siyadrunkrecs

[siyadrunkrecs]

[231007 hennessy instagram]

[siyadrunkrecs]

this is honestly probably my most fav chapter. just the comfort, not just from the couple themselves but people around them, the possible direction of this story - everything was perfection. for all the pain that rid has caused us over the past few chapters, this FINALLY healed me 🥺

the ending had me LITERALLY PUNCHING MY FIST IN THE AIR, AND IM SO EXCITED TO SEE WHERE HER JOURNEY TAKES HER!! it was a very very unique twist to the story, one that i definitely was not expecting! she was BOSS BITCH to do that and we expect nothing less from her 😤😤😤 this is literally my comfort couple, so thank you for another masterpiece of a chapter love 💛

colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would  remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere. 

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck. 

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins. 

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,�� he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New. 

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life.  And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—” 

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. 

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all. 

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

[siyadrunkrecs]

Absolute RUINATION 😭😭😭😭 holy shit I ate thi series up like banoffee pie, it was so fucking good. Once again the way you write all their dynamics, your dialogues, the HUMOUR!!!! Every banter is so good, I often find myself pausing for chuckles. This is amazing writing, thank you so very much!!!!

Another Year

Final part of the New Year, New Me Series

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Summary:

A question you never imagined you would be answering suddenly pops up in your life, and suddenly it’s all you can think about. Considering how unstable your relationship with Jeonghan has been, will you two last to see another year?

Tag: Dubious Consent due to drunk mutual masturbation, creampie, choking, phone sex… sorta… Name-calling as usual, no protection- wear protection please

Special thanks to the anon who wanted a drunk y/n part! heh

-

You sat with your laptop in your lap as you typed the last few words of your essay on the word document you had open. You looked at it once, and then again, and then one more time just to make sure that the last sentence made sense.

You sighed and shut your laptop turning your attention to look out Joshua’s bedroom window. He stirred behind you, and you heard the pages of his book flutter slightly.

“Done?” He asked you. You nodded, and turned so that you could actually face Joshua, a smile spreading over your lips.

Keep reading

[siyadrunkrecs]

Holy fucking shit I cannot tell you the Rollercoaster of emotions I've gone on reading this PIECE OF MARVEL!!! MIND NUMBING, TOE CURLING, SOUL STIRRING WORK! I love the way jeonghan's arc is taken - he's not as asshole - well, maybe he is, but there's so much nuance to his character. YN is a DELIGHTFUL person with so much depth who I can absolutely relate to. Every other accompanying character adds so much to the story, and JEONGYEON IM SO HAPPY FOR HER!!! God I'm so invested in this story - I never write reviews on my phone but here I am. So looking forward to the upcoming parts!!

If you haven't read this, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT. Such amazing work, thank you so much for writing this!!!!!!

Officially dub con but off the book I think the consent is pretty explicit, again just tagging it so because it is an intense series

General Warnings for the Series:

Porn with Plot, frat boy!Jeonghan, college student!y/n, best friend!Jeongyeon, soft!dom to hard!dom Jeonghan, mean!Jeonghan (and y/n loves it), submissive!y/n, female!y/n (sorry gender-neutral friends), heavy degradation, light masochist!y/n, sadist!Jeonghan, mild pain kink, vaginal fingering, cunnulingus, creampie, spitting, slapping, spitting, mentions of safe words but they’re never used, big dick!Jeonghan, blowjob, slight public play, phone sex, y/n has a humiliation kink, mentions of aftercare but I don’t write it happening he just says what he’ll do

Works:

Pathetic (M)

“When your best friend Jeongyeon drags you to a frat party, you aren’t expecting much. Certainly not to be fucked dumb by notorious man whore Yoon Jeonghan, but hey, what happens at a frat party, stays at a frat party."

The Art of Humiliation (M)

“You go back to another Alpha Mu party in the hopes of maybe seeing Jeonghan again...”

Not a Friend (M)

“You think maybe sleeping with Jeonghan twice was a fluke- despite your last conversation with him, but when Jeongyeon mentions that he asked about you... You start thinking that maybe your relationship was more than you had originally thought it to be.”

Desired Intentions (M)

"Ironically enough after Jeonghan tells you that you can’t come over the next day you can’t stop thinking about him and it leads you to do to things that you wouldn’t normally do. But then again Jeonghan always ends up getting you to do things that you wouldn’t normally do without a second thought."

Love the Way You Lie (M)

"After finding out that Jeonghan has been lying y/n is thrown into a state of emotional turmoil. All the while, Jeonghan's actions leave her more and more confused by the day."

Attention (M)

"Everyone keeps acting like you aren't over Jeonghan, and you are determined to convince everyone that you are."

[siyadrunkrecs]

Free Use: Ch 8

Free Use: Ch 8

Free Use:  Index

Ship: Crush!Taehyung | Reader | feat. Jungkook

Description: Childhood Friends/Crush/Neighbors/College!AU. Your long time crush agrees to be your dom.

Warnings: Free Use Kink, Dom/Sub Relationship, Dom Taehyung, Dom Jungkook, Voyeurism/Exhibitionism, Degrading, Dirty Talk, Objectification, Fingering, Ruined Orgasm, Forced Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Pain Kink, Spanking, Slapping, Choking, Cuckholding? Jungkook is very mean and a brat tamer, Y/N gets railed in a janitors closet, i wouldn’t be surprised if i’m forgetting something, this is really vile i’m sorry i’m depraved, ITS ALL CONSENSUAL THO THIS IS HER DREAM AND MINE TOO

Word Count: 4,188

A/N: I think you can tell how horny I was making this.

Keep reading

[siyadrunkrecs]

Free Use: Ch 7

Free Use: Ch 7

Free Use:  Index

Ship: Crush!Taehyung | Reader | feat. Jungkook

Description: Childhood Friends/Crush/Neighbors/College!AU. Your long time crush agrees to be your dom.

Warnings: Free Use Kink, Dom/Sub Relationship, Dom Taehyung, Dom Jungkook, Phone Sex, Voyeurism/Exhibitionism, Degrading, Rimming (f. receiving), Anal, Intercourse, Oral (m&f receiving), Humiliation Kink, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Spanking, lemme know if I’m missing anything, just straight up PWP man

Word Count: 2,846

A/N: Sorry for the wait! Meant to put this for my 15,000 follower mile stone!

Keep reading

[siyadrunkrecs]

desperate need for the hottest jimin stories always lead me to this ghorl’s mlist and am i glad i finished this today 🥴🥴from the start jimin has me by the fucking balls, and then says

“No. I’m the freakiest bitch you’ll ever meet.”

ashikoo how do you get the best dialogues ever?? speak into the microphone please 🎤 the power of holding all jiminbitches’ sanity in the palm of your hand?? 

apart from jimin ofc even oc is SPECTACULAR and her defiance melding into absolute willingness... and the ending?!?!!!!! I WANT MORE OF THIS DUOOOOOO!! thank you so much for writing the freaky jimin we all have been thinking of since the cursed concert <3

what it’s like | pjm. (m)

You’ve always heard great tales about how good the infamous fuckboy on campus, Park Jimin, is in bed, and wondered if there could be any truth behind these claims when the guy looks like an angel with his cheruby cheeks and precious smiles. So when a new gossip starts to circulate about how ‘hard he hits’, you have had enough of the suspense and decide to finally sample him yourself.

pairing: jimin x reader rating: m (18+) genre: smut | humor | pwp | rivals to lovers!au | college!au | fuckboy!jimin | fuckgirl!reader warnings: swearing + alcohol consumption + christian chimchim’s duality + explicit sexual content (dom!jimin, switch!reader, spanking, pain kink, edging, size kink, oral (f), fingering, dirty talk) word count: 5.6 k note: so this is basically the result of all my sleepless nights bec jimin went practically shirtless in red mesh and then decided to slap air like nobody’s business. we are NOT doing okay and therapy is expensive, so this was the only alternative ✋😔 @cherishedjimin​ also to be blamed for putting jimin’s “don’t you know how hard i hit” on a loop in my head 😐 it was supposed to be a pwp but i added useless plot as i always do. no one question what anything means and why it is a certain way, okay? idfk.

hope y’all enjoy this horny brain fart ugh~ 😩💜

— masterlist

— feedback is always appreciated!

— support me!

🎵 need to know by doja cat mad love by mabel

An hour of sipping at spiked punch that burns like pure vodka, and you are done. You didn’t come here to torture your tastebuds – you came here to satisfy them. And a couple other parts of your anatomy.

So you stalk up to the male specimen you have been eyeing like a hawk for sixty-five minutes now, toss him the sauciest smirk your agitated and sexually frustrated self can muster, and grabbing the guy by his wrist, make a beeline for the staircase that leads to the bedrooms on the floor above this. He stumbles after you without a single word of protest, and your belief that he isn’t what he is known to be solidifies more.

To be very honest, you were a little thrown when you took in his provocative choice of clothing that comprised a bright red, mesh shirt that covered his entire torso and came up to his throat, a pair of low white, low waist jeans and a similar white bomber thrown over his shoulders. Even his grown out hair looked redder than usual, giving off a burgundy undertone. He also wore a chunky, silver necklace around the high neckline of his shirt, the whole ensemble making him look good enough to eat. 

But then you connected your gaze with him and he immediately looked away with a wide-eyed flush – sending you back to your firm belief that all the rumors about him are false and need to be put out.

He probably dressed up like this because of a lost bet or something, not because he came to look for a hook-up. Unlike you.

Keep reading

[siyadrunkrecs]

this is so cuuuttteeeee!! i love how jin is characterized in this, just perfect dad perfect husband perfect goof 😭😭 that chicken lamp adds beautifully to the story and that ending is LOVE. i do hope they went for round two, i am parched as well 🥴 thank you so much for writing this small ticket to heaven <3 <3 

mood lighting (ksj - m)

summary: it's been a little too long since you had your husband.

pairing: seokjin x female reader

genre: slice of life, established relationship, smut, humour

rating:��18+

word count: 1.4k

warnings: husband jin, fingering, oral (m), quickie, look they're impatient and they have sex in the same room as their sleeping baby, mention of math homework *shudders*, mentions of breastfeeding (is that a warning?), breasts leaking after sex

author’s note: i've been craving sexy ksj for a while, so here you go! i wrote this tonight. i hope it's okay. also, i am not a parent so i am sure i've gotten some things wrong. oh! and this is the chicken lamp mentioned.

The baby is asleep. 

Finally.

You slowly place her down in the crib. It’s been six months since you gave birth to her. A little girl with your nose but in every other way a spitting image of her father. 

She used to sleep so easily but in the last few weeks she’s begun to regress; and it is nothing short of exhausting. 

As a result you and your partner haven’t had much time for each other. Especially since your eldest child has started to get homework. You remember the days fondly when she came home with nothing but drawings to hang on your refrigerator, but now it’s booklets of math and English homework. You didn’t think that you would have to break out the (rather horrible) math skills for at least another two years and you can swear you hear your eldest daughter’s teachers laugh at you every time you sit down with her to work on it. 

Tonight, you decided to struggle with the baby. Even if it meant having her use your nipple as a chew toy for her sore gums. Anything but math. 

You sit down in the quiet room, the soft glow from the chicken night light illuminates the room. It’s quiet here. A quiet that presses the one thought that has slipped in and out of your mind all day back to the front - you want your husband. 

You pick up your phone and press the side button. Bright light shooting into your face - “shit!” - and your hands fumble with it as you try to lower the brightness. Your gaze shoots to your daughter and you release a sigh as you see her eyes still closed. 

You [19:46]: She’s asleep. Quickie? 

No sooner have you pressed send do you hear your partner’s voice from downstairs. 

“Time for English! Put on your headphones. I’ll be back in 10 to check on where you are.” 

“But I’m not finished with -” 

“We’ll come back to it. Time for a break!”

“English isn’t a -”

“Then watch something on your tablet! I’ll be back in 10 minutes.” 

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle your giggle which slowly threatens to build to a laugh as you hear your husband’s footsteps on the stairs, a loud thump, a moment of silence, and then the doorknob to the nursery turns. 

His pants are almost to his knees when he enters the room. You press your hand harder against your mouth. You stare at him for a moment and then you peel your hand away to whisper. 

“Did you fall trying to get your pants down?” 

He nods, a smirk on his face, and amusement in his gaze. 

Your eyes widen and you press your hand back to its position at your mouth as you laugh. 

He closes the door (softly) and bites down on his bottom lip as he begins to laugh with you. 

“You said a quickie!” he whispers as the two of you come down from your silent laughter.

You nod. 

He pushes his pants down and stands there. It’s an amusing sight: he stroking his dick, a red mark on his thigh from where he must have hit the landing, and a chicken night light bringing the kind of mood lighting you used to try and create when you were first dating. 

Fuck he’s sexy.

You smirk up at him from your spot on the floor then push yourself up. 

Before you can catch your breath his lips are pressed to yours in a kiss that makes you weak in your knees. His hands work on your leggings, pushing them down. You gasp as you feel a finger press to your clit and slowly slide down and then back up. You’ve always loved his fingers. You know he doesn’t, but they are perfect. 

You moan into his mouth as he slips one finger into you, his palm pushing against your clit, and then he’s guiding you backward until you hit the change table. Both of you pause and turn to look to see if she’s awake, when the table hits the wall with a thud.

Still sleeping. 

You bite his neck and he slips his finger out of you and grips your hips, turning you around. You rest your elbows on the table as he steps back bringing your hips with him. 

Fuck! You have missed this from him. 

Slowly he drags the tip of his dick against you. He’s torturing you. 

“Jin,” you whisper moan. 

“Yes?”

“Fuck me.” 

“What was that?” 

Oh fuck him! 

“Fuck me right now,” you whisper as loud as you can, impatience decorating your words. 

Instead of a response he pushes into you with a sudden and quick thrust. 

You both pause, basking in the feeling of finally, finally having this moment together. You missed the ache and stretch that he brings to your body.

“Fuck, yeobo, you’re so tight,” he moans and you move your hips against him reveling in the compliment and the tone in his voice that you can almost always pull out of him but haven’t heard in such a long time. 

He remembers that you are on a time limit, and so he begins. Quick, beautiful hard thrusts. Dragging his dick to the brink of abandoning you and then filling you again. And again. And again. 

You’ve missed him. Missed his beautiful and wonderful dick! His body pressed against you. The sound of skin on skin. 

You can feel your orgasm build, muscles tightening around him, as his head pushes against your spot. You're silent but you know he can feel it. He knows your body so well, knows when you’re getting close. He keeps his thrust, shallow, and you have to bite down on your lip as you feel his finger on your clit. 

He kisses your neck. Biting then licking at the spot. 

He holds you up when your orgasm hits you. Legs weak and shaking as your body tries to pull off him. He holds you still with one hand on your hip and the other still moving over your sensitive clit before he slows and lets you ride the wave. 

He stays for a moment as your body slowly comes down. Then you’re left feeling fulfilled but empty. You turn around and kiss him. Your hand taking him in, wet from you, and you begin quick strokes. You love this part - him moaning into your mouth as you pleasure him. 

It doesn’t take long before he breaks the kiss and you drop to your knees. Replacing your hand with your mouth. You know his body too. You know what tongue movements to do, where to place your hand, how fast and how slow he likes it. You don’t go slow this time. 

You can see his body tense before you can taste him. His dick twitching in your mouth. His familiar taste landing on your tongue as he holds your head still. 

You take your time to come off him, making sure to clean as much as you can before you release him and swallow. 

He gazes down on you, eyes wide, mouth open. He holds his hand out to you and you take it as you push yourself up off the floor. He grabs you by the back of the neck and gently pulls you to him. You share a kiss. This time it’s slow, loving, thankful. 

“Missed you,” he whispers as he rests his forehead against yours.

You nod. 

“APPA!” your eldest’s voice comes from downstairs and you groan. 

“When she goes to bed, round two?” he asks as you both separate and dress yourselves. 

“You think I’m going to be ready for a second time?” you ask, amused.

He nods. 

“Once you’ve had this dick after such a long drought, you’re going to realize just how thirsty you were.” 

You want to throw the chicken light at him. 

He smirks and you try hard to hide your own from appearing on your face. 

“Your dick isn’t water.”

He nods. You turn your attention to your sleeping daughter and then the two of you make your way out of the nursery and out into the hall. 

He pauses and grabs you by the waist, kissing your cheek before he says, “I think we should move the chicken light into the bedroom. It’s perfect mood lighting.” 

Your eyes go wide and you nod, “I was thinking the same thing!” 

You share another laugh.

“Oh babe, you’ve leaked,” he says before he grabs your hand and pulls you to your bedroom. 

You’re about to undress yourself when he shakes his head and gently slips your shirt over your head and then your bra. He smiles as he takes you in and kisses you gently before he walks over to your closet and brings you back another bra and shirt. He lets you dress yourself knowing you hate when people try to help you.  

He kisses you once more before he leaves and you follow him down the stairs. 

“You said ten minutes and it’s been twelve,” your eldest complains, headphones resting on her neck. 

“And you said earlier that you hate numbers!” Jin laughs. 

© sugalaritae, 2023. you do not have any permission to repost or translate my work even if you give credit. all of this is mine.

[siyadrunkrecs]

finALLY the chapter where they disclose the “secret” that we’ve known all along 😭😭😭😭 this is my comfort series but lawd this chapter pulled my heart out of my body 😵‍💫😵‍💫 it was such a beautiful chapter and so very worth the wait, and ofc jungkook being the PERFECTEST BOI EVER presented the perfectest setting. and then you hit me with

“I can't fucking tell you what you do to me, Jungkook.”

“Try.”

not me being at the absolute edge of my seat through this WHOOOLLEEE interaction and both of them speaking in ridddllleeessss!! until they arent <3 and they finally confess and kith in SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SCENE AND UGH I LOVE THEM AND LOVE THEIR LOVE! their kiss was magical, and i felt every single emotion through your words 😍🥰😍

but of course no one livesi n peace in taegularities town and you had to hurt us at the end 😐 but we have faith in your brain to get them back together after the best pain in the world <3 eagerly looking forward to what you have planned for this duo!!!!! everyone go show this lots and lots of luuvvvv!! 

colour me in: silhouettes | jjk (m)

Summary: Spending your days between the comfort of Jungkook’s walls should feel new, even strange to you – but in truth, you’ve never felt this much at home.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating:18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: some more artistic moments!, a guest appearance, a party!, bits of jealousy, bathroom shenanigans, angsty dialogues, he brings her flowers </3, dancing!, someone flirts with mr jeon, tae and eun.. taeun <3, bit of playful banter 🥺, paparazzi being a pain in the 🍑, an outing !!!!!!!!!!!!, a very painful convo and tears, the freaking angst, co– [gunshot], explicit sexual content: drunk bathroom fumbling, dry humping, so in l*ve ew, soft sweet sex, simping, kis– [gunshot], oral (f. receiving), big dick jk, dom jk, teasing, mid-sex convos; the ending 🤒 ➳ wc: 23.7k 😐 ➳ a/n: here goes my first baby of 2023 !! as always, beta’d by the loveliest @missgeniality​ <3 this chapter was a tough one, but i hope you guys like it. please do let me know what y’all think; your words, feedback and support motivate me a lot 🥺 thank you for all the support so far <3

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

Jungkook is fast asleep when a memory of the past shakes you awake the next morning.

Keep reading

[siyadrunkrecs]

no jokes, this series has been such a source of comfort for me. not just in reading, but in talking about it, theorizing about it, just living in their world - rid crafted us a dream of a universe and im hesitant to ever see the end of it. im so so happy that this series is up and running once again, and im so so excited to see what she has in store for the next chapters!!! if you haven’t read this, highly highly highly recommend because trust me you need it <:) thank you so so much rid for writing yet another unbeatable beauty!!!!!! <3

colour me in: the canvas | jjk (m)

Summary: Jungkook comes back to you with a suitcase full of secrets and hurdles – and once he opens it, you’re left tongue-tied and bewildered.

➳ pairing:Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: artist jk actually this time!, old secrets revealed and new ones made smh, deep talks, paparazzi mention, oc’s mother is just not cool, another member cameo!, crying and fighting, domesticity <3, angst ahead 😵‍💫; explicit sexual content: consent, mentions of bdsm, body painting 😭, dirty talk, bit of edging, oral (f. & m. receiving), throat fucking, fingering and handjob, body paint on his lips…, dry humping, unprotected sex, breast play, some biting, such disgusting fluff it made me sick, again… such deep jk moans, showering/washing up together…., multiple orgasms, aftercare, the moment after <3 ➳ wc: 22.8k ➳ a/n: ahhh okay, so – i hope you guys like this chapter after all the fun theorising and suspense (and after all those months!), and that it lives up to your expectations !! it was so fun to write, though. always thankful for beta’ing @missgeniality​​, you’re the bestest 🤍 as always, don’t forget to drop by in my inbox and let me know what you think; it means a lot !! ➳ listen to:with love by christina grimmie |full playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

“Shouldn’t we get up at some point? It must be noon.”

Keep reading

[siyadrunkrecs]

imagine if you will, a horrible scene: girl with horrible posture, hunched over her code, eyebrows creased in disdain as Run BTS screams into her earphones. 

yes that is i. 

and then i randomly checked to see how sattie is doing and i find A DELICIOUS MORSEL OF PWP JUST WAITING TO BE PLUCKED BY ME HOLY HECK DID I JUST PAUSE THE MUSIC CLOSE ALL THE WINDOWS UNCREASED MY FOREHEAD FOR THIS BEAUTY !!!! yes sattie i paused RUN BTS for you so when are we getting married

as always saturn just dives headfirst into my heart to find all the right words for anything they write. i read through this twice, once because i was really starved of your writing but another time to absorb the plethora of feelings you seem to share in such few words. you paint a gorgeous picture of their dynamic without delving too deep, you gives us a lot of information in the seconds that jimin is fingeringustoseventhheavenomgosh and you leave us wanting and panting for so so much more with that ending. im blown away 🥺🥺 this was such a cute ficlet that gave me all the feels, and very few people can achieve that in such a short span. thank you so much for writing this for us, jimin hoes are thriving with writers like you 😩😩💛💛💛💛💛💛

hide away | pjm

title: hide away

author: lavienjin

p: jimin x f!reader

wc: 1.4k

genre/au/rating: 18+ | pwp, f2l? | smut drabble

warnings/tropes: pwp, fingering (f!receiving), one orgasm (wow!), secret lovers

a/n: hi i'm back (sort of)! more fics soon? idk how to write on tumblr anymore tbh lmfao

m.list | ao3

"We heard a disturbance."

You tighten your grip on your nightgown closer to your chest. You flash your bodyguard the most dazzling smile.

"Nonsense! I just… stubbed my foot on the edge of the bed. That's probably what you've heard." The lies come easily to you now. You don't have to think so hard.

"Are you sure?" The bodyguard asks as he tries to peer into the darkness of your chambers.

You squeeze him away from the doorframe. "Yep," you grunt, as you try to shove the six-foot tall man away from the door. "Nothing to see here. Just me. Alone in my room."

Suspicion crosses his eyebrows as he looks down and searches your face, but after a tense second, he sighs; defeated. You can't help but feel a pang of pity. This one is clearly new and just trying to do his job. You wonder when your father fired the other one, but you can't bring yourself to care.

Not when there's someone waiting for you, hidden in the shadows of your room.

"All right. I'll be standing outside if you need anything."

"Certainly," you say, trying not to sound too relieved. "Good night then."

As soon as the door closes, Jimin reappears on your bed, shirtless except for the handsome smirk that decorates his porcelain face. You wasted no time before diving back in to continue where you left off, and he wasted none either as he swallows your faint giggles in a heated kiss.

"That was close," your mystery companion whispered in between breaths, before diving back into your neck, leaving faint trails of his visits behind.

"Ooh," you moan. "Y-Yeah," is your faint reply to his keen observation.

Your paramour perks up just before reaching the tops of your breasts. He trails a slender finger between the mounds, a feline smirk dancing upon his lips. "My, how strange it was to hear my good girl lie."

You pout, resisting the trembling of your legs as he swipes a thumb over your clothed nipple. "Would you rather get kicked out?"

A soft laughter. "No," he whispers, followed by deft hands unfurling your nightgown to reveal your chest. "And I definitely don't want the princess of our college to have an increase in bodyguards. It's hard enough for me to climb into your room without being noticed."

You prop yourself up, suddenly curious. "You've never told me how it is you manage to get up here unnoticed."

His hand stops just above the waistband of your panties. Jimin's pointer finger draws circles on your skin; his telltale smirk reappearing, and this time accompanied by a quirk of his brow. "Do you want me to spend the rest of my night recounting my every dashing move or would you rather be satisfied?"

"Oh?" It's your turn with the smirk and quirk brow combo. "I thought the great Jimin is able to multitask?"

Jimin sighs, playfully rolling his eyes, before tugging your panties away, revealing the soft wetness underneath. His pointer and middle fingers draw circles around your folds, and as you begin to get lost in the sensation, he starts to speak: "Your father's guards are on rotation and there's always a minute or two gap where no one is watching the house."

"Hmmm…" you answer distractedly, falling back down on the pillows.

He continues despite your clearly ambivalent response. 

"All I have to do is clear the gate and climb up onto the roof by the trellis from the gardens. From there it's a matter of lying low and making sure the guards don't see me as I walk on top of the roof." Jimin talks so methodically as though he didn't just sink his pointer finger into your heat, teasing the entrance with shallow thrusts. 

Moans tumble out past your lips, which are quickly stuffed back into your throat as he presses his other hand over your mouth.

With half-lidded eyes, you watch his bemused expression. "Are you listening to me, baby?" he asks, a slight mock in his tone as he removes his hand.

You smile, eyes closing in ecstasy. "Uh-huh, guards, garden, roof… whatever." The last word comes out in a sigh, especially as Jimin joins his middle finger inside, this time moving deep and slow.

"Distracted baby," Jimin murmurs, shifting his stance so he sits on the bed. He pulls you in closer so that your ass lies on his lap.

You try to keep your moans in as he gradually moves faster, but it isn't long before the room is filled with your breathy "Jimin, Jimin, Jimin", accompanied by the sound of wetness as he begins to tug at the strings of your orgasm.

"Oh, baby," he mumbles, face straining slightly with effort, though his movements refuse to falter. "Gorgeous little thing."

"Haaa… please…" you cry as quietly as you could. "Need to cum…"

"Keep your eyes on me as you do."

You snap your eyes open as you feel the pull of your orgasm; that familiar tautness, like a coil about to break. "Gonna–"

Jimin adds a thumb to your pleasure, pushing tight circles on your clit. 

"Jimin– I'm close… I'm– ah!" You struggle to keep your eyes open as your orgasm shakes your body; overwhelmed by the seemingly never-ending waves of bliss.

You may have caught a glimpse of his irritating victory smirk, but you can't really focus any longer. Did you call his name? You can't be sure.

When you come to, his plush lips are on yours, capturing whatever residual moans that try to escape before it alerts the bodyguard outside.

He kisses your forehead as you begin to relax, and Jimin shifts your bodies so you lie on top of his chest.

Jimin settles into your bed, eyes closed as he pulls you into his arms. "Good?"

"Very," you mumble, eyes drooping close. No. You can't sleep yet. You've been dying to ask. "Jimin?"

He opens an eye to look at you. "Hm?"

Nervousness overcomes you. You look away when you ask, "When are we going to… y'know…" 

"Fuck?" he finishes your question after a few seconds of pause, with a smirk as you curl even deeper into his chest, avoiding his gaze altogether. "When you're ready," comes his soft voice and yet another kiss on the forehead.

"When will that be?" you mumble into his skin.

His reply comes swiftly. "When you can say the word 'fuck' without blushing."

"I can say it!" you grumble.

"Oh?" Jimin sits you up before he leans on his hand. He juts his chin towards you, as though giving you permission. "Okay then, Ms. Goody Two Shoes, let's hear it."

"F-" The word seems stuck in your throat. It's a simple word. Why do you find it so difficult to say? Jimin can say it just fine when he lets you please him. Oh god, he moans so nicely whenever you manage to take all of him into your mouth, and when he calls your name? Oh–

"There it is," Jimin sighs, breaking through your sinful thoughts. "You're not ready, darling." He scoops you back into his embrace. "I promise the wait will be worth it though. Now sleep. We have classes tomorrow, y'know."

Grumbling under your breath over the fact that you can't say that fu– darn word, you close your eyes. It turns out, sleep comes readily to you.

When you wake up the next morning, the only evidence that last night; and all the other nights that come before it, wasn't a dream lies in a note that rests where Jimin's warm body once laid. It's a normal occurrence; part of your deal, though you can't help but feel disappointed. It doesn't stop you from scouring the note, etching every swoop of cursive letter into your brain before you plop it into your nightstand drawer, where dozens of other identical looking notes lie.

When your maids come to help you get ready that morning, they're left wondering what's gotten you all giggly, but you keep the secret inside, not daring to breathe it to a single soul, just in case the illusion falls apart.

"One day I'll wake up next to you and I never have to leave in the dead at night. It's freezing. You're welcome. 

P.S. You look beautiful when you sleep, even if you drool on my chest. 

-J" 

saturn notes: holy fuck. i haven't written anything since february? not apologising! life has been busy with me starting a new job, meeting my friends + partner over the summer, etc. etc. tbh, i was a bit burnt out on writing and just needed a break. this is the first time i finished something in forever, so i hope you enjoy the messy, messy drabble. i got one collab to do and i'll feel free when i finish that! thanks for your patience 💗

will this be turned into a story? who knows~

[siyadrunkrecs]

Okay but oh my God I'm in love with all the characters in this fic. Everyone is so witty, so sharp, so quick with their quips, and every single word entertained the fuck outta me!! There were many different places where the humour got the better of my restingbitchface and people at the dinner table almost caught me 🤐🤐🤐

Yoongi's characterization is so ON POINT he's only there for half the fic and this is a JIN fic but why am I rooting for him (only a little, i love jin)?!?!

I am super invested in how this proceeds, how Seokjin manages to wiggle his way into reader's good books, how it progresses with Yoongi and reader and who will make me snort out my food with their amazing one liner. This is so so so good, thank you for writing this!! 💛

Business As Usual | 01

Banner by @bangtansmauyeondan <333

Pairing: businessSchool!Jin x Fem Reader

Genre: GradSchool!AU, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, Smut

Summary: The first thing Jin noticed about you was that you were hot. The second was that you were fucking brilliant. The third was that you were kind of a bitch. Basically, you were perfect.

The first thing you noticed about Jin was that he was hot. The second was the professors already called him by name. The third was that he was an insufferable prick. Basically, you hated his guts.

Word Count: 4,540

~~~~~

"Hey, sweetheart."

Your shoulders froze when you heard that familiar, unwelcome voice behind you. No. Not this. Not today.

You cast your eyes from side to side, hoping one of your coworkers could attend to the headache at the counter, but you were on your own. With a sigh, you took your time frothing the milk and setting out the latte for the previous customer.

When you had postponed the inevitable for as long as you could, you finally turned to the next customer with a wide, fake smile on your face. Gorgeous chocolate eyes stared back at you as Kim Seokjin lounged at the register, an unfairly sexy smirk tugging the corners of those plump, soft-looking lips. Despite your hatred of the man, the sight of him never failed to momentarily stun you.

"What can I get you?" you asked through your teeth, maintaining your customer service smile despite your urge to reach over the counter and throttle that beautiful neck. His eyes twinkled and you forced away the flutter in your chest. You must have had too much caffeine today.

"Just a medium coffee. Black," he said smoothly, fully aware that the two girls in line past his shoulders were giggling and whispering to each other about him. Ugh, if only he was as ugly on the outside as he was inside. There had to be some hideous painting of him in his attic somewhere, growing uglier and more demonic with each new company his father's business empire acquired.

"Oh? Did you not like my recommendation last time?" you asked innocently, fluttering your eyelashes and putting a mock-dejected look on your face. A vein in his jaw twitched and you gave yourself an internal cheer of victory.

"While it was almost as sweet as you, I think I'm going to forego courting diabetes today," he managed to respond without missing a beat. His quick wit was actually enough to surprise a genuine laugh out of you, and you had to remind yourself that his personality was not cute.

The last time Kim Seokjin had come to the coffee shop, he had - somewhat bravely, considering he knew how much you disliked him - asked for whatever you recommended. So you had concocted the most expensive, sugar-laden monstrosity you could think of. There might actually have been upwards of twenty pumps of different syrups in there, not that you had counted. Okay, you had, and it was twenty-eight.

You had taken great relish in watching his face contort into the cutest funniest ways when he tasted it. When he'd managed to swallow it down, he had given you a very satisfying, pained smile. And left you a hundred dollar tip for the "delicious drink," because of course he couldn't just let you have ONE win.

"That's not how it works, but I'm sure someone as brilliant as you was just joking," you said flirtatiously, oozing insincerity. The girls behind him scowled at you. Like the other obvious things glaring in your face, you ignored them. "One black coffee. Anything else?"

"Your number?" Despite the fact that you had shot him down every single time he had ever asked, there was still that confident lilt to his voice. It annoyed the shit out of you the first time, when he had acted like it was a given that you would, and it still annoyed you now. You gave him the most saccharine smile you could bear.

"Unfortunately, some things in life can't be bought. That will be $3.50, thanks."

If anything, your retort made him grin wider. It pissed you off even more, because you knew at this point he wasn't even interested, he was just being a dick. And of course, because he was a stupid rich boy who loved to rub your nose the fact that he saw you as a charity case, he left another hundred dollar tip.

You rolled your eyes at it, and Jin's smirk gained a sharp edge of - something. You weren't sure what it was. You ignored him and went back to work, missing the way his eyes followed your form and the way he shifted in pants that were ever so slightly tighter than before.

"I'll see you in lecture, sweetheart," he called after you.

"Fuck off and die," you retorted with a toss of your hair, flipping the bird at him over your shoulder. God, was one day without seeing his stupidly handsome face too much to ask for?

Jin had to adjust his slacks before he left the cafe.

~~~~~

You sighed in relief when your professor finally ended his lecture. If it had gone on any longer you weren't sure whether or not you'd pass out - there was only so long you could focus on the droning voice of an old white dude, especially when it was about macroeconomics. It was your last class of the day, and you were ready to go home into the embrace of your wonderful, sexy bed for a well-earned nap.

On top of your internship, you had taken a couple extra shifts at the coffee shop you worked at for extra cash. Combined with your already demanding course load, this week had definitely taken its toll. Your lovely mattress and soft sheets beckoned.

Unfortunately, a set of broad shoulders blocked your way out the door. You sighed, wishing the professor wasn't still in the hall so you could do more than glare daggers at the program's golden boy.

"Can I help you?" you snapped, shifting your bag to your other shoulder. Kim Seokjin gave you a smarmy grin that begged to be violently removed from his face, and you felt your eyelid twitch in a combination of exhaustion and irritation. His friend Kim Namjoon stood a little ways behind him and flashed you a sympathetic look.

God, if only it was him that had set his sights on you. Namjoon was quietly brilliant, well-spoken, respectful, and had dimples deeper than the ocean when he smiled. Unfortunately, he and Seokjin were best friends and it seemed the elder had staked his claim like a dog peeing on his supposed territory.

"Are you going to the cohort happy hour tomorrow?" the puppy dog asked, refusing to remove his stupid teeth from your pant leg no matter how many times you tried to kick him off. Your jaw clenched as you tried to look unaffected by the hopeful gleam in his eyes.

You had no real desire to go, but networking was an unfortunate reality of the career path you had chosen and you knew it would be beneficial to go and schmooze, especially since other department professors with connections would be there. It was another reason you were so eager to get some rest tonight - you'd need your energy and good humor to charm people at the event. You had confidence in your abilities, but you'd feel better if you weren't exhausted and hiding a pissy attitude the entire time. Plus if you were both sleep-deprived AND tipsy, you might end the night with murder charges.

"Hmm, that depends," you mused, stepping closer to the object of your hatred. His eyes brightened at your closeness, but you were too tired to notice that or the sudden pink at the tips of his ears. "Is Namjoon going?"

At the sound of his name, the other man's eyes shot wide. Seokjin's jaw dropped as you brushed past him to make eyes at his friend.

"I hope I'll see you there," you purred with a hooded smile, making him blush cutely when you patted his (very nice) bicep. That was as far as you ever went though, you weren't a total asshole. Unlike certain others. You exited the room with a swish of your hair, the interaction already fleeing your mind in favor of thoughts of your memory-foam pillow. As soon as you left, Jin glared at his friend.

"Joon, you better keep your hands off my future wife."

The younger man snorted, unable to keep his lips from twitching into a grin at the way his best friend stared at your ass with hearts in his eyes as you left. Despite the clear waves of hostility your attractive form emanated any time he was in the vicinity, Jin still clearly hoped that this was some weird form of flirting and that eventually you'd give in and ride off into the sunset with him in his Porsche. Actually if it was for you he might even legitimately buy a carriage and horses. It might have been romantic if your disdain wasn't so obvious to anyone with working eyes.

He couldn't exactly blame the elder. Jin was not only objectively one of the best looking people he had ever seen in his life, but also good-humored and loaded. He had men and women throwing themselves at him from pretty much any angle he could crook his finger towards. The guy didn't really understand the word no, not because he was an asshole (on purpose), but because he had never heard it seriously.

Plus Namjoon had to admit that from his limited knowledge, you were the total package. You were hot as shit, incredibly smart, and driven. Not to mention hilarious and witty, if the way you staved off Jin's advances was anything to go by. Namjoon would have been all over you in an instant if his best friend wasn't so smitten, because who wouldn't? Honestly he would even like having someone like you as a friend, but given the circumstances that clearly wasn't going to be possible.

"Buddy, Half-Life 3 is going to be released before she comes near you willingly," he said with a sigh, knowing his statement would fall on deaf ears.

"I'd like to make her come on me," Jin said wistfully, proving his point. It was that very single-mindedness that made him put his foot in his mouth every time he talked to you.

"You have it so fucking bad."

~~~~~

The highlight of the department's happy hour immediately made itself known in the very attractive, very smooth bartender.

"Can I get a Macallan, neat?" you asked the silvery-haired man. An earring jingled when he turned his head to greet you, and the lopsided smirk that graced his face made your knees weak. You would ease off later - no need to make a drunken fool of yourself at a networking event - but for now you needed the social lubrication to keep your smile on your face.

Plus this was a fancy-ass location and you were definitely going to take advantage of the fact that it was an open bar to drink something nice. And for some weird reason older men were always impressed by the fact that a "delicate woman" enjoyed scotch, so it sometimes worked as an icebreaker to help infiltrate the boys' clubs your program seemed to degenerate into.

"Unfortunately, your company's package states that liquor has to come with ice," he said, not sounding particularly apologetic. He seemed braced for a hissy fit or some sort of verbal strong-arming, which you realized wasn't that surprising considering the current clientele.

"Ah, what can you do," you said, making a face. "Does just one rock still fit the rules?"

The bartender relaxed a bit at your hopeful face and the smirk became more of a genuine smile. It mellowed his aura into something sweeter, and you decided then and there that maybe business connections weren't the only ins you would try for tonight.

"That I can do," he agreed, before moving off to make your drink. Oh no, he also had the cutest butt you had ever seen. Well, other than -

"Good to see you, sweetheart."

Of course fucking Kim Seokjin would HAVE to interrupt your ogling session. Wishing you were at least two more whiskeys deep, you turned to give a polite hello the bane of your existence.

"Hello, Kim," you greeted, fake smile plastered on your face. He took a moment to eye you up and down, which made you want to simultaneously preen and roll your eyes. You might have hated the guy, but you weren't completely immune to his obvious charms. Whatever else, it was gratifying to know that someone who frankly (and unfairly) looked like the Korean version of a Greek god found you attractive. And the way his top button was left open should have been criminal. Still, the obnoxious way he refused to use your name was enough of a deterrent. "Where's Namjoon?"

You were rewarded by a tic in his jaw as he clenched his teeth to maintain his smile.

"Around," he said vaguely, stepping a little closer to you. "You really should just call me Jin." You moved backwards to maintain your distance, an action that did not go unnoticed by the bartender bringing you your amber salvation.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" he asked politely, handing you your scotch with what were possibly the most gorgeous hands you had ever seen. There was the tiniest pebble floating in it, one that would probably melt within the next couple minutes, and your amused smile was met by an answering grin. He then continued to distract Seokjin with his order, giving you the opportunity to slip away and begin the schmoozefest. Yes, you were definitely going to be getting his number tonight.

Unfortunately, it seemed that every time you went to the bar for another drink, either the mysterious sexy bartender was taking someone else's order or Seokjin followed you there like a bad case of gas. You didn't let that keep you from subtly flirting with him, and he seemed receptive - he always had some little quip or observation that had you giggling, much to Seokjin's obvious chagrin.

Later in the night, while the handsome, patience-sucking dementor was stuck in a conversation with your department head, you were finally able to have a proper exchange.

"So, I was wondering if I could get the name of the bartender who does such a lovely job of pouring my drinks," you said with a smile, leaning into the bar in a way that juuuust barely emphasized your cleavage. His eyes flicked down before coming back to meet yours in a crooked grin that you wanted to kiss off his face.

"Depends," he answered nonchalantly as he poured you a club soda and lemon. You had long since abandoned alcohol for hydration, so it was now completely obvious you were just coming back for him. "Am I finally getting to realize my dreams of becoming a sugar baby?"

You burst out laughing at his joke, and he gave you a wide, adorable smile that showcased his teeth and his gums. It was obviously a real one, not a customer-service version, and was way too endearing for your buzzed brain to handle.

"At the moment I am but a poor scholarship student," you replied with a shrug, accepting your glass of glorified water. "But give me a few years and I'll be stomping all over most of these guys in Louboutins or something."

"I'd imagine some of them would be into that," the bartender responded, clearly amused. He rested his elbows on the bar and set his head on his hands, giving you his full attention. "I'm Yoongi."

"Well Yoongi, I'm [y/n]. Would you be horribly offended if I gave you my number?" you asked, looking at him with an apologetic smile. "No pressure though, you can say no I and I won't throw a fit or anything, I know you're being paid to be nice."

His only response was to grin and hand you a pen from his pocket. Your fingers brushed as you took it, and you tingled. You were too caught up to notice the brown eyes burning into your back from the other side of the room.

~~~~~

Jin fought the urge to scowl as he watched you laugh at something the obnoxious bartender told you before leaning closer. You had never smiled at him that way. There was absolutely no way you thought that guy was funnier than him, right? Wait, why was he handing you a pen? Jin had been trying to get your number the entire semester, there was no way you were just going to go up and give it to some random bartender you had known for a couple hours.

He felt a light kick to his shin and returned his attention to the old man speaking with just enough time to nod and flash a charming smile.

"That sounds great. I'm sure my father would love to speak at that event, but I'll have to check with his secretary." He gave Namjoon a nod of thanks for the heads up. His friend gave him the barest roll of his eyes but grinned anyway.

Pacified, the head of the department wandered off and you intercepted him to say hello. By the way his eyes roamed over your form, the old man was interested in more than a greeting, which somehow pissed him off even more than the attention you were paying the bartender. His hand reached out to touch the small of your back, making Jin's muscles tense in distaste. As if sensing the intrusion into your space, you made a polite goodbye and made as swift an exit from his company as fast as you gracefully could.

You were in such a hurry that you didn't even look where you were going, and ran straight into Jin. Silently, he thanked God for blessing him with not only his good looks and wit, but also this current moment of closeness before you got your bearings enough to jump back as if you'd been scalded.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned enough to forget that he was trying to win you over. Amazingly, instead of hissing and spitting at him, you just sighed and peeked out of the corner of your eye. When you saw that the department chair had moved on to another target, your shoulders sagged in relief and Jin fought back the urge to hold you protectively. It would probably result in a violent act that would endanger his ability to give you children.

"Just juggling the fine line of networking without offending anyone who thinks they deserve something from me because of who they are."

Jin thought he heard a whooshing noise as something skimmed over his head, but when he gingerly touched his hair, nothing was out of place. Odd.

"Yeah, those types of people are the most frustrating to deal with," he agreed, trying not to feel too elated that you were having an actual conversation with him. For some reason, you gave him an incredulous look.

"What-" you began, then paused. "But-" you stopped again, then took a deep breath. "You know what, nevermind," you finally finished in defeated tones. "I'll see you around, Seokjin."

It took him a moment to realize you had actually used his first name, and it wasn't until he got home later that he let himself scream into his silk pillowcase.

~~~~~

Unknown Number Hey, this is Yoongi

You Sexy bartender Yoongi? Shouldn't you be working?

Yoongi Shouldn't you be kissing ass?

You Rude but not inaccurate I just needed a break from… people

Yoongi The old dudes that won't stop staring at your ass, or the hot one that keeps following you around?

You Both I'm hiding in the women's bathroom where they can't find me

Yoongi Lol you're cute

You Don't laugh at my pain

Yoongi To be fair though, you have a great ass

You Yes but it's different when I want someone to look That someone being you In case it wasn't clear

Yoongi I appreciate the clarification Because trust me, I've been looking

You Thank you, it's only 60% because I'm wearing spanx

Yoongi And funny too I'm about to take a smoke break If you want to breathe outdoor air and tar instead of whatever it smells like in there

You You sure know how to sell it

Yoongi You're the one who gave me their number

You Fair

Yoongi If you keep walking past the women's bathroom the metal door at the end of the hall is the backdoor In case you want to avoid the crowd

You Is it too soon to tell you I'm in love?

Yoongi Nah I get it all the time

You Wow

You chuckled at your phone before standing up from the toilet you hadn't been using and exiting the stall. Not only was Yoongi hot, but his casual confidence and wit was also doing a lot for you. You peeked outside the women's bathroom to make sure the hall was clear - knowing your luck, fucking Seokjin would be ready to pop out like a cockroach if you weren't careful, even if he had been marginally less annoying earlier. With a sigh of relief when you saw no one, you quickly slipped out the door Yoongi had referred to.

"You made it."

You paused for a moment to admire the beauty that was Yoongi. His silver hair fell into his eyes, giving you an urge to brush it out of his face, and he pulled off the dress pants, white shirt, and black vest of a standard fancy bartender getup quite dashingly. The red flare of his lit cigarette cast his face in a dim glow, and the smoke he had just exhaled wafted above his head like a halo. You didn't even have an inclination toward smoking or smokers, but something about the way he held it was unbelievably sexy.

"Just barely," you agreed, playing off your ogling as just you taking a look around the back alley. You ambled over to lean against the wall next to him."This is quite romantic. Do you always bring girls here, or just the ones you plan on murdering?"

He laughed and grinned that cute smile that showcased his gums.

"Just the ones I want to kiss before my shift is over," he responded casually. So he was just as charming in real conversation as well.

"Is that so?" you asked lightly, turning to face him and smiling as you met his dark eyes. "Then what are you waiting for?"

Yoongi grinned again, dropping the cigarette and grinding it under his heel, but the glow never left his eyes. He took a step towards you, closing the scant distance between your bodies, and placed a large hand at the small of your back. His body heat seeped through the fabric of your dress and you could feel his warmth even through the hellish shapewear probably destroying your spine.

"This alright?" he murmured, sharp eyes focused on yours as he pulled you closer.

"Yes," you breathed, draping your arms around his neck and licking your lips in anticipation. His free hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, and your eyes fluttered shut as his mouth descended on yours. He tasted like cigarettes, but the soft silk of his lips more than made up for it.

He swiped his tongue across your lower lip, and when you allowed him entrance he proved that it was just as clever as his quips. You couldn't hold back a tiny moan as he licked into your mouth in slow, mind-melting patterns, and his grip tightened. You threaded your own hands through his gorgeous, surprisingly soft hair, swallowing his own groan when you raked your nails across his scalp.

"Good?" you murmured with a smirk as you pulled away, scratching him like a cat and watching his lids flutter as if too heavy to keep open.

"Shut up," he grumbled, though he nudged your hands with his head to encourage you to keep going. It was surprisingly endearing, and you found yourself even more attracted to him than when he had only oozed sex appeal.

"Cute," you teased with a chuckle, only grinning harder when he scowled and his eyes flashed.

"I'm not cute," he complained with an adorable pout, eyes drifting closed again when you scratched him behind his ear.

"Sure," you cooed patronizingly, ruffling his hair when he glared at you. You snickered to yourself, missing the spark that flashed through his eyes, until you found your positions switched.

"Um," you stammered, staring at him with wide eyes as he pressed you against the rough brick behind you.

"I'll show you cute," he growled, sending tingles down your spine and straight between your legs. And he did, lips crashing down on yours, tongue immediately forcing its way into your mouth in hot, punishing strokes that made your knees buckle. You whimpered against the onslaught, clinging to his shoulders and rolling your hips against his in an attempt to ease the ache that settled in your core.

Yoongi released your lips and you took a shuddering breath, only to release it all in a wild exhale when his teeth latched onto your neck.

"Don't-you-dare," you panted between whines, even as your hands slid down to grab a surprisingly plump ass. "I need to go back in there."

He made a displeased sound that once again made your brain think cute, but he obeyed, letting his tongue lave your sensitive skin instead. You weren't sure why he was annoyed - he was scrambling your brains just fine already, thank you. His own hand slid behind you to squeeze your backside, his other snaking upwards to palm your breast, and you groaned before taking his earlobe between your teeth, desperate to regain some feeling of control.

You licked at the metal in his ear and Yoongi cursed against you, giving your nipple a vengeful tweak you felt even through your stupid fucking Spanx. Why had you worn this again?

You weren't exactly sure how long you were out there, tangled in Yoongi's arms and drowning in the heat that had consumed your entire being, but a buzz in his back pocket made the two of you resurface. The bartender looked at his phone and groaned in irritation, his kiss-swollen lips jutting back out into a pout.

"My break was over ten minutes ago," he grumbled, looking at you with stark desire in his gaze and making no move to leave.

"That's unfortunate," you said conversationally, grabbing his adorable butt again and pressing yourself against his erection. He hissed, dark eyes narrowing when you gave him an innocent smile. You let go of his backside and gave his chest a light shove, making him stumble backwards.

"It was nice meeting you, Yoongi," you said with a sly grin before going back inside and making a beeline for the women's bathroom to make sure you didn't look like you had just spent the last fifteen minutes making out in an alley. Your phone buzzed in the small purse you were surprised you were still carrying, and you grinned when you unlocked the screen.

Yoongi I get off at midnight

You Cool, I'll prob get off when I get home

Yoongi Oh did someone rile you up?

You Hmm wouldn't you like to know?

Yoongi I would

You How about you come over after your shift and find out?

Yoongi I suppose I could make time

~~~~~

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[siyadrunkrecs]

I will give this a full review but for now I really want to explain how much I love sbw couple!!! Again, such beautifully written characters, flawed yet whole, and each scene fills me with more and more happiness. I loved the progression of the story, jungkook is the best fuckboi sweetheart I've ever seen 🥺🥺 watch me read this whole thing again when I'm in desperate need for comfort 😐 thank you so so so much for writing this love!

stars behind waves | jjk (m)

Summary: With a decade’s distance between Jungkook and you, your paths cross on the same island you deemed your second home years ago. And you realise once again – the ocean can never compare to the twinkle in his starry eyes.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: estranged best friends to lovers, vacation/beach!au; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: so so much yearning and pining, gentle fuckboy jk cos i’ve no control over myself, a bit of jealousy, the first kiss, arguments/fighting, unresolved issues, heartbreak, angry confessions; explicit sexual content: making out, asking for permission, dom & big dick jk, handjob in the shower, oral (m. & f. receiving), some clit slapping, some biting, squirting, jk loves her tits… and her ass even more, fingering, protected sex, soft and rough sex, body worship !!, jk is SUCHHH a goner, he comes on her ass, aftercare, praises; so many emotions; lmk if i forgot smth! ➳ wc: 22.7k ➳ a/n: here we gooo !! @missgeniality​​ & @voiceswithoutlips​​ my angel betas, as usual, i’d be lost without you 😔  i’m really happy with how this one came out, so i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i did writing it !! as always, don’t forget to drop a message in my inbox – it makes my day <33

➳ listen to the SBW playlist for the full experience 💙  

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs 

There is a long lost beach somewhere at the end of the world.

It belongs to a blooming, floating island, pleasant and hot. Wildlife chirps hidden behind trees, calm and welcoming. There are waterfalls that must be somewhere in the middle of the island – you’re not quite certain anymore, since your memory of the place has weakened over time.

You do remember the sun that descended there, though – you always used to say it wasn’t the same as the one you admired at home, watching from your garden.

Jungkook would always reprimand you, tut at you, throw tiny little shells at your bare thighs until you, furied and irritated, abandoned him at the beach. He would stay there until the moon rose from the east, and you would watch him from afar.

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[siyadrunkrecs]

rid’ ability to take a slice of life trope and turn it into something so beautifully crafted - as i always say, im in awe of the speed at which her brain runs and her ability to streamline that speed and get it to turn into a splendid fic.

we’re started off with S E K S - not even normal - in her own words its ANIMALISTICC and im here for it!!!! this jungkook is the jungkook of our dreams - sexy banter, fucks us like a demon, never wears a shirt at home????? perfection ✨✨✨

“I dunno,” Jungkook answers, sipping on something for a moment before he adds, “what’s up, babe?”

ahhhh. and obviously this jungkook does things that makes the reader forget that this is a fake relationship?? of course. of course. RID WHAST IS YOUR PROBLEM WITH ME LIVING MY LIFE IN PEACE AND IGNORANCE

Falling for him sounds like it carries the potential of turning into something dangerous. Falling for him… it feels like you wouldn’t come out unscathed if it ever burgeoned and then eventually ended – he seems like the type of person who has an unmatched power to hurt you.

this is definitely the best way to describe an fwb with jungkook. the “he seems like the type of person who has an unmatched power to hurt you” is ABSOLUTELY spot on 😩

“I thought you’ll pass out tomorrow?”

“Cute little asses beat passing out.”

pls I LOVE THIS ADORABLE GOOFFFFFFFF <3 <3

and of COURSE my man is hella mannered - but of COURSE HE had to pretend like an idiot during training sessions because of COURSE he finds reader the cutest when she’s mad >:( HE HAS MANNERS MY LORD!!! EXCEPT IN THE BEDROOM!! AND DTHAT’S TOTALLY FINE YOUR HONOUR!!

“We don’t speak about that night. Except if you want me to mention your…”

GRRRR RID WHAT WENT ON AT THE FRAT PARTY WE DEMAND TO KNOWWWW!!! i fuckin love how their conversations shift between dumb insults to making sure the other person is doing fine <3 they’re literal perfection why aren’t they already in a relationship -_-

and the SMOOT!!! UGH THE SMOOT the way he’s going from being a menace to the world to bringing up her percy jackson books :((( im horny and laughing at how this comic duo is making me horny :( the whiplash these two give me!!!

“Gonna swallow, yeah? How are you always so ready for me?”

you’re right. has he seen himself????? god why did you write this sentence its making me die!!!!

“I don’t wanna say I told you,” he says with a wiggling finger, grabbing the water bottle, “but… you know how the rest goes.”

HAHAHAHAHAH this bitch provokes me so hard i will SIT ON HIS FUCKKINGGG FACE 

i hate how you introduced his nickname for her in the end 💆‍♀️💆‍♀️you’re telling me im gonna read a fuckton of chapters of sexy ass jk who will call me ANGEL while he rips me to shreds???? SIGN ME UP BEBEEEEE!!

all in all, i love this whole saga. you’ve hidden a lot of it from me, but it doesnt take a genius to know that it’s going to BLOW MY MIND AWAY. thank you so much for writing this my love, i can’t WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTERS!!!! 

colour me in | jjk (m)

Summary: Jungkook’s door only opens for you when there’s a barter: a trade of lust and haze. But today you knock for something more, as intriguing as it is frightening – and you hope it doesn’t close his door forever. 

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre:fwb, fake dating, college!au; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: artist!jk <3, annoying parents, sexual tension, dorky dialogues, teasing, 1 or 2 mentions of percy jackson lol, fuckboy!jk again…, explicit sexual content: unprotected sex (be more responsible than them !!), dom!jk, big cawk jk cos ofc, grinding, he has her bent over <3, oral (m. rec.), cum swallowing, throat fucking, hair pulling, choking; really not that many warnings, it’s all cute and fluffy and just the beginning <3 ➳ word count: 9.8k ➳ a/n: OKAY !!!! after a whole year, it’s finally here !! <3 i hope you guys enjoy it; it’s gonna be a whole ass ride </3 thank you @missgeniality​​​ for beta’ing, helping me and for hearing me cry about this for a year (as always) and @lavienjin​​​ for reading through this for me back when i wrote the first draft <3 ➳ listen to: lowkey by ni-ki | full playlist 🤍 

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

You blame the rain pouring from the grey, gloomy clouds.

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[siyadrunkrecs]

WAIT WHATHSSFKSDASDULAKDJADK WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN I-

FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII i CANNOT EMPHASIZEEEE YOU AND A VANITY WILL SEND ME BACK TO THE CORE OF THE EARTH!!!!! thank you so much for feeding the delusions that ryen and i have been having for the past year, this drabble has only paved way for another year of feral dreams 😩😩

god i need to go back to my life like i am not thinking about malta hoseok shoving me under my table and smirking at me while i try my best to give him the gwack gwack 5000 triple power vacuum turbo suck IF I LOSE MY JOB TODAY - IT IS ON YOU FI!!!! 

I have no idea what a swaffle is, but it made me giggle 🤭 So here I am ready to learn things! Show me Swaffle!!!

this one is for @kithtaehyung & @missgeniality for … well, i’ll let u see 🏃🏽‍♀️

・❥・. . . . ╰──╮KINK: swaffle

・❥・. . . . ╰──╮RATE: 20+ (under 20 dni)

╰┈➤ 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘 ; DILFS IN MALTA ♡

・❥・. . . . ╰──╮WARNINGS: degradation

“Tell me you like it.”

Your eyes fluttered as you screwed them shut, taking every slap of his dick against your face. Hoseok had taken to rubbing his cock all over your features, starting with your mouth, and was now currently dragging it across your eyes.

After pushing you down under his vanity, you’d begged for some attention from the busy man above you. A pretty cock of your head and your doe eyes, and he was dropping the watch he was trying on just to make sure you weren’t neglected. And if that meant rubbing his essence all over your face, making you up for the day, then so be it.

“I love it,” you choked out, feeling the heat rise to your skin as his bulbous head moved across. He paused on your cheek, pushing his cock in with his hips, creating an indent in your plush cheek. You felt it on the inside of your mouth, but you missed the smirk on his as you kept your eyes shut.

“Good girl.” He praised, landing a slap to your other cheek with his dick.

・❥・support by commenting — ✉️

Copyright © 2022, yoon2k | tumblr | no reposts, translations, copies, etc. allowed. Do not take inspiration from my work.

[siyadrunkrecs]

i am going to fully???? PASS OUT cuz WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! you know im fully dreaming about this for the next two months right 😐😐malta hoseok is THE BLUEPRINT i see no other contenders he can whip me across the room and i will come back, tongue wagging, ready to take the next. 

today onwards i live in this drabble, i seek this drabble, this drabble is my salvation 🙏🙏🙏i dont think anything can ever EVER EVER top this series in terms of making me feel like the cumbUCKET THAT I AM and for that i only have you to thank 😔😔 thank you for giving all of us our innermost desires that we hide from public, you’re doing the lor- i mean you’re doing hoseok’s work here 😔 real note, thank you so so much for writing this, i love living in this dilf world, and am always excited to see what new turns you bring!!! <3 <3 

oh my god the dilf 1 year list.... please dilf overlord, tell me who will turn me into their servant and who will ahem.. slap me silly👂

ms siya you’re never gonna believe this—

(also walking in shame @kithtaehyung bc guess who 🚶🏽‍♀️look at what ur girl requested 💀)

・❥・. . . . ╰──╮KINK: master/servant & slapping

・❥・. . . . ╰──╮RATE: 20+ (under 20 dni)

╰┈➤ 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘 ; DILFS IN MALTA ♡

Keep reading

[siyadrunkrecs]

oh my god y’all???? im always raving about taewan and this was an absolute TREAT to read. rid has been on a fluff train (lmb GET INTO THE CUPBOARD!!!!) and im enjoying this whole ride. swan’s song is no exception, the slice of life fluff warming up my insides. esp when rid writes it, the emotions flow so well - you sit through this whole fic effortlessly, like you’re living the life rid writes for you 💛

THE DELIVERY SCEEENNNEEEE!!! i feel like that would have been a very difficult scene to write!! so many things unfold in bare seconds, and to make it make sense without feeling overwhelming and also showcase the emotions of all the people amidst all these actions.... a big big feat that you acheived. it was one of my FAV scenes to read in the fic!!!

i love how the post-partum depression is written in this. its really beautifully melded into the story, plus feels very real in the way it affects everyone. just turning your days slightly grey, slightly dull - and rid’s writing somehow shifts through colours, to bring you the right palette of emotions for the scene. i think that’s how i felt reading about swan’s feelings at that moment, and the minimal yet effective dialogues only dialed it in further 🥺🥺🥺🥺

BABYSITTTINNGGGG AHHHHH THIS ONE WAS SO FUCKING ADORABLE!!!! NAMJOON AND PRINCESS BEST AUNT AND UNCLE UGHHH 

“Get the hell outta my house now,” Namjoon jokes, waving his hand into the couple’s direction as he shields Ara in his buff arms.

“You’re not coming back already, right?”

“I– why?”

“Because you’re not allowed to. We’re watching TV.”

I LOVE NAMJOON SO MUCH HAHAHAHAHAH this part was honestly so adorable, my gosh, and swan’s concern for ara and tae acqueising and telephoning the baby sitters just to be SCHOOLED HAHAHAHAH BEST SCENE EVER!! and then they go to dance together at the opera hall :(((( literal butterflies in my belly reading about them just.... having fun <3

Is every song about you or are you the song yourself?

STOP IM GONNA CRRRYYYYYYYYYY THAT’S A BEAUTIFUL LINE!!!!

the proposal, obv, @hobisuniverse did an amazing job at the scene and at candy’s speech 😭😭😭 bestestest fronds <3

“Guys,” Candy’s voice sounds from behind you, scolding you through gritted teeth, “you know where you are right now, right?”

I love??? I just love. This is so classic Taewan ft. Candy. and no candy pls dont stop them from simping for each other??????????????? this is a TAEWAN WORLD (until we get you and hoseok smh) and we just live in it <3 seeing them knot the tie was probably ara’s fav day.... and im EMBRAZZED TO SAY IT IS MINE TOO

Ara stays still for a moment; Taehyung thinks she might have fallen asleep again, but then she shifts, asking quietly, insecure, “Zoos?”

ZOOS. >:(

HALLELUJAH HERE COMES THE BABY  MAKING SEEEKKSSSS!!!! AHHHHHH WHEN I WAS READING THIS I WAS SO HOT AND BOTHERED BECAUSE THIS TAE IS FUCKING DREAMY BUT I ALSO SIMP SO HARD FOR SWAN AHAHAHAHAH its a DILEMMAAAAA!! esp when she says 

“I’m good. Pump a child into me, tiger.”

HAHHAHAHAAH i laughed so hard but also, imagine her saying that LMAOOOO its kinda hot 😐

Impatient and eager, he pushes two fingers into your cunt before he presses your nether lips together as if he’s closing a sealable bag.

A SEALABLE BAG AHAHHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEASE 

Your song plays in his mind in a loop – sometimes the beat of a gentle symphony, other times the pulse of a spirited rhapsody – both of which, the rhythm of his heart is well adjusted to.

It has always been like that.

And it will always be like that.

this fic in itself will play in my mind like a loop, never letting go, and im going to be asking you for a new drabble every anniversary, whether or not we are still writing. this was such a beautiful tribute for the bestest couple ever bby, im so glad i got to read this!!!! thank you so much for all the hard work you put into writing, this one is FOR THE BOOKS! 💛💛💛💛

swan’s song | kth (m)

a thousand thank yous to @missgeniality​​ for this absolutely stunning banner <3

Summary: If Taehyung’s life is a musical, then you’re its best song. It’s truly unfortunate… how every good song must always comes to an end – but you never do. You play on and on to the beat of his heart.

⋙ pairing:Taehyung x reader ⋙ rating: 18+ ⋙ genre: established relationship; tiny bits of angst, lots of fluff, smut ⋙ warnings: dilf!tae yes, recurring theme of music and songs, slight fear of thunderstorms, so many cheesy lines it’s disgustaaang, post-partum depression (just for a tiny tiny bit), birth of a child (no explicit description, just fluffy feelings), explicit sexual content: baby-making sex, soft dom tae, impregnation kink, oral (f. & m.), fingering, body worship, she has stretch marks and he loves it, praising, dirty talk, kissing, breast play, unprotected (baby-making !!!!!!!) sex, multiple f. orgasms, they’re cracked and dumbasses i love them so much ⋙ word count: 21.6k ⋙ a/n: heeey! this is a love letter that i wrote around two months ago, to my very favourite couple. happy 1 yr anniversary to songs about you 🤍 thank you to @hobisuniverse​​ and @missgeniality​​ for loving this couple since forever and for helping me so so much with this fic 🥺 shoutout to my love bells, who wrote the proposal and candy’s toast and let me use it <3 taewan live on 🥺 hope y’all enjoy !! feedback is as always appreciated <3 ⋙ reading the first two parts adds to the backstory, but is not necessary. THIS FIC CAN BE READ AS A STAND-ALONE!

MASTERLIST | WIPs

When you told Taehyung to take care of the decorations, this is not what you meant.

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