Can I request more smut for A&A couple?? I love sexy jay and jinny RYFUIOOIDEWETYUKOJK
[ read angels & airwaves ]
pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. gamer!jjk deserves his own warning. but also cockwarming and a gross amount of love between these two. wc. 1.5k. beta reader. @hobi-gif because she is the pb to my j. author note. this is probably less sexy and more soft, but i hope you enjoy and i’m sorry it’s so late! ✨
He’s playing Overwatch - unwinding after a long day, dressed down in sweats and little else - when his chair starts rolling back, pulled by an invisible hand. (Luckily, he’s only in queue, not yet matched into a game. It’s easy for him to leave, exit out of the waiting screen as he continues his journey away from the desk, releasing his hold on his mouse, letting his keyboard hand fall into his lap.) Feigned surprise trips across his expression, a subtle widening of his eyes, the softest hm? slipping like sandman’s dust from his lips.
“Play with me,” you say in that way of yours, deceivingly sweet, lilting like the chorus of his favourite song. (He thinks that’s what you’d be if you were anything else, played over and over in his thoughts, quiet in the background of his everyday life. A kind reminder of your love, of your giggles and that cheekiness you offer in spades. A heartfelt melody in A minor.)
(Jungkook wants to write something for you - because of you - he realises. Of course he does.)
He echoes your words back, pairs it with a quirked brow and a sing-song laugh that makes his eyes crinkle, long grooves dug into the bridge of his nose. Sunshine pours between his teeth, lights up his entire face. “You wanna play?”
Your answer is a shake of your head, freeing tousled strands from the haphazard bun you wear - the one that goes up any time you’re half-asleep (or gaming or simply too lazy to do anything else) - too many pieces askew to be sophisticated. (It’s cute still, one of his favourite looks on you. Messy, sleep-addled, real.)
“I want you to play.” The way you enunciate, throw heavy meaning into your words has him curious, chin canting when you round the chair, step to the side and brush a delicate hand through his crown of curls. You push velvet away from his face, tuck it neatly behind his ear and smile so prettily he swears his heart might leap out of his chest. The same hand falls over his with meaning, your own eyes the size of saucers. Were you trying to communicate as if you were psychic? He thinks you must be when you stare for longer than you need to, mouth pulling and pursing adorably, a wavering wall against whatever you want to offer but won’t.
When he relents, it’s with his hand curled around your wrist and a gentle tug of you closer. (Because he always wants you closer.) “Let’s play then.”
It takes you no time at all to settle into his lap, legs dangling around the back of his gaming chair, arms locked around his neck. He imagines it isn’t the most comfortable position in the world but, well, Jungkook’s not going to complain that his girlfriend wants to cuddle. Can’t even fathom the thought when you’re so warm and your weight feels like some sort of top-tier blanket.
“Good?”
You simply nod into the small of his neck, cheek cold against his shoulder. Maybe you’re just tired. You haven’t been sleeping well the last few nights, if you could even call it that. They were more midday cat naps, laid up in his arms on his free days.
(Don’t worry, you’d said. He did, anyway.)
When he wins his next three games, he thinks you might be a lucky charm - his own personal blessing, all his good karma offered in the form of victory. The headshots are clean, the flashbang-right-click combos flawless. Gold damage is his the entire time; he’s racking up gold medals left and right with you there with him.
(It’s almost as good as when you play together, your damage boost enabling him to obliterate the enemy without worry. Granted, the Mercy on his team isn’t bad either - but she’s no you. Not the girl that makes his heart pitter patter in his chest, play some silly crescendo that feels like a sugar high.)
But then he begins losing, missing shots that should be easy, sends them into the dark, strangely distracted. He doesn’t realise by what until it’s too late and the next roll of your hips makes him whine, the sound tripping off his tongue in a whimper.
“Angel.” The word is practically choked out, broken despite being only two syllables. You’re still snuggled into his chest, seemingly innocent, unaware of the tension that grows, turning bone to brimstone. He’s half-worried he’s getting riled up over nothing - turned on by only your closeness - when he feels the damp of your teeth, the sharp edge tickling over muscle. For what it is, it shouldn’t flood his stomach with heat, have electricity tracking up his spine as if struck by lightning. “What’re you doing?”
“Play with me.” You repeat the words into his hair, thread them between the midnight strands as you stamp a sweet, chaste kiss right below his ear. He thinks he might be able to resist you - until you’re tugging lightly at one of the silver hoops that line his ear, laving your tongue over the sensitive spot that has him seeing stars.
He parrots the words back to you but it isn’t a question this time. More a promise, tenderness turning his smile soft, needy, utterly in love.
“Let’s go to bed.” Not because it’s late - though it is, half past two in the morning now - but because he wants to feel you wholly, watch you fall apart in the comfort of your bed. No more distractions, just the two of you. Just how he likes it.
“No.” That surprises him, throwing him off his axis. He’s halfway to a pout when you press a kiss, steal his brattiness away with one sweep of your lemon-lined mouth. “You keep playing.”
Oh.
The time you take to slide his sweats down - taking his boxers with them, fingers hooked into the black band that hugs his hips - should be criminal. It’s as if you’re doing it on purpose, tugging the material down carefully, balanced above him by his hands on your waist.
(He steals the softest touches while you’re there, thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts, fingers laying themselves into the rungs of your ribs.)
When they’re halfway down his legs, he kicks them off, lets them gather in a pile somewhere by his feet. Forgotten - because he’s got much more important matters to attend to. “Your turn,” he hums - almost begs - when you settle back against him, straddling him as you had before, still dressed in his favourite grey shirt and your plain black thong.
“Nope.” You’re smiling down at him, more devil than angel, smile so sinful he feels his cock twitch against his stomach, hard and leaking pre-cum from the tip.
“But—”
The turn of your head further dislodges strands, has shadow throwing your features into muted light. That’s not what has his attention, though.
It’s your hand dipping between you, curling light around his length. Pad of your thumb massaging over his head, slicking arousal until the glide is easy. With a gun to his head, Jungkook couldn’t help himself from moaning, a keening sound that tickles your cheek and has heat flooding his own. (You’ll be the death of him, he swears.) “Baby, please—”
“Play,” you repeat.
He does, rolling himself forward, finding his mouse and keyboard with trembling hands.
It’s cruel, what you’re doing. (It’s also everything he could ask for, offered by the hand of the girl he loves most. Even through the haze of desire, there’s affection that paints him pink, lights him up like a Christmas tree.)
(All he wants to do is fill you, fuck you full until you’re coming apart, crying his name out in that breathy way that drives him wild. Playing his favourite song again again again.)
But he’s a good boy for you - always is - so he says nothing as he queues once more, tries his damnedest not to make a sound when he feels the press of his cock against your cunt, the heat that engulfs him when you take him in one fluid motion.
It’s as if his brain short circuits, as if you’ve rewritten all the code that makes him who he is. He chokes a sound - a whine, a laugh, a cry - when you sink fully into him, curl those arms back around his neck. You’re absolutely perfect, wet and warm. Split wide open by how deep he is, clit flush against his pelvis, velvet walls yielding to the fullness.
Whether he wins or loses his next games, Jungkook doesn’t care. He’s already got everything he could ask for.
tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle
for the 'things you said' prompt list, 12 with jk x reader 🥺
❪ 💜 PROMPT ! ❫
things you said when you thought i was asleep
You don’t sleep very often. When you do, Jungkook takes advantage of it - whispers soft things into the quiet of the night, deposits them like treasures beneath the calm of your sea.
Sometimes, he says the things he doesn’t have the courage to speak in the day, too cheesy and in love to make it past the cage of his teeth. He lets them roam freely at four in the morning, undoes the rusted locks and tosses them aside.
“I think I’m going to marry you.” It’s a thought he’s had more than once, more than twice, more times than he can count. Matching bands and baby’s breath, his entire future held in your hands. Maybe it’s a little fast - you’ve only known each other for two years - but he can’t help it. He’s never felt this way about anyone before. He imagines celebrations year round, sequinned dresses beneath fireworks, kisses in the breakfast nook.
(You haven’t had the talk yet. He’s a little nervous, but he thinks you’d say yes. He hasn’t been wrong about you yet.)
“You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.” It’s saying a lot. Giving you the sort of gratitude you deserve but would never ask for. You’ve kept him grounded, held him more tenderly than he could’ve ever imagined. The other side of the coin that holds his best friends, his hyungs, his family.
What would he be without you? Fine, surely, but not nearly as happy. Not dressed in Sunday delight with floating pink hearts in his eyes.
Sometimes, he thinks his heart might just burst out of his chest. It rattles around, catches on bones and springs back - but it’s always so close to falling right out, laid at your feet like an offering.
“I’ll outrank you someday.” One of the lighter things he offers, a joke that he’s made numerous times. You always tell him off - roll your eyes so hard he thinks you might lose them to the back of your skull - and scoff. Sure, Kook, you answer in that voice of yours, just the right blend of mockery and love.
The night after he mumbles that, you win ten consecutive matches. Jungkook knows then it’s definitely not going to happen.
He doesn’t mind, though. He’ll say it again and again. Tell you everything that goes in and out of his thoughts.
After all, you’re his guardian angel. You’ll hear them anyway.
