DISCLAIMER: most of my fics are not suitable for minors due to mature material in later chapters, please do not interact if you are a minor
⋆.˚ ONESHOTS
༘༘⋆ NOT IN THE JOB DESCRIPTION
𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭! 𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘬𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘹 𝘦𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ➵ 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
⟶ Four years ago, you ran away from the gilded stage and swore you'd never go back. Now, as one of HYBE's youngest makeup artists, you've built a new life in the shadows — assigned to the one person who thrives in the light: Jeon Jungkook.
He's the Golden Maknae, relentless and charming, and he's determined to break your professional mask. You intend to keep him at arm's length, but as the secrets of your past begin to leak, you're forced to choose.
Will you fold under the heat of his gaze, or will the ghosts of your former life ruin everything before it even begins?
⋆.˚ SERIES
༘⋆ POISONOUS TOUCH
fuckboy!namjoon x goodgirl!reader, fwb ➝ eventual lovers, love triangle
⟶ Everyone told you to be careful with dealing with him, that nothing good can come from getting involved with Namjoon, and you knew that, but you just couldn’t help but keep coming back like an ant to a syrupy dessert. Now here you were, stuck in his web of lies. Will you stay and let his darkness consume you, or will you break him free from his pain?
༘⋆ PAID TO PRETEND
mafiaboss!yoongi x stripper!reader, exes ➝ strangers ➝ lovers, second chance
⟶ You thought your relationship would persevere against all odds — you couldn't have been more wrong. After a catastrophic fight, your world came crashing down, your long-term boyfriend, Min Yoongi, left you like war leaves a town, barren. Now, after unforeseen circumstances, you make the tough decision to become an exotic dancer — what you weren't betting on is your ex owning the club.
༘⋆ TAKES TWO TO TANGO
accidental pregnancy au, rich!jimin, fratboy!jungkook, who's the father?, love triangle, they are both down bad for the reader, smutty
⟶ Growing up, you always heard the adults around you say to be careful with the choices you make while young. You didn’t think anything of it — not until you saw two little lines on a test, turning your world upside down.
Now, you're a broke college student, pregnant, drowning in a question you can’t answer: Who is the father?
To make matters worse, the two men from your roster are best friends, and they’re both stepping up to have a seat at the table. On one side is Park Jimin— the sweet, reliable anchor who promises you the stability you never had. On the other side is Jeon Jungkook— the frat boy who makes your heart sing, keeps you on your toes, and feeds your soul.
As they compete to ‘play house’ with you, the lines between friendship and fatherhood start to blur. You once made a wish on a dandelion seed for a life full of passion and excitement, but as the seeds start to scatter in the wind, you’re forced to decide: which of these friends is your future, and which was just a beautiful mistake?
0:00 PROLOGUE | rockstar!jeon jungkook x fem!reader
❪ synopsis ❫ there are three universal rules in a woman’s life; rule #1: don’t marry a stranger in las vegas. rule #2: definitely don’t marry a famous rockstar. rule #3: if you somehow break both rules, try not to fall in love with him.
too bad you failed all three. now you’re stuck with a skull-shaped wedding ring, your name in every frontline and way too much time with the infuriatingly handsome singer of a rock band you accidentally married.
❪ chapter warnings ❫ 18+ THEMES! such as; mention of alcohol consumption ( i mean… it’s a drunken vegas marriage trope ) ,, use of vulgar language ,, mention of vomiting ,, loooots of banter and sexual tension ,, tiny bit of angst ,, jungkook being jungkook
❪ series warnings ❫ strangers to lovers ,, mature themes, such as: SMUT ( more detailed in each chapter ) ,, alcohol consumption ,, mention of drugs ,, angst ,, sexual tension ,, language ,, media scrutiny and online hate :( ,, & more to be added ,, – there will be tons of comedy tho, i promise!
❪ authors note ❫ long time no see :) new jk series eheh !! i got this idea after watching the hangover a few nights ago, hopefully you’ll enjoy ;) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapters !
! click on read more !
The first thing you notice is the light.
It’s cruel in a way only Las Vegas sunlight can manage, slicing through the curtains of a hotel room that definitely costs more per night than your entire month of sanity. You groan before you even fully wake up, turning your face into the pillow in protest, only to realize two things at once: your head is pounding like a drumline, and the pillow you’re holding smells faintly like expensive cologne… a man’s cologne.
Your brain takes a moment to catch up with that information.
A man’s cologne?
You emit a slight groan at the thought, very slowly opening one eye, as if that might somehow make the situation less alarming. However, as you bring one hand to move your hair away from your sweaty forehead, a small, pointy object bumps against your half-open eye.
You freeze before a sound comes out from your lips, your eyes opening more as you take the sight in front of you — and that’s when you see it.
The fourth finger of your left hand is decorated with the strangest ring you’ve ever seen; dark metal, heavy and – as if the universe is trying to mock you – a small skull carved into the front.
You wouldn’t trust whoever decided to buy this ring, let alone wear it proudly. And yet, it’s on your finger.
A laugh almost escapes you, as you stare at the odd ring, but suddenly your stomach drops in a slow, horrifying realization that feels like it takes years rather than seconds to fully land.
“Oh, shit…” you whisper, your voice unsurprisingly weak.
And that’s when faint, blurry memories hit you stronger than an ocean wave…
Las Vegas.
Too much alcohol. A chapel.
Loud music. Even louder laughter. A man’s hand in yours. Alcohol everywhere. A ring sliding onto your finger while you laughed like none of this had consequences.
And now…
Now you’re lying in a hotel bed, wearing a skull-shaped wedding ring, in a room that never in your wildest dreams you thought you could sleep in.
“No,” you say, more firmly this time, staring at the infamous ring. “No, no, no—”
“Actually…” a voice drawls from somewhere to your left, rough with sleep and entirely too entertained for this early in the morning. “You already said yes. Last night, more than once actually.”
You freeze, breath hitching. Very slowly, you turn your head.
The man lying beside you doesn’t look remotely concerned about the fact that your life has just imploded. If anything, he looks comfortable. Annoyingly comfortable.
One tattooed arm tucked behind his head while his short, dark hair stick up in every direction. The sunlight catches the metal rings in his ears and the small eyebrow piercing above one eye, and for one horrifying second, your brain decides now is the perfect time to acknowledge that he’s attractive.
Extremely, criminally attractive.
Then, as your eyes roam down to his sheet-covered torso, your brain catches up with the rest of the situation.
“Who the fuck are you?”
You didn’t intend to sound so harsh, but how could you not when your life has taken such a sudden turn?
The man’s eyebrows shoot up, giving you a confused look as if your question actually seems to offend him.
“Ouch.”
You exhale, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m serious!”
He mimics your movements, exhaling loudly as his hand emerges from beneath the sheets, and before you can stop him, he holds it up between you.
A matching ring glints on his finger.
Looking exactly like the one you’re wearing…
Your mouth opens in disbelief, your mind scrambling for something – anything – to say. But all you can do is stare at the ring on his finger, then back at his smug expression, which is doing nothing to help you process everything.
“You're joking,” you finally manage, sitting up slightly, the sheets slipping down just enough to reveal the top of my chest. “This isn’t real. This is some kind of dream. Some weird, messed-up dream where I married a guy I don’t even know.”
He blinks slowly, like you’ve just told him the sky is green. Then he leans back, folding his arms behind his head again, looking far too pleased with himself.
“I have better things to do than prank some woman I met last night,” he says, voice still low and sleepy, but there’s a hint of amusement in it. “As a matter of fact, I have no time to.”
He sits up then, mirroring your position, and suddenly you're hyper aware of how close you both are in this king-sized bed. His proximity allows you to take some of his details that feel like a distant, blurry memory — the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips (the bottom one adorned with a small piercing), the perfect bridge of his nose.
You meet his eyes before he could notice your wandering gaze, finding him already staring back at you.
The silence that follows is almost unbearable, stretching on for several long seconds as your brain desperately tries to process everything he's said so far.
Unfortunately, the more you think about it, the worse it gets. Because if he's telling the truth, then somewhere between yesterday and this morning, you somehow ended up married to a man whose last name you don't even know.
A man currently lounging in bed like this entire situation is mildly entertaining instead of a catastrophic life event.
“Wait.” You break the silence, your eyes narrowing suspiciously. One dark eyebrow lifts immediately at the tone of your voice. “You met me last night.”
His expression doesn't change. “That tends to happen before marriage, yeah.”
“No, that's not what I mean.” You point at him accusingingly, nearly tangling yourself in the sheets in the process. “You said you met me last night. So… we were strangers.”
“Correct.” The answer comes so easily that for a second, you think you’ve misheard him.
You stare at him, waiting for any sign of a prank on his expression.
However, it never comes.
Instead, he just looks back at you with the same infuriatingly relaxed expression he’s been wearing ever since you woke up, as if waking up married to a complete stranger is a perfectly normal activity for him.
Then, a grin appears on his face. The kind of grin that immediately makes your stomach sink because it can only mean one thing: he’s about to say something that will ruin your morning even more than it already has.
The amusement dancing in his eyes doesn’t help, nor does the fact that he looks entirely too pleased with himself while you’re sitting here trying to piece together the aftermath of what is shaping up to be the worst decision of your life.
For a brief moment, you consider throwing another pillow at him.
Then, he opens his mouth.
“You proposed.”
A gasp cracks through the room at a volume that makes your already-pounding headache throb harder, but you barely notice.
“I- WHAT?!”
Your brain hears the words, taking long before processing them. Then immediately rejects them as false information because there is absolutely no version of reality in which you would propose to a complete stranger in Las Vegas. You don't care how much alcohol was involved, you don’t even care if someone spiked your drink with liquid insanity. It’s simply impossible!
“First of all,” you say, pointing at him so aggressively your finger actually shakes, “that’s fucking insane.”
The grin only grows.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes,” you reply immediately, sitting up straighter despite the way your headache punishes you for the movement. “Second, I would never propose to a man. Never! And a stranger, too!”
“You did it twice, actually,” he replies, leaning forward with a devilish smirk. “Once at the bar, and once in front of the chapel.”
Your mouth opens to let a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like a squeak, eyes widening in disbelief.
“You're lying,” you finally get out, shaking your head violently. “You're lying, you're lying, you're lying—”
But the way he's watching you, the way his lips twitch like he's trying not to laugh — it's all adding up to one terrifying conclusion.
“Shit, you're not lying,” you whisper, horror creeping into your voice. “You're not lying. Oh god, I proposed to you…”
He nods slowly, like he's confirming something obvious. “Yeah. You did.”
You feel like you're going to be sick. Or pass out. Or both. Maybe you're already dreaming and any second now you'll wake up in your own bed, safe and unmarried.
But the hard planes of his chest, the warmth radiating off his body, the way the sunlight glints off those stupid skull rings — they're all painfully, undeniably real.
This can't be happening, you mutter, running a trembling hand through your hair. It comes back tangled and smelling vaguely of cigarette smoke and expensive champagne. Wonderful.
“Okay, okay, okay”, you get up from the bed, and thank goodness you’re still fully dressed in your party dress. “Let's just... let's just think about this logically.”
“Hey, hey, where are you going?” He asks, sounding amused and slightly exasperated as he watches you scramble out of bed.
You whirl around to face him, hands on your hips. “I'm thinking, okay?! Trying to figure out how the hell this happened and what we're supposed to do now.”
He leans back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement causes the sheets to cascade on his upper body, exposing more of his tanned torso and the waistband of his Calvin Klein’s boxers.
“Well, sit down and think faster,” he says, gesturing to the empty space beside him. “Because trust me, you don't want my management team or the press getting involved in our little adventure.”
Your eyes widen at his words, and you stop your frantic movements as you process his words.
“Who the fuck are you?”
You ask that for the second time in a span of five minutes, but this time you feel your panic flooding your body almost entirely.
“Mhm, just the singer of one of the most famous bands in the world. Like I told you last night,” he says with a smirk, his tone sarcastic as he clearly enjoys your flustered state.
“And now apparently also your husband.” His grin widens, showing off perfect white teeth. “Quite the upgrade from whatever you were doing before, huh?”
Suddenly, everything starts to make sense; the comfortable mattress only rich people could afford, the master’s bedroom of a luxurious hotel that you didn’t even know could be so grand, the questionable-looking ring who was more worth than your small apartment…
You swallow your thoughts in one big gulp, trying to remember anything from the previous night that could explain your current state.
Your eyes fixate on the man on the bed, his expression cocky as he stares at your disheveled figure, sulking at your last remaining ounce of composure.
And suddenly, as you dig deeper into your scrambled thoughts, one memory pops up at his sight.
“…Jungkook?”
“There you go, Y/N,” he says, your name rolling on his tongue like sin, while he nods approvingly as recognition flashes across your face. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think I'd have to introduce myself again to my own wife.”
You feel a wave of heat wash over you at his words, your cheeks flushing brightly. The reality of the situation is hitting you harder than ever now. You're really married to him. To the world-famous Jungkook from the infamous rock band that’s on everybody’s mouth. It's surreal, like something out of a trashy romance novel.
“How... How did this happen?” You ask, your voice sounding thin and strained to your own ears. “What the hell were we thinking?”
He shrugs at your question, eyes fixated on your confused expression; somehow, he enjoys the little pout on your face along your wide eyes.
“Well, it would have been rude to refuse a proposal.” He simply states as it’s obvious. “Actually, two proposals.”
Your eyes widen even more, fighting the urge to throw a pillow (or a knife) at him — you never thought you had this much self control before meeting (and marrying) Jeon Jungkook.
“Besides, I could never resist a pretty face begging me to marry her. Twice.” The smirk playing on his lips is infuriatingly sexy, even as your brain short-circuits trying to process his words.
“Okay, I get it!” You roll your eyes, pretending not to care about the warmth pervading your cheeks and neck. “Can we now focus on fixing this mess? Thank you!”
“How?” He raises his pierced eyebrow, clearly amused by your suggestion. “You wanna divorce? Already?” There's a teasing lilt to his voice as he sits up straighter, the sheets pooling around his waist.
You groan in response at his tone. “What other options do we have?”
Jungkook opened his mouth immediately, clearly ready with another smart remark.
“Well,” he said, dragging the word out as he leaned back against the headboard, looking far too comfortable, “we could stay married.”
You stared at him in disbelief, making the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.
“Is this a joke to you? Do you realise what is actually happening? Because I do, and I shouldn’t be here fixing this mess! Fuck, my friends are probably looking for me everywhere…”
You closed your eyes at the throbbing pain in your head, exhaling loudly.
“Oh, come on.” He laughed when your expression turned murderous as soon as he spoke. “I’m just saying. It would save us paperwork.”
“Paperwork? Are you for real?”
“Mhm.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Very serious concern. Bureaucracy is terrifying.”
You narrow your eyes at his nonchalant attitude, frustration boiling inside you. You can feel your patience wearing thinner by the second.
“But what about me?" You snap, your voice rising an octave. "Have you considered how this affects my life?”
You start pacing the room, gesticulating wildly as you continue. “I have a career, you know. Friends and family who will lose their minds when they find out about this. And you...” You jab a finger in his direction. “You're some international superstar who probably does crazy shit like this all the time!”
You pause, realizing how loud you've gotten. Taking a deep breath, you try to compose yourself, but the tremor in your voice betrays your anxiety.
He blinks at your outburst, taken aback by the raw emotion in your voice. For a moment, his cocky facade cracks, revealing a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.
Shit. He hadn't really considered the full weight of the situation on you. In his arrogance, he'd assumed this would be just another wild story to tell, not a life-altering predicament for an innocent bystander caught in his whirlwind.
“Y/N…” He starts, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words. Which is saying something, considering the man is known for his silver tongue. He sits up straighter, the sheets falling away completely as he swings his legs over the side of the bed to face you directly.
He runs a hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Look, I know I come across as... well...” He stops himself, before sighing loudly. “But I promise you, even I have limits. Marrying random fans isn't usually on my agenda.” Despite the lightness of his words, there's a flicker of genuine remorse in his eyes.
“But you're right. We need to figure this out, and fast. Before it blows up in both our faces.” He sighs heavily, the weight of the situation seeming to settle on his shoulders.
You blink in surprise at his sudden show of concern, not expecting such a sincere response from the cocky Jungkook. As the initial shock fades, a playful smirk tugs at your lips.
“I'm not your fan,” you quip, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him back.
His eyebrows shoot up at your declaration, a flash of intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Could've fooled me, the way you kept proposing last night.”
You feel your cheeks flush at his words, a mix of embarrassment and indignation coloring your features.
“Helloooo? I was drunk off my ass, in case you forgot.”You retort, crossing your arms defensively. “That hardly counts as being your fan.”
Despite your best efforts to maintain a stern facade, you can't quite suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. His playful banter is surprisingly effective at diffusing your tension, even as your mind reels from the absurdity of the situation.
Only now do you register that Jungkook is standing mere feet away from you, dressed in nothing but a pair of tight Calvin Klein black boxers that leave little to the imagination. Your eyes can't help but wander over his lean, muscular frame, taking in the intricate tattoos adorning his arm and part of his chest and the way his abs contract with each subtle movement.
He catches you staring and smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. “See something you like, Mrs. Jeon?” he teases, striking a playful pose. The nickname rolls off his tongue smoothly, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.
Realizing the inappropriateness of ogling your new husband while discussing annulling your marriage, you quickly avert your gaze, a fierce blush staining your cheeks. “Don't call me that,”
His grin widens, making you groan and turn away from him.
You press your palms against your eyes for a brief moment; maybe if you count to ten, this entire situation will disappear. Maybe you’ll wake up in your own bed and discover none of this happened. Maybe—
Your train of thought comes to an abrupt halt.
Slowly, your eyes open. Then slowly, very slowly, they drift back toward Jungkook.
“Why are you in your underwear?”
He smirks, somehow your question amusing you. “What, you didn't enjoy our wild wedding night enough to appreciate the view?” he teases.
You gape at him, your face turning an even brighter shade of red. "Excuse me?! Nothing happened last night beyond the unfortunate event of us getting married! I don't remember seeing anything beyond my own puke, let alone your...”
You gesture vaguely at his half-naked form, unable to bring yourself to finish the sentence.
He laughs, the sound rich and warm despite the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Relax, I'm just messing with you,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing happened, I swear. You were busy projectile vomiting in the bathroom after we reached my room… poor thing.”
He glances at you, tilting slightly as he studies you. “You were more fun, last night. It’s true when they say people show their true colours when they’re married…” he jokes, trying to ease the tension despite his own slight sense of panic.
You glare at him, your embarrassment morphing into irritation. “Oh, haha, very funny,” you mutter sarcastically. “I'm glad my misery amuses you so much.”
Shaking your head, you start to pace the room again, your mind racing. “We need to figure this out, Jungkook. Like, immediately. Before someone leaks this to the press and my life become a circus.”
You pause mid-step, a horrifying thought occurring to you. “Wait... you don't think anyone saw us getting married, do you? Because if pictures of this end up online...” You shudder at the idea, feeling lightheaded.
“Naaaaah,” he reassures you with a casual wave of his hand. “Only two of my members were there, Yoongi and Jimin. Trust me, the chances of them taking pics are slim to none.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yoongi barely knows how to work his phone, let alone a proper camera. And Jimin? Nah, he wouldn't risk pissing me off by sneaking photos.”
A mischievous glint enters his eye as he continues, “The only one who might have gotten some decent shots is Namjoon, but unfortunately for us, he wasn't part of our little adventure. Otherwise, he definitely would've put a stop to things before they got this far.”
You groan at his words. “And he just had to be missing last night, huh?” You ask him, shaking your head in disappointment.
However, you soon feel a wave of relief wash over you at what he said, your tense shoulders sagging slightly. At least there's something good in this mess.
“The chapel could still have cameras,” you mutter, running a hand through your tousled hair. “And even if it doesn’t, we can't exactly keep this a secret forever. Someone's bound to notice eventually.”
An idea strikes you, and you turn to face Jungkook fully, a determined set to your jaw. “Okay, here's what we're going to do. First, we need to contact your PR team – or whatever you call it – and tell me them it was just a drunken mistake. Or a prank, I don’t know.”
You hold up a hand, forestalling any potential objections. “And second, we need to get this annulled as soon as possible. I’m sure you can do it here in Vegas in no time, right?”
Jungkook considers your words carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, he snorts loudly.
Actually snorts.
You immediately narrow your eyes at his antics, sighing loudly. “Sorry, it’s just...” He presses his lips together, clearly trying – and failing – not to laugh. “You sound like you're organizing a business meeting.”
“Because somebody has to be responsible.”
“Responsible?” His pierced eyebrow shoots up. “You proposed to a stranger in Las Vegas.”
“I was drunk!”
“Twice.” He repeats, enhancing the sound of each letter.
“Stop bringing up the twice thing, how many times are you gonna do it?!”
You groan loudly, dragging both hands down your face. Every time he mentions it, a new layer of humiliation unlocks inside your soul.
Jungkook watches your suffering for a second before his grin softens slightly.
“Okay,” he says. "Fine. PR team first. Then the annulment, but—”
You stop him before he can continue. “No buts, Jungkook.”
“That’s not how conversation works!” he complains, mirroring the same pout you had just minutes before.
“Do I look like I care?” You ask, fighting the urge to groan.
A laugh escapes him despite himself, and finally, finally, he starts roaming around the room, searching for a piece of clothing.
“But,” he continues, ignoring your protests, “What if it’s not that simple?”
You drop your hands and stare at him, already pissed at whatever his next words are.
“What do you mean, not that simple?”
“I mean exactly that.” He shrugs. “It’s my first time being married, in case you forgot. I don’t know the cancellation policy.”
“Cancellation policy?” you repeat in disbelief. “Jungkook, it’s a marriage, not a Netflix subscription.”
“Well,” he says, finally finding a black tee clean enough to wear, “feels like there should be one.”
You hate that a tiny part of you almost laughs.
Almost.
“It doesn’t matter,” you simply respond, “because your team will take care of everything.”
He pulls the shirt over his head, the fabric stretching across his chest. As he emerges from under the hem, he fixes you with an intense stare.
“You seem awfully eager to make this go away,” he comments, his tone unreadable. "I mean, it’s not everyday that you get to marry a rockstar, you know?”
You almost cringe at his use of words, but he laughs it off, showing once again that he’s simply joking.
However, he immediately pauses, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “Are you certain this is what you want? To just erase it like it never happened?”
There's a vulnerability in his eyes that catches you off guard, a glimpse beneath the confident exterior. “Y/N,” he calls your name softly, walking closer to where you’re standing. “Do you… are you sure you don’t remember anything from last night? Absolutely nothing?”
You blink rapidly, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor. The intensity of his gaze makes your heart skip a beat, and you find yourself momentarily at a loss for words.
“I... What?” you stammer, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What difference does it make whether I remember or not? It was a mistake, Jungkook. A huge, drunken error in judgment, I don’t know you and you don’t know me.”
Despite your words, uncertainty creeps into your voice. The sincerity in his eyes gives you pause, stirring up feelings you'd rather not examine too closely.
“Are you sure about that?”
His question takes you aback, not only his words but the way he drags them weakly yet decisively, whispering yet loud enough for you to hear clearly. It’s like he’s not trying to convince you of something, but reminding you of something you've forgotten.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
You ask, and he steps closer in response. The space between you shrinks so naturally that you don’t realize what’s happening until he’s standing close enough that you can make out every detail of his face — the small scar on his cheek, the dark eyes fixed entirely on yours and the faint scent of his cologne lingering on his skin.
“You can't get to know a person in one night,” you argue, lifting your chin despite the fact that your voice comes out weaker than intended.
His gaze doesn’t leave yours.
“Can’t you?”
Before you can say another one of your remarks, a loud ringtone suddenly cuts through the silence.
The sound makes you both flinch, as if you’ve gotten caught doing God knows what.
Jungkook’s eyes close briefly as he exhales through his nose, before his body moves towards his phone as it continues vibrating insistently on the nightstand.
You don’t get to glance at the screen but you’re certain the name flashing across it clearly means something because Jungkook’s expression changes immediately.
“Shit, okay,” Jungkook mumbles, grabbing the phone with a tight grip. “It’s my manager.” He informs you.
You watch as he glances at the screen, his expression hardening almost instantly. The playful attitude that had been driving you insane all morning vanishes so quickly it's almost theatrical.
One second he's the cocky stranger teasing you about drunken proposals, the next he looks like someone ready to take care of something much bigger than himself.
He answers before the phone can ring again.
“Yeah?”
The response is immediate, sharp as a knife. The person on the other end launches into what sounds like a full-blown panic attack. Even from across the room, you can hear the faint sound of a voice talking so fast it barely seems to pause for oxygen. Jungkook closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“No– no, relax.”
A pause follows, making you tremble in agitation.
“No, nobody knows expect who already told you.” Maybe one of his band members?
His gaze flicks toward you, before another endless stream of words come out of other person’s mouth, echoing in the room.
“No,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “The media isn’t going to find out.”
His tone doesn’t give you the comfort you need, making your gaze fall to the ground. However, you end up lowering your eyes to the ring on your finger, immediately regretting it.
The sight of it sends your thoughts spiraling all over again. It was supposed to be a trip to Vegas with your girl friends, to celebrate the impeding wedding of one of them. Never in your wildest dreams you thought you could be the one getting married. To a rockstar. (How can you forget?)
Suddenly the hotel room feels far too small, the air too heavy, your headache returning with renewed determination.
Across the room, Jungkook is still listening to whatever his manager is saying, but his attention keeps drifting back to you. Eventually he lowers the phone from his ear and sighs.
“Y/N.” You glance up at the sound of your name. “I’ll take care of everything, I promise.”
You nod uncertainly, and he continues. “The media won’t find out,” he says firmly. “You’re not going to end up on some news site. You’re not in trouble, okay?”
The words should make you feel better… part of you thinks they do. However, another part is too overwhelmed to even know what feeling ‘better’ is supposed to look like right now.
All you know is that you’ve spent the last hour trapped inside a room with a stranger who isn’t really a stranger anymore, discussing a marriage that shouldn’t exist, and if you stay here much longer your brain might actually fry.
So while Jungkook goes back to his conversation, you quietly reach for your bag that you eyed previously – thankfully it was thrown away in the armchair next to the bed.
His eyes lift from the floor and find you as you’re sliding the strap onto your shoulder. For a second neither of you says anything while the person on the phone is still talking.
Not murmuring a word, you point toward the door in a silent question. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before understanding settles across his features.
Then, slowly, he nods.
Not because he wants you to leave, but because he understands that right now, after everything that’s happened, you probably need space more than anything else.
You return the nod, push open the door, and step out into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you a second later, leaving only silence in its wake, and for the first time since waking up this morning, you’re finally alone with your thoughts.
Jungkook’s voice still echoes faintly in your head. Not the teasing version of him, not the infuriating smirk or his continuous jokes or the casual arrogance that made you want to throw things at him.
The other version. The one that looked at you like this wasn’t just some ridiculous accident he could laugh off, but something he was already planning how to fix.
You push off the wall and start walking, slower now, your thoughts finally beginning to settle into something less frantic.
Maybe Jungkook is right. Maybe this really does get handled quietly. He’s a celebrity, after all… this is exactly what people like him do when something spirals out of control: clean it up before it ever reaches the outside world.
It almost makes sense, if you don’t think too hard about it. And you’re tired enough not to think too hard about anything right now.
By the time you reach the end of the hallway, your grip on the panic has loosened just enough for you to breathe normally again.
The media won’t find out.
That’s the only thought flowing in your mind — the only words you want to believe from Jungkook’s lips. Because right now, you need them to be true.
And for a brief, fragile moment in the quiet hallway outside a Las Vegas hotel room, you actually believe they might be.
That’s because you don’t see it yet — the way things are already moving beyond that room, beyond his control, beyond yours.
So I’m planning on doing a tae oneshot and I’m thinking of turning it into like a one shot series for each of the members it’ll all take place in Vegas with like different strangers that they meet up with, what do we think?
⟶ Growing up, you always heard the adults around you say to be careful with the choices you make while young. You didn’t think anything of it — not until you saw two little lines on a test, turning your world upside down.
Now, you're a broke college student, pregnant, drowning in a question you can’t answer: Who is the father?
To make matters worse, the two men from your roster are best friends, and they’re both stepping up to have a seat at the table. On one side is Park Jimin— the sweet, reliable anchor who promises you the stability you never had. On the other side is Jeon Jungkook— the frat boy who makes your heart sing, keeps you on your toes, and feeds your soul.
As they compete to ‘play house’ with you, the lines between friendship and fatherhood start to blur. You once made a wish on a dandelion seed for a life full of passion and excitement, but as the seeds start to scatter in the wind, you’re forced to decide: which of these friends is your future, and which was just a beautiful mistake?
⋆.𐙚 ̊ Growing up, you always heard the adults around you say to be careful with the choices you make while young. You didn’t think anything of it — not until you saw two little lines on a test, turning your world upside down.
Now, you're a broke college student, pregnant, drowning in a question you can’t answer: Who is the father?
To make matters worse, the two men from your roster are best friends, and they’re both stepping up to have a seat at the table. On one side is Park Jimin— the sweet, reliable anchor who promises you the stability you never had. On the other side is Jeon Jungkook— the frat boy who makes your heart sing, keeps you on your toes, and feeds your soul.
As they compete to ‘play house’ with you, the lines between friendship and fatherhood start to blur. You once made a wish on a dandelion seed for a life full of passion and excitement, but as the seeds start to scatter in the wind, you’re forced to decide: which of these friends is your future, and which was just a beautiful mistake?
The atmosphere in the shared apartment was so thick you could slice through it with a knife. As I sit on the couch, my knee bouncing like a rocking chair, I can smell the peppermint tea Jisoo is making in the kitchen. She is already on the fifth cup— she hasn’t even finished the others.
Megan is sitting at the dining table, a textbook open on the table in an attempt to study —she hasn’t flipped the page in the last twenty minutes. Her eyes kept shifting from my spot on the couch to the front door.
Then, a heavy thud at the front door echoes through the house.
It feels as though time itself has frozen in place, taking all the air in the room with it. We exchanged glances, the silent anticipation of who would open the door hanging over us.
After a moment, Jisoo walks from the kitchen, moving past both of us to open the door, a practiced, stiff smile on her lips.
Jisoo pulls open the door, and with it, the rush of the world breathes back into reality through the chatter from Jungkook and Jimin.
“Sorry, we’re late. Traffic was awful,” Jimin starts, but the words die in his throat the second he feels how tense the air is inside. His eyes shift from how tight Megan’s shoulders are to where I sat on the couch, noticing the way I am attempting to hold myself as if I am about to explode from pressure.
Jungkook was oblivious to the energy in the room — he was a man on a mission, cuddling with me. He scrambled inside, paying no attention to how Jisoo was staring at him or the worry knitting between Jimin’s brows.
“There she is!” Jungkook chirped as he plopped onto the couch, practically pulling me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around my middle — a gesture that usually brought me comfort, but this time it had my stomach twisting into knots. All I can think of is how his hands are resting right over where I’m carrying a child.
Either his or Jimin’s.
“Hey, Kook, be gentle with her. She was just sick the other day,” Jimin says anxiously, walking inside as the door closes behind him. He sits next to us, reaching over to place his warm hand on my thigh.
In my peripheral vision, I see Jimin looking over me with concern, which makes the knots tighten in my stomach as the room's temperature rises.
I push myself out of Jungkook’s grip— which he vocalizes with a pout and whine— and look at Jisoo. She is making her way to one of the armchairs, giving me her silent support with a soft nod.
“I have something I need to tell you,” I say shakily, looking at both of the men that I adore.
The room goes dead quiet. They straighten their backs and give me their full attention, Jimin giving me an intense stare while Jungkook’s eyes still have flickers of charm in them, though they are mostly glazed with seriousness. I let out a deep breath, wiping my palms on my cotton shorts and shutting my eyes.
“There’s no easy way for me to say this, but… I’m pregnant.”
No one says anything. The silence in the room is so heavy, it’s suffocating. As I open my eyes, I notice how both Jungkook and Jimin have shocked expressions, but their expressions are worlds apart. Jimin looks determined, eyes darting as if he’s working out a game plan in his head. Jungkook looks ambitious, like he’s willing to jump into a role that he’s not sure is his. No plans, just pure action.
“Do you have any idea who the father is?” Jimin asks cautiously, his eyes lowering to my stomach.
I shake my head, chewing my lip slightly. “Not yet, but as soon as I know, I’ll tell you both,” I promise as I hesitantly sit between them.
“It doesn’t matter who the father is, I’ll take care of you both,” Jungkook says, reaching over to pull my hand into his, giving it a soft squeeze.
“We’ll both help,” Jimin corrects his best friend, giving him a pointed look that jungkook pointedly ignores.
Sitting between them, my nerves twisting so tightly throughout the entire interaction that they finally catch up to me. I jump up abruptly and head straight for the bathroom, praying I make it in time. My feet pad across the cold tile as I scramble inside, and I can hear someone running right behind me.
Getting onto my knees, I have no time left to prep myself before my body started to purge into the porcelain throne. As I navigate the first waves of my morning sickness, I feel someone gently gather my hair, holding it back to keep it out of the way.
“It’s okay, I got you.” My heart swells at the soft, grounded tone he was using.
I hear more footsteps heading our way — Jisoo was the first to enter the room. She leans against the doorframe, looking down at the scene with a surprised tilt of her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move that fast, Jungkook.”
Jungkook doesn’t even look at her. His focus is fully on me, his other hand is rubbing small circles on my lower back, relieving some of the tension there. “She’s sick, Jisoo. Of course, I moved fast.”
A second later, Jimin appears in the doorway behind Jisoo. He’s breathing hard, his skin pale, holding a cool, damp washcloth in one hand and a cold glass of water in the other. He looks at Jungkook already in position and tightens his jaw — just for a small moment, before he pushes past Jisoo to kneel on my other side.
“Here,” Jimin says, handing me the glass, as he helps keeps my hair out of the way to press the cool cloth against my neck. “Take a breath, Y/N. We’re here.”
Jungkook pulls me closer to his side, being mindful not to stir my sensitive stomach. He shoots his best friend a sharp look over my shoulder. “I got this under control. Maybe you can work out a system with Jisoo about the upcoming schedule for Y/N?”
Jimin’s fingers freeze against the back of my neck. The soft, gentle expression morphing into something dangerous as he glares at Jungkook over my head.
“A system?” Jimin repeats, his voice deceptively calm but dripping with acid. “You mean like a planner? Because right now she doesn’t need a check-and-balance list, Jungkook. She needs someone who actually knows how to keep her calm. Move your hands, you’re putting too much pressure on her back.”
“I’m not hurting her,” Jungkook fires back, his grip on my waist tightening protectively. “She likes it. Don’t tell me what to do.”
From the doorway, Jisoo sighs loudly, crossing her arms. “If you two are just going to measure your dicks in our guest bathroom while our roommate is literally clutching a toilet bowl, then you can both leave.”
Jimin and Jungkook's gazes interlock— the tension in their jaws relaxes as they stiffly nod to each other.
“That won’t be necessary, Jisoo. Let’s work up a schedule while Jungkook helps Y/N to her room.” Jimin says as he gets up to walk with Jisoo to the kitchen area.
“Come on, Jagiya. Let’s get you to your room.” Jungkook says as he helps me up, leading me in the direction of my room.
I am a little nervous having Jungkook in my room — this was the first time he’d been in here since I mostly spent time in his room. The way his eyes circled my room was precious, similar to the gaze of a curious child.
“Come,” he says as he leads me to the bed, laying me safely onto the cotton comforter, as if he is worried I’d detonate on impact with the plush sheets.
Once he is pleased that I don’t explode, he lies behind me, wrapping his arms around my torso. His hands slide under my lacey tank top —his palms are warm against my skin.
“So, this little guy could be mine?” He asks carefully, his breath tickling my neck.
The question hangs quiet in the air of my bedroom, heavy but laced with a vulnerability that makes my chest tighten. Jungkook’s grip on my waist is firm, yet there is a subtle tremor in his palms — a rare crack in his unshakeable confidence.
“He could be,” I whisper, leaning my back against his chest. I cover his large hands with mine, interlocking our fingers over my stomach. “Or a little girl. We won’t know for a while.”
Jungkook lets out a soft, hot breath against the nape of my neck, his lips pressing a fleeting kiss there. “A girl. Shit, if that happens I’ll be screwed. I’ll be wrapped around her finger before she can say dada.” He shifts closer, tucking his chin onto my shoulder. The competitive man from the bathroom is gone, replaced by someone intensely present, soaking in the reality of the moment. “ I mean what I said out there. No matter what that test says, down the line, I’m in. You’re not doing this alone.”
Before the warmth of his words can fully settle, the bedroom door clicks open without a knock.
Jimin steps inside, carrying a small ceramic bowl and a fresh bottle of water. He doesn’t even blink at the sight of Jungkook wrapped around me — instead, his jaw tightens with that quiet determination I saw dancing in his eyes in the living room.
“The schedule is all set,” Jimin says smoothly, walking over to the empty side of the bed. He sets the water down and sits on the mattress, ignoring Jungkook’s piercing glare. “Jisoo gave me a list of the foods that have been triggering your nausea. I brought some saltine crackers and applesauce.”
Jungkook huffs, his arms tightening around my torso like a protective shield. “She’s resting, Jimin. We don’t need nutritionist notes right now.”
“She needs to keep her strength up, Kook,” Jimin counters, his voice calm and unyielding. He ignores his best friend entirely, reaching out taking my ankle entirely. He lifts my leg, resting my foot on his lap as his thumbs find the tense arches of my feet. “You’ve been tense all day, Y/N. Let me help you relax.”
As Jimin begins a slow, incredibly soothing foot rub,Jungkook’s grip shifts. Not to be outdone, Jungkook’s hands slide higher up my stomach, his thumbs tracing lazy, possessive circles right below my ribs.
I’m stuck in the middle of a silent, hyper-attentive game of tug of war. One is rubbing my feet with steady, reliable care, while the other is holding me from behind, his heartbeat a steady thud against my spine. They’re best friends, but right now, every touch is a claim on my body and soul.
Escaping the apartment the next morning feels like a prison break, while Jimin and Jungkook are engulfed in an argument over whether organic ginger tea or a protein shake is better for my stomach, I am, thankfully, saved by a notification from Jackson, telling me he is parked outside. I run out the door so fast, without even casting a look back at the two men in my kitchen.
Sitting in the sterile, dimly lit exam room of the clinic, the gravity of everything finally hits me. I am six weeks pregnant.
I lie down on the table, letting the cool pleather press into my back, clutching onto the hem of my shirt as the technician squirts a blob of cold gel onto my lower abdomen. I flinch at the icy temperature, Jackson stands up immediately, grabbing my hand and letting me squeeze his knuckles.
The technician smiles warmly, looking between my pale face and Jackson’s protective stance. “Are you the dad?” she asks casually, adjusting the monitor.
Jackson lets out a dramatic, booming laugh that immediately pierces through the suffocating tension in the room. “Oh, God, no ma'am. Trust me, I am definitely not the daddy,” he says, giving me a playful, theatrical wink. “There was once a time when we were in sync but now, I play the role of the top-tier support system, I would do anything for her, truly.” He says, sending a warm smile my way. I feel my eyes tingle slightly, Feeling so blessed to have a friend like Jackson in my life.
“The actual candidates are back at the house, trying to out-man each other with a blender.” He says, chuckling slightly. The tech chuckles, the air in the room instantly lifting. I let out a breath I feel like I’ve been holding for days, a genuine smile breaking onto my face.
“Well, top-tier support system, let’s see what we’re working with,” the technician says softly.
She presses the transducer against the lower abdomen, moving it in slow, deliberate sweeps.The monitor shifts from gray static to a dark, fluid-filled circle. I hold my breath, my grip tightening in Jackson’s knuckles as my eyes trace the screen, hunting for something I don’t yet understand.
“Right there,” the tech points with the tip of her pen, her voice gentle. “See that tiny, rapid pulse? That’s the cardiac activity. A perfect little flicker.”
I stare at the tiny speck on the monitor, rhythmically blinking against the dark background like a distant, determined star. It doesn’t make a sound, but the pure visual of it sends a sudden wave of heat rushing to my chest. Tears immediately prick the corners of my eyes, spilling over my temples before I can blink them away.
It’s real. There is a whole life starting inside me, completely separate from the college classes, roster drama, and the chaotic apartment.
Jackson’s hand squeezes mine back, his knuckles turning white under my grip.I look over at him and notices his cocky smile has vanished, replaced by a wide, uncharacteristic look of pure awe. His jaw is slightly slack as he stares at the little blinking light on the screen.
“Holy shit, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick and dropping an octave. “Look at that. You’re actually making a human. That’s a real deal, little bean right there.”
The technician smiles, capturing a still frame on the machine. “Everything looks completely healthy and right on track for six weeks. Do you want me to print a couple copies of the scans to take home?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Jackson chimes in, his playful confidence immediately bubbling to the surface as he rubs the back of my hand with his thumb. “Print a whole deck. We’ll need something to be the treaty to break up the blender war when we get home.”
A wet laugh bubbles up from my throat, the residual fear finally draining out of me. The storm with Jimin and Jungkook is still waiting for me outside these clinic walls, but looking at this tiny, pulsing flicker, I finally feel ready to face it.
We slid into a cracked vinyl booth, at the diner down the street, the scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee a surprisingly welcome relief for my stomach. Jackson places a plate of plain toast and a glass of ginger ale in front of me, sliding the envelope containing the ultrasound printouts into his jacket pocket to avoid getting greasy.
He waits until I take a few slow sips of ginger ale before he finally leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. His usual playful, frat-boy persona fades, replaced by that grounded, fiercely protective look he only shows when things truly matter.
“Alright, pretty girl, let’s talk about the two chuckle heads waiting for you at home,” Jackson says, his voice low and serious. “Jimin and Jungkook. They’re good guys, and they’re both crazy about you — clearly. But you’re currently stuck in a game of tug of war, the only issue is you're the rope this time.”
I look down at my hands, tracing the condensation on my glass. “I know. They were practically marking their territory in my bedroom yesterday. It’s exhausting, Jackson. I’m just trying to process everything, and they’re already trying to play house.”
“Exactly. And that’s where you need to draw a line,” Jackson says, tapping his knuckles against the laminate table to get my attention. “They are best friends, Y/N. Right now, the testosterone is talking, and they’re competing to see who can be the ultimate protector. But this isn’t a game of Sigma Chi beer pong. This is your life. And your body.”
He leans forward, his gaze locking with mine with an unshakeable sincerity. “You need to take the steering wheel back. Tell them to cut the competitive bullshit back. They can both care about you,and they can both support you, but they need to do it together, as a team, not as rivals trying to outdo each other for a prize. If they can’t handle that, they're not ready for what comes next.”
I let out a long breath, the weight of his words settling deep in my chest. He’s right. We’re past the point of spontaneous adventure and excitement, the seed has been planted — now, I need stability. I can’t afford to get lost in a minefield.
“You’re right,” I whisper, a small, grateful smile breaking through my exhaustion. “ I need to set boundaries before they suffocate me.”
“That’s my girl,” Jackson smirks, his familiar, cocky grin sliding back into place as he slides the envelope across the table towards me.”Now eat your toast. We’ve got a fortress to reclaim, and I want to see the look on their faces when you show them this little bean.”
Genre/Tags: seafood pub owner! jungkook x single mom! reader, friends to lovers, lorelai gilmore x luke danes inspired, grumpy x sunshine, angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn
Summary: When you found out you were pregnant at the ripe age of 16, you realized you couldn’t keep living a life built around old money, country clubs, charity galas, business dinners and maintaining a flawless reputation in Seoul’s elite social circles, so you left and traded the glittering skyline of Seoul, your family’s suffocating expectations and a future that never truly belonged to you for a quiet seaside village on the outskirts of Busan with nothing but determination and a newborn baby in your arms.
16 years later, after countless jobs and dingy basement apartments, you’re nestled between sandy beaches and a cozy neighborhood where everyone knows everyone, where gossip spreads faster than the ocean breeze, and where your lovely daughter… and quite frankly, your best friend, Go Minji, has been lovingly adopted by a crowd of self-appointed aunts, uncles and grandparents who have spent years watching her grow up.
And then there’s Jeon Jeongguk, the perpetually grumpy owner of the village’s most popular seafood pub, whose permanent scowl has somehow become just as famous as his cooking. He’s blunt, stubborn, allergic to smiling and seems to like the company of the ocean more than he likes actual people.
Unfortunately for him, you’ve never been particularly good at taking hints or respecting personal boundaries because he doesn’t know when or how it happened, but somehow you and your daughter become annoying regulars at his pub… somehow, there’s always an empty table waiting for the two of you and somehow, despite the endless complaints and dramatic sighs, Jeongguk is always setting down a bowl of your favorite seafood stew, the one that isn’t even on the menu and the one he swears you’re far too obsessed with.
Between town festivals, late-night walks along the beach, community gossip and a village full of people who have made it their personal mission to involve themselves in your lives, you never realised that the grumpy seafood pub owner who’s always scolding you for eating too many shrimps or secretly setting aside the freshest catch for your dinner or fixing the loose step outside your house before you can even notice it’s broken or replacing the porch light you’ve been meaning to change for 3 months or driving Minji to school when your car refuses to start or showing up during storms to make sure your windows are properly secured or grumbling his way through every favor as though helping you is the greatest burden he’s ever endured…. has been hopelessly head over heels gone since the very first time his eyes landed on the young single mother carrying a toddler walk past his pub with the weight of the world on her shoulders and a smile that somehow refused to disappear.
And if the entire village is to be believed, everyone knows it.
Everyone except you.
cher’s notes: PLEASE READ
OKAY HELLOOOO !!!! this project is heavily inspired by lorelai gilmore and luke danes from the show “Gilmore girls”. while it doesn’t follow the exact storyline or details of the original couple, their dynamic served as a huge source of inspiration so because of that, you might notice certain moments and scenes that pay direct homage to the show.
this is essentially my little self-indulgent writing corner where i get to throw jungkook and reader into whatever scenario i want, so feel free to send in requests.
at its core, this story will revolve around reader, jungkook and reader’s daughter, Go Minji, as they navigate life together in a small seaside village. their relationships, friendships, family dynamics, personal growth and allllll the little moments in between will be the heart of this project. (but ofc the major focus will be on the romance between reader and jungkook)
rather than following one strict plot from beginning to end, i want this to feel a lot like a sitcom like some chapters might focus on major milestones and character development, while others might simply be a glimpse into a random tuesday.
there will be plenty of character introductions along the way and i’ll also be diving into different backstories, relationships and lore as the story progresses. honestly, i’m still figuring out exactly how i want to structure everything and where i want certain storylines to go. i have a bunch of ideas floating around in my head, and i’m excited to see how they all come together as i write. updates will be sporadic and entirely dependent on whenever inspiration decides to show up. no promises, no schedule… just sudden bursts of creativity and whatever scenario i can come up with :3
if you’re a gilmore girls fan and this sounds like something you’d enjoy, let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist ♡
jeongguk x f!reader drabble. filthy smut. 3.8k
listen to this while reading ♡ masterlist.
you’re not sure where this vlogging obsession of his started, but it’s been infecting your whole entire life in an annoyingly endearing way.
it started with the late night snacks, you waking up to him sitting cross legged by the coffee table, halfway through a bowl of shin ramyun, a bluetooth mic warm in his palm with his voice dramatically belting out another pop song crackling through the speakers.
you would ask if he’s live, and he would shake his head, already offering you a spare bowl he made while you slept. you two would eat together, and he would force you to sing sometimes. your parts got edited out, of course, but he would keep those clips just for himself.
then it was the bikes. you already knew your boyfriend would be a problem after the first bike he got, but now he has four, maybe five; and it’s given you more mini heart attacks than you can count.
by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, you would sit and sip some warm cocoa, look out at the nice view like an old lady, try to finally find some reprieve from the constant headaches you get from this man.
he’s gone god knows where, said he was going to film again. you expected him to head to the store, maybe vlog a grocery run, or invade namjoon’s privacy again. what you did not expect was your boyfriend all but skidding down the street right below you, one hand on the handle, and the other steadying a camera in front of him, trying to get a good angle.
you weren’t sure whether to call the cops, your therapist, or his mother. eventually, you shut him down by ringing his phone, and he shut you up by making you squirt twice.
eventually, it trickled into the showers. him wet, hair messy and soaking, making weird faces, furrowing his brows, toothbrush wedged between lips as he stands there in all his half-naked glory. shorts on, of course, because he said his ass is too fat to be given out for free.
those specific scenes you would be bothered by, if he didn’t give you the vip exclusive cuts of him stroking his pretty wet cock after, creaming with your name bouncing off the bathroom walls.
“two more minutes,” you mumble over another layer of brown lip gloss, smacking your lips for the nth time, and you squint at your reflection. then reaching for your eyeliner pen again—“pretty girl, you said that seven minutes ago.” his voice rumbles from behind.
the whine that leaves you makes him whine an even higher, even whinier whine.
your boyfriend sits on his bed bare-chested, grey sweatpants, tattoos out and glowing in the warm light, hair perfectly tousled — the whole effortless pussy-popper-9000 look — phone already propped up with one of his ridiculously expensive black tripods.
there isn’t an ounce of annoyance in his eyes though; just warm, gooey pools of affection for you. you. you.
“c’mere. beautiful baby,” he resorts to making grabby hands at you, which you catch in the mirror of the vanity he put in his room just for you. he’s making gross kissy sounds, beckoning you over like he would his dog bam.
you roll your eyes, and yet, you’re already setting down the pen and making your way to him.
“look who it is!” he’s clapping now, of fucking course he is, beaming at you as you approach. his hands then start drumming over his thighs, like some entrance fanfare for a princess — which you absolutely are in his eyes.
his lip tucks under his teeth immediately, as soon as you make contact, your hand holding onto his shoulder for a brief second just to steady yourself, before settling down on his lap like he’d instructed. and he’s already excited.
jeongguk is warm, and his scent engulfs you like a hug, and it soothes your nerves, even for a moment. you’re soft in his hands, always so soft; and his arms find your middle — you both melt into each other instinctively.
you’re met with a 4k 60fps view of yourself and him, shot wide to capture the way your thighs spread over his, and the way his silhouette swallows yours.
his shoulders go on for days, and his milky skin contrasts beautifully with the black tank top you (barely) have on. he squeezes around your tummy, making both of you laugh like idiots.
you look good together, real good. you lean in slightly, turning your head and pursing your lips to examine your makeup, when your vision is soon obstructed by one large, tattooed hand reaching up and cupping both your cheeks.
he grabs your face, touch gentle but firm as he squeezes lightly, and from what you can see on the screen — god, he’s fucking delighted. “so so prettyyy. what a pretty girl, no?” he coos, eyes crinkling at the corners as he gives one of his eyebrow-smiles.
you’re seething, and also soaking, kinda. he doesn’t need to know that.
“you’re actually the worst ever,” you grunt, trying to sound mean but it’s muffled by the pout he’s forced you into. both your hands have to wrap around his wrist just to wrestle his stupidly strong, stupidly veiny hand off your face, which you manage to do, but it’s no use.
“yeah? you promise?” he’s fucking giggling, proud of it, proud of your little attempts to resist him because you both know you can’t.
his other hand reaches over to gently pat your cheek, before pinching it lovingly; which earns him another whine. and he just loves it. he adores it so much you can feel it right under your thigh. his cock is thrumming in his boxers, heart so full as he leans over to press a big, wet, smooch to your other cheek.
ugh. “just start the damn video.”
after a few more pokes to your face with some odd, boyish explosion sound effects, he finally concedes, hips shifting under you.
one arm — very obvious and very unnecessary — hooks around your chest, effectively grabbing and squeezing your tit as he moves you like he’s done it a hundred times before.
he has. and like a hundred times before, you cuss him out for it.
until his free hand moves, his finger pressing to his lips, which, unfortunately, shuts you up pretty quick.
his thumb hits the record button, and he’s shifting you back, though his grip doesn’t loosen, just slips down to your waist, where he pulls you even closer.
“today, i am joined by the scariest, sexiest, most murderous force of nature i know—” “aaand you are going to end up six feet under,” you’re already crossing your arms, eyes narrowing at him through the screen. his brows pinch, looking to the camera and his imaginary viewers, shrugging in a told you so kinda manner, even as his hands start massaging over your shoulders slowly.
“see, this recording is actually for my safety rather than my enjoyment.”
he props his chin over your shoulder, and his little quip is pathetic. he’s pathetic. but knowing jeongguk, he would own that title like a fuckin’ badge of honor, too. you let out a huff, relaxing into his touch as your eyes flutter shut.
but jeongguk doesn’t like that. he clicks his tongue, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, lips brushing your hair as he nudges you with his nose to look back at the camera. “c’mon. introduce yourself, mama?”
your head falls forward, a smile tugging on your lips as you avoid the camera. “hello, i’m y/n, this is my clingy pet dog. bye.”
your lack of enthusiasm makes him chuckle, breath hot against your skin. you are sooo stubborn and he just loves you like this. “damn right.” he growls right behind your ear, which is insane considering his eyes peek out from behind you, all wide and innocent.
even as he’s clearly ogling at your cleavage and your pretty face on the screen.
his hands move from your waist, sliding up higher, and you, begrudgingly, uncross your arms, earning you another gravelly ‘good girl’ and a wet kiss to your temple. he’s already cupping your breasts, squeezing and bouncing them for the camera, the creamy flesh ripples under his handling.
it’s embarrassing, your face flushing pink as he toys with your tits, and you’re just letting him, biting back whimpers and whines with every punishing squeeze. “mn, koo—”
one hand slides upward from your breast, lightly smacking your cheek again before settling around your throat. the suddenness making your breath hitch, eyes rolling back for a moment as you tried to steady yourself. a breathless huff of laughter leaves you, in another futile attempt to sound mean.
“freak..” you hiss.
he only grinned, a wicked, lopsided thing. "mhm? and what else?" he murmured, his voice a deep rasp.
without so much as a beat to let you respond, he catches your lower lip between his fingers and pushed his thumb past your teeth, filling your mouth and muffling your indignant protests into soft, wet sounds of submission.
rude.
jeongguk is having the time of his life, his hand a heavy weight on your neck, not to choke you, no; but anchor you to him.
he can do the choking later.
his gaze is doe-like and adoring, shimmering with pure, unadulterated joy; glowing with a soft, manic sort of adoration that makes your heart ache even as he's being a total menace.
using his firm grip, he moves your head to get a better look at you and fuck. “fuck, look at you. look at my girl.” a heavy throb pulses straight through his cock, it almost hurts. “you are so pretty.”
his tone is dripping with honey through gritted teeth, disgustingly, aggressively sweet even as his thumb is pressed deep into your mouth.
the thick, delicious intrusion forces you to suckle on it, glaring at him through lashes that were already growing damp. you’re trying to maintain some semblance of that pride, but to him you’re just cute. so fucking cute.
“today,” he starts and reaches down, his fingers hooking under the hem of your black tank top. he doesn't ask; he just peels the fabric upward, dragging the soft cotton over the curve of your stomach and up, up, until your breasts are bared to the cool air and his gaze.
and he gives you that look. that deeply terrifying look that always ends with you in a messy, sticky heap. it’s manic, it’s a hunger that borderlines on holy despite the mischief dancing in his eyes.
he is so, so incredibly gone for you.
he lets out another breathy, jagged laugh.
“we’re gonna see how long it takes to completely break you, aren't we?" he whispers, the challenge hanging in the air like a dare. "how long can i ruin my girl before i finally lose it?" his nose nuzzled back into your hair.
you can’t even process the sheer audacity of his words, you’re struggling to breathe around the pad of his digit when—
smack!
the sound of his palm hitting the underside of your breast is sharp and loud in the quiet room, the sting sending a delicious, jolting shock straight to your clit.
the sting is sharp, a sudden burst of heat that makes your toes curl and your eyes water, but he doesn't give you a second to recover. his expression tells you he’s enjoying your discomfort far too much. then another, smack, right to the other breast.
you protest around his finger, but his grip is so strong and his hand is so heavy.
he gives in another light smack, before grabbing it roughly and squeezing, sending you choking around a sob. “b-baby mmff, please— mmnnn!”
he watches the way your skin flushes, the way your nipple hardens into a tight, dark peak from the sudden sting, and he lets out a soft, triumphant giggle that is entirely too affectionate for the way he’s looking at you.
"hold the camera, baby," he commands, his voice a low, honeyed growl that leaves no room for argument.
he nods his head to the device, forcing you to reach out with a trembling hand to angle it the way he wants.
“that’s it, you listen so well f’me sweet girl,” he peppers kisses over your shoulder, “right on your pussy. show ‘em those cute little panties.”
you would roll your eyes, but you just obey, the hand in your throat and thumb in your mouth a constant reminder of who’s in charge right now. it’s shaky, but it gets the job done, the phone held down low to show off the pretty, expensive black lace that did very little to hide the wetness pooling on your lips.
“fuuuuck, look at that,” he breathes out, mouthing at the juncture of your neck as he stares down at the screen. “god, why are you so fuckin’ sexy, huh? so fuckin’ lucky.” as you struggle to maintain your hold on the camera, your knuckles turning white, you feel his hand leave your breast.
down your waist, down your navel, down the soft curve which he squeezes lovingly. down, down, down.
his fingers come into view on the camera, pressing two into the lace, watching, his jaw falling slack as your lips make a soft, filthy squelch. the dampness only spreads.
“ohhh fuck, sweet girl,” you both whine, like the sight itself is breaking you both.
his thumb presses harder into your mouth, a silent command to keep sucking, to keep staying quiet and good while he works. his hand is a hot, heavy intrusion between your thighs, his fingers sliding past the damp, silken folds of your heat to find the center of your ache.
the moment he touches you, the moment his fingertip brushes against your swollen clit you feel your entire body lurch. you’re trying so hard to keep the camera steady, to keep the frame focused, but as he begins to rub you with a slow, punishingly deliberate pressure, your hand begins to slip.
he sees it, of course; he sees everything.
“don’t let go, baby, come on. you can do it,” his fingers slow, circling aching little figures around your swollen clit, and you buck your hips in an attempt to meet his hand. “k-kooooo—mmmff,” his thumb is now pressing inside your cheek, stretching your lips open for the camera as your noises spill out. “come on, fix the camera. show ‘em how good my girl is, yeah?”
blinking back tears, your grip tightens around the tripod again, the material biting into your palm — and you almost fucking let go because he speeds up all of a sudden. “mnnn ohh— oh my god!”
having your lips pulled open, your spit dribbles down your chin and around his hand, and the disgusting, wet feeling only spurs him on, practically ripping the lace out the way as two thick fingers plunge into your pretty pussy, his thumb relentless against your clit.
“thaaat’s right, that’s my good girl,” he hisses, eyes narrowed and zoned right in on the way your velvety walls suck him in. so fucking needy.
you can only respond with throaty little mewls, trying to hide your face in his neck as he works you open up close and personal, all in high definition.
you feel so fucking exposed, so vulnerable, so disgusting — his hand around your throat tightens, making you gasp and choke for air. his other hand pulls out, and you find tears welling up in your eyes again, head jerking in betrayal, “y-you fucking—”
the slap is sharp, a stinging crack that echoes in the quiet room, and the heat of it goes straight to your tummy as you yelp.
your inner thigh is already flushed, the skin sensitive and tender, but the impact of his hand slick, hot, and heavy with your own sticky juices is enough to make your vision blur. the sensation of his wet palm meeting your skin is so visceral, so unapologetically messy, that a fresh sob hitches in your throat.
he slaps you again. and again, for good measure.
"look at the camera, sweet girl. please?" he coos, his voice a devastating contrast to the sting he just delivered. it’s so sweet, so honeyed and adoring, as if he hadn't just punished you for your momentary lapse in composure.
“don’t hide. show them how much you're enjoying this for me. look at the screen, princess."
you’re fucking shivering.
your face hot and tear streaked, you force your heavy eyelids open. you feel so fucking gross, your lips are swollen and glistening with saliva, your hair is a mess, and you can feel the dampness of your own slick coating his hand.
but as you look back down to where the phone is angled, jeongguk is right there, his face hovering just inches from yours. his dark eyes are round and sparkly, filled with that worshipful light.
"there she fuckin’ is," he breathes, a low, ragged sound that vibrates in the air between you. he presses a messy kiss to your cheek. "my pretty girl. so fucking pretty. look at those eyes.. so wide and beautiful for me."
"j-jeongguk, please," you babble, the corner of your mouth is sore from his digit still pressing you open; the words coming out in broken, frantic whimpers.
your free hand clutches at the bedsheets, his hair, his bicep — anything — as the tension in your lower belly reaches a breaking point. “k-koo! hhnnn baby fuckfuckfuck,” “yes? yes my pretty girl?”
too much; the friction, the pressure, the sheer intensity of being watched and handled like this in front of a camera. "gonna— oh god, koo, g-gonna cum! i’m gonna cum, please!"
"yeah? gonna cum for koo?" his hand finally, finally leaves your face, letting you suck in a deep breath, still covered in sticky sweat and your saliva fucking everywhere.
you’re not sure what’s worse, the smears of your expensive brown lip gloss on his hand, or the way he sucks on his own thumb, making a show of swirling his tongue around it, tasting your spit before reaching down to help you film. like it was the most normal thing ever.
it makes your pussy clench, and you both wince.
“give it to me, mama. please?” he leans in, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder, his lips soft against your heated skin even as his fingers suddenly become a blur of motion between your thighs, making you fucking scream as you squirm. it’s too much. too much. too much.
he’s working you with a ruthless, rhythmic precision, his thumb grinding against your clit in a way that feels like it’s trying to pull the very soul out of you — and the dirtiest thing somehow is the happiness on his face as he’s doing it.
through your tears you can make out his smile, his tongue poking out like he’s concentrated on a sketch rather than making his pretty girlfriend fall apart in a wet, hot mess.
the cherry on top? as he fucks into your sopping cunt, the filthiest noises filling the warm air around you, he’s peering down into the camera from over your shoulder.
and he, with all the audacity in the fucking world, winks.
the climax hits you like a physical blow, a violent, tectonic shift that shatters your remaining strength. you let out a high, keening wail, your back arching so sharply it feels like you might snap.
your vision explodes into white light as the first massive wave of release erupts from you. you feel the hot, forceful spray of your juices drenching his hand and splashing against the sheets, and the floor. a torrential outpouring of pure, unbridled ecstasy.
you’re shaking, sobbing, your entire body convulsing in the throes of a squirt so intense it feels like you’re being emptied out entirely.
and through the haze of your undoing, through the tears and the gasps and the sheer, overwhelming sensation of being broken open, you see him. he’s watching you instead of the camera, his eyes locked on you. his girl. as he captures every messy, beautiful second of your surrender.
a wide, enamored, and utterly obsessed grin is plastered on his face. he’s watching his masterpiece unfold in real time, and he looks like he’s never been more proud in his entire life.
“oh my god, you’re the cutest thing ever,” he’s giggling. he made you squirt all over and he’s fucking giggling.
after the first initial spray, he pulls his fingers out, only to plunge them back in, easily now, from all the wetness and slick, pushing, flicking against that spot with just the right pressure, to pull another spray from you. his eyes glued to your teary face, brows furrowed and lips still pulled in that stupid smile as he tries to soak in every single reaction.
“koo, baby, nghhhh, you’re so—“ you grit out through your teeth, thighs trembling violently, as the pleasure and stinging pain blend together so bad, your eyeliner is washed clean off by now.
he pulls out, goes back in for another, pulling a tinier fountain out of you,
and then another — but you’re pushing, pounding weakly against his forearm, and he finally stops. his hand resting, cupping over your creamy, puffy pussy.
there’s nothing but your breathing for a moment, and the thrum of your heartbeats racing in the aftermath.
he sets the camera back on the table in front of you, angling it low so it still catches every last drop of your release dripping down your thighs. his hand, the one drenched in your squirt, reaches up again, finding its place back on your neck the to tilt your head the way he wants and kiss you.
it’s wet, it’s messy, and so so soft, so so loving. his piercing cools the heat of your swollen lips as he sucks on your tongue playfully, before it’s your turn to smack him away.
“mm, you did so good. you’re so fucking pretty. so fucking sweet.” he praises, genuinely lovesick. “my little porn star.”
your breathing fans his face, and he kisses you again. can’t get enough of you.
“are we gonna count that as one? or three?” you question, the teasing lilt returning to your voice as you glance at the still-recording phone, a few specks of your release glistening on the screen.
he hums for a moment, looking at the device before turning back, that grin of his turning cocky, proud.
“one, definitely one. ‘m far from done with you, mama.”
“i fucking hate you.”
you both let out a deep sigh, and share another deep, lingering kiss, before he’s freeing his huge, heavy, aching cock, and tightening his hand back around your throat with a smooch to your temple.
lord pray for this man’s storage.
note: whipped this up in like 4 hours. i’m not a smut writer at all. was very horny. won’t happen again. bye
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
I think we, as a general community, need to start taking this little moment more seriously.
This, right here? This is asking for consent. It’s a legal necessity, yes, but it is also you, the reader, actively consenting to see adult content; and in doing so, saying that you are of an age to see it, and that you’re emotionally capable of handling it.
You find the content you find behind this warning disgusting, horrifying, upsetting, triggering? You consented. You said you could handle it, and you were able to back out at any time. You take responsibility for yourself when you click through this, and so long as the creator used warnings and tags correctly, you bear full responsibility for its impact on you.
“Children are going to lie about their age” is probably true, but that’s the problem of them and the people who are responsible for them, not the people that they lie to.
If you’re not prepared to see adult content, created by and for adults, don’t fucking click through this. And if you do, for all that’s holy, don’t blame anyone else for it.
Except this is the last line of consent before the actual work. So if you’re at this button you have already done the following:
1) chosen to go onto AO3 in the first place
2) chosen the fandom you wish to read about
3) had the chance to filter for the things you do want to see like a specific pairing or a specific AU
4) had the chance to specifically filter out any tags you don’t want to see like, oh I don’t know, incest and non-con and dub-con and paedophilia
5) had the chance to set the rating level if you wish to remove any explicit content at all
6) have read the summary of the story, which aren’t always great but are the only indicator of what the story will be like writing wise so something about it was good enough for you to click on it.
7) have read the tags of the story which will tell you what is actually in the story. If you have used filters to remove stories with things you don’t want then there shouldn’t be anything in here that’s a shock to you but maybe there is. That’s why the tags are there for you to check for yourself.
8) Then you have to actually click on the story. You cannot see anything other than the summary or the tags without personally deciding that you are going to open and read this story.
9) Only here, at step number nine, do you get to the adult content warning pictured above. You have been through eight different steps, the last six of which have also been opportunities for you to see that this has adult content. And AO3 has *STILL* stopped you to ask one last time “are you sure you want to read this because it has things that only adults should see in it”.
If after this point you are reading incest and paedophilia then it’s probably because you specifically went looking for it.
hey gang, sorry I’ve been radio silent I was mentally preparing for my bts concert ( Las Vegas day three baby!!) and I come bearing gifts in the form of concert pictures
