chest physically hurts now.

“Why do you have these?” you ask quietly.

“They work better for you.”

Something about hearing him say that almost ruins you completely.

You take them carefully from his hand.

“Thank you”

“don’t mention it.”

He sits back down beside you, close enough that your knees brush for half a second.

You scoot back, creating space between the two of you.

Then Sophie’s voice suddenly echoes from the hallway.

“ARE YOU TWO EATING MY DESSERT?”

Jungkook doesn’t even look away from you.

“Maybe.”

.✦ ݁˖

By the time you finally get home, it’s almost midnight.

Your apartment is quiet in a way that immediately makes your chest ache after spending the entire day surrounded by voices, laughter, and him.

You lock the door behind you and stand there for a second, too exhausted to move. Your feet hurt, your head is starting to throb again, and there’s still that awful heaviness sitting in your chest no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

You change into pajamas and wash your makeup off.

You crawl into bed hoping sleep will come quickly, but instead your mind drifts right back to the boutique. To the ivory dress Sophie loved so much.

Except now, in your head, it’s you standing in front of the mirror wearing it.

And afterward, instead of going back to an empty apartment alone, you’d be going home to Jungkook.

His shoes beside yours near the front door, his hoodie abandoned somewhere on the couch while he asked about your day from the kitchen. You can imagine him handing you food because he noticed you forgot to eat again, or pulling you against his chest while you complained about wedding planning.

It comes to you so naturally that it almost feels real and maybe that’s the worst part.

Because none of it belongs to you.

Jungkook does not belong to you.

A shaky breath leaves your chest before you can stop it.

Then suddenly you’re crying.

Quiet at first, then hard enough that your chest starts physically hurting. You turn onto your side and press your face into the pillow, embarrassed even now by how pathetic this feels.

Crying over a man who was never yours.

Crying because he remembers how you take your food, because he notices your headaches before you say a word, because he doesn’t love you the way you love him.

Jungkook cares about you deeply. You know he does.

You see it in the way he takes care of you without thinking.

But it still isn’t enough.

Eventually, exhaustion pulls you under before the sadness does.

The last thing you think about before falling asleep is how easy it would’ve been to love him for the rest of your life.

────────────

thank you so much for all the love you’ve been giving to YBU 😭😭

i genuinely can’t believe it got this much attention just from the prologue- i seriously can’t thank you enough.

anyway, here’s the first chapter!! i really hope you enjoy it <3 please let me know what you think if you read it!!

binniebb

bad habit ⋆ jeon jungkook ───────

[ ▸ ] — you tell yourself jungkook is not yours because he has never promised to be, but every part of him feels close enough to make that truth unbearable. he gives you softness without certainty, desire without definition, and just enough tenderness to make walking away feel impossible

[ ✐ ] — 15k

[ ⌗ ] — non idol!jungkook x f!reader fwb slow burn angst hurt / comfort jealousy miscommunication big dick!jk graphic & detailed smut oral ( f & m receiving )

[ ✉︎ ] — first jungkook fic baby! y'all...this has been a wip for so long. first of all, love sza so much. that's my girl. go listen to 2 am by her if you never have bc this is where the inspo came from! and if you have, listen to it again to get in the feels. was debating whether to leave this with a sad ending but y'all know i can't f*cking do it. maybe in the future lol anyway big thank you to @solecize for the amazing banner and for high key inspiring me to write for jk. pls enjoy reading, hunnies <3

bobbyseyesmile

P A R T III - contains smut

↳ Previous Part

➻ pairing: badboy!jungkook x fem!reader

➻ authors note: this is NOT a romantic, cute story. please read the warning tags & if you're not into this, don't read it. every person in this story is an adult and into this.

➻ warnings: contains SMUT as in unprotected sex [don‘t!], oral [f receiving], pussy spanking, fingering, overstimulation, primal play, stalking, degradation & humiliation kink, manipulation, cheating, toxic situationship, toxic behavior – MINORS DNI

vhyunjinverse

𐙚 — Seven ! J.JK

𐙚 j.jk x f!black reader | mdni | not proof read

𐙚 Jungkook didn’t go back on his word. He always told you he’d fuck you seven days a week, it was on you for calling his bluff, especially when that seven days meant your honeymoon.

“I do.” His breath fanned over your face. His little smile growing by the second seeing his now wife glow in the fresh scent of your marriage. You couldn’t help but giggle, your “I do.” hardly coming out before his lips were on you.

A private ceremony was held, considering his career and yours too. You were a famous model who had met Jungkook during a campaign for a company. He quickly became infatuated with you, following you around like a lost little puppy.

The pictures that came out! Him and you talking away. It caused a scene in the media for a lot of things. His fans having a 50/50 opinion on how they felt about a black girl being so “close” to their man. Little did they know. Their guy wanted only you. He got your number as soon as the campaign was over- calling you as soon as he could. Arranging to see you, having you on set while he filmed, having you in the studio while he recorded music. Hell, he even flew out just to see you- overseas. It became such a thing between you too that dating was easier.

He hated leaving you so much that he spent most of his time talking to you when he could. As busy as Jungkook was he made time for you. Every time you saw each other, making love at night until he finally mustered the courage up to tell you those three words to your face instead of his mirror or a picture of you.

It took some time getting used to dating like that in private, but you both grew to love it just as much as each other. You were someone of importance too. It was crazy enough with public opinion on photos as if you didn’t do an entire shoot together. It was like a game of tag, but he was always waiting there for you and vise versa.

Picking you up in his arms, Jungkook took you towards the front of the building. To the guy who watched you both, after having just married you off, you two seemed like teenagers in love. No fancy wedding dress or suit, just you in a cute little black dress that fit you like a doll, and Jungkook in a dress shirt and baggy jeans. You couldn’t stop smiling, your husband kissing all over your face.

“You’re gonna love our honeymoon.”

“Are you sure that’s a good-“ You both opted out of that idea because of the risk, which worried you a bit.

“Ah ah ah..trust me okay?” His lips brushed against your nose. You groan and nod. It’s always him doing things so suddenly that got you.

“Isn’t that something we plan together, though? Kookie-“

He ignores you, humming a soft tune as he planted soft kisses on your face. One of his cars waiting outside for the both of you. “We’re gonna go to yours and i’ll give you an hour to pack for the week.” He winks as you scoff at him. He opens the door for you and as you settled in, he got in with the biggest smile on his face. “What..”

“Just that we’re officially married.” The blush on his cheeks making you giggle. Your fingers graze the ring on your hand, knowing you won’t be able to wear it as often. Luckily, Jungkook got you another simpler ring to wear. At least that won’t cause much talk from the media (of course it would).

After arriving at your apartment, Jungkook starts his timer. “There’s no way you’re timing me. Jeon.”

“I planned out everything okay? Just trust me.” He waves you off, plopping down on the oh so familiar couch. “Oh and don’t pack any clothes!”

Now, when a man says “don’t pack anything but essentials, no clothes”, normally one would question it…and you did, but when your husband says to trust him, you have no choice but to do so. Even on the way there, driving hours and hours until you arrived at a nice-looking home. Hidden, reserved, private.

You stare at the suite, jaw dropped. Fully rented out for the week for the both of you. There was a kitchen, a living room, it might as well be another house. Knowing your husband, though, it very well could be.

"What's all this?" You ask the man who scanned around the room curiously, but there was a small look in his eye...almost mischievous. You figured he was plotting something. In his hands he walked with your singular bag of essentials. "Honeymoon..." he hummed softly, walking deeper into the establishment. He sets your things down and wraps his arms around you, “I love you.” He pecks your lips.

“I love you too, Kookie.” Your lips collided. Slow, a whine leaving your lips the moment his tongue parted them. All of you, he wanted all of you. Every inch, everything just as you had him the moment you answered his phone call after the campaign.

And a honeymoon it was. The moment you stepped into the supposed bedroom for the week you knew. Jungkook always talked about fucking you for a week straight- hell he even wrote a song about it. And the sex was so different. Sex with Jungkook was always amazing, but you were married now.

On Monday, he made love to you.

"I love you, Kookie" you had moaned in his ear, arms wrapped around his neck- holding on as tightly as you could. Your body trembling with each slow, calculated thrust. Jungkook knew your body just as well as you did, if not better. He had your legs up and bent, folding you into a mating press. His bigg cock throbbing, stretching you open with every press to your cervix, followed a deep groan.

"I love you…S..S’o much-" He's peering down at you, moaning softly. "S’o pretty when you take all of it for me." The way your eyes watered, the pleasure so intense. Your body felt hot and cool all at once. He loved every bit of your expressions. How well you took him. “Made for me. Made for this dick.” He shudders. How perfect you fit around him. “Fu-Hmmpf-“ Your toes curl, tears caught in your water line, mouth agape. Your gummy walls kissing every inch of his dick. So perfect. How perfect you were for him.. "Gooood girl. You’re so close aren’t you?” He coos, eyes locked with yours as all you can do is nod, muttering small incoherencies.

“M’close too. Wanna cum inside my beautiful wife.” and you soaked around him. That messy splash splattering on his stomach, the sticky mess connecting you two becoming so slippery.

"Yes-yes please…f-fuck Kookie. Cum inside me-"

On Tuesday, he ate you out on the kitchen counter.

Neither Jungkook nor you had on any clothes. He meant it when he said you won't be needing any. Breakfast he said. Except his tongue exploring your arousal was better than the neglected pancakes. “Taste s’good.” He groans, nose deep into your slick-pooled pussy, the pretty thing crying at the slight touches to your sensitive clit.

Your hand on the back of his neck, pushing him deeper, feeding him your pussy until your legs shook. The cool metal of his lip piercing making you shiver. “K-Kookie..” You whimper, a warning. Your hole sucking him in. His thumb reaching under your spread legs to gather your slick, rubbing the mess over your clit. “sh-ahh!-“ You flinch, back arching off of the counter. Grool dripping down his chin, the mess of his hair, the back of his neck red. And you kept him there, mushing his face while he ate you through your orgasm.

On Wednesday, you rode him in the tub.

Bubbles drawn, your body’s engulfed in the warmth of the water. Flower petals littering the surface. Vanilla scented candles lit, and there you were, head thrown back as you bounced to the best of your ability.

The water splashed. Plap ! Plap ! Plap ! The rhythmic sound echoing in the bathroom alongside your moans. Jungkook’s lips sucking on the damp skin of your neck, hands on your hips to steady your pace as you bounced on his cock. The position suffocating, so full of him. “Doing so good for me.” He whispers in your ear, his hair wet with water dripping down the side of his face, tattoos on full display, muscles flexing as he groans. So pornographic your eyes shut tightly as another wave of your orgasm hits you, but you keep going, Jungkook kept you steady.

His hips coming up to meet your thrusts half way. “That’s it…My sweet girl, take all of it.” Your whines becoming louder, your breast bouncing so much Jungkook couldn’t help licking his lips. “R-Right there- ohh-oh! fuck-“ So beautiful he found you to be, even when you were a mess becoming undone on his dick.

That throbbing heat between your legs. You couldn’t tell if it was you or the water that made such a mess. Your hand holds his head close, his groans turning into messy whines. “M’close sweet girl. You ready for it? Gonna take every last drop?” And you nod so fast those warm thick ropes of cum found their place deep into your womb.

On Thursday, it rained.

The loud pats ! of water droplets hit the large windows fast. You always loved the rain, and Jungkook grew to love it too. How you’d sit out on your balcony when it rained and he’d watch you from the couch of your apartment. How he’d open a window in his home and smoked a cigarette while it rained, your voice echoing from his phone while you told him about how your day went. You both especially loved the rain when you were together in bed, the sounds putting you both right to sleep.

And now, the soft white pillow caught all of your little moans and gentle whimpers. “Feel good?” Jungkooks voice deep, laced with sleep having just woke up. You nod, “m-mhmm..” Eyes closed, his body warm behind you. The lazy arch in your back doing so much being supported by another pillow. Your head rested comfortably, biting on your lip just a bit at the spit coated fingers grazing your clit.

Jungkook carefully pulled your hips back, his body looking over yours. The small ‘J.K’ on the bottom of your back making him twitch. Of course it matched the one he has of your initials, also small and not very noticeable.

His cock heavy as he tapped it a few times against that pretty pearl of yours. “So wet for me this mornin’ sweet girl.” He lets out a sigh of relief as he pushed past that tight ring, your pussy swallowing him up. “Been fucking you for days now and you’re still so- hah- tight.” His eyes fluttered shut once each inch pressed deep into heat, bottoming out. Trembling fingers holding your hips steady as he tilted his head back. “M’so full Kookie..” You sigh, hips lazily moving to gain some sort of friction.

Slow, lazy thrusts. The soft palp ! but a mere noise, the squelch from your arousal has him twitching inside of you. Bodies moving slowly, he’d fucked you back to sleep if not for the grunts he let out. Every sound Jungkook made was absolutely beautiful, and he felt the same about you.

You feel his chest on your back as he rutted into you, wet kisses to the exposed part of your face, his hair tickling your neck. “I love you.”

On Friday, he fed you strawberries and chocolate, and dick.

Now, yes there was a “no clothes” rule but you brought a little. Jungkook’s shirt fit a bit big on you paired with your panties while he wore his underwear. A giggle falling from your lips as you licked chocolate off of his lips.

“You’re a mess man.” Dipping the strawberry in chocolate, you hold it up to his lips. His doe eyes lock with yours, dipping his finger in the chocolate before holding it up to your mouth. “Open up.” He whispers.

“You first.”

“Same time?” You burst out laughing, but you nod. The giggle catching him too as he smiled so widely. Ring on your finger, strawberry in hand. His arm outstretched on the back of the couch. Just the two of you, as you sat up on your knees. He leans forward, opening his mouth as you did the same. Jungkook bites down just as your mouth clasps down on the finger, tongue swirling around the chocolatey goodness. His lips close around the fruit, leaving just the stem that you pull away from his lips, but his finger stayed in your mouth, pressing against your tongue. You suck like the sweet girl you were, eyes batting at him.

His finger leaves your mouth with a small pop ! and you reach down for another strawberry to bite on, missing the way his hungry mouth stared at yours.

Of course the strawberry and chocolates ending with you on your knees. Pulling the waistband of Jungkook’s underwear down, he winces at the hard slap his thick cock does against his stomach. So pretty and a pale pink, leaking pre cum that dribbled down the veins that stretched all the way to the hairs at his base.

His fingers caress your chin lovingly, pulling you closer. Those fingers moved to your lips, thumb pulling them just a bit before they found the base of your neck. Small licks and kisses found their way to the twitching length. His body relaxing, yet the slight grip he had on your said otherwise. Jungkook was very sensitive. Slight touches had him buckling his hips forward.

You clean the pre cum with your tongue, grabbing the base of his heavy dick. Licking the thick head like your favorite piece of candy, your mouth takes him in slowly. “Ooh…oh fuck-“ Hips stutters as he tried to contain himself. Jungkook had a habit of fucking the voice out of your throat.

He pushed you down further, absolutely losing it when your eyes met with his. Pushing down further until he touched the back of your throat, he groans, hips lifting as he fucked himself into your mouth. Maintaining eye contact, all you did was bat your pretty lashes. “Such a pretty girl-“ He chokes, the sight sending him into bliss. He wanted to ruin it.

You bob your head, the sucking sounds so lewd while you matched his rhythm. Your moans silenced with how much of him fit into your mouth, so warm and welcoming. You plant a hand on his thigh, choking only a little bit. And when he lets you up for air, you pant. Lips slightly swollen, tears caught in your waterline. Jungkook didn’t give you a moment longer before his dick was back in your mouth.

Normally Jungkook would cum in your mouth, the man loved when you took his seed no matter which hole. However this time, the thick white ropes of cum landed on your face. Heavy groans leaving his chest at the image. You say nothing, grabbing a strawberry and wiping it on your face before bringing it into your mouth.

On Saturday, you took control.

“Good boyy Kookie.” Your hips found a steady rhythm, grinding back and forward on his face. Straddling the man’s face while you rode it, his tongue deep in your pussy, licking the familiar walls. He groans, eyes rolling at the taste of your sex, your fingers deep in his hair pulling to rub your clit against his nose.

“Gonna make me cum?” You coo, leaning your body back just a bit as your breath hitched. His hands planted on your thighs, fingers creating dimples in the soft skin. Reduced to nothing but broken moans, you make out the “yes” from him.

His chin covered in slick down to his neck. Your eyes rolling in a bliss as you whimper. “Cumming.” Again, your hips surging forward as they shook, threading to close around his head. His tongue lapping at the mess, sucking away at your juices.

Sunday rolled around. It wasn’t a secret how tired yet rested you felt. As Jungkook packed away your things in the care for your departure later, you lay on your back staring at the ceiling.

“What’s wrong?” He voice pops up, body coming into view over you. You shake your head, motioning for him to lay with you, which he does of course (after kicking his shoes off). He pulls you into his arms, “Nothings wrong. I’m just happy. Can’t believe we’re married.” You giggle, eyes swelling with tears.

“I can. I knew the moment we crossed paths that you’d be mine.” Soft lips kissed away your tears. “I’ll forever be in love with you, my sweet girl.” He murmurs, pulling you into tight.

“And I the same as you, Kookie.” Your noses rubbed together as you giggled, sniffling in his arms.

It’s safe to say that no amount of birth control and plan b’s could save you from the amount of cum Jungkook pumped into you before you left. A “quickie” he said.

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