warnings: slight foul language, kinda smutty but not really, just lots of kissing and some mentions of sex
a/n: it's been nearly four years since i last published a fic here but i've recently been on a bts high with the comeback and the tour so here...have this prompt as a gift!
it partially came about cause i was watching this kdrama and you know how tame their kisses are, and while i love the drama i just want them to kiss properly!! so then i began thinking of bts and the array of jin thirst traps on them and now i am here...enjoy!
Out of all the members of BTS, no one would believe you if you said that Kim Seokjin would have the most prominent oral fixation. Some would argue Jungkook, with his mischievous grin, or perhaps Namjoon, as the mv theories suggest, but Jin?
No, ARMY wouldn’t peg the comedic, protective member to possess such a characteristic.
Their mistake to make. He is the one always blowing kisses to his fans, a clear reflection of his personality.
Much like them, you were left to discover this trait all by yourself. It was quite shocking because Jin never held back; it's not in his nature. A kiss is meant to be enjoyed between two people, and he intends to take full advantage of the opportunity.
From that first kiss, Jin memorizes your shallow breaths on his cheeks as he nears your personal bubble, his hand gently yet firmly resting on your cheek. He looks into your wide eyes and down your lips.
The lull right before a kiss is his favorite. The stutter in your breath from expectation. Will he or won't he?
He can't help brushing his plump lips on yours before you give him permission. Your gasp is a tease all in itself. He practices restraint, his hand on your waist, grasping your clothes.
He thanks whatever cosmic entity exists when you subtly nod and push forward. His restraint vanishes with that minuscule action. Jin moves his lips eagerly, enveloping yours in an intense kiss. You close your eyes and hear the sharp intake of breath, a sigh of relief. As if the restraint was pure torture.
Kim Seokjin is an intoxicating person, yet his kiss surpasses everything you've ever known. He pours every wish and desire into it as if they'll vanish if he so much as pulls away from you.
Truth is, Kim Seokjin would rather have his mouth pressed against your lips than have his dick wet. The sound of content in the back of your throat endears him further.
Jin loves his fans, loves the cheers mid-concert, loves his bandmates, and loves all the experiences they've shared over so many years.
There's nothing he loves more, though, than pulling you completely flush against him to feel your curves against his lean body. The way your chest rises and falls as you try to keep up with him. The hand on your cheek journeys to your hair, pulling on a knot that has an alluring moan erupting from your lips.
It's the perfect opportunity for him to slip his eager tongue past the seam of your lips, successfully deepening the kiss as he tilts his head. Jin completely ignores the pain in his neck from leaning down for so long. Nothing will stop him from kissing the life out of you.
He tilts his head to achieve that better angle. His lips never tire of moving. They never tire of tasting your sweet mouth. That hand in the back of your neck guides you, complying with his every wish. While the other drags down your back, squeezing your curves along the way.
He’s hyperaware of the way your body reacts to him. Your face flushes warm, your hands grip him tight, closer and closer, your chest quickly rising and falling until you have to pull away. You’re no singer; your breath control is plainly average.
"Jin..." his name is the only thought you can formulate. You're lightheaded from a kiss that is far from simple. This is not what you expected from Jin, not that you’re complaining. He has your skin feeling on fire.
Jin is so merciful that he gives you a break. His slick lips kissing your cheek, your jaw, down your neck, sucking red bruises that’ll fade in a couple of hours. "You taste so fucking sweet," Jin's voice vibrates against your skin.
That's only the first kiss.
As feelings and familiarity continue to grow, the more intense Jin becomes. He's shameless about it. He is who he is, and he likes what he likes.
Seokjin would much rather have a steamy make-out session than a quickie. He would much rather have you grinding on his thigh as he swallows every precious sound you make. His tongue licking the roof of your mouth.
Small pecks are unacceptable. If you wish to touch his lips with yours, expect more than a peck, expect movement.
"I'm heading out now, Jinnie," you mention, approaching him from where he sits watching TV.
"Will you have dinner with your friends or should I make something?" He asks, pausing the TV and standing. He places his hands on your hips, swaying you lightly. Moments of domesticity quickly become scarce as his agenda fills up after enlistment. “You look beautiful.”
"I'll have dinner with the girls," you smile, grateful for his attentiveness. Leaning into him, you quickly peck his lips and step back to head out.
His hands don't budge, holding you in place. "Huh?" Looking up at him, you find him with furrowed eyebrows and a prominent pout, "What was that?" He asks firmly.
"A kiss?" You shrug, throwing him a questioning glance.
"You call that a kiss? Have I taught you nothing?" He says, exasperated, mouth agape with offense.
You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief, "Are you serious?"
"I am! Come here, it seems like you need another lesson in French Kissing 101," he chastises, hand on your cheek as his thumb caresses your cheek.
He ignores your pleas and complains that you'd be late, holding you still and dipping his head to press his pillowy lips on your talking ones. They are effective in silencing you. You're quickly swept away, briefly forgetting what you were supposed to be doing.
Expect wet, messy kisses day and night. He’s not scared of saliva. He wants that string between the two of you when he’s forced to pull away. Hell, he will spit in your mouth and kiss you after to get it back if you let him.
Adores pinching your cheeks so your lips pucker, the gesture riling him up more than he cares to admit. Such an adorable gesture was corrupted by him.
Let’s not forget how utterly beautiful you look afterward with mussed, tangled hair, lips of various shades of pink, and a heaving chest. He will wipe your wet lips himself, an action reserved solely for him; no one but him is allowed to touch your mouth.
For Kim Seokjin, kissing should be an Olympic sport. Kissing is very important for him emotionally, but it's such a physical thing. He will pour every ounce of energy he has into one. Eyes closed, hands restless, head tilting, jaw opening and closing, tongue licking. Must be one of the reasons his face and jaw are so defined.
You're a quick learner, taking tricks from his book and applying them yourself. The one that sends him spiraling and coming in his pants is lip biting. That fucker will bite your lips when he makes out with you, leaving them swollen and red. So when you copy him and pull at his bottom lip with your teeth, he's done.
Because, yes, if the make out is good enough and he has you grinding against him, he will cum in his pants. Not a care in the world.
At your most comfortable, when he's unable to reach and kiss you, you'll apply a thick layer of lip gloss that reminds him of how your lips look after a lengthy session on his couch to tease him. To deny Jin access to your lips is pure torture. As dramatic as it sounds, he would much rather have 24/7 dance drills than have restricted access to your lips.
Granted, there are other ways he can put his mouth to use, but those are stories for another day.
liked this oneshot? like, reblog or let me know in the comments!
When Jungkook can’t get the raw, desperate moans he needs for his sensual new track, he turns to the one person who can give him exactly what he wants - you.
pairing𓂃 : jungkook x fem!reader
warnings𓂃 : vocal booth au, recording kink, voyeurism (the mic is always on), degradation + praise kink, dom!jungkook, jungkook is a big fucking talker, he’s obsessed with your moans, fingering, he fucks you stupid, he cums inside (wrap it up guysss), dirty talk, he makes you listen to the raw audio after, yearning + obsessed jungkook, they both are down for each other, slight breeding talk
Word count 𓂃 ~ 2.5K
It’s 2:17 a.m. when you push open the heavy studio door, two iced Americanos sweating in your hands. The control room glows with that familiar blue-purple light from the mixing board. The sensual, heavy beat Jungkook has been working on for weeks loops quietly — deep 808s, breathy synths, and a slow, grinding rhythm that already feels like sex.
Jungkook is alone, hunched over the console, black hair messy, silver chain catching the light every time he moves. His eyes flick up the second you step inside, and that slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face — the one that always makes your stomach flip and your thighs press together.
“Baby,” he rasps, voice hoarse from hours of recording. “You didn’t have to come.”
“I know,” you say, setting the coffees down. “But your texts sounded stressed. Figured you needed company...”
He rolls his chair back and pulls you between his legs without hesitation, arms wrapping around your waist as he buries his face in your stomach. You run your fingers through his hair and feel him melt for a second. Then he pulls back and looks up at you with those dark, hooded eyes.
“I’m stuck,” he admits quietly. “The ad-libs sound fake. I’ve done forty takes and none of them feel real. The producer wants that raw, desperate sound — like someone’s actually getting fucked while the track plays. I need real moans. The kind you make when I’m deep inside you. Wet. Shaky. Completely unfiltered.”
Your breath catches.
“You want to record me… while we’re having sex?” you whisper.
He nods slowly, thumbs stroking your hips. “The mic is already hot. The booth is empty. Door’s locked. No one’s coming until morning. Just… help me get one perfect take? Please?”
You stare at the glowing red “RECORDING” light inside the vocal booth. The idea is filthy. Dangerous. And you’re already wet.
“Okay,” you breathe.
Jungkook’s eyes darken instantly.
Ten minutes later you’re both inside the vocal booth.
The space feels smaller with the tension between you. The beat plays low through the monitors, vibrating through the floor. Jungkook locks the door behind you, the click final and exciting. He turns to you, voice low.
“Clothes off. Slowly. I want to watch every second.”
You obey, heart hammering. Shirt first, then bra. His gaze is heavy, devouring every inch of skin you reveal. When you push your skirt and panties down he actually groans, stepping closer.
“Fuck, look at you. Already soaked and I haven’t even touched you yet.”
He spins you around so your back is to his chest, both of you facing the big glass window and the glowing red light. His hands slide up your sides, cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they’re tight and aching.
“Hands on the glass,” he murmurs against your ear. “Legs apart.”
You do it. The glass is cool under your palms. Behind you, his belt clinks, zipper drags. Then the hot, heavy weight of his cock presses against your ass — already hard, already leaking.
He reaches past you and adjusts the expensive studio mic so the capsule sits right in front of your mouth.
“Say something, baby. Let me check the levels.”
“Jungkook…” you whisper.
The mic picks it up perfectly — soft, already shaky with anticipation.
He smiles against your neck. “Perfect. Now don’t hold back. I want every sound. Every gasp. Every moan. Every time you say my name while I’m fucking you.”
He slides two long fingers between your legs from behind, dragging them slowly through your folds. You’re already soaked. A soft gasp leaves you.
“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he murmurs. “The mic is gonna love this.”
He circles your clit with two fingers, slow and teasing, while his other hand grips your hip. Then he pushes one finger inside — deep, curling immediately against that spot.
You moan, forehead dropping against the glass.
“That’s it,” he says, voice low. “Let the mic hear how wet you are for my fingers.”
He adds a second finger, thrusting slowly, scissoring them open, stretching you. The wet, filthy sounds fill the booth and the mic captures every single one — the slick squelch, your shaky breaths, the way your moans get higher every time he curls his fingers just right.
“Moan louder,” he coaches. “I want people to hear exactly how good my fingers feel inside you.”
You obey. Broken, desperate sounds pour out of you as he fingers you faster, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your legs shake. The red light glows. The beat pulses.
When you cum the first time it’s on his fingers — walls clenching, a long, raw moan ripping out of you that the mic eats up completely. Jungkook groans behind you, fingers still moving, fucking you through it.
“Perfect,” he pants. “That’s the sound I want.”
He then lines himself up and pushes in slowly — torturously slowly — stretching you open inch by inch while the deep beat pulses around you. A broken, breathy moan slips out before you can stop it.
“That’s it,” Jungkook groans, bottoming out. “Just like that. Let the mic hear how full you are.”
He stays buried deep for a long moment, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up to gently collar your throat — possessive but gentle. Then he starts moving.
Long, deep, deliberate strokes. The kind that make your toes curl and your eyes flutter. Every time he pulls out you can hear how wet you are — that filthy, slick sound the mic is capturing in crystal-clear detail.
“Moan for me,” he says, voice rough. “Louder. I need it raw.”
You give it to him. A soft, trembling sound that turns into a longer, needier moan when he angles his hips and drags perfectly against that spot inside you.
“Fuck, yes,” he hisses. “Again. Right there.”
He fucks you a little harder, but still controlled, savoring every second. The desk in front of you rattles. Your breasts press against the cool glass. The red light stares back like it’s watching everything.
Jungkook’s dirty talk starts flowing, low and filthy right against your ear:
“Listen to how wet you are, baby. The mic is eating every single sound. Everyone who hears this track is gonna know exactly how good I fuck you.”
You whimper, thighs shaking.
“Say my name.”
“Jungkook—”
“Louder.”
“Jungkook—!”
He rewards you by speeding up just enough, hips rolling deeper. One hand slides around to rub slow, tight circles on your clit while the other stays on your throat. The combination is devastating.
You’re moaning shamelessly now — high, breathy, desperate sounds the mic devours. Jungkook keeps coaching you the entire time, voice dark and encouraging:
“Perfect… just like that… let it all out.” “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you’re falling apart on my cock.” “Give me more, baby. I want this take to be filthy. I want people to hear how desperate you get for me.”
Your second orgasm builds slowly, torturously. Jungkook refuses to rush it. He keeps the pace deep and steady, hitting that spot over and over while his fingers work your clit with expert precision. When you finally cum it’s with a long, broken wail that cracks in the middle — raw, completely unfiltered, exactly what he wanted.
The mic catches everything: the way your voice shakes, the desperate little sobs, the way you chant his name like a prayer as your walls clamp down around him.
Jungkook groans like he’s in pain, hips stuttering. "Fuck, that’s perfect.”
But he doesn’t stop.
He keeps fucking you through it — slower now, but deeper, grinding against your oversensitive walls while you tremble and whimper. The wet, filthy sounds of him moving inside you are obscene and the mic picks up every single one.
“Gonna fill you up,” he growls against your ear. “Gonna make sure you’re leaking me when we leave this booth. Every time you sit down tomorrow you’ll feel me.”
You’re too far gone to answer with words. All that comes out are broken, high-pitched moans the mic captures perfectly.
When Jungkook finally cums the first time it’s with a long, guttural moan right against the back of your neck — deep, raw, and so real it makes your stomach flip. He stays buried inside you, pulsing, both of you shaking.
For a long moment the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the low, sensual beat still playing.
Jungkook carefully pulls out, turns you around, and lifts you onto the small leather couch in the corner. He kneels between your spread thighs, eyes dark and hungry as he watches his cum slowly drip out of you.
He doesn’t give you time to fully recover.
He leans in and licks a slow, filthy stripe up your center, tasting both of you. You jolt, a broken cry escaping. The mic is still hot — he angled it before he moved you.
“Fuck, you taste like us,” he groans against your skin. “So messy. So perfect.”
He eats you like a man starved — tongue fucking into you, sucking on your clit, two fingers sliding in deep while his mouth works you over relentlessly. Your moans are loud, uncontrolled, exactly what he wants. Every time you try to muffle yourself he slaps your inner thigh, sharp and stinging.
He growls. “Let the mic hear every fucking sound you make.”
You obey. You moan and whimper and beg while he devours you, and when he finally pushes back inside — one smooth, deep thrust — you scream.
This round is slower but somehow even more intense.
Jungkook fucks you in long, rolling strokes that make your eyes roll back. He keeps the mic right beside your head, capturing every gasp, every wet sound, every time you moan his name. He talks you through it the entire time — filthy, coaching, possessive.
“Listen to yourself,” he pants. “Listen to how wrecked you sound. You’re gonna sound so good on the track, baby.” “Tell me how deep I am. Louder. The mic needs to hear it.” “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. You love this, don’t you? Love knowing people are gonna hear you falling apart on my cock.”
You’re crying from how good it feels — tears of overwhelming pleasure slipping down your temples as he fucks you deep and slow, grinding against that spot with every thrust. He reaches between you and rubs your clit in tight, relentless circles.
Your second orgasm hits harder than the first.
It crashes over you in long, rolling waves — your whole body shaking, voice breaking on a scream that the mic captures in perfect, raw detail. Jungkook fucks you through every pulse, whispering praises and filthy promises the entire time.
When he finally cums the second time it’s with a broken, desperate moan right against your mouth — deep and guttural, exactly the kind of sound that will make the track feel alive.
He stays inside you for a long time after, both of you trembling, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air.
Eventually he reaches over and stops the recording.
Then he hits play.
The raw audio fills the small booth.
Your first round — soft, building moans turning into desperate wails. The wet, filthy sounds of him fucking you. Your broken begging. The exact moment you came the first time — loud, shaky, completely real. Then the second round — slower, deeper, your screams and sobs as he ate you out and fucked you again. Jungkook’s own groans and dirty talk layered throughout. The final, broken moans as he filled you the second time.
It’s the hottest, most explicit thing either of you have ever heard.
Jungkook’s cock twitches inside you even though he’s already soft.
“Holy shit,” he whispers, laughing breathlessly. “That’s it. That’s the one.”
He saves the file, names it “Vocal Booth – Raw Takes (feat. Y/N)”, and pulls you into his lap for soft kisses and gentle aftercare. He wipes you down carefully, helps you get dressed, and holds you for a long time before you both finally leave the studio at 4:30 a.m., legs shaky and matching grins on your faces.
Three months later...
The track drops at midnight.
It’s called “After Hours” — a sensual, late-night R&B song with heavy bass, breathy synths, and the most explicit background vocals anyone has ever heard on a mainstream release.
Within hours the internet explodes.
Twitter / X (trending worldwide):
armyprotectjungkook: “THE BACKING VOCALS ON AFTER HOURS??? HELLO??? Those moans are TOO real I’m actually shaking in my bed rn”
jkswifey4life: “no bc the way you can hear the wetness and the skin slapping… jungkook what the fuck did you do in that vocal booth 😭😭😭”
taekookisreal101: “the girl in the background sounds like she’s actually getting fucked I’m not okay I’m never recovering from this”
moansforjk: “I’ve listened to this song 47 times already. The ad-libs are unhinged. Jungkook really said ‘let me make porn with music’”
Reddit – r/bangtan (thread with 12k upvotes):
“Anyone else losing their mind over the ad-libs in After Hours? They sound way too authentic. Like… real sex noises. I’m scared and horny at the same time.”
“Jungkook really said ‘I’m gonna make this song sound like porn’ and delivered. The production on those moans is insane. How did he make them sound so natural???”
“Bro the wet sounds are actually insane. This man recorded in the studio with someone and we all know it.”
TikTok (official audio – 4.2M views in 12 hours):
“the way the moans match the beat perfectly… someone was getting absolutely destroyed in that vocal booth and i respect it”
“jungkook if you’re reading this i need to know if those are real because i’m not sleeping tonight”
“the girl moaning sounds like she’s in love and getting railed at the same time… tell me that’s not his secret girlfriend”
“i’ve never been so jealous of a microphone in my life”
Weverse (Jungkook’s post 3 hours after release):
[JK] Did you guys like the new song? 😏
[JK] The ad-libs were fun to record.
[JK] Special thanks to my very talented guest vocalist 🔥
[JK] Don’t ask too many questions lol
The comments immediately go feral.
Fans are losing their minds. Theories are everywhere — some say it’s an actress, some say it’s a random staff member, a few very loud ones are convinced it’s his secret girlfriend. The “how are the moans so realistic” discourse is trending worldwide. People are making edits, slowing down the track, analyzing every gasp.
And Jungkook? He’s lying in bed with you, phone in one hand, the other lazily stroking your thigh.
He turns to you with that dangerous little smirk.
“Think they’ll ever figure it out?” he asks, voice low.
You smile, still sore in the best way.
“Probably not,” you whisper. “But they’re definitely going to keep listening… over and over.”
Jungkook laughs, pulls you on top of him, and kisses you slow and deep.
“Good,” he murmurs against your lips. “Because I already booked the studio again for next week. I want more takes.”
You shiver.“Only if you let me choose the positions this time.”
His smile turns wicked. “Deal, baby. Anything for the perfect sound.”
He then tapped the screen until the familiar sounds fills the dark bedroom, playing softly from the speakers.
You both go quiet, listening.
The first thing that comes through is your own voice — soft at first, then breathy and shaky as his fingers worked you open in the vocal booth. Your desperate moans as he fingered you to your first orgasm. The way your voice cracked when he finally pushed his cock inside you.
Jungkook’s hand on your stomach tightens.
“Fuck,” he whispers against your hair. “Hearing it like this… in our bed… it sounds even dirtier than I remembered.”
You feel heat flood between your legs instantly.
The track keeps playing. Your moans grow louder, more broken. The wet, filthy sounds of his fingers moving inside you fill the room. Then the moment he switched to his cock — that first deep thrust, your choked sob of pleasure.
Jungkook’s breathing has gone heavier. His hand slides lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your panties.
“Listen to how wet you were for me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Everyone heard it. Thousands of people are listening to you falling apart on my fingers right now.”
You whimper softly.
He pushes your panties down your thighs and slips two fingers between your legs. You’re already soaked — have been since the listening started. He groans when he feels it.
“Shit… you’re dripping just from listening to us.”
He circles your clit slowly, exactly the way he did in the studio, while the sounds continues playing. Your own moans from three months ago echo through the bedroom, mixing with the soft, real ones you’re making now.
“Jungkook…” you breathe.
“Shh. Just listen, baby.”
He pushes two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them the way he knows drives you crazy. The wet sound is loud in the quiet room — almost as loud as the one coming from the speakers.
“Fuck, you sound exactly the same,” he groans, pumping his fingers steadily. “So wet. So perfect. The mic caught every single sound… and now I get to hear it while I do it again.”
The raw sounds reaches the part where you came the first time in the booth — that long, raw wail. Jungkook curls his fingers harder, thumb pressing on your clit, and you cum with a broken moan that’s almost identical to the one playing through the speakers.
He doesn’t stop.
He keeps fingering you through it, slow and relentless, while the track moves into the second round — the part where he ate you out and fingered you again before fucking you on the couch.
“Listen to that,” he whispers, voice rough. “That’s you cumming on my tongue. Then on my fingers again. Everyone heard how many times I made you fall apart that night.”
You’re trembling, oversensitive, but he doesn’t let up. When the song reaches the part where he finally pushed his cock inside you the second time, Jungkook pulls his fingers out, rolls on top of you, and slides in — one smooth, deep thrust.
You both moan at the same time.
The song is still playing. Your recorded moans fill the room while Jungkook fucks you slow and deep in the dark, face-to-face, forehead pressed to yours.
“God, you feel so good,” he pants.
He rolls his hips in that perfect rhythm, hitting every spot that makes your vision blur. One hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again.
“Cum for me again,” he whispers. “Let me hear the real version while the recorded one plays.”
You cum hard, nails digging into his back, moaning his name right as your recorded voice does the same on the track. Jungkook follows seconds later, burying his face in your neck with a low, broken groan as he pulses deep inside you.
The track keeps playing softly around you as you both come down, breathing hard, bodies tangled.
Jungkook doesn’t pull out. He stays buried inside you, kissing your neck, your jaw, your lips — slow and sweet now.
“That was hotter than the studio,” he murmurs, smiling against your mouth. “Hearing us together like that… fuck.”
You laugh weakly, still floating. “You’re actually going to listen to our sex tape while we have sex now?”
“I prefer the real you, my love.” he says, grinning. “The fans think those sounds are the hottest thing they’ve ever heard. They have no idea it’s you. My perfect, filthy little secret.”
Snowflakes tap lightly against your window like they’re trying to coax you into sleep, but it’s useless. You’ve been tossing and turning for hours, tangled in blankets and frustration. Christmas Eve is supposed to feel warm, magical, restful, even. But your mind won’t quiet down, churning with half-formed thoughts and leftover worries from the week.
You stare at the ceiling for what feels like the hundredth time before you give up and reach for your phone. The screen lights up the dark room, soft and blue. Without thinking too hard, you tap into your messages.
Are you awake?
The reply comes faster than you expect.
Yeah. What’s wrong?
You hesitate. He’s probably busy. He’s always busy. But the knot in your chest pushes you forward.
I can’t sleep.
Three blinking dots. Then:
Come to the studio.
You blink. Now?
A second message pops up almost immediately.
Yeah. I’m here anyway.
You exhale, something like relief warming your chest. You’re slipping into thick socks before you can overthink it, bundling up and stepping into the cold hallway. The building is quiet, most people already gone home to families and traditions. You wrap your coat tighter as you head out into the crisp air, the snow glittering under the streetlights like someone sprinkled sugar over the whole city.
By the time you reach the familiar studio building, your fingers are numb but your stomach is fluttering with something that feels dangerously close to anticipation. You take the elevator up, the gentle hum filling the silence.
When the doors open, the hallway is dim, but a sliver of warm light escapes from under one of the doors. You recognize it instantly.
You knock softly.
“Yeah, come in.”
Yoongi’s voice is low, rough around the edges like he hasn’t spoken much tonight. You push the door open and step inside.
He’s seated in his usual chair, one leg tucked under him, hoodie pulled up, headphones around his neck. The room smells faintly of coffee and something warm like cedar and winter air. Yoongi turns toward you, and the hint of a smile softens his eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep, huh?”
You shake your head, suddenly feeling small beneath his gaze. “Not even a little.”
He nods like he understands perfectly, because somehow, he always does.
“Well,” he says, gesturing to the extra chair beside him, “sit. I’ve got something for that.”
You settle into the seat, pulling your knees close. The studio is dim except for a soft amber lamp glowing in the corner. It feels safe here, the hum of equipment and the faint scent of warm electronics wrapping around you like a blanket.
Yoongi swivels slightly toward his keyboard and computer. His movements are quiet, almost careful. “I wasn’t planning on showing this to anyone yet,” he murmurs, fingers brushing over the keys, “but you look like you need it.”
You look at him, surprised. “You wrote something?”
A dry laugh. “I’m always writing something.”
He presses a key and the note rings out, soft and clear.
Then the music begins.
It’s gentle at first, a fragile melody that feels like snowflakes drifting past streetlights, like a sigh of relief after a long day. It’s warm, though, threaded with something tender. The kind of sound that makes your chest loosen without you realizing it.
Yoongi doesn’t look at the screen while it plays. He watches you instead. Not intensely, not pressuring, just quietly, like he’s checking whether the song is doing what he hopes it will.
You exhale slowly. “It’s beautiful.”
He turns his gaze back to the desk, ears tinting slightly pink. “It’s… nothing big. Just something I made between projects.”
“You made this between projects?”
He shrugs, pretending to focus on a dial he doesn’t need to adjust. “Couldn’t sleep either.”
Something like affection curls warm and soft in your chest. Of all places to be on Christmas Eve, he’s here alone, creating something gentle enough to cradle someone else’s exhaustion. And he let you in.
As the melody shifts into a deeper, more soothing harmony, your shoulders loosen without permission. The tension in your neck dissolves. Your breaths fall into a steadier rhythm.
“You used strings,” you murmur.
He glances at you again. “You always like strings.”
You hadn’t known he paid attention to that. The realization settles over you like a blanket.
The song continues, each note delicate but certain. Comforting. Yoongi leans back, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Music helps when nothing else does. At least for me.”
“It helps,” you say quietly. “A lot.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Good.”
Another moment passes, warm, quiet, peaceful. The world outside feels far away. You watch his profile as he listens to the playback, his expression soft and unguarded. There’s something about seeing him like this, lit only by the faint glow of the monitor, wrapped in stillness that makes your heart feel too big for your chest.
He breaks the silence first. “Your breathing’s slower.”
You blink. “It is?”
Yoongi nods. “It means it’s working.”
You let out a quiet laugh. “Are you monitoring me?”
“Maybe.” His voice is teasing, but there’s a truth in it, he’s paying attention. Carefully. Gently.
The track loops, starting over from the beginning. Yoongi doesn’t stop it.
For a long time, you just sit there, letting the music settle into the spaces where your worries used to be.
Eventually, Yoongi reaches for a blanket draped over the back of a small couch, a simple gray one you’ve seen him use on longer nights. He sets it around your shoulders without a word.
“Yoongi…” Your voice is barely above a whisper.
“Don’t fight it,” he says softly. “You’re tired.”
You pull the blanket closer. “Thank you.”
He gives a small smile, the kind that isn’t for cameras or stages. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted you here.”
The room falls into comfortable quiet again, the music weaving around you like a lullaby. Your eyes grow heavier with each repeat of the melody, and Yoongi notices.
He stands, moves the chair a little closer to yours, and lowers the volume just enough so the sound feels like it’s resting against your ears rather than filling the room.
“If you fall asleep,” he murmurs, “I’ll wake you before we head home.”
You’re too tired to answer with anything more than a nod.
Yoongi watches you with that same warm softness from before. “Merry Christmas Eve,” he says quietly.
Your eyes drift shut, the melody wrapping itself around the last of your tension.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Yoongi…”
You’re not fully conscious when your head tips slightly toward him, and he carefully adjusts the blanket so it doesn’t slip. The music continues, gentle, soothing, made for this exact moment.
And somewhere between one note and the next, you finally fall asleep.
Yoongi stays right beside you, letting the melody he wrote just for you, play on.
tropes: idol!jungkook, producer!reader, established relationship, childhood best friends
rating: pg
warnings: smooches!!, jungkook’s being very touchy <3, smoking, lots of pda, one (1) butt squeeze, lots of teasing n flirting (they're in love ur honour), mentions of jk being on a diet, mentions of oc being bullied in the past, just soft lovesick jk <3
summary: a casual date, the skirt’s a little too short, the night a little too quiet, and jungkook's hands on you like he's never going to let go.
a/n: writing this was so therapeutic im this 🤏 close to breaking no contact ❤️ (also dare i say this is the maybe in another universe couple <3)
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
When you round the corner of the building, it’s not hard to find Jungkook.
He’s leaned against his Harley, dark clothes hanging easy on him, making him blend into the night. He has a faint frown on his face as he scans the empty street, toying with his lip ring like he’s lost in thought.
Once he spots you, though, everything softens. His eyes go all boba-round and warm, crinkling at the corners as a smile stretches across his face. That stupid pretty one that makes your chest feel full. He straightens up a little.
“Sorry for making you wait,” you say when you reach him, rising on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck. You hug him tightly. You melt into him without thinking. His hands naturally land on the small of your back, holding you close in his embrace.
“It’s okay, baby.” Jungkook leans back just enough to press a little kiss to your lips.
One of his hands dip even lower, brushing over the curve of your butt and the light fabric of your skirt. It doesn’t take long before he grazes bare skin, catching just the edge where the hem ends and you begin.
“How did it go?” he asks.
“Oh, it was so fun!” you beam, hands coming together in an excited little clap in front of your chest. You bounce slightly.
It had been a long day filming at one of the major companies in Seoul, part of that new show about the behind-the-scenes process of producing k-pop songs. The set was huge – too many lights, too many people, and so many cameras that you couldn’t even look around without feeling watched.
Everything felt loud and fast and intimidating, like you were going to mess up just by standing there.
“I was still really nervous in the beginning because there were a lot of people, but I did what you told me over the phone this morning and reminded myself that just being there already meant I belonged. That in a little while this would be just another thing that I’ve overcome.”
Dare you mention that just this morning, you felt like throwing up at the thought of today’s schedule – and yet, somehow, it turned into something you ended up loving. Getting to work on something you’re genuinely passionate about, surrounded by new people who love it just as much as you, felt amazing, inspiring.
“I told you it wouldn’t be as bad. You wanted to call in sick,” Jungkook reminds you, teasing you with an arched brow.
“I felt so anxious this morning!”
“You underestimate what you’re capable of.”
“Anyways.” Your shoulders slump slightly. “I’m exhausted now.”
“We can just go to my place if you want.” He gently tucks your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek.
“No. I wanna go to the Han River with you,” you say, lips tugging into a pout.
Jungkook grabs the collar of his hoodie and pulls it over his head. A glimpse of his toned abdomen flashes before his black tee falls back into place. He swings the hoodie around your waist, draping it carefully before tying it snug at the front.
“Can’t drive my bike in a short skirt like this,” he explains in a mumble, smoothing the hoodie down over your butt.
“You helped me pick out this outfit this morning.”
If you’d been left alone in your anxious spiral this morning, you probably would’ve just thrown on whatever comfy thing was closest. But after Jungkook talked you down over the phone, his voice all soft and steady, you felt a little more okay. Okay enough to want to feel pretty, at least. So you stood in front of your overflowing closet, doors hanging open, letting him help you pick something out over facetime.
“Yeah well. You look pretty. I wasn’t thinking about logistics.”
You roll your eyes, but your face warms anyway. “You’re the logistics.”
“Sue me for getting distracted.” He pecks your temple, grinning as he pulls back.
Then he crouches next to the Harley, lifting the seat to reveal a small storage compartment. With a bit of manoeuvring, he pulls out a black helmet, matching his own.
He turns back to you and holds it out like it’s something delicate. “C’mere,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back gently before slipping the helmet over your head and securing the strap under your chin.
“Too tight?” he murmurs, adjusting the strap with the pads of his fingers.
You shake your head.
He grabs his own helmet from the handlebar, slipping it on with practiced ease. The engine rumbles to life with a twist of his wrist, loud and steady. He swings one leg over the bike and settles in before turning to glance at you over his shoulder. He holds his hand out to you.
“Hop on, baby.”
You take his hand, grabbing his shoulder with your other one for leverage as you climb on behind him. Your hands move to circle his middle once you’re properly sitting.
“You good?” He cranes his neck back to you, looking you over.
“Yes,” you reply, hugging his back. “Drive safely, please.”
The engine hums beneath you, the vibration slipping through your legs and settling in your chest as Jungkook coaxes the Harley onto the road.
The wind rushes past in silky ribbons, threading through your hair and curling under your skirt, making you curl closer into his back. His hoodie sways around your legs, and his scent, clean laundry and the last bit of cologne clinging to his skin, fills your lungs. You rest your cheek against the strong curve of his back.
Seoul twinkles around you in bits and pieces, like someone sprinkled glitter across the skyline. Streetlights blink down like stars with somewhere to be.
At a red light, Jungkook reaches for your hand without even looking, like it’s second nature. His fingers find yours and give them a slow, reassuring squeeze that makes your chest flutter. Then his hand drifts upward, trailing a lazy path along your arm before slipping behind him. His touch lands on your thigh, gently brushing his thumb over your skin. It’s just a small stroke, but enough to send a little spark dancing up your spine.
Eventually, the buildings thin out, replaced by the open stretch of the Han River, glistening under the city’s glow. Jungkook rolls into a quiet patch near the railing and cuts the engine.
“My mum would kill me if she knew I was riding a bike with you,” you say.
Jungkook huffs a laugh as he slips off his helmet. With a little shake of his head his hair falls back into place. “My mum would kill me for letting you ride it with me.” He turns slightly to look at you, flashing his soft dimple as he reaches to unclip your helmet.
“And yet,” you retort as he helps lift it off your head, “here we are.”
“Reckless,” he grins, brushing your hair back into place. “But cute.”
~
After a quiet walk along the river, you settle onto a bench facing the water.
“I even got a bit of the lyrics done for the song we finished producing,” you say, tucking your hands into your sleeves
Jungkook hums, slinging his arm over the back of the bench and letting it rest behind your shoulders, pulling you closer. “You need to let me listen to it.”
“I’m not giving you the song.”
“Ah, it’s always worth a try.”
“I’ll start working with you when you guys are over this...era of music you’re in right now.”
“Era of music?” Jungkook scoffs. “You find new words how to describe the fact that you don’t like the new music every time.”
“That’s not what I meant,” you whine, falling into his teasing. “It’s not that I don’t like the new music. It’s just not my type of production,” you quickly defend, truthful.
“At least let me listen to it.”
“When I’m finished you can.”
He lets out a small groan. “I’m terrible at being patient.”
“Oh, I know. Don’t have to remind me.” He’s an impatient boyfriend disguised as your number one fan (which, let’s be honest, he is). Always acting like he’s not trying that hard – when really, he’s the most obvious about it.
You roll your eyes every time he launches into a totally casual, totally unplanned, “hey, wanna show me a little something?” but you love it, every time. You love the way he sneaks into your world like that. Softly, stubbornly.
The sneaky bribes, the casual shoulder nudges, the way he tries to coax you into playing something, anything, even if it’s unfinished. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s just a late night, the two of you curled up on the couch, guitar perched on your lap, him humming half-written lyrics with his knees touching yours and a smile tucked into his voice. Songs that only live between you two.
“I’ll show it later to you,” you finally say. There’s not much of a fight when it comes to Jungkook. “Missed you.” You rest your head on his shoulder, hugging his arm.
“We should do something before my schedule gets crazy again.” Jungkook pats down his front pockets. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Like a small vacation?”
“I’d love that.”
You eye him as he slips a cigarette between his lips, cupping the flame with one hand as he lights it. The cigarette glows at the tip, smoke curling past his cheekbones and drifting in the opposite direction as he tilts his head to avoid blowing it your way. You still wrinkle your nose and lean your head away, your clutch around his arm loosening.
“You’re buying me ice cream for smoking next to me,” you mutter, half playful, half serious.
He exhales to the side again, then flicks the ash off the end with a small grin. “I was already gonna.”
You give him a look. “Not the point.”
“I know.” He tilts his head toward you, eyes tracing your face like he’s trying to read something only he can see.
When you saw Jungkook smoke for the first time while he was waiting for you in the dark, after not seeing each other for a very long time, you felt something twist in your chest. A mix of anger, sadness, and the sick realisation that time had changed him in ways you hadn't been there to see.
It messed you up a bit. Realising he changes in little ways when you're not around to witness it. It made you wonder if he's still the same Jungkook you've always known. If he's still your Jungkook.
Upon talking with him the entire night you quickly came to the realisation that Jungkook will be as much yours as you're as much his for the rest of your lives.
Maybe not in loud, dramatic ways, but in the quiet constants.
There is no version of your life where he doesn't exist - you're too intertwined with each other.
You sigh, the slightest hint of annoyance seeping through, but your fingers find his again anyway, slipping between them. He’s warm, even with the breeze coming off the water. The smoke lingers in the air between you, but his scent cuts through it – familiar, stupidly comforting.
“I say we go on a weekend trip to Jeju,” Jungkook says, his gaze fixed ahead.
Your head pops up. “That seafood restaurant,” you gasp, eyes widening.
He watches you, smiling at your excitement.
“We have to go,” you say, tugging his arm. “I still think about that abalone porridge from that tiny place by the harbour, you remember? With the old lady who called us lovebirds.”
“How could I not?” Jungkook laughs. “She told me to marry you or someone else would.”
You laugh too. “She wasn’t wrong.”
Jungkook snorts, flicking the half-smoked cigarette away and stubbing it out under his shoe. He turns back to you, and you feel his finger brush over your ring finger – it's a subtle, fleeting touch, but you wouldn’t dare miss it.
“I wouldn’t ever let that happen.” He leans in, catching you in a warm kiss.
“I love you,” you murmur against his lips, then pull back slightly. “But don’t kiss me after you’ve just smoked.”
Jungkook sighs like you’ve wounded him. Dramatically. Then he leans back in, peppering kisses along your cheek, down the slope of your jaw, and onto your neck, ignoring your protests with every one.
“Jungkook,” you warn through laughter, swatting at him half-heartedly. “We’re not at home.”
“But I still love you the same.” It’s a gentle murmur against your neck, nuzzling the skin there before leaving one last kiss just below your jaw.
“Jungkook.”
He finally pulls back, just enough to meet your eyes, and his teasing fades into something more softer, more quieter.
“I love the way you say my name.”
His mouth curves into the faintest smile, just slightly lifting the corner of his lips. But his eyes hold the sincerity behind his words, the soft glow of them making you feel like you’re the prettiest girl he has ever seen.
Every time Jungkook says this, you’re reminded of when you still wore uniforms and shared secrets in the quiet spaces between classes. When he said it for the first time, you thought he was poking fun at you like the others for pronouncing words differently because you grew up abroad, in the US.
He told you it sounded softer, rounder, like it meant something more when it came from you. He said it made him feel like someone safe. Someone yours.
He doesn’t say it often, but every time he does, you’re reminded of the past. And a soft, nostalgic feeling settles in your chest at the memory of fifteen-year-old Jungkook and you falling in love for the first time. It’s a bittersweet ache because when you think of that time, all you see is blue, but Jungkook was the one thing that still felt warm. Like hope tucked into a person.
And now, years later, even with everything you’ve both grown through and grown out of, that version of him still lives in moments like this. In quiet confessions and shared glances.
Heat nestles in your cheeks. You look away – straight at the river with the twinkling lights reflecting off of it. They remind you of his eyes.
“What?” His voice carries a teasing lilt, like he can’t quite place where your sudden shyness is coming from, but he’s definitely enjoying it.
“I dunno,” you mumble under your breath, hiding your face on his chest while keeping your eyes trained on the water. “I just get overwhelmed sometimes.”
“By what?”
“By how much I love you.”
“Wanna know something?”
“Hm?”
“I do too.”
You smile into his shirt, warmth blooming in your chest.
He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “You really know how to kill a man,” he murmurs, voice low and a little awed.
You look up at him at that.
“I love you more,” he says eventually, like it’s the simplest truth. “Like... stupid amounts. Heart-aching amounts.”
You giggle, nose scrunching. “You’re so dramatic.”
“You started it.” He peers down at you, eyes soft. “Now let me be in love with you in peace.”
“I’ll let you love me in peace after we get snacks.”
“Will I ever witness a day where you don’t want something sweet?”
“Nuh-uh.” You shake your head with exaggerated seriousness. “The day can’t successfully end until you’ve had a sweet treat.”
“I actually think you’re singlehandedly keeping the candy industry alive.”
“I should be thanked, honestly.”
You rise to your feet, brushing invisible dust off your skirt as you stand in front of him. Jungkook doesn’t move right away. His eyes trail down to your legs, then to the hem of your skirt, fingers reaching out to tug it just a little lower with that automatic protectiveness he tries (and fails) to hide.
“You’re not cold, baby?” he asks, nodding toward his hoodie tossed over the bench behind him.
“No, I’m okay.”
Still sitting, he tugs you gently by the hips until you’re standing between his knees. His hands find your waist like magnets, thumbs stroking slow circles against the sliver of skin where your top has ridden up.
“I like this spot,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your stomach, right above your belly button. You flinch a little, giggling, fingers slipping into his thick hair.
“You’re such a menace,” you say, voice light, but you don’t pull away.
“And you’re so pretty,” he says, looking up at you from where he’s still crouched against your tummy. His eyes are warm, sparkling. “Like... dangerously pretty. You know that?”
You bite your lip. “Stop.”
“I’m serious.” He rests his chin just above your waistband, arms looping around the back of your thighs like he’s not letting go anytime soon. “Sometimes I think you’re not even real.”
You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “That’s what people say right before they do something stupid.”
He grins up at you, squeezes your thigh just enough to make you squeak. “Then I must be about to do something really stupid.”
“I feel like that’s something for home. Not public.”
“You think so?” He tilts his head slightly.
“Jungkook.” It’s meant to be a chiding. But instead, it escapes softer than you intended, more like a puff of air. Like we shouldn’t but I wanna know anyway. Like stop talking... but actually, no – keep going please.
Instead of backing off like any reasonable person would, he smirks, then has the audacity to give your butt the lightest squeeze, fingers quick and shameless.
You squeal, jumping back. “Jungkook!”
Flashing you a smile that’s somehow both innocent and guilty, he casually grabs his hoodie from the bench and stands up.
You stare at him, half scandalized, half trying not to smile. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Come on,” he says, slinging the hoodie over one shoulder and glancing over at you with that smug softness that drives you crazy. “You wanted snacks, no?” He grabs your hand.
You narrow your eyes, but your feet already fall into step beside his.
~
It’s not a long walk until you reach the next convenient store.
“It looks kinda busy in there,” you tell Jungkook, peering through the glass. “I’ll just run in real quick. You can wait out here.”
Jungkook squints into the store, brows furrowed. “Who’s in there? I don’t want you going in alone if there’s some creeps.”
You roll your eyes and nudge him with your elbow. “It’s just a group of girls. Relax,” you say. “What do you want?”
He pulls his black card from his pocket. “Nothing for me. Just treat yourself, baby.”
You snatch the card from his hand. “Don’t mind if I do.”
~
You exit the store with a slightly overstuffed plastic bag tugging at your wrist. Being a girl who loves snacks, is hopelessly indecisive – and has her boyfriend’s black card – is a dangerous combo.
Jungkook tilts his head, trying to sneak a look inside the bag. “What’d you get?”
“Too much to name,” you say breezily, fishing out the ice cream resting right on top. “Got this for us, though.” It’s the ice cream that comes with two sticks so you can snap it in half and share. “I always think of you when I see this,” you admit, passing him one half after cracking it down in the middle.
“Ah, I didn’t want to eat any sweets today.”
“Too late,” you tease, nudging it closer to his mouth. “You already kissed me, so that’s off the table.”
He lets out a soft laugh. “That counts?”
“It absolutely does.” You raise your brows. “Now eat, please.”
He leans forward and takes a small bite straight from your hand. “Happy now?”
“Very much so.” You swipe the pad of your finger over a smudge of ice cream at the corner of his mouth, then lick it off with a grin.
He huffs a quiet laugh, head tilting as he watches you with that impossibly fond look. “You’re trouble.”
“Says you!”
With a sigh, he takes it from you. “You’re only getting away with this because you’re cute.”
“I know.” You smile around the ice cream in your mouth. “I can’t have a boyfriend who says no to a sweet treat.”
You fall into step beside him, walking slowly as you both nibble at the halves in your hands.
“I’m dieting.”
“For what?”
He doesn’t answer, just shrugs, proving your point.
That’s when your mind slips, just a little, to all the ways you used to be like this. All the self-destructive habits he had to gently pry from your grip. Jungkook has saved you many times. And you want to be there for him just as much he was there for you when no one chose you. When he was the only one who saw you – really saw you – and still chose to stay.
You reach for his hand, linking your fingers through his.
“I feel like sometimes you live your life like it’s harder than it has to be. Like you’re holding yourself back, setting rules that you don’t have to follow.”
Jungkook lets out a quiet breath. “I know,” he mutters, squeezing your hand. “You’re the first person who made me think maybe I deserve ease too. You make it feel okay to slow down.”
“Am I?” you ask sceptically. You hope you do, but are you actually?
He tips his ice cream in your direction.
You laugh. “Baby steps.”
You glance up at him. He’s licking his ice cream, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth like he doesn’t even realize it’s there. It makes your chest ache a little. In that sweet way.
“Jungkook?”
His head turns slightly, face lit soft by the golden glow of a nearby streetlamp. His eyes flick to you, a soft, curious glint catching in them as your gaze meets his. You lean your head against his arm.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for sticking with me through every version of myself.”
It’s a thought that catches you off guard – maybe not entirely, you’re not sure – but suddenly it’s there, clear and undeniable. A reminder that, through every change, every version of yourself, he’s never left. Whether you’ve been at your best or your worst, he’s always stayed. And sometimes, it’s hard to wrap your mind around the fact that someone can love you through all of that.
“There’s never been a version I didn’t love,” he says quietly, like it’s not something he even has to think about.
Your heart stumbles a little, eyes stinging in that warm, fuzzy way that only he can cause.
“You make it really easy, you know,” he adds, brushing his thumb gently across the back of your hand. “Loving you. I don’t even think about it. I just do.”
You blink up at him, lips twitching into the kind of smile that only he gets to see. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
He tugs you closer to him, your sides brushing with each step.
i need someone this obsessed with me in my life asap!!!! please!!!!! i’m tired of being single. please universe send a handsome dark haired doe eyed man who rides bikes my way!!!
Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.
Chapter warnings: Smut…………. DDAY Yoongi. Be warned. Here we are, my loves! The final chapter of this sweet sweet series that has made so many of you fall in love with these two. I can't even start to tell you all how surprised I am at how this series turned out, how invested all of you became. We will definitely miss them! In other words, I know this kind of fic was very different from my usual content and I was a little nervous as to how it would be accepted and, especially, if I've done it justice. I don't think any other series will ever be as precious and special as this one, so I just have to thank every single one of you that read this story, and a special big fat kiss for all of those who interacted, sent asks and comments about it. See you in the next one!
A/N: Phrases in italic during the dialogs mean the character is using sign language!
WC: 6.4k
[Membership]
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“Am I boring you?”
Jimin’s sweet voice made you look at him with wide eyes, so used to not hearing when people talked to you that you thought this might be the case. The man was sitting next to you on the couch of Yoongi’s dressing room and while he was a good company, someone easy to talk to, your heart and mind were somewhere else.
“Not at all, Jimin-ssi.” you shook your head, always surprised about hearing your own voice. “Sorry, I was just–”
“Drooling over your man?” Jimin laughed, eyes almost disappearing. “I get it, we’ve all been there.”
It’s been two weeks since your life started again.
Two weeks since you were given 77% of the hearing on your right ear back. It didn’t mean your whole life changed in the blink of an eye, nor that you became the same person you were when you first lost your hearing, but it was a start. More than that, it was a new chance for you to learn things again.
You could hear music, you heard your parents’ voice again. You heard Ari and found out what she sounded like. You heard your own laugh and Yoongi–
As if just now understanding what Jimin said, you stared at him with the rise of an eyebrow: “What do you mean you’ve all–”
“Baby?”
Well, fuck.
No matter how many times you heard Yoongi’s voice, or the sweet tone in which he called you by that term of endearment, you couldn’t get used to it. You had your breath knocked out of you each time.
His tone was so low and deep, words dragged and a little scratchy. It was mind blowing how someone so kind, who looked so soft, could have such a raspy and rough voice.
When you managed to look up, you knew your face was burning and your insides were squirming with butterflies. It didn’t help that Yoongi knew the effect he had on you, loving every second of it.
Jimin was saying something next to you, probably a tease aimed at you and your boyfriend, but your brain effectively shut him out when the corner of Yoongi’s lips raised in a side smirk that should sound like a growl. You were about to go feral when he offered you a hand to help you stand up.
“Hyung–” Jimin tried again, but was cut off as Yoongi sent him a glare.
“Go wait outside, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi wasn’t harsh in his words, but his tone left no space for arguments. Then he looked over his shoulder and ordered: “All of you can leave, too.”
You didn’t look past Yoongi to see who was still in the room with you, completely hypnotized by the man you loved. His hair was messier than usual, framing his face in tiny waves that would no doubt be curly with sweat by the end of the night. The chains around his neck were thick and heavy, his eye makeup was subtle, but gave him a dangerous edge that was enough to make you melt.
Yoongi used his hold on your hand to pull you up from the couch, your small heels doing nothing to make your heights any closer. Your body went to his like following the pull of a magnet, chest pressing against his as your free hand found his shoulder.
“Cat got your tongue?” Yoongi teased you and you knew he was living for it. “It’s only us now, no need to be shy.”
“Not shy.” you said, oh so well articulated. If only you didn’t hear the coy in your own voice. “Just… You.”
“Me?” he repeated with a low chuckle that you felt between your legs. The menace that he was, Yoongi tilted his head, licked his lips and dropped his voice impossibly lower. “What about me?”
You opened and closed your mouth to say something, but your brain was nothing but static and buzzing noises. And there comes the dangerous smirk again–
“Oh, fuck it.”
You pulled your hand from his grasp and all but shoved it into his hair, grabbing the strands to keep his face in place as you raised yourself on the balls of your feet to reach his mouth with yours. You felt his smirk grow against your lips as Yoongi gave you two seconds to have your way before taking control.
One of his hands went to the back of your neck to tilt your head sideways so he could push his tongue into your mouth and kiss you hard. His other arm was around your waist and squeezing your hip, making you bow your back as you tried to keep up with his toe-curling kiss that let you taste the alcohol on lips.
Yoongi flicked his tongue teasingly, in slow, wet drags that made you press your thighs together and the pressure between your legs made you moan into Yoongi’s mouth. The sound was still very new to you and it mortified you every time, making you pull away from his mouth with wide eyes.
“Don’t act so innocent now, you make noises much dirtier than this.” Yoongi mumbled, licking between his lips to clean off your saliva.
“Yoongi.” you groaned, hiding your face in his chest. “Don’t do this now.”
“Mhmm, I’ll stop, but just because I have to go.” he told you with arms around you. “But later? You’re gonna let me hear you.”
“Yoongi!” you complained, feeling your panties sticking to your middle.
Your boyfriend had more he wanted to say, you could tell but his sharp, cat eyes. But the knock on the door was enough for you to know that you really did have no time left. It physically hurt you to have to let go of Yoongi, but you were also excited about seeing him on stage.
“You got your earmuffs, right?” Yoongi asked you with a hand cradling your cheek.
You mumbled: “They make me look like a child.”
“You won’t have to wear them forever.” he assured you, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “But you need them tonight, okay?”
“I know, I’m just being a baby.” you took a long sigh, taking a tiny step back. It might be out of habit, or maybe just a sweet thing between the two of you that would stick, but you still used your hands to sign: “You got this, baby.”
Yoongi smiled, pre-concert jitters clear in the way he tried to pretend everything was normal. As the second pair of knocks hit the door, your boyfriend kissed your lips and led you outside, only letting go of your hand when you had to go your separate ways.
Jimin was waiting for you, leaning against a wall. His bucket hat was low in his head and a face mask was covering half of his face. You could still see his tiny eyes as he smiled at you, offering his arm for you to hold.
A couple of security guards led the two of you through the many corridors, elevators and stairs that took you from the backstage area, to the VIP booth. Jimin made sure you had the concert ear protection over your head, which was meant to keep you safe through the loud music and screaming of the thousands of passionate fans.
By the time you made it to the front of the booth, Yoongi was already on stage, jumping around and rapping into his mic as the sea of fans headbanged in the rhythm of the song he was playing.
Even with your good ear muffled, you could still hear everything around you. It did help that Yoongi sat with you, a week ago, and showed you all of his songs so that you’d get familiar with them by the time of his concert. You were absolutely shocked with the level of talent that he had and you didn’t spare praises as he showed you demos and told you heartbreaking stories behind his lyrics.
On the third song, you were already dancing and jumping.
When you looked at Jimin, to say something about Yoongi’s growling into the mic, you saw his phone was now aimed at you, and not at the man on stage.
“What are you doing?” you asked him, probably a little louder than was necessary.
“Filming you!” he shrugged as if it was obvious. “If I don’t send this to the group chat, I’ll be kicked out of Bangtan!”
“I don’t believe that for a second.” you laughed, but still waved at the camera.
“Hang on, I want to show you something.” Jimin spoke more to himself, closing out of his phone and pushing it into his pocket.
He stood next to you, scanning the crowd as if he was looking for something in the middle of the sea of people. It didn’t take him long to point in a direction, excitedly trying to show it to you.
“What am I looking at?” you squinted your eyes, as if that would make you see better.
“Okay, hang on–you see that red emergency light?” Jimin pointed again and you nodded once you located it. “Move your eyes to the right–”
“You mean that woman on top of the thing?” you caught the sore-eye in the first floor, the thing that stood out the most. A woman dressed in all black, just like Yoongi’s staff members, but she wasn’t facing the stage, she was facing the crowd and– “Jimin. Is she…”
“She’s a sign language interpreter.” he nodded, a friendly palm on the middle of your back. “Hyung hired one for every venue, so whoever needs it can enjoy the concert a little better.”
“I don’t even know what to say.” at this point you were trying not to cry.
You knew Yoongi hadn’t done this for you, not when he had so much trust that the procedure would work on you. But maybe it was because of you that he thought about things like that now, not only trying to make changes in his life so you could fit in more comfortably next to him, but changing the way he saw the world.
And it made you extremely happy and proud of Yoongi for thinking about his fans and audibly impaired people who could benefit from having an interpreter in the crowd.
“Hyung is the best, you can say it.” Jimin was obviously proud of his brother, too.
“Yes, he– wait a minute, what did you mean ‘we’ve all been there’?!”
“I don't remember the last time I had so much fun.” Jimin said as the doors of the elevator closed and the three of you were alone.
He’d removed the face mask in the car and you’d done the same to the protection ear covers, while all Yoongi did was sip on the rest of his whisky cup.
“I was that good, huh?” despite looking spent after an almost three hour concert, Yoongi still had that cocky aura about him.
“I don't mean you, hyung. I'm talking about her.” the younger man scoffed, tipping his head to point at you. “It was awesome. You got a feisty one there.”
You were absolutely mortified by that accusation, which made Yoongi laugh and pull you closer to him. His back was against the elevator wall and his arms circled your waist, pressing your back to his front.
“Jimin! You promised you wouldn’t tell him!” you nagged, arms crossed against your chest.
“Wait, did something happen?” Yoongi wanted to know while you shot daggers at Jimin, but he completely ignored it.
“I thought she was gonna fling herself into the crowd to slap a fan.” the man you thought was your friend didn’t even wait to throw you under the bus.
“Listen okay, the girl was yelling dramatically and it was annoying everyone around her!” your voice got whinier, you noted, trying to defend your own honor.
You couldn’t tell if Yoongi was really listening or not, one of his hands resting on your hip to pull you backwards to press– Oh, fuck, that was his cock rubbing against your ass.
“She cursed the girl’s fifth generation, all using sign language.” Jimin was having the time of his life, laughing so much you thought he might fall on the floor from it. “It was an incredible experience.”
Yoongi’s chuckle was delivered against your shoulder, sending tingles all over your body. You couldn’t help but press back against him as you heard the lazy drag of his voice: “I didn't know you were like that.”
“I'm not.” your face wash flushed and you groaned. “And the girl didn't even notice, so it's fine.”
“What was she yelling to get you so worked up?” Yoongi asked with his mouth dangerously close to the spot on your neck that made you whine.
You didn’t want to reply, but knowing Jimin and seeing his devil smile, you had no other choice than to say: “‘Yoongi marry me’.”
It was enough for Jimin to laugh again and Yoongi squeezed you just a little more, rocking his hips just once, just to tease you with his hardening cock. You were going a little crazy there, on the way to the last floor of the New York City hotel you were all staying at. The elevator felt stuffy, embarrassment threatening to make your face catch on fire.
Meanwhile, Yoongi didn’t care about groping you in front of his best friend. Jimin was either classy enough to pretend not to notice, or he really didn’t care.
The ding! that announced you reached your destination made you let out a breath of relief, but Yoongi held you in place to make sure Jimin got out first.
“You guys want to hang out?” Jimin invited, walking ahead of you down the hall. “I’m thinking about ordering some new york pizza. Have you ever had it, Yn?”
You were shaking your head and Yoongi didn’t answer his friend, waiting for you to reply. You could tell that your boyfriend was more interested in something else at the moment, with the way he was all over your back, but he would still do whatever you chose to.
Unfortunately for Jimin, you couldn’t wait to get Yoongi alone.
“Maybe tomorrow?” you offered sheepishly, feeling Yoongi’s rumble of approval behind you.
“Fineeeee, you guys can go fuck and I’ll call Taetae.” Jimin said it as if it was the most natural thing to say, adding: “Just remember I’m on the same floor and keep it quiet.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Yoongi nosed the outside of your ear, making you tremble.
Jimin yelled goodnight before entering his room and Yoongi simply pulled you into yours. You had no idea when Yoongi unlocked it, didn’t see or feel him using the keycard, but you stopped caring about it as soon as you were being pressed against the door.
“I had a lot of fun today,” Yoongi told you while caging you in between you and the wood. “But I do miss having you to myself all day.”
“Good thing we’ll be living together soon enough, then.” you grinned, hands touching his stomach and moving up to his chest.
“If your sister lets me take you, that is.” your boyfriend laughed and, even if that was a possibility, you didn’t want to talk about your family right now.
“Mhm, weird. I was under the impression you’re not the type to ask for permission.” your hands got hold of his chain, fingers slipping underneath it to pull him closer. “Thought you’d just take what you want.”
Yoongi’s laugh turned into something a little darker as he rested a palm on the space next to you on the door, the other hand coming to the base of your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but the touch alone was burning hot making you part your lips.
“If I take what I want,” he started lowly, lips ghosting yours, allowing you to smell the faint whiskey on his breath. “You won't be able to walk tomorrow.”
You were rendered speechless from what Yoongi was alluding to, and you knew he wasn't all talk. In fact, after watching him on stage, sweating, growling and commanding an arena full of people that didn't even speak his language, you knew just how much power he held.
And you wanted nothing more than to give in and submit.
You just didn't know how to ask for it.
Lucky for you, Yoongi could read you like a book, noticing the rise and fall of your chest, the glassy look in your eyes, the tiny movement of your hips as you tried to get closer to him. Your fingers were flexing around his chain, silently begging for everything he'd be willing to give you.
That's when his hand went from your throat to your jaw and Yoongi pressed a hard kiss against your mouth. His lips moved slowly, coaxing you to do the same, seducing you into parting your mouth for his tongue to slip inside and find yours.
You were already breathing erratically, one hand finding its way into his hair to drag your nails against his scalp. That had Yoongi pressing harder against you, one of his legs slipping between yours.
As if your body had a mind of its own, a very dirty mind at that, you parted your legs wider and rolled your hips down until you were grinding on Yoongi’s thigh. The material of his pants felt warm and rough against your bare legs and your thin underwear did nothing to stop your wetness from staining the fabric.
Yoongi’s hand moved from your jaw to your neck, just as he tilted your head at an angle that allowed him to deepen the kiss. Fingers found your pulse points on the sides of your throat, pressing down until you felt deliciously dizzy, just for a few seconds, just until you were whimpering.
He smirked into the kiss, licking your tongue with his as that same hand moved down to your chest and he squeezed one of your tits over your dress.
“Yoongi…” you moaned around the word, pulling from the kiss as you needed to catch Your breath. “Tonight is about you.”
He chuckled, the way it sent tiny shocks straight to your pussy. “Making you feel good is about me.”
“But I want to make you feel good.” you couldn’t call this a complaint, but you pushed your body off the door and Yoongi took a small step back, jut to give you breathing room.
“You think I don't feel good?” he challenged, reaching for your hand and bringing your palm to his crotch.
Yoongi was hard, ever since the elevator ride. Maybe since the car, when he got to see you again. He let go of your wrist to let you decide if you wanted to continue your argument or let him kiss you again, which you appreciated as you tried to make your brain work a little faster.
Your fingers traced his length, palming the erection that felt painful, stuck inside tight jeans. That couldn't feel better than what you had in mind, despite the small hums coming out from Yoongi’s mouth as you rubbed your palm on the tip.
“Come with me.”
You said, reluctantly letting go of his cock in order to hold his hand and walk deeper into the hotel room. The two of you kicked out of your shoes and Yoongi took off his socks before you were even pushing the door of the penthouse suite open.
The lights were already on and the bed was made; soft and lux white sheets that didn't have a single crease. The furthest wall was make of floor to ceiling windows that showed the beautiful New York City lights.
Instead of worrying if people in the nearby buildings could see you, you led Yoongi to the bed and he followed your lead wordlessly. Your boyfriend laid down in the middle of the bed, back propped up by pillows, legs spread out invitingly.
You crawled to him, throwing a leg over his hips to straddle him. Yoongi’s hands went immediately to your ass, guiding you and positioning you on top of him so that your pussy was right over his cock. You threw your hair over one shoulder to keep it away from your face, rolling your hips and grinding down as you watched Yoongi’s face.
His lips Were swollen and red, slightly parted as your humping provided him pressure. His lids were lowered and pupils blown.
“Not so bad, huh?” it was your turn to tease, even if you sounded a little breathless.
“Can't say I have any complaints.” he shrugged, almost nonchalantly.
And then Yoongi was sitting up to reach you, mouth going straight to your neck as you sat on his lap. Fast fingers found your thin dress straps to push them off your shoulders, down and off your arms, revealing your braless tits.
You pushed them together with your arms, making them appear more plump. Yoongi groaned, all raspy and sexy, before taking them in his hands.
His fucking hands.
So veiny, with long fingers, short filed nails and–
“Fuck–!” you cursed as Yoongi’s thumbs rolled your hard nipples, surprising yourself with your own voice and biting your lips to stop another moan.
It made Yoongi pinch one of your nipples a little hard, which had you opening your eyes wide with parted, surprised lips.
“I don't care what Jimin said, I don't care if this whole floor hears you.” Yoongi said as he started to kiss your collarbones. “No holding back, let them be jealous of how good you're being fucked.”
“Yoongi, please–”
You didn’t know what you were asking for, holding onto his shoulders as you desperately moved your hips to rub against him. Your head tipped back with each drag of his clothed cock against your clit and the new space allowed Yoongi to draw kisses down your chest until his mouth found a nipple.
When his lips wrapped around the swollen nub, you didn’t hold back your own noises anymore. You weren’t screaming by any means, but you were letting Yoongi know how good it felt when he dragged his tongue in circles around your nipple.
You watched with half closed eyes as Yoongi kissed his way to your other breast, parting his mouth to let his tongue slip and circle your other nipple with his tongue. You were frowning in pleasure, clenching and breathing hard.
You wanted this man. You loved this man.
You needed to feel more of him, so you reached for the hem of his shirt –one that still smelled heavenly of his post-concert sweat–, pulling it over his head unceremoniously.
“Someone’s greedy.” Yoongi laughed at your haste, hands coming back to hold your hips after you pulled the shirt away.
“Sorry.” you giggled, throwing the shirt away and gently pushing his hair out of his face. “You just…”
You cut yourself off with a groan, no words strong enough to explain to Yoongi how much you wanted him right now. But actions spoke louder than words, sometimes. With one hand on his chest, you pushed Yoongi down to lay against the pillows, leaning forward to follow his body. Pressing your chests together, you pressed your mouth against his to kiss him again.
Yoongi’s hands were running up and down your naked back, pushing your dress even lower on your body. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, dragging your teeth against the soft flesh before letting it fall back into place. Your boyfriend moaned raspily, lifting his hips to search for that same friction as before.
But you wanted to give him something better.
Your lips found his chin and jaw, continuing to kiss down his body. You covered his chest, ribs and stomach, before making your way between his legs and sitting on your knees. As your fingers found the button and zipper of his pants, you took a moment to stare at the beautiful man in front of you.
Yoongi was perfect, inside and out, in the purest form of the word. He was simply, genuinely, breathtaking. And he looked at you the same way.
“What?” he asked with a tiny, shy smile. “You’re looking at me funny.”
“I’m looking at you like you’re the prettiest man in the world.” you corrected.
Yoongi scoffed. “Pretty?”
“Handsome, gorgeous,” you rolled your eyes, lowering your face to kiss under his belly button once you opened his pants. “So fucking sexy.”
“You look pretty good right now.” his head was tilted as he watched you with wanting eyes.
“I can look better.” you told him with a small shrug, sitting up to take your dress off the rest of the way.
Before Yoongi could say anything else, you went for his pants again, this time pulling them off his slim legs. His underwear was next to go, freeing his cock with a heavy bounce.
Looking this good while completely naked was a feature few people in the world could pull off as well as Yoongi. The bde that he showcased on stage was backed up pretty damn well.
You leaned down again, taking Yoongi’s cock in your hand and raising it to line up with your mouth. You weren't overconfident at all, but you liked to think that you were a lot more comfortable now than you were the first times you did this with your boyfriend.
And Yoongi never had any pointers or complaints so you must be doing something right.
His tip was slightly darker in color than the rest of him, glistening with pre-cum, throbbing in your small hand. You opened your mouth and brought your tongue out, using it to lick around the head. Yoongi hissed and arched his back a little, giving into your teases.
You couldn’t help but watch his brows furrow and nose scrunch as his eyes closed when you wrapped your lips around him. Overall, you only had a little over half of your hearing on one side, so you’d never be able to know what Yoongi sounded like exactly right, but you highly doubted it could get much better than this.
His moans alone were sending jolts between your legs, making you squeeze your thighs a little harder as you sucked more of him into your mouth. When you were halfway down his length, the tip tickling the back of your throat, Yoongi raised his upper body on his elbow.
You looked up with your eyes slightly watery, questioning silently if you were doing something wrong.
“You were right.” he started lowly, using his free hand to hold the back of your neck. “You do look better with that pretty mouth full of my cock.”
Your eyes fluttered with the praise and you couldn’t help but swallow hard, making Yoongi groan. His hips twitched at their own accord, pushing him deeper into your mouth. It made your eyes burn and your jaw ache, so you forced yourself to relax enough to take him deeper again.
“That’s it, go easy– Fuck, baby.” his hand moved to the back of your head so he could guide you to bob up and down on his cock. “Can you swallow like that again? Oh, shit, like that.”
Your lips were tight against his cock and your hand used the spit coming out of your mouth to squeeze whatever didn’t fit inside. You pushed yourself lower, holding your breath as the tip slipped down your throat and you swallowed like he asked you to, causing the filthiest moans to come out of his mouth.
When your free hand slipped down to cup Yoongi’s balls, he jerked and pulled your hair to get you off of his cock.
A string of spit was connecting your lips to his tip and you pouted, asking with a scratchy voice: “What’s wrong? You like it when I play with them.”
“I also like to cum in your mouth, but not today.” he somewhat explained, breathing heavily.
You took Yoongi’s cock in your hand, stroking it slowly enough to get the edge off, but still flicked your wrist under the tip every now and then so he could still feel good. He grabbed the back of your neck to pull your body to lay on top of his, kissing you again while you still pumped his cock.
The kiss was sloppy and breathy, neither of you really focusing on it.
“Where are you going to cum, then?” you asked with a small bite on his jaw, speeding up the movements of your hand and making more pre-cum leak out.
Yoongi moaned: “Inside you.”
“Oh, fuck.” you whined, hand slowing down a little. “Really?”
“What–” it took Yoongi a few heavy blinks for him to realize what he just said, or at least how you interpreted it. “Oh, no no–”
“But what if you did?” you asked in a small voice, letting go of his cock to lay half on his body, half on his side. “We haven’t been with anyone else. And I’m on the pill.”
“It would be the first time we did that.” his brain was working a little slow, but you could tell Yoongi was trying to be responsible.
“We do have things to celebrate.” you shrugged, but didn’t push it. “Do you want to?”
“Do you want to?”
You could be here all night, you realized. Yoongi worried too much about making you comfortable around him, or with anything he did. It was always like this, even when you were friends. That is, if the two of you were ever friends to begin with.
So maybe you had to play a little dirty from time to time.
Your fingertips were dancing on his lower stomach as you mouthed at his jaw, whispering:
“Want your cum dripping out of my tight little pussy, Yoongi.” your words affected even yourself, making you press your sweaty body against his, lighting up a new fire on your belly. When your fingers wrapped around his cock again, you whined: “Want you to fuck me like this.”
“Fucking come here.”
Yoongi growled as if he hadn’t done this all night already and suddenly you understood why that girl was yelling ‘Yoongi marry me’ so often. He flipped you on the bed, so you were laying on your back and he was on top of you, but he did it so fast that it made you let out a tiny huff.
Worried for just a second, Yoongi touched the side of your head gently, to make sure that your external hearing aid that was hidden by your hair was still in place. His concern only made you want to fuck him harder.
“I’m okay.” you assured him, running your hands up and down his sides. “Want you.”
Yoongi leaned down to kiss your lips over and over again, distracting you as his hand found the waistband of your underwear and he pulled to make it snap against your skin. You jumped in surprise and retaliated by biting his bottom lip.
Your boyfriend was laughing as he pulled away from you just enough to help you lift your hips so he could take your underwear off, finally having you naked underneath him.
“You just keep getting prettier.” he mused, looking at your body. Any other time you would have shied away from his intense stare, but tonight you were bold. Tonight you spread your legs so he could see all of you. And, damn, did it pay off. “See? So fucking pretty…”
Yoongi’s fingers touched you softly, parting your folds, collecting your wetness and rubbing your clit in small little circles that made you a squirming and moaning mess. His eyes were watching the way his fingers played with you, bringing the digits down to your entrance to tease your hole. You clenched and gasped, raising your hips to invite him in.
“Yoongi, need you inside.” you moaned, holding onto his biceps. “Please, I need to feel you.”
You still wanted tonight to be about him, you wanted to celebrate the success of his first solo concert. But you were going a little crazy, you needed him to touch you, you craved more of that relief that only Yoongi knew how to give you.
Lucky for you, he felt the same way.
His lips were ghosting yours as he asked: “No prep?”
“I’m wet enough.” you mumbled against his lips, hands coming up to his shoulders. “Been wanting you all night.”
“Should have come backstage between outfit changes.” Yoongi told you with a nip on your lips. Two of his fingers circled your entrance again, but this time he pushed them in as if to check if you were ready to take him.
“What would you do if I had?” you asked with a gasp as you felt his fingers slip into your pussy, all the way to the knuckle.
“Could have you bend over the dressing room couch.” he said with the curving of his fingers deep inside you. “Go down on you right there.”
“Fuck, Yoongi.” you arched your back, clenching and sucking him deeper into your cunt. “Think you could make me cum before you had to go back on stage?”
“With my mouth?” his snarl was cocky, matched with the way his fingers rubbed tight circles on your sweet spot. “Could make you cum twice, baby.”
“Make me cum now.” you whined.
Never one to deny you, and knowing you’ve been neglected for too long, Yoongi started to move his fingers in and out of you at a harsh pace he knew you loved. It hit the spot every single time, making you moan and move your hips to meet his movements.
When his palm pressed down against your clit, you were done for, trembling and reaching your high around his skilled fingers. It was a quick, but strong orgasm, making you tug at his hair and flushing your whole body.
His fingers slipped out of you and you opened your eyes to see him bring the digits to his mouth to taste you. Just by watching the scene, you were ready for more.
“So I guess it’s decided I’m staying backstage tomorrow night?” you asked, loosening your grip on his sweaty locks.
“I’ll make sure to have the staff reserve a special room just for you.” Yoongi lifted an eyebrow, bringing his hand back to his cock to use whatever slick was left in his hand, plus his spit to cover his cock. “With a TV so you can still watch me when I’m on stage.”
“Can you have them find me some toys, too?” you joked, spreading your legs wider as you thought about it.
“Wanna play with yourself while watching me?” oh, Yoongi was loving this. His hand sped up and gave his cock a few long strokes before lining himself with your pussy.
“You have no idea what watching you on stage does to me.” you admitted, holding your breath as you felt the smooth cockhead pressing against your fluttering hole. “Or watching you at all.”
“Is that so?” Yoongi looked at you from above, chains dangling from his neck, wavy hair falling on the sides of his face, sweat making his skin shine.
“You’re so–” your words got cut off as Yoongi pushed his cock inside you, breaching you and stretching your walls more than his fingers previously had. All you could say now was: “You’re big, fuck you’re so big.”
“Shit, you feel tight.” Yoongi slowly pushed deeper and deeper, until he was all in. “So fucking tight.”
Yoongi laid on top of you, elbows on the mattress keeping him up and your sweaty chests pressed together. He was caging you in and there was nowhere else you'd rather be than right here.
You hugged him by the neck and raised a leg around his waist, keeping him impossibly closer to you.
“Kiss me.” you whined, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “Kiss me and fuck me.”
“Anything you want.”
Yoongi groaned against your lips as he pulled his hips back, testing for any signs of pain or discomfort on your part, but you gave him none. That gave him confidence to push back in and start a slow pace of fucking you deep and nice.
The kiss was a mess of lips and tongues, of breathing into each other and swallowing each other's moans and whimpers.
“More.” you held onto him a little harder, bringing your other leg around his hips. “Faster.”
Your moans grew louder with every snap of his hips, every stroke that hit the spot just right. It spur him on to find that good angle and keep a rhythmic pace that made you sing for him.
His face ended up between your tits, where he left open mouthed kisses and bites that would most definitely leave a mark. You couldn’t blame him when your own nails were digging lines into his pale skin.
“You like this, huh?” Yoongi asked, and all you did was nod. Your tits were bouncing on his face as he fucked into you, rolling his hips so his pelvis would hit your clit. “You like that you're the one who gets to fuck me after the concert.”
It wasn’t a question, but you still nodded. But then you added: “I like that I get to fuck you forever.”
“Claim that shit, baby.” he chuckled against the side of your tit, lips wrapping around a spot and sucking on it hard enough to bruise.
“Ah, ah, ah…” you chanted, jaw slack. “Fuck, you’re deep–”
“Gotta be deep to fill you up.” he gritted between his teeth, lines on his forehead as his pumps started to grow a little sloppy.
“Give it to me…” you begged, pressing your thighs harder against his sides, caging him in. “Cum for me, Yoongi.”
Yoongi pressed his front into yours and positioned his knees on the bed, gaining leverage to fuck you faster and harder, trembling and twitching on top of you as you both got closer and closer to that finishing line.
His face hid into your neck and you held him closer; two more long strokes and you were writhing with the new orgasm as it snuck up on you. Your vision grew blurry and your good ear was ringing as Yoongi buried himself into your cunt and stilled.
Filthy moans were delivered against your skin as you felt warmth exploding inside of you, filling you up enough to leak.
You were both breathing rapidly, sweaty, your legs were too weak to stay around his hips and your toes were curling with the aftershock.
Drunk on him, you said: “So, about that room backstage…?”
Being married to Jungkook was never supposed to feel like this — nights spent alone while the world adored him. You still love him, but love isn’t enough anymore… and walking away might be the only way to save yourself. Jungkook, however, isn’t ready to let you go without a fight.
“You cannot possibly be fucking serious right now.”
Jungkook’s eyes that were usually round, filled with the kind of soft warmth you used to drown in, now were burning, darkened with a blaze, and every single spark of it was for you.
But it didn’t scare you. If anything, there was a twisted satisfaction curling low in your chest, because finally your husband was seeing you, even if it took a storm to drag his gaze your way. And truth be told, your own fury was every bit as blistering as his.
“Oh, I’m serious. I have never been more serious about anything in my life.” You let a laugh slip past your lips with a cruel bright sound that didn’t match the way your chest ached so violently you wanted to scream.
“Do you even understand what you’re doing?” He caught your shoulders in his hands, pulling you toward him until there was no air between you, his face inches from yours, as if proximity could somehow break through the walls you’d built, as if the real you, the one that loved him, could still be dragged back into the light. But this was the real you. This was the woman he had made: broken and unloved, hollow in all the places he used to fill.
“Oh, I understand just fine, Jungkook. I’m divorcing you.” You tore yourself from his grip, but your freedom lasted only a heartbeat before he seized you again, his hands tightening with a force that made you gasp.
“You’re hurting me,” you hissed, a bitter smile curving your mouth even as heat coiled in your spine, “though I suppose you’re used to that by now, aren’t you?” The words landed; you felt it in the way his fingers loosened, just enough to let blood rush back into your skin, but not enough to let you go. You were still inside the prison of his body.
“Do you even realize you’re trying to destroy everything we’ve built over all these years?” His voice cracked into a shout, pain bleeding into every syllable, and for the briefest, most treacherous moment, you almost let yourself believe he regretted it all.
“Destroy what exactly, Jungkook?” Your shaking voice rose. “What do we even have? My empty evenings, my lonely nights, when there’s no one to tell about my day, no one to share the small, stupid things with? Or maybe those holidays I spend alone, because you’re on tour again, or locked in the studio chasing the next song?” You hated yourself for the way it sounded as if you were punishing him for the one thing he loved most in the world. But it wasn’t that. God, it wasn’t that. “Or maybe the family dinners with the few friends I still have, where everyone arrives hand in hand, and I’m alone because our marriage is still a fucking secret? Not that it would matter, since you’re never there anyway.”
Your eyes were stinging, hot with the threat of tears, and Jungkook stood before you like a man splintering apart with every word you hurled at him, each syllable landing like a strike. His lips pressed together, sealed tight. There was nothing for him to say — or maybe there was, but he knew the truth was that everything you’d spoken was only the surface, the visible tip of a much deeper wound. And still, looking at him like this, hollowed out in front of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to dig down and throw every buried grievance at him, because he looked as though one more blow might be the one to end him, and it made it impossible to deliver the killing strike.
“What about our home?” His voice was low, his gaze dropping toward the floor, speaking to a space that wasn’t you. “Our history… our love? Does none of that exist anymore?”
“It does.” Your answer was sharp, without hesitation. “But I don’t want any of it if I’m the only one in it. I’m not okay, Jungkook. I haven’t been okay for a long time.”
He lifted his head slowly, as if his eyes were scanning you for wounds he could tend to. But the kind of wounds you carried weren’t visible to anyone.
An evening when every one of your friends is tucked away with their partners, and you’re alone not because you want to be, but because Jungkook is on tour, and the time difference swallows him whole, leaving him asleep when you’re awake. Even if you wanted to call, you couldn’t. Nights like that leave no bruises on the skin, but they carve scars into a lonely heart all the same.
“You know people divorce because of cheating, because of screaming matches, because of lies,” his voice was gaining strength again, conviction crawling back into it, “and you want a divorce because I’m out there earning for us? Because I’m working?”
“If you think I’m ungrateful for not having enough of you, then we have nothing left to talk about,” you shot back, each word slicing. How dare he throw that in your face? “I needed my husband here, Jungkook, not just his voice in the songs that play through my headphones.”
A single tear broke loose, sliding hot and slow down your cheek before you could stop it.
“Y/N… I love you. Do you understand that?” he whispered, like a confession might be enough to hold you still.
You had no reason to doubt that he loved you. But love, you’d learned, could be a barren place if it wasn’t fed, if it was never shown. And you weren’t sure there had been enough signs left to believe it could keep either of you alive.
“Love me. Maybe you do.” You lifted one shoulder in a slow shrug, a movement meant to look careless even as your voice carried the weight of something final. “But I’m afraid I wasn’t made to be the wife of a K-pop idol.”
And the truth was, you weren’t sure anyone could survive that role intact. Maybe someone just as famous? No, you’d learned quickly that fame didn’t solve loneliness, it simply polished it in gold. You and Jungkook already saw each other rarely, and the only reason those rare meetings were possible at all was because you were here, anchored to one place, living the quiet predictability of an office job that let you come home every evening with a measly six hours of free time before the next morning began. If you had been the one touring the world too, if your schedules had mirrored his in chaos… the last time you would have seen him would have been never.
“That’s not fair,” he bit out, his voice rising again. The confidence and anger rolled through him in uneven waves — crashing against you one moment, pulling back to reveal raw guilt and something like regret the next. “You knew what you were getting into. I’ve lived my whole life this way.”
And maybe he was right, but the truth of it barely shifted the hollow ache in your chest. You lifted one shoulder again in a quiet gesture that wasn’t indifference but resignation, the kind that said you’d run out of ways to fight. “I did know. And I was wrong. You’re not the only one at fault, I don’t blame only you.”
“I don’t give a fuck who’s at fault!” His voice cracked into a sharp edge, and suddenly he was pacing, running both hands through his hair like the motion could stop him from flying apart. “I’ll take all the blame, if that’s what it takes. I just want to save this marriage.”
Your answer was measured, unhurried, each syllable deliberate in the way a blade moves before it finds the softest place to sink. “When divorce papers are already in sight, it means there was a chance to save the marriage once, and it was lost long ago.”
His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, a bitter twist that didn’t touch his eyes. “And why are you so calm, huh? The Y/N I know never stays calm. You’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?”
You didn’t trust yourself to answer with words, so you let the quiet speak for you and gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
“Is there someone else?” His eyes caught yours again. He took a slow step forward, then another, closing the air between you with an intent you couldn’t quite name, and instinct pressed you backward, your body seeking distance even as your pulse betrayed you.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jungkook.” Your voice was cool but weighted, a warning coiled in every syllable. “You really think I’ve been cheating on you? Between the two of us, if suspicion were ever going to fall, it would never land on me first.”
Ouch. You knew you’d hit the mark because the reaction was instant with the faint recoil in his shoulders, theshallow breath pulled through his teeth, the way every muscle seemed to flinch in unison.
You knew exactly where to aim; you always had. This was the softest place to wound him, the bruise that had never faded. Back when you’d first fallen into him, when everything still felt dizzy and new, it had taken him months to chip away at the guard you kept welded around yourself.
He had worked for your trust like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted, and still it had always gnawed at him the way men were so easily folded into that tired, lazy narrative, the stereotype of the cheating boyfriend. He had never forgiven the world for making you expect it from him, for planting the suspicion before he’d even had the chance to prove himself.
Jungkook had always been a romantic in the truest, most infuriating way. Earnest in a world that didn’t reward earnestness, devoted in a way that was almost inconvenient. You couldn’t picture him touching betrayal, not even from a distance. He had been meticulous about it, sidestepping situations that could even brush against the shadow of impropriety, careful to never leave you with a single moment that might fester into doubt.
And with him in the public eye, under the kind of scrutiny that would have laid any slip bare, you would have known instantly if there had been another woman. But there never was. The only rival you’d ever had was the one you could never hope to compete with: the music, the stage, the lights that swallowed him whole. That was the mistress he had always chosen, and somewhere along the way you had stopped trying to fight her for him.
“Tell me the truth, Y/N.” His voice was low, stripped of the shouting, heavy with something darker, and he closed the distance with slow, unhurried steps until your back found the wall and his arms caged you in on either side, the scent of him crowding your senses until the rest of the room dissolved. “Who is he?”
You shook your head once, deliberate and unwavering, but the refusal didn’t sway him, as if your silence was the confirmation he had been searching for.
“Of course,” he muttered, the words laced with a bitterness that curled his mouth into something close to disgust. “Because how else could you be this calm while you dismantle our marriage, while you tear apart our family?”
“Do you want to know how?” Your voice rose, not cracking but slicing, and your palms pressed hard into his chest until he stepped back, your words spilling out fast enough to burn your throat.
“I earned a million points worth of calm the day I realized that at work, people think I made you up. Three years of marriage and my husband has never been seen at a single company event. When my friends meet up, I’m the one standing at the edge of the table because everyone else is in pairs. When couples plan their vacations together, we don’t. When my boss tears apart my work, throws my project into the trash, and I cry in my office with no one to tell because you’re in another city again, so instead I bury my face in the pillow that should have been under your head. And most of all, when my grandfather invites me and my husband to his birthday, and I show up alone, and I see the worry in his eyes because he has only ever seen me alone, even though that isn’t how a marriage should look.”
You could see it all land on him, his jaw tight as his eyes searched your face like he was trying to decide whether to be furious or broken. And still, despite the ache in your throat and the space you had just forced between you, there was something in the way he looked at you that made the air between you feel unbearably thin, as if you were standing on the edge of something far more dangerous than the fight you had started.
Jungkook’s eyes were wet, the shimmer of unshed tears gathering at the edges, and you knew that if you held his gaze for even a few seconds longer, you would see the moment they finally broke free. So you looked away, because watching him cry might undo something inside you that you had spent too long stitching back together.
“Y/N, please…” his voice came from somewhere behind you, stripped of its usual shape, but he didn’t finish the sentence. “I was so happy to come back, I couldn’t wait to get home to you, to our house, and instead you…”
Instead, you met him at the door with divorce papers. But the mind doesn’t make clean decisions when it has been sitting alone with pain for too long; it loops, it chews, it replays, and eventually it settles on something that feels like relief even if that relief is made of endings.
This particular ache had become familiar to you, worn in like an old bruise, almost as intimate as Jungkook himself had once been. Only lately, the company of loneliness had been more constant than his, and that was its own kind of attachment. People adjust to anything, even the slow poison of something that isn’t good for them. The world has always worked that way.
“Do you even know what day it is today?” you asked, the words soft but deliberate, as if some part of you wanted to believe he might surprise you.
“The day I start recording my seventh album?” he answered without hesitation, the reply so automatic it was clear he thought your question was strange, nothing more.
You shook your head, a bitter little movement as your lips pressed together, holding in the swell of something sharp. “Exactly,” you murmured, your agreement a blade turned inward. And then, after letting the confusion settle on his face for just a beat longer, you added, “And it’s also our third wedding anniversary.”
You watched his eyes widen, panic slicing through the fog of his exhaustion. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m begging you,” he said, the words tripping over each other as if he could physically outrun the weight of them. He dropped to his knees in front of you, and for a moment you felt something tighten in your chest: pity, maybe, or grief, because it had been so long since he had given you this much of himself in one evening. It was just a shame that it had taken your leaving to get it.
“I’ll fix it, God, please forgive me,” he said, his arms wrapping around your waist as if he could anchor himself there, his head pressing into your stomach while you stood still and unyielding. “Tell me what you want, anything. I swear I knew! How could I forget something like this?”
You knew exactly how. He had been gone for half a year, his mind already spinning toward what came next, knowing the tour’s end meant it was time to think about the next album, already scribbling and planning in the liminal hours between shows. Coming home had never been about staying home; it had been about the rush to get back into the studio, the intoxicating urgency of creation. You knew the nerves that coiled in him every time he had to start a new project, knew how important it was to him and to the people who worked beside him. You understood all of it but that understanding only made it hurt more.
If it had just been about the forgotten anniversary, maybe you could have forgiven it. If only it had been that.
You had known for a long time that this marriage had been a mistake, though it was the kind of truth you didn’t want to admit even to yourself. You were young then, both of you, reckless in that intoxicating way youth allows, drunk on passion and the careless sort of love that makes you believe the world will bend to your will. It had felt unshakable, as if nothing could break what you were building together. But life was never that simple, and you had learned that the hard way.
When you met Jungkook at home tonight (though in your more foolish dreams, you had always imagined greeting him at an airport like everyone else, running into his arms as cameras clicked in the distance, except you couldn’t, because you could never be seen together) you had hesitated.
You had even considered tearing the divorce papers in half, throwing them into the bin and pretending this was still salvageable. But then something inside you shifted, something sharp and irreversible, the moment you realized he had forgotten your anniversary. The click of it was almost physical, like a lock turning, and certainty washed over you before you could take another breath.
“Jungkook, there’s nothing left to fix, and it isn’t about the anniversary, believe me.” Your voice was steady, because you didn’t want him to spend the rest of his life thinking that such a small, repairable thing had been the final straw. You would have forgiven him a hundred forgotten anniversaries if they hadn’t all been spent in the echoing emptiness of a home where you were alone more often than not, if the years hadn’t carved your life into the shape of absence.
His hands fell away from you slowly, and when he looked up, his gaze came through the blurred veil of tears. He looked unreal like that, impossibly beautiful, even now. And this was your husband — the man whose name was yours on paper, whose voice had been the soundtrack to your life, whose body had once been the only place you felt certain. Even in this moment, you could hardly believe it. Maybe this was exactly how it was always meant to end, because how could you, an ordinary girl, have truly been his? How could either of you have believed it would work in the real world, outside the fever of those early years?
"Is this really it? Am I really losing you?" His voice barely disturbed the air between you.
You shook your head, the motion feeling like the period at the end of a very long sentence. "You lost me a long time ago."
***
On weekend mornings, when you actually had somewhere to be, there was always that self-consuming emptiness curling inside your chest, a hollow that gnawed at itself until you could almost hear the echo of it. Today was no different. It was a miserable morning, the kind that seeped under your skin, made worse by the cold, airless sterility of the courthouse conference room. Property division usually took place in open court when spouses couldn’t agree, but your case with Jungkook was its own strange reversal: neither of you wanted to take anything.
Your lawyer sat to your right, a man you barely knew and hadn’t even chosen, his services paid for by Jungkook. Across the table, Jungkook sat pale and worn, the dark crescents under his eyes betraying nights of broken sleep. You had seen that look before, the way he carried exhaustion until it bent his shoulders and hollowed him out, and the thought rose in you before you could stop it: why does he keep driving himself into the ground like this?
But you pulled yourself back quickly, locking the thought away. He was not yours to worry about anymore. You had made that decision.
At the head of the table, the judge sat with the heavy air of someone long past patience, his gaze flat and voice brisk.
“I’ll repeat myself,” Jungkook said, his tone firm but his focus fixed entirely on you, though you refused to look at him. You knew you couldn’t argue with him if you met those eyes that were raw and tired in a way that would undo you. “I’m leaving everything to my wife.”
You flinched. My wife. The title still clung to you like a warm coat in winter, and soon it would be gone. You would lose that. You would lose him. Ouch. The word pulsed in your chest like an ache, because you had started down this road to rid yourself of him, but the further you walked, the more the pain seemed to devour you. When would it stop?
“Your soon-to-be ex-wife doesn’t want anything from you either,” the judge interjected, making no attempt to hide his boredom with the two of you.
“Y/N, it’s all yours. I don’t need anything.” Jungkook leaned forward across the table, as though shortening the distance would force you to hear him more clearly, as though you could possibly miss the low, desperate thread in his voice.
“You only say that because you spend most of the year out of Korea,” you replied, the truth spilling out sharp and unfiltered.
“That’s not true,” he answered, his voice stripped down to something bare. “A home without you in it isn’t a home I want.”
Your eyes burned, and you wondered how many more tears you even had left in you, after all the ones you’d already shed. You thought of the house that he had bought for you both right after the wedding, the one where every choice had been yours. You had picked out the curtains, the plates, the scent of the candles, all with the slow, careful tenderness of a woman building the world she would live in with the man she loved, a home meant to hold the family that might have grown there.
And now you were here, in this cold room, dismantling it piece by piece, the ghost of what you had wanted still clinging to you even as you signed it away.
“I don’t need a house that taught me how to be alone, not when it was meant to hold a family,” you murmured, eyes fixed on your own hands, on the diamond that caught the pale morning light and refracted it into something cold.
“Perfect,” Jungkook said, his voice far too quick and satisfied. “Then I’ll take it, sell it, and wire you every last won.”
Your head snapped up, and his gaze was already waiting, the faintest flicker of mischief there just to provoke you. He knew exactly where to press.
“You wouldn’t dare,” you said with the threat quiet but barbed.
“What? Sell the house we loved, the one you built piece by piece with your hands, the one you filled with every trace of yourself?” His tone turned slow, almost lazy. “Let’s find out.” He leaned back in his chair, sprawling like the room belonged to him.
Your fingers curled into your palm until your nails dug into your skin. “Don’t,” you said through your teeth, every syllable coiled tight. “Don’t you dare sell it.”
“Then that settles it,” he said with mock cheer. “Everything goes to my wife.”
His lawyer shifted beside him, lowering his voice as if he could somehow soften the impact. “Mr. Jeon, if I may… this isn’t entirely rational —”
“I’m not here to fight my wife for a sofa,” Jungkook cut in, his gaze never leaving yours. “She gets everything.”
“I have another way,” you said, leaning forward just enough to close some of the space between you. “I’ll keep the house. You keep everything else. And I won’t limit when you can be there.”
His brows lifted, surprise flickering across his face. You could tell he hadn’t expected that. But the truth was, you didn’t care whose name was on the deed. You couldn’t stand the thought of strangers moving into the rooms where you’d once planned the rest of your lives, where you’d stood barefoot in the kitchen and talked about the future as if it were a fact. If he lived there, you could breathe easier. That was enough.
“You’re not planning to live there yourself,” he said at last, not as a question but as a verdict.
Usually, a cold morning softens into warmth as the day stretches on. But this one only grew colder, and you both knew it was only the beginning.
***
You hadn’t lived with your parents in years. Probably not since before graduation and stepping back into that house now felt like slipping into a version of yourself you thought you’d outgrown. This time you weren’t the girl with a suitcase full of dreams; you were a woman in the middle of a divorce.
The last time you had stayed here overnight, Jungkook had been beside you, his laughter and the weight of his presence settling into the guest room like they belonged there. Now it was only you, unpacking your bag alone, answering the inevitable questions from relatives who had never once met your husband and now only knew him as the man you were leaving.
You hated that your mind kept circling back to it, hated the way the thought sat heavy and acidic in your stomach. You told yourself it was because nothing was final yet, because you were trapped in that suspended space where the law still called you his wife, even though you already knew you weren’t. In cases like yours with no children and all the property matters settled the court gave two months for both sides to make their final decision. You and Jungkook were almost at the end of that stretch.
The second month was finally winding down. All this time, he had been here, in the same city, and you had known it. Officially, he was on a break from touring, but that was only in name. In reality, he had been performing at award shows, recording another album, working more hours than anyone could count. Sometimes you caught yourself resenting the choice you’d made, because you had spent years wishing for more time with him, and now that he was within reach, you were the one who had drawn the line and held yourself on the other side of it.
Your head knew it was the right thing, but your heart whispered betrayal in the dark. And which of them was telling the truth?
You turned on the battered old TV in your childhood bedroom just to have some background noise, something to keep your thoughts from spiraling in circles.
And the universe laughed in your face. Because there he was. Jungkook. The camera found him on stage at a music award ceremony, the live broadcast in perfect, high definition. You thought about changing the channel, but then you heard that voice, low and rich and impossible to turn away from. You had loved his voice since before it had ever said your name, and the sound of it still did something to you that you couldn’t disguise.
And then you realized that he was singing that song. Your song.
You wondered what it felt like for him now, to stand there and pour those words into a microphone for a crowd of strangers. He had spent an entire tour singing about you, night after night, and every single person in that audience was closer to him in that moment than you were.
“Let the years turn gold to gray,” your favorite part, the line that had always lived in your chest with Jungkook’s voice wrapped around it the way only his could. “Let the world fall into decay,” you froze, your breath caught, waiting for the landing. “Just please don’t change.”
And then you heard that final note, the one that usually came so effortlessly to him, the one that soared clean and perfect every time — it cracked. Only for a fraction of a second, just enough to catch the ear, but you heard it like a stone dropping into still water.
He didn’t let it show, of course. He was a professional, and he moved through the rest of the song like nothing had happened, as if the stage lights could burn the flaw right out of existence. But you knew him and how ruthlessly he held himself to the standard of perfection.
The rest of the performance was flawless, but you didn’t miss the way he disappeared into the wings the second the spotlight dimmed, the sharp set of his jaw, the hard, clipped way he carried himself as though holding in every ounce of frustration until he was out of sight.
You should have been able to brush it off and tell yourself it wasn’t your concern anymore. But you could already see it: him sitting in the back of a car on the way home, replaying that moment in his head, dissecting it, punishing himself until the night was over. Jungkook didn’t believe in “small” mistakes. Every performance was life-or-death to him, each one treated like it was his first and last.
You had seen him spiral over less before, watched him turn in on himself for a slip no one else had noticed, and this was bigger. You glanced at the time.
You could stop by the house. Check on things, water the plants. And if he happened to be there, if by some twist of fate you crossed paths, you could give him a few quiet words, just enough to cut through the noise in his head. After all, you weren’t strangers. Not yet.
***
You moved like a teenager sneaking out past curfew, throwing on clothes in a rush, slipping your shoes on without bothering to tie them properly, keeping each movement quiet so your parents wouldn’t stir. The dramatics weren’t necessary, but they were easier than trying to explain why you were leaving the house so late at night with a duffel slung over your shoulder and telling them you were going to see your almost-ex-husband to offer him comfort, even though you had been the one to start the divorce.
It didn’t change anything; you still wanted out, still meant to sign those papers and close that chapter. But wanting a divorce was not the same thing as wanting to erase him from your life entirely. You had history, you had good years, moments where you were both so in love it felt like the only thing you’d ever know. You had been each other’s anchor more times than you could count. And you knew that your decision had cracked something in him.
Maybe, for the first time, he was beginning to understand what it had felt like for you all those years: to share a life with someone you adored and still feel alone. You didn’t want that for him, you knew exactly how it burned.
And now, tonight, it had to be worse. You told yourself there was nothing wrong with wanting to be there for him, just once more. Besides, you’d been looking for a reason to go back to the house and collect the rest of your things. The duffel bag wasn’t entirely symbolic.
The drive was muscle memory, each turn and stoplight as familiar as the lines of your own palm. By the time you reached the street, you realized how much you’d missed the quiet, the soft glow of the streetlamps, the way the house seemed to watch over the block like something alive.
You stood at the door, cold night air stirring your hair, and hesitated. Did you just use your key? Or did you knock, as if you were a guest here now? You couldn’t decide which was more honest, or which one hurt less.
You pressed the doorbell and waited. Everything around you seemed to still at once, as if the world had narrowed to the sound of your heartbeat rushing in your ears. Nothing.
Maybe he wasn’t here after all, why would he be? This was your domain more than it had ever been his. You had chosen every plate, every throw pillow, every plant in the windowsills. You had lived here in the quiet spaces while he was away, made the house breathe when he couldn’t.
You turned away, stepping down the porch stairs, when the click of the lock behind you stopped you cold.
“Y/N? Did something happen?” Jungkook’s voice was quick, laced with concern, and you spun back toward toward him until you were standing almost face to face.
For a moment, you didn’t answer. You only looked at him, drinking in the sight as if you hadn’t seen him in years instead of months.
Two months were nothing for the two of you, a standard stretch of absence in the life you’d had together but these months had been different. There had been no texts, no calls. Now he felt strange to you, like someone you’d once known intimately but could barely remember the shape of anymore.
He looked tired, though the crease in his brow and the alert focus in his eyes were doing their best to hide it. He was barefoot, wearing only a thin black t-shirt that left the curve of his strong shoulders bare beneath the fabric, and soft grey sweatpants that clung just enough to remind you how easily your body had once fit against his.
He was so completely at home here, and the domesticity of the unguarded version of him that almost no one else got to see hit you like a memory you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t stop feeling.
“It’s fine, I just… I was worried about you,” you murmured, and the moment the words left your mouth you realized how absurd they sounded.
Jungkook stepped aside without a word, his body shifting just enough to let you pass. You did, crossing the threshold, and the regret hit almost instantly, because the moment you stepped inside you were reminded that this was the place you had built together from nothing.
The place that had held the life you thought you were creating, the walls still carrying the faint echo of your voices, the quiet corners still remembering the way you used to fill them, the light falling in exactly the way you had loved when you first moved in, soft and golden and warm, a light you had once imagined wrapping around the two of you forever.
Yes, you’d spent most of your time here alone, filling the silence with your own routines, but it had still been yours and his. Now it was where he came to heal in solitude, to stitch himself back together without you. This house had seen all of it.
“Are you okay?” you asked, and when his eyes met yours in the low light, the sharp planes of his face were softened, made even more beautiful by the shadow.
He gave a bitter half-smile that hurt to look at. “No, Y/N, I’m not okay. The love of my life left me, and there’s no one to blame for that but me.”
The words landed like a fist to your sternum.
“I… I didn’t mean it like that,” you said quickly, suddenly too aware of the wrongness of being here, of how out of place you felt in his space now. “I saw your performance. I thought maybe you… maybe you’d need some support.”
He listened without interrupting, his gaze fixed and unblinking, like he was catching each word before it could fall away. “No, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
He dropped onto the sofa, sinking into it like he’d been holding himself upright for far too long, his fingers sliding through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands.
“Good,” you said softly, “because I’m sure no one else even noticed.”
“No one noticed?” His head tilted, his mouth twisting into something between disbelief and frustration. “I was aiming for the A, but I dipped into G without even meaning to. My voice just… gave out.” His eyes closed for a moment, lashes brushing his cheek, and you felt a sudden, dangerous urge to cross the room, to wrap your arms around him and hold on until he stopped feeling so far away.
“But you know,” he went on, voice quieter now, “I didn’t expect to sing it well tonight anyway. Fuck, Y/N… you do realize that song is about you?”
His eyes were glassy with unshed tears that made your chest ache just to witness, and you wanted to look away, to spare yourself from the sight of him like this, knowing you are the reason behind that.
“I know,” you whispered, your voice so quiet it felt like it barely bridged the space between you.
“Then why are you here?” he asked, the words carrying the weight of something close to a plea as he looked up at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes glistening, tears gathering stubbornly at the corners. “You’re the one who wanted to leave me.”
“But you’re not a stranger to me, Jungkook,” you said, feeling the sharp sting in your own eyes, the way moisture threatened to spill over before you could stop it.
“Not a stranger,” he murmured, his voice breaking into something raw, “but not yours anymore either?” You had no answer, no words that wouldn’t splinter in your mouth. His gaze searched for yours, steady but wounded. “Tell me, are you at least happy?”
Your throat tightened, and the tears came, uninvited and impossible to hide, as you shook your head slowly, unable to give him anything else.
“Then why the fuck are we doing this?” His voice cracked under the force of it, the words spilling over the edge of his control. “Tell me, if you’re not even happy now. Because I feel like shit! I feel fucking destroyed and the only thing keeping me breathing is the thought that maybe, at least, you’d be better off without me.”
He stepped toward you then, closing the space between you until you could feel the heat of him, his hands lifting to your face, his fingers impossibly gentle as he brushed away the tears that clung to your lashes.
“Jungkook,” you said, your voice breaking in places you couldn’t smooth over, “it’s hard for me, but it was hard even when we were together.”
The words felt like the only truth you could give him, because how else could you explain the way you had ended up here, caught between two different kinds of unhappiness, with no map out of either? You had been unhappy in the marriage, and you were ending it, and you were still unhappy, just in a different way, a way that still hollowed you out all the same.
His arms came around you suddenly, pulling you against him in a way that felt both protective and desperate, his hold so tight it threatened to undo you, to melt every part of you that had tried to stay firm. You breathed that clean, familiar scent that hit you like muscle memory, the scent you had missed in ways you didn’t dare admit, and your chest clenched so painfully you thought you might collapse into him entirely.
And then, with effort, you pulled yourself from his embrace, tearing yourself away from the sweet, dangerous nostalgia that wanted to repaint the past in colors it had never really worn, breaking the spell before it could pull you under completely.
“I came to pack my things,” you told him, the words meant as much for yourself as for him, a reminder to hold the line you had drawn. “I think it’ll help both of us. It might even help you forget me a little.”
Jungkook looked at you like you had just said something impossible, something offensive in its very suggestion. “You really think I want that? Y/N, I don’t ever want to forget you. If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that I want to remember us, every part of us, I want to hold on to the fact that I had this…that I had you.”
He was breaking right in front of you, splintering in ways you could see in his eyes and hear in his voice, and you could feel every fracture like it was your own. He dropped back onto the couch, elbows on his knees, hands running over his face like he could scrub the feeling out of his skin, and all you could think about was how much of this was your doing. How much hurt you had managed to leave on him. How much of it had been necessary, and how much was just collateral damage from loving someone who had never stopped mattering.
The ache in your chest grew too sharp to ignore. You set your bag down on the floor, the sound of it hitting the hardwood far too loud in the quiet, and you closed the space between you, your steps slow but certain until you were standing over him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
And before you can talk yourself out of it, your hand is in his hair, brushing it back from his face the way you used to when you wanted him to look at you and only you. His eyes flick up, catching yours, and for a moment it feels like nothing exists but the space between you.
He catches your wrist before you can pull away, holding it there, his fingers warm and unyielding against your pulse. There’s no question in his gaze, just a kind of wordless plea, and when you don’t move, he tugs you down onto his lap, the shift of your weight pulling you into the solid heat of his body, your knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side of him.
The first brush of his mouth against yours is slow, deliberate, like he’s tasting something he thought he’d never have again. But then you’re leaning in, your lips parting, and the kiss deepens, heat blooming fast, the both of you gripping too hard, holding too close, because you know exactly how dangerous this is and you’re doing it anyway.
His hands are everywhere at once, sliding up your back under your shirt, pressing into the curve of your waist, anchoring you when your hips shift just slightly against him. You can feel him already, thick and hot beneath his sweatpants, the contact pulling a sharp, muffled sound from his throat.
He kisses you harder, teeth grazing your lower lip before his mouth drags down your jaw, finding the soft place just beneath your ear.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, but his hands are already under your shirt, warm palms flattening against your bare skin, moving up like he’s been starving for the feel of you.
“Then tell me to leave,” you breathe, but it comes out shaky, betraying you.
“Fuck no,” he says, voice low and sharp, like the thought itself offends him. His hands slide down, fingers curling hard into your thighs as he pulls you closer, your center pressing over the thick length straining against his pants. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this. The way you fit right here,” he grinds you down slow, forcing a gasp from your lips, “like you were made for me.”
Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your body betraying the words you force out. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything,” he counters without hesitation, his mouth grazing your jaw, his breath hot as his hands roam higher again, tugging at your waistband. “Tell yourself it doesn’t if you want, but your body’s telling me the truth.”
His hands are on you like he’s been holding back for years instead of weeks. Calloused palms skim under your shirt, pushing it up until the hem is bunched just beneath your arms. His mouth finds the swell of your breast before you can even gasp, hot, wet kisses dragging over the curve until his lips close around your nipple.
“Fuck–” the sound tears from you as his tongue circles slowly, deliberately, pulling a shiver from deep in your spine. He sucks harder, like he wants to leave his mark here, on skin no one else should see.
“You taste the same,” he murmurs against you, his voice already wrecked, “you sound the same… like you never left.”
You roll your hips against him without thinking, the thick ridge under his pants hitting you just right. His hands slide down to your ass, holding you there, rocking you over him until your breath turns uneven.
“This doesn’t change anything,” you manage to whisper the same lie again, but your words break on a moan when he switches to your other breast, teeth grazing before he draws it into his mouth.
“Keep lying to yourself,” he says, licking a wet stripe up to your collarbone, “but you’re humping me like you want me to fuck you stupid.”
You hate how right he is. You hate how your body arches into him, chasing every press of his mouth, every squeeze of his hands. The heat between you builds until there’s no air or thought, just the desperate ache to feel him without anything between you.
He’s the one who finally snaps, yanking at the waistband of your pants with something close to frustration. “Off. Now.”
You help him, clothes hitting the floor in uneven, hurried piles. He fumbles with his own sweatpants just enough to free himself, his cock thick and flushed, the tip brushing your thigh as you straddle him.
When you finally sink down, slow and aching, both of you groan, his head tipping back, yours falling forward to rest against his. The stretch makes you shake, makes your nails dig into his shoulders.
“God, I missed this,” he breathes, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it borders on pain. “Missed how fucking perfect you feel around me. I’m not letting myself forget this again.”
You roll your hips, slow and deep, dragging every inch of him through you until the pleasure forces your eyes shut. “And when this is over,” you whisper against his jaw, “we’re still done.”
He growls low in his throat, snapping his gaze to yours. “Say it all you want, baby. But right now, you’re taking me like you were made for it.”
Each thrust is unhurried but devastating, your bodies pressing together so closely it feels like there’s no space left between skin, no air left in the room. His hands guide you, forcing you to savor every drop of friction, every stretch and slide, until your moans mingle in the thick heat between you.
“Fuck, look at you,” he pants, eyes drinking you in like he’s starving. “Bouncing on me so slow, so deep… you’re gonna make me lose it.”
You try to keep your face neutral, to keep the walls up, but every drag of him through you is stealing the air from your lungs. His gaze is locked on yours, like he’s afraid to blink and lose you.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes suddenly, the words catching in his throat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder. I fucking love you, you hear me? I never stopped. Not for a second.”
You shake your head, trying to look away, but his hands tighten, pulling you down harder, forcing you to feel every inch of him.
“Don’t,” you warn, though your voice trembles. “Don’t say that now.”
“I have to,” he insists, thrusting up into you, the motion pulling a gasp from your lips. “I have to tell you before you walk out of my life for good.” His jaw is clenched, eyes glassy with something that isn’t just lust. “You’re it for me. You’ve always been it.”
The words hit you like a blow, tangled up with the white-hot pleasure building low in your stomach. You ride him harder, faster, chasing the peak before your resolve cracks. The sound of his moans, the heat of his hands guiding you, the rough drag of his cock inside you are too much, and when it hits, it’s blinding.
You cry out, shuddering through the release, and he follows right after, his hips jerking up into you, his head falling back with a guttural groan of your name.
When it’s over, he’s still looking at you like you’ve ruined him with his hair damp, lips swollen, chest heaving.
You can’t hold that gaze and can’t let it undo you. So you pull away, his hands falling uselessly to his sides as you stand, your legs unsteady but your voice cold.
“This was a mistake,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his eyes just long enough for him to see the wall come back up. “I let myself slip. I’m sorry.”
You grab your bag, ignoring the way his brows knit together in confusion, the way he looks like he’s still waiting for you to change your mind.
But you don’t. Instead you walk out, leaving him on the couch still wrecked, still messy from you, and now gutted in a way no apology could ever fix.
***
The sky outside the courthouse was pale, and the weather was cold,seeping into your bones no matter how tightly you wrapped your coat around you. Inside, the air felt even colder, all sterile walls and hushed voices, the quiet shuffle of papers and the dull scratch of pens. Somewhere in the background, a clock ticked in slow, deliberate beats, marking the final moments of something you once thought would last forever.
He was already there when you walked in, seated at the end of a long wooden table. A black cap pulled low over his forehead, a mask covering the lower half of his face. The disguise would have been enough to hide him from a crowd, to make him invisible in any other setting. But you would have known him anywhere.
Only his eyes were visible, and they were shining, not with the brightness of a stage light but with something heavier, threatening to spill over. He looked at you like he was memorising, as though every blink might be his last chance to see you.
You sat down across from him, the legal documents already waiting, each page neatly tabbed where you needed to sign. Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked up the pen. The ink moved across the paper in smooth, irreversible lines, every stroke a quiet severing. Somewhere in your mind, you registered the bitter truth: by the time you left this building, you would no longer be his wife.
It was absurd, almost cruel, how the world outside would go on without ever knowing. His fans would still scream his name without any idea that there had been someone like you, someone who had once been the person he came home to. To them, he was untouchable. To you, he was just Jungkook. Your Jungkook.
You felt the sharp sting of tears rise behind your eyes, but you held them back, reminding yourself that there was no way back from this. You had to choose yourself this time, had to end the slow suffocation you had been calling a life.
When it was his turn, he picked up the pen without looking at the paper, his gaze never leaving you. He signed in quick, precise motions, but when the final line was done, he didn’t set the pen down right away.
His voice was quiet when it finally came. “I really hope you find your happiness,” he said, his tone threaded with tender. “I hoped it would be with me, but I guess it wasn’t. Just… make sure it’s real when you do.”
Your throat tightened, your hands gripping the edge of the table for balance. You wanted to tell him something back, anything, but the words stayed trapped inside, caught between your heart and the hollow ache spreading through your chest.
The clerk gathered the papers, the sound of shuffling pages marking the finality you had both been avoiding. You stood, and so did he, though neither of you moved any closer.
For a moment, you thought you might break and cross the space between you. But instead, you gave him one last look and then you turned away.
You walked out into the cold afternoon, the weight of what you had just signed pressing heavy against your ribs. Behind you, somewhere in that building, he was standing still, watching you leave for the first time ever.
And just like that, it was over.
.
.
this story does have a second part, you can read it here
please, let me know what you think, your feedback means the world to me!
Four years in and you still love Jeongguk like breathing — stupidly, fiercely, the kind that feels like home even when his superstar world and your therapy practice pull in opposite directions. He loves you back just as hard, clingy and all-consuming in that uniquely him way. But God, his brain ticks you off sometimes.
WARNINGS ◦ anxiety talks and triggers ◦ non ironic use of jagi i'm so sorry if you don't fuck with that ◦ traces of nerd!jeongguk ◦ mentions of adhd ◦ mention of smoking addiction ◦ established relationship bc i'm feeling lonely these days ◦ use of the government name to prove that i'm an og wattpad army ◦ descriptions of making out ◦ kisses and fluff stuff but also borderline nsfw (he has a boner and that's it) ◦ mention of alcohol AND alcoholism ◦ THIS IS A MESS ◦ reader farts at some point i'm sorry this is what i have to offer
2,190 ━━━━━ drabble idol!jeongguk x reader
۶ৎ 𝓜 , i'm just too good at writing realistic idol aus i know 😌 that's because i personally know all of these fine men irl yk. jk jk. this is the first time i'm writing for jungkook and the second time EVER that i'm writing for bts WHICH IS SOOO IRONIC because they are my ult group lmao. probably going to post more jjk idol aus because this man is so silly and i love his idol persona sm. anyways, enjoy :P
⋆˚࿔ It was a typical, sweltering summer day in Los Angeles when my life changed forever — all because of a mythically ethereal boy who invited me to come to his band’s free concert that evening. What started off as a fun, spontaneous adventure for the hell of it turned into one of the best evenings of my life. All because of Park Jimin. Years later, the boy whose eye-catching smile forever is imprinted in my core memories is one of the largest global pop stars. And despite all the years since that fateful day in downtown Los Angeles, Jimin has always kept in contact with me and makes an effort to see me whenever he’s in Los Angeles. It’s now 2025 — 11 years since our first meeting, and Jimin is going to be in L.A. for a few months to work on his band’s first album since their mandatory military service. Since Jimin went into the military two years ago, I haven’t been able to see him. And in those two years, I realized…a lot about my feelings toward the man who captured my attention over a decade ago. And now that I’ve been assigned as one of the journalists working on Bangtan’s documentary for the aforementioned comeback, running into Park Jimin is inevitable. I need to keep my feelings toward Jimin in check — both, in the name of professionalism and maintaining the friendship I’ve grown to cherish the most. I don’t know how long I can keep up this professional facade when Jimin’s gaze meets mine at every opportunity. And the scariest thing about it all: I’m almost tempted to risk it all.
⋆˚꩜｡ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭! park jimin & journalist!curvy!fem! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴: workplace romance, power dynamics, jimin falls first and falls harder, YEARS of yearning and pining, past and present timelines, slooooooooooooow burn, dual POV, whipped Jimin, mentions of body image, swearing, eventual smut, MDNI
Being assigned to the BTS documentary is a monumental juncture for my career, but all of the excitement I felt for this opportunity vanished the moment I saw who the executive producer was.
Rich. Motherfucking. Lawson. The most sexist piece of shit I have ever had the dishonorable privilege of working alongside before on a short documentary for VICE a few years ago.
Any time I went to ask a question to any of the interviewees, Rich had to ask a “clarifying question,” which was basically always the same question I had asked but with different words. He would scold me for doing tasks he would ask me to do prior, as well as undermine me in front of the people we were working with. Overall, Rich Lawson was just a joy to work with — especially if you were a woman.
For the entire drive to the airport to pick up the incoming documentary subjects, I blasted my “Hot Girl Shit ™” playlist to give myself the strength to deal with the inevitable misogyny and ignorance Rich Lawson always dealt out. Scream-singing the words to “Her” by Megan Thee Stallion always seems to make me feel like Michael the Archangel preparing to take on the Devil himself.
As the exit for LAX came into view, my mind instantly went to the man I fell for over 12 years ago and how I was going to be filming him day in and day out everyday for the foreseeable future. Was the thought of being in close with proximity to the man I was lowkey in love with absolutely nerve-wracking? Yes, but I was so excited to see my friend for the first time in over two years I couldn’t even be restless over it.
Driving to the arrivals parking deck and parking my sedan, I locked the car and made my way to the arrival gate. As I walked on the sidewalk towards the crosswalks to the pick up area, the only thought motivating me to put my pride aside regarding Dickhead Lawson was knowing I would be seeing the one person I missed the most in a matter of minutes.
I stepped through the automatic doors of the passenger arrivals lobby, the baggage claim coming into view as well as the largest asshat this side of the I-5. I would recognize that greasy as hell salt-and-pepper toupee combover anywhere, a shiver running up my spine as Rich Lawson looked my way and had the audacity to smile.
“Ms. L/N! We meet again, it’s nice to see you,” Rich’s shit-eating grin didn’t reach his eyes, but I offered him a cordial nod and friendly wave in response. I wouldn’t let him get to me today.
“Mr. Lawson, I hope the traffic wasn’t too terrible for you.”
He shook his head, not even noticing I didn’t say it was nice to see him too. “No, traffic wasn’t too crazy. I was able to listen to my favorite podcast on the way here, which was great.”
Holy fuck, this was going to be one of the most insufferable experiences of my life. As Rich continued to drone on about his podcast, I couldn’t help but wonder where the lead tech guy was who was supposed to meet us to take the BTS members to their lodgings. When Rich finally took a break from info-dumping about his boring ass financial wellness podcast to take a sip from his water bottle, I raised the question.
“Isn’t there supposed to be some other guy here with us?”
“Yeah, Dean the tech guy? His wife is sick, so he’s staying home to take care of her. I brought my minivan to fit four members, and I figured you could fit three if you still had the Prius from the VICE project.”
“I’m going to pretend like I didn’t just learn you memorized my car model, Mr. Lawson,” I replied, playing it off as a joke but seriously questioning why the hell Rich would remember something like that.
He laughed, not knowing the better, and placed a hand on my shoulder as he motioned to me. “Oh, Y/N, how I missed that smart mouth of yours.”
Before I could throw up all over Rich’s shoes, a series of shouts came from beyond our field of vision, along with some folks running towards the escalators from the terminal to the baggage claim excitedly.
“Willing to bet that’s our documentary subjects, Rich?” I replied to him, turning my head back to the escalator when I saw him.
While Jimin wore a mask over his nose and mouth, his eyes were completely visible to me, and it was clear where he was focusing his attention. Park Jimin was looking right at me as he was moving down the escalator, the yearning in his gaze impossible to miss. He moved with purpose, the group’s security guards holding the fans and miscellaneous paparazzi at bay as the band walked briskly towards where Rich and I stood.
Rich looked at me, an eyebrow curled upward. “Are you a huge fan or something? Why are you looking at them like that?”
I felt myself stiffen in defense, my attention then turning back to the sore reminder of how these next couple of months would be infected with this asshole. “It’s just such a chaotic scene — there hasn’t been any artist with this kind of influence in pop culture history, I’m just taking it in.”
Rich shrugged, scoffing as he rolled his eyes. “Please, it’s just like how teenage girls were passing out over the Beatles and shaving their bodies for One Direction. I won’t lie, I’m not so sure what’s different about these guys.”
It took every ounce of my integrity and self preservation to quell the urge to punch this ignorant, shithead waste of space. Instead of putting my foot squarely up Rich Lawson’s pencil-tight asshole, I looked him right in the eye, a wide, toothy smile spreading across my face.
“They’re different, Mr. Lawson, because they uplift their fans and make them feel like they’re worth something. I think that’s better than anything you’ve contributed to, as of late.”
Rich Lawson’s glare only lasted a few seconds before he saw the band walking toward us. “I don’t appreciate your attitude, Ms. L/N. Shape up, or I’ll see to it that you’re off this project.”
I felt my heart sink to my stomach as I looked back up towards the group, my eyes finding Jimin’s once again — my fears melting away as I could see his eyes form a smile as he made his way over to me. I smiled in his direction, knowing no matter how much of an asshole Rich is, I’ll be able to see Jimin every single day while he’s in Los Angeles. I’ll play nice, because I’m not about to risk losing my career and the chance of being closer to the man I’ve missed so much these last few years.
Rich elbowed my arm, jolting me back to reality for just a moment. “Now, behave when the boys get over here.”
I decided to keep my mouth shut to lower the risk of me saying something I would regret, choosing instead to smile at the global superstars walking towards us.
“Hello, BTS and company! My name is Rich Lawson, the executive producer from Netflix, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Rich said with that fake ass smile he always wore, holding out the sign he made last minute to guide the band members to us. I somehow managed to not roll my eyes, offering a friendly smile and looking at each of the members.
“I’m Y/N L/N, the lead reporter on the documentary. Welcome back to the City of Angels, Bangtan Sonyeondan.” My eyes landed on Jimin’s once again, and I could feel the corners of my mouth tug upwards even more as he looked at me.
Seeing him right in front of me after all these years felt unreal — for so long, I had dreamed of the moment I would finally be able to joke with him in person and hear his contagious laughter fill the room. I knew I would be happy to see Jimin, but the relief I felt when his gaze met mine and I saw him standing in front of me in the flesh?
He was finally here, and all I wanted was to run up to him and tell him just how much I missed his presence these last two years. I would get the chance to once we were both “off the clock” later when he and I planned to go to dinner, but for now, I had to act with professionalism and, in a way, keep a slight distance.
All of the band members nodded, offering kind smiles as the leader — Namjoon — took a step forward, offering his hand. “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Namjoon.”
All of the members took turns introducing themselves, and I reinforced each member’s name and face to memory. Granted, I had met Jungkook and Taehyung before, so when they both walked up with a devious, knowing grin, I had to glare at them to give them a hint to play it cool.
Jungkook offered his hand first, an impish glint sparking in his eyes. “JK. Nice to meet you for the very first time ever, Y/N L/N.”
Taehyung stepped up beside me and rolled his eyes at the maknae’s lack of subtlety. “Jungkook, why are you acting like this? We literally know-”
Jimin and I both whipped our heads in Taehyung’s direction, our glares almost perfectly mirroring the other’s. He exchanged a puzzled look between us, and I made an obvious aversion with my eyes in Rich’s direction, trying to send the message that I couldn’t explain with Rich around.
“It’s nice to meet you, JK and Taehyung.” I smirked at them, squeezing Jungkook’s hand almost playfully after shaking his hand as if I hadn’t been to his house before. I turned to Jimin, a playful grin spreading across my lips as I took a step toward him.
“And you must be Jimin,” I held my hand out to shake his hand, offering him a teasing smirk. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Jimin never looked away from me as he took another step closer to me, reaching his hand out to take mine to shake it as if we were meeting for the first time. The warmth of his touch was electric, his fingers grazing the skin over the back of my hand as he tightened his grip to be much firmer than a typical handshake between freshly acquainted strangers. The way Jimin’s fingers brushed over my hand held a level of gentleness I’d never experienced before — and all I wanted was to sink into his arms and claim it as my home for the rest of time.
The way Jimin’s eyes looked down into mine was unlike anything I had ever seen from him. The darkened embers of want in his gaze paired with the tightened grip on my hand felt feral, raw, intense and real, as if he wanted nothing more than to whisk me away and actually be able to have a genuine reunion between the two of us. A reunion where he and I could talk like we always did — to finally see the Jimin I’ve grown to know after that first night together over 12 years ago.
“Trust me, the feeling is more than mutual, jagiya.” His voice was light and airy, yet the weight of his nickname for me hit me square in the chest and made my heart race. He leaned in just slightly, dropping his chin so his mouth was a few inches from my ear so he could talk low enough to where only I could hear. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to finally see you again, Y/N.”
I couldn’t fight the smile growing at Jimin’s whispered confession, my cheeks heating slightly as I continued to shake his hand to give the appearance we were just exchanging niceties.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this sooner-” I started to whisper, Jimin cutting me off with a gentle shush leaving his lips.
“None of that, Y/N, there’s nothing to apologize for.” He offered a smile before pulling away, giving my hand one last reassuring squeeze before stepping back and turning to Rich. I couldn’t help but notice an aura of irritation emanating from Jimin as he stared at Rich, who was schmoozing up to Namjoon as he was the designated leader.
After a few seconds of scowls and threatening glares behind Rich’s back, Namjoon sent a puzzled frown over at Jimin, looking at Rich and then at me. He looked back at Jimin, moving then to speak over Rich, who was recounting a recent golfing trip for some reason.
“Our luggage is right there,” Namjoon pointed at the suitcases moving on the belt, looking between Rich and I as he spoke. “After we get it, why don’t we head back to the house? I think everyone is pretty tired from the day of travel.”
Rich nodded in agreement, smiling away as Namjoon seemed to be worthy of taking control of the situation in his eyes. “Yes, of course. Ms. L/N, could you take the three boys standing with you, and I can take the four over here?”
The man I was pretty sure was Yoongi stepped forward, raising his hand. “Do I have to go with this guy? Is there room in the other car-”
Namjoon and who I remember as Jin elbowed Yoongi in the side, causing him to shut up abruptly. “Thank you so much, Mr. Lawson,” Namjoon offered with a friendly smile, turning to glare at Yoongi for a moment before going back to smiling at Rich. “We’ll go get our bags and then you can take us to your car. Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, are you okay with this-”
“It works for us, hyung.” Jimin interrupted Namjoon, moving to grab Jungkook’s and Taehyung’s arm, lugging them towards the conveyor belt. “You heard our leader, let’s get our bags and we can go to Y/N’s car.”
“Woah, Jimin, hold up-” Taehyung offered, his brow furrowing as Jimin walked him and their junior member to the moving belt.
“Slow your roll, hot stuff, we’re not in a rush for anything,” Jungkook teased as he wiggled his brows, a taunting grin embellishing his mischievous expression.
“Well, I want to get out of my travel clothes,” Jimin replied, moving to tug the two along to get their bags moving through the baggage claim. I moved behind them with the intention of helping them load the luggage trolley so staff could load the van before we head out.
The band’s management said something to Namjoon, and he nodded, turning back to face Jimin. “Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook, management are going to load up our stuff into a special van. We can go ahead and head to the house and rest for the rest of the day.”
Switching directions on a whim, Jimin dropped both of his friends’ arms, moving to walk back towards me with his eyes locked onto mine again. “Lead the way, jagiya, we’ll follow you.”
“Jimin is absolutely helpless, isn’t he?” Taehyung sighed, shaking his head as Jungkook rolled his eyes.
“Painfully so,” Jungkook concurred, resulting in Jimin glaring at both of them as I smiled to myself, my hand diving into my tote bag for my car keys.
After fishing my keys out and holding them up as if I had achieved victory in a hard-fought battle, I turned to the trio of men who fell into a casual bickering session and jingled the keys in my hands. “Ready to head out?”
Before a breath could pass, Jimin was in front of me once again, nodding with an authentic, genuine smile which sent my heart into a frenzy — heat rushing to my face once again. “Yeah, let’s go, Y/N.”
We made our way to the parking garage, diverging from Rich and four of the other members — leaving me alone with Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung. Thank fucking god.
I hit the unlock button on the key fob for my Prius, moving to then double click the open trunk button so the boys could put their backpacks in the trunk.
“Do we have to pretend like we don’t know Y/N still, or are we good to cut the schtick?” Jungkook blurted as he threw his bag into the trunk, my eyes rolling as a smirk graced my lips.
“Dick Lawson is gone, so act however you wish, as far as I’m concerned,” I offered with a shrug, leaning against the back tail light as Jungkook and Taehyung worked to organize their belongings.
“I thought his name was Rich?” Taehyung asked, his brow quivering inquisitively in my direction.
“It’s short for Richard, and a nickname for Richard is Dick, which trust me when I say this, suits him all too well,” I offered, my shoulders slumping in slight defeat when thinking about Rich. “This is all said in confidence, I can’t afford for this to get back to him. He’s already threatened to fire me once today.”
Jimin’s eyes shot over to me, anger washing over his features. “He did what?”
I rolled my eyes, shrugging it off. “It’s nothing, really. He was talking shit, and I may have told him he hasn’t really contributed much of anything to the world as of late. Now, I probably shouldn’t have said that to the executive producer, but trust me, he deserved it-”
Jungkook put his hand up, stopping me from speaking. “Dude, you don’t need to explain him away. He literally looks like a slimy greaseball fucked a deformed big toe.”
“Jeon Jungkook, what in the everloving fuck does that mean?” Taehyung asked as Jungkook shrugged in response, Jimin walking towards me until he was just a few inches away.
“Rich Lawson? Like the same Rich Lawson from that VICE project a few years ago?”
I blinked a few times as I processed Jimin’s question. “Yeah, the same guy. You remember that project?”
Jimin nodded, his burning gaze unwavering. “Yeah, you almost quit making documentaries all together because of him. Why are you working with him again?”
I sighed, letting my head fall to the side as I looked down at the ground. “I didn’t really get a choice, he was picked by Netflix, and according to my boss, I was picked because someone at your company requested me specifically. It’s just a crazy twist of fate, I guess.”
Jimin ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek before running his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath before responding again. “I’m sorry you have to deal with him because of me, Y/N.”
“It’s not your fault, Jimin, it’s not like you even knew I was going to be on this project.”
It looked like Jimin wanted to say something else, but Jungkook clapped a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, smiling up with his classic toothy grin. “Trunk is packed, let’s get out of here.”
Jimin nodded, Taehyung and Jungkook opening the rear doors to my car and getting in the back seat, ensuring Jimin could sit up front next to me.
The moment both of the other members shut the car doors, I felt the warmth of Jimin’s palm wrap around my wrist, holding me in place for a moment — just the two of us. Before I could say anything, I was pulled into an almost protective embrace, Jimin bending at the waist to snake his arms around the small of my back for a much overdue hug. Inhaling in his trademark floral, citrusy cologne, I felt myself relax into Jimin’s touch as he held onto me for the first time in over two years.
This hug restored everything within me in a matter of seconds — this is where I felt the safest, and I would be damned if I let work woes get in the way of what mattered most.
“I really meant what I said earlier, Y/N,” Jimin whispered as he rested his cheek on the top of my head, pulling me in just a bit closer. “Everyday I was gone, all I kept thinking about was this…getting back to you, wanting to see your smile and hear about the projects you’re working on. I just…I missed you, Y/N.”
His words struck me speechless, and I looked up at him, emotion flashing in my gaze and some kind of tension raising between us. “Jimin…I missed you, too.”
Before Jimin could say anything else, a soft rumble of voices was coming closer from within the garage, my ears perking up at the sudden interruption. A realization the press may be still following us hits me like a bullet train, and I move into protective mode.
“Let’s get out of here before the paparazzi catches wind of which way we’re heading.”
Jimin nodded, a tender smile breaking out across his lips as he looked down into my eyes, moving then to tuck a stray hair of mine behind my ear. “You got it, my Gongjunim. Let’s get out of here.”
He stepped away and moved to the passenger side, opening the door and plopping down into the seat as I made my way to the driver’s side. I got in the car, closed my door and turned the key in the ignition before buckling my own seatbelt.
“Is everyone buckled in?” I turned my head around to face Jungkook and Tae, who were making themselves more than comfortable in the backseat of my 2012 Prius.
Tae nodded, smiling as Jungkook offered a thumbs up and his own cheesy grin.
“Yes, Eomma, we’re ready,” the maknae kidded as he offered Jimin a smirk, which was met with an eye roll from the third youngest member of BTS before Jimin faced me again.
“Yeah, Y/N, we’re ready to go.”
His hand moved to rest above my right knee as my foot held the brake as I prepped to switch the car’s gears into reverse. I could feel Jimin’s thumb gently caress the soft skin along my lower thigh, grounding me to the moment in a way I couldn’t quite articulate.
Jimin and I had a relationship where we would show platonic affection with physical touch every once in a while — after all, this man was very affectionate with his friends. But in recent years, there was an underlying pull to Jimin I was hesitant to name when I first felt it. Sometimes the allure manifested in hugs lasting a few seconds longer than they should. Other times, it was in intimate actions such as tucking my hair behind my ear, letting me lean on his shoulder or placing a hand on my leg to help ground me when I was overthinking about work.
I looked down at his hand, watching how his thumb gently ran along the outside of my knee and lower thigh and allowed the warmth from the tenderness in his touch to wash over me. Placing one of my hands over the one Jimin had resting on my knee, I looked up to him, smiling bright as I moved to shift the car into reverse.
“Let’s get you guys to the rental.”
As I pulled out of the parking deck and drove towards the address Jimin typed into my phone, he never once moved his hand from my leg, and truth be told, I didn’t want him to.
So as we drove through the hellscape that is rush hour traffic in Los Angeles, I cherished the soft, silent moments in the solace and safety of my Prius with Jimin and my other friends before the inevitable pandemonium to come in the next few months.
bitches i am already working on chapter 7, im on a ROLL!!! we're going back to the past in the next chapter, so prepare to see more of baby Jimin and Y/N hehehe
This fic has made up my whole week!! It’s so brilliant and the plot is so unique! I’m looking forward to all following chapters. It’s been four long years of no BTS fics and this is a great way to break the ice again!
♢ Genre: fluff, romance, comfort, established relationship, insecurities
⌲ Description: after a long day at work, you come home tired and full of quiet insecurities. Jimin, back in his busy idol life, notices anyway.
m a s t e r l i s t
You realized it was going to be a long night two hours into your shift.
Especially when it hit peak dinner hours and only three tables were occupied in your section. Your coworker wasn’t having better luck with her two and a half tables — the half being one older gentleman reading a book while sipping on his third glass of your most expensive red wine.
“Ugh, where is everyone?” Seo-Ah came dragging her feet towards you by the front of the fancy bar, where you were polishing the cutlery.
“I thought you hated busy nights,” You pointed out.
“Yeah, but I also hate slow nights. There’s no liking anything in this career,” she leaned back against the edge as you both gave a quick look over the fine dining restaurant.
“What happened to your tables?”
“The couple have paid, only finishing their drinks and the man has taken three sips in the last twenty minutes.”
You snorted. “He usually sits in my section. I wonder what happened.”
Your hands moved through the motions of drying and polishing the silverware without thought. Years in this work had conditioned your body to its habits without having to think too much. You were pretty much a master at multitasking at this point.
“Do you know his name?” Seo-Ah suddenly asked.
“No clue, I’ve always called him Wine Man.” You both giggled at the inside joke.
“But really tho, why is it so slow?”
You shrugged. “I think it’s the new place across the street. Boss was complaining about it and how they’re stealing all our customers.”
She frowned. “Are they fine dining too?”
“I think they were like a mix, so not as pricey. Might be why.”
Just as Seoh-Ah was going to respond, the door opened to chatter as a group of guests came in and she was quick to straighten up and plaster on her signature customer service smile and strutting over to them.
“Good evening, do you have a reservation?”
Just as you predicted, the last few hours went awfully slow. Slow enough for Seoh-Ah to take over your section as well whilst you started on closing routines well before closing.
By the time the last table left, you were wiping down the last remnants behind the bar and making sure everything looked ready for opening tomorrow.
“You can leave if you want to,” You called out to Seoh-Ah. “It’s just the trash left, and I’ll close up after.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s okay, I got it.”
She looked reluctant, but in this line of work no one refused to get off early. So you gave her a knowing smirk before she gave in.
When it was only yourself left, it all felt strangely comfortable. Most people would hate being in an empty building by themselves but not you.
It helped that the lighting was on most of the time too; warm and low, with those sculptural hanging fixtures casting a golden glow that made everything feel intimate. The tables and shelves were of dark wood, chairs with velvet tones as well as amber glass. It was welcoming without being stiff and too perfect.
Your phone buzzed in your apron pocket as you fished it out for a brief look.
💜:
Are you done soon?
You:Soon, closing up rn x
Shrugging on your coat, you had your tote bag on one shoulder and dragging the trash bags with the other. The metal back door slammed shut and locked by themselves as you swung the bags in the container with a small grunt and the slightest wrinkle of your nose by the smell.
Luckily the bus stop was only a few feet down the street and you timed it perfectly as it arrived not even five minutes after.
Sometimes you loved taking the evening bus. There were less people and even less noise, so you had an endless amount of seats to choose from. Your favorite was always against the windows so you had somewhere to rest your head after a long day.
Depending on traffic, the trip usually took around twenty to thirty minutes, but your headphones were your best friend in that duration.
The city flashed by you in snippets, familiar sights you’ve seen for years as the view changed from the busy, opulent streets of Apugjeong, past the tourist filled centers of Gangnam until it reached the outskirts towards the suburban areas of Hannam.
The bus emptied gradually along the way, until only yourself and three others were inside — and you were certain if was because very few people who lived in the Hannam area actually took the bus.
95% of the residents were wealthy enough to spend your yearly salary twice over in a month, if you were being frank.
The bus hardly came to a proper stop before you were out and was off again before the door had even closed, and only your veteran self of taking buses in this country had conditioned you to their rocky driving without falling flat on your face in embarrassment.
You were sure the drivers loved it when it happened.
You walked up to the 24/7 secured gate with a tired drag in your step, and the security on shift in the small, boxed room noticed you quickly. He was an older man in his mid-fifties and was often on shift in the evening on weekdays.
His eyes crinkled as you approached. “Hard day at work, Y/N-yah?”
You shook your head with a smile. “Not as tired when you saw me last Friday.” Reaching into your bag, you took out a small takeaway box with leftover cake and pushed it through the window. “It’s a Hazelnut Praliné Cake tonight, ajussi.”
His eyes lit up. “Ooo, my favorite. If it weren’t for you, me and my wife would never know of these fancy little desserts of yours.”
“I’m happy that you love it,” was your heartfelt answer. “But I should get going, he’s probably waiting for me.”
He beeped you through swiftly as the gate opened, before leaning half of his body out of the side door. “Do you need me to drive you up there?”
Security had access to a golf cart to drive around the complex when needed, but you waved him off. “I’m okay! A little fresh air is good for me.”
“You have good night, Y/N-yah!”
“Likewise, sir!”
It was quiet when you entered, as you kicked off your trainers and switched over to your cream slippers standing ready.
Walking inside, you saw precisely why with a fond smile; Jimin was sprawled out on his white couch, snoring softly. His phone lay forgotten above the duvet he had dragged out from the room untouched. His newly dyed, dark blonde hair messy around his face.
All the curtains were shut, even blocking out the light from the street lamps outside and drowning the apartment in darkness besides the low automatic kitchen light.
You let your bag down softly on the clean kitchen counter and shrugged off your coat before padding over to stand over his oblivious form.
Seeing him like this loosened something in your chest. After eight hours of serving strangers and smiling on command — as few as they were — coming home to him waiting, even asleep, made it all worth it.
You moved his phone aside, and then you draped yourself over his body with a relieved sigh, as he shook awake by the weight with a sleepy mumble.
“Hey, you’re back?” He murmured hoarsely, arms coming to wrap around you as you snuggled further into the duvet over him. “Tired?”
“No really,” you mumbled back, chin resting on his chest to look up at him as he smiled down at you. “Missed you tho.”
“Missed you too, baby,” Jimin replied, easily dragging you further up for a soft greeting kiss as you melted into it and then snuggled back into the crook of his neck, breathing in his fresh scent.
“You showered already?” you asked.
“Mhm, practice ended earlier than expected.”
“Too bad,” you murmured. “I was hoping we could do it together.”
Jimin chuckled. “Well, I’m never against another shower if it’s with you.”
You grinned silently against his skin, and he must have felt it by the tug you saw on his perfect, plumb lips. His hand came up to your scalp, gently dragging his fingers through your hair as you hummed pleased.
“Are you hungry?” His voice was still low, as if the dark and late atmosphere made both of you aware of every single sound.
“I already ate at the restaurant, you?”
“I could do with some ramyeon.”
You snorted. “You always do, babe.”
“And you don’t mind.”
“Most of the time, no. But weren’t you the one who said your diet was important?”
“You hate when I’m on a diet.”
“I hate when you’re on an unhealthy diet.”
Jimin’s eyes narrowed playfully. “You love ramyeon, what happened?”
“It’s called overeating, my love,” you forced yourself upright, loosely straddling his stomach over the thick duvet. “I’m trying to be healthier, remember.”
His hands loosely traced the sides of your thighs affectionately. “Nothing healthier than a good late night ramyeon with your boyfriend.”
“Uh huh, I’m going to shower,” you replied instead as he pouted at your deliberate way of ignoring him.
“Don’t ask for a bite later!” He called at your retreating back as you waved him off.
The shower was pure heaven for you after a full day, and went by quicker than you wanted it to.
The image that stared back at you from the foggy mirror made you take a second look. Tired eyes, slightly dark circles and skin duller than you wanted it to be. Even your hair felt dry from your neglect the past few months.
You often wondered what it was Jimin saw in that mirror that made him want to stay.
You wished there was answer waiting for you, but all you could do was reach for the moisturiser.
Shaking yourself out of those thoughts you got dressed swiflty. You wore your favorite comfortable checkered pajama pants and one of Jimin’s white t-shirts as you finished towel drying your hair and walked back out into the kitchen.
Jimin was just putting a small pot on the stove to heat up, two unopened packs of Shin Ramyeon on the counter.
“Two? Babe, you’re gonna whine about being bloated tomorrow.”
“Eyy,” Jimin reached out as you came within range, dragging you into his arms as you rolled your eyes. “This is where Jin hyung’s words come into play. If it’s delicious there’s no calories, remember?”
“Is that so?” you pressed a kiss to his cheek before dodging his hold and hopping on the island counter as he returned to his midnight ramyeon cooking.
You opted to watch him fondly in silence as Jimin hummed familiar songs under his breath.
It was still strange to you; having him here, back home and normal.
You had met in the midst of the silent chaos that was the pandemic in South Korea, of 2021. When the streets were enforced with a curfew, shops only allowed a limited number of visitors at a time and restaurant restrictions were even worse.
But despite all the limitations, that was the most amount of work you had. Your boss had cut down on staff, you and four others being the only full-timers. And every shift was done alone. No runner, no bartender, no host – just you alone, doing everything by yourself every shift to minimize risks of infection.
It was a rare reservation in itself, especially during such tumultuous times. A booking for the restaurant’s private dining room; seven people.
You had acted the perfect part; host, bartender and waitress without fault to the seven men that came through the doors masks pulled up and a few hats pulled down low. You had been in the business long enough to recognize when celebrities tried to remain unknown.
They had stayed for hours in their own little bubble, all polite and grateful as you ran back and forth between their room and the rest of the guests out in the restaurant.
And at some point during the evening you had let your guard down. Enough for Park Jimin to catch you in the act of trying to stuff your mouth with some leftover fries the kitchen had given to you as you stood by the bar, back hunched and masked pulled down.
He had giggled, apologizing for disrupting you and your flustered self had waved him off with a blush burning against your cheeks.
And for reasons still incomprehensible to you — he had returned. Several times, sometimes accompanied by friends, but often alone. And your fleeting conversations by the bar turned longer each time, until he asked for your number and you supposed the rest was history.
“Why are you staring?” His question didn’t match the pleased expression on his face, and you smirked knowingly.
“I’m admiring.”
“Shouldn’t that be my line?”
“I can be suave as well, you know.”
“Hmm.” With a touch, Jimin turned off the electric oven and covered the ramyeon and water with a lid to let it soften and soak before walking over to you.
He pushed your legs apart to slot himself between them and cupped one of your cheeks softly. “Are you okay?”
You kissed the inside of his palm. “Why are you asking?”
“You’ve been looking tired lately,” he was always straight to the point without sounding demanding. Just comfort in itself that he was so good at.
“Probably not as tired as you.”
He had been practicing and having meetings nonstop ever since his discharge from the military, and his return from the filming of the traveling show with Jeongguk.
In the six months since then, he had lost so much weight and changed his hair back to the ash blonde you'd loved. But the weight had been more unfortunate for you — you appreciated his bulk more than anyone else, and he knew it.
Fair enough, the weight loss had been for health and work reasons. It was easier for him to dance and keep his stamina going with less bulk on his body, and with all the practice it naturally melted away.
“Stop deflecting,” but Jimin knew you well enough. You were good at that, he realized at one point. Deflect your problems and focus on others instead.
“It’s just work.”
“But it’s not, is it?”
“...a lot has been on my mind.”
“Please tell me, baby. You know I’m always here for you.”
Gripping the counters on each side of you, you didn’t have the bravery to look him in the eyes.
As much as Jimin loved you, he had always felt like his wall of fame was still a small barrier between the two of you.
You were understanding; too understanding. You always listened to him, always cared about him, always comforted him if something in his life wasn’t going well.
But there was nothing about yourself. Hardly any complaints in your life besides the occasional “just work, nothing serious.”
As if your pain was less worth than his; and Jimin hated it.
Hated how much you couldn’t see how important you were to him. How your complaints about your shifts mattered just as much as his struggles in the limelight, and how he wanted to hear every single one of them.
The relationship had reached a level of normalcy while he was in the military. Because for the first time since dating it had felt like two normal people. A woman and man in a normal relationship, one with his duties to the nation and the other working her daily job paying her bills.
Every time he was on leave, your time together would feel more precious. There was no talk about fame or his work because there was nothing he was doing.
Yet now that everything was over with and Jimin returned back to his normal, things were getting fragile again.
And he wasn’t sure how long it would hold up.
Yet Jimin waited patiently, he always did.
The ramyeon had probably already bloated too much in the pot, but he didn’t care.
The air was silent, a silence you were too afraid to break.
His hands were braced on the counter now, beside your own hands still gripping the edge like a lifeline, and that sight hurt more than he wanted to admit. His lithe form caged you in without trapping you, his presence always a warm and solid in a way that made your heart ache.
You swallowed. “I don’t know how to say it without sounding… stupid,” you admitted quietly.
Jimin’s brows knit together. “Try me.”
You let out a small breath, more shaky than you wanted. “I feel like I’m standing still.”
His posture softened immediately.
“Everyone around me is moving forward,” your eyes were fixed on the marble counter beneath your fingers. “You’re back. The world knows you again. You’re busy, you’re booked, you’re—” You stopped yourself, hating the way your voice wavered. “And I’m still just… here.”
“‘Just here’?” he repeated softly.
“You know…at the restaurant. Same shifts. Same bus rides. Same exhaustion,” you shrugged. “I come home tired and empty, and sometimes I look at myself and I don’t know what I want anymore. I don’t even know what I’m offering you.”
That finally made you look up. Jimin was staring at you like you’d just punched the air out of his lungs.
“Is that what you think?” he asked softly. “That you’re not offering anything?”
You gave a weak smile. “Compared to you?”
He shook his head slowly, disbelief etched into every line of his face. His mouth was doing the sad pull on the sides whenever he was unhappy about something.
“You know what I see?” Jimin’s voice was low but steady. “I see someone who works herself to the bone and still brings cake to the security guard because she remembered his favorite. Someone who listens to me ramble about choreography for an hour and never once checks her phone. Someone who comes home at midnight and still worries if I’ve eaten.”
Your throat tightened.
“Baby, I see the person who made my life feel normal when nothing else was,” his voice thickened with emotion. “Who didn’t treat me like a headline or a fantasy. Just… me.”
His hand came up again, thumb brushing under your eye before you realized there was moisture there.
“You don’t get to decide your worth based on my life,” Jimin said gently. “That’s not fair to you. Or to us.”
You laughed softly, bitter and fragile. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not,” he admitted. “But loving you is.”
You shifted on the counter, shoulders tightening as if you could physically pull the words back into your chest. Vulnerability had never been your strength. You survived by being capable. By handling things on your own ever since you moved to the big city by yourself.
And definitely not by crying in front of Park Jimin.
“I don’t want to be selfish,” you admitted, quieter now. “You already carry so much. Expectations, pressure, people watching your every move. The last thing I want is to add myself to that list.”
Jimin’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t interrupt as you finally met his eyes, and that was a mistake.
“I love you,” you declared, almost defensively, your chest clenching around something you didn’t know. “So much it scares me. And sometimes that love makes me feel small, because I don’t want to need anything from you that might weigh you down in this chaos.”
Your hands had curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, crinkling the bottom of the fabric. Your voice cracked despite your best efforts.
“It feels stupid,” your words were tumbling now that the dam had cracked. “Feeling this way when you’ve done nothing but assure me. I should be stronger than that.”
A beat. “Y/N, do you hear yourself right now?” His question wasn’t malicious, it was confusion, shock and hurt all in one.
“I’m scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize I’m… ordinary. That my life doesn’t expand the way yours does.”
Tears finally slipped free, and you squeezed your eyes shut, frustrated with yourself as you sniffled.
“I don’t want to hold you back, Jimin-ah.”
There it was. The real fear. Words you had kept so close to your chest all these years they still felt fresh.
Jimin didn’t speak right away. Instead, he rested his forehead against yours again, hair brushing against your forehead and hands warm and steady at your hips, as he exhaled almost harshly.
“You know what hurts the most about that?” Jimin asked quietly.
You shook your head.
“That you think loving you is a sacrifice.”
Your breath hitched.
“You don’t weigh me down,” he continued, voice thick. “God, Y/N. You’re my fucking anchor. There’s the difference you’re looking for.”
His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn’t realized fell. “And you don’t need to be impressive or exceptional or anything else to deserve space in my life. You already have it.”
You swallowed again, finally letting yourself lean fully into him, your forehead dropping to his shoulder.
Fuck, you love this man so much it physically hurt sometimes, and saying it all out loud only made you realize how deep it ran.
“We don’t have to fix everything tonight,” he murmured comfortingly, his touch dragging their path up and down your back in a loving caress.
So you stayed there, wrapped in him, heart bare and aching — still stubborn and slightly embarrassed, but no longer pretending you didn’t need him.
feels so weird reblogging on this account but here i am! loved this, it was exactly what i was looking for. i saw the boys in tampa and now i’m itching to read bts fanfics again. it’s been like four years for me, like no joke!!
warnings: 18+, cursing, oral (male receiving), p in v, honestly this one is pretty tame but it's cute <3
a/n: hi hi hi! im back with my bullshit! no but this one is really fucking sweet (maybe a tad cheesy at the end). i had the idea for a while so i was really happy to see that he people of tumblr voted for this choice on the poll.
i started this being super naughty with sanji and zoro and now look at me being a doll with buggy and mihawk (which is strange cause they can easily be the kinkiest mfs).
so i think im gonna write another oneshot for buggy in the near future. maybe one for nami and then i'm gonna go back and write the third part for the sanji x reader x zoro. that's gonna be real fucking interesting. it'll be my first time writing a threesome so wish me luck!
thank you guys for reading and putting up with my wild imagination!!
(as always my psa that this is solely based on the live action)
Buggy the Clown stomps into the Jolly Roger angrily. His crew is nowhere to be found on the empty deck. He expected them to be awake, running around, making plans to get their Captain back. Instead, they are snoozing in the rooms of his ship, shielding themselves from the cold ocean breeze.
Buggy mutters insults towards his freaks under his breath. The lot of them should freeze for all he cares. The fishmen kidnapped him, and all they're doing is getting their fucking beauty sleep. He's starting to believe he wasn't missed.
He beelines to the Captain's quarters, where he finds a pretty sight welcoming him. You're on his side of the bed, peacefully asleep. Buggy intentionally slams the door behind him, rudely waking you up from your slumber.
You jump at the bang and sit up, looking alarmed at the intrusion. "Buggy!" You gasp, relieved to see him, "You're back!"
You and the freaks have been working nonstop on keeping the ship afloat and searching for its Captain. You've barely rested in weeks, tracking down Arlong and his crew.
Today, you finally found the location of Arlong Park and set sail. You stopped an island away to let the freaks rest before marching into battle. They will need it to beat the fishmen or at least make enough damage to get Buggy out.
"No thanks to you and my useless crew," Buggy bites, throwing his coat to the side dramatically. At least his theatrics were not hurt while he was away.
You stand from the bed and approach him softly. He's like a wounded animal that might bolt at any second.
"That's not fair. You know we were on our way," you softly say, feeling bad about his harsh tone. Buggy loves to tease you and push your buttons, but it's not often he's genuinely angry at you.
"Taking your sweet ass time, it seems," he cries out, gesturing at the door as if referring to his sleeping crew.
You let it go and decide not to continue arguing. He's physically and emotionally wounded. Not to mention his ego. You stand centimeters away and grab his gloved hand, "Let me make it up to you, Bugs."
Being this close, you can assess his appearance closely. His makeup is smeared more than usual; it's faded on some parts as his blue stubble breaks through the white face paint, and his eyes look defeated.
"Yeah, make it up to me. Let's see what you come up with," he says sarcastically, letting your hand fall from his grasp. His words might drip with sarcasm, but they are a plea for help in disguise. So you pay him no mind, knowing that by the end of the night, you'll have him like putty in your hands. Only to rebuild him back into the Buggy the Clown you know and love and the Marines fear.
"I'll be right back." You tell him, leaving the room momentarily. You return minutes later with a freak who pushes a wooden tub behind you with steaming water. The freak barely spares a glance at Buggy, scared that the clown might lash out at him.
Closing the door once he leaves, you prepare the water with oils and fragrances. Buggy watches from afar, sitting on the wooden chair he has in his room. He's used to hunching on it for hours, examining his maps, and executing master plans for the next big adventure. He likes looking over his shoulder to watch you sleep peacefully as insomnia grabs hold of him. It brings him peace.
"Come 'ere, Bugs," you say, grabbing his hand to help him up. Buggy grumbles in protest despite looking forward to the bath. "Let me take care of you," you whisper, looking up at him. You place your hand on his chest in comfort.
"I don't need you to take care of me. I'm a grown ass man," Buggy gruffs out, avoiding your gaze. It's not like he's felt like a man in the past few weeks as he's been carried around in a sac as a mere head while his body was beaten constantly by the fishmen. It was degrading and made him feel extremely weak.
You roll your eyes at him but play along, "You're right. You are a grown, strong man. Will you indulge me, though? It'll make me feel better seeing you're okay."
Buggy finally meets your eyes and nods, "For you."
There's no reason for him to say no. You're the person that knows him best in this world. You probably know what he's feeling without him telling you in the first place. Still, he acts difficult because he's bratty like that and because sometimes he has a hard time understanding you're there for him no matter what, with no ulterior motive.
You softly smile at him and pat his chest. Your hands trail up to the scarf tied around his neck, and your fingers swiftly undo the knot. You throw it on the bed as you continue down his chest, reaching the buttons of his vest.
Buggy watches you closely as you concentrate on undoing the buttons. Your touch never lifts from his skin for more than a second, granting him the pleasure of feeling your soothing touch after many weeks.
The vest falls on the floor as you push it back over his shoulders. Fingertips tickle his arm as you reach his hand to take off one of his gloves. Your eyes timidly meet his as you plant a small kiss on his palm.
Before he met you, he never thought such a minuscule action could mean so much. Now, he craves it often. It's your way of saying 'I love you,' seeing as Buggy is not good with words. You give him options to show his love, and that's priceless to him.
Your curious eyes have already taken in all his bruises and minor cuts. There's no doubt Arlong's men had been beating him up. You don't bring them up, knowing Buggy will close up again. He'll talk when he's ready.
You kneel on the floor, helping him off his boots, and quickly after, you get rid of his pants, too. You guide a butt-naked Buggy to the tub, ordering him to get in.
"Ohh," Buggy bites back a moan as the warm water soothes his aching muscles. The smell of eucalyptus wafts up to his nose. It's his favorite scent because it's the one you used when you met.
"Would you like me to wash your hair?" You ask him, untying the knot on his head scarf.
"You said you were gonna take care of me. Do whatever you want, sweet cheeks," he knows you've already made your decision, as his hair is already down before he can respond. You beam at the nickname, knowing your Buggy is softening up.
His bright blue hair falls down his back and into the water. Grabbing a jug, you fill it with water and softly tell Buggy to tilt his head back. The water cascades down his head, wetting his hair and turning it a beautiful deep teal.
Buggy opens his eyes and sees your calm expression as you concentrate on not getting any water on his face. A small fraction of his anger chips away, seeing how much you care for him. Only you'd know he hates the feeling of water pouring down his face.
You grab oils from your selection and brush them through his hair, ridding him of any sand and grime stuck in it. Buggy involuntarily closes his eyes as you massage his scalp with the tip of your fingers. A mixture of a sigh and moan falls from his lips.
When his hair is clean and untangled, you grab the bar of soap and a sponge to clean his body. Your eyes are attentive to any bruise or cut, careful not to hurt him any more than he is.
You notice his neck is quite stiff as you spread the soap suds across his back, so you spend some time massaging the area. You dig your thumbs into the tension knots, causing Buggy to become more vocal, groaning and moaning whenever you hit a spot that needs extra care.
Moving to kneel beside the tub, you wash his chest and stomach. Buggy simply stares as you focus on getting every speck of dirt off of him. Any other day, he'd be making you laugh and throwing inappropriate jokes, but the time didn't seem right to him. So, he kept quiet and observed how you tried to hide your grimaces whenever you encountered a nasty bruise.
You massage his knees when you get to his legs because you know they hurt. Buggy might not complain about any pain, but you know the chop chop fruit makes his joints ache when he uses his abilities.
As the dirt is washed away from his body, so does his anger. He's sure that by the end of the bath, he won't be any better than a harmless puppy, and that's all you wanted. Buggy needs to let go of the anger he harbors inside so he can come back stronger than ever and lead the crew to its next adventure, whatever that may be.
You leave his face for last. You're the only person on earth who has the honor and pleasure of cleaning his face free of its makeup. Carefully, you wipe away with a rag the grease paint covering his handsome face. There's layer upon layer of paint staining his skin. A splash of blue over his eyes, red on the corner of his lips, white on his hairline. You wipe away each layer until you're able to see your Buggy. Not Buggy the Clown.
"There you are," you smile, cupping his face. Buggy's hand comes up to encase yours to simply kiss your palm. Beautiful blue eyes stare back at you shyly. Without all the makeup, he tends to feel more self-conscious about his nose.
"You know I was coming for you, right?" You ask him to make it clear you never intended to abandon him.
"I know, Princess," he says, leaning further into your touch. Your thumb brushes over his stubble before you pull back your hand. A soft protest leaves him.
"Let's get you out," you murmur, helping him out of the bath. You tell him to stay where he is as you fetch the towel.
Once you start something, you have to finish it. With the same love and care, you dry Buggy's body, kissing his bruises as you go along. You get on your knees to dry his legs as well.
It's a very intimate position you're in. Buggy's manhood is right in front of your face. He's looking down with hooded eyes, waiting for your next move. He'll go as far as you want to go tonight.
Having him away for so long, you can't resist kissing around his pubic bone. You avoid touching his cock for now as you tease him, looking up at him innocently.
His length begins to harden as you keep brushing your lips all around his thighs and pubic area, but not where he needs to feel you most. You notice his fists clenching as he holds back from grabbing your head and placing it exactly where he wants.
Finally, your lips kiss his length, all the way from the base to the tip. That alone gets all of his blood to surge down to his cock. You continue this torturous pace for too long, teasing the tip of his cock with your tongue.
"Fuck, Princess," Buggy groans, looking into your eyes.
He's tired. He's been away for weeks. Despite wanting to fall on his bed and die for the next ten hours, his need to have you wins out. So, with the energy boost you gave him with the bath, he grabs your arm and pulls you up.
There will be time for you to suck his cock another time. Now, he needs to feel you as close as humanly possible. Buggy grabs your face and presses his lips against yours.
He kisses you deeply and sloppily, tasting your minty lip balm. He hunches over you as you lean back, overwhelmed by the sudden display of affection. Kissing him back just as fiercely as your arms wrap around his sides, pulling yourself closer.
His hand leaves your cheek to tug on the strings of your night dress and push it off your shoulders. The falling fabric tickles your skin as you're left just as exposed as he is.
Buggy grips your breasts, your sides, your thighs, and your ass. All to feel you so fucking close to him. He doesn't care if he's suffocated by you. After weeks of being tortured, all he wants is to feel your soft, caring touch.
You push Buggy back into the bed, and you tumble down with him as his hold on you is unrelenting. You won't be leaving his side tonight. Buggy sits in the center of the bed with you on his lap, grinding against his length.
"Fucking adore you," Buggy breathes, digging his head on your shoulder to leave kisses there, "and the way you take care of me."
"I'll always take care of you, Buggy," you tell him, cupping his jaw so you can look into his eyes, "You're mine. I gotta take care of what's mine, okay?"
A whine comes out of him as he nods at your words. He kisses your palm again, telling you everything you need to know. Buggy leans his forehead against yours. Something he had to get used to at the beginning due to the fact your noses also touch, but right now, it's the farthest thing on his mind. Having you close is his number one priority.
You line his cock with your entrance and slowly sink into it. You watch Buggy's face contort into one of pleasure as his mouth slightly gapes and his eyebrows furrow. You start bouncing softly, being mindful to be gentle with his aching body. Meanwhile, he grabs into your hips, helping you along, his fingers digging into you, afraid this is all a dream, and you'll go away.
There's no way this is a dream. You feel too warm and tight around him for it not to be real.
Buggy's arms encase your body as he pulls you flush against him. Chest to chest. Stomach to stomach. It doesn't matter that it makes it harder for you to move on top of him. Buggy drags his short nails down your back, relishing the heat of your skin. It's not with the intent to hurt but to feel you close.
You keep your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at the roots just how he likes it. You've resorted to grinding on his lap, as that's how much movement he allows you. His eyes bore into yours, depicting so many emotions he can't begin to comprehend, much less talk about. But it's enough for the two of you.
You peck his lips and ask, "You doing okay?"
Buggy nods and whispers, "I'm doing fucking perfect." He steals a kiss and another and another. Each kiss you let him steal gets progressively longer until he has his tongue in your mouth, tasting you.
The grind of your hips is enough to bring him to the edge. With a warning to your lips, Buggy spills inside of you. He revels in the level of closeness that brings. You play with his hair as he rests his head on your chest, catching his breath.
You need not say anything. It's a moment of vulnerability, and you let him have it. Buggy is resetting and pulling himself together back to the person he usually is.
That night, you sleep naked with Buggy basically on top of you. His head rests on your chest as he falls asleep listening to your heartbeat, and you hold him all throughout the night.
Except, when you wake up, he's gone. As your senses fully wake up, you notice the boat rocking. You've already set sail. Quickly, you get ready and go out onto the deck.
"About time you woke up, Sweet Cheeks!" Buggy yells from the helm, standing by the ship's wheel. The sun beams on Buggy's face, the familiar makeup freshly painted on his face. "It's time to get to work. I have some pirates to deal with."
"Yes, Captain!" You say, which earns you a sneaky wink from Buggy. With a soft laugh, you shake your head and walk through the ship to help the freaks with whatever they might need.
With you by his side, there is nothing Buggy can't overcome.
warnings: 18+, swearing, smut, slight knife play, oral (female receiving), p in v, slight breeding kink
a/n: i got carried away with the fluff at the end. as much as i love smut i also love some domestic ass fluff which is very clear here lol.
i started this a while ago but got busy and only managed to finish it today! next up i’ve got buggy. i actually have two ideas for him. both have smut but the premise is so different lol. let’s just say one has a prominent daddy kink.
this might be very ooc! mihawk, again i’ve only watched the live action. i would like to start the anime but those 1,000 episodes are intimidating to say the least.
Working for the Marines proved to be useful for Mihawk. His bounty was canceled, and he got to travel and get up to shenanigans that would otherwise bring him trouble.
Mihawk gets to strike pirate after pirate, which benefits him greatly. It gives him the opportunity to search for the one meant to surpass him while getting paid. No one has come close to beating him yet.
After another tedious mission, Mihawk returns home. He opens the grand doors of his castle and leaves his hat and coat by the door. He silently goes deep into the castle and into his bedroom, unhooking Yoru from his back and placing it by the bed.
He removes his boots and pants while keeping his eyes on the figure sprawled on the bed. His dear wife sleeps peacefully on her stomach, her hair casting a halo on the white pillows.
He tries his hardest not to wake you, but you groggily open your eyes as he lays on the bed. He stares back at you apologetically, kissing the back of your head.
"You're back," you sigh, closing your eyes again. Your muscles relax when you see it's your husband who has returned from his latest mission.
Normally, you'd greet him much more enthusiastically. However, the sky outside is still a deep shade of blue, the stars twinkling brightly to shine some light on the otherwise dark room. And you have had a long, exhausting day that is pulling you back to sleep.
"Just got back," he responds softly. His eyes trace over your exposed figure. It's a warm summer night if the sheets crumpled by the end of the bed are any indication.
He was away longer than he expected. It's times like these that he resents his agreement with the Marines. He will resent anything that keeps you away from him. He would take you with him if your circumstances were different, but it's too dangerous.
You suddenly feel his touch on your back, but pay him no mind as sleep threatens to take you away once more. Mihawk traces your exposed skin with his small blade Kogatana. He likes seeing two of his priced possessions in his grasp.
He'd never dare cut you with it. That's reserved for his enemies. Enemies who would be scared by the mere sight of Mihawk, but you simply melt under his gaze without a worry in the world. The touch of the cold blade familiar and comforting.
"Don't you dare cut through my clothes again, Mihawk," you suddenly threaten when he glides the blade over your night dress. You might be safe from the sharpness of his blades, but your clothes never are.
"Or what?" he asks, lifting your silky nightgown with the blade. Just a bit more tension, and it will cut through the fabric. There's an unmistakable smile on his handsome face.
"Fuck around and find out," you groan, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. Deep down, you know you're not getting any rest anytime soon. Mihawk is clearly in a particular mood.
"Is this how you receive me? With empty threats?" Mihawk teases you. He follows it with a "Tsk, I expected more from you."
"My love, it's four in the morning. My brain isn't working properly, but rest assured it'll come up with something by morning," you huff, burying your face on the pillow.
"I'm dying to find out what you come up with. In the meantime, I'll fuck around." Mihawk says with a tone that warns you he's up to no good.
In an instant, you hear the blade ripping through the material of your nightgown. The cut is clean and precise, exposing your skin to the room's humid air.
"Mihawk!" You groan, annoyed but far from surprised. Another piece of clothing ruined by Kogatana. Add it to the tally.
"Screaming my name already? I've barely touched you," Mihawk chuckles, amused at his joke. He traces his lips down your spine, pressing kisses along the curve of your back.
"Idiot…" you mumble with a small grin. You prop yourself up on your elbows, still on your stomach, looking at your husband over your shoulder.
"All yours, darling," he responds cheekily, biting down on your exposed ass cheek.
"Hey!" You giggle, wiggling under his hold. Mihawk pins you down with his body as he comes back up.
Mihawk brushes your hair over one of your shoulders to dig his head into the crook of your neck, kissing your pulse point. You smile at this, having missed his touch like the familiar scrape of his beard on your skin.
Mihawk gives you enough space to turn around in his grasp. You cup his face and say, "I missed you. A few more days and I would've gone out in search of you." Your thumbs mindlessly rub over his jaw. No matter how much he cuts through your clothes, you love him.
Your actions bring him comfort as he leans into your touch, "My apologies. Will you allow me to make it up to you?"
You pretend to think as he stares you down. His gaze is soft and loving and filled with playfulness. Playfulness that is reserved only for you. "It's the least you can do," you finally respond, touching his lips.
Mihawk closes the gap in an instant, kissing you senseless. He groans into the kiss as he deepens it, his tongue swiping your lips to gain entrance. He grabs your thigh, wrapping it around his waist to have you closer.
Your arms wrap around his back, scratching his skin with your nails as you pull yourself closer. Mihawk's hand comes up to your chest, pulling on the tattered fabric of your nightgown, successfully throwing it somewhere in the room.
"Don't forget you owe me another nightgown," you breathe as Mihawk kisses down your body.
"And a blouse, a skirt, a dress, and many the undergarments. But who is keeping track?" Mihawk says. He's settled between your thighs, placing open-mouthed kisses down your soft stomach.
You prop yourself up to watch him delve lower and lower down your body. He searches for your gaze when he reaches your mound, where he places a small kiss. "I'd much prefer you sleep naked. We can sleep skin to skin."
You smile and shake your head at him, biting your lip in anticipation. "What of the nights you're gone?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.
Mihawk's strong hands grasp your thighs, pulling them open. Maintaining eye contact, he traces his lips over the inside of your thighs, not quite kissing them. His facial hair tickles you and leaves goosebumps in its wake.
Not one to lose an argument, he responds, "More of a reason to stay naked. Makes it easier to touch yourself while you think of me," he purrs. You feel his breath where you need him most.
As you open your mouth to reply with a snarky comment, Mihawk takes his chance. His tongue licks up your slit, tasting you for the first time in weeks.
"Ohh."
Mihawk eats you out like a starved man lost at sea for months. His tongue licks and flicks over your clit repeatedly as his lips wrap around it to suck. You fall back on the bed with your fingers digging into his curls, pulling on them. It only spurs him on as his hips involuntarily thrust into the mattress. Pleasing you turns him on.
"I missed this cunt," he lewdly moans as he kisses the inside of your thigh, lightly biting the area.
"Mihawk," you whine, turning red-faced by his crude words.
He mimics your tone, saying your name. Your ankle digs into his back in response. He's far from hurt as he laughs into your thigh. Having had a taste, he slows it down, taking his time. Enjoying everything about you.
He spreads your lips apart, exposing your pink center to him. Strings of arousal cover you, giving your cunt a pretty sheen. You're easily embarrassed by Mihawk's actions, but your whines do nothing to stop him.
"Fucking beautiful," he purrs, thumb circling over your exposed clit.
Your fingers card through his curls, pulling them back to watch his lustful expression. No one has ever made you feel as desired as Mihawk has.
Soft breaths fall from you as you feel Mihawk's warm tongue gather the slick from your entrance. He gets lost in his pleasure as his fingers dig into your thighs. Obscene wet noises coming from his mouth, mixing with the staccato of your moans.
Each flick of his tongue gets you higher and higher, your tummy tensing under the weight of the pleasure. You whine as you get closer to your peak, small warnings Mihawk doesn't need as he's learned what each of your tells are. He's adamant about making you cum on his tongue.
It's a matter of time until he feels your legs squeezing his head and your hips bucking into him. Your back arching follows soon after as a loud cry escapes your lips.
Mihawk licks his lips, satisfied, as he pulls slightly away from you. The twitching of your cunt is not missed by his hawk eyes. He presses his palm against your center, easing you down from your high.
He crawls back up your body, kissing your nipples on his way up. You swat him away gently, feeling sensitive.
"My beautiful wife," he says once he's face to face. In his eyes, you're the most beautiful woman in the world. Your skin shines prettily with the afterglow of an orgasm.
"What's gotten into you?" You giggle, giving him exactly what he was looking for. Your smile.
"Can't a man miss his wife?" He asks, nudging your cheek with his nose as he sporadically leaves kisses on your face.
He did miss you, but he's also extremely pussydrunk. Going down on you does as much to him as it does to you, judging by the hard on pressing against your lower stomach.
"He can..." You smile, wrapping your arms around him to caress his back. "Just how much did you miss me?"
You feel his laugh in your ear as he catches your suggestive tone. Nonetheless, he whispers, "I missed you like the sun and moon miss each other."
"You're cheesy," you say, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him flush against you. His cock is between the two of you, a bead of pre dripping onto your skin.
"Don't tell anyone. Or else my reputation be ruined." Mihawk says, pressing his forehead against yours.
"It's our secret," you whisper in response with a kiss on his waiting lips.
Hiking your leg further up his body Mihawk lines himself up and pushes his cock into you. You gasp into the kiss as he fills you up until he bottoms out.
He always starts slow. The drag of your walls against his cock is a memory he never wishes to forget. He swears your cunt feels better each time he has the pleasure of being buried inside you.
His thrusts are slow but deep. He keeps a hand on your leg that's hiked up around his waist while he holds himself up with the other. The way you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes is his favorite sight in the whole wide world. Your soft gasps and cries are a symphony of their own, especially mixed with his own.
His slower pace only lasts so long as he gets lost in the way your cunt chokes his cock. He wants more. He needs more.
His resolve quickly disappears as he picks himself up to kneel on the bed. He easily pulls you closer as you slide down the bed with a yelp. His cock always inside of you.
Mihawk presses your legs up to your chest, grabbing a discarded pillow to place under your ass.
"Much better," he mutters as his hips buck against you tentatively.
"Yeah, 'cause you're not the one folded in half," you begin saying as he snaps his hips, which turns into a moan. The new angle brings tears to your eyes. The tip of his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars.
"Don't deny it. You like when I manhandle you," he gruffs, picking up the pace of his thrusts. He further presses against the back of your thighs as he looks down when you both meet. His cock wet with both of your juices.
"I'm. Not." You pant between each one of his jerks. You leave it at that, closing your eyes to focus on the sparks of pleasure.
This is Mihawk's favorite position just because of the visual standpoint. He's in total control and gets to gauge your body's reactions.
Your scrunched up eyes as you concentrate on following your release. The biting of your lips to try and remain quiet, yet whimpers betray you. Your chest bouncing pulls him into another trance as he watches your skin blushing and your nipples hardening.
Your eyes squint open as you bring your hand down to your lower abdomen, where you say, "Feel you right here, Mihawk."
Mihawk mutters a curse under his breath. He places his hand on top of yours and asks, "Want me to cum right here too, darling?"
His moves become sharper and more precise as he bullies that spot inside you. "yes. yes. yes. Fill me up, my love," you cry out.
It's all becoming too much for you. You bring your arm up to bite on it and muffle your moans, but he still manages to coax out your voice. Your moans remain a secret in the night, heard only by Mihawk.
It's fucking glorious the way your cunt squeezes his cock when you reach your climax. The rhythmic pulses of your high urging him to continue pushing into you. You try to push him away to get him to go slower, your hands only managing to caress his abdomen before he pins them down.
He is in total control. He just needs a bit more from you. You can take it. You've done it before. Your legs shake both in exhaustion and rapture. His pace is steady as he feeds into that feeling that tightens his balls.
His hands turn to lace his fingers through yours. The sound of skin slapping echoed through the room. With hooded eyes, you watch your husband in all his glory. Trickles of sweat fall down his strong chest, and his curls are a mess atop his head. It all makes him look like a work of art.
Once more, the familiar sensation of pure euphoria washes over you, and it's enough to push Mihawk to reach that place as well. He stills inside you, his hands squeezing yours as he empties himself inside you, just like he promised.
With your hands on his hold, he brings them to his lips to kiss your palms. He follows the path down your arm until he buries his head on your shoulder. He lies there, almost crushing you under his weight, breathing you in. You wrap your arms around him, enjoying the closeness and rubbing your hands up and down his muscular back, rubbing the spots with the most tension from carrying Yoru around.
You talk in hushed whispers as you gain back your energy. It's a hard task, considering you were woken up in the middle of the night, and Mihawk probably hasn't slept in more than 24 hours.
Hours later, you feel the hard patter of footsteps nearing your bedroom. You sit up, preparing yourself despite Mihawk's heavy arm threatening to pull you back down into his embrace.
The door to your bedroom is slammed open with a bang barely second after you manage to slip on your robe.
"Wake up, wake up, it's morning!" Your loud, curly-haired boys scream as they run around the room with wooden swords.
"What's all this ruckus about?" Mihawk groans. Both boys freeze, noticing the other figure sitting up on the bed, "Papa!"
"There are my brats," Mihawk huffs as they let the swords clatter to the ground to climb the bed and throw themselves at him, "I missed the two of you," he says, hugging them and kissing their heads.
You stare lovingly at the scene in front of you. The twins were a result of your honeymoon with Mihawk. Fruits of your love, if you will.
The five-year-olds are the spitting image of their father. Kind reminders of him whenever Mihawk has to go out on a mission.
"Missed you too, Papa."
"I want some snuggles, too!" You exclaim, grabbing the twin closest to you and placing him on your lap to kiss and snuggle. He squirms and laughs as you tickle his belly.
The twins celebrate their dad's back as they cling and climb over him. You let them do as they please, considering it has been you who they've clung to for the past couple of weeks.
"Mama is sick," one of them blurts out to Mihawk, causing you to freeze.
"Mhm, Mama called the doctor to make her better!" The other echoes as you pull him to your lap to shush him.
Mihawk narrows his eyes at you as he listens to the twins ramble. You throw him a sheepish smile and quickly look down at your son, brushing his unruly curls to avoid his gaze.
"Well, Papa is home now. I'll take good care of Mama," Mihawk reassures them. "Why don't the two of you go to the kitchen and gather the ingredients for your favorite?'
"Really?" They ask in unison with excited smiles.
"Absolutely," Mihawk says just as excited, ushering the boys out of the room. As soon as they run out, he turns to you with a raised eyebrow, "Not that I'm a doctor, but you didn't seem sick a while ago."
"I didn't?" You ask incredulously, standing from the bed to sit on the vanity.
Mihawk follows you, knowing you're trying to avoid the conversation. He calls your name, kneeling down on the floor by your seat. "Why did you call the doctor?"
You sigh, mustering the courage to tell him the news. You face him as he settles between your legs. He grabs your hand and places a kiss on the back of it, giving you the courage to tell him.
"We're having another baby," you smile at him, squeezing his hand.
"You're happy?" Mihawk is ecstatic, to say the least, but he recognizes how hard your pregnancy with the twins had been. So, he toned it down for the moment.
"I'm happy," you nod, allowing him the joy of having another kid. It's been six years, and you're ready for another baby. Besides, the boys are growing up so fast that they aren't babies anymore.
Mihawk hugs you from his kneeling position, digging his head into your stomach, "You think we'll have a girl?"
"I have my fingers crossed. There's too much testosterone in this castle. One thing is for sure though, it's the last one," you tell him, kissing his head.
"Come on, darling. We have more space for two or three more..."
You roll your eyes at him and gently push him away, reminding him he has two hyperactive boys downstairs waiting for him.
I haven't abandoned this story. I just put it on the back burner for now. The story is just on a small vacation. It is currently out of office. It can't come to the phone right now. It just fell under my bed to sleep with the monsters. It never left my head. It is everywhere - except on paper.
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