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Masterlist
Clyde Logan
Nightmares
Bookstore
Dress
Clyde is dating a girl from another country
Flip Zimmerman
First Meeting
Jealousy
True love
Kylo Ren
Velvet
Farewell
Legacy
Hombre perfecto 🥰🥰🥰
Makin’ Love Faces || K. Namjoon
Paring: F!Reader x Namjoon | SMUT (Dumbification + Praise)
The first thing you notice is the stretch, the delicious, burning fullness that steals the breath from your lungs and replaces it with a gasp. Namjoon is already moving, a deep, steady rhythm that has you arching off the mattress, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the sweat-slick planes of his back. The room is dark, except for the sliver of moonlight cutting across his shoulders, illuminating the intense focus on his face.
“There you go,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling vibration you feel more than hear. His hips snap forward, and you cry out, a broken sound swallowed by the heavy air. “Just like that. Taking me so well.”
His praise , each filthy, adoring word loosens something in your mind, untethering your thoughts. You’re not thinking about tomorrow, or your name, or anything beyond the feeling of him, the sound of him, the sight of his blown-wide pupils fixed on yours.
“You can take it, baby,” he coaxes, his pace increasing incrementally, each thrust landing with pinpoint accuracy against that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. Your vision whites out for a second, your mouth falling open on a silent scream. “I know you can. So good for me. Just a dumb, pretty thing for me to love, right?”
The word, dumb, should sting. Instead, it sinks in. You don’t need to think right now. He’s thinking for both of you. Your coherence begins to slip, thoughts dissolving into pure sensation. A plea tries to form on your lips, but it comes out as a garbled moan, syllables smearing together.
Namjoon’s breath hitches, a feral, pleased sound. “What was that, sweetheart? Can’t understand you.” He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. “Use your words.”
You try. You really do. But all that emerges is a whimper, high and desperate, as he angles his hips again, hitting that perfect place with relentless precision. “R-right… there…?” you manage to slur, the words thick and clumsy on your tongue.
A slow, cocky smile spreads across his face. “Yeah?” he breathes, his own control fraying at the edges. “Right there? That’s my girl. Knew you could find it. Just a little more, come on.”
The pressure is building, a coil tightening low in your belly, threatening to snap. Drool gathers at the corner of your mouth, forgotten as every nerve ending fires for him and him alone. You’re babbling now, a continuous stream of “Joon, Joon, please, ‘s too much, ‘s so good,” that makes no logical sense.
He sees it. His thrusts become shorter, harder, punishingly deep. With a tenderness that contrasts violently with the carnal act, he brings his thumb up and gently swipes the strand of saliva from your lip. His eyes are dark with awe and possession. “Look at you,” he whispers, his voice rough with reverence. “So far gone.. I’ve got you.”
That’s all it takes. His words, his touch, the fullness, it shatters you. The climax crashes over you not with a choked, sobbing gasp, your body seizing around him as your mind finally, blissfully empties of everything but him. You tremble violently, seeing nothing.
He follows you over the edge with a groan, his own release wracking his powerful frame. For long moments, the only sounds are your ragged breaths mingling in the dark.
As the aftershocks subside, he doesn’t pull away. He collapses beside you, gathering your boneless, pliant form against his chest. He presses a kiss to your damp temple, his fingers carding through your hair. You nuzzle into his neck, capable only of making a soft, contented noise.
“Shhh,” he soothes, his voice back to its normal, gentle timbre, though laced with deep satisfaction. “Just rest. You did so well, love.” And in the warm, safe darkness of his arms, with your mind quiet and your body sated, you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.
(Ik it’s short but it’s just a little thought I wanted out there.)
정국 - RAW | oneshot
the one where you convince your boyfriend to try that stupid tiktok trend - eating sushi off his bicep - only for the sushi not to be the rawest thing caught on camera that night.
pairing: jungkook x fem!reader
genre: established relationship au, porn with plot, smut, fluff (mdni!)
word count: 8,089
warnings/tags: 18+, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie!, multiple orgasms (like... three), dirty talk, praise kink, degradation, recording/filming (the phone is basically a third character), food play (sushi on nipples, sushi on biceps, sushi everywhere), oral sex (f. and m. receiving), breast play (he fucks her tits and it's messy), clit stimulation (so much blowing on it, rubbing, tonguing), fingering, grinding and dry humping, squirting (she literally gushes everywhere), cum play (eating sushi mixed with cum, sucking her own fluids off him), hair pulling/fisting, lip biting, hickies/marking, second person pov, rich miami aesthetic, tiktok trends gone wrong (or right), that lip ring doing damage, "i fucking love you" ending, soft aftercare
a/n: I was in the process of writing chapter 3 for my jungkook series "purple tears I cry," and a certain sushi scene made me think of this that I just had to write a whole separate oneshot smut for it. this is genuinely nasty, please read at your own risk! hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think of it... don't forget to reblog <3
The Miami humidity clings to your skin the moment you step out of the Uber, but the restaurant's AC hits like a wall of relief, crisp and expensive-smelling, all yuzu and polished wood and money. Nobu. Of course he chose Nobu. You catch your reflection in the dark glass doors, your teal dress catching the neon glow from the street, the silk clinging to the curve of your hips in a way that makes Jungkook's hand tighten at your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you who you belong to tonight.
Your hair is up, mostly, a messy twist that took you forty minutes to make look effortless, two strands curling against your collarbones like they have a mind of their own. Your skin glows, sun-kissed and dewy, and you feel his eyes on you, always on you, as the hostess leads you to the corner booth. You make sure to sway your hips a little more than necessary because you know he's watching, know his gaze is fixed on the way the silk shifts over your ass.
He's wearing a white button-up - one that should look innocent, corporate, boring, except he's left the first five buttons undone, and the fabric gapes open to reveal the hard plane of his chest, the ink that spills over his shoulder and disappears beneath the cotton. His lip ring catches the low light when he smiles at you, silver glinting against his mouth, and something low in your stomach tightens because you know exactly how that metal feels against your throat, your breastbone, the inside of your thigh. You know how it feels when he drags it down your stomach, when he looks up at you with those dark eyes while he tongues you open.
You slide into the booth and immediately pull out your phone, propping it against your water glass, angling it just so. The red recording light blinks to life. Jungkook raises an eyebrow but says nothing, just settles across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table, his foot hooking around your ankle to pull you closer.
"Documenting the experience?" he asks, his voice low, rough, the kind of voice that makes you think of hotel sheets and sweat and the way he sounds when he's inside you.
"Memories," you say, but your eyes drop to his mouth, to the silver ring there, and you know he sees it, knows exactly what you're thinking. You adjust the phone slightly, making sure the frame catches both of you, the candlelight, the way his shirt falls open when he leans back.
The server arrives with menus you don't need because you already know what you want, what you always want here. But Jungkook takes his time, asks questions about the omakase, the wine pairings, his voice smooth and deliberate while his shoe slides up your calf beneath the table, pushing the silk of your dress higher, higher, until it brushes the back of your knee and you have to bite your lip to keep from making a sound.
"Spicy tuna," you manage, your voice breathier than you intended, and Jungkook's eyes darken because he knows, he always knows what he's doing to you.
"Two orders," he says to the server, not looking away from you. "And sake. The good stuff."
The sake arrives in a ceramic flask, and he pours for you, his fingers brushing yours as you take the cup, and you make sure to let your tongue linger on the rim when you drink, watching his jaw tighten, watching his gaze drop to your mouth. You set the cup down and lean forward, the neckline of your dress gaping just enough, and you see his eyes flick down, see his throat work as he swallows.
"You're playing with me," he murmurs, and his shoe presses harder against your leg, insistent.
"Maybe you're playing with me," you counter, and you kick off your heel under the table, let your bare foot find his thigh, slide up, up, until you're pressing against the hard outline of him through his trousers, and he hisses, his hand gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white.
"Careful," he warns, but his hips shift, pressing into your touch, and you smile, sweet and dangerous.
"Or what?"
The spicy tuna arrives like art, ruby-red and glistening, arranged on black slate with edible flowers you won't eat. You take the first piece with your fingers because fuck the chopsticks, and Jungkook's gaze tracks the movement, watches your lips close around the fish, the rice, the wasabi that burns just enough. You moan, deliberately, because you know what it does to him, and his jaw tightens, that muscle jumping beneath the skin, his hand disappearing beneath the table where you know he's adjusting himself.
"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked already, ruined, and you haven't even started.
"So good," you say, and you take another, and another, each time making sure to lick your fingers after, slow, obscene, your eyes locked on his. You can see the flush spreading up his neck, can see the way his chest rises and falls faster than it should, the open shirt showing too much skin, the tattoo peeking out, and you want to trace it with your tongue, want to mess up his hair and ruin his composure right here in this restaurant full of people who think they're being subtle about watching you.
You lean back, your foot still working him beneath the table, and you reach for your phone, checking the angle, making sure it's still recording. You tilt it slightly to catch more of him, the candlelight catching the silver in his lip, the way his eyes look black with want.
"Say hi to the camera," you tease, and he does, his voice rough, his smile sharp and predatory.
"Hi, camera," he says, and then, lower, just for you, "Can't wait to see what you do with this footage later."
You take another piece of tuna and hold it out across the table, an offering, a test. He leans forward, never breaking eye contact, and takes it from your fingers with his teeth, his tongue brushing your fingertips, hot and wet, and you feel it everywhere, feel it between your legs where you're already aching, already soaked through your underwear.
"Jungkook," you breathe, and he catches your wrist, holds it, sucks your fingers into his mouth one by one, cleaning them, his tongue swirling around each digit while the restaurant noise fades to nothing and there's only him, only this, only the wet heat of his mouth and the promise of what comes after.
"You're killing me," he murmurs against your palm, his lips brushing the sensitive skin at your wrist, and you shiver, your foot still pressed against his hard length, feeling him throb even through the fabric.
"Good," you whisper. "Suffer."
You eat slowly, deliberately, drawing out every bite, every sip of sake, every moment of his foot tracing patterns on your calf, his knee pressing between your thighs under the table. You talk about nothing, everything, your voice light while your body screams for him, while you watch the sweat bead at his hairline, watch him shift in his seat, uncomfortable and hard and yours.
By the time you're full, stuffed, the silk of your dress feels tighter across your ribs, and you lean back with a groan, hand on your stomach, your foot finally retreating from his lap. He exhales, shaky, and adjusts himself again, not subtle, not caring who sees, and you love him like this, undone, desperate, ready to drag you out of here and fuck you in the Uber if he has to.
"I can't," you say, patting your stomach. "I'm gonna burst."
Jungkook smirks, that dangerous smirk that means trouble, that means you're in for it the second you get back to the hotel. "Shame. I like watching you eat."
"Pervert."
"Your pervert."
You flag down the server, ask for a takeout box, and Jungkook pays without looking at the check, just slides his card across the table like the amount doesn't matter, because it doesn't, not to him, not to either of you tonight. You pocket your phone, the recording still running, capturing everything, capturing the way he stands and offers you his hand, the way he pulls you against him in the elevator, his mouth at your ear.
"You're going to pay for that," he whispers, and you shiver, feel his hand slide down to grip your ass, squeezing hard.
"Promise?"
The hotel suite is all white and marble and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, dark now, just a black expanse beyond the glass. You kick off your heels, your feet sinking into carpet that probably costs more than your first car, and you collapse onto the sectional, pulling out your phone, scrolling through the footage while he pours himself a drink at the mini bar, his back to you, the white shirt pulling across his shoulders, the tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve.
TikTok. Endless, brainless TikTok to wind down.
A couple on a beach. A dance trend you don't care about. A recipe for something with feta cheese.
Then: a girl, pretty, blonde, sitting cross-legged on a bed in what looks like a generic hotel room. Her boyfriend beside her, shirtless, flexing his bicep. The girl grins at the camera, then at him, and unwraps a sushi roll, places it on the hard curve of his muscle, and leans down to take it with her teeth. The comments are screaming. The views are in the millions.
You stare at the screen.
You stare at the takeout box on the coffee table.
You stare at Jungkook, who's pouring himself a drink, his back to you, the white shirt still open, showing too much skin, the lip ring catching the light when he turns his head.
Enlightenment.
You set your phone down. Stand. Cross the room on bare feet, silent, predatory. He hears you, turns, glass halfway to his lips, and you pluck it from his hand, set it on the marble counter with a clink that sounds like a promise.
"Take your shirt off," you say.
His eyebrow arches, that lip ring catching the light again. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." You reach for the takeout box, open it, the spicy tuna still perfect, still glistening, and you can feel him watching you, confused and curious and already getting hard because he always gets hard when you use that tone, that minx tone, the one that means you're about to ruin him.
He sets the glass down. Undoes the remaining buttons slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours. The shirt falls open, then off, and he's bare in front of you, all golden skin and ink and muscle that makes your mouth water. You step closer, close enough to feel the heat coming off him, and you press your palm to his chest, right over his heart, feeling it thud against your hand.
You set your phone down on the marble counter, angling it just so, the red recording light blinking like a heartbeat in the dim room. You want this captured, want the lens to swallow every moment of what comes next, want to watch it later and feel the heat crawl up your neck all over again. Jungkook's eyes flick to the device, understanding dawning dark and dangerous in his gaze, and when he looks back at you, something has shifted. The playful tension from the restaurant has evaporated, replaced by something heavier, hungrier, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.
You lean in, your hair falling forward, those two dark strands brushing his shoulder like silk curtains framing the moment. You don't go for the sushi yet. You press your mouth to his throat first, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to make him groan deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your lips. His hand comes up to tangle in your updo, disheveling it further, fingers tightening in your hair until your scalp sings with the sting of it. You lick the salt from his skin, taste the cologne at his pulse point, the musk of him underneath, and you feel him shudder beneath your mouth, feel the sushi roll shift against your cheek as he breathes ragged and wrecked.
"You're insane," he murmurs, but his voice is already ruined, gravel and velvet, and you smile against his neck, teeth grazing his tendon, feeling his cock twitch against your hip through his trousers.
"Wait until you see what comes after the appetizer," you whisper, and finally, finally, you turn your head and take the sushi between your teeth, your eyes locked on his, watching him watch you, watching the way your lips close around the rice and fish, the way your throat works as you swallow, and the sound he makes is animal, guttural, something torn from deep in his chest that makes your thighs clench together with nothing but air between them.
He moves before you can even taste the wasabi. His hands find your waist and he's lifting you, setting you down on the cool marble counter like you weigh nothing, like you're something to be arranged, positioned, consumed. The stone bites against your bare thighs where your dress rides up, and you gasp, but the sound is swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours, the metal of his lip ring pressing hard into your flesh, cold and burning all at once. He tastes like sake and want and the promise of destruction, and you open for him, let him take, let him plunder your mouth with a desperation that makes your head spin.
"Look at you," he breathes against your jaw, his teeth dragging down your throat, sharp and claiming. "Look at you, playing with fire, recording this, thinking you're in control."
His hands find the thin straps of your teal dress, silk whispering against your skin like a secret. He doesn't rush. He takes his time, sliding the straps down your shoulders with agonizing slowness, his eyes tracking every inch of exposed flesh, his pupils blown wide and black with desire. The silk catches on your nipples for a heartbeat, clinging, teasing, and then it falls, smooth as water, pooling at your waist, and you're bare for him, your breasts heavy and full, nipples tight and aching in the cool hotel air, no barrier between his gaze and your skin.
He stares. The silence stretches, thick and electric, and you feel beautiful, powerful, laid out like a feast on this marble altar. His throat works, his hand coming up to cup you, weigh you, his thumb dragging across your nipple so slowly you whimper, arching into his touch.
"No bra," he observes, his voice rough, almost reverent. "You were planning this. Walking around that restaurant with nothing under this dress, teasing me, letting me wonder."
"I wanted you to wonder," you admit, your voice breathless, broken. "I wanted you to think about it all night."
"Evil," he murmurs, and then he's bending his head, his mouth closing over your nipple, hot and wet and devastating, and you cry out, your hands flying to his hair, gripping tight as he sucks, as his tongue circles and flicks and drives you mindless. He moves to the other breast, giving it the same worship, the same relentless attention, and you're squirming on the counter, your hips rolling, seeking friction, seeking him.
He pulls back with a wet sound that makes you blush even as you moan for more. His eyes are dark, predatory, the playful boyfriend from the restaurant gone, replaced by something that looks at you like you're prey, like you're his to ruin.
"Bed," he commands, his voice leaving no room for negotiation, no room for anything but obedience. "Now. On your back."
You slide off the counter, your legs shaky, the silk of your dress catching on your hips as you move. You cross to the bed, each step feeling like you're walking through honey, through heat, your body thrumming with anticipation. You climb onto the white sheets, the fabric cool against your heated skin, and you lie back, your breasts falling to the sides, heavy and aching, your hair spilling across the pillows in waves.
He follows you, stalking across the room with a predator's grace, all bare chest and ink and the hard outline of his cock straining against his trousers. He stops at the foot of the bed, his eyes raking over you, devouring you, and then he reaches for your phone still sitting on the counter, brings it with him, sets it on the nightstand angled perfectly to capture everything, the red light blinking like a third heartbeat in the room.
"Keep it recording," he says, not a request but a decree. "I want you to watch this later. I want you to see what you look like when you're being fucked properly."
He undoes his belt with slow, deliberate movements, the leather hissing as he pulls it free, the metal clinking as he drops it to the floor. His trousers follow, and his underwear, and then he's naked, glorious, his cock thick and heavy and curving up toward his stomach, the tip already wet with arousal, the veins along the shaft prominent and pulsing. You can't help but stare, can't help but lick your lips at the sight of him, at the thought of taking him inside you, anywhere, everywhere.
He climbs onto the bed, crawling up your body like a storm rolling in, all dark intent and coiled power. He doesn't touch you where you want him most, not yet. Instead, he straddles your chest, his knees settling on either side of your ribs, his hands bracing on the headboard above you, caging you in, trapping you beneath him. You can smell him, musk and sweat and something uniquely Jungkook, can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the weight of him hovering above you.
"Look at you," he breathes, his hand coming down to grip himself, to stroke once, twice, the sight obscene and mesmerizing. "Look at these perfect tits. Do you know how many times I've thought about this? About fucking them? About painting you with my cum?"
You whimper, arching up, and he takes that as invitation, as permission. He leans forward, guiding himself down, the hot, heavy weight of his cock settling into the valley between your breasts, skin against skin, velvet over steel. He groans, long and low, his head falling back, the column of his throat working as he begins to move.
He starts slow, rocking his hips, sliding himself through your cleavage, the friction making him hiss, making his abs tighten and flex with each thrust. You press your breasts together, creating a tighter channel for him, and he groans your name like a prayer, like a curse, his pace quickening, his hips snapping faster, harder. The head of his cock peeks out from between your breasts with each forward thrust, glistening and flushed, and you crane your neck, wanting to taste, wanting to lick the salt from his skin, but he pulls back just enough to deny you, a wicked smile playing at his lips.
"Greedy," he pants, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm, his control fraying at the edges. "So fucking greedy for it. You want this? Want me to cum all over you? Mark you?"
"Yes," you gasp, your own arousal spiraling tight and hot between your legs, the sight of him using you, losing himself in your body, driving you wild. "Yes, please, Jungkook, please-"
He breaks. His hips stutter, his hand gripping the headboard so tight his knuckles go white, and he comes with a shout that sounds torn from his soul, thick ropes of cum spilling across your chest, your throat, marking you, claiming you in the most primal way. He keeps thrusting through it, milking himself, his cock twitching against your skin, until he's spent, until he's trembling above you, his chest heaving, sweat gleaming on his inked shoulders.
The silence that follows is broken only by your ragged breathing, by the wet sounds of him still sliding against your cum-slicked skin. He looks down at you, at the mess he's made of you, and his eyes flash with something dark and satisfied, something possessive.
"Beautiful," he whispers, his hand coming down to smear the evidence of his pleasure across your breasts, your nipples, making you glisten with him. "So fucking beautiful."
He reaches over to the takeout box still sitting on the counter, forgotten until now, and retrieves another piece of spicy tuna, the fish still cool, still perfect. He brings it to your chest, and you watch, breathless, as he places it carefully on top of your nipple, the sushi resting there like an offering, like sacrilege.
He bends his head, his eyes locked on yours, and takes the sushi between his teeth, his tongue dragging across your nipple as he does, hot and wet and filthy, sucking the fish and your flesh together, the combination of sensations making you cry out, making your back arch off the bed. He chews slowly, savoring, his hand coming up to palm your other breast, his thumb circling your nipple, spreading his own release across your skin in obscene patterns.
When he swallows, he surges up, his mouth crashing against yours with a ferocity that steals your breath, his tongue thrusting deep, sharing the taste of tuna and salt and him, his teeth catching your lower lip, the metal of his piercing dragging against your sensitive flesh. He kisses you like he's starving, like he wants to consume you whole, like the camera isn't even there, like the world has narrowed down to just this, just you, just the wet heat of his mouth and the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.
"Mine," he growls against your lips, the word vibrating through your chest, through your bones. "Say it."
"Yours," you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging crescents into his inked skin. "I'm yours, Jungkook, I'm-"
He cuts you off with another kiss, deeper, harder, his hand sliding down your body, beneath the silk of your dress still pooled at your waist, finding where you're wet and aching and ready, and you know this is only the beginning, know that the night is long and the camera is still rolling and he's nowhere near finished with you.
He pulls back from the kiss with a wet, filthy sound that echoes in the quiet room, his eyes dark and glittering with intent. His hand is still between your legs, his fingers spreading your wetness in slow, teasing circles, and you arch into his touch, desperate, needy, your hips rolling to chase more friction.
"Give me the phone," he commands, his voice rough as gravel, as velvet, as something dangerous wrapped in silk.
You reach for it with trembling fingers, the device still warm from where it sat recording, and you hand it to him, your breath catching as he takes it, as he adjusts the angle, as he points the lens down at you like he's directing a film where you're the only star.
"Look at you," he murmurs, the camera capturing everything, capturing the flush spreading down your chest, the way your breasts rise and fall with each ragged breath, the sheen of sweat and his release still glistening on your skin. "Look at this fucking body. Do you see what I see? Do you see how perfect you are?"
He shifts back on his knees, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, and he hooks his fingers in the silk of your dress still pooled at your waist. He pulls slowly, agonizingly slowly, the fabric sliding down your hips, your thighs, leaving you completely bare, completely exposed to the lens, to his gaze, to the hungry darkness in his eyes.
"Spread your legs," he orders, and you do, your knees falling open, your thighs trembling as the cool hotel air hits your heated core. You feel exposed, vulnerable, the camera recording every inch of you, the way your pussy glistens with arousal, swollen and pink and aching for him. He zooms in, the lens close enough to capture the details, the way you pulse with need, the way your thighs are already shaking with anticipation.
"Beautiful," he breathes, the word almost reverent, almost profane. "Look at this pretty pussy. So wet for me. So fucking ready."
He sets the phone down on the mattress, angled up at you both, the red light blinking steady and watchful. But then he's reaching for your hand, pulling you up, placing the device in your trembling grip.
"Hold it," he instructs, his voice dropping lower, filthier, his eyes locked on yours with a command that brooks no argument. "Record me. Don't you dare stop filming, understand? I want you to capture every second of this. I want you to watch later and see exactly what you do to me."
You nod, your throat too tight to speak, and you angle the camera down, your fingers shaking as you focus the lens on him, on where he's settling between your thighs like he belongs there, like he's coming home.
He looks up at you through his lashes, that silver lip ring catching the light, and he knows, he always knows what that piece of metal does to you. He runs his tongue over it slowly, deliberately, letting you watch the way it moves, the way it glints, and your breath hitches because you can feel it already, can imagine the cool metal against your overheated flesh.
"You like this?" he asks, his voice a purr, a promise, a threat. "You like watching me? Like knowing I'm about to wreck you with this mouth?"
"Yes," you whimper, the camera trembling in your grip as you hold it steady, as you capture every moment.
He starts at your knee, his mouth hovering, his breath hot against your skin. He blows, a gentle stream of air that makes you gasp, makes your leg jerk in his grip. He holds you steady, his fingers digging into your thigh, and he drags his lips up, up, not touching, just breathing, just letting you feel the ghost of him, the promise of him.
He reaches the crease where your thigh meets your hip and he pauses, his eyes flicking up to the camera, to you, holding your gaze as he blows again, right there, right where you're throbbing, where you're aching, where you're dripping for him.
"Please," you beg, your voice breaking, the camera shaking in your hand. "Please, Jungkook, please touch me-"
"Shh," he soothes, his breath washing over your clit, hot and cool and devastating. "I've got you. Be patient, pretty girl. Be good."
He blows again, directly on your clit this time, the sensation shocking, electric, making you cry out, your hips bucking off the mattress. He holds you down with one hand on your stomach, pinning you, controlling you, and he leans closer, closer, until you can feel his breath fluttering against your most sensitive flesh, until you're trembling, until you're sobbing with need.
"Look at the camera," he commands, his voice vibrating against your thigh. "Don't look at me. Look at the lens. Show them how pretty you are when you're desperate."
You force your eyes up, staring into the small black circle of the phone's camera, your vision blurred with tears, your mouth open, your chest heaving. You look wrecked, you know you do, you can see your reflection in the dark screen, can see the way your hair is tangled and wild, the way your lips are swollen and red, the way your body is flushed pink with arousal.
"Good girl," he praises, and then he finally, finally, touches you.
His tongue drags through your folds in one long, slow stroke, hot and wet and perfect, and you scream, the sound tearing from your throat, your hips bucking against his mouth. He groans against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and he does it again, and again, lapping at you like he's starving, like he wants to taste every drop of your arousal, like he could spend hours here, drowning in you.
He focuses on your clit, circling it with the flat of his tongue, then the tip, then flicking it, relentless, merciless, driving you higher and higher until you're panting, until you're chanting his name like a prayer, like a curse, until your thighs are trembling on either side of his head.
"So fucking loud," he murmurs against you, the words muffled, filthy. "Let them hear you. Let the whole fucking hotel hear what I'm doing to you."
He pulls back just enough to speak, his chin glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark and wild. "Keep recording. Don't you dare stop."
You nod frantically, your hand cramping around the phone, but you hold it steady, you keep the lens focused on him, on where he's watching you with predatory intensity.
He slides one finger inside you, slow and deliberate, curling it to find that spot that makes your vision white out, and you moan, long and loud, unable to help yourself. He adds a second finger, stretching you, filling you, and he starts to pump them in and out, his wrist twisting, his knuckles dragging against your walls in a way that makes you see stars.
"More," you gasp, your head falling back, but he clicks his tongue, sharp and reprimanding.
"Eyes on the camera," he reminds you, his voice stern, commanding. "Look at me through the lens. Show me that pretty face."
You force your head up, your neck trembling with the effort, and you stare into the camera, your eyes wide and glassy, your mouth open as you pant. He adds a third finger, the stretch burning so perfectly you sob, your hips rolling to meet his thrusts, and he starts rubbing your clit with his other hand, circling it in tight, relentless patterns while his fingers work inside you, while he crooks them to hit that spot, that perfect spot, over and over and over.
"You're taking three fingers so well," he praises, his voice dripping with filth, with pride. "Look at you, stuffed full, dripping down my hand. You love this, don't you? Love being watched, love being used, love being my little porn star."
"Yes," you cry out, the camera shaking as your orgasm builds, coiling tight and hot in your belly. "Yes, yes, Jungkook, please, I'm gonna-"
"Not yet," he cuts you off, his fingers stilling, his hand pulling away from your clit, leaving you hovering on the edge, desperate and whining. "Not until I say. Keep holding that camera. Keep recording. I want to see your face when you cum all over my tongue."
He dives back in, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue thrusting inside you, fucking you with wet heat while his thumb presses hard against your clit, rubbing in furious circles. The dual sensation is too much, overwhelming, devastating, and you're screaming now, loud and unrestrained, your voice raw as you chant his name, as you beg, as you plead for release.
"Jungkook, please, please, I can't, I need to-"
"Cum," he commands, the word vibrating against your core. "Cum for me now. Let me taste it. Let me drink you down."
He sucks your clit into his mouth, the metal of his lip ring pressing hard against the sensitive bud, and you break. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, like a storm, like something violent and beautiful and earth-shattering. Your back arches off the bed, your thighs clamping around his head, your hand spasming around the phone as you cry out, loud and broken and his, completely his.
He doesn't stop. He keeps licking, keeps sucking, drawing out your pleasure until you're shaking, until you're sobbing, until you're pushing at his shoulders because it's too much, too sensitive, too everything.
He finally pulls back with a wet, obscene sound, his chin dripping with your release, his eyes dark and satisfied and wild. He looks at the camera, looks directly into the lens where you're still recording, still capturing every filthy moment, and he licks his lips, slow and deliberate, savoring your taste.
"Delicious," he murmurs, the word dripping with innuendo, with promise. "My favorite meal."
He crawls up your body, his skin hot against yours, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that tastes like you, like him, like everything dirty and perfect and yours. The camera is still recording, still capturing, still blinking its red light in the dark room, and you know, you know this is a night you'll be watching back for years, a night that will never stop making you blush, making you ache, making you want.
"Good girl," he whispers against your lips, his hand tangling in your hair, his body heavy and warm above you. "You did so well. You held it the whole time."
He takes the phone from your trembling grip, checks the recording, a smug, satisfied smile playing at his lips. "Perfect angle. Look at you, pretty thing. Look how beautiful you are when you cum."
He shows you the screen, and you watch yourself, watch your face contort with pleasure, watch your body arch and shake, and you feel the heat crawl up your neck even as you feel yourself getting wet again, already wanting more, already wanting everything he has to give.
He pulls you up, his hands rough at your waist, flipping you until you're straddling him, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands braced on his inked chest. The sweat-slick slide of your skin against his is electric, devastating, and you can feel him hard and thick beneath you, pressing against your thigh, leaving wet trails of pre-cum against your skin.
"Come here," he growls, his hand fisting in your hair, pulling you down until your mouths crash together, teeth clicking, tongues tangling in a messy, desperate dance. He tastes like you, like sake, like the lingering spice of tuna and salt and sex, and you moan into his mouth, your hips rolling instinctively, grinding your soaked core against his rigid length.
"Fuck," he breathes against your lips, his hips bucking up to meet you, the friction making you both gasp. "Fuck, baby, you feel so good."
You reach for the takeout box still within arm's reach, your fingers trembling as you unwrap another piece of spicy tuna, the fish cool and glistening in the dim light. You break the kiss, sitting back on your heels, and his eyes track your movements, dark and questioning, until you lean forward and place the sushi directly on his nipple, the pink flesh peeking through the dark ink of his chest tattoo.
"Christ," he hisses, his head falling back against the pillows, his throat working as you bend down, your hair creating a curtain around you both.
You take the sushi between your teeth first, biting down, the flavor bursting across your tongue, but then you keep going, your mouth closing over his nipple, sucking hard, laving it with your tongue, the combination of cool fish and hot skin making him arch off the bed, his hand flying to your head, gripping tight.
"Oh fuck," he groans, long and low, the sound vibrating through his chest into your mouth. "Oh fuck, baby, fuck-"
You suck harder, your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, and he cries out, his hips jerking up, his cock sliding through your folds, bumping against your clit with each thrust of his hips. You release his nipple with a wet pop, looking up at him through your lashes, your lips swollen and glistening.
"You like that?" you purr, your voice dripping with filth, with power. "Like me eating off you? Like being my plate, my meal?"
"Yes," he pants, his eyes blown wide, his chest heaving. "Fuck yes, anything, everything-"
You start grinding in earnest, rolling your hips, sliding your soaked pussy along the length of his cock without letting him inside, teasing, torturing, your clit dragging against his rigid shaft with every movement. The friction is delicious, maddening, and you're both moaning, the sounds filling the room, raw and unfiltered.
"Oh fuck, baby," he chants, his hands gripping your waist, your hips, guiding your movements, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Oh fuck, just like that, just like that-"
You lean down, your breasts pressing against his chest, your mouth at his ear. "Feel how wet I am?" you whisper, your voice a dirty secret. "Feel how much I need you? I've been dripping for you all night, Jungkook. All fucking night."
"Shit," he groans, his hips stuttering, losing their rhythm. "Shit, you're gonna make me cum like this, make me-"
He reaches for the phone, his hand trembling as he angles it up at you, capturing the way you move above him, the way your body undulates like a wave, like something primal and ancient and devastatingly beautiful.
"Look at this," he murmurs, his voice wrecked, his eyes flicking between the screen and your face. "Look at you, grinding on me like a little slut, so desperate for it. You want this cock, baby? Want me to fill you up?"
"Yes," you whine, your movements becoming erratic, desperate. "Please, please, I need it, need you inside-"
He drops the phone to the mattress, the camera still recording, still capturing everything, and he grips your hips hard, lifting you, positioning you above him. You reach between your bodies, your hand wrapping around his thick length, guiding him to your entrance, and you sink down slowly, inch by inch, your head falling back, your mouth open in a silent scream as he stretches you, fills you, completes you.
"Fuck," you gasp, your hands braced on his chest, your nails digging crescents into his skin. "Oh fuck, Jungkook, you're so big, so-"
"Move," he commands, his voice guttural, his hands guiding your hips. "Ride me, baby. Show me how good you are."
You start to move, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles, feeling every inch of him drag against your walls, hitting places that make your vision blur. He keeps one hand on your hip, guiding you, controlling the pace, while the other reaches for your breast, palming the heavy weight, his thumb dragging across your nipple.
"The sushi wasn't the rawest thing tonight," he breathes, his eyes locked on yours, dark and possessive. "This is. You and me, like this, nothing between us. Just raw, filthy fucking."
You moan, your movements speeding up, your hips snapping down harder, taking him deeper, until he's hitting your cervix with each thrust, the stretch bordering on pain but feeling so perfect you can't stop. He grabs the phone again, angling it up at you, capturing your face contorted with pleasure, your breasts bouncing with each movement, the place where your bodies join, wet and obscene.
"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice reverent and filthy all at once. "Look at you, taking me so well. My perfect girl."
He flips you suddenly, his strength shocking, his movements fluid and predatory. You're on your back before you can process the shift, him settling between your thighs, his cock still buried deep inside you, his hands bracing on either side of your head.
"Recording," he commands, pressing the phone into your trembling hand. "Don't stop. I want you to see this. Want you to watch later and see exactly how I fuck you."
You hold it up, the lens focused on where your bodies meet, and he pulls out slowly, agonizingly slowly, until just the tip remains inside you, glistening with your combined arousal. He hovers there, teasing, and you whimper, your hips bucking up, seeking more.
"Quiet," he orders, his voice sharp. "Be quiet and listen. Listen to how wet you are for me."
He thrusts back in, hard and deep, and the sound is obscene, wet and filthy, your arousal squelching around him, the slap of skin against skin filling the room. You bite your lip to keep from screaming, your hand shaking as you hold the camera steady, capturing the way he pulls out and thrusts back in, over and over, the rhythm building, the sounds growing louder, wetter, more desperate.
He pulls out completely, his cock slapping against your stomach, wet and heavy, and he drags the head through your folds, bumping against your clit, circling it, teasing it with short, sharp jabs that make you cry out despite your best efforts to stay quiet.
"Please," you beg, your voice breaking. "Please, Jungkook, please fuck me, please-"
He lines himself up and thrusts back in, but this time he doesn't stop, doesn't slow, doesn't tease. He starts pounding into you, hard and fast and merciless, his hips snapping forward with a force that moves you up the bed, your head hitting the headboard with each thrust. He's fucking you like he hates you, like he loves you, like he wants to crawl inside your skin and never leave.
"Scream," he commands, his voice ragged, his hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, just reminding you who you belong to. "Let me hear you. Let the fucking city hear what I'm doing to you."
You scream. You can't help it, the pleasure is too intense, too overwhelming, building and coiling tight in your belly, your orgasm approaching like a freight train. He's recording your face, the camera capturing your mouth open in a silent scream, your eyes rolled back, tears streaming down your temples into your hair.
"That's it," he pants, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm as he chases his own release. "That's it, baby, cum for me, cum on my cock, let me feel you-"
You break. Your orgasm crashes through you, violent and beautiful, your pussy clamping down on him, milking him, and he groans, long and loud, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and thick and endless. But as you come, as your body convulses around him, something else happens, something wet and shocking, and you're squirting, actually squirting, your release gushing out around his cock, mixing with his cum, creating a mess of fluids that soaks the sheets, his thighs, drips down your ass.
"Holy shit," he breathes, his eyes wide and wild, the camera still recording, capturing the obscene flood of liquid, the way it glistens on his skin, the way your body continues to shake and convulse. "Holy fucking shit, baby, look at you, look at this-"
He pulls out slowly, his cock still half-hard, dripping with your combined release, and he holds it up, angling the camera to capture the mess, the way his cum mixed with your arousal drips from his shaft, thick and white and obscene.
"Suck it," he commands, his voice rough, his hand tangling in your hair. "Suck your cum off my cock. Clean me up, kitten."
You scramble down, your body still trembling from aftershocks, and you take him into your mouth, tasting yourself, tasting him, the mixture salty and musky and filthy. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard, your tongue swirling around his sensitive head, and he groans, his hand tightening in your hair.
"Fuck, yes," he pants. "My balls, kitten, suck my balls."
You pull back, your hand wrapping around his shaft, and you duck down, taking one testicle into your mouth, then the other, rolling them on your tongue, sucking gently while your hand works his length. He pulls your hair, guiding you, his hips bucking slightly, and then you pull back, kitten licking him, small, teasing laps at the head of his cock, your eyes looking up at him through your lashes, innocent and filthy all at once.
"Perfect kitten," he breathes, his voice wrecked, his eyes dark with renewed desire. "My perfect little kitten. Look at you, so eager, so good for me."
He starts fucking into your mouth, his hand guiding your head, his hips snapping forward, pushing his cock deep into your throat, and you relax, let him use you, let him take what he needs. He's relentless, his stamina shocking, and you can feel him swelling, feel him getting close again.
"I'm gonna cum," he warns, his voice strained. "Gonna cum again, baby, gonna-"
He thrusts deep and holds there, his cock pulsing, and he spills down your throat, hot and thick, more than you thought possible, more than should be human. You swallow, your throat working, your eyes watering, and when he finally pulls out, spent and trembling, you collapse back onto the pillows, laughing, the sound breathless and beautiful and disbelieving.
"I can't believe you had all that cum inside you," you marvel, your voice hoarse, your lips swollen and glistening. "That was... that was the third time?"
He collapses beside you, his chest heaving, his skin flushed and sweaty and marked by your nails, your teeth, your possession. He pulls you into his arms, his hand cradling your head against his chest, and you can hear his heart hammering, feel the rumble of his laughter.
"For you," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your hair. "Only for you, pretty girl. You drain me completely. You ruin me."
The phone is still recording somewhere on the bed, still capturing the aftermath, the sweat-slick mess of your bodies, the way you curl into each other like survivors of some beautiful storm. But for now, you just breathe, just exist in this moment of shattered, perfect aftermath, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest, his hand stroking lazy circles on your back.
He doesn't ask. He just moves, shifting off the bed with a grace that seems impossible for someone who just spent himself three times over. You hear water running in the bathroom, the sound of a cloth being wrung out, and then he's back, kneeling between your thighs with a warm, wet towel in his hand.
He cleans you slowly, carefully, his touch reverent where it had been ruthless before. He wipes away the mess of your combined release, the sweat, the evidence of everything you did together, and his eyes follow the path of the cloth with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He presses kisses to your inner thigh, your hip, your stomach, each one soft and lingering, worshipping you in a different language than the one he used when he was inside you.
When he's finished, he tosses the cloth aside and crawls up your body, his weight settling over you again, but different now, protective, cocooning. He finds your mouth, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that tastes like salt and love and exhaustion. He bites your bottom lip, catching it between his teeth, pulling slightly until you whimper, and then he releases you with a laugh, low and warm and vibrating against your skin.
"Beautiful," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw like he's memorizing you, like he's trying to commit every inch to memory. "You're so fucking beautiful. Do you know that? Do you know what you do to me?"
You smile, your hand coming up to tangle in his hair, still damp with sweat. "Show me," you whisper back.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you, his eyes dark and endless and full of something that makes your breath catch. He cups your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing over your swollen lips, and when he speaks, his voice is rough, stripped bare, nothing but truth.
"I fucking love you," he says. "I love you so much it scares me."
The words hang in the air between you, heavy and real and perfect, and you pull him down, kiss him deep and slow, pouring everything you can't say into the movement of your lips against his.
The camera is still recording somewhere, still blinking its red light in the dark, but neither of you reach for it. Some moments are just for you. Just for this. Just for the two of you, tangled in white sheets in a Miami hotel room, sweating and spent and in love, the rawest thing either of you have ever known.
𝐛𝐭𝐬 ౨ৎ clingy love (they can’t let you go)
𓂃Some people love in silence. but them? they love like they’re afraid you’ll disappear.
𝓟airing :: bts x reader
𝓖enre :: fluff, clingy romance, comfort, slight angst (emotional dependency vibes)
𝓦arnings :: excessive attachment, jealousy, soft obsession, “can’t be away from you” behavior
𝓐/n: I’m tired of searching for BTS stuff and only seeing Jungkook or the same repetitive things.
𝓦ords::6k
M.list / m.bts / TAGLIST
Amante Amado — Jorge Ben Jor
𝐫𝐦
he’s the type who pretends he’s perfectly fine, calm, mature, and completely in control… but he’s not. Not even close. Namjoon tries so hard to embody the image of the wise, level-headed leader who respects your space and independence. He quotes philosophy, talks about emotional intelligence, and gives everyone around him wise advice about balance. But when it comes to you, all that composure quietly crumbles. His clingy love is wrapped in intellectual excuses and gentle gestures, yet it runs so deep that he genuinely struggles to let you go, even for a few hours.
he starts the day sending casual texts that are anything but casual. “Did you get home safely?” at 11:47 pm even though he knows you left only forty minutes ago. “Have you eaten yet?” at lunch time with a follow-up heart emoji he deletes and re-adds three times before sending. “Are you tired?” at random hours, always with that soft concern hidden behind simple words. He tells himself he’s just checking in like a good friend would, but the truth is he feels unsettled the moment your presence isn’t near him.
when you take longer than usual to reply, his mind spirals. He sits in his studio surrounded by books and half-written lyrics, phone in hand, refreshing the chat every thirty seconds. “Maybe she’s busy. Maybe she’s driving. Maybe something happened…” He tries to focus on work, opening his laptop only to stare at the same paragraph for twenty minutes. The more minutes that pass, the more he overthinks — imagining worst-case scenarios while reminding himself he’s being ridiculous. When your reply finally comes, the relief on his face is instant, shoulders dropping as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
if you disappear for several hours — maybe a busy day with friends or work that keeps you offline — he becomes completely unfocused. He paces around the apartment, picking up a book only to set it down after two pages, rearranging plants that don’t need rearranging, standing at the window staring at nothing. The members notice immediately. “Hyung, you’ve walked past the same spot six times,” Jungkook teases. Namjoon just laughs it off with that deep, dimpled smile and says “Just thinking about lyrics,” but his eyes keep drifting to his phone screen.
he loves pulling you close by the waist without even realizing he’s doing it. You’ll be standing in the kitchen talking about your day and his arm naturally slides around you, large hand resting possessively on your waist, thumb drawing slow circles. He does it while reaching for something in the cabinet, while listening to you tell a story, while waiting for coffee to brew. It’s instinctive. When you point it out with a smile, he blinks, looks down at his own hand like it betrayed him, and mutters “Ah… sorry. Habit.” But he doesn’t remove it. Instead, he pulls you a little closer, chin resting on your shoulder as he breathes you in.
“I know how to give you space… but I don’t want to.” That’s the quiet war inside his head every single day. He wants to be the mature partner who encourages your independence, your dreams, your alone time. He genuinely believes in it. Yet every fiber of his being aches to keep you close. So he finds excuses: “The new exhibition looks interesting, want to go together?” “I made too much dinner again, come eat with me?” “The weather is nice for a walk… if you’re free.”
in public he tries to be subtle, but his clinginess slips through. At events or dinners with the group, his hand always finds yours under the table. Fingers intertwined, thumb stroking your skin like it calms him. If you sit across from him, his leg presses against yours, anchoring him. When you laugh at something someone else said, his gaze softens and he reaches over to tuck your hair behind your ear without thinking, only realizing how intimate it looks when the others smirk.
at night it gets worse. After long days, he texts you voice notes instead of typing — that deep, soothing voice slightly hesitant: “I hope you’re resting well. Let me know when you wake up, okay?” If you’re together, he becomes the ultimate cuddler. He pulls you into his chest, arms wrapped securely around you, legs tangled with yours. “Just five more minutes,” he whispers when you try to get up, even though it’s been thirty. His chin rests on top of your head, one hand gently rubbing your back in slow patterns while he talks about deep topics — the universe, feelings, the future — all while holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
he remembers every tiny detail and uses them to stay close. Your favorite tea is always stocked at his place. He downloads the book you mentioned wanting to read so you can discuss it together. He learns your schedule by heart so he can “coincidentally” be free when you are. All under the guise of being thoughtful, when really it’s his way of weaving himself deeper into your life.
when you’re away for work or travel, he sends photos of things that remind him of you — a cloudy sky that looks like the one you watched together, a street musician playing a song you like, a book quote he thinks you’d appreciate. Each message ends with “miss talking to you” or “can’t wait to hear your voice,” always trying to sound light but carrying the weight of how much he truly misses you.
he gets shy about his own clinginess. Sometimes he catches himself staring at you for too long and quickly looks away, dimples appearing as he smiles sheepishly. “What? I was just thinking,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. But the way his eyes follow you around the room tells a different story. He’s completely captivated.
Namjoon’s clingy love is quiet, intellectual, and overwhelmingly tender. He can talk for hours about giving people freedom and healthy attachment, yet with you he becomes the man who hates every second you’re not beside him. He pulls you close by the waist, sends caring texts, overthinks your silence, and holds you like the world outside doesn’t exist when you’re in his arms.
Because even though he pretends to be the calm, mature one… he really, really doesn’t want to let you go. And every gentle action, every worried message, every lingering touch proves that his heart has already decided: you’re his favorite place in the entire universe, and he wants to stay there as long as you’ll let him.
𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒 | 𝑗𝑒𝑜𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑘𝑜𝑜𝑘
jungkook x reader | established relationship, domestic fluff:・゚✧:・゚✧
word count: 1,000
author’s note: i wanted to write abt jks silly and goofy side !!
content warnings: fluff, established relationship, heavy making out, groping/teasing, suggestive content (no full smut)
synopsis: You’re trying to leave for girls’ night. Jungkook has other plans involving his jean jacket, your lipgloss, and zero intention of letting you go easily.
ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭
You stood in front of the full-length mirror, sliding your black trousers over your hips and smoothing the hem of your tight black tank top. Jungkook’s oversized jean jacket hung loose off your shoulders, the sleeves swallowing your hands. It smelled like him—warm cologne, faint detergent, and that comforting scent that always made you want to stay home.Behind you, Jungkook was sprawled across the bed like he owned it, shirtless in nothing but those gray sweats that sat dangerously low on his hips. The deep V-line was fully visible, and every time he shifted, the fabric slipped a little more. His messy hair fell into his eyes as he watched you, phone long forgotten.
“Baby,” he whined, voice playful, “why the fuck do you look that hot? I’m suffering over here.”You laughed, leaning closer to the mirror to apply your lipgloss. “It’s girls’ night, Kook. I’ll be back in a few hours.”He rolled off the bed and padded over barefoot, pressing himself against your back. His bare chest was warm, and you could feel the hard planes of his abs through the thin jacket.
Strong arms wrapped around your waist, hands splaying possessively over your stomach as his chin dropped to your shoulder.“You’re wearing my jacket again,” he mumbled, lips brushing your neck. “Stealing my clothes and looking this good should be a crime. You’re basically walking around with my name on you.”“It’s comfy,” you shrugged, smiling at his reflection.
He hummed, then slowly slid his hands down to your hips, squeezing. “Comfy, huh?” His voice dropped lower. “I like how it looks on you… but I also hate it. Makes me wanna take it off you already.”
Before you could respond, he spun you around and kissed you—soft at first, then deeper. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, stealing most of the gloss in one go.“Jungkook!” you gasped, pulling back and touching your mouth.He licked his lips and immediately scrunched his face.
“Ughhh—why does it taste like melted plastic strawberries? It’s so bad. Like, chemically depressed strawberry flavor.”You burst out laughing and smacked his bare chest. “You’re such an idiot.”“Your idiot,” he corrected proudly, grinning. Then his eyes darkened a little as they raked over you. “But even with gross lipgloss… you still taste good.”He leaned in again, kissing you harder this time.
One hand cupped the back of your neck while the other slipped under the hem of your tank top, palm sliding up your bare skin and gripping your waist. The kiss turned messy fast—his tongue playing with yours, sucking on your bottom lip like he was determined to remove every trace of gloss.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavier.“Still gross?” you asked, lips tingling.“Disgusting,” he said seriously, then smirked. “But I’m addicted now. C’mere.”He lifted you onto the edge of the dresser in one smooth motion, stepping between your legs.
The sweats did nothing to hide how hard he was getting. His hands roamed under the jacket, pushing it open so he could kiss down your neck, sucking lightly just below your ear.“Kook… I have to go soon,” you breathed, even as your fingers tangled in his hair.“I know, I know,” he mumbled against your skin, but his hands didn’t stop. They stayed firm on your waist and hips, pulling you closer.
“Just five more minutes. Or ten. Or… all night.”You laughed softly, tugging his hair so he’d look at you. His lips were shiny with your gloss, eyes half-lidded and playful.“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered.“Yeah, but you love it.” He leaned in and kissed you again, slow and filthy this time—deep rolls of his tongue, gentle bites on your lower lip, hips pressing forward so you could feel exactly what you were doing to him. His hard length rubbed against your inner thigh through the thin layers, teasing.He broke the kiss with a dramatic groan.
“This lipgloss is actually evil. Tastes like shit but makes your lips so soft… I can’t stop.” He pecked you again, quick and stupid, then pulled a face. “See? Still gross. Like strawberry candy gave up on life.”
You giggled, wiping the corner of his mouth with your thumb. He caught your wrist and kissed your finger instead.“Keep laughing like that and I’m throwing you on the bed,” he warned, but his eyes were sparkling with that signature Jungkook mischief. “I’ll tell the girls you got kidnapped by your ridiculously hot boyfriend. They’ll understand.”
His hands kept wandering—squeezing your ass, sliding up your thighs, thumbs pressing into your hips like he was fighting the urge to strip you right there. He leaned down and pressed open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and neck.“Jungkook,” you warned, half-laughing, half-turned on.
He looked up at you with big puppy eyes, lips shiny. “What? I’m being supportive. Sending you off with good luck kisses.”You cupped his face and kissed him once more, softer this time. He melted instantly, arms wrapping around you in a warm hug while his hands still roamed.
Eventually you pulled away, fixing your smudged gloss while he watched, pouting.“Go have fun,” he said, voice husky but sweet. “But text me. A lot. And send pictures. Especially if you’re still wearing my jacket.” He smirked.
“Actually, especially if you take it off later and show me what’s underneath.”You shook your head, smiling. “You’re impossible.”He walked you to the door, still shirtless, sweats hanging low, and pulled you into one last long hug. His hands slipped down to squeeze your ass as he kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips again—quick and silly.“
Love you,” he murmured. “Even with your tragic lipgloss choices.”“Love you too, you big goof.”As you stepped into the hallway, he called after you:“And bring me fries! Or I’ll be sad and horny when you get back!”
You laughed the entire way down the hall, heart full and lips still tingling, already counting down the minutes until you were back with your favorite stupid, sweet, handsy boyfriend.
Mexico Will Never Move On | MYG
Summary: Yoongi accidentally causes internet chaos during a concert in Mexico, then calls you right after just to get teased for it. Somewhere between embarrassing fancams, late-night flirting, and a random colorful skull from a market, long distance suddenly feels a little harder than usual. Status: Oneshot Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader Word Count: 4.4k~ Genre: Idol!AU, Fluff Rated: T Tags: Boyfriend!Yoongi, Secret, Slice of Life, LDR Posting Date: May 17, 2026 SCC: Ko-fi ☕️ ・ Taglist 📝
Biggest Fan ! ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
⋆.𐙚 ̊ Summary — You surprise your boyfriend Jungkook at his concert
Pairings — idol!bf!Jungkook x poc!fem!gf!reader
⋆.𐙚 ̊ warnings — fluff, just kook and reader being adorable hehe, slightly suggestive but it’s barely there, teasing, happy ending, this is just self indulgent because I’ve been seeing SO many concert vids recently and I couldn’t help myself unfortunately
Excitement couldn’t even cover how you were feeling.
You had booked your flight, concert ticket bought, and now here you were—on your way to the stadium.
A small nervousness settled in your stomach as you walked next to a few guards, seeing you weren’t too far from the entrance.
You had told the boys you were coming, at least six of them. There was one member that didn’t know you were coming. And that was your boyfriend, Jungkook.
The thought makes you smile to yourself, knowing there were so many girls out there that dreamed at night of being in your shoes, being with one of the biggest idols in the world and attending his groups concert.
To this day you still don’t know how your with someone like him, someone so kind, so filled with love and he chose to share that love with her.
You were his, and you still couldn’t believe it after so many years.
You were now entering the stadium, the guards the boys provided for you letting you go find your seat. Luckily you were able to get a seat in the VIP section of the stadium, just so you would be able to have a close-up experience—and so you could surprise Jungkook when he saw you.
Once you found your seat, you felt the nervousness build again—choosing to distract yourself by checking you had everything you needed. You decorated army bomb, a black bow wrapped around its handle. Your purse, which had your boyfriend’s photocard attached to it. Your outfit was near perfect as well—leather jacket, a black corset top under and a leather skirt to match.
It was pretty obvious from afar who your bias is if anyone asked, and that was your goal.
After what felt like hours of waiting, and getting to talk to different army’s around you (even getting a few freebies for yourself) the sun had finally began to set and stars began to appear in the night sky. The stage was lit up, each stage screen showing the boys appearing in their black outfits and colored mics.
Hooligan started to play throughout the stadium, your personal favorite from their new album.
Watch this, watch this beat goin' hooligan
We pop out, we actin' a fool again (ooh)
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, hooligan
Watch this, watch this beat goin' hooligan (ooh)
Girls around you screamed and hollered, waving their army bombs in the air. You did the same, the biggest of smiles on your face as you sung along to each and every verse.
Aliens played next, another one of your favorites. Eventually you see Jungkook appear, his charisma serious and fierce. He was truly something else on stage, so confident in the way he danced and sung.
From the 가나 to the 하, 우리 보고 배워 놔, yeah, we aliens
If you wanna hit my house, 신발은 벗어 놔, yeah, we aliens
You could hear Jungkook’s voice loud and clear, just hearing him sing sending shivers down your spine.
“Yes baby!” you yelled without even thinking about it, you couldn’t help but hype up your man while he did his thing on stage.
“Girl I know he sounds so good!” a girl next to you spoke, completely oblivious as she went back to cheering and singing.
You giggled silently to yourself. Only if she knew the man she was screaming her heart out for was the exact same man you’d been dating for years.
Hours went by just as fast as the songs did, your throat tired from all the screaming and singing you did in those few hours.
But you were having fun regardless seeing your close friend’s and boyfriend doing what they loved most after not being able to do it at all for a while.
Eventually the last song came, Into The Sun.
You had played that song countless of times, especially now that Jungkook was touring and that meant not being able to see him for some time. Listening to that song made you feel lighter, happier and reassured that he was always there—even if you were miles apart from each other.
The intro of the sound began, the boys settling down and sitting next to each other as Taehyung sang his verse of the song.
Baby, you remind me
I want someone like you, ooh
Fires are never dying
I want someone like you, ooh-whoa
Jungkook swayed side to side, his eyes admiring army as he listened to his band mates voice, even the fans—thousands of voices surrounding him.
His eyes eventually land on one specific person, and he swears he’s seeing things. He wished he could ask one of the boys to pinch them, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
Jungkook stills in his swaying once he locks eyes with you, seeing you swaying along with the rest of the crowd. You met his gaze soon enough, your face softening as your smile grew even more.
He was momentarily stunned, wide eyes and all, but a smile graced his face nonetheless.
This was the surprise the boys were talking about, you. After everything, he hadn’t expected to see his girlfriend, someone he gets to call his, at his concert. He had said over and over how much he missed you, FaceTiming you after every concert he had had so far during tour. And here you were, dressed up and waving your cutely decorated light stick in the air.
Since he couldn’t outright point out that his girlfriend was in the crowd, not wanting to out something so intimate between you two, he decided to show his appreciation and love for you through the one thing he knew best—singing.
Nobody knows me, honey
No one like you, ooh
If you wanna go there
I'm ready to be with you, no-oh
Jungkook sung, his voice powerful but full of emotion, and he looked right into your eyes the entire time.
“Oh koo”, you whisper to yourself. You could feel your face heat up, all while tears gathered in the corner of your eyes as you tried to fan them away. You couldn’t help though. No matter what it was, he always found a way to make you feel seen, make you feel special—even if that meant singing to you in front of thousands of people.
He would do it a hundred times over just to see your smile.
After the concert ends and everyone begins to leave, your privately escorted by security guards to meet the boys. Your excitement was heightened once more, not able to wait and see their reactions.
Once you were there and the guards let you through, you felt a strong pair of arms lift from the ground and into a hug. The sudden action itself made you squeal and giggle as you felt your feet leave the floor.
“I missed you so much”, Jungkook’s voice muffled against fabric, but you could hear him all the same.
You giggle. “And I missed you, koo”.
Eventually you got to greet the boys as well, giving them hugs and whatnot—telling them how proud you were and how amazing they did on stage.
“He kept asking what the surprise was all day”, Namjoon chucked, taking sips from bottled water.
“Even during sound check”, Jimin added teasingly.
Jungkook shrugged innocently. “I was curious, anyone would be”.
While the boys went and toke pictures with any family or friends that came, that left you and Jungkook to have your moment alone—you laying on his lap, your head resting on his shoulder as you ran your white french-tipped nails through his jet black hair.
“I can’t believe you came. When did you even get here?” Jungkook asked, still stunned that you were even sitting there with him.
You chuckle. “Yesterday morning, I had to keep it a secret though so I could surprise you”.
Jungkook huffed a laugh. “I was surprised”.
His eyes met yours for a moment, the contact soft but warm.
“Thank you. You really didn’t have to but it means so much”,
Your face softens at his words. “Baby…”
“No, No I mean it. I had been so stressed about tour and making sure I was doing everything right but…you calm those thoughts. You keep me calm. And I love you for that”.
Your throat tightened hearing his words, feeling tears surfacing in your eyes once more.
Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, softly grazing it with your thumb as you leaned into his lips for a kiss.
“And I love you. Even though you’re making me cry n’ shit”, you say, causing the both of you to laugh.
“M’sorry mama, you know I don’t like seeing you cry. I can make it up to you though”.
“Oh?” you reply, amused. “And what would that be”.
“You know what”, Jungkook teased, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Boy-”, you suck your teeth, playfully smacking him on the chest as he laughed, tilting his head back.
And yeah, maybe you knew what he was referring to. But you hadn’t seen him in who knows how long, so you were going to savior every moment of it that night.
— the end <3
— proofread !
MDNI !
just imagining bf!jungkook bending you over in his expensive ass car and taking you how you like it hehe
“o-oh yes koo, please don’t stop”, you whimpered, trying but failing to keep yourself up on your hands and knees. “never gonna stop, princess”, jungkook groaned as he held onto your hips tightly, pushing them back to meet his with sharp thrusts. bending you over in the back of his expensive ass wasn’t what he had planned after your lovely date night, but neither of you wasn’t complaining.
your panties were pulled to the side, your skirt bunched up past your hips. skin slapping filled the air, the windows growing foggy with condensation.
“look at you taking it so good, baby. yeah back it up on me, just like that”, jungkook watched as your pussy toke his cock, helping you bounce your ass back on him. “such a greedy pussy, huh? hugging me like a vice”. you whimper once more, feeling his cock hit that spot over and over again.
“Yesss, love your cock koo. please give it to me pleaseee”, you beg over and over. jungkook nodded. “gonna give it to you, pretty girl. fuckkk, love this pussy. gonna fill it until your fucking dripping”. jungkook starts thrusts harder, making your ass giggle from the fast pace. your moans grow louder hearing how wet it sounds behind you, tightening your grip in the leather of the seats.
you could feel it, the warm tight feeling in your belly growing and about to snap from an orgasm. “m’gonna cum, please can I cum”, you begged, mixtures of moans and whimpers spilling from your mouth. your brain felt so fuzzy, you just wanted to cum.
“just hold on a little longer baby girl, m’so close, so close”, jungkook couldn’t help but whimper, the sound high-pitched. feeling your wet, warm gummy walls tightening around him, his balls heavy with cum and threatening to spill at any moment, hearing the squelching below him, the sound of your pussy echoing through the car. you didn’t know how much longer you could hold out, knowing you were just seconds from going over the edge.
“please kook please can I cum”, you beg once last time, holding on for dear life. “Yes baby cum, cum for me. fuck fuckkk m’cumming”, jungkook practically growled, hips stuttering as he gave just a few more sharp thrusts. white streams of cum released, so much that some of it dripped out of you, just like he promised.
you both sat there in a panting mess, trying to catch your breath as you laid together. you now laying on your back while jungkook laid on your chest.
“you okay?” he asked softly. “Wasn’t too rough?” You shook your head, threading your nails through his jet black hair. “no, you were perfect like always. i would like to have sex in your car again though”. jungkook chuckled, cocking a brow “really? in my car in the middle of a parking lot?” you shrugged with a smile. “I think it’s hot”. you both chuckle at your humorous words, gelding each other a bit longer before rightfully deciding to stop to get ice cream from a nearby convenience store.
-the end <3
NDA
Kim Namjoon/Reader fluff
desc: Dating celebrities is hard, especially when they're the leader of the most famous boy band from Korea, if not in the world. What will fans think when they see you surprising your man after his concert?
word count: 1.9k
masterlist ao3
I definitely didn't write this because I saw them in Tampa and miss it sm.... haha... definitely not (I saw pied piper live I cannot complain)
Perserving Your Peace!
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Description:When introverted medical student Y/N saves a dying man in a rainy alley, she has no idea he is Seoul's most feared mafia leader. Agust D is dangerous, powerful, and calculated—but around Y/N, his only mission is to keep the chaotic world away from her.
This one was inspired by the Haegum MV, so don't judge me much..:)
I had this saved in my drafts for so long, so it was about time to finish it.
The names like rival gang and the detective were made up, so bare with me.:)
The rain in Seoul didn't just fall, it drenched the concrete in a slick, cinematic grime, reflecting the neon signs of noodle shops and underground bars. You kept your head down, the hood of your oversized jacket pulled low to block out the world. Your introverted nature made you hyper-aware of the city's chaotic noise, but tonight, the alley you chose as a shortcut home was completely quiet.
Until you stumbled upon a scene straight out of a noir thriller.
A sleek black sedan sat idling, its headlights cutting through the heavy mist. Slumped against the rear tire was a man clutching a deep wound across his torso. He wore an unstructured, loose silk shirt and a heavy chain necklace that gleamed under the flickering streetlamps. His dark hair was messy, falling into his eyes, and a sharp, faint scar ran down across his left eyelid.
This was Yoongi aka Agust D . To the city, he was the elusive, chaotic underground mafia boss who took what he wanted, completely liberated from the laws of society.
Even as he bled out onto the wet asphalt, a completely unbothered, almost manic smile stretched across his lips. He rolled his head back against the car, looking at you with a gaze that was entirely too calm for a dying man. He held a lit cigarette between his index and middle fingers, exhaling a slow puff of smoke into the cold air.
"You're in the wrong place," he muttered, his voice a low and raspy. "A girl like you shouldn't be here.It's dangerous."
Your instinct told you to run, but your medical training kicked in. You stepped into the shadows and gasped."Hey," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Are you okay? I'm a medical student. Let me look."
You knelt directly into the dirty puddles, entirely unbothered by the grime. Dropping your heavy pharmacology bag, you pulled out your trauma shears and a roll of sterile packing gauze. Your hands moved with absolute precision. You ignored the blood pooling around your sneakers, focused entirely on sealing the arterial breach. Yoongi didn't flinch. He just watched you through the smoke of his cigarette, his eerie smile widening as he took in your quiet, fierce intensity. With a hiss he mumbled "Oh, this is going to be a total mess."
Suddenly, a heavy metal door at the end of the alley slammed open. A supose rival gang member stepped out into the rain, a weapon drawn, eyes locking onto Yoongi's exposed position.
Before you could even gasp, Yoongi’s hand moved like lightning. He didn't reach for a gun. With a terrifyingly relaxed flick of his wrist, he launched a sharp, heavy pair of steel chopsticks he had been holding in his left hand. The weapon struck with lethal accuracy, dropping the attacker instantly.
Yoongi turned his gaze back to you, his chest heaving, his signature calm smile firmly in place. "See? I told you. A total mess."
"Keep still," you whispered, your voice shaking but your hands remaining completely steady as you tied off the final suture knot. "The bleeding has stopped. But you need a sterile environment, or the infection will do what those men couldn't."
A fleet of identical black cars suddenly roared into the alleyway, cutting off the exits. Dozens of men in dark suits piled out, their heavy footsteps splashing through the water.You flinched, stepping back, your social anxiety roaring back to life as you tried to shrink into the wall.
"Boss!" one of the men gasped, lowering his weapon.
Yoongi leaned heavily against the car, using the door frame to pull himself to his feet. He looked down at his ruined shirt, then back at his men, then turned his gaze back to you. His eyes were sharp, calculating, and intensely focused on your trembling hands. His smile softened into something genuinely amused eyes.
"Don't scare her," Yoongi ordered his men, his voice carrying an absolute, terrifying authority."She just saved my life."
He stepped closer, reaching out to gently tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers were cold, but his touch was incredibly gentle. "What is your name, little doctor?"
"Y/N," you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"Thank you, Y/N," Yoongi smiled, same that smile that is known in the underworld right before ordering someone's ruin, bowing his head slightly. "I always pay my debts."
Before you could reply, his men ushered him into a black sedan, leaving you alone in the rain with your bloody textbook and pharmacology bag.
TIME SKIP!
Two weeks passed, and you tried your best to forget the encounter. You went back to your quiet routine.Sitting in the back of the university library, avoiding group projects, and studying until dawn.The library was completely silent, just the way you liked it. You sat in your favorite hidden corner, surrounded by towering stacks of pathology textbooks. The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only noise, creating a perfect bubble of isolation.
Until a shadow fell over your desk.
You looked up, expecting a librarian, but froze. Yoongi stood there. He wore a crisp, tailored navy suit, looking entirely out of place among the dusty books. His signature polite smile was plastered on his handsome face, calm and completely unbothered by the fact that he was a notorious mafia boss standing in a university library.
"You look stressed," Yoongi murmured, his voice a low, soothing purr that barely carried across the desk.
"Yoongi," you gasped in a panicked whisper, your introverted heart instantly kicking into overdrive. You looked around frantically, terrified someone would notice him. "You can't be here. This is a public university. There are people everywhere."
"Is that so?" Yoongi tilted his head, his smile widening just a fraction. He gestured subtly to the room around you.
You looked past him. The surrounding study tables, usually packed with stressed students, were completely vacant. In fact, two large men in identical black suits were standing casually at the entrance of the aisle, politely turning away anyone who tried to enter your section.
"You cleared out the floor?" you whispered, horrified but secretly relieved by the sudden total quiet.
"I promised to preserve your peace, Y/N, that's my way of paying my debt to you for saving my life that night." Yoongi said smoothly, pulling out the wooden chair opposite you and sitting down. He placed a small, beautifully wrapped velvet box on your textbook. "And besides you look like you haven't slept in three days. I brought you something."
You cautiously opened the box. Inside was a sleek, high-end noise-canceling headset, custom-engraved with your initials.
"For your studies," Yoongi explained, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "So the rest of the world doesn't bother you while you study."
Your chest tightened, not from anxiety this time, but from a strange, blooming warmth. He was a dangerous man who dealt in violence, yet he treated your social anxieties and need for quiet with the utmost respect. He didn't try to force you out of your comfort zone, instead he built a fortress around it.
"Thank you," you said softly, a genuine smile finally replacing your nervous expression. "But you still shouldn't risk coming out in the open like this. Your wound—"
"Is healing perfectly, thanks to you," he interrupted gently, his hand resting on the table just inches from yours, offering a warmth you desperately wanted to reach for. "But if you are truly worried about my safety… come to my estate tonight. I have a private study that is much quieter than this place."
You blinked, looking across the library table at the beautifully engraved headphones and the two intimidating men in black suits standing guard down the aisle. As thoughtful as his gesture was, the sheer scale of his power made your chest tighten with anxiety. Going to a heavily guarded mafia estate wasn't your idea of peace—it sounded terrifying.
"Yoongi," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly but firm. "Thank you. Truly. But... I can't go to your estate. I think I need to just go back to my own apartment."
You held your breath, bracing yourself for a cold shift in his demeanor. You knew who he was, and people didn't usually say no to him.
Yoongi didn't blink. His signature, serene smile didn't fade for even a second, but the intense, calculating look in his eyes instantly softened into deep understanding. He looked at your tense shoulders and your hands tightly gripping your textbook.
"Of course," Yoongi said smoothly, standing up from the wooden chair. He didn't sound offended, angry, or slighted. "I brought my chaos into your sanctuary. That was selfish of me."
"It's not that," you said quickly, looking down at your shoes, your introverted shyness making you blush. "It’s just... I study better in my own messy little room. Where there aren't any guards."
Yoongi let out a soft, genuine laugh. It was a relaxed, low sound that completely shattered his dangerous aura for a brief moment. "A very reasonable preference."
He gestured to his men, who instantly stepped back, completely clearing the aisle and fading into the background. Yoongi personally walked you out of the library, keeping a respectful distance so you wouldn't feel crowded. He guided you out to his sleek black sedan, holding the door open for you himself.
The drive back to your neighborhood was quiet and calm. Yoongi didn't press you with questions or try to change your mind. He simply let you enjoy the silence. When the car finally pulled up to your modest apartment building, the familiar, quiet street felt like a breath of fresh air.
Yoongi stepped out to open your door. Standing under the dim streetlamp, his tailored suit sharp against the dark city backdrop, he smiled down at you.
"I will step back, Y/N," he whispered, his eyes warm and filled with a rare kind of respect. "I promise I will not bring my world to your doorstep again. But my men will always keep a quiet eye on this block from a distance. Your peace will not be broken."
You looked at this powerful, dangerous man who was willing to completely alter his behavior just to make sure you felt safe. You realized you didn't want him to disappear completely.
Reaching into your backpack, you pulled out a scrap piece of paper and a pen. You quickly scribbled your phone number on it and pressed it into his palm.
"You don't have to vanish completely," you said, your cheeks turning pink as you forced the words out. "Just... text me instead of clearing out university floors. And let me know when your stitches are fully healed."
Yoongi looked down at the paper, then back up at you. For the first time since you met him, his practiced, polite mafia smile completely disappeared. It was replaced by a look of pure, boyish surprise, followed by a slow, breathtakingly genuine smile that reached all the way to his eyes.
"I can do that," he promised softly.
You smiled back, turned, and walked up to your quiet apartment, knowing that while your life was still perfectly peaceful, everything will be just fine..Right?!
TIME SKIP!
The peaceful bubble you and Yoongi had carefully built over the past month shattered on a rainy Thursday evening.
Detective Kang was a man who carried a badge but took his orders from the Oryong gang—Yoongi’s most bitter and violent rivals. For months, Kang had been looking for a Yoongi's weakness . Yoongi was flawless, untouchable, and left no paper trail. But then, Kangs’s surveillance team spotted something unusual. a high-ranking mafia sedan parked outside a mundane apartment building, and Yoongi himself stepping out just to walk a quiet medical student to her door.
To a corrupt cop looking for leverage, you weren't just a girl, you were the ultimate weapon to break the unshakeable boss.
The quiet of your small apartment was shattered at 3:00 AM when your front door was kicked off its hinges.
You bolted upright in bed, your heart hammering against your ribs. Before you could even scream, a man in a rumpled trench coat stepped into your bedroom. He flashed a gold shield—Detective Kang, a notoriously corrupt officer on the syndicate’s payroll, but tonight, he was working for Yoongi’s rivals.
"So, you're the little medical student who's been patching up the ghost of Seoul," Kang sneered, gripping your arm roughly and dragging you out of bed. "Yoongi thinks he's untouchable. Let's see how calm that smile stays when I hand you over to the people who want him dead."
You didn't fight back, your introverted panic froze you completely. But as Kang dragged you down the stairwell of your building, you managed to kick your heavy pharmacology textbook down the steps. It slammed against the metal railing, a loud, echoing clanged warning.
You never made it to Kang's car.
The moment you stepped out into the rainy street, the headlights of three black sedans blinded the alleyway. The tires screeched to a halt, boxing Kang’s vehicle in completely.
The rear door of the center car swung open. Yoongi stepped out into the downpour. He didn't have an umbrella. He wore a loose black silk shirt, his chest visible, and that terrifyingly serene smile was plastered across his face. But his eyes—usually cold and calculating—were burning with a raw, chaotic fury.
"Detective Kang," Yoongi drawled, his voice dangerously smooth over the sound of the rain. "You are touching something that doesn't belong to you."
"Stay back, Yoongi!" Kang yelled, pulling his gun and pressing it firmly against your temple. "One step closer and the girl dies!"
The smile on Yoongi’s face didn't fade. It widened. But it wasn't a smile of amusement—it was the look of a man who had just decided to burn the entire city to the ground.
"You think a badge protects you from me?" Yoongi whispered. He didn't even signal his men. With a lightning-fast movement, Yoongi drew a heavy blade from his jacket.
What followed was a blur of absolute dominance. Yoongi dismantled Kang’s corrupt backup officers in a matter of seconds, moving with a lethal, unrestricted freedom that defied the laws of the city. When Kang panicked and dropped his gun to flee, Yoongi didn't let him get far. Within minutes, the corrupt detective that had threatened your peace was completely neutralized, their power in the city erased in a single night.
Yoongi dropped the blade onto the wet concrete. He rushed over to you, his hands—usually so steady and dangerous—trembling as he cupped your face. He checked you for injuries, his breathing ragged and frantic.
"Are you hurt? Did he touch you?" he demanded, the polite boss completely gone, leaving only a man desperate to protect the girl who had healed him.
"I'm okay," you whispered, reaching up to touch his damp cheek. Your social anxiety was gone, replaced by a sudden, profound realization. "Yoongi... you put down half the city's police force for me."
Yoongi froze, his intense gaze locking onto yours. The manic, terrifying smile finally melted away, replaced by a soft, vulnerable expression you had never seen on him before.
"I would burn the entire world before I let anyone take away your peace, Y/N," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing a tear from your eye. "I thought I just owed you a debt. But tonight, when I thought he might hurt you... I realized I can't breathe in a world where you don't exist."
Standing in the middle of the rain-soaked, ruined street, you realized you felt exactly the same way. You leaned into his touch, finally finding your perfect, quiet sanctuary inside his dangerous world.
𝜗᭪ — bf!jungkook wears your bonnet to bed for the first time, and you are more than overjoyed by it
𝜗᭪ — poc!gf!reader
You sigh with content as you get ready to settle in for the night, fluffing your pillow and sorting out blankets on your bed. You had just taken a nice long shower, now being swallowed by one of your boyfriends many black T-shirts and a pair of panties that matched.
“Koo? You almost done in there, baby?” You call out, crawling into bed and under the soft blankets, feeling it rub against your freshly shaved legs. The feeling was more than soothing.
“Almost!” you hear him reply. He sounded distracted, as if he was concentrating on doing something. You shrugged, assuming he was finishing up his skincare routine or whatnot. Or so you thought.
Not a moment later, you see Jungkook out the corner of your eye. You turn your head in his direction, about to ask if he was ready for bed but the words quickly died on your tongue.
Your boyfriend walked out in nothing but a pair of black shorts, the band of his Calvin briefs peeking out. It was more than a pleasant sight. That was until your eyes wandered up to his head, seeing a silk black bonnet covering his head.
“Koo?”
“Yeah, love?” Jungkook looked in your direction, eyes innocent and doe.
Your mind was still blanking. “Is that one of my bonnets?”
Jungkook furrowed his brows with confusion before it dawned on him what you were talking about.
“Ohh yeah! Is it okay if I do? I just got my hair permed and I didn’t want the curls ruined in the morning”, he asked, suddenly looking sheepish as a deep shade of red appeared on his face.
With your brain finally caught up with you, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh or two. You could never be upset about something like this, it was humorous but also endearing seeing your boyfriend like this. Caring that deeply about his hair that he would use something of yours. That and the simple fact that you both were always down to share with each other.
“Of course it’s okay, baby”, you assured with a soft smile. “Here come to bed, needa fix it for you a little”. Jungkook happily joins you in your shared bed, laying in your lap as you fix your bonnet that covered his hair.
“You put the stuff you needed in it?” you question, referring to his hair. “Mhm, oils and everything. I used some of your leave in conditioner, the Cantu one? It said it was good for curls”.
You hum. “It is. Your curls should be fine in the morning, as long as the bonnet stays on at least”. “Perfect. Can I lay on you again tonight? We can watch one of your shows before we go to sleep”. You giggle. “You just wanna on my boobs again don’t you?” Jungkook huffed “You caught me. They're so soft though, baby. I love ‘em”. You laugh once more. “Alright fine, don’t be moving too much down there though. Love Island okay with you?” you asked as you grabbed the TV remote.
“Mhm, more than okay”, Jungkook nuzzles deeper into your chest, your hands gently grazing and messaging the muscles of his back.
-the end <3
no romance in this one just father/son chaos ft. One of my fav toys as a kid
hobi as a father. Hobi sfw
“Dad look at my spaceship!” Your son exclaims; it’s… something. Not exactly a spaceship but thats okay! Hobi can use his imagination.
“Ooh, I like the colors!” Hobi compliments. “It kinda looks like an airplane, actually, with the wings,” he points at the fins on his son’s creation.
“Thats- so it can fly in space, dad. Obviously.” His son corrects him, a lot of confidence in an opinion so factually wrong. Hobi makes a face, glancing at you.
“Yeah dad, obviously.” You repeat after your son, smiling when his look of minor annoyance turns to one of surprise. You’re busy on the carpet assembling a kit you and hobi bought specifically to spend time with your child.
If it’s okay and you have time could i request a yoongi fic! I’ve been on a yoongi kick for months now thank you so much 🫶🏾
its always okay + I have plenty of time!! Asks always help me come up with ideas I appreciate them sm!
Mistakes happen. Yoongi sfw.
“Cut! We’ll have to retry that. Break for fifteen,” the director shouts over the commotion. Yoongi brushes past several staff members, trying to get to his peers.
“Hyung,” Hobi reaches out, fingers brushing the obnoxious cowlick sticking out the side of his head. He’s beaming, finding it utterly hilarious; not like the yoongi he knows and loves at all. “What did you do to your hair?”
“What did I do?” He repeats… more like what did you do…
-
‹ ︎ ✦ 𓏻 Red Days ’ ◟ 🎹
Pairing: Yoongi x reader
Summary: yoongi notices your tough period period cramps throughout your body and wants to try a method to help with your pain.
tags: smut, period s*x, soft-dom yoongi, sub reader, period cramps, established relationship, slice of life, aftercare, missonary, sideways
A/n: HAIII! I was going to do this plot with jungkook but I've really been craving yoongi lately sooo.. HERE. (I started this in december but totally forgot about it so im sorry...)
The soft glow of the sun spilled into the room from the black out curtains. The AC hums softly, you stir in your sleep but quickly reliaze your stuck in your position because tang is cuddled up by your feet.
You immediately feel a tense pain in your stomach, you head pounding, already hungry. You knew what time of the month it is.
You gently turn over and see yoongi laying on his back, his chest moving up and down slowly, looking so calm. You scoot closer to him and lay your head on his shoulder as you huddle up and wrap your arms around his.
Yoongi notices the slight pressure and stirs, muttering a soft "hm"
You close your eyes, hearing the never ending city noises outside, the AC still humming. Yoongi grabs his phone from the nightstand and reads the time. 7:47 am. Early but not to early to start the day. Yoongi has work, he's working on the band's new album coming up soon so you knew what that included, late nights, not much alone time, yoongi on high alert and stress for the deadline, etc. You've been through this before it's nothing new.
you groan when he moves. "What's the matter baby?" yoongi says softly, breaking the silence. "Period cramps." you mutter back. He gives you a soft kiss on your forehead as he rubs your belly.
Yoongi gets up and goes towards the bathroom closet, he comes back with the heating pad. "Here ill go get you some tea and pills." you smile softly and lay flat on the bed waiting for the pad to heat up.
Yoongi comes back a couple minutes later, you can hear his feet softly hitting the floor, and tang's paws following behind him. He hands you the medicine and tea and Tang meows softly.
Afterwards he goes to the bathroom to freshen up, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, put his glasses back on. He went to the closet to get changed, baggy black jeans with a simple black zip-up, his glasses and black shoulder bag.
He comes over and gives you a kiss, "Call me if you need anything, love you."
He puts his shoes on by the door and heads out.
The clock glows with the numbers, "11:23 P.M."
Your laying in bed with the heating pad, watching the newest episode of your favorite series. Tang is nuzzled up close to you, the room is dimly lit, making the setting very comfy and romantic.
You hear the door buzz as Yoongi walks into the shared apartment, he takes off his shoes quietly and softly walks down the hallway.
He peeps his head into the room, scanning and seeing your attention at the TV. "Hey baby," You softly say, breaking the silence. Yoongi walks over and sits on his side of the bed. "How was your day?" He asks, knowing you've just been laying in bed.
You look over at him with an annoyed face. "My cramps have been killing me, won't give me a break."
He smirks at you, "You know...I read something saying that sex is a pretty good way to help your partners cramps..." His smirk still visible as he massages your lower belly.
You roll your eyes and look at him. "Oh really now..?" He nods. He leans down and your lips connect, He deepens the kiss, causing butterflys to fill your stomach. Yoongi slowly drags his hands down to your panties. Your lower stomach feeling stubborn, you feel bloated and miserable. Yoongi softly takes off your panties and rubs his shaft along your folds. Your horomones spiking as you all of a sudden get super needy.
"Yoongi please, no teasing." Your eyebrows. furrowed as you lay back.
"Of course baby, I won't.."
He slides his painfully hard cock into your glistening pussy. He's cautious, scared to hurt you. You soflty whimper as Yoongi softly picks up a pace, his hands still massaging your stomach. Your stomach pain still stubborn but not as painful as before.
He places both of his hands on either side of your head as he leans down to kiss you. Your hands linger along his forearms. The sound of skin slapping softly filling the room, the candle on the dresser making the room smell like sweet dusk. Yoongi's hair falling like dominos perfectly into place. His eyes filled with adoration and love as he see's your pain slowly fading away.
"Yoongi I don't want to make a mess." Your concern slowly taking over you. "Sweetie don't worry about that." He comforts you.
He continues his soft pace. He's glad he can help you out, he knows how difficult your periods are for you. Your normally hurdled up in bed most of the week, living off pain medications and choclate. He just wants to see you happy and in peace.
"Baby I'm going to switch the position m'kay? On your side."
He slowly lifts you slightly to turn you over, his arm lifting your leg for better access. Your head resting on his upper arm as he re-enters you. The pace the same-slow motion. You lean your head on his shoulder, eyes closed and mouth fallen open. Yoongi can feel his release coming, he groans as he feels himself getting closer.
Not to long after he releases into you, thick ropes of white cum all over your folds as he calmy pulls out.
"You did so good, do you feel better."
You nod in response, your pains were long forgotten. You love being in his presence. You turn over to face him as you cuddle into his chest, he wraps his arms around you, tilting his chin to rest on your head.
He rubs soft circles on your back soothing your pain. Soon after he helps you get up and walk to the bathroom, turning on the shower to let the hot water steam up the bathroom. He helps wash your body and your hair, puttinf your scented shampoo and conditioner in your hair massaging your scalp.
You both get dressed into comfy clothes and lay in bed to resume cuddling. Yoongi's eyes are closed, you focus on his soft breathing. Soon after you fall asleep. Both comfroted in each others presences.
dom boyfriend jungkook headcanons (soft version)
themes ⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ established relationship, he’s such a green flag omg, down bad boyfriend and his angel princess girlfriend (i was crashing out as i finished writing it, crying about my single ass life), smut kinda descriptive (but not too much) cunnilingus, multiple rounds, unprotected sex, boob sucking, teeny tiny dirty talk) tooth rotting fluff, SOFTEST aftercare. ‧₊ ᵎᵎ
ִ ࣪𖤐 he’d tease you with dirty words like “just because your legs are shaking doesn’t mean im done eating it baby” with a naughty smile.
࣪𖤐 unfortunately he’s the type of boyfriend who becomes merciless when it comes to eating you out, he will continue even when he’s done making you reach your peak and you poor little thing would be arching your back with your mouth left open, gasping for oxygen, your thighs trembling and closing in on his head, meanwhile he would be humming instead, leaning closer if it was even possible, flicking his tongue over your clit hastily, then he will lean down and lap up at your soaked entrance.
ִ ࣪𖤐 your pleasure comes first and foremost, even above his, before he met you it was all about reaching his pleasure, being selfish about his needs yet now his needs could wait even if his dick is rock hard, and throbbing.
𖤐 his calloused hands grip your hips tightly, keeping you in place so he could align his tip to your opening.
ִ ࣪𖤐 will press his forehead against yours while maintaining an intense eye contact as he pounds deep inside your pussy.
ִ ࣪𖤐 has mastered the hip movement technique, he knows exactly when to fasten the pace, when to go slow and steady, when to go unguarded and ravage you as though you were a ragged doll.
ִ ࣪𖤐 soft grunts, and low groans as he shoots his load inside you, filling you to the brim.
ִ ࣪𖤐 makes sure your clit is getting stimulated and you’re reaching the third or fourth orgasm of the night while he is still propelling inside you, frantically chasing his own peak.
ִ ࣪𖤐 this man loves to observe your expressions when he’s giving you pleasure and torturing you to the brink of your sanity with his teasing touches and his insatiable mouth.
ִ ࣪𖤐 your moans, your cries, your whimpers and soft gasps turn him on more than any of those sexy set of Victoria’s Secret lingerie you wear for him sometimes.
ִ ࣪𖤐 this man is a boob freak for life, his lips are always wrapped around your nipples, mouth sucking, tongue licking and flicking across the hardened bud even when you’re done chasing highs and your spent bodies lay in silence.
ִ ࣪𖤐 “fuck, yeah.”
࣪𖤐 “it’s a shame that you can’t see how beautiful you look with my cock plunged deep inside you, baby.”
ִ ࣪𖤐 “that’s my girl.”
ִ ࣪𖤐 “cum for me, baby.”
࣪𖤐 “i love you, fuck, i love you.” he repeats it a few times.
࣪𖤐 he’d slow down the tempo of his thrusts the moment he notices you struggling to breathe or if you hiss, he’d retreat instantaneously. “you okay baby?” he’d gently ask while cradling your face between his large hands, his eyes wide with concern.
“should i go slower?”
and once he gets the green signal and the nod of approval from you he’d start to fasten the rythm of his thrusts again.
࣪𖤐 bro talks you through it, everytime.
ִ ࣪𖤐 he melts into this shy goofball the moment you’re finished riding down your high, he’d be brushing your hair back, peppering your neck and face with wet and lazy kisses, he becomes so clingy it almost suffocates you, his arms wrapped tightly around you while he keeps on smelling you, his head nuzzling against your neck. the dramatic contrast from this giant puppy to the merciless and cocky man who edged you three times is almost laughable.
࣪𖤐 aftercare with him feels like signing up for an unlimited subscription to a princess treatment program, he’d know from your mood alone if he needed to prepare the bathtub to please you with a warm bubble bath or if he just needed to wipe the cum off from between your thighs with wet wipes and cuddle you till you both fall asleep.
𖤐 “did i make you feel good?” he’d whisper in your ear, and you’d blush hiding into his chest, nodding, he’d chuckle endeared at your reaction before pulling your bare body against his equally bare one.
𖤐 and when you’d ask him the same question while caressing his chest, looking deep into his eyes, and he’d put his hands over yours, kiss your palm not once but twice, and quietly say “you always make me feel good, baby.”
࣪𖤐 in the morning he’ll wake you up with his mouth clamping on your clit, and two orgasms later you both finally manage to get your asses off the bed to wash up, he’ll cook the most unhealthy, oily breakfast for you, you’d sulk and grumble about gaining weight if he keeps on feeding you so much and he’d only peck you on the lips, smile bashfully, and feed you a piece of chicken. you’d playfully roll your eyes while a grin spread across your face, your heart widening ten folds. ‘he is the best thing that happened to you.’ you thought sentimentally.
࣪𖤐 this is how i imagine your and jungkook’s dynamic visually, he is glued to you like this at all times, his roughness and neediness in bed is no joke, he can get TOO feral when he fully dives in, similar to a beast when he’s allowed to manhandle you however he pleases. but he is just SO careful and tender with you afterwards, you fear heart palpitations with how he looks at you, touches you, speaks to you and honestly it makes up for the pleasurable pain you felt before. ⤵︎
AUTHOUR'S NOTE.
hiya from bamberbola land! most of you probably know me/follow me from my first fic “above the sheets” which I posted a few days ago.
idk if this counts as a fic for others but to me it’s my second fic here.
please shower it with lots of LOVE and tell me if i should do more of these (i wanna try writing another headcon but with a different muse — since i only stan bts, it will be one of the other members) i didn’t notice that my ask options were closed oopsies, i opened them and even turned on the anon option. if you have any questions/theories regarding my fics, or any suggestions to share, hit me up there.
| 818 wc ! — proofread
just imagining bf!idol!jimin getting your reaction to his long blond hair >ᴗ<
Jimin didn’t make bold choices very often. Sure, he had gotten more confident over the years while being an idol and a part of a well-known boy band—but it took a lot to get there. Now he felt like he could truly be himself without having any sudden doubts flood his mind.
But today, those doubts were making themselves known.
It was the day before Jimin had to leave for tour and he had made an appointment to get his hair done. Now he was walking out, his long blond locks touching his shoulders as a small evening breeze blew through it gracefully. Some of it was extensions but no one would be able to tell, it blended in so well with his natural hair.
He thought it looked nice, thought it suited him–but others didn’t exactly agree. He called a few of the members, and Taehyung, being the kind soulmate he was, was the only one who thought it looked good on him.
That only made him worry more, because the only person who hadn’t seen it yet was you.
Jimin hadn’t told you he was getting his hair done that day, just the simple excuse of going through another practice with the boys before the first concert.
Now he was walking up to your apartment, his heart pounding heavily in his chest with each step he took. All he kept thinking was “what if she hates it?” “will she find it too feminine?”
Jimin knew you weren't one to be harsh or be too quick to judge a person, too sweet for your own good. But he felt too anxious to try and reassure himself at this point. Anything could happen, and he didn’t think he was prepared for it.
He eventually got to your door, keys jangling as he unlocked it with a key you gave him. He walks inside to the instant aroma of vanilla from your wax burner. Just walking past your threshold made his shoulders un-tense just a bit, enough that he could properly breathe. Jimin looked around, seeing there was food cooking on the stove–the smell mouthwatering. And then there was you, sitting in the living room. A light pink bonnet covered your freshly done braids, your body being swallowed by one of his shirts and nothing else but a pair of black panties underneath. Jimin smiled fondly seeing you look so peaceful, a book in hand and a blanket covering your legs.
He let out a quiet, shaky breath, rubbing his sweaty palms against his pants.
Here goes nothing.
“Pretty girl?” he called out softly.
You turn your head in the direction of his voice, a small gasp escaping once your eyes landed on his freshly done hair. Your eyes widened as you closed your book, quickly getting up and walking over to observe further. You now stand in front of him, eyes dancing over every detail you saw. Jimin stood still, watching as you brought a hand up to his hair, touching the long blond strands over and over.
“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice hesitant and layered with nervousness.
“What?” You almost look offended at his question. “Baby I love it, it’s gorgeous”.
Relief instantly floods his body. “Really?”
You nod eagerly. “Yes, like it’s not even just gorgeous, it looks majestic. Ugh you're so pretty”, you gush as you get onto your freshly manicured toes to press kisses on his face, hearing him chuckle as you do so.
“That’s a relief. I was worried you wouldn’t like it as much”.
You huff, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Well I love it and I know army will too so don’t go worrying about it. You look like a sexy, majestic fairy and you know it”.
Jimin laughs. “A what?”
“You know those fantasy books I read sometimes? The ones with the fairies and witches? You look like a fairy but just sexy and majestic”. Jimin chuckles as she shakes his head “Your too much for me, love”.
“You love it though”, you smile as you lean in for a kiss, feeling him hold your waist in his hands and squeeze there gently.
“You know I do”, Jimin pressed his forehead against yours. You tuck a blond strand behind his ear, knowing you were gonna be obsessed with it for days. Just imagining him down in between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man as you pulled on his blond strands and hearing him whimper. God you could just melt visioning it now.
“What are you thinking about?” Jimin asked with a teasing, knowing smile.
“I think you know, baby”. You giggle, your face starting to heat up. “Wanna take me to the bedroom?”
You erupt into a fit of giggles and laughs as Jimin lifts you from under your thighs, taking you towards your bedroom, and oh what a night it was going to be.
-the end <3 (lemme know if you want a part 2 hehe)