happy birthday, baby (a take a bite drabble) | myg
✧ PAIRING !! yoongi x fem!reader
✧ SUMMARY !! You know your husband hates surprises. And parties. And anything involving the words "surprise" or "party." Still, after a remarkable year as a career and the father of your child, you're determined to do something special for his thirty-third birthday. Even if it's a week late.
✧ TAGS/WARNINGS !! NSFW, MDNI (18+), return of tab!couple a.k.a. my favorite milf and dilf duo, return of tab!seokjin as well because i missed him (he's an uncle!), yoongi is wearing glasses and a leather jacket and it's a Problem, basically the video hobi posted on his ig story if it took place a week after yoongi's birthday, aqua glossdebut pushes the girl dad!yoongi agenda once again, min penny is THREE YEARS OLD!!!, and the tannies are her babysitters, genius lab shenanigans, spanking as punishment, dirty talk, slight D/s dynamics, oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, talk of pregnancy both past and future???, unprotected sex, lmk if i missed anything
✧ WORDCOUNT !! 9.3k
✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE !! uhhh... happy belated birthday yoongi 💀 i know this couple is OLD NEWS but i've been working on this since hobi posted this fucking video on ig because it just screeeeamed tab!yoongi to me. so enjoy approx. 3k words of cuteness followed by approx. 6k words of pure filth as an arirang week/late yoongi day treat from me! if you haven't read take a bite and all of its extras, you may be a little lost so i encourage you to do so before proceeding!
p.s. i rushed to finish this to have it posted by tonight so although @yoonmetogether was kind enough to beta read for me, there may still be mistakes <3 if you see any, no you don't
Yoongi is going to hate this.
You know your husband very well—he’s an introvert, through and through. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he planned his out-of-country trip last week specifically to avoid this kind of thing. But his friends are persistent, his coworkers are always down for a party, and his wife? Well, you’re considering this an act of revenge.
You let it pass then, on the actual day—Yoongi did video call at midnight your time, just like he promised he would. His eyes crinkled fondly on your phone screen as you pointed the camera at his daughter, conked out in her brand new big-girl bed he had put together only days prior. Once you quietly shut the door to Penny’s room and slipped into yours, he updated you on how his trip was going, promising souvenirs for “both of my girls.” He even humored you while you whined about how big the bed felt without him, all the great birthday sex he was missing out on.
But, still—out of town on his own birthday? He had this shit coming.
Besides, he’ll pretend he hates it—again, you know your husband—but he deserves to be celebrated. He’s had a great year, after all. Both of you have.
You were officially promoted to music section editor of Look Here in the fall—a job that you were essentially already doing, but now you have the title (and the pay!) to go along with it.
After years of kicking the idea around in his brain, Yoongi finally pulled the trigger and released an album of his very own. It was hard, of course. There were nights where he sat at the piano long after midnight, fingers hovering over the keys like they were strangers. Where he muttered about being too old to start something new, about people expecting one thing from him and nothing else. Where he told you, quietly, that maybe the album would just live on his laptop forever.
When awards season came around, you made good use of your press pass—both for work and to proudly (tearfully) watch your husband win in every single category he was nominated in.
He thought it would amount to nothing, and now the damn thing has awards. And a tour proposal. And a rolodex of industry people blowing up his phone every five minutes, while Yoongi sends them to voicemail so he can finish cutting up an apple for his daughter.
Because on top of all the great strides you’ve both made in your professional lives, Penny’s wellbeing has never fallen by the wayside.
It was something you both worried about in the beginning. With such demanding jobs, how could either of you raise a child without giving something up? And yes, of course there have been sacrifices. Yoongi’s eomma has come in clutch more than once, whisking Penny away for a weekend with halmeoni and halabeoji when work gets too crazy. But you’ve made an effort to write from home when it’s possible. Yoongi has said no to projects that would put him on the other side of the world for the better part of a year. Both of you have done your very best to be there, to ensure Penny grows up in a loving home with two present parents.
You still remember the first time Penny toddled across the living room on unsteady legs, arms outstretched like a tiny drunk person trying to maintain balance. Yoongi had frozen where he sat on the floor, eyes wide, like he was afraid any sudden movement might throw her off. When she crashed into his chest with a quiet ‘oof,’ he looked over at you with that same stunned expression he gets when a song finally clicks into place.
“Did you see that?” he’d asked, amazed.
As if you could have missed it.
There are dozens of moments like that tucked into the corners of your memory. Penny’s first birthday cake smeared across Yoongi’s black shirt. The time she insisted on sitting in his lap while he worked in the studio, smacking random piano keys with chubby little fingers. The way she now insists that appa gives the best bedtime stories because he does all the silly voices.
It’s a good life. A busy one, chaotic, occasionally exhausting—but so, so good.
Which is exactly why this party matters.
Yoongi’s flight landed late last night. So late that you didn’t get a chance to welcome him home properly. You barely stirred when he finally slipped into bed beside you, although you have a groggy memory—the faint smell of travel clinging to his clothes as he shed them, the dip of your mattress, and then the warmth of his body next to yours.
When your alarm went off a few hours later, Yoongi looked just as tired as you felt. His hair was flattened on one side, the crease of the pillow still faintly pressed into his cheek. You leaned down to kiss him.
“Happy birthday, old man,” you murmured against his mouth.
He made a soft, sleepy noise, hand lifting to cup the back of your neck as he kissed you back. You hadn’t seen each other in a week, so despite how tired you both were, it was the kind of kiss that made it very tempting to call in sick.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, voice gravelly from sleep. “You’re leaving already?”
“Mhm. Early start,” you sighed, brushing your thumb along the line of his jaw. “You’re on Penny duty today. Is that cool?”
“Mmm. I’ll just bring her to the studio with me.”
You laughed. “Good luck with that.”
He pouted as you pulled away to slip out of bed. “She likes the studio!”
You snorted, opening up the closet doors and rifling through the hangers. “She likes the studio because you let her press buttons she shouldn’t.”
“I’ve gotta get her started young, baby,” he teased, reaching for you. “Come back here so I can love on you a little before you go.”
This fucking guy, you thought. “You’re going to make me late,” you said, making a shooing motion with your hands. But you were unable to mask your smile as you gathered your chosen garments. “Go back to bed.”
By the time you finished getting dressed, you could hear Penny’s bedroom door creaking open down the hall, followed by Yoongi’s sleepy voice greeting her with a soft, “morning, baby.”
Now, hours later, you’re leaning against the mirrored wall of the company’s spacious practice room, arms folded loosely as you watch the chaos that you (partially!) orchestrated unfold.
You’ve been here for over an hour helping set everything up.
“Casual” was the goal, but when a room full of musicians and producers decides to throw a birthday party—even a belated one—casual apparently includes a mountain of food, two cakes, an ill-advised amount of alcohol for a weekday evening, and more people crammed into a rehearsal space than fire safety regulations probably allow. Although most of that may be the fault of six men who have become something of a second family to you over the years.
Speaking of Yoongi’s friends, Namjoon gave the five-minute warning before he slipped out to retrieve the birthday boy, and that was already four minutes ago. Any minute now, Yoongi will walk in. Taehyung and Jeongguk hurriedly straighten the banner taped to the mirror. Seokjin crouches next to the cake, trying to relight two stubborn candles, while Jimin dims the overhead lights a little more. Hoseok readies his phone camera. You push off the wall just enough to see the door better.
Right on cue, the handle turns.
The door slides open and as soon as Yoongi steps in, Penny perched comfortably in his arms, the room erupts.
“SAENG IL CHUKHA HAMNIDA!”
Voices overlap, loud and off-key, clapping echoing as the entire room launches into song. Nearly every phone in the room records him from every possible angle, flashes turning on one by one until the whole room is dotted with bright white lights. The mirrored walls bounce the glow everywhere, multiplying it so Yoongi looks like he’s standing in the center of a tiny paparazzi storm.
You watch, painfully charmed by how cute your husband is.
Not to mention unfairly hot. Black beanie pulled over his hair, thin silver glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. A leather jacket layered over a simple white tee that makes him look effortlessly cool—and somehow deeply, painfully shy at the same time.
All of that, with your baby girl in his arms—it should honestly be illegal. You’re a lucky woman.
Hoseok runs around him in circles, cackling as Yoongi adjusts the delighted, squealing toddler on his hip.
“Ah—” Yoongi bows his head over and over in thanks, looking mildly pained as two of his coworkers bring forward a huge cake, little doodles piped on top in black icing: music notes, a black cat, a crown—like someone tried to summarize Yoongi in dessert form. “I’m not good at these things!”
You swear your heart does the same ridiculous little flutter it did when you first met him.
Everyone ignores his protests, and Yoongi sighs like a man accepting his fate, shifting Penny higher on his hip so she can see the candles flickering on top of the cake. Penny leans forward with serious concentration, puffing her cheeks as if preparing for the most important task of her life.
“Ready?” Yoongi murmurs to her. She nods vigorously, and together they blow, Penny’s enthusiastic little puff doing absolutely nothing while Yoongi takes care of the rest. The flames flicker and disappear into smoke, the room erupting into cheers all over again.
Right as Yoongi straightens, Hoseok gleefully swoops in to get a close-up of the birthday boy.
“Yah—hajima! Hajimaaa!” Yoongi whines, cheeks flushed, while Penny giggles at the chaos.
The song collapses into laughter and chatter, and the room finally loosens its grip on him. Phones lower and someone cranks the lights back up a notch. The crowd splinters into smaller clusters, half of them swarming the table for plates and plastic forks, the other half making a beeline for the alcohol.
You see the exact moment Yoongi realizes you’re here. His entire expression changes, the embarrassment melting away to be replaced by a knowing, suspicious squint. You lift your brows, and he huffs through his nose, shaking his head.
You push yourself off the wall and walk toward him through the crowd, smiling with zero guilt or fucks given. When you reach him, you lean in to kiss his cheek.
“Happy birthday, baby,” you say sweetly. He smells so good. Has he always smelled so good?
Yoongi glances at you sideways, lips upturned slightly. “You.”
You point at yourself, feigning innocence. “Me?”
Before he can say anything else, Penny suddenly twists in his arms with a sharp little whine. “Appa, cake!”
Yoongi looks down at her. “Hold on, baby—”
“Cake,” she repeats, more firmly this time, pointing with intense determination toward the table where people are already cutting slices.
“You’ve gotta wait your turn,” he tells her patiently.
“Caaaaaake!” The whine stretches, her little legs kicking slightly against his hip, and like a pastry-fueled Beetlejuice, Seokjin appears out of nowhere.
“I heard cake!” he announces cheerfully.
Penny immediately reaches for him, stars in her eyes. “Uncle Jinnie!”
Seokjin clutches his chest like he’s been struck by pure love. “My favorite niece! Look at you! You’ve grown since the last time I saw you.”
“Two weeks ago,” Yoongi says flatly.
“Kids grow fast, Yoongi-yah. Even I know that,” Seokjin scoffs, then beams at Penny. “Do you want Uncle Jinnie to acquire cake for you? Because I am very powerful. I have connections.”
Penny nods with grave intensity. “Cake.”
Seokjin leans in, stage-whispering like he’s sharing state secrets. “What kind of cake? Extra frosting? Just frosting? Tell me. Tell me your dreams.”
“Fros-ting,” Penny says, drawing it out as best as her little mouth can manage.
Yoongi’s head tilts back a fraction, blinking at the ceiling for patience. “No.”
“No,” Yoongi repeats, looking between them. Poor guy. He might as well be defusing a bomb. “She can have cake. She cannot just have frosting.”
Penny’s lower lip begins to wobble on cue, eyes going shiny with practiced accuracy.
“Oh my god,” you murmur, delighted. “Seokjin’s been teaching her shit.”
“I do not—” Yoongi starts, then cuts himself off when Penny’s wobble escalates into a tiny, furious whimper. His jaw tightens. “Okay, okay. Penny.”
Seokjin drops to her eye level, voice syrupy. “Penny, sweetie. Don’t cry. Uncle Jinnie will protect you.”
Yoongi points at him without looking away from Penny. “Do not start.”
“I’m just saying,” Seokjin says innocently, “if a child requests frosting on her appa’s birthday, who are we to deny—”
“We are her parents,” Yoongi deadpans. “We deny things all the time.”
Penny jabs a finger at the cake table again, supremely pissed off. “Cake now.”
Seokjin gasps. “Did you hear that? She said now. She’s showing such promising signs of leadership, Yoongi-yah!”
Yoongi stares at him. “It’s impatience.”
“You say potato, I say po-tah-to,” Seokjin says, and then he turns his bright smile back to Penny. “Okay. Uncle Jinnie will get you cake, but we have to be polite.”
Penny blinks.
Yoongi huffs. “Say please, baby.”
“Peas,” Penny supplies promptly.
Seokjin looks like he might cry. “She said peas. I’m ruined.”
Yoongi looks between the two of them, clearly weighing his options. “You’re not giving her half the cake,” he warns.
Seokjin gasps in mock offense. “What kind of uncle do you think I am?”
“The exact kind that would do that.”
“Wow. No trust.”
“PEAS JINNIE CAKE!” Penny shouts.
Yoongi exhales through his nose and carefully transfers her over. “Small piece.”
“Of course.”
Yoongi squints at him, but before he can add anything else, Seokjin grins innocently and immediately carries Penny off toward the cake table while she chants “cake cake cake!”
You watch them go, shaking your head. “That’s a mistake.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs, watching them retreat. “She’s going to be bouncing off the walls tonight.”
For the first time since he walked in, his arms are empty. Suddenly, it’s just the two of you standing there in the middle of the noisy room.
You cross your arms loosely, tilting your head at him. “Y’know, you can pretend to be annoyed all you want,” you say.
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “But?”
“But,” you continue smugly, “I know you. You’re a softie.”
He snorts. “A softie.”
“Yes,” you confirm.
Yoongi studies you for a moment, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. Then he smirks. “You want to test that theory?”
Your brows lift. “And how exactly would I do that?”
“Keep pushing me and see what happens,” he says evenly. “I’ll put you over my knee later if you’re not careful.”
You gasp, one hand flying to your chest like a scandalized Victorian woman. “Min Yoongi!”
“That,” Yoongi says as he points towards Seokjin and your daughter, whose mouth is already smeared with frosting, “is your fault, for the record.”
“How!” you say, offended.
He stares at you, thoroughly unimpressed. “Seriously? We’re seriously going to do this?”
“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about,” you huff. “What exactly are you accusing me of, huh?”
He raises his eyebrows and looks around, as if just that is answer enough. Which it is.
“I did not plan this party,” you insist.
“Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t!”
“Y’know, liars get worse punishments than a spanking.”
You sputter, indignant—if not a little dizzy from the implication. “You realize we’re in a room full of colleagues, right?” you hiss, eyes bouncing in every direction. “Both yours and mine?”
Yoongi tsks. “Should’ve thought about that before you ambushed me.”
“You are such a fucking drama queen. Nobody ambushed you—”
“You wanna try that again?” he asks, head angling to the side.
Oh, he’s serious. He’s seriously thinking about spanking you over this—or worse.
God, you missed him.
You swallow thickly. “I… may have…”
“Mhmmmmm,” he hums, not even trying to mask his amusement at the look on your face.
“...facilitated,” you continue. “Just a little bit!”
“Say more.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” you whine, lips pulled into a pout. “But you’ve had such an amazing year! I wanted you to feel celebrated, and loved—and okay, yeah! Maybe I was a little pissed you decided to fly to fucking Tokyo on your actual birthday—”
Suddenly there are hands on your waist, effectively putting a stop to your rant and coaxing you closer.
“Jagiya,” Yoongi purrs, and oh. Yep. You’re swooning a little. Your body pathetically, instinctually gravitates towards his, like it always does when he speaks in that tone.
“Yeah?” you breathe, tirade forgotten as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.
“If it wasn’t your idea,” he murmurs, gently tucking your hair behind your ear so he can kiss your jaw next, “then whose was it?”
PURE! EVIL!
You pull back, scandalized all over again. “You wanna turn your wife into a rat?”
“You wanna be able to walk tomorrow?”
Ha.
“No, not really,” you say immediately, completely unashamed.
Yoongi laughs, delighted by you. “Tell me anyway.”
You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose. Whatever. It was bound to come out, anyway, and you’d really like the interrogation part of this exchange to end so you can get to the spanking part. And the fucking part.
“Hoseok,” you sigh.
“Of course. I should’ve known.”
“You really didn’t like it?” you ask, frowning.
“Nah, I’m just fucking around,” Yoongi says, soothing your worries with a third kiss, this time on the crease between your brows. “You’re absolutely right. I’m a softie. It was embarrassing, yeah, but sweet.”
The little line of worry smooths immediately, and you sigh in relief. “Okay, good.”
“If Hoseok asks, though, I’m furious.”
“Oh, obviously,” you agree. “And if he asks you, I didn’t say a word.”
“Your secret is safe with me, rat.”
You shove his shoulder, but it’s weak. Mostly because he’s still holding your waist, thumbs slowly brushing the sides of your ribs through the fabric of your blouse like he’s rediscovering a favorite instrument after time away.
“You’re insufferable,” you mutter.
“Mm,” Yoongi hums, leaning closer so his nose grazes the line of your neck. “Missed you too.”
Your stomach does an embarrassing little flip.
It’s stupid, honestly. You’ve been together long enough that you should be immune to this—the warmth of his breath against your ear, the casual way his body crowds yours like he has every right to occupy your space.
Which he does. But still.
You nudge his chest with your knuckles. “You’ve been home for less than twelve hours and you’re already threatening me with corporal punishment.”
Yoongi lifts his head and looks down at you over the rim of his glasses, unimpressed.
“Threatening?” His mouth curves slowly. “Baby, that was a promise. One I intend to make good on in about five minutes.”
You were hoping that was the case, but still—you gulp. Comically.
“Oh,” you say dumbly. “But the party…”
He scoffs. “I’ve stayed long enough.”
“Less than half an hour?”
“Yup,” he replies, popping the p. You roll your eyes.
“And the baby?” you murmur, glancing over his shoulder toward the cake table.
Across the room, Penny sits on Seokjin’s hip with a paper plate the size of her face, one small fist buried in a mound of icing while the other clutches a plastic fork she has absolutely no intention of using. Jeongguk and Hoseok coo at her like she’s the cutest thing they’ve ever seen, snapping photo after photo that you’re sure will be blowing up your phone later.
“The baby,” Yoongi says, “has six uncles in the room who are perfectly capable of keeping her out of harm’s way for a bit.”
Wow. He must really want to fuck you. He’d never say that about his friends otherwise.
“Besides,” he continues, squeezing your waist to draw your attention back to him, “I have another baby that needs tending to. Don’t I?”
Godddddddd.
Your eyes flutter shut without your permission. “Mhm,” you hum, nodding pathetically. “Please.”
Yoongi chuckles. “Don’t worry, jagi,” he coos. “I’ll take care of you. C’mon.”
He gives your waist one last squeeze before he steers you through the room, guiding you with an easy, proprietary pressure at the small of your back. Luckily, everyone is too busy drinking, laughing, or fawning over Penny to notice the two of you slipping out of the room. You’re sure the looks on your faces would hide zilch.
The music from the practice room dulls behind the door once Yoongi pushes into the corridor, and your pulse kicks up more and more with each step toward his studio.
A very tense elevator ride later, you reach the heavy door. Yoongi pulls a black keycard from the inside pocket of his jacket. The lock whirs, and he ushers you inside.
The door clicks shut, bathing you both in silence—the kind only studios seem to have, padded walls swallowing outside noise until the room feels like its own little universe.
Your heart kicks harder in your chest when he steps forward, closing the small distance between you. One hand lifts to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s confirming you’re real.
“You have any idea,” Yoongi says quietly, “how annoying it is to spend a week alone in a hotel room when I know what’s waiting for me at home?”
You laugh under your breath. “You were working.”
“Yeah.” His thumb drags over your lower lip. “Still annoying.”
You kiss him before he can keep talking, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down to you. The kiss starts soft but turns hungry almost immediately, both of you making up for the time apart.
When your lips finally part, you’re both breathing a little heavier. His forehead rests against yours. You can practically feel the moment where your mind syncs up with his.
“Birthday sex,” you say breathlessly.
“Birthday sex,” Yoongi agrees.
Then he exhales through his nose and reluctantly lets you go, taking a step back like he’s forcing himself to slow down for half a second. He looks around the studio, eyes bouncing over the equipment and furniture like he’s mentally deciding exactly where he wants you.
He slips off his jacket, then his beanie, tossing both onto the console as he ruffles his hair, then slides his glasses off and sets them gently next to the pile. You silently mourn the loss, but you have bigger fish to fry, honestly.
“C’mere,” he says, lazily waving you over to his desk with two fingers.
You step closer, but before you can say anything, his hands land on your hips and turn you around in one smooth motion.
“Oh,” you say faintly, surprised when you really shouldn’t be.
“Yeah,” he murmurs behind you, almost mockingly. “Oh.”
His palm settles at the small of your back, guiding you forward until the edge of the desk presses lightly against your thighs.
“Do you need me to remind you why this is happening?”
You press your hands flat to the desk, pretending to think. You don’t particularly feel like making this easy on him, so you say, “because I threw my loving husband a surprise birthday party?”
Yoongi snorts. “Try again.”
“Celebrated his many accomplishments?”
“Mhm.”
“Rightfully called him out for being a drama queen?”
His hand slides up your spine and firmly pushes you down until your chest meets the desk. You squeak.
“You’re just racking them up, huh?” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.
“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly. “I may have helped ambush you.”
“That’s better.”
His hands smooth over your hips, thumbs brushing slow circles through the fabric of your skirt before dragging it up entirely to expose your ass.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “most people would apologize right about now.”
You turn your head just enough to glance back at him over your shoulder.
“Well,” you say, lifting your chin a little, “I’m not that sorry.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You asked for it.”
There’s a pause, one heavy second where the room feels very, very quiet.
Then his hand lands on your ass with a sharp smack. You gasp, lurching forward.
Yoongi’s palm lingers where it landed, thumbing gently at the sudden sting blooming across your skin. The sensation radiates outward, sharp at first, then melting into a pleasant, humming heat.
“Still not sorry?” he asks mildly.
Your cheek presses against the desk beneath you, your hair spilling across the surface as you try to gather your composure. “Nope,” you manage, breath a little shaky. “Not really.”
He hums. “Too bad.”
Another smack lands, harder this time. You let out a surprised, pleased gasp that dissolves into a soft moan with each impact that follows. “Fuuuck, Yoongi—”
“You know,” he says conversationally behind you, like you’re discussing grocery lists instead of this, “I leave for one week.”
Smack!
“And suddenly my wife is conspiring with my friends.”
Smack!
“To publicly humiliate me.”
Smacksmacksmack!
You moan again, half laughing, half overwhelmed. “It was a loving humiliation!”
“Ah.” His thumb presses into a particularly tender spot he just hit and you hiss. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
You can’t take it anymore. You can’t. Your ass is raw, you’re so wet you can feel it soaking through your panties, smearing on your inner thighs. If he doesn’t touch you soon, you might cry. He’s only been torturing you for a few minutes, but your body has felt his absence for seven impossibly long days.
Doesn’t he know a week without him feels like an eternity?
“Yoongiiiiiii,” you whine pathetically. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll never throw you a party again, just—please touch me.”
Yoongi goes very still behind you, the silence stretching just long enough to make you nervous before a quiet laugh leaves him, more breath than sound.
“Listen to you,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “You weren’t sorry at all just a minute ago.”
You squirm, shamelessly pushing your ass back against his crotch. “I’ve had a change of heart.”
“Clearly.”
You’re about to complain again, or beg—whichever comes first—when his palm finally slips slowly between your thighs, nudging them apart. The movement steals the protest right out of your mouth. You whimper instead, hips instinctively rolling back into the warmth of his hand.
“Already this worked up?” he teases as his fingers trace the damp line of your clothed cunt, feeling the damp heat that’s been building there since he bent you over his desk. “All I did was spank you.”
“You’ve been gone a week.”
“Mm.” He cups you properly now, the delicious pressure enough to make your eyes momentarily roll back. “Missed me that much?”
“Yes,” you admit immediately.
Yoongi exhales a quiet laugh against the back of your neck. “Cute.”
Clearly taking pity on you, he yanks your panties down in one quick motion, leaving them tangled around your thighs. The pads of his fingers slide through your slickness before finding purchase on your clit, rubbing exactly how you like it.
“God, yes,” you moan. Your forehead drops to the desk with a dull thud, earning an amused huff behind you.
“Yeah?” he murmurs near your ear. Your hips rock back helplessly against his hand. “That feel better?”
You nod. “Mhmmm.”
“Good,” he says softly. But then the bastard pulls his fingers away entirely.
You gasp in outrage. “Yoongi!”
He smacks your ass again, smearing your own arousal on your skin. “Up.”
There’s no point pretending you’re not going to listen, so you push yourself upright on shaky legs and hop onto the edge, hissing slightly when your tender flesh meets unyielding wood.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” you assure him softly, yanking impatiently at the hem of his shirt to coax him closer. “I like it.”
Yoongi chuckles, allowing you to pull him between your thighs. He pushes them gently apart until you’re spread open for him, skirt tucked up and panties dangling uselessly from one ankle.
“I know you do,” he says, amused. “You’re dripping all over my desk.”
“Do something about it,” you goad, reaching for his belt. “C’mon.”
Your fingers barely brush the buckle before he catches your wrist. The look on his face makes your stomach flip—dark eyes half-lidded, attention fixed entirely on the slick mess between your thighs like he’s already imagining all the things he wants to do with it. “Not yet.”
You pout. “What do you mean not yet?”
Instead of answering, his thumb brushes over the inside of your thigh, collecting a little of the slick there before dragging it higher. He swears under his breath.
You shiver. “C’mon,” you repeat. You can hear yourself starting to get whiny again. “Want you to fuck me.”
Yoongi hums. “I will. Just…” He trails off, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he gazes at your pussy. “I wanna do something first.”
Your breath catches as he sinks down to his knees in front of you. Oh.
“Wait,” you protest weakly, looking down at him. “Shouldn’t I be doing something for you? It’s your birthday.”
“Trust me,” he rasps, guiding your legs over his shoulders, “this is absolutely for me.”
He leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss right where you’re dripping—and then licks into you properly, a long, warm stroke from your opening up to your clit.
“Ohhhhh, shit, Yoongi,” you moan.
His eyes flick up to watch your reaction as his tongue slips between your folds and pushes inside just enough to make your hips jerk forward. You look down at him, already wrecked.
You’ve gotta hand it to him—your husband certainly knows how to play to his strengths. You’ve never met a guy so passionate about giving head. Eating pussy is one of the many things that he excels at, a level of skill that can only be achieved by clocking in lots and lots and lots of hours. Which Yoongi does. All the time. Happily.
It’s almost enough to make you forget how badly you need to be fucked.
“So good,” you manage, voice shaking.
“Mm-hmm,” he hums in response, the vibration pressed straight into your sensitive bud. His hands slide up to spread you open with his thumbs, exposing your clit more while he licks over it again and again until your head tips back.
Your toes curl inside your shoes as your hips start to move on their own, chasing his tongue while soft, helpless sounds keep slipping out of your throat. Your orgasm feels impossibly close already, especially when he pulls your clit between his lips and sucks.
“Mm, Yoongi,” you moan, grabbing at his hair to stop him, “wait.”
Yoongi lifts his head immediately, mouth and chin glistening. He wipes it with the back of his hand, looking up at you with a crooked smirk. “You don’t seriously want me to stop, do you?”
He looks so pleased with himself. The sight of him down there between your legs, lips swollen, hair mussed, erection straining enticingly against the crotch of his jeans.
As tempted as you may be to let him keep going…
“Up,” you pant, nudging his shoulder with your knee.
He stands, surprisingly without much protest, and you shakily lower yourself down from the desk. You pull him a few steps toward the big rolling chair in front of the console and press lightly at his chest.
Yoongi drops into it, his legs spreading naturally as he leans into the backrest. His arms drape lazily along the armrests, but his eyes stay locked on you, sharp and curious.
“You want something, jagiya?” he asks, tilting his head.
You step between his knees. “Yeah,” you say. Your hands go to his belt, the metal buckle giving a soft clink as you start working it loose. “Want this dick.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Well,” he murmurs, voice low with interest, “you better come and get it, then.”
Man, he does not have to tell you twice.
You pull the belt free and tug open the waistband of his jeans. The button pops open under your fingers, then the zipper slides down.
Yoongi inhales through his nose when your hand slips inside his briefs, closing around the thick length of him. “Yeah,” he grunts under his breath.
Your cunt clenches in anticipation. He’s already fully hard, thick and warm in your palm. Your thumb brushes over the head, smearing the bead of precum that’s already gathered there.
You bite your lip, watching the way his jaw tightens as you stroke him slowly, squeezing a little on the upstroke the way you know he likes.
His head tips back slightly against the chair, and you lean down slowly, dragging your lips along the line of his jaw until you reach his ear. “Missed you so much.”
“Did you.”
“Mhm.” Your fingers wrap a little firmer around him, enough that his stomach tightens under his shirt. “Thought about it in bed all week.” You press a soft kiss just below his ear, reveling in the way he shivers. “Tried taking care of it myself a couple times.”
“Yeah?” he rasps, and you try to stifle your glee from how affected he sounds.
“But it’s not the same,” you purr. “Never is.”
His fingers flex against the armrests of the chair like he’s trying not to grab you.
“I get so used to you,” you continue, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, “sliding inside me before I’m even fully awake.” Your thumb drags slowly over the head of his cock again, making him hiss. “Fucking me to sleep every night.”
Yoongi can only hum in acknowledgement, so tense he looks like he’s about to snap. Good. Fuck, you want him to snap. You want him to make good on his threat from earlier and fuck you until you can’t walk straight.
“I get so frustrated when you’re gone,” you whisper. “It’s miserable, baby. Nothing feels right. My fingers don’t feel like you. My toys don’t feel like you.” You nip at his earlobe, spurred on by the stuttered breath that escapes his lips. “Nothing fills me up like your cock.”
His tongue drags along the inside of his cheek. “Careful,” he mutters.
You smile sweetly and squeeze him again. “Why?” you murmur, watching the way his throat works when he swallows. “You’re the one who made me like this. Got me used to it. Got me spoiled. Now I can’t even fall asleep without you inside me.”
That seems to do the trick.
“Yeah,” he says finally, voice rougher now. “Okay. That’s enough of that.”
Yesyesyes—
“Come here.” With a bruising grip on your hips, he hauls you roughly into his lap. The chair shifts under the added weight, and your skirt rides up as you settle there, knees planted on either side of the seat. “Wanna touch you, too,” he says, reaching beneath your skirt.
Wait.
Wait, no.
What is he doing? Whyyyyyyy are his pants still on?
“You’ve touched me plenty,” you whine, stubbornly trying to work his jeans down, made difficult now that you’re straddling him. “What’s with you? You don’t want me to ride you? Am I bad at it or something? You’ve had years to tell me, you know—”
Yoongi shuts you up with a sharp slap to your still-sensitive ass. “Will you give it a rest?” he huffs, cutting off your moan by stuffing two long fingers between your lips. “What I want is to make you feel good. But I could just fuck this mouth and not let you cum at all. You wanna go there?”
He’s so mean. And you know from experience he’s fully capable of following through on this particular threat, too, if you keep acting up. So as much as you want to talk back, you shake your head, sucking and licking at his fingers in what you hope comes off as some sort of apology.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, using his free hand to brush your hair out of your face. “I’ll fuck you, baby, I promise. Just be patient for me.”
He watches your mouth for another second, letting you suck his fingers slowly, before finally pulling them free with a wet sound. His hand drops between your bodies, and he curses quietly when his fingers find how soaked you still are.
He drags his fingers through the slickness, then lifts them briefly so you can see the shine of it between them. “All this,” he says, voice rough with satisfaction, “and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
Yeah, you’re well aware of that, you think. But you don’t dare say it aloud, determined to be good now.
His fingers move slowly at first, spreading your saliva and slick over your clit before beginning lazy circles that make your thighs tremble where they bracket his.
“Mmngh, Yoongi,” you whine, squirming for more. It’s so good, but it’s just not enough.
“Shh.” His other hand grips your hip, firmly keeping you steady as your body tries to chase the pressure. “Relax,” he says softly near your ear.
Suddenly, you feel the blunt press of one fingertip at your entrance before he pushes inside. Your eyes screw shut, the relief of having even just one part of him inside you overshadowed by it not being nearly enough.
“Fuck,” you sob.
He groans quietly at the way you immediately clamp down around him. “So goddamn tight.”
The single finger sinks the rest of the way in so fucking slowly, curling up against your inner wall as he goes like he’s reacquainting himself with the way your body feels around him. You whimper when he drags it back out and pushes it in again, even deeper this time.
“Yoongi, please,” you moan. “I need more, I need it.”
“I know,” he coos, slipping a second digit inside you beside the first, stretching you open before he starts moving them in steady strokes. “Greedy girl. Always need more of me.”
You do. You’re so keyed up it feels impossible to sit still, like you can’t get close enough to him. Your body chases the movement of his fingers, grinding down like you can somehow force more of him inside.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Just like that.”
You grab his shirt and pull him forward, kissing him hard. Yoongi makes a surprised sound into your mouth at your fervor, but it melts immediately into a low groan as he kisses you back just as hard. His free hand leaves your hip to grab the back of your neck, holding you in place while his mouth takes control of the kiss, his tongue sliding over yours.
You can taste yourself on his lips from earlier, heady and sweet, the flavor dragged across your mouth every time his tongue against yours
The chair beneath you starts to creak in protest. Each time your bodies grind together the wheels twitch slightly across the studio floor, the seat rocking with the rhythm of his hand driving into you. The sound mixes with the wet slide of your mouths and your uneven breathing.
Your lips part from his and move down to his jaw as you try to gasp for air, but Yoongi doesn’t let you, dragging you back into another kiss. He catches your tongue between his lips, sucking on it slow and filthy. It pulls a helpless, high sound from the back of your throat.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls against your lips. As if to prove his point, he slips in a third finger alongside the other two. It punches the breath out of your lungs. You feel so full you could cry, might cry if he keeps fucking bullying that sensitive spot inside you.
You break from the kiss with a shaky gasp, overwhelmed. “Too much—”
“No it’s not.” His thumb presses hard against your aching, oversensitive clit. Your body convulses at the sensation paired with his fingers fucking you closer and closer to orgasm. “C’mon, jagi. Give it to me.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders as the pressure in your belly tightens and tightens, coiling like a wire pulled too taut. Every thrust of his fingers drags it closer to snapping while your hips stutter helplessly in his lap.
“Gonna cum,” you gasp, shuddering into the crook of his neck. Your cheeks feel wet, and you open your eyes to find the collar of his shirt damp with errant tears. “Baby, fuck—”
“Yeah,” he grunts. “Cum. Right fucking now.”
You don’t have a choice.
Your orgasm slams through you, a strangled moan tearing out of your throat as your cunt clamps down hard around his fingers, delicious buzzing heat spreading through your limbs.
Yoongi doesn’t stop.
His fingers keep moving inside you, the overstimulation making your hips jerk helplessly. Only when your body finally starts to sag against him does he slow, then slip out of you entirely.
For a moment you just sit there, slumped in his lap and breathing hard into his shoulder, your entire body humming with leftover tremors.
But beneath you, Yoongi is already moving.
You lift your head at the soft rustle of fabric as he pushes his jeans and briefs down properly and frees himself, thick and impossibly hard.
You watch, dazed, as he drags his fingers, still slick with you, slowly along his cock, spreading what you left behind over the head before working it down his length.
Your mouth waters.
Amused, Yoongi nudges your chin up with his free hand until you meet his dark gaze.
“You still want to ride me,” he asks, still stroking himself slowly, “or are you tapping out?”
Tapping out? You almost want to laugh. Hell no, you’re not tapping out.
You take a steadying breath and wipe your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your hand. Your entire body still feels too sensitive, nerves humming everywhere he touched you, but the sight of him like this makes a fresh wave of determination flood through you.
“A week,” you remind him. “You were gone a week.”
Yoongi’s mouth tilts faintly. “A week isn’t that long, you know.”
“I disagree, Min Yoongi. A week is way too fucking long.”
Something in his expression softens at that. “C’mere then.”
Your hands slide to his shoulders as you lift yourself, batting his hand out of your way as you reach for his cock. You guide it carefully, adjusting your position until the thick head presses against your entrance.
You try to move quickly, not wanting to waste any time. But the first inch makes your breath hitch, cruelly reminding you of how sensitive you are. Your forehead dips toward his shoulder as you whimper softly.
“Too much?”
You shake your head quickly. “No,” you pant. “Just give me a second.”
You stay there for a moment, breathing through the stretch, your fingers tightening in his shirt. Then you start to lower yourself again.
Every inch feels intense after everything he already gave you, nerves sparking as his length presses deeper inside. Your lips part with a shaky exhale as you take more of him, the stretch familiar but still overwhelming.
“Easy,” Yoongi says, hands hovering at your hips like he wants to steer you.
You nod against his shoulder, and after what feels like way too long, you sink down the rest of the way.
Yoongi immediately moves to cradle your face, warm palms bracketing your cheeks as he pulls you into a slow, grounding kiss. His thumbs brush gently under your eyes as if to soothe you, his mouth warm and unhurried while your body relaxes around him, reacquainting itself with the familiar fullness.
Once you’ve adjusted enough, you lift up so his cock drags almost all the way out before you drop back down again.
Yoongi breaks apart from your lips to groan under his breath. “Shit, yeah. Do that again.”
You do.
This time the movement feels a little easier, your hips finding a rhythm as you rise and sink again, over and over.
Yoongi’s head falls back against the chair again, throat exposed as he exhales hard. His grip on your hips flexes every time you drop down on him, like he’s resisting the urge to take control and bounce you on his dick himself.
“You’re killing me,” he mutters hoarsely. “God, look at you.”
Your cheeks heat at the praise, but you don’t stop. Little breathy sounds keep slipping out of you every time your pelvis meets his.
His palms glide along your sides, pushing your shirt up along the way. Once your bra is exposed, he gathers your breasts in both hands, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin fabric.
“These tits,” he says. “Fuck, baby.”
Heat creeps up your neck. “You act like you’ve never seen them before.”
“Because every time I see them I’m convinced they got even better somehow. You got so fucking stacked after Penny.”
You roll your eyes with a weak snort. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious,” he insists, thumbs brushing slowly over the sensitive peaks again. “You were already perfect, but then you gave me our daughter and somehow came back even sexier.”
It’s funny, you used to think the opposite.
It was hard, adjusting to all the changes in yourself after you gave birth. It took a long time to gain back all of your confidence. But since then, you’ve learned to love your body the way it is, because it made Penny. It gave her to you, happy and healthy.
You wouldn’t trade that for anything.
And hearing Yoongi talk like this, like he’s hungry for you—not despite the changes that pregnancy made but because of them…
That familiar train of thought is momentarily derailed when Yoongi nudges upward from below. Your breath breaks into a soft gasp as his cock hits deeper than before, reminding you of where you are and what you’re supposed to be doing.
“Shit,” he says. “You feel insane right now.”
“You say that every time,” you shoot back breathlessly, though the compliment clearly fuels you to keep going. “I think it’s just because you don’t have to do any of the work.”
Yoongi chuckles. “No, baby,” he says, groping your tits again. “I’m saying it because you’re squeezing the fuck out of me.”
Shit. You know exactly why, too.
Your face feels warm suddenly, but the idea has already taken root, spreading through you in a way that makes your pulse quicken. The thought starts to slip out before you can stop it.
“You know,” you murmur, rocking down on him again. “What if…”
He studies your face carefully, brows drawn together. “What if what?”
“What if we made another one?”
Yoongi goes completely still beneath you, hands still on your tits. “What?”
Shit, you’re so stupid. Why would you say that out loud?
“Nothing, nevermind,” you say quickly, shaking your head, suddenly very interested in the color of the ceiling. “Forget I said anything.”
His hands drop. “Hey,” he says quietly.
You avoid his eyes, shifting slightly in his lap like you might start moving again just to avoid the subject. But Yoongi doesn’t let you. His grip firms, holding you right where you are, dick still buried deep inside you.
“Don’t do that,” he chides.
“Do what?”
“You know what.” Yoongi huffs softly through his nose. “You think I don’t know you by now?” he asks. “You don’t just say stuff like that for no reason.”
You do your best to tamp down your embarrassment, reminding yourself who you’re with. Your husband. Your husband who you’ve already had a baby with, who has never given you any indication that it was a one-and-done thing.
And Penny is three now. Maybe it could be time.
“I mean… we’ve talked about it before. Kind of,” you say carefully. “Another baby, eventually.”
“Uh-huh.” He watches your face for another second before asking quietly, “Is that what you were thinking about just now? Is that what had you squeezing me like that?”
Your heart is beating faster now. “Maybe… But I’ve been thinking about it for a while!” you admit. “This isn’t me just being horny and saying shit, I promise. I just… we’re in a good place, right? A great place. And I know we haven’t had, like, a proper conversation about it, but…” You trail off, nervous. “Do you think I’m insane?”
“No.” He shifts underneath you then, rolling his hips upward once. The sudden thrust makes you gasp.
“Ah—!”
“But if you’re gonna say shit like that while you’re sitting on my cock,” he continues, voice rougher now, “you can’t expect me not to start thinking about things.”
Your pulse spikes. “A-about what?”
He looks down between your bodies, at the way you’re split open on him. “About how fucking deep I am in you right now, for one.”
Your breath stutters. He rolls his hips again, slower this time.
“And how easy it would be.”
Oh.
The words send a brand new wave of heat flooding through your stomach, and there’s no hiding the way your cunt clenches around him this time.
Yoongi hisses, grabbing a handful of your ass. “Shit, you really want this.”
“Mhm,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut as he gropes you. You can’t believe this conversation is happening, even if you were the one who brought it up. “Only if you do,” you add belatedly.
“Are you kidding?” Yoongi asks. You force yourself to re-open your eyes, your heart skipping a beat at how happy he looks when you do. He’s smiling so big, gummy smile in full force. “Jagiya, I wish you would’ve told me sooner. Of course I want to have another baby with you.”
You stare at him, dumbfounded.
Yoongi stares back, studying your expression. “What?”
Like there’s no reason for you to be surprised by that!
“Yoongi,” you say, voice quieter now, hands sliding up his shoulders until they rest loosely behind his neck. “What did I do to get so lucky, seriously?”
“Married me,” he says simply.
You snort. “Idiot,” you say, but the affection in your voice is obvious.
Your thumbs brush along the back of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin. “I mean it,” you continue. “You’re such a good dad. You’re good to me. You work your ass off and somehow still come home and build furniture for our kid and make pancakes shaped like dinosaurs. You make me feel like I won the lottery or something.”
Yoongi’s ears turn faintly pink, like they always do when you praise him like this.
“Alright,” he mutters. “You’re getting sappy on me.”
You grin. “You deserve it.”
He puffs up his cheeks for a second, adorably embarrassed. “You work just as hard.” A pause. “Also,” he adds, “you’re saying all of this while you’re sitting on my dick.”
You laugh helplessly. “Right. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, then he rolls his hips up into you again. The sudden movement knocks the breath out of you.
“Oh—!”
“Just don’t stop moving,” he finishes.
Your brain takes a second to catch up.
Right.
If this is really happening, if you’re really talking about making another baby…
You start rocking over him with more intention now, lifting yourself almost completely off his cock before sinking down again.
Yoongi’s head tips back immediately. “Oh fuck,” he groans.
Your rhythm gets steadier, your body leaning forward slightly as you ride him deeper and deeper.
“If we’re doing this,” you pant, “I should probably make it count.”
Yoongi looks up at you sharply. “What do you mean?”
You rock down hard again. He sucks in a breath through his teeth.
“You said it yourself. You’re deep.”
His eyes darken instantly. “Yeah…”
“So if we’re making a baby,” you tease, rocking your hips slowly, making sure he can feel every twitch of your pussy around his length, “I should probably take all of it.”
Yoongi groans low in his chest. “Fuck.”
Your pace picks up instantly, the idea feeding the heat already burning through your body.
“All your cum,” you continue, breath shaky. “Right where it’s supposed to go.”
His hands suddenly slide under your ass. Before you can react, he lifts you slightly and drives his hips up hard.
“Yoongi—!”
“Take it, then,” he says roughly.
The chair creaks loudly beneath you as he starts meeting your movements now, thrusting up into you while you ride him. Your thighs tighten around him as you obey without hesitation, bouncing harder now.
“Yoongi—fuck—”
“Keep going,” he mutters, jaw tight.
Your fingers curl into his hair as you ride him faster now, the earlier embarrassment completely gone. All you can think about is how good he feels inside you—how perfectly he fills you.
“Another baby,” you gasp, delirious.
“Another baby,” he repeats.
Your pace starts slipping as your pleasure creeps higher again. Yoongi notices instantly.
“Wait,” he says.
He suddenly stands again, quicker than you can question him. You yelp in surprise as he lifts you off the chair, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
“Yoongi—!”
“Hold on.”
Two quick steps later your back meets his desk.
The impact makes a dull thud. Yoongi pushes you back further until you’re lying fully across the surface. Your skirt bunches higher around your waist as he grabs your legs again.
Then he hooks your legs up over his shoulders. The stretch folds you almost completely in half, your hips tilted upward perfectly toward him.
Without any warning, he slides back inside you in one deep thrust.
“Fuck, Yoongi!” you wail.
“Yeah,” he groans. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
The angle makes everything feel deeper immediately. Your fingers scramble against the desk as he starts thrusting again, so hard you see stars. The desk knocks against the wall behind it with every push, surely chipping paint.
“Too deep,” you whine. “Toooooo deep, holy fuck—”
“Nah, you can take it,” he says. “Gotta make it count, remember?”
His hands grip under your thighs to keep you there, holding you open while he drives into you again and again.
“Look at this,” he groans, glancing down where your bodies meet. You can barely follow his gaze through the haze of pleasure. “Split open on me,” he continues hoarsely. “Taking all of it.”
“Yoongi, please!” you cry.
“Please what?”
Another deep thrust knocks the air out of you.
“Please—fuck—”
“You want it?”
You nod frantically.
“Say it,” he presses.
Your nails scrape uselessly at the smooth surface of the desk as he drives into you.
“Want your cum,” you manage. “Inside.”
“Fuck,” Yoongi growls. His pace picks up. “You’re gonna get it.”
“Yes—yes—!”
Yoongi leans forward, forcing your thighs tighter against your chest, folding you even further. The angle change has you reeling, crying out for him.
“Cum first. You’re gonna cum all over my cock like a good girl,” he grits out. Your back arches off the desk, as much as it can with the way he’s pressing you into it. “Then I’m filling you up.”
The promise snaps the last thread holding you together.
Your orgasm finally crashes through you, your whole body shaking as you clamp down around him.
Yoongi groans loudly. “Fuuuuuuck.”
One last deep thrust and he buries himself fully inside you. You feel it when he comes, heat flooding deep inside as he groans your name under his breath.
Your chest rises and falls rapidly against his where he stays leaned over you, still holding your legs over his shoulders.
“Well,” he pants after a minute, slowly releasing your legs to avoid straining them, “fuck.”
Your head tips back against the desk, a weak laugh escaping you.
Yoongi lifts his head just enough to look down at you. A slow, crooked smile spreads across his face.
“Happy birthday to me.”
a/n 2: ok i promise i'll let this couple rest peacefully now
i know many of you are waiting for price of fame chapter 9 and/or the first taste chapter three! i promise i'm working to have them out ASAP, but arirang week may cause a bit of a delay. please be patient with me as we all collectively shake in our mf boots for the comeback!
please leave a comment or send me an ask with your thoughts! if you’d like to be added to my taglist, you can go ahead and fill out my form here (no need to do so if you’re already on my permanent taglist)
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pairing: student! fem reader x student! jeon jungkook
summary: when you finally get your crush’s number, you expect the start of an epic love story— not a random guy making fun of you because he thinks the guy you’ve been obsessed with for the last six months gave you a fake number. Jeon Jungkook, the one who replies, finds it entertaining and helps you chase the guy… at least until he finds out that the person he’s been helping date another guy is you, the girl he’s been obsessed with for the last two years.
genre/warning: this is a smau fic!! with narration included in every chapter but it’s mostly messages/tweets. very unfunny jokes. this is mostly crack/fluff.
authors note: ‘but u have to update ur other fic blah blah blah’ umm shut the fuck up?. anyway this is my first time attempting smau fics so be nice to me thank u. ngl i was VERY high writing this but it made me giggle when i read it again. hope u hehe a lil with this. iloveu.
i know this is not my usual type of writing but idk i was feeling silly and i always wanted to try smau. this is for giggles and shit! — gift credits in the watermark??
pt. 2 after that night - read pt. 1 here
pairing: executive chef!yoongi x f!cook!reader
genre: pwp, age gap
rating: explicit content, MDNI!!!!!!!
summary: you've been on your best behavior, but chef min hasn't noticed. all you want is his attention. how far will you go to get it?
warnings/tags: mc is a horny brat 😩, im counting red haired yoongi in rimless rectangle glasses and a chain as a warning, drinking, sex in his office (they rlly fuck this time!!), oral (f. receiving), power dynamic, degrading names (slut), edging, orgasm denial/control, squirting, he’s mean and rough and a little controlling but she’s superrr into it, (so am i, im v unwell), getting fucked while talking on the phone
wc: 8k
notes: happy belated valentine’s!!! sorry this is late. thank u aqua @glossdebut for beta reading 🫶🫶🫶
*dividers by @/strangergraphics
You become a stellar worker at Montana 28. Not because you want employee of the month. But since you stopped getting yourself in trouble, you stopped having reasons to stay late.
And Chef Min hasn’t given you any.
You’ve only caught glimpses of him these past few weeks since he’s been in and out, hopping on flights to go on domestic and international trips, although no one knows exactly what for. There are, of course, rumors that he attends various conventions and seminars that he leads and teaches. Taehyung once said that he has a secret family he goes to visit on the coast, and Chef Min is extremely private, so that could be true, and you’d be none the wiser. But you get sick to your stomach every time you think of that being a possibility, and you secretly hate Taehyung for instilling that in your mind.
While he’s out, Sous Chef Kim takes the lead in the kitchen and although the atmosphere is lighter with his easy-going energy, dad jokes, and squeaky laugh, you don’t get the same kind of thrill whenever he walks behind you like you do with Chef Min.
And when he comes in, he does so unannounced. Not even Sous Chef Kim has any idea when the boss is gonna show face and expect everything to be in tip top shape. So the entire staff is always on their toes. Especially you. He won’t catch you slipping at any point.
You show up early, only to be disappointed when he arrives hours later or not at all. You stay late to do extra prep work, only for him to leave without giving you a first glance. He barely looks at you whenever he passes by your station.
He’s just plain fucking ignoring you.
On the first of the month, he switches up the specials, and all the cooks are required to taste his new dishes, then cook them and wait for him to evaluate and make suggestions. Everyone here deserves top notes from the head chef, but when your turn comes, he extends you nothing but criticism when you know for a fact that your dishes are near perfect recreations because you spent all night studying and practicing his recipes. He has nothing good whatsoever to say, claiming that you didn’t put enough heat on the sauce and the noodles were slightly overcooked and then continues down the line to Hoseok and Jimin and compliments them on their sears and garnishes.
You stay late again to practice the dish he criticized the most, and when he comes out, you pretend it doesn’t hurt after he turns down your request to retry it and just shakes his head, tells you not to forget the lights before you lock up, and leaves.
You’re slowly being driven into madness because you haven’t messed up at all and yet Chef Min is treating you as if you were a rookie - nothing more than, well, nothing. Deep down, you dread that it’s because he’s regretful of that night in his office and doesn’t want to face you again. And yet, maybe this is just what he’s like with people who don’t mess up on purpose. But all you want to know is when he’s going to give it to you for being so good.
You’ve sometimes gone to bed so frustrated because he hasn’t looked at you a single time that you strip down and try slapping your cunt with the same force that he used. But it doesn’t have the same effect. Your hand’s not as big or soft or strong as his and you scream into your pillow because you can’t fucking come. Not in the way you need to, not in the way that’s satisfying, that would settle and release this seething, burning ache in your core.
You don’t know how many nights off you’ve spent hitting up old hookups, or lurking in the club with Jimin when he has off too trying to find someone to have quick and meaningless sex. Though none of them could handle you in the way you need. You almost caved and unblocked your ex on Insta because he knows how you like it. But you’re not that desperate. Or stupid. And if Jimin found out you even thought about it, he’d give you a good what for.
There’s no one else who can give you the gratification you need. Now you lie awake at night working out what you can do to get Chef Min’s attention but not lose your job.
Montana 28's first company party of the new year falls on a Saturday night. It coincides with the scheduled deep cleaning that will shut down the restaurant for a day, so Chef Min closes the doors at 8pm to host and cater a dinner for the entire staff the night before. But he’s notorious for not attending. You’ve heard that, occasionally, he’ll pop in to say hi, but never sticks around for more than a few minutes. Dips out Irish-goodbye style and disappears into his office. It does make everyone feel a little more comfortable taking advantage of the free drink vouchers when the boss isn’t around to witness his professional staff letting loose.
As for you, though… You can’t stop looking around, a rippling throb under your ribs that longs for his appearance. Because you definitely didn’t go home after work, shower, use the body wash and lotion and perfume you save for special occasions, put on makeup, and dress in the kind of outfit you wouldn’t normally wear to a staff party hoping he wouldn't walk in. And you look fucking good. In your black lace tights, short black pleated skirt, and a rose pink v-neck cashmere sweater with thick, simple bows as straps. Alluring, edgy, you know you’ve turned a few heads from your co-workers, though their gaze isn’t the one you’re after. But it’s two hours in and still no sign of Chef Min.
You and Jimin made plans to stay for a bit, pregame with the free drinks, and then hit the clubs downtown, so your effort won’t completely go to waste. Except he’s stringing along one of his friends in hopes of being a successful matchmaker. You love Jimin dearly, but the friends he’s introduced you to so far are… respectfully, vanilla. Not at all your type. And you’re just not interested in entertaining someone who won’t do anything for you.
So what if you have tunnel vision because you’re stuck on one particular man who’s constantly out of reach?
Black Mary Jane platform heels propped up on the ring of the barstool, you suck down one of Jeongguk’s specialty vodka cocktails, trying your best to pay attention as he gabs to you, Jimin and Ty about his latest idea for an addition to his tattoo sleeve.
But then Chef Min strides into the dining room donning an all black ensemble, a thin but glimmering gold chain resting just below the column of his throat and - you lose your breath. He’s wearing a pair of rimless, rectangle glasses. Heat pulses down to your core. You’ve never been so turned on by a pair of fucking glasses before. What the fuck. All common sense leaves your body, mind and soul as soon as he catches your stare from across the room, holds it for two seconds that seem to pass by in slow motion, and then turns back to the conversation with the managers.
Self-control slipping away because of how badly you need him now that he’s standing less than 10 feet away from you, you want to try and catch his eye again, try and make him see you, make him think of how good you’ve been, but Jimin’s sitting right next to you, right in your line of view of him, and you can’t take the risk of Jimin catching you. So you sit there and pretend it’s not killing you to not look over at Chef Min.
“How’s your mom doing?” Jimin asks, turning the conversation onto you as his boyfriend engages Jeongguk about anime.
“Oh, she’s fine. A lot better, actually.”
“That’s good! Gonna visit her soon?”
Before you can answer, Ty taps Jimin on the shoulder.
“I think your boss is coming over here,” he says, pointing behind Jimin. Your spine involuntarily straightens as you and Jimin look in the direction that Ty is facing to see Chef Min heading near your spot at the bar.
“Oh, shit,” Jimin mutters beside you. Your stomach squeezes. Oh, shit indeed. Jeongguk immediately drops what he’s doing and briskly wipes down the counter and clears away empty glasses.
“Hey, Chef,” Jimin bravely greets as the owner steps up to the bar a few seats away, phone in hand. You echo him, heart pounding in your chest as he finally glances over and nods. But just at Jimin.
“Evening.”
“Chef, what can I get you?” Jeongguk asks, trying way too hard to sound casual.
“One Cass and two whiskey shooters.”
Jeongguk turns for the fridge to retrieve the beer, expertly cracking it open and sliding it across the counter.
“Thanks,” he mutters, taking a swift swig as Jeongguk snatches two mini bottles of liquor from the shelf behind him and passes them over.
“Have a good rest of your night.” He tips his bottle towards your small group, expression bored and refusing to look at you, then turns and walks away.
“Well, he’s quite the social butterfly,” Ty sarcastically remarks as you watch Chef Min walk back to the other side of the dining area. Jimin shushes him even though the boss is well out of earshot.
He ignored you again, keeping up the silent treatment. What the fuck did you do wrong? What stupid point is he trying to prove? You doubt he’ll give you a chance to find out.
Fine. What-fucking-ever.
You’ll go downtown, meet Jimin’s friend, shamelessly flirt, feel wanted and desired, but then take him home and have sex so boring and vanilla that you’ll have to use your vibrator on the highest setting after you kick him out. Then come with the image of Chef Min bending you over his desk and fucking you so hard, you forget who you are. And then get mad that that’s only a fantasy.
Because you’re nauseous with irritation, you excuse yourself to the bathroom and consequently pass by the group of managers where Chef Min stands directly facing you, giving you the opportunity to glare at him. You curse internally when he locks onto it and for some reason you prolong it until your neck starts to crane. Long enough for you to notice that he doesn’t look bored anymore.
That has to mean something. He has to be playing you. You can’t stand it anymore.
Fuck it. FUCK IT! You’ve been good, and fuck if you’re not gonna get what you deserve.
Before you leave the bathroom, you reapply your peach-flavored lip gloss, fix your hair, and make sure the right amount of cleavage is peaking out of the low dip in your top. If he’s going to play, so are you.
But when you return, he’s nowhere to be found and the managers have scattered. At the empty table where they were standing, sit the two whiskey shooters. Chef Min’s whiskey shooters that he left behind.
Someone should return them to him. That someone is going to be you.
You snatch up the bottles, turn away from the crowd, and stuff them in the waistband of your skirt, secured by a tight, black belt. Your sweater covers them perfectly. You swivel around and coolly walk back to the bar.
Jimin and Ty are caught up in conversation with other coworkers so you end up staying longer than originally planned. But it leaves you more time to plot how you’re going to sneak away from your best friend and off to Chef Min’s office without getting caught. Jeongguk tries offering you refills, but you just take water, because you’re not going to let inebriation get in the way of your plan.
After a little over an hour, people start to trickle out, and finally Jimin turns to you.
“Hey, bestie. Ready to go?”
You smooth a hand down your stomach, bracing yourself to lie on your dog’s name.
“Actually, my neighbor called and said she can’t take out Mang, so I’m gonna run home real quick. Why don’t you go on ahead and I’ll meet you down there?”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll take a cab.”
And, success. Jimin kisses your forehead, tells you to give Mang a pet, and gathers up Ty to head out. You anxiously hide in the empty hall leading to the back for a few more people to leave, including the remaining manager. Once you’re pretty sure you’re in the clear, you convince yourself this isn’t a stipid idea, and make your way through the kitchen.
Standing in front of his office, fist held up in the air, you stare at the strip of light peeking out from under the door. Running on pure adrenaline and lust, you’re really fucking doing this.
You softly knock three times, muscles locking up in anticipation for what consequence you may face for your audacity. But a few seconds pass and you hear no commotion from inside. Did he leave and forget to turn off the light? No, Chef Min’s not the type. So you knock again, a little louder.
“Chef? It’s me.”
There’s still nothing, and maybe he’s really not in there and you’re standing in front of an empty office. Maybe he didn’t hear you, so it wouldn’t hurt to knock a third time, right? Just as your knuckle raps once, the door suddenly swings open and, taking a surprised step back, you’re met with Chef Min’s crossed brows and frown.
“Are you nuts?” Fully expecting him to tell you to fuck off, you hold up an honest pinch.
“A little.”
“Get in here,” he scowls, grabbing your elbow and pulling you towards him, straight into a cloud of his musky cologne. As he moves you out of the way and against the wall, he quickly looks up and down the hall before shutting the door.
“What are you doing?” he asks, releasing your arm to put his hands on his hips.
“You left these at the bar.” His eyebrow lifts as you reach under your sweater and pull out the two mini bottles of whiskey. A pinch of confusion crosses his expression as you offer them to him, and he doesn’t accept them right away.
“And you took it upon yourself to bring them to me?”
“Yeah. Everyone else is leaving.”
“Uh-huh.” He finally extends a hand and you pass them over, a small spark shocking your fingertips as they brush his palm. Wordlessly, he pockets them and turns around to sit back at his desk. He hasn’t invited you to stay but he hasn’t exactly kicked you out, so you take heed in stepping away from the door.
“How come you always sneak out so early? You don’t like us or something?”
“I have work to do.”
“At a staff party that you paid for?”
“It came with a shit ton of paperwork.”
“All work and no play makes Chef Min a dull boy.”
Joking around with your boss? Seriously, what the fuck are you on? Calm down.
“What can I do for you?” He finishes that sentence speaking your first name for the first time in a low, gravelly register and it shakes something awake inside you.
“Have I done something wrong, chef?”
“Aside from showing up to my office unannounced?”
“Well, I just wanted to check and make sure you’re not angry with me.”
“I’m not,” he answers, no inflection in his voice as he scans over a page. “Is that all?”
You drive your nails into your palm, eye twitching at the way he’s casually dismissing you. You should go. Take what’s left of your withered pride and dignity and just leave because clearly he wants nothing to do with you. But since his attention is buried in his paperwork, you take the fleeting time to just stare at him. Because he looks good. So fucking good, and he smells divine and your teeth itch to bite at his exposed collarbones and - what do you have to do to get him to look at you? And then your big mouth opens and blurts a personal question that’s like testing waters swarming with bloodthirsty sharks. Dangerous territory. But maybe you’ll finally get his attention.
“Are you going on a date?”
His pen pauses and he finally lifts his head to glare at you from above the frame of his glasses. You mildly regret existing.
“Sorry?”
Fingers trembling as you skim the corner of his desk, you shrug, scrambling to act nonchalant. “I mean, you’re all dressed up, and with Valentine’s day coming up, I just thought…”
He clicks his pen several times on the scattered papers and you refrain from looking at him.
“I told you, I have work to do. Not that I have to explain myself to you.”
That snaps you out of this whole charade of trying to get him to commit to a next time. Now you’re just back to being annoyed.
“You’re right, my apologies, chef.” Two fingers on your temple, you give him a lazy, mock salute, and subtly roll your eyes, but enough that he catches it.
“Well, I won’t waste your time. And I need to head downtown anyway, Jimin’s introducing me to one of his friends.”
You study his expression for any sign that he’s bothered by that, and anger flares your nostrils when he continues to flip through the pile, paying you absolutely no mind. Time to pull out all the stops.
“He’s boring, but at least he’ll actually fuck me.”
A beat passes and you wait with bated breath for him to react, but he doesn’t even move.
“Have fun with that,” he says flatly, scrawling his signature on the bottom of a page. And then he glances up at you.
“Close the door on your way out.”
Heating up with rage, you nearly sprain your ankle as you turn for the door before your big mouth gets you fired. But you put the doorknob in a chokehold. Is he serious? And are you really about to let this go? Hell no.
“Do you want me to fucking beg you or something?” He lifts his head, the look on his face blank and clueless.
“Beg me? For what?” You scoff. He’s playing you like a damn clarinet. Yeah, fuck that.
“Y’know what? I’m not gonna play your shitty ass game. Bye,” you sneer. Biting your tongue from calling him an asshole, you yank open the door and prepare to stomp out and slam it behind you, but then his laugh, dark and deep and deriding, traps you in place, the low vibrations from his chest thrilling your spine.
“Close it.” You squeeze the knob once more before giving it a subtle push and letting go so the door shuts with a sharp click.
“Lock it.” Pulse flaring, you robotically switch the lock.
“Come back here.” You swivel around, heels thumping on the thinly carpeted floor as you trudge towards him and the way he sits there, arms crossed, in front of his desk where he had you bent over 33 days ago, knuckles deep in your cunt. The pit of your stomach tightens at the thought.
The air has significantly changed between the two of you, but he starts this new exchange with a question you don’t really appreciate.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Why?”
“Because.” Oh, so he’s trying to paint you like you’re not in your right mind.
“Not much.”
“Uh-uh, be specific.”
“I only had one cocktail.”
“When?”
“Right before you showed up.” He turns his chair to the side to face you a bit more, legs widely spread.
“You’re real fucking bold, you know that? Bringing drinks in here like we’re friends, wanting to know why I left the party, if I’m going on a date. You think that’s any of your business?”
A smidgen of shame courses through you, and you swallow. “No.”
His eyes narrow. “No, what?”
Oh. Ohoohh. That tone. The one he used when he was edging you to the point of tears, demanding you to submit to him. He’s using it now and it calls you to be ready to drop to your knees.
“No, chef.”
He leans forward and begins gathering up all the papers in one pile. “Now, tell me the real reason why you’re here.”
His head tilts when you hesitate to respond, tapping the stack on his desk so the papers are neat.
“What, you don’t have shit to say?”
“You know exactly what I want,” you snap. He nods, undeterred by your fresh tone.
“I do. But I want to hear it from your smart mouth.”
“Why? You’re not gonna do shit about it. It’s been a whole month since you’ve even looked at me.”
Jaw clenching, his tongue kisses his teeth as he beckons you closer with a finger pointed to the floor. Once you stand a step away from him, he unfolds his arms to glide a warm hand up the back of your thigh and under your skirt. You gasp when he smacks the plush of your ass, pushing you into the arm of his chair.
“Look at you,” he says in a less harsh tone, groping your lace covered cheek. “All mad because I haven’t been giving you the attention you want.”
Your resolve wilts and you resort to pouting. “I’ve been so good and you said you’d fuck me but you’ve just been ignoring me.”
“Now you know what it’s like to be pissed off on purpose,” he says, smirking. Your heart skips. So you’re not crazy. “I bet you wanted to mess up around me so bad so I’d yell at you again. Just so desperate that you’d do anything to get my attention.”
Damnitdamnitdamnit. He knows next to nothing about you, and yet he knows you so well.
“It’s good you didn’t though; I’d have to fire you.”
The tips of his fingers poke in between your thighs, forcing them to spread so he can slide along the string of your thong.
“You get so wet for me,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “Needy fucking slut.”
You struggle to keep your composure at that and the way he takes his time shamelessly dragging his gaze up and down your body, drinking you in with his head tilted.
“Did you get all dressed up for me?”
You shake your head in delusional denial. He chuckles, pushing at your thigh to guide you in front of him, his free hand adjusting the waist of his slacks.
“You’re a rotten liar.” You don’t deny that.
“Gonna show me what you’ve got on underneath?”
Taking a deep breath to collect enough strength, you bend down to undo the buckles of your heels, squeezing your arms against your breasts to give him a better view of your cleavage. He lets out a sigh, hands clasping in his lap. You set your heels in the space underneath his desk and straighten, waiting quietly for his instruction.
“Tights off. But keep the skirt.”
You tremble under his unwavering, analytical gaze as you take care in removing the delicate lace on your legs. When the lace of your tights and thong are pulled off and dropped into a crumpled pile, he commands you to sit and you don’t need to be told twice, hands curling on the edge of his desk to give you leverage to hop onto the surface, legs dangling in front of him.
He leans up, takes off his glasses with one hand, and presses the temple tips against his chest to close them, shutting them away in a drawer while you try very, very hard not to drool. And then he does something that makes you lose your grip on the table - scoots off of his chair and lowers himself to the ground, shifting your right leg over his shoulder, your left thigh in the crook of his elbow.
Chef Min. In his office. On his knees. For you. Head of red hair in between your thighs, lips pink and ready to devour you. You could come from this sight alone.
Hands on the insides of your thighs, he presses your legs apart, and you watch, chest heaving, as he stares at your bare pussy, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“Please,” you whoosh out under your breath, fluttering clit dying to be touched.
“What?” He tilts his head, red bangs falling to the side. “You want my mouth?”
You frantically nod and scoot closer to the edge. “I’ve been good. Right?”
Fingers bunching up your skirt, he delivers a sharp tap of two fingers directly on your clit and your legs jerk from the small electrocution. His eyes drag up to you, and so does that sinful, cocky smirk. He does it again and again, making contact with more fingers and more force each time, luring out oozes of arousal and stoking the flame in your belly. You’re a fucking goner and he knows it.
“Gonna be pathetic and come just from this again?” He emphasizes his point by lazily swatting your cunt. You squeeze your eyes shut and tense your muscles, begging yourself to hold on.
“Or are you gonna wait for my mouth?”
“Mouth,” you whimper, breath shaking just imagining what his mouth will feel like on your cunt, and your hips buck, searching for that friction. His arms tighten around your thighs, strong biceps keeping you from moving any further.
“Hold still and be quiet.” You nod, chest heaving when he leans in, drags his mouth along the crook of your thigh, giving you the ghost of a taste of what you’re about to get.
When his lips finally kiss between your folds, you throw your head back, releasing a high-pitched moan to the ceiling and gripping the edge of his desk so tightly your knuckles strain. You almost break your neck bringing your head down when he suddenly backs away and peers up at you with a fierce glare that has you locking up again.
“Shut the fuck up and hold still or I’ll stop.”
“I can’t help it,” you whine in protest.
“I don’t care. Don’t get us caught.”
“No one’s over here.”
“Stop arguing with me,” he snaps.
“S-Sorry.” His glare fiercens at that and you obediently clamp your mouth shut.
“Don't fucking piss me off,” he threatens lowly, narrowed eyes lingering on yours as you force yourself to stay absolutely still so he knows you’ve listened.
Seemingly satisfied that you understand his rule, he ducks his head back in between your thighs, bunched up skirt blocking your view as he flattens his tongue on your hole and hums upon tasting you, the deep reverberation shooting heat right to your core. How the fuck is he expecting you to stay quiet? He lazily drinks you in, kissing and slurping through your folds, but driving you to the brink of insanity by avoiding your clit. His nose nudges it every now and then, but it’s not enough. Since you’re in no position to tell him what you need, you strain to keep quiet and not beg as his tongue works you into a wetter mess. Your arms start to ache from holding yourself up, but when you reach to grab onto his hair, he smacks you away.
“Hands to yourself,” he grumbles into your skin. Pouting, you fall back on your elbows, disappointed that he won’t let you touch him back. But you quickly forget when his mouth forges onto your clit and begins sucking you into oblivion, and you have to harshly bite down on your lip to keep yourself from screaming. The wet sounds of his mouth suckling your bud and the rapid breathing through his nose paired with the intense, increasing pressure makes you lie back completely, and you grab onto your breasts and dig into them hard to stop yourself from losing it out loud.
You’re starting to forget how to breathe. You want to curse, you want to scream his name, you want to just scream because holy fuck, you’re gonna come so hard, legs shaking and squeezing the sides of his head and - is he really fucking serious? How in the actual fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he’s making you feel this good? You’re giving yourself a headache from how hard you’re clenching your jaw and crossing your eyebrows to focus on not making a single noise. But you can’t piss him off, can’t risk making him stop, so you will yourself to breathe through the insurmountable pleasure pulsing through you.
But then his thumb dives into your folds, gathers up slick, then moves up to your clit to rub firm, meticulous circles as his tongue takes place in fucking your hole and you slap both hands over your mouth to stifle a gasp.
“Gonna-” you choke, muffled by your palms.
“Don’t come,” he commands just as your eyes roll to the back of your head. whAT?!!
“Fuck!” A sob tears from your throat because you were so close to that peak of euphoria and he just snatched it away with two words??
“What did I tell you about being quiet?” he growls, leaning away with angry eyes and saturated lips.
“Please let me come,” you plead in a voice so shaky and meek and distraught.
“Shut up first.”
“Okay, I will, I promise. Just please.” You sound breathless and pitiful, rooted in your carnal craving to please him so he’ll give you everything you desire.
“Begging isn’t gonna do you any good. You come when I say you can.”
Readying yourself, your entire body jolts when he returns to ravaging your puffy cunt, vision blurring as he roughly eats you out, tongue slathering your folds, lips sucking your hole, and teeth grazing your sensitive clit that sparks you like a wildfire.
“I can’t-” you wheeze breathlessly because you’re losing control but you don’t want him to take the edge away again.
“Go ahead,” he mumbles, lips encasing your bud and rapidly flicking his tongue over it to rip into the tight knot in your core and fireball you into oblivion. Your nails scrape the wood of his desk as you come, and you don’t think you could make noise if you wanted to - all breath in your lungs depleted as his tongue works you through your dizzying waves. He leans away when you stop riding his face and you can finally breathe right again, blinking up at the ceiling as your vision goes back to normal.
While he sits back in his chair, you push yourself up on your elbows, looking at him in disbelief because holy fuck he really did that. And as he stares at you with a smirk, he wipes your slick off of his mouth and chin, and you have half a mind to do that for him. But he told you to keep your hands to yourself.
“Still want me to fuck you?” he asks, dropping his hands to his knees, legs spreading wide, giving you a good view of the bulge straining his black pants.
You nod, though your pussy’s aflame and you're still recovering from that orgasm that nearly gave you an aneurysm.
“You got my mouth. You think you deserve my dick? You’ve been that good?”
“Yeah,” you rasp. “You haven’t had to yell at me.”
“Hm. And I guess you did a good job at being quiet.”
You keen at the praise, tips of your ears burning as you try not to break out into a beaming smile. He smirks, seeing right through you.
“But can you even take it? You look so fucked out already.”
“I can. I’ll take anything you give me.”
“Well, too bad. I don’t have anything on me.”
And this is why you stay prepared. You reach into your bra and whip out a foil packet, holding it out to him between two fingers.
He takes it, stares at it, and then laughs. Gums on display as he looks between you and the condom, he full on laughs. But not in a ridiculing way.
“You’re wild. You always keep these on hand like that?”
You shrug. “Just when I expect to get fucked.”
“And if you didn’t see me tonight?” He looks down as he asks that so you can’t see his expression. But you get the feeling that mentioning someone else affected him more than he’s letting on.
“Jimin’s friend, remember?”
“You wouldn’t be satisfied."
You’d tell him he’s full of himself if he wasn’t so goddamn right.
“I would’ve never even considered it if you didn’t hold out on me this whole fucking time.”
“Watch your mouth.”
You force yourself to not roll your eyes. “How ‘bout I use it to make up for last time?”
He cocks an inquisitive brow, and you answer by reaching for his belt, keeping your eyes locked on him as you scoot to the edge of his desk. You pull the leather strap out of the buckle, but before you can get to work on his zipper, he stops you with a firm grip on your wrists.
“You wanna suck my dick or get fucked?” You droop, because of course you’d choose the latter over anything, but you’ve been dreaming of taking him into your mouth, knowing what it feels like to have the weight of him on your tongue, for him to come down your throat or paint your face. But let’s not be hasty. One fantasy at a time.
You sit back on his desk and he grins, palms kneading your ass and pressing you forward and flush into his pelvis.
“That’s what I thought.” He slowly grinds you into him, staring down at the way your jaw goes slack from the pleasure that sparks from your clit rubbing on his heavy, clothed erection.
“Fuck me, chef,” you plead. “Need it so bad.”
A pinch sits between his brows as he glances at your lips and your heart leaps to your throat when you think he’s about to kiss you, but he ducks his head and moves you off his desk to turn you around. Just like before. But this time, you get to watch him unzip his pants and drop them, pussy clenching when he takes a hold of his hard, girthy cock that you want to taste and emits a soft growl-like purr.
You watch over your shoulder as he rucks his black tanktop up his abdomen, revealing the dark happy trail trickling beneath his belly button, and rips the foil open with his teeth, spitting the loose corner onto the ground as he pulls out the condom. He rolls it on and you stare, wide-eyed, as the rubber stretches around him. He’s going to split you in half. Thighs shaking in desperation, your clit flutters when he spits into his hand and spreads it down his veiny shaft, then nudges his mushroom cockhead between your folds. Already, you see stars.
“Yoongi, please!” You whisper yell as his tip just teases your hole and taps your clit.
His hand on your shoulder yanks you into the air, his dick sliding against your ass and chest brushing your back as he grits into your ear, “Calling me by my first name now, are we?”
“I-I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Just don’t let me catch you saying that outside of this office.”
You wouldn’t dare. That would be a dead giveaway that you’ve crossed the line of professionalism with your boss. Just before your mind can slip into an anxiety-ridden spiral of possible ramifications from people finding out, his cock breaches your entrance, hand squeezing your shoulder as he inches inside. You slap the wood from the wicked, mind-numbing stretch, but you’re wet enough that it doesn’t burn too intensely, and you feel so full, so good by the time he’s all the way inside.
“Goddamn, so tight,” he hisses through his teeth, cock twitching as you purposely squeeze around him. He starts off rocking in and out, slow and steady, acclimating your cunt to his girth before he picks up the pace. He gives your ass a good crack and you collapse forward, chest smushing on his desk as you clench your fists to keep your moans at bay.
“Let’s see if you can still be good,” he mutters, a hint of smugness in his tone, and then starts fucking into you like he has nothing better to do. Your walls choke around him as he thrusts into you deep, and soon your mind is wiped free from all coherence as his hips slam against your ass to the point that your hips dig into the edge of his desk. You’re already close and he’s just getting started.
But then a ringtone breaks the lewd silence and your eyes snap open because it’s coming from your phone. You plan to ignore it because how can you focus on anything other than your boss fucking you balls deep. But after a few more rings, he stills inside of you, reaches over, and drops your phone next to your face. You lift up, eyes rolling to the ceiling when you see the caller ID. Jimin would call you at a time like this.
“Answer.” You lift a brow, silently asking if he’s serious, and he just nods, hands smoothing down your hips. You figure he’s putting you to the test as you tap the green button, because when you say ‘hello,’ he slowly pulls out and rocks back in.
“Girl, where the hell are you?” Jimin yells into your ear, above the loud music in the background.
“Uh, I got caught up.”
“With what?” Shit, you’re not thinking clearly, not with his warm dick dragging in and out of you.
“I, um-“ you pause to choke back a moan as he presses deep inside of you and stays there. “I don’t feel good. I might have to rain check.”
“Boo, you whore.”
“I’m really sorry.” A voice belonging to Ty calls for Jimin and you’re silently grateful for his boyfriend taking him away from the call.
“You’ll make it up to me. Gotta go. Feel better, pookie.” He makes kissy noises into the receiver and hangs up. You drop your hand and your phone clatters on the desk, hiding your heating face because you really just talked to your best friend while getting fucked from behind. And it certainly doesn’t help when the man leering down at you remarks,
“Damn, didn’t think you were the type to ditch your friends ‘cuz you want dick.”
You shrug. “He’s ditched me before, so.”
“Hm.”
“Make it worth it, chef.”
“You challenging me?”
You nod, and something dark and menacing flashes in his eyes. He manhandles you onto your back, roughly yanking up your legs and hitching them on his shoulders, forcing your feet to cross behind his neck. He spears his slick cock back into you without warning and just as your mouth falls to let out a shrill moan, his hand flies to cover it, fingers and thumb pressing into your cheekbones.
“Make one sound and it’s over. Understand?” You nod, even though you know it’s gonna break you.
“Gonna fuck you dumb.”
The threat turns into a promise as he drills so vehemently that the walls of his office echo the nasty sounds of his hips clapping against yours, cock squelching in and out of your dripping cunt. You struggle to stay quiet, taking small gulps of air to suppress your moans and cries, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.
“Chef, gonna come,” you hiccup under your breath. He slams into you once more before dropping your legs and bending them to hook against his waist, and your throat constricts when he falls forward, hands planted next to your hips.
“Not yet.” You feel yourself slide up the desk with each heavy, forceful slam of his hips as he starts up again, and you hesitantly reach up both hands, waiting for him to nod his permission to clasp them behind his neck. Your heart thumps that it brings him closer. Now that you’re holding on, he adjusts his stance to drive even deeper, harder, faster and you both watch his dick pound into you.
“S-So good,” you whisper, the tension in your belly close to snapping and exploding.
“You take me so well,” he whispers back, and your cunt clenches at the praise. He grunts in the back of his throat and his syncopated pants and stuttering rhythm tell you he’s losing it. Good. Finally, you can both be on the same damn page.
“Come.” And you let go on command, orgasm tearing into you, and you duck your chin, eyes shutting hard enough that you see a void of nothingness with a smattering of colored stars, teeth piercing your bottom lip to prevent you from screaming. You taste copper as he fucks you through it, unfaltering as you gush and pulse and squeeze his cock that somehow gets harder with each thrust.
A cry is trapped in your chest when you’re overcome with an unfamiliar and overpowering sensation that’s more intense than any orgasm you’ve had before, and it splashes out of you, quelled by his dick mercilessly ravaging you.
“Fuck,” he snarls, lips curling as your wetness drenches his pelvis. “Dirty slut. Making a fucking mess in my office.”
You don’t have the breath or the energy to apologize. But if he keeps fucking you at this rate, you’ll blackout. Then his hips start to falter and his growls grow deeper and more frequent, and you sense that he’s close.
“Yoongi,” you manage to whimper quietly and he grunts, loudly, pounds into you one, two, three times and falls on his forearms as he bows his head, nose brushing your cleavage, crown of his head tickling your chin. His dick convulses against your walls as he spills heftily into the condom, and fuck, that’s enough to get you going again. He stays there for a minute, allowing you both to come down from your highs, and his face sinks into the center of your breasts, exhaling hard through his nose, warming your skin with his breath.
Your thighs shake uncontrollably, cunt fluttering from the aftershocks of your two - three? - orgasms and it’s then that he pushes up and straightens, holding onto your knees as he slowly pulls out. He says nothing and doesn’t look at you when you let out a devastated whine.
He lowers your feet to the floor and you watch with tears in your eyes as he snaps the condom off his softening dick, ties it up and discards it in what must be a trash can beside his desk. You frown when he bends down to pull up his pants and tuck himself away, underwear covering the sheen on his skin that’s not from sweat. Although your back is strained from your legs being down, you continue to lay there and fight your body from passing out.
“Sit up,” he mutters, and you can barely crack your eyes open, stuck together with drying tears and you’re enticed to fall asleep. But then a brawny hand wraps around your bicep, another on your shoulder, and you’re pulled into a sitting position. Now that you’re upright, your head spins and vision blanks and a buzzing echoes in your ears as you barely register his deep voice telling you your lip is bleeding.
You’re so dazed that you hardly notice the sheet of tissue shoved into your hands, and you just limply hold it in your lap. You blink up in confusion when he grabs the back of your hand and brings it up to your mouth. His brows are knitted as he forces you to dab the tissue on your lip, and your brain is too muddled to offer him a thanks as he snatches the sheet away, and tosses it in the trash.
You’re too busy staring at the wall to notice him bend down, grab something off the floor, and shove it in his pocket before he holds up your lace stockings. It takes you until you get in the shower at home to realize your thong is missing.
“Get dressed.” He has to shake your tights in front of your face to zone you back in. “Come on, I’m not gonna do it for you.”
You take a while to carefully roll the lace back on, and in the meantime, he steps away and begins tapping at something on his phone.
“How are you getting home?” He asks once you have both your heels on.
“Cab,” you respond, attempting to not wonder too much about who he’s texting as his thumbs fly across his screen. Your heart jumps when he leans behind you to grab your phone, his cologne hitting you again, but now mixed with the subtle musk of sex.
“Call it.”
The two of you focus on your phones in silence, and you wait for the atmosphere between to become awkward, uncomfortable, but it just stills. There’s no tension, just quiet, but it’s killing you, because you always get chatty after sex. But Chef Min doesn’t seem like the type, so you keep your mouth shut and instead just stare at the information of the arrival of your driver.
“It’s almost here,” you say, clutching your phone as he glances over at you and nods. As you stand on shaky legs and start wobbling towards the door, he moves in front of his desk, grabs a briefcase from underneath, and heads towards you.
“You’re coming?” you ask, unable to help your surprise.
“I have to lock up. No one’s here, I checked.”
So that’s what he was doing on his phone? You hesitate before stepping foot over the threshold, and point up to the ceiling in the hall, at the cameras pointing right down at you.
“Are the-”
“I turned them off. I’ll delete the footage of you coming in.”
You’re assured enough to stride out of his office, and you try your best to walk steadily on your aching legs, but your chunky heels make it less of a feat. The soft click of his door resounds in the hall, and he walks a ways behind you, and you pretend that he’s walking you out to make sure you get in the cab safely. It’s a nice feeling. The restaurant is dark as you walk into the front, but a section of lights leading up to the door switch on, and he’s still straying behind you, back on his phone. You stop at the door, breath fogging up the glass as you stare out at the cab waiting with its blinkers on. You glance behind you and he stops a few feet short, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket, and looks up at you. His expression is back to being flat and blank and that's what makes you reach out for the handle.
“Um, thanks?” you say, feeling awkward now but immediately regretting opening your mouth because who thanks someone for sex?
He rolls his eyes, but from the dim light shining above, you catch a small smile toying on his lips. Must be your imagination.
“Have a good night.” You already did. But you fear that’s going to stop once you leave.
You push past the door, not looking back until you’ve slid into the car. He’s still standing at the door, and he remains there with his hands in his pockets until you’ve driven out of the parking lot.
You’re already set on giving the driver five stars because he doesn’t say a single word during the ride. Head against the window, you close your eyes and run a replay of what the fuck just happened through your mind and you know you’re about to get the best sleep of your life. But that all changes when your phone lights up with two texts from Jimin that make you nauseous with paranoia.
11:44pm Work Husband: Why do I feel like you’re not sick?
11:44pm Work Husband: If you’re doing what I think you’re doing…
Oh, fuck!
.
.
.
thanks for reading!! sorry I got a little carried away with the smut lololol pls drop a comment/reblog/ask if you enjoyed <333 also lmk if you have any theories/predictions for where this story is headed!!
“I guess I just haven’t found the right person yet,” you say, voice wobbly.
“I get it. Some people are just more... I don’t know, particular about who they date. Picky, I guess.” His tone is more condescending now.
You want to protest, but before you can even open your mouth, he continues to talk over you.
“It’s fine! Being picky is good. Better than settling, right?” He takes another sip of wine, oblivious to the way your hands are trembling in your lap. “Everyone’s picky to some extent. But, like, at a certain point, you gotta ask yourself if maybe your standards are a little too high, you know? No one’s perfect. You can’t just wait around for some Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet.”
You stare at him.
It feels like someone just punctured a hole in your chest and all the hope is leaking out.
With that, the last crack shatters the dream.
Tears rim your eyes, and you blink rapidly, refusing to let them drag down your face.
“I’m also picky.” Your voice is no louder than a whisper.
“So is everyone,” Ryan says with a shrug. “Isabella was like that too, sometimes. She’d get upset when I didn’t plan elaborate date nights or remember some random anniversary of the first time we got coffee together. Like, I’m sorry, but I have a job. I can’t be some romantic fantasy.”
Confusion and anger and sadness flash through you in rapid succession. The bile crawls up your throat.
“Baby?”
Ryan’s still talking, saying something about unrealistic expectations and women actually hating men this whole time—
“Can we please talk?”
Well, at least someone in this restaurant is getting fawned over tonight.
Ryan halts his words mid-sentence, head swiveling to look at something next to you. You turn too, bewildered, and—
Oh.
There’s a man standing there, looking down at you.
He has floppy black hair falling across his forehead and big brown eyes that resemble a doe’s. He’s wearing a leather jacket, tattooed knuckles poking out from underneath. Two lip piercings catch the soft lighting.
One lone butterfly flutters in your stomach. A baby one.
You swat it to death.
Who the fuck is this?
Is Ryan bisexual too? Is this about to become the world’s most awkward throuple situation?
But no, this guy isn’t looking at Ryan.
He’s looking at you.
As though he's waiting for… you. Do you have amnesia? A concussion? Did you hit your head getting off the subway and this is all a hallucination? Who is this guy?
Ryan deadpans, wine glass halfway to his mouth, eyebrows raised.
“I, uh—”
“I can’t believe this,” the guy continues. “I told you I was fucking serious about you, and you’re on a date with someone else?”
You blink at him.
“I—”
Your words are no use. He’s already turning to Ryan. “What the fuck? You’re seriously sitting here with my girlfriend?”
All color slips off Ryan’s face. “I—what? She didn’t—she didn’t say she had a boyfriend—”
“Because she’s mad at me,” the guy snaps, and wow, okay, he’s really committing to this bit. “We had a fight, and I was an idiot, and now she’s trying to make me jealous.”
He looks back at you, expression softening, all puppy-dog eyes. “Baby, I’m sorry. I should’ve listened. I should’ve been there. Please, can we just talk?”
Okay. Right. Ryan’s eyes are glued to you, awaiting your denial or confirmation.
You want the out. You want it now.
“Well, I needed space,” you start, looking between them. “I needed space, and I thought you said the same thing—”
“I know what I said.” He runs a hand through his locks, ruffling them. “I was wrong, okay? I was being a complete asshole. You wanted me to meet your mom, and I freaked out because I’ve never done that before. Meeting parents. It scared the shit out of me.”
Ryan’s head frantically swivels between you and this mysterious man.
“That’s not an excuse,” the guy continues, voice cracking. If he’s not an actor, he should really look into that as a career. “You were right. If I’m serious about you—and I am, baby, I swear to god I am—then I need to stop being such a coward about it.”
rating. PG. suitable for all audiences.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| welcome to new york by taylor swift
୨ৎ SUMMARY !! You’re fresh off another breakup, furious at your own body for never responding the way it’s “supposed” to—and even more furious at the sinking fear that something might be wrong with you. When late-night research leads you toward fantasies you’ve never dared to voice, you turn to the one person you trust most: your best friend.
୨ৎ TAGS/WARNINGS !! NSFW, MDNI (18+), childhood friends (and roommates out of convenience) to lovers, exploration of D/s dynamics and BDSM, references to secretary (2002) which will be a running bit throughout this series for me, everyone is very queer in this, bisexual yoongi, bisexual MC, taehyung and jimin are dating, MC is going through it right off the bat my poor girl, MANY references to bad sex/not being able to cum or get aroused/etc., there's a scene in this where MC watches porn, masturbation (kind of but not really), i think that's it
୨ৎ WORDCOUNT !! 9.7k
୨ৎ AUTHOR'S NOTE !! HELLOOOOOOOO GLOSSDEBUT NATION! the way i was in the middle of formatting this post when i got the weverse notif for the new army bomb 😭 how rude of them to steal my thunder (just kidding we planned it)
this fic has been in the works for... five months? maybe longer??? and i'm legitimately so excited to finally share it with you all! i don't want to give too much away upfront but i would be remiss if i didn't thank yaz @agust-doll for being my sounding board for this fic since the very beginning <3 yaz it has been so, so fun to bullshit with you about this fic and hearing your 30 minute voice note after you beta read just made me even more excited to keep it going. i love u pookie (: also thank you to claret @yoonmetogether and K @ktownshizzle for beta reading along with yaz. thank you My Knowers
happy reading! i hope you all enjoy! here's to Another Fucking Yoongi Series and many more yet to come in the year of bts 2026 because i am not normal about this man
chapter 1: the first taste (♬)
When you get dumped enough times in a row, you learn to notice the signs in advance.
Your partner, once eager and excited to see you during every free moment, starts to pull away. Suddenly, they're too busy to hang out. Their normally easygoing job starts demanding the world of them, seemingly out of nowhere. Phone calls become less frequent. Texts lose their enthusiasm, or stop entirely.
You knew it was coming. All week, your days have been underscored with a sense of dread that's become all too familiar to you lately.
When you get dumped this time, you don't even cry. Mostly, you're just annoyed. Annoyed that you've wasted your time, again. That you stupidly expected this one to be different. That you have to go home and explain to your roommate that yet another notch in your belt has amounted to absolutely nothing. That it's not even the poor guy's fault—it's yours.
It's always your fault.
You've suspected that something is deeply, horribly wrong with you for a long time now. This year's failed relationship number four is just more evidence to support the theory. Rubbing salt in a wound that's been festering for… god, a decade? Longer?
The first time you had sex, you thought to yourself, this is it? And you've been smacked in the face with the universe's emphatic yes every single time since.
It's been the same way since your very first relationship, back in high school. You start seeing someone who checks all of your boxes on paper—intelligent, attractive, driven—but the second things start to get physical, your body just refuses to cooperate.
You even thought, for a while, that maybe you'd overestimated your attraction to men, prematurely labeled yourself as bisexual when you were actually a lesbian. It made sense, at the time. But when you dated a woman for the first time during your senior year of college, the result was more of the same.
It doesn't matter how hard you try to make things work, and you've tried real fucking hard.
Lots and lots of foreplay. Different positions. Fingers and oral and toys.
You've had caring, attentive partners who actually give a shit if you cum. But despite their very best efforts, nine times out of ten you just can't. You struggle to even get very wet most of the time, to the point where you've gotten in the habit of carrying a travel sized bottle of lube in your purse.
People say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, so. Maybe you're insane. Who fucking knows?
You're insane and you can't cum. A real winner.
And now you have to go home and face Yoongi, and he's just going to smell the failure on you.
Fuck.
Yoongi may be your best friend, but you hate talking to him about your love life. Not because you don't trust him! That man would take a bullet for you, even if he'd hold it over your head for the rest of your life. Truthfully, you don't know exactly why you hate it. You just know it makes you feel queasy.
It could be because Yoongi, to your knowledge, has never had much of a problem in that department. You've been his roommate for years. You watched the endless string of hookups he paraded in and out of your shared apartment in college.
It was honestly crazy. You were worried for his health.
He's slowed down in the years since you both graduated, but you know it isn't due to a lack of options. He's just got more shit to worry about now that he's not a student. Less time to get his dick wet, you suppose.
You just don't want him to be, like, disappointed in you for failing again. Maybe that's stupid, but… you're stupid sometimes.
Whatever.
Once you pull into the parking lot, you immediately climb out of your car and trudge up the stairs of your apartment building. There's no point in delaying the inevitable, and you honestly just want to get it over with.
You know Yoongi is home. He sets his own schedule and he works from the apartment, which means he's probably cooking dinner right about now. He usually times it so he's awake and prepping the ingredients by the time you're home, and you can tell him about your shitty day at work while he cooks. The lukewarm breakup you played your part in tonight has only made you a little late.
You rummage around in your bag until your fingers find purchase on the key Yoongi had made when you both moved in last spring. A bigger place, an upgrade you could both afford thanks to Yoongi's promotion and your brand-new "big girl job." To celebrate, Yoongi got the dumbest set of keys he could get his hands on. Shaggy and Scooby. You're the dog, of course.
You push the key into the lock and turn it, greeted with the smell of garlic and onions when you open the door. You drop your bag, kick your shoes off at the rack by your feet, peel off your coat, and brace yourself as you walk down the hallway into the kitchen.
When you turn the corner, he's facing away from you, standing at the stove in an old gray sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up. His dark hair is still mussed from his ritualistic post-work nap, and he's cutting glossy glass noodles with scissors as marinated meat sizzles in a pan.
You hover in the doorway for a second, watching his back.
"Hey."
Yoongi glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, eyes flicking to your face, and whatever he sees there makes his brows knit together almost imperceptibly. He turns the stove down, sets the bowl of noodles aside, and faces you fully.
"Bad day?"
You hum, already queasy. "You could say that."
He hums, then jerks his chin toward the counter. "Sit. Dinner’s almost done. We're having japchae."
"I’m not hungry."
“Mm,” he says. “Sit anyway.”
Without protest, you hop up onto the high stool, feet dangling, hands tucked into your sleeves like you’re trying to disappear into yourself.
Yoongi goes back to the stove, but you can tell his focus is split now. He keeps glancing over at you, like he’s waiting for you to speak first. You don’t.
After a few minutes, he sighs softly and turns off the burner completely. He leans his hip against the counter, arms crossed.
"So," he says gently. "How's what's-his-face?"
What's-his-face. Hm.
Yoongi knows his name. You know he knows his name, because he's met him, just like he's met all your other partners over the years. Normally, you'd be annoyed by the nickname. It's not like it matters anymore, though.
You fold your arms on the counter, pressing your forehead to your sleeves. "What's-his-face is done," you say simply, not wanting to get into it.
"Oh yeah?" Yoongi asks knowingly. At least it's easier having this conversation with your head down. You don't have it in you to look him in the eye.
"Mhm."
"That's a shame," he says, and you hear the metallic clink of utensils as he goes back to preparing dinner. "Are you okay?"
"I guess," you mutter, closing your eyes. "It's not like I was with him for long, you know? And I kinda knew it was coming."
"How so?"
You scoff. "Haven't you noticed that I've been with you every day after work for, like, two weeks?"
"Mm. Yeah, I guess that isn't a good sign."
The sound of ceramic sliding against granite forces you to lift your head, and you blink at the plate that's appeared in front of you.
"I told you I wasn't hungry," you mumble.
"You're just going to feel worse if you don't eat anything," Yoongi reasons, reaching out to flick lightly at your forehead. "Don't be a baby. You love japchae."
Scowling, you rub your forehead and wordlessly reach for the chopsticks on your plate.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, softer now.
"Not really," you mutter, taking a small bite of noodles. It's good. He was right. "I'm fine, it's just annoying."
"Annoying?" Yoongi leans against the counter between you as he gathers his own bite.
"Getting dumped again."
"It's part of the process," he says as he chews. "You know what they say. Gotta kiss a lot of frogs, or whatever."
You know he's just trying to make you feel better, but you can't help but scoff. "Honestly, it kinda feels like I'm the frog, Yoongi."
"Yah, look at me," Yoongi says, and you do. "You're not a frog. That's stupid. And for the record, what's-his-face is also stupid for dumping you in the first place."
"He had his reasons," you reply bitterly. Like the fact that you're physically incapable of having an orgasm with another person, for one.
He scoffs. "Yeah? Like what?"
You stare at your noodles, realizing the opening you just offered. Nope. You're not having this conversation with him. It's not happening.
"It doesn't matter," you say, pushing your plate away weakly. "Look, this is great, but I really just want to take a shower and go to bed, okay?"
Yoongi watches you for a moment, eyes searching your face like he’s trying to decide how hard to push. Then he frowns, resigned.
“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”
Relief loosens something in your chest, immediately followed by guilt.
You slide off the stool. “I’ll… wrap this up,” you offer, even though you both know he’s going to beat you to it.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving you off. “I’ll handle it.”
You're unsure what to do with your hands, your body, yourself, so you start to retreat to your room like you said you would.
"Night," you mumble.
"Night."
The bathroom light is harsh after the warmth of the kitchen. You strip out of your clothes and step under the spray, letting the water pound against your shoulders until your skin starts to sting. You rest your forehead against the tile and close your eyes.
You hate that this keeps happening. Hate that you feel defective, like there’s a piece of you everyone else got instructions for and you somehow missed. Hate that you can’t even articulate it properly without sounding like a freak.
By the time you crawl into bed, your hair damp and your head aching, the apartment is quiet. You assume Yoongi has retreated to his room for the night, door closed, headphones on.
Good. You have research to do.
You prop yourself up against your pillows, tug your blanket over your legs, and reach for your phone. The screen lights up your face in the dark, and even though you're alone, you shamefully rush to turn your brightness as low as it'll go.
Then, with a kind of bitter determination, you open a private browser tab.
why can’t i orgasm with a partner?
Article after article fills your screen tormenting you with detailed anatomical diagrams for men without a clue. Not helpful.
You try again.
low arousal but high libido
This time, you're met with medical jargon that makes your eyes glaze over, citing prescription medications as a possible reason for your problem, and suggesting different prescription medications to solve it. No thanks.
sex feels boring even with people i like
is it normal to have a difficult time getting wet
aaaaaaafhfhsjdhdjdkwkske is something wrong with me??????
Each search leads you down the same rabbit holes you’ve already crawled through a million times. Articles with "tips and tricks to spice up your sex life!!!" Forums full of strangers insisting it’s asexuality, trauma, hormones, antidepressants, anxiety, attachment styles, moral shame, capitalism, mercury in fucking retrograde.
Then, finally, three pages into another endless sea of search results, something catches your eye.
Getting Started with BDSM and D/s Play
It isn't like you've never heard of BDSM. You're a grown woman with internet access, after all. Thanks to the popularity of shit like Fifty Shades, everyone has a passing knowledge of that world. You remember trying to read it once in college. You never made it past chapter four.
Besides, that kind of thing isn't meant for someone like you, is it? You are, for lack of a better word, boring. Laughably predictable. You work a desk job with reasonable benefits. You rarely go out, and when you do, it's with the same group of friends you've had since college. You've never even had a one night stand.
So, you're clearly not the kind of person who "does BDSM." The phrase alone conjures images that feel lightyears away from your own reality—latex bodysuits, dungeon chains, riding crops. You picture dominatrixes in thigh-high boots, or beefy guys in black masks who call themselves "master." None of it sounds like you. None of it even sounds real.
But it isn't like you have a ton of options. At the very least, it's an avenue for you to explore before you rule it out entirely. So you click on it.
You're expecting a porn site, honestly. Garish, explicit ads trying to sell you penis enlargement pills or connect you with hot singles in your area while you read.
But there's none of that. Instead, the website is clean. Clinical, even. Written by someone who sounds less like a sex-crazed internet stranger and more like a therapist—or maybe a teacher. Someone who knows what they’re talking about.
The article walks you through the basics. Consent is the cornerstone. BDSM doesn’t work without communication and boundaries. This isn’t about pain for the sake of pain, or submission to erase autonomy. It’s about creating a space where you can let go because you’ve agreed to the rules. Where trust doesn’t just exist, it’s structured.
You’ve never really thought about sex that way. As a structure. A container. Something with guidelines and rituals and roles. You’ve always approached it like you were supposed to already know what to do. Like you were always already failing because you couldn’t just relax and enjoy yourself.
But what if that wasn’t your fault? What if you’ve never had the right structure?
You keep reading. The article links out to other beginner resources, and you follow each one like a trail of breadcrumbs.
You learn more acronyms—SSC, RACK, CNC. Definitions. Sub vs. dom. Kink vs. fetish. Safe words. Aftercare. Sex contracts??? Whole communities built around something you were taught to dismiss as deviant or degrading. And yet here are people talking about it like having a little bit of kinky sex saved their lives or something. Like it gave them language for feelings they could never articulate.
After a while, you find that you're not just skimming; you're studying. Your eyes trace over every word like you're preparing for a test. You dive into beginner guides, curated book lists, Reddit posts, blog entries. You learn about the physical, yes—ropes and cuffs and spanking and clamps—but you also learn about the mental. Negotiation. Anticipation. Protocols. Praise. Service. Rules and rituals that some people use to ground themselves, but also to feel wanted. Needed. Seen.
It all sounds great! In theory.
But how are you supposed to know if any of this will actually work for you in practice? BDSM or D/s or kink or whatever the hell you're meant to call it (apparently they're all different things, who knew?) is such a broad umbrella, and you don't even know what you like. And given that you can't even be honest with your partners so that they can meet your most basic sexual needs…
It doesn't exactly bode well for being able to ask for them to—what, hit you? There's no way in hell you'd be able to ask some random person to do that. They'd probably run for the fucking hills.
You feel yourself starting to get more and more stressed. You don't want to extinguish that tiny flicker of hope, so you decide to focus on something else. Something more fun.
Like… maybe it is actually a good time to visit one of those sites with the 'hot singles in your area' ads. Maybe if you start to figure out what you might enjoy, you'll have a better idea of what to ask for when the time comes.
You drag yourself out of bed, tiptoeing across the room. Which is ridiculous. You live here. This is your space, and Yoongi is on the other side of the apartment, probably passed out with his own headphones in. Besides, you've lived with him long enough to know he could sleep through a fucking earthquake without any.
Still, you’re quiet. Stealthy. You fish around in the bottom drawer of your desk and pull out your beat-up old headphones. Then you plug them into your phone and climb back into bed, heart hammering, screen still dimmed to the lowest possible brightness.
You pull up a site you haven’t used in ages, mostly because you’ve never once finished a session on it feeling satisfied. It’s always too fake, or too forced, or too loud. Too porny.
But maybe you were looking for the wrong thing.
You scroll past a dozen thumbnails on the homepage without clicking. Anything with studio lighting, waxed bodies, or exaggerated porn faces gets dismissed immediately. Eventually, you start narrowing things down with different tags, different categories, until you find something that interests you enough to click on it.
You burrow further into your blanket, turn your volume low despite your headphones being plugged in, and click play.
The screen stays black for a second, and then there’s a faint rustle, someone fumbling with a camera.
"Look at you. You're making a mess."
The voice behind the camera is deep, a little scratchy. The way he talks isn't theatrical, not too gruff or exaggerated like you expected. That alone is enough for you to give the video a chance.
The camera focuses, finally, and you can see a woman sprawled across a bed, completely naked. She’s flushed, squirming, breathing heavily. She’s tied—her wrists bound to the headboard with rope, thighs spread wide with a bar between them. Her chest lifts and falls in erratic little pants, and her eyes are glazed with a sort of blissed-out daze.
You can’t see the man's face, which is probably for the best. Finding him unattractive would take you out of the fantasy entirely and dump you right back onto the search page. Instead all you see is the hand that isn't holding the camera, wrapped loosely around her throat. Not choking, necessarily—just enough to hold her still, to show who’s in charge.
"You’re drooling from both ends, pet," he continues, tone dripping with condescension. "That desperate to be fucked already?"
The woman whines. Her hips jerk uselessly, like she’s trying to chase a touch that isn't even there.
His hand leaves her throat for just a second. A soft smack, barely audible, echoes through your earbuds as he smacks her cheek in reprimand.
A startled breath slips out of you, pulse skittering, heat blooming low in your belly in a way you’re not used to feeling this fast.
"So shameless," he murmurs. "You should be embarrassed."
"Please," she gasps.
"Please what?" he presses. His fingers slide between her legs, ghosting over her glistening pussy. "Use your words, pet. I’m not gonna play with you if you can’t tell me what you need."
"P-please, sir, I want you to fuck me," she cries. "Please, please—"
He tsks softly. "Yeah? You want my cock that bad? Want me to wreck this pretty little hole until you can’t walk straight?" he taunts, slapping her pussy hard enough that she squeals, her thighs trembling, but not closing. They can’t. Instead, her body opens for him like a flower.
You lick your lips, finding them dry from your panting.
"You’re lucky I even feel like fucking you tonight," he says. "But since you asked so nicely…"
Her eyes go wide like she's hanging on his every word.
"I'll give you what you want, pet."
The woman moans like he’s already inside her. Your thighs press together beneath your blanket, and your free hand drifts lower without conscious thought.
Oh, fuck. You’re wet.
Not just vaguely warm or idly interested. You are actually soaked. Slick enough that when your fingers graze the front of your underwear, they come away damp.
The realization knocks the breath out of you.
The man finally gives the woman what she begged for, and you can’t look away. His voice gets rougher, the rhythm of his thrusts audible in the way the mattress creaks beneath her.
The woman screams. She shakes. She’s not faking shit.
And you're not even really touching yourself, but still, you're flushed and trembling and panting like you’ve just been dragged underwater and resurfaced gasping for air.
It’s overwhelming. Not just the arousal, but the validation of it. Of wanting this. Of responding to this.
You pause the video and lie there in the dark, heart racing, the ache between your legs a quiet, persistent pulse. The blanket is too warm now, your skin still humming, thighs still sticky.
You close your browser, lock your phone with your heart still pounding, and slide it under your pillow again.
It's late.
Horrifically late. You don't have nearly enough time to unpack what all of that meant, even though you desperately want to.
You want to savor this. You want to understand it. Name it. Hold it up to the light and study it, like the answer you’ve been searching for your whole adult life. But you have work in the morning.
You close your eyes and try to sleep.
୨ৎ
You get home just after six, drained down to the marrow.
The elevator ride up to your floor feels like it lasts forever, and when you finally push through the apartment door, it takes every ounce of your remaining energy not to collapse right there in the entryway. Your heels dangle from your fingertips, your hair has half-fallen out of the clip you threw it into this morning, and your makeup has long since given up.
Working as a secretary is not glamorous. People think it is—power blazers and legal drama like you're Donna in Suits or something—but most days, you're just quietly drowning in endless filing, scheduling partner meetings for egos the size of god, and trying not to scream when someone forwards you a 97 page PDF to "clean up" before close of business. You ran entirely on caffeine and spite today, and even that started to run dry around 3 p.m.
Last night’s research session didn’t help, either. You finally forced yourself to close your eyes around 3:30, and your alarm went off at 6:15. You couldn't focus all day. You felt like you were wearing a fucking scarlet letter or something.
The silence of the apartment wraps around you like a weighted blanket, and you sigh as you lose the heels and make your way to your room, already undoing the top buttons of your shirt. The urge to collapse face-first into your comforter is overwhelming.
You don't bother turning your bedroom light on. You just drop your bag, toe the door closed behind you, tug your blouse off the rest of the way, and sink down onto the edge of your bed in your camisole and skirt, shoulders slumped.
You’re debating whether to change clothes or just die here when there’s a knock at your door.
"Hey."
"Yeah?" you call back, not moving.
Yoongi pushes the door open a few inches and peeks his head inside. His hair’s damp, pushed back from a recent shower. He looks at you for a moment—rumpled and wilted and half-undressed on your bed—and raises an eyebrow.
"Wow. You look like a corpse."
"Feel like one," you mumble. "Death by capitalism."
He snorts. "Brutal. The suits worked you hard today?"
You groan, letting your back hit the mattress. "I hate everyone. I hate everything. If one more attorney emails me asking for a document they already have access to, I will throw myself into the Han."
"Solid plan, though I think HR might frown on that."
You close your eyes. “Let them try and stop me.”
He chuckles, and there’s a pause, like he’s gauging how far to push your current state of despair.
"Hey, um," he starts, casual. "Got a text from Jimin earlier."
You open your eyes and prop yourself up slightly, elbows digging into the bed behind you. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. He, Tae, and Hobi are hitting up that new club downtown tonight. Said to invite you."
You make a face. "And you want to go?" you ask, bewildered. "You, Min Yoongi, want to go clubbing?"
Yoongi shrugs. "Figured it might be a good distraction. Y’know. From… what’s-his-face."
Ah. That's why he's offering. He's trying to save you from yourself. You should've known. Yoongi never wants to go out, especially to a club that Jimin picked.
"We don’t have to," he adds quickly. "If you’re dead, you’re dead. Just figured I’d offer."
You sit up slowly, stretching your arms over your head and wincing at the way your spine pops. You feel like shit. Your legs are sore. Your blouse is wrinkled. You fully intended on sleeping through the rest of your Friday night, and most of your Saturday, too.
But…
"Yeah," you say, surprising even yourself. "Yeah, fuck it. If you're in, I'm in."
Yoongi raises his eyebrows. "Yeah?"
You nod, rubbing your eyes. "Just give me thirty minutes to look more human."
"Are you sure you don't need an hour?" he teases. "An hour and a half? Speak now or forever hold your peace."
You toss a pillow at him with one hand and flip him off with the other as he backs out of the room, snickering to himself.
୨ৎ
The club is insane.
It opened a few months ago in an old textile warehouse downtown—completely gutted and reimagined as a fantasy land for people who want to get wasted on a Friday night. The line to get in wraps around the block, but Jimin, of course, knows someone. You’re not even surprised when you bypass the wait entirely, guided in with a wristband that glows faintly under the UV lights.
Inside, the ceiling stretches high above you, strung with dangling light installations that look like electric jellyfish. The DJ booth pulses with fog and lasers, and the bar’s lit from underneath so everyone’s drinks glow as they move through the crowd.
You and Yoongi cut through the crowd together, shoulder to shoulder as you push past clusters of sweaty strangers and swaying bodies. You almost forget how tired you were an hour ago, how bone-deep your exhaustion had settled in. There’s something about the promise of a night out with the right people that revives you.
Jimin’s the first one you see, perched on the edge of a velvet couch in the VIP section he somehow managed to sweet-talk his way into. He lights up when he sees you, arms outstretched in a dramatic flourish.
"There she is!" he sings. "My favorite overworked girlboss!"
You laugh as you approach, Yoongi trailing only a few paces behind you. "You’re drunk already, aren’t you?"
"I’ve been drunk since 5 p.m., baby," Jimin declares proudly, grabbing your hand and tugging you past the velvet ropes. "And you look hot, by the way. Who let you walk out the door like this?"
"I did," Yoongi deadpans.
“Then thank you, Yoongi. I owe you my life.”
Taehyung’s sprawled next to him, waving as he sips something neon green out of a plastic cup. Hoseok’s halfway out of his seat to greet you next before you’ve even set your bag down, wrapping you in a warm hug.
It’s nice. It’s really fucking nice.
You don’t get to do this often—see all of them together like this. You and Yoongi have known them since college, but adult life has a hell of a way of scattering even the most tightly-knit friendships. Different schedules, different cities, different priorities. Sometimes different continents, with Hoseok's dance troupe doing as well as they are. Nights like this feel like slipping back into a version of yourself you almost forgot existed.
"I was starting to think you guys bailed!" Hoseok shouts, releasing you from his hold to dap Yoongi up.
"And miss you being back in town?" you gasp, mock-affronted. "Never!"
"I had to peel her off the floor after work," Yoongi cuts in dryly. "Secretary life."
"You poor thing," Hoseok coos at you as he pinches your cheek.
"I’m never working again," you whine, pouting. "I’m quitting and going full sugar baby."
"Bold of you to assume anyone could afford you," Taehyung drawls, suddenly appearing by your side. He reaches out, takes both of your hands, and spins you once in place before pulling you into a slow, exaggerated dip that makes you laugh. "You’re priceless, darling. Like a Fabergé egg."
You snort. "That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all year."
Yoongi taps your arm. "Drinks? I’ll go."
You nod gratefully, waving him off with a little salute as he turns toward the bar and disappears into the crowd. You settle into the couch, sinking next to Hoseok as Jimin and Taehyung drop into the seats across from you.
They immediately pepper you with questions about work, your boss, your love life (you deflect), and your outfit (approved). Hoseok starts scrolling through the group’s old college photos on his phone, passing it around to collective groans and laughter.
You forget to feel weird. You forget to think about what’s-his-face. You forget to care that you were exhausted just an hour ago.
Yoongi reappears a few minutes later holding a tray precariously stacked with glowing cocktails—red, blue, electric green, hot pink—and a whiskey you already know is his. Boring old man.
"Don’t say I never do anything for you," he says, sliding you the pink one.
You smile at him, already pulling the straw between your lips. "My hero."
The song blasting over the sound system fades into something you all recognize, and Taehyung grabs your free hand. "We're dancing now."
"I just sat down," you protest.
"Too bad," Jimin chimes in, jumping to his feet with an eyebrow waggle. "You’re not allowed to wallflower tonight. You've been spending too much time with the old man."
"Okay, okay!" you laugh, nearly spilling your drink as Taehyung tugs you to your feet and forces you to climb over Yoongi's lap. Once you're out of the booth, Jimin flanks your other side like a synchronized pincer movement. "God, give me one second to chug this."
"There's our party girl," Taehyung says approvingly as you down your drink, linking his arm through yours.
The three of you weave out of the VIP section and into the sea of bodies moving below, abandoning Yoongi and Hoseok entirely. Normally, Hoseok would be following and showing all of you up on the dancefloor, but he's always been the closest to Yoongi aside from you, and 'Yoongi' and 'dancefloor' are rarely used in the same sentence. It makes you feel better knowing you aren't leaving him alone.
The dance floor is a living organism—pulsing, thrumming, loud. It pulls you in with heat and motion, envelops you in a crush of bodies moving to the rhythm of the bass. You squeeze between two strangers to find a pocket of space just big enough to claim, your friends flanking you like bodyguards-slash-backup dancers.
Jimin immediately starts showing off, all delicate lines and loose hips that draw stares from nearby partygoers. Taehyung bounces in place with his drink held above his head, whooping along to the beat before pulling you in.
It’s pure chaos, but the good kind. The kind that turns your brain off. You let it take you.
The music pulses in your veins, the drink you chugged already buzzing warm in your bloodstream. Your limbs loosen. You start to move, slow at first, then more freely, your hands lifting into the air as the tempo kicks up.
It feels good. Really good. You haven’t danced like this in ages. Not just swayed in place, not politely nodded along—let go. It's like your body needed it.
Taehyung’s eyes sparkle under the strobe lights as he spins you out and reels you back in, grinning like a devil. "I forgot how hot you get when you’re tipsy."
"Quit hitting on me in front of your boyfriend," you shoot back, giggling.
"You can be our third, beautiful!" Jimin calls, cackling as Taehyung grabs two handfuls of Jimin's ass, clearly only partially for show.
You're so happy to see them doing so well, happy and in love and just as obsessed with each other as the day they got together—which didn't take long, once they'd met. They make compatibility look so easy.
You’re still laughing when Hoseok appears beside you a moment later, sweat glistening at his temples, his black shirt already sticking to his chest because it's that hot down here. He beams and starts dancing without a word, all fluid limbs and natural rhythm, like his body was music in a past life.
You fall into step with him, letting him guide your tempo. His presence is grounding, playful. His hands skim your waist as he spins you around, and you twirl back into him easily, laughing all the while.
You’re flushed, winded, but happy.
Eventually, you lean into him and pant out, "where’s Yoongi?"
"Still in the booth, I think," he shouts over the music. "Said he was enjoying the show."
You roll your eyes but something in your chest tugs a little. You rest a hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. "Cover for me?" you shout back.
He throws you a lazy salute and instantly turns his attention to Jimin and Taehyung, already back in his element.
You make the trek back, weaving through the dense tide of bodies like a fish swimming upstream. Your skin is damp with sweat, your chest heaving a little from dancing, but you’re smiling, breathless in the best way. It takes longer than expected to reach the booth—you forgot how far back you'd gone. The VIP section is elevated slightly above the main floor, just enough to give a view of the writhing crowd below.
As you climb the shallow steps, you scan the seating area, spotting your table right away. Yoongi is still in the booth, right where you left him, one arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch, whiskey glass resting on his thigh.
But he’s not alone.
A woman stands beside him, her body angled towards him in interest. She’s gorgeous—tall, confident, draped in a silky dress that catches the light every time she shifts her weight. One of her long legs is propped casually against the edge of the table, emphasizing the length of her thigh. She touches his arm when she laughs, a perfectly manicured hand skimming lightly down the fabric of his jacket like she has every right to be doing it.
And Yoongi lets her.
He's decidedly not pushing her away. His mouth tilts at the corners, eyes sharp and watchful. He takes a slow sip of his drink and says something that makes her laugh again, tossing her glossy hair over her shoulder.
You stop dead in your tracks, just outside the velvet rope, watching the whole thing unfold. Eventually he glances in your direction, as if sensing you watching him. When your eyes meet, he lifts a brow, then shrugs like what can you do?
You look away, heart skipping for reasons you don’t examine too closely.
It’s not jealousy. It’s not. You’ve watched that exact same scenario unfold a thousand times and never felt a thing.
Back in college, it was practically a revolving door. Girls and guys alike, slipping in and out of your shared apartment at all hours. You’d roll your eyes when you heard muffled sounds from his bedroom, put your headphones in, do your best to ignore the obvious, because that was what living with Yoongi was like. That was just how he was, back then.
You didn’t ask questions, although you made fun of him for it sometimes. Called him a slut, which he never denied.
But now, standing here in the middle of a bar surrounded by your oldest friends, watching your best friend get casually flirted with by someone who clearly wants to go home with him, you can’t stop thinking about it.
Yoongi knows things. Yoongi’s done things.
You can't, for the life of you, contend with the idea that he's done those things, but at the very least, you know he isn't a prude. Maybe he would be a good person to talk to about all of this. He's your best friend.
You square your shoulders and make yourself move again, even though your instincts are screaming at you to turn around and pretend you didn’t see anything. You step past the velvet rope, heart thudding, the confidence you’d found on the dance floor wavering with every step closer.
Yoongi’s attention snaps fully to you now. Whatever he says to the woman beside him next is still quiet enough under the blaring music that you don't catch it, but it's firm. She follows his gaze to you, her smile faltering just a fraction before smoothing back into place. She straightens, gives Yoongi’s arm one last lingering touch, and disappears back into the crowd without another glance your way.
You slide into the seat next to him, trying to ignore the way your pulse is still racing.
"Not your type?" you ask, instead of commenting on how fucking weird that was.
"I don’t really have a type."
You hum. "That’s very bisexual of you."
He snorts into his whiskey.
"She was pretty," you add after a moment.
Yoongi sets his drink down, eyes on the dance floor instead of you. "She was."
"You could’ve taken her home."
"I could’ve," he agrees.
You tilt your head, watching him. "But you aren't."
He shrugs, finally glancing at you. "Didn’t feel like it."
"Mm. Getting soft in your old age."
He huffs, lips twitching at the corners. "Please. I’m still ten times worse than you think."
You roll your eyes, but a matching smile tugs at the corner of your mouth anyway. "You’ve mellowed."
"Only because you're around. I'm not here for that, I'm here for you, remember?"
You snort, playing it off like he’s joking—but part of you bristles at the subtext. "So you're my caretaker now?"
"I've been your caretaker since we were kids," he says, and takes another sip of his whiskey.
You pause at that. Not because it surprises you—he’s said things like that before, half-teasing, half-serious, like it’s just a fact of life that he looks out for you. But tonight, it sounds different. You don't know why.
"You don’t have to do that anymore, you know," you say.
"Do what?"
"Take care of me."
He turns his head then, finally meets your eyes. "I know I don’t have to."
"Then why do you?" you press.
His jaw tightens so subtly you almost don't catch it, but you've known him practically your entire life. Of course you catch it. You know what it looks like when he doesn't want to talk about something.
"You’re my best friend," he says eventually. "I look out for you. It’s not that deep."
Before either of you can say anything else, the couch cushions shift beside you. Taehyung flops down with zero warning, sweaty and breathless, a bottle of water in one hand and what looks like a melted Jell-O shot in the other.
"God, that dance floor is disgusting," he pants, turning to you both with a boxy grin. "I love it."
Jimin appears next, a glittery sheen of sweat dusting his collarbones and the tops of his cheeks. "You ditched us," he accuses, pointing at you like you committed a crime.
"I didn’t ditch!" you say, lifting your hands in surrender. "I retreated."
"You went to flirt with Yoongi," Jimin says.
You open your mouth to argue, but Yoongi cuts in flatly, "we weren’t flirting."
"Ugh, killjoy,” Taehyung says, waving a hand. "Let us dream."
That conversation is thankfully cut off when Hoseok hands you another cocktail—purple this time, with a sugared rim and something floating in it that might be edible glitter.
"What is this?" you ask, not really caring.
"Magic."
You take a gulp. It’s strong. Very strong, and very sweet. You don’t know what the hell is in it, but it’s exactly what you need right now.
Conversation flows easily after that. You all lounge together, tangled and comfortable in the way only old friends can be. Someone brings up that one disastrous spring break trip in college—Busan, sunburns, motel room horrors—and the whole group dissolves into laughter that leaves your cheeks aching.
Yoongi’s beside you, as always, close enough to feel the warmth of him through your clothes. He’s quiet, letting the others do most of the talking, but he’s listening. You can tell by the way his gaze tracks each speaker, the way his mouth twitches into half-smiles at your shared inside jokes.
At one point, Jimin pulls out his phone to show a video of Taehyung dancing on a pool table during that same trip. Everyone loses it.
"No, no—wait," Taehyung wheezes. "Play the part where I fall off—there—right there!"
"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how he won me over," Jimin teases, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
It’s like that for a while. Comfortable. Easy.
But not endless.
Eventually, your eyelids feel heavy. You’re not in college anymore. You feel it in your knees, in the way your back aches a little from standing in heels too long. You’ve been running on fumes since yesterday, and one look at Yoongi tells you he’s in the same boat.
Eventually, he leans in, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. "Wanna head out?"
You glance at the time on your phone and wince. Nearly 2 a.m. "Yeah, probably. Before my feet fall off."
He stands first, stretching with a muted grunt, and then offers you a hand to help you up. You take it without thinking, letting him pull you to your feet. His hand lingers at your lower back as you steady yourself.
"I think we’re gonna head home," you say.
"Nooo," Jimin groans immediately. "It’s too early!"
"It’s almost two!"
"She needs her beauty sleep," Hoseok says gently, already helping Jimin shift to make room for you to grab your bag.
"And Yoongi?" Jimin asks, eyes narrowing. "What’s your excuse?"
"Someone has to be there when she falls asleep in the Uber," Yoongi says.
"You two are no fun," Taehyung pouts.
"Text us when you get home," Hoseok says, pulling you into another warm hug. Sweaty, this time. Gross.
"I will," you murmur, squeezing back. "Don’t let Jimin convince you to go anywhere else tonight."
"I make no promises!"
Before you go, Taehyung demands a final selfie, pulling all of you into the frame of his phone camera.
You and Yoongi weave your way out the way you came in—past the glowing jellyfish lights, past the packed dance floor, past the line of strangers still waiting to get inside. The cool night air hits you like a wave the moment you step outside, prickling your skin.
"Thank god," Yoongi mutters.
You glance sideways at him. "Too much for the old man?"
"Shut up."
You smile, stepping off the curb to flag down a car.
It’s only when you’re seated in the back, the city blurring past the windows, that you let your head fall softly against Yoongi’s shoulder. He adjusts slightly so you’re more comfortable, so you don’t jostle too much when the driver hits a pothole.
"You meant it, didn’t you?" you mumble, eyes fluttering shut. "That you’re here for me."
"Yeah," he says, quiet.
You don’t reply. You just let yourself drift, lulled by the quiet, steady beat of his pulse where your temple rests. He doesn’t move until you’re home.
୨ৎ
You toe your heels off as soon as the front door closes behind you. The club is still pulsing in your blood—bass in your bones, sweat on your skin, sugary liquor coating your tongue—but underneath it all, there’s something else. A deeper ache.
Yoongi locks the door behind you with a soft click and shrugs out of his jacket. You hang back in the entryway, watching him tiredly.
Yoongi glances over his shoulder. "You good?"
You nod. Then shake your head. Then rub your face with both hands and groan. "I don't know."
Yoongi raises a brow but doesn’t say anything. He just waits.
You pad into the kitchen, bare feet sticking faintly to the cool tile. The room tilts slightly under your feet. "I need to tell you something."
"Ominous," he says lightly, following you to the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge until he emerges with two water bottles.
"Do you…" You trail off. Try again. "You’ve… been with a lot of people, right?"
"Is this your roundabout way of calling me a manwhore?" he jokes, pushing a bottle into your hands. "Am I being slut-shamed in my own home?"
You shove his arm gently, frowning. "No, I just—I mean—you know things. About… sex."
Yoongi sobers a little, his teasing expression fading. He sits at one of the high stools at the kitchen counter, and you follow, sliding into the other one. "Yeah…? I know a thing or two."
You hesitate for a second. "I’ve been looking stuff up," you say quickly, forcing the words out.
Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just blinks, like he’s waiting for the rest.
"It’s… kind of embarrassing."
"Nothing you say is gonna shock me," he says gently. "You know that, right?"
Ha. Yeah, he says that, but…
Catching the expression on your face, Yoongi just gestures with his water, like try me.
You hesitate, picking at the edge of the label on your bottle. "Last night, after what's-his-face… I don’t know. I was thinking about all the times I’ve tried to have sex. Like, actually enjoy it. And it just… never worked, you know? For me."
Yoongi’s brows pinch slightly, because no, he didn't know. You never told him. But again, he doesn’t interrupt.
"I used to think it was just me. That maybe I was broken or something," you go on, your words gaining momentum now, tumbling out unchecked. "But I started reading. And watching things. And I came across these forums, and—" You swallow. "Turns out there’s, like, a whole community of people who feel the same way. And then I started reading more about, uh…"
You finally open the bottle and take a long drink, like it might wash the words out of your mouth.
"…BDSM."
There. You said it.
Yoongi goes perfectly still.
"I wasn’t planning on, like—I didn’t think I’d be into it," you continue. "But the more I read, the more things started to click. About me." You draw in a shaky breath. "And I found these sites. Places where people meet up. Find partners who are into the same things as them…"
You trail off again, suddenly hyper-aware of how much you’re saying.
"Holy shit," he replies.
It seems like it's about all he can manage.
You bark a laugh, even though your cheeks burn. "I thought you said I couldn't shock you?"
He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "Yeah well, I-I… wasn’t expecting that."
"Sorry."
"No, don’t be sorry," he says quickly, taking a gulp of water. "Just… wow. Okay. So you’ve been researching?"
"Too much." You press the cold bottle to your cheek, trying to cool the heat rising under your skin. “I even made an account,” you admit. “On one of the sites. Just to lurk at first. I wasn’t gonna message anyone or anything, but I filled out the profile. I picked, like, preferences and limits and stuff. There were drop-downs for everything—kinks, experience levels, dynamic roles…”
Yoongi makes a strangled sound, something between a cough and a groan.
You glance at him. "Are you okay?"
"I’m fine," he says, clearing his throat. "Just… processing."
You nod slowly, eyeing him for a moment before looking down at your water again.
"Anyway… That’s what I’ve been doing. I didn’t think I’d ever tell you, but… I don't know. I need to tell someone."
Yoongi is silent for a long moment. "I’ve been in the scene for years. You know that, right?"
You whip your head toward him. "What?"
"Yeah. Since college." His voice is calm, but his ears are turning red. "I, uh. Yeah."
You gape at him. "You’re into BDSM?"
He nods, scratching the back of his neck. "Yep."
"And you never told me?"
"I thought you knew!"
"Wait, hold on. You're seriously—"
"—You shouldn't be on those sites," he interrupts.
It stops you cold.
"Excuse me?"
He holds up a hand. "I don’t mean it like that."
"Then how do you mean it?" you bite out, sharp with defensiveness. "What, you think I’m too soft or something?"
"No! Fuck no," he says instantly. "That’s not what I meant."
"Then what?" you demand.
He exhales hard. "You’re too green. Too new. I mean, you said it yourself, you just learned about this shit last night. Those sites are full of people who can sniff out inexperience from a mile away, and some of them will absolutely use it against you. They’ll push your boundaries, make you think you’re consenting when you’re not, manipulate you into stuff you’re not ready for. And if something goes wrong… you won’t even know until it’s already happened."
That shuts you up.
You sit there, staring at him, your grip tightening around the bottle in your hands.
He softens. "I’m not saying you can’t explore it. You absolutely can. But you should do it with someone who knows what they’re doing."
You stare at him, incredulous. "Like who?"
"…Like me?"
What. The. Fuck.
You laugh nervously. "What?"
"If you’re just looking to test it out," he says, watching you carefully, "do it with me."
"Yoongi, you have to know how fucking crazy that sounds. You're my best friend!"
“I don’t want you to get hurt. Look, you think some random dom online is going to care if you get freaked out? That they’d stop the second your body freezes even if you can’t get the words out?"
You hesitate, blinking fast. Because the truth is, you don’t know if they would. During your research, among all the positive stuff, you also read the horror stories. The idea of that happening with someone who doesn’t know you or care to learn—yeah. That scares the shit out of you.
Yoongi leans forward, elbows on his knees. "I would," he says confidently. "I’d stop before you even asked."
"But we’re friends," you say weakly.
"That’s why you can trust me, right?"
You slide off the stool and start to pace, like maybe if you move around you'll be able to make sense of things.
You and Yoongi have never really had the type of friendship where you talk openly about sex, but there were hints, now that you think about it. Little breadcrumbs scattered over the years.
You didn’t have the vocabulary for it back then—BDSM, kink, safe words, aftercare—but you had eyes. You had ears.
And memory.
Like the time you passed by his room on your way to brush your teeth, only to find Yoongi walking a girl out. She was glowing. Lipstick smudged, hair a mess, but she looked like she’d just been told the secrets of the universe. You barely had time to register the faint pink ligature marks circling her wrists before he was pulling her coat over her arms. She wobbled slightly in her heels as she walked out the door, and Yoongi caught her elbow to steady her.
The same girl had cried the night before, loudly enough for you to hear the hiccuped sobs through the thin walls. But they hadn’t sounded distressed. If anything, they’d sounded like… like she was enjoying herself.
At the time, you didn’t want to know the details. Now… maybe you do.
You just hadn’t wanted to put two and two together. You hadn’t wanted to believe that the same man who stocks your favorite snacks when he knows you’ve had a bad week, who remembers how you take your tea and buys your tampons when you forget, who quietly places a pillow under your head when you fall asleep on the couch—your Yoongi—could also be the same man who ties pretty girls up and whispers filthy things in their ears and ruins them in the best possible way.
But he is. He is. And maybe that’s the part that makes your stomach flutter—how those two sides coexist so easily in him. How he’s never tried to hide it, but never flaunted it either. Just carried it, like everything else, like something quiet and steady and sure.
And now he’s offering it to you. Not in a casual, "let’s fuck" kind of way. Not like a guy trying to take advantage of a drunk confession.
He's offering because he knows you better than anyone. Because he sees how overwhelmed you are and wants you to be safe. Wants you to understand. Wants you to learn with someone who gives a shit about what happens to you.
You stare at him, still reeling. Still pacing. Still piecing together all the signs you should’ve paid more attention to. Your heart is loud in your chest.
"You’re serious," you say finally.
"Dead serious."
Baffled, you ask, "Yoongi, are you even attracted to me?"
His eyes flicker, just for half a second, but it’s enough. You know him too well. The answer’s already there, even before he speaks.
"I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t."
You stop pacing instantly.
"I’m not saying we jump into anything tonight," he continues. "I’m saying… if you want to learn, I can teach you. Safely. At your pace. With rules, and check-ins, and safewords, and—hell, a whole fucking PowerPoint if that’s what you need."
You laugh, despite yourself, at the way he's rambling in a very un-Yoongi-like way. It comforts you to see that tiny crack in his armor, to be able to think that he might be just as nervous as you are.
"And if we start, and you decide you hate it?" he continues. "We stop. No questions asked. And nothing will be ruined, okay? I'll still be the same Yoongi I've always been."
Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter. "And you really think you can help me?"
"I know I can."
Fuck.
Your mouth feels dry. Your whole body feels hot, flushed from the inside out.
You search his face, looking for some kind of sign that he’s joking or just caught in the heat of the moment. But there’s nothing performative about him right now. His expression is wide open.
You exhale shakily. "This is a lot."
"I know," he says gently. "You don’t have to say yes. You don’t have to say anything right now."
"But if I did," you ask quietly, "what would happen? What would that even look like?" You swallow thickly. "I mean. You’d, uh… You'd be the one in control, right?"
He nods. "You’d have control too. More than you think." He bites his lip. "We’d talk through all of it first. No surprises, if that's what you need. I’d explain everything. Show you the ropes."
"Literally?"
He smirks. "Maybe."
Another nervous laugh bubbles up from your throat and you shake your head, disbelieving. "God, I can’t believe this conversation is real."
"Me neither. But I’m glad you told me."
"I need time to think."
"I know."
"But I'm not saying no," you clarify.
Yoongi does a really, really shitty job of biting back his smirk this time. "Noticed that, too."
God. Has he always talked like that?
Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything: your bare legs under the hem of your dress, the soft brush of your hair against your collarbone, the fact that your nipples are pebbled against the thin fabric of your bra, and oh god, he can probably tell. He's staring at you, and you've never had this look directed at you before, not from him.
You cross your arms, trying to act normal, trying to suppress the heat blooming across your chest and spreading lower.
Yoongi gently pushes back his stool and stands.
"I meant what I said," he murmurs. "But that doesn’t mean we have to keep talking about it tonight."
Your brows pull together. "You’re not… weirded out that I brought it up?"
"No. Absolutely not. Never. I’m proud of you for telling me."
That shouldn’t do what it does to you. The quiet 'proud of you' shouldn’t make your legs go a little weak. But it does.
You nod, looking away.
He steps forward and rests a hand lightly on your upper arm, not gripping, just a warm point of contact, grounding you.
"You’ve had a long night," he says. "You’re buzzed, tired, probably overloaded with new feelings. It’s a lot. Let your body catch up with your brain, okay?"
You nod again, slower this time. "Okay."
"I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything. Seriously. Anything."
You know he means it. He always has.
He squeezes your arm gently before letting go. "Go wash your face. Put on pajamas. Get some rest, okay?"
"Okay," you say, knowing instantly that you're going to do exactly all of that. How many times has Yoongi told you to do something and you've just listened without a second thought? Oh god. "Goodnight."
"Night."
You linger there after he leaves the kitchen, fingers brushing the spot where his hand had been.
But your brain is still a mess. You exhale hard and press your palms to your burning cheeks.
Jesus fucking Christ. Are you seriously considering fucking your best friend?
a/n 2: RRRRRAHHHHHH THIS ONE IS GOING TO BE SOOOO FUN YOU GUYS!!! i SO hope you enjoyed the first chapter! i jumped the gun on this one, BUT we’re on a tentative posting schedule for this fic (every other friday) so you can hopefully expect the next drop on feb. 20!!!
please leave a comment or send me an ask with your thoughts so far 😋 also the taglist for this fic is officially open, so if you’d like to be added you can go ahead and fill out my form here (no need to do so if you’re already on my permanent taglist)
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A Min Yoongi one-shot
pairing: workaholic!dom!yoongi x needy!brat!fem reader feat. hoseok
genre: est. relationship, pwp
rating: M for mature and explicit content. No one under 18 should interact
summary: you love your boyfriend, but it really sucks when he holes himself up in his studio for days at a time, leaving you at home alone. when you visit him to make sure he's still alive and well, you have no intention of dragging him away from his work. but is there anything wrong with a little distraction in the form of lingerie?
warnings: jealousy, angst, (blonde snapback) yoongi is moody, reader feels neglected and pushes his buttons, arguments, there's no infidelity but reader pretends she takes an offer on a date w/ hobi and yoongi worries bc of insecurities and then brings up his ex, under the desk bj, exhibitionism kink, unprotected sex (if he doesn't wrap it, don't let him tap it!), rough make-up sex, oral (m. and f. receiving), spanking, spitting, light choking, multiple orgasms, i think this is pretty filthy, reader gets upset but yoongi takes care of her, they kiss & make-up & talk about boundaries, they love each other, fluff ending
wc: 10.8k 🤪
notes: thanks to this fic rec list, i decided to reupload!
You punch in the code to Yoongi’s studio (which just so happens to be your birthday), slightly irked that you have to come all this way because your boyfriend wants to continue to be a workaholic after you’ve lectured him countless times about the importance of taking a break. So you arrive with food and a cute outfit you think will help distract him.
Upon entering, you see he is deeply entranced by his screen and you can hear the echoes of music blasting through his headphones. You quietly maneuver inside and set the bag of takeout on the coffee table before tiptoeing up behind his chair and slowly reaching up to his shoulders. You roughly grab them and laugh at the way he jumps and tears off his headphones.
“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims as he turns to see who just scared the shit out of him.
“Deng! Guess again,” you say with a grin, leaning down to kiss him on the head. When you go to poke his nose, he bats your hand away and mumbles.
“You could’ve given me a heart attack.”
“Well, that’s one way to get you out of the studio. Give you a ride home in an ambulance. I never thought of that,” you sneer playfully, giggling when he glares at you. You slide back to the food on the table.
“Come eat, Min PD.”
“I’m almost done,” he grumbles and turns to face his desk. You roll your eyes.
“No, sir. You need to eat or you’re gonna make yourself sick,” you scold as you tug on the back of his chair to twist him around and he looks up at you with a whine.
“I will! I just need a couple minutes.”
You click your tongue. “A couple minutes to you is like eight hours. I swear, you go through a time warp every time you come in here. You know it's been three days since I last saw you? Let’s go.”
You grab onto his arm and tug him, but he goes slack in his chair and makes protesting noises as you drag him towards the coffee table, laughing when he stretches his other arm at his desk like he’s being pulled away from a long-lost friend.
“You are such a drama queen,” you sigh as you let go of his arm.
“I was almost done,” he pouts, crossing his arms. You roll your eyes as you take out the food you brought.
“Sure, sure. Just eat real quick and you can finish in 'a couple minutes,’” you say sarcastically with air quotes, and he scowls, nonetheless leans forward to reluctantly grab the box of food you hand him.
You walk around the edge of the table and stop in front of him. You smile as he begins to eat his noodles, so you grab his chin.
“Good boy,” you quip, and lean down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, catching him off guard.
He coughs a bit as he processes what you said and watches you with wide eyes as you sit down in his lap. You laugh at his expression as you open your container of food and grab a pair of chopsticks. You both sit in silence and eat, glancing at him every now and as he chews with his head down, a line drawn between his brows that looks like he’s trying to figure out something.
“How’s your food?” you ask before taking a sip from your bottle of water.
“Good,” he grumbles without looking at you. “Thanks.”
You shift to get more comfortable in his lap and he starts to chew faster.
After he nudges you off his lap and helps you clean up, he turns around to scoot his chair back to his desk.
“Thanks for coming by and all, but I think you should leave."
You scoff, mildly hurt. “Why?”
“Because I know what you’re trying to do.”
You realize what he means and the brat in you makes an appearance, so you throw your hair haughtily over your shoulder and slyly walk up to his chair, sliding a hand down his arm.
“And what is that exactly?”
“You’re trying to distract me, but it’s not working,” he says through curled lips, staring at his screen.
“No?” you smirk. You squat and fold your elbows on the arms of his chair, propping your chin up on your wrist. “How am I being distracting? All I did was bring you food.”
He turns his head to glare at you, but his Adam's apple bobs when he looks down at your position, how your legs are spread to reveal the meat of your thighs, then at how you smile at him in a pseudo-innocent way.
“Exhibit A, B and C,” he says, gesturing to your legs, tits, and face.
You grin. “What? I’m just looking at you.” Your voice however drips in seduction.
He shakes his head and looks back at his screen, trying to stay strong.
“Precisely.”
Your tongue pokes into your cheek in amusement and a devilish lightbulb flashes in your mind.
“How is me looking at you so distracting?” you ask, settling on your knees before gliding a hand over his leg. “Wouldn’t it be something more like this?”
His mouth pulls into a thin line as he struggles to keep his eyes focused up. You slowly push at his leg to move him towards you so you can rise in between his knees, smiling at the way he refuses to look at you. You begin to slide your hands up his thigh, licking your lips as you head for his crotch, but he catches your wrist.
“Don’t,” he commands, now looking down at you with a serious expression.
Undeterred, you push your bottom lip out in the brattiest pout, and the severe clench in his jaw shows how hard he's fighting to keep his guard up.
“You’re just so stressed, and I want to help you… relax.”
He closes his eyes and swallows, and you just know he's trying to keep his imagination away from thoughts not suited for work.
“I appreciate that, baby, but I’m almost done here and when I am, I’m all yours, okay?” He lets go of your wrist to smooth out your pout with his thumb.
You believe him, but still, you want to bother him after he hasn't paid attention to you in a few days.
“Fine,” you sigh and start to stand up. “Well, I guess I can’t ask you for your advice on what I bought. If I want to return it, today is my last day, so it’s now or never.”
You only take one step away when his hand grabs your wrist. You smile. Hook, line, and stinker.
You look back in faux confusion. He licks his lips and swallows, hesitant yet desperate to find out what you’re talking about.
“What do you need my advice on?”
Without hesitation, your hands fly to the hem of your shirt. “Oh, just this.”
He sucks in a sharp breath as you tear off your shirt to reveal a lavender corset bra. The lace is embroidered with delicate floral designs to reveal the lower half of your breast, just barely covering your nipples, and parts of your ribcage below. His throat goes dry.
“It has a matching thong too. Wanna see?” Your question is rhetorical because you give him no time to breathe as you unbutton your shorts. You bend over to shimmy them down your legs, making a show of wiggling so your breasts move side to side.
You kick your shorts to the side and stand straight, carding your hair out of your face before placing your hands on your hips and standing confidently in front of him.
“So, what do you think?” you ask, cocking your head to the side as his wide eyes go up and down your form.
“It’s pretty,” he swallows, biting his lip to ignore the twitch in his boxers.
“Oh, see how it looks from behind.” You twirl around and adjust the clips of the corset then the hem of your thong, sticking your ass out in the process. “Isn’t it cute?” Yoongi is screwed.
You look at him from over your shoulder. “Do you like it?”
He nods, barely hearing you as his eyes train on the way the string of the thong disappears between your cheeks. You smirk when his tongue pokes out just over his teeth.
“The lace is really soft too. Here, feel,” you say, spinning back around and walking up to him, rubbing your fingers over the lace below your breast.
He swallows, wanting so bad to reach out and touch, but knowing if he does, it’s over for him, he’ll lose. But shit, you look good as fuck, and he can’t help but give in.
You grin as he reaches his hand out to feel the lace and he hums in approval.
“It’s nice,” he says, voice deep and starting to give away his desire.
“It’s even better here,” you say, gripping his wrist to plant his hand on your breast and he purrs as he lets his fingers squeeze your flesh.
You let him massage for a second or two and judging by his face he looks closer to giving into your distraction, but you'll wait.
“Okay, since you like it, I won’t return it,” you say, dropping his hand and turning to grab your shorts off the ground. “Thanks! I’ll let you get back to work.”
You bend over again to pick up your shirt, your ass right in his line of sight and he can’t deny the rock-hard bulge in his jeans.
“I’ll see you when you get home,” you say as you walk over to the table but his low voice rumbles through the sound-proof studio.
“Get your ass back here,” his words shoot straight to your core, the string of your thong growing wet.
“I thought you said you have to work,” you say innocently.
“Right now,” he growls, and you move towards him like a magnet.
Once again next to his chair, he slides his fingers underneath the lavender straps stretching over your hips to cup your exposed ass. Your skin flares hot when he squeezes.
“I don’t want to distract you.”
His dark eyes filled with lust shoot up to you and flicker with anger.
“It’s a little fuckin’ late for that, doll,” he grits. “You made a problem and now you’re going to fix it.” He moves his other hand to palm his bulge. Your eyes widen at the motion, and you cross your legs because, shit, you want to sit on that so bad.
“And then you’re going to leave and let me finish what you interrupted and wait for me to come home.”
“Yeah? Then what?”
His lips curl in what could be a growl, and he smacks your ass, pushing you to stand between his legs.
“Then I’m going to punish you for getting me hard at work.”
You moan as his hand moves to your front and feels over the lace material that covers your pussy. You shudder when his fingers slip between your thighs, battling with the string of your thong to rake over your clit and slit, groaning at how wet you already are.
“Fuck, you really get this turned on just from teasing me?”
You whimper in response as he drags his finger over your bud before removing his hand.
“We need to do something about that,” he says, sticking his fingers in his mouth to suck your arousal from them. Your legs shake involuntarily. “You can’t keep pissing me off so you can get your way.”
You breathe out a moan as he pops his wet fingers into view and licks over them slowly with his tongue flicking in the v-shape while looking right at you before dropping them to his lap. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you imagine him doing that right on your clit.
“I keep saying, you make it too easy.”
He bares his teeth before gripping your sides and pulling you down to his lap, pushing your hips to roll on his groin.
“Or maybe you just need to have the brat fucked out of you,” he growls into your ear before biting the skin below it. Before you can do anything, he pushes at your waist and tells you to get on your knees on the ground, raking his hair back in frustration.
You hesitate as you stare at his crotch, wanting to reach for it but remembering all the times he's tied you up for touching him without permission.
“Get to work,” he says, letting his wrists dangle casually from the arms of the chair, bracelets clacking.
You greedily sit up on your knees as your fingers dig around under his sweater for his belt. You quiver at the sound of his buckle coming loose and bite your lip when you see the bulge straining in his underwear after you undo his jeans. Just as you begin to reach into his boxers, someone knocks at his door.
You both react in panic.
“Hyung, can I come in? I need to show you something,” the sound of Hoseok’s voice echoes from the other side of the door.
“Shit!” he breathes, pushing your hands away from his belt and rolling in his chair over to where you left your clothes on the floor. However, you have no intention of moving.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” He asks exasperatedly in a hushed tone when he finds you sliding back under his desk on your hands and knees.
“Yah, Yoongi hyung!”
Yoongi’s head whips between you and the door, blood pressure spiking. You put your hand out for the clothes he’s holding.
“It’s too late, I’ll just hide under here. He won’t see me.”
Yoongi’s jaw moves in annoyance, but he has no time to argue with you. So, he scoots his chair all the way under his desk to shield you with his widespread legs, throwing your clothes in your face. It works because you can barely see out beyond his lap, thanks to his wide and thick thighs, but this is no good news for Yoongi because another evil and salacious idea forms in your mind.
“It’s unlocked!” Yoongi calls and braces himself, praying that Hoseok cannot see under his desk.
As the door opens, Yoongi quickly busies himself at his computer, pretending that he doesn’t have his half-naked girlfriend underneath his desk and face level with his crotch.
“Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to ask your advice on something.”
Yoongi’s brow ticks. Why is everyone asking for his advice today?
“It’s fine, Hob-a, what’s up?” He asks, trying to play it cool.
But as Hoseok stands next to him at his desk, he feels hands slide onto his lap and he grips the edge of the table, hoping that you're only just teasing him. But that hope doesn’t last very long.
Hoseok wants to know what he thinks about one of his tracks, that there’s something off about it but he can’t figure out what. Hoseok hands Yoongi his flash drive and he plugs it into his PC, and as he clicks around for the file your fingers inch towards his unopened jeans.
As Hoseok points at the screen about different parts of the track he’s concerned about, Yoongi grinds his teeth, urging himself to stay focused even when you begin to palm at his clothed dick. He thinks about kicking you, but all thoughts get cut off when you reach in through the hole in his boxers and pull his cock out. Fuck, he's needy for you, even in the most unorthodox way. He jerks when your hand wraps around his length, the other diving back in to squeeze his balls but he plays it off like he’s adjusting in his seat, masking his moan with a cough. He slides forward in the chair so you can have easier access.
Shit. How can something so wrong feel so motherfucking good?
“You okay?” Hoseok asks, giving him a wary side glance as Yoongi clicks around the screen.
The older, sweating man nods stiffly and clears his throat.
“Yeah. It’s just been a long day. Do you wanna run it through?”
Hoseok leans over for the mouse and Yoongi takes the chance to let his expression crack while you run your tongue up the thick, pulsing vein on the underside of his dick, hand circling around his base.
Yoongi’s eyebrows pinch in fierce concentration on Hoseok’s track once he hits play but all of a sudden, your lips wrap around his tip, and you suck him into hollowed cheeks, devastatingly slow so as to not make noise even though the music would surely cover it. Stifling a groan, he straightens his back and presses his ribcage against his desk when you swirl your tongue around him. He’s going to fucking get you later.
Hoseok hits the spacebar and pauses the music. As it stops, you halt your movements. “See, there. Something doesn’t sound right.”
Yoongi’s brows furrow as he tries to center his attention even though your hand is massaging his balls.
“I think I missed it, sorry.”
Hoseok sighs but moves the mouse to rewind back a few beats. He points at the tracker on the screen to tell Yoongi which part to pay most attention to and he nods.
As the music resumes your mouth returns to his length, and you slowly move down until his tip hits the back of your throat and he holds his breath at the pleasure, moan catching in his chest. He's so goddamn pissed that you’re doing this to him, but it feels so good at the same time. He tries his best to resist the urge to let the pleasure consume him, so he knocks off his snapback to pull his fingers through his hair and begs his brain to focus on the music.
“Right here, hyung,” Hoseok murmurs next to him and Yoongi nods, listening closely even though your hot tongue licks from his base to the tip.
Then he hears it, some strange offbeat in the background and he taps the spacebar, sighing through his nose when the silence makes you retreat.
They go over it for a while until Yoongi finally figures out what’s going on since the blood returns to his brain once you stopped touching him (although that doesn’t mean he isn’t still hard, and his dick isn’t twitching in your face and making you salivate and want to touch yourself).
“Ah, okay, I see what you mean,” Hoseok says when Yoongi explains that there’s an extra beat embedded that’s easy to miss. “Thanks.” He claps him on the shoulder.
“Is that all you need?” Yoongi asks just to be polite but prays Hobi makes a quick exit.
He nods as he saves the file before ejecting it and Yoongi pulls out the flash drive and hands it to him.
“How long have you been here?”
“Uh, a while, but I’m almost done.” Yoongi hopes Hoseok doesn’t see the way his eyes squeeze shut when you begin to move your thumb over his leaking tip.
“Good. You deserve a break! You’ve been working so hard.”
“Thanks, Hob-a. You too.”
“How’s your girlfriend?”
Yoongi internally groans, now of all times Hoseok wants to make small talk.
“She’s fine,” he says in a tight voice, only because you have lightly dragged your fingers up his length.
“Uh-oh. Troubles in paradise?”
Yoongi’s eyes widen in confusion and your hand stills. “No? What makes you say that?”
“Oh, just saying, because usually when anyone asks you about her, you gush for like twenty minutes.”
Yoongi’s face and neck flushes a dark red and you have to press a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.
“Do not,” he grumbles, although in denial.
Hoseok snorts. “Fat lie, hyung. You always jump at the chance to talk about her, you don’t realize that? It’s cute! Well, in a sickening kind of way, but still.”
Yoongi glares at him as he feels your head fall onto his knee, trying to keep yourself from laughing.
“Shut up,” he grumbles.
“Why? Are you embarrassed?” Hoseok teases in a baby voice, bending down to pinch at Yoongi’s cheeks. “Cute Yoonie loves his girlfriend so much that he wants to talk about her all the time.”
“Fuck off, Hoseok,” Yoongi mumbles, swatting at Hoseok’s fingers and pushing him away as he turns back to his computer, and thankfully you’ve cut him a fucking break under his desk.
Hoseok snickers and grabs his laptop. “You better go home and see her, go on a date. But if you’re too busy, I’d be more than happy to take her out for you!”
“Yah, Jung Hoseok!” Yoongi bubbles with fury and Hoseok just cackles and scurries to the exit.
“Bye!” Hoseok grins mischievously, wiggling his fingers in the air before closing the door behind him.
A few seconds after the lock clicks shut, you burst out into laughter, and Yoongi flushes a hot, steaming red all the way up to his ears.
Yoongi pushes away from the desk and ducks his head down to look at you as you begin to crawl out on all fours. He scowls when you giggle once you make eye contact with him.
“I don’t see what’s funny. You’re in big trouble, you know,” he says, stuffing himself back in his underwear.
You stifle a laugh as you stand up. “You mad?”
“Clearly!”
You cock your eyebrow when he darts a hand out in frustration. “At what, the fact that I sucked your dick under your desk or that I found out how much you love to talk about me?”
Yoongi narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “Both.”
You smirk. “Aww, come on, Yoonie~” you tease, mimicking Hoseok as you go to sit on your boyfriend’s lap.
“Go away,” He tries to fight you off but you trap him by grinding down on his hips and shoving your tits in his face.
You hum as you press an open-mouth kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You sure?”
Your hand slides down to his clothed dick, still solid under your palm. “Don't you want me to take care of your ‘problem’?”
He swallows moan as you grope him. But he feels embarrassed and upset that you went down on him when Hoseok was there. Deep down he thinks it was hot, but he knows Hoseok has always had a crush on you and he doesn’t like the idea of him seeing you like that, especially with the kinds of comments he sometimes makes implying that he can treat you better.
“Yeah, when I get home,” he sighs and you deflate. “I’m almost done.”
“Seriously, are you mad?”
“No, babe. I just want to finish up now so that I can be done for the weekend. That’s what you want, right?”
You grimace, wondering what he means by that. “Fine,” you acquiesce, hopping off of his lap so he can roll back up to his desk.
You slide on your clothes and gather your things, biting your tongue to keep from saying anything smart, but you can’t help feeling that his words don't sit right in your chest. As you walk to the door and slip on your shoes, you glance over to see him hunched over his desk, not even bothering to look back as you leave.
“You know, maybe I’ll go find Hoseok and take him up on his offer. Since it seems he has the time for me,” you sneer after you open the door, stepping out and slamming it shut behind you.
Yoongi jerks his head and swivels around but you've already disappeared. Oooh, that pisses him off. He knows you only said it to do just that but that sits right along his insecurities and he wants to lose it. But he really is almost done with work so if he hunkers down now, he can finish and go home and tell you off.
**********
90 minutes later he receives a notification, a text from you with an attached image. You’re lying in bed on your stomach in your corset bra, holding up your head as you pout into the camera with your cleavage on full display.
my brat: Hoseok was busy :/
Yoongi drops his phone on the table, and it clatters, free hands rubbing frustration down his face. He knows what you’re doing, and he should have the willpower to ignore it but- FUCK are you good at getting what you want. You like pissing him off so that he'll be rough with you. And although he enjoys the dynamic, finds it fun, this is just one of those times that he really doesn’t like how you piss him off. He hates the idea of you alluding to the fact that you asked another man to fuck you. He knows you indeed haven’t, that you’re just messing with him, but he’s getting in his head with his self-doubt. He angrily decides that the track is good enough for now, that he can meet with Namjoon tomorrow or something to tweak it. He has to get home to make sure no one else has touched you but him.
You are in Big. Fucking. Trouble.
**********
When Yoongi walks through the door, you’re in the kitchen getting something to drink, wearing one of his flannel shirts over your lingerie. When he appears you smile and greet him, but falter when he ignores you and quickly shuffles by to the bedroom. You watch him pass you and your smile slips at the stone look on his face. You know you pissed him off but did you make him upset? You never want to hurt his feelings, you just want to get his attention. You set your drink on the counter and pad after him.
When you walk into the room and lean against the door frame, his back is to you as he strips off his sweater to reveal his dark gray t-shirt and silver chain.
“Did you finish?” you ask, twiddling your fingers over one of the buttons of his flannel.
“No,” he says, keeping his back to you. You frown.
“Oh. How come?”
“Because my bratty girlfriend can’t be fucking patient," he grits, swiping off his snapback.
You cross your arms, not appreciating his tone. “I left, didn't I?”
His shoulders shake in a sardonic laugh, fingers combing through his hat-hair. “Yeah, only after telling me you were going to look for Hoseok.”
“Yeah well, maybe if you paid more attention to me, I wouldn’t feel the need to do that,” you sneer before pushing off of the door frame to speed-walk into the living room.
You only make it halfway down the hall before a hand grabs your wrist. You’re met with Yoongi’s looming figure exuding anger as he glares down at you and you match his energy immediately.
“And you think the way to get my attention is by making me jealous?”
“Well, it seems to be the only thing that’s working! Isn’t that why you came home before you got done with work? Because you think I asked Hoseok to fuck me? Not because you-“
“Did you?” he interrupts and your jaw moves in irritation.
“What do you think?” you bark. He blinks down at the floor. There it is again- that insecurity. He backs you into the wall as he tries to control his anxiety.
“I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly and that pisses you off. He really thinks you would stoop that low?
“Really? What, you think I wanted to suck you off while he was there hoping he’d catch us? Ask to join? Have me suck his dick too?”
Rage floods through him at the thought and his hold around your wrist tightens.
“Would you?”
Your mouth drops open. “Wow. Screw you." You pry his hand off and angrily walk back into the bedroom, wanting to put on more clothes now that you’re upset. As he follows, you make a petty point by taking off his flannel and exchanging it for your own clothes, pulling on your own t-shirt and sweats.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says when he stands in the doorway.
"No? You don’t think that I’d jump at the chance to suck another man’s dick if the opportunity presented itself?”
“No, of course not,” he shakes his head, feeling guilty when you say nothing else so he continues, wanting you to understand where he's coming from.
“I just… You know he likes you.”
You spin around, flabbergasted. “Fucking so?”
He closes his eyes, feeling embarrassed that he’s about to bring this up. He has no reason to be worried that you like Hoseok but… he still struggles deep down that he doesn’t deserve you and that you’d be better off with someone else. Maybe someone like Hoseok.
“Why don’t you go ask him whether or not I took him up on his offer?” you snap. Then you stride across the floor and stand toe to toe with him.
“Or how bout you find out for yourself,” you provoke.
He looks down at you with your chin tilted up at his and a heartbeat passes before his hands fly to your face and he presses his lips to yours. You respond immediately by scraping your fingers over his ribs, hooking over his spine as he licks into your mouth, teeth clashing together desperately.
He begins to walk you backward towards the bed and when you hit the edge of the mattress, he tears your shirt off and lifts you by the waist to settle you down and kiss you hungrily as he climbs on top of you, chain laying on your throat. His hands move down to your sweats and he stands straight to rip them down your legs and onto the floor, looking down at your body decorated with pretty lingerie and he intrusively thinks about Hoseok seeing you like this and jealousy fires through him again.
He falls to his knees and loops his fingers under the straps of your thong to roughly pull them off, licking his lips at the sight of your bare pussy, glistening with the return of your arousal. He adds to it with his spit and promptly attaches his lips to your clit, growling when you cry out and arch your back in response. He wraps his arms underneath your thighs to hold you in place as he slathers your pussy with his spit and teeth and tongue.
His eyes close as you let out whimpers and whines of his name while your hands grip his hair, every sound making his dick twitch in his jeans. He sucks and slurps all over your cunt, making it messy between your thighs and on his chin, anything to make you keep wailing his name. He flicks his tongue over your clit and between your folds just like he demonstrated on his fingers back in the studio, and he has to flex his biceps around your thighs when you thrash. He can tell you’re close by the way your legs quiver beside his head and he slides your clit between his teeth before pressing his lips around it and sucking in a fast, relentless rhythm.
“Yoongi, gonna come!” you cry and a dark chuckle rumbles through his chest at the thought that no one else can get you to your peak as quickly as he can. He mercilessly continues sucking your clit until your legs violently shake and press against his head and you come with shrieks of his name. His tongue dives to your hole as it pulses and he licks your essence into his mouth and groans while he swallows, grinning victoriously as you continue to shake through throes of pleasure.
He slows his movements as you spiral down, loving the way you twitch at every touch of his mouth. He presses a final kiss to your clit before he moves his arms from under your thighs so he can hover over you while you catch your breath. He places his knee between your legs and leans down to kiss you so you can taste yourself, chain swinging over your heaving breasts. You moan as you dart your tongue against his and loop your arms around his neck to pull him down. Then he slides his lips down your jaw into the crook of your shoulder and speaks gruffly into your ear.
“You think he could make you come like that?”
You immediately shake your head, heat filling your gut at his dark tone. He bites your neck then rolls his tongue over the spot to soothe the sting.
“You need to say that out loud.”
You draw in a sharp breath. “No! No he couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?” he snaps.
“He couldn’t make me come. Not like you do.”
Pride shoots down his spine and he sits up to straddle your hips, turning you over onto your stomach so he can grab handfuls of your ass.
“You think he could fuck you like I do? Huh?” he experimentally rolls his clothed bulge over the swell of your ass.
“No,” you whimper with a desperate shake of your head.
“No?” he challenges. “You don’t think so?” He drags his hips against you slowly, hissing at the friction.
You continue to agree and he hums, still taking his time to drag this out. He just wants to hear it as much as possible but your smart mouth fucks you over.
“If you’re not convinced then we can go find out,” you say, voice muffled by the sheets but he hears you and snarls.
He leans down to grip a handful of your hair to turn your ear to his mouth.
“Why don’t you do that and I’ll go re-acquaint myself with Mina.”
A vicious green monster tears through your chest and you turn over to face him as your head fills with intrusive thoughts of the hands and body of his ex you once envied all over him while he enjoys it.
He chuckles mockingly at your expression. “Don’t like that, huh?”
You say nothing but look at him angrily as you picture him with her, hating it with a passion.
“Do you, baby?” he coos sarcastically, trailing the backs of his fingers down your cheek. “Don’t like the idea of my hands and my mouth being on someone else?”
He leans down to emphasize his point by kneading and kissing at your skin that he can reach and your chest heaves in response.
He rolls his hips. “Or my dick fucking another girl's pussy?”
You see red and your hands fly up to grab his chain and tug his face parallel with yours so he grunts, a dark grin spreading on his face.
“No, I don’t fucking like it,” you seethe.
“Now you know how I feel,” he says mockingly. You scowl, fucking annoyed, and let go of his jewelry.
“You brought this on yourself. I never talked to Hoseok. He was the one who said he would take me out if you didn’t.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t have heard that if you hadn't been hiding under my desk sucking me off.”
“Oh, right and you were trying real hard to get me to stop,” you snap, pushing at his chest.
His jaw ticks, realizing you have a point. He leans up and sits back on his heels.
“Or just admit that you didn’t want me to,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows. His eyes flicker to you darkly.
“That you liked it,” you taunt, moving to sit up on your knees so that you're level with him.
“That maybe if he did catch us he’d be jealous of your long, fat dick.” He shivers as your words send shocks to his core and his ego.
“And how good my throat is for fucking.”
His gulps at the imagery as your fingers trace under his shirt.
“And how he’d never get to find out for himself,” you say earnestly, looking directly into his eyes.
Then your hand slowly travels down to his groin.
“But if you want to go find Mina and see if she makes you feel as good as I do,” you mock as you grab his bulge and squeeze under his balls, making him hiss and involuntarily buck against you.
“Then be my fucking guest.” Your teeth grind as you let go of him to move off of the bed but you’re quickly stopped with a hand squeezing your elbow.
“Lay down,” he demands, warm breath fanning over your cheek.
“Make me." He huffs before moving his hand to your throat and pressing lightly on either side, making your resolve slip.
“Keep it up, brat.” The very brat in you comes back for an encore as you grab his wrist.
“Or what? Gonna go call up Mina? You think she’d even want you anymore?”
His eyes flash menacingly at the venom in your voice and you squeak when he bends down to pick you up, arms supporting your back and under your ass to carry you over to your shared desk.
“It doesn’t matter whether she would or not. Because I don’t want her,” he says simply as he sets you down, knocking the notebooks and tchotchkes out of the way, paying no mind as they clatter onto the floor.
“No? Then who do you want?” You know it’s a stupid question but you’re fucking triggered and you want to hear him say it. He tilts his head as he undoes the buckle on his belt.
“I’m looking right at her, sweetheart.” You falter, but you’re not about to let up that easy.
"Just - Fuck you for bringing her up." Gently pushing your legs apart, he gives you a remorseful smile.
“I’m sorry. I only wanted to get back at you but I took it too far.”
“Get back at me for what?” you ask, glossing over his apology and you’re almost able to ignore his fingers massaging the inside of your thighs.
He cocks his brow. “For that selfie you sent and your text implying that you asked Hoseok to fuck you but he was too busy?”
“You started it,” you scoff and cross your arms, chest heaving as his hands move slowly to the part of you that’s aching for him.
“Did I? You were the one who came into my studio and shoved your tits and ass in my face wearing this pretty lingerie all because I haven’t been paying you enough attention.”
“Try ‘any’ attention.” He hums and looks down to watch his thumb brush over your clit, smirking when you gasp and grab his forearm.
“Baby, it’s only been a few days. Are you that needy for me?”
You huff but don't try to deny it, eyes rolling to the ceiling when he slides two fingers between your wet folds, lifting up your knee to hold it on his hips so he has a better view and access.
“Thought so.” You shut your eyes so his smug face won’t piss you off.
“Well, remember I tried to leave but you told me to ‘get my ass back here right now,’” you recount, leaning back with a hand on the desk.
You bite your tongue when his fingers sink inside to slowly work you open.
“Yeah, well you’re sexy as hell in this lingerie and I’m a weak bastard for you, so sue me,” he grumbles, staring at your pussy as his hand picks up the pace.
“I’m only sexy in lingerie?”
He sighs. “Sweetheart, did you miss the part where I said I’m a weak fucking man for you?”
You hum nonchalantly, his words filling your heart up with butterflies but the brat in you is refusing to leave the stage so you ignore him.
He shakes his head and grips your thigh to get you to look at him, making sure you’re paying attention.
“Just shut that smart mouth of yours, baby girl. And let me show you I mean what I say.”
He lifts one of your arms to hook around his shoulder and you reluctantly acquiesce, letting him situate you in a way that’s comfortable before he pushes down his jeans to free his dick from its confines. Jerking his shaft, he tilts down in concentration to inspect your puffy cunt.
When he thinks it could use more lube, he holds his hand next to your mouth.
“Spit.” Letting go of your stubbornness, you obey, only because you enjoy the way he doesn’t mind your saliva dropping in his palm.
“Good girl,” he mumbles. You watch impatiently as he tilts his head back while spreading your spit over his tip, making you clench around nothing when his knuckles brush your folds. You whine his name again when you feel his head rub up and down your wet slit before he taps it a few times.
“Beg.”
Your hand slaps his back, matching your huff in frustration and his lip curls.
“Minus the fucking attitude.”
“It’s been three days.”
“What?” he snaps.
You lift your head with a glare. “I said it’s been three fucking days, why should I beg?”
He slides his hard, lubed up length in between your folds to show you what you’re stalling.
“Shouldn’t that be all the more reason to?” he growls as he smacks the side of your ass.
“I'm not the one who didn't come home. So shouldn’t it be you doing the begging?”
He stills.
“Maybe,” he says softly, massaging your skin that he knows is stinging from his hand. Your chest squeezes at the sad tone in his voice even though you’re pissed off.
“But you remember what I said about punishing you for getting me hard at work?”
Your eyes squeeze shut, lips pursing as you nod.
“This is part of it. You’d better fucking beg.”
He sighs and shakes his head, digging his fingers into your waist when you take a second too long to respond.
“I’m not going to tell you again.” He steps back, threatening to walk away. In a panic, you hook your heels behind him to keep him from going any further.
“Fuck, fine! Yoongi, please. Please fuck me!”
With a dark chuckle, he closes the distance between you again, arm circling around your waist, licking and marking under your jaw. Wrapping your arms around his neck as he holds up your thigh, you moan when he teases your entrance with his throbbing tip.
“I’ll always give you what you want when you’re a good girl for me.”
And just like that, the brat in you is gone. At least for now. He groans when you kiss him with ferocity and allows you to take the reins a bit. You moan and fist his hair in both hands, whining when his hand trails to your core to make sure you’re still ready, and he’s confirmed when he easily slips in three of his fingers, making you gasp into his mouth.
“You want it?” he growls against your swollen lips as he removes his hand covered with your essence to use it as lube on his dick. You nod frantically.
“Words.”
“Yes!” you wheeze.
“You gonna be a good girl for me?”
“Yes!” You exclaim louder.
“Then turn around.”
He helps you settle on your feet and twirls you around with both hands on your hips, biting behind your ear while he lines himself up behind you.
“You know I love you, right?” You nod, leaning into his teeth and wiggling your hips to entice him but his firm hand on your ass keeps you in place. “But right now I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”
A spark floods through you at the way he curls a hand around your throat and simultaneously rubs his head up to your aching clit. You’re screwed, but you are so, so ready.
“Please!”
Without giving you a second to breathe, he spears into you, forcing you forward with your hands flattened on the desk. You yelp out when he begins ramming into you at an angle so deep your eyes roll to the back of your head.
He slaps your ass, harshly enough to sting, and grunts when you clench around him, continuing to make the room swell with lewd sounds of your wet pussy squelching with every smack of his hips. It feels feral, the force of his thrusts causing the desk to thump against the wall, but the rhythmic sound is drowned out by your mindless moans.
He fucks you like he hates you, like he doesn’t care how the wooden edge is digging into your waist, or the way he’s slapping your ass until your skin is raw, slamming his hips against yours so it’s certain you’re going to have trouble walking. If you didn’t like it so much, you’d be telling yourself not to piss him off ever again.
A hand on your spine pushes you down onto the desk, breasts and face squishing on the lacquered wood, and you moan when he pulls your cheeks a part and you can just picture the way he’s watching himself pound you, tongue poked out in fascination, head moving from side to side to see all the different angles.
“Nah.” He mutters to himself and you glance over your shoulder to see him shaking his head as your body moves up and down. “No one else can fuck you like this. Right?” He grits, fingers digging into your ass as he takes a long stroke of emphasis.
“Mhmm!”
He hums to himself in satisfaction, letting out an amused chuckle before he starts fucking you so hard and so fast and so goddamn good that you don’t realize you’re coming until it hits you, and your finger nails dig into the desk for dear life, leaving scratch marks. As you clench around him he lets out a string of curses that would make even a sailor blush, rubbing his hands up and down your back, fingertips kneading your ass as you shake and come apart.
You’re still trembling when he finally slows his thrusts to a moderate pace and his hands on your skin are moving more gently now that you’re coming down.
“Baby, talk to me. You good?” It takes you a second to register that he’s been talking to you for a few seconds. He just fucked you into euphoria, you’re drooling on the desk because of it, so you need a goddamn minute.
You whine in dissatisfaction when he pulls out of you, only for him to reach over to brush sweaty hair out of your face, and you blink open tear-filled eyes to him peering down at you with concern knitted into his brows.
“You good?” he repeats, continuing to brush your hair back and smoothe his hand down your spine.
You nod. “Mhmm. ‘M a good girl.”
His eyebrows lift in relief when you say something that’s somewhat coherent.
“That you are.” You swoon. That’s all you ever want to hear him say, even though more often than not your behavior speaks otherwise. At least he’s shown you that he loves to deal with it.
“I’m gonna bring you over to the bed. Can you make it?” Pushing your hands against the desk, you try to put some weight on your feet and know without even trying that you won’t. It feels like he was on the brink of splitting you in half.
“Only if you carry me.” You can feel his smile on the side of your face as he rubs your shoulders before gently pulling back on them, holding you against his chest once you straighten. He presses light but necessary kisses to your neck and cheek before turning you to the side so he can swoop you up in his arms like you’re his bride. You hope one day you will be.
You could almost cry at the tender way he puts you down on the mattress, his face dewy and red from exertion, and adjusts the pillows beneath you, fluffing them how you like it. How he can so easily slip from being your insane freak in the sheets who hates you to your sweet, doting boyfriend is beyond you but it’s one of the many things you love so much about him.
“Too much?” Your heart swells again at his loving tone as he coasts his hand down your torso, inspecting the indentations left on your waist from the desk to make sure they’re ones that won’t bruise.
You shake your head. “I can still remember my own name.”
“Dang, so I could do better,” he smirks.
Blowing a raspberry, you playfully smack the side of his head and he only chuckles and leans down to kiss you. Just as he brushes your lips, you push at his clothed shoulder, suddenly very much bothered by the fact that he is not completely naked yet.
“Shirt,” you mumble, tugging at his collar.
“What about it?”
“Off.”
He cocks a brow, mouth pulling up into a smirk. “Are you telling me what to do?”
“Yes. Problem?”
He hisses an amused sound, sits up on his knees and blinks down at you, lightly batting your hands away when you reach for the hem of his now unapproved fabric.
“We just went through all that, but you still want to have a fucking attitude?”
You withdraw your hands, rest them on your tummy as you look up at him sheepishly. He looks at you patiently, waiting for a response, but you don’t have one, so you instead raise your hands to the side in a shrug because what can you say? The smirk on his face grows until it turns into a laugh, and he kicks his head back. Fuck, you love his laugh. His shoulders start to shake, gummy grin on full display as he looks down at you through his stringy bangs, and you fall just that much more in love.
“It’s like that, huh?” He muses, coasting his hands up and down your thighs.
“It’s fun to piss you off,” you justify, holding your arms up in invitation and he pauses for a split second before lowering into your embrace.
“Yeah, and I know you have a blast doing it, much to my expense,” he mutters, letting you pepper his jaw with kisses. You giggle as you get over to his mouth and he opens up to swallow down your sounds.
As you makeout, his hips start to rock over yours under the covers, heavy cock desperate to fill you again so you trail your hands down to his ass, digging your go ahead into his skin. Keeping a hand next to your head and his tongue over yours, he reaches down to guide himself back in, humming when you moan in satisfaction. He lifts his head with a curse when you suck him in with ease, baring your neck to him that he nips before straightening his arm to plank above you. He stares down at you with lust-blown eyes as he takes your leg from under the sheets to rest on his shoulder. You bite your lip and grapple for his neck as he fucks into you slowly, hips rolling with deft, meaningful strokes. For a few moments he fucks you like that, reveling in your moans and whimpers, especially when he ducks his head to suck your tits into his mouth.
“Missed you, Yoon,” you whisper suddenly, blissed out and slack-jawed. He pauses his thrusts to put your leg back in place before dropping down to grab your hands and curl them under his, tongue licking roughly over the top of your mouth. Your chest heaves, breathing him in while he sucks on your lips and tongue.
“Missed you too, doll." His hips resume to a slow rhythm, and you let out a soft cry at the sensation of him filling you up to the brim despite never leaving.
You struggle to kiss him back as you get lost in the clouds again now that he’s rocking into you at a slower pace, pressing deeply into you so you can feel every inch of each other with every stroke.
“So fucking good for me,” he grumbles into your mouth, building rhythm as he brings himself to peak.
“Wanna be,” you slur.
“Hm?” His tongue pokes out as he focuses on rolling his hips against a tight, cushioned spot that kisses his tip and draws his orgasm closer.
“Wanna be so good for you. Always.” He grins, pride swelling his chest at your promise.
“Not for Hoseok?” Because he has to make sure.
“No,” you whimper, yanking at his chain to bring him down in a messy kiss. “Just you.”
He kisses you with a relieved smile, bites at your neck a few times, and slaps your hip.
“Then get up and ride me. I shouldn’t be doing all this fucking work,” he commands and slips out before pulling you up by the elbows. He crawls around you to sit against the headboard while you turn to face him and prop yourself up on shaking knees.
Noticing this, he pauses and holds you still. “Can you?”
“Mhmm,” you nod, confirming it with a sloppy kiss.
Grinning, he pulls you forward until you hover over his lap and fists his dick to hold himself in place while his other hand pushes you down by your hip. You grip his shoulders and whine as you sink onto him, waiting until you’re fully breached to start circling your hips. As you lean in to lick between his teeth, you rake your fingers down his chest, lightly scratching over his nipples and smiling when he moans.
“Shit,” he curses against you as you press your thumbs against his buds and he gets you back by attacking your neck with bites and bruises that you’ll have for days. You begin rolling in his lap and hold onto his shoulders for leverage, gasping when he wraps his arm across your waist to pull you closer so your breasts are right in his face and he attaches his mouth to one, leaning back on his hand to hold himself up.
He releases your tit with a pop and tilts his head to watch in content as your knees move to prop yourself up so you can bounce on his dick, appreciating his hand on your ass supporting and guiding you.
“Fuck, doll. Yeah, just like that,” He moans and breaks from your lips to throw his head back as his balls tighten, and you take your turn to make marks on his neck.
“Nngh, gonna come,” he groans deep in his gut, Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes squeezing shut as you continue to rock against him and it throws him over the edge. He pushes at your hips to force you off of him until you fall back once more on the mattress as he pulls out with a gasp. He growls and grunts as thick ropes of hot cum shoot out over your stomach and tits and you moan at the feeling and the sounds he makes.
“Goddamn,” he wheezes, jerking his dick through the final pulses of his orgasm and he grips your thigh to keep himself grounded. When his dick stops twitching, he falls back over to kiss you roughly.
“Close,” you tell him against his lips and he curses.
“Fuck, okay.” Anticipating being overstimulated but wanting nothing more than to satisfy you, he sits on his heels, pulls your hips onto his thighs and waits for your nod for him to plunge back in.
He wastes no time rutting into the very spot that he knows will guarantee you to come fast and hard. He has to bite his bottom lip to keep from whining at the overstimulation. But it proves fruitless when you pulse your orgasm around his dick, squeezing him so tight, that he starts to come again, encouraged by your endless moans of his name. He manages to keep his release at bay until he feels your wave wash back and yanks himself out at the last second so that he doesn’t give into temptation and come inside you. That level is on the horizon, but neither of you are quite ready for that. He knows just how addictive that will be and it’s too much of a risk.
So he opts to come on your stomach and chest for a second time, not bothering to jerk himself through it and just lets his cock bob on your center as he returns to his place above you. You open your mouth to welcome him before he even lands his fists beside your head.
“Fuck, I love you so much,” he breathes over you, ducking his head into your neck so he can hear you whisper the same.
Dick softening on your lower stomach, he kisses you until his biceps strain under his weight.
“You feeling okay?” He asks, sitting back on his heels and smiling warmly (proudly) at your fucked out expression.
He presses his hands on your hips, heart racing when you won’t stop staring at him and he has to look away to prevent a rise in blood pressure, instead staring at all of his cum spread over you.
He looks back up when he catches your hand reaching for him and he grabs it, wrapping his fingers around your knuckles and bringing it to his lips to kiss your palm, eyes never leaving yours.
“What?” He asks as you pout. He kisses the inside of your wrist and you sigh, let his lips linger there and your heart stops for a moment at his tenderness.
With a smile and one more kiss on the back of your hand, he gets up and grabs a pair of sweatpants on the way to the bathroom, running a washcloth under warm water and wringing it out lightly before bringing it back to you to clean up his mess.
A moment later, he watches you with wide eyes as you slide out of bed and head to the bathroom without a word, albeit with a noticeable wobble. He sighs when the door shuts, getting the feeling that fucking the shit out of each other just now did nothing to solve your problems. While he waits for you to come back out, he strips the bed of soiled sheets to take out to the washer in the hallway closet. Just as he starts the cycle, you emerge from the bathroom, arms crossed over your breasts as you scurry into the bedroom to dress into his hoodie and a pair of his hoochie daddy shorts. You keep your head down while you walk past him for the kitchen, but he catches you with an arm pressed into your abdomen.
“Hey,” he murmurs above your head. “Whatever you’re thinking, you can tell me.”
You nod against his bicep, slipping your hand down to his fingers and tangling them together to lead him into the kitchen. He doesn’t take his hands off of you while you maneuver around to retrieve glasses of water for you both, but you end up just sharing yours. Neither of you say anything for a moment after you refresh yourselves. Then, his knuckles under your chin bring your face level with his, away from staring into the void behind his shoulder.
“The sex was good in there, but it didn’t resolve anything,” he reminds you softly. “We should talk it out before you get too far into your head.”
Fuck. He knows you so well. With a sigh and a blurry waterline, you lean against him, head resting on his shoulder so he doesn’t see.
“I just really missed you,” you start in a small voice. On your temple, he frowns. “And I know it’s kind of pathetic because we live together and you were only gone for three days but I just wish you would make up your mind about coming home or not. It’s just frustrating when you say you’ll be done in a couple hours but it turns out to be five. Or I wait up for you just for you to tell me you’re staying overnight. I know how important your work is, especially when you have a deadline, and I never want to take you away from it, but sometimes it feels like when I tell you to take a break, you act as if I’m asking you to stop altogether. I’m just trying to make sure you eat and rest properly so you don’t burn yourself out and get sick.” Your voice chokes the more you admit, and he lets your words hang in the air before rubbing his hand across the back of your shoulders. Resting his head on yours, he takes a deep breath.
“I love how supportive you are of my job and how much you worry about me, but I’m sorry I make you feel neglected. That’s never my intention.” You hum in acknowledgement and he squeezes the back of your neck.
“I mean, I’m not trying to dig myself out of the hole here, but a lot of the time when I come to a dead end with a project and feel like giving up, I think about you and how the faster I get done, the faster I can come home and devote all of my time to you.”
You can’t hold back a sniffle. He frowns and gently pulls you by your shoulder and waist to press your fronts together. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, along with your tears.
“I’m so sorry I made you upset, baby,” he whispers, his own voice choked up. “I just get stuck sometimes and it’s hard for me to give it a rest. Thank you for loving me so well that you knew when I needed you to come drag me out. And three days is way too long to not he home. I’m sorry I made you feel like it wasn’t.” You swallow a sob and hold him tighter.
“Well, I’m sorry I made you think I wanted Hoseok to fuck me.”
His nostrils flare with a small laugh. “I know you were just trying to piss me off. But I don’t know if I want us to make each other jealous by doing that anymore, y’know?”
You nod in quick understanding and he purrs gratefully, lifts a hand to gently tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.
“Because I guess sometimes I just worry that you could do better.”
Your limbs freeze as his words sink in and spreads your blood thin. Placing your hands on his hips, you lean away to look right at him, eyebrows furrowing at his pained smile.
“That has to be the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said.” Chewing the inside of his cheek, he suppresses a laugh.
“I’m serious.” You reach up to cup his jaw. “Don’t tell yourself that. I love you. You’re it for me, Yoongi.”
Starlight fills his eyes as he gazes down into your soul. He hugs you tightly, and whispers those same three words back, all of the weight he’s ever carried lifting off of his shoulders now that you’ve solidified that you’re his forever.
“I’m gonna do better to not spend so much time at the studio,” he promises, fingertips massaging the back of your head.
“Maybe just limit your overnighters to once a week.”
He smiles, leans in to kiss you, hearts feeling warm and full. “I can work with that. And next time you want to blow me at work, try not to do it when one of my colleagues is in there.”
“Fine,” you sigh in exaggeration. “But at least admit that you liked it.”
“I plead the fifth.”
You roll your eyes and swat his chest playfully. “It was a one time thing, so the least you can do is-”
He cuts you off with a kiss that wipes your brain clear of any thoughts.
“You were saying?” he mumbles against your lips with a knowing smirk.
“Fuck if I know,” you breathe and he chuckles.
Leaning back in, he kisses you slowly, thoughtfully for a few moments, then breaks away with eyes hazed with love and boops your nose.
“Why don’t we go shower and get dressed so I can take you out on a date, hm? We’ll go wherever you’d like.”
A bright and wide smile on your face, you tangle both of your hands together and lean up to kiss him. He melts into you and your heart glows as radiant as the rising sun. You break, and your cheeks burn when you notice how his have turned a noticeable shade of pink.
“Let’s both decide on a place. But maybe tomorrow or the day after when I can walk a little better.” He grins and kisses your forehead, softly pats your ass.
“Sounds good to me.”
.
.
.
thanks for reading! Please drop a like and comment if you enjoyed this and follow for more!! 💕💕💕
jeon jungkook is a young poet who moves to paris, the city of love, in pursuit of greatness. on his way, he is plunged into the heady world of the infamous parisian nightclub moulin rouge — where he unexpectedly finds the greatest love of all.
⌗ pairings. jeon jungkook x female reader (x kim taehyung)
⌗ estimated word count. 60-80k
⌗ tags. moulin rouge au, poet!jungkook, courtesan!reader, duke!taehyung, strangers2lovers, yearning of doom of despair, love triangle (ish), fluffsmutangst
notes ! jen try to focus on one wip at the time challenge impossible. this is, if you can’t already tell, a writing idea inspired by @kookooluvr’s Made of Honor, where i’m writing an adaptation of one of my favorite movies, Moulin Rouge. i know this story better than i know myself, and i hope i can do it justice with my writing. i’m not spoiling anything yet, but let’s just say i’m alternating the story a bit! i’m torn between making this a long oneshot or a series, so some insight would be very helpful <3
The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
This story is about love. The greatest love of them all. The love that — as the tale goes — finds you at the most unexpected time. About a boy who searches for love in the city where its rooted, and somehow falls for the epitome of lust. A young and foolish poet with less than a dime to his name, fleeing his hometown, his family, all that is known to him, for the sole purpose of something as simple as love.
Paris is ruthless, never-sleeping, never-ending, and at this time cold and unfamiliar to most, even its citizens. How could it ever welcome a boy as him, a boy far from home with no plan, following his heart without certain direction.
Where does a young and fiery heart lead a lost boy in the great city of love? The answer is Montmartre. To the Bohemians, the underworld, a place where no nobleman would ever set foot.
Jeon Jungkook follows the sound of distant chatter as the cold nips at his cheeks, his nose red with frost and breath leaving as fog. The town around him is dead, he has been led there by none other than his own two feet, roaming mindlessly around in the now silent streets of Montmartre, looking for a place to seek shelter. He has no other plan but to ask kindly, to hope people might take pity in him, a beautiful and lost boy with nowhere to go.
There’s something in the likes of an old, abandoned, dilapidated palace in the far end of Jungkook’s vision, an empty home which somehow seems to be gleaming with life. From where Jungkook stands, he can hear laughter, noises which oddly sound like rattling silverware, pots and pans. It’s all very strange, but inviting.
The torn soles of his boots sink deeper and deeper into the snow as he stands rethinking his decision, his cheeks puffing as he breathes out a deep and final breath. He has left his hometown. In his hands are what is truly nothing, a leather suitcase which contains a change of clothes and a toothbrush, and tucked into his other arm is a typewriter — the living reminder of why he has no money.
With heavy steps, he embarks on his journey. Around him is nothing but silence — drunks who have fallen asleep in the snow with a bottle in hand, escorts giving up on their quests, tugging on their short skirts. Nothing all that romantic, which surprises Jungkook.
He fled home for Paris in hopes of encountering romance. To find it pulsating around him, fuel to his work, his lousy poesy which only consists of shallow descriptions of love. He wishes to encounter it in person, up-close, so he might know what this love is really all about. Why so many poets before him seems to be so fixated on this subject.
It’s not like Jungkook has lived a life without love, his parents were perfectly normal and capable of showing affection — just not to each other. They seemed to have burnt out along the way of having Jungkook, their only son. But if love is all-consuming, deadly, a strong enough force to drown in, how come some people fall out of it?
That is to Jungkook a mystery, one he hopes to unveil in Paris, alongside what love truly is. What it is to love someone unconditionally, to love someone so deeply that the world stops spinning, that one would rather simply not exist if without love.
Might he be so lucky, to find love here in Paris? Oh, do let him find his love.
pairing: executive chef!yoongi x f!cook!reader
genre: pwp
rating: explicit content, MDNI!!!!!!!
summary: you're a perfectionist at work, and you rarely make mistakes. but you start to once you realize you like it when chef min yells at you. hopefully, you don't lose your job. you'll find out, when he calls you into his office one night.
warnings/tags: i may watch too much gordon ramsey, ummmm this is kinda kinky? and filthy but on a scale from 1 to hook line & stinker i'd say it's about a 5.5, i made myself blush tho lol, yoongi is her boss so there's a power dynamic but he's a consent king (as always), it escalates p fast, p*ssy slapping, spanking, fingering, mildly degrading language, degradation kink, edging, orgasm denial
wc: 4.2k
notes: I've been off all week bc of a snowstorm (i work in a school. rip my paycheck) and i took the free time to write this absolute nonsense lol i hope it's good. I finished and posted on a whim, so it's not thoroughly proofread. And a big thanks to Aqua for yapping with me about this 🫶🫶🫶
“Who the fuck closed last night?!”
The boom of Chef Min’s voice as he storms into the kitchen shakes the walls around you. Everyone freezes, including you. Busted. But you knew it was coming.
“I did, chef,” you say, stepping away from the steel table you were wiping down and into view of the steaming face of Min Yoongi. He strides towards you holding a container covered by saran wrap that he slams onto the counter, startling you.
“You didn’t label last night’s stock? Are you fucking dumb?”
No, indeed you’re not. Before you left last night, you checked off the entire tasklist knowing damn well you didn’t mark the freshly wrapped ingredients. Because the first thing that Chef Min does when he comes into the restaurant after being gone for a few days is check inventory. And if anything is missing, out of place, or just plain not up to his standards, he flips his lid. No one makes these kinds of mistakes because no one wants to be yelled at and talked down to by the executive chef.
But you do.
You keep your head down as he steps right in front of you. Under his harsh glare that sears right through your skin, you tremble, but not from fear or intimidation.
“How long have you been working at my restaurant?”
You gulp, staring at your feet. His voice is so deep and low and angry and you’re getting chills and-
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
Your head snaps up obediently, heat flushing from your cheeks to your ears from the insane darkness in his glare. He’s pissed.
“Answer my question,” he growls. Your legs quake.
“I’ve been here for eight months.”
“Yeah, you’d think by now you know how I fucking run things around here.”
“I do, chef. I just made a mistake, I’m sorry.”
“You’re going to be.” Fuck, how can a threat sound so good? “Tonight, you’ll stay late to check inventory and make sure everything in the pantry and walk-in is labeled and dated. And then you’re going to roll every single piece of silverware in this place. Is that clear?”
“Yes, chef.”
He turns around without another word.
The rest of the night goes by without a hitch. It’s busy as it always is and you run around like a hamster on acid like you always do, firing up orders and sending them out in expert time. Occasionally, Chef Min passes behind you, just hovering as you maneuver around your work station. You won’t fuck up on purpose now, lest you put your job at stake. But as the end of your shift looms closer, so does the notion that you may have already done that. Because now he’s watching your every move, just waiting for any tiny mistake. So you don’t make a single one and you don’t check to make sure he sees that.
The last table leaves around 11 and your colleagues slowly filter out after they finish up with their tasks. You’re absolutely exhausted by the time you complete your prep work and clean up your station, but now you have to label and date all of the stock. After you get a sharpie and a roll of tape and head into the pantry, Jimin, your work bestie, swings by with his apron over his shoulder.
“Hey, good luck tonight,” he says with a supportive smile.
You nod, sighing out some overstimulation. “I might need it.”
“I honestly don’t know how you’re not fired.” You pause. That’s not what you need to hear right now.
“Thanks, Jimin,” you respond dryly.
“I mean, Chef Min takes things so seriously, I’m just kind of surprised he’s kept you on.”
“I was late like one time and forgot about labeling last night," you defend, even though it's weak.
“Don’t forget that time you chopped the onions instead of dicing them.”
Oh, yeah. That was a few months ago and Chef Min chewed you out for a good five minutes. You went home that night and dreamt that he took you right against the wall next to the fridges.
“He must think you’re too talented that it’s not worth it to let you go. Just be careful you don’t take advantage of that.”
“I won’t.”
“Good. I’d hate to lose my work wife.”
“How does Ty feel about you calling me your work wife?” you tease, knowing his boyfriend is waiting outside to pick him up.
“He doesn’t know,” he says, blowing you a kiss and twirling around with a finger heart held in the air. You shake your head endearingly.
“Bye!” you call after him.
“Bye!”
Soon after, the alley door slams shut and the kitchen becomes eerily quiet now that you’re left completely alone. The faster you get this done, the faster you get out of here. Even though you shouldn’t, you hope you run into Chef Min.
It’s a known fact that he rarely fires people since he tactically chooses each member of his staff, doing thorough background and skill checks to ensure everyone is capable of carrying out his high expectations. Which is why the “mistakes” you make are small and generally insignificant, but knowing that Chef Min is a detail-oriented perfectionist, he’s bound to notice anything out of place. So that’s why you toe the line.
Halfway through, you’re startled by the clanking of metal and the sharp hiss and crackle of hot oil. Holding your breath, you poke your head out of the stock room, and Chef Min is standing in front of the counter, chopping up various vegetables and moving them into the pan. You watch for a moment, fascinated by this rare sight of him cooking. He uses the kitchen behind-the-scenes to experiment and test new items for the menu, but the way he cooks with such smooth expertise fills you with envy. You probably shouldn’t get caught just staring at him so you focus back on your work.
Your neck has several cricks in it when you finally move onto the silverware, and the ache in your feet has started to radiate up to your calves, but you can’t sit down until you’re done. That’s until you spot a ceramic–covered plate placed right next to the bin of clean and polished silverware, accompanied by a bottle of water. Did Chef Min… cook for you? You glance around the empty kitchen. There’s no sign that he was ever in here making a meal - no dishes in the sink or on the drying rack, and the counter and stove are as pristine as ever. Your mouth waters as you lift the cover and your senses are flooded with a deliciously savory smell. As you’re about to grab a fork, you notice a plastic one already waiting on a paper napkin. Your heart flutters at the gesture.
Because the floor is clean enough to lick, you plop down and force yourself not to inhale his food. The flavors melt on your tongue and you groan as every muscle in your body relaxes. The connoisseur in you wants to whip out your phone and jot down notes of the ingredients, but you don’t want to stop eating. The food disappears all too quickly and you’re sad as you stare down at your cleared plate. Oh well, time to finish up.
Luckily, you get through it in a breeze - rolling silverware is second nature to you now, you bet you could do this in your sleep. Knife and fork tucked together, rolled tightly and neatly in an ironed, cloth napkin, and secured in the black, crisp paper band etched with the logo of Chef Min’s two-Michelin star restaurant.
By the time you finish, it’s nearing midnight and he hasn’t come back out of his office. Your bones are screaming for you to leave but you want to be assured that you’re not in the dog house with him. You’re definitely not stalling when you return to the stock room to recheck each container for its precisely placed and clearly written label. You catch movement in the doorway and almost jump out of your skin when it’s Chef Min who’s standing there, chef coat unbuttoned to reveal a white, untucked t-shirt underneath. He crosses his veiny, muscular forearms and you turn away before you can salivate.
“Are you almost done? I’d like to go home.” His tone is gruff and impatient, and you scramble to stand, quickly smoothing down your uniform.
“I’m finished. I was just making sure that I didn’t miss anything.”
“I’ll check the silverware.” He swivels on his heel and you don’t know if that’s an invitation to follow, so you slowly exit the stockroom and keep your distance as he stops by the station where you meticulously stacked all the rolls.
“Who helped you?” he asks, picking up a pair and inspecting the napkin. You swallow. You may make mistakes, but you never cheat.
“No one, chef.” He stares at the silverware for another moment, and you closely observe his erratic blinks and the small downturn on the corner of his mouth. You rolled every single one of those perfectly, and you know that there’s no problem. So the lack of expression on his face makes you queasy. Your spine straightens when he sets down the roll and sharply turns towards you.
“Come with me to my office.” Your hands grow clammy, a churning in your gut now that you anticipate you might’ve fucked up for the last time. He’s never talked to you in his office, so maybe he’s finally going to let you have it.
“Oh, let me wash my plate first.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbles as he passes by without looking at you. So you dutifully trail after him, though you’re somewhat shocked that he’s giving you a pass.
He goes in first, and as you enter with your hands nervously clasped, he’s holding onto the edge of the door, eyes still narrowed in a frown.
“Sit,” he says sternly, and your stomach churns as you take tentative steps towards his desk to take a seat opposite his large desk chair. His office is small and keenly organized, nothing out of place or in disarray, as you would expect of Chef Min. The walls are littered with framed degrees, magazine covers and newspaper clippings of his accolades from when he was an up-and-coming culinary artiste and now as the owner of a critically acclaimed restaurant. Reasons why you’ve sought out working here. And now as you sit in his office, you start to regret ever putting your job and your reputation at risk simply because it… entices you when he yells. But you can't help it.
“I can’t figure you out,” his voice jolts you out of your rapidly spiraling thoughts and you sit up straight as he walks up behind you.
“What do you mean, chef?” you ask, keeping a neutral tone even though you’re close to tears. He rounds your chair and faces you, leaning on the corner of his desk, arms crossed as he peers down at you.
“I see the good work you do, how tenacious you are. You’re very thorough with prep, you follow my recipes down to a perfect detail, and when I’m not here, I never hear any complaints about you from my sous.”
You bow your head, pinching your thumb so you don’t squirm in the chair. In all the years you’ve worked at high-end restaurants, through all the toil and extreme pressure, not once have you received a compliment. Especially not from an executive chef. And you never dreamed of hearing one from Min Yoongi.
“So how come when I am here, you manage to slip up so many times? And in ways that I’ll definitely notice? You think I’m attracted to incompetence?”
The way he grits that last part has your attention snapping up, and you’re met with that glare again. “No, chef.”
“Then why do you keep fucking shit up around me?”
You falter, a tight knot of reckoning lodging in your throat making it impossible to look at him. What the fuck are you supposed to say? You’ve always been the type of person to think ahead, to prepare for the million ways each decision and choice you make could pan out. Yet here you are, being confronted by the man you go to sleep at night thinking of about why you make stupid little mistakes to piss him off? You’re suddenly at a loss when you know the exact reason and you’re pushed incredibly off kilter. So you say nothing.
“You know what I think?” You slowly turn your cheek, because the change in his tone, softer yet darker, commands you to look at him.
“That you like it.” You freeze, eyes widening like a deer in headlights. You’re screwed - so, so screwed.
“What?” you blurt on a half-bated breath. A small uptick grows on the corner of his mouth.
“When I yell at you.”
Your heart and mind races because - it’s taken him this long to catch on but he’s actually caught on???
“Hm, I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I? Why else would you make such dumb little mistakes? I know you're not actually dumb.” He tilts his head, very clearly smirking, seeming to find amusement in your shock.
“I’m sorry,” you whoosh, pulse skyrocketing.
He chuckles. “Don’t apologize now.”
What the fuck else are you supposed to say?? He then steals your breath and catapults your heart into a frenzy when he leans down, grabs the arms of your chair, and turns you towards him to get right in your face.
“So, what do you want? A punishment?” He asks this while gazing deep into your eyes, his own hooded and dark and devoid of irritation. You catch the flick down to your lips and your chest spasms.
“I want what you think I deserve,” you say, a tremor in your voice because that could mean anything.
“And just how should I go about doing that?”
“I’ll take anything.” He shakes his head but remains in your face.
“Tell me what you want or leave.” How can you say it out loud? Now that you’re faced with the opportunity, you’re cowering? Since when are you a fucking coward. This is what you wanted. Don’t give it up.
But you need a moment to breathe. Looking over your shoulder, you notice the door is still open and as you face him again, he’s already leaning away. Wordlessly, you stand and head for the door, and he just as quietly begins retreating to his side of the desk. You grab the knob and slowly push the door closed, turning the lock with a resounding click.
You take a deep breath. Here goes everything.
“And if I want you to fuck me?” The silence that fills his office wraps a growing tangle of morbid anticipation in your gut. You tentatively look his way and your lungs inflate when he’s staring at you, amusement etched into the smile he rubs over with his beautiful, veiny hand.
“All you have to do is say so.” Oh, thank god. But what the fuck? That is certainly not the answer you expected and it shoots heat between your legs.
“I didn’t think you were interested, chef,” you say coolly.
He scoffs. “You think I would’ve put up with your bullshit for this long if I wasn’t interested?”
A sudden surge of confidence rolls back your shoulders. “Then all you had to do was say so.”
His eyebrow cocks, smirk falling. “Oh, getting smart with me now?”
“No, chef,” you say in a sweet voice as you fully turn around, coyly batting your lashes. His eyes narrow.
“Come here.” Breath shaking with excitement, you heed his command and once again walk towards his desk, but at a normal pace lest you seem too eager. He pushes his chair away from the edge and gestures for you to stand beside him. You stop at the corner, impatiently waiting for his next instruction. Your hands are shaking as you fight off a smile because it’s finally happening. You hope you’re not fucking dreaming.
“Closer.” He ushers you over to stand directly in front of him and you gasp when he lightly slaps your ass without warning, and the surprise of it makes you jolt forward.
“Bend over,” he orders in a deep grumble, and you await another smack as you lean forward, palms planting flat on his desk.
“What should I do with you?” he asks, probably rhetorically as he trails his fingers along the hem of your black chef’s coat. You arch your back, presenting yourself.
“Like I said, anything you want.” He says nothing and refrains from making another move. That knot in your throat returns because is he having regrets?
“Should I take off my pants?”
“If you want.”
“But do you want it?” you snap over your shoulder, at him just vacantly staring at your lower region, an unreadable stitch between his brows.
“Yes.” The knot dissipates. “But you should know that you can change your mind and I won’t hold it against you.”
His assurance makes you feel 1,000 times more confident. “Chef, the last thing I’m going to do is change my mind.”
He hums and further spreads his legs, clasping his hands in his lap as if waiting for you to carry on. Facing forward again, you thank god that he can’t see your stupid ass grin as you unbutton, unzip, and push down your uniform slacks, biting your lip as the cool air breathes across your bare ass. Fuck, you can’t wait to see what he’s going to do with you.
“Damn,” he mutters, and you wonder if he meant it out loud, but he still doesn’t touch you. Is he going to make you beg? You’re pathetic enough, you’ll do so gladly.
But then you hear his chair scoot back and a sharp slap rings out as his hand makes hard contact with your cheek, and you bite back a moan at the sting. He smoothes over the sting on your cheek that will definitely still be there tomorrow before landing another smack on the same spot, coaxing out another moan that you can’t hold back.
“Knew you’d like this,” he correctly observes.
“I-I do, chef,” you stutter, arousal soaking through your panties and dampening your inner thighs. He hums and cups a handful of your cheek, pushing you forward until your hips dig into the edge of his desk and you’re more parallel with the surface.
“Please touch me,” you beg in a desperate whisper, biting your lip when his thumb skims under your panties and stops just beside your hole.
“Holy shit, you’re soaked,” he mumbles in a register deeper than you’ve ever heard. “How long have you been this wet for me?”
“All night.”
He hums and slips two fingers between your folds, spreading your lips apart. You buck, struggling to keep it together.
“I bet it’s been longer.” Damn, he’s right. Before he stood inches away from you and looked and spoke down to you. When he just walked through the door in his ironed white chef’s coat and slacks, dark red hair perfectly styled off his forehead, side burns giving a peek into his undercut. He’s so hot it’s not fair. Out of nowhere, he gives your sensitive clit a firm tap and you briefly see stars, gasping as euphoric stimulation simmers up to your lower belly. He repeats it with added pressure and prolongment and you fall onto your elbows, breasts smushing into the wood, chafing your pert nipples.
“This is what you like, huh? Rough?”
You garble out a barely coherent “Uh-huh.”
“You’re such a filthy, naughty girl.” You have no fucking idea. Before you get a chance to realize you said that out loud, you hear a thud against the wall that you imagine comes from his chair, and then his hand lands on your mound… hard. Hard enough that it leaves a lasting sting, propelling a shockwave through your entire body. The only sound you emit is a gasp. That feels way too fucking good.
He does it again, and the weight of his palm slamming against your clit has your knees and ankles buckling.
“Oh-Oh fuck!” You moan, teeth digging into your bottom lip because if he fucking does that again, you just might-
For a third time, he grabs the inside of your thigh and tugs at your skin right before the smack. You cry out, the pain on your clit snapping apart the intense coil in your core and you see white as pleasure overwhelms your conscience.
You moan and twitch as your cunt pulses around nothing, and you squeeze your eyes and mouth shut because what the fuck you’ve never come this quick before and from next to nothing.
“Did you just come from me slapping your pussy?” He asks, astounded and for a split second you’re embarrassed. But then he chuckles.
“You’re so pathetic, it’s cute.”
You whimper, hoping he’s not going to stop there because you’re nowhere near gratified. Just as your tongue moves to ask if that’s it, he inserts a slender finger and it glides in smoothly.
“So fucking wet,” he hisses, and the wood smothers your groan as he adds another finger and slowly fucks them in and out, palm nudging your clit.
“Faster,” you plead, the warmth already pooling in your gut telling you it won’t take long to reach your peak again.
“Who are you to give me orders?” he snaps, and you cry out when he pulls his hand away, leaving you devastatingly empty.
“No, I’m sorry!” He just humphs, like he doesn’t believe you.
“You gonna stop being a pain in my ass?”
“Mm-mm,” you hum defiantly. Stupidly. He clicks his tongue.
“Not a good answer.” You open your mouth to retract but your lungs constrict as his digits plunge into you again, bottom of his hand slamming against the center of your ass, and vigorously dig and curl against your patch of pleasure.
You bite back screams when over and over and over again, he curves and fucks his fingers into you, coaxing you to the brink of release and then dismantling it just before you crash.
“Please!” You beg after your orgasm is snatched away for the fourth time. Tears spill onto the desk, smearing all down your cheek. “Please I can’t take it!”
“Then answer correctly. Are you going to stop fucking up in my restaurant?”
“Yes!” you wail, nails digging into the mahogany and you might have to pay for damages.
“Louder.”
“Yes!”
“Yes, what?” The growl in his voice gnaws at your spine.
“Yes, chef!”
“Good girl.”
He presses his free hand onto your lower back so you’re rendered immobile and slams his fingers into your cunt, right on your spot, and finally works you through your orgasm. You let out an elongated moan as a powerful wave stuns you and uncontrollable shakes swim up and down your legs. Your ears ring from how harshly you were clenching your teeth, but you still register his low and satisfied hum as you squeeze around his fingers. More tears fall when he slips out and leaves you to recover, plopping back in his chair and your cheeks flare with heat when you imagine him just staring and smirking at the mess he made.
As you start to breathe normally, the opening and closing of a drawer vibrates the desk beneath you. You melt like warmed butter when a soft napkin caresses the insides of your thighs to dry them.
You look over your shoulder when he starts pulling up your panties. “Wait, you’re not gonna-”
He shakes his head, shucking up your slacks and covering your ass. “When you start behaving, we’ll get around to that.”
Disappointment floods you, especially when you glance down to the tented evidence of his erection.
“What about you?”
His eyes flicker to you and he gives another subtle shake of his head. “Go home and sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Your bottom lip juts out in a pout but you won’t argue. At least there’s a tomorrow. You push yourself up and turn around to sit on the edge, now standing in between his widespread legs as you zip up your pants. You make a severe effort to not look at his crotch again. Fuck, you feel like you're being kicked to the curb.
“You cooked for me earlier,” you blurt. Stalling. Again.
He stills, then shrugs as he responds. “Can’t have you passing out on me. It’s a liability.” Like you didn’t scarf down food that you threw together on your break. Like he doesn’t know about that.
“I know I don’t have to tell you that it was really good.”
A grin filled with pride spreads onto his pretty, pink lips. Fuck, you want to know what they feel like against your own.
“Just one of the new recipes I’m trying out for the menu.”
“Well, if you need a taste tester, I’m your girl.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
You simply stare at each other for a moment and your heart rate intensifies. This is the first time he’s looked at you without hostility and anger in his eyes. It fills you with a warmth that you’re not used to. And you greedily want more of it.
“I guess I’ll get going,” you crack the silence before it gets overheated. You sidestep him, ignoring the ache and pull to close the distance and kiss him. Tomorrow. You still have tomorrow.
“Drive safe,” he says as he follows you to the door. You swivel around to have the last word.
“Night, chef.”
He nods, holds his small smile and your gaze for a lingering second and then closes the door.
For once, you don’t spend the drive home wondering just what you can do next to piss him off.
You’ll show him just how good you can be.
.
.
.
thanks so much for reading!! i know that was a bit wild but hope you enjoyed. i'm a little nervous about this bc it's been a while since i've written smut so let me know what you think!! (pls be nice im just a girl)
summary: You’re not having the best day. Luckily, Jungkook is there to make it better. With his presence… and maybe a really expensive rock he had been hidden for months.
pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook
genre/warning: fluff. fluff and more fluff— this is a short chapter/one shot that follows up the story of TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS. for anyone new: it’s definitely better to read the series before reading this to have (a lot of) context<33
series masterlist
word count: +12k words.
Life felt too small that afternoon.
Your apartment looked like a disaster. Half-open suitcases on the floor, clothes folded with obsessive precision on one side and thrown carelessly on the other, documents stacked on the dining table in neat piles that only made sense to you. Your phone was glued to your ear, shoulder pinning it in place as you paced from room to room, barefoot, hair pulled into a messy knot that was slowly unraveling with every step.
“Yes, I know, I know,” you said into the phone, voice tight but controlled. “The delivery timeline is confirmed, right? I don’t want surprises. If anything changes in the next twenty hours, and I mean anything, you better have a backup plan because I’ll be in the sky and I don’t want any surprises when I land.”
You stopped in front of an open suitcase, staring down at it like it was your worst enemy.
“No, I’m not coming back to Korea before the opening,” you added, sharper now. “I’ve been flying back and forth, if there’s something missing— We’ll, no, it better not be something missing because I’m not coming for another three weeks.”
From the couch, Jungkook watched you with quiet familiarity, one arm draped over the backrest, the other lazily resting as Sunni leaned against his side with a coloring book balanced on her knees. They had been there for an hour already, waiting for you to be done. Their bags already in the car, an open space waiting for your things.
You were not ready at all. Exactly why he pulled up early. He knew you were going to be spiralling.
Jungkook didn’t pressure you to hurry up or interrupt you. He never did when you were like that, spiralling in logistics, already living a year in the future. Instead, he stayed where he was, solid and unbothered, like gravity itself.
“Okay,” you finally sighed into the phone, rubbing your forehead. “Okay. Send me the updated checklist again. Yes. Again. Thank you.”
You ended the call and stood there for a second, phone still in your hand, chest rising and falling as if you’d just run somewhere instead of walked ten steps across your own apartment.
Jungkook tilted his head, watching you carefully. “Did the world end,” he asked gently, “or are we still on schedule?”
You let out a breath that sounded halfway between a laugh and a groan. “We’re on schedule,” you said, dragging a hand down your face. “Which somehow makes it worse.”
Sunni looked up at you, eyes bright. “Are we really going on the big airplane today?”
“Yes,” you said instantly, turning to her with a softer expression. “The really big one.”
She grimaced, kicking her feet. “Will it crashed?.”
“Not if you behave,” you grinned at her.
“Dad said I can get gelato every day,” she nodded, like trying to convince you too.
Jungkook smiled at that, glancing at her. “I said if we survived.”
Sunni looked terrified for a moment. “Are we not going to survive?!”
“Of course we will. But for that you have to behave in the plane.” He patted her head. “If not, the flight attendant will throw you out.”
“They can do that?”
You shook your head, moving toward the couch and collapsing beside them for just a moment. “It’s her first time flying and you’re scaring her like that.”
“I’ve survived five-hour road trips with her. You don’t want to know how it goes if you don’t bribe her to behave.” Jungkook said simply.
You hummed. “Well, it’s a thirteen hour flight in first class. I will have my own bed, I’m not taking chances to put myself in a bad mood.”
“You’re such a good step-mom,” he said sarcastically.
You shivered at the mention, giving him a cold stare. “Don’t make me put you in business class.”
Jungkook laughed. “I paid for those tickets.”
“With my airline miles.”
“Well, you do have a lot of miles. We had to made it work.” He shrugged.
You chuckled before letting the silence fill the room for a moment.
Jungkook, Sunni and you were about to travel to Italy, Sicily. In three weeks you were finally opening the restaurant for Rosa. After months of making it work again and taking it at your own time to make your business and personal life finally work and co-exist together. Which was going great. Better than even. And you loved it. Every second of it. Of course, that didn’t mean the stress that was hunting you for being so close to the opening disappeared. It had been one of the most stressful months in your life and you were trying really hard to not crash out.
“Sunni has all her papers signed?,” you suddenly questioned.
“Yes, Yunna signed every permission.” Jungkook nodded before taking your hand and leaning closer to look at you better. “I told you, we have everything done to just get in that airplane and go.”
“Okay, great.” You nodded, a little stiff.
He tilted his head, watching you closer. “You just need to finish packing your suitcases so we can go.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.” You tried to stand up but he stopped you.
“Talk to me.”
You sighed. Your body melting into his presence like it meant to. His voice was softer, grounding. You leaned more into him, forehead dropping into his shoulder. Your voice lower and softer. “I’m just… stressed. I have three weeks until everything I’ve worked for is either perfect or a disaster.”
Jungkook pressed a kiss into your hair without hesitation. “It’s going to be perfect,” he said calmly. “And even if something goes wrong, you’ll handle it. You always do.”
“I know but—”
“But,” he cut you off. “Even if anything goes wrong it will still be perfect. Because this is yours… and because I’ll be there if you need anything. Okay?”
His words were firm and clear, he wasn’t giving you room to doubt.
“Okay.”
“Hey,” he shook his shoulder so you would look at him. You pulled back to do it. Jungkook kissed your lips, a soft peck before smiling at you. “I love you.”
You smiled, lazily and sweet. “I love you too,” you said it back before adding: “I can’t believe you’re really taking three weeks off for me.”
He shrugged. “Already approved by Jimin. I’m yours. Full-time support staff. You’re my boss now.”
Sunni gasped dramatically, making you both turned to her. “Does that mean Dad has to listen to you all the time?”
“Yes,” Jungkook said at the same time you went: “When he hasn’t?.”
He laughed, standing and offering you his hand. “Come on. Let’s finish packing before you start reorganizing the documents for the fifth time.”
You didn’t rush after that.
Jungkook helped you move through the apartment the same way he always did when you were overwhelmed, quietly, purposefully, taking things out of your hands without making you feel like you were losing control.
He folded what you forgot to like some clothes for the summer weather and personal stuff he knew you would later get angrier for not having them in had. He also reminded you of the things you would’ve left behind because they lived in the “I’ll remember later” part of your brain, held up dresses and asked questions about weather and events like he was memorizing a role he took seriously.
Sunni sat on the floor, legs swinging as she passed you socks and hair ties like they were treasures, proudly declaring which ones were “pretty for both of us” like you were going to share those with her— which you weren’t. They were too big and expensive for her.
At some point, the chaos softened. The suitcases filled. The documents were checked, then checked again, then gently taken from your hands and tucked safely into Jungkook’s backpack when you started to spiral.
By the time the zippers closed and the apartment fell into a rare, settled quiet, you felt lighter, steadier, like you weren’t carrying the weight alone anymore. And when you finally stepped out the door together, bags in hand, Jungkook’s presence beside you felt less like help and more like certainty, easing you forward into the drive that would take you toward everything waiting on the other side.
The drive to the airport was quieter, calmer. The kind of calm that only came after chaos had exhausted itself. The city blurred past the windows as Sunni pressed her face to the glass, narrating everything she saw, while you sat in the passenger seat, finally still, Jungkook’s hand resting comfortably on your thigh.
“You know,” you said after a moment, staring ahead, “we should plan a day where we do absolutely nothing.”
He glanced at you, amused. “You? Do nothing?”
“I said plan,” you repeated. “Not necessarily succeed.”
Sunni leaned forward between the seats. “Can we go see volcanoes?”
“Yes,” Jungkook said without hesitation.
“And eat pasta every day?”
“Yes.”
“And swim in the sea?”
“Yes.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Eating pasta everyday is crazy. You’re setting unrealistic expectations.”
He squeezed your thigh lightly. “It’s Sicily. The expectations are already unrealistic.”
You chuckled before putting your hand on top of his. There was a silence that you took for yourself before talking again.
You hesitated, then remind him more quietly, “My parents will be there for a couple of days.”
Jungkook’s posture shifted, just slightly. “I know.”
“They’ll be there maybe three days max,” you warned. “They won’t stay for the opening, just a few days this week. They have work. It won’t be a big deal for us, okay?.”
He frowned, immediately unconvinced. “It is a big deal. It’s your family.”
You sighed. “Yeah, but… I’m not really trying to make it a big deal. It’s not like they care that much.”
“Still,” he said gently, “it matters to me.”
You turned to look at him. “You know, when I met your family… it was easy. They were warm, they were funny and nice. They liked me—”
“They adored you,” he corrected.
You smiled faintly. “— and they were normal.” You stated. “You know my parents are… complicated for me. They’re nice and I love them. But don’t expect something from them, they’re just people I learned to know they will be there when they want to, not when I need them.” Your sighed. “So please don’t have expectations.”
“That’s okay,” he said, voice steady. “I’m not meeting them for them, I’m meeting them for you.”
Something in your chest tightened at that. “Okay.”
“Besides,” Jungkook continued. “Their first impression of me was at Rosa’s funeral. I couldn’t even introduce myself as your partner then so I didn’t introduce myself at all.” He gave you a look. “I know you hate this but I still need to give them a good impression.”
You nodded, understanding his view. “Well, it will be just this and then we can never see them again if you don’t like them.”
Sunni interrupted, cheerful as ever. “Are they nice?”
You glanced back at her. “They’re… learning.”
Jungkook chuckled. “That’s okay. So are we.”
The car kept moving, the road stretching forward, carrying you toward Sicily, toward Rosa’s home, toward the place you love, toward sun and salt air and long days and something that felt, for the first time in a long while, like the beginning instead of the test.
And finally, you let yourself sit back, Jungkook beside you, Sunni humming quietly in the back seat, and believed, confidently, that everything was going to be okay.
—————
First class was quieter than usual. Not many people were there for the long flight so it felt better for Sunni since it was her first time in a plane.
The private suites were wide with sliding doors, soft lighting that felt more like evening than afternoon, seats that turned into beds with real linens instead of blankets that smelled like recycled air. Jungkook helped Sunni settle into her seat first, showing her how everything worked with the patience he reserved only for her, explaining the buttons like it was the most important thing in the world. She was wide-eyed, whispering “woah” every few seconds, already clutching the little amenity kit like a souvenir she planned to keep forever.
Once she was distracted with the screen and snacks, you finally exhaled, sinking into your own seat as the doors closed and the plane began to hum around you. Jungkook held Sunni’s hand for the first hour or so while explaining her how everything work in the air so she wouldn’t get nervous.
For the first hour, you did nothing, just watched him work his magic with her. And it felt strange, almost wrong luxurious, to let your body rest while the world carried you forward without asking anything of you.
Jungkook reclined his seat, stretching out easily, one arm bent behind his head as he watched you with that quiet attentiveness that always made you feel seen even when he wasn’t saying anything. You talked a little, lazily, about nothing important: how unreal it felt to be so close to the opening night, how the light in Sicily was different, how Sunni would probably fall asleep before the meal even came…
And, like clockwork, she did. Somewhere between the flight attendant’s soft footsteps and the dimming of the cabin lights, her excitement finally caught up to her, her head tilting to the side as sleep took her completely.
Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He stood, gentle as always, and moved to your suite, pulling the divider fully closed before settling beside you, adjusting the seat until it was more bed than chair. He stretched out next to you, careful not to crowd you, one arm resting loosely around your waist like a question you answered by shifting closer. The plane faded into background noise then, the low hum of engines, the muted clink of glasses somewhere far away, until it was just the two of you, cocooned in a space that felt removed from time.
You two just talked for a while, whispering like teenagers who were hiding when there was no one who was actually trying to haunt you.
“Are you finally breathing now,” Jungkook murmured, turning his head slightly to look at you.
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t jinx it. I might remember something I forgot to pack.”
He smiled, lazy and fond. “You didn’t. I checked. Twice. You even packed the shoes you hate but insist you’ll need.”
“They’re practical and comfortable ,” you defended, tilting your head toward him. “Maybe a little ugly.”
“Extremely,” he agreed. “But you’ll wear them anyway and complain the whole time.”
You smiled, softening. “You love me.”
“I do,” he said easily, like it wasn’t a confession but a fact. “Especially when you’re complicated.”
You shifted closer. “Do you ever think about how weird this is? Three weeks away from everything. No schedules, no flights back and forth. It’s our first long vacation-ish.”
He considered it for a moment. “Yeah. It feels… weird. In a good way. Like the problems had stopped interrupting us.”
You nodded, tracing the seam of his sleeve. “I’ll make it a good vacation, okay?. I will be resting most of the time, enjoying the beach and all.”
Jungkook hummed thoughtfully. “No, you won’t.”
“I will,” you insisted.
“No, you won’t. You’ll try to work through it. I’ll tell you to stop. You won’t listen. Then you’ll fall asleep on some random couch and I’ll pretend that was the plan.”
You laughed, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “You make me sound so romantic.”
“It is romantic,” he said, lips brushing your temple. “I love you anyway.”
You went quiet for a beat, then sighed. “Thank you for not taking my feelings and make them yours. I know it’s my thing, my stress, my overthinking, my restaurant—”
He kissed your lips, softly. “It is my thing. You’re my thing.” Then he added, teasing, “Also, I get free Italian food out of it.”
You scoffed. “User.”
“Absolutely,” he grinned. “I’m in love and hungry.”
You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you leaned in and kissed him properly this time. It was familiar, yours, unhurried.
When you pulled back, you stayed close, your voice barely above a whisper. “I really like us like this.”
Jungkook’s thumb brushed gently along your jaw. “Me too,” he said. “This is my favorite version of us.”
You smiled at him. “Mine too.”
“By the way, Sunni was really excited, you know,” he said quietly, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “She’s been telling everyone at school she’s going to Italy. Says it like it’s magic.”
You smiled, tracing idle shapes on his chest. “I’m glad. I know the last month I got busier and… I don’t want to cause anything with, you know, the travel, the change… me being so busy.”
He shook his head slightly, pressing a kiss into your hair. “She loves being with you. And she loves seeing you happy and she understands your work. That’s what she notices now.” His thumb brushed slow, grounding circles against your side. “You don’t have to earn her excitement or her understanding, you already have it.”
Your chest tightened, the familiar mix of fear and tenderness settling in. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” he said without hesitation, lifting your chin so you had to look at him. His gaze was steady, warm. “She also has me to make her understand it better. We’re a team.”
That did something to you. The way he said it like it was obvious, like that was the most natural place in the world for him to be.
You leaned in, kissing him softly again at first, unhurried, the kind of kiss that wasn’t trying to prove anything. He kissed you back the same way, gentle and deep, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as if to anchor the moment. When you pulled away, your foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingling, the intimacy of it settling quietly between you.
“I don’t say it enough,” you murmured. “How much it means that you’re here. That you’re doing this with me.”
He smiled, small and fond, brushing his nose against yours. “You don’t have to say it. I know.” he whispered softly, “But I like hearing it anyway.”
You laughed quietly, curling closer into his side, your head finding its place against his shoulder like it had always belonged there.
Outside the window, the sky stretched endlessly, pale and calm, and your mind followed it— not racing ahead, not spiraling backward. Just there. Just that. Jungkook’s arm around you, Sunni sleeping peacefully a few feet away, and the feeling that whatever waited for you in Italy, you weren’t walking into it alone.
—————
Sicily greeted you like it had been waiting.
The air was warmer than you expected when you stepped out, heavier with salt and sun, the kind that clung to your skin immediately. Even exhausted from the flight, even with your brain still buzzing with lists and timelines, something in your chest loosened the moment you breathed it in.
The drive from the airport was quiet in the best way. Windows down, Jungkook’s hand resting on the steering wheel from the car you rented for the time you were going to spent there, Sunni was in the backseat pressed up against the glass, narrating every single thing she saw like it might disappear if she didn’t say it out loud.
“There’s the sea again,” she announced for the fourth time in ten minutes, awed every single time. “It’s everywhere.”
“That’s because we’re on an island, bug,” Jungkook said patiently, smiling at her through the rearview mirror.
“I know that,” she replied, offended. “I just didn’t think it would be this blue.”
You watched her reflection, her nose practically touching the window, curls bouncing as the car moved, and felt that familiar tug in your chest— the one that still surprised you sometimes.
When you finally pulled up to the Airbnb, you stopped short.
The house sat low and white against the coast, weathered in that effortless way that came only from time and sun. Bougainvillea spilled over the balcony railing in violent pinks, and beyond it— uninterrupted, endless— the sea stretched out, glittering like it knew it was being admired.
Jungkook had chosen the place, and when he showed you the pictures— only nodding while being on the phone screaming at someone— you didn’t pay that much attention. You were glad he had good taste.
“Oh,” you breathed.
Jungkook looked at you instead of the view. He smiled slowly, like that was exactly what he’d hoped for. “I’m guessing this meets your standards.”
Sunni was already out of the car, sandals forgotten, spinning in a circle on the stone path. “WE LIVE HERE???”
“For three weeks,” you said, laughing as you grabbed the keys under the carpet where the owner told you he left them. “Try not to make a mess. We will not be paying extra because of you, goblin.”
Inside, it was all light and air— linen curtains moving with the breeze, terracotta floors cool under your feet, the sound of waves close enough to feel like a presence. You dropped your bag by the door and just stood there for a moment, letting it sink in.
Jungkook came up behind you, arms sliding easily around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “You okay? You like it?”
You nodded, leaning back into him. “Yeah. Just… this is beautiful. It feels real now.”
He kissed your temple. “Good. It is.”
You didn’t unpack properly that first day. None of you did. You collapsed instead. Sunni claiming the couch like she’d earned it, Jungkook opening the balcony doors wide, the three of you sitting with takeout pizza eaten from cardboard boxes while you watched the sun melting into the sea.
That night, you fell asleep to the sound of waves and Jungkook’s steady breathing beside you, your body heavy in the best way.
—————
The next morning smelled like sunscreen and citrus.
Sunni was awake before either of you, bouncing on the bed until Jungkook groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “It’s a vacation,” he muttered. “Why are children immune to rest?”
“Come on! Dad, we have to go,” she said brightly. “You promised we were going the beach today.”
You laughed lazily, stretching your body while Jungkook groaned again. “She’s right. You did promise.”
He opened one eye at you, trying— and failing— to cuddle you while you slipped out of bed. “You’re both evil.”
Hal an hour later you were walking outside the place to the ocean. It was ridiculously close. Even from the place you could see the people already swimming there.
The beach was everything. Warm sand, water so clear it felt unreal, the sun gentle instead of punishing, and a shit tone of people. Sunni ran straight for the shore, shoes abandoned halfway there, shrieking when the water hit her ankles.
“It’s cold!” she yelled, delighted.
Jungkook watched her, arms crossed, soft smile fixed on his face. You leaned into his side without thinking, your shoulder fitting perfectly under his arm.
“She’s happy,” you said quietly
He nodded. “Yeah. She really is.”
You spent the morning doing nothing important. Jungkook taught Sunni how to skim stones. You lay on your towel pretending to read while actually watching them. At one point, Sunni dragged both of you into the water, insisting on a competition that ended with Jungkook dramatically losing on purpose and Sunni celebrating like she’d won an Olympic medal.
Later, as you all dried in the sun, she curled against Jungkook’s side, sleepy and salt-tired. He brushed sand from her knees while she talked— about her soccer team, about Italy, about how she might live there forever.
“You’ll miss your mom and your friends,” you said gently.
She thought about it, then nodded. “Yeah. But I’ll call her everyday. And then can visit me.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes and you chuckled. “Then you better start learning Italian, goblin.”
—————
Reality crept back in the next day.
You were up early, hair still damp, laptop open on the kitchen table, phone pressed to your ear while you stared out at the sea like it might answer your questions.
“Yes, I know the supplier confirmed,” you said into the phone, pacing now. “I just want to double-check the delivery time. No, it can’t be late. It cannot be late.”
Jungkook hovered nearby, making breakfast, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening.
“I’ll call them myself if I have to,” you continued. “This opening has zero margin for error.”
You hung up and immediately exhaled, hands on your hips.
Jungkook slid a plate toward you. Toast, fruit, coffee— all arranged like he knew exactly what you’d forget to eat otherwise.
“You’re spiraling,” he said gently.
“I am preparing,” you corrected, taking the coffee anyway.
He leaned against the counter. “You’ve done this a hundred times.”
“This one matters the most,” you said, softer.
“I know.” He reached out, brushing his thumb along your wrist. “That’s why it’s going to be fine.”
Sunni wandered in, still in pajamas, rubbing her eyes. “Are you working today?”
“Yeah, I have to go in ten minutes,” you said, guilt flickering.
She nodded solemnly. “Okay. But later we’re getting gelato even if we have to go the restaurant.”
Jungkook grinned. “That’s non-negotiable.”
You laughed, tension easing just enough to breathe.
Outside, the sea kept moving. The restaurant waited a few streets away. Time pressed forward whether you were ready or not. But for that moment, there, with the sound of waves, Jungkook steady at your side, Sunni planning dessert… it felt manageable.
It felt like lately everything was holding up better than ever.
—————
Your parents contacted you the day later. Already choosing the day and place to met you and Jungkook for a chat. And you, of course, took every power of your heart to agree.
The restaurant your parents had chosen sat right along the marina, all soft lights and linen tablecloths, glass walls opening to the darkening sea. It was the kind of place where the staff spoke quietly, where the wine glasses were thinner than they looked sturdy enough to be, and where nothing ever felt rushed—not the courses, not the conversation, not the expectations.
Jungkook and you had left Sunni with Vincenzo and his wife an hour earlier— he was one of your chefs in there, you had know him and his family for a long time now— Jungkook had crouched down to Sunni’s level in the entryway of their house, adjusting the little bow in her hair while she clutched her tiny backpack like she was going on a much bigger adventure than a sleepover with Vincenzo’s daughter.
“You’re gonna be okay, yeah?” he asked softly. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will,” Sunni nodded very seriously. “Vincenzo said they have a dog.”
“That’s a very important detail,” Jungkook said, solemn.
She grinned, then turned to you. “Don’t be late.”
You laughed, smoothing her hair. “Excuse you, I’m the adult here.”
Sunni narrowed her eyes. “Still.”
And just like that, she was gone, already chattering as Vincenzo’s wife ushered her inside.
Now, walking into the restaurant beside Jungkook, your heels clicking softly against polished stone, you felt that familiar tightening in your chest. Not exactly fear but awareness. The way being around your parents always made you hyper-aware of yourself. Of your choices. Of what they might think, even when they never said it outright… Even when you had texted them to please be kind and every detail about Jungkook so they would behave. It was just a reflex to think everything would go wrong.
Jungkook noticed immediately.
His hand brushed yours, not gripping, just there. Grounding.
“You okay?” he murmured as the hostess led you toward the table.
“Yeah,” you said, inhaling slowly. “They’re just… a lot. If you wanna go anytime just tell me and I’ll invent an excuse.”
He smiled faintly. “We’re going to do fine.”
The table was already set. Your parents stood as you approached. Your mother elegant as always, perfectly tailored dress, hair immaculately styled; your father composed, expression polite but observant, like he was already taking mental notes about Jungkook’s outfit and yours.
“There you are,” your mother said warmly, kissing your cheek. “Honey, you look beautiful.”
“So do you, mom.” You replied, genuinely.
Your father extended a hand to Jungkook. “Jungkook. It’s good to finally met you properly.”
“Sir,” Jungkook said, shaking his hand firmly, respectfully. “Thank you for having us.”
They sat, menus placed gently before them, water poured without a word.
The first few minutes were easy, safe. Talk of the weather, of Sicily, of how beautiful the coastline looked that time of year. Your mother commented on the view and her work, your father mentioned the boat they had rented for the next day, casually, like it was nothing special.
“And the new restaurant,” your mother added, folding her napkin into her lap. “You must be very busy.”
You smiled. “It’s getting there. A few last details, but everything’s on schedule.”
“That kind of project takes discipline,” your father said, looking at Jungkook now. You knew he was fishing for something more, he never complimented your greed that easily. “Not everyone can manage that level of commitment.”
Jungkook nodded. “I’ve seen how hard she works. It’s… impressive.”
He said without flattering, not exaggerated. Just true.
“Y/n talked about your job,” your mother tilted her head slightly, studying him. “You were able to take time off?”
“Yes,” he answered calmly. “I planned ahead.”
There was a beat. It was subtle. The kind of pause that carried weight if you knew how to listen. And if you knew your parents.
“That’s good,” she said. “Stability matters.”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and instead reached for your water.
The waiter came, took drink orders, described the specials. When he left, your father leaned back slightly.
“So,” he said, conversationally, “you own a tattoo studio, correct?”
Jungkook didn’t flinch. “Yes. I have for several years now.”
“And you employ others?”
“I do. We’ve grown steadily.”
“Hm.” Your father nodded, as if checking off an invisible list. “That kind of responsibility changes a person.”
“I think so,” Jungkook said easily. “It teaches you how to plan. How to take care of people. Tattooing can be very intimate.”
Your mother smiled, but there was something sharp beneath it. “And you have a child.”
You felt it immediately, the slight shift in the air.
“Yes,” Jungkook said, without hesitation. “Sunni.”
“She’s lovely,” you added quickly. “Very energetic.”
“She is,” he said, smiling. “She keeps me honest.”
Your dad glanced at you. “I remember you talking about kids. That must be a big new adjustment, honey.”
You held his gaze. “It was. But it’s not a bad one.”
Silence stretched, not exactly uncomfortable but deliberate.
Then your mother sighed lightly, as if releasing the moment. “Well. What matters is that you’re happy and stable.”
You’d heard that sentence your entire life. Always said like a blessing. Always delivered like a test.
The rest of dinner unfolded smoothly. The food was excellent. Jungkook asked thoughtful questions, listened carefully. He asked about them with genuine curiosity, he talked about the opening without overstepping, about his work without defensiveness. He didn’t try to impress them… and somehow, that did it more than anything else.
At one point, while you excused yourself to the restroom, you give Jungkook a look to text you. The one that said that if he needed an scape it was now or never. But nothing came, and you knew he was holding himself pretty well.
When you returned, dessert had arrived.
Your mother dabbed her lips with a napkin. “We’re taking the boat out tomorrow morning,” she said lightly. “Fishing, just something simple. You two should come.”
You blinked. “Fishing?”
“It’s good for the soul,” your father said. “You use to love it.”
“We did that one time,” you remind him. “And I never caught anything.”
“Well we should do it more,” the older man smiled. “It’s quiet, gives you time to think.”
Before you could respond, Jungkook smiled. “We’d love to.”
You turned to him, looking at him like he was crazy. “We would?”
He glanced at you, eyes warm. “If that’s okay with you.”
You hesitated only a second before nodding. “Yeah. No, of course. We’d love to.”
Your parents exchanged a look.
“Good,” your father said. “We’ll pick you up at eight.”
As the check was settled and you stood to leave, your mother adjusted her shawl and leaned in to kiss your cheek again and whispered in your ear.
“He seems… grounded,” she said softly. “That’s important.”
You smiled, knowing exactly what she meant, and what she didn’t say.
Later, walking back toward the car, the marina lights reflecting on the water, Jungkook slipped his hand into yours.
“You survived,” he murmured.
You snorted quietly. “Barely.” You looked at him. “But at least they liked you.”
“I’m relieved.”
He squeezed your hand, smiling to himself.
And somewhere deep in his chest, beneath the calm, beneath the patience, the plan settled more firmly into place.
Tomorrow, on that boat, he’d ask your father.
—————
You two would picked up Sunni tomorrow midday. On the way home, Jungkook still called Vincenzo to know how was everything going. He talked about how Sunni clearly had the time of her life—
“She didn’t want to sleep,” Vincenzo’s wife said apologetically through the phone. “We negotiated with gelato tomorrow morning if they did.”
Jungkook huffed a laugh. “I guess next time I have to babysit them both.”
“You better.”
By the time you two got back to the Airbnb, you felt like your body needed to drop dead in the bed. The place was quiet, the sea murmuring faintly beyond the open balcony door. You moved automatically, turning on only the dim hallway light with Jungkook behind you. Once the door was closed, the apartment felt even quieter—intimate in that way that only came after a long day. You exhaled as if you’d been holding your breath since dinner.
The shared bedroom was lit by a single lamp. Your suitcase lay open on the bench at the foot of the bed, clothes half-folded, makeup bag already unzipped on the dresser. You slipped out of your heels with a relieved sigh, padding barefoot across the cool tile.
Jungkook shrugged off his jacket, loosening the cuffs of his shirt. The room filled with small, familiar sounds— the zip of your makeup pouch, the soft clink of bottles being set down, fabric rustling as he pulled a clean t-shirt from his bag.
“Well,” he said lightly, toeing off his shoes, “that could’ve gone worse.”
You laughed softly, catching your reflection as you wiped away the last of your eyeliner. “That’s the highest compliment you can give my parents.”
“They were nice,” he added, tugging his shirt over his head. “Curious. A little… sharp but I understand why.”
You hummed, switching to cleanser, watching your face soften as the day finally washed away. “They’re not bad people. They just… don’t know how to be close. Everything is very business casual with them. Like they’re always hosting instead of just… being my family, you know.”
Jungkook pulled on his sleep pants, leaning against the dresser now, listening.
“It’s weird,” you continued, quieter now. “I love them. I really do. But sometimes it feels like I know them the same way I know my distant cousins. We see each other, we’re cordial, we exchange updates… and then we go back to our separate lives.”
You reached for a towel, patting your face dry. “Rosa was different. She was loud and demanding and always in my space. She knew everything about me. Even the ugly parts. And she stayed even after knowing that and… She was just my family.”
The word lingered.
Jungkook didn’t rush to fill the silence. He crossed the room instead, stopping behind you, his hands resting lightly on your hips.
“And that makes sense,” he said softly. “Family isn’t always about blood. It’s about who stays.”
You leaned back into him without thinking, your head tipping against his chest.
“I already made peace with that. I know they’ll never see me or at least try to,” you admitted. “Not the way Rosa did. Not the way you do.”
He bent slightly, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Then that’s okay. Because you don’t need everyone to see you. You just need a few people who really do.”
You turned in his arms, looking up at him. “I’m glad you’re one of them.”
“I’m glad you make me one of them,” he said gently.
You smiled faintly, then reached for your pajamas—soft cotton, worn in all the right places. He changed too, the room filling with the quiet rhythm of shared routine. No rush, no performance. Just the comfortable choreography of two people who belonged in the same space.
When you both slipped into bed, the sheets were cool and crisp, smelling faintly of detergent and sea air. Jungkook pulled you into him easily, like it was second nature, your head fitting perfectly against his shoulder.
You stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to his steady breathing.
“Sometimes,” you said softly, “I feel like I missed out on something. Having parents who… showed up the way they were supposed to.”
His arm tightened around you, just slightly. “You didn’t miss out,” he said. “And you got something even better. A chosen family.”
You turned your face into his chest. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“And with me,” he said without hesitation. “With Sunni. With the life we’re building. And with Rosa too. Her love doesn’t end just because she’s gone. You carry it. And I get to help you with that.” Your throat tightened “You’re my family,” he continued quietly. “Not because you need one. But because I choose you. Every day. And you choose me too.”
You breathed him in, the familiar scent of soap and something uniquely him grounding you completely.
“I don’t feel out of reach with you,” you whispered.
He kissed the top of your head. “Good. Because you’re not.”
The sea murmured outside, steady and endless, as you settled deeper into his arms. And for the first time that day, you fell asleep without the weight of distance pressing on your chest.
You were home. And he was already there.
—————
The morning unfolded gently, the kind that felt curated even before it began.
The sun was already warm when you and Jungkook walked toward the port, the air salted and bright, gulls circling lazily above the docks. The street was alive in a soft way, café doors opening, scooters passing, the smell of espresso drifting through the breeze. You both wore linen, light and effortless, sunglasses pushed up into your hair. Jungkook walked beside you with one hand in his pocket, the other occasionally squeezing yours as if making sure you were still there.
He scanned the harbor as you approached, taking in the rows of boats, modest fishing vessels, sleek white cruisers, and a few that very clearly belonged to people who didn’t check price tags.
“So,” he said quietly, leaning closer, “when you dad said ‘boat,’ I pictured something… smaller.”
You followed his gaze, already knowing exactly which one he’d spotted.
The mini yacht sat just off the dock, polished to an almost offensive shine. White hull, dark-tinted windows. It wasn’t massive in the way celebrity yachts were— no helicopter pad, no absurd height— but it was undeniably expensive in the way money didn’t need to announce itself.
You smiled faintly. “This is small for them, Jungkook.”
He snorted. “You say that like it’s normal.”
“It is,” you said, entirely serious. “They’re being humble right now.”
He stopped walking for half a second, staring at the yacht, then at you. “Your version of humble is deeply concerning.”
You laughed under your breath, squeezing his hand. “Welcome to my childhood.”
Your parents were already there when you reached the dock. Your father stood near the edge, sunglasses on, posture relaxed in a way that suggested years of doing business on moving platforms, even when he had just got his license last year. Your mother sat at a small outdoor table on deck, perfectly composed in a wide-brimmed hat, a silk scarf tied loosely around her neck.
They both looked… at ease. At home
“There you are,” your mother said warmly as you stepped aboard, air-kissing your cheeks. “We were starting to think you’d decided to sleep in.”
“Never on a boat day,” you replied sarcastically.
Your father nodded at Jungkook. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, sir,” Jungkook said, polite and steady.
The yacht smelled like citrus and salt and something faintly floral, expensive without being overwhelming. A table had already been set: fresh fruit arranged artfully, pastries still warm, tiny glass jars of honey and jam with handwritten labels. Champagne flutes sat waiting in a bucket of ice, despite it being barely nine in the morning.
Jungkook leaned toward you, murmuring, “Is it illegal to have this much money?”
“Only if you’re not discreet about it,” you murmured back.
He huffed a laugh.
As your dad drove yacht away from the dock, engines humming low and smooth, your mother poured coffee into delicate porcelain cups that absolutely did not belong on a moving boat. Your father offered Jungkook a drink with a casual gesture, screaming over the wind.
Your father smiled slightly, like he’d expected that answer.
They talked easily as the coastline began to drift away, business trips, weather patterns, the best coves to anchor in. Your parents asked about the restaurant, about timelines and suppliers, questions too vague but never unkind. Jungkook listened, answered when appropriate, deferential without being intimidated.
You watched him from behind your sunglasses, a quiet swell of pride settling in your chest.
At one point, as you leaned against the railing, Jungkook whispered, “So this is what growing up casually wealthy looks like.”
You nodded. “There were croissants like this in my lunchbox.”
He stared at the table. “I had instant noodles.”
You grinned. “I had a nanny who would tried to steal my pocket money when I was five.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “This explains so much.”
The yacht cut smoothly through the water, the sun climbing higher, everything around you polished and calm. On the surface, it was just a pleasant family outing, expensive, yes, but normal in the way wealth softened edges and smoothed logistics.
But beneath it all, you felt it: the quiet undercurrent of expectation, of observation.
Your parents were watching Not judging. Not exactly. Just… measuring. And Jungkook, steady as ever beside you, seemed entirely unaware that anything was being weighed at all.
You felt lucky to be there with him by your side.
The yacht slowed over time, rocking gently now, the engine quiet enough that the sea became the main sound again. The water around you was impossibly blue, sunlight breaking against it in slow, glittering patterns.
Your mother appeared beside you with two tall flutes, the pale orange of fresh juice swirling with champagne. She handed one to you with a small smile.
“Mimosa,” she said. “Before your father starts pretending this is serious fishing.”
You laughed, accepting it. “He’s committed. I can tell.”
As if on cue, your father called out, already moving toward the side of the boat where the fishing rods were set up. “Jungkook, would you give me a hand with this?
Jungkook looked over, surprised but eager. “Of course.”
He shot you a quick glance— the kind that silently asked am I about to embarrass myself?— and you lifted your glass slightly in a mock toast.
“Good luck,” you mouthed.
He smiled, a little crooked, before following your father toward the stern.
Once they were far enough that their voices blurred into the sound of water and metal, your mother leaned her forearms against the railing beside you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You watched the coastline in the distance, the yacht rocking softly beneath your feet.
She took a sip first.
“I wanted to tell you,” she said finally, her voice light but deliberate, “I’m very proud of you.”
You turned toward her, surprised despite yourself. “For…?”
“The restaurant,” she said easily. “Sicily. The planning, the execution. It’s not a small thing.”
You smiled, something warm settling in your chest. “Thank you.”
She nodded, eyes still on the horizon. “You’ve always been very capable. Sometimes I forget to say it out loud.”
You clinked your glass gently against hers. “I’ll take it.”
She laughed softly, then glanced toward where Jungkook stood with your father, both of them focused on the rod now. Jungkook’s sleeves were rolled up, tattoos catching the sun, posture attentive as your father spoke.
“He seems… very present,” your mother said, almost to herself.
“He is,” you replied without hesitation.
She hummed, thoughtful. “You seem happy.”
“I am.”
That made her look at you fully now. Not assessing, just observing, like a mother trying to memorize a version of her child she doesn’t see often enough.
“Honey, it’s rare that you introduce us to someone.” She smiled. “You know I have to ask now. Is it serious?.”
“Yes, very.”
You didn’t bristle, you didn’t deflect. You took another sip of your drink, letting the bubbles settle.
“Do you see a future with him?” she asked gently.
“Yes,” you said simply again.
Her eyebrows lifted just slightly. Not surprised, curious
“And with everything that comes with him?” she continued carefully. “We know that business life. We studied it, honey. He can be stable now but you never know—“”
“Like any other business.”
“And his daughter—.”
“Sunni.”
“She’s lovely,” your mother said. “From the pictures you showed us yesterday.”
“She is,” you said. “And she’s… part of him. I don’t really separate it in my head.”
Your mother nodded slowly. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
You glanced at her. “You’re not worried?”
She considered that. “I’m aware,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Of course.”
She reached out, adjusting the strap of your dress where it had twisted slightly in the breeze, almost a familiar, intimate gesture.
“You’ve always chosen your own path,” she said. “Sometimes far from us. Sometimes in ways I didn’t fully understand at first.” You swallowed, the words landing heavier than her tone suggested. “But,” she went on, “It never felt like a rebellion. You always knew how to take a good decision, even if we loved Jungwoo—”
“Mom—”
“I’m just kidding,” she patted your shoulder. “You know we are always going to support your decisions, honey.”
You exhaled. “Yeah, I know.”
She smiled then, small but real. “We trust you.”
You leaned your shoulder against hers for just a moment, the yacht rocking beneath you, the sun warm on your skin. They didn’t trust you, they just didn’t want to hold you, to take responsibility of you. But you took it good, because you loved her. And because even that felt like a piece of love from them. And you knew that was them trying their best.
Behind you, your father laughed at something Jungkook said, a surprised, genuine sound.
Your mother followed your gaze, watching them together. “He’s trying very hard,” she said quietly.
You smiled. “That’s just who he is.”
She lifted her glass. “Then I suppose we’ll have to get used to him.”
You clinked your glasses again, the sound light and bright, like the moment itself.
For once, it felt like enough.
Jungkook stood at the stern with the rod in his hands, trying very hard to look like that was not his first real attempt at fishing. He’d watched enough videos, absorbed enough casual confidence from people who knew what they were doing, and was now relying almost entirely on posture and calm breathing.
Your father noticed.
“You can relax your grip a little,” he said, adjusting his own line with practiced ease. “You’re not wrestling it.”
Jungkook chuckled, loosening his hands. “Right. I thought… more control.”
“That’s what everyone thinks,” your father replied. “Fish don’t respond well to tension.”
Jungkook nodded, filing that away like it was applicable to more than just fishing.
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the yacht rocking gently beneath them, the sound of water brushing against the hull steady and rhythmic. Your father glanced over.
“You ever done this before?”
“Once,” Jungkook said. “With a friend. He did most of the work. I nodded a lot.”
Your father smiled at that. “Smart strategy.”
Jungkook exhaled, shoulders easing. “I’m better with… people,” he added. “And things that don’t swim away.”
“Tattooing,” your father said. “Requires patience too.”
“And trust,” Jungkook said. “People give you their skin. You don’t rush that. You have to learn how to be patient and understand people.”
Your father hummed in agreement. “I can see why she trusts you.”
That landed deeper than Jungkook expected. He swallowed, eyes still on the water.
“I care about her,” he said simply.
“I can tell.”
They adjusted their lines again. No bites yet. The sun was climbing higher now, warming Jungkook’s arms, glinting off the metal of the reel.
There was a pause, long enough to feel intentional. Jungkook felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest and swim from Europe back to Asia.
“Sir,” Jungkook said, steady but unmistakably nervous now. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Your father looked at him, attentive. “Go on.”
“I’m planning to propose,” Jungkook said. No flourish, no dramatics. Just the truth, laid out carefully. “I love your daughter, and I want to spend my life with her. I was hoping… to have your blessing.”
Your father didn’t answer right away. He studied the water, the line, the slow movement beneath the surface.
Then he smiled.
“Of course,” he said. “I like you. You’re grounded. I see you take care of her. And I want my daughter happy.”
Jungkook let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you.”
“Truly,” your dad added. “It means a lot that you asked.”
Jungkook nodded, relief softening his expression, the tension easing out of his shoulders. For a second, it felt done. Settled.
But your father wasn’t finished.
“Did you talk to her about it?” he asked gently.
Jungkook stilled, attentive again. “Yes?”
Your father turned toward him fully now. “And what did she said?.”
“That she wants an Alexandra ring with six carats.”
The man huffed a laugh. Jungkook felt a little lighter.
“And have you thought about it? Really thought about it.”
Jungkook frowned slightly. “About… the proposal?”
“About what it changes,” the older man clarified. “Sometimes it’s better to leave things as they are. Not because they aren’t good but because naming them can make them heavier.”
Jungkook didn’t speak. He waited to understand better.
“I know my daughter,” your father continued, not unkindly but clear. “She loves deeply, but she’s careful. There’s something in her that resists being held too tightly. Not because she doesn’t want love but because she’s afraid of what it asks of her. And she’s always being the type to not get attached.”
Jungkook’s grip tightened on the rod, though he didn’t look away. “I don’t understand.”
“You probably know about her last engagement,” your father said. “Jungwoo was perfect for her. They would probably stayed together if he didn’t ask her for marriage.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “I think that was different, sir.”
“Look, Jungkook.” Your father put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it once. “I like you, you seem like a nice man. I like how my daughter looks happy with you. This is not meant to scare you, I would love you to have in the family. But sometimes, some people, they’re just not meant to be taken in paper. You still can be happy without making it a big deal. Sometimes,” your father went on, voice thoughtful, “love doesn’t need a ring to be real. Or permanent.”
The line twitched slightly, but neither of them moved to reel it in.
Jungkook finally spoke, quiet but sure. “I don’t want to trap her. Marriage is not that for me and she understands that,” he said. “I want to choose her. Every day. And I want her to know she can choose me back— freely.”
Your father studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled again, softer this time.
“Well then. That was my advice, Jungkook.” He said with calm before adding, “you still have my blessing.”
Jungkook didn’t say nothing more. He wanted to say that he didn’t want it no more but preferred to stay quiet. He gave your dad a last look before glancing over his shoulder then, toward the other side of the yacht.
You were already looking at him.
Not listening to your mother anymore, not really. Just watching him like you always did, like you could feel him from across a room. And when your eyes met, you smiled. Warm, certain. Unaware of everything that had just been said.
Jungkook smiled back, heart steadying in his chest.
Whatever came next, he knew one thing for sure: He wasn’t afraid.
—————
Your parents left early the next morning, all tailored coats and quiet kisses on the cheek, promises to call, reminders about eating well and sleeping enough. You stood with Jungkook at the curb watching their car disappear down the narrow Sicilian street, feeling that familiar mix of relief and something softer— affection that never quite knew how to land.
Jungkook squeezed your hand once, grounding, and didn’t say anything. He never rushed you out of feelings you needed to finish having.
You were two weeks until the opening. You decided to focus on that. The thought sat heavy and electric in your chest.
Bohyung and Se-hoo arrived the next afternoon, loud and sunburn-ready, rolling their suitcases down the street like they owned the place. Bohyung hugged you so hard you laughed, Se-hoo already talking about espresso and cannoli and how she knew Italy would change her as a person again.
“This place is insane,” Bohyung said, looking out toward the sea from the balcony of the Airbnb. “You’re casually opening a restaurant here? Ten minutes walk from here?.”
“You say that like it’s casual,” you replied, handing them glasses of water. “I’ve aged ten years.”
Jungkook smiled from the kitchen, Sunni clinging to his leg like a koala, watching the chaos with amused patience.
They spent the first day wandering. No plans, no schedules. Cobblestone streets, too much gelato, Bohyung insisting on stopping every three minutes to take photos, Se-hoo asking questions about olive oil like she was about to open her own place next door. Jungkook walked slightly behind with Sunni on his shoulders, pointing out boats and birds and letting her narrate everything like a tour guide who made up half the facts.
The next morning, reality pulled you away early.
You kissed Jungkook’s cheek while he was still half asleep. “I’ll be back later. Don’t wait for lunch.”
He hummed, pulling you back for a second, forehead to forehead. “Go be terrifying.”
“I’m always terrifying,” you said, smiling.
At the restaurant, it was controlled chaos, deliveries coming in, staff meetings, menu tweaks, the smell of fresh paint still lingering in the air. You walked through the space like it was already alive, adjusting things instinctively, asking questions, checking numbers, trusting the team you’d built but never fully letting go. That place was your heart outside your body, it was Rosa’s.
Meanwhile, the beach was loud and bright and uncomplicated.
Jungkook spread towels while Bohyung immediately kicked off his sandals and running toward the water, Se-hoo following with sunglasses already slipping down her nose.
“I can’t believe we finally met you,” Bohyung said later, crouching in front of Sunni. “The legendary child.”
Sunni tilted her head. “I’m not legendary. I’m almost ten.”
“That’s exactly what a legend would say,” Se-hoo replied solemnly.
Sunni laughed without understanding, instantly sold.
They built lopsided sandcastles, Sunni assigning roles like a tiny foreman while Jungkook obediently dug trenches where she told him to. Bohyung lay on his towel watching them, nudging Se-hoo with her foot.
“Wow, he’s acting so… dad,” Bohyung said quietly.
Se-hoo nodded. “Yeah. I can’t believe I’m finally understanding Y/n.”
Jungkook glanced over, amused. “By the way, I know you guys call me tattooed dilf when I’m not around.”
Bohyung gasped. “She broke the friend code.”
“Wow, she really is in love with you.” Se-hoo faked gagged. “It’s disgusting.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh.
They talked about everything and nothing. The opening, how Sicily felt slower but sharper at the same time, how they missed Korea, how you’d always loved places that didn’t go according to your personality. At some point, Bohyung squinted at Jungkook.
“So,” he said casually, “How’s Jimin?”
Jungkook smiled, familiar fondness softening his expression. “Back home. Someone has to keep the place from burning down.”
“The shop?” Se-hoo asked.
“Yeah. We’re finishing the draft for the new studio,” he explained. “Layouts, licensing, all the boring stuff before the fun starts.”
Bohyung nodded. “That’s huge.”
“It is,” Jungkook said. “But this mattered more right now.”
Sunni beamed at that, shoving a handful of wet sand into his lap like a prize.
The sun had started to lower in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the sand as Sunni kicked off her sandals and joined the group near the water. Bohyung and Se-hoo were sprawled lazily on towels, laughing at something while trying to tan, Jungkook was looking at Sunni careful in case she needed something while trying to clean the sand the little girl had put on his body while trying to bury him.
Then Bohyung looked over at him, quietly watching. “You’re surprisingly patient,” he said, nudging Se-hoo. “I would have lost it after the first ten minutes of your little girl trying to put sand on me.”
Jungkook shrugged, flashing that easy grin. “You learn how to be patient.” He shrugged. “She’s also small but terrifying. I have to respect that.”
Se-hoo laughed. “I like this facet of you acting like a dad. It’s something.”
Jungkook held up his hands. “In a bad way?”
“In a ‘I understand why she didn’t run after knowing you had a kid’ way.” She replied, nodding slowly.
Jungkook chuckled. “I’ll take it,”
After a moment of playful banter, Bohyung sat up, brushing sand off his legs. “So, you guys are staying some more weeks after the restaurant opening?”
“Just a couple days more. Then we’re back to Korea.”
Bohyung nodded. “Any vacation plans after that? We were talking with Y/n about doing something next year. Maybe in Mexico or South America. You know, a friend thing or something like that.”
Jungkook leaned back on his hands, glancing at the waves and then at the group. “Actually… I have something planned for next year.”
“Really?,” Se-hoo looked a little surprised.
“Well, first I need her to say yes.” He looked at them. “And I think I could use your help with something.”
Bohyung raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What now? Is it like a dry destination? You must know she doesn’t like heat when is not near to a beach. I know she won’t agree—.”
“No,” Jungkook said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Much bigger and complicated than that. Kind of… life-changing.”
Se-hoo tilted her head. “Life-changing? Are we talking business-level drama trip or…?”
Jungkook swallowed, trying to stay calm. “I’m talking about me proposing.”
The silence hit for a second. Your friends looked like they had just been thrown into the cold water. Jungkook looked back at Sunni and then at them, waiting for something.
Bohyung’s jaw dropped after a very long minutes of silence.
“WHAT? Wait… what? Like, marry her? Propose to her? Here? In Sicily??”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane!”
Se-hoo flailed dramatically. “Are you serious?! That’s crazy but amazing! Oh my God, oh my God.”
“This is insane,” Bohyung repeated.
“Shes going to freak out,” Se-hoo added.
Jungkook’s confident smile faltered a little, panic creeping in. “Why?… Why are you looking like that? God, Is she going to say no? I should—”
Bohyung laughed, shaking his head. “No, no. Relax.”
“But you guys said—”
“She loves you.” He cut him off. “Trust me, she’ll say yes. Maybe scream a little, maybe cry a lot, maybe freak out a lot but she’ll say yes.”
Se-hoo leaned forward, pointing a finger at him. “Exactly. And you? You better not chicken out. You’ve got this. We’ll make sure it’s perfect, don’t even worry.”
Jungkook laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “Okay… you guys are terrifyingly confident. And now I’m even more scared because your excitement is like a spotlight on me.”
Bohyung grinned, nudging him lightly. “It’s fine. That’s how you know it’s real. Just don’t mess it up.”
Se-hoo added, dramatically clasping her hands together, “And we will help in everything you want. But first show me the ring to see if you got her the right one. I need to know if I can approve this union.”
He chuckled, shaking his head but smiling, the nerves easing just a little while he grabbed his phone out to show her a picture.
“Is this one.”
Se-hop stayed silent. Jungkook felt like panic when she moved his head to look at Bohyung with a serious mock. “He’s the one.”
Jungkook exhaled, feeling like he was going to beat up your friends for doing him like that.
“Okay… okay.” Bohyung clapped. “What do you have in mind?”
And just like that, the nerves melted into laughter and planning, Sunni still obliviously swimming in the shore, you still working not so far away from them.
He was going it marry you.
Later, you joined them, shoes in hand, hair tied up, tension finally easing from your shoulders when you saw them, your people, your worlds overlapping without friction. Jungkook looked up immediately, smiling like the day had been waiting for you.
“How is it?” he asked.
“Alive,” you said, sitting beside him. “It’s really alive.”
He squeezed your knee. “Told you.”
The sun dipped lower, the day stretching lazily, no urgency, no drama. Just warmth, salt on skin, laughter drifting over the water.
A calm before something big. Jungkook let himself enjoy it.
—————
Everything went downhill the next day.
Like life didn’t want you to have a nice week before ruin it completely at least a couple of hours.
The restaurant was quiet, the kitchen dark except for the faint hum of the refrigerators. you slammed your tablet onto the counter and ran a hand over your face, exhaling in frustration.
“Electricity’s out again,” Vincenzo muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked guilty but tired. “I’ve been trying to call someone all day. I swear, nobody’s picking up. I even tried the guy from Palermo—nothing.”
You groaned, pacing the small office behind the kitchen. “All day? We’ve been trying all day, and now it’s… what? Eight o’clock? The contractors are MIA?”
“Exactly,” Vincenzo said. “I’ve left messages. It’s like the universe doesn’t want the lights on today.”
Your fingers drummed against the counter. “Well, you know what? The universe can wait. I’m done trying to fix it tonight. Tomorrow I’ll sort it. I’m done banging my head against a wall for one more second.”
Vincenzo nodded, relieved you weren’t yelling at him.
You ran a hand through your hair, finally sitting down on the edge of the counter. Your stomach twisted—not from hunger, but from frustration, exhaustion, and the creeping anxiety of the opening looming closer.
Less than a week. Less than a week, and everything had to be perfect.
You checked your phone again, scrolling through messages you had sent to Jungkook earlier. Your lips pressed into a thin line, trying not to let the annoyance show. You needed this evening. You two had planned a quiet dinner, a little escape from everything, and right now it felt like the universe had gone out of its way to sabotage you.
Finally, you stood, grabbing your bag and tossing your jacket over your shoulders. “I’m done for tonight. we’ll fix this tomorrow,” you muttered to yourself, and Vincenzo waved goodbye as you threw him the keys and slipped out the door, letting him close the establishment.
The night was already cool, the streets glistening faintly from a day’s earlier rain. You started the car, pulling out onto the narrow road leading back toward the place. Your fingers tapped absently against the steering wheel, the radio playing soft Italian rock that should have been relaxing but only made you feel the edges of your irritation.
You were tired, hungry and a little irritated.
You were halfway down the winding road when your phone buzzed.
Jungkook: Hey
Jungkook: I’m sorry Sunni was feeling a little sick today and I forgot to tell you earlier
Your eyebrows shot up. You exhaled through your nose sharply, gripping the wheel tighter. “Of course,” you muttered, your voice low and sharp with frustration. Typing quickly:
You: It’s okay. I’ll turn around.
Ten minutes later, you were already grumbling to yourself, driving back through the same narrow curves of the coast road, the darkness pressing in on either side.
Midnight was creeping up, the sky pitch-black except for the scattered streetlights and the reflection of the moon on the water. Your phone buzzed with another message from Jungkook checking in, and you rolled your eyes with a small sigh.
You hadn’t even realized how tired you were. Your eyelids felt heavy, and your mind wandered to the thought of finally sitting down to the dinner you two had promised— quiet, romantic, and uninterrupted. The thought should have you her smile, but instead, it only made the night feel longer and made you angrier he didn’t tell you sooner so you wouldn’t drive all the way.
You groaned before looking at his text again.
Jungkook: sorry pretty
Jungkook: promise i’ll have dinner for you when you arrive
You grabbed your phone to answer, looking at the road—
And then it happened.
A dog. A small, golden retriever, probably chasing a fox or something equally reckless. It darted across the road from nowhere.
Your heart leapt into your throat. You slammed the brakes hard, tires screeching, and skidded to a stop just a foot away from the animal.
“Oh my God!” you gasped, chest hammering, forehead almost hitting the steering wheel.
You felt your breathing heavily. Your heart almost jumping out of your chest and your hands shaking. You threw the car in park and bolted out, the gravel crunching under your heels. The dog had stopped, ears twitching, looking up at you like nothing had happened. It hadn’t even been hit. Relief slammed into you, but your knees went weak for a second, and you pressed a hand to your chest.
“You little bitch,” you whispered, crouching down to check it, murmuring reassurances even though it clearly hadn’t needed them. “You could’ve given me a heart attack.”
The dog sniffed your hand once, wagged its tail lazily, then trotted off down the roadside, disappearing into the darkness. You let out a shaky laugh, straightening up, taking deep breaths. Your hair had come loose from your bun, almost sticking to your neck from the ice sweat. You rubbed your head, almost too hard before turning to the car.
You froze.
The keys. The goddamn keys. You had left them inside the car. The doors were locked. The car was locked and they were there with your bag, looking at you like they were making fun of you. And now you were alone on a nearly empty road, nearly midnight.
Your chest tightened. Your hands flew to your hair, pulling it hard. “You’ve got to be kidding me!,” you groaned, pacing a little. You leaned against the hood of the car, trying to calm yourself. “Okay. Okay. It’s fine. It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. Not even close.
You looked at your phone to call Jungkook, but you hesitated, imagining him being halfway worried and halfway amused when you explained the situation. Your stomach churned with frustration. Of course, of course, something like this would happen after the day you had had. You dial his number anyway.
Voice mail. Great.
The road stretched ahead, dark and empty. The smell of the sea mingled with the faint scent of gravel and damp asphalt. The night felt impossibly still, but you could feel the tension coiling inside you like a spring ready to snap.
You kicked the tire lightly in exasperation. “Perfect,” you muttered. “Absolutely perfect.”.
It was bad. Worse. And somehow, you felt like the night wasn’t done testing you yet.
You slammed your phone against your palm again, frustration bubbling in your chest. Jungkook wasn’t answering. Not a call, not a text. You tried Bohyung and Se-hoo next, but nothing. The line kept ringing, then went to voicemail.
Great. Just great.
The night air was heavy, carrying the faint smell of the sea and the rain that had just started threatening the horizon. You knew the Airbnb wasn’t so far. The street outside was deserted, and no taxi company—or tire service, which you tried just in case— was picking up. You cursed under your breath, the frustration tangling with exhaustion.
“Amazing. What a great fucking day,” you muttered to yourself as you started walking. Your heels clicked against the cobblestones, an erratic rhythm that matched your heartbeat.
The little dog from earlier trotted beside you when he heard your steps, ears perked, tail wagging, as if it had decided you were now responsible for it. You didn’t even care. You let it follow, figuring it was better than walking alone, even if it was just for company.
Twenty minutes, five thousand thoughts, and a lot of angry muttering later, your legs were screaming, but at least your head was starting to clear. But then, just as if the universe had decided it wasn’t done testing your patience, the sky broke.
Rain came in sheets, cold and unrelenting, drenching your jacket and plastering your hair to your face. You screamed— a raw, sharp sound that tore through the quiet night. “Goddammit! Really?! Really?!”
The dog barked once, then sprinted ahead, tail high, leaving you to stumble through puddles. You ignored it. You had only one goal: get inside, get dry, and hopefully find Jungkook. You picked up the pace, your feet splashing through the growing puddles, heart racing, muscles burning from the long walk.
When the Airbnb finally appeared ahead, warm light spilling from the windows, you felt relief wash over you like a tidal wave. Wet, angry, and thoroughly exhausted, you flung the door open and stepped inside. The familiar warmth of the air hit you immediately, but it did little to settle your racing mind.
The first thing you wanted was obvious: change out of your soaked dress, curl up with Jungkook, and finally breathe. Except… he wasn’t there. Not in the living room, not in the kitchen, nowhere.
You froze, the wet fabric clinging to your skin, and your chest tightened. Something felt off. Confused, peeled off your wet jacket and shoes, letting the rain drip onto the tile. The little dog, now curled up by the corner of the sofa, wagged its tail at you, oblivious to the storm inside your mind.
You stripped down to your underwear, shivering as you kicked off the rest of your wet clothes. “Where the hell are you?” you muttered to yourself, tugging at your hair. The dress went into the laundry basket with a huff, the fabric heavy and cold. You thought about calling Jungkook again, but your phone buzzed first.
It was Vincenzo.
“Hey, hey! You need to get to the restaurant right now. The fire alarm has been ringing. I think the electricity came back again and might burn something with the rain. You have to hurry!” His voice was tense, urgent.
Your stomach dropped. Of course. Of course, it had to happen tonight. You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around yourself, hair dripping as you scrambled to a new summer dress. Sandals on, a jacket that did notching clutched, you ran toward the restaurant, the Airbnb disappearing behind you in a blur.
Ten minutes. Ten minutes of sprinting through the wet streets, trying to avoid slipping on the slick cobblestones, your mind racing as fast as your legs. Everything was chaos. Your body was soaked, your hair stuck to your forehead, and your nerves were stretched taut, but you pushed on anyway.
You skidded to a halt in front of the restaurant, rain dripping off your hair, soaking through your jacket, every muscle trembling from the sprint. Your lungs heaved with heavy breaths, and for a moment you just stared at the place. The sign glowed softly, the doors unlocked— but something felt… off.
No smoke. No smell of burning. No alarm. Nothing.
Your chest tightened further. You were half relieved, half on the verge of yelling and with clothes sticking to you. You decided to take off your soaked jacket as you slowly, cautiously, you pushed the door open. The restaurant was dark at first, the shadows swallowing the familiar furniture, the tables, the chairs— but then, soft lights flickered on one by one.
Candles. Hundreds of them.
The tables, saved from the corners for the opening day, were carefully arranged, small vases of flowers catching the candlelight. Dim string lights traced the ceiling and some windows, spilling a warm glow. And the floor was covered in delicate flower petals, as if someone had carefully scattered a path for you to follow.
Your heart stuttered.
“Jungkook?” you whispered, your voice shaky, wet hair plastered to your cheeks, still catching your breath from running through the rain. You left your jacket in the floor
He emerged from the shadows, walking slowly toward you, each step deliberate, calm, grounding, like he had all the time in the world. He was wearing a linen shirt, sleeves up to his elbows and some loose pants. He looked good, manly.
“What is this?” you said, voice rising, a mix of confusion and exasperation. “Jungkook, I just had the worst day ever, and I swear if you’re just trying to do something cute—”
He held up a hand, gentle but firm, stopping you mid-rant. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said softly. His eyes met yours, calm and unwavering, and somehow the storm inside your chest began to quiet. “There’s no electricity problem. It’s all fixed.”
You blinked, the confusion deepening. “What?… What do you mean?”
He stepped closer, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face, and took both your hands in his. “I fixed it an hour ago. I just needed the excuse to bring you back here.”
You shook your head, confused. “What?.”
“It was a little lie. The alarm going off and Sunni being sick.” He confessed. “Because I wanted this to be a moment for us. I’ve been planning this speech for months. Every little detail but I feel like I forgot everything,” he huffed a laugh, nervously.
“Jungkook—” you tried to say.
“Let me tell you,” he said softly. “I want to tell you.” You didn’t say anything, just looking at him. “I want to tell you that… I know this is your home. And I know this is your place, this restaurant is everything to you. And I wanted it to be here because you… you are my everything. And I want to give you everything. I— I’m rattling too much. I just… I guess what I’m trying to say is that— that you deserve more than a dinner, more than flowers, more than a moment of magic. You- you deserve a lifetime of love, and I want to give you mine.”
Your stomach twisted, your chest tightening as he spoke, the sincerity in his voice pulling at something deep inside you. He took a breath, steady and sure, and continued:
“I love you when you’re exhausted and sharp-tongued, when you’re tender and trying not to show it. I love how deeply you love. Sunni, your friends, your family… even when it costs you sleep, peace, parts of yourself. I love the way you fight for what you want. I love your ambition and your greed. I love your mind and your heart. I love the way you carry the weight of the world and still find room to hold others. You don’t know how to love halfway even when you want to. And I don’t want a life that’s lived halfway with you.”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles, grounding you.
“You built this life with your own hands,” he went on, voice thick with emotion. “This restaurant, this home with your friends, this family. And I don’t want to just stand beside it— I want to be part of it. Not just on the easy days. Not just when everything is calm and perfect. I want all of it. The chaos, the fear, the joy, the quiet nights and the loud ones. Every single second, as long as it’s with you.”
Your breath hitched.
“You are my home,” he said, softer now. “Rosa’s love has always guided you— I see that, I honor it. And I’m honor that I get to be your family now. And you are my home,” he repeated. “Not a place— you. Your voice, your presence, the way you exist in a room. I want to wake up choosing you, and go to sleep knowing you chose me back. I want a future where we build together, fall apart together, grow together. Where I get to love you openly and fully for the rest of my life. I get to choose you, every day. And I want you to choose me back, not just now, but for the rest of our lives.”
Jungkook knelt, slowly and with shaky hands, your mouth opened as you softly gasped. It felt like this moment deserved reverence. He reached into his pocket, slow, deliberate, and when the box opened, the light caught immediately— sharp, brilliant, undeniable. You recognize it instantly. He remembered. The cut, the setting, the exact ring you once mentioned long ago, half-joking, half-dreaming.
“Will you marry me?”
Everything went quiet. Fear flickered, just for a second, and then it dissolves. Because you see the ring, and the man holding it, and you realize something inside you has shifted. The world seemed to narrow to the space between you. Your hands trembled, tears blurring everything, but your answer was already there, steady and certain.
You were not bracing anymore. You were not running. You haven’t been running for a long time.
“Yes,” you whisper, tears spilling freely now. “Yes. I will.”
Relief crashed over his face, raw and unfiltered, and he stood quickly, hands cupping your face as if he needed to touch you to make sure you were real. His mouth found yours in a slow, trembling kiss. You could feel his nerves, his shaky lips trying to find reassurance in yours. You gave it to him. You gave him everything. There. Now and forever.
The rain, the stress, the awful day… all of it dissolved into nothing.
When you finally pulled apart, breathless, he brushed a damp strand of hair from your face, forehead resting against yours.
“I love you,” he whispered into your mouth.
“I love you,” you smiled before kissing him again.
It was softer this time. Full of love. His hands found your cheeks and while he guided the kiss you melted into his touch. He kissed you more and more before letting you go, forehead resting against yours.
He laughed happily, softly, brushing a kiss over your temple. “Vincenzo made dinner,” he said, nodding toward the table glowing nearby. “But… do you want to go back to the Airbnb first? Change, breathe, come back here together? A little drier?”
You laughed through your tears, nodding. “Yes. God, yes.”
He squeezed your hand, kisses you once more, slower now, full of promises, full of a future together. His mouth found yours in a soft, reverent kiss, the kind that asked permission.
Then it deepened.
It turns hungry, emotional, full of everything you’ve both been holding back. His hands slide into your hair, your fingers curl into his clothes, and you melted into each other completely, bodies fitting together like it was always where they were meant to land. The kiss broke, then returned again, slower, warmer, sealing something permanent between you.
When you finally pull back, foreheads pressed together, breath tangled, the ring caught your eye again. Your heart still beating hard and fast over your chest.
You watched it, in silence.
And then the future appeared. A wedding, the stress, the fights, the not knowing what was coming…
“Jungkook,” you whispered, voice shaking just a little. while you looked down at your finger. “This… this scares the shit out of me.”
He didn’t hesitate. He took your hands again, thumbs brushing slow, reassuring circles over your skin. His other hand grabbed your chin to made you look at him.
“Me too,” he admitted quietly. “But I love you. And loving you makes me less scared than anything else ever has.”
Something loosened inside you.
You looked at the ring, a 6.0 carat round brilliant Alexandra Beth diamond ring. He had remembered, after so long, after a joke, after being mentioned once. He loved you. He knew you. And you knew he would take care of you.
You felt a weight lift off your chest, your heart calming at the certainty in his voice. You smiled, leaning in to kiss him, slow and deep, savoring the moment, the rain and chaos and love all fading away to just the two of you, in your little perfect world.
“Come one, let’s go make you take a shower and come back to eat. Okay?.”
He gave you a peck but then kissed you again deeply when you melted into his touch. Like he couldn’t stop himself anymore. You laughed softly against his mouth when his hands travelled from your cheeks down your body.
You pulled apart, looking at him with a smirk. He copied you. “Wanna have sex with your fiancée?” you teased, breathless.
His laugh turned into a groan as he kissed you back, hands already sliding to your waist, the two of you stumbling slightly, caught between laughter and heat. Jungkook kissed you hard, hands burning to take off your clothes and kiss every part of your skin to mark you as his.
As his future wife.
He was kissing your neck and sliding his hand between your thighs when something nudged your leg.
You two froze, slowly looking down.
A familiar dog stood there, tail wagging furiously, nose shoved happily against you like he’d just found his people. Jungkook blinked, then laughed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Okay— who’s that?”
You stared at the dog, then back at Jungkook, then back at the dog who wagged harder, clearly pleased with you two.
You sighed, defeated. “I guess our new friend.”
missing temporary fragments hours:(
i missed writing them so much. i hope this one shot made them justice!! i’ll try to edit the next one soon so you’ll have it for next week >_<
if u continue reading this lmk what u think<33
fun facts if u didn’t catch up:
— the dog was implemented because in chapter four when yn and her friends are talking there’s this scene where she goes:“Okay. But if this ends in a family photo and a golden retriever named Lucky, I want a refund of this friendship.”
— in chapter 12 (need to fact-check the chap) she goes “Well, if you’re gonna propose you better known that the minimum I accept is a 6.0 carat round brilliant Alexandra Beth diamond ring.” And even if it was mention once i thought it’s something TF Jungkook would remember. my man is nice like that
yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. iii (3tan) (m) | myg
title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue (pt. 3)
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)
series: mlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. 1 | fugue pt. 2
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au
summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark.
note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment.
note 2: we are almost there. the second to last part of yoongi’s second interlude. it’s heavy, it’s deep, and it’s a lot.
warnings: language, time skips, angst, brain fog, reader being an angel but what's new!!!, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, fight scenes, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, threats, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood/wound mentions, yoongi please get up😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, reader is never giving up and we love them
drop date: january 28th, 2026, 7:17pm est
word count: 12.6k
-
-
He’s gonna make this work. Because he’s done fighting this shit.
Waking from a dreamless sleep, Yoongi stares at the empty half of his bed, fingers gliding across untouched sheets to seek warmth he knows isn’t there.
But it will be. Yours will be. Because he’s fucking done with his own bullshit and will now trek the depths of his soul with a purpose redefined. The demons awaiting him have no chance, they have no say.
Softly grabbing chilled cotton, Yoongi breathes in, the subtle heat of his own rest permeating his cheek for a few moments more. It isn’t until a few slow blinks and a million thoughts of you that he turns over, patting for his phone on the nightstand and immediately clicking the one notification that’s yours.
Hustler [05:45]: 1 Attachment
Mm. You sent him the dawn.
He’s gonna give you the world.
For a long stretch of time, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. All he can do is stare at the way the sky blooms in pastel hues, admiring the framing you captured so perfectly from your front porch.
Is there anything you aren’t good at? He can’t keep losing to you.
Flopping back onto his pillow, Yoongi aims his phone upward, eyes still caked with sleep and drowsiness.
Yoongi [06:13]: 1 Attachment
Yoongi [06:13]: Mine’s better
The photo’s so dark you might not be able to tell what it is. But you’re smart, so you probably will.
Fuck, he needs to get up.
Squeezing his eyes once before rubbing out the crust, Yoongi slowly vacates his warmth, grabbing a chain from the nightstand to clip it on.
Everything reminds him of you, even in the quietest and most mundane parts of his day. But the links around his neck are extra special. Because your blatant fascination with his jewelry will never, ever get old.
If you only knew what else he wants to do with you involving the weight around his neck.
Yoongi’s mouth cracks into a sleepy grin as he heads to his bathroom. That particular fantasy will have to wait until much, much later.
And unlucky for you, he is more than willing to wait.
He wonders if you know he notices. How he drinks in that sparkle in your eyes, shivers at those fingers you slide along his silver. Even if you never will, it’s fucking adorable either way.
Yoongi goes through his morning routine, and it isn’t until he takes vitamins in the kitchen—a part reinstated into his ritual ever since the mental turnaround—that he hears his phone buzz.
Hustler [06:34]: is that your ceiling?? lmao
Of course. He never doubted you for a second.
A small smile curves before Yoongi drinks another swig of water, holding the glass to his mouth while another message slides though.
Hustler [06:34]: i wish i was there :((
Fuck.
You will be. You’ll be there much sooner than he originally planned, and the thought makes him anxious and restless in the best ways.
Yoongi [06:35]: Same
Mm. He can do better than that.
Yoongi [06:35]: I’d say meet me for lunch but then you’d be gone the rest of the day🤷♂️
Pocketing his phone, Yoongi grabs what he needs before heading to the studio. Because there are still projects to work on and things to plan, with a high possibility he won’t even get a lunch to begin with.
Good problems. Lucky problems. He cannot take any of this for granted.
Hustler [06:38]: worth it😩whisk me away
And there’s no way he can take you for granted anymore, either.
Yoongi [06:39]: Careful what you wish for
If he got to see you, he’d be gone the rest of the day, too. Until you scolded him to get back to work, at least.
The thought pulls out a tiny huff.
After grabbing his wallet and keys, Yoongi plods to his shoes before the door is cracked open, crisp morning air wrapping around his features.
He’s not alone.
To his side, Miss Dion stops watering her plants, donned in a fluffy robe and a shit grin that Yoongi has to look away from out of pure… Is he being shy right now? “Morning.”
“Good morning to you, too, sugar,” she says through satisfied teeth. “I told you. What did I say?”
Yoongi can’t help but shine his own set to the sky before looking her way. “Mm. Depression and isolation can mess with memory, so.. Can’t recall. Looks like you’ll have to tell me again.”
With creased eyes, he braces as his neighbor lightly threatens with an air swipe of her arm.
“A smart one, huh? Figures. Glad to have you back, son.” Miss Dion shakes her head, one hand propped on a hip and staring low. “Looks like your little rascal is back, too.”
“My what?” Yoongi looks down before seeing a cat emerge from the nearby bushes, opting to walk on the sidewalk at the sight of people. Silent, he watches his neighbor tsk at the retreating culprit,
“She keeps messing with my plants and making my poor Zeke antsy. Get her some better food, okay? Go with your girlfriend before I charge you for garden damages.”
A full laugh bursts out of his chest, realizing he’s got a little in common with the feisty, older woman. Is Zeke the name of a dog or something? “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Settling into a warm smile, she radiates serenity with sparkles in her eyes. It’s a look that reminds Yoongi of his own mother, and his heart suddenly yearns to go back home. “Now shoo and get on with your day. Don’t let me keep you.”
Turns out, there are plenty of good people in this world.
And maybe—just maybe—he’s starting to feel like one of them, too.
“Yes, ma’am.”
—
—
On his drive to work, with morning air breezing through open windows and bottom lip between his teeth, Yoongi decides that you’re gonna hear everything from him from now on. Every single day, he’ll reach out every moment he can.
He knows it won’t ever, ever make up for the months he fell off the planet, but he’ll abruptly switch up his behavior because you deserve his full extent of communication and he has been severely lacking.
And the first thing he will hound you about is getting in a good meal today.
—
—
Work flies by, which is another sign things are looking up.
During a break, Yoongi fishes out his phone to continue a search he started earlier. And seeing your nickname on his screen sends wings beating around his chest like a fucking lovesick fool. Will he ever get over this feeling? Fuck no.
You [13:25]: Which one were you looking at? I wanna see!
Cute. It’s one of the keyboards he’s been looking for, but definitely out of his price range—for now. But it’s whatever. He knows what he can do with bare bones and minimal tools, so anything a step above worn-down pads and keys is just a plus.
Yoongi [14:30]: This is the one I really want but not right now
Yoongi [14:31]: 1 Attachment
Honestly? Just the fact that you’re interested in what he’s talking about is enough for him. This is leagues better than anything he could’ve imagined, and now he doesn’t know why he didn’t start doing this sooner.
Well. He does know why.
Hustler [14:33]: Responded ❤️ to an Attachment
Hustler [14:33]: HOTTT GET IT NOW!!!
Yoongi [14:34]: It’s expensive!! Gonna save up.
Shit, his cheeks can’t hide. Grinning like an idiot and you’re gonna get him caught in this fucking studio.
But your next text? Your question? Wipes his whole expression and squeezes his lungs shut.
Hustler [14:35]: how much? i might be getting a raise already so i can spot you🤪
Yoongi damn near drops his phone.
Are you serious? You’d be willing to do that? For him? You see the price on that. You know how much it is.
A shimmering feeling spreads throughout his chest, and he’s fighting everything to keep his vision from blurring. You have no idea how much this one text means to him. After all that fear and trauma that shattered his soul, you’re slowly stitching him back piece by piece. Even if his chest is constricting so hard he has to clutch it to keep it from breaking for an entirely different reason.
Fuck, you’re everything. His beginning, his end, his every sleeping and waking moment.
And you don’t even know how many of his lives you’ve saved.
Hustler [14:38]: hey i’m sorry if that was overstepping.
Hustler [14:39]: obv i know you can get it on your own, but i just got way too excited and wanted you to get it asap haha.. but yeah it’s a great investment either way so i say go for it!
Oh, fuck. Screw it.
Rushing out of his swivel chair, Yoongi walks out of the studio, past a curious Jungkook and Namjoon with a finger already on the call button.
Walk, walk, walk, get as far out as he can. The rings are blaring in his ears and his chest is on fire but this couldn’t wait. It’s the twentieth step that falters as you timidly answer with,
“Hello? Wait, are you okay?”
Instead of saying the first thing that comes to his mind, or even the second, Yoongi goes with the third. Which is fucking nothing because his mind is where his heart is and his voice is nowhere to be found.
“...Hello?” From the ruffles on the line, he can tell you’re getting up and going wherever the fuck you need to go. Because Yoongi knows he’d be doing the exact same thing. “Where are you.”
He can only manage a slight chuckle before asking, “What are you doing to me…”
Your sigh of relief turns into a soft laugh. “I really am sorry. If you felt some type of way, I wanted to say that. Shit, I thought you were… I don’t know.”
“Just had to get some air cus of you,” he admits with a huff and shake of his shoulders. “Gonna ban you from my phone.”
“There’s a word for that, you know.”
There you go again. Boldly teasing him while he’s on the clock? How you hit all of his hidden buttons so effortlessly, he really needs to know. Cheeks tight in a grin, Yoongi fires back, “You wanna try that again?”
“Oh, you don’t know? It starts with a B, too, you were so close!”
You are so fucking lucky you aren’t here with him. The urge to grab and attack your sides until you can’t stop laughing hits Yoongi like a wave, and he scrunches his nose until he counters with feigned nonchalance, “Okay, I see how it is. That’s fine..”
“No, wait, I—”
“I’ll remember that.”
“No!” That laugh is always contagious as hell. “Ah, whatever, you won’t do anything anyway.”
Nah. Even during his goodbye, Yoongi is already plotting. Because while you call his bluff on many things—a surprising amount of them—about this, you couldn’t be more wrong.
“Guess you’re right, baby girl,” Yoongi says, using a low tone that always makes you shiver just right, “I sure won’t.”
He doesn’t have to tell you it’ll take four days to make that a blatant lie.
—
—
During the next studio session a few days later, everyone starts hanging out and messing around since things got wrapped up fairly quickly. Something about being organized and intentional can free up time or whatever. Yoongi just laughs at how simple yet how rare that really is in the industry he chose.
As they jam with Woosung and the guys, he lets himself truly let go, feeling the flow of music and rhythm and playing away on one of the lingering guitars. It’s his first time touching one in so long without it cutting deep into his skin.
It feels good. He’s not even that rusty. This is the best development in a long time.
Even the band has compliments running all throughout the session, and it takes everything for Yoongi to not grin too wide or strain his cheeks in shyness. He knows he’s good, but hearing it from them is a little too much to handle.
It also doesn’t help to feel a pair of eyes look his way a little too strangely.
But soon after it ends, Yoongi finds himself out back again with Woosung, leaning against bricks as smoke fills the alleyway.
“You seem okay today,” the singer notes through a small smile. “You gonna be alright?”
“I am.” Yoongi watches the afternoon skies. “And I think so.”
A small hum. “You have to say it like you mean it. Even if you don’t believe it, you have to try.”
Shit, that’s a lot easier said than done. But Yoongi keeps his mouth shut and his eyes blinking, looking down and smelling wisps of tobacco. “What do you do when you..” Fuck, how should he say it? “What do you do when you keep falling back down?”
Woosung takes a drag, and he seems to know what that means. “First I’d tell you the obvious. Keep picking yourself back up.” Coughing, he continues in a much more relaxed manner. “But honestly, you gotta figure out why it’s happening in the first place.”
Yoongi looks his way.
“Once you deal with the reason for the fall, you know how to fight the push. The slip. Whatever you wanna call it.”
With a deep inhale, Yoongi slowly focuses back on the sky, wanting to lose himself in the clouds drifting pass.
Without a doubt, he knows what his push is. He’s just been too weak to fight it. Now that he has people helping—and you—it shouldn’t be as hard. “Thanks.”
“You learn a lot on the road. And I can tell you wanna be on stage, you know. You’d kill it.”
“You think so?”
“I think you think so.”
Yoongi laughs with him. Because the guy's not wrong. “I’ll get there. There’s not really any other options for me.”
Woosung appraises him with pride. “There’s a few camps that are opening up spots. You guys should go to one. It’s good networking, if anything.” After flicking his cig, the singer then turns to fully face him. “Who knows? We might end up opening for you someday.”
Huh? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Brows furrowed, Yoongi blinks before getting confused at the guy’s laugh.
“I’m not kidding. There’s something special about you, I can tell. You just need more time and space to let it grow.”
Mulling it over, Yoongi knows where the conflict is coming from. Yes, he does need to learn more and pretty soon, they could all outgrow that studio and move into another. But they have to push forward and try, even if they’ll be out of their element at these networking opportunities. “I’ll let them know,” he finally says.
“Good.” Woosung pushes off the wall with a shoulder. “I know you’re doing this for you, but… Is there someone else you’re doing all this for, too?”
Yoongi nods without hesitation.
“Then don’t leave them in the dark for much longer.”
What the fuck? How did he know?
“If they catch you in a bad moment… You might lose them before you can even say sorry.”
—
—
Yoongi strolls across another aisle before halting mid-stride, tugging himself into the seasoning and oil section to grab more of what he needs.
After work, he chose to stop by the nearest supermarket to grab things. And the more he walks through the different areas, the more he realizes just how much he’d been needing. Fuck, the damn bill is gonna be huge.
But it’s all worth it. Surprising you with a hearty meal? Yoongi thinks he could do that every day for the rest of his life.
If only there was a nice spot in town you could also go. The ache he has to take you out and show you off has been reaching record highs, but he knows it’s not possible right now.
Yoongi just wants to show you he’s cool with bringing you outside of his place. Never mind that it feels less like home, he’s more concerned about you thinking the worst. Thinking that things are over or limited when he has plans that extend beyond—
Jimin: Incoming Call
A brow is raised before Yoongi answers, “Hey.”
“When’s the release party again?”
That was definitely not what he expected to be asked. Especially when Jimin has been texting him about movies and reminders about practice all day. “Uhh. In a couple weeks. Why?”
“Okay. I.. I dunno.”
Yoongi checks the expiration date on a carton before flat out blurting, “Just date him.”
A groan sounds on the line. “I just.. What if he doesn’t want to? Then I’ll look like an idiot.”
Putting back the first, Yoongi pulls out a second, approving the better date and lowering it into his cart. “Then he’s the idiot.”
“Well. He is.” A rueful laugh crunches through as the smell of cheeses and bread fill the air. “But only because of the way he looks at me.”
Yoongi’s heart clenches. He feels the same about you, wondering how you could still regard him with those beautiful eyes and make him feel more than wanted. “If it helps, you look happy with him.”
“Ah, throwing my own words back at me now?”
“Guess so.” Yoongi flexes his jaw. “I just know how this feels.”
“When are you gonna tell him.”
His whole body locks. “I don’t know.”
“Dude.”
And his eyes slowly shut.
“It’s been long enough, you know that, right?”
Stopping off to the side, he leans onto his cart swallowed in his hood, ignoring a few passing looks and gnawing into his lip. “Course.”
“So do it. I get that you don’t want to, but you have to.”
A hand angrily rakes through his hair, and he lowers his head to speak to the ground. Of course he would get this lecture in the middle of a fucking store. “He’s gonna fucking kill me and who knows what he’ll say to—”
“And I’ll be sending flowers and Tae will write you a song.”
A pause. Then a huff. Yoongi almost feels like it could be that simple.
“She deserves this. You deserve to finally make this.. I dunno, real. Official, if you wanna call it that. Blessed? Wait, is that only for weddings—”
“Chim.”
“You get what I mean. And the most important—and I’m sure you know this because you’re not an idiot—he sure as fuck deserves to know.”
“I know. We both do.” Yoongi sighs, hearing wheels squeak around him and various chatter. He knows he should move before weirding people out, but his feet feel glued to tile. “It’s just.. gonna be shit for all of us.”
“…At least it’ll be less shit if you tell him before he finds out on his own.”
Jimin is always right.
“Also, I might need that keyring back soon if you aren’t even gonna put it to use. I wanna practice after work for the last game.”
“I am using it.”
“Not how I planned.”
“How you planned?” What the hell does that mean? It’s just a set of keys that unlock the gym a ways away, and Yoongi uses it to play by himself after it closes so he’s alone.
When he’s alone. Wait.
“I’ll give it back,” Yoongi finally speaks. “After the game.”
There’s an audible groan on the other line. “Can’t believe I have to spell everything out around here.”
Mustering enough strength to prop his head up, Yoongi finally rolls from his spot and heads to the front to pay. “Thanks, Chim.”
“Use it well. Make her happy, make you happy, make babies, make me a fun uncle, I don’t care.”
Yoongi outright laughs, heart beating a little faster. And he thought just shopping for groceries with you would be enough for him. Gotta hand it to Jimin for getting miles ahead of everyone else. Although…
“But you have to tell him.”
Dreams dashed through, he murmurs a quiet, “I know.”
“Yoongi… I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me, too.” Yoongi slips into line, waiting behind a young man giving his girl a cheek kiss and laughing at her dramatically wiping it away. “Thanks for everything.”
“You can thank me by telling someone you need help next time. Even if it’s not me.”
As the girl goes to lift food to be scanned, she gets stopped by her boyfriend, watching with a small smile before helping him anyway. “I will.”
“Good. Love you.”
Yoongi swallows, eyes a little prickly for more than one reason. “Love you, too.”
—
—
Even though Yoongi has been getting small evidence of your eating habits—as instated by him this past week—he’s still determined to get you more nourishment.
He’s pretty sure you like the restaurant next door, so despite knowing this could get him in a world of trouble, he uses his lunch time to bring you food.
Writing a note and some groceries he forgot to get last time, Yoongi sets it in the paper bag and walks to your building, still in disbelief that you’ve been this close this whole time. The pain of remembering how much of your life he missed while he was unreachable pangs his chest. But he deserves it, and you deserve a lot better.
Finally on your floor, he walks up to the receptionist before immediately ignoring their wide eyes.
“Who are you looking for?”
“My girlfriend. Just dropping this off.”
“Oh.. This is so sweet of you.”
Yoongi doesn’t even give that declaration a second thought. It came out so naturally.
Maybe he really is ready to move on.
You aren’t there at your desk. Which is probably best because he’d just steal you away. So Yoongi quietly sets it on your empty space, looking at all the trinkets and pictures you have in your little world. Some are just adorable, but he spots a polaroid of your brother that clenches his chest.
He was there for that. You both had matching cameras and took an impromptu picture of each other at the same time. He’s pretty sure your brother has yours very visible somewhere, too.
But there’s no time to think because he’s gotta bounce.
Walking fast past reception, he hears a quick, “Wait, are you not gonna wait for her?”
Pausing, Yoongi turns. “I….”
On second thought? Yeah. Because fuck this sudden shyness, he's gonna take any chance to see you.
Be it from being impatient, or just really nervous, Yoongi waits around a nearby corner until you find your food. He needs to see your reaction to the note, because if you throw it out or ignore it? He’ll take that as the most glaring sign to give you space.
But when your hand slowly covers your mouth and your body quietly buckles, his heart beats so loud he thinks you can hear it, and his soul pulses so fucking hard his vision glosses over.
You will never know what you truly do to him.
Back at the studio, Yoongi is locked in the rest of his shift. Because he isn’t just doing this for him now. There’s another reason he’ll be making it big.
You’re still believing in him after all this time. You still stayed.
And Yoongi will take over the whole world just to kneel at your feet to give it to you.
—
—
The entire night is perfect.
In fact, Yoongi’s entire life feels like it’s where it should be. Hanging out with you in a gym, starting another water fight because he still dreams about the one you sprung on him that day? This is what life is about. There are no shadows with him now that he’s fully in your light.
And that carries him through the night and up until the game the next day. His sleep was restful, his spirits are high, and his mind is completely spotless.
But with one glance at the man from Dalo, all the darkness comes rushing back in.
—
—
Did you just tell them all to play?
Even though the guy that assaulted you is on the other team, you want everyone to stay? To play out the game?
Seeing you look so folded in on yourself, Yoongi’s chest feels twisted with immediate rage. How the fuck are these guys allowed to even be here? How did they make it this far? That fucker is staring him in the face and he’s trying unbelievably hard to not go over there and commit felonies.
Honestly? If you’re really about this and want them to go ahead and play, Yoongi knows exactly how it’s gonna play out. All the scenarios are manifesting in his head and he can’t help but feel a sadistic elation knowing how fucked this other team is gonna be.
But he looks at his best friend with heated eyes. “What do you wanna do?”
It takes him awhile, but your brother responds exactly how he thought he would, “Fuck this shit up.”
“Exactly.”
At your addition, Yoongi looks your way, liking your spark but hoping you’re not overcompensating for anything. If you’re uncomfortable, they should just forfeit the game and bounce.
You aren’t budging. You’re clearly shaking and yet, you are immovable in your decision. And it’s so like you and fuck he wants to kiss your fears away in front of the whole gym just so everyone including that dipshit knows you’re forever untouchable. “The fuckin’ nerve.”
“Bold,” Jimin adds from where he stands, turning to you and dropping into oblivion to say what they’re all already thinking. “Don’t worry, love.”
Yoongi turns to the other bench.
“This will be over soon.”
—
—
Everything starts off exactly how they want it to.
Turns out, Jimin’s regimen and practice schedule worked out in everyone’s favor. Now that they’ve played multiple games with each other, Yoongi and the other guys can communicate with just looks and moves alone. Which proves a huge advantage because they’re making the other team look completely unorganized.
All those nights alone in that gym have also contributed to Yoongi’s form. This is the quickest it’s taken him to be in the zone and he’s even impressing himself with how sharp he is.
No one can guard him. No one can stop him. It’s painfully obvious to them and he can’t help but laugh at their shock every time, shrug at their little team squabbles, smirk at the way this idiot can’t even keep up with him. Tragic? Worse.
But things get dicey when Rohan fouls a little too hard, everyone nearly converging on him and the guy selling his pain as if it wasn’t just a normal swing. On cue, shoving and pushing happens, Yoongi being on the outskirts since he’s the last to get there.
It’s over when the coaches come separate, but amongst all the racing heartbeats, your brother looks really focused coming out of the fray. Really calm. Which means something went down and he is fighting to keep his attitude in check.
As they both head to the bench, Yoongi immediately gets the rundown. And his whole attitude ices over with a snap.
“They know which car is mine.”
Fuck.
That means one of two things. One, these guys just happen to really like knowing who drives what. Or two, this isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t the matchup—the real one is not going down on rec center floors.
Yoongi is already repeating his apologies to you.
Well, shit. May as well have some real fun with it now. If they can get the other team to call it quits here, they may have a shot at an easier standoff later.
Right.
—
—
Yoongi doesn’t like this one bit. The other team was too quiet to just have left without a word.
They really will be meeting them in the parking lot. And suddenly, things get a little too real.
This walk could be the last, depending on what they may have on them. The only shit those guys have against them is that this is a public center, and there could still be a lot of witnesses walking by—
Thunder rumbles as they reach the end of the long awning jutting out from the rec center entrance, and Yoongi looks at the dark sky with lidded eyes.
Fuck. So much for people passing by. They may be left out there on their own for real.
“Still?”
At Jimin’s question, Yoongi nods. Because they still have to confront this group of cowards one last time, pouring rain or not. Revenge is never one to raincheck.
Maybe they bluffed. Maybe the storm settled in some seconds thoughts. The lot still looks fine, with cars emptying out one by one as they walk and the space getting more scarce. Your brother’s car and Jimin’s exist in the same spot a ways down near the end.
With more than an alarming number of guys surrounding them.
Is that a whole fucking crew? Fuck, this was not the plan you need to get out of here and anywhere else but your place.
Before Yoongi can say anything, your brother beats him to it. “Taehyung. Get her out of here. Now.”
And your scream of resistance tears through every cell in his body.
Yoongi can’t even fucking look at you, even if to burn the image of your face in his mind to get through this bullshit. Because if he does? He’ll be the one hauling you away and bringing you both to the safest place he can think of without a second or third thought.
But he will not inconvenience his loving mother with a sudden visit just yet. When he finally brings you home, it will be for a different reason entirely.
“No! What the fuck—”
“We’re leaving.”
“Please—! No, let me go!”
This is the thought that will keep him grounded. It has to. He has to face this situation because from the way things are looking, if they don’t settle this now, it will only get worse. For them, for you, for everyone.
Fuck, your voice. It’s taking everything for Yoongi to keep his anger in check because, despite his malice, he’s the one that ultimately started this. He thought he was in the clear. What a fucking joke fuck you’re clawing at his ducts and he doesn’t need to look at your brother to know what he’s thinking.
The man is fucking silent.
And this is the one Yoongi remembers with full body shivers. The protector. The one that will do whatever’s necessary to save the ones he loves. This is the guy Yoongi has to eventually confront, if they—when they—get out of this situation in decent pieces. If your brother did what he did for him? What the fuck is he gonna do for you?
But in all fairness. For the first time, Yoongi understands this side of his best friend. Because for you? There’s no limit to what he would do to keep you safe. What a fucking shame he’d left you in the dark for that long. If you hate him after this, he’ll deal with it. At least that means you were safe enough to say it.
Woosung warned him. And Yoongi still didn’t heed the signs.
But no use dwelling in it now. Your screams have morphed into sobs as Taehyung hauls you away. And with quick observation, Yoongi notices that even some of the faces he’s watching falter.
You’re his everything. Your brother’s everything. And he fucking hates himself for all those opportunities he had to be by your side, all those times he could’ve just confessed but couldn’t because of his own damn faults.
Rolling his shoulder, Yoongi braces for the storm, your brother finally speaking with a clutched phone behind his back as soon as you’re out of earshot,
“Last chance.”
The man from Dalo shoots out a huff of disbelief. “For what, motherfucker.”
“To back off my fucking car.”
Thunder rattles some of the guys into a step back, but your brother doesn’t move. Resolute, he brims with sinister energy, its bristles curling around Yoongi’s legs and hardening Jimin’s shoulders. Even some of the guys from the team have stayed behind, which doesn’t come as a shock seeing as how close they are with your older sibling.
“That’s your play?” Dalo guy drawls before looking around. “Outnumbered and you’re worried about a little paint scratch?”
Your brother only smirks like he has a secret. And Yoongi knows full well that it’s a bluff that always works like a charm. “I mean, I’d be worried if I were you, but. If you can skip a few months’ rent to pay off the damages, go ahead.”
More of the guys shuffle in nervousness, which is the sign they all need. If they actually leave, things should end quicker. All they have to do is hold it out long enough for them to talk.
“How about this,” the man suggests, poison trickling down his curve before he swings his bat right into the side mirror of your brother’s car fuck. “Let’s see how many swings it takes for you to stop me.”
“I’m gonna guess a few,” your sibling drawls under the blare of his car alarm, expertly hiding the fact that he’s pissed as another swing hits the passenger door. “Give or take.”
“You shut the fuck up,” the leader growls, smashing the nearest window right out and grinning into the vehicle. “Oh, what’s this? I’ll take that, thank you.”
“Don’t.”
Yoongi’s blood freezes as he sees exactly what the guy takes, noticing the matching polaroid that your brother has of you that’s always on the dash.
Oh, fuck this noise and fuck this guy. Now he’s waving it like a little trophy? All bets are fucking off. No amount of morals will help him now and your brother turns downright murderous.
“Think I’ll get a lot of good use out of this,” the assaulter boasts with a sinister grin, shoving the picture in his pocket that Yoongi can only assume reeks of sweat and cowardice. Thunder booms once more, and droplets start pinging off shoulders and sweaty heads.
He wants to hurl thinking of what the guy means, and he doesn’t even realize he’s one step further than before until an arm stops him at his chest. Turning, Yoongi sees his best friends’ eyes ablaze but still facing forward, and he stops his strides—mind racing with rage.
“Your girl looked good today, by the way!” The Dalo guy appraises with a lift of his chin, rain running down his angular cheekbones and staining his dark mesh. Yoongi snaps his gaze forward again because shit this is being addressed to him. “We got a nice view from our bench.”
Fuck this dude. What the fuck is happening to his spiking heart rate? Is it anger? The rain? A thunderous mixture of both?
On heavenly cue, thunder tears through the sky again, raindrops starting to pick up just to drown this guy’s talking,
“Think it’s time for me to see her again? Her skin’s so soft, bet it feels like heaven when y’all fuck, huh?”
“Not gonna share?” The man turns to your brother with the evilest glint in his eye. “Guess I can always stop by and ask her myself.”
When the sky rains down in sheets, everything erupts at once.
—
—
Gritty, darker days of the past melt into Yoongi’s vision as the night blurs and roars around him.
For a brief moment in time, he doesn’t think they’ll make it. Youth has slipped its protection from their bones, taking the recklessness of their souls with it. They haven’t done this in ages. And it fucking shows.
Because Yoongi’s side hurts like a motherfucker and his palms sting with white hot singe. Rain and bodies slow in their motion as he takes it all in, and his eyes droop as he shifts closer to his friends—mind swirling like the lights pulsing down the street.
Your brother smacks into wet ground before wrenching himself back up, and a Jimin sporting a botched eye yanks him backward before distancing them all from another hit. The other guys from the team shield their blind spots, everyone now mangled and boxed in tighter and tighter.
This is because of him. He did this. He did all of this.
Mind and skin slick from the rain, his guards crumble. Dark thoughts flood back in and inundate his every crevasse. You deserve to hate him and you should you should you should.
A prideful laugh erupts before yelling out, “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”
“You aren’t gonna do shit,” your brother taunts.
“Think so?” As the man reaches behind his back, Jimin’s voice pierces like an arrow,
“Watch it!”
Acting without thought, Yoongi bolts to his friend, knowing what to do but not having a plan for what’s next oh fuck what’s this guy pulling out—
“Yoongi!”
If anything, he can at least go out with the knowledge that he kept your brother safe. You’ll be safe with him. Yoongi will find a way back to you even if it takes another lifetime or two.
Rain roars down as something dark is pulled from the man’s pants. But Yoongi can barely make out what it is as he shoves your brother out of the way.
"No!"
He's frozen. He can't fucking move. Your bright light is the only thing that flashes into his mind as he stares into glinting, vengeful eyes.
But everyone else will be safe. That is the most important. The only thing that matters.
Suddenly, sirens sound from a ways down, everyone flinching in the downpour. Lights swirl and swirl, and it’s your brother’s exhausted admission that shocks everyone,
“Those are for you, by the way.”
“The fuck?” The man backs up immediately, shocked when half the guys are already scrambling off. “You fuckin’ snitched?”
“What can.. I say,” your sibling huffs through heavy breaths. “Don’t mess.. with my fuckin’ car.”
“Bullshit.”
“Stay if you want.” Straightening with a repressed wince, your brother sets a hand on Yoongi’s good shoulder before walking right up to the man that assaulted you, weapon in hand be damned. “It’ll make it easier for them to spot you. You know, with all the cameras and shit.”
“…Huh?”
“We’re in a public lot, genius.” He wipes blood from the side of his face, looking up behind him at the very obvious camera positioned on the nearest floodlight. “And if we run the tape back, y’all smashed my property.”
The man slowly smiles. “And you’re on the same footage instigating a fight. What if I just…” Something happens between their bodies, but Yoongi can’t see what. “Do it right here? Defend myself?”
Your brother raises his shoulders before exaggerating a sigh. “See, the thing is…” Hands on his hips, he reminds Yoongi of you, flinging him back to a very similar rainy afternoon with much less harrowing stress. How he’s remaining so calm is unfathomable. “You broke into my car and stole from me. Anyone seeing that footage—you know, before the rain—is just gonna see… Well, us trying to stop you.”
The sirens get louder and louder, and more of the guys have long gone by now. But your assaulter stays in disbelief, eyelids blinking away rain and arms shaking. “They can’t catch me from those cams.”
“Probably. But they can pick up your voice from my recordings.” Looking down, your brother finishes with bored finality, expertly ignoring the fact that he's millimeters from death. “And you have my picture in your pants, dumbass.”
Yoongi’s never seen someone slam a hand into their pockets so fast. As the polaroid falls into puddles, a voice quivers while something is tucked back in wet pants, “Fuck you.”
Before he can run, the man gets snagged by his jersey, sirens blaring closer and closer as your brother unleashes his final threats, “Since you did the smart thing and spared me, I'll be nice. But I don’t wanna see you, I don’t wanna see any of them. Come around again, and I’ll make sure you never see daylight, you understand?”
Fully rattled, the man throws his hands up with a growl, “Fine, I got it! Fuck!”
With the last dashes of a coward, the team is left alone in the lot.
Turning their drenched heads and shoulders just in time to see the cops fly by.
—
—
After a quick check to make sure no one’s sporting a major injury, all the team members that stayed are told to go home before any other cops come to ask what’s up. Your brother finishes calling a tow truck for his battered pride and joy, and Yoongi rejoins him with a very silent Jimin.
Even though the rain never stops, the three of them wait until everyone else is driving off. Until everyone else is safely on the way back to some place dry.
When alone, the three of them turn to each other without a single word.
It’s done. It’s really done.
—
—
Just sliding into the passenger seat of Jimin’s car makes Yoongi hiss in pain.
Groans from the others fill the humid space, and Jimin makes sure the lot is completely cleared again before watching his rearview mirror. “How the fuck did you know the cops would come?”
“I didn’t.”
Jimin’s good eye widens. “That was just coincidence?”
“So was the rain being this bad.”
Fucking hell, they lucked out on every single thing they could’ve lucked out on. If it went down any other way? At least one of them would’ve been lying face down on pavement.
Swallowing, Jimin clutches his wheel with one hand before asking next, “Well.. What are you gonna do? You leave tomorrow, right?”
They’re about to talk about the towed, smashed car he called in. So Yoongi’s just gonna lean into his seat and try to fucking breathe.
“Yeah,” your brother huffs out. “Umm. I’m not sure. There’s no getting out of this trip, and I can’t exactly tell my boss what happened.”
“Need us to bring it into the shop tomorrow?”
“Really? Damn, that’d be perfect, thanks. I’ll just get a ride to the airport in the morning then.”
Yoongi winces to himself as he adjusts, hearing a groaning curse from the backseat at the same time. “You sure you’re good to leave tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” The man sighs. “Couple hours of ice and some bandages should do it. And the suits will cover most of me up.”
“K.”
Jimin starts the car, hand gripping the center console so hard his veins pop. “I gotta say… That was the first time I’ve been that scared. In a long time.”
The whole space falls silent in agreement.
It’s your brother that croaks out next. “The last time we were in shit that deep.. Yoong got his back thrown into that barbed fence.”
At that, Yoongi looks out the window.
“But the important part is that we made it. And they won’t be coming around now that we have shit on them. Fuck, the way I wanted to just—”
Yoongi cuts his sentence off immediately, “Luckily you chose logic.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“We just all have someone to live for now,” Jimin grits out with frustration. “So can we just.. Not do this anymore?”
Another hush of understanding falls over the group, and everyone quietly agrees.
“Good.” Jimin rolls his car forward and starts calling someone, setting his phone down while Taehyung’s name shows on his car screen.
“Hey.”
He answered. Which means you’re right at his side. Fuck, Yoongi’s heart is pounding so hard it’s drowning out the rainfall. Your voice. He needs it. He’ll take anything you have to say.
“Hey.”
“You okay?”
Jimin’s tongue prods his cheek. “Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”
“Say it.”
As Jimin relays the damage, Yoongi starts picking at his fingernails in nervousness, something he hasn’t done in so long but still feels like second nature. “My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—”
“Where is he.”
Oh. That’s really you.
Shit.
Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. What the fuck is he laughing for? What about any of this could possibly be funny?
“This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?”
“With us,” Jimin slowly answers, as if this suspense is good for anyone. “In the car.”
At least he has enough mercy to start out with including your brother. Hopefully that first response was enough to clue you in before saying anything more damning. Not that something damning wasn’t already said. Fuck, this wasn’t exactly what Yoongi meant when he said he wanted to hear you. But goddamn if his soul isn’t already pulsing at the thought of you asking about him.
After another beat, Jimin decides to spell it out for you. And Yoongi feels like he’s about to dangle from a precipice. “Your brother’s here, too.”
“Ah… Am I on speaker.”
Both Yoongi and Jimin look at the center screen, already knowing your brother is looking, too. “Umm.. Yeah.”
Whatever Yoongi thinks you’re gonna do or say? Is nothing compared to what you actually do. He hasn’t been this chewed out in ages and the pit in his stomach morphs into a void.
“Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.”
The man in the back tries to cut you off to no avail. “Hey, wait a damn minute—”
“I waited long enough!”
Yoongi physically feels his whole soul sag with guilt, guilt, guilt.
“I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.”
“He was gonna—”
“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?”
Yes, they all know. In fact, Yoongi is still mentally running from that one split second of terror. If the dude from Dalo was reaching, that could only mean a couple things and he doesn’t wanna think of either one. How the fuck is he supposed to face you now? When he almost got—
“Just tell me one thing… Is this gonna happen again?”
That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.”
Yoongi hopes to everything in the universe that it’s true. Judging by the fear in those eyes? The way they all ran? There’s no way they’re coming back. But the adrenaline pulsing through his cuts and bruises gives some room for doubts.
“Okay… Are you okay?”
Your sibling answers yet again, making things seem much less concerning than they really are. As usual. “Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.”
“Fuck that.”
“Huh?”
“Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am. I’m going to Yuri’s.”
That shake in your voice will stay for a very, very long time. Even as his best friend dares to question you, Yoongi’s throat remains shut. “What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.”
“I just—No.” Fuck. Your pause is the loudest thing. It’s long enough to make them all think you’ve hung up, but he has a feeling the next thing you say will crush him.
And he’s right.
“I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.”
You mean that. There’s no doubt in Yoongi’s mind that you’re dead set on cutting them all off with no hesitation. And they all deserve it, especially him. What they did tonight was idiotic and could’ve been avoided in a thousand ways. You have every fucking right to be furious. Truthfully, you’re kinda letting them all off easy.
Once again, your brother is the spokesperson for the car. Because why would anyone else be, right? “…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.”
“…Of course you don’t.”
And you hang up so fast it cuts Yoongi’s breath in two.
Silence follows. Followed by a multitude more. Unspoken thoughts are forming dark clouds in the car, stuffing the space and jamming cotton in everyone’s ears.
In the rear view mirror, Yoongi watches his friend rub both hands over his face before a fist bangs against leather upholstery, Jimin reacting immediately with a quick,
“Behave.”
“Sorry.” A rustle of clothes and guilt follows. “I just… My sister’s right. What the fuck are we doing anymore? This one was stupid.”
“All the fights we’ve been a part of have been stupid,” Jimin tuts, looking over his shoulder and wincing before turning a corner. “Fuck, my eye.”
Yoongi offers with a hand still slung over his waist, voice hoarse, “Need me to drive?”
“No one with a death wish gets to drive my car.” Jimin hisses out another whoosh of pain. “But no, I can make it to his place.”
“K.”
“And she’s right.” Jimin rolls to a stop at the next light. “Even if tonight was coming, this could’ve been prevented. Or done another way. Honestly, I’m surprised we made it out.”
“Same,” Yoongi agrees.
“Glad I got his shit recorded,” your brother sighs, wincing while adjusting his seat. “They shouldn’t be able to refute the recordings in court—fuck—if it gets to that point.”
“What happens if they—”
“Forget about them,” Yoongi interjects, earning two looks of shock and feeling a little surprised himself. When the car starts moving again, he works his hurt jaw, trying to figure out how to word his ever twisting thoughts. “We didn’t tell her anything and that’s where we fucked up.”
Did that come out too upsetting? Can he blame it on his aching side? Does it even matter anymore? Does anything?
“How do you know that.”
Stiffening ever so slightly, Yoongi uses his battered side as an excuse to shift. Wincing, he looks at the center console, choosing not to peer out the window on purpose. Face this shit now. Tell the truth in parts to control it,
“She told me.”
Jimin doesn’t acknowledge that answer, instead turning at the next corner and checking his mirrors.
“When.”
Motherfucker. Yoongi’s mouth is drying out so fast he doesn’t taste the blood anymore. Everything feels like sandpaper, scratching his tongue, tearing his esophagus to shreds. The rasp that results rips his throat red,
“After—”
“After I told her everything,” Jimin jumps in, throwing a blanket over his fire. As Yoongi gives him a look, he continues with eyes on the road, “At that party you hosted a few days after you came back.”
Thank god the blond knows to step up when he’s needed. Yoongi still can’t think straight and was about to admit he called you during that party. Full on busted. And how would that have gone?
“The party I…? Oh, the one that Sunday? Fuck.” Your brother wipes his lower face before shutting tired eyes. “I remember now. Cus I was gonna tell her back then, but everyone started coming over.”
“We should’ve told her before Dalo even happened,” Yoongi says with a sag to his voice.
Thankfully, all suspicion and tightness is gone from your sibling’s voice. Only agreement resonates. “Yeah.. Yeah.”
More silence washes over the car, sweat and rainwater caked on skin while blood hardens in layers. Though Jimin makes no comment, Yoongi knows he’s gonna pay for any damages just sitting in here will accrue.
Rolling up to your house, Jimin parks in the driveway, all of them still wordlessly suffering because of all the shit he started.
Yoongi can’t see it any other way. This all happened because of him, whether his best friend says so or not. Yeah, he threw that punch on the court back then, but Yoongi’s the one that fell for the taunts. How fucking stupid. And to think he thought all of this would just, what, go away with time?
You reached for him on the court this last game. You were begging for him to tone it the fuck down. Once again, he didn’t listen, blinded by the anger boiling over—at that coward, and at himself.
But you’re safe, your brother is safe, and everyone that fought today is fine. Yoongi’s gonna count every blessing that he can before the darkness wins again.
“Thanks for driving, Chim,” your brother grunts as he opens the door. “And Yoongi?”
He turns to look his way. Staring right into those eyes laser focused and exhausted to hell all at once. Not even the pouring rain can divert either of them from breaking contact.
“Get out of the fucking car.”
Fuck.
Yoongi works his cheek before grunting out of the doorway, winding the car and knowing Jimin is on high alert inside. If this is about you? If this is the battle he was supposed to fight for months?
Maybe he’s not making it out tonight after all.
As soon as Yoongi gets close, he’s yanked forward by the collar, eyes unmoving as he knows not to flinch. He’s gonna own his shit, as much as he’s scared out of his fucking mind right now.
Words rip low from your sibling’s lips, “Whatever the fuck you did? Don’t even think about doing it again.”
And there it is.
The door he’d been so desperate to open has been sealed completely shut, caught in this torrential downpour and retreating so far back he can’t see it any longer. “I’m sorry,” he rasps out. “I was gonna—”
“Jimin’s right. You got a fucking death wish? What the fuck is wrong with you? How would you think I wouldn’t figure it out?”
Ice blocks all his veins, freezing his chest over and chilling him below his bones. Everything from the moment you knocked on his door to now comes rushing past his vision and breaking in lightning quick snaps.
All Yoongi wanted to do was protect you. And now he’s gonna lose both of you.
Shoving him backwards, your brother growls out. “I just… Are you fucking serious?” He sighs to the ground, rain drenching his already slicked head and steaming shoulders. “You got one life, and a future bright as fuck. Stop throwing it away so easily, or we’re done.”
What?
Now Yoongi’s eyes jolt for another reason. Shock thrums and resets his body, forcing it to grapple with the real conflict between them. “This is about me saving your life?”
“What the fuck else would it be!” Your sibling rushes forward and shoves him again, and Jimin is fully springing out of his car now. “The fuck were you thinking?”
“What the hell are you two doing?”
“You’re fucking kidding me. Are you serious? He was about to—”
“I can handle my own shit!”
Jimin keeps a bull from charging again, full on forcing him back. “What the fuck!”
“I can save you from an idiot with a gun,” your sibling grits out like it’s hurting him from the inside, “But not her, dude.”
Her? What the fuck?
“Yeah, don’t think I believed you for a fucking second. She’s still there, huh? I can see it all over your face!”
As Jimin stills in his pushing, Yoongi’s feet start to get tugged into the earth.
“Look at you. Gone for days at a time, starting shit on the court, and just—throwing yourself out with no plan? Do you even care about your life anymore?”
Thunder cracks the sky once more, punctuating his words on impact.
And it's Jimin’s turn to shove his friend back, voice tightened in ice, “I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.”
“Do you?”
Life slows around Yoongi, magnifying the pain he feels in his side and the blow he took straight to the lip. Everything hurts. Everything’s numb.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, this isn’t what he bargained for at all. And even though it’s been forever since he’s seen his ex, he can feel her ghost howling and grinning like a victor, tearing his heartbeats to shreds.
Your brother’s right about her still being burrowed in his place. That has been the case for months and he needs to fix that. But caring about his life? Of course he does. Did it look like he was just throwing himself out? Truthfully he doesn’t remember everything he did he just acted on pure instinct. “That’s not.. It’s not like that—”
Shucking off a persistent Jimin, your brother straightens and backs up a step. “Someone to live for, huh? Yeah, count me the fuck out. Her? What the fuck, Yoong?”
No. Not this again. Say something. Say fucking anything to fix this shit. The dread that settles into his stomach is finding permanent residence because he’s about to lose his best friend for the wrong reason, “Listen, I—”
“Save it. As long as you’re still with her I am done.”
The panic in Jimin’s eyes matches his own, his hands trembling as he keeps them separated, “It’s not like that, okay? Both of you need to—”
“Get out.”
Yoongi and Jimin still, with the latter asking a shocked, slow, “What?”
“You heard me.” Your brother backs up towards the house, rain falling in rivers across his skin and failing to hide the streams from his eyes. “Get his ass home. I’m not saying shit until she’s gone.”
“But she’s—she’s not even—”
“I’m out.”
—
—
Rain stains the windows of Jimin’s car in splotches.
After the entire drive goes by in silence, Yoongi slides tired eyes up to see his place coming into view.
“Yoongi.”
He doesn’t respond.
“I’m staying with you tonight.”
Shutting down, he gives his friend a shoulder so cold even he regrets it. “No.” He knows Jimin’s already red-rimmed and teary. So he keeps his head down and arm slung over his waist. “Taehyung needs you.”
“Please,” Jimin begs, voice wavering and full of fear. Which is justified. He knows what will happen if he’s left alone. “I’m staying. I can get him and we can both stay, just—”
“Not tonight.”
A sniffle is the only response. “I fucked up. I’m so sorry I messed it all up, but please don’t do anything when I’m not there to—”
“I’ll be fine.” Yoongi clicks the door open, greeted by the boom of thunder and endless rain. He can hear the desperation in his best friend’s pleas, but this is something he can’t let anyone witness. Not feeling in control of his body is frightening, and he needs to be isolated. Again.
Before shutting the door, he turns. “This is something I have to do alone.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll… I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
More sobs wrack Jimin’s body as he wipes his bruised eye with shaky fingers. “Promise me there’s a tomorrow.”
Oh. Jimin thinks the worst. Fuck, Yoongi is hurting all of his friends in every fucking way possible. “Chim,” he sighs, rain lowering his temperature so much he shakes. “It’s not like that at all. K?”
“Okay.”
“I just… Yeah. We’ll talk about it when I’m ready.”
“Yoongi,” Jimin halts him right as he’s closing the door. “I really am sorry.”
And he looks down at the seat he just occupied, rainwater and sweat and regret and relief all sunk into leather upholstery,
“Me, too.”
—
—
As Yoongi stumbles into his apartment, he doesn’t bother to turn the lights on. Why would it matter if all they’ll do is highlight the repercussions of his decisions? The stupid fucking decisions ever since the day he damned you all.
A shadow snickers, wrapping around his brain and forcing him to recite them all once again. Just like he had been over the last three months.
Yoongi’s shoes trip over nothing as he stumbles, careening to the floor and smacking a bruised shoulder on impact. White hot pain zings up his limb, shoving out a curse and a wheeze as he lies still because he can’t. Fucking. Move.
All he wanted to do was protect you. Those guys were loaded with dark intentions and he lost it defending your honor. But that doesn’t negate the fact that he put you and your brother in danger. He’s the one that started the fight on the court that day, he’s the one that messed up by making you feel unwanted. Danger? He put you in that. The club? He put you in there, too, and almost tore his mind apart when he saw what happened to you there. What did you say to him afterward? When you both were in the safety of your own bed?
“I was so scared.”
Yoongi punches the floor, gritting his teeth before willing himself to get. Up. Limb by limb, muscle by muscle, he slowly rises to his feet, kicking off his shoes and stripping off his damp, bloody clothes. Because it’s done. The danger won’t reach anyone he cares for any longer, and yet…
He can barely change into new garments as his mind flashes with more reminders, like how he messed up rushing to defend you at the party, making his best friend silently size him up and wrenching daggers in his side. Even leaving you to deal with his shadow fucked you up, because he couldn’t bring himself to tell you why he even left in the first place.
But there’s a lot of that hesitation going around. After all, he hasn’t even confessed to you brother yet. Just the thought makes him want to hurl, and he almost does.
But Yoongi quickly shakes his head, as if doing so flings the memories away. He stalks through his living room, his path illuminated by the flashes of lightning and shaken by the booms of angry thunder.
You may as well command the very skies. Because your rage seems to mirror them tonight, and he cannot blame you one bit for tearing them all apart. God, he can’t get that tremble in your voice out of his fucking head. You sounded so hoarse, so broken, so defeated and yet so strong.
In a screwed up way, Yoongi is proud of you for telling them off, setting off a new conversation that ended in them making amends to how they settle things from now on. They all deserved that as much as they needed it.
You’re too good for him. Yoongi has thought this once before, but it’s more than true now as he stops at the corner of his living room. The darkest one. The one that's been driving him to the brink of insanity and back again.
It’s so loud right here.
Darkness winds around him in waves, only fleeing when lighting floods the room. His face pulses in pain just as much as his side, and he hunches forward, almost touching the neck of his black guitar case.
Yoongi can only stare.
He messed up a lot of things. He knows that. And yet, you haven’t run from him once. Even when he fucked up again, and again, and again, you never ran. That day you almost walked out the door? Yoongi’s heart crumpled and squeezed when he saw you turn right back, eliminating that stabbing fear in his chest and replacing it with a heal of hope.
But you finally cut him off tonight.
And honestly, that was the best decision you could’ve made.
Gripping the firm cloth of the case, he unzips from the top, moving in slow, calculated motions. Thunder rumbles overhead, and he almost flings back to the first time this instrument of disaster was gifted to him. But he fights the memory, quietly choking the guitar by the neck and lifting it from its confines.
He hears it gasping. Fuck, he hears the screaming.
And therein lies the root of his manic war.
This isn’t just an instrument. This isn’t just an object.
It’s a life.
If he does anything to it, the guilt will forever mar his conscience. He’ll carry this violence wherever he goes.
But what else can he do? If he throws it out and someone finds it, the shadow can come back to haunt him. Or inflict its power over someone else. Is that too much of a stretch? Is he truly going insane now?
A fuck up. A screw up. For as long as he can remember, Yoongi believed those were all used to describe him. However, if you have taught him one thing in the time he’s orbited your presence, it’s a simple fact. He may be a fuck up, and he may be a screw up…
But he was still a good person.
Those labels plagued him for years, had him questioning his very existence and rocked him off balance every time he stepped out of line.
All this time, those words were a projection, flung at him with the intention of making them stick until he couldn’t rub them off. Mud, mud, so much mud had been flung onto his brain and buried his very essence so far deep that he couldn’t even find it anymore. Even his vision dulled, colors looked less vivid, life didn’t feel worth living.
But Yoongi has fucking had it with the sludge. He already faced your nightmare head on just to keep you safe. If he had to trudge through a thousand miles of sludge next just to get to you? He’s doing it. Because you’re so fucking worth it and he’s not wasting anymore fucking time on these lies, these half-truths, this bullshit.
Tightening fingers around polished wood so hard that strings bite into his skin, Yoongi turns, lightning flashing and casting his own shadow into his room.
His shadow. No one else’s. He’s not letting there be two of them in here any longer.
The screaming reaches a shrill cry.
A dizzying thought roars in his brain once more, crumpling him at the waist and making his ribs sting. Breaths ragged, he squeezes both eyes tight and heaves at the painful pulse of his head.
That whole time away didn’t even matter, did it? All it took was one phone call to have your brother on his ass yet again.
Fuck. Is he gonna have to keep his distance again? Shit. He didn’t think about that under all the pain he’s sporting right now, all the mental assault he’s enduring because it is relentless tonight.
Goddamn it. He can’t deal with another three months away from you. Even three days without you sounds like agony and death right now, because he has to spend his days and nights with the monster in his hand. The dark will await him once more, but he doesn’t want it anymore. It’s not part of him. It’s not it’s not it’s not.
Eyes slowly opening, Yoongi slowly straightens as much as his ribs allow, shifting his lidded eyes to the weight he carries.
Get rid of it.
Throw it out, all of it, all of it.
But how? He can’t move to throw it away. His feet stay glued to the floor as he struggles to even carry it another second. His chokehold slips, staccato notes giving way to a cacophonic hum as the bottom of the instrument hits the floor.
Get rid of it.
It’s like you’re speaking to him. But how is that possible? Is this what happens when one descends into madness? Because that’s what Yoongi feels in the marrow of his bones. Burdened by the fact that no matter what he does, he’s gonna mess it all up. No matter what he tries, it will be in vain. He’ll never be happy. He’ll never get the future he wants. The future with you. With you, with you, with you, wasn’t he just fighting for you? What the fuck is happening to his brain?
Get rid of it.
He can’t.
Get rid of it.
He can’t.
Throw it out. All of it, all of it.
…Can he?
Yoongi struggles to breathe, heaving out dry, bitter struggle once again. His limbs almost give under the weight of the mud, the pile of sludge. The door seems so far away and he can’t crawl to it any more. There’s too much trash. There’s too much pain.
Your voice rings across his mind one more, desperate time.
Get rid of it.
And someone’s wise words from awhile ago echo right behind like a ripple. A mantra. A reminder.
“If there’s something you need to get through...”
Manic resolve seizes the reins.
“Hit it until it breaks.”
Lightning flashes in slow motion as Yoongi doesn’t even feel himself. He hears the bangs, the crashes, the splinting of wood and shrieking of glass as something enormous tramples through his living room. But nothing feels real, his vision isn’t his, those lifts of his arms aren’t his doing as swing, after swing, after heavy final swing hits in front of him.
This is everything he wanted to unleash in that parking lot. Every movement swathed in rage.
Strings snap, whipping out in all directions as glittery rain falls onto his rug and his floors, skittering in all directions and glinting off the storm light outside.
His throat is hoarse. His ribs are worse.
And his brain goes completely dark.
—
—
When Yoongi blinks, his living room looks unfamiliar.
Until he wakes amongst millions of shattered pieces, surrounding his bloody limbs in a descent suspended in time.
Somewhere, what was once a guitar is split in pieces, slain in cold blood to be rid of the shadow inside. A death necessary for life. Yoongi vows to never break an instrument like that again.
He did it. It finally happened. The only shadow he can see is his.
…Right?
Yes. Yes. It’s over.
—
—
Floating.
Endless, endless floating. The ocean of his mind is calmer without the scepter in the room, but he’s so exhausted he can only move his eyes.
There’s a voice in the dark box he puts himself in. But that doesn’t make sense, does it? When he’s supposed to always end up alone.
Jimin did his best. So did everyone else. But it’s a simple fact that, in the end, it’s only gonna be him here, listening to you call out to let you in.
Wait. That’s really you. You’re calling him? Has he been responding? When the fuck did he even answer his phone?
No. You shouldn’t be here tonight. Not tonight. Not like this.
Regret and anger fill him to the brim as he screams at himself to not push you away. But he will, breaking his own heart to save you from seeing him in his aftermath. You don’t need to see this. You should be miles from where he lies.
“Not tonight.”
But on the other side of his door, you are fighting like you never have before.
“Yoongi, I swear to god—”
“Not tonight—”
“—you don’t let me in I’m—”
“Go home—”
“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”
Why? Why are you still there? Why are you trying so hard and why does your effort hit him square in the chest? In his mind, he’s reaching for the door but he can’t get there. Still so far away. But you’re screaming for him to try. Begging.
“I’m serious.”
“No.”
“Go home.”
“No!”
It takes everything for him to utter your name, because he feels like even that he doesn’t deserve to say.
He could hang up. He could just shut you out. So why isn’t he? Is he turning away, or clinging on to your outstretched hand?
Yoongi knows why he’s still on the line. It’s because he needs you. Fuck, he needs you and yet he wants you the furthest distance possible. You can’t see this. Any of this. You’d cast him away and never look back.
Which is why he finally reaches the point of begging, “Please.”
Your silence drags on. Only the shaky, quick breaths you exhale fill the deadened air and squeeze his lungs.
Go. Don’t go. Stay. Run.
No matter what Yoongi begs you to do, he’s already screaming at himself to do something. Because even if he doesn’t let you in, you’re just gonna keep standing there. Three months you kept your distance, and you’ll wait another ten until he lets you in. That’s just who you are.
And that’s the you he fell in love with.
But Yoongi feels the most broken he could ever feel. The most damaged, though the worst is over now. What are you going to say? How are you going to react? Will you run?
Will you leave?
Don’t leave.
Don’t leave him alone.
Heart on its last desperate breaths, Yoongi lies still, hoping you say something yet begging for you to take one last chance.
He thought it was best to be left alone. And now he’s silently calling out for you to open the door.
“…No.”
His heart pulses waves throughout the living room, beating stronger and stronger and yanking his limbs into action.
Breathe. Focus. Get the fuck up and walk, crawl, do anything but just get to the fucking door.
So crawl he does. Across shards, across rainwater, across the damage he dealt to the last piece of him that needed breaking. Your effort cannot be left alone and he’s going to meet you halfway.
Fuck, he’s still cold. Still wet. But he will keep crawling on forearms until he can muster the courage to stand up and let you in—no matter how long it fucking takes. The ground feels like sludge and dirt and blood and it’s so dark. He may drown here. But that won’t stop him because he will trudge through hell to reach your voice and this is one and the same.
Almost there.
Stand the fuck up.
Unlock the door.
As soon as your face comes into view, Yoongi doesn’t quite register what you say but he’s already preparing to—
With a sudden fit of strength, he grips your waist and tugs you back into him, both to keep your feet from danger and to selfishly feel the warmth of his only source of sunlight.
You’re silent. You’re still.
“I told you, doll.”
Your sob is all he needs to know. Instead of the pain of you choosing to leave, Yoongi gives you the out one more time.
Despite desperately wanting you to stay right by his side.
“Go home.”
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tbc in fugue, pt. iv
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so... thoughts before the last fugue? | join the server! | fugue pt. iv
a/n: we have one more part to fugue left, and if you guys remember everything that happens after reader sees the wreckage.. let's just say the rest is gonna be the most important, most heartfelt parts from yoongi's pov. i seriously cannot wait to share this last fugue chapter with you all, and i wanna do it the most justice i can offer.
a/n 2: i love you all so much, and i've missed being here. thank you all again for being so patient with me as i work through an entire inner working of 3tan yoongi. i knew i wanted to take this on, but i did not account for how much it would affect me mentally. it's been a rough but necessary journey for the both of us. all we know for sure is that we needed to brave the sludge to end in full bloom. and that's where we are finally heading next.
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a/n 3: we have a slight goal to hit before 3tanfugue4 is posted! i want to make sure we have activity here before posting the next part, and some of you guys suggested that we have post goals to encourage interaction. so we're gonna try it and see how it goes! if we don't dig this idea, we can go back to normalcy after fugue4.
note goal: 800 notes is the goal, so when we hit that, 3tanfugue4 will be dropped as planned! thank you all for reading and would love to hear any thoughts: what did you like about the chapter? how did a certain scene make you feel? what are you excited to see next? any shares, comments, tags, and reblogs with commentary count, and i appreciate anything you guys have to say.
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your new neighbor is just numbingly cute, but it’s hard getting his attention. so when you find out he’s handy, you decide to sabotage every single item in your home, trying to lure him in.
⌗ pairings. jeon jungkook x female reader
⌗ word count. 20k
⌗ warnings and tags. idiots to lovers, idiot!oc and idiot!jungkook, voyeurism, just pure insanity, a lot of dumb jokes, dumbbb inner monologue, a room with a view, m!masturbation, more idiocy, fingering, oc has an inner thigh tattoo, f!masturbation, dryhumping (kinda), teasing, subby!koo, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), cowgirl, creampie.
notes ! alrighty guys, she’s here. i’ve been working on her for two months now, and i’ve grown stupidly fond of these two characters, so i couldn’t help but write a bit of a sugar-sweet ending. also, i’ve kept the synopsis kind of vague cuz i’m not spoiling shit. this wraps my part of the press rewind collab, but ana’s ‘taste the crush’ is still on the way so don’t go crying in the corner, now! it will blow ur minds <3
banner by my gf @voyter
The moving-truck pulls up at exactly 7:15 am. You know this why? Well, because the excruciating noise of the car backing up, that repetitive beep outside your window, is practically ringing in your eardrums by now.
And on a Saturday for christ’s sake. Can’t a girl sleep through the morning anymore? Are we past that point?
These last weeks have been nothing but large stacks of paperwork and overtime at the office, so you really do cling to the weekend like your life depends on it. But today, this exact morning, it doesn’t look like you’ll be getting it your way.
You roll over in bed, pulling the covers over your head before screaming into the pillow. Screaming so overwhelmingly loud that your head starts pounding. Or it might be the actual tinnitus you’ve received from this fucking monster of a moving-truck that has rolled up and ruined your entire day.
The pillow gets covered in both spit and what seems like actual tears before you breathe out, trying to calm yourself. But as your scream dies down, the sound of the truck returns, and with it comes loud noises which are seemingly two men speaking to each other. Screaming at each other might be a better description, since they can’t possibly hear a word either of them are saying over the loud beeps.
“More to the right!” one of them yells, a deep and desperate voice.
“It won’t fucking go more to the right!”
Your face is actually hurting from how hard you’re frowning, your expression turning into an exaggerated crying-face. You fold your hands together, and you actually pray to God, something you haven’t done in a while. Last time was when you forgot to pay your phone bill, and you begged to higher powers every time you had to make a phone call. It feels nice getting in touch with God again, even though you’re not much of a believer, it’s good to know he’s there. Like a free therapist.
“You have more room!” the first voice screams out, and your prayers get cut short.
After this loud exclaim, the street outside your window turns into complete mayhem. Overbearing voices layering over each other, cursing and complaining, while the repetitive sound of the truck backing up continues throughout the two men’s heated argument.
“I want my mom,” is all you’re able to cry out into the pillow, so incredibly tired and defeated that the thought of waking up at this hour has your stomach turning. Maybe you should go puke.
The noise is apparently never-ending. The guys continue to scream and shout while the truck is in park, and now comes the loud screech of the rolling back-door being opened. It sounds like metal grinding on metal, high-pitched enough to make your teeth ache.
That’s it. You’ve had enough. If these idiots are planning on waking the whole neighborhood, fine by you, but they are not about to ruin your sleep. Your oh-so-precious sleep.
You lift your torso off the bed so abruptly that your covers fly off your body. The cowlick in your hair is so prominent now that your scalp actually feels sore. A bed head so crazy that it hurts. But that’s not of importance right now, not when these morons are still loose in the street. They should be happy you don’t carry weapons in your home.
With a groan that reverberates off the walls, you get out of bed and hurry your way out of the room, down the stairs and to your hallway. In a frenzy, you search for something to cover your silken nightgown, and ultimately pull on a long, fuzzy coat, arms hugging your frame as you step into your shoes.
You fumble with the lock before the door evidently opens, and as you step out, your eyes lock with the humongous moving-truck. It’s parked outside the house facing yours. Great, you already hate your new neighbor, it’s just wonderful that they’re this close.
Your lips curl as you close in on the truck. You can’t see the two men, but you can still hear them arguing. They’re probably hidden behind the large frame of the vehicle. So you prepare yourself to scold them, without really knowing where to aim your aggression.
“Good morning to you too! Are you guys that—”
Your words die in your throat. Because as the greeting leaves your lips, one of the men step forward from behind the truck. And you think you’re about to have an aneurism.
“Sorry, sorry—I know. It’s a lot of noise.” The guy sticks his neck out, slightly bowing before you. He’s stupidly hot. Like earth-shattering attractive, the kind of guy you usually only see in magazines at the kiosk. He’s in a buttoned-up denim jacket, and it looks like he’s wearing nothing underneath, the neckline revealing just a sliver of skin. Enough for you to go mute, anyways.
Your eyes widen, and your lips curl inwards to suppress any kind of sound that might escape you. Unfortunately you’re not properly dressed for this meet, as you’re in nothing but a satin pajama set and an open coat, one you immediately wrap around yourself by crossing your arms tight over your chest. Who is this guy? Please dear god let him be your new neighbor and not just some boy helping with the unloading, some guy who works for this awful truck’s company. He’s so cute.
He stretches tall before you, his broad figure blocking out the morning sun that should be covering your face. And you stand there like some kind of idiot in a white, fuzzy coat, unable to form words. It’s fortunate that it’s early enough for you to brush this off as morning-fog, and not you actually going dense over seeing an attractive person of the opposite sex. You’ve already forgotten why you’re here, why you decided to bother this man.
“D-did I wake you?” he asks, and you almost miss his question entirely as you keep drifting away, ogling at the piercing in his lip. It’s so delicately placed, just a small silver spiral on the left side of his bottom lip.
Okay you have to speak before you come off as either incredibly creepy, or very dense. The first option is what motivates you the most. “Well… kind of—but it’s all good,” you lie. You wish you could’ve slept through the morning, at least for another hour. But hey, if you weren’t awake by now, you would’ve maybe never met this mysterious man (who please, please, please might be your new neighbor).
The truck driver steps out of the vehicle, an older man with a snap back and a fat stomach. You don’t really have the same reaction seeing him as you did the stud standing before you. “Need help?” He gestures towards the boxes inside the back of the van.
The boy turns from you, shaking his head at the driver, “No-no, I can manage.”
“Let me at least help you unload it—you’ve got a lot of shit.”
Your new neighbor laughs awkwardly, his eyes darting towards you before immediately looking away again. Awe cute, he’s having trouble keeping eye contact. You flush involuntarily, and as you’re about to speak — ask him if he does need help, if he’s moving here alone — he rolls up one of his sleeves, and you forget all questions. Dear mother of god. His forearm is covered in tattoos, a sleeve so detailed you can’t help but squint, trying to make out what they read. Not only is his arm inked, but his knuckles are covered as well.
What a beautiful man. Is it weird you want to lick them? Maybe, let’s not go there just yet.
He chuckles, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his head, “Fine you unload it, so I can apologize to this nice lady.”
Oh my god that’s you. Hello! You swallow hard, almost choking on your own saliva, eyes widening with something between surprise and flush. Trying to redeem yourself, trying not to look fucking dense, and you giggle. Fuck that might not help at all. You crease your eyebrows, straightening your posture, and try speaking.
“No, no, I was serious, don’t apologize. I needed a waking up, anyways!”
He laughs, one of his hands moving up to fiddle with the silver hoop in his ear. “I feel like I made a shit first impression.”
First impression. Oh my god — he is your new neighbor. Cue the fireworks, this might be the best day of your entire life. He’s moving into the home just above the street, and that only means one thing. His bedroom window overlooks yours, vice versa. This had up until now been quite the problem, as your past neighbor was an old unmarried woman. It was upon catching a glimpse of her through your window late one evening that you realized everything starts to sag when getting older.
So you’ve grown a habit of drawing the curtains. Maybe you don’t need to, now. Or maybe it’s even more important you do, as seeing this man undress — or maybe with another girl — might not be all that great for your sanity. But let’s not discuss voyeurism already, you should maybe start by answering him.
“You really haven’t—but if it helps I can think of many ways for you to redeem yourself.”
Why did you say it like that? It feels like someone has just spilled a bucket of ice over your shoulders, your entire body tensing after the sentence leaves you. You were just trying to sound cool, casual maybe, but instead you’ve ended up sounding like someone straight from a porno. The driver who is still standing just by the two of you, eavesdropping, chuckles as he shakes his head, turning to get back in the truck — finally leaving the two of you alone.
Eager to change the subject and flee your own embarrassment, you give him your name in a haste, trying to steer away from whatever nonsense you just told him. He nods quickly, parting his lips, about to give you his name. You on instinct bow, arms flat by your sides… which is something you should have never done.
“I’m Jungkook, nice to—”
You don’t know which one of you misread the situation, but as you bow, Jungkook stretches his hand out, presumably to shake yours — but this ends in his flat palm grazing the side of your boob. Your coat is unfortunately open, and his hand slips past the fabric as you bend, long fingertips brushing against your soft pyjamas.
Apparently you’re not very good at this ‘welcoming’ thing. Fuck.
Alright. It’s been a week since Jungkook moved in. He’s been living in the house just before yours, you’re literally facing each other.
So where the hell is he? Hopefully he hasn’t moved away out of sheer embarrassment. That would’ve just been too horrific.
You’ve been checking your mailbox a bit more often than usual, you’ve been mowing your lawn for the first time in years, you’ve found any old excuse to exit your home and move out into your yard… seemingly all for nothing.
Because every time you’re out there, every time you look out your window, every time you drive by — his lights are off.
And you’re pretty sure he’s not living some kind of nocturnal life like a creature who despises the sun, or any kind of light whatsoever. So is he hiding? Or has he just not moved in yet? After your first (and only) meet, you ran back inside just to watch him carry all the heavy boxes through his front door. Drool was practically coating your chin as you saw the way his jaw tightened with every heavy lift, how his eyebrows creased. His jean jacket was covering his muscles, but that was probably for the best… you don’t know what the sight of his biceps would do to you.
This was of course after the both of you apologized after the unfortunate boob-graze. That’s an interaction you can’t seem to forget, as it’s literally eating you alive. You have to see him again, you have to make sure he’s not sickeningly embarrassed by your presence.
Anyways: you saw him carry all his belongings into the new home… so you would assume he has moved in? He has moved in. But where on gods green earth is he?
Your glass of water overflows, coating your hand as you’ve forgotten to turn off the faucet. You click your tongue, screw the handle shut, and tip your head down. You’ve been standing by the sink, the one by the window, drifting away as you stare at Jungkook’s house.
A loud sigh escapes you. A week ago, you thought you’d finally have something exiting to focus on, a new crush in the midst of your horrible everyday life, which sadly only consists of work, work, and more work. You need a distraction, so badly it hurts… so where the hell is the cute boy-next-door?
A week and two days. Jungkook has been ‘missing’ for a week and two days. You could cry. You should’ve never gotten your hopes up, you fucking idiot.
You’ve now taken comfort in loud music, trying to drown out your thoughts after a nine hour shift, the bass in your car speaker vibrating as you’ve cranked the volume up as far as it goes. Donna Summers. She’s the only one that’s helping right now.
You’re nearing your neighborhood, singing along to Donna’s vile lyrics about pleasure and men, kind of crying on the inside. It’s been so long. Work is consuming you, and all the men around you are fucking dumb in their brains. Mushy brain activity. So you haven’t had the time… and you haven’t wanted to either. And now, you think you might’ve forgotten how to do it. Every part of it. It’s been, what, four months now? Jesus.
The next turn leads to your street. You lower the volume just a bit, as you don’t want to disturb the neighborhood. You slow as you’re about to enter your driveway… when everything inside you turns to liquid.
He’s here.
There, in his driveway, carrying a large speaker out of his trunk, is Jungkook.
As your whole body is tuned to him, you have to be careful not to run him over as excitement takes a hold of you. So you pretend you’re fine, slowly driving by as you turn in your driveway, parking your car. Your whole body is vibrating, trembling as you cut off the engine. You have to really prep your mind, calm down, before you step out.
He’s just across from you when you’re out the door, walking carefully across his yard not to drop the heavy stereo. And he’s dressed so cutely that you could cry… he’s in a beanie. Just a thick, black beanie with a small, white logo in the middle. He looks like a marble, actually. A boy with a very wide, large frame, who just happens to have a very round head, and a set of very kissable cheeks.
Okay let’s not go there, let’s clear our heads. You take a deep breath, and you swallow a scream as Jungkook locks eyes with you when you step out of your car, a tiny smile stretching across his face.
Alright, he’s smiling. He’s not hiding from you. He might’ve not let your last interaction eat him alive. You have to speak first, seem casual.
“Well, hi there, neighbor.” You hope it sounds casual, flirty. Not weird. Maybe even a bit seductive.
Unfortunately, you caught him at a bad time… the stereo is really heavy. You see him form his mouth around the word ‘sorry’ before lowering the large piece to the ground with a grunt. He wipes away a glisten of sweat before placing a hand on his hip, steadying his breathing. “Oh, hi… look who it is.”
He remembers you. If you weren’t doing everything in your power to stay cool right now, you could probably run up and down the walls of your house. But you don’t, obviously. Instead, you slowly cross the street, ready to converse (casually) with your neighbor.
“I think that’s my line,” you answer as you’re closing in on him, finally crossing the curb of his driveway. “Thought I’d lost a perfectly good neighbor.”
You’re finally back to your true self, not that sheepish, brain-dead girl from your first meet. You tiptoe your way over to him, and to your surprise he responds by scrunching his nose. His eyes narrow, and a tiny almost unnoticeable smile forms in a small line across his face.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he coos, now leaning on the tall speaker.
“Where’ve you been?”
His hand comes up to scratch the back of his head, the beanie falling slightly into is eyes, something he fixes right away with a quick tug. “Had to postpone my move… uh the—” he stops himself to chuckle, “The plumbing system needed a bit work.”
Ohhhhh. You realize you’d gotten yourself worked up over nothing, when in reality he just stumbled upon some hardship in his new home. A soft giggle escapes you, but you snap out of it, optioning for calm and collected. “Sorry, jesus, doesn’t that cost like a ton?”
Jungkook shrugs, “Not when you do the job yourself.”
Okay, so he’s handy. That’s good to know. It’s almost primal, but knowing a man is good with his hands… could it really get much better than that?
After Jungkook’s official move in, you see him more often. You engage in light conversation when the two of you leave for work, seemingly at the same time every day, around 7:30 am. Apparently, he works at a hotel, but exactly what it is he does is something you haven’t gotten to ask him yet. But you know his days are longer than yours, you can hear the sound of his car pulling up in his driveway at six o’clock.
About two weeks pass, and your relationship doesn’t move along with time. It just stays kind of still, just casual chatter. And you think you’re about to lose your mind.
That’s when you have the brilliant idea of summoning him. He said himself he was handy, that he could fix things. So why not fix shit at your place?
The problem is that nothing in your home needs fixing, everything works annoyingly smooth. But you can fake a leakage, fake a power-out. Anything, really, if you put your mind to it. So you strut down from your bedroom one cool and dark Sunday morning, and make your way to the radiator. You look at the screw-handle, look at the temperature.
With one quick and kind of painful pull, you twist the knob off entirely, and the temperature drops.
Tihi — oh no! How will you manage without a heater during this cold weather? How ever will you fix this?
It’s eleven in the morning, not too early that you’ll be a disturbance. You slip into a pair of slippers, let your hair stay a bit ruffled (it’s better if it looks unplanned, and not like you’ve cleaned yourself up), and wobble out the door in your large fuzzy coat.
A tiny, borderline evil smile stretches across your face when you see his lights are turned on. He’s awake. Your small slippers sink into the newly fallen snow beneath you, leaving a trail of your evil plan behind you. And as you reach his doorstep, you brush your soles off on the doormat, because you never know if he might invite you inside and kiss you and ask for your hand? You can’t rule anything out here, it’s better to be safe than sorry. After your feet are all clean, you ball up a fist, breathe in deep… and let your knuckle meet his door in a row of rhythmic knocks.
It takes a while before the door opens, so while you wait — you prepare a distraught and helpless expression, Bambi on ice, chased bunny, anything to make you look adorable and unprotected. Something that might invite him to take care of you. If this sounds insane, do not worry! You are checking yourself straight into a mental facility after this.
The door opens.
“Oh, hi.”
You have to try your hardest to keep face, to hold onto your helpless expression, but it’s not easy… because before you stands bed-head-Jungkook. A sight that is wild enough to send you straight into psychosis. His hair is kind of everywhere, a large piece of loose strands sticking straight up from his dark, thick locks. His eyes appear smaller than they usually are, sleep coated over his glowering expression. It could seem like you caught him at a bad time as he doesn’t smile, doesn’t bother asking why you’re here… but you gather he might just not be fully awake. The lights coming from inside his house deceived him, betrayed him, he might’ve been napping.
“Sorry,” you whisper through grit teeth, almost winching. Your eyebrows curl gently as you form your mouth around a pout, wanting him to feel bad for you. It immediately works, thank god, as his eyes widen and posture straightens. “I’m so sorry to disturb, but I’m kinda in a crisis.”
“Wait, what?” he takes a step forward, his bare feet meeting the cold of the doorstep. His arms wrap tightly around himself, shielding the exposed skin from the cold. He’s only in slacks, a pair of sweatpants that you can’t bring yourself to look at, and a white, all-too-tight t-shirt. “What’s wrong?”
It’s like a slot machine goes off in your brain, hitting jackpot once you know he’s in your trap. Your nostrils flare as you try imitating a subtle cry, and your hidden hand retracts from your pocket. In your palm lies the free knob of your radiator, which you show Jungkook, almost like you’ve come bearing a gift. And with a sharp intake of breath, you continue.
“It was really cold, so I wanted to turn up the heat, but the handle was stuck—like really stuck—so I twisted too hard, I think… and the whole thing just—” you lift the knob higher, almost shoving it in Jungkook’s face… which fortunately looks completely consumed by your story. You continue with a whine, “—it just poof, flew right off.”
You tell him you remembered he said he fixed his plumbing system, that you had pissed off your every electrician before, that you’d pay him if necessary: anything, trying to sound desperate. He immediately brushes off your suggestions, and with a hand on your shoulder, he tells you: Of course I’ll take a look at it. Don’t worry.
It feels almost surreal finally having him in your home. You haven’t cleaned or anything, everything feels unprepared, you should’ve maybe thought this through a bit further. But he’s here, and that’s all that matters.
As he crouches down before your broken radiator, you walk in a slow trail back and forth behind him, studying everything he’s doing. Looking at the way his muscles strain underneath his tight tee, the white fabric almost going sheer as he stretches further down. It feels almost illegal watching it, so you let your thumb fly to your mouth, and you bite down at the tip of your soft fingernail.
“Uh, that knob is useless,” he tells you, letting his fingertips brush underneath the radiator, chuckling. And with that, he gets to his feet. You frown, look down at the temperature reader, and frown even harder. It’s back on… just like that. He fixed it in under a minute — he might be a wizard. Jungkook turns to you, brushing off imaginable dust off his knees. “There’s a tiny wheel underneath your radiator, you can use that until I figure out how to get you a new screw-handle.”
Completely defeated, you huff, eyes darting down to your feet, “No, that’s okay—you’ve done… so much.”
Jungkook laughs, “I haven’t really done anything, you asked for my help. I can still help, there’s just not a lot to do right now.”
First attempted seduction: Unsuccessful.
Jungkook came over two days ago with a brand spanking new radiator. He hadn’t told you about it, he just rang your doorbell and there he stood: with a humorously large box in his arms. Also, he was wearing that beanie again, which didn’t help. All you could focus was on the pair of black marbles he had for eyes, which were now way more prominent as everything else way more or less hidden. But the thing was, the new radiator seemed more like a friendly act of service rather than something suggestive. He told you installing it would be easy, so after he left, he let you do that yourself (although it took about three hours and an absurd amount of tears… turns out it wasn’t so easy after all).
Of course you Venmoed him, but if he was trying to flirt… he’d tell you: no, no, my treat, or don’t worry about paying me back, I’m just glad I could help. But he gladly took your money (that’s not what made you so mad, you obviously didn’t expect him to spend hundreds of dollars on you… you’re not that insane), the thing was — he fled your home like his ass was on fire. Like, fully power-walking out your door. He almost forgot to say his goodbyes.
And it doesn’t get any better. That same night, you caught your first glimpse of him through your bedroom window. You’d tried to stay away from peeking, keeping your curtains closed, but you were careless that night, you’d forgotten completely. And you have now become victim of your own, self-inflicted hell. You didn’t see much, he was out of frame before you knew it, almost like he dodged your eyes. But you saw enough.
You had been on the phone with one of your girlfriends, conversing about nothing and everything… when you turned your head to see the curtains undrawn. What worried you first was the fact that you were fresh out the shower, so you tiptoed over your floor, quicky reaching out for the draperies to shield yourself from the outside street — when you saw him. Just a flash of him, a flash of torso, a flash of chest. You drew the curtains right away.
There was already a part of you that was already insane about him, but having seen him, just a flash of him in the window, seemingly facing you… it sent you into a spiral. The way his tattoos curled perfectly around his bicep and up to his chest, that plump, big chest. And why was he looking at you? He disappeared immediately, before you could draw your curtains. You were certain you imagined it, especially when you told your girlfriend who was still on the other line. Because when you described what you just saw, you realized you sounded schizophrenic.
“My hot new neighbor who I’ve been plotting on for weeks was just in his window naked waist up and he looked at me.”
But even if it was just your imagination running wild, nothing can stop you now. You’ve gone completely insane. You have to have him, it’s all you can think of. So now, you’re standing by the bathroom sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You’ve done your make-up prettier than usual, you’ve coated your eyelids in a shimmering, pearly shadow, just something to make you look a bit more glistening. Your hair frames your face perfectly, softly, you look cute. It’s all a ploy.
You crouch, getting down on your knees, resting on the warm bathroom tiles as you open the small cabinet underneath the sink. There, built into the wall, is a long pipe, a few screws, all kinds of stuff you have no idea how works. You’ve unclogged the drain before, so you know you can screw the pipe open, get your hands dirty, stuff them far down to fish for whatever’s stuck at the bottom. But right now, you’ve planned to do the inverse. In your left hand rests a tiny lipliner, something so small it could’ve easily slipped in your hands and through the narrow drain in your sink. At that thought, you wrap your hand around the pipe, turning and twisting on the screws until it pops open… and you shove the lipliner inside.
Oh no!
You cover up your tracks, slip into a very revealing, white-lace dress, a pair of kitten heels, and run down the stairs. Hehe.
Once again you pull on your fuzzy coat and make your way out the door, barging out on a journey you know all too well now. You don’t care that your heels dig into the muddy snow, you’re walking too fast to take notice of it. His lights are on, and this time it’s the evening — if he’s napping now, then that’s his problem.
He opens the door right away this time, you only get in about two good knocks before the surface is removed from underneath your knuckles. Jungkook’s breath comes out a bit staggered as his eyes land on you: you in that teeny-tiny dress, your coat hanging open to reveal your soft breasts pressing together with every intake of breath, the gentle, untouched skin of your thighs blooming with goosebumps. And just as you’d like, it seems like a lump gets stuck in his throat as he’s about to swallow, his primal, man-brain going blank at the sight of a pretty girl.
“You won’t believe what just happened!”
You lie your way through it all, tell him you were getting ready (what for, you don’t say, mainly because it’s all an act, but also because you want him to ask), that you were touching up your makeup before the mirror when the lipliner just slipped, swoosh, just like that! Fell down the drain. And you have to have it back, it’s the only one you’ve got, so could he please help you?
If you were Pinocchio, your nose would by now be long enough to reach out for the doorhandle, do Jungkook a favor and slam it shut. Thankfully, you’re not, and of course Jungkook abides, although he seems to hesitate a bit.
He's even weirder this time than he was the last, the time he bought you a new radiator and ran out your door. He’s having a hard time holding eye contact. And as you slip past him, walk before him up the stairs, you hear him actually trip in his steps. Him being nervous just makes you bolder, so you turn to check up on him.
“Oh my god, do you need a hand?” you say as you see him bracing one arm on the step before him, the other on the handrail. His head is tipped down, dark strands of hair covering his face before he lifts his gaze just a bit, looking up at you through the silken fringe. Those eyes show absolutely no mercy, they’ve gone dark, making him look something between furious and humiliated.
“I think I’m the one that’s here to help you, not the other way around.”
You almost chuckle at his response, but you keep your cool, raise your eyebrows to remain that effortless, innocent expression, before you return to your journey up the stairs. Jungkook does the same… that is after breathing out a loud sigh.
There’s no telling why Jungkook is acting like this. He went from very sweet and helpful boy-next-door to seemingly being extremely annoyed by your demands. But he carries them out, nevertheless.
“You think it’s stuck at the bottom?” he asks, now down on his knees on your bathroom floor, crouching to get a better look at the pipe. You nod behind him before answering.
“I hope so—or it’s long gone in the ocean,” you joke, but Jungkook doesn’t laugh. He just carries out his task, never looking back at you, staring straight ahead while twisting on the screws. It’s again over in just a minute, he reaches down for the lipliner and his fingertips find it immediately.
“Got it.”
He braces his hands on his thighs to straighten and raise from the bathroom floor, still not facing you, but moving forward to turn on the sink, washing both your lipliner and his hands. You try not to look disappointed as Jungkook can easily lift his gaze and see you behind him in the mirror, so you try smiling instead. Your reflection stares back at you, and you cringe… it doesn’t look like the most convincing smile out there. So you option for verbal praise instead, “Now, what would I do without you?”
Jungkook tongues his cheek, giving his head a single jerk while still washing his hands. Still not looking at you.
This is getting annoying, you didn’t dress up, fake a crisis, drag him over here — for his eyes to be glued to the god damn sink. You sigh, pouting as you’re about to speak, “Isn’t it weird using a lipliner that has been down the drain?”
“Don’t know.”
Ugh, he’s giving you nothing. Still, you don’t give up.
“Maybe I don’t need more liner, what do you think?”
“Don’t know.”
“Come on,” you reach out, grabbing his wrist, droplets splashing over the edge of the sink, onto both you and Jungkook, but it doesn’t matter. You angle him so that he’s facing you, his nostrils flaring when his eyes finally meet yours. You poke your chin further out, instigating for him to study your lips, your lips which are coated in pink, shimmering lip-gloss… your lips who look very inviting. “What do you think, do they need any lip-liner?”
Jungkook’s eyes flick frantically over your face, unsure of where to look, but knowing exactly what you want. And before you know it, your hand is suddenly empty. Your fingers unclasp around his wrist, because Jungkook rips free of your grip, stepping back with a groan, “Stop it, please. I beg you.”
What? Your eyes widen.
Oh my god, you fucking idiot. What have you done. You’ve scared him shitless, just because you have a stupid crush on him. Oh my god. Embarrassment rushes through your veins and appears as dark flush across your soft cheeks. And before you, Jungkook stands with a heaving chest, looking over at you with wide eyes like you just tried eating him alive… which in all fairness you kind of did. But his breath wavers, and his eyebrows crease, and it looks like something’s breaking inside him.
“I’m embarrassed by it enough as it is… it was awful and I’m sorry… but stop. Stop fucking playing with me. It’s mean.”
Huh? Okay it seems as if he’s gone completely off the rails here, because what on earth is he talking about? What was so awful? What is he sorry about?
Your face changes, going from embarrassment to just pure and utter confusion, your eyebrows knotting while your mouth hangs open, “… What are you talking about?”
This seems to have caught Jungkook off guard, his eyebrows lifting high on his face. He seems just as lost as you are, but something behind his expressions reminds more of humiliation rather than shock. “What?” he asks, his voice a higher pitch than usual, obviously stating his flush. “You mean you didn’t—” he stops himself before he can get any further, a mortified look blooming on his face.
You just stand completely lost before him, because what the fuck is he talking about? So you ask him just that, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Everything just got very, very, extremely weird. Also very confusing. The two of you look at one another like lost sheep, trying to search for answers in each other. And ultimately, with a loud sigh, Jungkook speaks.
“Fuck.”
Jungkook loved the thought of finally living alone.
He had been living in a cramped apartment with three buddies of him for what felt like an eternity, so finally being able to have some peace and quiet seemed almost surreal. Finally being able to use the bathroom without disturbances, to watch whatever he’d like on the television without being interrupted or getting the remote control hogged… finally being able to bring girls over.
It had been a while since he had gotten his hands on someone of the opposite sex — it was kind of awkward bringing them over when all the guys were there (which they always were). They seemingly had no problem with this whatsoever, and Jungkook suffered many sleepless nights while some girl got her world rocked in whatever room was available.
Jungkook wasn’t like that. He felt sex should be more private, more intimate, not something for others to tune into. He never bothered listening to any of the ‘conquests’ his friends talked about, it didn’t concern him.
But, he was still a man, he had his urges… he just hadn’t indulged in them lately. And he wasn’t all that good with women either. He looked good, it wasn’t that — girls were practically flinging themselves at him. But he got nervous, didn’t know what to say, where to put his hands, the usual worries. So he was hoping to maybe channel a different man within him for his quest to find a woman to sleep with… finally.
It was then rather unfortunate that the quest got cut short day one of moving in.
“Good morning to you too! Are you guys that—”
Jungkook flinched at the sound, a young woman, a gentle voice straining with anger. He immediately popped out from behind the moving truck, and was at first pleasantly surprised.
There you stood, in a long fuzzy coat, arms hugging your frame. You were easy on the eyes, to downplay it. Soft where it mattered, a face so enchanting he was sure you knew it yourself. Therefore, Jungkook had a hard time composing himself. He could tell you were mad, probably because of all the noise he and the driver were causing, so he immediately apologized, wanting to make a good first impression.
Within probably five minutes, he had already made a name for himself as the noisy new idiot neighbor who also managed to grab the-girl-next-door’s boob.
He of course didn’t mean to, you moved when he moved, his hand accidentally brushing against the side of your breast. It wasn’t like he felt anything, he removed his hand at once, and his entire body got scorching hot. His ears turned this tomato-y color, which only made him all the more embarrassed. He had only one mission moving into a new home — getting a girl back to his place. But he had within a day managed to sexually harass his neighbor, so he shelved the idea as he felt he needed to redeem himself as a man.
He spent the whole first night overthinking the graze. His fingers against your body (involuntarily, not on purpose, he cannot stress this enough). He was all alone, which just sent him further into a spiral than necessary. Maybe living alone proved to be way more difficult than he had imagined. So the boxes remained unpacked, as he pranced around his living room, thinking of you the entire day. After a while, when the thoughts were growing loud enough to eat him alive, he picked up his phone and dialed the number of one of his old roommates.
“What?” Yoongi responded after a few rings, his voice husky.
“I’m kinda going crazy over here, think I can come over for a bit?” Jungkook immediately folded, searching comfort in what’s familiar, wanting to get the hell out of this neighborhood and run from his humiliation.
“Miss us already?” Yoongi teased, but ultimately gave Jungkook what he wanted.
He stayed at his old apartment longer than he intended, trying to muster up the courage to face you again. It was also kind of scary living all alone, he didn’t really know how the new washing machine worked. But he was kicked out after a week, since Taehyung decided it was time for Jungkook to grow some balls and quote “just fuck his neighbor senseless”.
So he had been prepped, how to act cash around you, maybe apologize again. And as he was moving his new speaker from his car to his door, you pulled up into your driveway.
Okay, stay calm. Speak before you think, unless what you’re going to say is stupid. Then don’t say it.
He was surprised when you stepped out of your car and immediately went to him, lightly running over the street in your tiny, polished shoes to reach him. That it didn’t seem like you were planning on ignoring him. And he was even more surprised by the fact that you had taken note of his absence. You didn’t hate him: he had been going insane for nothing. It calmed him, and he managed to actually converse normally, even make you smile. But he was caught off guard.
“Where’ve you been?”
Shit, he hadn’t planned a response to that question. Okay, stay calm. Speak before you think, unless what you’re going to say is stupid. Then don’t say it.
“Had to postpone my move… uh the—” Jungkook stilled, trying out his speak-before-thinking-system, but having a hard time, “The plumbing system needed a bit work.”
He had no idea where that came from. Also, it sounded like a gross excuse, mentioning plumbing to the pretty girl who stood wondering before him. He was an idiot. Speak before you think, unless what you´re going to say is stupid. What he said was stupid, he wished he could take it back.
“Doesn’t that cost, like, a ton?”
Another question he wasn’t prepared for. He actually had no idea, he had never had any pluming work done before, and he especially hadn’t paid for it. So once again, he spoke without thinking, trying to brush off any more questions, also sound a bit manly and cool.
“Not when you do the job yourself.”
He was a fucking dumb idiot. Why on heavens earth did he tell you he did the job himself? He had never even held a screwdriver. And fixing the entire plumbing system of a new and unknown home was probably a task he could never carry out… ever. It was probably that he was so nervous around you, and all these questions made it even worse.
Okay, that was a dumb slip up. He just had to make sure you never took him up on it… ever, until he had lived there long enough to maybe one day joke about it. And it went smooth at first, he only saw you when he headed to work, and fortunately you were already home when he pulled into his driveway — so he didn’t have to pain himself through any more small talk that made his brain go foggy.
Unfortunately, his stupid lie followed him, haunted him. Because one Sunday morning there was a knock on his door. And to his surprise, there you stood, in that same fuzzy coat, completely mortified. Jungkook was shocked, worried that something might’ve happened to you, immediately wanting to help.
Of course your radiator broke. What the hell was he supposed to do about that? He could of course tell you he was busy… or even better tell you he lied earlier, and that he quite frankly knew nothing about handiwork. But your eyes were so doe-like, staring up at him, begging for his help. His gaze darted to your parted lips without him even noticing, the way they quivered after speaking. He couldn’t bring himself to turn you down. Who would ever turn you down?
So Jungkook ended up in your home. He looked for signs that would reveal you lived alone, and he immediately found them. The shoes in your hallway: tiny, mostly heels and hopefully yours. Your interior was everything he expected, soft colors and old, personal decoration. Some child-like drawings postered on the refrigerator, hopefully yours from when you were young. It would be rather unfortunate if you had kids, he didn’t even know how to take care of himself, how would he manage with children?
Maybe already fantasizing about step-father-hood was a bit optimistic.
You stood behind him as he studied the heater, thankfully. He had no idea what he was doing down there, brushing his fingers both over and under the radiator to maybe detect a magic button. Weirdly enough… he actually stumbled upon one. There, on the bottom, just a tiny little wheel. He screwed it more to the right, saw the temperature rise, and thanked god. Beginners luck, probably.
But he knew it was just a temporary fix, and he had absolutely no idea how to get that ‘handle’ or whatever back onto the radiator. He told you he would figure it out, because he was stupid and you were so pretty. You were so pretty. When you lead him through your living room, towards the door, he watched the way your hair fell over your back, the way your shoulder blades poked through your thin sweater when you reached for the door. Everything you did looked so elegant, so graceful, even when you let him slip past you in the doorframe, pressing your back against the hardwood while holding in a small breath.
As he worked as a bellhop at a hotel a bit outside town, his days were boring, not a lot going on. So he had all the time in the world to think. Think about how the hell he would fix your radiator. He could maybe have you leave the house, then pay for an actual electrician to take action… but that would be too risky. He could of course just glue the handle back on — but then the whole thing would probably just break again and he’d be called right back to fix the stupid heater once more.
He ended up just buying a brand new one, showing up at your door with a big box in hand.
Why did you have to wear those jeans? Those light-washed jeans that cut right where your tiny, white t-shirt ended. Those jeans that hugged your frame so precisely. He imagined how it would feel to have his hands on you, to wrap his fingers around your waist, just where the jean fabric stopped, and curl his fingertips inward to feel your soft skin on his.
“That’s too kind, I can’t accept that,” you gasped upon seeing the big box.
“It’s nothing,” Jungkook lied, this was everything. He had wracked his brain over this, he had done everything in his power to help you. He didn’t know what else to do, so a new radiator might just be fair… he had no idea what women liked, but a kind gesture could never hurt, right?
You turned, walking back into your hallway to make room for Jungkook, letting both him and the box enter your home, and Jungkook couldn’t keep his eyes off you. It might’ve been those jeans. The way the tight fabric hugged your butt when you walked, the way they creased under your cheeks with every step you took. It didn’t help when you turned to face him, finally un-crossing your arms, and he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. This rattled his brain so badly that he forgot taking off both shoes, jacket and beanie once fully inside your home.
He couldn’t stay there for a minute longer, this was a bit overwhelming. So he told you installing it would be an easy task (it probably wouldn’t) and when he ran out your door, you yelled out your gratitude along with a promise of payment. He couldn’t even hear what you were saying as his feet carried him at a speed so frantic he almost tripped on the icy pavement.
And that’s the night it happened.
It was probably all the pent-up tension. He had gone straight to the gym after your interaction, staying there all night while sweating out all his worries, all his thoughts, everything that was eating him up. But it didn’t work. His mind stayed fogged. He knew what would work, he had known for weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would feel to shameful… and he would probably think about you the whole time, which made it even worse, even more humiliating.
But he broke. It was something primal in him, something in his body telling him to just give in. Let go.
Because when he got home, late at night, getting ready for bed, he realized something striking. The window across the street, facing his, the one in your house, the one that was always draped, always covered, was now somehow… not. And there, opposite of him, were you. In your own little world, on the phone, completely clueless, pacing around in your bedroom — wearing nothing but a towel.
Fuck.
He knew how disgusting this was, how creepy he was, but it was an organic reaction. And in a matter of no time, stopping completely in his step, watching over at you, he could feel himself hardening in his boxers. So much that it was starting to hurt. You had been doing this to him for weeks, so this had to have been some sort of breaking point, Jungkook just losing it completely.
He didn’t even think about drawing the curtains, not even turning off the lights behind him. He was frozen, no glued to the floor in front of his window, as though the ache between his legs had hijacked his entire body, whispering don’t move don’t you dare look away. His heart was pounding in his ears, his blood hot and thick in his veins… he was utterly lost in you. The way you tucked the towel tighter around your chest, shifting your phone between your ear and your shoulder, left him paralyzed.
You were smiling, those pretty teeth of yours flashing brightly when revealed, talking to someone. Laughing a little too loud as you reached over to your vanity… and that slight reach caused the towel to slip just a teeny tiny inch, revealing the curve of your breast. How could anyone be so beautiful?
Everything worsened when you decided to sit. The towel rose dangerously high on your thighs as you perched at the edge of your bed, knees falling slightly open as you continued your conversation: oblivious to the desperate, possibly insane man across the street, living and dying with every shift of fabric.
His cock throbbed inside his boxers, heavy and angry, twitching against the waistband. It didn’t take long, as you tipped your head backwards with your next laugh, baring your sweet, wonderful neck to poor Jungkook.
That was it, he needed relief. And with his jaw clenched, his hand already inside his briefs, he gave in. Guilt filled his bloodstreams as his fingers wrapped tight around his length, starting out with slow strokes from the sensitive tip and all the way down to his girthy shaft. Each drag of his palm over hot, pulsing flesh matched to your every movement.
He had to steer away from all the shame, how illegal this was, so he let his mind wander. And with that, you took over. He could imagine your skin under his touch. How soft your thighs would be, how warm you’d feel against his mouth. The exact pitch you’d make when he’d finally taste you. How your breath would stutter under him, hips writhing, fingers clenching the sheets when his tongue reached a spot so deep within you that your vision blurred.
As his strokes turned more frantic, his abs moving in ripples on his torso, a deep pleasure building low in his stomach, Jungkook’s mind played every fantasy he’d ever had about you in perfect clarity. The way you’d sigh his name when he finally breached you. How tight you were. The way you’d ride him, how his hands would grab onto the silky-smooth flesh of your ass, let you fuck yourself silly on his cock. The way you’d grab his hair, clench around him, bite into his shoulder just as you came, your sweet juices coating his cock, his thighs, the sheets.
Just the thought of you was enough to send him off the edge, but as you sat just a few feet away, locked away from him, looking so fucking cute — Jungkook couldn’t hold it in anymore, so his eyes shut close, and he let go.
His hips jerked forward as he came hard, all over himself. The first spurt hit his stomach, warm and slick, and he gasped for air as he stroked himself through it. His legs trembled slightly as he milked every single drop that was still leaking from his cock, his eyes clenched shut as soft moans started escaping his throat.
Once he was finally emptied out, he collapsed against the side of the bed. A heavy silence filled the room, the air now thick with shame and sweat. Fuck, what a fucking creep he was. What a fucking awful human being he was. This was possibly the worst post-nut-clarity he had ever experienced. He shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t deserve that.
With guilt still curling deep in his chest, he rose to his feet again, reaching for the tissue box by his bedside table… when he once again laid eyes on you.
Shitshitshitshit. You had gotten up from the bed, and you were fucking facing him now, your fingers curling around the curtains. Oh my god. Oh my god. How long had you been standing there? Did you see? What did you see?
Jungkook’s face turned white before he threw himself away from the window, stilling in the corner of his room, his chest heaving as panic took ahold of him. Holy fuck.
Hopefully you didn’t see. You hadn’t come over later in the evening, you hadn’t called the police. Thank god, maybe you hadn’t seen enough of the act to make you realize what was going on. Still incredibly embarrassed, Jungkook let the days pass. But he tried steering away from you, leaving for work earlier to not run into you.
It worked perfectly, he managed to stay clear of you, and the humiliation started withering. That was of course until he heard a knock on his door late at night.
The first knock came about five minutes ago, and Jungkook has now been standing completely still in his kitchen, hoping whoever’s out there might go away. But they don’t. He almost trips down the stairs to answer the door, already knowing who’s on the other side.
And, okay, you’ve decided to be a bitch tonight. You’re fully entitled to, of course… Jungkook had violated your privacy so viscerally you could probably file some sort of lawsuit. But showing up at his door with your coat hanging open… with those sweet breasts of yours on full display in your all-too-revealing dress. Bitch move.
After about a minute into the conversation, Jungkook gathers alright, you know. Because there’s a shift in you, you’re teasingly seducing him. You ask for his help yet again, but Jungkook knows it’s not about handiwork this time. But he begrudgingly follows you, agreeing to take a look at your sink. And you keep being a fucking bitch.
Of course you take off your coat, you’re in your own home, but you remove it differently than you’ve done before. The fuzzy fabric slips off your bare shoulders, sliding down your soft arms before you catch it with one hand, caressing it before threading it over a hanger. You’re teasing him. You like that, Jungkook? Want to touch yourself again, you sick pervert?
He can just imagine the scolding, the humiliating confrontation. He’ll have to move, because of the obvious restraining order you’ll file for. This was a good run. He has lived an alright life, but it ends here. He has to go die, this is too embarrassing.
And when you take him to the bathroom, when you walk up the stairs, Jungkook’s eyes have a hard time finding a constant to focus on as he’s just a step behind you. The tiny skirt of your dress rides up with every single step you take, and as his eyes follow, he catches a glimpse of the pink lace between your thighs. Fuck. He tries looking away, but as his eyes roam, his feet knot together — and he fucking trips behind you.
“Oh my god, do you need a hand?”
Fuck you.
You make him get down on his knees on the bathroom floor. What is this, some kind of humiliation ritual? Maybe you’re just as sick, getting off at the sight of this poor boy before you, crouching down and trembling beneath your gaze. Jungkook sticks his hand out underneath the sink, deep inside the cabinet, and tries to get a feel on what he’s working with here. You haven’t said anything revealing yet, so he tries acting normal, although he’s a bit more cautious than usual.
He manages to fish out your lipliner, glad this whole thing is finally over. But you won’t give it a fucking rest. You force him to turn, teasing him by shoving your lips in his face, so close he can feel your breathing. Jungkook can’t take it. The way they’re coated in an inviting gloss, your lips plush and soft (imagine how they’d feel against his body), your lips parting and the bottom one giving a tiny quiver in the motion. This is just mean, he knows your agenda, he knows you know. So those stupid, delicate lips of yours are what makes Jungkook break.
But as he cries out for you to stop it, for you to quit terrorizing him… he realizes you in fact don’t know… you hadn’t seen. Fuck. And as he’s just so exhausted, so tired by all the secrecy: faking an occupation as handyman, pleasuring himself to the sight of you... he just can’t take it anymore. He has been stressed out for weeks, unable to rest. He has to get it off his chest.
So, with a loud sigh… he tells you everything.
Well… this was quite the revelation… to say the least.
You’re practically gaping before Jungkook, who after coming clean about his sins is having a hard time meeting your eyes. It might also not help him that you’re breathing so hard that your breasts are pressing together in a soft cleavage with each intake of breath. So he keeps his eyes glued to the bathroom tiles.
“You—you’re—” you try, not knowing what the hell you’re about to say… because what does one say to this piece of information? Not only had he faked being handy just to help you, just to be near you… but you had him so out of his mind that he had resorted to pleasuring himself to the sight of you. And here you thought you were insane. Jesus, you’re both nut-jobs, maybe you’re made for each other.
“Yeah… I’m sor—”
You interrupt him right away, “You like me?”
He finally meets your eyes, this is to say it’s not very romantic… he kind of frowns, actually. Because is this really what you have to say about this horrific story? That’s all you got from him lying his way into your home, jerking off to you from several feet away? What about stranger danger?
Yeah, there’s no warning signs flashing off in your eyes, there are instead big, red, cartoon-like hearts pulsating in your pupils. It’s like you’ve suddenly grown wings. Your hands come up to cover your mouth as you can’t seem to stop your jaw from hanging open, as you can’t stop grinning like a madman. It looks kind of like you’ve just entered the doors to Disneyland.
“I—” Jungkook starts, his hand flying to scratch the back of his head, his eyes shutting closed as he thinks of what to say. He can’t really understand why this doesn’t seem to put you off. “I kinda feel like y-you’re still fucking with me.”
“Gosh no!” you gasp, throwing your hands out and waving them in front of Jungkook, trying to visibly tell him you’re not just playing in his face. When you’re done waving off the accusation, your right hand begins rubbing circles to your temple. “I mean—obviously you’re crazy—like, a very bizarre boy—really… very weird—” You swear you’re going somewhere with this, although it all comes out very fast and Jungkook now frowns so hard that it looks like he might cry really, incredibly ugly tears all over your bathroom floor. So you make sure to finish your sentence just as fast as you’ve started it. “—but so am I!”
Jungkook can’t seem to wipe the utterly confused look off his face, staring at you with a pair of lost, black-marble eyes that take up almost his entire face. He sticks his neck out, “Huh?”
“Just—look,” you giggle, snagging the lipliner from Jungkook’s grip before getting down on your knees. This almost makes Jungkook’s own knees give out, but thankfully you make your way to the pipe underneath the sink and not somewhere sinister. Your eyes leave him as you once again unscrew the drain, but you look back when there’s enough room for you to shove the lipliner right inside the tiny slit — and you do just so, while your eyes are glued to his. “See? All just a big plot.”
His mouth hangs open as he realizes you’ve sabotaged your own drain just for his presence, just for his help, and he has a hard time forming words, “What—so… huh?” His voice is a bit higher in pitch now, cracking halfway through his botched sentence.
“I’ve been luring you into my home like the witch in Hansel and Gretel—I don’t think you have to worry about coming off as creepy here.”
“So… the radiator?”
You shake your head, “Ruined it myself and ended up paying you 175 bucks for a new one.”
A disbelieving chuckle escapes Jungkook as he continues scratching the back of his head. If there was anything he expected, it was sure as hell not this. His eyes never leave yours as you get up from the bathroom floor, pulling down your dress a bit as you rise to your feet. You’ve almost forgotten how inappropriately dressed you are in the midst of Jungkook’s confession, so feeling your skirt itching up your thighs really pulls this absurd situation together.
“You…” Jungkook starts, his hands falling down his sides while he continues watching you, his cheeks blossoming with flush. “… like me?”
You nod, “And you like me.”
Thank god you’ve gotten that out of the way, it was only a matter of time before the both of you moved out of the neighborhood out of sheer embarrassment. And finally, everything just goes quiet. The two of you stand with only a few feet between you, both with heaving chests and no words left to say. The silence goes on for a little while, and as you shift a bit in your stance, Jungkook tucks his bottom lip in with his top one, not showing teeth, just nibbling at it while his eyes glisten in your direction. He breathes through his nose.
“I’m still so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking at the ends.
Your smile tugs on only one side of your face, “Don’t be—I weirdly enough find it kind of flattering.”
Jungkook laughs in return, but not for long. You can tell he’s having a hard time, processing everything that just happened, his mind working overtime, so you decide to be a bit bolder than him — taking just a few steps towards him. Your kitten heels click gently against the tiles as you walk in his direction, stopping right as you see Jungkook’s breath coming out as a shaky exhale. He straightens his posture while looking down at you, stumbling back just an inch, not necessarily because he’s trying to get away, but purely because his nerves are taking over.
“I won’t bite you,” you chuckle. It’s cute seeing him like this. Before, you thought he might be pushing you away because you were clinically insane, but now that you know he’s just nervous — it’s all the more admirable.
He smiles, although it seems a bit forced, “I know that but—” his eyes flick over your dress, that napkin you’re wearing, and they quickly move back up to your face. “Don’t you have some place to be?”
Oh, he’s so slow… cute. You tilt your head as your eyebrows almost reach your hairline, your way of saying: After all this, you really think me dressing like this isn’t just for show? But since Jungkook might need a little push, you smile comforting, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Jungkook breathes out through his nose, trying his hardest to keep eye contact, but it’s hard as your almost completely exposed chest keeps moving in heaves right underneath his gaze. Okay, you quickly understand you have to be the one who takes action here — otherwise the two of you will stand in this tiny bathroom staring at each other all night.
“You know, Kook—is it okay if I call you that?” you ask, letting your hand lift, just so your fingertips can brush over his shoulder, down the curve and trace gently over his biceps. You have to hold back a squirm as you feel his skin quiver under your featherlight touch, his entire body freezing as you caress him. And just to be extra mean, you widen your eyes, looking up at him like a lost puppy. “—You have me all to yourself now.”
There seems to be no one home. Jungkook has left the building. What stands in front of you is simply his soulless body, because he can’t for the life of him produce any word or sound whatsoever.
You try again, arching your toes to better meet his height, leaning in to repeat yourself with a whisper in his ear, “I’m all yours.”
The sweet warmth of your breath brushes against his cheek, and his knees nearly buckle. And just as you suspected, it’s enough for him to give in — but not all the way. You feel him shift, his arms lifting only to hover near your waist, fingers curling inwards as he trembles, trying to compose himself but failing miserably.
Oh, playing with a boy this gentle will be fun.
So, seeing how far you can go before he cracks, you lean in further, parting your lips, letting them meet the salty skin of his neck. And boy, oh boy, the reaction it pulls from Jungkook is enough to cause a blackout.
He breathes in, his entire chest rising in a quivering motion, and as he exhales, the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard escapes from him. It’s something between a moan and a whimper, a sound Jungkook is immediately terrified by, pressing his lips together and shutting his eyes closed as you continue lavishing his neck in wet, open-mouthed kisses.
It’s adorable, the way he acts, almost like he can’t believe this is happening. And when you start tracing higher, your lips traveling towards his sharp jaw — he beats you to it.
His hands finally attach to your waist, soft fingernails digging into your skin, and his head turns, just so that his lips meet yours. You gasp as you feel him against you, kissing you with such a hunger that you have to cling to him in order to stand upright, your arms flinging over his shoulders.
He pulls you further into him, arching your back and letting your body melt with his. And you fit him like a glove actually, his large frame swallowing you, letting you slip perfectly in between him, bending your neck as far as it can go just to meet his kisses.
“Mm—thank you,” Jungkook blurts out in a breath, lips quivering against yours. He’s almost whispering, but you catch his words anyways, pulling back slightly to look at him. His brows are drawn, lips parted and quickly searching for yours again as you retreat. God, he’s adorable. You could just eat him up — and you intend to.
Your lips meet his again, and now there’s no stopping you. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he feels your fingers come up to cup his neck, pulling him tighter against your wet lips as you start walking, backing him up and guiding him out of the tiny, cramped bathroom. He clings to you, fingertips digging into your sides as if there’s even the slightest possibility of you leaving him.
It’s a clumsy road you embark on, shoving this large man out the narrow door, into the hallway, trying to turn and twist him as you’re about to lead him into your bedroom. His back hits the staircase, “Ah—”
“No—m-more to the right,” you giggle, having a hard time speaking as he swallows every word you say. One of the hands on your waist brushes upwards, and soon his large palm cups your cheek, his thumb stroking your soft skin. You almost can’t breathe with the way you’re so tightly pressed against him, his heavy chest pushed so neatly against yours, making you feel every breath he takes.
The two of you continue your little dance until you’ve made your way to your bedroom, and as he trips backwards over the doorframe, the hand on your cheek moves out to the side in order to steady him. He lets his palm slide across the wall until there is none, as you keep shoving him further and further into the room.
Alright, you have him exactly where you want him now, and with a last, wet kiss, one last roll of your tongue, you shove him backwards. His ass meets the soft mattress of your bed, confusion blooming across his face as he wonders how on earth he ended up here this fast… and why you just pushed him away.
“You saw me here, didn’t you?” you ask, trying your best to sound sultry even though you have to catch your breath after the heavy make-out-sesh you just indulged in.
Jungkook beams at you, his puppy-dog-eyes glistening and pupil-swallowed. His ears have already gone red, and you wonder what might happen when you finally let him have what he’s been aching for. As you take a step back, then another, Jungkook shifts on the bed, his hands falling to his lap, before moving to steady him flat on the mattress, unsure of what to do with himself. So he just sits before you, breathing unsteadily as your eyes sink into his.
You giggle as you see his throat working, “Me, in just a towel.”
He gulps once again, almost as if every single word you say, every single move you make, is enough to drive him off the edge. He’s literally holding himself back, now shifting to sit down on his fingertips. Jesus, he’s actually restraining himself. Let’s see how long he’ll be able to keep this up.
“Imagine if I was naked.”
“You weren’t—” he snaps back, still trying to ensure you of the fact that he didn’t mean it, that it was a fragile break, something within him snapping at the sight of you barely dressed.
“I could’ve been,” you say, voice low. You’re still trying to see how much he can take, and as cruel as it might seem, you detect anticipation alongside the obvious flush in Jungkook’s cheeks. You push further on, “My towel could’ve slipped.”
Your hand slowly brushed up your side, before coming up to your chest, and at last, you let your thumb hook the thin, almost invisible strap of your tiny dress. Jungkook’s breath hitches as you toy with the white fabric. He gulps, letting his eyes roam quickly over your body, unsure of where to look because everything is just so fucking good right now.
He’s about to have a naked girl in front of him (he hopes), and the naked girl is you. That’s something he only thought could happen in his dreams, his sick and sinful dreams.
“Like this,” you continue, and with a short, quivering breath, you let your other thumb hook the opposite strap. With a quick pull, the two strings fall off your shoulders. It’s not an extremely promiscuous move, but your dress is loose. Very loose, and just like that, with just the removal of two straps, the entire piece slips off your frame and pools at your feet.
You’re left standing before Jungkook in just a strapless bra, and a matching pair of panties, your dress a tangled mess around your kitten heels.
Poor Jungkook. That poor, poor boy. He has no idea how to react to this. So without speaking, trying to repress any kind of sound, he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, fiddling with his lip ring while scanning over your almost bare body.
He wants to cry, kind of. It’s all too much for him — the way your waist curves inward right above your smooth hips, hips he can’t wait to have his hands on, hips he hopes you’ll let him touch. The way the pink lace, the only barrier left, hugs your sweet curves, how the fabric stretches, stops just above the part that aches for him. He presses his lips together and lets out a low hum slash whine, it’s a muffled and broken sound.
You’re having a hard time breathing as well, your exposed chest moving in heaves as you’re now on display before the boy you’ve been pining after for weeks. He looks so adorable in his seat, shifting on top of his fingertips, unsure of what to do with himself. And with a last, long heave, you step out of the dress that’s circled around your feet, along with your heels, moving your bare feet across the carpeted floor.
The two of you have gone radio silent. It’s probably the nerves, both of yours. You try breathing through your nose as you make your way over to him, biting down on your bottom lip, brushing your tongue over it, finally leaving it alone. Your heart is hammering in your chest, but you try keeping your cool, imagining him being just as nervous, if not more.
And you’re right about that. Jungkook is a flustered mess. But to your surprise, as you’re just a breath away from him, he manages to get out a few words. Or, they rather slip for him.
“You’re—you’re so pretty.”
You flush instantly. “Did I meet your expectations?” you tease, already knowing his answer. But before he speaks, his hips lips, and his fingers slip out from underneath him — to stretch out. His eyes flick away from yours, and move along with the path his hands take on, hovering around your waist, before finally attaching to your bare skin.
He gulps… again, this time actually making a sound. One of his hands travel upwards, brushing against your side until his palms reach the lace fabric of your bra. His thumb brushes underneath the curve of your breast, and his eyebrows lift high on his forehead.
“You have…” he starts, slowly and almost unnoticeably shaking his head, breathing in once again. “… no idea.”
Well, the thing is — you kind of do. It’s not hard to tell, as your eyes keep falling to where his pants crease in his lap, to the bulge straining against the jean fabric. He must be big, you say to yourself, as his jeans are more on the baggy side, but you’re still able peep the outline of him. Especially when he shifts, the fabric clinging to his muscular thighs, enhancing the aching shape of him.
Okay, here’s the deal. He has watched you before, although you didn’t know that time. You didn’t put on a show for him. So, you kind of feel like you owe him that much.
“Did you think of anything while watching me?”
Your hands come up before you, gently brushing down Jungkook’s biceps through his shirt.
He nods in return, looking up to meet your eyes. They glisten, like two black pearls, taking up most of his face. He’s so cute you could eat him whole. You nod with him, pouting, “Yeah? What did you think of?”
“You, of course.”
You giggle, letting one of your hands meet his cheek for the first time, finally cupping the soft skin, “I kinda got that part—what did you imagine?”
This is too hard of a question for Jungkook. His eyes flick from one side of your face to the other, then back, frantically sweeping over your features.
Your free hand grabs ahold of his, the hand that’s still placed on your waist, pushing it lower, letting him caress the soft curve of your hips before traveling lower. His eyes are glued to how you move his hand, and they flutter shut as you position his palm on your bare ass. You’re standing between his knees, so close to him that you’re aching with anticipation, aching for him to touch you.
“Did you think about what you’d do to me?” you ask, batting your lashes at him, trying to appear unaware of the effect you have on him. “Or maybe what I’d do to you?”
Jungkook licks his lips, now removing the hand caressing the side of your bra, only for it to cup your other butt cheek — and as both hands are on you, he boldly pulls you closer to him. “All of it,” he breathes.
Showtime.
You can tell he’s about to stick his neck out, kiss your stomach, lick your stomach, do whatever he can — but you have another idea. So you slowly turn your back to him… and sink into his lap.
He breathes out heavily in your ear, his hands roaming all over you, one ending up spread flat across your stomach, the other brushing hair away from you neck to make room for his lips. He deliciously attaches to the free area of skin, licking, sucking, biting and kissing down on the sensitive spot that has you squirming.
His legs are spread wide, so you’re sitting perched on one of his thick, rock-hard thighs. And as he so perfectly nips and sucks down on your neck, you can’t help but shift on his thigh. The friction is just enough, his thighs are muscular enough to provide pleasure, and in no time you start rocking back and forth, feeling your panties cling to you with slick. You’re probably making a mess out of his jeans, but neither of you care right now.
“I’ve thought about you too,” you blurt out, a breathy row of words that almost goes unnoticed. But it doesn’t, and upon hearing this, Jungkook whimpers into the skin of your neck, biting down on the bruise he’s been working on, hard enough that it makes you moan in his lap. “Your arms—your hands—your lips,” you breathe, letting your head fall to his shoulder.
“You’re insane,” he moans. With the way you’re rocking back and forth on his thigh, you keep brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans, and it’s enough for him to lose his mind. You’re so close, yet so fucking far. He needs to touch you, he needs to feel more of you, anything. He needs to make you cry for him, beg him for more, beg him to stop. He wants everything you’ll give him, and right now he’s just one big pussy-drunk boy.
You gasp when you suddenly feel one of his hands on your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra — although only for a moment, as it pops open almost instantly. Well well well, boy-next-door, you might not be as innocent as you seem.
As the lace slips from your chest, Jungkook immediately palms your breasts with both hands, kneading the soft flesh. He moans at the feel of your warm, supple skin, how it fits so perfectly in his palms, and his head tips backwards as his eyelids flutter shut. But he doesn’t let them stay closed for long, as he has to actually see what he’s doing to you. He lets his chin meet your shoulder, and he almost comes in his pants at the sight before him.
Your legs are spread on each side of his thigh, and there, on your own thigh, the right one, is something that looks like a scribble. Holy fuck. An inner thigh tattoo. He almost forgets that he’s pinching and rolling your hardened nipples with his fingers, as he has completely lost himself in the sight of your soft, tender thighs. The way you rock yourself back and forth, the way you’ve left a wet patch on his jeans, the way your hips roll so delicately.
As you seem to be lost on top of him, just a big mewling mess, Jungkook squints, trying to work out the cursive words that curl right besides your covered heat.
𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒮𝓅𝑜𝓉
Straight to it. Okay… alright. That might just be the hottest fucking tattoo he’s ever seen.
“Don’t—don’t you wanna touch me, Kookie?” you gasp, as you’ve been continuously rubbing your clothed clit against the rough fabric of his jeans, and you quite frankly can’t take it anymore. Your panties are sticking to your skin, completely ruined and soaked through, so slippery that the friction isn’t even helping anymore.
Kookie. He pinches your nipple between his index and middle finger, making you choke on your next moan. Fuck, what a sweet-talker you are. It’s driving him insane. Of course he wants to touch you, it’s all he wants.
“Mhmm—so bad,” he whines, kissing his way up your neck until he meets the gentle skin behind your ear. He bites down on your earlobe, breathing heavily. And in a haste, he lets go of one of your breasts, searching for the hem of your panties.
Unfortunately, you beat him to it.
You grab ahold of his wrist, still rubbing yourself dumb on his thigh, turning your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Ah, but Kookie—I thought you liked to watch… isn’t that right?”
Fuck off, what do you mean?
His eyebrows knot together, and he’s practically breathing like a raging fucking bull behind you. But he’s not left in the dark for long, because as you let go of his wrist, as you stop rocking back and forth, your fingers move to your panties. And with a single slide, you rush the fabric to the side, finallybaring your sweet, dripping cunt to Jungkook.
“Ohhfuck,” he blurts out, voice low and nothing above a raspy whisper. His mouth waters at the sight. You’re fully on display now, your bare pussy leaking onto his pants, just begging for attention.
Since you’ve finally let go of him, he reaches out once again — this time without any resistance. His middle fingers slips easily through your folds, something that has the two of you moaning simultaneously.
“Oh my fuck you’re wet,” Jungkook gasps, sliding his finger further down, gathering your slick before tracing upwards again. You twitch in his lap as the pad of his finger teasingly circles your clit — but as you have something else planned entirely, you once again reach for his wrist.
“Baby…” you breathe, lifting his hand. At first, he tries his best not to move, resisting your grip, but gives in with a groan at last. You once again turn your head, locking your eyes with his. “I said watch.”
He whines behind you, but obeys, watching as you let go of his hand, as your fingers move further down.
And with your pointer and middle fingers, you spread your folds, letting Jungkook watch the way you glisten and drip all over him. His chin drops to your shoulder, and he whimpers when seeing your clit completely exposed, pulsating like a tiny heart. Oh how he wants to taste you, how he wants to lick, kiss, suck and drink in your juices until you spasm around him, until tears run down your face and ruin your pretty makeup.
“Think you can replace my fingers, baby?” you ask, giving him a tiny peck, just a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Fuck yeah.”
His fingers actually shove yours out of the way, just for him to feel you, even though all he’s allowed to do is keep you open, spread before him. The two fingers form in a ‘V’-shape as he parts your lips, letting your juices stick to his digits, letting your warmth wrap around them.
You continue with your kisses, letting your soft lips trail along his temple, right by his ear, everywhere you can reach with your neck bent towards him.
Just when Jungkook thinks you’ve got no more tricks up your sleeve — that you’ll just let him have this, just feel your wetness on his fingers — you start taking matters into own hands.
His jaw slacks, and a broken noise escapes from him, because as he watches you over your shoulder, he sees your fingers make their way to your dripping pussy. And with a slow stroke, you let your middle finger drag all the way from your sopping core to your tiny, neglected clit.
“Mmpf,” your head tips backwards, falling to Jungkook’s shoulder while he rests on yours.
“Jesus christ,” Jungkook sighs, completely spellbound by the way you’re playing with yourself in his lap, the way your smaller fingers bump against his with every single long and painfully slow stroke. You skillfully flick the pad of your finger over your twitching nub, adding in another as you start applying slow circles to your highpoint.
You’re so incredibly wet, so pliant, that every single stroke draws pornographic moans from you — which works quite well in your favor right now.
Behind you, Jungkook has lost all ability to speak. He’s so fucking lost in you, eyes glued to the way your fingers have started to glisten with your own juices. Completely tuned to the noises that both you and your cunt make. And all he’s allowed to do is be the fucking middleman. The fucking doorman, who just stands there all day, opening the door without ever entering himself.
He’s still allowed to hold your tits, to cup them, knead them, pinch your nipples — whatfuckingever. He’s on the verge of getting very, very whiny here. He wants to touch you, make you moan himself. When he rolls your nipple in between two of his fingers, you whimper, of course, but he wants to make you sob. This is ridiculous.
“Like what you see, Kookie?” you sigh deeply, panting against his chest.
“Mm—yes, b-but—” he mumbles, biting down on his bottom lip, almost crying at the sight of your pretty fingers circling your clit so precisely. How more and more of your juices continue to seep out of you, forming in wet streaks that trail down the slit of your still covered ass, and down onto his thigh. “—but I want—”
He’s cut off by one of your moans, a sound so pretty he wished he could swallow it whole. By now, his cock is practically screaming your name, crying, hidden away in his pants. He’s so hard it physicallyhurts him.
Fuck it.
He removes his hand from your breast, wraps his arm around your waist, and hikes your body higher up into his lap — all the while his fingers keep you spread, open. You gasp at the new position, as Jungkook has placed you directly on top of his hardened length, a cock you already know is big enough to fucking wreck you.
“Oh my god, Kook,” you cry, still working yourself over with your soft fingertips.
Jungkook buries his forehead into your shoulder blade, looking down at the way you curve on top of him, the way you’re placed so perfectly over his cock. He feels everything, even through the rough and thick jean fabric, his cock a leaking mess in his boxers.
And as his arm is still wrapped around your waist, he slowly starts rocking you back and forth in his lap, your dripping, pulsating and bare pussy dragging over his clothed cock.
You cry out at the new stimulation, the pace of your fingertips faltering as you’re being slid back and forth in Jungkook’s lap. Your hips instinctively roll down to better meet his bulge, and as you feel the fabric slip through your folds, your eyes roll into the back of your head.
“You feel—ah—so big—” you gasp, Jungkook now dumbing you down to a moaning, breathy mess with only the outline of his dick.
His head plops back onto your shoulder, almost crying as he once again lays eyes on the way you rub your own clit. He grinds up to meet every roll of your hips, his breath stuttering with every single drag, gasping and sighing as he continues watching you play with yourself so delicately.
He can’t fucking take it anymore. He has to feel you, he has to have you drip all over his fingers. Your name falls from his lips.
“Please—” he sighs, almost out of breath from all the withholding he’s been doing. Poor guy. “Please—just let me touch you.”
Thankfully, with the way you’ve been edging yourself — with the way Jungkook’s clothed cock keeps sliding through your folds — you’re now downright drugged. There’s actually no restraint left in your body, and hearing Jungkook beg behind you… actually beg to have his hands on you… there’s nothing to do but grant his wish.
“Y-yes, please—need your fingers so bad,” you cry, removing the hand from your clit to place a firm grip around one of Jungkook’s thighs.
Jungkook lets out the most broken sound you’ve ever heard. It comes from deep in his chest, a throaty gasp that dissolved into a soft moan as he surges forward, wrapping both arms around your waist to pull you flush to him. He’s shaking with anticipation and want, every primal thing that’s been clawing at him since the day he saw you in that fuzzy coat for the first time. You’re in his arms, all his — holy shit.
One hand slides down immediately, and you arch into him, spreading your legs a little wider to give him space. His fingertips are hesitant for half a second, brushing delicately between your folds, like he can’t believe that you’re actually allowing him to touch you, before they dip in. Two of them, pressing into your dripping cunt with an ease that makes the both of you cry out in tandem.
Your entire body jolts against him, mouth falling open, hands flying up to grab at his shoulders, nails digging through the fabric of his shirt. “F-fuck, Kook—”
“Holy f-fuck—how are you this wet?” he gasps over your shoulder, eyes glued to the way your slick covers his fingers, the way you greedily suck him in with every deep thrust he bestows upon you. He has never seen anything like it, anything so beautiful. You’ve bewitched him, body and soul.
You can’t even answer him properly — you just mewl against him, jaw slack and lips parted, every breath now a high-pitched moan. You’re gasping, twitching in his lap, your hips already rolling to meet his strokes as his fingers retract, starting to apply circles to your clit. He pinches the nub between his middle- and ring-finger, rubbing you with such precision you can do nothing but tremble against him, mindlessly let out his name in a row of breathless moans. Maybe it’s the wait that has you coming undone so easily for him, or maybe he’s just that good — but as he works you over with his fingers, you swear your brain activity cuts short.
“Kookie—please—just like that—” you cry out, back arching against him, your head falling to his shoulder. “Keep going, don’t stop—god, don’t stop!”
Only an idiot would stop upon hearing such wonderful pleas. And as of now, Jungkook is no idiot, just completely drunk on the feel of you, the sound of you, the way you writhe and tremble in his lap. One hand stays locked around your waist, holding you tight to his chest, while his other hand works between your thighs, rubbing tight, perfect circles against your clit as your wetness coats his fingers, his jeans, everything. He couldn’t care less.
If he wasn’t so nervous about pleasuring you, he’d throw you off his lap, lay down flat on the bed and have you straddle his face. He’d happily suffocate on your pussy, drink in all your juices, suck down on your clit until your legs trembled so hard that he’d have to hold you upright. But as stated, he is a bit flustered, and won’t do anything rash — so his fingers will have to do for now.
“Shhit,” he whispers, his forehead falling to your shoulder as if this, him working your clit over, is pleasuring him somehow. He musters up the courage to call you a gooey pet-name. “Is that good, baby?”
There’s no way you can find words in the state you’re in, especially not when he calls you baby. Your hips buck in response, and Jungkook feels the way your thighs begin to shake, the way your breath comes in ragged gasps, the way you’re pulsating beneath his fingers — he knows you’re so close, oh so close.
His words come out pathetic, like a whimper. “You gonna cum for me? Ah—cum all in my lap?”
You nod again, whimpering, unable to do anything else as your body builds toward the edge. The pressure between your legs is unbearable, every nerve ending begging, every muscle tightening. And when Jungkook rolls your clit while pinched between his fingers, so agonizingly so that your eyes go to the back of your head — you have no idea how you’re going to survive this.
Behind you, Jungkook still can’t lift his forehead from your shoulder. His eyes are shut tight, and he’s panting like he’s already buried balls deep inside you, although he doesn’t need to be. He’s quite frankly about to cum right there, in his pants, just by hearing the pretty moans that leave you, by hearing you beg for him with words that don’t even make sense. He can’t fucking believe it — he’s the one making you feel like this. He’s about to make you cum, he’s about to have you cum all over his fingers, spasm in his lap, arch into him and roll your hips over his aching cock, hidden away in his jeans.
He chokes on a moan when he hears you speak again. “Oh my—fuck, Kookie—don’t you dare stop—I’m—”
Jungkook rubs tighter, faster, the hand on your hip starting to rock you back and forth in his lap as his hips follow, chasing the wetness that drips over his jeans. Suddenly, he feels your entire body lock.
You come undone with a row of sharp gasps, gentle inhales, completely wiped out, eyes fluttering shut. Your thighs clamp around his hands, and your body jerks in his lap as wave after wave crashes through you. In a haste, your hands fall from his shoulders and to his lap, your long nails digging into his thighs, your breath stolen from your lungs and your voice tangled in a moan that you couldn’t even stop if you tried. Because Jungkook keeps rocking you back and forth, keeps rubbing you through the orgasm and out on the other side until stars and sparkles appear in your eyelids.
He feels so big in his jeans, that’s really all you can think of as you keep gliding so easily over the bulge that’s hidden underneath you.
As you came, Jungkook managed to lift his head from your shoulder and look at your face in awe as you leaned against his shoulder — where you now still lie. Your eyebrows crease gently on your forehead, your lips parted just slightly as small and broken gasps make their way out. He can’t make his fingers stop, not until he’s sure he has managed to squeeze out every drop of pleasure you have left. With his eyes glued to you.
“Fuck,” he whispers as he looks at you resting on his shoulder. “You—you look so pretty when you cum.”
You whimper something that’s almost a laugh, dazed and gasping as you feel his heart hammering against your back. His fingers finally slow down, and he looks at the view of them leaving your dripping and overstimulated cunt, how your slick sticks to his digits, how it glistens. He looks so spellbound, you can’t contain yourself.
So you stretch your neck and fight every tremble in your body to plant a kiss on his soft cheek. He hums in response, turning his head immediately to meet your lips. His hands go to your waist, not even bothering to wipe away your slick, and with your help he manages to turn you fully, have you straddle his lap.
His skin is so warm, he feels so soft and gentle — it drives you fucking nuts. You smother him in tiny pecks, leaving his lips to eagerly mark his entire face with wet kisses. “You did so good,” you purr, still coating him with what’s left of your shimmering lip-gloss. Even though you didn’t intend it, it does sound like a ‘good boy-comment’, something Jungkook isn’t all that familiar with.
“Thank you?” he says a bit shyly, but thinks no more of it when he feels your hands starting to fiddle with his belt-buckle. Fuck. His hips jolt upwards with surprise, absolutely dying for you to rid him of his clothes. He actually can’t wait anymore, so he catches one of the kisses you’re about to plant on his nose with his lips and rolls his tongue into your mouth. Both his hands go to the hem of his shirt, crossing them to pull the fabric over his torso.
You don’t stop kissing him, even as he lifts his arms to tug the shirt over his head. You chase his mouth, starving kisses, all tongue and lips and the soft, desperate gasps of a man coming undone. You catch the groan he releases when your teeth graze his bottom lip, when your nails drag slightly over the now bare skin of his chest. He’s chiseled to perfection, you feel to under your fingers who now drag down his torso, the pads running over his rock-hard abs. What a man.
Your hands move lower, and you tug at his belt again while your lips stay locked to his, fingers fumbling with the buckle, and he’s so helpful about it. He shifts his hips to assist, letting you slide the leather free from its loops, and the second you pop the button of his jeans, he breaks the kiss to pants softly into your cheek. “I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”
“Haven’t we already established you’re a bit crazy?” you purr, pushing his jeans down his thighs.
He huffs a breathless laugh, but chokes on it when you decide to cup him through his boxers. His cock jumps at the contact, the wet fabric clinging to every line of him, and his head tips back with a soft gasp. He whines when you lift yourself off his lap, fingers trying to tug you back, but helpless as he’s so damn horny he could die.
You stand before him as he sits back on the edge of the bed, jeans pushed down his thighs, abs moving in waves as he breathes in and out. His eyes are wild, locked to your, praying that you might give him some attention now.
“Take these off,” you murmur, looking down at the jeans. “And scoot back.”
“Yes—fuck—yes,” he nods too quickly, lifting his hips to peel off his jeans. You help him kick them down his legs, your hands sliding over the taut muscle and soft skin, and the moment they’re off, he tugs off his socks with rushed, shaky hands. He does exactly as asked, and scoots back until his back hits the plush headboard, shoulders pressed to the padding, legs spread open in the most inviting way. His thighs flex as he settles, every muscle rolling and tightening underneath his thick and golden skin. He looks painted by the gods, unbelievably beautiful, built like something out of a dream. You went crazy over him by just seeing his face, his height, so now seeing him undressed, straining in his boxers, all for you, has your thighs going slick as more arousal seeps out of you.
“Like this?” he asks with one brow cocked, arms resting on his thighs. He asks as if he’s nervous, pressing harder down on his thighs, rubbing over them twice with his eyes getting lost in yours. He looks delicious enough to eat up, you could gobble him up whole. Still watching you, he bites down on the skin in his cheek, eying your bare body, the way there’s still glisten lingering between your legs. How your tits perk in his direction, how there seems to be goosebumps by your nipples. What a fucking view — and he’s got this all to himself?
You start moving to the bed, crawling forward slowly, and soon your naked body settles above him until you’re climbing back into his lap. His breath hitches, and his hands hover, waiting for permission until you take ahold of his wrists and guide them to your hips. “Hold me there,” you whisper. “And don’t move yet.”
He moans at that, eyebrows knotting high on his forehead as his fingers squeeze your skin. How can he not fucking move? You settle in his lap, your bare heat meeting his cock which now pulsates and twitches in his boxers. He moans yet again, which only spurs you on. So you grind once over his cock, arms resting on his chest, letting the clothed bulge slip in between your wet folds.
Jungkook’s head thuds against the headboard, his jaw slack. “Fuuck me.” His eyes nearly roll back, and he grips your hips harder as you rock yourself back and forth over his cock. Your clit grinds directly against the ridge of him, and your breath catches when he twitches beneath you. And when you look down, you see a new, dark patch starting to form, as he leaks against his stomach, through his boxers.
“Oh fuck—please—” he whines, his voice unraveling as you rub yourself over his hard length. His neck goes back to its upright position, and he locks eyes with your puffy folds, how they slide back and forth over his erection, how it makes small, wet sounds with every delicate roll of your hips. “Holy fuuck—you’re gonna make me cum.”
His thighs start to tremble under yours, his grip tightening again, and suddenly, without warning, he sits upright. His spine leaves the headboard completely as he surges forward, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest, mouth brushing against your shoulder. He moans into your skin, “I need—need to feel you,” he chokes. “I can’t—need to move, please—”
There’s no way you can say no to that, so you invite his request by wrapping your arms around his neck, continuing the move of your hips. Jungkook meets the rolls this time, grinding up into you, matching your rhythm as his breath goes shallow. He rocks beneath you with a choked groan, his boxers soaked through and clinging to your slick folds as you both set a perfect and messy pace. Chest to chest, sweat-slicked, already fucked out.
“Fuck—Jungkook—” you gasp, nails digging into your shoulders. You’re so close again, your clit catching with every press of his cock. Fuck, this can’t be happening, how easy can you be? Get it together, woman. “You feel—s-so good—”
He nods frantically against your neck. “You’re perfect—oh my god—you’re so wet and soft and perfect.”
His hips start bucking up into you with in a more desperate pace, gasping for air as he feels himself tightening, every nerve in his body ready to be ignited. You feel too good, he can’t fucking think. Although he wants nothing more but to bury himself deep inside your pretty cunt, he can’t seem to stop whatever it is he’s doing now. Because you feel too good. His arms tighten, one hand splaying across your back, the other dragging down to cup your ass, shoving you down harder against him. His hips snap upwards, rutting into your soaked heat like he’s praying for release.
“Fuck—ah—I’m gonna cum—” he gasps, his head moving to your chest, nuzzling his face in between your swell, perfect, soft, wonderful cleavage. He could live there probably, although now he can’t seem to breathe. “I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum—”
You’re both gasping for air, moving in perfect desperation, caught in a rhythm none of you dares to break, slick friction and wet, breathless please.
But you’re stronger than him — you don’t want him to cum anywhere but inside you, deep inside you. So you stop. Right at the height of it, when his cock is throbbing beneath you, twitching in his boxers, when your hips are already grinding out trembling whimpers, you still yourself. You hug him tighter against your body, holding him in place as you freeze.
Jungkook jolts, his breath catching like you’ve stolen it right out of his lungs. “W-what—no—why’d you—”
You tug on his hair, lifting his face from where its pressed against your tits, and you lean in, brushing your nose against his, lips ghosting his mouth. “You’re not cumming in your boxers tonight.”
Jesus fucking christ, if Jungkook wasn’t completely spellbound by the way you speak so seductively, the way his cock is still nuzzled between your folds, he would be running up and down the walls. He almost completely forgot about the fact that he could actually fuck you, like for real — he was too lost in pleasure.
His eyes flicker, wide and absolutely lost in you, suddenly kissing you with such desperation that you have to gasp for air.
“Take them off,” you manage to breathe into his mouth.
He shifts beneath you as his eyebrows twitch and his breath stutters. He shifts just enough to hook his thumbs into the waistband off his boxers, lifting his hips. You lift too, just barely, your knees bracing the mattress as he shoves the last fabric down and off, kicking it frantically off with his feet, something that has you giggling against his lips. His cock springs free, completely soaked. The tip glistens, already beading at the slit, twitching helplessly as it rests against his stomach.
You both groan. Your hips are still hovering above him, your heat just barely brushing the length of him. This is enough to kill you, actually. But you need him so bad you almost can’t think — you’ve been needing him for weeks now.
“Are you clean?” you ask, your fingertips dragging slowly down his chest, the barest tease.
Jungkook swallows hard, looking right into your eyes while his hands clench the sheets, too nervous to actually touch you. He’s clean, of course, he tests himself every time he has slept with someone. It has been months now, but his last test came out negative, so he can’t possibly have caught something in any other way. He doesn’t really sit down naked in public places, so he has to be clean. “Yeah. Yeah—you’re the first I’ve touched in months.”
“Good—same here,” you confess with a giggle. A beat passes, and you push him further down, letting his back meet the headrest again, watching as his tongue fiddles with the piercing in his bottom lip. This is finally happening, dear god. You’re so unbelievably thankful for the fact that the two of you are both insane, that you’ve both been spiraling for weeks. Because now you have him at your mercy, after all this time.
The room is quiet for a minute, up until Jungkook lets out a desperate whisper. “Then please—please let me feel all of it. I’ve never needed anything more.”
You’d scream out ‘me neither’ if it weren’t for the fact that you’re trying to keep your cool, assert some kind of dominance here. So instead you rise slightly onto your knees, one hand reaching between your bodies to wrap around his cock, which instantly twitches in your grip. Jungkook curses low in his throat, his eyes locked on yours, completely still beneath you as you guide him to your entrance. So you lower yourself, and the moment the swollen head pushes past your folds, both of you gasp.
Your walls stretch to accommodate him, inch by inch, taking him in with a slow ache that feels has your thighs trembling. He’s incredibly thick, but your body opens for him anyway, desperate to take him whole.
His head drops back against the headboard with a thud as his lips part beautifully. “Oh my god,” he groans with a wrecked voice, fists buried and clenched in the sheets. “Shitshitshit—you’re tight.”
You keep sinking deeper, biting your lip, nails dragging down his chest as your pussy stretched tight around his cock. He’s shaking under you, knuckles white where his hands grip the duvet, breath coming in short, punched-out gasps. And when you’re finally seated, flush against him, both of you let out a loud moan. You’re both completely still, trembling and panting as the fit is obscenely snug. When Jungkook looks up at you, his eyes are heavy-lidded. “Oh my god,” he says the moment he lays his eyes on you. What a wonderful view, he thinks. How can anyone look so beautiful while taking his cock. Your mouth is parted in such a gentle way, your lips swollen for all your shared kisses. Your arms look so delicate as you straddle him, soft muscles spasming slightly underneath your skin.
As you try keeping eye contact, you settle fully in his lap with trembling thighs, the weight of him buried so deep inside you it feels like you might never be able to walk again after this. His cock pulses thickly within your heat, and he shudders visibly beneath you.
“Holy fuck…” Jungkook breathes out, his head now tipped back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in shaky gasps. His throat bobs as he swallows, his lashes flutter shut as he can’t for the life of him look at you for too long. He’s going to come right away if so.
“You okay, baby?” you purr, fingers brushing up his chest in featherlight strokes.
He nods desperately with his eyes still clenched shut. “Mm-hm,” he hums in response, not daring to look at you for even a second more. Fuck, he’s going to come so hard.
You smile softly, grinding your hips in the smallest, slowest circle. The movement makes him gasp, hips jerking helplessly upward before you pin him back down with your thighs. He shudders and twitches, hands still not touching you, but clenching the fabric of the sheets so hard it looks as if it might hurt. He just fucking lays there, terrified that he might come embarrassingly quick if he lets himself go, so he stays still, choking on his own moans as you once again roll your hips.
The rhythm you’ve built is smooth, just enough to leave him gasping, trembling underneath you as he lets out small, broken moans. His cock fills you perfectly, every slow drag inside you grazing nerves that make your toes curl and your walls clench around him. Whenever you roll forward, your clit brushes against his abdomen, and you can’t help but gasp.
Jungkook’s head is tipped back, his throat bared, chest heaving as he’s barely keeping it together. His eyes, fuck — they’re still closed. His beautiful, dark eyes who you could spend hours looking into.
You stare down at him, straddling his hips, the slick sound of your bodies echoing in your bedroom, and it kills you that he isn’t looking at you. Not even for a second. His eyes are actually shut closed ridiculously hard, his eyelids creasing with the effort of not looking at you. He keeps gasping for air, especially when you start lifting your hips, only for them to roll down and forward again, a move which rips all the air from his lungs.
“Jungkook,” you whisper, still grinding down in perfect circles. Your voice is soft, nothing more but pleading. “Look at me.”
He shakes his head weakly, brows drawn tight, breath hitching with every thrust. “I can’t,” he breathes in desperation. “Can’t—I can’t.”
You grind down deeper, letting your walls squeeze around him, making his whole body jerk. “Baby,” you murmur again, letting your hands trail down his chest to his stomach, your voice turning sugar-sweet. “Please? Just for a second? I wanna see you. Wanna see those pretty eyes, Kookie.”
He swears under his breath, biting down on his lip. His fists tremble where they grip the sheets. He’s fighting it, really fighting it. Of course he wishes to look at you, grip you, make your pretty tits bounce as he makes you ride his cock. Oh how he’d love the sight of it. But it would only last a second, as he would come so unbelievably fast. Instead, he options for defiance… but you know he’s seconds from giving in. You can see it in the way he his eyelids un-crinkle.
So you say it again, looking down at him with heavy-lidded eyes as his cock keeps hitting the delicate spot buried deep inside you. “Please, Jungkook… look at me, baby.”
Oh my god. Jungkook shudders, lashes fluttering — and then he cracks. His eyes open, and fuck, the look in them nearly has your knees giving out over him. They’re blown wide with lust, flicking over your flushed face, your chest, the way his cock keeps disappearing inside your puffy folds. How they suck him in so greedily, how his entire abdomen is coated in your slick.
“Fuuck,” he whispers, and just like that, he decides to let go. Fuck it.
His hands shoot up to your hips, grabbing you hard and pulling you down onto him with a strength he’s been holding back for too long. He’s been dying to fuck you, thought he never would, so he won’t go easy now that he’s finally been granted his one true wish. You gasp, pleasure jolting through you as his grip anchors you against him. Finally, he starts thrusting up into you, matching your rhythm, reaching so much deeper than when you were doing all the work yourself. And oh god, it feels so incredible. He feels like a dream.
“Oh my god—” you choke out, your head tipping back. The new pace is punishing, but so unbelievably perfect. You’re so full, every thrust slamming his cock into you at just the right angle, so deep you can’t breathe. All you can do is splay flat palms over his sweat-slick chest, trying to steady yourself as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “Yes—yes—oh god, Jungkook, don’t stop—”
Jungkook groans, holding your hips, fucking into you with a madness that punched the air out your lungs. “You’re gonna—ah—” he gasps, eyebrows creasing, eyes flicking over you as he has no idea where to look. It’s all too good, the wonderful expression on your face, the perfect bounce of your tits, how your cunt keeping sucking him in with every thrust. “You’re gonna make me cum so hard—fuck, fuck—”
There’s no way you can answer him right now. Your moans come out broken, each one hitched around the feeling of his cock pounding into you, his hips slapping against your ass, your thighs, your slick dripping down his length as he fills you over and over. And when he shoves you down onto his cock, your swollen clit nudges against him, just enough for it to provide pleasure. Your mouth falls open on a gasp, hips stuttering as the pressure inside you coils tighter, white-fucking-hot.
Jungkook moans high-pitched, completely losing control, one of his hands sliding up your back with awe, the other gripping your hip with bruising force as he keeps you locked in his rhythm. “You’re perfect—so wet—you feel so—ah—soft—” The praise tumbles out of his parted lips, something he soon shuts up by biting down on his lips. His nose crinkles, as does his eyebrows, and he keeps his eyes locked on where his cock keeps disappearing inside you.
Your entire body twitches upon hearing his words, your head falling forward as you brace yourself with both hands on his chest. Your nails dig into the swell skin there, and you swear you can feel his heart hammering through his ribs. Fuck, it makes it even hotter, and you clench around him uncontrollably.
“Jungkook—” you gasp, a high and choked moan following the way he hits your sweet spot again and again and again. Your whole body jerks, with every thrust, thighs shaking, mouth hanging open as heat spreads through your belly like wildfire. You don’t even notice how bad you’re trembling until he suddenly presses his forehead to yours.
He gasps, “I’m gonna cum.” The hand running up your back comes to your neck, which he grabs to shove you against his lips, muffling both your outcries. You moan into each other’s mouth, sweat and spit mingling on your tongues as they tangle together. He lets up from the kiss for only a second, a moan breaking in his throat, “A-ah—baby, I’m gonna cum—please cum. You’re clenching so hard—fuck, baby, are you gonna cum?”
You nod erratically as all words are lost on your tongue, the pleasure pulsing though every inch of your body. Desperate to find both your releases, you grind down harder, chasing pleasure and all of him. His hand shoves your lips back onto his, and he gasps into your mouth as he feels you clenching viscerally around him. After a few more grinds, you come undone all over him, crying out in pleasure, grabbing onto his neck to release your moans into his mouth. You walls flutter and spasm around his cock as your thighs give in, unable to move or do any work yourself.
Jungkook lets both hands move to your back instead, pushing you flush to his sweat-slick body, lifting his hips off the bed to take matters into own hands instead. He thrusts harder and faster, hugging you against his chiseled frame. “Oh my god,” he chokes out, his hands holding you down tight as he fucks you through your orgasm, the way your walls squeeze around him, dragging him over the edge right behind you. “I’m cumming—I’m gonna cum so hard—I’m—”
He slams up into you one last time, hips jerking as his cock throbs deep inside you, spilling into you with a groan that sounds almost painful. He fills you, heat spreading inside you as he comes hard, gasping your name continuously, completely wrecked.
As the two of you pulsate, gasp for air pressed flush to each other, he wraps his arms around your back as you both shake from the aftershocks. His cock twitches inside you one more time, still buried deep, and you both let out weak, breathless sounds as the last of it fades. Your foreheads are pressed together, and your eyes are both shut as you catch your breaths. The room is quiet, but your heart pounds in your ears.
What makes you tingle is when his hand starts running slowly up your spine. Holy fuck. This was definitely worth the wait, worth going insane over.
You hear him breathe out his name, and your eyes open, so close to his that his two eyes blend together. You blink, leaning in to press a lazy kiss to his lips, so tired that you actually just stay there, gasping against him as he kisses you back. The hand cradling your back moves, coming to brush your wild hair out of your face, stroking the back of your head. “Thank you,” he breathes, kissing you once more.
So subtle you almost don’t notice it, he turns with you still pressed flush to him, rolling the two of you over to your sides all the while he’s still buried inside you, his release seeping out from you and ruining your sheets. You don’t care, you can fix it later. He’s here now, and he’s hugging you, tugging you closer so your head can rest against his chest. He gives a small kiss to the top of your head, breathing out heavily, repeating his words. “Thank you.”
You fall asleep like this, still intertwined and utterly exhausted, him hugging you while he listens to the way your breathing settles.
Jungkook had one mission when moving for himself — finding a girl to sleep with. He did so, not without struggle that is, but what he didn’t imagine was finding a girl to fall in love with. Finding a girl he would love with all his heart, so deeply it would hurt whenever she wasn’t around.
But he did. He met a girl who made him go crazy.
There’s an unwritten rule that goes something like this: Do not fall in love with your roommate, do not get involved with your roommate in any way. It will ruin the relationship that you are financially bound to. You will have to move.
Thankfully, Jungkook has found a loophole. He has fallen in love with his neighbor, a girl who he practically lives with now. Because you can’t keep your hands off each other. Not even for a second. He hates it when he has to work on weekends, he hates when he has to leave you while you sleep so peacefully in whatever bed the two of you slept in the night before.
He tries making up for it while leaving you small notes around the house, pink post-it notes filled with what could be just meaningless scribbles. But you love his drawings, you love it when he leaves a weirdly drawn bunny on the fridge. And what Jungkook doesn’t know is that on your bedside table, there’s a small, porcelain casket, where you pocket all his post-it notes. There are probably about a hundred of them now, buried in the casket. You look at them when he’s away, smiling by yourself, wondering how you could ever get so lucky.
One night, while you were laying in his lap over the sofa, you found out he knew how to braid. You felt a slight tug on your hair as your eyes were glued to the television, and stretched your neck to see what was going on with the man behind you.
Nothing in particular was going on, actually. Because there he sat, watching TV, just like you, only with your hair in his hands, braiding a perfect fish-tail without even needing to look at it. Your hand came up to get a feel on it, and your cheeks flushed. Without tying it, you turned your entire body and leaped forward, kissing him all over until he started giggling.
What did the two of you do in your past lives, to be this insane — but somehow find each other in all the chaos?
synopsis: your skills as a videographer gets put to the test when your friend, who happens to be in the same profession, falls victim to double-booking. problem is, you only specialized in weddings, not adult films. despite your initial reluctance, you take the job. cue the lights … you meet jeon jungkook, a pornstar, on set — in his world. you just never expected him to play a part in yours.
pairing: pornstar!jungkook x wedding videographer!fem reader
wc: 4.7k
genre: s2l, pornstar au, smut, angst, fluff
cw: crack-ish, slice of life, inaccurate adult filming industry discourse/depiction, 18+ ONLY, sexual guilt/shame, virgin oc, masturbation (f&m), oc watches porn for “research” purposes
a/n: wip since 2025 and finally making its debut! muah
masterlist | act i.
“You owe me!” Taehyung flails, feet stomping underneath the dining table like a tempered toddler.
Wedding season peaked in the fall — both a blessing and a curse. Hence, you only liked two things after being bombarded with back to back bookings: 1. a sweet treat 2. spending time with your friends. After weeks of tearful vows and hours of rigorous editing, seeing Taehyung, one of your closest friends since college, should be a blessing.
Should be.
“When have we ever kept tally on owing shit? And for the last time, Tae,” you rub your temples, “I'm not helping you film. Can't you just cancel or reschedule with one of your directors?”
In any other circumstance, you would have taken up this project.
You and Taehyung have a long-standing history starting as bright-eyed film students in the same cohort. You’d eventually discover his innate skills and very (heavy emphasis on the very) eccentric visions in film. He was different — highly cherished and praised by the university's faculty. You, on the other hand, put in extra hours only to barely skim the baseline.
You were just … good. Which isn’t a bad thing, but in a room full of endless potential and creativity, you felt like you didn’t belong.
Taehyung never saw an issue in your style and passion, stereotypical or not.
Even though your classmates awarded him with the title “Most Likely to Win an Oscars,” he did quite the opposite. Everyone, including yourself, expected greatness from Kim Taehyung — whether it be through starting his own production company or winning a Sundance Film competition.
But … his passions took a turn.
Of all the spaces he could’ve wound up in, he landed himself in the adult film industry.
Yes. Porn.
When he broke the news on his career switch, you smiled and nodded, praying you didn’t display a single ounce of disdain. He’s been nothing but supportive in your journey and career. The least you can do is swallow and hide your judgment in favor of supporting your best friend.
Minus this particular tall ask.
He frowns. “Please? I really need your help. You’ll do just fine, I promise.”
“I’m literally a wedding videographer.” You deadpan.
“And you’d be perfect for the job!”
You shake your head vehemently, choosing to redirect all the attention to your untouched plate of chicken wings. They're cold now, time wasted on Taehyung's bizarre request.
“Come on.” He pleads. “I never ask you for these types of favors …”
"What about the time you asked me to stick a thermometer up your ass?"
"That was a medical emergency!"
You both continue listing crazy requests you’ve done for each other, inevitably leading to the same response: no, you didn’t want to film porn on his behalf.
Boundaries existed for a reason and Taehyung knew when to throw in the towel. The last thing he'd want to do is make you uncomfortable.
Still, his shoulders drop, eyes hung low in disappointment. “Alright, I’ll let the director know I’ll have to miss out on this project.”
Bam, case-closed, you both can resume the night as intended.
Utensils scrape and clatter against the plates among other tables in the restaurant, but the silence and tension rings louder between you and your best friend. He purses his lips and looks away, unwilling to meet your eyes or say what’s weighing on his mind.
You sigh. “Can I ask you something?”
"Sure, whatever." 'Sure? Whatever?' Now, that's teetering close to fighting words …
“Why this field? Our professors always loved your work—”
His bitter laugh cuts through your words. He leans against his chair and tips his head back.
“Spare me the judgment. I expected this from other people, not from my best friend.”
“I’m not judging—”
“You are.”
This was supposed to be a carefree night.
No drama.
Instead, it seems to be leading right to the dreaded Talk™. Which, unfortunately, is anything but carefree.
“You’re right.” You concede, catching a flash of his frown. "Only because we've always tip-toed around this topic."
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth. Tell me why you decided on this route.”
“Dude, you can’t even say ‘sex work’ or ‘porn industry’ without looking like a deer in headlights. What makes you think I wanna talk to you about it?” Taehyung rolls his eyes.
You grimace. Has your discomfort always been this apparent?
Hold on. Pause. You agree with the first part, but the second part didn’t make sense.
“But you want me to help film?” You press.
“Well, I was wrong for trying to bring my friend out of their shell. There’s more out there besides weddings.”
Silence.
“W-wait.” He stammers. “That’s not what I meant. You know I respect–”
You hold a hand up.
"I know.” You say, keeping your voice as leveled as possible. That was a talk for another time.
“Just tell me why you chose this route, Tae. I only ask because I genuinely care and want to know.”
You do.
Both you and Taehyung know that's all you do … too much sometimes, but that's what he loves about you.
“It’s just,” He starts, visibly uncomfortable and awkward, “I’m burnt out from all these expectations. You said it yourself ... ‘All the professors loved your work.’ I can’t fuckin’ keep up.”
“Filming porn is easy." He continues. "There’s no second-guessing. And … it's different. Makes me feel special.” He sniffs and wipes at his nose. “I'm happy there.”
You grab his hand, squeezing gently while he looks at you with a guilt stricken expression.
“I'm sorry for being short with you.” He apologizes. "You're right too. We keep dodging this topic."
Your thumb traces the top of his hand, “I think I’m just a little biased about that—the porn industry.” You correct yourself. “For the record, I'll always support you.”
Taehyung scoots closer to your chair and wraps his arms around you.
“I really did mean it when I said you’d be perfect for the job.”
You laugh. “I don’t think they need a wedding videographer’s touch for that sort of production, but thanks.”
The night continues as intended: lighthearted and free. Waitresses and nearby patrons stare in fascination (or in annoyance … you can't tell nor do you care) whenever a laugh rings a little louder at your table. You always feel fuller after being around your best friend.
“Proud of ya,” he drunkenly confesses after one too many drinks. “Love seeing you in your element.”
Funnily enough, Taehyung had also dabbled into the wedding industry. Let's just say his clients didn't appreciate his … visions. Not everyone was keen on a Carrie themed wedding announcement, okay?
That's the difference between you and Taehyung. Tried and true versus abstract and risky. There's much to learn from each other, which is why the friendship works.
And you do have a thing or two to learn from Taehyung.
Hell, you’ve always played it safe – never tested boundaries. You went to school, got decent grades, and now you run your own business. Everything was fine. Too fine.
The world was your oyster; yet, you’ve never made a quest to seek out for more. Point is, you’re comfortable and that’s what makes you uncomfortable.
Substituting for one of Taehyung’s gigs wouldn’t mean you’re forever locked in to that field … right? Makes you wonder, should you just do it?
“Fuck it,” you mumble to yourself.
“Hm?” Taehyung looks up from his phone after placing an order for a cab.
“I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”
“Huh? What are you—”
“Filming. Just this once.” You say, more definite in your words.
“Wait, uh, are you serious? You don’t have to, really. I was kidding when I said you owed me.” Taehyung waves his hands frantically.
“No shit.” You grin. “We’re friends. There’s no such thing as owing each other favors. I want to help you because I do. It’s important to you; therefore, important to me.” Self-growth, you tell yourself, because you needed that too.
He stares at you and shakes his head.
“Let’s talk again when we’re both sober, okay?”
“But …”
“Sober.” He says, final and definite.
One week later
“Not too late to back out.” Taehyung’s voice blares through your phone speaker.
Actually, it was too late and highly unprofessional if you were to back out the night before.
“Why would I do that?”
He says your name sternly, “You don’t have to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”
“Then why would you even ask me to do it?” You stare at your phone, hands slowing as you rub your moisturizer into your skin.
“Honestly? Didn’t think you’d actually agree …”
Hard to believe since he damn near dropped on his knees begging for your help.
“Well … surprise.”
“Okay, thank you. Seriously. You really are doing me a huge favor.” He sighs. “Let me know if you need any pointers.”
“Think I should be okay.” You lie. One way or another, you'll get through this project. Similar to your wedding bookings, you'll go in blindly. And similar to your bookings, everything has an opportunity to end beautifully … or not.
Again, you remind yourself to keep an open mind.
“I’m still shocked about this whole ordeal.” He confesses.
“How so?”
“You've never seen someone else's genitalia in the flesh.” He snorts.
“I know what a penis and vagina looks like, Tae.” You roll your eyes.
“You know what I mean.”
Celibacy at your age was nothing groundbreaking. Remaining a virgin at twenty-nine, however, was not something you accounted for. Your parents' strict dating policy as an adolescent residing under their roof had lots to do with it, but you had full reigns of your romantic life in college. But … thanks to your fixation with school, dating never happened. Consequently, sex never happened either.
Though, you had many close "fuck it" moments and contemplated randomly hooking up with a stranger to say you've at least experienced sex. Again, never happened. Your first time should be with someone you trusted and cared for. Plus, physical attraction played a huge role and there wasn’t anyone you felt particularly drawn to like that.
At the end of the day, virginity was a social construct. Life goes on. Who cares whether you've been sexually active with another person?
Hint: you do. And secretly, so does the rest of society.
“So what?”
“Kind of poetic if you think about it.”
What was so poetic about filming porn as a virgin?
“Whatever you say, Shakespeare.” You scoff.
“That's a compliment." You don't have to see him to know he's got a prideful smirk plastered on his face. "But alright, I won’t keep you up any longer. Big day ahead of you tomorrow. Text me if anything comes up.”
“Mmkay, will do. G'night.”
Your clock reads a quarter after eleven. Too late to be doing any editing, but your mind buzzes with one too many thoughts to allow for respite.
Settling into bed, you crack open your laptop. Might as well be productive and work out your inquiries and schedule for the upcoming month.
Emails? Replied.
Bookings? Confirmed.
Stomach? In knots.
You sink deeper into your mattress. Maybe this was all a mistake, but it's too late to back out now.
Laptop still perched on your stomach, you groan before immediately clicking into your private browser tab to type in the infamous website you frequented in your early college years when curiosity got the best of you and hormones ran high.
The first thing you saw were the flashing ads. ‘WANNA JERK OFF? YOU WON’T LAST FIVE SECONDS.’ Next came the tits. And by god, there were lots. You’ve never seen anything more perfect and round than the ones on your screen. A hand leaves your keyboard to grip your covered breast. Hm, yeah, definitely smaller than the ones you see — nipple far from perky like theirs.
More random thumbnails of lewd images pop up as you soak in the page. Your heart races and palms sweat, exhilaration coursing through you as you type in the production company’s name: RkivedShots.
“This is all for educational purposes. Like studying the night before an exam. Yep.” You reason.
Laying against your headboard, your knees prop up to steady your laptop. Hands reaching for your wired earphones, you lower the volume on your speakers in the event you accidentally clicked on something.
You didn't live with any roommates, but this felt private. In the off chance your neighbors had super hearing powers, you preferred keeping all potentially explicit sounds to yourself.
'Director Kim is different. I like his vision. Totally my style.' Taehyung recounted during a coffee run last week.
Within ten seconds of being on the company’s channel, you concluded one thing: RkivedShots was … odd.
You hover over a thumbnail appearing as a clam, later transforming to a vagina. The title of the video read: reborn as a mussel like aphrodite spawning in sea foam [cum as sea foam].
What the hell.
‘we found god in each other’s genitals’
‘possessive possession — don’t worry, we have a shaman on site’
‘if you were clay, i’d mold you into the prettiest vase [hardcore bdsm]’
Your eyes widen at all the titles, which progressively worsens with the video’s preview containing trippy transitions and themes. Oh, you feel sick.
The idea of filming porn was no easy feat as is, let alone editing afterwards. But if you can’t even stand looking at RkivedShots’ thumbnails, how were you going to survive being on set tomorrow?
Fuck, you have to persevere.
‘fucking the patriarchy out of a conservative [not clickbait]’
Seems normal … ish.
You click on the video out of curiosity.
Big mistake.
Let's paint the scene: Two men at the Oval Office. One man, rather on the thinner side, dressed in hipster clothing with a matcha latte in one hand and a book in another while he had, what you presume, an older politician bent over a desk.
“SAY YOU LOVE FEMINISM OR ELSE I WON’T FUCK YOU.”
“OH FUCK, I LOVE FEMINISM!!! PLEASE DON'T STOP!” The politician begs and fucks himself back.
Book tossed onto the desk, the hipster pours his iced matcha latte onto the politician’s back and begins going to pound town while the national anthem played in the background.
Your jaw drops.
With a grimace and a quick 'ew,' you frantically search for the back button to free yourself of whatever was playing. Says a lot when you feel more relief on the company's main channel than you had on that one video.
“God, what was that?” You mumble, finger swiping at your mousepad to sift through other videos. Your eyes land on another video titled ‘grapefruit.’ Short and simple. You’re not chancing it though and would rather edit a twenty hour long footage than watch someone potentially fuck a grapefruit … or whatever Director Kim came up with.
Finally, you reach a video appearing "normal" based on the title and thumbnail alone, only showcasing a half naked man in boxer briefs, face cut from view. His tattooed arm rests on his torso, hand cupping his groin area.
‘relax with me after a long day [JK 🐰]’
You swallow.
Thirty minutes long. A simple masturbation video. In comparison to all the hour long videos on this channel, this felt like an anomaly. Heart hammering in your chest, you click on the thumbnail.
You made a mental note to call it a night if you see even one crazy transition. You're hopeful though — hopeful the video would do exactly as the title suggested.
To relax — ease your mind a little after being exposed to nothing but oddities this evening.
Maybe, this one will be normal.
But this begged another question: was porn normal?
Your breath hitches once the video begins, soft piano music playing in the background. The man on screen stirs something in the depths of your stomach. The piercings, sharp jawline, and angled brows paired with his round eyes? Every part of his face was a contradiction. And yet, you were undeniably captivated by his beauty.
Eyes talk and his spoke to you without words.
Unlike the video’s thumbnail, he’s completely clothed. The production style mirrored a vlog, except there's the looming knowledge of what's yet to come. Probably him. No, undoubtedly him.
“Hey.” He greets with a lopsided grin. You increase the volume on your earphones a little higher, eager to hear more of him.
The video cuts to him cooking a meal, eating, watching television, and working out. Mundane life stuff. Every segment was less than three seconds long. Short-lived. That is, until the next clip cuts to him showering.
The all-glass shower and camera angled modestly leave viewers with wandering thoughts. Even with the steam blurring the shower glass, there's urgency in his movements — longing to rejoin the camera.
The sight of him emerging from the shower stall has you clenching your thighs together. Camera still propped at the same angle, you're only able to make out his upper half. Which, honestly, was more than enough for your mind to dip into darker territories. And fuck … his dripping wet hair and body does things to your poor heart … among other parts of your body.
As he dries his hair, you catch his eyes.
Again, no actual words get exchanged. He keeps you entranced.
He’s on a light brown couch now, appearances matching the video’s thumbnail.
Fumbling with the camera, he props it on the table. Not even one second after he backed away, the camera falls face down. He chuckles, rich and full of life. You bite back your own giggle having related to his struggle plenty of times in the past.
“Whoops, sorry—dropped ya' on accident.” He says as he moves the camera upright. Seated back, that's when you see it.
The outline of his hard cock.
How’d he get like that? You’re not sure.
What you’re sure of, though, is how your body reacts as he smirks. Given any other man you've encountered online with this exact demeanor, you'd immediately rule them as overly confident, borderline cocky — only deserving of being ignored. Yet, you stay for him.
He knows he's hot.
And maybe for that reason, he needs no formal transition or introduction to what he does next. Your eyes follow the hand trailing down his torso and past the waistband of his boxers. Still covered, he wraps his hand around his hard length. The outline of his closed fist moves slowly, tugging until he releases a shaky breath.
“Fuck—ngh,” he tosses his head back, moans coming out sporadically — the slight lift in his voice damn near mimicked a whine.
Tongue heavier in your mouth, you watch him pull the front of his boxers down to expose his cock. It slaps against his abdomen. Thick. Hard. Flushed.
He’s so beautiful. It’s only natural every part of him matched his perfection. The vein running on the underside of his cock matched with the ones on his hand.
You really should click out.
Really.
You shouldn’t dip your hand down your front.
Shouldn’t cup your still-covered pussy only to feel your arousal has seeped through your panties.
Shouldn’t press your middle finger down your covered slit.
Shouldn’t whimper when he pauses to spit into his hand only to go back to jerking his length, legs spreading wider.
“Wish you were here with me.”
You’re not sure who he was referring to. Certainly not you, but the admission was enough coercion to give into your needs.
For a moment, you forget why you're even on this site. "Research" purposes. Right. Yeah … and you're in the exploratory phase now, searching aimlessly for some form of relief.
You deserved it.
He wants you to.
Why else would the video be titled that way?
The handsome man on your screen seems to contribute to your reasoning, giving you one more reason, one last go ahead. His honey voice resounds in your ears. “Want you to play with yourself too. Can you do that for me?”
The softly spoken request sends a shock wave down your spine, and if you weren’t already so aroused you would be ashamed at how fast your body reacted.
Your brows pull together at the bare contact of your middle finger and clit.
You moan as you rub your clit in small circles, relieved from the motion. The occasional wet sounds reach your ears when you move a little quicker to match his pace.
You’re determined to do so, especially when he keeps voicing his praises. “Good. So good. Can you keep up with me?”
The laptop's fan whirs on your stomach, heat keeping you warm. Your forearm knocks and shakes the laptop. Still, you had the perfect view of him.
Another shaky breath slips past your lips.
His hips lift from the couch, hand paying extra attention to the top half of his shaft. He knows what he likes. What gets him shuddering — what gets him wanting more.
A clear, translucent liquid builds at his slit the more he jerks himself off. Doesn't touch it though — no, not yet. Lets it build until it dribbles down the edge of his length on its own, and he lets out a particularly raspy moan at the sight.
"Fuck." You choke, arm slipping down lower. Your middle finger stops just at your entrance.
Penetration was not your thing, but tonight, you entertain the fantasy of him inside you. Middle finger teasing your entrance, you push and prod, imagining his tip kissing your entrance. Would he beg to enter inside of you, whine and groan the same way he does while playing alone with himself? Smear and mark his precum all over your entrance to claim you as his?
Truthfully, the concept of something entering in you felt better than the actual act. You've tried fingering yourself in the past — hurt and burned like hell. Could never get the position right. And honestly? Who cared knowing the clit was right there?
But the thought of the man on screen pushing his length inside — stuffing you, fucking you, filling you up good … god, you needed to feel something, anything, inside you.
Arousal trailing down your slit and ass, you wedge your arm down even lower. Your finger pushes against your entrance with a little more purpose, the first knuckle slipping in with little resistance.
Eyes shut, you bite the inside of your cheeks. You don't linger inside for long as a result of the stinging sensation.
A sigh of relief tumbles out as your finger goes back to its happy place.
Again, tried and true.
“Wanna cum with you so badly.” He breathes, jaw going slack before he wraps his lips around the digits of his other free hand. You watch with anticipation, teeth biting down your bottom lip at the sight of his wet, glistening fingers tracing around his nipple.
T-shirt tucked underneath your chin, you shudder from the cold air, but copy what the man does. Imagine it’s his lips enclosed over your hardened nipples, the cold metal piercing making contact against your skin. He’d look up at you, smile prettily like he has in the video, and worship your body as he likes.
Fuck.
There’s a certain numbness you feel at the bottom of your stomach signaling your end. You tense, fingers moving faster over your clit.
His once pushed-back wet bangs are now dried and wavy on his forehead. If not for all the sinful acts he’s doing to himself neck down, he’d look like someone you could see hanging out with and talking to — a friend. Let’s be real … how good of a friend can you be to someone you’re about to cum with?
He's not faring any better. His impatient whines grow louder, bleary eyes fighting to stay open as he jerks himself off faster. Everything tells you he’s going to cum: the blush on his chest, the tightness in his balls, the freshly bitten lips.
Oh, you want every bit of it. Want, no, need to see how he finishes and how he loses control of his body in his climax.
But just at the last second, he pulls away. Cock resting flushed and firm against his stomach, he laughs. Breathless, akin to a mock. Your hand comes to a halt as well, clit twitching against your fingers. There's no gratification in cumming if the experience was stolen and watered down.
“Sorry,” he breathes. “Still with me? Didn’t finish yet, right?”
A soft, yet frustrated whine leaves your lips. Technically, you didn't need him — could finish the job yourself. But you wanted this … wanted to end with him.
You wait patiently, body reeling in excitement as he wraps his hand around his length again. Your fingers remain stagnant, afraid one minor movement might lead to an unsatisfied orgasm.
“Want you to finish with me. Please?” His head falls back as he wanks himself again, speed ramping up.
He does this multiple times. Gets himself all worked up. Teases himself—teases his viewer. Gets close. Stops.
Rinse and repeat.
He edges himself near the point of punishment — excels at it like it’s his favorite sport.
And you follow after him every time because it feels good to be led like this. You’re so fucking wet, fingers coated with your slick. You're sure if you move from where you’re laying, there would be a damp spot on your bedsheets, a clear indicator of your arousal.
“You wanna cum with me so badly, huh?” He husks. “Been so good for me, yeah? Would be so nice to cum together, right baby? I’ll give you what you want.”
His words earn another moan from you — and fuck, you don’t think you can last a minute longer. Quickly, your mouse hovers at the time bar again, eyes scanning for any indication of the most played segment.
28:37. The video peaks right there — the finish line.
And you're deserving of every bit of this victory.
He wets his lips with his tongue and smiles. The glint of his lip piercings catches the light and then—
"Oh fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna cum—"
You've been so good, so obedient. To hell with your goal of a timed orgasm to match his … you have to put yourself first. Toes curled, your body loses all control as you finish before him.
It's enough, though. His whines, the stutter of his chest, the speed of his hand. And when his cum paints his abdomen and dribbles over his veiny fist, your hand flattens on your mound, four fingers rubbing vigorously to extend every second of your long-awaited orgasm. Back arching off your headboard, your body withers from the impact: gut-punching, velvety … practically soul-sucking.
You lay there shaking and sensitive from your earth-shattering orgasm for a couple seconds before pulling your hand out of your pants. It's then you realize how numb and achy your arm got from all the exertion. You raise your poor hand to your face, light catching and displaying a clear sheen of the aftermath of your intense orgasm. Before your mind could register what you had done, a breathy laugh cuts through the silence.
“Fuck. That was a good one.”
Whelp, there it is: post-nut clarity.
You’ve never ripped your earphones out and closed a browser faster than you have now. Shame heats up the back of your neck at the realization you had just beat off to a random stranger online. Sure, you’ve done so before in your early twenties, but you’ve grown since then (so you think). There were many alternatives to getting off without watching other people.
You shake your head in embarrassment, forearm coming up to cover your eyes.
Every part of your body feels weightless, tension no longer present in your muscles after finishing the way you did. As tempting as it was to just go to sleep, you know you’ll regret not cleaning up the mess between your legs and fingers in the morning.
Another minute goes by before forcing yourself to look for a new pair of underwear and sleep shorts. The clean up and change in the bathroom is quick only because you can’t bear looking into the mirror.
So afraid you’ll unearth and confront your true feelings of the time spent with the video: You liked it. Specifically, you liked how safe you felt behind the screen with that man.
Sleep comes with little effort tonight … all thanks to a boy with eyes that spoke without words.
a/n: ty to my lovely betas @takeitawaykenny & @lovieku!! yall both saved my life with ur eagle eyes and big brains. this couldn’t have happened without your guys help and input 🥺 tytytytytyyyy
now.. gentle readers, thoughts/predictions? im editing ch1 atm, so any encouragement would be greatly appreciated ♡ i anticipate posting in a couple weeks. toodles!!
synopsis: all you, former figure skating prodigy, want is to confess to your crush. but jeon jungkook, volleyball ace and self-proclaimed killer of joys, keeps getting in your way.
❅ pairing: volleyball captain!kim namjoon x figure skater!reader x volleyball ace!jeon jungkook
❅ genre/warning: college sports au, injury recovery, winter romance kinda, love triangle, e2l sports rivalry, slow burn, heavy angst, themes of mental health struggles, implied ed, emotional repression, soft tension, family issues, unrequited love
❅ dedication note: for those with ambitions, and those with the ambition to find an ambition. for those hurting from wounds that can't be seen, but felt more than the wounds that can be. for those who fell, and are scared of getting up. for those like oc—whose intrepid heart and courage never cease to inspire me. i put a little bit of me in here. hoping one day, maybe, i will find bits of you in me.
❅ total word count: est. 80k~
❅ status: ongoing
* ˚₊⋆❅ playlist ❅ main masterlist ❅
The ice used to be the only place that made sense. You used to cut edges sharp enough to silence a crowd; breathe applause like it was oxygen. Until the jump that nearly ended your career—and your life.
Now, every step on the rink feels borrowed, every spin haunted by the question of whether you belong there at all.
You tell yourself that you can survive on fragments: the smell of cold air, the sting of practice, the promise that maybe one day you won’t flinch when blades leave the ground.
But even fragments can’t hold you together forever.
Then there’s Kim Namjoon. Volleyball captain, campus favourite, untouchable in ways that only make him harder to look away from. His easy kindness, the steadiness in his hands, the dimples that arrive with permission.
To you, he’s the one anchor you might still trust—except he was never yours to begin with.
And in the spaces between, other shadows move. Friends who refuse to let you drift. Rivals who see through your armour. A game you no longer know if you can play.
You think love might be easier than chasing Nationals again. You’re about to learn that neither is simple—not when it snows, and the ice starts demanding answers you aren’t ready to give.
❅･ﾟ: * chapters * :･ﾟ❅
one | machine vs human * ˚₊⋆❅ (eta 06/02)
two | the price of a body * ˚₊⋆❅ (eta 20/02)
three | almost * ˚₊⋆❅ (eta 06/03)
four | strawberry milk * ˚₊⋆❅ (eta 20/03)
five | grab the sky * ˚₊⋆❅ (eta 03/04)
six | become dust * ˚₊⋆❅ (eta 17/04)
seven | fragile truce * ˚₊⋆❅ (eta 01/05)
eight | a door closing * ˚₊⋆❅ (eta 15/05)
nine | threat & mercy * ˚₊⋆❅ (eta 29/05)
ten | when it snows * ˚₊⋆❅ (eta 12/06)
❅⋆·˚༘ *a fallen figure skater. an untouchable captain. a storm of first love.* ˚₊⋆❅
* ˚₊⋆❅ available on wattpad & ao3
review your experience, thoughts, or unhinged feelings here
banner by @matchastwb
a/n: hiii my loves!! so so excited to share my baby, my one and only, wis!! i started this back in 2021 (can you believe it?) and it is complete and available to read on wattpad. this is the tumblr-friendly version, rewritten with love for you guys!! i'll be consistent with the updates as per the above schedule, but if you would like the chapters sooner, spam me! reblogs, comments, asks fuel my fingers!! the first chapter will be up on 06/02 or when we hit 150 notes (if we do, I have no idea how this will perform). anyways my lovelies, see you soon. much love <33
✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x plus-size!female Reader
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Worst thing just happened to you, actually. You accidentally play a sexy audiobook out loud in the office. Thankfully, everyone assumes you just put someone on speaker. But things get complicated when you discover that the voice everyone heard might belong to the aloof IT guy at work… who happens to live a double life as Agust D, your favorite erotica narrator.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: fluff, smut, humor, non-idol, office romance (shocker!)
✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: 18+ MDNI, voice kink, eventual smut...
✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: Just horny thots, Jungkook is JK and Hobi is Jay, second-hand embarrassment
✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 2.3k
✎ ˎˊ˗ Betaread by: @glossdebut and @tea4sykes, my angels <3
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hey umm, so do you read fics at work?? Well, this MC does, but in the form of audiobooks. Welcome to another office!au. You already know I cannawt stay away from my favorite trope to write.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes 2: Sometime ago, Tea and I were talking about how Manny Jacinto was doing voiceovers for Quinn and we got to discussing how a certain someone (cough*Yoongi*cough) had the perfect voice for audio erotica as well. The Quinn-like app in this fic is called Echo. Hope y'all enjoy!
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
You like listening to erotica audio books.
It’s just one of the ways you decompress after a long day—curled up under your duvet, lights off, phone facedown on your chest. The low, gravelly voice of the narrator murmurs in your ear, steady and intimate, like it’s meant only for you. It’s enough to loosen the knot in your shoulders, to quiet your thoughts, to drift you gently toward sleep.
It’s not that you’re addicted. No, nothing like that. Really, it’s just a small indulgence after many a shit day at work.
You’ve listened to The Mafia Claims Your Debt… and Your Body, The Billionaire’s Driver’s Daughter, and, your current conquest, The CEO and the She-EO.
No tea, no shade, the titles are horrible, the premises are outrageous, borderline ridiculous, designed with covers featuring men with windswept hair and gauzy shirts buttoned all the way down and women with tits boosted all the way up to their necks.
So obviously that’s not why you keep pressing play.
It’s because lately, there’s this voice over artist you’ve suddenly developed an interest in. Interest—sure, let’s call it that. Anything he reads seems to hit just right, his voice scratching an itch in your brain you didn’t even realize you had. It’s like those damn ASMR videos, but even better.
His name is Agust D.
And right now, you’re listening to an office romance AU he’s narrating to absolute filth and you fuckin’ love it.
There is just something about his voice that makes you melt into your cushions. That raspy tone that sinks deep in your ear, every syllable slow and sticky, like warm caramel poured with intention, clinging to your skin. You feel it, how each honeyed word is licked off of you, inch by agonizing inch, until you’re breathless…
Hoo boy.
The writing could be better, but he makes even the most absurd lines sound earnest. Intimate. Whoever this Agust D is, he could be reading a company handbook and you’d probably still listen. He’d probably make it sound erotic, too.
These days, when you scroll through Echo, you search his name first; the plot comes second. At this point, when his name is attached to a title, you’re already sold.
Truly, you are not addicted. You have other hobbies, okay? But there are days when you need the extra hit of dopamine that nothing else can provide. Not coffee. Not a pastry. Not a quick pit stop to Sephora for a new lip tint. You need something to take the edge off in the form of lyrical literature whispered in your ear.
Today is one of those days.
You’re at your desk staring at your screen, in which 55 unread messages blink back at you, demanding attention. But your brain refuses to triage a single one of them. Instead, you reach for your earbuds. Muscle memory at this point. You slip them in, open your favorite app, and tap resume.
Last night, you left off a scene wherein the leading man is leaving a voicemail to the MC.
Soon, Agust D’s voice filters through your buds.
“Hi baby. I’m sorry if I haven’t called in a while. I read your text… so you miss me, huh?” A low, dark chuckle follows.
Your thighs press together under your desk. An involuntary reaction. The low rumble of his voice sends a shiver up your spine, the fine hairs at the back of your neck standing on end.
“Well I miss you, too. I could go there right now, take care of you for a bit…"
For a moment, you’re starting to relax, but then your seatmate, Jay shoves you. Hard.
You pause the audio immediately.
He stares you down. Which is nothing new, really. Because when is he not judging you, or anyone for that matter.
You’re just about to ask him what his problem is when he says, “Bro, tell your man not to call during office hours.”
Oh shit.
Your bluetooth is not on.
Your buds are not connected.
Which means…
You played your audiobook on speaker.
Mortification swallows you whole. And you decide, right then and there, that dying instantly would be the kinder option.
Fifteen minutes later, JK corners you in the pantry, where you’ve been hiding. He slides in the chair across you, all bunny teeth and barely contained laughter, reminding you that that was a canon event and you will never recover from it, unfortunately.
“So,” he says, leaning forward. “Didn’t know you and Yoongi were… like that.”
Omg. You really do NOT have time for JK’s bullshit right now. “What are you talking about?”
“Yoongi Min, c’mon,” JK clarifies easily, grinning like he is in on some secret. “He’s usually so quiet, but,” He wiggles his brows. “Apparently very… verbal in private.”
Your stomach drops, a million calculations going through your head.
“You can stop pretending, Y/N. It’s just me,” JK continues, far too pleased with himself, “A while ago when you put him on speaker for all of us to hear. Dude was saying some dirty shit.”
It clicks.
From Jay’s reaction alone, it was obvious—people thought you’d put someone on speakerphone. You’d almost corrected him, almost blurted out that it wasn’t a boyfriend, that it was just an audiobook accidentally playing out loud. But admitting that somehow felt worse. So you didn’t correct him.
Let him, let them, think you’re at least a desirable female getting a booty call from your lover.
This, though, is another layer entirely. Because JK doesn’t just think you put someone on speakerphone. He thinks it was someone who also works here.
Your mouth opens, then closes. You can trust JK right? He’s usually so annoying, but he’s not a gossip. Right? Shit here goes nothing.
“JK, I’m gonna tell you something but you are not allowed to tease me about it.”
He nods eagerly, enamels glistening under the office fluorescent lighting.
“That wasn’t a phone call. That was an audiobook I accidentally played out loud.”
Jungkook squints at you. “An audiobook?”
“Yes. An audiobook.”
He hums, entirely unconvinced. “Sounded like you were talking to him. I know his voice.”
“Yeah, no, it’s just some random voiceover artist.” You frown, studying the perplexed face of your handsome coworker. “JK, you can’t possibly think our IT guy narrates erotica as a side hustle… He’s so stoic.”
JK crosses his arms. “Did I ever tell you I have golden ears? Perfect pitch. Like, I never ever miss voices.”
You sigh, already over this conversation and whatever he's trying to flex. “You’re being very pushy for no good reason.”
“I am being accurate,” he insists, scratching his jaw thoughtfully. “That was him. I’d bet money on it.”
And because JK is competitive to a fault, you just know he will stop at nothing to prove he is right.
Since JK planted the idea in your head, you suddenly can’t listen to your app without seeing frickin’ Yoongi Min’s face. A minor inconvenience.
If you’re gonna be honest, it’s not entirely unappealing. He’s actually kinda hot, but it’s one of those things where you wonder: is he really hot or is he just coworker-hot? Like ‘cause the pool is really shallow and he just seems to float as the best looking one in the bunch.
You’ve never really had any deep interactions. Just the usual software update, inbox upgrade, and the like.
He can’t be Agust D. He just can’t.
You tell yourself this while opening emails you don’t read, replying to messages you barely register. Your brain keeps looping back to JK’s voice, insistent and far too confident.
That was him. I’d bet money on it.
You glance, involuntarily, toward the far end of the floor where IT sometimes parks themselves when they’re assigned upstairs. Yoongi’s desk is empty. He’s rarely here—usually hovering on another floor, or another world entirely.
When he does show up, he keeps his head down, fixes what needs fixing, and disappears with a polite nod and a murmured okay.
Quiet. Just keeps to himself.
Not exactly the man whispering filth into your earbuds.
You shake your head, needing to physically dislodge the thought, when a notification pops up on your screen.
IT Support Ticket Updated
Oh right. Fuck, you’re actually gonna need to talk to Yoongi today.
It's because JK made you let him listen to your audiobook once and for reasons you still don’t understand, you caved. Not even a minute into the narration, Jungkook decided he was right—and immediately committed himself to proving it.
Which is how, in his delusion, he rigged your second monitor to flicker just enough to lure the unsuspecting IT guy to your desk. All so you could hear Yoongi’s voice up-close and confirm that he was, in fact, the voice behind your feral fics.
How is this your life? You just want a low-key stress free existence and now you are spiraling over this nonsense.
You hesitate for half a second longer than necessary, then click into the ticket and type out a reply, professional and neutral and normal.
Ten minutes later, a shadow falls across your desk and you hear a soft, raspy, “Hello.”
You look up.
Yoongi stands there with his tablet tucked under one arm, shoulders slightly hunched like he’s trying to make himself smaller. His hair is neat, falling into his eyes. He doesn’t quite meet your gaze behind black specs. He focuses instead on your monitor, the edge of your desk, anywhere but you.
“Uh,” he says, clearing his throat. “You reported a display issue?”
His voice is low, yes—but restrained. Nothing like the narrator who lives rent-free in your head. See, you think triumphantly. Not him. Fuck you, JK.
You nod, scooting your chair back to give him space. “Yeah. It keeps flickering like it’s possessed.”
A corner of his mouth twitches then goes a puff of breath.
You try not to look guilty that this was all a weird ploy. JK whistles, walking by casually, eyeing you and your guest. Your middle finger presses against your cheek, making JK giggle as he disappears into his own cubicle.
Yoongi, thankfully, does not care. He steps closer to your monitor, fingers moving deftly over your keyboard as he checks the settings. He smells faintly like coffee. And the ocean. A very intoxicating and highly inconvenient scent whilst confined in a closed, cramped cubicle.
Suddenly you are Edward Cullen getting a waft of Bella Swan in that cafeteria scene—you know the one.
Yoongi looks at you, curious, as you hold your breath and give him a tight-lipped smile.
He nods simply, going back to his job. As he reaches behind your monitor to fiddle with the spaghetti-like cords, you notice the curve of his a—
“As it is, it should be fixed,” he says.
Your eyes dart all over the place. Man he must think you are incredibly weird.
“Thanks you,” you reply and you want to immediately bang your head against the wall. “I mean thanks.”
He hums, already stepping back. Bless him for not even making fun of you for that.
Well.
That’s it.
Painful. Because you’re so awkward with semi-hot men, as per usual.
But, silver lining? There isn’t remotely anything that suggests he’s secretly recording outrageously bad romance novels in his spare time. Not his voice. Nothing.
JK is an idiot.
Company-Wide Town Hall – Mandatory Attendance
You groan inwardly. Your boss loves these things. Loves an audience. Loves reminding everyone that this is a family and that families have rules—usually because someone, somewhere, has done something profoundly stupid.
Like maybe put a sexy e-book on speaker for the entire floor to hear. Days have passed and HR has not sent you any memo, so you hope to the heavens you are not spotlighted today.
The conference room fills quickly. You take a seat near the middle, JK plopping down beside you. You grip your iced coffee for dear life.
Steve, your boss, launches into the meeting with the enthusiasm of a disappointed kindergarten teacher.
“Guys…” he sighs, dropping his knees and letting his shoulders sag for emphasis.
A performative male.
“Lately we’ve had some… incidents,” he says pointedly, “Several, actually. So today I have decided that we’ll be revisiting the employee handbook. So everyone is clear.”
Groans and sighs ripple through the room. You slurp your coffee.
Steve scans the room then points to an unsuspecting victim.
“Mr. Min,” your boss calls suddenly, pointing his index. “Let’s start with you. Would you mind reading the section on appropriate workplace conduct?”
Inexplicably, your heart drops straight into your stomach.
Yoongi shrugs. “Sure.”
He stands, and clears his throat, eyes on the screen, where Steve is pointing his laser on a specific passage.
“Mikro Tech employees are reminded that relationships should remain professional at all times,” he reads, voice steady, measured. “Any behavior that may be construed as sexual…”
You stop breathing.
Because that sounded too familiar.
“…such as kissing, touching, or other displays of physical or verbal intimacy, is not permitted during work hours or on company property.”
Your legs clamp together on instinct.
It’s not just the words. It’s the raspiness. It’s the cadence. The way he pauses. The faintest Daegu accent. The way his voice settles lower when he continues. The way each sentence rolls into the next, knowing exactly how long to let the silence sit before filling it again. The littlest, faintest lisp.
Your skin prickles.
JK discreetly turns his head toward you, eyes shining, as he pinches his lower lip to hold off a smug grin.
You don’t look at him. You don’t look at Yoongi either. Your eyes settle on your lap, watching the tears of the coffee run down your clothed thighs.
Because didn’t you say that Agust D could read a company handbook and make it sound sexy?
Well, now you’ve heard it.
And you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to unhear it again.
CHAPTER 2
A/N: AHHHH! I hope you liked the first chapter!! I'd love to hear from you. Please leave me a comment or reblog with your review. It's the best way you can show your support. <3
Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human! xo
you were just renting your usual blockbuster from the stupidly hot guy at the video store, when it turns out you’ve been handed a tape you really shouldn’t be watching. are you an intruder, or did he give it to you on purpose?
⌗ pairings. jeon jungkook x female reader
⌗ word count. 17k
⌗ warnings and tags. pwp, don juankook (lol, jk is a ladiesman), voyeurism, penetrative sex, smitten!oc, kinda smitten!jk, weird love confession, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), oc goes limp with overstimulation lol, jk is kinda all over the places — neither dom or sub, oral pleasure (m!receiving), cum swallowing, cum eating, sloppy aftercare.
notes ! okay this is a bit overdue buttttt at least i finished it, hey! i’m so beyond amazed by my lovely girl ana’s ‘special delivery’, so i’m hoping this won’t disappoint LMAO! anyways, this is crazy. buckle up guys.
banner by @voyter obviouslyyyy
Having a stupid, all-consuming crush is something that defines girlhood. Shoving everything of importance out of your way in order to see, or spend time with set crush is really the only fair option as a young girl.
However, when the crush has lasted for almost a decade, and you still have yet to make any further progress… it borders on obsession. And it’s incredibly embarrassing.
You see, there’s this video store in town, this tiny, kind of grungy shop that contains every single piece of media imaginable. Old and dusty traveling magazines that no one bothers reading, records and CD’s you spend months saving up for… and what is seemingly a collection of every single movie ever made.
And behind the counter of that blockbuster shop, there sits a boy you’ve been pining after since the sixth grade.
Jeon Jungkook. A boy so painfully attractive and charming that he has simply ruined every other man for you, ever. And so incredibly out of reach that you feel like he’s more of a distant dream rather than a real human being.
The first spark of attraction appeared a few weeks after your twelfth birthday. You saw him through your window, which overviews the park. And there he was, the sixteen-year-old Jungkook, lighting up a cigarette near the entrance, watching patiently over the narrow path as a girl with dark hair approached him.
At your ripe age, this was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen. The way his hand snaked underneath her coat when she hugged him. How he seemingly whispered something in her ear, grinning back at her when she retracted.
A few days later, you found out who the girl was. Tina Agnello’s cousin, who was in town for the week. You had overheard Tina talk about it during lunch break, sitting a few tables down from yours, and you almost choked on your yoghurt.
“Isn’t fourteen a bit young for a sixteen-year-old?” you huffed, mostly to yourself. But your friend picked it up, frowning at you.
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.”
It shouldn’t really have surprised you that Jungkook grew up to be the town’s Don Juan.
He became sort of a community ride… a town bike, if you’d like. At first, you maybe thought there was something incredibly wrong with him, like some serious mental problems. Because why else would he be pounding around town?
But at fifteen, when you stumbled into the new video store in town, trying to escape the rain that had started pouring down outside, you unexpectedly fell head first into a real-life interaction with him. And weirdly enough, he seemed perfectly normal. Disgustingly charming, that is, but normal.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Jungkook’s voice wasn’t all that deep, but it was soft, curling low in your stomach.
You stood leaning against the glass door, your wet hair clinging to your temples, droplets falling onto the floor. “What?”
He pointed towards the street behind you, “The rain.”
Maybe it was your brain short-cutting, but you didn’t understand what he meant… like at all. Your brows furrowed, and you repeated your question. “What?”
“It’s this thing I do to spark sales. Trap the costumers inside.”
“You make it rain?”
He chuckled at his own joke, incredibly stupid, but also numbingly cute, “Yeah, I find rain-dances to be very affective.”
It made you kind of mad that this guy had a captivating personality on top of his unfair looks. It would’ve honestly been better if he was just a dumb, stupid idiot, sleeping around town. But he made you laugh… and made you buy unnecessarily amounts of items from his store.
Was he a good salesman? No… not necessarily. But he was so damn flirty that you thought he might marry you if you watched the Star Trek chronicles.
And now, at your grown age of twenty fucking years old, your bookshelf is short of books and filled to the brim with Jungkook’s movie recommendations. It might be embarrassing, but it has become a weekly ritual. Every Saturday, you stop by his shop, return last week’s watch and pick up a new one.
“Now, how was it?” he leans forward, bracing his elbows on the counter. His eyes smize at you, trying to read the expression on your face.
You almost can’t answer because of how close he is. Even though you’ve known each other for five years, he still has this weird hold on you, and you have to clear your throat before you speak. “I liked that the bad guy’s name was Lord Humungus.”
He presses his lips together, his lip ring getting caught in the motion, and his eyebrows rise high on his forehead. “Yeah?” he nods, teasingly, and you want to go home and puke and cry. “That’s all… or…?”
The chuckle he lets out brushes against your face… yeah, he’s that close, and your brain short-circuits. Your eyes dart down to your hands, where the VHS tape dangles from your fingers, and you slide it across the counter. “It was better than the first one.”
“I told you it worked as a stand-alone, you didn’t have to bore yourself with the first,” he smirks, the smile tugging on only one side of his lips, bearing just a bit of his bunny-teeth.
You shrug, “I like to make up my own opinions, thanks.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
It might be a bizarre way to describe it, but his voice is laced with sex. Constantly. Like there’s always some hidden innuendo behind his words. And with the way he’s leaning forward, his biceps straining through the fabric of his navy uniform-tee, your mind runs laps, completely fogging and erasing every word you try uttering. So you just roll your eyes, trying to act casual.
“Sorry if I don’t love macho-car-movies,” you scoff, letting your hands slip away from the counter only to tremble nervously at your sides. It’s like your whole body is vibrating just by being near him, and this isn’t anything new. It’s always been like that. He’s just that charming.
Jungkook hums, nodding slowly before narrowing his eyes, a wondering look appearing on his face. Just to not seem like a lost sheep, you copy his facial expression and glower right back at him.
“Mhm,” he bites down on the inside of his cheek, his eyes skimming over your face before traveling lower. You have to compose yourself, shifting a bit in your stance, trying not to burst into flames. Jungkook takes his time before he speaks, finally locking with your eyes again. “You’d watch anything I tell you to, right?”
Holy mother of god. Of course you nod. Because you’re an idiot, and you’re certain your voice is going to crack halfway through your answer. And when Jungkook smirks at your obvious flustered state of being, your pulse spikes. His tongue flicks over the metal in his mouth, inherently seductive, even if it isn’t intended to be, and you think you might have to go cry in the backroom.
Then, without a word, he backs off from the counter and turns to the shelf behind him. He skims over the many cassettes in front of him, searching for something without speaking. You swallow behind him, finally freed from his captivating gaze, forced to stare at the way his back muscles move in waves underneath his tee while he stretches tall before the shelf.
His tattooed arm reaches out for a tape high above him, but it hesitates before it once again falls back to his side, “It’s here somewhere…”
You try waiting patiently for him to find whatever movie he’s looking for, but you can’t help yourself. Your gaze drifts, drops actually, and lands on his butt… unfortunately. It’s tightly hidden underneath his dark-washed jeans, accompanied by a pair of strong thighs. Such a nice and perky butt. Your head tilts a bit, taking in the view, if you’d like, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.
It’s a shame that this is the exact moment Jungkook gives up on his search and turns abruptly. Your eyes widen, and you flinch, hoping he didn’t just see the way you were drooling over the chiseled shape of his ass.
But instead of commenting on your awkwardness, he drops to the ground, crouching down on the floor to inspect the hallow counter which contains several more blockbusters.
He grunts and groans while his fingers flick through the options, never landing on his target.
“Digging for gold?” you tease, boldly leaning over the counter to look at him. He doesn’t even meet your gaze, he just keeps searching, his eyebrows curled together in a knot on his forehead.
“Give me a second.”
You hear him pulling out a large cardboard box, watching over as his muscles tense as he drags it forward. And with a grunt, he lifts it, getting up on his feet and dropping it onto the counter. As you peek over the edge of it, you see it’s filled to the brim with identical black CD-covers, just with different scribblings on the side.
Jungkook’s slender fingers brush over the covers, flipping through the countless pieces until he finally grabs ahold of one. The one with the title Memento poorly written in white marker on the edge.
“Ah, there you are.” He pulls out the piece from the pool of covers while letting out a sigh of relief. “Thought I’d lost her.”
You lift your chin, looking over at Jungkook who is seemingly lost in his own little world that only contains him and this very neutral tape. “Memento?”
“It’s fucking great.” His eyes dart up, meeting yours, and you almost chuckle at the way they light up. It’s such a cute thing for a guy to have a hobby, to be in love with something. That is of course if you look past the excruciating mansplaining that follows. “A man with short term memory loss—so the entire movie is shot backwards. From end to beginning. You learn the plot with him, it’s insane. He uses these post-it notes to keep track of time, place and faces. Revolutionary, I’ve neve—”
“Shush,” you rip the cover from his hands, cutting off his monologue. You know just how long he can go on if he’d like. There have been times where you’d wondered if he might be on the spectrum, given the fact that he’s constantly restless, and a complete nerd when he wants to, but you don’t like to dwell on that. It’s cute, and it obviously works for him, so you let him act a bit strange. “Let me find out for myself.”
“Mhm, brat.”
You nearly gush at the new nickname, your nostrils flaring as you breathe in deeply. Your hands fall to your sides, and you unconsciously sway a bit in your stance, not really sure if you want to end the interaction here, or if you want to stay, maybe fling yourself over the counter, straddle this man like a horse. The ladder might not be the best idea, so you start searching for coins that are buried deep in the tiny back pocket of your jeans, eager to get the hell out of this place.
“4.99?” you ask, as if you don’t already know the price. You’re here every week, so it really is etched in your memory. But so is everything he tells you.
Jungkook smirks, his gum-drop eyes narrowing, “On the house. Since Mad Max wasn’t really your thing.”
“Don’t be stupid, I’ll pay.”
“Keep your money, peach, I don’t want it.”
Ugh, you hate when he calls you that. Peach. It sounds like some awful pet name that your dad would call you. So you’d really like for him to stop, but the one time you asked him to, it seemingly just fueled him. So you pray that one day he might see you as someone other than this little girl who buys stuff from him without second guessing his opinion. Maybe he’ll one day see you as a woman. Yesss that would be good. And you already know what it is he loves to do with women. Half the moms in town has slept with him.
Jesus your mind is wandering. You scrunch your nose, trying to act affronted by his arrogance, when really your mind is running through every woman in town who has gotten the taste of him. The jealousy blooming inside you is like a kid’s rage when they’re not allowed candy on a weekday. Why can’t you also have nice things?
“Fine, but I’ll repay you if I love it.”
“Deal,” he nods, his large hand reaching out before him, gesturing for you to shake it, “And don’t worry, peach. You’ll love it.”
Your entire apartment smells of butter and salt as you wait for the microwave’s timer to drop. There’s not a lot you know about this movie, but popcorn is always a good idea, so you’re hoping it won’t be too disturbing, ruining your appetite.
The CD is waiting for you inside the player, all you need to do is pad over your floor, sink down into the couch cushions and press play on your remote.
You’ve already brushed off all other plans for the night, your friends scolding you for throwing your life away only to watch some mediocre movie to please Jungkook. “You’re a source of income, you buy everything from him.”
Hah, bet they’ll be sorry when they hear you actually got this one for free. Mhm. Or maybe not. It’s been five years… it’s the least he could do.
The timer dings. Yey, showtime. You open the microwave door, the warm and salty smell travels through the air and settles deep within you. You grab the paper bag, tearing it open with a quick tug. Now you’re ready.
The cushions give in the moment your body meets the couch, and you immediately melt with them, sinking further and further down. You grab onto the soft, pink blanket that’s thrown carelessly over the armrest, and pull it over your body, letting yourself get incredibly comfortable. Although this ritual, watching a movie every Saturday, cozying up in your living room, is supposedly ‘me time’… you know deep inside you do this for him. Your friends are right, you do want his approval. So you’re hoping you’ll like this. Let’s watch, shall we?
You stretch your arm out, reaching for the remote control, and you press play.
The screen stays black for a moment. No music, no production mark. Weird. You wait for a moment, resting your head back on the soft cushion behind you. Still nothing plays. Mhm, maybe he gave you an empty disk? Or maybe your TV is broken?
You’re about to press play again, wondering if you maybe hit a wrong button the first time… when your whole body freezes.
The tape starts rolling, but it’s not Memento. Or, it possibly can’t be. That would be too bizarre. Because what plays on the screen is an amateur video… of Jungkook. Seemingly at home, staring straight into the camera, so close that his face blocks all surroundings. All you see is the concentration on his face as he fumbles with the record button, his eyes wide and searching.
You chuckle. Cute, he misplaced the CD. But what’s not so cute is when Jungkook moves out of frame.
Ho-ly-shit.
Your jaw actually drops, your mouth hanging wide open as you take in what’s playing on the television before you. Jesus fucking christ. When Jungkook is out of sight, you realize the camera is placed in his bedroom, and the sight has you gasping for air, your hand flying to cover your mouth. Because on his bed, there lies a girl… in only her underwear.
“Am I in the frame?” she asks gently, looking up at Jungkook who is still out of sight, her eyes doe-like and glistening. Pure seduction.
“Mhm,” Jungkook hums, and finally he moves forward, ushering for her to move further down the bed to make room for him by her side. And you think you might actually cry when he’s back on camera.
Walking into frame, the sight of him has your eyes widening, the hand covering your mouth slowly dragging down your chin. Leaving you gaping.
Jungkook is completely naked. Butt-ass-naked. On camera. And fully erect, that is. He walks over to the bed, eyes locked with the girls’, his large hands hanging by his side.
It’s not a modest sight. He looks absolutely insane. His shoulders broad, arms straining with veins and muscle, while his torso is rather lean, a small waist accompanied by a set of washboard abs. But that’s not really what steals your breath away. Because as he’s completely naked, your eyes immediately go to his abdomen. His hips are beautifully defined, his thighs chiseled and muscular, and his cock. Well, that’s just unfair.
He’s huge when erect, thick and heavy, the tip of him a beautiful, deep red, and as he moves closer, you see the leaking precum that drips from him, running down his veiny shaft.
You immediately pause the video, too stunned to do anything else, but that doesn’t really help as the still-frame of Jungkook’s heavy cock and deep, lust filled eyes continues to show on screen. So you turn the whole television off instead.
The screen flatlines, and you’re left frozen on the couch.
What on gods green earth did you just watch. And why the fuck did Jungkook give this to you. It has to be a mistake. He couldn’t possibly know he gave you this? It’s just a horrible fail, he misplaced the CD. Put it in the wrong cover. What the hell, you don’t even know how to make this sound reasonable.
Your eyebrows have almost reached your hairline, and your mouth still hangs wide open. The popcorn by your side remains untouched. Because you just simply can’t bring yourself to indulge in a snack right now, as you think you might vomit. Not because you’re disgusted… it’s the other way around actually. What you just saw has you feeling dizzy, a low, curling sensation building low in your stomach… and that’s what you find disturbing.
He probably never intended for anyone to ever see this, and here you are, on a Saturday, all snuggled up on your couch, watching his homemade porno.
You can’t be doing this. Let’s stop here. Here, but no further. You inhale deeply, straightening your posture as your torso lifts slowly from the couch, resting your elbows on your knees. The curling pleasure in your stomach has turned into a deep and horrific realization that this is such an invasion of privacy that you should probably be locked up for good. Even though you never intended to watch this, you still did, and you feel evil.
The black screen stares back at you. Your pulse thunders in your eardrums, you can practically hear your heart leaping out of your chest. As you reach for the remote, optioning to press ‘retract disk’, you stop. Something inside you stills. An evil thought forms.
This is like the marshmallow test. A kid with an unlimited access to a big bowl of marshmallows, which is in your case a recording of Jungkook finding his own release. Okay. Dilemma. Do you stop here, tell him about the mistake, return the tape immediately. You should. You definitely should.
Or do you continue? He won’t know just how much of it you saw…
You’ll obviously return it. Apologize. You check the small watch standing on the coffee table. It reads 7:32. The shop closes at eight. Okay. You have plenty of time. You just need to see what you’re dealing with here. Right?
You’re evil. But it’s impossible, it’s like having a gold mine before you, no one to stop you, not a single person in sight telling you for the love of god, woman, get a grip.
Your fingers curl around the remote… before you ultimately press ON — play — fast forward.
The screen turns back on, the recording forwards in quick frames, and you shut one eye as if that blocks out your shame and guilt. You land on a still that seems inviting. The girl, on all fours, Jungkook propped up behind her.
His hand comes up to his mouth. He sucks in his cheeks before spitting out a glob of saliva, moving his glistening fingers to the girl’s heat, which is perched in the air before him. Jungkook looks down at the view, gliding his fingers through her folds, immediately having her cry out with pleasure.
“Sshhh, baby, not yet. Want you crying on my dick.”
You shudder at the sound of his voice through the crispy speaker, his tone teasing with a hint of frustration. Your lips press together as you watch him line himself up, the girl’s face crinkling before it falls forward, burying her head in the pillow.
He thrust inside her with a grunt, his mouth falling open with a strained moan as he’s balls deep inside her. She whines a muted scream into the pillow, her fists clenching around the sheets. He’s probably too big for her.
Jungkook chuckles at her pleasure-filled misery, starting out with deep and slow grinds before pounding into her. The sounds are wile, having you turn down the volume with embarrassment, afraid your neighbors might tune in. Your jaw is practically on the floor as you watch Jungkook’s facial expressions. He’s smiling. His eyebrows curl together on his forehead as he plunges forward, retreating shallowly just to snap his hips against her ass once again.
Jesus. You press your legs together, trying to fight the obvious burn in your abdomen. Suddenly, your breath catches.
Jungkook looks up from the view of his cock driving into the girl’s heat… and his eyes lock with yours. Well, not yours, but he stares back at the camera, his nostrils flaring as he breathes in and out.
This just got increasingly more embarrassing. You’re indulging in something that feels very illegal here, so can he please look away? As if he’s watching you through the screen, your throat tightens. You can’t bring yourself to look away, it’s like a car crash. You can’t not stare at it. Your eyes flick from his face, to the way the muscles of his torso tighten with every snap of his hips. His palms run over the curve of her ass before it comes down to smack hard, causing her to tip her head back with a yelp. She’s so lost in pleasure that she can’t even talk.
But he does… and your brain-activity cuts short.
“Feel dirty?”
Huh? You still at his words.
He speaks again, grunts actually, “Filthy girl, wishing this was you.”
Oh my god. He’s talking to the viewer. He’s looking directly at the camera and speaking to you. Or whoever’s watching this. This was intended to be seen. Oh my god. Insert viewer porn.
You’re very certain this wasn’t for you to see, but someone was in mind when making this. Jungkook’s fingers curl around her hips as he drives harder and harder and harder into her cunt, the sound of skin on skin almost blocking out his next words.
“Wish it was my dick instead of your tiny, little fingers?” he growls, wincing as the girl wrapped around him clenches, milking him as he pounds into her. His words are stolen from him for just a second, before he bites down on his lips, continuing. “Still want you to cum for me, baby, want you to cum all over yourself.”
Help, you’ve probably fast-forwarded a bit too far into the tape, you didn’t know you were supposed to be touching yourself. Yeah, you won’t be doing that. It would just feel all too wrong.
You shift a bit in your seat, breath hitching as you feel how sensitive you’ve grown to any form of friction that brushes against your body. Jesus, you should turn this off, it has gotten really strange. Jungkook keeps looking directly at the camera, and although his eyes show nothing but need and desire, you kind of feel as though you’re being judged.
His moves turn frantic, and you realize the girl bent before him climaxes, screaming out, calling out his name in a row of desperate whines. This just fuels him to keep going, now forgetting all about the camera, his eyes darting down to her ass while his cock disappears inside her again and again and again.
He’s about to come. Your eyes widen as you see his face turn flushed, the sounds he releases being nothing short of grunted whimpers, desperate to find his own release. It’s fucking overwhelming, watching as the girl goes limp before him, listening to the sinful yet beautiful noises he’s producing.
Again you repeat here, but no further.
The remote has been resting in your soft grip ever since you turned the TV back on, and with a subtle press of your thumb — the screen goes black.
Okay. What you just saw might’ve just ruined your relationship on every level. You just electrocuted your tiny and insignificant bond, hoping it might spark something inside you. It did… but that only makes everything worse. And, sorry, are we just brushing over the fact that he’s making porn on his free time?
You’re quite overwhelmed, every forming thought being overpowered by another, more horrific one. But what you wish the strongest, is for this to just be a mistake. For you to be the idiot in this situation, sitting through about ten minutes of Jungkook’s sextape. Not for him to gift you this… knowing what’s on the disk, knowing you’re going home to watch him get his dick wet. That’s a whole other layer to this very weird scene that you don’t really want to take into consideration right now.
All you know is that his shop closes in about twenty minutes, and you can’t let this tape marinade in your video player. You’re going to have to return it, and that is tonight.
You feel like you’re about to melt with the snow that creaks underneath your boots. The CD-cover is buried in the pocket of your coat, burning its way into the fabric like some constant reminder of what an awful human being you are.
You’ve already thought over the conversation. You are to tell him about the mix-up, apologize, and sadly never show your face again. The two of you have had a good run, but it’s over now. There’s no way in hell you’ll be able to ‘casually’ rent a dvd from him every week when all you can picture is his face when he’s about to… jesus, let’s not even go there.
Why did you do it — why, why, why, you stupid meatball of a woman. Why did you have to let your curiosity get the best of you?
You can see him through the windows of the store as you cross the street. He’s alone (thank god), so it’ll be less humiliating for you to admit the horrible mishap. Your breath leaves in a fog as you exhale, your mouth shaping itself in an ‘o’ as you reach the glass door. You inspect Jungkook, who stands behind the counter with a pen perched between his fingertips as he notes down whatever on a piece of paper.
Let’s do this. It won’t be that awful. You’re a grown woman, you can own up to your mistakes.
“I’m sorry!”
Jesus. The apology sort of just tumbles out of you as you push the door open, mingling with the overhead bell that notifies your arrival. You’re not sure if yelling out that you’re sorry is the best way to start this conversation, but it’s too late to take it back now. Even though you want nothing more than to grab the exclaim by its neck and shove it back down your throat.
Jungkook’s gaze lifts along with his eyebrows, staring over at you as you stand covered in snow at his doorstep. It hits you that this is sort of similar to your first official meet, you drenched in bad weather at the door, Jungkook unbothered and dry behind the cashier. Oh how you miss those times, when you were just a girl with a stupid crush, blissfully unaware. Nostalgia will be the death of you.
As you haven’t really gotten to the next part of your apology, Jungkook clears his throat, his eyebrows forming in a confused knot high on his forehead, “You’re sorry?”
“I’m sorry!” you repeat, fully entering his shop, hurrying over to Jungkook while leaving sad and wet little footprints behind you. It seems to amuse him that you’re completely out of breath and quite frankly horrified, as he tongues his cheek watching the way you rush over to him. You tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ears, ignoring the way your cheeks flush when fully exposed — even though it’s probably due to your mortification, you can brush it off as you going red by the cold.
You stop a few steps before the counter, chest heaving underneath your coat, and now that you’re here… you’ve forgotten your prepared monologue. What the hell, you know the basics of it. Let’s just give it a try.
“Euh—uh…” you stutter, now realizing you have no idea how to actually tell him this while looking him dead in the eyes. Hello, Jungkook, yes, it is true — I did in fact watch you pound away at some girl I don’t know. Yes, I could have turned it off, yes I realize that now. No, I don’t have any manners.
Jungkook frowns before you. Maybe he’s wondering if you slipped on ice on your way over, if you maybe cracked your skull open and that small bits and pieces of your consciousness is slowly seeping out of you. He crosses his arms loosely and leans over the counter, resting on his forearms. “Ah, I see,” he teases, grinning at the way your mouth hangs open.
This is getting more embarrassing by the minute. You try snapping out of it, putting one hand out in front of you, a flat palm. Okay here it goes.
“You gave me the wrong tape.”
Your shoulders slump the moment the words leave you, finally ridding you of the heavy burden. All you hope is that he might not ask about the tape, that he’ll take it back, maybe watch over it in private, realize his mistake and then not wonder why you’re not returning to his shop.
Because you quite frankly can’t ever set foot in here after what you just watched, not when all you can picture is the way his eyebrows crease when the girl wrapped around him pulsates, spasms, sucking him dry. Fuck, it was beautiful, but oh so inappropriate. So wildly inappropriate. You can’t ever see him the same way. Not that he was some virgin Mary before this, you’ve always known what kind of guy he was. But knowing he makes his own pornos just makes it absolutely impossible for you to keep your cool around him.
Jungkook bites down on his bottom lip, letting your words sink in. The piercing catches between his teeth, making a small clicking sound that cuts right through the unbearable silence that fills his shop. Pursing his lips, examining you, he prepares to speak. “Mhm, did I?”
“Yeah,” you say, taking another step forward. You fish out the CD-cover buried in your pocket, handing it to Jungkook once you’re close enough to reach him. He doesn’t grab for it, so instead you place it down on the counter, trying not to look at it. It’s just this little black, plastic item — something that has managed to ruin your life (or so it seems like). “I just—I’m sorry. I wanted to return it as fast as I could.”
He stares at you for a moment before reaching for the tape, fingers curling around the plastic then picking it up. You’re kind of weirded out by this. He doesn’t ask any questions, nor does the contains of the tape you watched seem to matter to him. Instead, his eyes skim over the cover’s back for a second, before he puts it down again and shoves it out of sight.
“That’s too bad, huh?” His eyes meet yours again, and you almost faint. There’s this sparkle in them, a flash of glisten that disappears the moment he blinks. His eyebrows raise just a tad on his forehead, giving him just a teeny tiny pleading look. Alright, this has to be intentional — he knows what effect he has on women.
You can’t deal with him anymore. It was fine before, when it was just a stupid crush. But it’s slowly turning into something else, something shameful. You want him so bad that you could cry, because there is no way in hell he would ever lay a hand on a girl like you. And now you’ve seen all of him — every admirable inch of him. There’s no way you can keep him in your life without going insane.
Your lips curl into a thin line, and just as you’re about to speak, Jungkook cuts you off.
“Is there anything I could do for you?”
Quite frankly, no. You just need to be left alone, honestly. Curl up underneath your covers and die of embarrassment and lust. So you shake your head, trying to get out of this shop as quickly as possible. You don’t want the actual movie you rented, you just wanted to return the faulted one and flee the crime scene.
“No-no,” you say, waving a hand in front of you. “There really isn’t. Again, I’m sorry.”
You haven’t told him what the CD contains, but he’ll find out eventually. And there is absolutely no way that you’ll be here when that time comes. You have to get out of here. This didn’t really go as planned, you apparently don’t have enough courage to own up to your mistake. But you’ve returned the tape nonetheless, so your mission is complete.
You give Jungkook an almost believable smile, and prepare to walk off. Your feet are about to send you off, and you turn away from Jungkook, setting out on your journey to the door — when you feel a tug on your coat.
Jungkook has wrapped his fingers in the soft fabric, tugging on your back, keeping you from leaving. Reaching for you over the counter.
Neither of you speak for a moment, you just still the moment you feel resistance. Your chest heaves, you have no idea what’s going on, why he’s holding you back. It’s almost like all the air in your lungs in ripped from you, and when you hear his voice, your knees almost buckle.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want me to do?”
You can’t see his face, but his voice is enough to send you over the edge. It’s a low purr, but you also detect some worry. He can’t possibly be that sorry for lending you the wrong tape. It would at least make him great with costumers, but it can’t just be that. Oh god. He can’t possibly know… can he?
“W-what?” you ask, still not turning to face him. You just stare straight ahead at the snow that falls outside the window, the glass door. And Jungkook’s hand stays knotted in your coat, making it impossible for you to move.
“Come on…” he rasps, tugging you closer. Your feet stumble backwards, but you still don’t turn, honestly just because you don’t dare to. Looking him in his beautiful eyes right now might make you jump over that counter and fling your arms over his shoulders. So you stand still, your lower back meeting the edge of the counter. And after a while, after you’ve gotten used to the way Jungkook’s breath keeps brushing against the back of your head, he speaks again. “I know you like me.”
Mary mother of christ. There it is. He knows. Of course he knows — how could you be so stupid? You’ve been pining after him for almost a decade. How could he not know?
Goosebumps bloom on the back of your neck and your breathing turns shallow. This can really only mean one thing.
He didn’t give you the wrong tape.
You slip from his hand, turning abruptly, looking at him with wide and frightened eyes. For some reason, you can’t control your breathing. Your chest moves in heaves, and every sentence you try forming in your head dies on its way out. His nostrils flare before you, and as if you’re not having a hard enough time breathing, Jungkook’s eyes roam over your body, taking in your state of shock.
“Wha—what?” you repeat, still not sure any of this is real. Because how can it be. It’s straight out of a very weird and long porno. Fitting, given the tape he’s gifted you.
“Look—I’m sorry about the video,” he starts, running stressed fingers through his hair. You’ve never seen him like this, it’s out of character for him to not be teasing or mocking you. But he’s allowed to be nervous, as he has just confirmed to renting you a porno of himself. That has to be some sort of felony. When he’s done messing up his hair, he places his hands flat on the counter, chuckling at his own words. “I just—I don’t know. Thought you needed a push.”
“Needed a push?” You stick your neck out, baffled and not really sure if you just heard right. Was this an attempt to seduce you? In what messed up world would that work? “I’m sure you could’ve thought of some other way to wring the truth out of me.”
Jungkook shrugs, keeping his eyed glued to yours. “Sure. But I wanted you to see what I could do to you.”
Your pulse drops, and it almost feels as if someone has spilled a bucket of ice water down your neck. Oh my god, this has to be some kind of joke. Maybe he’s recording this too, and that he might just be a very messed up guy. Because never in your twenty years of living would you have thought that Jeon Jungkook could ever come onto you. Especially not like this.
For some reason, you can’t speak. But your face gets embarrassingly warm, your cheeks heating up and doing absolutely nothing to hide just how flustered you are. You try cooling it off, letting your knuckles meet the warm skin, not even caring how stupid it looks.
“Also,” Jungkook tilts his head, smiling at you. You immediately avoid his eyes, looking down at his hands instead, the thick, silver ring that’s wrapped around his left thumb. He notices, bending a bit down trying to search for your eyes. “It’s fun making you blush like this.”
“You’re—” you start, blushing even more when he points it out. Trying to recover some kind of bravery, you jerk your neck, flaring your nostrils. “This is insane behavior.”
“Romeo killed himself for Juliet—I would argue I’m not insane enough.”
You instantly frown, very taken aback by this absurd analogy. “Are you seriously comparing you giving me porn—your own porn—to Romeo and Juliet?”
“Yeah,” he says dead serious while straightening his posture. His eyes sparkle in your direction, and you gulp as you keep getting lost in them. He has apparently lost his damn mind… but it seems it might be because of you. That can’t be right.
“I'm sorry—but are we just brushing over the fact that you make your own porn?” Your eyebrows crease so bad it's actually hurting, but you can't for the life of you understand what on earth is going on.
Jungkook scratches the back of his head. “It was—it's something I do for fun—sometimes!” he tries explaining, tumbling over his own words. “I'd never do that to you—I just thought giving you the tape might open your eyes. Show you what I bring to the table.”
What a crazy mindset. Also, you already know what he brings to the table — every girl in town knows. He could’ve just told you ‘hey, I like you’ and it probably wouldn’t have been as strange.
As you part your lips, preparing to speak, your words are ripped from you. Because the moment your words are about to leave you, Jungkook decides to move. He takes a step back from the counter, eyes never leaving you, and starts making his way around, fingertips tracing the flat surface. The veins on his forearm strain against his skin as he moves, as his arm stretches, follows where he goes. And in a matter of no time, he manages to snake around the counter and take his first steps towards you.
There’s nothing else for you to do but tumble backwards, not knowing if its all because you’re trying to keep your distance from him or if it’s your brain subconsciously keeping you from making a stupid decision — keeping you from flinging yourself over Jungkook’s neck.
“I swear I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he stresses, slowly walking towards you. “And I know it was a crazy gesture—but the thing is… I kinda am crazy about you.”
You stop in your tracks, letting him close up on you. Your throat clogs as you hear his confession, a row of words you’ve only encountered in your dreams. Maybe you’re dumb and naive, but you’ve been so insatiably in love with him for these past years that the thought of him maybe feeling the same way has your vision blurring.
What snaps you back to reality is the tape, the way he spoke. How he carries himself, the fact that every girl in town has gotten a taste of him. He must be calculated. This isn’t a love confession — this is a damn ploy.
“That’s not funny,” you say, nostrils flaring.
He’s close enough to touch you now, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stops before you, eyes skimming over your flushed face, moving from one eye to the other before settling on your lips for way too long. He takes a deep breath, one that has his shoulders lifting with the large intake. “I’m not trying to be funny, peach.”
That fucking nickname. Just this once, you wish he might’ve been able to drop it… just this once.
His fingers twitch with restraint at his sides, and his tongue brushes past his lips as his eyes are still fixed on your mouth. “If you think I’m just saying all this to win you over—do you really think I’d wait this long?”
“Uh, n-no,” you stutter, and your voice comes out more strained than you hoped, almost like every word you’re trying to say hurts in your throat.
One second passes, and without noticing at first, you see Jungkook’s hand lift. His palm comes to cup your cheek, his ring-covered thumb brushing against your warm skin. Your breathing comes out ragged, and your eyes flick over his face like a deer-caught-in-headlights. Trying to ease you, Jungkook brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, caressing your skin along the way.
“That tape was just a snivel of what I’d do to you if you let me.”
Oh god, maybe you’re in over your head here. You know you want this, that you want nothing less, but as you’ve established — Jungkook is crazy. And this might just be Jungkook’s brilliant way with words, but every single nerve in your body is tuned to him, and you find yourself glued to the floor, unable and not wanting to move.
Just dive in without thinking. Allow yourself this indulgence. You never do anything fun, you never take any fucking risks. So just take the leap.
You tip your chin up, better meeting his eyes, taking in a deep breath. “Then what’s stopping you?”
A small, devilish smile tugs on Jungkook’s lips, before they surge forward, colliding with yours without giving you a second to breathe. The metal in his mouth brushes against your bottom lip, the strength of his kiss urging for you to open your mouth for him, bare him your tongue.
You do so without thinking, inviting him in, letting the wet muscle of his tongue roll against yours in an addictive dance, while his hand shoves your face harder against his. You’re on your tippy-toes now, stretching as far as possible to reach his mouth. He chuckles against your kiss, but not for long, not when he hears how your breathing has slowed and a small moan escapes you. Because it unfurls something in him, and soon enough his free hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer to him.
He groans at the feel of your thick coat against his chest, probably eager to rip it the fuck off, but trying to keep his cool nonetheless. It doesn’t work all that well. “Is it that cold out?”
His words aren’t teasing this time, he actually seems more furious. So you immediately find it funny, smiling still when he keeps kissing your stretched lips. “What, you don’t like my coat?”
“Hate it, actually,” he purrs, nudging your face away with his forehead just so he can latch onto your neck. You shiver the moment his lips meet your jugular, the wetness of them sending sparks all the way to your fingertips. He licks and sucks as if to mark you, while the hand on your waist takes on a new road, coming to fiddle with the top button of your coat.
You giggle as the button resists, catching in the soft fabric, refusing to give in. As Jungkook hears this, he retracts from your neck, straightening his posture to look at you with narrow eyes.
“Oh, we’re laughing, are we?” He tilts his head, giving you just a teeny tiny smile that’s almost unnoticeable. His lips have gone slightly red, a bit swollen, giving him a disheveled look that’s enough for you to lose your damn mind. You pout, looking up at him with wide and unknowing eyes, trying to lure his lips back to yours, but instead you feel his hand move from your button. “Laugh, again—I dare you.”
In one easy motion both his hands grab ahold of the back of your thighs underneath the long coat, and without struggle he manages to lift you, wrapping you around his waist. Your breath hitches, the fabric of your coat rides up, and you instinctively fold your knees around his torso, steading yourself. And as the small breath of air leaves you, Jungkook swallows it with another kiss.
It's like you’re nothing in his arms with the way he so easily handles you. He manages to turn, walk further into the store, still lavishing you in openmouthed and wet kisses. Your arms have wrapped around his neck, and soon enough your fingers are tangled in his silky hair, brushing through the strands that form the rough mullet. Until you remember something crucial.
“W-waitwaitwait—” you hiss against his lips, retracting to look him in the eyes. They haven’t gone heavy lidded like you’re used to when lathering boys in kisses, Jungkook’s eyes have actually doubled in size, it seems. He stares back at you with two black, glistening voids, wondering why you’re cutting his pleasure short. You raise your eyebrows, because the door remains unlocked. And you’re not so sure if you’re all that keen on going at it with Jungkook while someone could just simply walk in without restraint. “The door?”
Jungkook chuckles as he keeps moving both your bodies across the room, walking past shelves, different sections, until he stops for a second. “There’s another door here, peach.”
And just like that, almost like it magically appeared with his words, he pushes open a door — already slightly ajar — with the tip of his boot, a door which seems to lead to the backroom. It’s filled with boxes, shelves. It’s just a mess, honestly. And without any further words, Jungkook turns the lock and walks to one of the shorter CD-shelves, propping you up on it.
Your feet barely dangle above the floor, and you immediately miss the feel of his lips once he leaves you. Needy as you are, you reach for his shirt, trying to pull him back, but he stops you right away.
“I’m gonna need that coat on the floor before anything else.”
Fuck.
You were honestly hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Maybe that he would let you sleep with him fully dressed.
It’s not because you’re self-conscious in any way, you’re actually quite proud of your figure. No, this is way worse. Because underneath your coat lies a dark secret: Your horrible sense of style when it comes to lounging around at home.
To be honest, you thought you’d spend the night all alone. Well, it’s movie night, so you usually do spend it alone, on your couch, with soda stains on your chest. But you set out on a quest tonight — honestly just to return the tape and never see Jungkook again. You didn’t think he’d be undressing you by the end of the meet, so you didn’t bother to change your clothes… which now you realize was a grand mistake.
You look up at Jungkook with wide and pleading eyes, “May the coat stay on?”
He just frowns in response before taking matters into own hands, lunging forward and shutting you up with a kiss so harsh your lips might bruise. Jungkook sucks down on your bottom lip, causing you to let out a soft moan in his mouth as he distracts you from the way he’s roughly tearing open your coat, not caring if the buttons rip at the seams. Suddenly, the coat hangs open, and with a begrudging lift of your hips, you let him slip it off your frame.
Your hands come up to cup his neck, the hair that grows long there, forcing him to not look down. But he does anyways… and stops completely.
His hands rest by your waist, and his eyes roam over your body, eyebrows creasing with something that might read as disgust, or maybe just utter confusion.
“What the hell are you wearing?” he scoffs, skimming over your outfit. Rightfully so, because what the hell are you wearing?
It’s embarrassing, but it’s comfortable. And you don’t care if you stain it. You tread it over your body the minute you get home, you always make sure to wash it before going to bed just so you’ll be able to wear it again the day after. We are of course speaking of your Snoopy-suit.
Weird name, yes, but there’s no other way to describe it. Because it is a Snoopy-suit. A white sweater with tiny nightgown-Snoopy-figurines all over, everywhere, no inch left uncovered — with a pair of matching sweatpants. The text on your chest reads ‘Sleepy Snoops’. We won’t even get into what’s written on your ass.
You part your lips, but no sound comes out, which has Jungkook frowning ugly in front of you. With minimal strength, you shove at his chest. It does little, as he comes right back again, leaning forward while his palms rest on either side of you down on the shelf’s surface. The veins in his forearms pop as he rests his weight on them.
“Wha—well I didn’t think I’d be stripping when I got here!” You try defending yourself, but realize it still doesn’t answer Jungkook’s question. Because you quite frankly have no idea what it is that you’re wearing. Thankfully, Jungkook latches onto your words instead of keeping his attention glued to your outfit.
“You so did,” he chuckles, planting a soft kiss on your temple.
You keep trying to defend yourself while his kisses continue. “I didn’t!”
“Yeah-yeah, okay—I can’t have you wearing that, though.” He starts by letting one hand brush over your thighs, a move that immediately sends shivers down your spine and all the way to your cervix. Jesus, he must be a sorcerer. The hand keeps moving, fingers brushing underneath the hem of your sweater, lifting it slowly while still kissing you, lips moving down your neck, biting down on your skin as his fingers meets your stomach.
Eager to strip out of this god-awful outfit, you help him, reaching for the hem of your sweatshirt and giving it a quick tug. Jungkook’s hand replaces yours, and he lifts the fabric off your body, over your head, over your lifted arms, until it falls completely off and is thrown forgotten to the floor alongside your coat.
The moment you’re bared to him, he chuckles against your skin, pleased to know you’re not wearing a bra. His hand which is not holding onto your waist comes to cup one of your soft breasts, rolling it in his palm where it fits so perfectly.
You mewl underneath his touch, back arching instinctively as he keeps kneading your breast with his warm palm. He steps in between your parted knees, the hand on your waist pulling you further into him, and the moment you meet his hips, you let out a breathy moan.
He’s straining against his jeans, a bulge so big it still surprises you, even though you’ve already seen all of him. You’ve seen every vein, every inch — just not up close. And the anticipation is killing you.
“Take the sweatpants off,” he breathes against your neck, now starting to move lower, kissing your collarbone, your chest, before his lips meet the gentle curve of your breast — the one not trapped in his palm.
In a hurried motion, your fingers find your waistband, and you rip the soft fabric off, lifting your hips and wiggling out of the pants, kicking off your boots along with the legs of your sweats. Thankfully, your panties aren’t atrocious as well, just a simple, white lace that you’re hoping to be rid of soon enough.
Jungkook grinds into you the second you lose the pants, breathing roughly against your skin when he feels your bare figure hug his frame the moment his hips roll forwards. His mouth moves lower, and after giving your already hard nipple a soft lick, he closes his mouth around it to suck down on it. The hand on your breast gives your skin a deep knead before brushing lower, letting his fingers play with the waistband of your panties, snapping the band against your hip.
“Kook—please,” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head when Jungkook’s tongue starts circling your nipple, flicking over the nub, coating it in his spit. “Don’t hold back with me.”
He groans against you, running the tip of his tongue back and forth over your hard nipple, “Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
His fingers move from the waistband, and in a motion so sudden his palm cups your wetness, squeezing tight, feeling how you’re dripping through the lace fabric. Your breath hitches, and your head lolls back as the friction of his hand cupped so tightly against your clothed cunt. Chasing his touch, your hips buck forward, a move which steals a hummed laughter from him.
Your completely soaked through. There’s no inch of lace left untouched by your wetness, and the fabric clings to you like a second skin. You’re so wet it almost embarrassing, and every squeeze Jungkook’s large palm bestows upon you has you gasping for air.
He sucks down on your nipple, releasing it with a slick pop. “Fuck, you’re soaked through,” he almost whispers, his breath against your breast sending sparks through your body.
“Mm-hm,” you hum in agreement, a needy sound you try repressing as you bite down on your bottom lip. But it doesn’t work that well, especially not when Jungkook runs a single finger all the way from your core to your clit, which both are spasming underneath the drenched lace. Your forehead drops to Jungkook’s shoulder for some kind of support, but suddenly the surface is removed. Because Jungkook has taken on a new path.
Tracing your bare torso in wet kisses, he makes his way down, both hands now coming to tug on the waistband of your panties, ripping it of in one go with the help of a compliant lift of your hips.
“Have been dreaming of this,” he purrs, “… for so fucking long.”
His palms slowly spread your knees apart, thumbs pressing into the supple skin of your inner thigs, and you feel it like a pulse in your core. You almost can’t think straight, seeing him on his knees between your legs. Although he might be teasing — you actually have been dreaming of this. And now that it’s finally happening, every nerve in your body feels ignited.
As you let out a small whimper, Jungkook’s eyes flick up, catching yours from between your legs, and you swear your lungs collapse when he smirks, so slight it’s nearly imperceptible.
Still keeping eye contact, his knuckles brush the slick that’s already coating your folds. Your eyebrows crease at the touch, and your mouth falls open without letting any sound release, just a row of desperate breaths. He lets his fingers stretch, the pads of them trailing down your slit, feeling the way your juices cling to him. It’s a sight he can’t keep away from.
His eyes dart down, now fixed on the sight of you bare and dripping. The way your clit pulsates, begging and needing to be touched. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you.”
You’re too wet to be embarrassed, to fucking wrecked from the anticipation to be coy or smart. All you want is to audibly beg for him, but you still have some pride you’re hoping to keep intact. You’ll fuck him in the backroom of his shop, alright — but you’re not begging. Well, not yet, at least.
There’s apparently no need for you to beg this time, as the next thing you feel is Jungkook’s mouth pressing a kiss on your parted lips, right to your clit.
You immediately jolt forwards, the feel of his lips so unreal that stars start dancing in your vision. But he holds you back with his palms, and with a low rumble, he darts his tongue out, dragging an experimental lick through your folds. He parts them with ease, his tongue flat and broad, starting from the bottom and gliding all the way up to your clit. Your thighs shudder, but he still doesn’t let you move. His arms snake around your legs, pinning you down and locking you open for him.
“You taste so fucking good,” he purrs in between licks, the tip of his tongue circling your clit, flicking over it once or twice to feel the way your twitch in his grip. You throw your head back, a moan ripping from your throat as his sucks your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it with obscene precision. The suction is gentle, at first, just enough to have your back arching and your fingers flying into his soft hair.
You feel the piercing in his lip move as he shifts, the cool of it slipping through your folds when he sucks down harder, tearing uncontrollable whines from you. Easing you after the harsh suction, he presses his tongue flat against your clit and rolls it, slow and so incredibly fucking skilled.
“Oh fuck—fuck, Jungkook—”
He only groans in response, the vibration of it traveling through your entire body. When he shifts his mouth again, you think you might black out. He locks eyes with you, his black marbles staring back up at you as a sly smile appears on his face. His tongue rapidly flicks up and down your clit, and just when he sees your eyes roll to the back of your head, he delves down wrap his lips around the nub, sucking tightly at it.
You can’t see shit. You don’t know if it’s your eyes who have retreated to your skull, or if it’s your vision blurring due to the intense pleasure — whatever it is, it’s too damn good to care about right now. And with the way he chuckles against your cunt, you bet your ass he’s watching your every reaction.
Because he loves it, he drinks it in. Every moan, every twitch of your hips, every grip of your fingers in his hair — he can’t get enough of it. Especially when he retracts, licking a fat stripe over your pulsating clit, and you let out a breathy whine, desperate for the orgasm he just teased you with.
Unapologetic and lost in deep pleasure, you look back down at him, eyebrows lifting and eyes widening. “I loved the tape you gave me,” you breathe, tugging gently on his hair.
“Yeah?” He smiles against your wetness, locking eyes with you as his licks turn slow and torturous. His lips have gone all shiny, his chin too, probably, although you can’t see it.
A smile tugs on your lips, and you nod, slowly starting to roll your hips against him, following the movement of his tongue. “Yeah,” you purr, your eyes fluttering shut every time Jungkook’s flat tongue moves over the most sensitive spot of your clit. “Loved seeing you. Your arms, your thighs, your dick.”
Your words come out breathy and seductive, egging him on. It works immediately, as he seals his lips around your clit, sucking down while his tongue messily laps over the nub. His spit and your slick mix together in a thick liquid that coats both him and your thighs, running down to the slit that parts your cheeks.
“Anything else?” He lets up from his sucking as his tongue explores you more deeply, slipping down to your entrance, circling it before slowly pushing inside.
Your entire body jerks. “Ah—yes!”
He starts shamelessly fucking you with his tongue in low, deep strokes, his nose pressed against your clit, his grip on your thighs tightening as you writhe against his face.
“I wished it was me—so bad Kook.” The words roll of your tongue, and you ramble mindlessly as his tongue curls inside you, his nose rubbing tightly over your clit. “Wished you’d fuck me just like that—fuck me until I can’t walk.”
He loves the sound of your breathy praise, loves the way you keep spasming whenever he hits the sweet-spot buried deep inside you. He knows exactly what it is you need. So he pulls his tongue out, licks his way back up and circles your clit again — but this time, his fingers join in.
You’re so wet and pliant you almost don’t notice them at first, but when he goes deeper, your eyes widen. There’s two of them, thick and lock, who push inside you so smoothly that your mouth drops open, a broken sound escaping you before you can stop it. His mouth doesn’t let up during the intrusion, his tongue flicks fast over your clit as his fingers curl inside you, exactly where you crave pleasure the most. Your walls pulsate around his digits the moment he teases the spot.
“Ah—fuck, right there—oh my god—” you pant, eyelids fluttering shut as he keeps stroking in rhythmic pulses, his mouth never leaving your clit. The combination is unbearable, and your hips involuntarily rock into his touch. You tug on his hair, pull him closer, and you feel the pleasure in your stomach starting to knot together. “Oh my god, Kook—I’m so close—”
Jungkook flicks his tongue faster, circles your clit tighter, until your vision wipes out, until your legs are shaking around his shoulders, your orgasm building so fiercely you can almost taste blood.
No one has ever known their way around your body this way, and you thank god for his previous experience, because with the way he’s working you over right now — there’s nothing else for you to do. His long fingers keep curling inside you, not even caring about the fact that your juices run down his palm, his wrist, coating his forearm. He instead hums in appreciation against your clit, wrapping his lips around it, his lip ring slipping inside your glistening folds, and he sucks down viscously on your clit like a starved animal.
“Fuck—Kook, I’m cu—” is all you’re able to get out before your orgasm hits you. Your legs quiver, your whole body breaks open against his mouth, your head lolls back and you cry out. You grind against his face because you simply can’t not, because you need him deeper, everywhere, you’re actually losing your mind in this orgasm. And Jungkook eats it up, literally. He moans into your climax, tongue lapping ever drop of arousal, fingers starting to pump in and out of you, meeting every grind of your hip.
Even when your thighs begin to twitch in overstimulation, he doesn’t stop. He slows, of course, but he stays, licking lazy strokes over your cunt as if he’s cleaning up his mess. And under his touch, your body is melting. You actually feel boneless, a trembling mess — who has also seemingly made a mess out of the boy between your legs.
His hair is a mess from your hands, his lips have gone red, swollen and shiny, and his chest heaves like he’s the one who just came. And when he feels you starting to tug harder on his hair, trying to pry him off your body, he lets up, giving a final peck to your clit. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hands, eyes never leaving yours. It doesn’t really help, his lips are still a wet mess, a mess he doesn’t seem to bother. His tongue darts out again, brushing over his lower lip, savoring the taste of you.
“Voila,” he jokes, bracing his hands on his thighs as his posture straightens.
You don’t even care that he’s being a cocky asshole now, all you want is for him to rid himself of those god damn clothes. It’s all you can think of when your vision comes back — how he’s still covered. How the tight tee he’s wearing hides his glorious figure from you, how his pants cage in the length and width of his. A cock so big your mouth is already watering.
Your voice comes out softer and a bit more embarrassing than you expect, “C-can you… take it off?”
Jungkook tilts his head, eyebrows lifting, being a little shit. “Take what off?”
You bite down on your bottom lip, eyes darting toward his still clothed body, toward the heavy bulge that’s straining visibly through the dark denim. Jungkook grins viciously when he notices your lingering and hopeful grin.
“Everything?” he asks, still in that oblivious and teasing tone that weirdly enough turns you on so much that a new wave of arousal seeps from you. You instinctively press your knees together, suddenly a bit self-conscious about being the only one butt-naked here. So you nod, shyly, letting him know you do want him to take everything off.
His hands move immediately, but his breath hitches and his mouth opens in a wide gape. Of course, teasing you. “Such a forward young girl,” he says as if he’s affronted by your demand. You just roll your eyes at him, even though you’re screaming internally.
He rises to his feet, towering over you with a frame so broad you gulp, his shoulders squared, hair falling into his eyes as he glances down at you with hunger. Eyes never leaving you, his fingers start moving to the hem of his tee. And it’s torture, the way he peels it off, revealing himself inch by inch. The fabric clings to his back as he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside.
Jesus fucking christ, it’s even better up close. A camera can’t possibly do such a man justice, the way he looks as if he’s sculpted by the gods. Sharp collarbones, thick chest, deep dips between every line of muscle, and somehow a lean waist. Unfair is what it is. And his inked up left arm is just too stunning, the way the tattoos curl around his biceps, his veins. Unfair.
Your gaze traces his torso, licking your lips subconsciously.
“Like what you see?” he asks, extremely cocky.
“Shush,” you say as you shake your head, hoping to might snap out of the weird horned up trance he has you in by just removing his tee.
He chuckles, dragging one hand down over his own stomach, flexing his abs. “Not something I usually show the customers. You’re getting some real special treatment here, peach.”
“I somehow don’t believe that,” you frown, trying your hardest not to laugh when he grunts, flexing even harder. He might be ridiculously hot, but he still can’t escape the idiocy that comes with being a boy.
His mouth opens, gape widens, and his eyebrows crease. “Are you slut-shaming me?”
“I so am.” You brace your hands on either side of your body, leaning backwards, stretching subtly before him. Gloating in the way he’s undressing before you. Because next go his boots. He tows them off one at a time and they land somewhere far off in the small room. Then go the jeans.
The second the belt is out from its loops, your stomach flips. He pops the button, drags the zipper down, and your mouth dries when he peels them off. The denim clings to his thighs, and you see now just how thick they are. His legs are strong, dense with muscle, strength that only comes from real, physical work — carrying boxes, lifting crates, whatnot. He can maybe add ‘carrying you around’ to that list, if he wants, of course.
Now, there’s only one barrier left between you and every inch of him. His black boxer-briefs. And what’s underneath them is already impossible to ignore.
He’s hard, so hard, straining against the fabric, the outline of his cock bulging beneath the waistband. Long and thick, his girth alone has your core clenching in anticipation. You saw him in the self-tape, of course, you know he’s big already. But knowing he’ll bestow the length upon you feels like you’re maybe in way over your head. The tip of him presses against the cotton, and there’s a darkened spot where he’s already leaking.
Jungkook giggles (weirdly enough) at the way you swallow hard before him, and jerks his head to the side. “Three—two—one.”
He actually counts down the big reveal, hooking his thumbs under the waistband and dragging the fabric down.
Your jaw almost reaches the floor.
Jungkook springs free flushed, veiny and think in a way that’s almost greedy. The head of him is swollen and red, glistening and leaking at the tip, and you feel drool trying to make its way down your chin. You shut your mouth immediately, but you take a big breath in through your nose. He’s absolutely, obesely big. This can’t be good for neither you or him.
Upon seeing you so baffled, he chuckles low in his chest, stroking himself once from base to tip — just for you to watch, and for him to see your reaction. “You said you didn’t want me to hold back, right?”
Your thighs squeeze together and part your lips, “Uhm.” God you’re an idiot. Uhm? Well, your reaction is kind of fair, you didn’t expect him to be this absurdly big. But maybe you’ll grow accustomed to him, to his size. You pray to god that you will, because you’re not backing out now. “Right—right. I’m ready.”
He lets out a chuckle and steps in close, close enough that your knees part for him again, close enough that his cologne and body scent wraps around you like a second skin. He leans forward until his hands land on either side of you, palms flat against the shelf.
You’re caged in. His arms bracket you completely, veins standing out along his forearms, sleeve tattoo stretching and flexing as his weight settles in. There’s nowhere for you to go — not that there’s anywhere else in the world you’d like to be right now. You could absurdly enough die happily in this position, naked underneath the eyes of equally naked Jungkook. His face is inches away from yours, breath warm, eyes glistening as they flick between your eyes, mouth, chest.
“Need another countdown?” he asks as he leans in, softly kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear.
You shudder, eyes fluttering shut. But still — please don’t count down. It was weird enough the first time. “Rather not,” you giggle, wiggling away from his kisses as they start to tingle. This only eggs Jungkook on more, resulting in him blowing air behind your ear, biting down on your skin, humming in appreciation as you try shoving him away. “Stop Kook, it tickles—oh—”
Oh. It was a distraction.
Because suddenly you feel him… all of him, pressing heavy against you. He shifts his hip as he feels you still completely, and drags the length of him upwards, through your folds, coating himself in your slick.
“Shiit, you’re so soft.” Jungkook’s voice is no more than a whisper, speaking directly into your ear before biting down on your earlobe. One of his hands come to rest on your thigh, squeezing the supple flesh there, as his other hand moves between you to grab himself — guiding himself as he drag his cock upwards to circle your clit with his heavy tip.
You gasp, and your head falls to Jungkook’s shoulder. It’s obscene how sensitive you are, how easily your body reacts to him. You’re still slick from his mouth, and the slide of him against your soaked cunt has you toes curling instantly.
Jungkook groans under his breath, retracting from your neck to watch how you drip all over him, how his cock slips so easily through you, how the head of him catches at your clit and makes you tremble. “Fuck—looks so pretty.” The thick length of him glides through you from bottom to top, the head pressing against your clit, guiding his leaking tip just right, flicking it up and down your spasming nub that crowns your mound in torturous drags.
“Oh—” your breath stutters and your hips jolt forward, hands snaking around his frame to drag your long fingernails down his back, hard enough to make him hiss. As your head falls back, Jungkook lets the hand on your thigh move to your neck, and he presses your mouth against his. His tongue slides into your mouth, and you melt into it immediately, lips parting, moaning softly when you feel his cock glide through you yet again.
He doesn’t push inside you, he just drags himself through your slick over and over again. Each pass is wonderful, the head of his cock nudges your clit, circles it, presses into it to hear how you whine into his mouth. The size of him is impossible to ignore. He’s so heavy, so thick, that you’re starting to worry about how on earth he’s going to fit inside you.
You lift your arms and tug at his hair, fingers curling into his soft strands. “You f-feel—ah—so good.”
Upon hearing your praise, he chuckles softly and kisses you harder, pushing to tighter against his lips. His tongue strokes slow, his open mouth steals every sound you make, swallowing your moans while his cock continues its relentless pass through your folds.
You’re soaking him, his cock slipping as it reaches your clit again, involuntarily flicking over your clit as you're so wet his cock can't even keep a straight path. You feel yourself pulsing around nothing, clenching with the hope that he’ll soon fill you, that he’ll soon give you exactly what you want. And as you start growing impatient, tugging harder on his hair — Jungkook starts to play with you.
He nudges your clit side to side, the hand wrapped around his own length guiding his cock precisely where you’re spasming. New waves of arousal leak from you, mixing with the pearls of precum that continues to run down Jungkook’s shaft. With a gasp, you break from the kiss, feeling your legs starting to shake and the coiling pleasure low in your belly building by the second. “N-no more—”
“Fuuck, but—” he breathes out a low growl, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Feel how hard I am for you, peach.”
His hips roll forward, his own hand making sure he slips perfectly though your folds. He flattens the length of him against your slick heat, and when you feel him twitch, when you feel just how close he is himself, a sharp pulse travels straight through your core. Your hands slide down his back, nails digging into his skin, your whole body arching up into him. You can’t take it anymore — he has teased you for long enough. All you want is for him to fill you so good, to actually split you in half, all you want is for him to make you cry in overwhelming pleasure.
“I could probably cum like this,” Jungkook rasps, still resting against your shoulder. You feel his eyes flutter shut, his eyelashes tingling against your skin. He lets out a deep breath, and actually whines when he presses one last, heavy glide through your folds. As he reaches your clit again, he lingers there, circling thrice until your nails scrape harshly along his back, until your back arches and all you’re able to do is moan his name. He chuckles, although there’s absolutely nothing funny right now, “I bet you could too.”
Well, apparently you’re not allowed to, as his hands find your hips in a sudden motion. Before you can fully catch your breath, let out one last moan, he’s lifting you off the bench, pressing your body flush to him. All the while his cock is still nuzzled between your folds.
The change of scenery has you gasping for air, arms flinging over his shoulders and legs wrapping tightly around his slender waist. You try balancing yourself, although there seems to be no need as Jungkook doesn’t falter. It doesn’t look like the lift strains him, he doesn’t even blink. He just holds you like you weigh nothing, easily hopping with you in his arms, making you whimper as his cock once again presses against your clit.
“I don’t know if it’s you that’s light as fuck—or if I’m just stupidly strong,” Jungkook laughs, and there’s a grin tucked into the corner of his mouth, a grin you kind of want to wipe right off his face, no matter how much you want him right now.
He turns with you cradled against him, your bare chest pressed to his, and he walks the two of you a few feet across the backroom, his bare feet making duck-like waddling sounds against the concrete floor. As sensual as this is supposed to be, you giggle, kissing his cheek for the first time. And oh my god. They’re so incredibly soft. They swell up when he smiles, grinning as you continue pressing tiny pecks all over both his cheeks.
“I’m about to fuck you dense and you’re babying me?”
You continue smothering him in kisses, not caring if his words actually kind of frighten you… because how much denser could you possibly become after this? The thought doesn’t stick for long, as you’re suddenly being pinned back against one of the tall VHS-shelves. It’s cold against your spine, and you gasp as the wood presses harshly against your skin.
And yet again — you’re caged in. Oh no… you’re trapped beneath Jeon Jungkook, his body flush against you, the hard line of his cock now pressed hot between your legs… oh no, how awful.
You’re still dripping for him, and you swear you can feel your slick smear across his skin as he shifts. Because he leans in, his mouth immediately latching onto your neck again. And as his mouth works you over, he slowly puts you down, without any tremble in his arms, without any struggle whatsoever, until your bare feet meet the floor.
At this height, you have to get on your tip-toes if you want Jungkook to continue his kisses down your neck — so you do. You lift your heels off the floor and invite his mouth, his mouth which softly presses just beneath your ear. He drags his lips down the line of your throat until you’re tilting your head back to give him more. But then his mouth opens, and he starts sucking, tongue and teeth coming into play as he bruises the skin above your collarbone.
You inhale a soft gasp or moan, you have no idea, and you subconsciously arch your back off the shelf, your hips nudging against his abdomen.
He groans against your skin, and shifts his grip, suddenly losing all the strength he has used to hold himself back. His tattooed arm slides under your thigh, lifting one leg up and hooking it over his forearm. The stretch of it opens you up for him completely, your core exposed, flushed and needy. He reaches between your bodies with his other hand, wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, and lines himself up.
“Ah—Kook.” Your stomach flips, and your nails drag against his shoulders.
The head of him is nestled right at your entrance, obscenely thick, already slick from both the teasing from earlier and the precum that leaks from him. Just the feel of him has your walls fluttering for him, begging shamelessly. “Split me open.”
He groans against your neck, a guttural sound that comes from hearing you plead so submissively, wanting him to tear you apart with the width and length of his cock. Lifting his mouth from you skin, he looks down at where his cock presses into you, circling your swollen entrance with a sick grin on his face. The deep red of him disappears so beautifully inside you, causing your head to loll back in pleasure-pain. As his tip retracts from you again, your walls clench around nothing, and you breathe out his name, making Jungkook look up at you, lock his eyes with yours.
“Hold onto me,” is all he says, before slowly pushing into you — agonizingly slow.
Your breath stills in your lungs the moment the thick crown of his cock starts to breach you, stretching your entrance around him. The pressure is immediate, he’s so big that your muscles clench without permission, trying to accommodate him. But you arch your back further off the shelf, shoving yourself further onto his cock as he’s still not even halfway through yet.
“Fuuck,” he grits with his jaw clenched, eyebrows knotted, eyes locked on where your bodies melt togheter. “You’re so tight—jesus.” He only sinks in an inch more, and still, your breath hitches like it’s being pulled from the base of your spine. You might’ve asked for him to split you open, but now that he actually might, your vision blurs and your mouth falls open.
His hand slips from your thigh to your hip, and he uses the hold to pull you down, just a little, just enough to sink another inch into you — then he holds you there. He pants like a madman, almost going cross-eyed from the unbelievable tightness of your heat, the way you already clench and pulsate around his cock, so un-accustomed to the width of him.
“Shit—okay, ready?” he asks, eyes flicking up to meet yours. They’ve gone completely dark now, swallowed by his black pupils, and there’s a strange, pleading look to him. You’ve never seen this in him, the way his eyebrows crease high on his forehead, the way he nods at you for permission. It sends a wave of pleasure through you, and your walls start fluttering uncontrollably around him, causing his head to tip back, his lips to part as soft gasps leave him.
You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding back at him. “R-ready when you are.”
The second your breathy confirmation slips past your lips, he exhales something between a moan and a curse and begins pushing in again, torturous inch by inch. The drag of his cock through your walls has your mouth falling open, head thumping softly against the shelf behind you. Because you finally feel every part of him, every thick ridge, every beautiful vein as he opens you in a way that’s probably going to ruin you forever.
Your eyes squeeze shut when he sinks deeper, but Jungkook’s threaded voice pulls them open again. “Eyes on me,” he pants, cupping your jaw his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he holds your face. “Wanna see your pretty face when I’m bottomed out.”
Who the hell would say no to that? Probably someone who haven’t laid their eyes on Jungkook and his eyes which are so big you could easily get lost in them, even though you’ve spent years mapping them out.
So you watch him closely, watch the strain in his expression as he slowly feeds you more of his cock, his brows tights and his lips parted. You feel the tremble in his thigh, the flex of his arm beneath your leg, how even he is fighting to stay in control. He’s all flushed muscle and restraint, every inch of his body working to not wreck you… yet. He’ll get to it, don’t you worry.
But as of now, he keeps sinking deeper into you — and it feels fucking endless, the stretch so incredibly slow and agonizing that you might decent into madness soon. By the time he’s nearly fully inside you, your legs start shaking, your nails carving half-moons into his inked shoulder. “K-kook—” you pant, the snug fit of him starting to ache inside you. “You have to move.”
It surprises you when he moans loudly, shuddering against you while holding eye contact — something so extremely attractive that you almost come undone right then and there. He pants wildly, groaning as he tries entering you fully. “Almost there,” he whines, eyes glued to yours.
And then finally, finally, his hips press flush to yours. He bottoms completely out, something that has the two of you moaning out loudly in the small backroom.
His head falls to your shoulder, and you feel his sweat drip down from his forehead and onto your collarbone. You moan out yet again at the fullness, the way he presses impossibly deep, stealing all the air from your lungs. He stays still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, letting your walls pulse and quiver around him as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck.
“Fucking fuck,” he mutters against your skin. His next words have him sounding like he’s in disbelief. “I’m actually gonna split you in half.”
You nod as your head lolls back, feeling stretched to the edge of your limits, but somehow you’re burning for him, needing more from him. Because he doesn’t move yet, he savors the way your body molds around him, his nose nudging your neck as his lips brushes over your skin with shaky exhales. And he prepares himself to pull out.
When he does, it’s only an inch, but he thrusts right back in with a quiet growl, grinding his hips into yours — his abdomen rubbing beautifully against your clit. You whimper, back arching as the motion drags along your inner walls. And just like this, the head of him nudges at the sweet spot buried deep inside you, causing your moans to die in your throat and your core to clench around his cock.
“Found it on the first fucking try,” he chuckles, biting down on the soft skin of your shoulder when your spasming tries milking him for every drop he’s got. “Shit, just like that.”
You’re barely able to find your voice as he’s pressed heavily against your g-spot. “K-kook—more please—”
He needs no more encouragement, because as the words leave you, Jungkook starts setting a rhythm. It starts out slow, letting you feel all his girth with every stroke. His cock drags out of you almost completely before sliding back in, every inch punching a moan out of both your lungs. You’re equally lost in pleasure, him panting against your neck, you melting with the shelf.
His arm trembles beneath your thigh, and as he breathes out a quick breath, he decides to pick up the pace.
“Yes, r-right there—oh my god,” you ramble mindlessly as his thrusts grow sharper. You can hear the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking into you, your slick coating him, dripping down both your thighs. The shelf behind you shakes with every thrust, VHS tapes toppling onto the floor, forgotten as the two of you moan uncontrollably with pleasure.
You’re a fucking mess — crying out over his shoulder, your body bouncing with every stroke, and he’s right there with you, his voice raw in your ear. “It’s good we didn’t do this earlier,” he grunts, his nose scrunching with every rapid thrust. “I’d be doing this all day—and you’d be fucking limp by now.”
The hand on your hip snakes between your bodies, and somehow he finds your clit even without looking. Two of his fingers press against you, working tight circles against the swollen bundle of nerves, slick from your arousal, his mouth brushing the edge of your jaw as his cock drives rapidly inside you. It’s almost animalistic, the way he’s handling you, the sounds he produces, the sounds of his hips slamming into you and the wetness that coats his dick. You’re being taken apart in degrees.
You can fucking feel him in your ribs, if that’s even possible, the weight of him in your belly — and all of it is spiraling higher and higher with every pass of his fingers over your clit. It doesn’t help that you feel your tits pressing so tightly against his plump and delicious chest, that you feel him kissing your throat, open-mouthed and desperate, licking and sucking on your skin. You’re being stimulated at every end, and it feels like you’re about to light on fire.
“Yes—yes—yes—god yes—” The words coming out of you just fall off your tongue as your mind is clouded, thinking about nothing but the feel of his cock against your g-spot and his fingers rubbing your clit. You’ve been teased for so long that you’ve entered a strange, delirious state, not even caring about how desperate and needy you sound. “Fuck me just like that, Jungkook—ah—oh god—”
You cry out, choking on your words as his cock slams into you, the unbearable length of him punching into the spot that makes your vision go white.
“Shit—you’re gonna cum,” Jungkook grits out against your collarbone, almost as if it’s a revelation. His hand on your clit moves in sloppy motions, because he’s simply just trying to push you over the edge, pinching the swollen bundle of nerves between two fingers, rubbing lazily over it. “Holy f-fuuck, yeah—fucking soak me.”
It’s like you’ve entered the gates of heaven, or something in the likes of it — because you never knew such pleasure could ever exist. His cock hits your sweet spot so perfectly with every erratic thrust, his fingers working you open like your release is the only thing Jungkook wants right now… which it kind of is.
So who are you to hold back?
The coiling pleasure in your stomach is almost overbearing now, and you can’t seem to produce any words, just sound, just breathy moans that Jungkook immediately swallow with a deep kiss. When he rolls his tongue into your mouth, you almost choke, unprepared for the sensation. You taste the sweat that’s dripping from his upper lip, and somehow it’s enough to send you over the edge.
“Oh my god—I’m cumming—oh my god, Jungkook—don’t stop—”
You clench and pulsate viciously around his cock, gasping for air as the euphoria of your orgasm takes ahold of you and causes your vision to wipe out. Your hands move to his hair, tugging on the dark and sweaty strands as he continues to fuck himself into you again and again and again. It’s absolutely unbearable, right as your orgasm hits you, you somehow lose your consciousness. Your thighs start trembling uncontrollably, the shake so extreme that the leg which is not help up in his arms actually gives out, completely overpowered by his size and speed.
“Oh fuck—” Jungkook immediately hooks your limp leg over his arm, holding onto your ass, trying to keep you upright. He repositions, lifting you with a tiny hop, his arms wrapping around you, one right around your waist, the other in between your shoulder blades, pressing your dead body flush against him. His cock is still buried deep inside you, and his thrusts slow down, reaching deeper and deeper inside you as your body lies weightless in his arms. Your head has fallen to his shoulders, your fingers are tangled and unmoving in his hair, and all you’re able to do is breathe against him. “Are you—are you good?” Jungkook asks, pressing a reassuring kiss to your shoulder.
“Y-yes—I just—” your voice comes out shaky, but you try clearing your head. And that is for the sole purpose of holding out, keeping him inside you with a deep need to feel him cum — to feel the thick ropes coating your walls and clinging to you, seeping out of you once he pulls out. “—I need your cum.”
Jungkook chuckles, biting down on your skin. He starts caressing the skin between your shoulder blades with the pad of his middle finger, just as lazy strokes as the ones of his cock. Although lazy, you still feel the burn of him, wincing every time he goes too deep, or even deep at all.
“You’ll get my cum, alright,” he purrs, nudging your head to face his, stealing a kiss from your swollen lips. “Can you stand?”
You only shake your head.
“Alright, then—” He smiles against the next kiss, not even closing his eyes. “Get on your knees. Wanna cum in that pretty mouth.”
Oh my god — roundabout. You might be a bit sad that he won’t paint your walls with his cum, but the thought of tasting him on your tongue almost gives your body new life. It takes a second for your muscles to respond, but he’s already helping you get down, his hands guiding your legs and knees on the floor. The loss of his cock is a sharp ache, well, a deep sting actually, but it’s replaced by something else entirely when you’re all the way down on the floor, looking up at his tall, bare and sweat-covered frame.
His cock stands proud before you, glistening with your slick, twitching in the open air. He fists himself once, twice, brushing his thumb over the tip, spreading both your and his arousal over his length. You can tell he’s close, incredibly so, as he’s swollen, leaking constantly — something that has your mouth watering.
“Open up,” he demands with a gentle voice, moving closer to you.
You do just as he says, mouth parting obediently, tongue falling out slightly to meet him. He brushes the tip along your tongue first, letting your taste the mix of both of you. And as you want him to break, as you’re so desperate for his cum, you stick your tongue out furthermore, circling the head of him, flicking over the slit gently, teasing before your lips wrap around him.
“Ohhfuuck, just like that,” he moans hoarsely, and his hands go to your head, cradling it while his eyebrows knot high on his forehead. He tastes of you, of himself — it’s strange and addictive. But he hasn’t exactly shrunken in the past minute, so just getting him down your throat is a task so hard tears immediately brim your eyes. A sight which apparently has Jungkook losing his mind.
“Fuck—are you crying on my dick?” he asks in disbelief, moaning uncontrollably when you hollow your cheeks to take him in deeper. You slide your lips down his shaft, hands wrapping around what won’t fit — because he is quite frankly that big. Jungkook’s whole body shudders. “You look so fucking beautiful.”
You try hiding the fact that you flush immediately at his words, and let one of your hands tug on his balls, playing gently with them as you suck him as deep as his cock can go. It’s a straining task, and you unfortunately gag when you take him in too deep, moaning around him — the vibrations traveling straight through Jungkook’s spine.
He looks down at you with wild eyes, sweat clinging to his temples, and as you cradle one of his balls, you feel it tense. He’s stupidly close.
His hips jerk forward without warning, letting you know just how close to the edge he really is. The sound he makes is so beautiful, so sinful, that you kind of wish you were recording this — so you could pocket his moan, keep it with you wherever you go. His eyes never leave you, and he’s sweating and panting like what you’re doing to him actually makes him lose his mind.
“F-fuck, peach—your mouth—shit,” Jungkook pants, his voice torn open and uneven, one hand slipping down from your cheek as you suck him deeper. “You’ve got some fucking mouth—ah—”
Your eyes are brimming with tears now, real ones, from the sheer stretch and effort of taking him. Your jaw aches, throat tight around the thick girth of him, your lips puffy and soaked. But you don’t stop — not even when it hurts your throat so bad that the unshed tears finally fall down your cheeks. Because you need to feel him cum.
And judging by the frantic way his hips twitch against your mouth, the way his hand tightens in your hair — you believe he might be close to losing it. And you’re right by that.
“Shit—shit—I’m gonna cum—fuck, baby, I’m—”
Both your hands move to the back of his thighs, digging your nails gently into his flesh, shoving your head all the way down his cock, not caring that your throat hurts so bad you could scream. Because when you look up at him, when you see his eyes roll to the back of his head, see the way sweat runs down his temple, down his plump chest, there’s no stopping you.
His entire body shudders. “I’m cumming—baby, I’m cumming—holy fuck—”
With a deep, desperate moan, he spills into your mouth, thick and hot ropes of cum that hit the back of your throat before you can blink. You moan around him, swallowing as fast as you can, not wasting a single drop.
Jungkook doesn’t stop twitching. He pulses again and again, his free hand trembling on your jaw as he now watches you gulp down on his cum, watches as both his release and your spit seeps from the corners of your mouth and down your chin. He watches in complete awe. Would you look at that? You’ve got the Jeon Jungkook, your fucking childhood crush, your fucking real time crush, wrapped around your finger. Or wrapped around your tongue, would maybe be better wording here.
“Fucking look at you,” he moans, voice unhinged. “How are you real?”
You keep going, soft sucks to his oversensitive tip, tongue tracing along the underside of his shaft where a veins throbs beneath the skin. You want him clean, completely. So you don’t stop until there’s nothing left, until his cock is wet with only your spit, your tongue dragging slowly along every vein.
He shudders, twitches again, and suddenly retracts from you, leaving your throat sore and hurting. “Stop—stop,” he pants franticly, suddenly getting down on his knees before you, almost meeting your height. Without further notice, he wraps both hands around your waist, pulling you flush to him, closing the distance with a sloppy kiss. “Fuck—you’ll be the death of me.”
You’ve never had a guy do this — kiss the mouth that just swallowed ropes own his own cum. His tongue rolls into your mouth, not even caring about the bitter aftertaste of his release, moaning against you as you press your tits against his sweaty chest.
So there you are, on the floor of the backroom, VHS tapes scattered across the floor alongside all your clothes, making out heavily as if you haven’t just ruined each other completely.
“Think you can walk outta here?” Jungkook laughs against your lips, not even letting you answer before his tongue breaches your mouth again.
You gasp for air, running your fingernails down his chest, leaving white marks all over him that will certainly turn red in a moment. “Probably not.”
“Too bad then,” he breathes, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, eating you up. “I’ll have to carry you everywhere now. What a drag,” he teases, not leaving as much as an inch of your skin untouched by his lips.
“Oh no,” you mock, trembling in his arms as his kisses find the sensitive spot of your neck.
“Can I ask you something weird?” he breathes against your collarbone, licking and sucking on your skin as he waits for your answer. You only nod above him, eyes shutting close as he lavishes you in wet kisses. His next words come out low, almost unnoticeable, but your eyes widen the moment you hear them.
“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone over a blowjob?”
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BLURB WARNINGS oc is 4 months pregnant !! pregnancy sex, reader is moody bc no dick :/, jungkook being annoying, praise kink, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving)
ANG’S NOTE uhhh,. we are NAWT discussing the fact that i’m changing my layout for the 2838383th time. i’m trying something new as one does .. if you hate it take it up with the judge, not i! anyways this was written in the trenches of my hangover yesterday (i was getting depressed as i wrote iwwu lol) so pls enjoy this random mess of words, oc is pregnant n needy and jungkook’s dick is there to save her i said the other day that there was a drought of pregnancy fics so i came to deliver. honestly might need to continue the pregnancy chronicles because these two are oh so fucking sweet .. enjoy my cuties 🩷
You’ve always been horny. You were the queen of one-night stands before you met Jeon Jungkook. Hell, you ran an OnlyFans page (although now you post sparingly ever since your recent development).
But this is different, you’ve told your best friend and anyone else who’ll listen. This is a level of need you didn’t even know existed. Ever since that little pink line appeared on the pregnancy test four months ago and ever since you found out you were having a girl, you’ve been absolutely insatiable.
It’s like your body has decided that Jungkook isn’t just your husband, but your sole reason to live. You want to crawl inside his skin and live there. You want him touching you constantly, want his hands on your growing bump, want his mouth on yours, want him closer, closer, closer even when he’s already pressed against you.
The rational part of your brain knows it’s the hormones, are well aware it’s your daughter making you crave her daddy like he’s the only thing that can satisfy this aching, desperate hunger. But the irrational part, the part that’s currently running the show, doesn’t give two shits about logic. It just knows that when he walks into a room, your entire body sparks like fireworks. When he touches you casually, a hand on your lower back or fingers threading through your hair, it takes everything in you not to drag him to the nearest surface. He thinks it’s cute, the way you’ve become his little shadow, following him around the apartment with hearts in your eyes. What he doesn’t realize is that you’re two seconds away from combusting at any given moment.
So it’s truly no surprise that you’ve made a habit of interrupting his day-to-day activities. You do it all the time, can’t help yourself.
Last month, you ambushed him in the kitchen while he was making protein shakes, and it ended up with your back against the counter and his face between your thighs before he even finished blending.
Two Wednesdays ago, you crawled under his desk during a Zoom meeting with his manager—he had to pretend he was coughing to cover the groan when your mouth found him through his sweatpants. Yesterday, you pulled him into the shower when he was supposed to be editing a YouTube video, and he was two hours late posting it. And most mornings, you don’t even make it out of bed before you reach for him, and he’s inside you before either of you are fully conscious.
You know, you know you both agreed to keep things PG during his streams. It was a mutual decision, a boundary you set together after that one time you got a little too handsy off-camera and the chat room noticed his ears turning a bright shade of crimson, his voice breathy and strained. But right now, watching him from the bed with his floppy brown hair falling into his eyes, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he worries that silver lip ring, thick fingers moving across the controller, that agreement feels impossible to honor.
Honestly, those fingers should be inside you.
Stretching you out and making you cum the way only he knows how to.
You lean up from the king sized bed, staring at him with cavemen-like focus. The wedding band on his left hand snags on the light from his monitors, looking shinier than usual, and a swell of possessiveness and primal desire twists in your chest. Mine, your hindbrain purrs. Father of my baby. Mine.
“Koo,” you hum, your tone teetering on sheer neediness.
You’re adorned in a pink babydoll dress he bought you last week. It was $1400 for a single dress, silky and coquetteish, with an empire waist that makes your growing bump look ethereal. The fabric drapes over your curves, making you feel like some fertility goddess. He’d taken one look at you in it at the store and handed over his credit card without even looking at the price tag, a dopey look on his face.
You’ve always thought he spends too much on you, especially ever since you quit OnlyFans once you got pregnant and he insisted on paying for everything. But somehow, you already know it’s going to get worse once your little girl arrives. He’s already insane about baby clothes, coming home every other day with designer onesies and sneakers that cost more than adult shoes. He’s purchased infinite amounts of dresses from Burberry, sets from Marc Jacobs. Your little angel won’t even be able to hold her head up and she’ll be donning clothes only seen on runways. You’ve had to physically stop him from buying a tiny leather jacket because his only reasoning was “babe, she’s gonna be the coolest baby ever, she needs it.” The nursery closet is overflowing and you’re only four months along.
Crawling over to the edge of the bed, your knees sink into the mattress as you lean forward to press your lips to the curve of his neck, right over his pulse. His head shrugs you off dismissively, not even a glance in your direction.
Your body jerks back like he’s just slapped you right across the cheek.
“Bro I’m saying your build is trash for the fight,” he argues into the mic. “Joon, I need you to dodge. Tae, back him up, what the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m trying, it’s broken—” you hear Taehyung whine.
Your husband snorts. “It’s not broken, you just suck dick.”
The aforementioned man is just talking to his friends like you’re not even there. As if you didn’t try to plant a kiss on him, wearing the dress he spent over a thousand dollars on, carrying his seed.
Oh god. Oh no.
There’s a tight feeling knotting in your chest, tears brimming your eyes. These stupid fucking hormones. You have no backbone anymore, no ability to regulate your emotions like a normal adult person. Everything feels devastating, especially rejection from the one person you need most.
You sit back on the bed, crossing your legs like a petulant toddler. A sob escapes you that sounds pathetic even to your own ears.
He doesn’t turn around at the sound.
Your pink, supple lips wobble. Tears spill onto your cheeks, saltwater dripping onto the dress. How could he ignore you, especially when you need him like this? When your entire body is screaming for him, when you’re so wet you can feel it, when all you can think about is the weight of him over you, inside you, filling you the way you’re desperate to be filled?
You need his cock nestled deep inside you. You want his hands on your belly while he fucks you, calling you beautiful and remindingy you that you’re not some hormonal mess but the woman he married, the woman he chose.
Jungkook gets one last fucking chance before you lose your mind completely. Before you pack your bags and move in with your mother and file for divorce and put your shared million-dollar mansion on the market and change your last name back and raise this baby as a single mother and maybe join a convent because clearly men are trash and you are oh-so-fucking done.
You lean in again and kiss his cheek. Then his jaw, lingering a little, letting them drag across his skin.
Mid-game, he turns to you, tilting his head. “Baby, you okay?”
How dare he ask that question. You’ve been throwing yourself at him for the past ten minutes, wearing the dress he got you because you were so certain he’d fold like a lawn chair upon seeing it.
“Sorry guys, hold on,” he says into the mic, pulling it away from his face. “My pregnant wife needs some attention real quick.”
“Bro, you’re fucking whipped,” Namjoon’s voice echoes through the headset. Funny coming from him considering at your wedding, he spent half the night crying over his ex-girlfriend.
Taehyung’s voice follows, “Wrapped around her finger.”
Oh, you’re going to murder them. You’re going to reach through that microphone and strangle both of them. You cross your arms over your chest, which is difficult considering your boobs are huge now and your belly gets in the way, but you manage. The pink fabric of your dress billows out as you sit back hard on the balls of your feet, bottom lip jutting out in what you know is probably the world’s most pathetic pout.
He’s a sick, evil man.
“Just checking up on her, guys,” Jungkook simply says, and then doesn’t even argue with his friends. Just turns back to the stream, conversation over.
“What’s the strategy here?” he asks, fingers moving on the controller. “Joon, you take left side, Tae, you’re on my right.”
There’s some chatter on the mic, the chat blowing up with commentary from teenagers and adults alike. Through all this, Jungkook reaches behind him blindly, hand finding your thigh and giving it a little pat like you’re a dog. Like a condescending little there-there pat is going to do anything except make you want to commit actual homicide.
Getting up from the bed in a huff, you almost topple over, since you’re pregnant to the point where your center of gravity is completely fucked. You stand there for a second before you start pacing the room like a woman gone mad.
“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, loud enough that he could hear if he was paying attention, which he’s not. “Absolutely unbelievable. I’m done. I’m so done. I’m gonna pack my shit and leave and he won’t even notice because he’ll be too busy playing his stupid fucking game.”
The tears make their way back, trickling down your face in an idiotic way that makes you hate yourself even more. You hate this. Hate that you can’t control your emotions anymore, that everything feels like the end of the world, so much so you’re genuinely considering divorce over a video game.
“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Jungkook suddenly shouts, controller raised in a way you assume means victory. “That’s what I’m talking about, boys.”
“Chat, thank you so much,” Jungkook grins at his monitor, all cocky. Normally, that smile makes you want to suck his cock, but right now you want to throw him off the top of a tall building. “Thank you for the subs, thank you for the donations, yo, ‘JKGoldenFan1’ with the hundred dollar donation, you’re insane, thank you so much.”
Sure, you’re happy he’s successful, that people love watching him, that he makes more in one stream than people do working as lawyers and doctors. Yeah, you should be thrilled that your husband is fucking loaded, that you’ll never have to worry about money, that your daughter will have everything she could ever want.
But honestly, you want to close the fucking banks. Shut down his entire operation. You’re going to burn Fortnite to the ground. You’re going to find the Epic Games headquarters and set it on fire. Hacking into Twitch and deleting his godforsaken account.
“Can’t believe he ignored me,” you mumble, resuming your pacing at the foot of your bed. “I cannot believe I married someone who cares more about a video game than his pregnant wife. That’s fine. No worries, Koo. I hear you loud and fucking clear. I’ll just go find someone else. I'll download Tinder right now. I’m sure there are plenty of men who would actually want to fuck me.”
“Y’all are crazy today with these donations today—wait what?”
Your head swivels and he’s staring at you, headphones pushed off his ear, taking in your tear-stained face and manic pacing.
“Uh… guys, I gotta go.”
“WHAT?” Namjoon shrieks. “We’re literally on a winning streak.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” Jungkook pulls off his headphones, eyes glinting with worry. “I’ll be back later, okay? Thanks for watching, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
He ends the stream before his friends can finish protesting, monitors going dark, and the room is quiet save for your sniffling.
By this point, you’re in full-on tears. It’s not cute crying, but rather the very ugly kind, where your face is blotchy, your nose is running and you can barely catch your breath between sobs. Because what the fuck. Does he even love you anymore? Does he want you? Maybe you’ve gotten too big and he’s tired of you always being so pathetically desperate for his attention. Maybe he regrets getting you pregnant. Maybe he looks at you now and doesn’t see his wife anymore.
“Baby…” he begins, standing from his chair.
“Don’t,” you choke out, holding up a hand as you continue to cry your eyeballs out. “Don’t ‘baby’ me. You ignored me. You-you patted my leg like I’m a fucking dog and then just went back to your game like I wasn’t even there.”
He owlishly blinks a few times. His white hoodie is unzipped a bit so you can see his muscular collarbones and you somehow feel more physically ill than you did before. You’re much too pretty to lose your man to a video game, you think.
“All day, you’ve ignored me,” you sniffle. “All day, Jungkook. I tried to cuddle you this morning and you said you had to edit a video. Fine. Okay. I tried to sit with you during lunch and you were on a call with your manager. FINE. I came in here looking like THIS, with this stupid dress you got me, and you couldn’t even spare me a glance. I kissed your neck. Your neck, Koo, you love when I kiss your neck, and you shrugged me off like I was some kind of fly buzzing around your head. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is? To throw yourself at someone and get treated like you're an inconvenience? I’m pregnant with your daughter, I’m horny 24/7, my body doesn’t feel like mine anymore, I cry at diaper commercials, and the one person who’s supposed to make me feel wanted can’t be bothered to pay attention to me.”
Jungkook lets out a laugh. It’s a small huff of air, but you hear it.
A fresh wave of sobs hits you. You press your palms to your eyes, trying to muffle the tears that wrack through you. “Are you—” you gasp, “Are you laughing at me?”
“No! No, baby, I’m not laughing,” But even as he says it, there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
“You are laughing at me!” you cry. You’re sobbing in a babydoll dress in a mansion. You have to beg the question: what is your life?
He moves toward you, hands outstretched, ready to tug you into his warm embrace. “Baby, baby, hey. What’s wrong? I don’t understand, what do you need from me?”
“What do I need?” you scream, and okay, you’re being ridiculous, you know you’re being ridiculous, but you can’t stop. “I NEED you to want me! I NEED you to look at me like you used to!”
Jungkook tries to wrap his arms around you but you push him away. He deeply inhales, trying to remain calm despite your outburst. “I was on stream. But I’m with you now, princess. I’m right here.”
“I told you what I needed!” You swipe angrily at your tears, but they keep pouring out in buckets. “I kissed you, I—do I need to spell it out? Do I have to just say ‘Jungkook, I want you to fuck me’ like some kind of nymphomaniac?”
“You… want me to fuck you?” he repeats, and his brows furrow together, obviously confused by all this. Of course a man could never understand.
“Yes, I’ve wanted you all day.” You sniff.
You’re being pissy, crossing your arms again and turning away. Part of you wants to keep fighting, keep being mad, make him really work for it. But the truth is that you’re not even that angry anymore. You’re not actually mad that he was gaming. It’s just these stupid pregnancy hormones that make your desire for him visceral. “And another thing,” you begin. “Do you know what it’s like to be this horny? I don’t think you do. I eat breakfast thinking about you. I watch you make those gross ass protein shakes and want to climb you like a tree. You could be taking out the trash and I’d want to fuck you. I’ve tried to be good and respect our boundaries. I haven’t interrupted your streams, well, I hadn’t until today, and I’ve been patient when you have calls or when you need to edit or when you want to spend time with your friends but I’m pregnant with your daughter and that means I have the self-control of a feral kitten in heat.”
Abruptly, you pause, trying to catch your breath and stop the incessant tear-flow. But it’s no use. You’re beyond saving. “Honestly? I’m not even fucking angry anymore.”
Jungkook stares at you, not expecting the turn of events.
You slap his chest to punctuate your point. “I just want your dick. That’s literally all I want! I want you inside me and I want you to make me cum. I want to feel close to you. Why on god’s green earth do I have to have a full mental breakdown just to tell you that I need you to fuck me?”
Great. Now the bastard is standing there with a cheeky smile on his face, bunny teeth poking out. He really is gorgeous. Even through your tears, you can see it.
“All you had to do was ask, princess,” His voice drops an octave, and your knees almost fail to work, wobbling. “You didn’t have to work yourself up into a whole thing.”
“Koo, I did ask you,” you whine, stomping your feet. “I kissed you, I’m wearing this dumbass dress—”
“No, angel,” he interrupts, cupping your cheeks with his warm hands, thumbing away at your tears. “You tried to seduce me while I was live with 10,000 people watching. That’s different from asking.”
You stifle another sob. He’s a cruel, cruel man, and you’re quite easy to break.
“I didn’t realize our baby girl was making her mama so needy. Is that what this is? Pregnancy hormones got you all worked up?” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.
“Don’t tease me,” you protest. His chest presses against your stomach and a flutter of butterflies erupt inside you.
“What, I can’t point out that my beautiful, sexy wife is so desperate for me that she’s crying about it?” His hands drift to rest on your hip, fingers playing with the silk hem of your dress.
“I hate you,” you grumble, averting your gaze from his eager eyes.
“No you don’t,” he confidently argues, “You love me so much you made yourself crazy trying to get my attention.”
The hands on your hip travel, both smoothing over your ass and pulling your body flush to his. “You should’ve told me, baby. I would’ve ended that stream in a heartbeat.”
He picks you up like you weigh nothing—you do not weigh nothing anymore and are acutely aware of every pound you’ve gained—but he lifts you, hands secure under your thighs as he carries you over to the bed. “Koo, I’m heavy,” you argue, fingers digging into the skin of his broad shoulders.
Jungkook laughs at that, a chuckle that sends shockwaves to your soaking core. “You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect and I’m gonna spend the next hour proving it to you.” He lays you down on the mattress gently.
“An hour?” You perk up, a big, goofy grin plastered on your face.
“At least.” He hovers over you, one knee pressed between your thighs. “I’m taking my time with you. I’ll make sure you remember exactly how much I want you.”
His deft fingers find the thin strap of your babydoll dress, drags it down your shoulder slowly. His lips follow the path immediately, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, shoulder, the curve where your neck meets your arm. “This dress,” he murmurs against your warm skin. “Do you have any idea what you do to me in this dress? Thought I was gonna have to end the stream early just from seeing you in it.”
“You didn’t even look at me,” you pout. You realize you’re giving in to your penchant for the melodramatic, but the pity helps.
“Trust me baby, I always look.” He pulls back, meeting your eyes and giving you a sloppy kiss. “You look like a fucking dream. Saw our baby right here—” His hand spreads across your bump, “—and it took everything in me not to say fuck it and take you right there.”
“You should have,” you whisper.
“Mm, probably,” He works on the other strap now, dragging it down to reveal more of your smooth skin. “But then I wouldn’t get to have you like this, all needy and so fucking beautiful.”
The fabric of the dress slips lower until cool air hits your swollen, sensitive breasts that have been growing almost daily. You used to be a comfortable bra size, but now you’re spilling out of D’s and heading rapidly toward double D territory. You’ve been self-conscious about it, about how different your body looks and whether he still finds you attractive when everything is changing so fast, but Jungkook’s eyes always go dark when his eyes catch on them, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. And when he goes, “Fuck, baby. You look so stunning,” it makes you feel like you’re the sexiest woman on this planet.
He cups your breasts, thumb brushing over the pebbled nipple. The relief of his touch makes you arch into his palms. “So sensitive,” he mutters, and you muster a whimper in response. “Are they sore, princess? Have they been hurting?”
You eagerly nod.
“My poor baby,” He leans down, pressing a kiss to the swell of your right breast, then your left. “You’re doing so much work growing our baby, making sure our daughter has everything she needs.” Another kiss, this one with the barest hint of his sharp teeth. “You’re fucking incredible, you know that?”
You moan, fingers coming up to grasp his bicep that’s holding onto your tit gently. “Koo, please.”
“I love watching your body change and seeing what pregnancy does to you. These—” he cups your breasts again, thumbs circling your hardened nipples until you’re squirming beneath him, “—drive me fucking crazy. You’re getting curvier everywhere.”
“I don’t want you to have self-control,” you gasp as his mouth finally closes around your nipple, sucking despite the sensitivity. “Just—oh god—”
His tongue swirls around the peak and you thread your fingers through his hair, holding him there, silently begging for more. “Responsive today, hmm? I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.” His teeth graze your nipple and you practically sob his name.
Jungkook’s free hand slides down your body, past the silk of your dress that’s bunched around your waist and over the bump on your belly that he pauses to caress with a doting tenderness. “You’ve been as patient as you can be,” he coos, pressing chaste kisses down your breasts and across the curve of your bump. “So good for me, trying to respect our boundaries even when you were going crazy. But you don’t have to be patient anymore, princess.”
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, a matching set to the dress you have on. Dragging them down your legs slowly, he watches your face contort into several different expressions. “Fuck,” he exhales, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder. His hands move to your inner thighs, spreading them wider, and your soaked cunt is exposed to him. “You weren’t kidding about being needy, were you?”
“I told you,” you whine, eyes closed tightly until you can see floating stars behind your eyelids.
“I know, I know.” he settles between your legs, broad shoulders forcing your thighs even wider, and presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “I’ll make it all better.”
Each kiss on your skin gets closer to where you need him but not close enough, never close enough. His breath ghosts over your center and you whimper, hips lifting off the bed. “Koo… please.”
“Please what?” he teases. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”
“Your mouth.” Your fingers paw at the sheets, holding onto whatever spare fabric is available. “Need your mouth on me, need you to—fuuuck—”
Mid-plea, Jungkook licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, your hand flying to his hair and fisting in the dark strands. “So wet,” he murmurs, marveling mostly to himself. “Missed this? Missed my tongue?”
“Yes,” you cry, and you’re already so worked up from hours of wanting him that you know you’re not going to last long. "Yes, missed it so much Koo.”
He’s no longer in the business of teasing you, especially not when you’re growing his beautiful daughter. His tongue finds your clit, circling it, a perfect rhythm he’s learned from years and years of learning your body. You think he knows it better than he knows the back of his hands. “Oh god, oh god,” you moan desperately, hips rolling into his face. He lets you, encourages it even, hands gripping your thighs with a bruising hold to ensure they remain spread for him. Alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and suckling your clit, his lip ring brushes against your entrance, causing your entire body to erupt in goosebumps. If you weren’t pregnant and in the beginning of your love story, you would be embarrassed of the sounds you were eliciting, but the pleasure coils in your core and you barrel toward your release.
“That’s it, darling. Keep letting me know you feel good.” The vibration of his voice against your cunt sends explosions shooting up your spine.
One of his hands leaves your thigh and you feel his fingers teasing your entrance, gathering the wetness there, and as he finally slides one finger inside you, you keen into him, belly bump pressing against his forehead. “Easy, baby,” he soothes while adding a second finger, curling them until he reaches your g-spot. “I’ve got you. Just relax for me.”
“Koo, I can’t—I’m gonna—” It’s too much, especially when your oversensitive clit has been tumbling toward release since the moment you woke up. “Can’t—”
“Good,” he groans, doubling his efforts, tongue working you relentlessly while fingers pump in and out. “Cum for me, baby. Cum on my tongue like a good girl.”
“Fuck, fuck, right there, baby,” Your hips slam into his cheeks, trying to get him to swallow you whole. The orgasm barrels into you. Knocks you over, pulls you under, your vision sizzling at the edges. Your thighs clamp around his head but he’s pushing you open, your cunt clenching around his fingers until your entire body convulses. Doesn’t give up until you stop pulsating around his digits, chin glistening with your arousal, looking absolutely fucking pleased with himself. “Doing okay?”
“Kinda,” you admit. But one orgasm isn’t enough, not when you can see how hard he is in his sweatpants, the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric. “But I want more.”
He unzips his sweatshirt, revealing his golden skin. “I’ll give you whatever you want. I know what you need.” Jungkook shoves his sweatpants down, cock angrily pulsating. He wraps a hand around his length, stroking slowly. “See what you do to me? You always make me this wound up, angel.”
He strokes himself a few more times, the head of his cock dragging through your arousal, catching on your achy clit. “I’ll take care of you. You deserve it.”
Jungkook pushes his full length inside, all nine inches of him, until he’s so, so deep. You both groan in unison, the feeling of him sinking into you otherworldly. It’s exactly what you’ve been craving all day. You wrap your legs around his waist, struggling to pull him closer as your bump creates this little gap between your bodies. “Fuck,” he whimspers, forehead dropping to yours. “Baby, you feel—god, you feel so fucking good.”
“Oh, Koo, please move,” you beg, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps.
Jungkook pulls out, slamming back into you sloppily. Somehow you’re even slicker than you’ve ever been. A mix of his saliva and your arousal, Jungkook struggles to keep himself buried inside you for more than three strokes before slipping out. “Uh-huh,” you angrily say, lining him up to your entrance.
He chuckles at your desperation, the way your brows furrow as you make sure he’s lined up perfectly to settle inside you. “Sorry, baby, you’re just so fucking wet. How do you even get this wet?”
You moan, wiggling under his grasp. “Fuck, I don’t know, don’t care, just put it in Koo,” you whine. You’re actually well-versed on the topic of your arousal. The other day, you learned in a book that women actually get more aroused during pregnancy, so it’s no wonder that you’re mimicking a human slip-n-slide down there.
Slowly, carefully, Jungkook sinks back in. In unison, you both let out a moan. Your walls vacuum-seal around his cock, trying to milk him of anything he has. One hand braces beside your head while the other slides to your belly, palm spreading wide where your daughter is growing. His hips move back, his next thrust squelching as it enters your sopping cunt. His face falls into your neck, little puffs of air falling from his lips. “Ah—shit, baby, you’re so fucking wet and tight, I’m gonna cum really fast.”
“I don’t care,” you furiously retort, “Just make me cum, now.”
His eyes travel to where his hand rests on you, hips pistoning in and out of you at a devastatingly slow pace. Enough to make your eyes roll back into your skull, your hands trembling. “You’re so beautiful,” his thrusts pick up, his hips slamming flush against yours. The tip of his cock hits your cervix, you’re sure of it. “Carrying our baby, making her safe and warm. You’re incredible, honey. Doing all this work growing her.”
He picks up the pace, rocking back and forth into your cunt. Your sensitive tits bounce with each thrust, and his eyes move from your belly to those, and his mouth waters at the sight. You both have tunnel vision, locked in on one thing and one thing only: orgasming. “Oh, Koo baby, right fucking there,” you keen.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixed in with your breathy moans. “It feels so good when you’re pregnant. Pussy’s so perfect, baby, squeezing me tight.” Your bump keeps you from being completely flush against him but someway, that makes it better, makes you more aware of it, of the physical proof of what you’ve created together.
His thumb brushes over your nipple, and your walls clamp around his cock again, tightening. He lets out a groan at the sensation. “I love knowing I did this to you. Made you mine in every single possible way.”
“Yours,” you agree breathlessly. “Always yours, fuck, keep going.” Carding your fingers through his brown locks, he ruts into you like he’s a teenager losing his virginity. You’re certain you’ve never been more desperate for him, haven’t ever been in your years of dating or marriage.
“Gonna fill you up and give you another baby, hm? Then I’ll have two that look just like you… fucking luckiest guy in the world, I love you so much,” When your eyes meet his, you see the undying affection, the unwavering admiration he has for you through it all. Despite his cock pounding into you so filthily, your heart grows three sizes bigger.
A silent moan falls from your lips, features scrunching as you barrel toward your high. Again, your cunt pulses around him, trying to coax every last drop of cum he wants to give you. “You gonna cum for me again, baby? I can feel you getting close.”
“Yes, yes, oh god, yes,” you babble, mind reeling, a tape unspooling, a film caught on fire. Your second orgasm grows slower than your first but slams into you with all the same power, your entire body shaking and tensing. Your nails leave cherry-red marks trailing down his toned back. He doesn't seem to mind; if anything, it spurs him on.
“Fuck, that’s good, baby,” he groans, fucking you through your release. He pulls out, and you shiver at the loss of him inside you, but he maneuvers your legs the way he knows how. “Gonna make you feel even better,” he promises, and then he’s lifting your legs, guiding them up until your ankles are resting on his shoulders. Jungkook wraps his arms around your thighs, hugging them to his chest.
His bicep veins bulge as he re-enters you, sinking so deep you feel him in your chest. Close the fucking gyms.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Galaxies float behind your shut eyelids, and it’s a primal desire, the one that wracks through you.
“You good?” he asks, but he knows the answer, can see it written all over your delicate features. Your hands fist in the sheets, panting, begging for more.
“Oh, fuck, Koo, you’re so deep inside me,” you writhe, legs trembling in his hold.
“I know, baby. You like it when I fuck you like this, right?” You can’t even form words anymore, just nodding frantically, and he’s watching you with such intensity it makes you feel exposed in the best way. His arms are strong around your legs, holding them securely against him.
One hand releases your leg briefly to trace down your body—over your breast, your bump, down to where you’re stretched around him. “Mine. Our baby’s gonna have the best life, princess.”
“More,” you plead, because even though you’ve already come twice you’re still needy, still yearning. . “Please, Koo, I need you.”
His thumb finds your bundle of nerves, and the combination of his cock pistoning in and out of you, and the stimulation on your clit has you hurtling toward a third orgasm embarrassingly fast. “That's my girl,” he praises, getting close too, you can tell from the way his rhythm is less controlled, a scarlet flush spreading across his chest and neck. “Gonna cum with me? Gonna let me fill you up with my seed while you cum on my cock?”
You don’t even know what you say, maybe something equally as impatient as before, but none of it matters. “Love you so much,” he says. “I love you and our baby so fucking much. Gonna take care of you both forever. Gonna—fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.”
Jungkook’s hips stutter as he empties inside you, your third orgasm following close behind. He collapses forward, careful to keep the weight off your belly, but you don’t notice or care about his sweaty body melded with yours. Your legs slide off his shoulders and he gathers you close, pressing kisses to your face, specifically your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.
It takes a few moments to catch your breath again, to finally rid your eyes of the black spots floating behind your vision. “Better?” he asks, his tone soft.
You nod against his chest. “Much.”
“Good.” He kisses your forehead tenderly. “For the record, you can interrupt my streams anytime if it means I get to do that.”
You swat at his chest weakly. “You told me not to. Don’t encourage me, Koo, you know I’m a sex menace.”
“I know what I said. And now I’m taking it back because my wife is just too fucking beautiful to deny.” He strokes your hair, and you feel so utterly safe in his arms, surrounded by his adoration ,with yours and his seed growing in your belly. There’s so much to be thankful for, and yet you never feel like you could put it into words. “I love you, [Y/N].”
“Love you too.’ You nuzzle your face into his neck, inhaling his musk. “Even when you ignore me for video games.”
“I never ignore you,” he corrects, feeling your bump for any kicks from baby girl. Recently, she’s made it a habit to appear after your escapades, and it softens you both everytime. “I just didn’t realize how bad you needed me. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” he confirms, kissing your swollen lips sloppily. “Now let’s get you all cleaned up so we can nap. Growing our daughter is hard work.”
Yeah. This is exactly what you needed.
And three months later, when you’re seven months pregnant, and even more insatiable (which you didn’t think was possible, but your body took that as a challenge), you pad into your shared bedroom during another stream wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt. And this time, he takes one look at your big, sad eyes and pouty lips and doesn’t even hesitate, just mutes his mic, pats his lap as an invitation and lets you sink onto his cock, while Namjoon and Taehyung wonder why he’s so quiet and why his gameplay has gotten significantly worse. You spend the next two hours keeping his hardened cock warm, occasionally squirming just to hear his breath hitch, feeling nothing but satisfaction when he cums inside you without even moving.
Turns out, this entire time, all you had to do was train him properly. Sometimes, the best compromises happen when you’re both too horny to argue.
⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: swimmer!jk x female reader, college au, slow burn friends to lovers to ??, fluff, angst, slice of life, no villain just life, coming of age
⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, substance use, college party and hookup culture, mentions of greek life hazing, characters experiencing just about every feeling a lost college student goes through, depictions of and discussions surrounding mental health (depression, anxiety, substance abuse), all of the main characters have family issues, characters are lowkey stoners, disgusting amounts of yearning and clueless pining, yes he's her tutor at one point, yes they're in denial, she fell first he fell harder, also features other third gen idols, dare i say found family, there is a beach episode and a fireworks festival too lol
in which a little box of memories tells the story of how you and jeon jungkook slowly, but surely, fell in love against the backdrop of the growing pains of your college years. jungkook presents this box to you as a final gift at graduation and each item in the box is a snapshot frozen in time, capturing the forces that brought the two of you from strangers to friends to more.
⇢ 𝐰𝐜: 106k+ (complete)
⇢ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐱: masterlist. / prologue. / the loyalty points card from the campus coffee shop. / ticket to the haunted horrors house (admission for two). / a worn out deck of cards. /handwritten no-bake cheesecake recipe. / cd soundtrack for stand by me (1986). / the hat box pt 1. / the hat box pt. 2 / travel brochure to derry beach. / postcard from odense, denmark. / pieces of confetti. / one empty tequila shooter & the final item.
⇢ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i fear that THIS is actually what that one part in party 4 u feels like. anyways this takes place in an unnamed western country where there is greek life but also the drinking age is 18 but then also the university holds a very east asian coded school festival? also the fmc is written physically ambiguous for the most part (there are only some mentions of jk being taller than her and being able to carry her) and completely racially ambiguous
NONE OF THIS IS EDITED OR PROOFREAD UNTIL ALL CHAPTERS ARE UP. read on ao3 here!
prologue. ⠀ ── jungkook disappears during your graduation ceremony and gives you an unexpected gift that forces you to confront the realities of finally saying goodbye to college.
a loyalty points card from the campus coffee shop. ⠀ ── on your first ever day of classes, you meet a boy with an eyebrow piercing and settle into your new life after leaving behind the ghosts of your hometown. and then, amidst making new friends and trying to fit in, you somehow meet again and again.
ticket to the haunted horrors house (admission for two). ⠀ ── freshman year halloween night plays on an endless loop and ends with an almost kiss that reinforces your ability to never get your hopes up with these stupid college boys.
a worn out deck of cards. ⠀ ── your new friends create sacred traditions that only the six of you can understand.
handwritten no-bake cheesecake recipe. ⠀ ── amidst finals season, jungkook proves once again that he can see right through you and you take in that it's something that you've been missing all your life. he learns about ceramics and you learn about desserts.
cd soundtrack for stand by me (1986). ⠀ ── by sophomore year, you make it your mission to be jungkook's biggest supporter, whether it's cheering him on in the stands or staying by his side when it's just the two of you.
the hat box pt. 1. ⠀ ── the story behind the hat box of memories, unfolding when you and jungkook take an epic journey of guiding each of your friends through their personal struggles - beginning with a trip to the thrift store with an overworked doyeon and accidentally spending the night locked in the school library with a distraught jaehyun. . .and with no where else to sleep, accidentally waking up tangled on a beanbag, draped over jungkook.
the hat box pt. 2 ⠀ ── when seokmin isn't his usual self, you and jungkook throw him the best birthday party he's ever had. meanwhile, helping yeri out with the school festival turns out to be more than taking over the dunk tank, as the plunge wakes jungkook up to see things that he's been too stupid to realize.
travel brochure to derry beach. ⠀ ── it's spring break and the tension between you and jungkook finally melts away, leaving your feelings out in the open.
postcard from odense, denmark ⠀ ── a scary accident brings you and jungkook together and you think things nearly get ruined forever. following this, you leave for a summer exchange program abroad and come back as a better version of yourself, but you're certain that your relationship with jungkook will never be the same.
pieces of confetti. ⠀ ── you wonder if really you've turned things around, but jungkook brings you comfort when you're left alone during christmas break of junior year, forcing both of you to confront what had been left unsaid in the air. a new year comes with new confessions and new promises, as you look back on your friends' uncanny abilities to find a celebration in even the littlest of things.
one empty tequila shooter & the final item. ⠀ ── at the welcome back bonfire, everyone discusses the uncertainties about the individual paths they'll soon take and realize the implications of senior year - the new beginnings to come, the inevitable farewells, and the fleeting moments in between. after it's all said and done on graduation day, there's just one last item to add.
