Jungkook Things - Tumblr Posts

6:02am

Where husband Jungkook wakes you up in the morning with your daughter.

No warnings, just fluff

Enjoy x

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You sleep had started to stir something like five minutes ago when you felt small movements underneath you, but it wasn’t until Jungkook returned back to bed, paired with the weight of your daughter in his arms that the bed dipped too far for your sleep deprived eyes to remain shut.

And even before you have time to open your eyes at your own accord and take in your surrounds, a weight presses over you, limbs digging into your flesh and small hands pulling at the hair that messily weaves its way down your shoulders.

You can’t tell if you groan inwardly or if you actually made a sound, but your husband seems to notice your discomfort immediately.

“Bubs, careful with mummy please.” 

You open your eyes finally when another knee digs in, this time hard, to your abdomen, and you groan out your daughter's name in a half sleeping mumble.

“In fact come here you.” 

Finally, two hands snake around her waist and pry her wriggling form off of you, his fingers lacing under her arms, appearing so large compared to her small frame. Her messy black hair flips about as she continues to move under his grip.

“You’re being a rascal this morning aren’t you, Min.”

You stretch out, humming in agreement with the man next to you as your limbs finally begin to wave up.

Turning onto your side and slightly curling up towards Jungkook’s warmth, you see him sitting you daughter on top of his lap, both perched above the covers, and he is running his long fingers through her tousled hair as she repeatedly yawns.

He is sat up against the headboard, his own hair falling down over his face and into his eyes a little and his upper body completely exposed out of the covers, abs and all, glistening a golden colour when the light from the blinds that he must have opened intensifies.

As he continues to play with your daughter who babbles some statements about wanting milk and her blankey, her father nodding with a smile to try and calm her down, you reach your hand up and weave it through his fringe, pushing the soft locks back so his eyes are exposed in their full glory.

“Minnie, baby, calm down, it’s early and mummy’s still sleepy,” he says to the wriggling bundle on his lap, but he averts his attention from her, gently grabbing your wrist that threads through his hair and pulls it so he kisses the skin of your knuckles.

“Hey,” is all he says as his eyes meet with you, far more tired ones. 

“Kook, what time is it?” You question hazily, moving your hand away but using it to pull your body close to him so you can nuzzle into his side.

“Mumma,” and once again there are limbs pressing into you all too sharply, so you intervene this time.

“Come here then,” you say rolling back onto your tummy allowing her to climb over into you outstretched arms. “Where’s blankey bubs, did you bring him in?” You sit up slightly to try and look for the one thing that will calm her from any situation in an attempt to speak to your husband with little distraction for a few minutes. 

“6,” is all Jungkook says as he simultaneously slings the ragged material known as ‘blankey’ over to your two bodies that have now intertwined into one - her arms grasping at the hair around the back of your neck, head in the crook on your shoulder and legs shifting about over your stomach.

It only registers how early it is, when you finally look back over to your husband's form, body twisted now to watch you and his hand stretched out to continue to massage the now sleepy girl's hair as her movement subsides on top of you.

You groan at him when you think how much more sleep you could have had.

“Kook, just let her sleep in,” early mornings like this becoming way too much of a regular now that she was about to turn 3. We’d manage to get through the two’s without as much trouble as everyone made out, but you’re starting to fear it was a delayed reaction.

“Yeh, that’d be great if she was actually asleep. She woke me up at like half five and I could just hear her stirring.” Your eyes fix together now and you can see the sleep in his that must mirror yours. 

“You give in too easily,” you huff out with a slight pout and turn away to nuzzle the bundle on you. Jungkook from the very get go was the dad that wanted to give Mincha the whole world and nothing less, would do anything to make her smile or to make her happy. The first time she cried in his arms, he cried as well, saying ‘she’s breaking my heart’. He was always so soft for her, as soon as he saw her, and whilst you also definitely weren’t the type for strict discipline, he really did give in way too easily.

“She out again?” He ignores your comment because of course, he knew he was too soft for her, but his question brings you to realise that your daughter had drifted back into sleep - her breath was heavier against your neck and her limbs had seized all movement. She might wake up easily, but she slept even easier.

“Yeh,” you return, now rubbing small circles into her clothed back that you had shifted under the covers when she had climbed onto you.

“Thank god,” and you turn to now see your husband’s figure climb underneath the sprawled out sheets, and shuffle himself so he is pressed with his lips on your arm and his legs interwoven with yours, eyes closed.

“Jungkook, what the hell.” And all he does is grumble into your skins, hair tickling your shoulder as he tries to get impossibly closer to the heat of your body.

“You can’t wake me up, throw her at me and then go back to sleep, you dick,”

“Oi” he says as he jolts up to shoot you a scowl at the choice of your name for him around your daughter.

“Well sometimes I think I’m taking care of two toddlers, not one,” you say in an exasperated tone, trying to close your eyes to seek some kind of relaxed resolve.

And as your body begins to sink further into the mattress as you calm, Jungkook presses a light kiss into the skin of your arm where his face is pressed, snaking his arms further around you waist under you daughter and pulling you both close to him.

“Love you too, baby.” 

Floof <3

The national weather service’s guy ©

How to Make Him Cum 101 (M)

Summary: You’ll love each other in sickness and health, hungover or hangry, sexless or… well, it’s becoming a little harder for the pants to stay on despite the calls of ‘let’s take this slow’ on the first date.

Pairing: Jungkook x Y/N

Genre: University AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst (tiny bit), Crack

Warnings: (Plenty my friend) Handjob, Fingering, Squirting, Sex without protection, Tongue fucking, Jungkook being whipped, Chocking (brief), Dry Humping, Jungkook cumming in his pants, lots of swearing, lots of alcohol consumption, consumption of weed

Word Count: 15k (it was meant to be 10k, but I fucked it)

A/N: I love Jungkook in this, he’s a sweetheart who has no fucking idea what he’s doing. Took me way too long to write this and I’m sorry if it drags, but I split it into little scenes to make it more manageable. It’s also pretty casual - no real storyline. Enjoy and suggestions always welcome x

“I swear to fuck, if he throws up my £2000 bourbon...” 

And by some miracle, neither the end of Taehyung’s sentence nor the £150 shot Namjoon halfheartedly threw back makes an appearance.

“Nah big man can handle his shit right Joon,” is the mere drunken support offered by Jimin. It’s also accompanied by an all-too heavy hand to the back that has the elder spluttering on air, the shot well and truly burning a hole in his stomach by now.

You observe from the distance of the kitchen, fortunately barricaded from the testosterone fest by the island and several misplaced sofas. It was Jimin’s idea to upgrade the sofa scheme to one that was more ‘drinking and smoking friendly’ so he liked to call it, taking a sufficient 30 minutes just to manoeuvre several pieces of furniture into a circle that centred around all too expensive liquors and cheap weed - the irony of the contrast had most certainly dawned on you. 

Your unexpected appearance to the gathering was on the account of boyfriends hazy state. He was all ‘come save me’ and ‘i’m dying’ over your texted conversation but upon arrival, the boy was all over that tequila bottle like he was downing chocolate milk. 

Despite your best intentions of remaining inconspicuous and merely Jungkook’s driver for the night went to shit when Jimin, unapologetic and somewhere between happily stoned and confident drunk demanded you join their escapades. 

“Booze or bud but not neither Y/N.” Nothing like a typical Taehyung to welcome you to the action.

“Well you didn’t say I couldn’t have both,” is your reply that’s laced with a brazen tone and paired with a smirk.

You’re met with Taehyung tonguing his cheek.

“That’s my girl,” Jungkook shouts mid-laugh and gives you a smack to the ass for good measure. You find comfort in the gesture, so following his drifting hand to the point that you settle in his lap.  

Jungkook must have drunk his weight in alcohol because it’s all touches from behind you, cold hands finding their way under cloth and onto warm skin, lips clamping down on your neck and teeth unforgiving on your ear lobe. Your boyfriend’s a modest guy even at worst, so his provoking actions are met with raised eyebrows on your behalf.

Slowly but surely, with the burn of smoke in your lungs and the even harsher burn of rich whiskey (because £2000 bourbon is a harsh no), Jungkook’s hands roam freely.

“Jesus mate, if you’d have fucked her the second time you would’ve had that pussy on hold, swear down.” Somewhere between your silent touches and unauthorized smoking of all of Namjoon’s weed, the conversation had delved into the topic of Jimin’s overly privileged sex life.

“That’s exactly what I said but the bitch pussied out,” Hobi pipes up from the corner where he’d faded away from being too legit faded - boy never could handle his smoke.

“Fuck off did I pussy ou-”

“Nahhh she had you whipped babe, that second shag wasn’t even on the cards,” you mouth speaks for you. Or more like your high speaks for you at this point.

You feel Kook smile into your shoulder from where his head was perched.

“This’ll be good,” it’s under Taehyung’s breath but not inaudible.

“Fuck do you mean, ‘she had me whipped’, she was all over me that night at Joon’s...” Jimin swigs mid-sentence, flushed from the buzz of liquor and his overly defensive tone, “had her wrapped around my little finger.”

… the opportunity was too good to miss.

“What little finger?” You refrain from laughing at your own remark for dramatic effect but Jungkook’s squeezing your sides and the lightness of your head betrays you. 

Jimin’s eye contact with your falters as if his ego broken, and the others pass around comments along the lines of ‘fucking brilliant’ and ‘unlucky mate’. 

You take a final drag before passing it behind you to the already seeking hand of your boyfriend who’s still amused by your smart-mouth.

“Jimin, I’m just saying,” you elaborate in hopes of restoring his cracked masculinity somewhat, “from what Stephanie told me, Mina had four guys on hold at that party and wasn’t inclined to let any of them stick in on her cos she’s got a full-on guy waiting for her away from uni.”

He huffs, throwing himself and his bottle backwards onto the sofa, causing it to slosh around and out. You peer over at Taehyung, waiting for the boy to morph into an expression of disgust because god knows, this sofa cover costs more than your rent, but he never does - eyes glazed and a small smile instead.

“Fucking brilliant, I was fifth on a girls ‘need to shag’ list.” You almost feel bad for the sod, but one thing Jimin could never do was keep his mouth shut when it needed to be. “At least I’m doing better than you, Y/N, you can’t even get a fuck off your boyfriend and you’ve been together for months.” 

Taehyung’s smile drifts, Hobi shifts in his seat and Jungkook stiffens from behind you - the air dries up.

“Jimin, mate, come on,” Joon tries to reason, but as per usual Jimin keeps his mouth moving.

“I said what I said.”

Yeh, he sure fucking did. And if one thing was known to be uncharted conversation between the lot of you, then that was your and Jungkook’s abstinence. But in true style, Jimin just had to pry.

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“Fuck it, maybe we should just have sex,” he finally says as you stall over wiping off your eyeliner to laugh at his exasperation. Jungkook wasn’t insecure but he was easily influenced when something hurt his pride - and you could tell, from Jimin’s comment, throughout the awkward air that lingered in the car, to just now, that he had been stewing on the dent to his ego from the moment it was spoken. 

You want to tell him with all the sarcasm in the world how ‘romantic’ he’s being about it all, but you refrain to save further damage.

“Kook-”

“Nah, seriously Y/N, I’m tired of this shit…” you want to diffuse his state, but he persists, “and- I don’t really know what I’m waiting on now.”

“Baby,” you finally get a grip on his attention as he lets out a huff and welcomes you onto his lap. “You’ve had your reasons to wait on this, I’ve always respected that. But…” he groans and you lean into him as a warning to let you finish, “buttt, I’m not gonna respect any shit when you’re letting Jimin decide for you. Just cos the boy can’t get his dick wet doesn’t mean you have to.”

You feel him snicker against your shoulder as he lowers his head in frustration.

“You do this on your own time. Not mine,” you weave your fingers through his locks and anchor him to you, “not Jimin’s, not anyone but yours,” and finalise your sentiment by situating your lips on his temple.

With eyes fluttering shut into your touch and a heavy breath out he indulges in his insecurity. “I just can’t afford to lose you.” And you know it takes his booze-filled conscience to let you in.

You have to admit that there was some level of hurt you managed to hide at this point. That even after relishing in one another's company for 5 months, Jungkook still couldn’t find it in himself to trust you in that way. It was a mental thing, an emotional instinct of too many failed relationships where he was a victim to being cheated on, left after being used for sex and prayed on for good looks and unfortunate vulnerability. You knew within yourself you would never and could never do what so many have done before you. Fuck, you couldn’t even see yourself being sane and capable without him, ever, period. For that, you respected his decision - whilst frustratingly prolonged - because you knew he was worth the wait.

“I need you just as much as you need me.” You sense the slump in his shoulders, the heaviness of too many pressures and burdens weighing them down. That and his drug-induced state causing unwanted fatigue. “Hmm?” So you lift his chin and search his eyes till they meet yours, passing on a reassurance that he finally accepts with a curt nod.

“Yeh, I know.” 

You press a kiss, or two to his lips and lean back to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Now are you gonna keep sulking to yourself like a bitch or let me make you cum?” His instant response is his eyes blowing out in shock of your statement before laughing into your chest. You know him well enough that he is using your chest to hide the blush in his cheeks but you don’t mention it. 

Instead, you wiggle your hips with no subtlety into the twitch of his groin that seeks your mouth so desperately, laughing when he grabs you at the cheeks and pulls you away to say, “You’re fucking mental.” But against his lips you can’t help the, “-Nd you love me for it,” that is mumbled.

Yeah, this boy was definitely worth the wait.

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Weekends seem to roll around at a quickening pace when you have a needy boyfriend and even more demanding party schedule to fill the gaps. And by some freak of nature, you hadn’t managed to drop your education off a cliff in the meantime - in fact, you had begun to make a living off having beer in one hand and highlighter in the other.

University wasn’t a walk in the park, but you’d been enough of a devoted intellect in your first two years of it to allow yourself to drop off the map a little. So, after becoming a co-captain of the swim team somewhere into your second year, it was only a natural, human instinct kind of reaction that your fellow captain, the hunk of abs who graced poolside, would slip a few too many flirty remarks at you before you called him your boyfriend. He’d pined and you’d fallen - simple as.

He came with baggage though. Six boys and a whole lot of booze and weed. You were no saint before Jungkook, hell, you almost weren’t allowed swim captain because you’d slept in one too many of the guys beds. But as soon as you’d said ‘yes’ to the going out for drinks invitation he offered, you had also said ‘yes’ to the party on Saturday at Hoseok’s, and the one on Sunday down at the river, and for every weekend for the next 5 months. And slowly but surely, it was no longer, ‘this is my girlfriend’ as an introduction, but you asking the familiar face around the party with all urgency where the nearest bottle of tequila was.

It’s also how you’d landed yourself filthily hungover in your Monday lecture, listening to Professor Snape (nah, it’s his real name and all) with a noticeable shake in your hand and last nights mascara somewhere down your face. 

“If you look that shit, then what the hell does Kook look like.” Mina, the best friend, the only one allowed to hold back your hair whilst you would throw up in a second-floor bathroom, and the roommate who made student life just a bit more bearable than the shit show it was.

She takes the seat next to you, her question probably rhetorical but you make the effort to reply, all the same.

“Still asleep in the bathtub I reckon.” Ah, yes, the boyfriend. At somewhere between 1 in the morning and blackout drunk you, Jungkook and your infamous competitiveness called for beer pong - minus the beer, add the vodka. So it was only gonna be a certain amount of time before both you and him were pushed into a cab on top of one another and drafted back to his flat so he could throw up in his bathtub. 

“Jesus,” Mina mutters with a laugh, probably just relieved someone ordered your taxi to go to his and not your shared apartment - like hell was she listening to Jungkook throw up at 5 in the morning.

“Honestly, why does Yoongi host that shit on Sunday,” you groan into your laptop, turning down the brightness because you can already feel the afternoon hangover headache arising. 

“He doesn’t have a 9am like the rest of us.”

“Fucker.” 

Good host though, Yoongi. A postgrad, with his own two-storey apartment and too much time on his hands. You’d known him before the boyfriend too, working shifts with him in your first year at a music production company, both in the catering section because you had time to fill and tuition to pay and he was hoping to find his break into the industry. He fucked it though and has ended up with some crazy paid apprenticeship at a financial branch in the city centre. 

“Oi, Bob’s this weekend?” Mina poses the question as the lights brighten in the lecture room and everyone starts shutting laptops - yours was shut ten minutes ago when you stopped listening and started wallowing in self-pity.

“Bob’s?” Bermuda Bobs. A club in the centre of town, and somewhat of a regular for Friday nights, when Hoseok had had just about enough of hosting. “Yeh. Yeh, I can do Bobs.”

Mina’s up and off before you can even open the zip on your bag, something about she’ll miss her lift to training, but you mumble that you’ll see her at the apartment later before you can see the back of her head. 

All you can think as you conquer the steps to the exit of the hall is how much of a blessing a shower and a cup of tea would be - ‘so easily pleased’ Mina would say. So, when you look up from your phone to see Jungkook opposite where you walk out, a cup of tea in hand, you might just believe in fate.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he says, throat hoarse as he takes you bag from your shoulder and places the coffee into your welcoming hands. You laugh at him, a snort because it’s ironic considering the bloodshot eyes and beer-stained hair he sports.

“You were passed out in the bath legit an hour ago,” his hand finds yours despite your teasing and when you finally take the first sip of tea as you walk, anyone would think the noise you made was nothing short of an orgasm - Jungkook certainly takes notice. “Did you bring the car?” 

He snorts, “Like fuck did I bring the car, I’m still drunk.”

“Babbbyy,” it’s a whine as you throw your head back and pull his hand to make your point into a tantrum. 

“It’s literally a 5 minute walk babe, suck it up.” He continues ahead, but you go full 5 year old tactics on him, stopping in your tracks and whacking on your face the biggest pout your lips will allow.

He merely rolls his eyes and kisses it away before presenting his back to you, arms out, legs bent and you hop onto him like the spoilt girlfriend you are.

“You’re a brat, you know that.” Is all he says as he starts the walk out of the building and towards his, so you kiss behind his ear. 

“Mmm, call me that again, it kinda turns me on.”

“Fucking filty,” but you see the crinkle in his eyes that lets you know that he loves you for it.

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Friday nights roll around quicker than you know when Bob’s is calling. They start earlier than most nights as well - lecture leads to swim training, swim training calls for afternoon drinks at Warehouse and then Warehouse blurs into Pre’s that blurs into Bob’s. 

So with beer curdling in your stomach, trying to flick the wing of your eyeliner and failing for the fifteenth time is as funny as Jimin’s pinkie to you and Mina. 

She is, of course, ready. Has been for almost 2 hours, so whilst you struggle to slip into your dress, she finishes your eyeliner for you.

The buzz of your phone has both of you looking to the vibrating device in confusion, having to double-take with each other because the taxi isn’t supposed to be here until Jungkook is and he isn’t supposed to be here for another half an hour. 

Your fumbling with a zip so it’s Mina who reaches for it, and when the screen lights her face, her features go from confused to ‘for fucks sake’ in less than a second. She turns it and that god awful photo of Jungkook and his swimming goggles on lights up the display. 

“I’ll get the door.” She’s exasperated. He’s early and she can’t stand that - all it took was him showing up at the wrong time on a Wednesday whilst she was naked on the sofa with a girl between her legs that caused the ‘come when you’re fucking asked to come’ attitude - poor boy didn’t even know she was gay.

You do a once over in the mirror before the door swings open, Mina has a scowl but your boyfriend has a lime in one hand and tequila in the other, so you don’t care.

“Shit, you look hot,” Fuck, so does he, but he’s pressing a kiss to your lips before you can drink him in fully, “s’that dress new?”

“I did the makeup, thank me.” Mina was always loud, and speaking at the wrong places and in the wrong conversations. 

“Kindly fuck off, you did the eyeliner and shit all else.” You turn back to Kook, now leaning against your wall, eyes still trained on you, or at least, your legs, and he looks fucking thirsty that’s for sure. “And yeh, got it when I went in the city the other week.” He replies with a nod and a smirk. Those damn bedroom eyes, they hold your gaze, as you fiddle with the clasp on the side of your dress. 

Mine pipes up from the sidelines, “God, it’s like I’m watching a fucking mating ritual or something.” Jungkook scoffs and his shoulders ease as though he’s calming himself down, “Well, I’m ready so shots it is.” She grabs the bottle of tequila from Jungkook’s hand and is off into the kitchen without looking back.

“Who put a foot up her ass then?” He only says it once the door is closed, knowing he’ll get a whacking if Mina heard him, so you scowl at him, albeit through a smile.

“Oi, watch it,” you’re in front of him now, leaning into the arm he stretched out to embrace you in.

“Sorry,” and he means it. He genuinely likes Mina, you’re sure of it, but they go at each other like cats in an alley when you’re not there to referee it.

He’s warm around you, his shirt with buttons undone at the top so that the cologne he’s wearing goes right to your head - and to your core - either one. The proximity does the same to him as he takes a handful of your ass, groping so that when you gasp and try to pull away, he administers a slap. 

You can’t deny you’re horny for him, and the way his trousers frame his bulge perfectly - you lick your lips subconsciously at the thought - but you can almost hear the sadness of Mina pouring and downing Tequila shots by herself.

“Fucker,” you whisper and lean out of his hold almost, only to see that fire in his eyes. 

“I love this ass,” hands now sneaking underneath the fabric of your dress - like it was covering much anyway, but that doesn’t change the way his cold fingers spread across your behind and almost make you moan out. It’s when he takes your bottom lip in his teeth and pulls back agonizing slowly until it pops back into place that the moan you were stifling releases, slowly, seductively, and his crotch stirs at the thought of you making the same noise around his dick. 

But if Kook can restrain himself enough into denying you a fuck for 5 months, then you can be just as disciplined now - whether the wetness on your thighs tells you something different or not.

You toy with him though.

At a pace nothing short of tormenting, you lean your leg into the space between his, drag your lips across his cheek to his ear and let your fingers draw a line from the gap in his shirt, underneath and across his chest, “But you know what’s better than this ass, baby?” You play the seductress with you voice, and you know it does bits to him. 

Your question was rhetoric, but when he doesn’t reply, you can’t help but grab at his belt with a hand and tug his crotch into your leg. He sputters out breathily into your neck, “W-what?”

You lean back, wait for his eyes to open and gage the lust and excitement brewing within them before opening your mouth against his…

“...Tequila shots.” You smack his thigh, turn and are out the door before his erection can say ‘shit’.

Two can play at his game of denial. 

Your all kinds of worked up despite your best efforts, but Mina’s got lime in her mouth and her face crinkled into an expression of disgust as you eye the empty shot glass on the counter, so it’s not like she’s gonna be sniffing out your hormones any time soon. 

“Fucking shit, rancid, I hate it, don’t wanna drink ever, absolutely not,” you laugh at her outburst as you refill her shot glass for yourself. 

“Lightweight,” you tease her as you throw it all back, wincing internally as you feel the hole burn in your throat, but suck it up for the sake of your competitive streak. She merely scoffs at you as the bedroom door swings open, Jungkook - still a fine piece of ass right now - tucking his shirt into his trousers. No way did he just finish himself off in that time, but your eyes travel down to his hard on that is very much still there. You can’t help the smirk.

“Kook, get your shot down you then we’re off,” Mina announces.

“Taxi here already?” he questions but she shakes her head as she now sports a wine bottle in her hand, and clearly a mouth full of wine as she fails to verbalise. 

Shots are down, wine is drunk, and heads are well and truly dizzy when you reach the club. The cab was early much to Mina’s dismay, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing the tequila bottle from Jungkook and downing a healthy portion of the liquid before collapsing in instant regret - ‘we’ve all been there Min’ was your only advice. As for Jungkook. Well, the boy never showed when he was drunk until he would take his shirt off and shout he was wasted, so the only way you could gauge his state was by the way his fingers dug into your thigh the entire journey - you just couldn’t work out whether it was the alcohol or his dick talking.

“Y/NNN!” you hear before see Jimin, despite the music that reverberates through the floor and up your body. As always, he has bottle in hand and a girl in the other, but he releases her to embrace you.

It’s a love, hate with Jimin, but he was Jungkook’s best friend, so there was and could not be bad blood between the two of you - much the same to Jungkook and Mina. Jimin swam as well, so you were no strangers to sharing situations that required great comfort with one alone - such as you in a swimming costume and him in his damn speedos. There was only one thing better than Jimin in speedos though, and that was Jungkook in speedos.

“Where’s your boyfriend, he owes me a fucking drink,” and you point to the bar, where he leans over the counter in all his glory and much to the fortune of your eyes. Jimin escorts himself and the girl he’s with over to the bar before you can catch her name - she’s pretty, though, which is no surprise with Jimin’s taste. 

It takes the next 30 minutes, or possibly longer because alcohol tends to blur hours to minutes before you’ve made conversation with everyone there. It’s almost admin now, having to do the rounds when all the people from swimming go out - a swim captain apparently has certain obligations of seeing everyone had a drink in hand and a ride to go home in. Kook was doing the same too, across the club, slowly but surely making his way towards you as he talked to some of the guys. He’d winked one too many times at you for it to be coincidence, and the alcohol you’d been consuming was screaming out to you now to fuck the pointless conversation and grind on your damn fit boyfriend.

“Fuck Josh, Mel, the boy can’t even get it up, and you’re too much of a hot piece of ass to waste on him,” Mina’s on one of her motivational talks with the social sec, Mel - absolute sweetheart, heart of gold and awful taste in men. Also the subject of Mina’s subconscious flirting for the last hour or so, but you don’t have the heart to tell Mina to stop - she’s drunk and probably horny knowing her.

“Y/N,” you’re face first in your vodka red bull (double), to hear Mina, having zoned out from her pining after she started getting emotional. “Y/N!” You finally ease up on the drink when you hear her this time. 

“Hmm?” mouth half full.

“Have you ever seen someone get eye fucked?” Her eyes flicker from you to something else, but you’re too caught up in the absurdity of her question to notice.

“The fuck?”

“Because I’m watching it happen right now,” and it’s a nod that finally directs your questioning gaze away from your best friend and to a figure at the bar, elbows tucked behind him, a bottle of beer at his side, legs to die for and eyes boring right into yours. He’s playing dirty tonight, is all you think. So despite the way your core tightens and the hair on your neck unknowingly rises, you feed into his game, the cat and mouse kind of thing he seems to be grabbing at, and put up your facade.

You're slow to get to him, but it’s deliberate. And instead of giving in to his gaze or his touch, you place your feet right beside his, leaning towards the bar and into the sight of the bartender. 

It’s the raise of her eyebrows at you and the curt smile that prompts you to talk, “two shots of tequila please,” she begins to spin but you stop her, “oh, and plenty of salt and lime.” 

It takes physical energy not to give in to human instinct - to touch and to grab him, to let go of the role play. 

“Anyone would think you’re ordering for two,” his voice is gravely, and fuck if it doesn’t shoot straight down you. But his comment makes you smile, smirk actually.

“You say that as if I can’t handle my alcohol,” you raise an eyebrow to yourself, still feigning your confidence by not looking his way.

Two shots are lined up in front of you, limes perched on top, and a generously filled salt shaker to the left of them. 

“Well tequila is a dangerous game to play,” you pick up either shot in your hand, and fight the urge to shiver as his words that are breathed against your ear. You round from the side of him, eyes finally lifting to his and filling some void that was there, but by no means lifting any tension between the two of you.

“Then let’s play dangerously,” you say, eyes sultry and him waiting on your every move, “the first one to have their salt, their shot and their lime gone first is the winner..” 

“And what does the winning get?” Damn, he’s eager.

You lean in, but still don’t touch. “That’s for the winner to know, and the loser to find out.” 

You can see a vague pick up in his breathing, a sheen of sweat forming against his brow and a vague smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth. Lifting the lime off your shot, he almost proceeds to do the same, about to take the shot to his lips but you stop him, instead pushing your shot into his vacant hand. The only explanation offered is when you take your lime down the column of your throat and down to your cleavage, before reaching to the salt that’s behind him. You pour a small mound of it onto your finger and follow the path that the lime drew. He eyes you like artwork, and doesn’t lift his gaze from your cleavage where you nestle the lime. 

You pour more salt onto your forefinger, and his eyes finally lift in an expression of confusion, but words evade him - hell, he hasn’t taken a solid breath for the past minute. Slowly, tourturningly, you lean into him, carefully avoiding his shot, and catch his breath hitching as you press the point of your tongue into the base of his neck, dragging it upwards until you meet his jaw. You almost couldn’t stop yourself from proceeding further, drinking in the salty taste of him and eating away at his sanity with your tongue - but you refrain, all in the name of dramatic effect.

“Fuck,” is all he says as he keeps his breath hitched, and you push your finger down the line your tongue drew, spreading salt southwards.

He almost looks tapped out when you take his lime from between you, eyes completely glazed, and fortunately for you they blow out even further when you tug the belt of his trousers and place your lime in the waistband - like his erection wouldn’t have held it up anyways.

Retrieving one of the shots from his grasp, where his knuckles had turned white against the glass, you hold his gaze.

“I think you should go ahead,” you’re more breathy than you realised, even despite it being your game.

“I-I thought,” he has to clear his throat, “it’s who can do it the fastest,” it’s barely even a question with how quiet he mumbled the words - you’re not even sure he knew what he was saying.

“Who said I wanted to win, baby?” And he lets out a moan, a full blown moan before he encases your throat with his mouth, and he’s almost animalistic in the way he growls against your skin at the taste. He bites down when he reaches just above the lime and your eyes roll back unconsciously before opening to see him throw his head back with the shot, not a single wince in his eyes because they are so driven by desire. The shot glass is slammed behind him before he dives into your cleavage to retrieve the lime, and in some display of masculinity that almost has you keening he rips the lime from his mouth and tosses it behind you, juice rolling down his face and onto his jaw to linger with the line of salt that glistens there.

You don’t even realise you're on his throat until the overly salty taste pricks your mouth and you can feel his jaw tense beneath you. You're almost in a haze when the tequila sets your throat ablaze but you become fully conscious of the way he grabs a fistful of your hair, pushes you to the floor until your dress bunches and has you sucking at the lime that rests mockingly above his hard cock. 

By some miracle you find yourself back up at eye level, chests heaving to the point of almost touching, and if you didn’t have a lime in your mouth right now you’d either be swearing obscenely in some gesture of saying ‘your so fucking hot’ or your lips would be around his dick.

With a gulp and a tilt of his head backwards, he gains a level of composure that allows him to ease the lime from your lips with his fingers, letting them brush at your skin to have you shivering.

It’s almost comical the way you both pant, eyes ablaze in each others, and completely oblivious to the outside world and how many, way too many people have seen your display. But there is nothing but the burn in your bodies right now as he grabs your hand wordlessly and drags you as fast as your heels will allow. 

It’s like a switch had flipped in him somewhere back there. Even if this whole thing was roleplay, at least you knew how to play it with your boyfriend back there, knew the way he ticks and what would make his cock twitch - Jungkook’s normally easy to read like that. But when he almost breaks the disabled toilet door down with his hand, there is no game left to play - the restraints are off and the fire of lustful rage is fueled.

“You-” he slams you back against the door before its even swung shut and you can get a single word in. It’s carnal the way he’s latching onto your mouth, grabbing your hands that try to clasp at his neck and throw them up next to your head, and shoves a knee between your sopping thighs.

“I almost fucking came in my trousers back there when you got on your knees,” you don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low and rough before but it courses through you more than the heavy bass of the club music. “You had me stood there ready to fuck your mouth open, but you thought you’d fucking tease your way through it.”  

He’s domineering and your completely and utterly keening for it. Even more so when the grip he has on your wrist tightens and brings it down to his crotch, forcing your latch onto the erection that strains sinfully, painfully in his trousers and you feel intimidated enough at his display that you don’t palm him, don’t give him a pleasureful squeeze like you normally would when you had more control of your emotions. But you're shocked and fucked out - beyond that even.

“You feel that shit. Fuck, I’ve never been this hard before,” you moan out lowly, finding it increasingly difficult to control your breathing, the nature of the lust in your body calling out for some friction on your body. But he stands there, eyes ablaze, panting his taunting remarks into your agape mouth. “You’re making it so damn hard not to fuck you.”

“Do it,” you whisper without even knowing and neither does Jungkook because the ringing in both of your ears is deafening.

“I’ve always wanted to see you fall apart around my cock… lose it as I fuck you,” his crotch starts riveting into your hand and you know he’s imaging what it would feel like with his dick nestled deep in your walls right now, “God I want to pound into you.”

“Fuck.”

Fuck, because never have his words been so dirty before.

“You’re so damn hot I actually can’t control myself right now,” and his dick follows his words. Your hand now acts as your pussy - in his head anyway - as the friction of his trousers begins sending him neck deep in pleasure. 

You actually think you could come from watching it. How his head now bows into your neck and his teeth set into your skin because he can’t even control how slack his jaw has become. The way he’s getting harder and harder against your hand and his movements are constantly seeking more. Fucking hell, you’re both fully clothed, his dicks rock hard in his pants but he’s so pent up on you and the desire you’ve caused that he’s chasing an orgasm basically untouched. 

“I- oh fuck.”

“Come on baby,” you feed him, words moaned against his ear and hand flattening more purposefully against him, “fuck me harder.”

“Argh- fuc-fucking hell,” he’s spurred on by the illusion you offer. His eyes rolled back in his head as he imagines the feeling of being balls deep in you. 

“Think how good I’d feel. Fuck, you’d be so deep uhh,” you moan out at the end as the harshness of the way his hips snap into yours causes your hand nestled between you to deliciously rub on your clit. 

You hadn’t realised that your dress had ridden up in the commotion of you sex driven states, that your ass was pressed up against the cool surface and gave you goosebumps despite the way you body oozes heat, that you panties were so wrecked by your arousal that your hand might as well be rubbing you raw. And with Jungkook’s quickening pace, the friction against your clit makes you all too driven to seek your end as well as his. It’s filthy.

“Ko-uh. Fuck, Kook, I need you fingers- ah,” your walls are throbbing at the thought, but his teeth remain deep set in the junction between your neck and shoulder, his hips still thrusting up and into your hand, so you think you’re desire has gone unheard.

But all too quickly, he forgets the end he was chasing. 

Suddenly, he backs away from you, leaving you untouched and leaning forward into the air, whilst his cock screams in the confines of his trousers. He growls at the way he had to stop himself from cumming too soon.

“Baby,” it’s a whine from the back of your throat that you had no plan to release. But the way your chest heaves and your thighs cross one another for friction just spells to you and him just how inflamed your body is. 

His eyes move away from your desperate ones, and his neck reclines back as he swallows - trying with all his strength to keep it together, to not cum from merely watching your cleavage, drenched in his and your sweat, rise and fall with the way your breathing staggers. Watching him is torture for yourself, but you don’t want to miss the way his cock throbs. 

You have no idea how long you’re there, him grappling at his sanity and you watching him.

“Baby, I-”

“Fuck, don’t talk,” his face almost contorts in pain and his head lowers into his chest to halt his urge to look at you. 

But, you’re horny and you're a brat, so you persist.

“Jungkook, I need you right now.”

Silence falls for a mere second.

Like a man possessed he lunges back towards your body, and before you can react he’s on his knees violently pushing the thin fabric of your dress up and ripping your panties down your legs.

“What don’t you understand about shut the fuck up.” And with that he’s on your clit, hands shoving your legs in opposite directions and over his shoulders so you lose your balance and end up speared on his tongue.

“Kook!” It’s a cry that’s shouted into the air when your head is thrown back - a reaction to both the immense feeling that tightens at your core and a warning to the man below you that you might just crush him.

But he’s devouring your pussy whole. He’s no longer tending to your clit, but lapping his tongue up and down the entire expanse of your slit, letting the muscle of his tongue slip into your entrance making your stomach drop every time. He’s hellbent on making you cum that’s for sure, because no matter the tug of your hands at his scalp to let up even just a little, he’s growling into you and plunging deeper. 

You want to pull away, to finally take a break from the intense pressure on your core or maybe to breathe for the first time since he decided to drop to his knees. But you’re feet don’t touch the ground, literally, and he’s suspending you on his tongue. 

His hands push you down further onto him and he growls into you, vibrations coursing through you that almost makes you cum then and there. But he breaks away.

“Fuck,” he sounds fucked out himself, taking in all the air he can, because god knows he was eating your pussy like it was oxygen. “Baby, you gotta cum on my tongue, please.” 

He was the one eating you out, yet you had him pleading. Boy always did submit in the end, whether he liked it or not.

“Fingers then. Use your fingers,” and he obeys, releasing your thigh in favour of thrusting two of his digits deep into you. All your weight goes onto his shoulders and the two fingers set so far into your womb that you were crying out in pleasure. It wasn’t until his mouth resumed sucking on your clit that you lost all control of your tongue and rambled into the air like a mad woman. 

“F-Fuckkk Kook. I want ah- fuck I want your cum inside me. I want your dick so bad,” he’s moaning with you and with your words, being spurred on by the image you paint. He curls his fingers deep inside you, and you lose yourself on the feeling - being so stimulated that you miss the fact you’re grinding on his face, thrusting up as if his fingers were really his cock. He’s moaning at it, at the way your pace picks up on his tongue and you’re seeking your end.

“Don’t stop, oh fuck, oh fuck, please- don’t stop.”

You’re driving yourself deeper and deeper into him and fuckkk if the pleasure hasn’t taken over your senses beyond belief. Your stomach pulls so tight with the need to release that you’re grappling at the strands of hair on the back of your boyfriend’s head and using them to anchor yourself. He’s purely a mouth and two fingers to fuck yourself on at this moment and you couldn’t stop yourself even if you tried.

“Shit, fuckk,” his fingers start going at a rate, not even your hips can keep up with, and he’s so deep you almost choke like the pressure inside you has reached up into your throat.

“Come on baby, fuck,” his gravelly voice seeks out for you to come all over him.

“Holy fuckin-” the feeling comes on so intense inside of you that you struggle to warn him, your breathing constricted almost into nothingness. You feel like you’re about to cum with such strength that you might die.

“I can’t Kook- oh fuckk.”

“Give it to me.”

His teeth clamp down on your clit at the same time as his fingers curl against that spot inside you that suddenly has everything spiralling at once. 

“Don’t stoppp, don’t stop, oh fuck,” you sputter into the air as a band snaps in your lower stomach, blood pumping everywhere and anywhere in your body so that your hips begin spasming and convulsing on top of his mouth. 

He whines into you as his mouth keep fastening all too strongly against your bud. It’s when the pressure that keeps falling in your stomach and Kook is forced to pull his fingers out of you that you feel your juices spill and keep spilling all over you and him.

“Holy fuck baby… Y/N shit.”

You tumble further and further and miss the noises that are pushed from your throat. In the intensity of the pleasure you also miss the way Jungkook’s body, his tongue on your clit, his fingers on your thigh and the ones lodged deep inside you, all tense up. 

Shit.

You wonder if you’ve blacked out when the slump of your body takes over, the eventual air you take in in one large breath making your senses begin to come back all too strong. You’re broken from the waist down, legs numb to the point you can barely feel Jungkook’s teeth tight on your thigh and breath glazing the skin strongly. Shit, you can’t even feel how wet you are yet.

You know the weight he’s bearing on his shoulders, but you can’t muster the strength to move, merely loosening your hands from how tight they were wound in his locks and instead soothing down to his neck with your trembling fingers. 

Finally, the spin in your head stops and your eyes are open enough so that you can look down at the sight below you.

He’s breathless and wet. Wet from sweat and the way you’d just squirted all over his tongue, fingers and trousers - well that’s what you figure anyways. His eyes are sewn shut though in the aftermath of it all, and your thoughts begin to piece together.

“Baby, you good?” you’re scared he has too much literal weight on his shoulders. You’re also scared he’s still painfully hard. “Kook?” and finally a coherent mumble of ‘yeh’ against your thigh tells you, no, you didn’t just kill your boyfriend by cumming on his face.

It’s a slow process the way he lets your legs down, and you wince as he does so because you swear his fingers just split you open. You also forgot about the heels practically taped to your feet, stumbling a little one foot at a time as he lowers you off his shoulders.

His eyelids still hang low, and he makes no move to join you at eye level, instead, pressing his face into your thigh and running his ragged breath there for too long. 

“Fuck, seriously, you good baby?” your pussy still throbs, but your boyfriend is too still for you to take notice.

And suddenly he’s laughing. Wholeheartedly laughing into your skin, back, that’s slicked with sweat, raising up and down as he does so.

“Shit,” is all he says when his eyes, crinkled in laughter and exhaustion finally meet yours, peering up from his squat. It’s infectious and has you laughing too, albeit half heartedly because your throat hurts and you’re not sure if your lungs can take much more unnatural breathing.

“You literally just made me cum in my pants.”

Fuck. You’re eyes bulge and pass between the look of disbelief of his face, to the, now, very noticeable stain on his crotch, and back again. Boy literally just came untouched because you can still feel the imprint of one hand on your thigh and you’re pretty sure the other hand was occupied if you remember correctly.

“What the fuck!” Is all you can say.

“Yeh, I know ‘what the fuck!’ Sorry but since when could you squirt.” His legs are still shaking beneath him. “It made me just fucking shoot my load on sight.”

You’re laughing, bending at the waist to help the poor boy up to his feet, and he accepts the help as he finally towers over you and meets your eyes - both looking at each other with warmth and a vague emotion of disbelief, because as if he just came in his pants!

“Seriously, don’t know what the hell you just did to me, but I don’t think I’ll ever be that turned on ever in my life again,” he’s sputtering out now like a boy charged on drained hormones and ageing drunkness. 

You laugh at his state and the way his eyes still bulge, grabbing the skin of his neck that’s thick with sweat and push a kiss to his lips. It doesn’t linger because you’re too spent and oxygen is like gold dust to you right now.

“So you enjoyed yourself I’m guessing?”

“Fucking hell did I!” You both can’t stop the way your laughter spills at the situation. 

You see his shoulders eventually relax, his breathing less frequent and the look in his eyes turns soft. 

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you.” Despite your heart still beating like it’s on steroids, you feel it skip a beat, equal to the way you can’t help the tug on the corners of your mouth. 

“Cringy bastard,” you whisper next to his lips, a whole new warmth spreading through you at the way his eyes are filled with adoration.

“Only for you.”

“You make me sick.” But in your head, you’re saying the opposite, because you can’t fight the blush despite how generic his cringe worthy compliments hit.

With clothes vaguely realigned, you’re ready to join society once again, albeit hobbling, but your boyfriend refuses to break the bubble you’re in for just a second longer.

“Say it back.” And when you turn from the door to him, he’s actually pouting, eyes a little less bright as though you’re unspoken words have hit harder than you realised. “Please.”

Your relationship with Kook was built off backhanded compliments and competitive sarcasm, both equally easy-going people with a knack for not taking anything seriously. It was how you two worked. But there’s some things you can’t feign, and the way he said “I love you” with deliberate sadness was one of those things, because hell, you sure loved him too.

His cheeks nestled in both of your palms now as your soft eyes met his ones, vulnerable with the way he’d bared himself and pleaded after you, you spoke softly.

“I love you.”

---------------------------------------------------------

“Fuck you, Kook. Stop acting like you own me.”

“Then don’t try to sleep with the whole swim team.”

Dick.

This shit is rare. Fighting Jungkook is rare. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. Because whilst you’re both too easy going for your own good and take most things on the chin, jealousy hurts like a bitch. 

“Jesus you’re fucking testing my patience.” You settle yourself deep in his kitchen, long strides over there because his presence alone is making you want to rip hairs out of your skull. But he’s there soon after, leaning to try to get into your line of sight as you busy yourself with a glass and fuck, where’s that bottle of wine.

“Nah, don’t act like I’m pushing you. I asked you why Jimin’s asking to meet you, and you can’t come up with a damn straight answer or show me your phone.” You find the wine in the fridge, pretending Jungkook is background noise like the petty bitch you are, but his words are ringing in your head louder than you care for. “Don’t treat me like I’m delusional.” 

You slam the bottle down a little too hard on the counter and his eyes jump to the sound. But your expression is dead set, angry, persistent, but he’d say stubborn.

“You’re actually dumb. The whole fucking issue is that I shouldn’t have to tell you why someone texts me or not.” His mouth opens to argue but you’re off on one, “Whether it’s Jimin, whether it’s my mum, whether it was your fucking maintenance guy, it’s my phone, don’t check it, and don’t pretend you’re entitled to.” 

His eyes narrow and you almost think there’s something in him contemplating your words, maybe, just maybe trying to hear you out and understand where you’re coming from. But if you were stubborn, then Jungkook was competitive - he wouldn't stop until you thought he was right.

“Why the fuck did he text you.”

You want to scream. You want to smash his glass against the floor and scream fucking murder. But instead you find your body tensing and you face heating up with the need to cry. He’s getting in your head and you hate it, because he’s never like this. He’s easy. He’s such good company and probably your best friend but why is he making it so hard to like, let alone love him right now.

“Fuck it. Here,” you fish in your pocket, eyes still on his despite the feeling of them heating up and the wetness pooling. You unlock your phone and push it to his chest. “God knows, we were just trying to arrange something for your birthday without you finding out, but you and your fucking jealousy can’t take that, can they Kook?”

You have so much more to say. Your head is spinning with the need to empty your gut of all the words you want to throw at him. About how jealousy is certainly not a virtue in this case, about how you can’t bear that he doesn’t trust you despite all you’ve given up for him, about how damn unfair he is being right now. But you hit his shoulder with yours and are half walking half running to his bathroom before you can contemplate what you’re doing.

“Y/N, fuck,” and of course now he’s apologetic. Calling after you in a tone that screams innocence but to you, he is anything but that right now.

You close the door with haste and push your back against it even faster. 

The worst part is you’re not even that angry anymore. The tears fall in sadness. 

“Baby,” his knock rattles the door but only gently in an attempt to be sensitive with you. He’s fucked up and he knows that, but there’s a combination of not wanting him to see you cry and the need to be away from him for a minute that has you still sitting by the door, not making any attempt to open it.

“Baby, I didn’t know- I wouldn’t have.”

“Jungkook can you give it a rest for one minute,” you sound pained. You feel it as well. Maybe you’re overreacting, you think, as you hear him sigh and mumble an ‘okay’ before his footsteps peter out into another room. 

You cry more and continue to do so as you begin to run the bath, and then more tears flow when you watch yourself in the mirror as you tug at your stained cheeks with a cloth. Your tears are still wet on your cheeks when you lower yourself into the warm water and become absorbed in the feeling of it, melting away until you fall into the slumber of sleep. It’s the same slumber that doesn’t cause you to be startled when the door creaks open, your boyfriend pausing to take in your state before he strips himself down to join you.

You know he’s there when he gently sinks into the water behind you, but you make no attempt to move out of the way his knees encase you. His touch is apprehensive and careful, and you can practically hear the thoughts in his head move at a thousand miles an hour.

You know Jungkook. You know all too well that right now, he’s cut up inside, thinking of every way possible to take back time and to undo the stupid shit he was spouting earlier. He’s thinking about how fucked up he was to let jealousy do that to him, to get the better of his, and he’s thinking of every which way to make it right to you. You know, because you’re the same. We’re all in the wrong at some point, and everyone is more than the worst thing they’ve ever done.

So you grab at his hands that still hover in the air with unspoken uncertainty and you pull them to yourself, tight, and on your neck there is a desperate sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry,” his tone is so apologetic you almost start crying all over again, but exhaustion and the need to forgive are all too strong. “Y/N, I’m so sorry, I-”

You know there are more words he wants to say, maybe to show you how bad he feels, maybe he’ll try and justify himself, but either way, you’re pushover ass forgave him before the argument even happened. You also simply like the boy too goddamn much to see him splutter in your neck because he’s scared he’ll lose you.

With your lips pressed to the back of his hands that you’ve encased in yours, you mutter, “Shhh, I know you are.” 

The water sloshes in the distance somewhere as he pulls you tighter to him like you’re an anchor and if he lets you go he’ll be lost. Kisses are placed down your neck gently and you let your eyes flutter shut again because you can’t lie in that he is the most comforting place to you right now.

Silence falls but not uncomfortably, fingers brushing skin like its china and breathing soft as you both give into each others touch.

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

Maybe you are too forgiving Your mother always told you you were - ‘people won’t be so kind to your patience one day Y/N.’ - that’s what she’d told you. And she’s probably right that one day you’ll come to find that you’ve been used and abused for all the ‘it's okay’s’ and ‘I forgive you’s’ you’d uttered. But you didn’t use forgiveness as an easy way out, you used it when it was deserved. And Jungkook’s jealousy, whilst fucking annoying, was a human instinct - possibly more of a male instinct than female, you think - but it’s a natural reaction all the same. Compromise instead of conclusion.

“You have to start trusting me, you know.”

“I know,” a hasty response, maybe because he actually has realised he needs to trust you or maybe he just doesn’t want to prolong discussion. You hope and believe the first,

“You can’t keep this jealousy thing up. Particularly not with Jimin, I don’t want to be the reason your shit is ruined, it’s too good.”

The two of them best friends from the womb. But boys apparently will be boys and think any dick that goes near their girlfriend is aiming for one place and one place only, whether 21 years into friendship or not.

“I know.” The repeat of words makes you think he’s not listening to you, but then he sighs. “It’s just- I can’t- Fuck! He drives me up the wall, says all kinds of shit behind your back and mine about how fit you are because he knows it grills me.” This is new. “And then he sends you texts when I didn’t even know you had each others number and you won’t tell me what they are. It just fucked with my head and when you end up picturing the worst it’s hard to get that picture out of your head.”

It made sense, and he was getting angry with himself by the way his tone spiked, so you diffuse the tension.

“Hmm but if you weren’t so jealous your birthday wouldn’t have been ruined,” you feel his head slump and then he laughs, and you laugh, and then he’s squeezing you and forcing your eyes to his.

“You make me mental that’s why,” you’re close but he makes no move to kiss you, “and I’m sorry that I got like that when I had no reason to do so. I’ll change that I promise,”  he sounded sincere, looked sincere, and you’re a sucker for the way he’s naked and so close his breath hits your smile that you’re kissing him before you can feign trust. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

“You know you almost got me in big shit the other day,” the bell rings above your head as you and Jimin leave the cold in favour of the warmth of the bar. Thursday nights didn’t call for many people, so you found a seat easily at a booth, casual wear on and smile dancing across that idiots face.

“Kook told me.” Of course he did, “As if he got his dick caught between his legs because I sent you a text. Like does he really think I’d shag you.”

You scoff, “Cheers for that.”

“You know what I mean. If I got the chance I’d fucking take it, but Kook’s my brother,” and to be fair you did know what he meant. In fact it was a miracle Jungkook had been all calm and breezy when you’d told him you were meeting Jimin for drinks - maybe it was this new thing he was trying called ‘play it cool and let her do her own thing’ - even so, you liked it. 

You end up ordering beers, after all, it is only a Thursday so that means no hard spirits, but it’s also the afternoon so that means alcohol.

“I’m glad to hear you’re not gonna pounce Jim.” He laughs, you laugh, thank god, because ever since you and Jungkook had shouted about the texting and Jimin issue, you were scared you’d have to keep a distance from the boy to prevent awkwardness. “How you been anyways?”

“Is that another way of saying who’ve I fucked since we last spoke,” his eyebrows wiggle like he’s got something to be proud about.

“Jesus, you only do think with your dick don’t you?” 

“Come onn, ask me who I took home the other night,” he’s leaning forward with a smile that you want to smother, but you humour him for the sake of conversation.

“Which unlucky bird shared your bed the other night then?” You say it with a downward tone to express your distaste for the way your conversation has headed. You also nod a thank you to the waiter who’d brought beers over, pint on either side of the table.

“Well, maybe you should ask your roommate.”

Beer must fly out of your nose, mouth and ears with the way you choke. Literally, you’re spluttering everywhere and he’s laughing and you’re sure it’s a sick joke, but his smile says otherwise.

“She’s fucking gay!” That’s all you come up with. You know your roommate like the back of your hand, or so you think, and every part of you is wracking every part of your brain right now for some conversation where she said she’d shag Jimin, or shag a guy in fact. Nope, nothing.

“I thought so too, clearly she didn’t.” You’re angry at him by the way you scoff and take another long sip of your beer but you don’t even know why. Maybe you’re angry at her, but that also kind of feels invalid.

“As if she didn’t tell me.” He just shrugs. “... nah what the fuck man!” 

“Listen, talk to her about it. I’m pretty sure I was mad drunk, so was she, and she left before I woke up so…” The last bit sounds about right, Mia was never one for sticking around for morning cuddles, but it’s all just wrong and it’s stewing in your head like a bad memory. 

You're still questioning your entire existence it seems like when the conversation moves onto why you’re really here, or as Jimin says it, “So if the fucker knows we’re doing something for his birthday now, does that mean we actually have to do it?” 

God, he’s hard to talk to. You find yourself for half your conversations with Jimin either saying ‘fuck off’ or your scoffing. You do the latter now.

“We were doing something anyway, don’t act like you don’t care. But yeh, he knows, so why don’t we just fucking put in money for alcohol and bud and hit up the beach or something at Hobi’s. Simples.”

Jimin downs his pint - it’s a Thursday and you don’t know why - and then nods, “Yeh, sounds like I can fuck with that. But let’s tell Taehyung cos he’s rich and loves weed more than the next person.”

----------------------------------------------------------

Like hell was there booze and weed. Taehyung had done the most, with Namjoon, and there was enough for 200 people to get fucked 10 times over, which with the 70 people that were apparently already at the beach, seemed like a mass death wish.

Hoseok, poor Hoseok, was hosting. You’d asked and he’d accepted like the selfless man he is and also because he loves Jungkook like a mother loves her child. It wasn’t his uni place, but his parent's beach house on the part of the coast where the beach stretched 20 yards deep and the water felt like the arctic on your skin, but even so, the parties out there were sick. 

You can just tell by the boyish grin on your boyfriends face he knows exactly the way this route takes you, the taxi driver, however, keeps giving you evils through the mirror probably because this journey is long and you’re not even on a real road at this point. But the vodka already in your system means you don’t care and you hold Jungkook’s hand in full-fledged excitement.

You swear you’re not corny.

He keeps his hand in yours even when you pay the driver, and tightens it further when everyone around the back of the cabin rings out in a chorus of ‘surprise’. He even holds your hand when he’s handed both a beer and a joint, somehow juggling them both in his free one.

Somewhere along the line between sharing conversations and drinking yourself silly, he whispers a ‘thank you’ in your ear, and presses a grateful kiss onto your lips.

The sun had been low for a while, with the expanded horizon offering the perfect view to watch it set. 

Still not corny, you promise.

But the smoke flowing through your system and the light hum of alcohol to accompany it just doesn’t allow for you to leave his side. Even through conversation after conversation, ‘happy birthday’ handshakes that made him switch which hand he was holding you with just so he didn’t let go, and even when the boys attempted a birthday bumps, you were there, glued tight.

“Fuck it, I wanna skinny dip!” Oh Jimin, oh that poor poor boy and his utterly delusional brain.

“Mate, that’s the high talking, leave it out.” You’re glad your boyfriend speaks sense when intoxicated because Tae’s there behind him clapping his back, encouraging him.

“Jim, legit 5 degrees right now, your dick’ll fall off if you go anywhere close to the sea.” And Namjoon, also ever with the straight head. Ah, you say that, but when you turn to the geez he chucks the small end of a lit blunt in his mouth and then swallows it down with beer - I guess his head will be going sideways now, in T-minus 5 seconds.

“You guys are pussys, my dick’ll just shrivel a bit…” 

“Fucking rancid, don’t wanna hear it.” Throwing your half empty beer can also seems to do the trick of shutting him up about his dick as he hangs his jaw that’s dripping with beer, warm from being half finished.

“Bitch.”

“Oi! None of that, Park.” Jungkook’s tone is serious but he’s smiling all the same, content in the setting he’s in, not despite of but because of the deluded conversation, the weird dynamic you guys all have, the way he’s just himself, and the fact you’re there too, with a vice grip on his hand.

It’s all breathy laughs and the occasional pressing of lips on your neck from where you’re sat on your boyfriend’s lap, as the conversation delves from somewhere between Jimin’s sex life (surprise surprise) to what Hoseok would look like on steroids - the mutual group decision, so, so, wrong. 

“Baby, I wanna get going.” 

“Hm?” You were caught in laughter and didn’t think you heard him right, so you turn in his lap to throw an arm around his shoulder, all eyes and ears for your man.

“I kind of wanna get going home.”

You’re surprised, looking through the glaze in his eyes to see if he’s too stoned or not having a good time, but you just see him content gaze, boring adoration into yours. Leaving now would also make you the first to leave, and it was his party.

“You wanna go like right now, right now?”

“Mmm,” and there’s something you can't pinpoint in his expression, apprehension maybe.

“Okay, should I be worried? You’re good right?” 

And his head drops to make you think ‘shit’, but then he’s laughing, shoulders shaking under your tense arms before he grabs at your face and places a kiss on either cheek. The blush creeps up on you before you can hide your face in his shoulder.

“I’m fine, so good.”  It’s almost a shout of a confession as he throws his head back to demonstrate the emotion behind the words, but the way his smile lifts to his eyes tells you all you need to know. You’re still not quite getting why the happy boy you’re perching on wants to ditch his own surprise party, but each to their own, you think.

“Okay? You’re sure you don’t want to stay?”

Affirming you’re correct with a head shake, he leans in once again, squeezing at your sides ungraciously tight before smashing his lips to yours in a rough, open mouthed kiss that is neither something you were ready for or something you’re about to do with Jimin and Namjoon next to you.

So, you’re both laughing, him attempting to plaster his lips to your face and you swatting as his arm that fixes you in place to him.

“Kook fu- baby,” you begin to scramble away and he lets you, laughing out at the way you flatten your hair and fumble at you jeans as a means to compose yourself, “Time and a place, you dick.”

Stares and smiles are all you give each other as the ambient sounds of others continue around you. It’s like that with him - the world keeps buzzing around you but you’re not in that world, you’re somewhere too deep in his.

Please believe me, you’re not cringy!

“Come back,” hand out, legs spread wide to make room for you and you cannot help the way your feet appease his every word.

You’re eyes down on him, and his up at you, blown full with love, lust and everything in between and you settle in the warmth of his proximity and in the heat of his gaze.

“I love you.”

So you kiss him, because, “I love you too Kook.”

“Now order that fucking taxi, I wanted to go all of two hours ago.” And there he is, earning himself another smack to the arm.

“You bastard, you’re lucky I’m whipped.”

“Yeh you fucking are Y/N!” Jimin can suck a dick, the wanker. Throwing a final middle finger up to the offending boy and holding the other hand out for your boyfriend, you get onto the route home.

Silence is not always a bad thing. You’d told yourself that the whole way home. You especially knew how car journeys when inconceivably high and drunk could make the head spin and the voice mute, but neither of you were inconceivably high or drunk. His hand was still there on yours from beach to taxi, taxi to apartment, apartment to bedroom, but the smile was gone. 

“Baby, what’s wrong, talk to me.”

“Mmm?” Playing it off, yet he still won’t look at you - the boy never could do confrontation or telling you what he wants.

He’s across the room, carrying the tea he’d made you to your side of the bed when you told him you’d felt a headache coming on. And you’re there just watching, the moping, the shrug and the way he now stops as you reach out your hand to tug at his shirt. 

“Oi, look at me.” Eventually, and what looks like with effort, he does. “You gonna talk to me now, or what?” And you begin to worry at the way his gaze digs into your face, eyes pouring emotion that is scattered in so many different directions you can’t keep up. Is he sad? Nervous? Why would he be nervous?

“I love you.” There’s more to be said just in the way those three words come out, and it scares you.

“Okayy…”

“Like I really love you. So much sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing with you.”

“Koo-” He grabs at your neck and finally takes control of his voice, no longer apprehensive and filled with mixed signals, but so affirmative that it takes every word from your mouth.

“You’ve waited for me Y/N. So fucking long. I’ve been shit to you as well recently. I just can’t fathom that you’re here and you’re mine and it fucking scares me, you have to get that.” Eyes well on both his and your side, as words unspoken, are finally spilt. Maybe it’s the occasion or the alcohol but you don’t care. “Everything about you is everything I ever want and what happens if I fuck it up and lose it. I can’t lose you.”

“I can’t lose you.” It’s a mantra spoken by him on so many occasions, like if he says it, it’ll never happen.

“And what if I feel the same, Kook.” Forehead to forehead now and so deep into the caverns of his eyes, you’d give him your whole soul if he asked. 

“You do?.. Feel the same?” You’re sure he knows you do. You’re sure he hasn’t been deaf to the thousands of ‘I love you’s’ and wholehearted confessions made by you. But he’s fragile to the extent that he needs to hear it. Needs to hear you say that you’re willing to lose everything here.

In a passing breath you whisper your confession, “yes,” and he squeezes at the hairs at the back of your neck that stand on end with every goosebump in your body. 

The tears fall just as he puts his lips to yours and oxygen becomes gold dust with the way you’re so breath taken. But it’s the happy kind of breath taken, that feeling right before christmas as a kid when you know everything’s waiting for you on the other side of sleep, that feeling where the sinking dries up in your stomach and every fibre of you body buzzes uncontrollably, the kind of breath taken where you smile and laugh in full-fledged giddiness.

Pulling away, you do just that, laugh against his mouth, smile without thought, and despite the tears that drip onto your lips you keep kissing at him, peck after peck because he’s laughing and crying with you.

Fuck, this was the moment you were converted to cringe. You didn’t give two shits about it either.

“I thought you were about to fucking break up with me, you absolute knob!” He thumb scoops up the tears as he laughs at you, sniffling to himself in the emotion of the moment that you two were still somewhere swept up in.

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Maybe.” 

Before the last tear is swept away at the motion of his thumb on your cheek, Kook ducks down and sweeps you up, over his shoulder and then with a not so forgiving thump to your back, you hit the bed - looks like he forgot his bed was made of fucking rocks, great for sex though, no squeak. And suddenly it dawns on you as hard as you just hit that mattress. That look in his eyes, now, earlier at the beach, the entire strung out fucking monologue he just gave you. All in the name of sex. 

“Can we- you want to- do it.” 

Fuck, it’s actually happening.

You suppress the butterflies with a laugh that surfaces from the way he stutters. 

“Well, what the fuck dyou want me to say. We’ve waited 5 months and you want me to just say, ‘oi Y/N, let me fuck you’.” 

But the laughing doesn’t seize. 

“I’m sure fucking not saying I want to make love to you, because imagine that gettin relayed to the boys. Instantly my dick goes from a 7 on hard to a 5.”

“Aw babe, give yourself credit, you’re at least a 5 and a half.”

“Bitch.” 

And with that he presses his full weight into you, smiling into the kiss that sucks deep into your lips, harsh but tender in all the right places. It turns you on the way he goes slow with you, maps outlines on your skin with his touches, and it makes you even hornier when his boner slowly grows into the meat of your thigh. 

It’s a moan in response to him biting your lip that has him off you and flipping the position so you straddle him. But tight jeans don’t accommodate for being on top, the fucking inconvenient bitch, so it’s with the slow teasing pace, that he seems to be going for, that you take as the jeans come off. 

“Fuck,” is whispered somewhere between you purchasing yourself right on his crotch and the way you raise you crop top over naked breasts. 

This is not uncharted territory. The two of you aren’t nuns who have abstained from everything and anything in your relationship. No, you’re far from holy. But the way your boyfriend gapes, eyes blown and breathing sharp, he’s like a virgin on steroids.

When you lean into his body, claiming his lips once again you notice the shaking, the way his body uncontrollable shivers underneath you despite the perspiration that soaks through his shirt.

“Baby, you’re shaking,” you whisper into his mouth, and he simply nods a frantic ‘yes’ against you. “Kook, calm down, relax, baby,” and after grasping gently at his chin to pry his lips off yours, you find his gaze, eyes blown in lust and fear. 

“Okay? I’m all yours,” you take his hand and lead it to your breast, then ushering it towards the steady beat of your heart, felt beneath trembling fingertips. “All yours.”

Running your hands over the tension in his biceps, you attempt to put him at ease with the roll of your hips. His bulge hadn’t gone unnoticed for a second and it was perfectly place with the tip resting on your clit, that you could probably both go to town like that - who said romance was dead! 

“Fuck Y/N.” 

“There you go,” you push him on, sucking into the rift between his neck and his shoulders and strong arms now scoop over and round to your ass. The squeeze is convincing, hard enough that you don’t fight back the moan and hard enough that your hips move that little bit harsher. 

Breaths are heavy in your ear as you find yourself slipping deeper into the pleasure of the moment, but you know he’ll never take the initiative and make the first move.

“You’re so hard Kook.”

A groan in all he responds as you hit that spot just on his tip that he loves so much.

“I want you so bad.”

“Fuck, me too,” and desperation for more than the slow grind you opted for overcomes him. Lips latch onto yours in a harsh display as he flips you once again. 

You can’t help but smirk to yourself, pure filthy excitement taking over the fibres of your body as he stares down at you now, hungry and horny.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this so bad for so long Y/N you have no idea.” 

“Off,” and he gets the message with how his shirt is off and somewhere across the room without his dick leaving its place nestled in your crotch.

“I’ve been dying to have you, all of you.” His teeth are clawing at the skin of your neck as he pants out his dirty confession to the rhythm of his hips. 

“You’ve been dying to fuck me, Kook?” It’s a teasing tone, but there’s no hiding the breathiness behind your voice.

“Fuck yeh.”

“Then go ahead and fuck me.”

When his gaze meets yours, his eyes are wide and disbelieving. But you’re more focused on the stain of his lips from sunken teeth and the way his hair sticks to his face from sweat. You also haven’t failed to miss the bare, toned torso pressed neatly onto your chest - abs to die for and v lines that leave the eyes wandering an unholy amount of southward.

“You want me to go in raw?” You feign laughter at how giddy he looks at the prospect.

“Birth controls a saint innit.”

“Fuck, I’m scared I’ll come in two seconds.” Great turn on. You think, you don’t say.

His trousers are off fast but when it comes to your panties, he’s calculated in the way he lowers himself to eyes level with your core, breathing haphazardly in his lust induced state into the material that he proceeds to run down the length of your leg and off at your feet.

Eyes trail up your body as he crawls his way back to your now exposed core, “Jesus, you’re so sexy.” 

“Jungkook! What would God say if he heard you talk about his son that way!”

His head literally drops and he groans, as if the turn off button hadn’t already been switched when he told you he’d blow his load as soon as dick met pussy.

“I literally have no words Y/N.” 

“Well, you better put that mouth to better use then baby.”

“Bitch.”

But his tongue is darted out and into your folds, no matter the reluctance, and he soon finds that same taste, bitter and sweet all at once that draws him in every fucking time.

“Fuck Kook.” The reaction is instant, spine arched away from the mattress as his tongue sets to work inside you, darting in and out so fast that your hips couldn’t keep up if they tried. It’s when he flattens it against your clit and the hand once pinning down a thigh pushes two fingers in so fucking deep that the moans spill. 

“Shit that’s tight,” he mutters to himself more than anyone as his delving fingers reach that spot that has you stringing his name and curses into an aimless sentence. And the scene below you is even hotter than the feeling at your core, Jungkook, nestled between your legs with lips to clit, hand to pussy, and hips rutting desperately into the mattress. He’s a whole fucking view and it has you keening with your hands rooted in his hair that are telling him wordlessly not to let up.

When his eyes meet yours, you knows its game over, smirk overtaking his features as his fingers piston and fuck you open, thumb taking over the role his lips had on your clit just so he gets to watch you fall apart under him.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.”

“Holy fuc- shitt. Jungkook.” And your moans are the hottest things he’s ever heard as you tumble into a hell of a fucking orgasm. Shocks ripple through your body with the rate of his fingers and everything pulses as you cum, and keep fucking cumming.

Kook can barely help the way his cock seeks better friction against the mattress because of the bliss written on your face. And he almost forgets to let up on the frantic way his fingers still fuck you because your glistening chest lifting up and down in the light has his focus completely elsewhere. 

“Kook, I can’t.”

“Sorry baby,” he lets up with one final kiss to your clit, the jolt of pain and pleasure causing you to whine briefly. His cock twitches at the sound.

“Y/N I’m so hard, please.” 

You drag him up with the hand still woven deep in his locks so he’s eye level, and dick level with the place he wants it most. Wordlessly and still driven by the buzz from your orgasm, your hand guides him into you and fuck if the moan against your mouth isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard.

“Holy fuck.” Nestling his head into the crook of your neck with deep breaths to accompany it, you can tell he’s trying to hold back the feeling of his balls tightening and ignore the way you still pulse from your orgasm. It’s tight and it’s so fucking bare because he’s never gone raw before. Fuck, neither of you have had sex in six months so the feeling might just make you both combust on the spot.

“Slowly baby, it’s been a while.” You’d known he’d reach your stomach just from the way he fucked your throat every other day - his girth is nothing far from impressive and it’s stretching you without even moving.

Light kisses press their way from neck to jaw to mouth as he pulls out to the hilt and then back in, slowly, tantalising slowly so that you both moan into the other's mouths, breathy and completely consumed by the feeling of each other.

“Fuck I’m never gonna get enough of this now.”

“Mmm,” you really hoped he wouldn’t.

“God I love you so much, your pussy is actual heaven.” And you hate to say the way the praise goes straight to your core, but your boyfriend can most certainly tell from the clench you hold his dick in. “Fuckkk, so good.”

It’s slow and it’s deep and he’s hitting your g-spot and clit with every roll of his hips. Throughout the murmurs of affection and sex filled admissions, you grasp at each other's skin, his hands pulling your hair so your mouth meets his and your hands across the muscles in his back that flex under your fingers with each thrust. 

It’s when he drags one hand to your throat and grips at it to balance his sped-up movements that you’re finding yourself teetering towards the edge again, spilling words never spoken and sounds never heard but he’s saving every one of them to memory.

“Faster baby please,” and he obliges instantly as he dives into you hard and fast, “babyy oh shit.”

“Y/N you’re clenching so fucking hard right now,” but he’s left you breathless to the point of no reply.

Several punishing slams that also attack your clit have eyes rolling and you biting down into his shoulder, suppressing the scream that surfaced without your consent.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He keeps pounding away, forcing you deeper and deeper into a spiral of pleasure, until his lips are on yours and he ruts a final few times, grunting and moaning into your mouth. “So good, so good,” and he repeats this until he’s still above you and finally the hand wound into your neck lessens it’s pressure so the throb in your body and up to your head dies into a tingle. 

It’s the most content and blissful silence, post orgasm, wrapped in the warm and wet body of your boyfriend. That is until he begins mumbling inconceivable words into the shoulder he decided to rest on.

“What baby?”

“I said,” lifting himself to eye level, and he’s a fucking sight for sore eyes. “Worth the fucking wait.” 

And with a tired, fucked out smile, light kiss to his lips, you can most certainly agree. 

Worth the fucking wait.

Wine and Cheese Nights (M)

Summary: Kicking back and relaxing to the sweet sweet burn of red wine and the even harsher sting of soft touches from your boyfriend, spells for cheesy conversation and great sex.

Pairing: Jungkook x Y/N

Genre: Domestic AU, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Handjob, Jungkook cumming in his pants, Dry humping, Swearing, Alchohol Consumption, Creampie, Hair pulling

Word Count: 6k

A/N: I legit started writing this when Jungkook got pissed on vlive, and I just never came back to it. It’s kinda cute tho. And now I’m beginning to realise I think I have a thing for making guys cum in their pants. Pls forgive me.

“Guk?” It’s a shout stretched across the wall between the both of you as you bend to be at eye level with the rack of wines.

You hear a vague mumble as an indication of his acknowledgement at your question.

“What are we going for, white or red?” You look amongst the choice, red wines littering your view whilst to your left, the glow of the fridge shows the selection of whites. Your palette is contemplating which would be most appropriate. The cool, refreshing sensation a white would bring or the richness that calms at the bottom of your stomach with a red. 

The contemplation when your boyfriend fails to reply is noted.

“I bought a couple of reds yesterday that we could give a go.” It comes as more of a statement than a question, albeit unintentionally, but it clearly shows that your subconscious is craving the feeling red wine brings.

“Oh, go on then. The Portuguese one though, I wanted to give it a try.” 

Automatic hands found themselves already taking Kook’s preferred option before he had issued it, so giving the label a once over and grabbing the two glasses you had already fished out of the cupboard, you round the corner into the living room. 

There was something about red wine and cheese by the fire, something that evaporated the chill from your body and spread a warm calmness through you. You knew the wine would cause a blush to your cheeks, and his. It would cause his touches to feel like a blanket of molten lava all over and the room to dissipate into background music and aimless conversation.

Guk was crouched, hair dishevelled and serene demeanour, attending to the fire that licked orange and red hues around the room and immediately heated the exposed skin on your legs and arms. 

The sight was pure homeliness. Him, dressed in a black buttoned up shirt, loosened at the first few buttons and sleeves rolled, with joggers, and you in merely a grey top, the cotton long enough to reach the middle of your thighs. It was comfort and carefree all at once.

Your uncovered feet found the softness of the blanket underneath once through the archway to the living area, and the back of your exposed thighs soon found the same fate on the leather sofa, heated by the glow of the fire your boyfriend still prodded and probed to his liking. 

The familiar creak of the cork against the bottle, followed by the pop as it was released, prompted Jungkook to finally join you. 

“Mmm,” sinking into the sofa beside you he mirrored how you leaned forwards, watching the wine chug into either glass, with a desire in his eyes.

“Which one is this again. The Porto?” He grabs at the bottle once you place it down giving the label a once over whilst you mumble a ‘yeh’.

You lean back, glass to lips, cool rim to heated skin, and take a sip, too eager to feel the slow burning warmth down your throat.

It doesn’t disappoint and as you take another sip you see Jungkook mirroring you, heads tipped back as the wine fills the gaps of tiredness with a comfortability instead.

“Shit,” he breathes out against the glass, finally leaning back against the sofa, eye level with you now as you smile at his reactions, eyes closed and throat bobbing with the sweet burn of alcohol that sets ablaze his cheeks almost instantly. 

“It’s good, isn’t it.”

“Mmm,” lifting his arm and nestling it in behind your neck to pull you against him, head on shoulder, as he hums his reply. 

“Your mum recommended it to me, actually.” You can’t see his eyes, but you sense the lift in them as he listens fondly, “said her and your dad found it when they went on holiday a couple of years ago and only just discovered they sell it in Korea.”

His hand strokes under the cotton of your sleeve, pulling you ever closer so he can place a kiss at the crown of your head between the messy stands that litter across your face, as you raise the glass to your lips.

It was one of those nights, those few nights of ease and tranquillity with little to nothing for distraction other than the others company. These moments came sparsely - him off venturing into alternate continents and even once home, you were often working in the evenings, digging into you wine and cheese nights with back straining work. So, when these moments came, like hell did they taste sweeter. 

He mumbles into your hair, kissing against your temple once he’s spoken but the words weren’t clear.

“Hmm?” 

He lifts himself to distinguish his words.

“Mum’s always had good taste.” He pauses a little before laughing breathily. “Why d’you think I’m a wine guy and not a beer one?” 

You turn to him to see that smile. That smile of adoration that speaks volumes.

“Shut up, you like beer. We always drink beer.” Surely he hadn't been lying with you just to appease your constant thirst for the cool alcohol. But his hand rises up to your cheek to thumb the crease that sets in between your brows as you frown at his lies and it fucking annoys you that it disappears instantly.

“Baby, I only drink beer because you like beer.” Prick. Literally the man begins chuckling to himself at your dismay, taking a final sip of his wine to finish his glass before he leans into the table in front to pour himself another.

“No... You drink beer with the guys as well.”

He leans out of you touch so when he leans back you throw your uncovered legs over his lap, him grabbing gently at your calves and feeling at the soft skin with his coarse fingertips.

“Yeh, but wine does something to you that beer doesn’t. Everything feels...” you watch him as he finds the words, “romantic.”

Cringy bastard is all you can think to yourself and the chuckle at him isn’t suppressed, as he rests his head back to reveal his jaw, sensing, with the flush of his cheeks, that the wash of alcohol had spread to his head already. 

Jungkook was never much of a drinker. But you always had revelled in that fact, how whenever you drunk together it was his full exposed self, transparent and candid, completely and utterly at your disposal. Perhaps wine was romantic then - it pushed all logic behind, all the ‘i love yous’ that you held back for inappropriateness or for fear of rejection were spilt. That’s what made wine and cheese nights so fucking good.

Mirroring him, you lean back into the arm of the sofa, head nestled comfortably in the cushions as your boyfriend's administrations up and down your legs sets goosebumps into your skin. You bask in the feeling with eyes drifting shut, and you fail to see the way Kook gazes at you. He maps yous face with his eyes whilst the wine eases down his throat. The way your sprawled hair reflects the red of the fire, the way your top hangs loosely and awkwardly around your neck to expose your protruding collar bones and the way that, despite the surrounding warmth of the fire, your nipple peek through your top. It’s only love and admiration in his eyes, and maybe they linger a bit on the perk in your top but he’s keeping that one to himself.

“You look pretty when you drink wine.” The smile that was already twitching the corners of your mouth up wipes fully across your face at his statement, one eye opening to see how he gazes at you with a toothy smile of his own.

“Hmm, and you get cringy when you drink wine.” You relax further into his touch as he laughs openly and you both finish the remnants of your glasses. He takes yours from you hold and places it on the table in front, not filling up for another but leaning back, knees bent now so your legs were lifted up to his chest.

He places a kiss, gently and slowly, on either ankle.

“Not cringy... romantic.” He traces his hand up the complete expanse of your legs now, thighs newly exposed from where the angle of your legs had ushered the material of your shirt down to your waist. 

“You always told me you were never one for romance though.” It’s a smug statement, a recollection of how you pined and pined for the boy who was all work and one nighters until the sex just wasn’t enough with you. The first woman to be loved by the great Jeon Jungkook wasn’t such a bad title to have.

That smirk that you paint only extends as you see his inner battle, leaning up and forward now into his hold on you.

“Shut up and give me a kiss.” He lowers your legs as he leans in and his hold on your waist becomes comforting, not desperate or hugely lustful but warm, romantic at a push. 

The contact is brief, his lips brushing softly over yours for a second or so before he brings a hand to your cheek. His thumb paves a line from your jaw to your lip, tracing over the smile that now takes hold. 

“D’you want another glass?” 

He barely thinks over it, instead, nestling his head into your neck and pulling you over his so you have legs either side of his, encasing the warmth of your bodies in a tight embrace.

“No, just stay here for a while,” and it’s a murmur that heats the soft skin of your neck. 

You do just that, stay in his hold, your hands threading into the hairs at the back of his neck and nails tracing the line between hair and skin. Slow hands wander under your top and stroke patterns across the expanse of your back. The wine causes a buzz in your head, a comfortable one that makes his touch more apparent, the feeling of his fingertips on you more vivid and you find yourself with your chin on his head, his hair tickling at that part between your neck and your jaw that has always been oh so overly sensitive.

“Baby, your hairs got long.” You pull at his roots with your hands and tug it outwards, examining just how long the strands have become since you last saw him.

“Mmm.” Is the sleepy response thrown your way, or perhaps he’s just absorbed in your touch and the feeling of such close proximity.

“It’s curly too.” 

You had never been able to fully appreciate the curl of his hair because it would only take shape once his locks were grown out. But now, with that strands long enough, his hair would bend and wave after a shower or once he had been sweating. It was unruly, but it was natural and you loved it. He didn’t think you would like him growing out his hair, but once he knew you did he spoke of how he would grow it until you could plait it, a fantasy that was spoken between the drunken giggle of another wine and cheese night.

You nestle further into his touch once releasing his hair, letting it flop down in various directions. 

“When we’re old...”

You automatically feel him smile into your neck at your words,

“... you should let it get long enough so you can tie it up...

“Mmhmm?” 

“... put it in a bun on top of your head and get your fridge out of your face so I can see your eyes.”

He pushes you back by the waist and leans his head off your shoulder, mouth wide in smile and eyes full of some kind of emotion you can’t pinpoint. 

“But you can see my eyes now.” 

And it’s true. Despite some strands falling into his eyelashes you can still see the emotion in the way he looks at you with his eyes. Windows to the soul that express far more than words could right now. For however long, you are swallowed into the abyss of the way he looks at you, complete absorbed in those few seconds of silence. Almost trance like.

He breaks it with a kiss to your cheek, short but full of sweetness. You laugh at how lost you had become in the previous few seconds, remembering how your conversation before was merely a fantasy of his hair.

“I just thought it’d be hot.” 

He rounds your face with his lips to kiss the other cheek.

“Mmm, so you think I’m hot.”

You let your laugh come to the surface, whilst he watches you, grins on full display.

“I mean, you have your moments.” He kisses your lips, this time, teeth clashing as your smiles fail to subside. 

This is wine and cheese nights, cheese not being the food, because, as if either of you were actually that posh. No, you called them wine and cheese nights because it was one of those few evenings you allowed yourself to indulge in romance, in the sticky, cringy, bliss, of being romantically and disgustingly in love. In a relationship that for the most part had to be concealed from the ordinary, public eye, wine and cheese nights allowed for the frankness of love.

“Are you sure that’s not the wine talking?” He mumbles into the kiss.

“Piss off and kiss me back.” You hands that were laid against his neck press with purpose now so he is pushed forwards into your lips, chuckling into it at your insistence. 

He hums into it once your lips move in the same way your hands go up and down his neck, nails and all.

There’s something about having his body so close, being lost in his touch that sends pangs of warmth through the expanse of your body and sends your mind wandering. 

You pull away but instead place soft kisses down his jaw and onto his neck with slow movements, your tongue occasionally pressing swipes into his skin and tasting the salty flush of his skin. 

“You’re always hot, wine or no wine.”

His hands move from their gentle movements at the expense of your back to your side, grasping tighter and firmer at the skin than before.

“You think?” He’s finishing for your words of flattery, his ego speaking up whilst you begin teasing at his neck with your teeth.

“Mmhmm...” strong hands roams your thighs now, fingers on bare skin making the action all the more tantalizing.

“...when you push your hair back,” you switch to the other side of his neck, whilst one hand reaches up to his forehead and grabs at the hair of his fringe to push it away whilst gently tugging and teasing at the strands.

“...mmm, when you take your shirt off from the back, you know, where you pull it with one hand over your head.” You can just envision him doing it now and it causes your hips to stutter the slightest roll into his crotch. 

His body is slack at this point, completely overtaken by the sensations you are putting on his body, you lips tight to his neck, hands grappling at his hair, hips grinding slowly into his. You feel his head completely lean back into your hand, and a breathy groan escapes him lowly.

You smile at his neck and lean off to see him, hair dishevelled under your hands and eyes closed. You give his fringe another pull so his throat is completely exposed and his groan is louder this time.

“... the way you love when I pull your hair.” 

You attack the junction of his neck, where his adam’s apple now bobs from how he tries to compose his breathing, kissing and sucking with vigour.

“You find that h-hot?” The question is all to breathy and low to hide how affected he is.

“Fuck, Guk, it’s so hot.” You accompany your words with another harsh tug and his response is instant, the grip he has on your hips digging in firmer and pushing you into his half hard crotch.

You love how aroused he is under your touch though, wanting him to submit further. You unlatch your lips and lean back, his eyes finally opening when he feels your hands grab at his. His expression is laced with confusion and curiosity when you guide his hands upwards, but his eyes turn purely lustful and dark when you settle his fingers into the hair at the back of your head, giving them a guiding pull at the roots to show him explicitly what you want.

There’s a brief twitch at the side of his mouth, a slight smirk before he is overcome by the sensation of your hips on his, your shirt bunched up so it is your skin is on his trousers. With a pull of your hair, his lips are on yours, hard and messy, both pushing your weight forward so there isn’t a space between you. 

He emits a groan when you shift your weight further onto his crotch and it causes you to smile into the kiss, an action he diminishes by biting into your bottom lip, hard, and groaning once again. 

Jungkook has never been good at telling you what he wants, conceding to patience and taking things slow, so by the way he pulls at your hair and pushes his hips up into yours, you know just how turned on he is, how much he wants to just fuck you on the sofa right now.

You can sense the shift in dominance at this point, with all his eagerness showing. His hips are now the ones taking control from underneath you, his hands being more insistent in your hair and his lips taking full advantage of how your head is thrown back and neck fully exposed. You indulge in the feeling for a moment, let him take over your body and devour every part of you. The sensation of his erection underneath you, pushing up into your clothed core makes you desire more, makes low moans spill from your mouth and makes your hips grind into his.

His head retracts from your neck and your eyes creep open to find his watching the movement of your hips against his, the way you circle against his crotch. He keeps one hand at your hair, no longer pulling as he is lost in the feeling of your movements, whilst the other hand comes down to your hip, digging fingers into your hip bone for some kind of purchase.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me.” His gaze trails back up to yours and you watch each other breathing heavily, his fringe now beginning to stick to his head as the wear of his arousal forms on his forehead.

You half hum, half moan at his statement as the friction pools lust within your stomach and down to your core. It’s not enough to send you into overdrive, but the clothed movements make you horny beyond belief. 

His fucked out expression tells you he is in the same predicament, struggling to control his motions now as his erection becomes painfully hard underneath you.

“You make me so fucking turned on it's unreal.” He grunts it out as he uses his hand on your hip to anchor you as he almost fucks himself up into you. You lean forward and place your open mouth to his jaw, trying to control your moans and you breathing as his actions become faster and more desperate.

His lips attach to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet, sending vibrations into your skin when he groans at your hips meeting his rhythm. 

Subconsciously, one of your hands that was still latched into his hair for purchase, moves down over his shoulder, between your chests and down towards the spot where your hips meet. He doesn’t feel the movement until you grasp firmly at the outline of his erection through his trousers and the suddenness of your attack causes him to let out a moan into your skin.

“Fuck,” it’s a mere whisper as your hand is pressed down by your hips, giving extra friction that he clearly appreciates by the way his breath stutters and his forehead now presses to your shoulder.

“This is how turned on you are for me?” You whisper into his ear, breathy but seductive.

“Fuck y-yes.” 

Pushing down harder now, your hand increases its speed, tracing the outline of his hard on with bold fingers and your hips never falter their grind. 

“D’you think you could cum like this?” And you finish your question by biting down on his ear, causing him to emit a moan as his head bows further into your body.

“Y/N, I-I’m still in my fucking clothes-ahh,” you squeeze harder on his dick and he finished his sentence with a groan, loud, and higher pitched than before. 

Despite how turned on you are, how much you want to feel pleasure of your own, seeing your boyfriend needy underneath you is almost far more rewarding. The way he shivers against you every time your hand stretches to his tip, and how he can’t help the noises he spills.

“That’s never stopped you before.” He is unbelievably hard underneath your palm as your administrations torture him.

“Y/N, seriously I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.” He says it with so little conviction you continue at a faster and harder pace, grinding your hips with vigour and pressing your chest into his.

“Tell me to stop then.”

You smile at his silence, still panting into his ear. 

Finally he responds, leaning back quickly and moving both hands to your hips to grab harshly and push you down further. 

“Fuck you.” It’s a mere whisper as he struggles to keep himself from cumming.

You lean off him once he has reclined back entirely, submitting to your movements and the pleasure you cause to coarse through him. He is completely fucked out, once you get a full view of him, sweat glueing hair to his forehead, eyes bloodshot from how tight he was squeezing them and mouth in a tight line as he swallows his moans down.

For a brief second, you release your hand, and to your satisfaction, he lets out stuttered whine, but after lifting it to your mouth to coat it in spit, your hand quickly finds its way through the layers of clothing and down against his cock. 

The contact immediately has his eyes blown out wide and leaning forward again to try and control himself from cumming straight away, forehead in between your breasts now. 

“Baby, just cum for me, stop holding back,” you say as you tighten your grip. He merely responds by shaking his head into you, knowing if he tried to tell you ‘no’ his reply would be nothing more than a whole hearted moan.

Your hand that was still at the back of his head weaves through his locks and tightens the strands into a fist, pulling his head up so it is level with yours, unable to subside the feelings anymore. 

“Fucking shit, Y/N,” your faces against one another, lips brushing as he breathes his words into your mouth, eyes screwed shut as your hand twists at the tip of his cock. 

You bite down on his bottom lip as he moans out loudly, tugging at his hair, hand pressing on his slit and the sensory overload causes his to cum into your hand.

“Fuck. D-dont stop.” And you don’t. Continue your firm grip up and down his length as he continues to spill into his trousers, hard, with moans and obscene words breathed against your mouth.  

Eventually, you release his lips as his shivering body subsides into a slump and he lowers his head back down to regain his breath, simultaneously, softening in your hand. 

It’s now, in his post orgasm bliss that you feel the mess he’s made in his trousers. It’s warm but so fucking unpleasant, so you collect as much as you can in your hand before finally releasing him, causing him to whine out as his softening erection is exposed to the cold.

The way he shivers, the grip on your hip twitching and his stuttered breath causes you to plant soft kisses on the top of his head.

“You good?” You mumble it into his hair.

You feel his body shake, not from the aftermath of his orgasm, but from the laugh that bubbles up in his throat. He lifts his head now, somewhat recovered from the exertion of how much he came, eyes lit in a smile once they meet yours.

“You’ve messed up my favourite trousers,” he says with a half hearted laugh as he throws his head back and you smile at his reaction. 

With bodies to some degree unattached, you pull your hand up, still coated in his cum.

“Yeh? Well you messed up my hand, you dick.” He looks down to where your hand is, head still thrown back and his face distorts in disgust.

“Urgh, I need to go wash up,” but despite his sentence he fails to move, and you weren’t going to let up either, that ache still burning at the bottom of your stomach, yearning for release. 

Now though, you begin to feel his cum dry on your hand, so with little to no delicacy you grab at the sides of you shirt which hangs at an awkward angle on your hips, and tug it over your head. The heat of the room and the fire behind you immediately warms your back as you naked skin becomes exposed. 

Jungkook, with heavy eyelids, watches as you wipe down your hand, and then toss the top aside, your body bathed in an orange halo and he can’t help but reach out to touch at the skin of your shoulders and up and down your sides.

For a moment you think you should forget how turned on you are, ignore the need to release and just bask in each others company, skin on skin. But as you lean in to nuzzle into his warmth, Jungkook grabs at your hips and rises quickly to a stand, much to your surprise.

“Guk, wh-,” but with a quick swat on your ass he keeps your question at bay, instead, causing a wave of laughter to emerge.

“Shower time.” You would try to protest, but with a firm grip and a swift walk, he has you in the bathroom before the words form.

Placing you down on the countertop, he finally releases you, kissing your shoulder before he turns and makes his way to the shower, turning it on and testing the temperature with his palm. And it is only now, with the first distance between you, that you see his expired form - his black shirt stuck to his back with sweat, hair pointing outwards in all directions and that red tint on his cheeks that only comes out if he’s fucked on alcohol or has actually fucked - in this case, both.

Your eyes are trained on his as he lifts his shirt, not how he normally does, but reaches one hand behind him and pulls it from the back and over, exposing the full length of muscled back and then shoulders to you. Bastard knew exactly what he was doing. And of course, it causes an immediate reaction in you, legs crossed now for some form of friction.

“Wow, that really does turn you on,” he laughs at your form, leant back with legs pressed together, admiring the view.

He discards his shirt on the counter next to you and you grab it, throwing it in his face.

“Fuck off.” 

Hopping off the counter, you brush his shoulder as you walk past in the direction of the running water, the steam it’s releasing being all too appealing to hold back from any longer. As you saunter, you hook your panties off, flicking them off your feet behind you in the direction of your boyfriend.

The first touch of water on your naked form automatically sets you alight, wet on dry skin, and you feel every drop that makes its way down your body. Jungkook says something, but it is a mumble as the water encases your ears and the glass barrier between you distorts his words. 

“Did you hear what I said?” This time spoken softly next to your ear as you feel his fingers dance aimlessly at the curve of your back and up to your neck. You lean back into his touch so your ears come out of the stream of water and instead you find yourself leaning against his shoulder, bare back against his bare front, skin on skin.

“Hmm?” You hum into the air as he places a kiss on the skin he exposed after he swept your wet strands away from your neck.

“I said you’ve still got your necklace on, baby” 

Oh. 

“Oh shit,” and £6000 worth of crystals handed to you under expensive chandeliers to the occasion of your birthday was most certainly not about to be tainted by shower water.

So, automatic hands reach up for the clasp but, “I got it,” he says, lips still dangerously close to your ear and his delicate fingers now making light work of the masterpiece around your neck. You can’t see him through the steam filled shower as he leaves your side to place it elsewhere, but you certainly see his figure, in all its naked glory approach you once again. 

“Let me under I’m still covered in cum.” Oh, ever the romantic. With a scoff, you’re aside and watching him melt into the heat of the cascading water, long hairs strands dampening one by one and framing his face. You’re eyes also aren’t discreet about the way they wander over his bare torso and the way it now glistens a golden brown with the way it soaks.

Both happily covered by the falling warmth, he nestles his way back into the back of your neck, his lips taking the same route from your neck and round to your jaw as earlier - and there’s nothing you can do about the way you lean into it for more.

“So beautiful.” 

“Mmm,” is mumbled when earlobe is caught between teasing teeth.

“All mine yeh?”

Always,” and hands descend downwards, trailing after the lines of water that filter over your curves. Fingers reach breasts for a brief moment, but it’s a fleeting touch before they head further southward to the curve of your crotch.

“And this is all mine too.”

No words this time but a moan as he cups your core with a not so delicate touch as what preceded it. But your body doesn’t mind. It bucks into the hand, in fact, searching for friction that had been needed since the moment you straddled your boyfriend earlier and made him cum like putty in your hands.

“Guk, please.”

“I know, baby, I know.” 

Two fingers settle their way into you, slowly, too slowly, but the burn inside you is all the same as your body sets alight in pleasure. His palm is pressed hand to your clit at the angle and if you weren’t already distracted by that, the sensation of his teeth pulling and sucking at your neck makes your knees buckle.

“Good?” You feel the smirk on your shoulder rather than hear it in his voice. Kook knows exactly how he’s making you feel he just loves to hear you say it.

“Fuck, so good.” And the long fingers pressed so deep inside you curl and push up and then out, much to your pleasure because it strikes that spot far within you that has you moaning and turning your head to chase his lips.

You find them. Somewhere between his hand picking up its pace spearing into you and your moans groaning out by the lips that are hungry on yours he has you bending at the waist. Folding you down and then pushing you forward possessively so your hands have to reach out for the tiles in front of you as his hand goes to work at a whole other speed.

“Guk! Fuck.” Your legs almost give way in the new position but a growl behind you tells you he is far from done with your body, and the piston of his fingers sends the message even better.  

You can’t help when one hand goes down to his wrist, not sure whether it wants to calm him down or speed him up, but just as skin touches skin his hand pulls out and away from you. Legs wobble and a whine wins the battle of being fought down.

“All fucking mine.” The tingling in your core because of its emptiness disappears in an instant when you feel the bare head of his cock rock between your folds.

“Guk! You’re still hard, what the fuck.” He always told you he had stamina, but you’d figured the boy would tap out after a round of cumming in his pants. His dick tells you a whole other story.

He thrusts in hard and all at once and leaves no time between the first moan you both release in unison before he is chasing that deep place in your pussy over and over. It’s relentless and fucking amazing all at the same time and your hands and head and feet struggle to find any sense of stability. You’re all his in this moment.

“Holy shit, so tight Y/N. So fucking tight.” The rambling commences once the pace is set, because he just loves to talk about how much he loves being inside you. “Made for me baby.”

The words are lost on you though as the impending orgasm strikes upon you faster than you’d realised it would - his fingers must’ve done a job on you. 

“Fuck, Guk. Oh my- fuck!”

“That’s it baby. Fall apart on my cock.” He holds you up with one hand woven in the wet mess of your hair as your knees buckle under the strain of the pleasure. 

The other hand striking you clit with a slap is what has you screaming though as every fibre of you shakes and pulses, blood pumping up into your ears and stomach caving in He’s so deep inside you as he continues to pump himself at a dangerous speed - it only prolongs the pleasure.

“Cunt squeezing me so- fuck- so good baby. Gonna make me cum. Shitt,” and he groans out into your shoulder as he slaps at your clit one final time for good measure, spilling everything his balls hadn’t already that night so far inside you. “So good, jesus.”

Breathing calms and the sound of water falling returns, the stream on the back of your body providing some relief to the shaking and ache you feel settling in. You knees feel fucked and your core feels even fucking worse - but you love it. Nothing like post-sex burn in every crevice of your body.

A whine and wince come from the mouth still at your shoulder as he pulls up and straightens, dragging you with him because like hell can you hold your own weight right now.

“You good?” he smiles at you as you’re spun to face him, all rosy cheeks and shallow breaths. He kisses at your mouth lightly because you’re smiling at him too. “I’ll take that silence as a yes.”

The sound of water hitting skin and tiles is all that there is for a while, the occasion sinking of lips into neck as well, but the moment is ruined when Jungkook decides to plunge two fingers into your abused cunt. The fucking sting of it causes you to instantly drag away from the sensation, far enough so he can’t do it again but not far enough that he isn’t still in your embrace.

“Guk, what the fuck.”

“Whattt? Just trying to keep my cum in there.” You don’t kink shame Y/N, you swore to him you didn’t find it weird.

“Baby.”

“Well, wouldn’t we all rather it be in there,” another slap to your clit that has you laughing before you realise it, “than over there.”

And when you follow the train of his finger, sure enough, you find the heap of his trousers outside the shower, cum stained and all.

Smirking back at him, “I don’t know, I find it kinda hot.”

And Jungkook fights every internal battle in his head not to kink shame, he swears he doesn’t find it weird.

I just wanna ahhhhhh

🥰🥵

Imagine he’s got a better waistline than me

This boy I honestly 😰

I just...

JESUS fucking Christ

I can’t

This is what keeps me up at night.

This is what I mean when I say “yeh sex is great and that but...”

im whipped im whipped im whipped im so fucking whipped

ᵗᶦⁿʸ waist legend strikes again

4:30am

When your baby decides to come early and Jungkook goes into panic mode.

Word count: 1k

Pure fluff

A/N: I hate kids, but I love Jungkook, so Jungkook with kids is doing bits to me and I ended up writing about it in all of 10 minutes. Enjoy x

You boyfriend wasn’t a panicker, in fact, he prided himself on taking everything in his stride - the man loves a challenge, so throw something his way and he seems to think he’s god on legs when he gets it right. You’ll tell him ‘well done babe’ because there’s nothing like Jungkook on a deflated ego. 

Your boyfriend also loves everything to be orderly, though. The apartment, tidy. Clothes, folded. Bed, made. He’s organised and you don’t mind that. Well, you didn’t mind until the baby you’ve been housing for 8 months decides to knock on your door a few weeks too early, and the boyfriend, well he’s panicking. 

“Babe! The fuck is the hospital bag we bought!” He’s got his nervous voice on from the way the pitch turns up at the end - you almost want to laugh at him.

“Top dr-”

“And WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY LUCKY BOXERS!”

“Oh jesus,” you’re very much beginning to realise that no matter the preparation of already having one baby, Jungkook is still gonna be a headless chicken that you have to pet and calm down, not the other way around. 

And on the note of your other child,

“Kook please stop swearing with Haehae in the next room, and give that to me, jesus,” he’s sweating so you take the pile of clothes from his hands and begin stuffing them into the bag. He only hyperventilates further. 

“You’re not gonna fold those?” and he’s met with the devils because your stomach draws taught again and Jungkook’s compulsive urge to be neat is wearing you thin. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m shit scared, and excited, and are you okay?”

Your brow must’ve furrowed from the pain as he stops shaking in a greater emotion of worry for you, clearly it only just dawning on him now that childbirth is no walk in the park. Strong hands immediately get to your back so skin meets skin and he can rub soothing circles on where the pressure hits deep. 

“I’m sorry baby, hurts?”

“Mmm,” you’re just remembering to breathe through it. 

“Fuck, shit, it’s happening. Wow,” his other hand now coming up to meet your stomach and it helps the pain melt away. 

“You’re still swearing you fucking mongrel.”

“Oi!”

The subsiding pain allows you to let out a laugh, small but it grows into your eyes and he reciprocates the look, teeth on show just like how you love.

“Knew having another baby with you would be a stupid idea.” 

“Meh, we were never cut out for kids anyway.”

He bends and plants a kiss to your stomach, then comes up to your lips so you can take in the taste of him, a little salty from the sweat on his upper lip but the way he smiles into your mouth makes up for it. 

“Go get your son, you know how long it takes him to wake up and this baby is starting to hurt me.” One more peck. 

“M’kay.” 

When you finally make it to the door, bags somewhat packed, contractions marginally closer together and ready to make your way on doctors orders, Jungkook emerges with son in hand, bundled in a onesie that has you keening and immediately questioning how fast you can pop out this baby just so you can make another. 

“Take him so I can get my shoes on?” The bundle gets loaded into your arms and you’re grateful because the smell of fresh linen and soft hair sends the nerves away and soothes the soul. The two-year-old hasn’t even woken from the commotion, just with mouth wide open as he ejects the soft breaths that pair with deep sleep - like father like son.

“He’s not gonna be our baby anymore, Kook.” 

Your boyfriend stops the rushing of getting on his shoes to peer up into your soft eyes that trail over your son’s, replicas of Jungkook’s and you’re okay with that. 

He kisses your forehead once, then the boy you cradle, then you’re lips.

“Of course he is,” he pats your belly, “he’s just got competition now.” 

For fuck sake, he never could take anything seriously. But it’s good. It’s nice. And it has you laughing so the pain is a little less and the love is a little more. 

You two were never cut out for parenthood, but Kook likes a challenge and you like him, so maybe if you let him knock you up a few more times then you might just get to see a few more bunny smiles a day.

Yeah. That sounds nice.

will never let anyone forget this look

If I could write an essay on a forehead...

7:58pm

When babysitting time almost ends prematurely ;) Based on the Drabble Request:

#14 “how am i supposed to know you put a banana in your pocket?”

Word Count: 2k

A/N: For the anon that said ‘Oh my god 😂😂😂😂😂 #14 and jungkook bls crackety crack crack that newborn chickies would be jealous 😂😂😂😂’, I don’t even know what you meant but I love it and enjoy, Mimi x

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You’re completely fucking neck deep.

And you wished you could say that in any other way than the one you mean. Like neck deep in a steamy bath with salts and candles and the smelly shit Jungkook uses after the gym because it’s a home smell. Or like neck deep on your couch with records soothing the ears and some kind of fried dish sizzling on your cooker. Fuck, like neck deep in the smell of sex as someone pile dri-

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N! I- er- can’t reach the bathroom door thingy!” 

Nah. 

You’re neck deep in the stress of your two nephews and niece. 

“Yeh, Jae, just give it a big push and it’ll open.” 

“Mmm, tried that!” he’s pouting but still finds the energy to contradict his face by skipping around your legs. 

“Fine. Bathroom door here we come!” But you’re in no way enthusiastic. 

Yoongi, on the pretence that these are in fact his children, would say they’re beautifully brimming with life, immature and youthful in the sweet kind of way, the apples to his eye, the stars to his fucking moon. You’re brother turned real sappy over the course of fatherhood. And to be honest, you’d liked them, at first, when they couldn’t talk, when they didn’t all start dressing the same and you could tell one apart from the other, when you didn’t have to face them alone and without the extra strong arms of your boyfriend.

Yet you find yourself into the fourth hour of damage control to your apartment and toilet brakes consistent with that of an elderly woman with pelvic floor dysfunction.

Jungkook’s better at this than you. He has the ability to reinvigorate his childhood self and channel it all in babysitting days. That and he stashes banana milk to the brim and out of your reach in the top cupboard just so he can retrieve it and play ‘fun uncle Kook’. He’ll say it’s just because he loves banana milk and to be honest, you can’t really argue with that. 

And, shit, you miss him.

“Auntie Y/N.” Her voice is sweet but you see the glint of the devil in her eye, you swear. 

“Yes, Mai.”

“Daddy makes me hot chocolate before bed, and bedtimes almost here.” You frown deep. Yoongi almost definitely doesn’t make them hot chocolate because Sannie has a nut allergy, but how can you tell a child she’s lying. 

“And auntie Y/N.” She strings it out like it’s honey and silk and fuck does it work.

“Yes Mai?”

“I think Jae’s locked himself in the toilet.” 

Fuck! Damn children and their short arms that can’t reach over their heads!

The girl in the plaid pyjamas, watching on amused as you scramble for the bathroom, has more sense than you’ll ever have at 8pm. It’s sad, but sadder when the door creaks and reveals first a sniffle and then an all out sob before the small bundle curls into one of your legs. You’re wearing jeans, but he hugs you like you’re soft and comforting. It kind of thins your edges a bit and you scoop him up in no time, because babysitting is a bitch, but you’re not.

“Oh bubby, did you get yourself trapped in the toilet.”

“Mmm,” a sleeve covered tiny fist rubs at his eyes, and he gives a tinier nod before he flops down into your neck. 

You pace the apartment with shuffled walks, an attempt to soothe the dying hiccups on your shoulder, and find a spot in behind the sofa to watch on as the other two make a plaything out of Jungkook’s exercise band. You should have the sense to tell them to be careful but every time Sannie pulls one end, Mai pulls the other and then Mai, the 5 minute older triplet that she is, sends San flying, is just a bit too good to distract them from. 

It’s a shame the sound of keys and the hallway light has to disturb the ‘peace’. 

“What do we have here!” 

Jae shifts at the same time as you to spare a glance at the man in the doorway. Business casual, because it’s a Friday, looks good on him, and the smile he adorns when the first two bound up and at him with speed looks even better. 

“Uncle Kook!”

“Sannie!” He throws San over one shoulder.

“Uncle Kookkkk!”

And pushes a fist out to the other. 

“Mai my bro, how we chillin.” 

Her tiny fist meets his before pulling back in a fake explosion. You don’t know when the tradition started, why Jungkook thinks it’s appropriate, but because she replies with a small, “peachy, Kookie, peachy,” you might just have to smile and feign sensibility. 

Your early day perception of Jungkook definitely didn’t pip him as one for children, to the extent you genuinely thought he was scared of them. But then he cried when Yoongi announced his girlfriends pregnancy, cried harder when three munchkins were born, and forever since has lived up to the job of ‘best uncle’ despite having 5 others to contend with. Your brother and him were stunningly close like that. It’s how you and Jungkook had met. And now you’ve come to love the 8pm deadline, rather than 10:30, he’s set out of his training session, because now you get to share the wonder that is your boyfriend with three tiny faces. You almost think they adore him as much as you. Almost.

“And what’s up with this little champ ey?”

You give him a gentle shake to rouse him, then he finds your eyes, then Jungkook’s and finally throws two chubby arms in his direction even though Kook already had his hug ready and waiting. Your boyfriends probably sweaty, but the boy pays no mind and finds his peace between shoulder and neck. Jungkook turns your way.

“Hey you,” his eyes glint like that when he misses you. Maybe you blush. 

“Hey you.” 

“Why is the bread baby crying?” Jae’s got rolls for days, arms, legs, hands and feet just round and pure squish and you know it’s because Yoongi can’t say no to him like he can the others.  

“He couldn’t get out of the bathroom.” 

There’s a bottle of protein shake on the side that you’d readied in preparation for Jungkook’s appearance, and he takes it gladly in one hand whilst balancing Jae, impressively on the other. 

“Macho man!” Jae perks his head up a bit at the nickname, eyes a little more alive than when they were puffy, “you gotta start doing your morning stretches like I said. Those arms aren’t gonna grow themselves,” the shit he spouts sometimes you swear-

“I know, uncle Kook, I’ll try, but- but- but, maybe you and auntie Y/N could make another door, a little smaller, fo-for me.” It’s a cute enough statement that you keen, Jungkook too, and you both share a look of despair at the blubbering stutter of baby that is your nephew. 

“I’ll see what I can do for you champ,” and finally Jungkook and his arms are set free, Jae shuffling small steps across the wooden floor with his penguin socks loose and giving you a final moment of broodiness. 

You distract the impending coo you were going to let off in favour of picking up the remnants of dinner, which turned to playtime, as tomatoes and carrots line the cracks in your floor. 

Jungkook’s got a sweaty hand on your neck though, needing stress and the evenings memories away for a few brief seconds. He’s got those kinds of hands. The ones you can talk about for hours because they’re strong, fucking pretty, do glorious things in glorious places and dirty things in others. His hand drops though before babysitting time ends prematurely. Yoongi doesn’t get back until tomorrow morning, so even a wisp of a thought of that man behind you and how he’s definitely sweaty and definitely a feast, is gone, poof, dissipated. 

“How’ve they been? Rough work again?”

“Mmm, of course,” you take a note the bin needs to be taken out as you chuck the last remaining pieces away. 

“Come on, they’re not that bad.” You’re ready to tell him to go suck one and try and do it by himself, but there’s hands on your hips, warm, sweaty, soothing, and a dick against your ass...hard.

“Jungkook!”

“What, they’re really alri-”

“The fuck are you doing the triplets are literally there,” his lips pull back from where they had settled on your neck. 

“D’you mean, I’m not doing anything.” He’s high pitched like he doesn’t know his dicks up your ass, so you scoff. 

“What are you hard for, you mong,” but you go to push him away, arm behind your back, firm to his hip, yet your hand meets something harder than his abs - he works out, but not enough to make him that solid - and definitely a different shap to how his cock normally feels - and you’ve felt him up enough times to know. “And why is your boner shaped like that?”

“Boner, I’m not ev-”

You spin, eye his botched erection, and dip a hand to his pocket. He looks at you, shocked, puzzled, and suddenly you’re prematurely plunging into your grave in the shame of thinking what you were thinking. 

“Wait, did you think this was my d-i-c-k!” 

He waves it, his choked laugh too, in your face. You’re red, and probably crying, but your cheeks are so hot with embarrassment you don’t know.

“How was I supposed to know you had a banana in your pocket!”

He laughs fully enough that the kids seek out it’s source. 

“Uncle Kook, uncle Kook, can I have a bite?”

He gives her the whole thing, still staring at you with teeth on show, a story to tell Yoongi, and one final blow to the shit show that is your life,

“Mai.”

“Yes uncle Kook.”

“Tell auntie Y/N she’s nasty.” 

And when nasty is a whole other word for a child, Mai proceeds unphased, probably believing in the sentiment of the statement. 

“Auntie Y/N.”

“Yes Mai.”

“You’re nasty.”

...Fuck.

This boy got me feeling some kinda way

ITTY BITTY WAIST COMMITTEE !!!!!!!

He really went ...  ) ( 

Oop-

SO WE REALLY DOING THIS HUH

0:09am (M)

Bf Jungkook crying from his first handjob - 2k

Warnings: all smut, nothing in between

You’d been the one to touch him first. Jungkook, a virgin in the disguise of abs on legs that had you daydreaming of a hard fuck, even on the first date. But he was timid the first time you went in for the touch, and ever since he had keened a little too much at it and apologised for sporting an immediate hard on, you’ve grown to mediate your libido. 

“Coffee or another beer?” 

“Neither,” he’s crashed out on the sofa, legs parted wide and head thrown because casual work drinks had turned into partying as though you were younger than your real age. 

“Oh?” 

“Mmm, just wanna cuddle.”

Your soft, soft boy. A timidity of the confident persona he laced on when it wasn’t just the two of you in one anothers company. 

And you’ll give into him because his tone plays you like a fiddle. 

“You sleepy?” he reaches out for you, eyes sewn shut so his hand, outstretched, fumbles with the air until you lock his fingers with yours. You’re in his lap with a gentle pull, because he’s good that he thinks he might hurt you. 

“Mmm very.” He dons a black long sleeve, cotten and soft but cold because of the frost you’d walked back, hand in hand, in. Yet, his skin burns hot as you caress the tiny hairs that feather his back. The feeling makes him melt. “You smell good.”

“Do I, now?” you kiss the smile he’s caused to litter on your face into his neck. Once, twice, and the third lingers. 

“So good. Always smell so good.” He purrs. 

You inhale to liken the heady space he’s in. To encompass yourself in all that is Jungkook - the hair that tickles your cheek, the muscles of his back that bulk every time his hands run up to the top of your shoulders and retreats when they map lower, and the smell. That authentic Jungkook smell that has you preening in his lap because it’s everything and anything you need. 

Your lips don’t want to retreat from where they started settling under his ear, so you don’t make them. And when you feel him shudder because you wet that same spot with your tongue, you find the incentive to dig a little deeper. 

“Tell me how I make you feel.” 

You mix teeth with lips, drawing out goosebumps at the base of his neck and he clears his throat as though you’re tempting him into submission. 

“You- You’re everything.” You’re surprised he played your game, but his answer has you feeling as though you could tear up. He’s got you a messy kind of falling in love. “You make me feel wanted, and safe, always safe and belonging.”

You shift a fraction forwards, intentionally, but he doesn’t have to know that. You can tell he feels everything, though, from the way his words diffuse to a whisper cracking in your ear. 

“You make me want you.”

“Mmm,” you’re egging it on. Drawing what you want to hear from his pretty lips. 

“Make me want you too much,” his words catch up to his dick all too fast and it’s gentle, but far too noticeable when he begins the slow lift of his hips into yours.

“You can have it. Take what you want.”

He stutters a breath because he’s worked himself into a hard on he’s not sure he can quit with the way your mouth works that spot on his neck. Your voice is a siren too. It has him in a frenzy. He’s always had the power in him to stop, or calm down, or something, but he’s confused now that you feel his hands steer your hips on him.

“Y/N.” He moans it. You’ll never have enough now you’ve heard that. 

“You’re good, doing good Guk.” You’ll let him lead you where he’s comfortable. And that’s him stirring his dick, hard and brazen in the confines of his trousers, into you. “Keep going.”

“I can’t. Want you- ah- to do it for me.”

You finally peel away to round his face, eye to eye and your lustful gaze into his pained one. 

“You sure?”

You have to ask, hear him do more than an affirmative nod because you’d always held back for the sake of his shy streak. The dates that had rolled into staying over in his double bed, nestled body to body and sharing warmth, had seen it’s fair share of unsuspecting erections under the covers. He’d blush and you’d coo, telling him to act on it when he’s ready. 

“Sure, so sure.” 

And now that he’s ready, you’re nervous. For him and the pressure the moments amounted to. 

“We’ll go slow. Just hands,” he nods fast and gulps the saliva down like it’s heavy and he’s riding on a throat gone dry. “Unless you want more.”

His eyes hang low and can’t seem to pull away from where his erection pokes out between your legs. It’s not discrete. You already knew he was packing but as you keep shifting, small fractions back and forth, you get an up close in personal feeling of just the length he’s sporting. It’s hot. Not only his dick but how he’s unconsciously drooling over you, on his dick. 

“I’m- I’m not sure I’ll last ‘more’.”

“Already feels good?” His neck strains and his lip is sucked tight when you jut over his head. He’s so damn sensitive you might just be staining his trousers in the process of your ministrations. 

“So good, god, shit.”

“Take it out for me?” You don’t say it with any ulterior motive other than to lesser the strain on his balls. Your tone is not laced with anything alluring, just a plain simple request. He told you you make him feel safe, and you’re not gonna stray from that, not for the sake of seeing his face contort because you like a little control. Another day, you think.

“Mmm,” you hear his zip first and then watch his jaw slacken once he’s got a grasp beneath the seam. You keep your eyes trained on his face, scared he’d become uncomfortable with an extra set of eyes watching his privacy. 

His body tenses and pairs with a moan as you see his bicep roll out a stroke or two from in between you. It turns you on enough you press a couple of light kisses on his unsuspecting lips, then draw out his tongue when you see him relax into his touch. 

“Give me your hand,” you whisper into another kiss and he provides, “other one,” the one wrapped tight on his base. There’s a slight whimper once his hand, warm, and wet in spots, meets yours. “Show me how you do it?” 

He’s apprehensive because he’s not diving in at the same rate his dick calls for it. 

But slowly, he drags your small fist down, and around where he’s bare and vulnerable. You take the first squeeze because you’re too damn eager, and he can’t stop the stutter from the back of his throat. 

You’re real and on him. You’re his and he finally has you like this. It leaves his head bowing and his hand tightening around yours because he thinks, just the thought of your hand on him and your pussy so close, will have him embarrassed and emptied too damn fast. 

“I’m too turned on.” You try not to laugh and ruin the moment but he sounds genuinely angry at himself. The little noise you make has his eyes on yours, eyebrows turned into a look of desperation and you kiss at the crease they make. 

“Relax then, you idiot.” Taking your advice sees him kissing you quickly, finding solace in your lips. “Just do what makes you feel good.” 

“Kiss me, that feels good.” And after he begins melting into your mouth, finding the slip of your tongue arousing enough to have his dick get that bit harder, his hand springs back into life against yours. 

He’s tentative at first. It’s a little dry and you know it’ll hurt if he has you stroking fast, so he works your palm over the head and then traces it back down to the base, squeezing at the bottom before finding the rhythm back up again. 

“I like it.” He reassures himself, finding his footing. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeh, a lot- too much.”

“You want me to give it a go?” 

His eyes, glazed and dazed, meet yours as he gulps. 

“Please.”

Once his hands released yours, it finds purchase on the sofa, digging into spots to compensate for the need to dig his teeth into his lip. He does it anyway and sucks in a breath simultaneously because your touch feels heavier without him leading. 

It’s unnerving, and good, so fucking good, to him, not knowing where the next touch will come and he missed when your other hand comes to join. 

“Oh shit.” 

He peers down his nose, but throws his head back just as quick like the visuals too much. 

“You ever think about this? When you touch yourself?” 

The corner of his mouth twitches in a laugh but falls when you drift a palm onto his head. 

“Of fucking c-course.”

“What you think about?” You reach a hand to his balls.

“Oh god, there.” And squeeze.

“Here?” And squeeze harder. 

“Fuck yeh.”

“You’re so fucking hard.” Both hands find a hard pace and Jungkook’s eyes begin to roll back, too far into the feeling. 

“I’llcum- Y/N it’s- holy fuck.” 

“Yeah? So good for me.”

His stomach begins to cave, hips canting up with a chase for such a fucking good end. He can feel you, everywhere. 

“Please keep going. Please keep going- oh my god, oh-”

“You’ll cum for me?” You want it as bad as him.

“Yes. Please.” 

He’s pleading into deaf ears, because you watch his mouth gape and hip stutter in a frenzy. 

“Urgh, oh fuck, I’m cumming, I’m gonna cum.”

“Please cum Guk.”

“Yess, love you, love you, thank you.” The pit of his stomach breaks as he feels everything rush all over him. Pleasure from head to toe and you hands milking him out again and again, still tight on his shaft and he preens with unadulterated moans. “God, my god.” 

His hips follow your motions as he rides it out, and you let them, but his face contorts like it does before he cries. You’re swift to meet his lips and take away the sensation overwhelming him. You’ve been there, spent but so damn euphoric you’ve cried. And it’s kinda hot when you feel wetness where his cheek meets yours. 

“Love you too, Jungkook, a lot a lot.” The emphasis has him kissing back, calming his hips and your hand because the moments dissipated into nothing but your lips on his. He just thanks the gods for you. You, you and you. 

“Urgh.” His head drops to your shoulder, a little shake in his body that you worry is a sob but then you hear the gentle trickles of his laughter you’ve found yourself to become so in tune with. It’s your happy sound. “I can’t actually believe that.”

You laugh into his body too, letting him envelop you, because the mess in your hands still lingers.

“Can’t believe what.”

“That was so fucking good. Like god tier orgasm.” 

“Yeah?” He nods now that you’re eye for eye. His a little red around the edges. Makes sense, considering he’d sealed them shut like a vice for ten minutes. “A lot of cum too.”

“Y/NNN,” he drags it out with an embarrassed whine, head retreating to that space in your neck again so you’re blind to the blush tainting his cheeks. You still get a glimpse of the red around his ears though and it has you smiling. 

“You brought it up.” 

“Hmmph.”

You’re smiling Cheshire cat style, and you feel his hardened cheeks so he must be too. An all consuming kind of love that you’re both scared to expose because it’s the first time for both of you. He’ll mutter it into your neck though. 

“Y/N?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I love you.” Your teeth bare gleefully without permission, “and you’re really hot.” 

“You cry when you orgasm so I guess you’re kinda hot too.”

virgin jungkook is my absolutely weakness so thank you so much for bringing the concept justice and writing it so so so well

oh you peach! i'm only providing what the world needs, but thank ya for loving my work x

i’m going to need a moment

Is he- am I- jk be packing ?!

ABSTRACT ft BOB ROSS (M) - JJK

Summary: Paintbrush in one hand, joint in the other and you sitting on his dick is what Jeongguk wants. And what Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

Genre: smutPWP, timid crack, established relationship

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: jeongguks horny! getting high, body painting, fingering, oral (both receiving), edging, slight subJK, unprotected sex, cockwarming, masturbation (fem), dry humping

A/N: Jeongguk being on his Bob Ross thing to help us through quarantine had me inspired. Fr Bob Ross was a legend. This gets steamy btw

Also pls stay safe everyone and don’t be selfish. Enjoy x

*Masterlist Link*

*Bold italic is JK speaking Korean*

“Tap it off… and just beat the devil out of it.”

“JEONGGUK FOR THE LOVE OF JESUSSS!”

“Isn’t that fun.”

“...What? Just doing what he tells me to do.” 

And he persists, batting brush to easel with a rate of knots only a testament to how fast he jacks off. It sends diluted paint across the room so you’re left as a life size dot to dot, with splatters lining your lips down to the hem of your shirt and it’s cold and wet, and this isn’t what you signed up for when he said ‘couples bonding’. 

“I’m fucking soaked.” He scoffs, that man sized brain of his conjuring a classic. 

“That’s what she said.” 

You’re four hours deep, and four hours too many by your standards. Jeongguk was always an avid painter at heart, finding joy in the freedom of all things creativity, but he was also a perfectionist, a competitor. It led him from tutorial to tutorial, because, whilst he’s got portraiture down, his landscaping needed a little brushing up - mind the pun - and it was only an amount of time before you stumbled across a Bob Ross tutorial in all things serene and panoramic.

You shake yourself off in some attempt to help the splay of wet paint and to ease your job with the washing machine later, and lean back on your heels to gather your bearings. Yet, Bob still drones on despite your misery, and your boyfriend’s all too eager to comply with his every word.

“Jeongguk!” 

He’s laughing off to himself, easily pleased in the scheme of all things pensioner humour, but murmurs off a halfhearted ‘yeh’ in your direction to ease where he knows you’re about to nag.

“Look at me!” 

He does. And it throws you off a little because he eyes you once over, twice and a third time before settling his gaze on your breasts - easily pleased for many more things than just Bob Ross.

“You’re messy.”

“Yeh fuck I am! You listen to Bob more than you listen to me, cockless.”  

He quirks an eyebrow, and shuffles so the laptop settled between both your easels can be paused, leaving Bob frozen in time and you to deepen your scowl.

“Yeh, um, cockless, cool... Bob tells me how well I’m doing and lets me hit paint brushes on wooden sticks. You don’t even let me feed Sassy nugs of weed when you sure as hell fucking know she’s a stoner cat.” 

Jeongguk was deep into his second joint after he fucked the first two paintings up enough he put a lighter to the edge of each. He even questioned using them as a roach, and you became one step closer to pleading insanity to your landlord and bolting the fuck out of you joint tenancy. But then he got you high and you persevered.  

Four more questionable and highly abstract paintings later, he’s got the hots for Bob, and you're left staggering on your words to rope him into lucidity again. 

“Guk, he’s a virtual man with 4 million followers, don’t take it personally and-.”

“But-” You deadpan, and point your paintbrush with emphasis. 

“And you know full well Sassy gets baked anyways off of fumes. The smoke gets in her fur as well and it was me” he looks innocently at you, muted by your outburst, “who got clawed when she had to be bathed. So tuck your balls away from Bob, and sober up!” 

He’s quiet. As are you. And even Bob lies dormant off in your peripherals. 

The room grows small as you size each other up, paintings left aside with the sole purpose of being witness to argument, and you think he might just look hot with his nipples standing cold against the open air and abs rolling beneath the line of his sweats. 

He’s on the same wavelength: 

“I can see your tits through that shirt.” 

You take a quick peak yourself, eyeing from one to the other, ignorant of the double chin you’re exposing, but all in the name of making sure the ladies stand perky. He’s got a glint beneath the surface now when he eyes your chest, and the paintbrush in his hand falls a little limper. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmm.” He tongues his lips. Hungry. 

Self control in such a situation as this seems important. The ability to stand your ground no matter where your argument lies on the scale of idiocy. If you curtail into being seduced, he might still make you wash the shirt yourself, figure Bob Ross is a turn on and have Sassy seeing smoke rings by the end of the night. No. You’re not a pushover.

He’s an inch closer when you break the silence, the tumbleweed rolled aside. 

“Turn it around. Let me see.”

“Ey?”

He’s horny and you’re not playing ball, something his brain can’t quite transfer to his dick yet.

“Turn yours around I wanna see how you did.” You give a nod in the direction of his painting. A spout of curiosity as to what monstrosity he’s conjured this time, but also a distraction, something for him to latch onto aside from your chest. 

“I thought we wait til the end. It’s unfinished.” And one thing Jeongguk hates being is unfinished. 

“Baby, Bob’s been overworked tonight and I wanna light the last spliff.” You air a finger and twizzle it, “give it a whirl.”

Being the competitor he is, Jeongguk plasters a smile and spins his easel, the pride practically radiating from him with the way he eyes the two trees and awkwardly sculpted sky. The clouds are askew and the lighting is directioned all wrong, in fact, it’s more a Picasso than a Mozart, blocks of colour screaming attention rather than the realism Bob was hoping for. 

“What’s it abstract for.”

Jeongguk frowns because your tone clearly isn’t close to praise and that’s what he’s learnt to expect. What Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets. Tonight's seen enough of your short fuse, however, that he’s not in the running for your good books. 

“Jagi-ya,” he pleads, “you know I speak in small English only when I’m stoned.”

You don’t even attempt to stifle the giggle. His eyes are round and his neck’s falling into his shoulders. A defence mechanism he’s well versed in because he knows it gets you in the feels. The jagi too.

“Yeh and this is how you paint when you’re stoned,” he eyes the work he’s made like your words have got him curious, like he’s never seen the capability of a weed induced state on canvas, “your lines get all boxy.”

He shifts, putting criticism to the test as he takes in his artwork from a new vantage point. In the meantime, the final joint lays naked and unused, almost sculpted like it was made for your fingertips. So you appease it’s calling and bringing tip to mouth, lighting the end until the embers begin to wisp away into smoke. Jeongguk breaths in like he wants it, but there’s an epiphany in sights instead.

“Mmm, it’s more like Picasso,” that’s my boy.

“Exactly!” 

“...Bob doesn’t accommodate for high people.” He takes the joint when you offer it. 

“Guk! That was a big word!” And he earns himself a kiss on the cheek, perhaps a hand to fiddle with his shoulders too, because those muscles aren’t gonna touch themselves. 

He drags long and hard. A third joint kind of high taking hold from where his eyes grow thinning and his posture caves into your touch. 

“Heard it on University Challenge,” you scoff at him. Since when was that on cable, “figure if I watch it enough I’ll be just as smart as them.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, bubs.”

Your hands grow fond of his skin, and it’s only when he leans away to trash the fumes away on a burnt out scrapped painting that you realise he finished all the weed. Guk’s a kid in a pram when it comes to sharing his green goods. He compensates with good sex though. 

And it’s where his mind lies - beneath the thin layer of your white painting top, a scrap piece of clothing donned for only the messiest of times. He seems to find inspiration in the idea. 

“Jagi.” 

“Mmm,” the air buzzes somewhere between stoned and excited with how he eyes you. 

“Let me paint you like one of my Korean girls.” It’s said in a tone laced with enough lust that you ignore the reference and are turned on by the novelty of being painted. And you know he doesn’t mean Jack and Rose kind of style.

You offer him a smirk. 

“How d’you want me.” 

Jeongguk nips at his bottom lip and lets his mind and dick go wild at the thought of free reign. The contemplating drags on, but when his eyes settle on how your pussy lies just south of the hem of your shirt, he’s struck a vision.

“Back, legs spread, and shirt off- wait, no, actually, shirt on.” 

He’s easy to comply with in the circumstances of things stoned and shirtless.

Your head is light, limbs soft when they stretch against the carpeted floor and you’re so prepared to be a canvas you’re wondering if maybe Bob had turned you on a little. And everything grows that bit more ambient, strewn into background noise. The paints you’d used now only exist with purpose of your skin, the Sam Cooke vinyl, now on its fifth round, is merely a melody to curl your toes to and the chiaroscuro lighting serves for the curve of your cheekbones only.  

He’d call you artwork if only it did you justice. 

“It’s cold.” He readies you.

His forth fingertip is crimson red. You think it’s a tester for temperature until he runs it down your thigh. A bold stroke for a starting place, but Jeongguk was never shy with paints.

“Mmm, yeh, cold.” 

“You like it?” He asks like he wants to be in tune with you.

“I can get to like it.” 

What you mean is you can get to like your boyfriend, in his half naked glory, playing temperature torture on your skin. 

He’s beautiful like this. A little lost in the high, but even deeper in the depths of you and your body and your lips and how you lay for him. A shy boy at first now with the pick of the litter. And he’ll take his pick wisely.

“So pretty.” You’ve got enough understanding to writhe in the praise, “Can I ruin your top?”

You are high, careless and ultimately curious. 

“Yeh,” and the shirt was fucked anyways. 

He pulls up the palette next to him, drawing a sketch with his eyes because paint doesn’t allow for takebacks and twiddles the brush in circles with practised ease. 

“Close your eyes for me?” 

“Ey?” You question. 

“Please, just, for now.”

And you’ll blind yourself for the sake of surprise, but now you’re sure you’ll just end up playing guess the drawing through touch alone, a mimic of what Jeongguk does on your naked spine in the mornings when you’re allowed a lie in. 

It’s cold, he’s right, that first stroke. And it dances close to where your breasts hang. 

“Can I touch you down there too?” 

OH fuck yes. Multitasking you can get on board with. 

“Please.”

He’s straight to it. A quirk on the line he was painting down you because suddenly he’s got you pleading and wet in unintentional places. 

“You plead so nicely for me, jagi. So good.” You gush to the tune of his native tongue.

It’s all at once. An overload of the senses. Sam Cooke a soulful prayer in time with your boyfriends hum. There’s a perfect juxtaposition of nimble fingers on your clit and a flat planed brush streaking unabashedly on the cotton against your nipples. It’s cold and hot and light and dark and everything in between. It’s sexy. 

You delve headfirst into the pleasure of it all, throwing an arm over your eyes and allowing the moans to spew and your body to convulse a little every time you’re hit with a newly loaded brush. Your body brews up a tempest and yo-

“DONE!”

Oh. 

You’re panting. Soaked to the bone beneath your silk panties, and when you open your eyes, everything is in disarray. 

The lust felt when in the thrones of your imagination is suddenly scattered, albeit, Jeongguk still looks like a feast. Because Sam Cooke doesn’t sound so harmonic and your skin doesn’t glow as bright when you assess the masterpiece you’d been distracted by. 

“YOU GAVE ME PICASSO TITS!”

Fucking Picasso tits! 

You’re horrified. And Jeongguk looks like he’s won the lottery. 

“Yeh. Jagi! Abstact!” 

“It’s abstract…” you whine.

Tugging and pulling at the hem of the cotton in some attempt to render the mess undone is your stress ball . Something to help it or just unsee it. Anything. But it’s useless, because the display is etched in primary colours only, a demand for attention that your Vanish Ultra won’t even touch the sides on.

Your eyes fume when they meet his crescents, “and you gave me square tits you freak! I have perfectly good tits, underneath, and this top was clean before you violated it!” 

There’s enough rage in you to stand and peel the wet shirt from your body, only to find a coloured imprint on your skin and bra that seeped through the thin fabric. Pick a younger man, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Hildy can shove fun up her ass.

“Baby, it’s kind of funny.” 

“Its not- its-,” he’s laughing. You’re exasperated. Both high. And maybe Hildy had a point once you let go of the burdens of sensibility and just crave what he’s having. Go, fat, high, fun. 

“Gukkkkkkk.” So you end up whining. And, you don’t resist when he’s off his feet and drowning you in his chest, muscles vibrating to the tune of his giggles. 

“Like, now, whenever we Bob Ross paint, I get to be reminded of the time I squared off your boobs then sexed you real good.”

You scoff from under his armpit, but refuse to depart from the embrace. He’s got a sweaty smell you only like on him and there’s nothing like Jeontits in your face. 

“Never Bob Ross painting again and you’re not sexing anything, perv.” 

“No?” 

“Mm-hm,” he giggles over your dramatic head shaking, a true fan of you when he’s got you swaddled and in that high happy place. Jeongguk also, whilst he won’t admit it, likes owing you something. Likes poking and prodding at your sensitivity until he’s got something to make up for - he’s a people pleaser, what can he say. 

So it’s a kiss here and a peck there. A mouthed map from shoulder to jaw before you’re the one to shift until your mouths align. 

“I’mhard y’know.” Tongue deep into yours because he’s got nothing to hide.

“Mmm, and you’ll stay that way.” 

But he really is oh so hard. His sweats hold little surprise under the surface because Jeongguk forgoes underwear on his days off and there’s a perk to his chest from his lunchtime weights set. It’s a self control that the weed in your brain isn’t quite abiding to.

“Jagi, come on,” the way his stance has a gain on your height means he can find friction where your groin lays. The perfect snuggle for his length to cant up into. He’s teasing himself, and pining for the quirk in you that’ll have him squirming later. 

“Guk. You’ve stained my top. You’re not about to cum on my La Perla panties.” Yet he’s driving himself deeper into a painful withdrawal. And he can’t wait. 

“You wore them without anything on your legs. You should know the risk,” his lips dance from collarbones to shoulder as he indulges in your skin, “You get me so hard, Jagi. So hard it hurts,” he’s biting whilst he ruts, “yet you tease me. How can you do that?” 

Your resolve won’t crumble, but you may indulge a little. Press encouragement beneath his boxers and under the small of his back so he can carry himself away in the friction. He glows in it. 

“Urgh, god.” 

“Mmm, you still can’t cum you know that.” 

Frantic. He nods frantic, and rolls his eyes back harder. He’s got balls so tight from the weed induced delusion that he’s lost in, but he knows you’ll have them blue and him mewling soon.

“Want it.” Submissive Korean sounds almost too good on him. He bows into your shoulder and grunts words, understandable in content, but so much more in context. An unfiltered, raw need he can only express in his way. 

You almost give in. 

Almost.

“Jeongguk, stop- stop.” He stills, and is pliable enough that you can cup his jaw tightly and meet him at eye level where he’s hazy. There’s a smirk nestled deep too because you let him go this far.  And you got riled up in the process. 

You eye him. Hairs flicking out from the thin headband he donned for painting and painting only. There’s a shine on his skin you can’t ignore and he’s so damn beautiful when he glows with want. Your man. A ‘my eyes only’ specimen except you get to touch. 

So you do, hands to peck that draw up and down until you play peek a boo with his tip between the flap of his sweats. It’s the crimson that stains your thigh and the glossy look he’s edged himself to. You’re ravenous. 

“Jagi, don’t just look. I’m dying here.”

You take one final glance, watch it bob when your nails scrape his abs and then quirk a look his way. 

“Mmm, I’m still angry at you.” You’re not. Not really and never were. Just wanted something on him so you’d have him like you do now:

“Take it out on me” He doesn’t stutter. Doesn’t smile, smirk or indicate humour. Ready to risk it all. 

“Lie on the sofa how you want it then… and them,” you once over the material on his legs with your finger, “off.”

He’s so compliant when he’s hard and no one will ever find you complaining at the notion. 

There’s easles to dodge and paints that threaten to brim onto the wooden floors, but your apartment never had ‘perfect’ written on the lease, so you’ll let him settle his clothes haphazardly - teetering on messy. 

You follow the path he’s strewn, bra off to join his boxers, until you settle your knees against his, shadow elongated on his face by the direction of the sunlight and hair swept over to one shoulder. His eyes follow your curves. 

“Will you touch me now?” He’s craving and the concept has your mind whirling and eyes stuck on where he’s hard. You’ve only now come to notice the way he sits on his hands, wrists dug into the sofa from the pressure of his thighs. Filthy. It’s filthy that he edges himself for sport. 

With a twitch at the side of your mouth because there’s a million and one different ways to have him crying, you descend so skin is on skin and he’s captive to you. Drunk in the way he looks. Nervous in the way his dick twitches. 

“How d’you want me to touch you?” 

“Any way, fuck, any way.. Please.” The pleasantries aren’t necessary. He’s at your mercy physically but this boy’s got a hold on you like no other, enough that what Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.

“Here?” His dick is expecting when he sees your hand move in his peripherals. It’s sure and ready for your touch. But then you moan. Eyes roll back just like when he touches your cl-, “Is here good, Guk?” 

“Oh fuck.” You’re two fingers deep and a palm to your clit. He’s taken note in the way you touch yourself before, mutual masturbation a 2 month-in kind of job, but this is different. Your pussy makes him salivate and the way you touch yourself makes him feel all too primitive. Like he’s never heard a girl moan before. “Jagi. Come on.”  

It’s so damn hot to you that his dick sits there untouched, hips still glued as though he’s unaffected. You’re tuned in, though, to those things that tell you otherwise. The strain on his neck from where his bottom jaw clenches. English sidelined because he can’t think straight. His dick bobbing every time you hit an upstroke into yourself and the squelch rings out. He’s so damn horny, but he’ll wait on you. Knows seeking the end untouched is like drinking water after parching in the desert. 

“So beautiful. You’re so beautiful. The way you touch yourself is beautiful too.” His eyes are fluttering and he can’t look away from you. It has you shamelessly moaning. “God I’m hard.”

You laugh, knuckle deep and feel the spasm of your walls. He’s really hard with precum immodest and when you meet his eyes again he’s vulnerable, too thirsty, maybe, for what he’s subjected himself to.

You’re left wanting, “I really wanna taste.”

“Jesus.” Jeongguk whispers under his breath, throws his head back for good measure because he’s got a visual before the main course has even happened. “You can’t be so shameless, it has me thinking things.” Vivid, things. 

And his imagination plays out in real time when you descend onto the wooded floor. He stutters, splutters on his tongue when you’ve got long nails all up in his groin.

“F-fu- wait, Jagi, wait wait wait, jagi.” You’re an inch off, breath catching his tip and so close you can smell him. God you want a taste. “I’m- You can’t just.”

Ohhhh. 

“You’ll cum?”

He’s not ashamed, embarrassed or anything in between. Just the longing for more, eating away at him, and knowing he’s a gonner in less than a minute if you’re to lick him. 

“Just, fuck, Y/N. Just kiss me.”

You do. The head of his dick too appealing not to offer a peck to. 

“Fuck.” He hisses it between his teeth and seeks refuge under an arm as to not concern himself with the way your tits look under him. “Not ther-” but not all cravings can be fixed, and you’ve got a mouthful. 

His hand jerks out from where it situates beneath him. The dilemma as to whether his dick can handle the back of your throat, seemingly easier to combat if he can claw at his thighs. But you’ve fallen into a rhythm despite the discomfort of hard floorboards and empty walls, and he’s keening for it, low moans and harsh breaths when your throat constricts. 

“Jagi, I real- oh shit, I really might cum.” You want him to. But the look that glazes over him when he’s edged is too good to wait for. Hit hits your throat deep, “fuck fuck fuck fuck,” hands thrown into your hair because he thinks maybe he wants you to stop.

But there’s the edge, and for a second he thinks he’s too far past it, balls tightened and his chest caves at the promise of lodging a load in your throat. 

“Fuck!” You’re off him and shuffled back before he can cry wolf. Jeongguk helplessly grasps at his base, and screws his eyes tight to curb the feeling of blood rushing everywhere. 

You’ve got a vantage point like no other. A vista genuinely for the ‘my eyes only’. 

His chest violently rises and falls and his thighs shake at the same rate. It’s hard to reserve yourself from kissing up his legs, so you don’t, soft nips where the seam of his trousers would run and even though he was driven to maximum sensitivity, he wants you as close as you are.

You litter the expanse of his body until he can vent the lost orgasm into your mouth. A rage of tongues and spit that has your centre warm again. But he mellows out into you and plays seduction. 

“Jagi.”

“Mmm,” you speak amongst the twine of lips. 

“Let me kiss you.. Down there.” His eyes plague with sincerity. A wholehearted desire to taste you and taste you again, and you’re one to oblige. 

The sofa, whilst a two generation hand-me-down, offers more comfort than the floor and you bask in being pampered when Jeongguk lowers your front to it, situating a littered pillow below you to accentuate the curve of your back. Your behind sits bare with panties discarded and you look beautiful enough he’ll tell you. 

“Look at your body Jagi. How can you be mine?”

It’s unnerving being like this. Subject to alien words and a stare you can’t dilute. But it’s a package deal and Jeongguk doesn’t take long to offer the incentive. 

“Smell nice too.”

He traces the curve of your back with his palm the same way he strokes you between your legs. Fluid and warm and...

“Goddd, that’s good.”

Jeongguk basks in all things praise. An inflation to his own high. So he hums approval into you as you begin to writhe. 

You bite back the urge to push into him and seek a salacious end, frantic in the heat of lust, but Jeongguk keeps a controlled hold on you and eases the pressure away from the good spots, just so it’s better when he comes back for more. 

“Mmmm, good, good there.” Where he’s spreading you and planting muscle deep. He doesn’t resist the temptation to go north either and explore tighter areas, and he hums a smile when he garners an entirely different noise from you because, fuck, that’s sensitive.

“Jeongguk, oh- I might cum.”

“Yeh?” He’s in you and around you and kneading at your cheeks like he’s rallying himself up. He is. Running his body in time with your movement so there’s a subtle rut to edge himself to.

“Yeh.”

“I want that. Bad.”

You’re loud and knocking on the door of something breathtaking, now that he’s left romance for dead. He wants you to cum, and hard 

Fumbling an arm behind you until you can grapple onto the hairs of his head does little to prevent the sensation, the quaking and the tightening. He’s sinking a thumb against your rim and a tongue in your pussy and you indulge in it all.

“Shitshit oh my fucking god.” 

He moans when you strike gold and pulse from every point of your being. Entrapped in that disembodied feeling where everything’s too good and all at once. It lags and Jeongguk’s hands purchase hard when you clench on his tongue. 

“Shit.”

He lets you down easy though, mindful of all of the places that could be a cause for over-sensitivity - save that for another day - and nuzzles into your thigh. 

The need to move lingers whilst you carry yourself away into the thrones of exhaustion, mind fizzing as you boyfriend sucks the meat of your ass with tempt. He’s wanting and you’ve got a craving to see him cum, but everything's numb. 

“Jagi.”

“Mmm.” 

You feel him before see him crawling up you, his front flush to you just as a means of exaggerating where he lays hard and in wait. He let you edge him and made you cum, a cause for a gold star among other things, so you flip over, careful not to knock him where it hurts, and pull at the straggling hairs the band can’t accommodate for. 

“I want you. I want you really bad.” He feels selfish for feeling like it’s his right to claim an end. But there’s a genuine cause for concern that he’s been hard for so long, and will be as long as you lay bare and beautiful, and the biology of the situation isn’t just coincidental with his want. 

But he kisses you soft and the sense of obligation dissipates into the desire to see him undone. 

“You gonna fuck me?” He’s desperate to, and you laying pliant beneath him has his lust escalating quickly. 

“Yes, yesyesyes jagi.” But as to not cum to quick he settles into stroking his length between where you’re wet. The sensitivity has lessened, but the rush of blood still is a cause for a grimace. Jeongguk kisses it out of you, settling into a rhythm of tongue then teeth then tongue then teeth. You’re lost enough, he’s sinking into your walls unhinged. 

“Fuck.”

“God, how can you feel like this every time.” He’s driven to the edge of insanity with every feel of your walls, like a first time every time, uncharted territory he wants to explore as soon as he’s explored. 

You grapple from the sweaty hairs that line his neck to where his muscles contract and sink now that he’s easing you into compliance. Not that it wasn’t easy to. But your walls, spent previously, make the glide a little harder in the promise that it’ll make him cum quick. 

“You good? This good?” He caters for you in a strained plea. 

“Amazing. God. A little faster.”

He’s sure to combust, purchasing his mouth on your neck and choking grunts into the skins there when his hips begin to snap and balls begin to ring an echo onto the four walls.

“Fuck jagi. Thank you. God, thank you.” He prays to your pussy as his abs clench in the knowledge that he’s teetering on the edge. Every run against you has him keening. 

“Hold me.” He nestles his cheek to your hair until your breaths are synced, “don’t cum yet. Please, god-hm,” you choke, “don’t cum.”

“Oh god, oh god,” he’ll get you there, but he’s sweating out the urge to spill into you. He wants to see you done, hear you moan, have you every kind of euphoric. So he licks his thumb quick and has it in between you and on your clit quicker. A pressure and nothing more because he knows what hurts you. 

He’s hissing at the strain, but you’re left in hopeless moans. 

“Cumming, baby, cu- fuck.” There’s nothing stopping the assault of your walls on him as everything tightens and then releases. You quiver into him. 

“Oh, you got so tight. Fuckfuck, oh god.” Jeongguk gives into it, too, when his body shudders and he pulls you tight, “ah,” spilling everything and it’s so hot but he’s heady enough that none of it matters. 

You bask in that feeling for however long, lulling his shakes with a trail of nails through his hair down to his back, and nuzzle where your cheeks meet. 

His back rises and falls and rises and falls and it’s all things soothing. 

So you whisper lowly, “Guk.”

He shifts fractionally and huffs at the exertion of it all, body pliable and soft in and around you.

“Baby, we can’t fall asleep here.”

You know he’ll ask for a few more minutes, the true post orgasm baby that he is. 

“Just a few more minutes.” 

You laugh in the way of your predictable boy and snuggle him further now that he’s cocooned, the tingles in your toes eases and he might lay heavy on you but it’s comforting that his body moves to the puff of your chest. It’s like watching the clouds in the sky morph from one figure to another. Like the soft ticking of a metronome. Like counting sheep. And it’s easy to let ‘just a few more minutes’ trickle on and on. 

What Jeongguk wants, Jeongguk gets.