InActive

Writer: Air shot between the toes, it’ll look like a heart attack.

Serial killer: anywhere from 2 to 30 minutes

Now fast forward a bit and the author has managed to get their first book published, with loving support from the serial killer who helped them fine tune all the murder scenes, and it’s a big hit. Enough so that a detective with the local police department has noticed some disturbing similarities to several active cases, including details that were never released to the press. Obviously he brings this up to his superior and convinces him that there’s something to the theory, but it’s all circumstantial right now. He stakes out the author’s home and is super convinced that the author is the murderer, but they don’t seem to do anything??? Like they literally are at the house all day, that’s it. Most they do is leave for groceries.

“You need to stop seeing them. I think they are a serial killer.”

•Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Friends-to-Lovers  • College (Grad School) AU

Summary: You have - most inconveniently - become obsessed with your dissertation partner’s hands. In an effort to relieve some stress about it, you begin sending texts to your best friend detailing - explicitly - what you want those hands to do to you.

Perhaps you should have checked the number a bit more carefully.

Word Count: 5300

Rating and Warnings: (Explicit/18+) for mature themes, innuendo, and explicit sexual content • unprotected sex • nipple play • use of restraints • there are mirrors • tit slapping…Um. Let me know if I miss something?

Author’s Note: I wrote this in response to my FIRST EVER nsfw prompt which was simply “Jungkook’s hands.” I hope you like it, Anon! 

At one point the reader mentions “Fort Knox” which is one of the most secure facilities in the USA.

This is bad. 

“Do you think she’ll actually go through and count all of our sources-”

This is really bad. 

“I only have seventeen, but I looked over documents from the medieval period-”

His fingers plowed through those long chocolate locks in frustration and your eyes literally crossed. 

This is nuclear winter bad. 

“- not many people have written about this specific style of iconography and the last scholar to contribute meaningfully to the field-”

Jungkook absently reached for his pencil and your pulse scattered in panic. 

No. Dear sweet heaven please not the pencil - 

He twirled it deftly over his knuckles, flicking his wrist casually so it cracked with a sharp little pop. 

You clenched. Hard. 

“WATER!”

Papers slid in all directions as you abruptly shot out of your seat. Jungkook’s startled gaze darted up to yours. 

“A-…are you ok?”

“Yes. Uh yeah. I’m just…thirsty.”

These were the truest words you had ever spoken. 

Your sweet, kind, doe-eyed project partner smiled, blissfully unaware of all the ways you were defiling him in your head. 

“Kitchen is right around the corner. Help yourself.”

“Mmmhmm,” you squeaked. 

A few moments later - in the relative privacy of Jeon Jungkook’s kitchen, you pressed your forehead against his fancy steel fridge and groaned. 

Woman, you’re a disgrace.

It wasn’t always like this.  You can still remember a time (3 weeks ago) when you were a normal person and not one good knuckle crack away from being an exhibitionist. 

School had been a priority for years. You came from a modest family with a modest income, and that meant you needed to work for every opportunity - academically and financially. 

So you did. 

You worked all the way through undergrad and the first year of a Master’s degree in Museum Studies with few breaks and even fewer encounters with the opposite sex. 

And you were fine with that. You had goals - dreams. Sure, you were a tad lonely and routinely stressed, but your friends were amazing and you found yourself oddly …

Content. 

Until Jeon Jungkook wrapped his glorious hands around the proverbial rug and yanked it right out from under you. 

At first glance, he posed no true threat. Yes he was gorgeous (you were not legally blind), and well-built, and overwhelmingly polite, but you were no untried novice. If Calculus 211 with Park Jimin hadn’t broken you, then nothing would. 

Or so you thought. 

Maybe it was his habit of wearing baggy sleeves that hung loosely over his limbs till only the barest hint of fingertips were visible, but your initial impression of the newest addition to your graduate cohort was unmemorable. Your seasoned brain automatically filtered out anything about him that could be a distraction and then blissfully went about its business… totally unaware that there was a torpedo in the water. 

Jeon Jungkook was the handsome RA that you could never quite bring yourself to talk to, and you were the ice princess whose status kept you far out of his reach… But a selfless act of kindness in the midst of a terrible storm forges an unexpected bond between you - one that could break your guarded heart… or finally set it free. 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff • Smut • Hint of Angst • Secret Feelings/Strangers to Lovers

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 6200

Warnings: mentions of emotional neglect • reader has a phobia of storms • very unsafe sex (shield it when you yield it y’all) • hints of classism 

Author’s Note: I will be blunt… This fic was actually very challenging to write. I did not expect it to take so long or so much. There are a couple of people without whom I would simply not have been able to finish it. My wonderful “Fick Riders” Ana, Lindy, and Donna a.k.a. @xjoonchildx​ @ppersonna​ and @taetaewonderland​  • The Lovely Lemon @lemonjoonah​ whose friendship never fails to shock and uplift me • Feedback Queen Rumu @kigurumu​  • and the beautiful angels in the BTS Smut Hub who offered me relentless positivity when I needed it most..

This fic is a little different from my typical style, and I am really happy I was able to finish it. I meant it as a gift to my followers for hitting my milestone and I actually hit another milestone in the time it took me to complete this! I just discovered this didn’t tag and my heart is just a little bit broken… Why?

You’re afraid of storms. 

Born to privilege (at least so you’ve been told), but money could not buy the love of absent parents, nor could it purchase any sort of freedom from the kind of fear that gripped you now. 

You shouldn’t even be here…

Alone in a dorm while everyone around you caught planes and trains and buses back to their diverse points of origin. 

The bed across from yours was usually occupied by your roommate and best friend since high school. She was a scholarship case at the elite private prep where the wealthy dynasties of Southern California sent their entitled spawn. 

A lone pair of Chuck Taylors in a sea of Jimmy Choos.

And a breath of fresh air.

Her father worked in stores; your father owned them, yet, despite the chasm between your social circles, you had become sisters, bonded by something far stronger than blood. 

When the storms came, she climbed into your bed and held you till the thunder passed. 

Unfortunately she and the comfort of her familiar embrace were 30,000 feet above you now; well on the way to celebrate the spring holidays with her chaotic tribe. 

You could have escaped for the week (like the majority of your peers), but your father was on vacation with his new wife (who graduated from high school a mere four years before you did) and the dorms were infinitely more inviting than the sterile halls of your family’s real estate holdings. 

So here you were. 

Alone in a storm.

Or so you thought…

Being an RA looked good on resumes and paid better than most work study jobs, but for Jeon Jungkook, the obligation to stay in the dorms over spring break (when he could be chasing music festivals along the California coast) was a definite downside. 

He heard sobs on his way up from the laundry and dropped the basket of clean clothes on the stairs. 

Only one person signed up to stay over the holidays; the only person who managed to spark shivers down his spine without effort or awareness. 

The princess. 

That’s what they called you when they thought you weren’t listening. It was an unoriginal label laced with jealousy and petty bitterness. 

But it fit you, nonetheless. 

Elegant even when you were clumsy. Distant even in a crowd. Reserved in ways that spoke of intensive social training and endless expectations. 

And you were screaming. 

His hand wrapped around your doorknob in a matter of seconds, but you could not hear him calling out to you over the thunder and the ringing in your ears. 

You did not hear the lock splinter when he slammed his body against the frame like his father taught him to do in case of a fire or an emergency.

Jungkook saw you often in and out of the dorms, yet you never really spoke to him, never offered him more than the occasional pleasantry or disinterested smile. 

He was out of your orbit and you were out of his league.