REAL OR NOT REAL Jung Hoseok.

REAL OR NOT REAL 🍦 jung hoseok.

pair. fashion designer! hoseok x fem! reader | genre. one night stand, strangers to lovers, pining, romance, slight angst | warnings. profanity, vaping, pet names, jealousy, age gap, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praising, spanking, slight degradation, masturbation, edging, voyeurism, fingering | word count. 7.9k

synopsis. “you’ve been begging to get fucked since the moment you walked through that door, beautiful. real or not real?” or hoseok respectfully couldn’t give less of a fuck what your father thought of him. he wouldn’t stay away from you.

January is the coldest month of the year in Osaka.

Snow falls white and melts slowly, temperatures drop to single digits and stay there for weeks on end, but the Sōsei River always flows the same to you, even underneath ice, even after kissing a boy next to it, forever changing the course of your life. It stays moving, unbothered; water as water does. In that way it seems to you, you’ll never truly be rid of Jung Hoseok. Or his blueberry ice vape smoke.

It was through no fault of yours the attraction your body held for him. As if a magnet existed between the two of you, your bodies seemed attuned to one another, joined by a force greater than logic, than reason. Because it made absolutely no sense how badly you wanted him to fuck you in the storage room on your break that first time he walked through the doors of your dad’s ice cream parlor. None.

Nor were you ever going to admit how fast he got under your skin, charmed you into bed with a single dazzling smile, offering you a room in the most expensive hotel in your city, messing those feathery soft curls up with his long fingers. You were in big trouble. It wasn’t even the flirting that did it, it was the determination; the stubbornness of his coming to the shop every single day since that afternoon, picking a different flavor on a cone, a cup, a waffle bowl; with sprinkles, then plain, then all kinds of syrups—and your choice, what he’d seen once next to the register, vanilla ice cream with caramel drizzle and brownie chunks. What he witnessed your tongue lick off a plastic spoon when time stopped once and for all for him.

Your dad had noticed, of course. How could he have not—you were a neighborhood store, with regulars that dated back so many years before your birth. Newcomers were few and far between, usually foreigners. Americans. Hoseok was the odd one out from the beginning. But it never seemed to bother him, all the stares—you doubt he’d even noticed.

He looked important with his shoulder length dark hair, hair that curled at the ends, sunglasses always covering those almond shaped eyes. The clothes he wore was a whole other thing; the designs and patterns mixing together, colors clashing in the most interesting of ways. When you asked how is he not yet absolutely fucking sick of ice cream, he answered:

“I come here for you.” You knew that. Everyone knew that.

“I’m working, sir.”

Hoseok smiled at that. He looked really sweet when he smiled; younger too, though you guessed he couldn’t be a day above twenty five. His skin was clear, the way he carried himself was assertive, confident. Not arrogant, just self-assured, if maybe a little cocky. But it suited him, you thought. His straight, pearly white teeth blinding, was making it hard to look straight at him.

It was definitely not how handsome he was. Or the black card in his hand, the card he always used to pay for his purchases, several rings adorning his long fingers, colorful bracelets in both wrists. A character, that’s what this man was. Eccentric, but not loud. Demanding to be seen, to be looked at, but not expecting it. It really was no mystery how you ended up in his bed, just one week after that.

“You get off at some point, though, don’t you, doll? Or does your daddy lock you up in here?” He commented, then chortled to himself. “Can’t blame him—I wouldn’t bear to lose you either.” And then he winked at you.

If you lost your footing for a second there, you regained your composure just as fast. He really had a way about him; his incessant flirting, the silent observing he did in the five minutes he spent at the shop every day—so far he knew the man on the other end of the counter was your father, watching over the stream of clients and, of course, his daughter. Only daughter, if Hoseok were to take a not-so-wild guess, the reason for his overprotectiveness. And something else, something he found by honest chance, what led him to keep coming back for the creamy dessert—

He saw you leaving class one morning, right before Christmas break. You were with friends, completely oblivious to the single fucking fact—your beauty. You were breathtaking in your white skirt and lilac sweater, chunky snow boots trudging along the pavement, laughing wildly, openly. A force of nature, the girl with the knitted sweater—a fashion major. Like him.

But for him that school had been a struggle of the past; four years to be exact. You were a sophomore, he’d learned from one of his good faculty friends in the University, a promising student.

“Show me her designs.”

Talented, indeed. Unique, with soft lines and interesting uses of light and sewing. A pioneer in the use of delicate fabric like silk and lace, surpassing even him, though hard to admit. A bittersweet revelation, but an awakening all in one. An asset for his atelier, if you’d do him the honor of joining his team of five. But how could he ask you, and when would it be the appropriate time?

Hoseok didn’t want to scare you, or pressure you into anything you weren’t comfortable with. He’s been sketching since he was a little kid, no more than four years old on his mom’s kitchen table, his childhood home, so far away from Japan, and yet not far at all. Tall silhouettes with no faces, clothes draped over them, inexperienced and sloppy. No technique, no real life in them. No source of inspiration for him to draw from—like an answer to his prayer, twenty four years too late, you show up.

He’d rather slit his throat than let you slip from his fingers. So, he follows and ends up at an ice cream shop. A small business, with minimal, sand white interior and the largest selection of flavors he’s ever seen. Things he’s never even tasted. Brown sugar tea, matcha chocolate chip, peanut butter caramel—nonsensical combinations that with time he grew to love. Because you’d thought of them, because your mind worked different, and he loved your mind.

Jung Hoseok swore to himself that first time he entered the parlor—this girl will be mine. Damn anyone that stands in my way.

“He’s noticed, you know,” you say, trying to scare him away with the menacing thought of your father, an authoritative figure, a military man.

“Has he?” Hoseok takes the cone from you, taking a cookie chunk in between his lips. He watches you watch him, basks in your attention.

He wonders if you’d give him the same eyes as he’s licking your sweet pussy all over, getting you ready for him. A distracting thought, certainly a dangerous one, but he was never one to back down from a challenge. And you were important; a muse, a fellow designer he respected and needed with him as soon as possible, no matter the title you’d end up having under him, whether it be friend, girlfriend, fuck toy. As long as he got to work with you, learn from you, and show you in return. Hoseok wasn’t a selfish man, something that’s bothered him immensely. He offered options, he accepted refusals. He thought he could accept yours with dignity, until he got a taste of your mouth, of your cunt.

After that, ‘no’ was an alien word to him, a concept he banished from his vocabulary. For you. Because of you. You’d have him negotiating enormous amounts of money to have you work for him in a few weeks time, and if only the both of you were aware of that earlier. Then, maybe the heartbreak wouldn’t have been so terrible, the loss not as great.

“A twenty five year old man obsessing over his daughter? Yes, I think that’d be quite clear,” you retorted sarcastically. “Sir.”

Hoseok rose an eyebrow at your chosen name for him, sensing the power you thought you held by addressing him like that. If you were anywhere else but there, he’d bend you over and show you what a stubborn fucking girl like you got for calling him ‘sir.’ But in front of your father? He smirked.

“Twenty eight, sweetheart,” he corrected you, amused. “The rest was correct.”

A new person walked in, then, the bell above the door ringing as the door closed behind them. Your arms uncrossed from under your chest, your breasts bouncing slightly in your bra. The brown haired man tightened the hold he had on the waffle cone, the crunchy sound of it breaking apart bringing him back at once. Your father neared the part of the counter you stood at.

“You need to leave,” you pleaded this time, and it was your panicked tone that made Hoseok question the true hold your dad had on you. “Please, okay?”

“You heard the girl, young man,” the older man brushed him off, welcoming the customer warmly. But the threat remained, lingered over both parties like a cloud heavy with rain.

Leave or else.

“I don’t answer to you, old man,” he retaliated, keeping his tone calm, his anger under control. For your sake. For his, later on. “I’ll see you later, doll, yeah?”

He turned to walk away, but not before seeing your small nod towards what he’d said. You feel the same, don’t you, pretty baby? I fucking knew it, I saw right through you.

Hoseok is nothing if not patient. He’ll wait as long as it takes.

The second time he sees you outside the shop, he approaches you. He tells himself it’s not like the first time, you know him now, he has reason to fall in step with you, ask where you’re heading.

Your coat is chocolate brown, your scarf a burgundy shade that matches your lips. He imagines you wearing his clothes, his designs, sketched after you, your body type. If you let him. He’d work the hardest for you. He could think of no one else better than you to model his creations.

“Let me guess what’s under that coat, beautiful.”

You jump at his voice, clutching at your bag protectively. He chuckles, hands in the pockets of his oversized leather jacket. Shinsaibashi is busy at this time, a late evening on a Saturday. Valentine’s Day decorations have already been put in place, January giving way to February, the snow leaving with it. The lights of the station ahead of you illuminate in your eyes, the flush on your cheeks giving you an animated glow. Hoseok can’t stop staring.

He wants to wrap his arms around you, pull you close. Take you on a date. Bring you to his Atelier and keep you there, a prisoner for art, but for something else too, something he can’t quite put a finger on. He’s attracted to you, of course, you’re so fucking gorgeous it makes his chest ache with the thought of someone else even looking at you. A possessiveness with no grounds—he has no way of showing this to you in a healthy way.

It’s a primitive instinct, caveman behavior. Usually, such feelings are below him, they never end up reaching his heart enough to shake him. His mother raised him a gentleman, and then she passed with her mind at ease. He promised this to her; he’d always treat women with respect, always put his manners above his desires. But with you—he’d undress you right there, against the traffic light pole. He’d fuck himself into you until you know no other words aside his first and last name. Hoseok wants to own you, he realizes with a strange terror.

Your body, and your genius mind. He’d do fucking anything.

“Do you always walk up to women like that?” You ask, avoiding his gaze, instead focusing with all your might on your destination.

He chooses not to reply to that. His cheap dates and faceless women that’ve passed through his bed are of no concern to you. “You love your knits, don’t you?” He fingers the sweater poking through the collar of your coat.

“What’s the interest in my clothing choices?”

“I’m a fashion enthusiast through and through, doll. Some call me a designer.”

You stop at that. He misses the sound of your heeled boots immediately, the way they hit the pavement confidently, with purpose. He wonders how the leather of them would feel around his shoulders, digging into his skin.

Your eyes squint at him. “Are you lying?”

“I don’t lie very well,” he replies honestly.

“How’d you know, then?” You question him. “Surely, you know. Somehow. Is that why you won’t leave me alone?”

“Watch it!” He shouts, eyes widening.

Hoseok’s reflexes are faster than yours—he pulls you on his chest as a man nearly knocks you over running, shouting apologies behind him. He looks down at the top of your head, your stiff body curled in his arm. You smell like peaches, a scent he’s smelled before at the parlor, entirely too sweet and fragrant.

You pull away before he can ask how it is possible that you fit perfectly against him, familiar and warm. He can feel his pulse beating in his ears, the blood rushing through his veins.

“Thank you,” you mumble, embarrassed. “That guy came out of nowhere.”

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings, sweetheart.”

“Noted.” You breathe in, and hitch your bag high on your shoulder. Then you start walking once again, leaving Hoseok to stare after you.

He shakes his head and follows.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” you remind him.

He smirks at that. “I will if you answer one of mine.”

“It’s not a negotiation,” as you maneuver around people, crossing the intersection carefully.

The sky has long set, a bright darkness settled over everything, billboards, and tens of stores beaming like lighthouses, luring everyone in. This area is one that Hoseok knows very well, having walked it thousands of times on his way to school, and work, years before establishing his own business.

“I’m not negotiating.” To his surprise, no comeback from you this time. So, he continued. “Where are you going?”

You laugh, teeth and everything, head falling back as you lose your tempo of walking. You don’t seem to mind, though. Hoseok is aware his question is ridiculous in the grand scheme of things. He doesn’t know you, has barely talked to you, yet is now asking about your plans. The same peculiar feelings stirs in him, the one from earlier.

He’d take you out then, if you allowed him to. Then, he’d tell you his proposition. He’d ease you in, explain all the ways an internship with him would actually benefit your academic career, even put you on the map. He wouldn’t be too proud of his name and what it offers, but would instead lead with the facts, his tone calm but stern, like that of a teacher’s.

Come with me and I’ll show you all I know.

“What do I say to that? Is there anything you want to hear?” You reply amused, after your laughter has died down.

“Yes,” he admits, admiring the bustle of downtown. “I want you to let me take you out.”

When he looks back at your face, you’re very evidently blushing. Still, you don’t give in. A good thing, since Hoseok didn’t think you for the type to do so.

“What if I tell you I have a date?” And you raise a good point, he thinks.

If only he cared for it. “You’ll have more fun with me, doll, I can promise you that much.”

You enter the plaza, restaurants and cafés surrounding you now, all kinds of smells swirling in the crispy winter air. He studies you coming up with a remark to his statement. You look the cutest going up against him. He even considers letting you win; if only so much wasn’t at stake.

“What if it’s with my very handsome high school boyfriend?”

Hoseok grins at that, barely containing his snicker. “Dump him. You’ll grow bored of him soon.”

He could tell you’re just enjoying the banter now. There’s no date, no boyfriend. You might’ve had an appointment, or an engagement to something, but that flew out the window the moment he got a hold of you. It felt nice to be intellectually challenged for once, especially by you, a person he held in high regard after witnessing your work. Your beauty.

“For someone older than me—I thought you were supposed to have my best interest at heart?”

Hoseok decides to end the stroll short, having had enough of your poorly concealed shivering. He guides you inside a close friend’s café, holding the glass door open for you to enter, unable to look away as you pass past him.

“I am a generous man, sweetheart, but even I have limits,” he pulls a chair for you to sit on, choosing one of the tables in front of the window wall. “Your best interest is me,” he leans down to whisper in your ear.

Peaches invade his senses once again, rendering him unable to think of nothing else but you. You, you, you—

It is that very night you follow him to his hotel room.

After your coffee date, he suggested a bistro not too far from where you were, and refused you paying for your share. And even then, you had no intention of leaving, no good excuse as to why you had to go home. Hoseok was—so much fun. No man had ever made you laugh harder, his smart comments and sarcastic remarks only adding to his charm. Your ex held nothing against him, a comparison you couldn’t help making. Eight years between you, though you wouldn’t be able to tell. He followed the flow of your thoughts easily, adapted to your personality, and led the conversation back every time you rambled on.

Your common ground was, of course, fashion. Designing. He mentioned his Atelier only once, something other men would boast endlessly about. He offered to give you a tour, if you were ever interested, and you jumped on the opportunity. It was a designers dream to own an atelier, or even a boutique—it definitely was your dream. And Hoseok was willing to be so kind as to bring you into his own, for you to explore and learn.

He realized you had too much to drink only when your hand wrapped around his bicep, your chair closer than it had been half an hour ago. Did he miss the rejected calls that read ‘Dad’ on your phone? No, he didn’t. He ignored them. Because the intentions he had with you weren’t honest at all, weren’t innocent or honorable—nothing of the sort.

And daddy definitely didn’t need to fucking know or ever find out.

“Where is this going, doll?” Hoseok decided to lay his cards down, wait for your move. The hand you’d deal him back.

You swirled the dark liquid in your glass around, looking at it like it was the most interesting thing on planet Earth. Like it would somehow show you the answer, tell you what you need. Your warmth was intoxicating, unbelievably comforting. It’d been so long since a girl made him feel this way—unable to get a fucking grip. On many things.

“Isn’t this the part where you say something romantic albeit overused and I fall for it?” You ask, your tone cutting through the air between you.

No bullshit. He liked that about you. “What’d make you fall, sweetheart? Tell me and I’ll do it, I have no shame.”

Your wine stained lips curved slightly, the softest smile appearing on your flushed face. He tilted his head better to get a good look at you, and reached out with his thumb to wipe at your mouth. The red lips fell open, seemingly keen on following the digit to find its owner.

Hoseok’s other hand went underneath the table to readjust his hard cock, the time you’ve spend rubbing against him enough to get him fucking impatient and leaking in his boxers. The hold you had over him scared the living hell out of him—he’d either do something about it or leave you alone once and for all. No in between, not when dealing with you.

“There it is,” you mused. “The promise of letting go your inhibitions for me—a tempting bargain, surely I can’t refuse.”

The brown haired man stared at the empty table in front of him, enjoying your head on his shoulder, your hair tickling his neck. He couldn’t help but admire your stubbornness, your calculated answers. He wondered.

“I’ve never pretended to be anything other than what I am, doll. What I want—I’ve put it in simple words, haven’t I?” He whispers to you, an intimate conversation between almost lovers.

“I know what kind of man you are, Hoseok—my daddy has warned me about men like you,” you retort with a hint of bitterness, something that doesn’t slip past him.

He’s all ears. Anything that will explain the mystery of Jung Hoseok. “And what kind of man am I, (Y/N)?”

“Unyielding. A puzzle,” you lift your head, meeting his eyes. “Transparent.”

An adequate answer for what he’d shown you. He could describe himself impressed, even. But then your eyes bared him naked, dug deeper, struck gold—the hidden part, the ugly truth.

“A lonely man, aren’t you?” You continue, voice velvet, angelic. “Sad in the world you’ve created. All artists are, in some way.”

He kisses you. Just grabs your jaw and smashes his lips on yours, arm wrapping around you, melting you onto him. You don’t pull away, don’t yell at him to fuck off, or slap him, call him names. You’re kissing back. A fucking miracle—the miracle he was waiting for, the one he was secretly hoping for. Here. In his arms. Responsive.

He does take you to the hotel. He ravages your mouth the whole way there, and when you’re finally alone, the pretenses fell, whatever was left of them, and the distance was non existent. In all ways.

“An artist needs a muse,” he mutters against your breast. “But you’re not just that, are you, beautiful? You’re a fucking equal, you’re someone I’d give every last penny to have design under me, under my name. Will you accept?”

He tastes like artificial blueberries and mint. He lays you on the bed he’s been sleeping for the past month, and has his way with you. Tears off your tights, and carefully removes the knitted sweater, a piece you created yourself he’ll learn later on, knitting, a hobby your mother used to enjoy before she passed—but for now, you knew only desire, only how much you wanted him, on you, in you, all ways you could have him, and his curls felt nice in between the cracks of your fingers, his tongue felt warm against your cheek, against your lips, against the crevice of your neck.

“You can’t buy me, I’m not for sale,” you tell him sternly.

Hoseok doesn’t waver, doesn’t miss a beat. “Can I have you, then? As mine? Would you take me?”

His hands are everywhere, your body is a forest fire and he’s the match, the lighter, the gasoline, everything all at once, but when they creep between your thighs—oh, it’s a whole different crime. An arsonist, repenting for his sins. He pulls the fabric that’s standing between him and your cunt, and then his long fingers are pushing inside your entrance, your wetness coating his knuckles. He curses, and spits on your slick, continuing his taking, his wish to have you come just like this, before he can feel you on his dick. The sweet thing he’s been dreaming of for weeks.

Your moans fill the dark room in the most delicious way; music to his fucking ears. He wants more, he wants this sound imprinted on his eardrums, to listen to it always, to get haunted by the melody of it, the crescendo of the labored breathing, your soft, broken voice. Sweetest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

“Is this why you wouldn’t leave me alone?” You gasp when his fingers are replaced by something bigger, something harder.

His shirt is half way unbuttoned, his necklace falling against your chest cold, the metal shiny, as he comes face to face with you, eyes boring into yours. He slams inside you in one swift movement, pushes you up towards the headboard with the sheer force of his thrusting. You hold onto him, bring him closer, legs wrapping around his torso, lips pressed on the side of his face. You can see that dark gaze behind your eyelids, the intensity of it as his cock slips past your folds. There is no more holding back, you’re bearing everything to him now. What he wanted.

Your phone buzzes in your bag for the tenth time that night, the hour reading past midnight. You hear it faintly, but for the life of you cannot seem to bother with it. You’re an adult, you remind yourself stubbornly. You can do whatever you like, stay out as long as you please. Get fucked by whoever you want.

“This—” Hoseok buries his head in the crook of your neck, chuckling darkly, breathlessly. “I would risk a lot of fucking things to have this again, sweetheart. Your cunt welcomed me right in, I can’t get fucking enough.”

“Show me,” you whisper to him, arms tightening around him. “If you’re telling me the truth—show me.”

He does. He moves inside you with vigor; like he’s afraid someone’s going to snatch you away, like there’s a time limit to how long he gets to have you like this, unraveled underneath him, for him, like an opened gift—take me, take me, I’m yours, play with me. Hoseok craves your body like a madman, but wants your mind the most. The way it works, the thought process you possess…it’s the sexiest thing about you.

Sweet, beautiful girl. All for me, and this cunt—Christ, this fucking cunt. Let me drown in it, doll, let me have it again and again, and again. Let me…let me take care of you, baby. Come with me. Fuck, you’re driving me crazy. Your hips are meeting every single one of his thrusts halfway, falling into a steady rhythm, slow fucking with sudden, hard strokes, sex you’ve never experienced. It’s intimidating, how he’s staring down at you, like you’re the only thing—like gravity. Without you, there’d be no reason.

Is this what love looked like, perhaps? No. That was the wine talking. You couldn’t, you absolutely couldn’t fall for this man, there was no space for him in your life. And yet… “Fuck!” You fall back against the pillows, too lost in pleasure to think anymore. To hell with thoughts, what good did they do anyway? Hoseok kisses your temple like he senses your inner battle. Then he fucks you hard and fast, mercilessly digging into your sore pussy.

Your phone rings again. He growls; you groan.

“Answer,” he barks, and you’re close. So fucking close, if he’d just move— “Answer him, sweetheart or I fucking will. And no one’s gonna like what I have to say.”

“Hoseok, please, God, please!”

He seizes your thighs and raises your legs, then grabs both ankles in one hand and holds you like that, fucking into you so much deeper, so much better. You’re coming instantly, shaking unstoppably, tears stinging in your eyes. You fist the sheets underneath you, and fucking take it; his cock bruising your insides, the stretch of your hamstrings, the slaps he unleashes on your ass.

“Goddamnit, fuck,” he spills inside you muttering a string of unidentifiable curses, panting over you. “Do you fucking feel this, beautiful? You’re mine now,” he drops your legs, snatching your chin, forcing you to look at him straight in the eye. His face is dead serious. “No one else’s. Mine.” He kisses you once, hard. “Answer. I won’t say it again.”

You scramble to find your purse on the floor. He falls on the bed, breathing labored, hair sticking on his forehead. Hoseok tilts his head to look at you, wants to see the look of embarrassment as you tap on the call to talk to your father, his seed inside you, your cunt no doubt still clenching at the sudden emptiness. If it was up to him, he’d let your precious daddy know about what you were up to, and whisk you away.

“Hey, daddy,” you say, your voice high pitched, straining to sound normal. Hoseok smirks at that. His dick hadn’t even been anywhere near your mouth, and yet you sounded like he face-fucked you for an hour straight. “No, daddy, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fucking apologize,” the naked man on the bed scolds you, feeling anger bubble in his chest.

You ignore him, instead trying to find your underwear and the rest of your clothes. You were leaving, he realized and his stomach dropped. At daddy’s beck and call, huh? Hoseok’s pettiness wasn’t his proudest attribute, but it was definitely a strong part of him. Especially when it came to your father. He honest to God couldn’t understand why that military man annoyed him so much. Was it that illogical hold he had over you, a young college woman? There was no reason for you to go home tonight, he thought grimly. And you shouldn’t. Not if he could help it.

“I was with a friend, daddy, and we got carried away—I’ll be right there, okay—Hoseok!”

“Hey, old man, how about you stop terrorizing your daughter, huh?” He pressed the phone against his ear, standing taller than you, your dainty wrist imprisoned in his death grip. You went to pull away, get your phone back—he moved away, glared at you.

The line was dead silent for a moment, aside from even breathing. Hoseok figured he must be gathering his thoughts. Or his fists. “I should’ve known she’d fall for scum like you,” your father’s booming voice tore through the speaker, the calm before the storm. “You’ve no idea what I’m capable of, son, and I suggest you don’t try to find out.”

“Hoseok, please stop, give it back,” you whisper, and a couple angry tears spill on your plumb cheeks. He wants to wipe them away, but he’s overstepping enough. You might hate him even more if he tries to console you.

Despite all this, he doesn’t give in. “With all due respect, I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to,” he retorts, all ice and sharp edges. Unrecognizable, you can’t help but think. Cold and heartless.

“Your daughter is old enough. And she’s with me, safe and sound. I’m keeping her here tonight. As much as she’d like your blessing for this, I could care less for it. Have a goodnight.”

Hoseok doesn’t need to look at your face to know you’re angry at him. He can sense your shaking, but he doesn’t think it’s for justice you feel towards your father. He was rude, obviously; if anything Hoseok was fucking terrible to the only family you seemed to have, and had probably severed all bridges to a good relationship with who he assumed would one day be his in-law. Despite this fact, the deed was done, the choice made.

Anyone that belittles and disrespects you like that is of no importance to him. And the same should go for you, he’d try to teach you if you decided to come with him. He just needed to make you see. But the decision was all yours, something he couldn’t help.

“Why?” You ask, giving up on your fight to free yourself from his hold. “Why’d you do that?”

Hoseok tried to level you with a sharp look. He needed you to calm down, to be able to think straight. Otherwise none of what he was about to tell you would make any sense. First, he needed an ambush—a distraction.

He pulled you into his arms, his hand holding the back of your head in place, your chest against his chest, breath on his neck, heartbeat becoming one with his. He tried to shush you into obedience, rubbing circles on your back, whispering in your hair.

“We’ll play a game of truth now, beautiful. Know you can be honest with me, there’s nothing in the fucking world you can tell me that’ll stop me from pursuing you,” he starts with a steady voice, bracing himself to use all of his strength if necessary.

Keeping you with him was essential, especially after tasting you, having you so completely, so utterly.

“I don’t understand,” you mutter, lost.

“But you will,” he promises. “See, a couple years ago you went for a walk in the middle of the night, next to the river. It was snowing then, too, wasn’t it?”

Hoseok feels you shake your head. He smiled softly, patiently. “I assumed as much,” he continues. “Sweetheart, you kissed me that night. You had a bruise on your cheek, tears in your eyes. Freezing cold,” his tone grew harsher, unwavering gaze deadly at the memories replaying in his mind.

You go to pull back—he doesn’t let you. His cock stands fully erect between you, but he won’t make another move on you tonight. He just wants you to remember, to understand.

“That boy…that was you?” You question, shocked. “It was dark, I’d barely caught your face. Was that really you, Hoseok?” This time there was no holding you back.

Your eyes met. Your glistening ones to his rage filled ones. Rage for what would go unsaid, to the question he wouldn’t dare ask, wouldn’t bring himself to bring up in fear of hurting you further, of embarrassing you more than your father, once again, already has. But his entire journey to find you—it ends here, now, his mystery girl in his arms, finally. It almost felt like destiny, a thing he most definitely believed in. You crossing his path—it was meant to happen.

“Real or not real, baby?” He asks you, vulnerable by all accounts. “You tell me.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. It’s evident you’re still slowly processing the information. Hoseok won’t blame you. “How’d you find me?”

“By chance. I was craving ice cream,” he smirks down at you. You blush. Adorable. “Recognized your eyes, they sparkled in that same way…like stars. Sad, but so fucking beautiful. Then, I found out about your school. Same I attended,” he goes to explain further, seeing your expression change. “I needed to learn more about you, sweetheart, don’t punish me for that. If I knew more, I could get closer to you. But then you kept showing up everywhere I looked, and I realized—I’d find you anywhere, because you seemed to find me first.”

“I need time to think about this, I—” you press the back of your hand against your forehead, sighing incredulously. “Please. Understand,” your gaze rises to meet his own, and he sees.

The hesitation. The intrigue. The fear, no doubt instilled by your father. He nodded, his lips going for your temple, pecking the skin there, hands smoothing your hair back.

“Promise me,” he whispers softly. “If he gives you any trouble, any at all, doll, you call me. Is that clear?”

You don’t reply, but instead—kiss him. Hoseok has no time to react, couldn’t even close his eyes—you kissed him. In light, your head straight. Initiating it first…it made his heart swell, his cock twitch. The girl of his dreams, his sweet, talented girl, showing him she liked him back.

He was gonna die, as soon as you left, no doubt about it. How to stay away from you after that?

“I know how to handle my father, Hoseok,” you tell him later, fully dressed, bag in hand. “You figure out a way to be in the same room as him without wanting to beat his face in. A favor, to me. Please.”

He nods once, jaw clenched. “Won’t make any promises.”

You smile, and the whole world blooms. “Good enough.”

Exhaling blueberry smoke, he waits outside of your apartment, a figure dressed in all black, expensive sunglasses, once again, hiding those indecipherable eyes.

A goddamn tease, is his first thought upon seeing you walk through the lobby doors. Spitting image of him, in a female version and with boots. Would you make it to the restaurant—it was up for debate. God knows it’d been the longest week of his life without you, and Hoseok once prided himself for not having an obsessive personality. All went out the window when it came to you, and fuck it. You were worth it.

“Stop staring, Jung,” you tease, but you seem reserved.

“Fuck no,” he exclaims, but then you stop half a foot away from him, and he has to ask, it’s eating at him. “Why are you—”

Your father shows from behind the same doors, tall and muscular. He’s at least two inches taller than Hoseok, and looks like he’d rather be burning in hell than have to talk to his daughter’s possible boyfriend. The younger man thinks he should just go ahead with the former option, he’ll end up there sooner or later anyway.

You clear your throat, your eyes pleading with him to play nice. He will, for you. But only if your father does the same.

“I wanna make one thing clear to you, kid—”

“I’m no fucking kid,” Hoseok cuts him off sharply.

You sigh, and your father snickers, lips curling in disdain. “What are you doing with my daughter, then?”

“I have a business, a house, a car,” he retorts simply. “Enough money to feed my children’s children. (Y/N) will be comfortable and loved—is that what you want to hear?”

“Are you proposing a marriage, son?”

You paled, reached for a hand to hold. Hoseok didn’t hesitate. Your father followed the movement with his hard eyes, arms crossed over his big chest.

“One day if she so wishes,” he replies. “I’ll do whatever she wants, be whatever she needs. Like I said—I don’t need your blessing. But I realize I cannot shield her completely from you, nor take her away from her only family.”

“You have balls,” the older man admits. Then nods in agreement, no matter how against the idea of you two together he is. You’d made sure he had no other choice but to accept it. “Hurt one fucking hair in her body and I’m coming after you,” he threatens.

Hoseok doesn’t get scared easily, and this time is no different. He understands the importance of this moment in the grand scheme of things, so he goes along with it. The squeeze of your hand in his tells him he’s doing the right thing.

“I’ll let you, you can be sure of that,” he shakes on it firmly.

He’d gladly pretend and say you made it to your reservation, but that’d be a fucking lie. With the way you looked, and the taste of you still vivid in his mind, all he wanted was to trap you under him and have his way with you again.

At first, he saw the way you rubbed your thighs together as he drove to your destination. Filthy little slut and her naughty fucking thoughts. Hoseok even made a show out of it, making sure to flex his forearms, gripping the steering wheel tightly, avoiding your gaze as he focused entirely on the attention you gave him.

“Okay over there, beautiful?”

“Mhmm.”

He smirked, eyes on the road, fingers tapping on the wheel. “Is that so?”

He heard your breath hitch, but your recovery was instant. “It is,” you affirmed, but the truth was louder.

“How about if I told you to touch yourself for me, doll? Would you do that?” He asked sinisterly, throwing a side glance your way.

Your mouth fell open slightly, a sight he fucking loved. He couldn’t wait to bury himself inside that hole, cum all over your pretty face, have you beg to do so. Sex with you was glorious, it ignited something in him that has been asleep for years.

“Open those legs for me, baby. Let me see you.”

“Hoseok…” you trail off, scared—excited.

The curve of his lips deepens. “Do as I say, and you’ll be rewarded.”

Your skirt hikes up your legs as you hesitantly part your thighs, turning in the passenger seat so that he could admire the view. Hoseok turns at once, slowing down at a red light. Black lace panties with a small, pretty ribbon on top, your smooth pussy practically bare for anyone to see. If that skirt were to rise just a little bit higher—his mood darkens just with the thought of someone else witnessing what’s his.

“My girl…such a desperate whore,” he snarls, refusing to touch you. He could see your hips buck towards him, needy for friction, for attention. “Aren’t you? Eager to get fucked by anyone with a cock? Is that why you’re wearing such small fucking skirts all the goddamn time?”

“No,” you shake your head, offended but turned on. He could smell you from miles away, that slick wetness of yours… “I promise, no.”

Hoseok drives again, pressing on the gas harshly. You gasp. He’s insane with need—for you, for what you’re offering so openly. “That’s not what your sweet little pussy is telling me right now. Pull those panties to the side for me, sweetheart, rub that clit for me, I know it’s begging to be touched.”

You do exactly as you’re told, your juices nearly staining the car seat. He had a way with words, a way that made you do anything for him just so you could hear that filth escape his kissable mouth. It turned you on to indescribable extends, you’d turn into anyone for him. Anyone he wanted, no questions asked.

He hears your breathy moans, the wet sound your sloppy cunt made as you slid those fingers along your folds, dragging them up to that small bundle of nerves all the way to the top, and pressing there. Then, moving in circular motions, two fingers, head falling back, broken sounds escaping your desperate body. Hoseok was in hell, split between parking the car on the side of the road and taking you right then or continuing to watch you lose yourself to self pleasure, his gaze and dirty mouth enabling your release closer and closer.

“Christ, you’re insatiable, aren’t you? Acting like you haven’t been fucked in years…such a slut, doll. That’s it, keep going—my beautiful girl, look at that fucking pussy, I just wanna drink it all up, slurp on it until I wipe you clean,” he adjusts the bulge in his jeans, clearing his throat of any hoarseness. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes…”

He makes a left turn, closing his eyes momentarily to get a grip on himself. You were driving him wild, he had no will left to hold him back. No fuck to give if you got caught. He had to have you, had to slip inside you, God the fucking sound! So goddamn wet…

“Go on, baby, stretch yourself out for me, slide those fingers inside that gaping hole, I know how much you need it,” he continues his unbearable verbal teasing, edging not only you but himself, until he absolutely drove both of you to the brink of madness. You had turned into a moaning mess, tears running down your cheeks, one hand gripping the handle of the door as the other worked yourself into oblivion.

“You have me so hard for you, baby, so fucking hard. Put your leg up on the armrest, let me see you. You’ve been begging to get fucked since the moment you walked through that door, beautiful. Real or not real?” He almost doesn’t turn his eyes back on the road on time, breaking hard when another car merges in his lane.

You cry out, the sudden halt digging your digits deeper into your cunt, reaching a spot that almost makes you come right then and there. Hoseok fucks it all to hell, and swerves, pulling behind a parked car, and turning off the engine in the middle of a busy boulevard. He unbuckles his belt, and pulls his rock hard length out, groaning at the freeing sensation. Pumping himself a few times, falling into your rhythm, observing the way your clenching and unclenching around your fingers, honey juices glistening all over your thighs, dripping on his leather seats…

“I have to—fuck, I have to come, I can’t, I can’t—” you mumble between sobs, eyes shut, legs closing as your hand moves harder, sloppier.

“No, the fuck you won’t,” he growls, and pulls your hand away, giving your cunt two good slaps, and earning a whimper from you, before bringing his arms under your ass and lifting to sit you on his lap, positioning you over his shaft.

Your eyes are glazed over, only one thought in your mind, and he’ll make it true for you, he promises you, he pushes your hair away from your sweaty face, and drops his forehead against yours, fingers coming to wrap themselves around your delicate throat. What a fucking vision, all for him to enjoy, to ravish.

“You’re gonna let me finish you off, baby, yeah, I need to feel that sweet release on my dick,” he mutters, and then he slams you down on him, the both of you exhaling, holding onto each other. “I know you can give it to me, c’mon, fuck on me, let me have it, let me have you…” his tone comes down to a faint whisper as you start riding him.

Hoseok can only admire his pretty girl having her way on his cock, can only offer everything he has and hope she accepts it, hope it’s enough—just like that, you’re doing so good for me, doll, I fucking love you, look at you bouncing on my dick like a goddamn slut. Hands grip on your waist, your love handles, your hips, and finally your ass again as he literally moves you on top of him, hard and fast, not giving a damn about the mess he’s making of you.

He could buy you as many outfits as you liked. Or even better, fuck that; he could make you them, anything you liked. Any price, any time. You just had to utter the word, and it’d be considered done.

“I’m the only fucking man who can have you like this, beautiful. Real or not real?” He asks when you finally shake all over, and collapse on his chest, panting and unable to speak. Still, he pushes. He needs to know, needs the reassurance.

When it came to you, he could turn into such a self conscious asshole. Ease his mind, then, tell him once and for all and get it over with.

“Real,” a promise. A beginning. “Real.”

He cups your face and kisses your eyelids, your cheeks, your ear, nose, mouth, neck. You fall into his soft lips, his warm touch. His dark eyes talk only of adoration.

“Come work with me,” he suggests once more. “Any amount you want, it’s yours. Work with me—be with me.”

“Yes,” you smile, exhausted. “Okay.” This time you take initiative, kiss the palm of his hand. His jaw twitches, gaze flashing. “You’re not gonna leave me alone, anyway.”

When Hoseok laughs, it’s spring. It’s flowers blooming, sun beaming down on your face, children playing happily, world peace. It’s home. It’s warm, bright days. It shakes you to your core.

“Not before fucking hell freezes over,” he swears, grinning at you with that thousand watt smile.

You nod, his infectious smile transferring itself onto your face.

“Thought as much.”

Dickless

Pairing: Taehyung x f. reader

Genre: smut (like... eventually); it's not reeeeaally enemies-to-lovers but she doesn't exactly like him to start with

Summary: Your boyfriend won't go down on you and it is a Problem. Fortunately, your friendly neighbourhood fuckboy (or is he??) Taehyung is there to lend a mouth hand.

Word count: 11.1k (it's a DRABBLE ok! A DRABBLE she screams!!!!)

Content: oral sex (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, infidelity, some very poor communicating

A/N: I feel like I need to disclaim that like... no one should be made to do anything (in general, but esp sexually) that they don't want to and they shouldn't feel pressured to, but ALSO, that sexual incompatibility is a thing! And it is fine to for that to be a dealbreaker because we should all be getting what we want!

Also, ofc did not read this back; this has been my mental health days off work project (yes, your bitch is mentally ill in Tory Britian, we are NOT thriving!!!!😅😅😅)

You remembered the first time you saw Taehyung. You were at a bar your friend had dragged you to because she knew he would be there; they had been sleeping together for a couple of weeks and she wanted to ‘casually’ run into him as he had stopped replying to her texts.  

“There he is,” Tara had hissed, pointing to a tall man across the room, dark curls bouncing on his brow, long fingers curled around a wine glass, and an intense look on his face.  

Moving further into the room, it had then been revealed that the target of his gaze was another woman and, despite your friend’s best attempts, Taehyung was not interested. She had dragged you to the toilets where she cried, real, huge tears. 

“It’s just been a couple of weeks, hasn’t it? Did you say you were exclusive?” you had asked, trying to be sensitive but shocked at the display of emotion. She wasn’t usually like this. 

“I’m not crying because I’m in love with him or something!” she had replied, her voice thick with tears. “I’m crying because he’s never going to sleep with me again!” 

“What?” 

“If he’s done with me, then that’s it. I’m done for. I’m done with sex.”  

She had fixed you with a wet, shining stare. 

“No one is as good in bed as Taehyung.” Her voice was hushed, awed. “He... You just don’t know if you haven’t slept with him, ok? He has ruined me. I can never sleep with anyone else, not knowing that he’s out there somewhere, not sleeping with me. No on-” 

“No one is that good at sex. Come on; it’s not like he’s got a magic dick or so-” 

“Yes, he has! He absolutely has. But it’s not just his dick – it's his everything. I’m telling you, y/n-” she had sniffled for dramatic effect, her tears were mostly dried- “he’s the best I’ve ever had or will ever have and, honestly, if he ever shows any interest in you, take it.” 

“I have a boyfriend.” 

“I don’t care.” 

Your mouth dropped open in shock; she knew your boyfriend; you had thought they got along well; but she interrupted you before you could argue. 

“I’m serious, y/n. This is a hall pass situation. Do not turn Taehyung down.” 

“So I can end up like you, crying over his dick in a toilet?” 

She had fixed you with a death glare but could not exactly say you were wrong.  

* * *  

That was months ago now. And, somehow, Taehyung kept popping up in your life. At the pub, at bars, at a party where you weren’t even sure he knew anyone – he just happened to be there. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him because you didn’t even know him, but you certainly had no interest in getting to know him. Men like him were ten a penny and, despite what you had been told about him, you were not convinced he was all that in the sack, because men like him never are. 

He was certainly handsome; you wouldn’t deny that. But attractive? No one that smug, that arrogant, could ever be attractive to you. Someone who thinks the world is at their feet, that everyone should fall to their knees for them, that other people exist only for their delectation... That was disgusting, not sexy. Even if you hadn’t had a boyfriend, you knew there was no way his ‘charm’ could work on you. All bluster and machismo and that quirked eyebrow and little smirk? No, thank you. 

“You know, I’ve been seeing you around a lot, but I don’t think we’ve ever spoken.”  

The voice came from behind you and you knew, without having to look, who it would be. You replied not even bothering to turn around. 

“No need. I know who you are.” 

“Oh? And who am I?” 

He was next to you then, leaning against the wall, your arms touching. 

“You’re Taehyung with the magical dick.” 

“Oh, is that what they call me?” 

“Well, I don’t-” 

“You just did.” 

“I don’t but rumour has it... Of course, I don’t believe a word.” 

“There are rumours going around that I have a magical dick and you don’t believe them... You know there’s one way to know for sure?” 

You turned to him, then, stared into his eyes – wide, innocent, as if he wasn’t just asking you to fuck him without even knowing your name – and scoffed. 

“No, thanks. I have a boyfriend.” 

“And does he have a magical dick?” 

You didn’t hesitate, not really, not for more than half a second, but it was enough. 

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s a real shame. You want my number so you can pass it on to him? Maybe I could give him some tips?” 

“Ugh, goodbye, Taehyung.” 

You pushed yourself off the wall and made your way through the room, but he followed after you. 

“Or,” he continued. “You could just take my number and not pass it on, maybe keep it for yourself. In case of an emergency or-” 

“Emergency? What emergency might I possibly ever have that I would require your assistance?” 

He leant down, so close that you could smell his shampoo and his drink on his breath. His cheek barely brushed yours as he brought his lips to your ear. 

“Maybe your boyfriend with the disappointing dick can’t get you off and you’re so on edge that you think, god I’d do anything, anything, to come right now, but you can’t. Then you’re lying there, hot and bothered and unsatisfied, yearning for something, someone, to come and sort you out, to show you the kind of pleasure you’ve not even ever dreamt of. And you think of me, and my magical dick, and you think, oh how I wish I’d taken his number; if I had his number, I’d call him right no-” 

You put a hand against his chest and pushed him back.  

“I’m not taking your number and I’m not going to call you. This-” you gestured broadly to him “this doesn’t work on me. You’re a fuckboy and I don’t fuck with fuckboys. Goodbye.” 

As you walked away from him for the second time, he didn’t follow and you had to stop yourself turning around to see if he was still looking at you. It didn’t matter if he was or not, but you liked the idea of denying the undeniable man, of being one person he couldn’t charm, couldn’t win over. You didn’t care if his dick really was magic or not because you knew you would never be finding out.  

* * *  

The next time you saw him was a few weeks later, at a party. He was on the sofa, slouching low, an empty glass held slack in his hand, dangling at the end of his wrist. He wasn’t talking to anyone, not making moves or scanning for prey; just sitting, staring into space. You turned away from him; you didn’t want to think about a sex god right now; you didn’t want to think about sex full-stop. You ideally wanted to not think at all. You left the room. 

Later that night, when you went back inside, you saw him again. He was still sitting on the sofa, empty glass (the same one?) in hand, still staring into space. You briefly wondered if he was on drugs and, if he were, whether that was deliberate or he’d had his drink spiked. Most people seemed to be ignoring him, or they hadn’t noticed him at all. You sat down next to him. 

“No conquest tonight?” 

“Nope.” 

“What? Not even one? You can’t be telling me your magical dick would miss an opportunity like this: all these people, drinks flowing, inhibitio-” 

“I said no.” 

He tipped his head over the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. 

“Are you ok?” 

“Yep.” 

“Are you lying?” 

“Yep.” 

You had to stifle a giggle and take a pause before you continued. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve had your heartbroken. Mr Magical Dick, Mr Fuck Anything That Moves, Mr Don’t Keep Anyone Around For More Than Two Weeks has had his little heart broken?” 

You could see his jaw work as he tongued at the inside of his cheek, as if deliberating whether or not he would confide in you. 

“In a manner of speaking.” 

The way you gasped was uncharitable, and on a different night, you might have been less callous, but misery loves company and you were delighted to find out that someone else – Kim Taehyung at that – was having relationship problems. You were just fixing on your best retort, tidying it up on the tip of your tongue when he spoke again. 

“Before you say whatever clever remark you’re currently labouring over, my fucking grandmother died, ok? So save it.” 

“Oh.” Surprised didn’t even come close. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

He stood and walked away but you followed him, up the stairs and into an empty bedroom where he collapsed on the bed. You followed him in and shut the door behind you, but stayed next to it, unsure what to say or do. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ventured. 

“No.” 

“Do you want to drink about it?” 

He lifted the empty glass in his hand as if he were about to take a sip and then held it out to you. 

“Sure.” 

“Ok, uh, stay here then and I’ll be back.” 

When you returned to the bedroom (bottle of unfortunately cheap vodka in hand), you thought he must have left: the bed was empty. Then you saw his feet poking out from the other side and found him lying on the floor. You took his glass, poured him a drink, and watched him as he knocked it back. He grimaced and looked at you. 

“This is horrible.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I figured it wouldn’t be missed. Sorry.” 

He held his glass up for more. 

You sat, drinking in silence. You didn’t know what to say to him and he was obviously not interested in conversation so part of you wanted to leave him alone, but he hadn’t told you to leave, and he was still holding his glass out for more, and you didn’t really feel like he should’ve been alone. So, you stayed. It was nice, actually. You hadn’t really been in the mood for a party – you had just wanted to get out – so you were enjoying the quiet. You were enjoying the way the vodka was making you warm, edges all fuzzy and soft, the noise far away.  

“She basically raised me.” 

His voice was quiet and thick; you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or just talking.  

“Yeah?”  

“She-” 

He looked at you then, his eyes not quite focusing, and stopped talking. 

“You can tell me about her, if you want.” 

He shook his head with a groan and drew his knees up to his chest, dropping his head between them.  

“I’m going to go home,” he said after another short while had passed. 

“You sure?” 

He nodded. 

“Can you get home ok? Did you need me to get you a taxi or call someone?” 

He shook his head and fished his phone out of his pocket, waving it at you, unlocking it to order a car. You almost didn’t reach out for it, but you knew you would feel responsible if something happened, so you took his phone and entered your number into it. 

“Please let me know when you have got home safe, ok?” 

He looks at you, suspicious, and then playful as that all-too-familiar smirk returns to his lips. 

“It was all a ruse, huh? Get me drunk and give me your number under the pretence of concern for me, huh? I knew you wanted me.” 

“What I want, Taehyung, is to not be the last person to see you alive and the subsequent subject of a murder investigation.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You’re the one who calls me magic dick...” 

He winked at you and then turned, waving a hand in your direction, stumbling down the stairs. You figured you might as well call it a night yourself.  

You were back in your apartment, washed and undressed, tapping impatiently at the side of your phone, not sure if you should wait to hear from Taehyung or assume that he’d forgotten and just go to sleep yourself. Then a message came in from an unknown number. 

A head shot, but with enough of his shoulders displayed to make it clear he was topless, his black hair splayed on the pillow behind his head. He had his eyes closed, his fingers in a V over his mouth. 

???: Didn’t die. 

???: Unlike my grandma 🙁 

You choked on surprised laughter. 

y/n: Glad you got home ok. Sorry about your gma 🙁 

* * *  

Your phone rang the next evening while you were making tea and you answered without looking who was calling. 

“Hello?” 

“What the fuck is this I hear about you and Kim Taehyung?” 

It was your boyfriend. 

“Uh, I don’t know; what did you hear?” 

“Apparently, you’re fucking.” 

“WHAT?!”  

“Apparently, when you were out last night, you and Taehyung went into a bedroom for a very long time and he came out looking very pleased with himself.” 

“Ok and? That means we’re fucking, does it?” 

“I don’t know; I’m asking you.” 

“Ok, well, no, we didn’t. We didn’t really do anything. We just sat and drank.” 

“What do you mean you just sat and drank? What even is that?” 

“I mean we literally sat and drank. I wasn’t in a good mood and neither was he, so I nicked a bottle of vodka from the kitchen and we sat in the dark, in silence, drinking it. That’s it.” 

There was an aggrieved sigh from the other end of the phone. 

“So, it’s my fault, is it? Is that what this is about? You trying to make me jealous or some sh-” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m supposed to believe it’s just a coincidence that, almost immediately after we have an argument about me not going down on you, you end up at a party with the most notorious fuckboy in the fucking country?” 

You could feel anger swelling within you, sweat pricking on your back and in your palms. 

“Believe what you want. I’m telling you nothing happened.” 

You hung up. You were not about to be accused of cheating by a guy who, frankly, already owed you an apology. As if you would’ve done that. Even if you had been single, you wouldn’t have slept with Taehyung – not ever, but certainly not last night. You had a little more decency than that. Hell, even Taehyung had more decency than that. You tried to push it from your mind; if you had been your boyfriend, maybe you would’ve thought it, too, or at least, felt insecure about it or unsure. You could admit that it didn’t necessarily look great – you were very aware of Taehyung’s reputation and maybe you should have considered that before shutting yourself in a room with him. But you also knew you hadn’t done anything wrong. So you were prepared to let it blow over.  

* * *  

Taehyung: You coming tonight? 

y/n: Coming where? 

Taehyung: Jimin’s party? 

y/n: 🤷‍♀️ not invited 

Taehyung: Ok, I’m inviting you. 

Taehyung: So you coming? 

y/n: Can’t. Have a date 

Taehyung: You dumped disappointing dick??!!! 😄😄😄 

y/n: No. 

y/n: He’s still my boyfriend. My date is with him. 

Taehyung: Boo 😒 let me know when you finally leave him 

y/n: Fuck off, taehyung 

* * *  

You didn’t see him for a few weeks after that, until you found yourself actually searching for him, peeking into dark corners in clubs and bars to see if he was there. You weren’t sure why you did; you weren’t friends and you certainly weren’t interested in him. But you were intrigued. You always assumed people like him were shallow – truly of the no thoughts, head empty kind. You hadn’t really considered that he might be a real person under there somewhere. Albeit a smug, arrogant, charmless, shameless person. Who may or may not have had a magic dick. 

You thought about what your friend had said, the first time you met Taehyung. How she had cried, not because she liked him, not because he broke her heart, but because she would never get to sleep with him again. You couldn’t imagine it, sex that good. Not that the sex you had was bad (it wasn’t), it was good, even, but you couldn’t imagine it being so good, so much better than now that it would inspire such a reaction.  

You began to think about it more and more as things with your boyfriend went from bad to worse.  

The club was hot and loud and you were happy to be drunk and dancing. Happy, that is, until you weren’t. Your phone buzzed once, twice, three times, four times. You knew it was your boyfriend and you knew it was because you were out without him. Which was kind of the whole point; you didn’t want to speak to him. 

You wandered outside to the smoking area, for some air, to scan your eyes over your boyfriend’s messages and see if there was anything worth replying to. And there was Taehyung. He hadn’t seen you yet and you knew you had only a few seconds before he turned around and noticed you. You realised, with what might have been clarity or might have been too much gin, that of all the people in all the world that you might speak to about your problems, Taehyung was probably the best: experienced, not your friend, you didn’t care about his opinion of you, and he didn’t think much of your boyfriend. 

“Hey, Taehyung,” you called as you approached.  

He turned and his smug, little smirk turned into a genuine smile when he saw you. 

“Y/n! It’s been a while. Still being disappointed in the bedroom?” 

You almost changed your mind. 

“Shut up, Taehyung. I have to ask you something.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“You have a lot of sex, right? Like, a lot of sex with a lot of different wome-... people? Right?” 

He shrugged. 

“Some, sure. Maybe a lot. Depends who’s asking.” 

“Whatever, you know what I mean. When you have sex with someone with a... with uh, a vulva, do you go down on them?” 

He looked at you as if you had suddenly grown another head and, when he answered, he spoke slowly, as if you were an idiot. 

“Yes, if they have a pussy, I go down on them.” 

“Always? Like, every time?” 

“Well, I guess probably not 100% of the time, but... I don’t know, 95?” 

This was not the answer you had been hoping for.  

“Why are you a-” He cut himself off with a gasp and looked at you, shock and glee in equal measure on his face. “Does Disappointing Dick not go down on you?” 

You blushed furiously, your face hot, and stomped your foot, shushing him viciously. 

“No,” you admitted, through gritted teeth. “No, he doesn’t. Not ever.” 

“Not ever?” 

“Not ever.” 

“Like, not even a little?” 

“I said not ever! What do you not understand about those words?” 

“Why?” 

“You mean why doesn’t he?” You shrugged, trying to appear more unbothered than you were. “He says he doesn’t like it.” 

“Doesn’t like it? Is he gay?” 

You rolled your eyes and turned away with a groan, intending to drop it, but he grabbed your arm and turned you back. 

“I’m being serious. If he’s not going down on you, he can’t be that into pussy. Is it just you or was he the same with previous partners?” 

“He says it’s everyone, not just me. He says he just doesn’t like it.” 

“Has he tried? With you, I mean?” 

You grimaced at the memory. 

“Once.” 

“And how was it?” 

“Awful. I couldn’t relax because all I could think about was how much he didn’t want to do it and he was so awkward and tentative and then he got annoyed because I wasn’t enjoying-” 

“He got annoyed?” 

“Yeah.” 

Taehyung’s brows came over his eyes and his lips pouted forward. He looked at you, thinking carefully. 

“Do you go down on him?” 

“Well, yeah, but I like doing it so it’s not an issue.” 

“But him not going down on you is an issue?” 

“Yes. I know I shouldn’t make it a big deal and maybe it’s not and I’m just being selfis-” 

He held up a hand to cut you off before you could even finish the word. 

“You’ve done things you aren’t that keen on in bed, right?” 

“Uh, wh- what do you mean? No one’s ever forced me to do-” 

“No, I don’t mean that. I just mean... There are some positions you like more than others, yeah? Or maybe he likes to fuck in the shower but you prefer not to or he likes morning sex and you don’t really, but you sometimes do it anyway, even though it’s not your favourite thing?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“So why do you do them?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well if they’re not really top of your list, why do you do them at all? Why not just say no and only do it how you want?” 

“Because it’s not just about me. It’s about them, too, and I want them to have a good time. And, ok, maybe we do it that way this time, and next time, we’ll do it my way.” 

“Exactly.” 

“I don’t see your point.” 

“My point is that, even if eating your pussy isn’t his favourite thing to do, he should still do it because it’s something that you like and that makes you feel good and he should care about that.” 

“You care, do you? About all the people you have sex with?” 

“Yes, I do.” His eyes were sharp, his lips almost sneering. He seemed annoyed but you couldn’t work out why. “Why are you asking me about this anyway? Want me to give you what you’re missing?” 

You punched him in the arm, a little harder than you’d intended, and he scowled, giving the area a rub. 

“No. Why would you ask me that? Of course, I fucking don’t. I have a boyfriend.” 

“Yeah. And maybe you shouldn’t.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

He lifts an eyebrow at you, disbelief and impatience clear on his face. 

“You know what I mean. And you know I’m always here for you.” 

For one second, you really thought he was being nice and thoughtful; you thought he might be treating you like a friend. And then reality came back to you and you realised precisely what he meant. You punched him in the arm again.  

“Fuck off, Taehyung. I’m not fucking you.” 

“That’s not what I offered. Come on, sweetheart-” 

“Don’t fucking call me that!”  

“Y/n, seriously.”  

He cradled your cheek with his hand and looked closely at you. His brown eyes were so warm, inviting, so wide and open and sweet that you couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth next.  

“What’s a little oral between friends? Let me show you your pretty little pussy’s worth wanting.” 

“Ugh!” 

You ripped your face away from his hand and stalked off, even as he called after you. The juxtaposition of that cute, teddy-bear face and his fucking depravity would give you whiplash. You told yourself that’s what it was; that he was confusing and you didn’t know how to take him, didn’t know if you could trust him. That’s why you could feel a cold stone of anxiety sinking in your stomach; you were discombobulated, that’s all. You were drunk. He had knocked you off kilter.  

You were fine. 

The next day, Taehyung messaged you. 

Taehyung: I’m sorry for overstepping, ok?  

You didn’t have time to read the rest before he was video-calling you. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“You haven’t even given me three seconds to read your messages yet.” 

“I know, but it said you read them so I knew you were looking at your phone and I wanted to speak to you.” 

“I don’t know if that’s smart or creepy.” 

You could tell he shrugged by the jolt of the camera. 

“What do you want, then? You’ve already apologised.” 

“I don’t want to apologise. Not really... Well, I do if I made you uncomfortable. I am sorry if I did but I’m not going to apologise for anything else. Not even this... 

“No partner should ever make you feel weird or self-conscious or bad or insecure or anything like that. If you are putting your trust in someone, if you’re literally putting your body in their hands, they had better make damn fucking sure that they’re treating it right, that they’re taking care of you, that you feel good, that you feel better being with them than you do on your own. That’s all non-negotiable. It doesn’t sound like Dickless is doing that.” 

“What happened to Disappointing Dick?” 

“I demoted him. He doesn’t deserve a dick.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“I’m fucking serious. You deserve better.” 

You hung up on him. You didn’t want to hear it because you didn’t want to admit that it did make you feel bad; that you were self-conscious now; that something bad was definitely happening inside your brain and you didn’t, somehow, feel like you had the right to blame your boyfriend. 

Taehyung, persistent as ever, sent a text. 

Taehyung: I’m sorry if you’re upset but I’m also not sorry. You deserve better. You deserve to be feel like your body is perfect because it is. Your body is a site of worship and if he’s not praying to you, sacrificing to you, he’s blaspheming. You deserve to be fucked by someone who will recognise what you are, will recognise how lucky they are to be with you, will make sure they let you know just how desirable and sexy and fucking perfect you are. That's all. 

Y/n: You mean someone like you? 

Taehyung: 🙄🙄🙄 

Taehyung: NO. I’m not trying to fuck you; you’ve made your feelings on that abundantly clear. This is not about me at all. How many times do I have to say I’m serious about this? Your boyfriend is a sack of shit.  

You did not reply. 

* * *  

It was a Monday morning, hardly the highlight of anyone’s week, when you next ran into Taehyung. As you entered the café, you could see him, waiting for his coffee at the other end of the bar. You ignored him and placed your order, hoping he would be gone before you had finished.  

No such luck. Worse still, he immediately started talking to you. 

“I just have one question; will you let me ask one question?” 

“What?” 

“Are you prepared to go the rest of your life with no one going down on you?” 

“What?” 

You could feel your face heat and you glanced nervously around, hoping no one else had heard him. You were furious with him for bringing it up here, in public, first thing in the morning, but you were also not prepared for that question and a cold feeling of dread slipped through your veins like ice. 

“You’re in a relationship with this guy; at some point, eventually, you’ll get married, right? And that’s it, then; you’re staring down the barrel of what, 70 years without it? You’ve already had your last time. Do you remember it? Was it even good?” 

You knew it wasn’t because the last time anyone did it was the first – and only – time your boyfriend had and that had been an unmitigated disaster.  

“We’re not that serious, Taehyung. We’re not getting married.” 

“Maybe not now, but if you don’t break up, that’s where you’re headed, isn’t it? Is it really something you’re willing to give up forever? For him?”  

Your coffee had arrived and you had hoped you could take it and run, but Taehyung picked up your cup with his spare hand and wandered towards a spare table.  

“I don’t even know why you care so much,” you hissed as you sat opposite him at the table. 

“I don’t know why you don’t. You asked me for a reason and you are apparently completely unwilling to listen to anything. Is what I’m saying so radical? What do your other friends say?” 

You couldn’t answer that question because you hadn’t told anyone else. It was too embarrassing.  

“Have you even told anyone else?” 

“No.” 

“Then why me? Because I’m just some disgusting, shallow fuckboy whose opinion you don’t care about except when it might benefit you? Because you expected me to say that I don’t go down on the women I sleep with? Expected me to make some crude joke or cruel comment about them? Because you think that, just because I sleep with a lot of people, I must not respect them enough to treat them right? All of the above?” 

The silence between the two of you was thick, untouched by the noise and bustle of the café around you. You couldn’t deny that basically everything he had said was true, but hearing him say it made you feel thoroughly shamed. 

“I’m not offended,” he continued. “Because I know that none of that is true, as does everyone who actually knows me. You haven’t bothered to get to know me-” 

“Yeah because all you do is try to get in my pants!” 

“How is that true? Did I not just tell you that I’m not trying to fuck you? That this isn’t about me? Contrary to your beliefs, you are actually not some kind of irresistible siren whom I will make it my life mission to bed. I can live without fucking you, thank you very much. And you think I’m arrogant.” 

“I don’t think I’m irresistible,” you protested weakly.  

“I’m not interested in arguing with you. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He paused to give you a dramatic, over the top, sexy wink and you couldn’t stop yourself rolling your eyes. “But, for the millionth time, I am serious about this. And you need to get serious about it. Here, enjoy your coffee, sweetheart.” 

He slid your cup towards you, stood, and left before you could tell him off for calling you that again. You were rattled and frustrated and couldn’t stop thinking about the rest of your life.  

You couldn’t stop thinking about it that day or that week or even into the next week. You saw your boyfriend three times and had sex that you couldn’t enjoy because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.  

It was the last time, with him pounding away inside you, that he finally noticed. 

“Hey, y/n.”  

He slowed, but didn’t stop.  

“Where have you gone? I feel like you’re not there.” 

You dragged your eyes back into focus, onto him. 

“Do you think you’ll ever like it?” 

He frowned, confused, and came to a stop, resting his weight on you a little. 

“Like what? What are you talking about?” 

“Oral.”  

He groaned and you knew, even though you couldn’t see his face as he rested his forehead on your clavicle, that he was rolling his eyes. 

“Do we have to talk about this again? I feel like this is all we ever talk about and I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“I want you to give me a reason! Tell me why you won’t do it!” 

He rolled away, slipping out of you, and sat up and you pushed yourself upright next to him. He had never really given you an answer, other than that he ‘just doesn’t like it’ and you thought this little pause might be him finally deciding to tell you. 

“Tell me why it matters so much!” he countered and your hope deflated. “I get you off, don’t I? It’s not like I’m selfish. Why do you need me to do it so badly?” 

“Because I like it! Because I do things for you! Because... Because it makes me feel bad that you don’t.” 

“Oh I make you feel bad? All this time I spend trying to make you feel good-” 

“I don’t! I don’t feel good! I don’t feel good because you make me feel like there must be something wrong with me! No one else has ever had a problem with it-” 

“Now who’s making who feel bad? If everyone else you’ve fucked likes it so much, why don’t you just go and ask them to do it?” 

“What?” 

“Well, if they all love doing it so much and you need it so fucking desperately, why not ask them?” 

“Are you serious right now?” 

His jaw dropped as if you’d just hit him. 

“Of course I’m not fucking serious! Are you joking? You’re my fucking girlfriend! As if I would let you do that! I don’t understand why you can’t just be happy with what we have.” 

He was standing and putting his feet back into his boxers and trousers. You didn’t want him to leave. Because you wanted him to stay and change his mind. You wanted him to suddenly turn around and say, actually, I was wrong, please allow me to go down on you for hours and hours... You knew he wouldn’t. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took your hand. 

“Do you love me?” 

At that moment, no, you truly didn’t. It took all your strength to look him in the eye and answer. 

“Yes, of course.” 

He kissed you and told you the same and then he told you to get some rest and sleep on it and that things would look better in the morning.  

You had had this argument enough times to know that it wouldn’t. Things would look the same in the morning. In actual fact, they looked worse.  

You still couldn’t get Taehyung’s words out of your mind, any of them. The idea of anyone worshipping you was faintly absurd, a rhetorical flourish you’re sure he didn’t mean literally, but he seemed so sincere and, well, they didn’t say he had a magical dick for nothing.  

You called Tara.  

“Ok, I need you to be really real with me and also to not ever tell anyone I asked you this.” 

“Oh my god, the intrigue... Go on.” 

“Just exactly how good is Taehyung in bed?” 

She cackled loudly down the phone and then sighed, suddenly wistful. 

“Still, by far, the best I have ever had. I still miss him.” 

“Ok, but I don’t know how good the other people you’ve slept with are. I need like, some objective measure-” 

“Why? Are you planning to sleep with him?” 

“No! God no! I just don’t believe that what people say about him can be true, so I’m … I don’t know... checking...” 

Her responding hum sounded unconvinced. 

“Well, he once made me come for like, two straight minutes. I thought I was going to die and I could barely walk the next day; every muscle in my body was sore.” 

“Is that... good?” 

“YES! I meant it when I said you shouldn’t turn him down if he ever offers. I have never had as many orgasms in one night as when I was with him. He just... He fucking loves it and he loves you when he’s fucking you. He kind of takes it almost weirdly seriously? But like, in a good way. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. I may have been drunk at the bar that time, but I honestly could still cry about how much I miss fucking him.”  

“Jesus.” 

“Not even he can help me, y/n.”  

“Ok, well, thanks. I guess.” 

“Did that help? I seriously think you should fuck him; I promise I won’t even be jealous because it is truly something I think everyone should get to experience at least once.”  

“I am not sure that’s a normal thing to say about someone.” 

“Taehyung is not normal.”  

* * *  

Two days. It was two days before you snapped. You took a deep breath, pressed call, and held the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Do you want to eat me out?” 

You could hear choking at the other end and a muffled ‘hold on’. You held on. 

“Sorry, what the fuck did you just ask me?”  

“I said, do you want to eat me out?” 

“Is this a hypothetical question? Because you know I have already made the offer.”  

“So you do want to eat me out?” 

“Again, is this hypothetical or are you asking me over right now?” 

Another deep breath. 

“I’m asking you over right now.” 

“Give me your address.” 

You paced up and down your living room, anxious, impatient. The sheets on the bed were clean; you’d showered and then done it again for no real reason other than an irrational fear of him thinking you were dirty; you hesitated over whether or not to light candles – it felt like too much, too romantic but would also mean you could turn out the lights, keep it dark... You were just about to find the matches again when there was a knock at the door.  

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” 

His grin was wide as he stepped over the threshold but it did nothing to put you at ease.  

“Do you want a drink or something?” you asked as you made your way to the kitchen. 

“Whatever you want. I am at your service.” 

He bowed, thrusting an arm elaborately to the side, his head dipping low as he bent deeply from the hips.  

“Please don’t be weird. Don’t make this weird.” 

“What’s weird about it? Like I said, what’s a little oral between friends? Platonic pussy eating, that’s all it is.” 

“I said don’t be weird! Why do you have to put it like that?” 

“Well, what is it if not that? I assume you don’t suddenly want to date me.” 

“God, no-” 

He raised his eyebrows at you, questioning, demanding. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry.” 

He shrugged. 

“It’s alright. I know you still think we’re not friends, but, just so you know, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t you?” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

He was suddenly close to you, a little too close. He looked down at you, and you expected to look up and see that arrogant smirk, the quirked eyebrow that he thought was so sexy, but he’s just smiling, sweet, cute.  

“I’m glad you called, though. Glad you’ve finally seen the light and ditched Dickless-” 

“I haven’t. We’re still together.” 

His eyebrows shot up, his mouth a little ‘o’ of surprise. 

“You haven’t? And yet here I am... I thought you were a good girl.” 

“Shut up, Taehyung. Stop trying to flirt with me.”  

You moved away from him, towards the fridge, and got out a bottle of wine, more for something to do than anything else. You poured two glasses and held one out to him.  

“How do you expect me to go down on you if you won’t even let me flirt with you a little?” 

“You don’t have to flirt with me if I’ve already agreed to it. There’s no need.” 

“That’s what you think flirting is? Just a way to get into somebody’s bed? That is not what flirting is for – well, not the only thing.” 

He considered you carefully over his wine glass and you could feel yourself blushing all over; he kept his gaze steady, his face betraying nothing, and then he held his hand out to you. You didn’t take it but you moved closer to him, just close enough that he could reach out and grab you by the waist, pulling you up against him.  

“Just so we’re clear,” he began, his voice low, his eyes pointedly fixed on yours. “If we do this and you don’t break up with Dickless, I will consider it a failure.” 

You didn’t know what you felt. What would make this a success? What would make it a failure? Did you want it to be good? So good you ended your relationship? Or did you want it to be disappointing, maybe literally anticlimactic, so that you could stay with him and not feel like you were missing out? You had absolutely no idea. You didn’t even really know why you were doing it. Was it a good idea? What had possessed you? All you knew was that it had to be done. Now or never. For once and for all.  

He placed his wine glass on the counter and slipped his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, his fingers just lightly grazing your skin. Your stomach twisted and you squirmed out of his grasp. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, trying to stop your heart racing.  

“What are you doing? Did you or did you not invite me over so I could go down on you?” 

“Well, yes, I did, but that doesn’t mean all of... All of that.” 

You heard him chuckle behind you and you turned slightly, just enough that you could see him run his hands through his hair and roll his eyes, the boxy grin back on his face.  

“Y’know, I’m starting to think that maybe you are the problem. At least a little bit.” 

When you didn’t move and didn’t respond, he sighed again, lightly exasperated. 

“Come here,” he commanded softly, holding his hands out to you. When you didn’t move, he walked towards you instead. He took your face in his hands and made you look at him. “Do you trust me?” 

When you didn’t answer, he shook your head lightly side to side.  

“I don’t mean like, trust me with your family secrets, trust me to take care of your pets while you’re on holiday. I mean... Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” 

You shook your head and he moved his face even closer.  

“Do you think I’m going to do something you don’t want?” 

You shook your head and he lightly pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Do you think I’m going to make you do something you don’t want?” 

You shook your head and he kissed your other cheek. 

“So, do you trust me?” 

You nodded, dumb with anticipation and tension, shocked at the way your body was responding to this, just this: he hadn’t even kissed you on the mouth but you were trembling, warm, wet.  

“Ok, then,” he whispered and he moved his hands down your body, then back up on the inside of your clothes. His hands were cold and you shivered against him, closing your eyes. 

“Look at me.”  

Your eyes flicked back to him and he kissed your lips, just barely, still looking you in the eye, and a whimper caught in your throat. He closed his eyes and pulled you closer, his lips pressing against yours now. He removed a hand from your waist and gently pressed his thumb against your chin, opening your mouth to allow his tongue inside. His kiss was warm and sweet with wine; his tongue was soft against yours, slow as he licked into your mouth and retreated. You chased after his mouth when his lips left yours and you could feel him smile as he let you close the distance and kiss him again. He ran his tongue along your bottom lip and sucked it gently, a barely perceptible pressure that made your knees tremble. 

You could feel all the heat rushing through your blood, flowering on the surface of your skin in warm blooms as you let yourself relax. All the tension you were holding melted away, evaporating on your skin, leaving you soft and pliant. A deep, dark want blossomed in you, its petals unfurling in your core, arousal first like dew drops, then like a sudden summer downpour buffeting the pale heads of roses. You had thought this would be quick, frantic with need, with guilt, with anxiety, but all of that was held at bay by the gentle way that Taehyung ran his tongue over yours, ran his hands over your body, held you just close enough that you could feel him against you but not so close you felt trapped.  

He moved from your mouth and placed kisses on your temple, your ear, your jaw. As he sucked kisses down your neck, you were so distracted that you didn’t notice him unclasp your bra, only aware when he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples, already hard. He moaned against your skin, his teeth sinking into your flesh as he pulled your hips against his. You gasped, both at the bite, and at the feeling of him, stiffening, growing against you. He ran his tongue over the indentations in your neck and you shivered.  

“Can I take your clothes off?”  

His voice was raspy and low in your ear as he tugged at the bottom of your shirt. You sighed a yes and looked into his eyes as his fingers worked on the buttons of your blouse. His eyes were soft, liquid, the light glinting off them in gold and honey. He took his time, each button slow, his eyes never leaving yours. He nudged your nose with his, licked your bottom lip, sank his teeth into it, sucked it into his mouth.  

He pushed your shirt off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then he pulled the straps of your bra down and it fell, too. He finally dropped his gaze and took in the sight of your naked torso, nipples taut, goosebumps spreading over the swell of your breasts as he gently took them in his hands, massaging, squeezing your nipples between his fingers. He hummed quietly.  

“Shall we go to the bedroom now?” 

You couldn’t speak, only nodded, and walked backwards until your legs hit your bed, then you let him lay you down. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked again, holding the edge of your skirt. Again, you nodded and he pulled gently, the fabric almost burning against your legs as it dragged. He kissed your feet and you squirmed. 

“Ticklish?” He grinned and licked the sole of your left foot from heel to toe with the tip of his tongue as you squealed.  

“Yes, I am!” you gasped. He chuckled and relented, trailing soft, wet kisses up your legs. You held your breath as he licked at your inner thighs, anticipating him at your core.  

But he wasn’t there. He slipped his hands underneath at the hips and lifted the fabric so he could lick the crease of your leg and then pulled it down so he could kiss across the waistband from hip bone to hip bone, but he didn’t touch you. Your heart was racing in your chest now; what was he waiting for?  

He hummed against your skin and moved above you, his hands on either side of your chest. He looked at you, almost quizzical for a second, and then that look faded into a smile that – had it been anyone else – you might’ve called adoring. He lowered his face to yours and kissed you. 

“Relax, y/n. I can feel your heart beating from here.”  

Resting his full weight on one hand, he placed the other between your breasts, atop your sternum, your heart pushing back, thumping against your ribs.  

“But aren’t you gonna...?”  

He kissed you again, forceful this time, leaving you breathless as he pulled away. 

“Yes, I am. But we’re doing it my way, ok? Just relax; I’m going to take good care of you.” 

He shuffled downwards, lips everywhere on his path down your neck, across your chest. You whined when he took your nipple in his mouth, your back arching into him as he sealed his teeth around it, his tongue lapping at your tightened bud. 

Everything was so slow. You felt like a frog in a pan; you hadn’t really noticed it building, this huge, hungry desire, but now you were drowning in it, burning, melting. It enveloped you, held you, suspended, cushioned in its warmth but needled by its intensity. It sent its buds out from your centre to your extremities, your fingers and toes tingling, your body trembling, your breath catching in your throat. Flowers of want blooming all over you, petals falling from Taehyung’s lips, soft and sweet and warm.  

You let out a long, shaky whine when he finally locked his fingers around your underwear and tugged them down, his hands sliding against your legs as he pulled them all the way off.  

“Taehyung,” you whispered as he pushed your legs apart, crawling back towards you.  

“Yes?” 

You didn’t know what to say. You knew there was something, something inside you that you wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t find the words. Everything was obscured by the veil of your greed, your craven yearning for him. You wanted his mouth on you so badly, wanted to be wanted. You remembered what he said about worship and a sudden panic sliced through you with painful clarity. 

“I-… What if it is me? What if there’s something wrong with me?”  

He pressed a soft kiss against your inner thigh and then loomed over you.  

“It’s not you, I promise.”  

He rested his forehead against yours, your noses pressed together, his hand on your cheek. 

“You’re perfect. Perfect, you hear me? If you’ve changed your mind about this, that’s ok-” 

“No, god no,” you answered quickly, immediately, absolutely sure that you wanted this, your nails digging into his arms. “Please...” 

He kissed you, slow, even slower than before, and he lowered his body down on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. It’s only then that you realised he was still fully dressed. And you were completely naked beneath him, so exposed and so vulnerable. You pushed him back, a light palm against his chest, and he looked at you, frowning. 

“What’s wrong?”  

You looked at his eyes, somehow both shining and dark at the same time; his pouty mouth just barely open; his hips pressing into yours; his erection hot and hard against you, almost exactly where it needed to be, so you could just tip your hips and rub yourself on him, feel the friction you were desperate for. He looked at you so openly and it wasn’t like you expected it to be at all. None of it was. You thought he would be arrogant, cocksure, swaggering; you thought he would be rough, wild, frenetic; you thought it was all bluster and machismo, that he’d keep calling you ‘baby’ and asking how you liked it and trying to make you scream. You hadn’t even really believed that he would get you there. Whether due to you or to him, you had thought it probably wouldn’t happen. Your boyfriend had made you too self-conscious; Taehyung wouldn’t put the effort in or wouldn’t know what to do.  

But it wasn’t like that at all. He looked at you questioningly, searchingly, like he actually cared. And he had moved so slowly, so patiently; he was rock-hard against you, but hadn’t even mentioned it. He hadn’t even taken his clothes off. This was the first time he’d even really pressed his hips against you so you could feel him. You closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing, tried to feel yourself in your body. You could feel the ghost of his breath over your face, his hand curled around your shoulder, fingers dancing lightly over your skin. There was the weight of his body, the warmth of it. You wanted to feel his skin in yours. 

“Take your clothes off,” you whispered, opening your eyes to look at him.  

He grinned and sat back on his knees, unbuttoning his shirt. You reached out to unzip his trousers but he batted your hand away. He unzipped them himself and stood to step out of them.  

“Better?” he asked, already making his way back to you, but shook your head. 

“No. Everything.”  

His eyebrows raised just a hair and he paused, considering you. 

“You know this is not about me, right?” 

“I know. I just want to see you.”  

He nodded slowly and hooked his thumbs into boxers, sliding them down and stepping out. His dick was wet with pre-cum and you couldn’t believe he could be so hard when you hadn’t even touched him, when he had barely touched you. He knelt at the end of the bed and grabbed your ankles, slowly pulling you down, down, down, until you were just barely still lying on it, your feet touching the floor until he spread your thighs to the side, as wide as they could go.  

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” he asked, his words muffled as he kissed your thigh. 

“Yes, fuck. Yes, Taehyung. Please.”  

He was still slow. Slow as he pressed kisses against your lips, on your mound, back out to the crease of your hip, your thighs. You whined when he ran his fingers through your folds, hearing the slick of your arousal as he dragged up to your clit and down again, as he opened you up. He pressed a kiss to your clit and you jumped, swallowing hard, trying to catch your breath as he opened his lips and sucked. He laved over your clit with the soft, flat pad of his tongue and you sighed, having forgotten this feeling. 

“Talk to me,” he said softly, sprinkling kisses across your legs, your mound, your lips. “Tell me what works for you, what doesn’t.”  

But you couldn’t speak. You moaned and mewled and whimpered, but no words would come. You were swept away on a wave of pleasure, not in the room anymore, but somewhere else, somewhere nothing else existed – just you and Taehyung and this bed. You wanted to tell him yes, like that, more, yes, please, please, please, but the air was tight in your lungs, stuck in your throat, whipped away as it left your mouth in a strangled whine. 

He moaned loudly as he licked over your slit, drinking you in.  

“Y/n.” 

His breath was warm, brushing against your flushed skin. 

“You taste so good, y/n. I fucking knew you would.”  

He moved his mouth away again, biting down on the soft flesh of your inner thigh as he slipped first one and then two fingers into your wet heat. You whined, greedy, needy, grinding your hips, trying to feel some friction back on your clit. Taehyung hummed against your skin and you felt his lips stretch into a smile.  

“Don’t hold back, y/n. I love the way you sound.”  

And you didn’t. You let yourself go, let yourself fall into it, abandoned yourself to him. With his fingers still inside you and his mouth back, sealed against your clit, his tongue alternately flicking hard circles around it, then licking softly over it, you felt your body shuddering to its climax. You expected him to stop as your walls clenched hard on his fingers, to stop when your legs clamped over his ears, to stop when you writhed beneath him, fully overwhelmed as wave after wave swamped you with pleasure.  

But he didn’t. He thrummed his fingers hard against your front wall, not letting you squeeze them out. He kept his mouth on you, your slick and his spit mixing as you came, gushing around him. When you finally cried out, cursing him, calling his name, he slowed, but he still didn’t stop, and you felt your whole body convulse under him. With a flash of clarity, you remembered what Tara had said, and you couldn’t believe it, knew you couldn’t take it, knew this would kill you if it went on any longer.  

But it did. And you didn’t die. You felt yourself floating, your limbs weightless, your head dizzy as you climbed to your second peak, your, soft, weak body tightening, pulling in all directions at once, your skin burning, your heart like a hummingbird’s, blood roaring in your ears like the waves of the ocean. Your hands twisted in the bedsheets as you came, the noises you were making nothing short of animal.  

When you flopped, spent, melting into the mattress, you pushed your fingers through Taehyung’s hair and tugged, your body screaming with over-stimulation, your bed and thighs soaked. You could hardly see; nothing but flashing lights in front of you, stars shining and twinkling on your ceiling, swirling, disappearing and reappearing like a kaleidoscope.  

“Taehyung,” you panted, weak and quiet. “Stop.” 

He was immediately still, those wide, open eyes looking up at you. You whimpered as he pulled his fingers from you and you fell, slithering like a slinky from the bed and into his arms. He held you tight, pushed your hair from your face and kissed your forehead. 

“You ok?” 

You looked up at him, blinking hard to stop your vision swimming. He was shiny and sticky all around his mouth, all over his chin. Those deep, autumn eyes all dark now, swirling black, glazed and penetrating. You summoned what strength you could and crashed your lips against him. You could taste yourself on him and you knew he was right. You weren’t the problem. It wasn’t you. And it certainly wasn’t this.  

“Fuck me, please,” you asked, taking his face between your palms. “Please, Taehyung.”  

He started shaking his head, his lip bitten between his teeth. 

“That’s not what- you don’t have to- we don’t have to do that.” 

“I want to. I want to. Please.” 

You twisted in his lap so you were straddling him, his cock leaking against you between your bodies.  

“If you want to,” you added. “I... Only if you want to.” 

He laughed, deep-throated and rich – you could feel it rumble in his chest.  

“Oh I absolutely want to but this is... Are you sure you want to? I mean... You are still with Dickless and this-” 

“Don’t fucking talk about him. I don’t want to think about him. Please, Taehyung.” You pressed another kiss against his lips, insistent, urgent. “I want you. I just want you.”  

He moaned against your mouth, his arms encircling your waist, his tongue encroaching. Then he rolled and lay you down, the carpet surprisingly soft against your skin.  

“I just,” he said, his mouth wandering all over you, slowly making his way down. “I just want one more taste. Please.”  

He looked at you, waiting. He licked his lips and held the bottom one tight in his teeth. You could see him swallow hard, his breathing deep and heavy. You nodded and dropped your head back, keening as he licked through your folds, humming against your clit, smacking his lips as he raised himself back on his hands and knees.  

“I told you you were fucking perfect.”  

You moved backwards, out from underneath his arms and gave yourself carpet burn on your knees as you shuffled to the bedside table, rifling for the box of condoms you kept there. You grabbed the whole thing, crawled back to Taehyung and emptied it onto the floor. He laughed again. 

“Sweetheart, even for me, that is truly ambitious.” 

“Shut up.” 

You fell back, your chest still heaving, your limbs still trembling, as he tore one open and rolled it down his length. He paused, his dick in his hand, held at your waiting entrance and he looked at you. 

“For god’s sake, Taehyung, don’t ask me if I’m sure. Please just please just fuckin- ahh...” 

He didn’t wait for you to finish. He plunged into your soft, wet cunt and moaned. 

“Fuck. Please tell me that feels good.” 

“It feels fucking incredible.”  

He grabbed at the backs of your thighs and lifted, pushing them up and out, keeping hold of them as he began to move. Smooth and fluid, his hips rolled. Your cunt, wet and soft and sweet, held him tight, moulded to his cock, your walls fluttering around him. Heat radiated from your centre, a fire burning there, flames licking up your body. You were so sensitive, close again almost immediately, whimpering with every thrust.  

You grabbed at him, pulling him down, your hand around his neck to bring him closer and closer ’til you could kiss him. Your tongues tangled and the adjusted angle made you moan straight into his mouth. You could still taste the wine, still taste yourself on him and with a shock of remembrance, you whined. This was what you loved; this was what you had been missing. The proof of the pudding: your arousal all over his face made you hot with a sudden rush. Your boyfriend could never be enough. Because it wasn’t just about you and your desire; it was about his, too. And he didn’t have it, not like this. Not like Taehyung. The strangled moans and gutteral groans escaping his throat, the rumble in his chest as he breathed ragged and uneven made you shaky with feeling. Feeling wanted in your entirety. Wanted in your animal mess. Wanted from head to toe. Inside and out. No holds barred. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Fuck, y/n, yeah? Tell me- tell me...”  

He kissed your lips and your cheek, his hand skirting your body and grabbing at your thigh, pushing further, holding tighter, his thrusts faster now, harder, his pelvis tantalisingly close to your clit. You put a hand down between you, circling slowly, your third orgasm bubbling through your veins.  

“You feel so good,” you breathed. “Fuck, so, so-… ah... shit.”  

Already there, your toes curling, Taehyung hissing, cursing as you squeezed him tight inside you, pleasure blazed through you like a forest fire, every inch of you alight and burning, sparking, fireworks bursting all over you, inside you, filling your vision with dizzying colour. Taehyung was gasping, stuttering, his fingers digging into you, his teeth biting hard. 

“Come, Taehyung,” you whispered to him, your voice wobbling, shaking like the rest of you.  

“I w-wanna-” he stammered. “I wa- wan-” 

“No, just come. For me.” 

You brought your mouth to his, pulling his bottom lip with your teeth, sucking gently. 

“Oh, fuck.”  

He juddered, thrusting hard as he let himself go, gave himself to you, gave in. He let himself flop against you for a moment, just a moment, and then he pushed himself up on his hands, looking down at where you bodies met, still together. He rolled his hips one last time and you mewled, over-sensitive, overwraught. He grinned and pulled back, turning away from you as he took off and disposed of the condom.  

He crawled back to you and pulled you onto your side so you were facing each other. He knocked a leg between yours and traced the curve of your body; you shivered, even his hands feeling like fire against you. He kissed you, once, and then again, and then a third time.  

“You’re perfect,” he said, barely moving his mouth far enough from yours to speak, his words mumbled, muffled. “You’re fucking perfect. You understand?”  

You couldn’t look him in the eye, suddenly self-conscious, suddenly so embarrassed at what you had done. Embarrassed that you had needed this, needed him to tell you that, needed him to show you that you could be wanted how you wanted to be wanted, desired in the way you wanted, fucked like you wanted. You felt small and silly and stupid. That you had cheated on your boyfriend with the most promiscuous man on the planet just because you felt insecure. You shivered, but it wasn’t pleasure this time. You were suddenly cold and tired. Exhausted. Choked with emotions you didn’t want to admit.  

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” he said, softly, his lips against your hair now. “You ok?”  

“I don’t know.” 

Your voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, hardly audible beneath the thumping of your heart. 

“Talk to me...” 

“I feel so stupid.” 

“Why?”  

You had to think it through, carefully, how to say it, how to express it. 

“Because... I needed this. I didn’t know that I-… I-” 

You crumbled, dissolved into tears, embarrassing you further. You wanted to be swallowed whole, to sink into the ground, to dessicate and turn to dust. You couldn’t speak, shame dousing you, drowning you, your hitching, heaving breath barely enough. He let you cry and you were grateful for his patience... again. 

“You w-want me,” you said eventually, your voice thick, choked.  

“Yeah.” 

“You want me and h-he doesn’t. And I- I want to be w-wanted. I'm so... Am I undesirable?” 

“Categorically, demonstrably, absolutely not.” 

“Then why doesn’t he want me?” 

Taehyung held you tighter, pulled you closer, kissed the top of your head and stroked your back.  

“This is why I’ve been telling you to leave him, love. You shouldn’t feel like this. I’m sure he does want you, but if he can’t want you in the way that you want, in a way that makes you feel good, feel desirable, and cherished, and loved, then he shouldn’t have you.”  

He pulled back, holding your face to his, wiping your tears with his thumbs.  

“I want you. Believe me, I want you. I’ve just had you and I want you all over again. You should believe that; you deserve that. Don’t let him break you down. Don’t let him do this to you.”  

Your bottom lip wobbled as your eyes filled with tears again and he placed his thumb over it and his lips over that. He swiped his thumb across your mouth and kissed you as slowly as he had the very first time, his lips so soft, his mouth so sweet.  

“If you don’t believe me,” he said, his lips just ghosting over yours, his breath washing over your face. “I will happily show you again and again and again just how desirable you are. Just how perfect you are. It’s not hyperbole; you’re fucking perfect to me. I’ll show you.”  

And he did. 

Not just that night or the one after that or the one after that. He showed you repeatedly again and again until you started to believe it. Until you realised that you didn’t need him to show you anymore, just wanted him to. Just wanted him.  

You broke up with your boyfriend two weeks later. It was horrible and he was surprisingly vicious and you were surprisingly upset. But you knew you were right to do it and wished you had just done it earlier.  

y/n: I broke up with him. 

Taehyung: FINALLY 

Taehyung: Guess this means you don’t need me anymore... 

y/n: I didn’t say that. 

y/n: Come over? 

Taehyung: On my way 

Friendly Fire (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Hoseok/ Jungkook

Rating: 18+

Warnings: threesome (m/m/f), cum play, dirty talk, oral (male), oral (female), voyeurism, spanking, some ass play… er, yeah

Word Count: 10,430

Summary: The dynamic: Hoseok; your friend and previous fuck buddy. Jungkook; Hoseok’s roommate and subject of your massive crush. The scene: determined not to drunk-gush about your crush any more (to his face), you decide to seclude yourself from all campus parties. Until, of course, Hoseok guilts you into a favor. Things spiral from there.

Keep reading

to err is to love

synopsis: planning your twins' mario theme bday party with your baby daddy/ex husband makes you start to feel weird things .. but no, you will not walk down that path again !!!

word count: 6k

pairing: dilf!jk /ex husband!jk / ceo!jk x afab reader

genre: fluff, angst, comedy, jk and oc's rich friends spoil their kids 🙄, guest appearance from g idle and enha

authors note: if u have any comments plss put it in the asks bc this is a secondary account😭ily all, this may be a part of a series if the feedback is good. i have winter break for the next three weeks so im popping these fics out very quickly!

read the first drabble here!

to err is to love masterlist

They say you find the purest love on earth by looking into your mother's eyes- and you've never really understood that until you had your own kids.

The pure adoration you have for your children is unimaginable, indescribable, unmeasurable. Your heart aches, is inter-permeated with the sweetest types of love when you think about your children. Menial tasks like simply waking them up for school in the morning, drool on the corner of their small mouths, have your very being beaming with captivation. Even the tiniest gesticulations have you enchanted, an absolute fool for your kids. It takes constant internal berating to remind yourself your kids need discipline, but it's instinctive of you to spoil them, which is precisely why you often find yourself begging your friends to join the three of you in a late night game of Among Us.

Your love for your children is also why you agreed to co habitat with your ex-husband Jungkook.

You and Jungkook were victims of a young pregnancy, one that had you ripping your hair out when you peed on that stupid stick. Though not a teenage pregnancy, getting pregnant at the tender age of 22 wasn't the most ideal of situations. Who knew that such a horrific time in your life would turn into the greatest of blessings?

Jungkook was your first boyfriend; you consider him your first love, basically the only man in the world you have been in a serious relationship with.

The night after your second anniversary date, Jungkook decided that you had him way too obsessed to just let you waltz back into your home, practically having his balls in the palm of your hand. So he insisted that you stay in his car a little bit longer; he then abused his power as son of Jeon Enterprises to take you to one of his dad's luxury hotel rooms. Jeon Enterprises runs Korea's largest and most popular chain of hotels and casinos, and surely his father the CEO was livid once he discovered what his son had done.

His father called him up to his office, and Jungkook was gnawing on the inside of his cheeks when he took that elevator forty stories up. Jungkook took the berating pretty well- after all he had the best night of his life with the girl of his dreams. That was the second most angry he's ever seen his father.

The most angry he's ever seen his father was when he broke the news to his dad that you were pregnant. That day he took a pretty harsh beating that left his ass sore for weeks .

Flash forward seven years his dad is absolutely enamored with his grandchildren, being the principle contributor to how spoiled his kids are- but flash forward seven years later he's also lost you.

A couple years after your children were born, you and Jungkook had your dream wedding in Paris at only twenty four years of age, and three years after that was the grim and ugly divorce.

A series of grievances and humilation that were a result of your relationship left you so broken, and you would never forgive yourself if you allowed yourself to stay with him. For the sake of your children did your relationship remain amicable and cordial; you refused to let them grow up in a broken home.

Your little babies were Haru and Hina, and may or may not be named after your and Jungkook's favorite anime characters; but that's what the younger versions of yourselves decided on and are the names you've chosen for their precious little faces. Your fraternal twins are objectively the cutest little kids you've ever seen, even though you may be a teensy bit biased. Nonetheless the twins wonderfully compliment each other like the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwhich, which is sorta expected- they literally have the same DNA.

Time has flown by, with your kids entering first grade. Hina's a little clumsy, still falling over her own feet despite having fine tuned her motor skills for the past four years, but luckily Haru's always there to pick her up and wipe the dust from her knees. Even so, your kids are kids, and often bicker and quarrel with each other. Often did you find yourself dragging one twin to a corner of the house whilst Jungkook drags the other somewhere else, sitting them down and having that stern mom/dad talk which encouraged them to love and forgive each other (which may be hypocritical because their parents weren't even capable of doing so). A nasty fight had you and Jungkook almost violently tearing your kids away from each other when Haru dropped a banana right in front of Hina's cart in Mario Kart. just when she was about to get second place.

In fact, it had taken a whole week for Haru and Hina to agree on a shared birthday party theme for their sixth birthday. You were convinced that they would never come to a unaninmous agreement, and almost made the plan to go with the "beach" theme, which you really didn't want to do because that was boring. So you were absolutely delighted when they waddled towards you and Jungkook at the dining table and announced that they wanted a Nintendo theme birthday.

It's yours and Jungkook's deep and profound shared love for your children that have you working so hard to make this party a success. The clock reads 3:40 AM, T minus ten hours until the party starts. Albeit, it would have been so much easier to simply hire a professional party planner, but you both felt so much more accomplished doing it yourself. You and your ex husband Jungkook sit on the floor of your living room, systematically reviewing the checklist of tasks that need to be completed before the start of the party. A giant easel with a huge notepad stands in the middle of the room, and you use a fat ass sharpie to write everything down.

"You'll pick up the cake at ten?" you ask, words muffled from the sharpie cap in your mouth.

Jungkook shakes his head. "Namjoon hyung said he'll bring it, so I'm free to help set up the bouncy house when the guys arrive."

You nod, drawing a fat check mark next to the boxes that read 'cake' and 'bounce house'. You falter in your actions before pondering aloud. "Would it be fucked up to ask Jake and Heeseung to pick up the pizza?"

Jake and Heeseung were your kids' babysitters/tutors for when neither you or Jungkook could be home. Hey, your kids didn't have the new iPad 5's for no reason; work had to be accomplished. Jake and Heeseung were still college students, but a relationship based on courteous trust between you and them had flourished, so you and Jungkook both whole heartedly trusted them to watch over the twins. Jake and Heeseung love your kids, and your kids love them- maybe a little too much. Haru exposed Hina's crush on Heeseung, which made her dad have a splitting headache and Hina burst into tears while she rolled around on the carpet.

They are still broke college kids, so you did feel somewhat guilty asking them to participate in the preparations for the kids' party, hence why you're verbalizing the inquiry to Jungkook.

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Why would it be fucked up? We pay each of them fifty dollars an hour, so they better be willing to do us some favors every once in a while."

"You're right, and I know we can count on them. Can you ask them in the groupchat?"

Jungkook does so immediately, and you check off the box that reads 'pizza'. You skim over the other boxes, one reading 'costumes', which refers to the handmade Mario and Princess Peach costumes you ordered. You check the box off, the costumes sitting in a box at the corner of the room.

Face paint? Check. Your friend Miyeon said she was happy and willing to paint the kids' faces. You would just have to reimburse her for the price of the materials.

Yoshi and Bowser mascots? Check. Jungkook's friends Hobi and Jimin were forced agreed to put on the bulky costumes to entertain the kids.

Decorations? Check. You and Jungkook collaborated on a plethora of the cutest DIY decorations- and you were absolutely enthralled with how they turned out. You used old Amazon cardboard boxes to create the item boxes in Super Mario; you used little headbands from the dollar tree to create Mario and Luigi hats for all the guests. AndyYou were particularly proud of the turf you used to create a grass-esque backdrop for the photobooth.

Balloons? Check.

Bubble guns? Check

You plop down on your couch, sinking into the welcoming beige leather of the sofa. "I think we're ready," you mumble aloud, stretching out your poor back muscles that were aching from hunching over.

Before your children's father can even sneak a word in, you’re shifting your body so that your head rests on the armchair, yawning dramatically from the vexing lassitude. “G’night.”

Jungkook smiles bitterly to himself at the sweet sight of you drowsing off.

You're awake just enough to feel him gently lift you bridal style, as if you are as light as a feather before he tiptoes up the stairs, careful not to make any thumping sounds that would wake up the kids. This isn't out of the ordinary. Despite not being together, he found himself carrying you and your children back to your respective rooms quite often. Jungkook often returned home late at night. after a long day of work at Jeon Enterprises, to find you and your little twins asleep on the couch, the TV still playing reruns of Ninjago- the twins' favorite show. Quite frankly he's surprised that they didn't ask for a Ninjago or Lego theme party.

Seeing the way you had each twin snug to your sides, your chest rising and falling while light snores escaped your lips made his heart twist and turn in indescribable ways.

The situation at hand is no different. "Wanna sleep in my room tonight?" Jungkook inquires softly, makes you lazily shake your head. "Too intimate," you sleepily mumble. "We're not together anymore, Koo."

Jungkook bites back a response and silently acquiesces. He walks toward your bedroom instead of his, still with gentle steps to make sure his children don't abruptly wake from their sleep. He gently sets you down on your full sized bed, pulling your thick comforters over your body to shelter you from the cold.

Just as he's about to leave, your fingers are reaching out to tug onto the hem of his oversized black tee. "Just tonight," you murmur, eyes still closed.

Jungkook silently nods, slipping into the bed with you. His breath hitches in his throat when you roll over and lean your head in the crook of his armpit, your hand sneaking up to rest on his chest. The familiar and intoxicating scent of your vanilla body spray debilitates his senses and makes his head dizzy.

It takes him a while to fall asleep that night.

-

"What the fuck?!" the blaring screech of your voice rapidly pulls Jungkook from his slumber. He rubs the crust from his eyes with a fist before blinking at his panicking baby mama who is pacing around the room.

"Did we- did we sleep together?" you whisper yell, as if your previous scream didn't already wake the kids up.

Jungkook sighs at your overt reaction, knowing that it was too good to be true for you to ever warm up to him. "No," he groggily responds, sitting up and resting his back against the bed frame. "We just fell asleep next to each other," he clarifies, somewhat dejectedly.

You huff, a pointer finger and thumb coming up to massage your pounding temples. "We can't do stuff like that!" you hiss behind gritted teeth, your hands thrown down petulantly, an incredulous look on your face, which just makes Jungkook scoff.

Jungkook pushes the comforters aside, sitting on the edge of the bed where he just buries his face into his palms and groans. "Yes Y/N, this is the worst thing in the world! God forbid that you lie next to the father of your children!" he enunciates exasperatingly, irritated that you are so unnecessarily and dramatically pulling your hair out at the mere idea of falling asleep next to him! Like he hasn't seen you butt naked; like he wasn't front row at the birth of his children.

You shoot him a dirty look. "We are not fighting on the day of our children's birthday party," you say sternly, eyebrows creased to show him how serious you are.

"I wasn't the one that started it," is all he mumbles before exiting the room, shutting the door a teeny bit harder than usual, the echo of door slamming leaving you somewhat shaken up.

-

"Thank you so much for bringing the pizza," you smile warmly at Heeseung, one of your kids' babysitters, a stark contrast to when you violently snatch the pizza boxes out of his hand and scurry toward the dining room table to arrange the pizzas around the cake.

Heeseung and Jake awkwardly trail behind you, unsure of what to do when you're basically prancing around the house making sure everything is in order.

"The decorations look amazing Ms. L/N," Jake speaks up, marveling at the Nintendo theme party you've successfully put together. You really are satisfied with how everything turned out. From the giant blow up Mario water slide that cascades into the pool to the mini mushroom cake pops, everything is as pretty as planned. The dining table looks spectacular, the grass back drop you DIY-ed is behind a huge neon sign that reads Happy Birthday Haru and Hina! in the same font as the Super Mario logo.

The kids have yet to arrive, only your and Jungkook's friends are spread around the house; some sit at the coffee tables, others lounged around the couch, Hoseok and Jimin in the upstairs bathroom trying to squeeze themselves into their costumes.

"Thank you," you smile sweetly at the two boys. "Honestly I put so much into it I'm starting to feel like it's my party, but I'm really happy with how it turned out."

Heeseung and Jake politely chuckle along to your attempt of a cordial joke; they had to do stuff like that in order to kiss your ass. After all, you did bless them with a very generous fifty dollars per hour pay rate.

"We have a gift for the kids, by the way," Heeseung adds, holding up and presenting two identical chrome gift bags in his hands.

You shoot them a mother like smile. "Thank you so much, guys. The kids are so lucky to have you in their lives," your words trail off and your attention inevitably shifts to the contents of the gift bag. "May I ask what you got them?" you whisper, the side of your palm on the right end of your mouth so that no one would overhear the shamless inquiry.

"Oh, of course," Jake responds, polite as always. "Just a barbie doll for Hina and some pokemon cards for Haru," he elaborates, a gentleman-like smile on his lips.

"Sorry Ms. L/N, we know it's not much but-"

You don't mean to cut Heeseung off with your hasty actions, but you are just so relieved. All yours and Jungkook's friends are so insistent in spoiling the shit out of your kids. A humble and simple gift like the one from Heeseung and Jake is what you have been begging God for. Your kids are six years old for goodness' sake! There is no reason for them to have overtly luxurious and brand name items.

Before Heeseung can finish the sentence, you're grabbing the two boys' wrists and dragging them over to the mini bar, where Jungkook's friend Taehyung and your friend Soojin sit, leisurely chatting and taking sips out of Caprisuns that were perfectly arranged on the snack table. Your friends are certainly a spectacle, both dressed up as if they were attending a top class business meeting instead of a children's birthday party. Taehyung's wearing a suit and tie, Gucci shoes on his feet while Soojin's adorned in a pink blazer and mini skirt set. She looks impeccable, and had it been a normal day you would have complimented her, but it's not.

"You see this?" you hold up the gifts dangling from your fingers, waving it in Taehyung's face, the two of them owlishly blinking up at you. "Barbie dolls and pokemon cards are what my kids should be getting on their birthday, not a Chanel wallet or Gucci tie!" you hiss, gesticulating towards the Chanel and Gucci bags that idly sit on the gift table.

Taehyung smirks at you, raising a brow while he teasingly gnaws on the plump of hit bottom lip. Soojin just raises her eyebrows in amusement; their eyes meet each other before they both burst out into a fit of giggles.

"Y/N, you're such a cute mom," Soojin cooes, reaching out to pinch the apples of your cheeks. Taehyung mirrors her actions, standing up and gingerly patting you on the head.

"Relax, girly pop," he teases. "No one will even know that the wallet was three thousand dollars. Your kid's not even gonna use a fucking wallet. Just take it for yourself," he casually shrugs, his suggestion making you roll your eyes.

Taehyung randomly gestures to Heeseung and Jake, looking towards you quizzically to request an elaboration of who the two were. "Y/N, don't tell me you.." he postulates, giving you a look that can only be described as perverse, and you understand exactly what he's implying. "Does Jungkook know about this?"

"Kim Taehyung," you say sternly behind gritted teeth, your mom tone jumping out. You inhale, composing yourself before you continue. "These are Hina and Haru's babysitters. They're both business majors at SNU," you explain.

"Ah, business majors!" Soojin claps her hands in excitement. "Let me tell you about my investment firm," she suggests with a cheshire smile, gesturing for the boys to come closer to chat.

Taehyung makes a psshh sound with his lips. "Don't listen to her. Her shit's plummeting on the NYSE. Let me tell you about Kim Estates. We're a private company- actually we're looking for summer interns next year." He slyly pulls out his business card from his shirt pocket with two fingers.

And of course, Heeseung and Jake are oggling at the sight, internally celebrating that they got plugged into one of the top socialite circles in Korea.

You shake your head, somewhat annoyed and somewhat endeared at your friends' antics. You rush upstairs to check on your kids, who are supposed to be changing into their costumes: a Princess Peach dress for your babygirl, and a Mario costume for your baby boy.

You step into the master bathroom upstairs, absolutely enchanted with the sight in front of you. Haru looks absolutely adorable in his denim overalls, red long sleeve tee, and red Mario hat. The brightest of smiles lights up your face, and you immediately pick him up, peppering his face with sloppy mom kisses on his chubby little face. Thank goodness he's not at the age to be grossed out by his mom's affection, so he just giggles in response.

Your mother steps out of the closet, Hina in her arms. Your daughter looks like the loveliest girl alive in her Princess Peach dress, a golden crown adorned on her cute little head.

"Oh my!" you exclaim, rushing towards her. "My princess looks so beautiful!" you comment. You reach out to her with a vacant hand and enveloping her securely with a single arm, so you had one kid on each side of your body.

Hina wiggles in your arms, pouting at you. "Mommy, I told you I can walk all by myself!"she complains, pouting at you whilst she glares at you with a not-so intimidating glare.

You giggle, setting her down at your feet. "Sorry baby girl, I forgot that you're all grown up now!" you tease.

Haru who practically worships his sister follows her lead, wriggling out of your embrace before standing adjacent to Hina. You don't mind it. You're not the type of mother that lives in the past, the type that constantly reminisces over when the kids were babies. You live in the present, enjoying every moment before it passes.

Your mother kisses her teeth, making a tssk sound with her lips before she shakes her head. "These kids are getting too entitled," she grumbles, both of her hands coming down to gently slap both of the kids in the back of their heads.

"Mom!" you hiss, kneeling down and rubbing your hands on their heads to soothe the pain.

Both of your children remain tight lipped, knowing better than to talk back to their sometimes violent grandmother. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, you suppose, deciding to relinquish any objection against your mom.

"So Heeseung and Jake are already here," you tenderly say, "Go downstairs and hang out until your friends get here."

Hina immediately crimsons, fidgeting in place at the mention of Heeseung, which elicits a snicker from her brother. "I'm going to tell Heeseung hyung you like him today," he mocks, an immature teasing tone in his voice, typical of a six year old.

Hina fumes, jumping down in place with her hands thrown down. "You better not!" she seethes before directing her attention towards you.

"Mommy, tell Haru that he's not allowed to tell Heeseung oppa I like him!" she cries, jumping up and down to prove a point.

You bite your tongue, briefly recalling when you yourself told Heeseung that your daughter harbored a little crush on him. "Haru," you say sternly, "You will not betray your sister. You guys are on the same team," you firmly instruct, eliciting a snobby look from your son.

"Now go downstairs and greet your friends, okay?"

"Okay, mommy!" they chant in unison before racing down the stairs.

Your mother crosses her arms before she lightly exhales. "They're growing up too fast, already knowing what crushes are," she sighs somewhat bitterly. You chuckle lightly, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "Times change mom, kids aren't going to act like how I did when I was a kid."

Your mother simply makes the signature tssk sound with her mouth before vacating the restroom. On the way out, she bumps into your bumbling baby daddy, who politely greets her before stumbling into the restroom. When you lay your eyes on him your breath hitches in your throat, because he looks so good. Since the divorce you swore that you would never go back, but he looks so daddy in his white button up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off the tattoos embellishing his forearms.

You're pulled out of your trance by his rambling. "Hina still has a crush on Heeseung?" he hisses, the most mortified haze on his face.

You just shrug, knowing how perplexed he gets at the mere thought of his daughter being romantically involved with somebody. Jungkook paces around the room, grumbling incoherent phrases to himself. "Y/N, should we get new babysitters?" he asks, to which you shoot him an incredulous look.

"No!"

"I just don't want Hina to start loving him more than she loves me, like what the fuck!" he grumbles exasperatingly, which makes you laugh a little.

The harmonious sound of your laughter pulls him from the wormhole of his thoughts. "So this is funny to you?" he satirizes, approaching you as you giggle.

"Yes," you curtly respond, making Jungkook playfully roll his eyes. A brief moment of silence washes over the situation, and you feel the urge to fill the void.

"Look Jungkook," you begin, trailing off a little while you lean against the bathroom counter. "I'm sorry for overreacting this morning. I guess we never really discussed boundaries," you continue, "And-and you are the father of my children so I guess sleeping next to each other shouldn't be that bad- I don't know." You begin rubbing your biceps with your palms, suddenly self conscious of yourself.

Your diffidence softens Jungkook, a familiar ache pounding in his chest. "Hey Y/N, it's okay," he quickly expresses to assuage any insecurities that are bubbling inside of you. He has always been a fool for you. "I think it would be productive to have a conversation about boundaries," he communicates, as polite and sweet as ever. You slowly nod, purposely not replying so that he would have to say something.

"So boundaries?" he ponders aloud, making his way towards you. "Can we hug?" he asks, opening his arms a little, making you pout at the ridiculous question. Nonetheless, you walk into his embrace and wrap your arms around his torso, only momentarily before you step back. "It would be weird if we didn't," you laugh, making him raise a brow.

"What about kissing?"

He asks the question with no particular tone in his voice; he looks serious as ever as he gazes you with his doe eyes, and it makes you gulp. His words have a profound effect on you, making it feel as if your guts are twisting up; you shoot him a firm look to disguise the butterflies bursting in your stomach.

"Jungkook, we can't do this."

"But why not? We live together, have kids together, why can't we?" his eyebrows are furrowed in desperation, and you have to rip your eyes away from the sight in front of you.

"No Jungkook," you calmly explain before inhaling deeply. "We tried before and It-it didn't work out. I don't want our kids to live in a household where their parents are constantly breaking up and getting back together."

Jungkook sighs, sitting on the ledge of the bathtub where he rests his elbows on his thighs. He purses his lips, attempting to conjure a redeemable response.

"Love," you blurt out. "Love. We can't do this because there's no love."

Jungkook slowly raises his head to peer at you. He does it so steadily that it becomes agonizing; you don't want to see the look on his face. When you see him, he just looks defeated. "Do you really feel that way?' he asks, despondency laced in his voice.

You falter momentarily before you look directly at him and nod. He purses his lips before bitterly nodding to himself. "Alright Y/N." And even if your words pierce through him like a bullet, he still speaks with composure and grace. "Let's go downstairs and wait for the twin's friends to arrive. I'll see you there, okay?" He gives you a polite tightlipped smile before walking out of the room.

Once he leaves, a relieving sigh leaves your lips. You know that no matter what Jungkook thinks he feels, his emotions just aren't a direct reflection of reality. You've been with him long tenough to understand that he's mistaking his attachment to you for love. It was only a matter of time for him to realize that the two of you aren't suitable for each other, that it was better for to remain co parents for the sake of your children.

Jumping back into a relationship would only complicate things and exacerbate the situation for the children. You will not let that happen. You recompose yourself, touching up your appearance in the mirror before rejoining the party.

Thankfully, the party goes exactly as planned. This would surely be one for the books, with the kids frolicking through the grass in the backyard with their water guns and Mario hats. Heeseung and Jake served as excellent chaperones/mood makers/life guards, with Hina on Heeseung's shoulders and Haru on Jake's shoulders whilst they sparred in an intense chicken fight. You swore you almost had a heart attack when Tyler, the baby brother of one of Haru's friends leaps into the damn pool. You jumped in with all your clothes on to pick him up and prevent him from drowning.

On top of that, you find Hina's incessant clinging to Heeseung a little excessive. She follows him around like a kicked little puppy, even waiting outside the bathroom while he takes a piss. Poor Heeseung doesn't have it in him to tell Hina to leave him alone, so you have to force Hina to revert her attention to her friends.

The kids absolutely ate the Yoshi and Bowser costumes up, tackling and climbing on poor Jimin and Hoseok as if they were playgrounds. Not to mention that it was absolutely suffocating and hot inside of the costumes.

"Heejoon! Get off poor Yoshi!" Heejoon's mother exclaims, rushing over to practically rip her kid off Hoseok's shoulders. She shoots you an apologetic look, making you laugh.

Towards the end of the party, Miyeon finally pulled out her face painting kit and painted the most beautiful designs on the kids' faces. Hina had a butterflies on the sides of her chubby cheeks, and Haru had the red Spiderman mask on his.

"Oh, try not to sneeze on me when you get your face painted, alright?" Miyeon captures everyone attention when she yells to the long line of children waiting to get her face painted. She wipes off some kid's saliva on her face and presents the kids with a faux smile, not like they'd be able to tell the difference anyways.

Another highlight of the party was when Jungkook's friend Namjoon showed up with his baby girl, Lauren. Unlike Hina and Haru, Lauren is actually a baby- only about five months old and she is the cutest baby you have ever seen in your life. (After Haru and Hina, of course). Lauren really turned out to be the star of the party, everybody crowding around her just to get a glimpse of the kid. You took plenty of photos of your kids with Lauren, pondering when all of Jungkook's other friends would finally have kids of their own. So far it was only Jungkook and Namjoon. You reckon Yoongi may be next since he recently married.

Once all the kids finally leave, you are spent, exhausted from the long and tiresome day that you just lived through. But hey, the all the kids went home in one piece and that's what matters. With much of your gratitude, your friends stick around to help clean up, but you ultimately decide that you would put the real deep cleaning off until tomorrow.

After showering your children and tucking them into bed, you and Jungkook are left sat in his bedroom with the plethora of multi colored gift bags surrounding you. Your friends and your kids' friends' rich parents have spoiled Haru and Hina so much that you the ground isn't even visible.

Jungkook looks equally spent, roughly tugging at the tie that was once neatly tied around his neck. He runs his hand through his hair, exposing his handsome forehead, and you have to force yourself to look away before you start having inappropriate thoughts.

He settles down besides you, leaning against the wall of his bedroom. He holds up a palm, gesturing you to give him a high five, which you gingerly comply to.

"Good job Y/N. You worked really hard today and the party turned out amazing." He offers his utmost kindness and support as he always does, and it's this cordial atmosphere that makes you think that you and he truly are better off as co parents.

You shoot him a confused look. "You did just as much work, Jungkook. Thanks for being such a great father," you grin at him, noticing how his features light up.

He chuckles lightly. "Well, it's our job," he shrugs.

You purse your lips before agreeing. "I think we're pretty good parents," you say half joking, which makes Jungkook laugh.

"Of course we are, the kids have manners, they're provided for, they're healthy- what else could they need?"

"I mean, you're right, but what if we somehow fuck up and cause them some unintentional childhood trauma?" you ponder aloud, which makes Jungkook shoot you a playfully incredulous look. "I highly doubt it," he says. "You're a great mom Y/N, truly. That's why I admire you so much."

His saccharine voice is laced with benignity, making you feel as if colors are bursting in your chest. Is it really necessary for him to be this sweet? He should have told you that you were a great mom and left it at that.

You turn your head just to see that he is already gazing at you with that sincere glimmer in his eyes. It's the same lovestruck look he had on his face at the wedding, honeymoon- the same look he gave you when he first laid eyes on his children. His adam's apple visibly bobs, drawing your attention to his thick neck.

Jeon Jungkook is and will most likely always be the most handsome man you have ever seen.

The thought terrifies you wholeheartedly, but the implication of it is so exciting- so intriguing that you can't help but want to be sucked back into Jeon Jungkook's world. The notion lights a fire in your heart, and your rationality ceases. Your eyes trail up to his eyes, then back down to his mouth, where you subconsciously lick your own lips.

A desperate haze is painted on his face; his eyes are following yours, ignited curiosity adjuring to know what's on your mind. Yet, he cannot bring himself to verbalize his thoughts, too entranced with how utterly beautiful you are.

He exhales slightly, his hot minty breath hitting your face, and that's when you decide fuck it, it wouldn't hurt to give in just once.

You close your eyes and lean in, gently kissing his bottom lip whilst his lips latch on to your top lip. His kisses are so sickeningly sweet, his tongue sneaking into your mouth to make contact with yours. His palm gently raises to cup your cheeks, cradling your face ever so softly while he bestows you with the most languid of kisses. His lips pull you in closer, the cold texture of the buttons on his shirt making you shudder.

You sigh into the kiss, prompting Jungkook to pull you into his lap, which he does with ease. Your legs sneak around his torso, your arms around his neck to be as close to him as possible.

His hands remain wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him. His embrace is so comforting- so secure and familiar that you want to stay in his arms forever.

To your surprise, you aren't nervous; you're eager as ever. You've succumb to the temptation that is Jungkook, and it feels perfect- it feels right, like you're finally home. The sensation of his lips against yours is so familiar, so comforting, so perfect- as if your lips were made to be against his. Despite it being two years since you've kissed him, the two of you make out as if you are professionals at eliciting the sweetest sounds from each other.

The sound of your phone ringing is what draws you away to him, your eyes glancing towards your phone that lights up. "I think Seojun's mother is here to pick up his iPad- he left it here," you explain to which Jungkook just nods.

"Do you want me to hand it to her?" Jungkook asks, slowly and steadily.

The atmosphere is confusing, because the two of you were just making out as if your lips were magnets and now you're speaking awkwardly to each other.

"No, it's okay- um- I can do it," you say, and then you're stumbling out of his lap and walking down the stairs.

find out why jk and oc divorced here!

Tokyo Drift

Pairing: Street Racer! Jungkook x CEO Daughter! Reader 

Word Count: 2.1k

Content Warning: street racing, sneaking out (even though oc is 21), jungkook is secretly whipped, secret relationship, sexual themes, talks about getting a tattoo, speeding, oc wears pretty skirts, victory lap.

Other Content: size kink, manhandling, oral sex (f! receiving), just porn without plot tbh, oc has big titties, oc squirts, wall sex, strength kink, teasing, crying, fingering, sloppy makeout sesh on the hood of jungkook’s car ;) 

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Keep reading

I Like Me Better | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, mutual pining, f2l, fluff, domestic fluff, eventual romance, eventual smut

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 1066

-> warnings. None!!

-> a/n. This. This is so… 💔 I love them 💔

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. March 22nd, 2023 @ 22:15

-> fin. Sat., Jul. 6th, 2024 @ 02:05

-> edited. Wed., Jul. 10th, 2024 @ 21:34

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

You tap the end of your pen against your lips, brows furrowed and lips pursed as you contemplate what to write.

Her eyes spring to life in light of her realization that, actually, she loves him.

She loves him.

Okay.

Now what?

You sigh loudly, dropping the pen to hide your face in your hands and stare at the sentence like it’ll magically unstuck your brain.

Just as you’re about to restart for what feels like the hundredth time, a loud thud draws your attention away from your eyesore of a story to your front door.

Another thud, this time accompanied by an all too familiar drunken groan.

You loudly squeak off your island-chair, leaving your notebook open for later as you speed-walk to your front door with a growing frown. Surely not…

You open the door and can’t help the way your mouth parts in surprise: Jungkook is leaning his forehead against the doorframe, his hair disheveled and eyes closed as his body sways gently from side to side.

“Jungkook,” you say, looking him up and down with a clear look of disapproval (even though he doesn’t actually look that sloshed). “How much have you had to drink?”

Jungkook pries his eyes open and blinks a couple times as a drowsy smile forms on his lips, his eyes turning up at the corners the wider his smile gets. “Bunnyyy~”

“Wait, JungkaCK—!”

You stumble back with a little oof as Jungkook trips over the threshold and into your arms, his hands on your hips to hold himself up and his face hidden in the crook of your neck. He hums appreciatively, your skin tingling at the sensation as he holds you tighter and buries his nose deeper into your neck, a low whine rumbling in his throat.

“Kook-ah,” you reprimand softly, petting his hair while you soothingly pat the small of his back with your free hand.

He whines again like he knows you have questions and is saying not right now, please.

You sigh against his shoulder with a tiny, disapproving shake of your head, giving in without really thinking about it. You pat his back and whisper assurances when he gets loud after you pull away to close the door, gently shushing him when he starts drunkenly complaining that you’re “pushing him away” and “hurting his feelings.”

Getting him to your bedroom is a mission in and of itself.

“Why~” he keeps loudly whining, keeping his feet steadfastly planted right where they are instead of just following you like the lost puppy he normally is.

“Jungkook, please,” you fake-cry, pulling on his arm like a toddler trying to drag her unwilling mother into a toy store. “I’m trying to help you,” you plead.

“Yeah, ‘n then you’re gonna leave,” he complains childishly, his words slurring together as those big brown eyes of his sparkle because of the shitty fluorescent lamp hanging off the ceiling.

“Leave where?” you laugh. “I live here.”

“You have work,” he mumbles, finally taking a step toward you, but only to possessively slide his hands around your waist so he can pull you closer.

“Why?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and subconsciously leaning your head back so Jungkook can slot his face into your neck, deeply inhaling your scent. “You want me to get a bad grade?”

There’s a long pause before he pouts an answer against your neck. “No…”

“There we go,” you mutter, sliding your hands around the back of Jungkook’s neck to gently scratch the exposed skin, chuckling when he shivers appreciatively against you. “I tell you what—“

You pull away from him to hold his face, swiping your thumbs over his cheekbones and smiling dumbly when his eyes flutter shut. “How about I stay with you until you fall asleep, hm? That sound good, Wolfie?”

Jungkook audibly hums into your palm, finally letting you guide him to your room and only kind of complaining when you get him comfortable under the covers.

You sit on the edge of the bed and smile softly when he grabs your hand and holds it on top of his chest, his eyes fluttering closed right as his breathing evens out.

You have no idea why Jungkook was drinking, or how he ended up at your apartment instead of the pack house, but you find your stomach-resident butterflies fluttering about anyway. He got drunk and his first thought was to come to you?

Just thinking about it makes your heart race!

You slip your hand out from under his as smoothly as you can, grabbing your phone from off the bedside table. You shake your head with a fond smile at the string of drunken messages Jungkook sent you before getting here, swiping past them to your shared group chat with Jungkook and the rest of the pack.

JK’s with me !! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

He’s drunk and a little clingy, but he’s safe~ (─‿─)

You smile at the string of heart messages that follow, setting your phone back down and turning to look at Jungkook.

He’s laying with his head turned away from you, one hand still on his chest and the other spread out beside him. His lips are very slightly parted and his hair’s a little ruffled from when he was getting comfy earlier, his perfectly long lashes brushing over his cheeks as he breathes in softly though his mouth.

You smile, your heart growing ten times fonder at the soft little snores leaving his lips every time his chest rises and falls, so peaceful and soft that your heart melts into a puddle of Y/N-shaped goo.

It’s in this moment you come to the realization you’re in love with your best friend.

You’re in love with Jeon Jungkook.

“Huh.”

You watch his face twitch in his sleep and think, how didn’t I realize sooner?

You ache to join him and explore these newly realized feelings of yours via some not-so-platonic-anymore cuddling, but it’s late—and you have a very important assignment waiting for you to in the kitchen—so you settle for something you hope will calm the unbearable warmth in your belly.

You lean down to place a soft kiss on Jungkook’s head, taking a moment to smell his hair (coconut) and appreciate your closeness before forcing yourself to step away.

When you sit back down to finish writing, the words flow like water.

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