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24y/o
This is a space for
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Lots of smut
psychological thoughts
anonymous confessions
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One Nice Bug Per Day
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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dirt enthusiast
Jules of Nature
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

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Janaina Medeiros
NASA

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oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

shark vs the universe
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@theartofmadeline

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@softygloss
Welcome ♡
She/her
24y/o
This is a space for
soft love and romantic writing
Lots of smut
psychological thoughts
anonymous confessions
You can
send your stories
share what you feel
Everything stays respectful and safe.
You’re not alone here.
Mind to Filth
Tags: MDNI, needy Jungkook X shy female reader who becomes filthy asf, it's mostly all sexting, online best friends to sex friends, oral sex(both receiving), anal sex, nipple sucking, breastfeeding
Summary: Jungkook and Yn start chatting about more than daily topics
Jungkook lived alone in his sleek Seoul apartment, enjoying the privacy his fame afforded him after years in the spotlight. He and Yn had been close online friends for over a year. They first connected in a BTS fan Discord during late-night gaming sessions, then moved to private KakaoTalk. What began with memes, music recommendations, and light banter evolved into profound conversations about philosophy, art, music, dreams and hidden desires. Yn lived abroad, which made everything feel safe and unreal,like a private fantasy.
Her sharp intellect fascinated him. The way she dissected complex ideas with clarity and wit made his pulse race in ways he had never expected. One humid summer night, after a particularly deep discussion on repression and human urges, Jungkook could no longer hold back.
Jungkook: Yn, the way your mind works is properly fucking sexy. So intelligent it makes my cock throb just reading your words. That brilliant brain of yours… I need it filthy. Ever thought about sex chatting? No pressure, but I’m already hard imagining you letting that clever mouth run wild for me.
Yn: Jungkook… you’re serious? We’re just friends. I’ve never done anything like this before. It feels so sudden.
Jungkook: Dead serious, baby. I want to hear every dirty thought that smart head of yours can come up with. I’ll start if you’re nervous. Tell me what you’re wearing right now. I’ve been wanking for the past hour thinking about your last message on impressionism. My cock is leaking like a tap.
Yn:Just a thin t-shirt and knickers… This is all new to me. Feels dangerous. I shouldn’t even be typing this. My face is burning.
Jungkook: Good. Touch that pretty cunt for me and send a voice note moaning my name while you do it. I need to hear how wet you get for me.
Jungkook: [Dick Pic] Close-up of his thick, veiny cock gripped hard in his tattooed fist, swollen head glistening with precum. *Your brilliant fucking mind did this to me, Yn.*
Yn: Oh my god… you’re massive. I can’t believe you sent that. My heart is racing. Alright… first time ever doing anything like this. [Tits Pic] A clear photo of her full, soft breasts, heavy and round, with stiff, dark nipples begging for attention.
Jungkook: Jesus Christ, Yn. Those perfect tits. I’m going feral. I want to suck them raw until they’re bruised and swollen, like I’m breastfeeding from you while I ruin your holes.
Yn: I… I don’t know what to say. This is so embarrassing but I’m really wet now. No one’s ever talked to me like this.
Chat – 2:19 AM
Jungkook: Fuck, those tits are going to live in my head rent-free. Pinch your nipples for me and tell me how it feels.
Yn: They’re so sensitive… I did it. It sent a jolt straight down there. This is too much. I feel shy even admitting that.
Jungkook: Shy looks good on you, but I want you dirty. Imagine me on my knees sucking those tits hard, biting them while I finger you. I’d drink from you like I’m breastfeeding.
Yn: that sounds intense. I’ve never thought about someone sucking my breasts like that. It’s making me squirm but I’m too nervous to say more.
Jungkook: Don’t hold back, smart girl. I love how your mind works, but right now I need it dirty.
Yn: Okay… maybe I’d let you. If you were gentle at first. But I shouldn’t be saying this.
A few days later – 11:47 PM
Jungkook: Been thinking about you all day. Your last smart take on existentialism had me stroking in the shower. Send me something. Anything.
Yn: I’m still shy about pictures… but I touched myself earlier thinking about your message. Just light circles. Nothing crazy.
Jungkook: Tease. I want more. I’d eat your pussy from behind until you shake, then move to that tight little ass with my tongue.
Yn: ass? You mean… anal? I’ve never tried that even in my head. It sounds scary but the way you describe it… I’m getting wet again. Don’t laugh at me for being shy.
Jungkook: Not laughing. I’ll go slow. Tongue-fuck that tight hole first, get you sloppy wet, then train it with my fingers before I bury myself balls-deep. You’d love it.
Yn: Maybe… I’m imagining it now. Your tongue there. It’s dirty but turning me on.
One week later – 1:55 AM
Jungkook: I’m so hard it hurts. Your intelligence is foreplay. Now be a good girl and describe sucking my cock.
Yn: I… okay. I’d kneel and lick the head slowly. Like a lollipop. But then I’d get shy and stop. Is that okay?
Jungkook: Filthy tease. I’d grab your hair and force it down your throat until you gag. But first those tits. I’d suck them like I’m breastfeeding, leaving marks all over.
Yn: The breastfeeding thing… it’s weirdly hot. I’d let you suck hard. Bite my nipples. I’m touching myself properly now. Two fingers.
Jungkook:[Voice Note] Deep moan of her name while stroking. “Yn… fuck, those tits.”
Yn: Your voice is so hot. I’m close already.
Days like these passed and yn was getting more and more confident, sending Jungkook pictures and acting like nothing happened.
Jungkook: Send another pic. I need those tits again. I jerked off three times today thinking about you.
Yn: Alright… here. [New Tits Pic – nipples pinched and red] I did this for you.
Jungkook: Good girl. Look at those hard nipples. I’d pinch them while fingering your cunt and ass at the same time.
Yn: I want that. Your fingers stretching both holes. And… anal. I keep thinking about your thick cock pushing into my arse while you play with my clit. Making me full.
Jungkook: YES. I’ll train that tight ass until you’re begging. Tongue first, then fingers, then balls-deep pounding.
Yn: Fuck… I’m dripping on my sheets now. I’d clench around you so hard.
8:34 PM
Yn: I’ve been bad today. I edged myself for an hour thinking about you sucking my tits raw while you fuck my arse. I want bite marks all over them. Bruised and swollen after you have been breastfeeding for hours.
Jungkook: Holy shit, Yn. You’ve gone full filthy. I love this side of you.
Yn: yes, baby, just for you. I want you to slap my tits while you thrust into my pussy or maybe ass? . Make them jiggle. Then pull out and feed me your cock straight from my dirty hole. I’d suck it clean like a whore.
Jungkook: [Dick Pic – mid-stroke, veins bulging, precum everywhere] This is what you do to me now.
Yn:Mmm, that fat cock. I’d deepthroat it until my eyes water, then pull back and tease the head with my tongue. Edge you until you’re growling. Then I’d beg you to cum on my tits and make me swallow every drop.
Jungkook: You’re feral now. I’m obsessed.
Yn:[Voice Note] Wet squelching sounds of fingers plunging in and out of her cunt, moaning loudly: “Jungkook… fuck my ass harder. Suck my tits dry. I’m your cumslut.”
Jungkook was so obsessed, he would text her randomly even in public. He couldn't think about anything else. She was so beautiful to him, he would hug her and never let go.
Jungkook (3:12 PM): Can’t focus on anything. Your smart little analyses turn me on so much my cock aches. I miss you. Need to bury my face in your cunt and smell how wet you get for me. Then tongue-fuck your ass until you squirt.
Yn: I’m at work and now I’m soaked. I’d sit on your face and grind my arse on your tongue while you finger my cunt. Then I’d make you suck my nipples so hard they leak for you. Breastfeed fantasy is stuck in my head now.
Jungkook (2:07 AM): Woke up throbbing again. Can’t stop thinking about breastfeeding from those tits while I finger your arse. I need the real thing, Yn. I’m going insane without you.
Yn:Come here and do it then. I want your mouth latched on my nipples for hours, biting and sucking while you stretch my pussy with three fingers. I’d cum just from that. Then I’d swallow your entire load straight from the source, no wasting a drop.
Jungkook: Fuck, you’ve become such a dirty girl. I love it.
Yn: I was shy at first but now I crave it. I want you to cum deep in my ass, then make me push it out so you can watch. Or feed it to me from your fingers while you suck my sore nipples again. I’m touching my clit right now just typing this.
Jungkook: I’m so fucking close. Imagine me sucking hard on your tits, leaving deep bite marks all over, while I pound your gorgeous arse raw. Balls slapping against your wet cunt.
Yn:Yes- harder. Bite them until I scream. I want my nipples raw and sensitive. I’m riding my fingers pretending it’s your thick cock in my arse. I’d clench so tight around you.
Jungkook:I’d pinch your clit at the same time. Make you squirt while I’m buried balls-deep in that tight hole.
Yn: I’m cumming-shit-I want drink your cum straight from your cock. I’d swallow it all, then lick your balls clean like a greedy slut.
Jungkook: [Voice Note] Raw, growling moan of her name as he explodes: “Yn-fuck-take my load.”
Yn: I came twice. First riding my fingers like a whore, then licking them clean pretending it was your thick semen. I want the real thing so bad now.
꧁꧂
The chats continued like this for months, daily filth, voice notes, more pics, and increasingly dark fantasies. Yn had transformed from the shy girl who hesitated at every message into a confident, feral partner who matched Jungkook’s hunger step for step. Their conversations never lost the intellectual spark, often starting with deep talks before descending into pure depravity.
Months after their chats had spiralled into pure depravity, Jungkook flew to Yn’s city in complete secrecy. As a famous idol, he moved like a shadow, mask, cap, and private transport ensuring no one knew. He had told her only the day before that he was coming, but the reality hit her differently when the knock sounded on her apartment door.
Yn opened it with trembling hands. There he stood: Jungkook in the flesh, taller and more intense than any video call could capture. His dark eyes burned with unrestrained hunger the second the door clicked shut and he locked it behind him. Yn stepped back, heart hammering. This had always felt safe online, distant, imaginary. But now he was here, real, breathing hard, looking at her like he wanted to devour her whole.
“Jungkook… I—” she started, voice shaky, still processing.
He didn’t let her finish. His gaze locked onto hers, dark and feral, pupils blown wide with lust. “Don’t be surprised by what I’m about to do,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, stepping forward until she was backed against the wall. “Every single filthy thing we talked about in those chats, I’m doing it all. Right now. No holding back.”
Before she could respond, he crashed his mouth onto hers in a brutal kiss. His tongue invaded her immediately, fucking her mouth with the same hunger he’d described so many times. One hand gripped her jaw, tilting her head exactly how he wanted, while the other ripped her thin top open with a sharp tear. Her bare breasts spilled free into the cool air. Jungkook pulled back just enough to stare down at them, groaning like a starving man.
“These tits… the ones I’ve jerked off to in every picture you sent. Finally mine to destroy.”
He shoved her onto the bed, crawling over her with predatory grace. His eyes never left hers as he latched onto one nipple with savage hunger. He sucked greedily, tongue flicking and swirling rapidly over the stiff peak, moaning deeply into her skin as if he were truly breastfeeding. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room. His teeth grazed and bit down, leaving red marks that made her gasp. His tattooed hand mauled the other breast, pinching and twisting the nipple hard, rolling it between his fingers until she cried out.
“Jungkook… oh god…” Yn moaned, back arching, fingers threading into his hair. She loved every second, the intensity, the way his eyes flicked up to meet hers while he sucked, watching her reactions like he was addicted.
He switched sides, sucking even more violently on the second nipple. He pulled it deep into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, moaning louder as if trying to drink from her. His free hand slapped the first breast lightly, watching it jiggle before pinching the sore bud again. Yn’s hips bucked involuntarily; she was soaked already, loving how feral he was, how he claimed her exactly as promised.
Jungkook stripped them both fully naked in record time, his heavy, veiny cock springing free, rock hard, thick, and leaking precum down the shaft. He forced her legs wide apart, eyes locked on her dripping cunt. “Soaking wet for me already. This cunt and ass belong to me now.”
He buried his face between her thighs with feral intensity. Long, sloppy licks dragged from her swollen clit all the way down to her tight arsehole. He sucked her pussy lips into his mouth, tongue plunging deep inside her cunt while two thick fingers slammed in and out. Then he moved lower, his tongue pushing insistently into her rear hole, tasting and stretching her as he moaned against her skin. His eyes kept flicking up to hers, watching her face contort in pleasure.
Yn came violently within minutes, thighs clamping around his head as her juices flooded his face and tongue. She squirted messily, crying out his name, loving every filthy second of it.
He flipped her onto all fours without warning, spreading her arse cheeks wide. “You wanted anal, yeah?” he growled, voice rough. “Beg for it.”
“Please… fuck my ass, Jungkook. I need it,” she whimpered, pushing back against him desperately. She loved this, how real it felt, how he made her beg just like in the chats.
He lubed his massive cock generously and pressed the fat, leaking head against her puckered hole. Inch by agonising inch he sank in, stretching her burning ring wide open. The intense burn mixed with delicious fullness made her eyes roll back. When he bottomed out, balls-deep, he groaned gutturally, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before locking back onto hers over her shoulder.
“Jungkook… fuck!” Yn cried out, back arching deeply.
“Your arse is choking my cock so perfectly. So fucking tight and hot,” he rasped, staring into her eyes as he started thrusting,deep, relentless strokes that made her whole body jolt. One hand reached around to rub her swollen clit in tight circles, the other mauled her swinging tits, pinching and twisting her sore nipples. He leaned over her back, biting her shoulder hard as he pounded her. Yn shattered again, squirting around his fingers while her arse clenched rhythmically around his thick shaft, loving the overwhelming fullness and the way his eyes stayed on her the entire time.
Jungkook pulled out slowly, watching her hole flutter. He flipped her onto her back and straddled her chest, his cock still glistening with her ass juices, hovering over her face. “Open that smart mouth wide for me.”
Yn obeyed eagerly, eyes locked on his as he shoved deep down her throat. She gagged and drooled messily, tears streaming down her cheeks, but she loved it, the taste, the roughness, the way he fucked her face while staring into her eyes with pure possession. At the edge, he pulled out and erupted across her tits in thick, hot ropes of cum, painting her breasts and nipples white.
“Swallow what you can, baby,” he ordered, voice hoarse.
He scooped up his semen with two fingers and pushed them into her mouth. Yn licked them clean greedily, moaning at the salty taste, her eyes never leaving his. Then Jungkook lowered his head again, sucking his own cum off her nipples with filthy, wet sounds. He moaned loudly while doing it, grinding his still-hard cock against her thigh, eyes half-lidded in bliss.
“I’ve needed this so badly,” he rasped between greedy sucks, tongue flicking her cum-covered nipples. “Your brilliant mind. Your slutty holes. All of it. You’re mine now.”
He moved down and fucked her cunt next in deep missionary, pinning her legs over his shoulders so he could slam against her cervix with every thrust. He pounded so hard and deep she felt him in her stomach, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Jungkook watched her face the entire time, growling, “Look at me while I ruin this cunt.”
Then he flipped them, making her ride him reverse cowgirl. His hands spread her ass cheeks wide, thumbs teasing her freshly-fucked hole as he thrust up brutally. Yn bounced on his cock, loving the way he filled her, the slap of skin, the feral grunts he made.
Finally, he pulled her off, made her kneel between his legs, and fed her a second massive load straight onto her waiting tongue. “Swallow every drop like the good girl you are.”
Yn did exactly that, looking up at him with teary, satisfied eyes as she swallowed every thick spurt, licking her lips clean. She loved every filthy second of it, the claiming, the mess, the intensity.
Jungkook collapsed beside her on the bed, pulling her close into his arms. His cock was already twitching against her thigh, ready for another round. He kissed her deeply, tenderly this time, stroking her hair as they caught their breath.
“This isn’t fantasy anymore,” he murmured against her lips, eyes soft but still hungry. “You’re mine. I’m going to keep stretching every hole, sucking these tits dry, and feeding you my cum until you can’t think straight.”
Their chats never stopped after that night. They only grew filthier, now laced with vivid, detailed recaps of exactly how incredible it felt in the flesh,every thrust, every moan, every swallow. What started as online words had become an addiction they both craved in reality.
June will be filled with joy.
June will be filled with love.
June will be filled with trust.
June will be filled with peace.
June will be filled with clarity.
June will be filled with miracles.
June will be filled with blessings.
I've been writing a fan fiction about Jungkook but something feels off about it😭
Ig fk it off, Ill just post it
JIMIN in G.C.F Las Vegas
One Stolen Summer Day
pairing: Boyfriend! yoongi x girlfriend! Reader genre: angst, smut, fluff, long distance, reunion inspired by: long-distance love, tour life loneliness, “missing you across time zones” trope word count: ~5k
warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple rounds, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise kink, possessiveness, light hair pulling, marking (hickeys/bruises), public teasing, long-distance relationship, emotional vulnerability, crying during intimacy
summary: Your birthday starts off quiet and disappointing until an unexpected knock turns everything upside down. What follows isn’t just a sweet reunion, but a chaotic, emotional whirlwind of stolen time, buried confessions, and moments that feel almost too intense to be real. Just when it seems like the day might rewrite everything between you, reality crashes back in leaving behind a goodbye that hits harder than either of you were prepared for.
You woke up to the soft hum of your air conditioner fighting against the early summer heat already pressing against the windows of your small apartment in Yerevan. Sunlight spilled across the wooden floor like liquid gold, catching on the scattered notebooks and highlighters that had become your permanent roommates these past weeks. Today was your birthday. And instead of cake or candles or the man you loved whispering filthy promises against your neck, you had three exams looming like storm clouds and a heart that felt too heavy for the bright blue sky outside.
Yoongi was halfway across the world. Again. His world tour had swallowed him whole rehearsals, soundchecks, sold-out arenas that roared his name while you sat here buried in textbooks, too many time zones away to even catch a live stream without your eyes burning from exhaustion. You’d begged the universe to let you fly to him for just one night, but finals were non-negotiable.
Your professors didn’t care that your boyfriend was Min Yoongi, the same man whose voice had lulled you to sleep through a thousand late-night calls, the same man whose hands had mapped every inch of your body like it was the only melody he ever wanted to play. You rolled over in bed, grabbing your phone. A single text from him waited, sent hours ago from whatever city he’d performed in last night.
Yoongi ♡: Happy birthday, baby. Wish I could be there to ruin you properly. Study hard. I’ll call after the show. Love you more than you know.
Your stomach flipped. You typed back a quick heart emoji and a pathetic miss you, then forced yourself up. No time for moping. The summer day stretched long and empty ahead until it didn’t. You spent the morning in a haze of flashcards and iced coffee, the kind you’d learned to make extra strong just to survive Armenian summers. By early afternoon the heat had thickened, turning the air syrupy. You’d thrown on a thin white tank top and loose cotton shorts, hair piled messily on top of your head, when a sharp knock rattled your front door. You froze. No one ever knocked. Your landlord texted. Friends messaged. Delivery guys buzzed from downstairs.
Another knock, softer this time, almost hesitant. Your heart slammed against your ribs as you padded barefoot across the cool tiles. You cracked the door open, chain still latched, and the world stopped. There he stood Min Yoongi in the flesh, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, black mask pulled down just enough to show the sharp line of his jaw and the tired but bright eyes that always looked at you like you were the only person on the planet.
A small bouquet of deep red roses and a paper bag from your favourite local bakery dangled from his other hand. His hair was freshly dyed that soft mint you loved, slightly damp from the flight, sticking to his forehead in the heat. Black hoodie, ripped jeans, sneakers that had clearly seen airport floors. He looked exhausted. He looked perfect.
“Surprise, birthday girl,” he said, voice low and rough from singing for thousands the night before. You slammed the door shut on instinct, then immediately yanked it open again, chain clattering. “Yoongi—what the fuck—how—your concert—”
He stepped inside before you could finish, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. The roses and bag hit the floor. His hands were on your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he was making sure you were real. “Finished the show at midnight. Cleared a single free day before the next leg. Flew straight here. Couldn’t miss your birthday, baby. Not when you’re stuck studying and I’m the idiot who keeps leaving.”
You stared up at him, tears pricking hot behind your eyes. “You’re insane. You have a tour. You need rest. You—” “I need you.” His mouth crashed into yours before you could argue, hungry and desperate, the kind of kiss that tasted like jet lag and months of longing. He backed you against the wall, one thigh sliding between yours, hands sliding down to grip your waist hard enough to bruise. You melted into him, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging until he groaned against your lips. The summer heat outside had nothing on the fire licking up your spine.
When you finally broke apart, gasping, he rested his forehead against yours. “Missed you so fucking much. Every night on stage I kept looking for your face in the crowd even though I knew you were here buried in books.” His voice dropped, dark and velvet. “Tell me you have time today. Tell me I get to have you all to myself until I have to fly out tomorrow morning.”
You nodded frantically, already pulling him toward the living room. “Exams can wait one day. You’re here. You’re actually here.” He grinned that rare, boxy smile that made your knees weak then scooped you up like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the couch. “Good. Because I have plans, and none of them involve you wearing clothes for very long.” The afternoon unfolded like a fever dream you never wanted to wake from.
First, he made you sit while he unpacked the bakery bag fresh honey-drenched pastries, and a tiny birthday cake with “My girl” written in shaky icing he’d clearly bullied the staff into adding. You laughed until you cried, feeding each other bites between kisses that grew slower, deeper, tongues sliding lazy and filthy. His hands never left your body tracing your bare thighs, slipping under the hem of your tank top to palm your breasts like he’d been starving for the weight of them. “You’re so warm,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing the spot that always made you shiver. “Summer looks fucking good on you.”
You dragged him outside anyway after changing into a sundress, because it was your birthday and the city was alive with golden light. Yerevan in summer was a riot of colour street vendors selling chilled tarragon soda, the Cascade steps glowing under the sun, fountains sparkling in Republic Square. Yoongi kept his mask on and a baseball cap low, but his arm stayed locked around your waist like he was daring the world to try and take him away. You walked the treelined streets, fingers laced, stopping every few blocks so he could pull you into a shaded alley and kiss you stupid slow drags of his tongue, hands squeezing your ass under your shorts, whispering how he’d been hard for you since the plane took off.
Then Yoongi kept his fingers laced with yours, thumb brushing slow circles over your skin like he needed the constant contact to believe you were real. Every few steps he’d tug you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple or the top of your head. At one point you bought ice cream cones from a tiny stand near the park yours pistachio, his dark chocolate and he licked a drip from your wrist with deliberate slowness, eyes locked on yours. “Tastes better on you,” he said, voice low enough that only you heard. The heat between your legs flared hotter than the pavement. You leaned your head on his shoulder,trying to change the topic which worked. “Tell me about the tour.”
He was quiet for a long moment, staring at the sky as if the answer was written in the clouds. His free hand found yours again, squeezing gently. “It’s everything I dreamed of when I was a kid scribbling lyrics in Daegu. The crowds… they sing every word back, even the ones that hurt to write. The lights, the energy, it fills me up in a way nothing else does. I feel powerful out there. Like Agust D can say all the things Min Yoongi keeps quiet. But then the show ends, the lights go down, and I’m just… me again. Tired. Alone in another hotel room that all looks the same. I miss being myself with you. The version who doesn’t have to perform all the time. The one who can cook ramen at 2 a.m. and talk about dumb stuff or just sit in silence without feeling like I have to fill it with something impressive.”
His voice dropped lower, vulnerable in a way he rarely let show. “I don’t want to go back tomorrow. Not really. Part of me wants to stay right here, disappear into this city with you, walk these streets until the tour forgets I exist. I’m so fucking tired of leaving. Every time I board that plane, it feels like I’m ripping a piece of myself away. You make me feel like me again, y/n. Not the idol, not the rapper, just Yoongi who loves lazy afternoons and your laugh and the way you look at me like I’m enough even when I’m quiet.”
You turned to face him fully, cupping his cheek with your free hand. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you smiled through them. “You are enough. You’re more than enough. I see all of you the performer who lights up stages and the soft guy who flies across the world for one day because it’s my birthday. I’m so proud of what you do, but I miss you like crazy too. The real you. The one who holds me like this.”
He leaned into your touch, eyes glistening as he searched your face. Then he kissed you slow, deep, and full of everything words couldn’t carry. It wasn’t rushed or desperate this time. Just tender, tasting of chocolate ice cream and summer air and months of missing each other. His hand rested at the small of your back, pulling you closer as the saxophone from a nearby musician floated around you like a private soundtrack.
The walk back to your apartment felt endless. The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in pinks and oranges, but the air between you crackled. Every touch, his hand on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple was foreplay. By the time your door clicked shut behind you, you were both shaking.
He didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Yoongi shoved you against the wall again, yanking your sundress over your head in one rough motion. His mouth latched onto your breast immediately, tongue flicking your nipple while his hand shoved your panties down your legs. You kicked them off, fumbling with his hoodie zipper until he growled and tore it off himself, black t-shirt following. Skin on skin. Finally.
“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed, dropping to his knees right there in the hallway. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and buried his face between your thighs like a man possessed. No teasing this time just his tongue sliding through your folds, sucking your clit hard, two fingers curling inside you instantly. You cried out, hands fisting in his mint hair, hips rocking against his mouth as the summer heat and months of separation crashed over you. He moaned like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted. “So wet already. All for me?” His fingers pumped faster, curling against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
“Come on, baby. Give it to me. Want to feel you fall apart before I fuck you.” You shattered with his name on your lips, thighs trembling, vision whiting out. He didn’t stop, kept licking you through it until you were whimpering, oversensitive and still aching for more. He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes black with lust. “Bedroom. Now.”
You barely made it three steps before he had you bent over the edge of the bed, ass up, face pressed into the sheets that still smelled like him from his last visit. He freed himself from his jeans, thick and hard and leaking, and rubbed the head against your soaked entrance.
“Tell me you want it,” he growled, one hand fisting your hair.
“I want it please, Yoongi—need you inside me—”
He slammed in to the hilt in one thrust, both of you groaning at the stretch. He didn’t give you time to adjust; he fucked you hard and deep, hips snapping, the sound of skin on skin filthy in the quiet apartment. “Missed this pussy so much. So tight. So fucking perfect.” His free hand reached around to rub your clit again, relentless. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Make you feel me for days after I leave.” You came again, clenching around him, and he followed right after with a broken moan of your name, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you. But he wasn’t done.
He flipped you onto your back, crawled between your legs, and ate you out again tasting himself mixed with you until you were sobbing with overstimulation. Then he pulled you on top, guiding you down onto his cock once more, hands gripping your hips as you rode him slow and filthy under the golden evening light filtering through the curtains. “Look at me,” he demanded, voice wrecked. “Want to see your face when you come on my cock again.”
You did staring into those dark eyes as the third orgasm ripped through you, his own release following in hot pulses. You collapsed onto his chest, both of you slick with sweat, hearts hammering in sync. For a long time you just lay there, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back, the summer breeze drifting through the open window carrying distant city sounds. He pressed soft kisses to your temple, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth.
“Best birthday ever,” you whispered, voice hoarse.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Not over yet. I’ve got all night, and I’m nowhere near done being crazy for you.” His hand slid down to squeeze your ass possessively. “Gonna take you in the shower next. Then maybe the kitchen counter. Then back here until the sun comes up. I want every inch of you marked before I have to fly out.” You shivered, already feeling him harden again against your thigh.
“Insatiable,” you teased, nipping his jaw.
“Only for you.” His voice softened, but the heat in his eyes stayed. “Happy birthday, my love. I’d cross oceans every single day if it meant waking up next to you even if it’s just for twenty-four hours.”
You kissed him slow and deep, pouring everything you couldn’t say into it. The distance, the tours, the exams they all faded under the weight of his body, his touch, the way he looked at you like you were his whole universe. Outside, the city summer night bloomed with stars and the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine. Inside, Yoongi rolled you beneath him again, lips brushing your ear as he sank back inside you with a groan.
“Round three, baby. Let me show you how much I missed you.”
And he did slow and sweet this time, then fast and desperate, until the only sounds in the apartment were your mingled moans, his whispered I love yous, and the creak of the bed that would remember this night long after he was gone. By the time the first hints of dawn painted the sky, you were tangled in sheets and each other, exhausted and sated and happier than you’d been in months. He held you close, one arm locked around your waist like he could keep the world at bay a little longer.
“Next break,” he murmured against your hair, already half-asleep, “you’re coming with me. Exams or no exams. I’m not spending another birthday without you in my arms.” You smiled into his chest, heart full to bursting. “Deal.” And as the summer sun rose over the city, you drifted off wrapped in the only thing that mattered him, here, yours for one perfect, spicy, unforgettable day.
The alarm on Yoongi’s phone buzzed like a cruel intruder at 7:45 a.m., slicing through the fragile cocoon you’d built together in the last golden hours of your birthday. You were still tangled in the sheets, skin sticky with sweat and the remnants of too many rounds of desperate lovemaking, your head pillowed on his chest where his heartbeat had finally slowed to something almost calm. The summer morning light in Yerevan filtered soft and warm through the thin curtains, catching on the faint red marks blooming across your collarbones and the possessive bruises his fingers had left on your hips. For a moment neither of you moved, pretending the world outside didn’t exist. Then reality crashed in.
Yoongi’s arm tightened around you instinctively, his nose burying deeper into your hair as if he could inhale every last trace of you before the plane stole him away. “Fuck,” he whispered, voice gravel rough from hours of moaning your name and the raw confessions he’d spilled in the dark. “I don’t want to go.”
You lifted your head, eyes already stinging with the tears you’d been holding back since the shower. His face, those sharp features softened by exhaustion and love looked wrecked in the best and worst ways. The mint hair was a mess from your fingers, lips still swollen from kissing you senseless, and those dark eyes that had burned with lust all night now glistened with something heavier. Vulnerability. Longing. The same tour emotions he’d laid bare between thrusts and whispered promises. “I know,” you murmured, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing the faint shadow of stubble. “But you have to. Thousands of people are waiting for you tonight. Another city, another stage. You’re Min Yoongi, they need Agust D.”
He let out a shaky breath that sounded dangerously close to a sob, rolling you both so he was hovering over you, forearms braced on either side of your head. “They need the performer. I need this. You. The way you feel under me. The way you look at me like I’m not just the guy spitting fire on stage but the idiot who flies across continents for one fucking day.” His voice cracked on the last word, and a single tear slipped free, tracing a path down his cheek before it dripped onto your lips. You tasted salt his pain, his love, the weight of the life he’d chosen. You surged up to kiss him, slow and deep and trembling, tongues sliding together with the kind of desperation that came from knowing the clock was ticking mercilessly.
Tears welled in your own eyes now, spilling hot and silent as your fingers threaded through his damp mint strands, tugging him closer. The kiss tasted like goodbye and I-love-you and please-don’t-go all at once. He groaned into your mouth, hips instinctively rocking against yours even though you were both sore and spent, his cock twitching half-hard against your thigh as if his body refused to accept the separation. When you broke apart, foreheads pressed together, both of you were crying openly quiet, messy tears that mixed on your skin. “I’m so proud of you,” you choked out, voice thick. “Every night you step on that stage, you’re carrying dreams for so many people… including mine. But it hurts, Yoongi. It hurts knowing you’re out there feeling empty when I’m right here waiting. I wish I could be in the front row every single time.”
He kissed you again, harder this time, teeth nipping your bottom lip as fresh tears slipped down his face. “I wish that too. Fuck, I wish I could pull you on stage with me, kiss you stupid right there under the lights so the whole world knows who keeps me sane.” His hands roamed your body one last time possessive, reverent, palming your breasts, sliding down to squeeze your ass, dipping between your legs to feel the slick evidence of the night you’d shared.
“Last night… this morning… it’s going to keep me alive out there. Every lyric I spit, every beat I drop, I’ll be thinking about how you rode me like you were trying to brand yourself into my soul. How you listened when I told you how lonely the tour gets. How you made the hollow parts feel full again.”
You sobbed softly against his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, even though there was no time left for another round. The friction of his body against yours sent sparks through your oversensitive skin, but it was the emotion that overwhelmed everything the raw, aching love that made the distance feel both unbearable and worth every mile.
“Come back to me soon,” you whispered between kisses, tears streaming freely now. “Text me after the show. Call me when you’re alone in the hotel. I’ll be here, no matter how late. I’ll send you voice notes of me saying your name the way you like… the way I moan it when you’re deep inside me. Just… don’t forget you’re allowed to be soft. Allowed to miss me. Allowed to cry if the tour breaks you a little.”
Yoongi nodded, kissing away the tears on your cheeks, then your eyelids, then the corner of your mouth. His own tears kept falling, silent and steady, as he memorized every inch of your face. “I won’t forget. You’re the only thing that makes the roar of the crowd feel like home instead of noise. I’ll be up there tonight, giving everything I have, and when the lights go down and the adrenaline crashes… I’ll let myself feel it. The missing you. The ache. And then I’ll remember this—your tears, your kisses, the way you held me while I spilled my guts about how fucking hard it all is. It’ll fuel me for the next city, the next show, until I can steal another day like this.”
He forced himself to pull away, rolling off the bed with a groan that was half pain, half reluctance. You watched him dress—black hoodie, ripped jeans, the same cap and mask he’d arrived in—each piece of clothing a painful reminder that the dream was calling him back. When he was ready, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he turned to you one last time. You were sitting up in bed, sheet clutched to your chest, tears still tracking down your face, looking every bit the girl who’d just had her world rocked and then ripped away again.
“Come here,” he said, voice breaking.
You scrambled out of bed and into his arms. The hug was fierce, bodies molding together like they were trying to fuse. Then the kiss..god, the kiss. It started soft, reverent, lips brushing with trembling tenderness. But it deepened fast, turning messy and desperate, tongues sliding wet and salty with tears, hands clutching hair and clothes and skin as if letting go would make the other disappear. You tasted his tears. He tasted yours. Both of you were crying harder now, quiet sobs muffled against each other’s mouths, breaths hitching, foreheads knocking together when you pulled back for air only to dive in again.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, voice wrecked and raw. “More than the music. More than the lights. More than any stage. You’re my real encore, baby.”
“I love you too,” you sobbed, clinging tighter. “Go shine tonight. I’ll be watching the fancams later, pretending I’m right there in the front row. And when you get off stage… come back to me in your mind. I’ll be waiting.”
One final, searing kiss teeth clashing, noses bumping, tears mixing freely then he tore himself away, eyes red-rimmed and shining as he backed toward the door. “Happy birthday again. Best one I’ve ever given you… even if it was only twenty-four hours.” The door clicked shut behind him.
You stood there in the empty apartment, the summer morning suddenly too bright, too quiet, the scent of him still lingering on your skin and in the sheets. Your lips tingled from the salt of his tears and the ferocity of his goodbye. Somewhere across the sky, Yoongi would be on that plane, staring out the window with red eyes, replaying every second of the night the confessions, the shower, the way you’d ridden him while he poured out his tour-weary soul. He’d step onto the next stage tonight with the ghost of your kisses on his mouth, the memory of your tears on his tongue, and when the final lights dropped and the crowd’s roar faded, he’d let himself cry again in the privacy of the dressing room or the back of the van.
Not from sadness alone, but from the overwhelming, beautiful ache of loving someone so much it hurt to leave, and loving the dream enough to keep doing it anyway. Later that night, thousands of miles away, under blinding stage lights in whatever city the tour had carried him to, Yoongi would perform with a fire that felt brand new. The verses would hit harder, the melodies would cut deeper, because every word carried the echo of your voice saying “I’m proud of you” through tears. And when the encore ended and the house lights rose, he’d slip backstage, pull out his phone, and find the message you’d already sent a simple voice note of you whispering his name, soft and filthy and loving, just like he’d asked. He’d smile through fresh tears, press the phone to his chest, and whisper to the empty room, “I’m coming back soon, baby. Wait for me.”
The distance stretched on, but the love fierce, messy, tear-soaked, and unbreakable bridged every mile, every show, every lonely hotel night. Your birthday had ended in tears and goodbye kisses, but it had also given him the strength to keep chasing the lights, knowing the best part of every concert was the quiet promise that one day soon, he’d be back in your arms, crying and kissing and loving you all over again.
Riding Back to You
Warning: M4F, best friends to lovers, sudden physical intimacy, smut, fluff, oral sex, protected sex, reunion, strong language
Words counting: ≈2500
Summary:YN reunites unexpectedly with her childhood best friend, now a biker, after nearly being hit by his bike one night. Years of distance melt away as they reconnect, and what begins as an emotional reunion quickly turns into something far more intense than either of them expected.
a/n: I can't move on from his biking video, it was too damn hot😭
The summer you turned five, your mum dragged you along to the neighbourhood barbecue, clutching a tray of slightly burnt fairy cakes in your small hands. The garden was alive with the scent of grilled sausages, freshly cut grass, and cigarette smoke drifting from the adults gathered near the fence. Laughter and chatter filled the air, but none of it eased the knot of shyness twisting in your stomach. You hovered near your mum’s legs, half-hidden behind her summer dress, eyes darting around at the unfamiliar children running wildly across the lawn.
That was when you first saw him.
Jungkook, two years older and already noticeably taller, stood by the old wooden swings at the bottom of the garden. His knees were scraped and dirty from some earlier adventure, grass stains smeared across his shorts, and a bright red plaster clung crookedly to one elbow. His dark hair was messy, sticking up in every direction as if he’d been running his hands through it all afternoon. A lopsided grin lit up his face as he pushed an empty swing absently with one hand, the chains creaking rhythmically.
He spotted you almost immediately. While the other kids chased balls or screamed during games of tag, Jungkook’s sharp, curious eyes locked onto your nervous little face peeking out from behind your mum. Something shifted in his expression determination mixed with that easy, friendly warmth. Without hesitation, he abandoned the swings and marched straight over, trainers kicking up small clouds of dust.
Your heart beat faster as he stopped right in front of you. Up close, he smelled like sunshine, sticky sweets, and the faint metallic tang of the dirt on his knees. He tilted his head, studying you for a brief second, then reached out and grabbed your smaller hand in his. His palm was warm and slightly sticky from whatever he’d been eating earlier.
“She’s my best friend now!” he declared loudly to no one in particular, but loud enough that several nearby adults turned with amused smiles. His voice carried that confident, bossy tone only young boys seem to master so naturally. “We’re gonna play together. Come on!”
Before you could protest or retreat further behind your mum’s skirt, he was gently tugging you towards the swings. Your mum and Mrs Jeon exchanged delighted glances over their cups of tea, already whispering excitedly. You stumbled along beside him, surprised at how firmly yet kindly he held your hand, as if he’d decided your friendship was simply a fact of life.
From that moment, it was decided. Jungkook appointed himself your protector, playmate, and constant companion. He showed you how to pump your legs properly on the swings so you could soar higher, catching you carefully when you jumped off. He shared his melting ice lolly without being asked, wiping your chin with the back of his hand when the juice dripped. When another child tried to take the toy spade you were playing with in the sandpit, Jungkook stepped in with a fierce scowl. “That’s hers. Get your own.”
Your mums became inseparable too. Mrs Jeon and your mum would sit on garden chairs with cups of tea, watching you both chase each other across the lawn. “They’re soulmates,” Mrs Jeon would sigh. “Look at how he shares his toys with her.” Your mum would nod vigorously. “Wedding in the church hall, I reckon. We’ll do the flowers ourselves.” The two women treated it like a done deal, teasing you both mercilessly even when you were ten and Jungkook twelve and protested loudly that “girls are gross” (except you, apparently).
Memories piled up like autumn leaves. Jungkook teaching you to ride a bike without stabilisers in the park, his hands steady on the seat until you wobbled off laughing. You forcing him to attend your teddy bear tea parties, where he sat cross-legged, sipping imaginary tea and pulling funny faces to make you giggle. Sleepovers where you’d fall asleep to him reading comics aloud in silly voices. The time he punched a bully who pulled your pigtails, earning himself a week’s detention but a hero’s welcome from both mums.
As teenagers, things shifted subtly. Jungkook at fifteen had shot up, voice deepening, messy dark hair falling into his eyes. You were thirteen, awkward and aware that your childhood best friend made your stomach flip when he smiled. He’d walk you home from school, hands brushing. Your mums’ teasing grew bolder. “When are you two going to stop pretending?” Mrs Jeon would wink. Jungkook would blush furiously and change the subject.
One rainy afternoon when you were sixteen, you sat in his room listening to music. He strummed his guitar, a new hobby, fingers calloused. “You’re my favourite person, you know that?” he said quietly. Your heart raced, but neither of you crossed the line. Fear of ruining the friendship, fear of what your families would say if it went wrong. So you stayed best friends, close, but never quite close enough.
University pulled you apart. You moved to another city for your undergraduate degree, then stayed on for a Master’s in literature and cultural studies. Jungkook tried music production in Seoul and poured his savings into a second-hand motorcycle, and discovered freedom on two wheels. The mums kept in touch, of course. Their messages were relentless: Jungkook asks about you. YN, that boy is still single. When are you coming home?
At twenty six, you were back in the city for a year-long research programme at the university library, buried in archives and late-night essays. Life felt steady but lonely. Jungkook, twenty eight, had built a name for himself in the local custom bike scene. You’d seen blurry photos on mutual friends’ social media leather jacket, intense gaze, inked arms. He looked like a stranger and yet exactly like the boy you’d loved in secret.
You never expected the universe to throw you back together so dramatically.
༺༻
It was a Thursday night past midnight. Rain had fallen earlier, leaving the roads slick and reflective under orange streetlights. Your library session had run long; the dissertation on urban folklore wouldn’t write itself. Headphones in, mind elsewhere, you walked the familiar route home through the quieter industrial edge of the district. Phone dead. Shoes damp. Mind on autopilot.
The roar came out of nowhere.
Headlights sliced through the darkness. You looked up too late. Tyres screeched on wet tarmac as the motorcycle swerved violently. For one terrifying second, death felt inches away. The bike missed you by centimetres, fishtailed, and came to a stop just ahead.
Your heart thundered in your ears. You stood frozen on the pavement, legs shaky.
The rider yanked off his helmet. “Fuck! Are you alright?!” He swung a leg over the bike and strode towards you, voice raw with panic. Tall, broad-shouldered, leather jacket gleaming under the light. “What the hell are you doing out here alone? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”
You looked up into those familiar doe eyes wider now with shock and the world tilted.
“Jungkook?”
He stopped dead, helmet dangling from one hand. Recognition crashed over his face like a wave. “YN…? Holy shit. YN?”
A stunned beat passed. Then he closed the distance and pulled you into a crushing hug. One large hand cradled the back of your head, the other pressed against your back as if to reassure himself you were real. He smelled of rain, warm engine oil, and something deeper home. When he pulled back, his palms stayed on your shoulders, eyes scanning you frantically for injuries.
“I nearly hit you. My heart’s still trying to climb out of my chest. What are you doing walking alone at this hour? Have you lost your mind?” The words tumbled out, concern laced with that deeper timbre you barely recognised.
You laughed shakily, adrenaline making you giddy. “Library. Phone died. Dissertation deadline. Jungkook… you ride bikes now? Like, properly?”
He exhaled a disbelieving laugh, running a hand through messy dark hair. “Among other things. Been a while, huh?” His gaze lingered tracing the changes in your face, the way you’d grown into yourself. “You look incredible. Different, but… fuck, really good.”
Heat flooded your cheeks. He looked different too. Sharper jaw, broader frame filling out the leather jacket, a silver hoop glinting in one ear. Tattoos peeked from his collar and cuffs. The boy who once stole your crisps had become dangerously attractive.
“Come on,” he said, already guiding you towards the kerb. “Sit down for a minute. Catch your breath.” He crouched in front of you, one hand resting lightly on your knee. The casual touch sent sparks up your leg. “I can’t believe it’s you. After all this time.”
You talked there on the damp kerb for twenty minutes halting at first, then easier, like slipping back into an old favourite jumper. He told you he’d been out riding to clear his head after a long day in the workshop. You admitted the research programme had you working ridiculous hours.
Eventually he stood, offering his hand. “There’s a 24-hour café two streets over. My treat. No way I’m letting you walk home alone after that.”
The café was quiet, fluorescent lights buzzing softly. Jungkook ordered without asking, your old favourite latte with an extra shot, chips with too much salt, and a slice of chocolate cake to share. “You always used to steal half of mine,” he said with a wink.
Conversation flowed like it had never stopped. You spoke about your Master’s, the pressure of academia, the quiet loneliness of returning to the city without old friends nearby. He told you about music production burning him out, the freedom he found on bikes. “Building customs now,” he explained, eyes lighting up. “Each one’s a piece of art. No two the same. It’s honest work. Gets my hands dirty.”
His hands did look capable, strong, veined, calloused. You tried not to stare.
He asked about your dating life. You shrugged. “Nothing serious. Too busy.” When you returned the question, his smile turned wry. “Same. Mum still sends me articles about settling down. Keeps mentioning you, actually.”
You both laughed, but the air thickened. The old shipping jokes hung between you, heavier now with adult awareness.
By 3 a.m. the owner was politely ushering you out. Jungkook insisted on taking you home. “Spare helmet’s in the box. I’m not arguing.” He helped fasten the strap, fingers brushing your chin, lingering a second too long. The ride was exhilarating, his solid warmth between your thighs, the engine’s powerful thrum vibrating through you, city lights streaking past. You held him tighter than necessary.
At your building door, the goodbye stretched.
“You gonna invite me up?” he asked, voice low. “Or are we pretending we’re still just the kids our mums tried to marry off?”
Your pulse raced. “Come up, Jungkook.”
The door had barely clicked shut before he had you against it. The kiss was desperate, years of unspoken want pouring out. His mouth claimed yours, tongue sliding hotly as one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist. You melted into him, fingers clutching his leather jacket.
“Been thinking about this since I saw your face under that streetlight,” he growled against your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin. “Fuck, YN. You have no idea.
Clothes shed in a frantic trail to the bedroom. His jacket hit the floor, then his shirt, revealing the full extent of his tattoos: a fierce dragon on his ribs, intricate sleeves of roses and machinery, more disappearing beneath his waistband. You traced them reverently. He shivered under your touch.
He took his time undressing you, kissing every newly exposed inch like your collarbones, breasts, stomach until he knelt between your thighs. The first slow lick against your centre drew a sharp moan from you. Jungkook groaned in response. “So sweet,” he murmured, then set to work with devastating focus. Two thick fingers curled inside you while his tongue circled your clit. The pleasure built rapidly; you came hard, thighs trembling around his head, his name on your lips.
But he wasn’t finished. He shed the rest of his clothes, revealing a thick, hard cock with a small silver piercing at the tip. Your eyes widened.
Jungkook smirked, stroking himself once. “Surprise. Got it a couple years back. Thought you might appreciate it.” He rolled on a condom (he always has one just in case lmao), then positioned himself. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
It wasn’t. The stretch was perfect, the piercing adding a delicious drag as he sank in slowly. You both moaned at the sensation. Once buried deep, he paused, forehead to yours. “Been waiting years for this,” he confessed softly. Then he moved deep, steady thrusts that quickly turned harder, more desperate.
The piercing rubbed relentlessly against that sensitive spot inside. Combined with his thumb on your clit, you shattered again, clenching around him. Jungkook followed with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he came while looking at your eyes deeply, going crazy at how beautiful you were.
After, he pulled you against his chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. “Not letting you go again,” he whispered.
༺༻
The weeks that followed blurred into a whirlwind of rediscovery. Jungkook introduced you properly to his biker life. One sunny Saturday he took you to his workshop on the city outskirts. The converted warehouse smelled of oil, metal, and fresh paint. Half a dozen bikes in different stages of rebuild lined the walls. Tools hung in meticulous order.
“This is my world,” he said, almost shyly. He showed you his latest project which was a sleek black café racer with custom chrome work. Watching him work, muscles flexing under his tight t-shirt as he tightened bolts stirred heat low in your belly. You ended up bent over his workbench, his hands gripping your hips as he took you from behind, the thrill of possibly being caught heightening everything. The piercing made you see stars.
He took you on longer rides too. Proper gear, open roads, coastal routes where the sea sparkled under sunlight. Stopping at quiet viewpoints, he’d pull you close, kissing you deeply while the bike cooled beside you. “Never thought I’d have you on the back of my bike,” he’d murmur. “Feels right.”
His crew welcomed you warmly at The Iron & Throttle. Taehyung, with his colourful tattoos and easy laugh, clapped Jungkook on the back. “Finally. The mums were right all along.” Jimin teased you both mercilessly but ordered you a drink and made sure you felt included. Stories flowed near-misses, epic rides, the brotherhood of the road. Jungkook kept you close, hand on your thigh, pride evident in his eyes.
There were quieter moments too. Late nights when he’d come back from a rescue ride, grease on his face, adrenaline still humming. He’d slide into bed after taking a shower, wake you with slow kisses down your body, then fuck you deep and slow until you both trembled. The piercing became your favourite secret each thrust a reminder of the man he’d become.
Yoongi's obsession
Genre: it's a full filthy porn, almost no plot
Warnings: MDNI, Yoongi boyfriend x Female reader, oral sex(both receiving), vaginal sex, lots of cumming, sex addiction, squirting
A/n: the thoughts of Yoongi secretly being obsessed with his partner doesn't leave my mind 😭it's a messy writing, random scenarios put together.
The morning light filtered softly through the half-drawn curtains of their Seoul apartment, casting a warm glow over the tangled sheets. Yoongi stirred first, his arm already draped possessively over YN's waist, pulling her bare back flush against his chest. Even in sleep, his cock twitched against the curve of her ass which was hard, insistent, like it had been all night. Years together, and the hunger never faded. If anything, it burnt hotter. He was obsessed with her, with the way her body responded to him, the slick heat of her pussy that always seemed ready, always took him so perfectly.
He nuzzled into her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin and last night's sex. "Baby," he murmured, voice gravelly from sleep, lips brushing her ear. His hand slid down, cupping her mound possessively. Two fingers parted her folds, finding her already wet. "Fuck, you're soaked again. Dreamin' about me?"
YN sighed awake, pushing back against him with a sleepy smile. "Always, Yoongi. Need you."
He didn't need more. In one smooth motion, he hooked her leg over his thigh, lined up his thick cock, and pushed in raw bare, deep, stretching her open with that familiar burn she craved. The wet squelch filled the room as he bottomed out, groaning low in his throat.
"This pussy... my fucking pussy. So tight, so greedy. Missed it all night."
He fucked her slow at first, lazy morning strokes that dragged against her walls, his hand rubbing tight circles on her clit. But hunger took over fast. His hips snapped harder, the bed creaking as he railed into her from behind, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangled in her hair.
"Cum for me. Wanna feel you gush."
YN cried out, clenching around him as the orgasm hit, her pussy squirting messily around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets. Yoongi growled, thrusting through it, chasing his own release until he spilled deep inside her, hot and thick, marking her like he did every single day.
They didn't pull apart right away. He stayed buried, softening slowly, kissing her shoulder. "Love you so much. Can't get enough."
༺༻
Breakfast was supposed to be simple like coffee, toast, maybe some fruit. But Yoongi couldn't keep his hands off her. YN stood at the counter in just his oversized t-shirt, reaching for a mug, when he came up behind her again. His hands slid under the hem, gripping her ass, spreading her cheeks.
"Bend over, baby."
She did, bracing on the counter as he dropped to his knees. He ate her out hungrily, tongue fucking into her cum-filled hole, sucking on her clit, slurping noisily at the mix of their releases dripping down her thighs. "Taste so good. My cum leaking out of this perfect cunt." He added two fingers, curling them roughly until she squirted again, right on his tongue, moaning his name loudly.
He stood, spun her around, and lifted her onto the counter. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he sank back in, fucking her hard and deep. Wet slaps of skin, her moans, his grunts was all you could hear.
"Gonna fill you again. Keep you dripping all day."
He came with a shudder, pumping rope after rope into her. They panted against each other, foreheads touching. "I love you," he whispered, thumb stroking her cheek. "More than anything.
༺༻
The day blurred between work and want. Yoongi tried to produce in his home studio, but YN walked in wearing nothing but panties. She straddled his lap in the chair, grinding down on his growing bulge.
"Need you again," she breathed.
He shoved the panties aside and impaled her on his cock, guiding her hips as she rode him. It was sloppy, desperate, her juices soaking his sweats, his mouth latched onto her tits, sucking marks into her skin. "Ride that dick, baby. This pussy owns me. Always so fucking wet for me."
She came hard, squirting all over his lap, and he followed, biting her shoulder as he filled her again. They stayed like that, connected, while he absently played a beat with one hand on the keyboard, the other stroking her back.
It happened again in the afternoon, on the couch during a "break," her on all fours while he pounded her from behind, pulling her hair, spanking her ass red.
"Look at this sloppy cunt. Taking me so well after years. Still milks me dry every time."
Evening melted into night. Dinner was half-eaten on the table because Yoongi had pulled her onto his lap mid-bite, bouncing her on his cock while they fed each other bites between moans. Later, in the shower, he pressed her against the tiles, lifting one leg and thrusting up into her, water mixing with her squirt as she came screaming.
By the time they collapsed into bed, bodies exhausted but never satisfied, he was hard again. YN spread her legs without a word, pulling him on top. This time it was slower, deeper, raw emotion mixed with the filth.
"I love you," he panted, hips rolling, cock dragging perfectly against that spot inside her. "Obsessed with you. This pussy. The way you squirt for me. The way you take everything I give. Never getting tired of this. Of us."
"I love you too," she gasped, nails digging into his back as another orgasm built. "Fill me, Yoongi. Want it all night."
He did. They fucked until the early hours, switching positions, her riding him reverse cowgirl so he could watch his cock disappear into her dripping hole, then missionary so he could kiss her through the messy, squirting climax. Cum leaked everywhere, sheets ruined, but they didn't care. He came inside her one last time, collapsing on top, still buried deep.
As sleep finally pulled them under, his hand cupped her mound protectively, fingers lazily circling her clit. "Tomorrow... gonna wake up and do it all over again."
༺༻
Yoongi was already losing his mind by mid-morning.
YN was on her knees in their bedroom, still wearing nothing but his t-shirt, eyes glossy with want as she looked up at him. She loved this, loved when he took her mouth roughly, when he used her throat like he owned it. And he did. She was addicted to the feeling of his thick cock sliding over her tongue, stretching her lips, hitting the back of her throat until her eyes watered.
“Fuck, baby… open wider,” he growled, voice wrecked. One hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping the base of his cock as he fed it into her eager mouth. YN moaned around him, the vibration shooting straight up his spine. She loved getting face-fucked, loved the mess, the spit, the way he lost control and fucked her face like he was desperate.
He thrust deeper, hips snapping forward, watching her throat bulge slightly with every push. Saliva dripped down her chin onto her tits, messy strings connecting her lips to his cock whenever he pulled back. “That’s it… good girl. Take it. You love choking on my dick, don’t you?”
YN nodded frantically, humming affirmatively, her hands gripping his thighs to pull him even deeper. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but her eyes were dark with lust. She squeezed her thighs together, soaked and aching between her legs just from servicing him.
Yoongi’s pace turned punishing, short, rough thrusts into her throat, balls slapping against her chin. “Gonna cum down your throat… then paint that pretty face.”
He came with a guttural groan, holding her head still as he spilled hot and thick straight into her mouth. YN swallowed greedily, but he pulled out midway through, stroking the rest of his load across her lips, cheeks, and tongue. The sight of his cum on her face made him feral. “Look at you… covered in me. My dirty girl.”
She smiled up at him, tongue out to catch more, visibly loving every second of the degradation and worship mixed together.
༺༻
Later that afternoon, after he’d eaten her pussy until she squirted twice on the couch, he had her bent over the kitchen counter. He spread her cheeks wide, staring at her dripping hole before slamming back inside her raw.
“Fuck… this pussy,” he panted, pounding into her with wet, obscene sounds. “Look how creamy you get for me.”
He pulled out suddenly, just to watch. Thick strings of his earlier cum and her juices leaked from her swollen folds. The sight drove him insane. “Shit, baby… my cum is dripping out of you. So fucking full of me.”
He pushed back in roughly, fucking his own load deeper, eyes locked on where they were joined. Every thrust made more of it squelch out around his cock. He reached around to rub her clit, growling in her ear, “Gonna fill you again. Want it leaking down your thighs all day.”
YN pushed back against him, moaning loudly. “Yes, cum inside me again. Love feeling it.”
When he came the second time, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning as he pumped rope after rope deep into her pussy. He stayed inside, grinding slowly, obsessed with the warm, wet mess he’d created. Pulling out slowly, he spread her open with his thumbs just to watch his cum slowly ooze out of her used hole. The creamy white against her pink folds made him twitch, already half-hard again.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, dropping to his knees behind her to lick her clean, only to get hard enough to fuck her one more time right there on the kitchen floor.
That night, YN begged for it again. On her knees in bed, she took him down her throat eagerly while he held her head and fucked her face with deep, sloppy strokes. Spit ran everywhere. When he pulled out and painted her face and tongue again, she looked up at him with pure adoration and filth in her eyes.
Yoongi wiped some of his cum off her cheek with his thumb and pushed it back into her mouth. “My perfect girl. Love seeing you like this, covered in my cum, pussy full of it, throat used.”
She crawled on top of him after, sinking down onto his cock, riding him slow and deep so he could watch the mess between her legs. Every time she lifted up, more of his cum leaked out, coating his shaft. He was completely obsessed, hands gripping her hips, eyes fixed on the sight.
They fell asleep hours later with him still inside her, cum drying on her skin, both of them whispering “I love you” between lazy kisses.
Two people years deep in a relationship who were still just as hungry, perverted, and addicted to each other as the very first time.
for morale | myg
— pairing: min yoongi x f!reader
— playlist: moment's silence (common tongue) - hozier, love me harder - ariana grande, honey - kehlani, adorn - miguel, don't - crush, waves - dean
— summary: After two weeks apart, you come home from Bali sun-kissed and full of stories—except none of them compare to the warmth of Yoongi’s arms. He wrote you a song. You brought back tequila, a TikTok trick he has no idea about, and a plan you executed after a terrible week strictly for morale.
Yoongi never stood a chance.
— word count: 9.9k
— warnings: lovey dovey couple, they're so in love, little fluffly at the beginning but they're always horny (i get them), established relationship, tequila shots?, yoongi missing oc, oc missing yoongi, unprotected sex, dirty talk?, cunnilingus, little rough, multiple orgasms, jealous yoongi if you squint.
— note: HELL YEAH! so this was fun to write because it was born, like most of the things i write, from a personal experience with tequila shots. wanna thank miss salma hayek for letting us know The Trick to get a man like that. i miss you yoongi (thank god he'll be back soon). FIRST YOONGI ONE SHOT BTW CROWD CHEERED.
"fly out and see me" — min yoongi
yoongi x you (femreader) | 4k words | one-shot summary – a convincing late night call and a flight to new york. warnings – 18+ (shower sex, coarse language) authors note – this is a re-write from my f1 fanfic days and it felt too yoongi-coded not to share! also this is my first bts fic ahhh! so go easy on me pls lol
“Fly out and see me…”
“You know I can’t, Yoon.”
This had been a back and forth for nearly half an hour, like a painfully long rally in tennis and neither one of you wanted to give up the point. Yoongi had been out in the states for nearly two whole weeks, 12 days and counting and before that, Japan and before that, LA for a long, excruciating press tour. His words, not yours. He had always been at peace with the time he spent away from home, because up until now it had never really been a problem. Jet-setting across the globe, living out his childhood dream – on top of the world. Chained to nothing and nobody.
An Experiment | Idol Min Yoongi x OC Fic
Synopsis: Mrs Min is persistent, she wants her son to get serious about dating and takes the matchmaking process in our own hands. Min Yoongi doesn't think he has the time or the space for a relationship, but it all changes after a few annoying texts from his mother and an elevator ride.
Genre: Idol Yoongi AU, FLUFF, a lot of FLUFF, boyfriend Yoongi, some smut, two people trying to figure out their feelings for each other. Art curator OC, it's just a lot of fluff with some smut because I am terribly single.
Word Count: 25K+
AOC Link: here
"Mom, I don't want you intervening in my dating life anymore!" Yoongi's voice carries down the hallway the moment his phone buzzes with yet another contact saved under a name like Park Soomin - nice girl, works in finance, very pretty ♥. He stares at it for a long second before tossing the phone onto his bed. "I don't want you to help me find a girlfriend. I don't have time for a girlfriend."
He yanks open his closet and pulls out the last of the clothes he needs to pack, draping them over his arm with the practiced efficiency of someone who has lived out of suitcases for the better part of a decade. New York. Weeks of back-to-back schedules, press runs, radio slots, and performances and his mother was out here playing matchmaker like he was a man of leisure.
"I'm sure they're all great," he continues, softer now, more tired than annoyed. He means it, genuinely. It's never about the girls. "I just don't have the time." He pads out of the bedroom, heading toward the living room where he'd heard her shuffling around not twenty minutes ago, the familiar sound of her rearranging things that didn't need rearranging.
But the room is empty. Yoongi stops in the doorway, a dress shirt still folded over his forearm, and looks around. The television is off. Her reading glasses are sitting on the arm of the sofa. A half-drunk cup of tea steams quietly on the coffee table.
He blinks. "…Mom?"
He walks further in, checking the kitchen, empty, then their bedroom. Nothing. He stands very still for a moment and replays the last several minutes in his head. The bedroom, the closet, the hallway rant. Had she even been home? Had he just been pouring his heart out to an apartment?
He drags a hand through his hair and exhales slowly through his nose. His phone buzzes again on the bed, distant but audible. Probably another one.
Her phone rings for a while before she picks up, “Where are you?” Yoongi speaks to the phone as he continues packing. "I'm at the Lee's place." Her voice is bright, unbothered, the voice of a woman who has done nothing wrong in her entire life. "Their daughter is visiting. You should come over." A brief pause, then, as though it's a perfectly reasonable addendum: "Now."
Yoongi stops folding. "Their daughter," he repeats. "She's very sweet. She works in the arts world too, works as-" "Mom." He sets the shirt down. "I leave for the airport in twenty minutes"
"It won't take long, just come and say hello, what is twenty minutes-" "Why are you even there?" He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You went to the Lee's just… did you plan this? Did you leave so I couldn't argue with you in person?"
Mountain Cardio
Warning: Taehyung Mdom, female reader, Public sex, Dirty talk, cum play, nipple play, heavy making out, light choking
Genre: Slice of life, married couple, fluff, smut
A/n: idk why I think Taehyung would be so much into fucking in nature
The first rays of dawn were just painting the sky in soft pinks and golds when you and Taehyung slipped out of the cozy mountain cabin you'd rented for the week. It was barely 5 AM, the air crisp and biting with that perfect early morning chill that woke every nerve in your body. Taehyung, dressed in grey compression leggings and a fitted hoodie that did nothing to hide the sculpted lines of his shoulders and chest, grinned at you as he tightened his shoelaces.
"Ready to sweat, baby?" he teased, voice still husky from sleep. "Bet I can outrun you to the first trail marker."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the smile. "Dream on, Kim Taehyung. Last one there buys breakfast."
The run started easy, your feet pounding the dirt path in sync, breath fogging in the cold air. He kept pace beside you, occasionally reaching over to playfully smack your ass or tug your ponytail. The trail wound upward, turning into a proper hike as the city lights below glittered like scattered diamonds. Your muscles burned in the best way, sweat slicking your skin despite the chill. Taehyung looked unfairly hot hoodie discarded now, tight black tank clinging to his abs, biceps flexing with every stride.
By the time you reached the secluded overlook a flat rocky ledge jutting out with a breathtaking view of the sleeping city far below, you were both breathing hard, flushed, and buzzing with endorphins. No one around for miles. Just the wind, the distant birds, and him.
Taehyung dropped onto the smooth rock first, pulling you down between his legs so your back rested against his chest. His arms wrapped around you in a warm, sweaty hug, chin on your shoulder. "We make a good team," he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "Running, hiking... and other cardio."
You laughed softly, tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes were dark, playful, but something hotter simmered underneath. He leaned in and kissed you slowly at first, then deeply, tongue sliding against yours with lazy hunger. His hands roamed your sides, squeezing your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your ass through his leggings.
You shifted to get more comfortable and your hand accidentally brushed right over the massive bulge. Your eyes widened in genuine shock. He was rock-hard, thick, and throbbing like he'd been thinking about this for hours.
"Tae... what the hell?" you whispered, cheeks burning as you pulled your hand back. "We were just running. How is it already so... big?"
He smirked,that cocky, devastatingly sexy smirk that made your stomach flip. "What can I say? Watching your ass bounce in those shorts for the last hour did things to me. You're my favourite workout." His voice dropped lower, lips grazing your neck. "And sex burns even more calories, you know. We could make this a proper training session."
Before you could retort, he captured your mouth again, kissing you hard and filthy. His tongue fucked into your mouth while one hand slipped under your sports bra, palming your breast and pinching the nipple until it pebbled. You moaned into the kiss, grinding back against him instinctively.
Taehyung groaned, breaking the kiss only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. "So fucking pretty when you get shy," he murmured against your pulse. "But I know you want it. Feel how wet you're getting already."
He tugged your bra up roughly, exposing your tits to the cool mountain air. His mouth was on them instantly hot, wet, greedy. He sucked one nipple deep into his mouth, tongue swirling and teeth grazing while his hand kneaded the other. You arched with a sharp cry, fingers threading through his messy hair. The wet sounds of his sucking mixed with your panting, echoing softly in the open air.
"Someone might hear," you gasped, even as your hips rolled against his hardness.
Taehyung pulled back with a pop, lips shiny. That smirk returned. "Then we better keep that pretty mouth busy." He reached for the thin towel you'd brought in your pack, folding it quickly and pressing it between your teeth. "Bite down, baby."
You whimpered around the cloth as he yanked your shorts and panties down in one go, leaving you bare from the waist down. He freed his cock long, thick, veined, and leaking precum at the tip. The sight made your pussy clench.
He didn't tease for long. Taehyung positioned you on all fours, facing the city view, and pushed in with one deep, relentless thrust. You screamed into the towel, the stretch burning so good. He was huge, filling you completely, balls deep on the first stroke.
"Fuck...so tight," he growled, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "This pussy was made for me."
He started fucking you hard deeply, punishing strokes that made your arms shake. The sound of skin slapping skin was loud in the quiet morning. Every thrust hit that perfect spot inside you, making your eyes roll back. He leaned over your back, one hand reaching around to rub your clit in tight circles while the other twisted in your hair.
"Kiss me," he demanded, turning your head. The towel slipped slightly but he swallowed your moans with another messy kiss, tongues sliding desperately as he railed you.
He pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your back on the rock. The cool stone against your heated skin made you shiver. Taehyung hooked your legs over his shoulders and drove back in, folding you in half. His mouth found your nipples again, sucking hard while he pounded you senseless. Sweat dripped from his hair onto your chest.
"Best... workout... ever," he panted between thrusts, grinning even as he fucked you raw. "Better than running. Cardio, strength training, your legs are gonna be so sore tomorrow."
You laughed breathlessly around the towel, then moaned as he hit deeper. He kissed you again and again filthy, open-mouthed, biting your lower lip, sucking your tongue. His hand covered your mouth over the cloth when your cries got too loud, hips snapping faster.
"Come for me," he ordered, thumb pressing hard on your clit. "Let me feel this pussy squeeze my cock."
The orgasm crashed over you violently walls fluttering and clamping down as pleasure ripped through every nerve. Taehyung fucked you through it, groaning your name before pulling out and stroking himself. Thick ropes of cum painted your stomach and tits, some landing on your chin. He leaned down and licked it off your nipple, then kissed you deeply, sharing the taste.
You both collapsed, tangled and sweaty, the city waking up far below. Taehyung pulled the towel away and kissed you softly now, smiling against your lips.
"Round two after we hike back?" he whispered. "We still have plenty of calories to burn."
You smacked his chest, laughing. "You're impossible."
"But you love it." He nipped your neck one last time. "My favourite hiking partner. "
[ :: BTS smut hc ] ❤️🔥 how long until you’re gonna cum
→ if they use their hands 💕
AUTHOR’S NOTE🌹- hand stuff doesn’t get as much love in fics and scenarios as a main act and i usually focus on writing oral so it’s time to get into this!! bangtan have some very pretty hands going for them, so 👀
word count. 1.1k
» tags / 18+ only, bts ot7 x reader smut, rated r, masturbation, lubricants, cunnilingus, edging, service sub!bts vibes but mostly vanilla-leaning
❤️🔥 MASTERLIST
❤️🔥 read it on ao3
x namjoon / 25 minutes. he knows how long it takes to get someone in the mood properly, there is no slacking. which means he has to block his calendar, which means this has to be deliberate, and not a daily thing you two just squeeze into the hours between busy stuff. because he wants his partner desperate. and to write poetry on them, so expect the unexpected, and lots of talk from his side. even if the signals he is getting from below appear to be pressing, namjoon fights his erection in thought and merely focuses on you. fully dedicated. because getting you off with his hands fights his negative thoughts, especially when he hears you pant and groan and talk talk talk so it’s a whole back and forth. you sometimes describe what type of handjob you want to give to him next day and that’s so hot, and one of your favorite things to do with him also.
x yoongi / an hour. oh yes, this man is for the stamina girlies who just want to twitch like crazy. unless you want the agust d alter ego getting you off in minutes, yoongi is the final boss of edging. he will take you to a cabin for this, because no one should be allowed to hear how happy he is going to make you (he’d get sued for all the noise he gets out of you, let’s be honest). who has this down like the guy who can play all these instruments. guitarist, remember. oh, this will be lavish. he will alternate with his pretty kitten tongue. his record would be two hours. he has diversified his fingering portfolio with the nastiest yet most sensual tricks, you can’t even imagine what he will do. this nerd will massage the living hell out of your body with a little smirk, glasses on, knowing you need this shit so bad. a person landing in yoongi’s bed is the exhausted type on top of being a pervert, so. he attends to all the sore and cold spots. cats know warmth is key, he doesn’t ask you to get naked or blanket-less ever. this is for you.
x jimin / under 6 minutes. the most successful quickie representative next to whatever rapid-fire orgy swinging goes down at a jackson wang party (we’ve seen plenty of receipts). but unlike a beastly midnight rave scene, jimin is always to the point, ambitiously stroking, talking, hands in perfect form because ballet doesn’t just teach the toes, staring at you with intent and observation. damn, he looks so sexy focused on you. jimin wants to please you so bad, it’s like you’re his concert audience. and you are turned on by his passion - that pervasive lack of urgency out there is not jimin. at all. he doesn’t care about making this drawn-out, or flashing whatever tricks to frustrate you, jimin thinks that’s so boring. he’s the ideal partner for someone who is as impatient to get off as him. and when you come, he knows he’ll stop and not overstimulate you, he is smart.
x hoseok / 15 to 20 minutes. with a whole dramatic build-up and no distractions whatsoever. like he is so frustrated if someone knocks or a phone would go off. which is why this is going down during an ungodly hour. which means you wake yourselves up at a set time, you discussed it beforehand. so, obviously he is not explosively fast like jimin, more drunk on sleep, but not languidly indulgent like namjoon either. has the pat-pat motions down, the flatter hand rather than individual fingers, he loves that. and someone else does, too. you tried to bring up watching something sexy together while he does it, but j-hope always winds up looking at the scene you suggested incredulously saying “that’s just wild, isn’t it?! how do the actors even come up with that!“ so it’s more like comedy to him. he’s hilarious. i guess being in front of the camera for so many years shapes his view on things. meaning, he really wants to focus on you and nothing else, and it’s pretty damn romantic of him.
x taehyung / 20 minutes. and he will sing while he gets you close because he’s fucking kim taehyung. orchestrates this as a movie scene almost, arthouse of course, with a nice sofa and a nice lighting constellation in the room and an even nicer perfume on. scent matters! and he will wear a velvet blouse, a transparent strip of gauze in front, revealing toned pecs and his broad chest. yummy. and what an elegant man in black curls is perched between your legs, nipping and sucking and flicking. he also switches between fingers as if… playing a piano? it’s definitely unorthodox, but it is playful. taehyung specializes in finding whatever skin-suitable fluid to make this a particularly wet affair. he might also involve expensive gloves and toys, so. rest assured taehyung goes the extra mile the way anyone has ever done before. he will never leave you deprived.
x jungkook / under ten minutes. the horny maknae line, bless them, really doesn’t make it to the classic namjoonian time mark of half an hour, nor, let’s be honest, do they attract folks that want the 3-hour yoongi finland sauna massage stamina edge treatment in the first place. this is overdrive territory and you signed up for this heated sprint race like it’s formula 1. all the girls that like it fast and breathless this way. and action please! jungkook uses two fingers rather than one on your clit to begin with, so there’s his usual coolness showing through, and then he also moans along because why not. mirror neurons. it’s genius, actually. he’s turned on without touching himself. is he even louder than you? in that hotel room? most probably. the shaky phone camera in his other hand is always on extreme closeup, jungkook is obsessed with filming your clit being toyed with. eventually, you beg to finish with him inside of you, and he complies. only a few strokes until soft moans fill that room.
x seokjin / either right away or in one and a half hours. probably because you’re watching a movie and he continues throughout after you huddled yourselves together on the couch during the film’s exposition. and yes, this will always take place in the peace of his home. no risky spots that could compromise you. seokjin is the member that includes the most kissing while he fingers you, next to jimin and namjoon who also love the face-to-face factor. the luscious lip squad as i like to call them, it just comes naturally. jin also likes to set the mood like taehyung, diffusing the air with relaxing scents, putting on a lava lamp, background music if there’s no TV or laptop on, he takes good care of his hands with a gentle wash and luxurious balms he ordered online, he showers beforehand even if nothing else happens later. no phone, no calls, no door bell. jin gets it. his hands are a little swollen afterwards, though.
❤️🔥 read it on ao3
❤️🔥 MASTERLIST
© 2017 sugar-petals.all rights reserved. no reposts allowed. for entertainment purposes only. do not copy, translate, or distribute my writing. all characters are 18+. no ai used.
Riding Back to You
Warning: M4F, best friends to lovers, sudden physical intimacy, smut, fluff, oral sex, protected sex, reunion, strong language
Words counting: ≈2500
Summary:YN reunites unexpectedly with her childhood best friend, now a biker, after nearly being hit by his bike one night. Years of distance melt away as they reconnect, and what begins as an emotional reunion quickly turns into something far more intense than either of them expected.
a/n: I can't move on from his biking video, it was too damn hot😭
The summer you turned five, your mum dragged you along to the neighbourhood barbecue, clutching a tray of slightly burnt fairy cakes in your small hands. The garden was alive with the scent of grilled sausages, freshly cut grass, and cigarette smoke drifting from the adults gathered near the fence. Laughter and chatter filled the air, but none of it eased the knot of shyness twisting in your stomach. You hovered near your mum’s legs, half-hidden behind her summer dress, eyes darting around at the unfamiliar children running wildly across the lawn.
That was when you first saw him.
Jungkook, two years older and already noticeably taller, stood by the old wooden swings at the bottom of the garden. His knees were scraped and dirty from some earlier adventure, grass stains smeared across his shorts, and a bright red plaster clung crookedly to one elbow. His dark hair was messy, sticking up in every direction as if he’d been running his hands through it all afternoon. A lopsided grin lit up his face as he pushed an empty swing absently with one hand, the chains creaking rhythmically.
He spotted you almost immediately. While the other kids chased balls or screamed during games of tag, Jungkook’s sharp, curious eyes locked onto your nervous little face peeking out from behind your mum. Something shifted in his expression determination mixed with that easy, friendly warmth. Without hesitation, he abandoned the swings and marched straight over, trainers kicking up small clouds of dust.
Your heart beat faster as he stopped right in front of you. Up close, he smelled like sunshine, sticky sweets, and the faint metallic tang of the dirt on his knees. He tilted his head, studying you for a brief second, then reached out and grabbed your smaller hand in his. His palm was warm and slightly sticky from whatever he’d been eating earlier.
“She’s my best friend now!” he declared loudly to no one in particular, but loud enough that several nearby adults turned with amused smiles. His voice carried that confident, bossy tone only young boys seem to master so naturally. “We’re gonna play together. Come on!”
Before you could protest or retreat further behind your mum’s skirt, he was gently tugging you towards the swings. Your mum and Mrs Jeon exchanged delighted glances over their cups of tea, already whispering excitedly. You stumbled along beside him, surprised at how firmly yet kindly he held your hand, as if he’d decided your friendship was simply a fact of life.
From that moment, it was decided. Jungkook appointed himself your protector, playmate, and constant companion. He showed you how to pump your legs properly on the swings so you could soar higher, catching you carefully when you jumped off. He shared his melting ice lolly without being asked, wiping your chin with the back of his hand when the juice dripped. When another child tried to take the toy spade you were playing with in the sandpit, Jungkook stepped in with a fierce scowl. “That’s hers. Get your own.”
Your mums became inseparable too. Mrs Jeon and your mum would sit on garden chairs with cups of tea, watching you both chase each other across the lawn. “They’re soulmates,” Mrs Jeon would sigh. “Look at how he shares his toys with her.” Your mum would nod vigorously. “Wedding in the church hall, I reckon. We’ll do the flowers ourselves.” The two women treated it like a done deal, teasing you both mercilessly even when you were ten and Jungkook twelve and protested loudly that “girls are gross” (except you, apparently).
Memories piled up like autumn leaves. Jungkook teaching you to ride a bike without stabilisers in the park, his hands steady on the seat until you wobbled off laughing. You forcing him to attend your teddy bear tea parties, where he sat cross-legged, sipping imaginary tea and pulling funny faces to make you giggle. Sleepovers where you’d fall asleep to him reading comics aloud in silly voices. The time he punched a bully who pulled your pigtails, earning himself a week’s detention but a hero’s welcome from both mums.
As teenagers, things shifted subtly. Jungkook at fifteen had shot up, voice deepening, messy dark hair falling into his eyes. You were thirteen, awkward and aware that your childhood best friend made your stomach flip when he smiled. He’d walk you home from school, hands brushing. Your mums’ teasing grew bolder. “When are you two going to stop pretending?” Mrs Jeon would wink. Jungkook would blush furiously and change the subject.
One rainy afternoon when you were sixteen, you sat in his room listening to music. He strummed his guitar, a new hobby, fingers calloused. “You’re my favourite person, you know that?” he said quietly. Your heart raced, but neither of you crossed the line. Fear of ruining the friendship, fear of what your families would say if it went wrong. So you stayed best friends, close, but never quite close enough.
University pulled you apart. You moved to another city for your undergraduate degree, then stayed on for a Master’s in literature and cultural studies. Jungkook tried music production in Seoul and poured his savings into a second-hand motorcycle, and discovered freedom on two wheels. The mums kept in touch, of course. Their messages were relentless: Jungkook asks about you. YN, that boy is still single. When are you coming home?
At twenty six, you were back in the city for a year-long research programme at the university library, buried in archives and late-night essays. Life felt steady but lonely. Jungkook, twenty eight, had built a name for himself in the local custom bike scene. You’d seen blurry photos on mutual friends’ social media leather jacket, intense gaze, inked arms. He looked like a stranger and yet exactly like the boy you’d loved in secret.
You never expected the universe to throw you back together so dramatically.
༺༻
It was a Thursday night past midnight. Rain had fallen earlier, leaving the roads slick and reflective under orange streetlights. Your library session had run long; the dissertation on urban folklore wouldn’t write itself. Headphones in, mind elsewhere, you walked the familiar route home through the quieter industrial edge of the district. Phone dead. Shoes damp. Mind on autopilot.
The roar came out of nowhere.
Headlights sliced through the darkness. You looked up too late. Tyres screeched on wet tarmac as the motorcycle swerved violently. For one terrifying second, death felt inches away. The bike missed you by centimetres, fishtailed, and came to a stop just ahead.
Your heart thundered in your ears. You stood frozen on the pavement, legs shaky.
The rider yanked off his helmet. “Fuck! Are you alright?!” He swung a leg over the bike and strode towards you, voice raw with panic. Tall, broad-shouldered, leather jacket gleaming under the light. “What the hell are you doing out here alone? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”
You looked up into those familiar doe eyes wider now with shock and the world tilted.
“Jungkook?”
He stopped dead, helmet dangling from one hand. Recognition crashed over his face like a wave. “YN…? Holy shit. YN?”
A stunned beat passed. Then he closed the distance and pulled you into a crushing hug. One large hand cradled the back of your head, the other pressed against your back as if to reassure himself you were real. He smelled of rain, warm engine oil, and something deeper home. When he pulled back, his palms stayed on your shoulders, eyes scanning you frantically for injuries.
“I nearly hit you. My heart’s still trying to climb out of my chest. What are you doing walking alone at this hour? Have you lost your mind?” The words tumbled out, concern laced with that deeper timbre you barely recognised.
You laughed shakily, adrenaline making you giddy. “Library. Phone died. Dissertation deadline. Jungkook… you ride bikes now? Like, properly?”
He exhaled a disbelieving laugh, running a hand through messy dark hair. “Among other things. Been a while, huh?” His gaze lingered tracing the changes in your face, the way you’d grown into yourself. “You look incredible. Different, but… fuck, really good.”
Heat flooded your cheeks. He looked different too. Sharper jaw, broader frame filling out the leather jacket, a silver hoop glinting in one ear. Tattoos peeked from his collar and cuffs. The boy who once stole your crisps had become dangerously attractive.
“Come on,” he said, already guiding you towards the kerb. “Sit down for a minute. Catch your breath.” He crouched in front of you, one hand resting lightly on your knee. The casual touch sent sparks up your leg. “I can’t believe it’s you. After all this time.”
You talked there on the damp kerb for twenty minutes halting at first, then easier, like slipping back into an old favourite jumper. He told you he’d been out riding to clear his head after a long day in the workshop. You admitted the research programme had you working ridiculous hours.
Eventually he stood, offering his hand. “There’s a 24-hour café two streets over. My treat. No way I’m letting you walk home alone after that.”
The café was quiet, fluorescent lights buzzing softly. Jungkook ordered without asking, your old favourite latte with an extra shot, chips with too much salt, and a slice of chocolate cake to share. “You always used to steal half of mine,” he said with a wink.
Conversation flowed like it had never stopped. You spoke about your Master’s, the pressure of academia, the quiet loneliness of returning to the city without old friends nearby. He told you about music production burning him out, the freedom he found on bikes. “Building customs now,” he explained, eyes lighting up. “Each one’s a piece of art. No two the same. It’s honest work. Gets my hands dirty.”
His hands did look capable, strong, veined, calloused. You tried not to stare.
He asked about your dating life. You shrugged. “Nothing serious. Too busy.” When you returned the question, his smile turned wry. “Same. Mum still sends me articles about settling down. Keeps mentioning you, actually.”
You both laughed, but the air thickened. The old shipping jokes hung between you, heavier now with adult awareness.
By 3 a.m. the owner was politely ushering you out. Jungkook insisted on taking you home. “Spare helmet’s in the box. I’m not arguing.” He helped fasten the strap, fingers brushing your chin, lingering a second too long. The ride was exhilarating, his solid warmth between your thighs, the engine’s powerful thrum vibrating through you, city lights streaking past. You held him tighter than necessary.
At your building door, the goodbye stretched.
“You gonna invite me up?” he asked, voice low. “Or are we pretending we’re still just the kids our mums tried to marry off?”
Your pulse raced. “Come up, Jungkook.”
The door had barely clicked shut before he had you against it. The kiss was desperate, years of unspoken want pouring out. His mouth claimed yours, tongue sliding hotly as one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist. You melted into him, fingers clutching his leather jacket.
“Been thinking about this since I saw your face under that streetlight,” he growled against your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin. “Fuck, YN. You have no idea.
Clothes shed in a frantic trail to the bedroom. His jacket hit the floor, then his shirt, revealing the full extent of his tattoos: a fierce dragon on his ribs, intricate sleeves of roses and machinery, more disappearing beneath his waistband. You traced them reverently. He shivered under your touch.
He took his time undressing you, kissing every newly exposed inch like your collarbones, breasts, stomach until he knelt between your thighs. The first slow lick against your centre drew a sharp moan from you. Jungkook groaned in response. “So sweet,” he murmured, then set to work with devastating focus. Two thick fingers curled inside you while his tongue circled your clit. The pleasure built rapidly; you came hard, thighs trembling around his head, his name on your lips.
But he wasn’t finished. He shed the rest of his clothes, revealing a thick, hard cock with a small silver piercing at the tip. Your eyes widened.
Jungkook smirked, stroking himself once. “Surprise. Got it a couple years back. Thought you might appreciate it.” He rolled on a condom (he always has one just in case lmao), then positioned himself. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
It wasn’t. The stretch was perfect, the piercing adding a delicious drag as he sank in slowly. You both moaned at the sensation. Once buried deep, he paused, forehead to yours. “Been waiting years for this,” he confessed softly. Then he moved deep, steady thrusts that quickly turned harder, more desperate.
The piercing rubbed relentlessly against that sensitive spot inside. Combined with his thumb on your clit, you shattered again, clenching around him. Jungkook followed with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he came while looking at your eyes deeply, going crazy at how beautiful you were.
After, he pulled you against his chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. “Not letting you go again,” he whispered.
༺༻
The weeks that followed blurred into a whirlwind of rediscovery. Jungkook introduced you properly to his biker life. One sunny Saturday he took you to his workshop on the city outskirts. The converted warehouse smelled of oil, metal, and fresh paint. Half a dozen bikes in different stages of rebuild lined the walls. Tools hung in meticulous order.
“This is my world,” he said, almost shyly. He showed you his latest project which was a sleek black café racer with custom chrome work. Watching him work, muscles flexing under his tight t-shirt as he tightened bolts stirred heat low in your belly. You ended up bent over his workbench, his hands gripping your hips as he took you from behind, the thrill of possibly being caught heightening everything. The piercing made you see stars.
He took you on longer rides too. Proper gear, open roads, coastal routes where the sea sparkled under sunlight. Stopping at quiet viewpoints, he’d pull you close, kissing you deeply while the bike cooled beside you. “Never thought I’d have you on the back of my bike,” he’d murmur. “Feels right.”
His crew welcomed you warmly at The Iron & Throttle. Taehyung, with his colourful tattoos and easy laugh, clapped Jungkook on the back. “Finally. The mums were right all along.” Jimin teased you both mercilessly but ordered you a drink and made sure you felt included. Stories flowed near-misses, epic rides, the brotherhood of the road. Jungkook kept you close, hand on your thigh, pride evident in his eyes.
There were quieter moments too. Late nights when he’d come back from a rescue ride, grease on his face, adrenaline still humming. He’d slide into bed after taking a shower, wake you with slow kisses down your body, then fuck you deep and slow until you both trembled. The piercing became your favourite secret each thrust a reminder of the man he’d become.
I've noticed everyone has been obsessing over Yoongi recently even the ones who were like "ignoring" Hyung Line, it's not like I'm complaining
But HELLO? they finally opened their eyes to see Hyung Line is also gorgeous talented slay too and they're ALL incomparably GOOD or what is it?
I'm just genuinely curious what's going on
...and in the end, his lotus bloomed. petal by petal into the person he was all along.🪷
(cr. movewithsope, milkandk00k1es, JlNSONYEONDAN)
Yoongi 💜