xannia

19 | tannies lover | ot7

[cupidsbling]

Love to hate me | Index

Being the heirs of rival mafia families means that you and Jungkook are supposed to be sworn enemies. Yet, for some reason, the two of you can't seem to get enough of each other...

genre – enemies to lovers au, smut, denial,angst¿.

pairing – jungkook x fem reader.

warnings – explicit language, smut, pussy-whipped possessive jk, jk & oc bicker a lot, fingering, rough fucking (oc likes it rough), oc is very vocal (jk LOVES it) , mentions of creampie, spanking, oral (both receiving), titty worship, jk praises oc, squirting, possessive jealous jk, mentions of period sex, quickies, jk makes out with oc's pussy, oc rides jk, okay basically they're obsessed with fucking eo. etc.

hii pookies, im going to post this one soon!! im releasing part 1 on here and part 2 on my patreon for early access to those who are interested!! hope you guys enjoy it♡

tmr is my bday btw💔

[pjminii]

moodboard / teaser for my upcoming oneshot.

attraction is a tricky thing. especially inconvenient attraction. you find yourself waitressing the table of your old high-school teacher, and along the way you fall for him. head first.

who’s ready for a morally grey / toxic age gap couple ? meeee

i decided to make a quick moodboard bc i love worldbuilding, and it was honestly so much fun. there’s a lot more to this story.. but i’m not spoiling anything just yet. just know that this will be a hot and sticky mess (jungkook has some lore). will b posting this either late may or sometime in june !

[jeons2k]

‎୨ৎ hate me, love me ׄ ׅ ׄ teaser

synopsis. in which you break up with your boyfriend. but the fight that follows isn’t about saying goodbye, it’s about who breaks first.

pairing/genre. obsessive-bf!jungkook x bratty-gf!oc, established relationship, messy break up au, exes to lovers, angst, smut, eventual fluff

tags/warnings. toxic relationship (they’re both fcked up), mean-girl!oc (she’s lwk a bitch), jk is kinda a red-flag (both of them), emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, lots of jealousy, mutual pining, public altercations, alcohol consumption, graphic depictions of violence, explicit language, smut mdni (more tags tba)

teaser wc. around 1.8k (total ~15k)

roxe’s notes. a little thing i had burried in my drafts for so long now heh.. anw ignore any typos & comment if you want to be added to the taglist x

perm taglist. @hopelesslygreenbriar @sunainasworld @bajislove @jcnggukie @juggukies @j0cgr0c @mar-lo-pap @kimyishin @allysh @dionysusndifferent @gealkook @hisfavpiscesprincess @diablojjk @rustedaffections @osakis-gf @somisarchive @cholychi @vasilisaofthevalley @seokwrts @scarletreigns @renoirgoh @stillwithkooki @odetomeringue

the sound of your heels on the polished floor of the hallway was the only thing that could be heard. it was one in the morning, not that you’d checked. you didn’t need to. jungkook would be counting anyway.

the heavy door to your shared apartment groaned shut behind you, the lock tumbling into place. the air inside was cool, and it smelled faintly of his cologne and your expensive perfume.

you dropped your purse on the marble console, the sound jarringly loud. you didn’t need to look to know he was there. you could feel him, a small vibration in the air.

jungkook was sprawled on the charcoal linen couch. his legs were spread wide, elbows planted on his knees, large tattooed hands dangling between them. his head was bowed, but his eyes, you knew, were fixed on the empty space ahead.

he didn’t move as you entered, didn’t twitch. he just absorbed your presence, letting it fuel the cold fire burning in him.

you ignored his presence. deliberately, you turned towards the open-plan kitchen. the silence was a third entity in the room, thick and cruel. you reached for a crystal glass and filled it with water, the stream impossibly loud. and you felt it. the weight of his gaze landing on the exposed nape of your neck, traveling down the line of your spine, over the curve of your hip in the tight, silver dress you wore for tonight.

he wasn’t looking at you with desire, not in any way that felt flattering. he was observing you; the slight smudge of your lipstick, the way your hair had fallen from its artfully messy updo, the hint of a flush on your cheeks.

you felt his gaze from across the room, a physical touch that raised goosebumps on your skin. not from fear, but from a furious, thrilling anticipation.

“you’re staring,” you said, voice flat, not deigning to turn from your task. your manicured fingers, nails painted a venomous crimson, set the glass down.

he didn’t deny it. denial was for the guilty, and in his mind, he was the wronged party.

“it’s 1:19 am.” his voice was low, stripped of all its usual deceptive warmth, just pure coldness.

you finally turned, leaning back against the counter, a mirror of his own defensive arrogance. “so?” you toed off your stilettos with slow, deliberate kicks. they clattered to the floor like fallen weapons. “clock-watching is your new fetish now? should i buy you a rolex for our third anniversary?”

his mouth twitched, that infuriating tic that meant he was holding back himself from lashing out. “you didn’t text.”

“didn’t have to.” the cut was sharp, and you smiled as you made it.

he stood, unfolding to his full, intimidating height, and prowled to the kitchen island, leaning against it. “funny. you usually seem to have a fucking burning need to know where i am. every minute. and who i’m with.”

you laughed, a single, sharp exhalation that held no humor. “do i? well, you don’t seem to particularly care about my peace of mind, so why should i cater to yours? tit for tat, jeon. you taught me that.”

his jaw clenched. his tongue pocking the inside of his cheek. “don’t play coy, babe. it’s pathetic on you.”

“and your jealous act is getting stale, jungkook. it’s the same tired shit everytime, maybe it’s time for something new?”

“don’t do that.”

“do what?” you widened your eyes, all faux innocence.

“play stupid.”

you finally pushed off the counter and took a step forward, “you don’t get to dissect me like one of your fucking business deals, you hear me?”

“i know you better than you know yourself babe,” he replied, his voice dropping to an intimate, horrible whisper. “i have every part of you memorized.”

you took another step. the air between you grew taut, sharp with unsaid words and remembered fights. “that’s not something to brag about. it just makes you a crazy psycho.”

he didn’t flinch. he just watched you, completely dismissing what you just said, “who was he?”

you blinked, slow. “who was who?”

“the guy at the vault. the one whose hand was on your ass like he owned the fucking thing.” the casualness was gone, replaced by a cold, hard edge.

you shrugged, letting the strap of your dress slip. “his name’s cash. and his hands weren’t on my fucking ass, who do you take me for jeon? a whore?”

he didn’t even acknowledge the question. his eyes only darkened, “you didn’t move. you let that forgettable piece of shit touch you.”

you stared at him, incredulous. “so now standing still is consent?”

“you know exactly what i mean.”

“no,” you fired back. “i know what you mean. you saw a man near me and decided i must’ve invited it.”

his eyes darkened. “you like the fucking attention, don’t you.”

“and you like assuming the worst,” you shoot back. “because it justifies this–” you gestured between you “–whatever the fuck this is.”

“you didn’t shut it down,” he repeates, slower now, firmer, like that settled it.

“i don’t need to shut down every interaction just to manage your paranoia,” you said, voice sharp. “i’m not responsible for whatever’s going on in that sick head of yours.”

jungkook exhaled hard through his nose, a laugh without humor escaping his lips. “funny how it’s always me when it’s convenient for you.”

“you always watch me,” you cut in, stepping closer, heat rising fast now. “every move. every glance. every fucking smile. like you’re waiting for me to slip so you can say you were right not to trust me.”

“i don’t trust anyone,” he fired back. “that’s not about you.”

you scoffed. “bullshit! it’s always about me. every man in a room becomes a threat to you. i can’t even breathe without you reading into it.”

jungkook pushed off the island, closing the small distance in three strides. he didn’t touch you, but his proximity was a violation. “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? you poke until i react and then act shocked when i do.”

“i’m enjoying not being treated like i’m already guilty,” you snapped. “there’s a difference.”

“and you know what?” you added. “at least cash wasn’t watching me like he was waiting to catch me in something.”

“don’t talk about that fucker!” he fired back immediately, “and don’t you dare rewrite this into something it’s not.”

“then what the fuck is it?” you demanded. “because it doesn’t feel like love. it feels like being fucking held on a leash.”

he ran a hand through his hair, pacing once like a caged animal. “i put up with your ungrateful, narcissistic shit every single day!” his voice dropped to a seething, dangerous whisper “i always stay. even when you push and push just to see what happens.”

you laughed bitterly. “you think staying makes you a saint?”

“i think it means i love you,” he snapped. “i think it means i choose you even when you’re always acting like a fucking nuisance.”

“this isn’t love,” you said loud, like you’re trying to carve the words into him. “you don’t love me. you just love fucking controling me?!”

“you don’t get to tell me what i feel.”

“then start acting like it,” you fired back. “because love doesn’t feel like being monitored.”

he laughed under his breath, harsh, incredulous. “you’re fucking unbelievable.”

“no,” you said. “you’re just angry that i’m right.”

“that’s bullshit.”

“why don’t you trust me then?” you demanded. “why do you look at me like i’m already guilty every time another man exists near me?”

his restraint finally cracked. “because you fucking like that,” he said viciously. “you like being wanted. you like knowing you can get whatever you want.”

your chest tightened. “so that’s what this is about? your ego?”

“you think anyone else would deal with you long-term?” he snapped, words tumbling out too fast now. “do you think cash or whatever the fuck his name is, would handle you? he’d use you for one fucking night and throw you away when he’s done with your sick bullshit.”

something inside you went cold. “so you think i’m disposable,” you said flatly.

“i think you make yourself disposable,” he fired back without thinking.

the second the words leave his mouth, they poison the room.

“you’re disgusting,” you spit. “that’s what you really think of me?”

“that’s not what i meant–”

“you meant it,” you cut in. “you always do.”

he’s breathing hard now, pacing once like he’s trying not to explode. “i love you,” he said through clenched teeth. “i love you so much it makes me fucking insane.”

“that’s not love,” you screamed. “that’s obsession.”

“call it whatever the fuck you want,” he shouted back. “it doesn’t change the fact that i love you.”

“fucking liar,” you snap. “if you really loved me you wouldn’t be doing any of this shit!”

something dark flashes across his face. “you know what?” he said sharply, in the heat of the moment. “maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore.”

your heart lurches, then hardens. “say it,” you challenged.

“maybe we should end this shit.” the words land like a slap.

“fine!” you snapped instantly. “fine. let’s fucking break up. now.”

he finally looks at you, eyes blazing. “you don’t even hesitate.”

“why would i?” you shoot back. “you’ve already decided i’m the problem. so go to fucking hell !” you spat, your voice trembling with pure rage.

jungkook grabs his jacket violently, movements sharp, angry, like he might rip something if he slows down. “this is fucking pointless,” he snarls. “you twist everything.”

“and you keep running,” you scream after him. “every fucking time things get ugly, you just run away.”

a harsh, broken sound that was almost a laugh escaped him. “and you’d rather burn it all down than ever, ever admit you’re wrong!”

“just get the fuck out already!” you repeat, pointing a shaking finger at the door, your vision blurring.

he didn’t hesitate. he turned on his heel, strode to the hallway. at the door, he didn’t pause for a final look at you. he just yanked it open, the violent sound echoing through the apartment.

and you were left alone, standing in the devastating silence, surrounded by the echoing, hateful lies you’d both weaponized, your entire body trembling with the aftershocks. it was over.

[diadette-deactivated20251117]

𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑛𝑖𝑔𝚑𝑡

you cost him a million-dollar deal with your mistake. your punishment is a private meeting in jungkook's office. but this isn't about being fired. It's about his solution. he corners you, his voice low and demanding. this is a different kind of deal. his hands on you are a claim. he isn't letting you go. he's making you his.

pairing: ceo!jk × assistant!reader

warnings: enemies with benefits, explicit sexual content, sexual tension, possessive behaviour, dominance/submission undertones, jealousy, control, degradation kink, mutual obsession, territorial affection, office talk, sex against stained glass?, body language, power dynamics, unprotected sex, creampie, blowjob, praise kink, slow burn, mutual emotional denial, rough handling, age gap, dirty talk

“A million-dollar contract,” Jungkook says, tilting back on his heel, voice slicing clean through the air, “Not only did you mix up the contracts. You mailed them to the wrong shareholder.”

He steps forward, eyes never leaving yours. That look strips you bare. He sees the truth stamped across your face, sees your guilt even if you have none. He unbuttons his shirt with casual arrogance, loosening his tie with a flick, exposing the throat you’ve kissed too many times to count. He wants an apology. He wants you to kneel in the form of words. He wants power in every possible direction.

“What should I do with you?” he murmurs, eyes glinting, watching every shallow breath you take.

Jungkook has been a shadow you can’t shake, a storm front waiting for you to stop pretending you can outrun it. Avoiding him was a joke you told yourself to feel brave, because everyone knows he does not tolerate distance. He is the kind of man who operates like emotion is a malfunction, like he gutted the part of himself that should care and replaced it with ice and authority. 

That sharp jaw, that stern mouth, those eyes that never soften. He is a walking reminder that softness gets crushed. So when he summons you back into his office, voice clipped and cold over the phone like he is snapping a leash, you know hope is a luxury you were foolish to consider. Nothing good ever waits behind his door. He only calls when he wants something stripped out of you.

The moment you step inside, the temperature hits you again, that deep cold he seems to breathe out instead of air. You swear frost licks up the walls just because he likes watching people shiver. You hug your arms around yourself and think he would probably smirk if he noticed you trying to stay warm. He never seems affected. He could stand shirtless in a blizzard and still look at others like they are the weak ones for not enduring it.

He doesn’t even grant you eye contact at first. He adjusts his glasses with calm arrogance, the crisp rustle of documents in his hands the only sound he bothers to offer you. Then he lifts his feet and sets them on the desk like he owns the world and is bored of the view. Those shoes cost more than your rent and he wears them like weapons. 

He could crush someone’s throat with them and they would apologize for bleeding on the leather. 

“I don’t need to clarify why you’re here,” he states, eyes scanning the file like he is searching for proof to hang you with. His voice is clipped, musing, cruelly amused, “Or should I speak again?”

You feel the heat rush to your face, humiliation and irritation twisting together. You know exactly what this is about. You know exactly what you did. You also know you would rather choke on your own pride than hand him a confession wrapped in apology. He can command the truth out of you if he wants it so badly.

His reputation as the flawless, merciless boss has carved fear into every person in this building. He never praises. He never acknowledges the good. You could bleed effort for him, build success brick by brick for years, and he would still only see the single stone that chips wrong. One mistake becomes the only thing he remembers. Every achievement disappears like smoke. He doesn’t notice anything unless it hurts.

And the worst part is how desperately you want him to notice you anyway.

Jungkook’s voice slices clean through yours, his interruption swift and deliberate, a reminder of who holds the reins here. You barely get the first syllables of ‘Mr. Jeon’ past your lips before he shuts you down with a single pointed finger and the scrape of his throat clearing. He still doesn’t bother to look at you, like your presence is an expectation, not a privilege, his gaze glued to those documents as though ink and paper deserve more attention than the body standing in front of him.

“I told you not to call me that,” he says it with that practiced calm.

You hear the coil of restraint beneath it, the heat he never lets show unless he’s close enough to burn you with it. He expects obedience, not excuses. He expects you to remember the rules he made specifically for you.

“I remember,” you force out, irritated that your voice wavers despite how hard you’re trying to choke down your reaction. The irritation is safer than the other things he stirs in you.

Your nails dig crescents into your palms as you watch him casually mark up the page, pen floating lazily in his fingers like he’s bored while deciding your fate. You look around the office that makes everyone feel small. The polished leather chair he slouches in like a king. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows that leave the entire city laid bare beneath his feet. Up here, sky and power blur into something cold and unreachable. Someone with bank accounts like his doesn’t sit in a chair. He rules from a throne.

“That wasn’t a question,” he snaps his fingers once, a sharp reprimand, eyes still mostly on the documents.

“You’re trying to go against my rules and I don’t like it,” then he finally grants you a single glance, brief but searing, the kind that pins you exactly where he wants you.

“I didn’t mean to do that, Mister—” you begin, stumbling over yourself to prove you aren’t as reckless as he thinks.

His eyebrow arches slowly, glasses nudged up his nose with a motion that feels like judgment. You swallow your pride fast.

“Jungkook,” you correct, voice tighter, smaller than you wish it sounded.

The weight of the past quarter hangs heavy in your mind. Endless meetings, rushed deadlines, late-night paperwork that blurred into your vision long after the lights went out. You’ve breathed this project for months, a contract worth millions, a deal so high-stakes it’s been gnawing at everyone’s nerves. If it collapses, the company will take a hit, but not a fatal one. The money can always be rebuilt. Money is disposable in Jungkook’s world. Reputation is not.

He protects his name like it is sacred, like he carved it into bedrock with his bare hands. One crack in that image is his worst nightmare. He would rather bleed than let anyone see weakness. The company might survive failure. Jeon Jungkook will not.

Jungkook’s words drag across the air like velvet over a blade, his patience thinning into something darker. 

“Will you continue to remain silent?” his voice is low, a quiet threat wrapped in silk, vibrating straight through you. 

“I don’t think they pay you for silence in my department,” then his eyes lifted. Sharp. Focused. Too aware of the power he holds over your ability to breathe properly.

His gaze flickers and something in him ignites, a spark of satisfaction that says he has found exactly how he wants to handle you. The papers in his hands are practically forgotten, tossed aside in one flick of his wrist, landing somewhere behind him without a single care. He lowers his feet from the desk and rises with slow intention, a predator bored of waiting for its prey to approach willingly. 

Each step he takes toward you pulls at that survival instinct buried under your skin. His hands tucked casually in his pockets do nothing to soften the danger. The polished Rolex flashes, his tattoos coil up his arm like a story written in secrets and lies you once traced with your tongue, each time hearing a different excuse for how he earned them while his fingers bruised ownership into your hips.

He doesn’t stop in front of you. No. He circles, inspecting, choosing the angle that gives him the most control. Then his hand lands at your waist, light but commanding, guiding you forward like he is leading you exactly where he wants you to break. He pushes you toward the table cluttered with documents, the very evidence of your days and nights spent chasing perfection for him.

“Tell me,” he breathes against your ear, the whisper a dangerous promise, “Are these documents familiar to you, hm?” 

His chest presses to your back as he cages you in, his body sealing off any chance of escape. His hands bracket you against the table, palms planted on either side, trapping you between his strength and the cold surface. Your spine curves instinctively and he leans closer, the heat of him making the icy office feel like its walls might melt. His cologne floods your senses. Sandalwood, smoke, the cruel comfort of something that has ruined you before.

Your pulse stutters as the humiliation coils tight, as if the ground should swallow you or the sky should collapse to free you from how exposed you feel under his scrutiny. You manage to force words out, weak armor against his dominance. 

“I don’t understand what you’re implying—”

“I asked you a question,” the whisper in your ear is no longer calm. It is a growl contained by teeth, a warning disguised as intimacy, “Answer me.”

Jungkook’s weight bears down on you like a verdict, every line of muscle he earned in the gym pressing into your body with a silent reminder that he is stronger, that he is the one pinning you here. He never needed to get fitter, never needed to sculpt himself into something more dangerous, yet he did, because dominance comes naturally to him. 

Your legs tremble under the pressure, nerves blurring with something you try desperately not to name. You bite down on any thought that might expose how alive he makes you feel in this position. Hoping he might take pity on you is foolish. Mercy is never his first instinct. It might not even be on his list.

“Of course I have an idea what it is,” you say, grasping at denial like a drowning woman reaches for air.

He doesn’t buy it. You can hear that in the slow, controlled drag of his breath against your ear. 

“Will you tell me what you did with them?” his voice is low, worn, like your silence exhausts him more than anything else in this building ever has. He wants answers. He wants you compliant.

Your resistance cracks, “What will happen to me for this?” it spills out before you can stop yourself, and it tastes like surrender.

The reality slams into you. This is career-ending. Future-ending. Reputation-destroying. If the truth reaches the wrong people, no company will touch you again. You imagine headlines, whispers, eyes watching you fall. His fists tighten on the table beside you, knuckles whitening, arms flexing as he leans even more of his weight into you. The table bites into your hips. His belt digs into the curve of you, metal and leather branding awareness into your skin. The scent of his cologne thickens with the hint of cigarettes, intoxicating, invasive, familiar in ways you wish it weren’t.

“So we’re skipping straight to the punishment?” his voice shifts, a cruel little laugh raking down your spine, “You don’t want to share with me?” 

There’s amusement in it, but also something darker, like he enjoys how cornered you are. Telling him would feel like giving him a victory he doesn’t deserve. You would rather let the whole building choke on rumors than offer him the satisfaction of your confession. The truth stays locked behind your teeth. You know what you did. You know you’re not guilty. That has to be enough.

He steps back suddenly, the absence of his body a shock as cold as the air around you. Maybe he needs a breath. Maybe you do. You push away from the table, straightening your clothes, pretending your knees aren’t jelly, pretending you weren’t just bent under him like something he owns.

Your relationship with him is too new, too volatile, too hungry to risk over one mistake. Because the sex is a revelation, addictive and consuming in a way that makes you furious at your own weakness. No one has ever taken you apart the way he does. Losing that would feel like losing breath. And Jungkook always takes what he wants.

The room feels like a trap designed for two. Cold air knifes across your skin, but the burn inside you makes the temperature irrelevant. You stand there in the center, every nerve exposed, while Jungkook’s steps echo against the sleek flooring. Heavy. Confident. Designed to make you tense. Designed to remind you who owns the ground you’re shaking on.

“What is your mistake, hm?” his mouth curves into that dirty smirk he uses when he’s already decided the ending for you.

He circles you slowly, like hunger disguised in a tailored suit. His voice is rough from exhaustion, and the fatigue only makes him more dangerous, more desirable in a way that you refuse to admit affects you. You feel the coldness rolling off him like a warning. His hands tucked in his pockets, watch glinting with every step, tattoos shifting over the veins of his wrist, every detail meant to bait your attention. Your heels dig into the floor, your feet threatening rebellion, and a small, unhinged part of you imagines ripping those heels off and launching them at his smug face just to wipe away that taunting grin.

“What are you trying to achieve?” the anger leaks into your tone before you can soften it.

He chuckles, low and unbothered, “Isn’t it obvious?” his voice drops, coarse and unfiltered, “Your confession.”

You know he despises you for messing up the pristine, controlled trajectory of his empire. You have no idea how the two of you can be the same people who tear into each other after hours, tangled up in sheets, breathless and starving. Daylight makes this version of him unavoidable. Calculated. Merciless. The version that built this skyscraper and every ego inside it. With a mistake like yours, he now has every excuse to unleash that cruelty on you.

“You already know everything,” you shoot back, “What changes if I say it?”

He tries to loop around you again, but this time you follow his steps, matching him measure for measure. You refuse to let him get behind you. You won’t let him see fear as your spine.

“A million-dollar contract,” Jungkook says, tilting back on his heel, voice slicing clean through the air, “Not only did you mix up the contracts. You mailed them to the wrong shareholder.”

He steps forward, eyes never leaving yours. That look strips you bare. He sees the truth stamped across your face, sees your guilt even if you have none. He unbuttons his shirt with casual arrogance, loosening his tie with a flick, exposing the throat you’ve kissed too many times to count. He wants an apology. He wants you to kneel in the form of words. He wants power in every possible direction.

“What should I do with you?” he murmurs, eyes glinting, watching every shallow breath you take.

The distance between you dissolves. His attention is a spotlight you can’t get out from under. Panic crawls up your ribs. The mistake isn’t something you can even explain, because you don’t know how the documents were altered. You only know how bad this looks.

“What will happen to the company?” you whisper, “This is a lot of money.”

His laugh is quiet, sharp enough to bruise, “Worried about me?" his palms slap together once, "How sweet.”

He moves back, allowing you a lungful of air that doesn’t help. He shrugs off his jacket and throws it on the leather sofa in the other corner of the room, next to the glass table, like it’s worth nothing, revealing broader shoulders than before, muscles you don’t need to be reminded of. He rolls his sleeves up, veins running like warnings under warm skin, unbuttoning more as if the tension between you deserves a visual. Innocent isn’t in his vocabulary and he never pretends well enough for you to believe it.

“I don’t give a fuck about the money,” he says, “Your mistake costs me my reputation.”

He returns, darkness hardening his eyes. The seriousness there is brutal. He keeps walking until your noses almost touch. You try to hold your ground, but the tiles betray you, your heel sliding as your balance tips. Before you can fall, an arm snaps around your waist, iron-tight, pulling you flush to his chest. His grip is bruising, possessive, like he would rather crush you than let something else take you.

“So clumsy,” he growls through his teeth.

“So arrogant,” you breathe back, refusing to wilt under him.

His laugh bursts out of him, sharp and full of disbelief, his head tilting for a second like he can’t decide if he wants to shake you or kiss you. He steadies you on your feet again, but your hands are still locked in the fabric of his shirt, clutching him like he is the only solid thing in this skyscraper.

His gaze drops to your fingers gripping his chest, then rises to your face, slow and pointed. You feel the heat rush up your throat as you release him, pulling your hands away like you’ve touched fire. Too late. He already felt exactly how much power he has over you.

He grips your chin with his hand, fingers digging just enough to stake his claim, turning your face up so your eyes have nowhere else to run. 

“Watch your tongue.” 

The command comes out low, a quiet threat wrapped in silk, and it sends that dangerous heat spiraling through you again. You don’t even notice the moment your legs give in and you drift closer, pulled into his gravity like you were born to orbit him. His scent is maddening, a dark mix of cologne and the faint trace of cigarettes, settling inside your lungs like smoke you willingly breathe in. His presence strips your thoughts bare. All you can do is stand there, pliant, feeding on every ounce of attention he gives as if he is your only source of power.

“What were you thinking when you did that?” his voice is rough, his eyes dissecting you, waiting to catch the smallest flicker of guilt.

“You think I did it on purpose?” you fire back, though your voice betrays you, soft and unsteady.

He smirks like he already saw every lie you tried to hide, “Am I wrong?” The arrogance suits him too well, the way his lips curl because he knows you are cornered.

“I’m not going that low,” you manage to breathe the words, clinging stubbornly to the last pieces of your pride.

“Baby, don’t,” he tilts your face closer, his thumb stroking your cheek like he owns every nerve beneath it, “I know exactly how low you can go,” 

The double meaning sits filthy between you, taunting you with memories of what those words felt like the last time he had you under him. His gaze pins you in place, unforgiving and hungry, reading every secret your body spills without your permission. Jungkook loves this. He feeds on how easily you break for him, on how your defiance melts the second he touches you. He holds your face perfectly level with his, so he can take in every twitch of desire, every tremble you try to hide. He could ruin you right here and he knows it. You know it too.

That dangerous warmth pooling low in your belly, the restless ache creeping between your thighs — it’s getting harder to ignore, harder to pretend you’re not quietly begging for him to handle it. If he doesn’t, you’ll unravel right here, begging outright. You need him to move first — rough, unhesitating, while nerves still make your breathing shallow and your anticipation too sharp to swallow. But he’s patient in the most sadistic way; Jungkook wants to savor every second of the game he’s playing with you. He’s not going to give you relief until you’ve fully given him your defeat — and he’ll make sure you feel every moment of losing.

The tension in the room is so sharp it feels like the air could split open from it. It coils tighter and tighter inside your chest, a pressure that demands to break, though Jungkook only fuels it with every slow breath he takes behind you. He stands like an unmovable force, a shadow that consumes your entire world. You cannot see anything beyond the broad frame of his body and the hunger simmering in his stare. You wait for him to finally close the distance, to crush the space between your mouths, to admit with a kiss that he wants you just as recklessly as the heat sparking behind your eyes.

“You disobeyed me,” he says, not loud, but with the kind of authority that slides straight into your bloodstream. 

“How can I punish you, hm?” his voice lowers, almost a whisper, but it hits harder than a shout.

“You know how,” you manage, a smirk tugging your lips even though you shouldn’t provoke him. Provoking him is exactly what you crave.

His gaze darkens like he is already imagining every filthy option, “No, baby. You’ll like it the way you want it,” he presses the words into you like a promise you will beg for.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, your voice thin with a nervous adrenaline that only makes him hungrier.

“You don’t want to know,” his warning rumbles low just as his finger drags along your bottom lip. Instinct has you parting your mouth for him, waiting. He smirks as if you have already confessed everything, “Naughty girl.”

You close your lips around his finger when he slips it in, your tongue brushing him. The taste of him. The weight of him. It is enough to make you lose yourself without a single kiss. Your thighs tremble and you have to cling to the floor, pretending you are still capable of standing.

“I would’ve bent you over my desk,” he murmurs, voice filthier than his touch, “but today I want everyone to see how guilty you are.”

There is no time to swallow the sound that tries to claw out of your throat. He pulls his finger from your mouth with a wet, obscene pop, then he grabs your waist so fast your breath stutters. His mouth is on yours in the next heartbeat. This is not the composed businessman everyone else knows. This is the man beneath the suit. The one who kisses like he intends to ruin you for anything that isn’t him. Your eyes shut tight, your knees buckle, but his arms lock around you, holding you upright like he refuses to let you fall anywhere but into him.

His lips taste maddeningly soft, impossibly sweet, the exact flavor you have been starving for. He guides you backward with his body until you feel the smooth chill of glass pressing between your shoulder blades. The stained-glass windows behind you showcase the entire city, glittering with night lights and secrets, but he doesn’t let you look at anything except him. 

One hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to make your mouth open for him again, while the other slides lower, claiming the curve of your back. His tongue pushes into the kiss, hungry, messy, the way he likes it, the way you have learned to crave. His teeth scrape and tease like he wants to mark where his mouth has been. You give him everything. You take everything he gives. You want more. Always more. Because nothing has ever felt as good as being his favorite disobedience.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, voice rough enough to scrape against the glass as his fist slams beside your head, rattling the pane. 

His breath ghosts against your mouth, hot and uneven, “What are you doing to me?”

Before you can breathe, his lips find yours again—like he’s been starved for years and you’re the only thing that could ever feed him. The kiss isn’t tender. It’s a collision. His thigh slips between your legs, pressing up, forcing you to ride the warmth of him through the friction. The sound that leaves your throat isn’t something you plan—it’s a raw, helpless moan that makes his control break just a little more. 

He curses under his breath and starts tearing through the buttons of your shirt, one after another, each sharp click echoing against the glass until cold air rushes over your skin. You shiver, half from the temperature, half from the way his eyes darken when he sees what’s underneath. The black lace set. The one he bought. The one he told you to wear when you were ready to be good again.

“Jungkook, more… please,” you whisper, the words trembling out of you like confession.

His breath catches, the sound half a groan, half a growl, “No, baby,” his voice drips over the shell of your ear, low and cruelly soft, “As much as I want it, tonight’s mine. You’ll take it my way.”

He presses you harder into the glass, the city lights flickering around you, your reflections bleeding into one another—him behind you, larger, darker, consuming every edge of you. He wants you here, in full view of the skyline, where anyone could look up and see how completely you bend for him. His hands slide down to your hips, fingers locking around them like he owns every bone beneath his grip. His mouth trails to your throat, finding your pulse, biting, sucking, leaving evidence that he knows you’ll try to hide tomorrow. Each sound he pulls from you only feeds him, makes him rougher, hungrier.

“Tonight,” he growls against your neck, voice dragging slow and filthy, “you’ll be fucked like the slut you are.”

You gasp, trembling under the weight of it, your body arching into his hands as they explore you with greedy precision. Every curve, every soft place, his palms memorize again like he’s mapping out proof that you’re still his to ruin. His mouth never leaves your skin for long; it moves down your neck, sucking bruises into it, the wet sounds filling the silence as the city hums outside. You know how this ends. You always do. Jungkook doesn’t stop until he’s branded himself across every inch of you, until you’re shaking with the reminder of him.

“Fuck, Jungkook…” you gasp, your voice catching on his name, your lips brushing the air between you.

The smirk he paints against your skin is a brand, a victory he’s already cataloged in the private museum of his conquests. You feel the curve of his lips more than you feel your own heartbeat, a silent, arrogant testament to a game he was always destined to win. His hand slides down the small of your back, a deliberate, proprietary stroke, and the single, deft movement of his fingers unzipping your skirt is a masterclass in control. 

The fabric falls with a hushed, dull sound, a puddle of surrender at your feet. When you step out of it, the movement is instinctive, a shedding of a feeble layer of defense, and he doesn’t even allow you a second to breathe in the new exposure before his hand is fisted in your hair, a sharp, beautiful pain that angles your face back to his. His kiss is not an invitation; it is a reclamation. It’s dirty and deep, the way he loves it, all possessive tongue and shared breath, a deliberate violation that feels more like a homecoming than a defilement, a way to remind you that the very air in your lungs is on loan from him.

“What do you think, baby,” he muses, the words a low rumble against your swollen mouth, a taunt that vibrates straight down your spine, “Still not going low, huh?” 

But the question is meaningless noise, a distant echo drowned out by the roaring tide of your own need. The desire within you is a physical ache, a coiling, desperate heat that has made a home deep in your core, and the warmth between your legs is a throbbing, unbearable truth. Words are a currency you can no longer afford. Instead of an answer, you offer him your submission. The pressure of his hand on your head is not a request; it is a command written in the language of his dominance, and your body translates it perfectly, your knees bending, the world tilting as you sink down to the cool floor. 

"On your knees," he says roughly, his voice sandpaper and smoke, and the two words are a scripture you were born to obey. 

You lower yourself without another word, the thirst for him a living entity clawing its way up your throat, a desperate thing waiting for the moment his legendary control finally shatters, even as you know he is, for now, utterly and infuriatingly in command. His hand remains tangled in the roots of your hair, a cruel and tender anchor, and he tugs, just enough to force your gaze upward, to drown you in the dark, bottomless pool of his eyes.

“Unbuckle the belt for me, baby,” he barks the order.

But the command is layered with softer undertones, a velvet-wrapped steel that makes your fingers tremble with the need to comply. The moment he releases your hair, you tilt your head, a gesture of both defiance and supplication, your hands already reaching for the heavy, cold buckle of his belt. The leather slides free with a rasping hiss, a sound more intimate than a whisper, and you throw the belt into the shadows of the room, an offering to the gods of this profane ritual. Your hands, hungry and impatient, are already moving to the fastener of his pants, your entire being focused on the promise of what lies beneath. 

"Did I say you could continue?" 

The remark is stern, a whip-crack of sound that freezes you in place, a reminder that your autonomy is an illusion he permits for his own amusement. He cups your face, his touch a shocking contrast to the severity of his tone, and his thumb strokes down your cheek with a devastating tenderness before coming to rest on your bottom lip. He presses down, smirking as he coaxes your mouth to part, to suck the pad of his thumb, a lewd, miniature rehearsal that has you blushing and burning all at once. 

"You only listen to what I tell you and do it, is that clear?" he sternly remarks and warns, the words leaving no room for anything but absolute surrender. 

"Yes," you breathe out, the syllable a wisp of smoke, a prayer. 

"Good girl." 

The praise is a drug, instantly addictive, flooding your veins with a warmth that rivals the one pooling in your core. 

"Now pull down my pants." 

Your mouth is already watering, a response to the memory of his taste, the salt and skin and essence of him that you have missed with a cellular-level hunger. You are ready to do anything, to be anything, to debase yourself utterly if it means pleasing him, because that singular purpose is the only thing driving you now. The slick heat between your legs is a blatant confession, and the flimsy barrier of your underwear does nothing to hide it. 

As you reach for him, he is already unbuttoning his own shirt, the fabric an irritation he sheds with a flick of his wrists, his tie following the belt into the darkness. And then he is revealed, his physique a testament to a discipline that borders on the obsessive—the broad, sculpted chest, the hard, defined abs that look like they could cut glass, a body that speaks of long hours and spent energy, a temple built for worship and for ruin.

The words are a low thrum against the damp skin of your neck, a vibration you feel more than hear. 

"That's it, baby." 

His praise isn't gentle; it's a claiming, a verbal brand that sears into your marrow and makes your spine go liquid. You are trapped in the best way, a willing prisoner between the solid weight of him and the unyielding mattress, and the proof is in the frustrating, delicious struggle with your own clothing. 

His pants are a twisted shackle around his thighs, a casualty of his urgency and the sheer, immovable geography of his body. His hips are a sculptor's dream, wide and toned, his powerful legs caging yours, and the fabric has no hope, it just bunches and binds, a pathetic barrier he allows to exist only to highlight your helplessness. 

Your gaze drops, snagging on the stark white band of his Calvin Kleins, a brand you know he owns in staggering quantity, a fact you've cataloged in the intimate archives of your memory, a collection as curated and deliberate as the control he now exerts over the very air you breathe. The sight is a familiar brand of its own, a promise of what is to come. 

"I'm gonna put it in, baby," he warns, his voice a dark velvet, and the statement is both a threat and a sacrament. 

You don't need the warning; your body is a live wire of readiness, a symphony of aching need played in a key only he can hear. You have never been more prepared for anything in your life, this desperate, clawing need to please him is a fundamental rewrite of your own biology, a compulsion that overrides all other instinct. 

You know the daunting geography of him, the thick, heavy weight of his shaft, the way its impressive girth and length sometimes seem like a physiological impossibility, a beautiful, brutal instrument that should not fit, that should split you open but probes you wrong every time, a glorious, stretching fullness that reminds you your body was built for his use, designed to accommodate his specific brand of possession.

The sight is a punch to the gut, a visceral shock that never dulls. He is fully, brutally erect, a testament to the tension thrumming between you, the skin stretched taut and gleaming, a map of raised, throbbing veins leading to the flushed, ruddy tip, already wet with the evidence of his want. His head falls back, a stark column of his throat working on a swallow, and his hand — that hand, the one you've watched create art and chaos, now a network of tendons and raised veins and stark tattoos-wraps around his own length.

The possessive squeeze of his fist, the slow, deliberate pump is a performance and a promise, a preview of the ruin he is about to bring upon you. Then his eyes find yours, the playful glint gone, swallowed by a dark, serious intensity that pins you more effectively than his body ever could. The command is stripped bare, raw and guttural, leaving no room for anything but surrender.

"Open up, slut.”

The world narrowed to the heat of him against your tongue, a heavy, living weight that tasted of salt and him. He didn't ask, he presented, slapping that rigid length against your willing tongue as if branding the very muscle, a prelude to the claiming you ached for. Your thighs clenched together in a helpless, sympathetic rhythm, the warmth and slickness between them blooming into a throbbing ordeal, a private, desperate echo of the act. 

You couldn't look at his face, couldn't bear the weight of that gaze, so you fixed your eyes on the taut, trembling plane of his abdomen, a landscape of clenched muscle sheened with a fine sweat. Then his hand was on your head, not a caress but a placement, fingers tangling in your hair with a terrifying, thrilling possessiveness. 

"Take it all, baby," he told you, the words a hiss of strained control, a frayed wire sparking in the charged air between you.

And then he filled you, a swift, shocking invasion that stole your breath and replaced it with a guttural, resonant moan that vibrated through your core and into him. The sound was your undoing, and his; you saw it in the sharp, helpless arch of his neck as he threw his head back, the cords of his throat standing taut. You tried to find a rhythm, to prove your devotion with the bobbing of your head, but he took the control back, his grip in your hair tightening, using the dark strands as a rein to set a brutal, perfect pace. 

Each thrust reached the precipice of your throat, his width a sweet, punishing stretch that made your jaw ache within minutes, a burn you leaned into, relaxing your muscles to give him more room, to take more of him. 

"Taking me so good, baby," he groaned, the praise a low, wrecked sound that was more potent than any command. 

The room was no longer a room but a vessel for the obscene, wet symphony of his possession, each sound a testament to your surrender. You felt the change in him, the animal tension coiling in his hips, the groans deepening into guttural growls that promised an end. He pulled himself from your mouth with a final, slick tap against your swollen lips. 

"Enough, baby," his voice was flat, absolute, a god issuing a decree, "Turn your face towards the glass."

You obeyed, the command sending a fresh shiver through your saturated nerves. The cool, hard surface met your cheek, a stark contrast to the fever burning your skin. Immediately, your hands were placed flat against the glass by an unseen force-his-and you stretched your back, a offering. His hand settled on the small of your back, a point of searing contact, and pressed down lightly, a demand you answered by arching more, presenting yourself, making the line of your body a plea and an invitation. 

"Jungkook, I need you," the words were torn from you, hoarse and raw, a confession that felt more intimate than anything your body had yet done.

"Fuck, baby," he hissed, the curse a sharp, serrated edge of desire, "You want this, hm?" 

It wasn't a question, it was a rhetorical taunt, a verbal brand on the moment. He didn't wait for your answer, he gave you his. 

"Then here you go."

Your hands were gathered at the base of your spine, his one large hand encircling both your wrists, a binding that felt more sacred than any vow. The side of your throat was pressed against the cool, golden glass, your breath fogging a small, frantic circle. And then he was there, not asking, not easing, but entering with a single, devastating push of his length. 

Your body shook so hard you almost fell, your knees buckling not from the force but from the sheer, overwhelming rightness of it, the perfect, shocking fit. You accepted it all, every burning inch, because you were so wet, so ready, your body opening for him like a secret he was always meant to uncover, a territory he was born to claim.

He wanted the entire, glittering city to bear witness, to press your illuminated face against the cold glass and watch as he folded you in half, a deliberate act of possession played out against a backdrop of steel and ambition. And you could feel it, the obscene stretch of him carving a space inside you that belonged only to him, a claiming so profound it felt less like pleasure and more like a fundamental rewriting of your anatomy. 

"Fuck, baby. I'm close," the groan was torn from his chest, a raw, guttural sound that was nothing like the controlled clip of his boardroom voice, and it was that fracture in his composure that undid you more than any touch. 

You became a creature of pure, desperate need, your voice a high, reedy thing you barely recognized as it begged, "Please, Jungkook." 

The words less a sentence and more prayer offered up to the only person who had ever deigned to answer with his body. And he was answering, with a punishing exquisite rhythm that was his alone to conduct, his hips driving into you with a devastating variety of speed and force, a relentless experimentation seeking the perfect angle, the specific friction that would unravel you completely, that would pull a symphony of whimpers and sobs from your throat and prove, once and for all, who owned the very sounds you made.

He was a study in controlled frenzy, his length so profound it seemed to touch the deepest, most untouched part of you, a place you could only name as your womb, a claiming so deep it felt territorial, as if he were planting a flag in your very soul. The stretch was a constant, breathtaking ache, a feeling of being so impossibly filled you were certain you'd never feel empty again. 

His pace became frantic, a piston-like drive toward his own finish, and his hand came down on your ass again and again, the sharp, stinging slaps a counterpoint to the deep, internal pounding, his dark eyes watching the way your skin jiggled and bloomed a heated, rosy pink under his palm, marking you even where the city couldn't see. 

He fisted a hand in your hair, yanking your head back, pulling your spine into a sharp arch that brought your mouth impossibly close to his, your panting breaths mingling. You were fracturing, coming apart at the seams, a tight, coiling pressure building low in your belly, and you knew with a dizzying certainty that if he didn't shatter first, your own climax would obliterate you.

"J-Jungkook I'm cumming...fuck," you chanted his name, a sob wrapped in a plea, a surrender he accepted with a final, brutal thrust so deep it stole the air from your lungs and left you gasping, clawing at the empty space in front of you. 

"Yes, yes, please. Give it to me, yes," the words tumbled out of you, uncontrolled, a litany of submission as the world dissolved into pure, white-hot sensation.

"Fucking hell, baby," his own groan was a roar of triumph, a sound of a king securing his dominion. 

The hot, sudden rush of his release was so copious, so overwhelming, that he had to pull out to spend the last of it, and you felt the shocking, warm spill of his cum, mixed with your own, painting your skin, a messy, physical proof of the chaos you'd created together. He was meticulous even in the aftermath, cleaning the evidence with your own discarded underwear, his touch surprisingly gentle as he dabbed at the oversensitive, trembling skin, a caretaker to the ruin he had so masterfully wrought. 

He turned you to face him, his fingers, which could snap a company in two, pushing the sweat-dampened hair from your forehead with a tenderness that felt more possesive than any bruise.

"I'll send a car for you," he informed you, his voice already regaining its executive edge, though his eyes were still dark with the ghost of his climax. 

"My driver will take you to my apartment.”

When you asked, "What about you?" 

The question felt fragile, laced with a strange, post-coital tenderness that only he could evoke, a softness that existed solely in the wreckage he left behind. 

"I have to finish my work," he confessed, a shadow of the real world crossing his features. 

"I'll deal with the chaos and be there as soon as I can. Is that clear?" 

You nodded, a simple, acquiescent gesture, but it wasn't enough for him. His hand snaked out, encircling your waist and pulling you flush against him once more, the hard planes of his body a stark reminder of the promise of more. In that moment, you felt it-that rare, terrifying feeling you only ever experienced with him, in his orbit. A sense of belonging to the storm.

"I'll be back, and we're taking a second round," he smirked, a predatory, delicious flash of teeth. "I am nowhere near finished with you." 

The kiss he sealed this vow with was not one of bruising dominance, but something softer, sweeter, a lingering taste of devotion, as if the mere thought of you being taken from his sight, even by his own driver, was a form of agony he would not tolerate.

[onemorekoo]

rating — 18+

warnings: tit play, kinda cumming untouched, unprotected penetrative sex, one spank, dom!kook, tease!kook, swearing, pet names

wc: 729 ꫂ ၴႅၴ

taglist : @lovingkoalaface @ane102 @mar-lo-pap @seolhyuningg @only4barnes @cybesstuff @lemonjuice16 @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie

He’s in between your legs as the two of you lay in bed, slick tongue sliding against yours and big hands groping at your tits from the cotton of your shirt.

The way his fingers squeeze and jiggle the fat has you tightening your thighs around his lithe waist, arousal dampening your panties rapidly. The little shit knows this, that’s why he isn’t giving your needy cunt any attention.

Before you can save any sort of self respect you have left, a pathetic whine tumbles out of your lips; hips rolling up into his pelvis— trying to inflict any friction on your poor, throbbing clit.

He tuts, right hand sliding down your torso to press down on your lower belly, effectively putting a stop to your movement and providing little pressure to the heat bubbling there. You moan desperately, chasing his touch.

Jungkook slithers his hands up your shirt, over your ribs and resting just under the curve of your bare breasts. You move to tug off your top, baring your upper body to him.

You watch intently as his dark eyes drink in the sight of your flushed breasts, nipples hard and your areolas swollen.

“Shiiiiit baby, the things you do to me”

His groan is gravely as he speaks, immediately pressing open-mouthed kisses on your tits before enveloping a perked nipple with his tongue. You moan his name as he starts sucking vigorously, mouth stretched around the curve of your left boob.

Jungkook’s eyes are sharp as he stares at you with a mouthful of your tit, knowing how to make you go crazy. He carries on sucking your nipple before moving his mouth to your right breast and pleasuring her too.

His attention on your chest sends sharp bursts of pleasure straight to your pulsating, ignored clit, which prompts you to try and roll your hips into his body. But of course he stops them for the nth time, like the annoying fucker he is. God forbid a girl try to reach her bliss.

Jungkook merely grins at your scoff, pressing one last kiss onto your breast before leaning back.

“How close are you, baby?”

“So-so fucking close kook, cmon let me cum”

You clench uncontrollably as he presses hot kisses down your bare stomach, sliding down your shorts as he descends before coming face to face with your swollen pussy.

Yes!

You’re finally gonna be fucked!

His eyes are glazed as he stares up at you and then at your soaking cunt, smirk plastered onto his face smugly.

Fuck—fuck! All his little reactions, his strong hands keeping their grip on your spread thighs, his little grins— fuck they have you ruined. Pussy spasming like a whore, just from the sight of him.

And when he coolly blows his warm breath straight onto your bundle of nerves, you tense— before squeezing around nothing ultimately and orgasming hard.

His cherry red lips immediately latch onto your clit, sucking to prolong your release before moving down and slurping up the slick that pours out of you.

“What the fuck was that?” Your tone is visibly annoyed when he climbs back up your body.

“Language, doll” he slaps at your thigh, effectively making you jolt. You roll your eyes but don’t push further— not in the mood for punishments tonight.

Jungkook glides his cock between your soaking folds before finally pushing into your awaiting hole, watching in fascination at how you stretch around him so perfectly, made for him, pussy molded to his dick.

His grunts are husky as he sets a steady rhythm of fucking his length into your warmth, hands possessively hiking your thighs up further to almost fold you like a pretzel.

“Pussy all fucking mine— fuck!”

You moan in tandem to his dirty talk which prompts him to keep blabbing.

“Fuck, sucking me in so well, greedy girl.”

“Had me wrapped around them pretty fingers since the very start.”

“Shit, my girl so fucking tight around my dick. Take it, take it all.”

“Take what’s yours”

Another pound into your spent pussy has you cumming for the second time that night, gummy walls gripping his dick so well that he spills into you a few thrusts later, groaning deeply.

“Fuck next time imma get you off on my voice alone” he smirks into your neck and you squeeze around his sensitive cock in retaliation.

Jerk.

[dreamersparacosm]

it’s a match! ᯓ★ jeon jungkook

SUMMARY. Your friends think you’re one bad night away from becoming a cat lady with a wine addiction. Their solution? It’s simple: Wingmate, the new dating app where your friends swipe for you, and set you up on a blind date. At the very least, it’s supposed to guarantee a steamy hookup for the group’s weekend trip—little do you know, they’ve swiped right on none other than Jeon Jungkook, resident fuckboy and your coworker, who’s terminally addicted to two things: bad bitches and situationships.

pairing. jeon jungkook x reader

word count. 39k (est. 60-65k)

update schedule. tbd due to personal issues

playlist. linked here

genre/warnings. smut, fluff, angst, coworker enemies(?) to lovers, fake dating, forced proximity, fuckboy!jungkook

note. LOL!!!!! before you bring out the glock, this is actually a pre-written fic from the big year of 2024 that never saw the light of day, and i am re-vamping it to fit my current writing style. think of it as a gift… *hides from incoming tomatoes* heh-he, right guys..? no but genuinely this shit is a joke. it’s a—you guessed it—romantic comedy so. idk. have a laughs luv xx ALSOOO as you can see below i’m playing around with a new style for my blog… be patient with me i’m just a girl

banner creds.

CHAPTERS .ᐟ.ᐟ

౨ৎ preview (0.9k)

౨ৎ one — swiped (5.2k)

౨ৎ two — for the weekend (9k)

౨ৎ three — bed for two? (12.6k)

౨ৎ four — fifth wheeling (11.5k)

౨ৎ five — it’s (not) a match!*

౨ৎ six — just the girl*

comment below to be included on the taglist!

© dreamersparacosm. 2025.

[voitier]

🏎

⭒no pressure - jeon jungkook

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... your angel of a boyfriend always respected your wishes and boundaries. but what happens when you feel your resolutions slowly crumble to the ground?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [smut!] teasing, making out, mentions of dry humping, fingering, reader's first time, softdom!gguk × inexperienced!reader, gentle sex, mentions of discomfort during penetration.

⭒blame morpheus for your sins - jeon jungkook

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... you and jungkook had been attached by the hip since you were little toddlers learning how to live in your own bodies, which led you two to spend most (if not all) of your life together. one weird dream makes your whole view about your bestfriend change. how will you live with that?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [mini-series!] friends to lovers, college au, jungkook is whipped for reader but she's oblivious to it all, descriptions of wet dreams, second-hand embarrassment, learning how to deal with new found feelings, sex and all the good stuff, HEA.

⭒M.P.S (Mission Panty Stealing) - jeon jungkook

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... "Jungkook had a big problem. A serious one, too, at that. He was utterly, desperately obsessed with his roommate. You."

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [smut! oneshot!] obsession, panty stealing, masturbation (m&f), lying, squirting, spying.

⭒M.P.S 02 - jeon jungkook

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... “I-I’m sorry, I– shit, I don’t–” “Keep going.” Two simple words. A command, really. That’s all it took for Jungkook to let go of all restraint.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... masturbation (m&f), getting caught, panty stealing, unprotected sex, kinda switch jk and reader, soft jk at the end

⭒ quiet hour - min yoongi

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... you wake up in yoongi's hoodie, and he quickly takes notice of it

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [fluff! short blurb!] domestic yoongi, early hour soft love

⭒ HANS - In your Hands - jeon jungkook

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... In a world where every single step is recorded and analysed by cameras, F1 racer Jeon Jungkook could care less about his reputation, deciding that with the amount of money he has he could buy the silence of everybody, if he wished. Behind him, there's a girl losing her mind trying to get him to behave, knowing that her job is at risk if she doesn't cover up his mess-ups in time. What happens when one of the most influential and world recognised racers falls head over heels for his PR manager, who absolutely despises his "I've got it all" attitude and wants nothing more than to keep doing her job in peace?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [series!] Mature themes, including sex, alcohol and substances use and abuse, money bets, life-risking events, yearning, jealousy, flashbacks into the protagonists' pasts, slow burn, use of sex as a form of unhealthy coping mechanism, angst and unresolved past issues. MDNI.

[dreamersparacosm]

under the checkered flag - epilogue blurb 1!

prompt ; in which your boyfriend, who’s normally all confidence, cockiness and self-assured, turns into a pouty, jealous mess when he remembers how much of a catch his girlfriend really is.

warnings ; unprotected sex, lil bit of oral (m recieving) (also this is not even a blurb. this is a whole ass story. also wrote this hungover so if there’s grammar errors… welp. idk how i got so ahead of myself pls help)

request ; linked here

part of the under the checkered flag universe

You’re not entirely sure why you agreed to this.

The room is packed: it’s loud, buzzing with conversation, glittering lights and expensive diamonds you could never dream of affording, filled with the kind of people who look like they walked off the cover of Vogue. Jungkook, of course, is in his element, shaking hands, flashing his signature grin, seamlessly weaving through the crowd like he was born for this.

Meanwhile, you are hiding behind him like a child.

“Baby,” Jungkook murmurs over his shoulder, amused. His hand rests against your hip, keeping you tucked close as he greets another executive, another industry legend who already knows exactly who he is. “You gonna say hi or just use me as a human shield all night?”

You huff, clutching onto the sleeve of his tailored suit, peeking past his shoulder just enough to offer a shy, “Hi.”

The older man chuckles, shaking his head. “Cute one you got there, Jungkook.”

Jungkook beams, unbothered. “I know, right?” His fingers tighten around your waist, clearly very proud of you, and he wants everyone in this room to know exactly who you are.

And, to be fair, they already do. Your face has been plastered across every media outlet since his last race a few weeks ago, the headlines barely able to contain themselves. “Jeon Jungkook Off The Market: Meet the Woman Who Stole His Heart.” Paparazzi shots of him running to you after his win, kissing you in front of thousands, wrapping you in his arms like you’re his greatest trophy. Really, it was getting a little overwhelming.

You smile up at him as the aforementioned man turns away to entertain another person “Why are you doing this?”

He bites back a smirk. “Doing what?”

“Introducing me to every single person like I’m some mystery. They know who I am, Jungkook.”

“Do they?” He grins, leaning down, voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “Because I don’t think they know you’re the love of my life yet. Want me to make a bigger announcement?”

Your face bursts into flames. You slap his side, making him laugh as he pulls you closer, not letting you escape even an inch.

“Relax, my love.” He presses a kiss to your temple, warm, grounding, very much second nature now. “Just wanna show you off a little.”

You groan, burying your face in his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Liar liar pants on fire.” He says it so easily, so confidently, because he’s right. You’re completely, stupidly in love with him actually. However, the worst part of that? So is everyone else in this damn room.

The buzz of the party hums around you as you trail behind Jungkook, hands still lightly clinging to his arm like it’s your lifeline. He doesn’t seem to mind, laughing lightly as he introduces you to every person who approaches, all the while keeping one eye on you, making sure you’re still there, still close. You’re the quiet one, always in the background, but tonight? You’re sticking to him like glue.

The chaos around you only adds to the sensation of feeling out of place, and your mind pulses with the need to break free for a moment.

“I’m gonna get some champagne,” You tug on his arm to get his attention, hoping he won’t follow, aching for just a second alone.

“Alright,” Jungkook says, winking at you. “Dont wander far, I’ll miss you too much.”

You roll your eyes, the slight teasing in his voice making you smile despite yourself.

And finally, with a little space between you two, you head for the bar, where the bartender is already pouring multiple glass of champagne, a brand you hardly recognize besides the times that Jungkook has sprayed it over your head in his locker room after a win. You grab one, thank him with a smile, clutching your drink tightly, letting the warmth of the alcohol loosen some of the tension in your shoulders. You lean against the bar, taking in a deep breath, trying to shake off the intensity of the room.

You shift slightly, your heels pinching the back of your feet. Even though Jungkook is across the room now, deep in conversation with some high-profile men, you can still feel him, like a phantom touch, like gravity pulling you toward him even from a distance.

You’re halfway through your first sip when someone leans in beside you. His voice is warm, easy-going.

“Is it safe to assume you’re with Jungkook?”

The voice comes from your right, definitely belonging to someone who’s good at conversation.

You glance up, blinking at the tall, well-dressed man beside you. He’s… handsome, you suppose. Friendly. Dressed in a navy suit, collar slightly open, drink in hand. Polished, but not in an obnoxious way. He leans against the bar with a casual kind of confidence, the kind of presence that blends in rather than commands the room.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit, still feeling a little shy. “I’m his… well, girlfriend. Sort of.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Sort of? That’s an interesting answer.”

You huff a small laugh. “I mean, yes. I am. He just… likes making a big deal out of it.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” he chuckles, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I take it you’re not used to all this?”

You shake your head immediately. “Not even a little.”

He laughs, genuinely, like he understands. “I get it. These events can be overwhelming.”

You tilt your head slightly, curiosity creeping in. “You say that like you’ve been to a lot of them.”

He grins, and that’s when it clicks. You suddenly recognize him, the familiar face.

“Wait—” Your eyes widen. “You’re a driver too, right? You raced today.”

His smile turns a little playful. “I did. And I did alright, if I say so myself.”

“You placed third, didn’t you?”

He blinks, slightly impressed. “Didn’t expect you to know that.”

You blush slightly, shrugging. “Well… I may have learned a thing or two from Jungkook.”

“Ah, so he’s been turning you into a racing expert, huh?” He teases.

“Not even close,” You laugh, shaking your head. “But congratulations. Third place is still huge.”

“Thanks,” He says, tipping his glass toward you. “Though, I have to admit, Jungkook is damn near impossible to beat. The guy drives like he’s invincible.”

You smile softly, the kind of smile that only comes when someone you love is being praised. “Yeah… he does.”

“You must be proud of him.”

“I am.” The words fall out before you can second-guess them, before you can hide them behind your usual shyness.

That much, you know is true. You are proud of Jungkook, more than he’ll ever know.

The man watches you for a second, a knowing look flashing in his eyes. Then, he smiles, shaking his head slightly. “He’s got a good one.”

You tilt your head. “What do you mean?”

He gestures toward Jungkook, who’s across the room, entertaining the guests, bright and effortless. “I mean, it’s not every day you see him this… settled. The guy used to be a bit of a wildcard.”

Your stomach flutters. You know that. You know exactly who Jungkook was before you.

You swallow, about to respond, when his next words catch you off guard. “Though, I have to admit…” He leans in slightly, voice dropping just a bit, teasing but still measured. “It must be tough, standing next to him all the time, knowing you stand out. ”

You feel your heart skip, your fingers tightening around your glass. You’ve always been completely oblivious when it comes to flirting. It’s not intentional—you just never assume anyone would be interested in you like that. Compliments fly over your head, teasing remarks get brushed off as jokes, and subtle advances? You don’t even register them.

Even with Jungkook, it took months of playful taunts, agreeing to do whatever you wanted, and blatantly flirty texts before you even considered the possibility that he might actually like you. And now, standing here at the bar, faced with a man who is clearly steering the conversation into dangerously suggestive waters, you’re a little slow to catch up. The moment finally clicks a beat too late, the realization washing over you like a delayed shockwave—oh. He’s not just making conversation. He’s flirting. And you? You walked right into that trap.

You let out a soft laugh, playing with the hem of your dress, trying to ignore the way his words sit uncomfortably in your chest.

“I mean, yeah,” You say lightly, swirling the champagne in your glass, forcing yourself to play it cool. “Jungkook has a lot of eyes on him. That’s kind of the deal when you’re one of the best, right?”

You try to steer the conversation back to Jungkook, hoping it’ll naturally fizzle out, but he gives you a look. A slow, appreciative glance. The kind that lingers just long enough to make your stomach twist in anxiety.

“That’s true,” He muses, his voice casual. “But I think most people would be looking at you tonight.”

Goddamnit.

Your fingers grip the glass so roughly it might shatter in your hands as you blink at him, processing. You laugh again, but this time it’s a little awkward, a tad nervous, like you’re trying to buy yourself a moment to think.

And then, as naturally as breathing, you look for him. Jungkook.

Your eyes search the crowd, scanning past the fitting dresses and tailored suits, past the photographers and the industry elites, until they land on him.

Of course, he’s right at the center of it all.

He’s laughing, head thrown back slightly, looking so alive, so magnetic, exuding the kind of confidence that made the world fall in love with him (and you as well, for that matter.) His suit jacket is long gone, probably thrown off on the back of a chair somewhere, replaced with a perfectly tailored white button-up, his sleeves pushed up just enough to tease the tattoos running along his forearm. He looks stupidly good.

He’s glowing, genuinely happy, his eyes crinkling as he talks, hands gesturing animatedly, completely and utterly in his element.

You bite your lip, a new kind of frustration blooming in your chest. How is he over there, completely fine, while you’re over here trying to figure out how to escape this conversation without being rude? Why must the universe put you, of all people, in the ring of fire?

“So,” The driver’s voice pulls you back, making you blink and turn your attention back to him. “How did you and Jungkook even meet? I don’t think I ever heard the full story.”

You shift again, clearing your throat, desperate to reroute the conversation away from yourself. “Oh—uh, through work, sort of. It’s actually kind of funny—”

Focus. Focus on Jungkook. Keep it safe. Keep it neutral.

You take another sip in between your sentence, the champagne fizzling against your lips, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t ease. You keep your focus on the man, trying to steer every single word back to Jungkook. It’s a delicate balancing act, keeping the conversation polite while dodging every veiled compliment, every lingering glance, every slight shift in tone that threatens to turn friendly into flirtatious.

“Yeah, it’s kind of funny, actually,” you pick up where you left off, still trying to keep it collected. “I had no idea who Jungkook even was when we first met. Everyone was freaking out about him, and I was just..”

You pause, shaking your head with a soft laugh. “Well, completely clueless.”

He chuckles, leaning in slightly, interest still flickering behind his eyes. “And now you’re wearing his jacket, front and center at every race.”

“Guess I learned who he was real quick,” You joke, though your fingers tighten slightly around your glass.

He tilts his head, like he’s about to say something else, perhaps even heavier, when two warm hands slip around your waist. They’re firm, familiar. A voice, deep, steady, and close enough to feel the breath of it against your temple. “Didn’t realize you two were getting so close.”

You blink, your entire body reacting before your mind even processes it. His presence is instant, all-consuming. You barely have time to react before you feel him pull you back against him, his grip on your waist just tight enough to send a message. The warmth of his chest presses against your back, solid and unwavering.

And when you tilt your head slightly, looking up at who you know damn well is your boyfriend — Oh. Oh, he’s not happy.

His jaw is tight, his lips pressed into a firm line. His usual easy-going expression is replaced by something darker, sharper, a quiet intensity simmering behind his eyes.

The man clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. He knows. Everyone in this room knows. Hell, even the higher powers know better than to mess with Jungkook’s girl.

“Jungkook,” he greets, nodding slightly. “Good race today, man.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t blink.

He just keeps his eyes on the man in front of you, expression unreadable, until he finally speaks.

“Yeah?” he muses, voice deceptively smooth. “Guess I’m lucky I had my girl with me.”

His hold on your waist tightens, just slightly, as if reinforcing the point.

Your pulse spikes, warmth creeping up your neck as you become painfully aware of how close he is.

You’re not usually the center of attention. But right now, you may as well be standing in the eye of a storm.

The tension lingers for a moment more. Jungkook’s hands are possessive, fingers pressing slightly into the fabric of your dress. His presence is impossible to ignore, a wall of warmth at your back, his cologne—deep, musky, with some woodsy notes—wrapping around you like a second layer of skin.

The man shifts, clearly picking up on the shift in atmosphere. Still, he offers an easy smile, nodding toward you.

“She’s beautiful,” he comments, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world. “Guess I can’t blame you for keeping her close.”

Jungkook hums smugly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, like he’s weighing his next words carefully. “Prettiest girl in the whole damn room.”

Your stomach flips violently, a cage of butterflies releasing themselves in your body. You’ll never get used to the way he speaks about you.

The driver gives one last chuckle, his eyes flicking between the two of you before wisely deciding to move along with his night. He excuses himself, raising his glass towards both of you before scurrying away as quick as his legs can take him.

And then it’s just you and Jungkook.

You exhale, not even realizing you had been holding your breath, still feeling the ghost of his touch on your waist.

You’re about to say something, but before you can, he turns to you, leans down, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. The warmth of it spreads across your skin like wildfire.

He pulls back, just slightly, his lips hovering over your skin, his voice dropping into something quiet, “You really let that guy talk to you for that long?”

Your eyes widen. “What? I wasn’t—”

Jungkook pulls back, finally looking at you, and he’s pouting. Actually pouting. The 27 year old man. Lips jutted slightly, brows furrowed, his usual confidence slipping juuuust enough to reveal the jealousy simmering beneath. It might be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

You can’t help it. You giggle, heart swelling in your chest.

“Jungkook,” You breathe out, leaning up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He grumbles something under his breath. You kiss him again, again… one more time for safe measures. Tiny, peppered kisses, soft and teasing, trailing across his cheek until you feel the tension in his shoulders start to ease. He exhales slowly, tilting his head, still acting like he’s suffered through the potato famine, furthering your agenda on the sassy man apocalypse.

“I just don’t get it,” he mutters, dramatic. “Why does everyone love you?”

You giggle again, nose brushing against his as you murmur, “Maybe because I’m soooo beautiful?”

Jungkook scoffs. “You think I don’t know that?”

And for the rest of the night, Jungkook doesn’t let you go. Not for a millisecond.

His arm is wrapped around your waist like an iron band, keeping you flush against his side as he guides you through the afterparty. He greets people, nods along to conversations, but his attention never fully strays from you.

Every so often, he leans down, his lips brushing against your temple, the shell of your ear, whispering things only for you.

“Having fun, pretty girl?”

“Gonna keep breaking hearts tonight, or am I enough attention for you?”

“Can’t believe you almost let some other guy steal you away. The blasphemy.”

You laugh every time, eyes sparkling, cheeks warm from the champagne and from the way his voice wraps around you like velvet.

By the time you’re finally in his car, it’s even more obvious.

The moment he pulls onto the empty streets, one hand gripping the wheel, the other immediately finds your thigh. You’re all giggles and smiles, alcohol-induced laughs spilling from your lips as you shift beneath his touch.

“You’re being so touchy,” You tease, voice teasing, light, dripping with warmth.

Jungkook barely glances at you, but you see the smirk pulling at his lips. “Don’t see you pulling my hand away.”

You roll your eyes, but your skin betrays you, heat pooling everywhere his fingertips graze. His thumb circles slowly, rubbing absentminded patterns into your thigh, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“You’re ridiculous,” You mutter, biting back another laugh as you lean against the headrest, the world outside the car nothing but passing trees and shadows.

“And you’re also tipsy,” Jungkook counters, stealing a glance at you, his eyes dark, amused, playful.

He licks his lips, the silver of his piercing catching the streetlights, and you hate how mesmerizing it is.

“So?” you huff, crossing your arms in mock defense.

“So,” he drawls, fingers squeezing slightly around your thigh, watching with interest as you visibly react. “You’re all giggly and sweet right now, and I think I like it too much. My bad for wanting to get my hands on my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

God, the word rolls off him so easily it makes you dizzy.

“You like me all the time,” You poke his hand that’s on your thigh.

“Yeah, but I like you even more when you’re like this,” He plays with his lip ring as his eyes focus on the road.

You peek up at him through fluttering lashes, watching the way his jaw flexes, the way he glances at you just a little too long at a red light. And then, without thinking, you lean toward him, voice dropping into something soft, just shy of teasing. “You’re really that possessive, huh?”

Jungkook’s fingers flex, grip tightening, and for a split second, he looks like he might mount you in that car. “Oh, you have no idea.”

And, he proves it to you. The second his front door swings shut behind you, there’s barely a beat of silence before his lips crash onto yours. It’s immediate, it’s urgent, all-consuming from the tip of your scalp to your toes.

His hands are already on you, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you in like he’s been starving for this. You gasp against his mouth, the taste of champagne still lingering between you, and it makes you giggle yet again like a little high schooler. “Jungkook—”

“Mm,” He hums against your lips, not even bothering to let you finish.

“You’re so cute when you’re needy ,” You chortle in between, barely able to keep up with his pace. Jungkook groans, grinning against your lips before kissing you again, longer, slower.

“What did I tell you about calling me cute?” He mutters, voice low (definitely playing up the octave to seem even more menacing.)

“That it’s true?” You tease, bubbly from the way he won’t stop kissing you.

In a single swift motion, Jungkook grips your thighs and lifts you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and a squeal exits your mouth.

“Jungkook!” You yelp, arms looping around his neck in surprise. Except it’s really no surprise, because the man has made it clear he’ll throw you around like a rag-doll. He’s already moving, already carrying you toward the bedroom with so much ease your head is spinning.

“Tired of you running from me,” He murmurs, smiling cheek-to-cheek, his bunny teeth poking out as he shuffles quickly down the hall.

You can’t stop laughing, light and heady, fingers threading through his dark hair as he all but sprints the rest of the way. He nearly flings you onto the bed like you’re deadweight.

The laughter is still spilling from your lips when Jungkook slots your mouth with his again, swallowing every giggle, every teasing remark before it can fully form. He kisses you like he needs you to stay quiet, like he’s trying to erase every last trace of your playful remarks before they slip past your lips.

But, you are not letting him off that easy.

“You were so jealous tonight,” You whisper between kisses, smiling against his lips.

Jungkook groans, tilting his head back just slightly before diving back in, his mouth brushing yours in a way that feels punishing.“Maybe. Or maybe I was just passionate.”

You roll your eyes, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt as he leans into you.

“It was kinda hot,” You mock. “You couldn’t stand it, could you?”

Jungkook grumbles something under his breath, his fingers pressing into your waist, pulling you closer, as if kissing you harder will shut you up. But the moment his lips trail down to your jaw, your pulse leaping beneath his touch, you decide to take control.

In a swift motion, you push against his chest, sliding out from underneath him and standing up.

Jungkook stumbles back onto the bed, eyes wide for half a second before something darker, more intrigued, flickers through them.

You smirk down at him, your confidence surprising even yourself.

“Oh?” Jungkook muses, grinning as he props himself up on his elbows. “Taking charge today?”

You hum, sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the mattress as you settle yourself atop him.

“I think you need to be reminded,” You murmur, your fingers ghosting over the silver chain around his neck before trailing downward, nails grazing the buttons of his shirt.

“Of what?” He questions, eyes dark, eager, watching your every move.

You lower yourself, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, not quite kissing him, just kind of floating.

Slowly, with a purpose, you start kissing down his jaw and the column of his throat. “That I’m all yours,” You whisper against his skin, letting your lips brush over him with every word.

“All mine?” His voice is rough, strained, his fingers practically imprinting upon your skin. He needs to hear it again.

You pull back slightly, rolling your eyes just a little. The man knows very well you’re all his, but the desperation in his voice has you a little more soaked than you’d like to admit.

“Yes, baby,” You breathe out, cupping his face, your thumbs brushing over the faint pink tinge dusting his cheeks. “All yours.”

Now, Jungkook has seen many sides of you. The quiet, reserved girl who hides behind him at events, the sweet and hesitant thing who blushed at every flirty remark he threw your way, the one who overthought every touch, every glance, every lingering silence between you. However, that’s not to say he’s not thoroughly enjoying how unbelievably attractive you looked sitting on top of him.

The girl—the one who is straddling his lap, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, murmuring sinful things in that soft, teasing tone, the heat of breath sending shockwaves straight through him—he does not recognize.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears, blood rushing to his cock. He can hardly breathe or think, all logic stripped away. Jungkook watches, wind knocked out of him, as you shift in his lap, your hips rolling against the growing bulge in his pants. He is ever the patient man; almost as if he wants to see how far you’ll take it.

He continues to stare as your fingers reach behind you, tugging at the zipper of your dress, the soft fabric peeling away from your shoulders, slipping lower, revealing more, more…more. Good lord.

The room is silent except for the soft rustle of fabric, the faint collective gasp in his breath as your dress pools around your waist, leaving your bare skin kissed by the golden lamp light in the room. Jungkook is entranced, his pupils dark. He’s still propped up on his elbows, yet he’s barely keeping himself upright.

Your body is soft curves and slow movements, every roll of your hips against him smoother, more confident than the last, every movement calculated and precise .

His head tips back against the mattress, his long lashes fluttering, his cock throbbing beneath the confines of his pants. Just when he thinks he might combust, you lean down, your lips hovering near his ear, whispering something he doesn’t even hear properly through the haze in his mind. He doesn’t even know what language you’re speaking.

Every teasing shift of your body against his, every brush of bare skin against fabric is driving him to the brink of insanity.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Your hands trail up his chest, slowly undoing every button, nails barely scratching the heated skin beneath his shirt. Your jaw slightly drops as you let out a soft, needy whimper, a sound so devastating it makes his cock twitch beneath his slacks. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Jungkook’s resolve crumbles, and his hand flies up, fingers wrapping around your jaw. He tilts your face toward his, making sure you see him. His eyes are feral, his pupils so black and wide they nearly swallow you whole. “Want my cock in your mouth.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your body clenching instinctively. There is a small part of you that’s not all that experienced, despite your past boyfriend and you having sexual experiences. It’s just.. different with Jungkook. You think he expects more, although he tells you he doesn’t. But you’ll do your best for him, like you always do.

He moves up, sitting against the headboard, and you wiggle down, your lips parting just slightly, like you’re already imagining how he’ll feel pushing past them, how he’ll taste on your tongue, which you 100% are.

Your fingers work slowly, methodically, undoing the zipper of his slacks with a deliberate precision that has Jungkook shaking beneath you.

The sound of the zipper unfurling is deafening in the quiet room, drowned only by the unsteady rhythm of his breath, the way it stutters every time your fingers brush against him, every time you shift or press a kiss just a little lower. The man is putty in your hands.

You slip his pants down his thighs, fabric pooling around his ankles, and you throw them somewhere in the room; it doesn’t even matter. What matters is beneath them, he is hard, aching, straining against the waistband of his boxers, the fabric doing nothing to hide just how much he needs you, letting you take control while he teeters on the edge of losing it completely.

Your lips press softly to the fabric, your breath warm, your hands gliding up his thighs, fingertips tracing the defined muscles there, feeling the way they tense under your touch, how they twitch with anticipation.

Jungkook watches you, his dark lashes heavy, his chest rising and falling too quickly. He gathers your hair for you gently, fingers running through the strands, pushing them away from your face, tucking them behind your ears, cradling the back of your head, making sure he can see you completely.

For the first time in a long time, you want to be seen.

You want him to watch as you shift, as you lean back, as you slowly kick off your dress, letting it slip down the length of your body, letting it pool onto the floor in a forgotten heap, leaving you bare and exposed.

The black lingerie set you had worn underneath is still intact, a stunning contrast against your skin, the delicate lace barely covering anything at all, making you feel utterly unbreakable under his gaze.

You finally pull his boxers down. His cock springs free, the thickness of it always making you gulp. It’s flushed an angry shade of red, the tip glistening with precum, leaking and throbbing.

You swallow, your mouth already watering, your thighs pressing together as you wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight of him in your palm. “F-fuck, baby,” Jungkook gasps, his head tipping back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hair tightly.

You stroke him slowly, taking your time, watching every little reaction, fascinated by how his body responds to you, by how his hips barely lift off the bed, chasing your warmth, chasing more. There’s normally a slight hesitation from you, but between the mix of the champagne and how fucking good he looks, you lean in. The first kitten lick to his tip is tentative, barely a flick of your tongue, just a taste.

Jungkook groans, his body jerking, “Jesus fucking Christ,” he curses, his voice shaking, his grip trembling against your scalp.

You hum softly, the sound vibrating against him, your lips parting slightly, your tongue flattening against the tip this time, lapping up the bead of precum that had gathered there, savoring the salty, musky taste of him on your tongue.

“That’s it, baby, fuck, so good,” Jungkook moans, his thighs tensing, his abs clenching, eyes screwing shut, then flickering open again, desperate to watch you, desperate to see you taking him, loving him, making him fall apart in the most beautiful way possible.

His praise makes you braver, makes you bolder, makes you want to see him even more undone, even more at your mercy. You press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his tip, feeling him pulse beneath your lips, hearing the way he gasps sharply.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” He whispers, his voice awe-struck that you’re letting him have this piece of you.

His cock is heavy, filling your mouth so perfectly, stretching your lips as you slowly bob your head, taking in as much as you can. You feel the weight of him glide over your tongue, your throat relaxing, your jaw straining in the best way possible.

“Shit, baby,” Jungkook groans. You’ve always loved how vocal he gets for you.

You steal a glance up at him, and that’s when your eyes meet. His gaze is so dark, pupils blown out, his lips parted, damp. The moment he catches your heavy-lidded, pleading stare, something in him breaks like a live-wire.

“F-fuck,” He chokes out, his abs flexing as his breath breaks. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You get the urge to keep going, faster now, the wet, lewd sounds of your mouth working him filling the room. Your tongue flattens along the underside of his cock, the heat of your mouth searing, your hand wrapping around the length that won’t fit, pumping in time with your movements.

“So, so good, so fucking good,” He pants, voice cracking like a prepubescent boy, his self-control hanging by a thread.

You feel it when he starts to twitch on your tongue, when his hips stutter, when his grip tightens, when he pulls your hair just slightly, as if he’s trying to stop himself from spiraling completely.

“Shit, fuck, wait—” He pulls you off him suddenly, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting you. Your lips are swollen and glossy, your breath ragged as you look up at him, dazed and a tad cock-drunk.

“But…” You sigh, your voice small, your fingers still gripping his length, feeling the way he pulses in your palm. “I wanted to keep going.”

Jungkook groans, pulling you up onto his lap where he needs you most. His lips find your cheeks first, then your nose, your forehead, your jawline, kissing you everywhere, like he’s seconds away from breaking.

“I know, baby, I know,” He pants, barely coherent. Before you know it, he’s positioning you, guiding you to straddle him, to let him sink inside you where he belongs. “But I need you to sit on my cock, baby, please.”

His forehead presses against yours, his lips brushing against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Need to feel you, need to be inside you.”

You whimper against him, the words sending a shudder through your body. Your core throbs and aches for him, whole body on fire like you’ll die if you don’t have him.

You align yourself, rolling your hips just slightly and letting his tip press against your folds. You glide it through your slick, coating him in you. It’s disgusting how aroused you are by him, but there’s comfort in knowing he feels the same way about you.

The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and your head tilts back, your mouth falling open, a soft, breathless moan slipping past your lips as the friction sparks along every nerve in your body.

Jungkook is completely gone, eyes glued to where your bodies meet, his jaw clenched so tight. He’s doing everything in his power to not completely lose control before he even gets inside you.

You sink down, slow, so slow, inch by inch, your walls stretching and molding to accommodate him.

The moment his thick length pushes inside, Jungkook groans, low and broken, while he holds you steady. The slide feels endless, like it always does, stretching you out like you’ve never taken him before, and he’s still struggling to ground himself, trying not to explode right then and there.

“Oh, f-fuck,” He hisses, his thighs tensing beneath you, his muscles coiling so tightly. He’s barely keeping himself from thrusting up into you, from taking what he wants, from losing himself in you completely.

You are getting split in half. Or, it feels like it. Your walls squeeze around him, your body shuddering.

“That’s it, baby,” he pants, his voice low, as his fingers trail up your spine. “Taking me so f-fucking well, feel so good, so tight.”

You only really sit comfortably when your clit presses against his pubic bone, when he is fully, completely inside you, when his cock is buried to the hilt, stretching you so perfectly, so devastatingly deep that it feels like he’s become a part of you.

“Oh my fucking god,” He chokes out, his grip on you bruising, completely lost in the feeling of you milking him already, pulling him in deeper, deeper, deeper. “I almost, fuck, I almost came just from that—”

The thought of it, the idea that you could make him cum just from sinking onto him, has your brain on autopilot.

You start to move, hips rolling in smooth undulations, dragging yourself up his length, feeling every ridge, every inch, before sinking down again. It’s a steady rhythm, one that has you both gasping for air.

But you don’t let him look away from you.

Nails pressing into his shoulder blades, you keep him anchored to you, your body flush against his. You tilt his face back up, your lips ghosting over his. The eye contact sends a shudder through him, his pupils blown wide, begging without words.

“You’re mine,” You murmur, your voice soft but firm, dripping with possession. Your hands trail up to cup his face, holding him there, making sure he hears you.

“Yeah?” he pants, his voice slightly slurred and drenched in adoration “Show me, baby. Let me feel it.”

Your walls squeeze him with every movement, every drag of your hips. And it’s all too much: his cock reaching even deeper, grazing that spot that paints stars in your vision.

“You’re so fucking good to me,” He groans, his voice choked, eyes desperate.

Your hands slide into his hair, tugging slightly, and he whimpers, his lips grazing over you, kissing wherever he can reach, mouthing at your skin. “All yours, baby, fuck. No one else, just you.”

Your heart swells, his jealousy from earlier feeling so distant, so insignificant, when he’s begging for you like this.

“Mine,” you whisper again, your lips ghosting over his ear, your hips picking up the pace, making him writhe beneath you.“Always fucking mine.”

Jungkook shudders, “Yours, baby.” And the words are just being repeated over and over like babbles, barely coherent to either of you as the feeling of being full by him overtakes all.

His hands lift you slightly, just enough for you to feel the drag of his cock leaving you, before he pulls you back down, filling you again in one smooth, deep motion. You cry out, your walls fluttering around him, the pace shifting from teasing to something more consuming, more needy.

“That’s it, baby,” he mumbles, his hips meeting yours now, pushing deeper, guiding you exactly how he wants you. “Just like that, ride me just like that.”

“Kook,” You whimper, nearly shaking, nearly crying from how good it feels, your hands sliding down to press against his chest.

You’re practically soaking him, your slick glistening at the base of his cock, collecting there, and he might need to be put in a mental institution after catching sight of it.

“Look at what you’re doing to me,” His eyes lock onto yours, hand slightly moving your face to avert your gaze elsewhere. You glance down, and fuck, he’s right. He’s glistening, his cock shiny with your arousal. Every time he pushes back inside, there’s more slick coating his length, dripping onto his thighs, pooling at the base of him like a sinful masterpiece.

“You feel that, baby?” he whines,“This is all yours.”

Everything becomes messier, sloppier, you’re not even sure where you are anymore. Jungkook is barely holding on, his thrusts erratic, his hands tight on your waist, slamming your hips down over and over again.

Your walls are fluttering, pulsing around him, the pleasure so intensethat you can barely even think or form any thought that isn’t jumbled.

“Jungkook, fuck,” You sob, your body jolting forward every time he drives into you, every time he hits that perfect spot inside you, over and over and over again.

“I got you, baby, fuck, I got you.” And then you really can’t take it anymore when he says things like that. Your hand flies between your legs, fingers pressing to your clit, rubbing furiously. You’re trying to tip yourself over the edge, trying to chase the orgasm that is so close, building like a wave, curling at the base of your spine, ready to crash over you at any second.

Jungkook watches, lips slightly parted. He can’t tear him away from the way you touch yourself, how you look so absolutely fucked out on top of him.

“You gonna cum for me, hmph? Hm, baby?” His words send a shockwave through you, his pace stuttering for just a second before he pounds up into you without a single ounce of restraint left.

“Fuck!” You cry out, your release inevitably waiting for you. Jungkook grins, knowing how close you are, already used to how you look when you finish.

The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pure, white-hot ecstasy. Your entire body locks up, breaking apart as your orgasm rips through you with violent force.

“Oh, Jungkook,” Your walls are squeezing around him so tight it nearly forces him out, your head tipping back, mouth falling open, but no sound coming out. Your fingers slip from your clit as your body gives out, but Jungkook doesn’t stop. His hands are locked onto your waist, his hips still driving up into you, prolonging your orgasm, forcing you to ride it out until you’re whimpering.

“Holy fuck, squeezing me so tight,” He’s shaking with restraint, his muscles taut.

Watching you fall apart like this, feeling your walls clench around him like a vice, holding him, owning him, milking him—it’s a lot.

Jungkook grits his teeth, his grip on your waist turning bruising, his chest rising and falling in frantic, erratic pants as his orgasm hits him like a fucking wrecking ball.

“Fuck, mineminemine,” He gasps, and for the first time since you two started dating, he doesn’t ask for permission to finish inside of you. Doesn’t wait for your sweet little nod, your usual whispered “yes” into his ear.

No, not tonight. Tonight, he needs to claim you, needs to remind you, remind himself that no one else is going to have you.

Tonight, he slams you down onto his cock one final time, burying himself as deep as he can go, he spills inside you, filling you up.

“Take all of it, baby,” He gasps, his hips jerking up, riding out his high. Your bodies tremble together, both of you completely wrecked. Yet still, he stays inside you. Still buried to the hilt, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his sweaty body. His lips press lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your temple, your collarbone.

The room bathes in the warm afterglow of post-sex air. Your limbs are tangled with his as you lay with your head sprawled across his chest, his heartbeat still hammering beneath your ear. For a long moment, neither of you speak. Just deep, ragged breaths. The faint hum of the city outside. The lingering warmth of his hands tracing slow, absentminded patterns across your bare back.

“So… still wanna deny how jealous you were tonight?” You laugh, the words muffled slightly against his skin.

Jungkook groans, his arms tightening around you instinctively. “Don’t start.”

You grin, tilting your head slightly to catch the faint pink creeping up his ears.

“No, but really,” you hum, your fingers lazily tracing the chain around his neck, feeling invincible. “You almost lost your mind over a five-minute conversation. Kind of insane, actually.”

Jungkook lets out a low, gravelly laugh, the sound vibrating through your ears. “You don’t understand how fucking attractive you are. Seriously.”

“Jungkook—”

“No, really,” he kisses your forehead, watching you so intently you feel like he’s seeing right through you. “You walk into a room and I lose my goddamn mind. Every single time. You could have anyone, and yet… you chose me.”

He exhales slowly, lips brushing against your forehead in a way that feels so domestic. You don’t know what to say to that, so you sit with the words for a minute, let them reverberate through your chest. And it almost feels like your chest can’t contain it, like the pressure is building too fast, too much, like your ribs might crack beneath the weight of it. Behind them, your heart swells, expanding at least three sizes larger than its usual.

You pull him back down, lips curving into a soft smile as you kiss him again. “Always gonna choose you, Kook.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - under the checkered flag

pairing ; racecar driver!jungkook x f!reader

genre/tags ; nascar!jk, corporate!reader, shy!reader, player!jk, slow burn, player fell first, angst, smut, fluff

summary ; Jungkook lives his life at full speed: constantly in the spotlight, always in motion, and forever surrounded by the thrill of fast cars and even faster temptations. He’s the best in the game, and he knows it, relishing in the rush of victory, the glamour of his fame, and the chaos that follows.

But when your paths cross, it's more than just a chance encounter. It’s the beginning of a race neither of you were prepared for. You, who prefer your routine and controlled world, find yourself drawn to the reckless, unpredictable allure of his world. With every flirtatious word and daring glance, Jungkook ignites a side of you that you didn’t know existed. As he pushes you out of your comfort zone, you begin to question everything about the life you've built for yourself.

In this high-speed game of love and chance, can you keep up with the driver who always plays to win? Or will you slow down long enough to realize that sometimes the best moments are the ones that make your heart race, not just your car?

🏁*:PLAYLIST HERE✧*:･ﾟ🏎️

[ MINISERIES ; COMPLETE ]

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six *

epilogue blurbs below!

in which he gets jealous

in which you two dream about the future

in which you ride him in his race car *

prologue blurbs below!

in which she isn’t you

[dreamersparacosm]

it’s a match! ᯓ★ jeon jungkook

SUMMARY. Your friends think you’re one bad night away from becoming a cat lady with a wine addiction. Their solution? It’s simple: Wingmate, the new dating app where your friends swipe for you, and set you up on a blind date. At the very least, it’s supposed to guarantee a steamy hookup for the group’s weekend trip—little do you know, they’ve swiped right on none other than Jeon Jungkook, resident fuckboy and your coworker, who’s terminally addicted to two things: bad bitches and situationships.

pairing. jeon jungkook x reader

word count. 0 (est. 80-100k)

update schedule. every wednesday and friday at 5pm est

playlist. linked here

genre/warnings. smut, fluff, angst, coworker enemies(?) to lovers, fake dating, forced proximity, fuckboy!jungkook

note. LOL!!!!! before you bring out the glock, this is actually a pre-written fic from the big year of 2024 that never saw the light of day, and i am re-vamping it to fit my current writing style. think of it as a gift… *hides from incoming tomatoes* heh-he, right guys..? no but genuinely this shit is a joke. it’s a—you guessed it—romantic comedy so. idk. have a laughs luv xx ALSOOO as you can see below i’m playing around with a new style for my blog… be patient with me i’m just a girl

banner creds.

CHAPTERS .ᐟ.ᐟ

౨ৎ preview (0.9k)

౨ৎ one — swiped

౨ৎ two — for the weekend

౨ৎ three — bed for two?

౨ৎ four — fifth wheeling

౨ৎ five — it’s (not) a match!*

౨ৎ six — just the girl*

comment below to be included on the taglist!

© dreamersparacosm. 2025.

[goofybunnysblog]

Men who get hard from eating pussy go to heaven...

[here2bbtstrash]

the spins (explicit)

genre: smutttyyyyyy as hell (with like one angsty conversation about isolation as a trauma response, but said in much vaguer terms lol)

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: you discover a new side to your former lab partner, frat wonder boy jeon jungkook, when you confess to him the one thing no man has ever been able to make you do.

word count: 10.3k

contains: explicit sexual content AKA porn!!!!! alcohol, minor frat house shenanigans, reader is a total bitch but in a highkey relatable way, jungkook is The Only Good Frat Boy, mentions of shitty hookups/sexual dissatisfaction/faked orgasms, an **absurdly** lengthy and gratuitous cunnilingus scene, a lil bit of teasing/begging, spitting, LOUD sex, reader’s first partnered orgasms, also JK has a tongue piercing 👀

A/N: so writing this nearly killed me,,, lmao. i have two inspiration sources that i must credit- one is jai’s @gimmethatagustd INCREDIBLE fic paint me naked, which gave me the final shove i needed to topple over into JK hard stan land (listen he’s 3 years younger than me, i had a complex about it, it’s fine). seriously go give it a read and give her some love, i fully credit her with moving college!JK into my brain where he now lives rent-free.

the other source of inspiration is this insaaaaane imagine audio (WARNING, extremely NSFW and will literally ruin your life!!!!!) that hooked me on the idea that JK would be competitive about eating pussy and….. yep, smack those two things together and ta-da, this porn was born. godspeed and thanks as always for reading 💜

this is now (finally) on AO3!

~*~

You really don’t know why you came to this party. It’s so crowded, bodies pressed together, people screaming to be heard over the noise, or just because they’re white girl wasted. The music is terrible, the floor weirdly sticky, the container of jungle juice in the kitchen extremely suspicious. You opted for tequila instead, the last of which you now drain from the bottom of your red solo cup. The whole place smells like cheap beer, vape smoke, and frat boy cologne.

Yet another Jack Harlow song comes on over the bass-boosted speakers and you roll your eyes. That’s it. Time to go home and actually finish the psych paper you’re putting off.

You shove your way into the kitchen, trying to be the only upstanding citizen in this godforsaken frat house and actually put your trash in a trash can. You spot one in the corner– nearly overflowing, but still good enough, except that a whole circle of Brads and Chads block your path. You do your best to squeeze past them, but because they don’t do anything except live at the gym and snort protein powder, they might as well be a brick wall.

“Excuse me,” you try. Nothing.

“I need to get through,” you say with a gentle push. It’s like talking to a brick wall, too.

“Alright, fuck it.” You roll your eyes and decide to just fucking go for it. You’ve had enough liquor that you won’t feel the pain until tomorrow anyway.

The circle breaks apart in confusion, not a brain cell in sight, as you slam your way through. They part so quickly that your plan works too well, and the excess momentum shoots you forward. You stumble, losing your footing, already cringing because you’re about to faceplant on the nasty floor of this nasty frat house kitchen.

“Hey, whoa!” A voice way too close to your ear for comfort shouts, but then an arm snakes around your waist and saves you from your doom, gripping you tightly. “Careful!”

You glance up, wondering if this guy is going to try to turn the moment into some attempt at flirtation, the world’s worst meet cute, but then you see big round eyes staring back at you with legitimate concern. Oh, fuck. You know those Disney princess eyes. Your stomach drops.

“Whaaaaaaaat!” Holding you in one arm, an unopened 18-rack of beer hoisted up on his shoulder with the other, grinning like a kid in a candy store, is none other than frat wonder boy Jeon Jungkook.

Ah, shit. You knew he was in a frat, of course. He doesn’t shut up about it. But you didn’t know it was this one– well, actually, you don’t even know which frat house you’re in right now. Alpha Beta Omega? They’re all the same to you. You don’t really understand why they have factions anyway instead of all just living together, but that would probably be too gay.

“I didn’t know you partied!” Jungkook is still smiling a smile that takes up his whole face, clearly unable to believe that you’re standing here in his disgusting frat house kitchen in your leather jacket and your combat boots.

You huff a laugh as he slowly unloops his arm from around you, assessing to see if you’re stable enough to stay upright. You shoot him a look as if to say I’m fine, dumbass. Uncoordinated, not intoxicated. There’s a difference.

“I do not party,” you correct him. “Never once in my life have I partied. I merely come to the parties, stand on the edges and observe, get my free alcohol, and then depart. Like I’m doing right now.” You aim your solo cup at the trash can and miss by about a foot.

“You– hang on,” he pauses, turning back to offload the fresh case of beer onto the kitchen counter. There’s a clamor of excitement from the Brads and Chads as they crowd around to slap him on the back, shouting things like “okay, JK!” and “let’s fucking gooooo!”

You have to get out of here, you think to yourself, and then you watch Jungkook bring his tattooed hand up to rip the cardboard front of the case off effortlessly, and that is lowkey kind of hot.

Quiet, you tell your tequila brain. No lusting after frat boys. Not even the one you sat next to for an entire semester in bio lab, the one who was actually way smarter than anticipated and didn’t just use you for an easy A, who genuinely seemed like he cared about the way you answered “How was your weekend?” every time he asked, and who didn’t even say one problematic thing the whole semester.

Just because he’s the exemplary form of his species doesn’t make him not what he is, you remind yourself. Even the best frat boy is still a frat boy.

Jungkook returns as the rest of the bros swarm the counter and proceed to decimate the case of beer. That must have been the reason they were waiting here, at their proverbial watering hole, because they circle up and dissolve back into the party, several of them clapping Jungkook on the back again in thanks as they leave.

You realize he doesn’t have to yell to be heard anymore as he says, “You’re leaving already?”

“Yes, Jungkook,” you sigh. “I have a paper to write.”

He scrunches up his face, knowing he can’t argue with academic excellence. “It’s still early. What if you just have one more drink, and then go? I haven’t even gotten to enjoy the party yet. The pledges severely underestimated how much alcohol it takes to run this place.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m so terribly sorry that your child servants who literally give you money in exchange for friendship got something wrong.”

The words feel biting as they leave your mouth, and you honestly expect him to protest, but he only shrugs. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re right. The whole thing is stupid.” For a moment you wonder how on earth he’s immune, what it is about him that allows him to live in the cradle of toxic masculinity and still be so regular, so good.

“Will you stay?” He asks again. You try to purse your lips to hide your smile, but it doesn’t work, and then he’s smiling too.

“Fine.”

The kid literally fist pumps, and your laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. He gestures broadly to the kitchen counters which are a veritable nightmare of liquor bottles and beer cans. “What’ll it be? Don’t say the jungle juice,” he warns with a laugh.

You look at him like he’s gone entirely insane. “I would never say the jungle juice. Tequila, please.”

Jungkook moves fluidly, as if he’s imitating those ridiculous Las Vegas bartenders who do tricks while they pour your obscenely overpriced drink. He shakes a solo cup off the stack and throws it up, spinning on his heels and catching it in his other hand, and you’re laughing again because he’s such a fucking dork.

He crosses to open the freezer and scoops up some ice in your cup, then pours a healthy amount of tequila in. “And mixer?” He looks back at you over his shoulder.

You pause. “Uh, just ice is good.”

He puts the bottle down and turns to squint at you in disbelief. “You drink straight tequila and you’re telling me you don’t party?”

You falter, a little flustered. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’m drinking it for the taste, you know?”

“Can I show you what you’re missing out on?” He asks, and you don’t know why the question makes you swallow hard. “Seriously.” He picks the bottle of tequila back up, eyeing the brand with distaste. “This stuff is… not great.”

Your instinct is to joke about him slipping something in your drink, but you bite the words back– because first of all, not funny. But you also genuinely don’t think he would ever do something like that, and you don’t want to give off the impression that you do.

“Alright,” you say instead, lifting your hands in surrender.

He opens the fridge door and crouches down, digging around through what you can only imagine is a Costco-sized amount of egg cartons and packages of chicken breasts. Finding what he’s looking for, he pulls away with a carton that’s been Sharpie’d to death, “JK ONLY DO NOT DRINK” on all sides. It’s really every bro for himself out here, you think.

“Grapefruit okay?” Jungkook double-checks, and you give a shrug and a nod. He pours a little, inspects the cup, then adds a splash more. “It’s not too sweet.”

He passes the cup off to you and returns his juice to the fridge, shuts the door, then seems to realize he forgot to make himself a drink and repeats the entire process again, spinning in a full circle which has you hiding your giggle in the rim of your cup. Once he’s made himself a matching drink to yours, he leans against the counter and takes a sip, surveying you.

You mirror him– the drink is admittedly a lot better than straight bottom-shelf, and you like how the sour taste lingers on the back of your tongue.

“Thank you,” you remember to say after a few sips, and he waves it off as if to say it’s no big deal.

“So, why are you here? Observing us in our natural habitat?” He puts on a voice for the last part, in a clear imitation of you, and you smirk. It does sound like something you would say.

“I’m an agent of chaos,” you say and he gives you a look like he’s waiting for the real answer. You choose that moment to take a long swallow of your drink, buying time. He continues to wait patiently, so you finally just shrug and make a face. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to do my paper. I saw a thing for it on insta. And I was tired of rotting away in my dorm room.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I tried inviting you to stuff when we were lab partners.” You wonder if the tequila is making you imagine that he sounds a little hurt. “You never seemed into it.”

At that, you laugh, because he’s being kind. Jungkook did invite you regularly to whatever mixers or ragers his frat was planning, and every time you would tell him no, directly to his face, like the bitch that you are. You eventually started trying to come up with as many creative ways to phrase it as you could: no, nope, never, not in a million years, when hell freezes over. He took them all like a champ, and that was one of the first things you remember liking about him. A frat boy who can respect when someone says no and not try to push it– now that is a rarity.

You want to apologize, but you really have no explanation for what makes tonight any different, at least not one you can say eloquently. How do you tell him you’re fucking sick of staring at the walls, feeling like “the best years of your life” are passing you by and leaving you with nothing to show for it? That you’ve painted sarcasm and an “I don’t give a fuck” attitude over your life for so long that now it feels like you’re backed into a corner where you can’t give a shit about anybody because there’s nobody left to give a shit about? So you were neck deep in insta stories on a Friday night like a fucking loser, and you saw a stupid post about a stupid frat party by some girl you swore was going to be your bestie the first week of freshman year who you promptly never spoke to again, and something in you snapped and said, “fuck it”?

Oof, tequila coming in strong, you think to yourself. You decide to spare Jungkook the emotional word vomit.

He keeps going when you don’t respond. “I just figured you had better things to do. Like ride motorcycles, or be in a mosh pit.”

You roll your eyes. “Motorcycles are giant metal death traps. Hard pass. And I don’t like getting punched in the face by nazis, so I don’t mosh.” You take a sip of your drink and size him up. “You’re one to talk, little alt boy.”

He’s playing with his lip ring when you say it, and the blush that creeps up his neck is honestly cute. Thoroughly unfazed by your words, he rolls up the right sleeve of his eyesore of a button down until his arm is fully exposed. “Check it out! Finally filled in the shoulder piece.”

You step closer to admire the fresh ink. Jungkook’s sleeve is, admittedly, really fucking cool. You still remember the first time you saw it in bio lab. It was the first day where the temperature crept up to an actual tolerable degree after what felt like a winter that would never end. You’d only known him in hoodies up to that point, so when he rolled into class that day in a baggy t-shirt and you saw the hint of lettering and shading peeking out from under his sleeve, your jaw nearly hit the floor.

“It’s rude to stare,” he’d said with a soft laugh and a cheeky-ass wink.

You wonder now if maybe you stepped too close, because you can feel the heat radiating off of his body. He holds his arm up for you, rotating it to show off the whole thing. Throughout the rest of the semester, you’d watched as he slowly started to fill in the blank spaces, but now it’s even more cohesive; he’s nearly finished it in the time since you last got a good look.

“Just need something on my wrist. And I might do the back of my hand. I haven’t decided.” He squeezes his hand into a fist and flexes with a put-on grunt, and you laugh even as the swell of his bicep makes your heart jump in your chest.

Emboldened by how close you are to him, and also the tequila, you trace your finger along the words that wrap across his forearm– rather be dead than cool. “That one’s my favorite,” you say softly.

When you glance up, he’s already looking at you, and now your heart’s in your throat. “I swear this thing’s the only reason you like me,” he says, the non-pierced corner of his mouth crooking up in a barely-there smile.

You open your mouth to protest when the kitchen is suddenly alive with noise as a mass of bodies crash through the doorway. A girl in a minidress that has ridden dangerously far up her thighs is nearly carried in by two of her friends, with several more trailing in right at their heels, and her name must be Hannah because they all say it about a thousand times in six seconds. A couple of dudebros shuffle in behind them, shouting for everyone to step back and give her space.

Nowhere else to go, you’re forced that much closer to Jungkook as far too many people try to squeeze into the tiny kitchen. You’ve basically got him pinned against the counter, and you look away, then look back, extremely uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” you mouth, and he shakes his head like it’s not a big deal.

He does smell really good, you realize now that he’s this close. Not like he took a bath in Axe body spray or Drakkar Noir, as most of his frat bros do, just… warm and clean, with a hint of the good kind of boy musk, salt and skin. It’s a welcome distraction from the unbridled chaos of Hannah and her entourage.

“She’s gonna be sick,” someone warns, and you wince in preparation.

“Hannah, aim for the sink!” Another girl coaxes. You turn over your shoulder and watch as Hannah takes a few steps forward, legs quivering like a baby deer, then does a last-second pivot and vomits directly into the jungle juice.

“Oh, party foul!” One of the bros yells.

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, and then Jungkook’s breath is ghosting over your neck and you can’t think about anything else. “Do you want to go to my room?” His voice is low, his lips inches from your ear.

You look up at him over the rim of your cup. “Yes, please.”

It’s only once you start walking that your mind is able to process what’s happening, and the panic sets in. Jeon Jungkook is guiding you through his packed frat house, his hand on the small of your back. Of course the crowds part for you like the fucking red sea, no throwing elbows required, because everybody loves him.

His bros greet him as he passes, “‘sup JK!”, and you try to avoid eye contact. You wonder how regularly they see this, him leading some wide-eyed girl up to his room to do what frat boys do best. Your stomach twists as you wonder what his expectations are, and what the fuck it is that you’ve just agreed to by saying yes.

You climb the stairs, his hand still pressed to your back, and he leads you to the first room on the left when you reach the top. When he opens the door and motions for you to step through, you’re surprised.

For one, it doesn’t reek of weed. It just smells like he does, but stronger, with a hint of fresh laundry. His bed isn’t made, but there are also no questionable stains on the black sheets, and he has four pillows and a bed frame, not just a mattress and box spring on the ground with one sad rectangle. There are some cups on the nightstand, but no ash tray overflowing with burnt out ends of blunts, no empty beer cans, and you can actually see the floor.

Not bad, you think to yourself, and then the anxiety presses in again as he shuts the door behind you. Nope. You are absolutely not doing this.

“Sorry about that,” he says with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “These things get really crazy around finals season. I guess people need an escape in the form of mild alcohol poisoning.”

You cross your arms, unable to continue the polite conversation. “Look, I don’t know what you think is going to happen in here, but it’s not going to happen, okay?”

He steps back, his brow instantly furrowing. “Wait, what? Are you mad at me right now? I just figured you’d want to get out of the kitchen, since a girl was actively puking.”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you say, not buying it.

“I-I’m not.” Jungkook seems genuinely flustered, enough that you realize he’s probably not acting. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he starts, and then he sighs, like he’s correcting himself. “But, I guess my intentions really don’t matter, because it seems like I did. So I’m sorry.”

You squint at him, wondering who the fuck taught this boy how to apologize so damn well. This is the first time you’ve ever heard a frat boy say “sorry” without it being immediately followed by “but” and then something so offensive that it negates the entire thing.

He waits for you to respond, then gestures to the door. “If you want to go, you can go. I just wanted to talk to you. I haven’t seen you at all since last semester, and I’m really glad you came out.”

The thought of going back downstairs is slightly more anxiety-inducing than staying in this room. At least here it’s quiet, and it smells nice, and he apparently is not actually trying to get into your pants. It really does seem like you read him wrong, you admit to yourself, and then you unceremoniously plop down on his carpet.

Jungkook doesn’t even try to hide the big smile on his face as he joins you on the floor, and you both lean back against the foot of his bed. He slips his feet out of his slides and you lean forward to pull your boots off.

“Like I said, I’ve been rotting away in my dorm room,” you remind him with a dry laugh.

“You should’ve texted me. I would’ve come rot with you.”

His words make you smile a little, but you’re still suspicious. “Uh-huh,” you intone as he takes another sip of his drink. “And what would we have done, Jungkook?” The question nearly makes you cringe; it’s like reading a bad sext out loud. You don’t know why you keep pushing him on this.

Maybe, a tiny part of your tequila brain whispers to you, you’re goading him so hard into saying that he wants to hook up because for a split second back there in the kitchen, you realized that’s what you want. But you’re a hyper-independent bitch who can’t ever admit to needing anything from anybody, so you need him to say it first.

You grit your teeth and give your head a nearly imperceptible shake, trying to shut that brain cell up.

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, like he really doesn’t. “Play video games?” He gestures to a Nintendo 64 in the corner of his room, hooked up to a large TV that’s mounted on the wall.

It’s certainly not the answer you expected, but you don’t hate it. You raise an eyebrow as if to challenge him. “Well, I will kick your ass in Mario Kart.”

He sucks gently on his lip ring as he looks you over, and there’s a glint in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You’ve clearly tapped into something. “Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“Then prove it.”

Dropping out of shit-talk mode for a second, Jungkook gives a laugh that almost sounds embarrassed. “I should warn you, I get pretty competitive.”

You refuse to back down. “Better work on your gracious losing face, then.”

In acceptance of your challenge, you watch as he sorts through the bin of cartridges next to the console until he finds the one he’s looking for. He brings it up to his mouth and blows on it, some strange gamer ritual you’ve seen before but have never understood, and a shiver runs through you.

“Here,” he says, tossing you a dark blue controller, letting the cord unravel and plugging it into the port. “You can even use my favorite.” You take it in your hands and smile when you see the yellow Pokémon logo stamped across the center.

“You’re going to regret that when I beat you with it,” you retort, shrugging out of your jacket for optimum mobility. He’s grinning as he settles back next to you and the menu music starts up.

It turns out you’re pretty evenly matched in the Mario Kart skills department. You sail past him on the first course, easily finishing in first, but get entirely wrecked by a blue shell in course two and he’s able to clinch it no problem.

You would’ve expected more shit-talking based on his warning, but instead he’s just so focused, eyes wide, mouth wiggling his lip ring back and forth. It’s a little endearing. A lot endearing, really. You keep sneaking glances over at him as you start up the third and final course, wondering why he has to be so goddamn cute, why you’re incapable of finding a single flaw in him no matter how hard you try.

Forcing yourself to focus, you return your attention back to the screen, only to see that he has flown right by you and is far ahead in the lead. Oh, this simply will not do, you think to yourself, and then an item box hands you a perfectly-timed golden mushroom, and you see your path to victory.

You drift around the sharp corners, giving yourself a speed boost each time, and it’s just enough. “Get fucked,” you say with a giggle as Princess Peach cruises her way past Bowser into first place. You use the last few seconds of your mushroom power to put a solid amount of distance between your characters. There’s less than half a lap left, and absolutely nothing he can do to deny you of your win.

Or so you think, until he reaches over and drags his hand across your controller, forcing your joystick in the opposite direction and causing Peach to start driving in circles on the screen.

“What the fuck!” You scream, trying to smack his hand away, but he closes one of your hands in his and forces that down on the joystick, making your car go fully backwards. “You fucking cheater!”

“You’re the cheater,” he grunts, which doesn’t even make any sense, but pisses you off enough to reach for his controller to mimic his strategy. However, you fail to account for his evolutionary advantage of having longer arms than you; he’s easily able to scoot away while keeping his hand pressed down on your own. You see in the game that he’s inches away from overtaking you now, the fingers of his other hand stretching to work joystick and button at once.

“No!” You cry out in frustration, desperately trying to wriggle your hand free. You can’t just sit here and watch him steal this out from under you, so you dive hard to one side and yank the controller away at the same time.

It’s only a little too late that you realize you have once again made an uncoordinated lunge and ended up with far too much leftover momentum. He does not relent, and you underestimated the severity of his grip on your hand because when you fall over he comes with you, both of you toppling onto the carpet as the controller flies out of your grasp.

You end up flat on your back, and his reflexes are only barely fast enough to respond, his hands bracing the floor on either side of your head so he can avoid landing on top of you.

But that’s even worse, because now Jungkook is hovering over you, and you’re both breathing heavy, and his hair is falling in his eyes, and you don’t even know how but his thigh has managed to end up pressed between your legs.

For a moment, you don’t move or say anything, and neither does he. You just stay like that, staring at each other. Your eyes drop to his mouth, and then he cracks a smug grin.

“I told you I don’t like to lose.”

Your stomach flips as your panic rears back in full force, and you meet his gaze again. “Am I still supposed to believe you didn’t bring me up here to hook up?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper.

The smile drops off his face as his eyes search yours. “What do you want?” He asks, and you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “Because you’re the one who keeps talking about it.”

You falter, unable to come up with any witty retort because you know he’s right. Jungkook moves away from you and you sit up with a sigh. He scoots back a few more inches, giving you plenty of space, and reaches for the remote to mute the TV.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, your voice still soft. You can’t look at him, so you stare at the carpet instead. “That’s just alcohol and adolescent sex drive talking. It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?” He doesn’t sound mad, but confused, like he wants to understand your thought process. Good fucking luck, you think to yourself.

You give him a look. “Because I’m not an idiot. Hooking up with a frat boy in his frat house is never a good idea.”

The way his face falls makes you feel like the biggest bitch on planet earth, and you desperately wish you could shove the words back in your mouth, that you were capable of shutting up for once in your goddamn life.

“Is that really how you see me?”

Of course it’s not. You know it’s not, and you hope he knows it too, despite your inability to ever actually say what you fucking mean. But you can’t stop yourself. The defense mechanism is fully engaged now.

“Jungkook, you are literally a frat boy. We are literally in a frat house. This is not a perception character judgment thing. It’s an objective facts of reality thing.”

He fixes you in his gaze, saying nothing, then sighs. “Why do you do that?”

Your heart sinks. “Do what?”

He shakes his head, worrying at his lip ring again, clearly a nervous habit. “I don’t know, it’s like… Sometimes I think you like me, but then you always throw a wall up at the last second. I just wish I knew why.”

That makes two of us, you think bitterly, but your heart is simultaneously cracking apart at how vulnerable he’s being with no hesitation. You’re almost jealous that he can just move through life like this, open and honest, so unafraid.

“I do like you,” you admit, and you open your mouth to add the qualifier, to put the wall up, but he speaks first.

“I like you, too. I’ve liked you for a long time.” This kid is going to be the death of you. “I’m not just looking to score, or whatever."

You pull your knees to your chest, crossing your arms over them, trying to shrink until you no longer exist. You start to shake your head. “Jungkook, I don’t–”

“See,” he cuts you off, “you’re doing it right now.” You groan and bury your face in your arms. “What is that? We like each other, why can’t that be enough?”

The question hangs heavy, because you know there’s no good answer.

Finally, you look up at him and sigh. “Because,” you start decisively. “You’re… you. And I’m me.” You gesture between the two of you. “We’re from different worlds.”

His face scrunches up a little, and it’s his turn to shake his head slowly. “I really don’t think we are. I think you’re just telling yourself that.” You can see he’s getting frustrated and you don’t fucking blame him. “And I don’t get how you can complain about sitting by yourself in your dorm room, but then keep blocking everyone out so that you’re always alone.”

“I like being alone!” The lie comes out reflexively before you can even think to stop it. You’ve said it so many times at this point that it almost feels true. “Alone is best.” You pause, and for a second you really wonder if you’re going to cry right now, on the floor of Jeon Jungkook’s bedroom, in his stupid frat house. “You can’t get hurt, or disappointed, or left behind if you’re alone,” you conclude. There it is. The truth, kind of.

“I wouldn’t do any of those things to you,” he says softly.

You just stare at him for a moment. The promise is too good to be true. It always is. “You can’t know that.”

He pauses, then nods once, staring back at you. “You’re right. But I don’t want to do those things. And I would try really hard not to. I just want to make you feel good. Whatever that looks like.”

You can’t help where your stupid tequila brain immediately takes the idea, and you let out a dry laugh. “Well, if that’s what you’re after, there’s really no chance.”

His brows pinch together, clearly not understanding. “What does that mean?”

“Many have tried, none have succeeded,” you say with a roll of your eyes, stretching your legs back out. “I am a puzzle that no man can solve.”

The realization slowly dawns on him, and his eyes widen. “Wait, are you saying you’ve never had a–”

You wave a hand in the air as if to shush him, and you cut him off. “Stop. Don’t be dramatic. I’ve had plenty of orgasms, courtesy of my vibrator and my showerhead.” Your face is a little hot from talking about this in front of him. “Just… only alone. The running theme here, apparently.”

He tilts his head, processing this new information. “So do you fake it?” You tell yourself you’re just imagining that he sounds a little upset.

You grimace. “With my high school boyfriend, yeah. He was my first everything, and we were so young. I was too embarrassed to say it, so I just let him believe he had a magical dick that brought me to orgasm at the exact same time as him every time.”

Jungkook huffs a laugh of disbelief.

“And after that,” you continue, looking down in embarrassment, “I don’t know, it’s pretty much just been hookups, and most usually don’t bother to ask. Some have tried for a while, and then given up…” The memories make you cringe. “It’s just uncomfortable. Hence the alone thing.” You give a half shrug. “It’s okay. My vibrator is nice.”

He says nothing, and you mentally kick yourself for oversharing. This is why the wall goes up, you think, but when you look at him, he’s already looking at you, and not in the way you expected.

In fact, you’re surprised to see that glint in his eyes again. He licks his lips, and you realize your pulse is racing.

“The way I see it,” he begins slowly, his voice low and even, “we have two options.” You raise an eyebrow, your interest piqued, and he continues. “Option one. You let me know, for real, that you’re not interested. You don’t have to tell me why, but you do have to mean it. And I’ll leave you alone, and you can go home and write your paper.”

Your mouth goes dry as you try to prepare for what might come next.

“Or, option two.” You swear his eyes darken as he says it. “You admit to me that you like me, and that you want me. And you let me take care of you. Which includes keeping you in my bed for as long as it takes me to make you come. I don’t care if it takes hours. I’ve got hours.”

He shrugs like he hasn’t just said the most devastating thing you’ve ever heard. “We can figure out the rest after. It doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be. But it’s your call. I won’t be mad, whatever you choose. I just need to know.” He leans back on his hands, awaiting your choice.

“Jungkook,” you breathe. “You don’t know how tempting that offer is.” You try to say more, but he’s faster.

“Then say yes.”

You want to scream at him that it’s not that simple, that letting people all the way in is a door you slammed shut long ago, never to be opened again. But despite your best attempts, this cheeky, dorky, pierced and tattooed frat wonder boy has managed to wedge that door back open, just an inch. And it’s enough that now you can’t help but wonder what’s on the other side.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it really can be that simple with him. Maybe safe doesn’t always have to mean alone. Isn’t that why you came to this party in the first place?

You let out a slow exhale, and then for the first time in your life, you decide to get out of your own way.

“Okay,” you say, and you have to work to keep your voice from shaking. “Yes. But,” you quickly add before he has a chance to react, “I don’t want this to turn into a big thing if…” you trail off. “You know. If I can’t.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that.” He says with a self-assured smile, and you hate that it’s so hot. “I have a secret weapon.”

And then he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, and the end of a silver barbell winks at you.

Your jaw drops. “I’m sorry, you have a tongue piercing?!”

He smirks. “Got it a couple months ago. It’s fully healed now, so you get to be my maiden voyage.” You cringe and he laughs self-consciously. “Sorry, that sounded cooler in my head.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re laughing too as his hands reach for your ankles. He gently starts to pull you towards him and you cross your legs, scooting the rest of the way forward until your knees are touching his.

“Can I please kiss you now?” Jungkook asks, but you take his face in your hands and beat him to it.

Given his competitive streak, a part of you had expected everything about this to be rough and hard, but the way he kisses you is so gentle, it’s romantic. You’d forgotten what it’s like to be kissed like this, intimate and slow, not just a tongue shoved down your throat. Jungkook is continuing to prove to you what he already has time and time again: he is nothing like any man you’ve ever met.

You are really curious about that piercing, though, so you tilt your head and tentatively lick into his mouth. When you bump against the metal post he whines a little, and goddamn, you need to be in his bed right fucking now.

He must have the same thought because his hands run firmly over your hips and you both maneuver to your feet without breaking apart. You let him guide you backwards until your knees hit the end of the bed, and you sit down and gaze up at him, breathless from his kisses.

You’re a little nervous, you realize, but then you see the way he’s looking at you. “God, you are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your face flushes.

Jungkook ducks his head to kiss you again, moving you to lay down, and his hand finds the small of your back beneath you. You can’t help but smile when he uses the arm wrapped around you to effortlessly lift you up and scoot you backwards to the head of the bed. You lean against the pillows as his tongue returns to your mouth.

His fingers start to play gently at the hem of your shirt as if asking a question. You nod and he pushes it up, your lips breaking apart only for as long as it takes to pull it over your head before finding each other again.

You reach to do the same for him, but he makes an “uh-uh” noise into your mouth, then pulls away. “I want this to be about you.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Jungkook, that is incredibly sweet, and it can absolutely be about me. But I think you will severely hurt your chances of bringing me to orgasm if you’re wearing that creamsicle nightmare shirt while you’re doing it."

He raises his eyebrows for a split second like he’s weighing whether or not he should accept that challenge, but then he shrugs with a grin and pulls his shirt off over his head. His body is ridiculous, lithe and toned, and he inhales sharply when you run your hands up his chest.

You realize now, as he unhooks your bra and tosses it off the edge of the bed, then starts to kiss down your jaw, that Jungkook is vocal. He makes these breathy little sighs against your skin as he goes, and when you do something like scratch your nails over his back or dip your head to trace your tongue along his neck, he outright moans. The low, raw sound makes your pussy throb.

Noise during sex has always been weird for you; you felt like guys expected you to be loud, which is hard to do convincingly when you’re nowhere near satisfied. But none of the sounds he’s making now seem in any way performative. You can tell it’s just him enjoying your shared pleasure the same way he does everything– unashamedly.

So when he sucks gently at the place where your neck and shoulder meet, lightly running his piercing over the sensitive skin there, your eyes flutter closed, and you don’t hold back the noise he pulls out of you.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, and you feel him smile.

You’re overwhelmed by all the different sensations his mouth can make against your skin. He kisses, licks, drags his tongue ring, and bites along your neck and your collarbones, working you until you couldn’t keep quiet even if you wanted to. His hands slide up your waist, coming to cup your breasts, and he tries similar experiments with his thumbs over your nipples: barely-there tapping, then firmer pressure in slow circles, then light pinches that make you gasp and writhe.

He’s clearly educating himself, paying close attention to your responses to figure out the best ways to touch you and take you apart. No one has ever cared this much about what actually felt good to you before; this is a far cry from the half-hearted two minutes of foreplay you’re accustomed to. He really does act like he’s got all the time in the world.

The thought of him touching and kissing you like this for hours is dizzying. Even if he can’t make you come, you don’t fucking care, everything he’s doing still feels incredible. It’s a hell of a lot better than writing a paper.

Jungkook groans into your skin as he mouths down to your breasts, and when he shifts, you can feel his erection grind against your thigh. The knowledge that he’s just as turned on by this as you are, paired with a deft flick of his piercing over your nipple, makes you whine loudly. Your core is already aching to be touched, licked, fucked– anything.

He reaches to unbutton your pants while his lips and tongue still work at the bud of your breast in his mouth. Your hips lift up at his touch and he pulls your jeans down, dropping your nipple from between his teeth so you can kick them the rest of the way off.

His hands slip under the band of your panties with a grunt so heady it’s nearly a growl, but instead of pulling them down, he loops the fabric around his fingers once and pulls up, so the lace is pressed tight against your dripping cunt. Even that small amount of friction makes you whimper, your hips rocking in desperate search of relief.

“Can I take these off?” He pairs the question with another firm tug, so the lace rubs right over your clit as your hips circle.

You don’t even have the breath to answer, you want it so bad; you can only nod.

He pulls your panties off, tossing them to join the rest of your clothes on the floor before moving down between your spread legs. You’re so wet for him now that just his breath on your core is enough to make you moan.

You brush his hair off his forehead and watch as he brings his mouth to your thighs, trailing lips and teeth upwards. With each pass, he comes so close to where you want him, where you need him, but deliberately stops just shy, teasing you. He runs his tongue along the crease where your hip and thigh meet, and the drag of his piercing on your skin makes you cry out, delirious with anticipation.

But then his mouth goes in the wrong direction. Rather than close the small amount of distance left to finally, finally make contact with your cunt, he shifts away from it. His lips and tongue trail back over your hips, your stomach, and up the valley between your breasts. You lift your head in disbelief to watch him, and you don’t think you’re going to make it– you’ve never been denied pleasure like this before. Your eyes start to sting like they might well up with tears.

He keeps going, lips moving from your neck to your jaw and then finally back to your mouth. You turn your head to the side, your breathing ragged.

“Jungkook,” you nearly sob, “please.”

His voice is hoarse when he murmurs in your ear with a dark laugh, “I was wondering how long it would take you to beg for it. You really held out on me.” He kisses you again and you whine in frustration as he sucks on your bottom lip. He pulls away with a smile. “Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

Your head swims; you try to form words through your desperation. “I– fuck, anything, anything. Please, Jungkook, please.” You sound so wrecked, so needy, but if he wants you to beg, you’ll do it, gladly. You’re going to die if he doesn’t touch you soon. Your hips shudder up against his, your nails dragging down his back.

“Good girl, love it when you say my name like that,” he groans into the crook of your neck, and your pussy clenches around nothing, your brain short-circuiting at the praise.

He doesn’t drag it out any longer– you don’t think you’d survive if he did– and instead just shifts to settle back between your legs. His hands come to your thighs and you’re so keyed up that you jump under his touch as he spreads you wide open. You’re nearly clawing at the bedsheets in preparation to finally feel him after so long, but instead of his fingers or his tongue, something wet hits your clit.

It takes a second for your brain to process that he spit on you. Fuck.

You look up to see him looking at you, wide-eyed, like he’s only just realized what he did. “Sorry, I should’ve asked first. Was that okay?”

It was fucking hot, actually, but you’re so far gone that you can’t make the words happen. You can only nod and roll your hips up toward him.

“Jungkook, please,” you manage to whimper one final time, and he dips his head to press a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs against your skin, “I’ve got you.” And then he closes his lips around your clit.

“Oh my fucking god,” you moan, relief flooding through you like a shot in the arm. His movements aren’t that different from how he first kissed you, gentle and sweet, and your clit throbs when his lip ring rolls over it.

Jungkook’s mouth falls into a steady rhythm, and he’s groaning against your pussy like it feels good for him, too. Enthusiastic is the only way to describe the way he eats you out; you really do believe he could do this all day.

Alternating with the movement of his lips, he starts to incorporate long, slow licks of his tongue across your folds. There’s enough spit and slickness that his piercing slides right over your clit, and it’s a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before that has you bucking against his mouth. He whines mid-lick when you do, and the vibration rips through you, your back arching in response.

That earns you two of his fingers slipped into your cunt, and for the second time tonight, you think you might die. Your legs start to shake as his fingers curl inside you.

“Yes, yes, oh fuck,” you groan. You don’t recognize your own voice; you’ve never made noise like this before, but nothing’s ever felt this good. You’re coming undone in his hands, under his tongue.

He changes up the rhythm on your clit, moving between fluidly swirling his piercing over it and pulling it into his mouth for hard suction. The pleasure is still overwhelming, but something about the switch-up takes you out of your body and into your head, and you falter for a moment.

He’s been at this for a while, and he does seem to be enjoying himself, but even so, you start to feel self-conscious. Are you taking too long? Is his tongue getting tired? What if you still can’t come from this?

Your momentary silence and lack of movement must be enough to send Jungkook’s competitive edge into overdrive, because he grabs your thigh with his free hand as if to pull you even closer and fully buries his face in your cunt.

He flattens his tongue against you and starts to shake his head aggressively, wiggling his tongue with it, and the barbell tapping rhythmically at your clit has you gasping for air and grabbing at the bedsheets.

As if that wasn’t enough, he adds a third finger inside you, slowing down for just a moment to make sure you’re accustomed to the stretch. He runs his free hand up your thigh and lays it flat below your stomach, pressing down firmly on your lower abdomen. You don’t know what to expect– no one’s ever done it to you before, but when he resumes rocking his fingers back and forth against your front wall under that extra pressure, you nearly drench his hand in arousal, it feels so good.

“Fuck, Jungkook, fuck!” You moan, and you wonder if the whole party downstairs can hear. You sound like a goddamn pornstar, the kind of noises that are so ridiculous you’d think they were fake if you weren’t experiencing the insane, all-encompassing pleasure yourself firsthand. Here, in Jungkook’s bed, in his fucking frat house, getting eaten out like you’re his last fucking meal.

You can’t even remember what you were worrying about now. There’s no space left in your brain for it, and your pussy is already starting to flutter around his fingers as you feel the pressure building in your core.

Out of sheer desperation, you wind a hand through his hair and lift your hips up against his mouth, matching his rhythm. He looks up at you and moans around your clit, nodding his head, clearly trying to encourage you without letting his tempo slow.

His breathing is ragged and loud as you grip his hair and rock your hips, bumping your clit against his pierced tongue again and again and again, exactly the way you need it.

Your moans increase in pitch and pace as you feel your orgasm crest. He responds back in time, encouraging you, his voice coming from some raw, primal place as he grunts open-mouthed, “uh-huh, uh-huh” against your clit, and you can hear his fingers working your cunt so well, and it’s all too fucking much.

You come so hard, it makes you question if you’ve ever actually had an orgasm before. Hands gripping at the sheets, toes curling, legs shaking violently, back arching up off the mattress, all with a loud moan that’s more like a sob. You have never in your life felt anything this good.

Jungkook slows but doesn’t stop as the aftershocks roll through you, slowly moving his head up and down to lick flat, long stripes over your clit as you continue to shudder against his face. Your thighs pull together reflexively when you become too sensitive, and that’s when he finally relents, pulling off and out of you.

You stare up at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe and wondering if you really did die after all. There’s a loud bang on the door, but you’re too blissed out to even give a fuck, and it’s just one of his frat bros yelling “alright, JK!” from the other side.

At least they’re supportive of a woman’s pleasure, you think, and then you can’t help but laugh at the sheer insanity of it all. Jungkook slides up the bed to lay next to you, and he’s smiling as he wipes his face with his hand.

“I guess you didn’t fake that one, huh?”

You can only shake your head as you struggle to get your breath back.

“Holy shit, I feel like I should say thank you,” you eventually manage, and he laughs his perfect laugh. You roll over to bury your face in his shoulder. “What the fuck, Jungkook– I think I saw my life flash before my eyes. That was fucking crazy.”

Jungkook flips onto his side facing you, propped up on one arm, his other hand gently running back and forth along the curve of your waist. “What can I say? I play to win.” He can’t hide his satisfied smile as the official winner of your first ever non-solo orgasm.

You lean against him, allowing your eyes to close again as your pulse slows, and you sigh contentedly as he presses his lips to your hairline.

“What time is it?” He asks after a few minutes. “Do you need to go write your paper?”

You tilt back to shoot him a death glare. “Do not mention my fucking paper right now, Jeon Jungkook. I’m trying to bask in the glow here.”

He laughs again and pulls you closer. “My bad.”

“And besides,” your face softens, and your eyes trace down to his hand that’s now gently palming over the front of his pants, where you can see the bulge of his erection. “I believe you promised me hours.”

He raises his eyebrows slightly. “Oh, I’ll give you hours.”

Your pussy doesn’t feel anywhere near recovered, but you’re somehow also aching for him to fuck you. If that was only his head game, you genuinely don’t think you’ll survive sex with Jungkook. But you’re willing to die trying.

“Come here,” his voice returns to that near-growl and he crawls over you, one hand cupping your jaw as he brings his lips to yours.

This time when his thigh presses between your legs, it’s on purpose. Your clit still twitches at the contact, but the pressure is indirect enough that it only feels good, and you rock your hips slowly into him.

You’re desperate to see him, touch him, return the favor, and your hand slips between your bodies to grab him through his pants. You whine against his lips when you feel how thick he is in your hand, and you pull little gasps out of him as you slowly start to pump him over the fabric.

“Please fuck me, Jungkook,” you whisper when you break apart, begging for it the way you’ve learned he likes, your hand still working him.

He bites down hard on your neck with a laugh, like he can’t believe you’re real.

You start to unbutton and push down his pants and then he flips onto his back to do the rest, shedding pants and boxers at the same time. You can’t help but giggle a little at his apparent urgency, pleased that he needs you just as bad, as he yanks his nightstand drawer out, retrieves a condom, and rips it open with his teeth.

But that urgency is gone once he’s hovering over you, cock teasing at your entrance, your knees bent and legs spread for him. It’s replaced by that same look in his eyes, those same gentle kisses, and arousal pooling in your belly at the realization that he really could do this for hours. But you need him now.

“Please,” you whisper one more time, and he groans against your throat as he pushes into you.

His pace is slow, hips rolling fluidly, and you’re still so sensitive that your walls flutter around him with each thrust. The thickness of his cock feels just as good as you thought it would. You moan loudly, arching back against the pillow, as his head drags over your sweet spot.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his voice ragged. He keeps rolling his hips, stroking so slow and deep that it’s pleasure and torture all in one. 

Jungkook must be a fast learner, because when he thrusts into you one more time and you whine in response, the same strangled noise you made when he teased your cunt, he knows what you need. You don’t even have to beg for it.

His hands slide along the backs of your thighs and he pushes, just a little, folding your legs up so your pelvis tilts to give him full access to your cunt. And then he picks up the pace.

The pleasure is overwhelming as he bottoms out inside you over and over, and you’re already close to the edge of a second climax. You rake your nails down his back and his hips move even faster, both of you moaning with every thrust. The sound of skin on skin is so loud it’s obscene; there’s no way the whole party doesn’t know what you’re up to by now.

You don’t give a shit. You hope they’re all jealous.

Your legs start to shake as the pressure in your core builds, and you’re suddenly in dire need of release all over again. You move to reach a hand down between your legs, but Jungkook doesn’t miss a thing.

He lets go of one of your thighs to knock your hand away, replacing it with his own, his thrusts never slowing. You watch this time as he spits on your clit again, and then starts to rub circles over it.

It’s a touch you’ve felt before, fast and hard, usually performed by a guy who has no idea what he’s doing, and usually painful as all hell.

But Jungkook is very obviously a fucking expert in his field, and he must know that when you’re as slick as you are from his mouth and your own arousal, and you’ve already come once, and you’re this insanely turned on and desperate for it, it doesn’t hurt at all. Your hips lift up off the bed because right now, it’s fucking perfect.

“Oh my fucking god, Jungkook, fuck, yes, don’t stop–” you cry out, and your last moan is nearly a scream as you come all the way undone for him. Your cunt squeezes tightly around his length, and he only has to rut into you a few more times before he’s coming, too, with a loud groan of your name.

His head drops onto your shoulder as he finishes, gasping for breath. You lean back against the pillows, still shuddering a little but entirely spent, fucked out of your mind.

You’re only vaguely aware of what’s happening when he pulls out of you, or when the bed shifts as he gets up to dispose of the condom, then collapses back down next to you with a dazed sigh.

You roll into him, still lost for words, and he wraps both arms around you. You can hear his heart thudding hard in his chest, the same tempo as yours.

A laugh rips through you as you play the last few moments back and remember his hand shoving your own away. You look up at him. “So what are you, in charge of my orgasms now? Did I sign a contract tonight?”

“No,” he gives a small smile, and you see a blush creep up his neck at the reminder of something done clearly in the heat of the moment. “I don’t know. No one had ever made you come once before, so… I just wanted to do it twice. Set a new number to beat.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the grin on your face. “I’m not a video game, Jungkook.”

“Nope,” he laughs, tightening his grip around you. “You are so much better.” He ducks down to kiss you gently.

You’re still smiling when he moves to rest his chin on your head. “And you are better than my vibrator.”

There’s a comfortable pause, and then you decide you may as well do what you do best and ruin everything. “So, is now the time when I ask you the phrase that every frat boy dreads to hear?” You start, and he’s already looking at you when you glance up again. “What are we?”

He shrugs, looking totally nonplussed. “That’s up to you. I will literally go out there right now and announce to the entire party that you’re my girlfriend and I’m the first man to ever make you come, if that’s what you want.”

You press your face to his chest and laugh self-consciously. “Well, I think they already know about the second part. I wasn’t exactly quiet.”

His lips brush against your temple. “Don’t be. I want them all to know who’s fucking you right.”

You sigh, wondering how on earth this kid is real. There’s a big part of you, especially with the high of two orgasms rattling around in your brain, that wants to take the leap right now, straight into the unknown. You want to trust him fully, but you’re still scared of the uncertainty, the potential for disaster. It’s been a long time since you let someone all the way in.

“But the G word…” you say nervously. “That’s a lot for me, at least right now.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says simply, and when you meet his gaze, the look on his face betrays no hurt feelings or hidden agenda. It makes you feel like it really is okay. “We can be whatever you want,” he continues. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You can feel yourself getting emotional, and you bring your cheek to his chest again, hoping he can’t tell. “Well, whatever label we put on it, you are eating me out like that at least once a week.”

“Once a week?” He huffs softly. “How about once a day?” He shifts slightly to trail kisses along your neck. “Actually,” he murmurs in your ear, “I could go for seconds right now…”

You laugh and shove against his chest. “Hey, I’m still getting used to this brave new world over here. If you make me come again tonight I think I might literally die in your bed.” He relents with a smug smile and a kiss pressed to your cheek.

“But if you wanted to wake me up that way tomorrow…” you offer, and he gets that goddamn look in his eyes, the one that may forever be known as the look that ruined your life.

“Oh, I think we can make that happen.”

[jungkoode]

since pov reversal requests are open… can we get chapter 8 (when he eats her out) in jungkook’s POV? i’m so curious bout his thought process there… 🥺 🫶🏻 ilu thanks mother of goblins

Fuck Me Up; Chapter 8, Jungkook’s POV.

warnings: cunnilingus, smut, explicit themes, jungkook being smug, past toxic relationships reference / past abuse implied.

pairing: jungkook x f!reader | rating: 18+ | genre: roommates, fwb, e2l

wc: 5,6k words | main story index | wattpad | taglist | AO3

It’s nagging at him.

Has been all fucking night, actually. Like a splinter under his skin that he can’t quite dig out, working its way deeper every time he tries to ignore it. 

Jungkook stares at the ceiling of his room, jaw clenched tight as the realization gnaws at him with relentlessness.

He didn’t eat you out yesterday.

The thought makes him groan into his pillow because what kind of fucking amateur move was that? What kind of—Christ, he’s better than that. He knows he’s better than that. But somehow, in all the heat and desperation of having you pressed against that window, he’d completely forgotten one of the most important parts.

The first part.

His mind drifts back to January—that first night when he’d had no idea who you were, when you were just some girl with an attitude and the kind of legs that made him want to do stupid things. But fuck, the second he’d gotten his mouth on you? The second he’d tasted that slick heat between your thighs?

You’d been so goddamn responsive. Warm and wet and perfect, your back arching off his mattress as you’d grabbed fistfuls of his hair and told him exactly how good he was making you feel. 

And afterward, when you were both catching your breath, you’d looked at him with those sharp eyes and said something that had burned itself into his memory.

“That's—ah—what happens when you eat someone out properly,” you’d murmured, all breathless and satisfied.

And he had chuckled, had said: "I’ll keep that in mind."

But had he kept that in mind yesterday? Had he fucking hell.

Jungkook drags both hands through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration because he’s an idiot. A complete and utter idiot who got so caught up in the moment—in the way you’d looked at him, in the heat of your body against his—that he’d skipped right over the thing he knew women loved most.

The thing he’d been craving for months.

Because that’s the real problem here, isn’t it? It’s not just that he forgot. It’s that he’s been thinking about it ever since January. Thinking about the way you’d tasted, the way you’d felt against his tongue, the sounds you’d made when he’d found that perfect rhythm. It’s been driving him half-insane, living in the same apartment as you, smelling that vanilla scent everywhere but not being able to do anything about it.

Until yesterday, anyway. When all his self-control had finally snapped and he’d gotten to touch you again, to hear those sounds again, to feel you fall apart in his arms.

But he’d rushed it. Gotten too eager, too desperate to be inside you, and now that oversight is eating at him like acid.

He rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow as another wave of frustration crashes over him. Because it’s not just about the sex, is it? It’s about doing it right. About proving to himself—and maybe to you—that he’s not the same guy who used to let Mia walk all over him. That he knows what he’s doing now, knows how to make you feel good, knows how to—

God, he’s pathetic.

Jungkook sits up abruptly, running his hands over his face as he tries to shake off the spiral of thoughts. But they keep coming anyway, relentless and insistent, reminding him of every detail from that night in January. The way you’d looked at him afterward, satisfied and a little surprised. 

He wants that again. Wants to see that look on your face, wants to hear you tell him how good he is, wants to prove that yesterday was just a fluke and he really does know what he’s doing.

The clock on his nightstand reads 8:47 AM, and Jungkook finds himself wondering if you’re still asleep. You probably are—it’s Saturday, after all, and you’ve never been much of a morning person. You’re probably curled up in that bed of yours, hair messy and face soft with sleep, completely unaware that he’s been lying here for the past hour thinking about all the ways he wants to wake you up.

The thought makes his dick twitch with interest, and he has to bite back another groan because this is getting ridiculous. He’s a grown man, not some teenager who can’t control himself. But something about you just gets under his skin in the worst possible way, makes him want things he shouldn’t want and think things he definitely shouldn’t be thinking.

Like how much he wants to knock on your door right now. How much he wants to see if you’ll let him fix his mistake from yesterday.

But that would be crazy, right? Showing up at your door at nine in the morning just because he can’t stop thinking about the way you taste? 

That’s the kind of thing Mia used to do—boundary-pushing, manipulative shit that always left him feeling off-balance and guilty.

Except… this isn’t the same thing, at all because there’s no control or manipulation in his thoughts. 

In all honesty this is just about wanting to make you feel good. About wanting to do better than he did yesterday.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he gets out of bed and pulls on clothes. That’s what he tells himself as he makes his way down the hall toward your room, heart hammering against his ribs with something that might be nerves or excitement or both.

Griffin appears from somewhere, winding around his ankles with a soft meow, and Jungkook scoops him up automatically.

“Come on,” he murmurs to the cat, who purrs and settles against his chest. “Let’s go wake up Phoenix.”

Because if he’s going to do this—if he’s really going to show up at your door like some kind of horny morning person—he might as well have an excuse ready. Something that sounds reasonable and normal instead of I’ve been lying awake for an hour thinking about eating you out.

Yeah. Griffin’s a good excuse. Griffin’s perfect.

The door to your room is cracked open just enough for him to slip inside without making noise. Griffin jumps down from his arms immediately, padding over to investigate something under your desk, and Jungkook finds himself standing there like an idiot, just… looking at you.

You’re sprawled across the bed on your stomach, one leg kicked out from under the covers, hair a complete disaster across the pillow. And your mouth—Christ, your mouth is hanging open just slightly, soft little puffs of air escaping with each breath.

It’s ridiculous. You look absolutely fucking ridiculous, and he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing because if you could see yourself right now, you’d probably murder him just for witnessing it. Miss Sarcastic-Comment-For-Everything, passed out like a drooling mess at nine in the morning.

But even looking ridiculous, even with your hair sticking up and that little spot of drool on the pillow, you still smell incredible. That vanilla scent is stronger in here, concentrated and warm, and it hits him like a punch to the gut. Makes his mouth water and his dick take interest because fuck, he remembers exactly how that scent tastes.

Sweet. Warm. Perfect.

His brain supplies the memory before he can stop it—the way you’d tasted that night in January, slick and ready and so goddamn responsive under his tongue. The way you’d grabbed his hair while your stiletto dug in his back; the way you’d arched your back and made those sounds that had him harder than he’d ever been in his life.

Yeah. He definitely needs to fix yesterday’s oversight.

Jungkook moves closer to the bed, and Griffin chooses that exact moment to meow—loud and demanding, like the attention-seeking little shit he is.

“Shh,” Jungkook whispers, but it’s too late.

You stir slightly, face scrunching up in that way it does when you’re annoyed about something, even in sleep. Your mouth closes, and you make this little grumbling sound that shouldn’t be as hilarious as it is.

Time for the wake-up call.

“Finny,” he tries first, because it’s cute and he knows it’ll irritate you.

Nothing. You’re still dead to the world, completely oblivious.

“Nexus.”

Still nothing, though your eyebrows draw together slightly like you’re having some kind of dream. Probably about strangling him, knowing you.

“Phoenixa.”

A slight shift, your leg moving under the covers, but you don’t wake up. 

Stubborn even in sleep.

“Nyx.”

This time you twitch, and he grins because he’s getting somewhere. 

“L’Oréal Paris?”

That does it. Your eyes fly open, and you jolt upright so fast you nearly launch yourself off the bed. 

The look of complete confusion and outrage on your face is priceless—hair sticking up everywhere, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth still soft from sleep.

“What the actual—” You scramble to sit up, yanking your covers around you like they’ll somehow protect you from his presence. “Why are you in my room?!”

And there it is. That sharp edge to your voice, that immediate defensive response that makes his dick twitch with interest. 

Because Christ, even first thing in the morning, even looking like you just survived a tornado, you still manage to sound like you want to eviscerate him.

It’s honestly impressive.

“Just came to get Griffin,” he says easily, settling onto the edge of your mattress like he belongs there. “But decided to wake you up since I was already here.”

You groan into your pillow—actually groan like he’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you—and try to smother yourself with it. Like that’ll somehow make him disappear.

It won’t. He’s not going anywhere until he gets what he came for.

(Unless you actually kicked him out and didn’t want him there because he understands the concept of boundaries, but something tells him that’s not what’s gonna happen.)

“Also,” you mutter, turning just enough to glare at him through strands of messy hair, “L’Oréal Paris? Seriously?”

He grins because he’s actually pretty proud of that one. “What? Thought it was clever. You know, since I called you Nyx, and it’s a makeup brand, and—”

“I got it.” You roll your eyes so hard it looks painful. “You’re not as witty as you think you are.”

But you’re fighting a smile—he can see it in the way your lips twitch, the way you try to hide your face in the pillow. 

You think it’s funny, even if you’d rather die than admit it.

“I don’t know, Phoenix.” He lets his voice drop just a little, watches the way your breathing changes at the shift in tone. “You seemed pretty impressed with my wit yesterday.”

The flush that crawls up your neck is immediate and telling, and Jungkook has to adjust his position on the bed because watching you get flustered is doing things to him. 

Especially when he knows exactly what you’re remembering—the way he’d talked to you yesterday, the things he’d said while he was buried inside you, the way you’d responded to every filthy word.

“Get out of my room,” you mumble into the pillow, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“No can do.”

You peek at him from under the pillow, eyebrow raised in question, and he grins because he’s got you curious now. Got you engaged instead of trying to hide from him.

“Where even is Griffin?” you ask, and Jungkook glances over the room to find him—to no avail. He isn’t here. 

“Oh, he left like five minutes ago. Guess he got bored waiting for you to wake up.”

You whip the pillow off to stare at him, and the look of pure indignation on your face makes him want to laugh. “So why are you still here?”

He shrugs, aiming for casual even though his heart is hammering against his ribs. “Stuff.”

“…Stuff.” You stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “Literally leave me alone.”

But you don’t actually try to make him leave. Don’t throw anything at his head or physically push him toward the door. You just faceplant back into the pillow with a dramatic sigh that makes him want to grin.

“Come on, Nini.” He tests out the new nickname, watches for your reaction. “It’s Saturday. Nine AM. There’s so much to do. Enjoy the day.”

“The day can enjoy itself without me.”

You burrow deeper into your sheets like you’re trying to hibernate, and something about the stubborn set of your shoulders, the way you’re so determined to stay in bed when he wants you awake and responsive, makes something click into place in his chest.

This is it. This is his chance to fix yesterday’s mistake.

“Ah ah, none of that.” Before he can second-guess himself, he’s grabbing your sheets and yanking them away.

The yelp you make when the cold air hits you is satisfying as hell, and when you lash out with your foot—trying to kick him like some feral cat—he’s ready for it. His hand wraps around your ankle, and he uses your own momentum against you, pulling you down the bed toward him in one smooth motion.

Now you’re flat on your back beneath him, staring up with wide eyes as he cages you against the mattress. Your sleep shirt has ridden up, giving him a glimpse of smooth skin, and this close he can see the rapid flutter of your pulse in your throat.

This position—Christ, this position is doing things to him. 

Reminds him of January, of the way you’d looked when he’d had you pressed against that mattress. The way you’d felt under his hands, warm and pliant and perfect.

“Well,” he murmurs, letting his voice drop as his eyes flick over your face. “This feels familiar.”

It does. It feels like exactly where he wants to be—hovering over you, watching the way your pupils dilate, feeling the subtle shift in your breathing as awareness kicks in. You’re trying to play it cool, trying to maintain that sharp edge, but he can see right through it.

You want this just as much as he does. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.

“Rogue, what are you—” The words die in your throat as he dips his head down, mouth finding your nipple through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt.

The sharp intake of breath you make goes straight to his dick, and he has to resist the urge to grind against you because that’s not what this is about. 

This is about fixing his mistake. About proving to himself that he knows what he’s doing.

About getting his mouth on you properly this time.

“C’mon,” he murmurs against the damp fabric, feeling the way you arch slightly beneath him despite your efforts to stay still. “You gave me only one last night. You can do better than that.”

It’s a direct callback to January, you both know it.

When you’d come apart three times with him—one under his tongue, two on his dick. 

He’d loved it. Loved the satisfaction afterwards, the way you had genuinely enjoyed it.

Had slept like a baby, too. 

“What makes you think I can—”

“Three.” The word comes out rougher than he intended, loaded with memory and want. “You gave me three that night, Phoenix. You’re crazy if you think a guy would forget that.”

The way you go perfectly still beneath him tells him everything he needs to know. 

You remember too. Remember exactly how good it had been, how he’d made you shake and gasp and beg for more. The memory is written all over your face, in the way your pupils dilate and your breathing goes shallow.

Good. He wants you to remember.

“Come on,” he coaxes, moving to your other nipple, letting his teeth graze just enough to make you gasp. “I’ll make it quick. Promise it won’t take more than five minutes.”

It’s cocky as hell, and he knows it. 

But he also knows he can deliver on that promise, especially with how responsive you are, especially with that vanilla scent making his mouth water and his hands shake slightly with want.

“You’re too sure of your—” You cut off with a strangled sound as he bites down just a little harder, and the broken noise you make is perfect. Exactly what he wanted to hear.

“C’mon, yeah?” His voice has dropped lower without his permission, gone rough with need because being this close to you, smelling you, touching you—it’s doing things to his control. “Say yes.”

He can see the war playing out across your face. The way you want to say no on principle, want to maintain that sharp edge you always keep between you. 

But you also want this—he can see it in the way you’re looking at him, can feel it in the subtle shift of your body beneath his.

“…Okay,” you finally grumble, and the grin that splits across his face feels like winning the lottery.

Because that’s it. That’s all he needed. Permission to fix this nagging feeling, to do what he should have done yesterday, to get his mouth on you properly and prove that he remembers exactly how to make you fall apart.

The anticipation is already making his hands unsteady as he settles between your legs, hooking his arms under your thighs to pull you exactly where he wants you.

And Christ, you smell incredible from here—vanilla and warmth and that underlying scent that’s just you, just Phoenix, just everything he’s been craving for months.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips because his mouth is already watering, and he catches the way your breathing hitches as you watch him.

Yeah. This is exactly what he should have done yesterday. This is exactly what’s been driving him insane all night.

“Take these off,” he says, voice already gone rough with want as he looks up at you through his lashes.

But instead of complying, your hand shoots out to grab his hair, pushing his forehead back. “Hold up, I just woke up—”

The confusion that crashes over him is immediate and sharp. “And?”

You’re looking at him like he’s insane, like he’s missing something obvious, and it takes his brain a second to catch up. 

Self-consciousness. You’re worried about—

“It’s been like, nine hours since I showered, let me just—”

You try to wiggle away, but his grip on your thighs just tightens automatically because no. Absolutely not. He’s not waiting another second for this, not when he’s been thinking about it all night, not when you’re right here and willing and perfect.

“Stop being weird about it,” he says, and he means it. 

Because what the hell does he care about showers or time or any of that bullshit? You’re here, you’re warm, you smell incredible, and he’s been craving this for hours.

“Rogue,” you tug his hair harder, trying to make him back off, “I’m literally all sweaty, I need to—”

He yanks your hand away from his hair, pinning it to the mattress beside you because he’s done with this conversation. Done with delays and excuses and overthinking.

“So?” The word comes out rougher than he intended, loaded with want and impatience. “I like my breakfast marinated.”

The look of pure shock that crosses your face is priceless—eyes wide, mouth falling open slightly, a flush crawling up your neck that tells him exactly how his words affected you. 

And fuck, the way you’re looking at him now, scandalized and turned on despite yourself, makes his dick throb with interest.

“You’re disgusting,” you manage to choke out, but your voice is breathless, aroused, telling a completely different story than your words.

Perfect.

“Mhm. Now take them off.”

His fingers are already hooking into the waistband of your shorts before you can protest again, and this time you don’t fight it. Don’t try to stop him as he drags the fabric down your hips, over your thighs, until you’re bare and spread out in front of him like his own personal feast.

“That’s better,” he sighs, and it is. 

It’s so much better, having you like this—naked and waiting and his to touch however he wants.

The soft chuckle that escapes him is pure satisfaction as he leans in to press his lips to the inside of your thigh. Soft at first, testing, but when you don’t pull away he lets himself really taste you. Salt and warmth and that underlying sweetness that’s been haunting him for months.

His thumbs rub slow circles into your skin as he works his way higher, pressing kiss after kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and he can feel the subtle tremor that runs through your body with each touch.

And then he pauses, just long enough to look up at you through his lashes, to catch your eyes and hold them as his tongue flicks out to wet his lips.

The first taste of you—that long stripe up your slit—makes both of you gasp. You, because it’s sudden and electric and perfect. Him, because Christ, he’d forgotten how incredible you taste. 

Your hands fly to his hair immediately, fingers tangling in the strands like you’re trying to anchor yourself, and the slight sting of it just makes him want more.

He hums against you in appreciation—can’t help it, really, because this is exactly where he wants to be. Exactly what he’s been thinking about all night. 

The vibration makes you jerk slightly, makes your grip in his hair tighten, and he grins against you because he can already tell you’re trying not to make noise.

Stubborn girl. He’ll fix that.

“What’d I tell you yesterday about holding your sounds?” he asks, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, that challenging eyebrow raised.

Your response is immediate, that sharp defiance he’s grown addicted to: “You’ll have to earn it then.”

Perfect. Fucking perfect.

The grin that spreads across Jungkook’s face is wicked and entirely too pleased with itself as he dips back down without another word. 

Because that’s exactly what he wanted to hear—that challenge, that stubborn refusal to make this easy for him. 

It’s what makes the victory so much sweeter when he finally breaks you.

And he will break you. He knows exactly how.

The tip of his tongue brushes against your clit in the lightest possible touch, barely there, just enough to make you aware of what’s coming. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he does it, watching for that subtle shift in your breathing, that tiny flutter of your lashes that tells him you’re already fighting the urge to react.

There it is.

Your pupils are already dilating, that sharp focus in your eyes starting to blur around the edges as he traces lazy circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue. Never quite touching it directly, never giving you enough pressure to actually get you there, just teasing until your hips start to shift restlessly beneath him.

He can feel the tension building in your thighs where his hands are gripping them, the way your muscles clench and release as you try to stay still. Try to maintain that control you’re so desperate to keep.

And the best part? Yoongi won’t be back from his early studio session for hours. Which means you can be as loud as you want. Can scream his name if he does this right—and he’s definitely going to do this right.

His tongue flattens against you, dragging a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, and the way your breath hitches—sharp and surprised—makes his dick throb in his jeans. 

The second hum of satisfaction that vibrates against you is involuntary—he can’t help it when you taste this good, feel this perfect under his tongue. His mouth is already watering for more.

Your grip in his hair tightens at the vibration, fingernails scraping against his scalp in a way that makes him groan softly against your skin. The slight sting of it just spurs him on, makes him press closer, lets his tongue delve deeper.

He starts a rhythm then—slow, deliberate circles around your clit that have you trying to press closer to his mouth, your hips shifting despite your best efforts to stay still. 

Your breathing is getting shallower, little puffs of air escaping your lips as you fight to stay quiet, and Jungkook finds himself getting lost in the sounds. 

The tiny gasps you can’t quite suppress, the way your breath catches when he hits a particularly sensitive spot, the soft whimper you try to muffle by biting your lip.

It’s all going straight to his dick, making him grind unconsciously against the mattress as he works you over with his tongue. 

Because this—this is exactly what he’s been craving. The taste of you on his tongue, the feel of you coming apart beneath him, the knowledge that he’s the one making you feel this good.

His tongue speeds up slightly, flicking over your clit with more ambition now, and he watches as your eyes start to flutter closed. But no—he wants you to look at him. Wants to see the exact moment when you break.

The soft sound of frustration you make when he pulls back slightly—just enough to make you chase his mouth—is perfect. Makes your eyes snap open and focus on him with desperate, needy heat. And the way you immediately lock onto his gaze without hesitation makes something smug and possessive curl in his chest.

Jesus. Even without words, you know what he wants.

He rewards you by latching onto your clit properly this time, sucking gently while his tongue continues those maddening circles. The combination has you arching off the bed, a strangled moan finally escaping your throat despite your best efforts.

There’s the sound he’s been waiting for.

His tongue works faster now, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks, building a rhythm that has your thighs starting to tremble around his head. He can feel you getting wetter, slicker, your body responding to him in ways you can’t control no matter how hard you try.

And you are trying. 

He can see it in the way you’re gripping the sheets with one hand while the other stays tangled in his hair. You’re still fighting it, still trying to maintain some semblance of control even as he systematically destroys it.

But your eyes—Christ, your eyes are telling a completely different story. Dark and desperate and so fucking hungry as you watch him work between your legs. Like you can’t decide if you want to push him away or pull him closer.

He knows which one you really want.

His tongue finds that perfect rhythm—the one that made you come so hard in January that you actually screamed—and he watches as recognition dawns in your expression. Watches as your mouth falls open and your breathing turns ragged and desperate.

The broken gasp that escapes you makes his dick pulse with need, but you don’t finish whatever you were going to say because he doubles down, tongue working your clit relentlessly while his hands grip your thighs hard enough to leave marks. 

He’s not gentle about it anymore—can’t be, not when you taste this good, not when you’re responding like this.

Your back arches off the bed completely now, head thrown back as you fight a losing battle against the pleasure building in your core. 

And Jungkook—Jungkook is in his element. This is what he’s good at, what he was born to do. Making you fall apart with nothing but his mouth and his stubborn determination to prove he remembers exactly how to wreck you.

He can feel you getting close—the way your thighs start to shake, the way your breathing turns sharp and desperate, the way your grip in his hair turns almost painful. 

You’re right there, right on the edge, and he knows exactly what you need to tip over.

But first—first he needs to see your face when you realize he’s got you. Needs to see that moment when you understand you’re about to come apart completely and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

So he glances up, catching your gaze as his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit. And when he sees you looking back—sees the desperate need in your eyes, the way your lips are parted and your face is flushed with arousal—he smirks.

Smirks knowingly, tongue never faltering as he holds your gaze and lets you see exactly how satisfied he is with your reaction. Like he’s saying gotcha without words. Like he’s saying I told you I’d make you fall apart and look how right I was.

The effect is immediate and devastating. 

Your whole body goes rigid, thighs clamping around his head as you cry out—loud and desperate and completely unguarded. The orgasm hits you like a tsunami and Jungkook works you through every second of it, tongue never stopping as you shake and gasp and grab at his hair like you’re trying to ground yourself.

But he doesn’t let up. Doesn’t give you a chance to come down or catch your breath. He keeps going, keeps sucking and licking at your oversensitive clit because he’s greedy for it. Greedy for your sounds, for your reactions, for the way you’re completely at his mercy right now.

He can feel you trying to push his head away, your hands weak and shaky against his scalp, but he just grips your thighs tighter and continues his assault. 

Because it’s not too much. It’s exactly what you need, exactly what you’re craving even if you can’t handle it. He can tell by the way your body responds, the way you keep getting wetter even as you tremble, the way your hips still cant up to meet his mouth despite your oversensitivity.

He wrings every last aftershock from your trembling body, every last gasp and whimper, until you’re completely spent and boneless beneath him. Only then does he finally pull back, finally gives you mercy.

His lips and chin are wet with you, and he wipes them with the back of his hand as he looks up at your fucked-out expression. 

Your eyes are unfocused, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, and there’s something deeply satisfying about seeing you like this. 

“Told you I’d make it quick,” he says, voice rough and smug as he sits back on his heels.

The self-satisfied grin on his face is probably insufferable, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Because he did exactly what he set out to do. Fixed his mistake from yesterday, proved that he remembers how to make you fall apart, tasted you properly the way he’s been craving for months.

Mission accomplished.

He stands up, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he adjusts the obvious bulge in his jeans. 

Not because he needs relief—though Christ, he’s hard enough to cut glass—but because seeing you like this, knowing he did this to you, is satisfaction enough for now.

This was about you. About doing it right this time. About proving that some things are worth the wait.

And judging by the way you’re still trying to catch your breath, still looking at him like you can’t quite believe what just happened, he’d say mission fucking accomplished.

The bulge in his jeans is just a side effect he can ignore. He came here to eat you out, and he did. Simple as that.

You scramble for words, still catching your breath, and he can see the exact moment confusion overtakes the post-orgasm haze. 

“You… Huh…”

“Nah,” he shrugs casually. “Just had a craving.”

The chuckle that escapes him is soft, satisfied, as he shrugs one shoulder. Because that’s exactly what it was—a craving he needed to satisfy.

And now that it’s satisfied? He feels fucking fantastic.

“Good now,” he adds simply, and means it completely.

That restless, nagging energy is gone. Replaced by pure contentment and the kind of smug satisfaction that comes from a job well done. 

He got what he came for, proved what he needed to prove, and fixed what needed fixing.

The fact that you’re staring at him like you can’t comprehend what just happened is just the cherry on top.

“What… is wrong with you?” you finally manage to croak out, voice still shaky and breathless.

He grins—actually grins, because nothing is wrong with him. Everything is exactly right. 

“Didn’t eat you out yesterday. Felt off.”

Your face burns redder, and he has to bite back another chuckle because yeah, you get it now. You understand exactly what this was about, why he showed up at your door at nine AM with some bullshit excuse about Griffin.

“Get out of my room.”

“Already going,” he says, backing toward your door with that same satisfied grin. 

Because he is. No reason to linger now that he’s gotten what he came for. The nagging is gone, the craving is satisfied, and he feels like he could take on the world.

“Got what I wanted.”

And he did. Exactly what he wanted. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Piss off.”

“Mhm.” 

He pauses at the doorway, hand on the knob as he throws one last look over his shoulder. Not because he wants anything else, but because the view of you—completely wrecked, hair a disaster, still trying to catch your breath—is pretty fucking spectacular.

“By the way?” He grins wider, that smug satisfaction practically radiating off him. “You taste better in the morning.”

And then he’s gone, closing the door behind him with a soft click, leaving you to process what just happened while he goes about his day feeling like a man who’s just accomplished exactly what he set out to do.

No regrets. No second thoughts. Just pure, uncomplicated satisfaction and the knowledge that he’d fixed yesterday’s oversight perfectly.

Sometimes the simplest solutions really are the best ones.

[rjooniesdimples]

𝕁𝕦𝕟𝕘𝕜𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕗𝕚𝕔 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕤 ﾒ૦ﾒ૦💋

♱ Down Low by @writesvani ongoing

Boxer!jungkook x Collegestudent!reader

Summary: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkook—just a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves it’s not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.

this fic is *mwah chefs kiss* and bitch when I say the smut in this is hot, it’s HOT. Girl the writing too in this ugh one of my favs 😩🤌🏽

♱ The Waves by @rjkooks one-shot

surfing instructor!jungkook x f. reader

summary: After your best friend forcefully dragged you to take surfing lessons during your vacation, things suddenly took the wrong turn when a thick cloud of sexual tension spurs you and your surfing instructor. Or was it really a wrong turn?

deadass just pwp and u can never go wrong with pwp :)

♱ is you or is you ain’t (my baby) by @ki-yomii one-shot

Jungkook x reader

Summary: after being stood up one too many times, you realize you're in love with jungkook. and that just won't do.

I love this. I fear if I talk about this fic I might spoil it so I just won’t talk about it but I can say for sure that it’s so good.

♱ Cradle Robbers by @wintrbears three-shot

jungkook x reader

Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends since diapers, and one day you decide to hook up for the fun of it, but then you end up pregnant with your best friend's baby. Chaos ensues.

this fic is so cute omggg. Jungkook is so sweet and caring I love him. Prob my favorite fic ngl.

♱ All is Fair by @wintrbears one-shot

jungkook x reader

Summary: The Dragons, led by your brother, occupy the East side of the city while the Wolves occupy the West. There is only one rule, and technically, you didn't mean to break it. Stay away from the Wolves.

don’t have any words. I had a lot of emotions reading this story, maybe even teared up a lil. n the writing to is sooooooo good oh my

♱ Universal Thruths by @wintrbears one-shot

Jungkook x Reader, (brief) Taehyung x Reader

Summary: You took the risk of falling in love in a world where your perfect match is decided for you by the universe itself. When a name you never could've predicted appears on your wrist, you do everything you can to stop the inevitable.

Same author as the other two. *sigh* like the other two, beautiful fucking writing omg. The smut too? UGHHHHH!!! okokok ik i said cradle robbers was my fav but fuckkk! this might be taking that spot.

♱ The Beast of Busan by @trivia-yandere two-shot

Serialkiller!Jungkook x reporter!reader

summary: you’re the only reporter who wasn't scared of documenting the valentine's day crimes of jeon jungkook - a notorious serial killer known as the beast of busan.

oh my gaw.

♱ Cold Gun by @borathae one-shot

gangster!Jungkook x reader

no summary just fucking read it.

oh my fucking gaw. this is so mmhmm!! the writing. the smut. Everything. like frl what the fkn helly I have no words.

note: this is my first time posting here on tumblr (well technically not since I’ve been rebloging some fics) but i MIGHT do more recs maybe some of the other bts members cuz girlllll! I be reading some good ones but mostly I’ll be doing jungkook fic recs.

[ki-yomii]

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.4k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; fwb, angst w/ a happy ending, teasing, finger fucking, squirting, praise kink, frottage, dirty talk, pet names, commitment issues, jealous!jk, possessive!jk, dom!jk, idiots in love, misunderstandings ➥ summary | after being stood up one too many times, you realize you're in love with jungkook. and that just won't do. ➥ notes | istg i've re-written this more times than i care to count 💀 enjoy!

🖤 masterlist | inbox | AO3 🖤

cnt make it 2nite

The text is blunt - biting. No explanation offered, and certainly no false platitudes found in the lifeless string of black letters. Rather simple and straight to the point.

As you should have expected from Jungkook. He wasn’t known for his verbosity, and even less so for his love of texting.

But as you chew the fat of your cheek, reading it over and over again in an attempt to glean some hidden meaning that isn’t there, you admit to yourself - at least privately - there’s no more avoiding the truth.

One that’s been hovering over your shoulder for weeks like a shroud; an unwelcome guest you can’t ignore anymore: Jungkook’s been avoiding you.

It shouldn’t be surprising.

Moreover, it shouldn’t hurt.

There shouldn’t be an ache in your chest every time you see his contact or the plummet of your stomach when that inevitable excuse comes through.

In the end, he owes you nothing. The arrangement between you is casual, just a little fun between good friends.

It still fucking sucks though, you think, sucking your teeth.

Night thoroughly ruined before it’s begun, it’s only a matter of deciding how to respond now. In the past you’ve used a plethora of options, but you’re stumped. Unsure how to correlate the level of hurt to the nature of your not-relationship.

Should you be petty, passive-aggressive, indifferent - or worst of all: honest?

Hah, no way. I’d rather die.

Beside you, the bartender politely averts his gaze and busies himself with polishing a stack of pint glasses. It’s a slow night, and that’s saying something as this bar’s a little hole in the wall.

It’s never overly busy, which is one of the reason’s it’s a favorite meeting spot of yours. The floors might be sticky, but the music’s decent, the strobe lights they kick on after 10 PM aren’t offensive enough to induce a migraine, and the drinks are cheap with a heavy pour.

Watching him work is impressive - and almost distracting enough for you to ignore the needle sharp ache taking root beneath your ribs, the churn of your stomach.

Humiliation burns hot, creeps up your neck to settle into the apples of your cheeks as you’re stood up.

Again.

It isn’t the first time - it won’t be the last.

But it cuts deeper than all the rest combined, harder to shake off. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. The growing distance between you throbs like an open wound, as if Jungkook himself plunged a hand into your chest.

Scooped out any tender, soft thing he could find and left you hollowed out. Drained.

Not taking his flakiness personally used to be so easy. And now… well.

Goddamnit. A palm scrubs over your decolletage roughly to soothe the throb of your heart. What the hell did you expect to happen, getting involved with Jeon Jungkook, huh?

Everything from his stupidly pretty eyes to the dangerous curl of his mouth, the thick soles of his boots to the lapels of his leather jacket scream walking red flag.

Never mind the fact his proclivities are an open secret among the group. He’s never tried to hide his distaste for commitment. Finds it too monotonous. Predictable.

An eternally free soul much preferring to flit from one experience to the next, never shackled down for long. The Icarus of myth made flesh.

He runs through women like he runs through shoes, and you witnessed enough of the ensuing heartbreak and tears to be wary.

But knowing and feeling something are two very different things.

The dichotomy throws you off-kilter and finds you abandoned in a bar, once again, to choke on a regret so bitter you swear it’ll burn a hole through your throat.

What’s going on with me, you think, this is nothing new. He does this all the time.

You used to get on so well.

Any initial misgivings faded away in the face of Jungkook’s blinding attention, his unfaltering kindness lurking just beneath that surface of grit and gravel.

Even after you fuck, he never acts any differently, as casual between the sheets as he is lounging on your couch.

It's been great, it's been enough - until now.

Just the thought of going back to your empty apartment, alone, only to wake up and fall back into Jungkook’s orbit tomorrow when he swings by with a half-assed apology on his lips, and your favorite drink in hand is enough to make your skin crawl.

Stomach twisting itself into knots, everything in you rebels against the sudden cold realization: nothing will change - least of all Jungkook.

He’ll continue to take-take-take.

You'll continue to give-give-give.

On and on you'll go; a distant star orbiting a black hole, losing little bits of itself until there's nothing left.

Then he’ll leave your life as quickly as he entered it, a blurry after-image there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Fuck, I - I can’t do this anymore, you think, a shiver rattling down your spine, Because I…

An errant thought gains teeth, sinks them deep. Refuses to budge as an awful truth - one buried so deep you forgot it was there, ever lurking in the shadows - rises to the forefront of your mind.

And then --

Oh.

It’s because I love him - because I’m in love with him.

Suddenly it hurts to breathe, your lungs burning as you drown on the air itself. The steel band cinching around your ribs threatens to crack you open.

Your heart lurches in your chest, despair following swiftly to settle over your shoulders. Moreover, there is no one to blame except yourself.

Even if you want it to, it will never work out because loving Jungkook is to love the ghost of a long-forgotten memory.

And there are too many hurts to soothe, too many disappointments to name.

I can’t believe I actually -- shit. You swipe a shaky hand over your forehead. When you swallow, a sour taste clings to the back of your tongue. Should’ve known better.

You glance at your phone, the cursor blinking back at you mockingly. Should’ve done a lot of things, I guess.

Now, you're in too deep.

Waiting without ever realizing you began to do so in the first place; a life on pause, surviving off scraps of half-measures and maybe's, what-ifs, and if only's.

Now, it's clear the only way out is through.

The time to let go is here.

You need to muster up some semblance of self, and work to untangle the threads of connection binding you together. You need space to rediscover the pieces of your heart you left with him.

How to live without the taste of his kiss, the clench of his muscles, the thrust of his cock.

A new life sans Jungkook which begins with a simple reply in place of everything you really want to say: ok.

Then you wave the bartender over.

He does you a kindness once more, pretending not to notice the tears brimming along your lower lash line. “You ready to order?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah - sorry, I was…”

His mouth twitches. You waver.

Then the screen of your phone lights up with a notification.

Refusing to look lest you cave, emotions too fresh -  scraped raw and tender, you switch on DND and turn it face down where it will remain until you go home.

You're far too fragile (and sober) to think about reading Jungkook’s reply, let alone engage with him in any meaningful way.

“I’ll take a double vodka cranberry.”

Maybe if you get drunk enough, you'll forget about the home he carved in your bones.

Bottoms up, bitch.

w8 nvm guys cnt make it

y/n?

i cn b ovr in 10

???

gn ttyt

hey, sorry. called it early.

wyd?

nothing much. you?

nm running some mtchs

cool, cool. you able to swing by today?

yeh b there in 30 :)

In hindsight, trying to have this conversation with Jungkook face to face isn’t the brightest idea. But if anything, last night showed you every choice you’ve made lately is a disaster waiting to happen.

Your life’s already a mess - and you’re hopelessly in love with a man that’ll never love you back - so what’s another mistake added to a long string of misfortune.

So what if your hands tremble and your stomach churns as you unlock the door to let him in.

So what if he leans in for a kiss and you duck to the side, his lips brushing the slope of your cheek.

So what if he pauses and gives you a long, searching look before toeing off his shoes and offering you the drink he picked up on the way.

It can’t get any worse, right?

Only the hungry, molten mixture of rage and rebellion fueling you thus far fizzles away the minute you see him head towards your bedroom with a wink.

Anguish and despair follows in its wake, nipping at your heels.

This is all you’ll ever be to him, you remind yourself as you step into the room. A fun time. Nothing serious. You have to break it off.

You shoot him a tight smile. “Did you have a good night?”

Jungkook shrugs, glancing around at the decorations littering your dresser. “Nah, not really.” His gaze slides to you, traveling from your head to your bare toes in a slow once over. “I definitely would’ve had a better time with you.”

Swallowing roughly, you rub your hands over your arms and suddenly feel far too naked - exposed in your light summer dress. “Hah,” you intone without humor, awkward and stilted. “Probably not. I was out by 11:30.”

“Mm, that’s not like you.” Jungkook hums, moving forward until he’s right in front of you. His hands reach for you, grabbing your wrists gently. His thumb strokes over your pulse point. “You’re acting weird. Is there something you want to talk about, baby?”

Of course he’d notice.

It would be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. Jungkook always pays attention to the details, makes leaps of logic based on little more than quiet observations.

You stitch together a chuckle. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, his lip ring dimpling the swell of his bottom lip. Your chests brush with every inhale, sharing space and breath. 

“Nothing,” he agrees.

It’s torture. It’s too intimate.

The glow of your overhead lamp highlights the sweep of his cheekbones, the curl of his lashes as he blinks slow and happy. The barely there impression of his body is too much.

You shrink back, clearing your throat.

“No, don’t do that. Where are you going?”

His eyes, shimmering with warmth, plead with you to stay, his shoulders curving towards you. A large palm settles over your shoulder, sparks igniting wherever he touches.

“Stop hiding. You can talk to me about anything. Come on, I want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Steeling your resolve, you inhale and exhale with a shudder. His expression is open, soft. You know it won’t last, and take a few seconds to commit how he looks in this moment to memory.

For all you know, this will be one of the last times you’ll be this close to him again. At least until you can beat your feelings into submission.

And then you can’t put it off anymore, unable to take the ginger strokes of his fingers. The calming caresses as if he thinks you’re something precious. Quick like ripping off a band-aid, otherwise the words will never get past the bend of your throat.

“I want to stop.”

You catch the way his eyes darken, sharpen in the dim overhead light. He knows exactly what you’re talking about, but his half-smile never falters.

Of course, he refuses to make this easy on you. To acknowledge this is happening. He’s always been a greedy man; wants what he can’t have, and destroys what he does.

“Stop what?” Jungkook says. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, baby.”

“Kook,” you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “You know what I mean. I just - I can’t do,” your voice cracks, a hand motioning to the space between you, “this anymore.”

A vein throbs on the side of his neck, his jaw working in response. Muscles tense and release with every grit of his teeth. He asks, “You gonna tell me why, huh? Or are you just going to ditch me and act like it didn’t mean something?”

“Kook…”

There’s a certain grief that can’t be spoken, gnarled roots burrowing deep in your chest. A sense of loss so keenly felt it almost steals your breath.

You wish this wasn’t happening, you wish you could take it all back but this pantomime of a relationship isn’t fair to you. Not anymore. And you knew this conversation wouldn’t be fun, but Jungkook’s staunch denial still manages to surprise you.

“It didn’t mean anything though,” you say.

At least, not to you, you think. To me, it meant the world.

-- And that’s the problem.

You need to stop whatever this is between you from building. He’s already shown he doesn’t share your desire for more in a multitude of ways. He’s been avoiding you for a reason, whether he was consciously aware of your feelings or not.

Undoubtedly, you trust him with your life but not your heart.

As sweet as he is, has been, he won’t treat it gently. Not through any intentional ill-will but because he can’t contain his own commitment issues let alone make room for yours.

It’s better this way.

Let what you have - had - stay a memory unmarred by the ugliness of your hurt feelings and bitter disappointments.

Jungkook’s shoulders draw up towards his ears, his gaze glacial as his hands slide away from you. “Is there a reason you’re done with me now?”

Shadows lurk in the depths of his eyes, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. Everything about him looks weighted down.

“Well, is there? I mean, shit, I think I’ve earned an answer after all the time we spent together.”

Your heart breaks for him, everything in you calling out to close the gap and offer him comfort. But you can’t. You don’t trust yourself to touch him without wanting more than your heart can bear.

“I’m not done with you,” you say. “I would never do that to you, Kook. I just - I can’t be with you like that anymore, that’s all. I need space but I’ll still be around, I promise.”

The glare he shoots your way freezes the blood in your veins. “Cut the bullshit,” he snarls. “Tell.me.why.”

You avert your gaze, arms wrapping around your chest. “Why does that - I -”

You only had one rule at the very beginning of this mess: if there’s someone you’re serious about, you stop fucking. It comes as a handy lie - a believable excuse that’ll stop any further questioning.

You don’t think you have the fortitude if Jungkook keeps pressing you, cracking under the weight of your grief and the anger in his eyes like fine china.

“I think I - I think I want to start looking for a boyfriend again.”

An expression flashes across his face, there and gone in the blink of an eye. But there’s no doubt he recognizes it for the goodbye it’s supposed to be.

This is it, you think.

You can put what you had to rest and move on, a memory on a shelf you’ll dust off years down the line when the hurt isn’t so prevalent. And hopefully, with time, you can relearn how to be friends.

Though the strange gleam to his eyes sends a prickle of apprehension down your spine, and then you find yourself being manhandled as he snaps forward like a snake coiled to strike.

Air flees your lungs as Jungkook shoves you with a firm palm, your feet stumbling over themselves as you trip backwards into your bed frame.

Wood knocks into the backs of your knees, and you fold like a stack of cards. The sheets puff out around you, the scent of your laundry detergent tickling your nose.

You blink at the textured ceiling, mouth agape as you try to process what happened.

The empty space above you doesn’t stay vacant, Jungkook quickly crowding you into the mattress with his weight as he settles over top of your body.

He molds himself to your front, his firm hips slotting themselves between your thighs. Broad palms, warm and calloused, skim your sides and ruck up the skirt of your dress as he reaches under you to grip the soft globes of your ass.

He yanks you into him, your pelvises slotting together. You whine before you can stop yourself, eyes fluttering shut at the heat of his body.

Teeth scrape along the delicate skin of your neck, the sharp pricks of pleasure-pain coaxing a shiver down your spine.

Lips brush the shell of your ear, his minty breath puffing against the side of your face as he speaks, low and husky, “So that’s it, huh?”

“What--!”

Teeth nip your earlobe, and you wince.

“My girl thinks she’s going to leave me for someone else?” Jungkook snorts. “Like I’d ever let that fucking happen.”

“I’m not your girl.”

You squirm, a bolt of awareness slicing through you as your body responds to his proximity, the weight of him over you electrifying. Liquid desire blooms behind your navel, uncomfortable and unwelcome.

“I never was.”

Blunt nails dig into the fat of your ass, and a cruel mouth latches onto the corner of your jaw. “Ah, is that right?” Jungkook asks, the rumble of his voice vibrating through your torso, your nipples tightening as they drag over the plains of his chest. “You’re not my girl?”

You swallow, and ignore the throb of your clit as the line of his cock ruts into you. “I’m not your girl, Jungkook.”

“If you’re not my girl,” he grinds into the cradle of your hips, teasing - taunting, “then why the fuck are you so wet?”

Keening, you twitch, involuntarily rocking up into the firm pressure of his shaft. The angle’s just right, spreading your folds beneath the thin cotton of your panties and giving your neglected clit the perfect stimulation.

Exposing your soaked core to the chill of your room as your body warms with mortification.

Jungkook hums in approval, giving the side of your neck a sloppy kiss followed by a stinging nip. “You think some nobody can fuck you better than me?”

“That’s not what I - ffuck!”

Heat pools low in your belly, blood pumping fast. You’re steadily losing control, the aborted rolls of your hips increasing in frequency.

“Answer me.”

A sharp burst of copper floods your mouth, your skin splitting open with how hard you’re chewing on it. Blood clings to the swell of your bottom lip, a ruby red bead you lick away with a nervous tongue.

Sweat dappled your brow, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the molten desire curdling your stomach.

The softness of your body knows the hardness of his, every curve has a matching divot. The heady, pleasant scent of his cologne floods your lungs with every stuttered inhale.

Your senses are overwhelmed as he surrounds you.

“Shit, Kook, please,” you plead, hands tangling in the sheets by your head.

You’re not sure what you’re asking for but at the same time, you’re not sure how you ended up here. Again.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

This was supposed to be an amenable end to a dubious affair. It’s anything but.

“I want you to tell me who your cunt belongs to.”

Fingers inch down to tease along the soft flesh of your inner thighs, and play with the elastic of your panties.

You tremble, gooseflesh dimpling the exposed skin of your arms as knuckles brush over the length of your soaked pussy.

Your clit pulses, the pressure enough to tease.

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook coaxes, working his way beneath the fabric clinging to your core, “tell me you’re my girl.”

His cock nestles into the crook of your hip, hot and heavy through his jeans as a darkened patch blooms across the denim crotch. The sticky wetness of his pre-cum smearing into your skin as arousal swells, crashing over you.

Leaving you a whimpering, trembling mess in the cage of his arms.

“You just have to say it - say you’re my girl and I’ll be so, so good to you.” His breath warms the shell of your ear. “All you have to do is say it, and I’ll make you cum so hard you see stars.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to cobble together a response, sliding a thick finger through your sticky folds and into your needy pussy just as your lips part.

All words leave you, your mind wiped clean as a low, broken cry echoes out into the room. Swallowed up by the sounds of city life outside your apartment as he works to stretch you open.

You clamp down at the sudden fullness, walls tight and fluttering around his finger like they would be around his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You always feel so soft and wet.”

Whining in agreement, you give up any pretense of resistance, letting primal desire chase away the despair, the guilt that threatens to choke you. Wiping your mind clean of any thoughts until the only thing that remains is the thrust of his fingers and the ache in your cunt.

Your hands slip, scrambling for purchase with sweaty palms. “J-Jungkook!”

Your knees tremble where they dig into his sides, air rushing from you in heavy pants as the space between your bodies heats up. You know you won’t last long, already hanging on the edge.

Never in a million years did you expect to be so turned on by Jungkook’s rough behavior. He usually treats you like something delicate.

Though he holds no such compunction now, raw in his desperate desire to make you cum.

Jungkook peppers kisses onto whatever skin he can reach, spreading your thighs wider with his torso. His knuckles strain against the fabric of your panties, stretching out the cotton and ruining them forevermore as he slips another finger into you.

Then his dark head bows, catching your gaze, and he says, “Hold on.”

Barely seconds after you anchor yourself to his shoulders, he starts finger fucking you to within an inch of your life. His forearm ripples with strength, the movements of his fingers pressing and rubbing against all the right spots. Curling up to massage at your g-spot until you’re shaking beneath him with hitched breaths.

“Shit, shit,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as your toes flex against his side, “Kook, baby, please don’t stop.”

He huffs a laugh, dark and amused. “Wouldn’t ever do that to you, baby.”

“S’good - I - I’m close.”

You sob, tears brimming along your lash line. The sloppy sounds of him fucking your pussy ring in your ears, as embarrassing as it is arousing. He’s making you gush, slick wetting your inner thighs, dribbling down your ass to stain the sheets.

“So close, gonna - hnnng - gonna cum.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that, baby. Give me that squirt.”

You shake your head. “I can’t - I can’t!”

If you could, you’d suspend time so this moment never ends. The finality of your arrangement hovering just on the other side of pleasure.

In the back of your mind, you know Jungkook’s only behaving this way because he’s jealous. Angry. He doesn’t mean it, and this is a mistake.

It’ll only hurt you in the long run but you’ll take what you can get.

After all, this is the last time you’ll be together like this.

“No,” he shushes, dropping a kiss to your sweaty brow, “No, don’t lie. I know you can. I’ll make you.”

There’s no escape.

He refuses to let you escape, using his weight to keep you pinned as he spreads his fingers open inside you, twisting and fucking so deep you feel a twinge behind your navel.

And then you’re right there, crashing over the edge as the bubble of pleasure bursts, crackling through your limbs.

You cum harder than you ever have before. Nails sinking into his shoulders with a hiss as a wounded, broken wail scrapes its way out of your throat.

Your pussy throbs, gummy walls sucking him deeper as a rush of cum gushes from you in spurts. Your ears ring with white noise, and you’re vaguely aware of the fact your hands have gone numb.

For several long moments, you float with a head full of cotton, only rejoining the atmosphere when warmth dribbles down your ass in sticky rivulets of squirt.

Jungkook’s arm is curled around your waist, holding you close as his nose nuzzles into the side of your head. Tender lips dust kisses over your crown. His cock is still a heavy weight digging into your hip but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to relieve himself.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, a wave of fatigue crashing over you. Your eyes sting when you close them, a lump building in your throat. You ache all over pleasantly, satisfaction settling deep into your bones. In spite of that, a rift opens in your heart. “Jungkook, I--”

He kisses your shoulder, shushing you. “Don’t ruin it. Just let me hold you for a little while longer… please.”

The tears are almost impossible to stop. “It’s already hard enough, don’t make me -- I can’t just…”

Jungkook squeezes you gently. “I love you,” he says, “but I swear to god you can be so stupid sometimes.”

You jolt, eyes swinging up to meet his, wide and disbelieving. “What did you just  - I - I  don’t. ..Jungkook?”

“How could I not feel the same?” he asks, tone resigned and wary. “Honestly scared the shit out of me when I realized because, well, y’know I don’t have the best track record.” He averts his gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I almost fucked everything up too, but Namjoonie-hyung helped me get my head on straight.”

Something unfurls in your chest, and you feel as light as air. Ridiculously buoyant with happiness. Hope.

Oh, how stupid.

“We’re kind of idiots, aren’t we?” you ask, sniffling as you shoot him a watery smile. “Like… the biggest.”

Jungkook hums in agreement, a boyish gleam to his eyes. “I mean, you said it. Not me.”

[voitier]

HANS - In your Hands

넷 : For one who's lost, another is found

In a world where every single step is recorded and analysed by cameras, F1 racer Jeon Jungkook could care less about his reputation, having decided that with the amount of money he has he could buy the silence of everybody, if he wished.

Behind him, there's a girl losing her mind trying to get him to behave, knowing that her job is at risk if she doesn't cover up his mess-ups in time.

What happens when one of the most influential and world recognised racers falls head over heels for his PR manager, who absolutely despises his "I've got it all" attitude and wants nothing more than to keep doing her job in peace?

WARNING: a shit ton of smut but I doubt you will like this one. anyway, grinding, making out, semi-public spaces, self reflection regarding the use of sex and women as coping mechanism.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: my loves. hi. i'm in a terrible fucking mood, so i was like "i will post chapter 4 and gain serotonin from interactions and praise", cause that's who i am, a slut for approval. anyway, regarding this chapter: it isn't pretty, or, at least, it's not meant to be. it is filled with filth, but i ask you to see between the lines, to overanalyse things that seem completely normal, interactions, words, thoughts. they're spiraling, both of them, gradually getting weaker as we speak. so yes, this chapter is 90% smut, but it's also much more than that. enjoy.

3:30 a.m. 

An ungodly hour to wake up to, but the perfect one to commit sins that get blown away by the deep night’s breeze.

The whole team had to leave the hotel at 5, but you had woken up a couple hours earlier to shower and put away all your remaining belongings in your suitcases.  

Everything changed once you had heard the little screen outside your door beep multiple times, Taehyung appearing like he had done earlier that day.

“Hey,” his voice came as a low murmur, respecting the early hour and your need of silence when just woken up. He dragged his suitcases in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He squinted his eyes as the blinding lights flooded his eyes, quickly heading towards the light button to turn the ambience lights on instead. Lights dimmed, body still warm from your shower, you had to fight the urge to curl up on the bed and sleep even more.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, letting the steam from the bathroom curl and unfold all around you as you stood by the door, a fuzzy warm towel wrapped around you. Taehyung smiled softly at you, closing up the space that divided you two by wrapping his arms around your waist. 

You gasped, your whole body going tense before Taehyung guided you to the nearest wall, humming as his nose traced the curve of your neck, the shape of your collarbones, the dip of your shoulder. “We got interrupted earlier. I figured it would benefit us both taking advantage of this time when everyone’s sleeping and we’ve got a nice, private room to ourselves.”

Taehyung’s hands traveled to your hips, dragging up the fabric wrapped around you before letting it fall back to its place. “But say the word and I won’t push any further, I’ll just help you pack everything left to pack. Your choice, Vel.”

You wanted to cry.

Actually cry. 

Because he was offering something you knew you wanted and needed, something that you had been dragging for far too long for your own wellbeing. And if the little encounter in the pool wasn’t a sign of your resolutions crumbling to the ground, this one was definitely gonna be. But at the same time…

“Okay,” you whispered. Quick, hurried, almost imperceptible even to your own ears, your voice coming back to you as the one of someone else entirely. But to Taehyung, your “okay” had sounded loud and clear. 

His cock twitched in his sweatpants, and a whole celebration party was happening in his head. Outside, though, he was like you had always remembered him being: calm, composed, confident. A small smirk had taken place on his lips as the realisation that he was gonna have you back in his arms after years had dawned on him. 

His lips hovered over yours, brushing ever so slightly. “Are we still on the no-kissing rule?” he asked, his voice accidentally coming out more restrained than he had intended to show. 

“Fuck that rule,” you murmured, and in a second his lips were on yours desperate, raw, aching for something only you could give him. You tilted your head back, allowing him to deepen the kiss, his hands finding home at the sides of your face.

If you had known that Taehyung kisses like he’s desperate for air sooner, you would have given him the go already back in college. 

"Tae—" you moaned softly, throwing your head back to the wall with a dull thump.

Taehyung groaned, a desperate "oh fuck" leaving his mouth before he latched his lips on your neck, letting his hands explore your body as he best pleased. He pressed his knee between your legs, applying pressure until you gave him space to slip his leg in. 

Your breath hitched, hands grabbing his shoulders through the soft material of his sweatshirt to anchor yourself. Taehyung's knee rubbed back and forth slowly, drawing out moans and whimpers and cries out of your mouth, your body going completely lax under his touch. You felt yourself clench around nothing as he pressed his painfully hard cock to your thigh, soaking what was of the towel and pants that were touching your scorching hot skin. 

Taehyung's fingers clenched around the towel, letting it fall open with a single tug. "Shit, please," he moaned to no one in particular, hooking one hand under your leg and bringing it around his waist. His hips ground against yours, rolling in a painfully slow rhythm. 

Frustration built quickly inside you. You needed more, anything more. Your face scrunched in what was a mix of pain and pleasure, stuttered breaths and broken moans the only sounds echoing in the quiet of the night.

"Tae, Tae... fuck– get on the bed, now."

Nodding, the brunette didn't wait any longer to follow your instruction, dragging you with him. He laid on the bed, sprawled like it was his— but it didn't matter, not when your only thought was getting on top of him and finally get the friction you needed, not even when you noticed the clearly wet mess your needy body had left on his black sweats. 

You couldn't help but let out a loud cry as pleasure finally spiked in your body, soon muffled by Taehyung's fingers slipping in your mouth. "I fucking love your sounds Vel, but we can't risk anything now."

Drool seeped from his fingers as you sucked them, sometimes your mouth going completely lax as a particular pleasurable wave overcame you and left you shaking in need. 

"Vel," groaned Taehyung, his eyes pleading. "You're gonna make me cum if you keep going like this." Leaning with your hands on his toned chest, you let your hips grind deliberately free now, watching with heavy eyelids as Taehyung had to bite his lip in order to contain his sounds, making the plump flesh of his lips bleed. 

"Shit, fuck it," he moaned, and in a second his hands were on your hips, guiding them to rock rhythmically while he thrusted his hips up in sync with yours, his cock throbbing as it leaked more and more sticky precum that covered his thighs and abdomen.

One hand reached for the back of your head, pushing you flush against his body to attack your lips again, tongues dancing together in a kiss that was everything but romantic — messy, bruising, desperate, your mouths swallowing the sounds of the other as you both finally tipped over the edge, shaking and crying out in pure bliss.  

Whimpering, you pulled back from the kiss, leaning your forehead on Taehyung's who was still recovering from his own orgasm, his breath coming out in irregular puffs every now and then. 

His hands sneaked around your waist, hugging you close to his warm body. You basked into his warmth, trying to calm down the shivers running down your body. 

After a moment, when both of you seemed to be a little calmer, Taehyung asked "You alright, Vel?", his hands grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt and pulling it off him, then ever so gently helping you wear it. 

You nodded, feeling your body relax and melt onto the comfy bed and the warm sweatshirt that smelled of coffee, your eyes dropping closed as you slowly drifted off to sleep. 

"I'll pack the rest of your things, you can rest," were the last words you heard before you shut down completely, letting the comforting smell lull you to dreamland. 

4.47 a.m.

Taehyung’s hand laid protectively on your lower back, warmth radiating from his freshly showered body. He nudged you outside your room, his hand an everlasting presence even when he dragged all your suitcases out the door and locked it shut. 

A few doors down the hallway another door opened. There, Jeon Jungkook walked outside his hotel room with a couple of suitcases, the rest of them probably already in the lobby waiting for him. His eyes lit up as he spotted you, but they quickly flickered to your lower back, where Taehyung’s hand was still laying comfortably. It was only for a second, really, the movement of his eyes almost imperceptible, just long enough to let his brain register what he had seen, and then they flickered back up again. 

He stood there for a moment, locked in place as he watched your fingers wrap around Taehyung’s wrist, squeezing for a brief second to signal him to let go, all while trying to cover it up by wrapping your hand around the handle of one of your suitcases and dragging it towards the doors of the elevator that opened as soon as you had hit the call button.

“Wait– Y/N!”

Jungkook watched frozen in place as you blatantly ignored him, not even sparing him a glance as you got inside with Taehyung and let the doors close. Right in his face.

His stomach clenched in something he could describe only as a mixture of guilt and… anger. Yes, he had fucked up, he shouldn’t have had dismissed your words as something futile, but he was willing to talk it out. And what did you do? Ignore him. Even when you said that you would speak to him after your appointment with the physio you didn’t, and if he was left to feel like shit it was only your fault. 

Not his, never his.

7.28 a.m.

“Quiet, they’re looking for me.”

Jungkook knew that what he was doing wasn’t morally right: not only because having sex was his way of not thinking about things that bothered him – in this case, the blatant way you had been avoiding him for the last 24 hours – but also because he had no fucking clue of what the blonde’s name was. And to top it all, they were hidden inside a “STAFF ONLY” room of the airport, probably filled with cameras, too.

He didn’t care, not as much as he was sure he would once the horny frenzy left his brain, leaving him to rethink all the life choices that led him to this very moment. Right now, all he could focus on was the bruising grip he had on the girl’s hips, guiding her body to meet his thrusts halfway, grabbing a fistful of her flesh as a warning when she got too vocal. He didn’t want to get caught, understandably so. More importantly, he didn’t want to get caught by you. This had to be his dirty little secret, a self indulgent sin that existed only in the moment to just drown out the voices screaming inside his head. 

Jungkook looked at the girl once – hands against the door, her cheek flush against the painted surface, lean body begging for more. Her thick, long hair bounced back with every thrust, every now and then covering what was visible of her already half hidden face. 

Jungkook didn’t do face-to-face positions, especially not with casual hookups he randomly met. They were too intimate, too raw, too real. Definitely not something he would want with some random model or actress or anyone of that sort. 

But this? Having them splayed against a surface, face hidden away from him? This was optimal: no random eye contact, no intimacy, no real people connecting through their actions. Just his body and the girl’s body. Nothing else, nothing more. This was safe. 

The girl whimpered softly, eyes fluttering shut. Jungkook groaned as she squeezed him tight, clearly losing a battle against her own body that was tightly tensed in anticipation.

“Want me to touch you?” he rasped, his hand already traveling to her inner thigh. The girl shook her head no, moaning a weak “No need to, I can cum like this.”

Jungkook hummed, slipping his hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her body flush against the door. He hummed satisfied as the girl immediately complied, his hand leaving her body to land on the door, right beside hers, the new angle allowing him to push himself deeper and deeper, until each thrust had him buried to the hilt. 

His brows furrowed, lips shut tight in concentration as every muscle in his body locked up. Just a little more, a little more, a little—

Jungkook shuddered, a breathy moan escaping his lips as he came, head thrown back in relief. He stayed like that for a couple seconds, letting his body come back from the… high? Well, kinda. Normally he would feel differently: more relaxed, more blissful, more satisfied. 

But right now? None of those could describe the mediocrity of what he was feeling. Instead, he was left feeling a huge amount of relief. Sexual relief? Probably, but it almost felt like he was relieved that it had ended. 

For the first time, Jeon Jungkook truly felt like he had just emptied his body almost in a mechanical way, just like anyone would feel when emptying their bladder, for example: it was something almost robotic, totally indifferent to the human sphere of emotions, an action done just because it has to happen in order to function correctly. 

Fuck, maybe you were right. 

His throat closed up, forcing Jungkook to cough to try and lessen the knot that had formed. No, you couldn’t be right. There had to be another explanation. Right? 

Of course, of course there had to be one. Jungkook was awfully quiet as he pulled his pants up, fixing his appearance to appear as normal as possible. He gave the girl another look. There had to be something that subconsciously set him off wrong. There had to be.

Only… he couldn’t find what. Objectively speaking, she was hot, and her voice wasn’t annoying nor were her moans fake. She wasn’t too much work, and she seemed to be completely aware that all they had was a quickie, nothing more nothing less, that it probably wouldn’t happen again and that she couldn’t talk about it with anyone.

Truth to be told, she was the perfect hookup partner, probably the best he had had in months.

So, what was wrong exactly…

He sighed, a bitter taste filling his mouth, much like uneasiness had filled his whole system. 

Before he left, he muttered a polite “Thank you,” then crossed the threshold and never looked back again. 

© voitier 2025

series masterpost here

[struberri]

come and see me || jjk

it doesn’t start with love. it starts with a glance at a party and a mouth that tastes like smoke and something she’s never been able to forget. one night turns to two and suddenly it’s three months of 2 am texts of craving each other like poison and returning to each other like a bad habit.

it’s not love, it can’t be. because love would mean facing it, naming it and choosing it. so they keep fucking instead. keep lying instead. keep hoping the hunger will swallow the ache.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

total word count: ongoing (29.1k+for now)

genre: situationship | fuck buddies | erotic romance | smut | tattooist!jungkook | boxer!jungkook | angst | slow-burn | sexual tension | yearning | emotional drama |

start date: 14th july, 2025

end date: ongoing

rating: 18+

warnings: mature themes | sexual activity | oral sex (f & m recieving) | explicit sexual content | choking | intense sex | fingering | unprotected sex | rough sex | dirty talking | overstimulation | multiple orgasms | sex at semi-public spaces | birth control pills | cream-pie | desperate intimacy | sex as an unhealthy coping mechanism | consensual sex while intoxicated | masturbation | strong language | smoking | alcohol I drug | toxic | avoidance | commitment issues | self-sabotage |

index

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 00. first glance (2.9k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 01. smoke (1.6k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 02. heat (1.9k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 03. aftermath (2k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 04. inked (3.8k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 05. inked deep (2.7k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 06. pound (3.1k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 07. cruising (5.6k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 08. back and forth (1.5k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 09. ruin (4k)

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 10.

hi everyone, it’s riri! i’m finally posting a fic, something i’ve wanted to do for the longest time. i’ve had a bunch of ideas living rent-free in my head, but laziness always won lol. anyway, i’m super excited to finally share this with you and i really hope you enjoy it. mwah

this story is inspired by 2AM by sza and come and see me by partynextdoor & drake. the vibe of those songs is just too good and honestly, the fwb trope has me in a chokehold especially when the guy is jeon jungkook.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. all characters, events and scenarios are entirely fictional and is created for entertainment purposes only. this story is not meant to reflect the real personalities or lives of the idols mentioned. please read with an open mind and remember that everything here exists in a fictional universe. please do not copy or spread hate.

i post new chapters pretty frequently. usually one a day, though the timing’s not fixed (and sometimes two if i’m feeling extra unemployed lmao) feel free to drop a comment if you’d like to be tagged in updates. i’d be more than happy to include you!

© struberri 2025