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camera shy

pairing: yoongi x reader (f) summary: after his last Oakland show, you carve out a little alone time with your husband, away from the stage lights and the cameras and the million people who always seem to be around rating/genre: explicit // fluff + smut + slice of life-ish (it’s a tour fic!) + an attempt at humour warnings: smut – oral + fingering (f receiving), missionary, unprotected sex (they’re married it’s fine), terribly thought-out plot note: hello!!! i haven’t written anything in this format in a long time (poetry is my medium of choice) so pls be gentle!! also this is set in what is the “current timeline” but is of course fictional and i took every creative liberty i could :) also there was supposed to be a little bit at the end that i cut out bc reader was getting a little too cuckoo but that’s where the title came from and i couldn’t think of another. okay. anyway. 

Being on tour is exhausting.

You’re not sure you have the right to complain – you’re not the one performing high-energy shows in sold out arenas every night. But you are lifting your share of your husband’s emotional weight as he does his solo tour. His first solo tour, as is stressed to you. 

And you’re dodging cameras left and right. While it was impossible for you to stay out of the picture completely — the team at HYBE had convinced you that there was no need to hide your presence — being an idol’s wife didn’t really make you the most… sympathetic character. 

So you try to keep the complaining to a minimum. 

“If I have to duck out of one more cameraman’s way today…” you grumble under your breath. Sejin laughs. 

“There’s only so long they can spend in your room,” he placates. “And tomorrow you’ll have use of the business centre again.”

You harrumph. Fucking businesspeople using the business centre for their business shit. Hunkering down over your laptop again, you attempt once more to read over the article you needed to finish editing tonight. You’re finally making a little headway, getting into the groove, and then —

“That’s it!” you snap in English, frantically trying to catch the open water bottle that almost spilled all over your computer. The culprit, a man looking through the lens of his giant stupid camera on his giant stupid tripod, glances at you with a bored expression. 

“Whoops,” he says lightly, wheeling the contraption slightly to the left of where he’d bumped the desk. “Should probably keep that closed.”

You see red. Just as you’re about to toss this man and his equipment out the 50th story window, your husband appears. 

“Jagiya,” Yoongi murmurs to you, placing a grounding hand at the side of your face. You instantly relax about fifty percent. “I’m sorry, just the rest of the afternoon.”

You look up at him, at his soft pleading face. He’s turned away from the filming crew, hiding both his expression and yours. You relax the rest of the way, resting in his palm, a little guilt creeping in. 

It’s not his fault. Obviously, everything was going to be filmed — a BTS member’s first solo tour. There was going to be a documentary, and like it or not, you were going to be in it. As marginally as possible, everyone had insisted, but you couldn’t afford to look bad. Unfortunate that the filming crew was full of a bunch of dicks who didn’t give a shit about anyone who wasn’t the star. “No,” you shake your head, “I’m sorry. I know you hate this as much as I do, probably more. I’ll try to be good.”

At this, Yoongi smiles, shoulders jerking with a laugh. “I’m not asking for a miracle,” he teases. “Just a little patience.” You roll your eyes. You can behave. 

Just then, the same nimrod shoots a look at you, almost goading, as Sejin picks up your laptop and its accessories so the Christopher Nolan wannabe can put some more douchebag equipment where it just was. You look Yoongi straight in the eyes, dead serious. “If that man crosses me one more time, I’m going to kill him. And I’m going to film it with his stupid fucking camera.”

————— xxx —————

Most people expect you to be ecstatic about the proximity to free tickets that being married to Yoongi brings. And you love watching him perform. Up on the stage, in his element. He’s never more radiant than when he’s singing and rapping, leaning in close to the edge of the stage so he can look into the fans’ eyes — gloss, a fitting name for the shining star you see giving his all. 

And the confidence is incredibly sexy. So you have a competency kink, sue you. 

But god is it tiring being there. Even in the nosebleeds, or in the VIP box. You can’t exactly abandon Yoongi afterwards, so you have to make your way discreetly backstage with the security team, and then you wait through the undressing and the debriefing and the security checks and the filming. Sometimes the media circus. Only then can you sneak into a car with him and head back to the hotel. 

So you stay behind tonight. It’s the last day of the American leg, and you’ve already seen a few spectacular shows. You have your own life, your own responsibilities. Which includes deadlines. 

You were able to come with Yoongi for this leg of the tour because you’d promised your boss an exclusive — first dibs on Agust D’s experience touring in the U.S. While you wouldn’t be allowed to take part in the spread (a very clear conflict of interest, no bueno) you’re excited for it. The potential of the photoshoot alone is making your head spin. 

But part of the deal was also to keep working. The list of articles your Senior Editor ass has to go over is slowly dwindling, this feature on Korea’s impact on global fashion getting to the finish line. 

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the now blessedly empty hotel room. Email with the finished article sent, you roll your chair to look straight into the little camera that’s trained on the desk Yoongi’s claimed and flip it the bird. 

Job done and borderline invasive filming (it’s only on when Yoongi decides to get some working shots for them, but still) disrespected, there’s not much left to do but wait. 

When the third time cycling through all your social media apps doesn’t provide any groundbreaking entertainment, you decide to call down to reception for some reading material. It’s not technically work if you’re just reading a dozen trashy ‘Who Wore It Best?’ segments. “Anne Hathaway, hwaiting!” you mutter to yourself.

————— xxx —————

A couple hours later, you’re still thoroughly immersed in your magazines and your music, completely missing the cacophony in the hallway. The knock on your door startles you so thoroughly you hit your head against the headboard. 

“Unnie, are you okay?” asks Ari, one of the stylists. “I was coming to call you to eat!”

“Oh, you’re all back! One sec!” You scramble off the bed, excited to see the aftermath of the show. You barely remember to put on a pair of pants before rushing out the door, Ari’s surprised face greeting you. “Thanks, Ari-yah,” you grin, locking arms with her. “How was the show?”

“It was great! Oppa is always good, but tonight he was especially energetic.” Her face screws up a little. “He ripped another one of the jackets, though.”

An inconvenience to her, but you don’t share the irritation. Yoongi’s broad shoulders busting his clothes, yum. “Oh,” you say anyway, your sympathy unconvincing, “that’s annoying.” Ari snorts.

“Sure. At least it’s new costumes for the next leg. We’ll refit them.”

You practically vibrate with excitement at that. “I haven’t seen them yet! I’m sure you all did an awesome job!” 

She blushes. “I think it’ll be good! They’re not totally finalized yet, but I’ll send you a ton of pictures.” Her eye drops in a wink, making you giggle delightedly. 

Dinner is a buffet in one of the conference rooms of your beloved business centre. One of the security team members escorts you down with a group of the staff, but most people had gone down earlier, apparently very hungry. Yoongi among them. As you approach the doors, you hear someone complaining to him that they should’ve done this at a restaurant and where is his sense of celebration.

“Come on,” you hear him grumble. “It’s not like the entire tour is over. We can all go out tomorrow.”

You snort. “And then tomorrow you’ll say ‘tomorrow never comes’.” If it were happening to someone else, you’d never let them live down how quickly their husband’s head snapped towards them, but you make an exception because yours is so cute. 

Despite his enthusiastic surprise, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Great, now I have to come up with a new excuse. Thanks for that,” he rolls his eyes, but immediately swaps the empty plate you grab with the one he was filling up for himself, no room to argue. Your giddy mood sours a little when you catch sight of the filming crew again. 

Yoongi holds your hand over his bouncing knee and the two of you sneak food off and onto each other’s plates. The mood is bright and light, despite everyone’s obvious exhaustion (at least three people by your count are in danger of falling asleep into their food). You expect to see an extended shot of the staff and crew laughing and eating, a flushed Yoongi being plied with praise and encouragement, under some sort of pensive voiceover. 

And you’re right, because right after he’s done eating they whisk Yoongi away to do what is sure to be a thorough recount of his adventure in the States. You’re a little jealous that they get to hear all about it before you do. Fuckers. 

As the room starts to clear out, you bid everyone a good night and trudge back up to your room, planning to crawl into bed and wait for your husband. 

But when you open the door, he’s already there. Your immediate thought is that the air conditioning is up too high for him to leave his hair damp like that. Your second thought is how pretty he looks — sharp eyes focused on his legal pad, sinful hand flying across the page trying to get down whatever lyrics are thundering through his brain, cheeks flushed and pouty mouth puckered. He must’ve gone straight from the shower to his desk.

After a few moments he must sense your eyes on him, because his writing falters and he turns to you, a soft smile breaking out across his face. Your heart flutters. 

“Hey!” he says happily, pulling out his earbuds. “I was waiting for you.”

“Clearly,” you laugh, moving to perch on the table in front of him. He pulls your feet into his lap, putting his papers aside. You resist the urge to sneak a peek, instead asking “did I interrupt something?”

“No,” he assures you. “I got everything important down. You were right on time.” His fingers are drumming on your thigh like there’s still something on his mind, but you’re feeling greedy tonight, so you let it slide.

“Apparently, I was late.” His hair is cold when you ruffle it. “Let me dry your hair. You still have schedules to make it to, can’t get sick.”

Under the gentle whirr of the expensive hair dryer and your hands in his soft locks, you coax out some of the details of the night from him. Stuff those production company jerks would never get to hear, wouldn’t think to ask about. How he was so glad to never have to wear one of his costumes ever again. The way he didn’t even feel the heat of the stage lights, the thing that drenched him in sweat (aside from the jumping and running around) was nerves. You laugh when he tells you about the girl in the pit who danced so hard the veil of her wedding dress outfit ended up on one of the lights. Your heart swells, swells, swells.

There’s still a restlessness about him when you’re done. You suggest he goes back to his desk but he shakes his head. “Let’s go to bed.” The first time in ages you can do so without the weight of anticipation and stress over him – hopefully it will settle whatever is making him twitchy.

There’s a spark of arousal in your belly when you feel his eyes on your backside as you change into your pyjamas. A breath stutters out of your mouth when you meet his sleepy gaze, getting a soft smirk in response. “Come here,” he says softly. “I missed you.”

In your eagerness to get to him, you collide with the bed a little too fast. “Oof,” you huff, making him laugh. He sits up to haul you into his side, another surprised noise leaving your mouth.

“Dummy,” he teases. “Not even safe in a cushy hotel room.” You kick at his shin.

“Quit giving me bedroom eyes then.” You see his eyes sparkle and mouth start to open and smack a hand over it. “Yes, we are in a bedroom, ha ha, you are very funny.”

He moves your hand away, unimpressed. “It is a funny joke,” he grumbles. Truly funny thing is, if he’d said it, you would’ve laughed. You’re down horrendously and he knows it, although you do your best to keep his ego in check at least some of the time.

Giggling anyway, you let him press you closer to his chest. You especially love him like this, warm and soft and silly and all to yourself. 

Yoongi turns over onto his good shoulder to face you, tipping your chin up. His gaze flits across your face, tender and deep, like he can see everything you’re thinking. You hope he can. You think he does. “I love you,” he murmurs, and he kisses you.

Your eyes flutter closed, relishing in this closeness. The way his mouth moves over yours, slow and deliberate. 

This isn’t a kiss just because, or goodnight or I’ll be right back, this is a kiss because I want to be touching you. I want to breathe you in. I want to forget everything but you.

You let out a sigh. Yoongi hums against you, a rumble you feel in his chest, and slides his tongue to meet yours. He shifts some more so he’s over you, braced on his forearm. It’s urgent now, but the way he licks into your mouth is languid, a creeping heat. 

He knows just how you like it, just how to drive you wild. Where you push and pull and grasp at him, he slows you, pins you down, makes you feel every second like it’s an hour.

When he pulls away, panting slightly, you realize – it’s been a long time. The last time the two of you had had a chance to get horizontal (or otherwise) had been the week you left Korea. More than a month ago. No wonder you’re so desperate for him, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him back in, feeling his smug little grin against your mouth. 

He grabs at your hip with his other hand, and just that contact, his hand deliberate against the bare skin between your shirt and pyjama shorts, is enough to have you gasping.

He pulls away again with a low chuckle. “I’ve been neglecting you, my love,” he noses against your jaw. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver.

“You’ve been such a good wife,” he continues, sitting back on his heels, raking his gaze over you. His tone is soft but his eyes are so, so hungry. You reach for him, desperate to be back under his body, but he just smiles, closed mouth and innocent. “Shh, let your husband take care of you.”

He climbs back over you, settles his weight on you like he knows you like and hovers an inch from your face. His hair, longer again, hangs in his eyes, but you can see the mischievous shine in them. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Yoongi,” you whine. His smile grows even bigger, but before you can crush your lips to his he leans down and kisses you, slow and searing again. 

“I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, mouthing down your neck. You know he’s going to leave marks, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s been so long since you’ve felt properly like his. “Smell so sweet,” he sighs, opening the top button of your sleep shirt and burying his face between your tits. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

You moan, sensitive from his touch. “You’re –” he nips at you, drawing more breathy noises from your mouth. “You’re unusually talkative tonight.”

He smiles up at you. “You like it,” he says simply. And you do. You want him to keep telling you how you look and feel to him, what he’s going to do to you.

You start to fall apart under his mouth, his hands, his words. Soon your shirt is gone, tits shiny with his saliva. “Your fucking tongue,” you grab his hair, hold him in place, and his groan against your skin makes your sensitive nipples shoot fireworks into your brain. He presses your tits together tighter, sucking them noisily in turn as you grind up against his hardening cock.

“Taste fucking perfect,” his voice is so deep. Your pussy is already clenching, desperate for him. 

Yoongi helps you out of your pyjama shorts, wanting you completely bare to him. “Need to see you, jagi.” He settles between your legs, settled over his shoulders. His warm mouth over your cunt has you spreading them wider, eager.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles approvingly, expecting the ensuing flood from your pussy. He uses two of his long, callused fingers to spread it all over, sliding almost coincidentally over your clit. Your hips cant towards his hand, wanting more than anything to have them inside you – fuck. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Yoongi, please,” you choke. It’s getting nearly unbearable, this desperation. You’re so wet, so sensitive, your entrance clenching around nothing.

“Pretty, pretty,” he says in a soft rasp, talking to himself. He gets comfortable between your legs and you can see his sharp, dark eyes zero in on your cunt, tongue wetting his lips like someone’s set a meal in front of him. You suppose you have.

“Ahhh-hhhh,” you moan, the first broad sweep of his tongue over your folds like electricity. Like he’d just set a firecracker off inside of you – buzzing and sparking from the tips of your toes to your scalp. Eyes squeezed shut, a broken noise comes out of your mouth. 

He keeps going, lapping at your pussy in an even rhythm and making low sounds of appreciation. It’s so, so wet you’re sure he must be drooling, and the thought is enough to have you clenching your legs together. “Careful, baby,” he says against your skin, but the vibrations of his voice are just fuel to the fire. “Watch me.”

You lean up shakily on your elbows, and the sight of him is nearly enough to knock you back down again. The mop of dark hair between your legs, working away as though you’re barely there, like he’s just using this to get himself off – except his eyes, watching you under the harsh slant of his eyebrows – shit shit it’s almost too much already.

“Fuck, baby, please,” you plead breathily, not even sure what you’re asking for. He’s already giving you everything you want. The close of his pouted lips around your clit has you jerking, the fiery crackle in your nerves making everything hazy except the places he’s touching you – big hands clamped around your thighs, face buried in your cunt, fingers pressed into the meat of your ass. He’d taken off the rest of his rings, but you can feel his wedding band pinching your skin slightly. Your matching one catches the light as you twist your hand into the sheets. “I need – I nee –” you break off, keening when he rubs a finger over your hole.

“Don’t worry, love,” he slides a digit in, feeling the way you clench around it desperately. “I know what my girl needs.” On the next stroke, he slides in a second finger, groaning when you clamp down on him. You collapse back onto the pillows, hips kicking up despite the way he’s pressing you into the mattress

You’d teased him mercilessly, way back when the two of you had started dating. “Tongue technology, huh? Do you have any songs where you’re not bragging about how good you eat pussy?” He’d only smiled, smug and amused, like he knew something you didn’t. 

Boy, did you find out. Again, and again, and again. The way he flicks his tongue over your clit, a fast, even tempo that has you curling your toes. Combined with how fast he’s pumping those long fingers in you, the squelching sounds absolutely obscene. 

“Another?” he asks, voice almost disinterested, betrayed only by how hoarse and low it’s become. You nod frantically, knowing you’re close. 

When he adds his ring finger, you know you’re done for. There’s a searing heat all down your body — your belly’s tight, your feet digging into Yoongi’s back with how tightly you have them tensed. Your face is flushed and sweaty and you can barely hear your own breathy whining through the rushing in your ears. It’s building, the wet slick of his tongue joining his fingers as your legs start to tremble around him, threatening to squeeze his neck, your hands finding their way into his hair to bring him with you when your back arches off the bed, and when he sucks your clit back between his lips —

“That’s it, fuck, baby,” he growls against you. He pumps you through your orgasm, almost struggling to get deep because of the way you’re gripped tight around them. Lets the gush of come slick his tongue further, shaking his head side to side as you ride out your aftershocks. You grind against his face, stuttering as the oversensitivity kicks in, whining when it becomes too much.

“N’more,” you slur, gasping when Yoongi eases out of you. He sits back on his heels again, his mouth, nose, and chin shiny from the way you’ve drenched him. 

He seems content to let it sit as he meets your eyes, popping his used fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back and groaning at the taste. “Pussy monster,” you sigh deliriously.

He laughs, having sucked his fingers clean. Pushing yourself up to lean back against the headboard, you try to get your bearings. Your legs are shaking a little and between them is still sensitive, but away from Yoongi the cold air of the hotel room makes your nipples tighten and you want more. 

Your husband focuses his attention back on you. Your legs, open just enough so he can see the mess he’s made of you, and the way your skin is flushed, from your face all the way down to your chest. You shiver. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks in a low growl. He pulls his shirt off and wipes his face with it, giving you an uninterrupted moment to ogle him. His broad shoulders, defined chest and arms, and toned stomach. The tattoo on his pec. The dusting of hair leading from his belly button down, down, down…

“Warm me up,” you say coquettishly, spreading your legs further. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, reverent. Even after all these years, you have the exact same effect on him as the first time. It’s evident in the bulge in his pyjama pants that you eye hungrily. He wraps a hand around each of your ankles, pushing them up to bend your knees, crawling up so he can settle against you and lock your legs around his waist. 

You let out a pathetic little sound at the feeling of him against your cunt. You’re still leaking, juices sticking to the insides of your thighs and probably leaving a patch on his pants. “Baby,” you whine. He leans down to kiss you and the grind of his cock against you has you gasping. “Need it,” you whisper into his mouth. “How do you want me?”

Yoongi kisses you one more time, chaste, and shakes his head. “How does my sweet girl want it?”

You flush even warmer. “Like this,” you say shyly. Yoongi smiles at you, fucked out and endeared.

Your hands find their way to his sweaty skin like magnets. Shaky fingertips tracing from his hips up over the flat of his stomach, hard muscles twitching as he sighs under your touch. When you reach his chest, you look up at him from under your lashes – he’s already looking back at you, pretty mouth agape. “The abs are new. I like them.” Then you scratch your blunt nails down them, feeling the muscles jump under your hands. 

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning into you. You gasp at the twitch of his cock, the head rubbing your clit. “You’re in for it now.”

“Then fucking give it to me.”

He kisses you again, and he’s just so predictable. Despite his big talk and the way he’s pinning your hips down hard, he takes his time, opening you up to him. Your husband kisses like he drinks – slow and savoury, loves the taste of you, the way you make him feel dazed and light. Letting out little satisfied noises in response to the way you kiss him back, the way you let him have his way with you. If it were up to him, he’d work you up like this for hours. Drinking you in. 

Unfortunately for him, you’re worked up enough. He’s grinding into you in tiny movements but the sensitivity from your prior orgasm, the insistent press of his cock between your lips, and the knowledge that you haven’t had him inside you in probably the longest stretch of time since you’d met is driving you insane.

“Take off your fucking pants, Yoongi,” you snap against his mouth, pulling at his waistband. He just laughs. “If you don’t fuck me right now –”

He keeps laughing, breathless and fond, but tips away from you enough to get his pyjama bottoms off and kicked away and hell yeah.

He runs his fingers through your folds and you gasp. Your hips cant up towards his hand but it’s gone immediately, and the sight of him jacking his cock with your wetness makes you whimper.

“So wet,” he murmurs, guiding the head to your pussy. The previous teasing mirth has vanished and there’s only the dark, focused look as he presses forward and – “Fuck.”

“Yoongi!” you cry out. His fingers hadn’t done nearly a good enough job of stretching you. The burn of him as he pushes into you makes your eyes roll back as you feel him pepper kisses over your cheek, down your neck to your collarbone. “Oh –”

“I must be out of my fucking mind,” he grunts, bottoming out. You choke on a sob. His big hand kneads your tit and it feels so fucking good you think you’re going to lose your mind. “How did I go without this for so long?”

He pulls out almost all the way then thrusts back in hard. “Y-Yoon – “ you whine breathily, barely able to make a sound at this point. 

“My gorgeous wife, in this bed every night, so needy. This perfect pussy — shit.” He sucks the other nipple into his mouth, buried in you so deep you can’t think of anything but the way he’s filling you so good. The way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. 

You’re blubbering at this point, beyond words, as Yoongi chases his orgasm inside you. Kissing every part of you he can reach as the sound of his skin against yours fills the room, playing with your tits the way that drives you wild. You come again with a shout, tears streaming down your face. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs, kissing the tears away. He’s still going, deeper now instead of fast. “Can you give me one more, love?”

You’re dizzy with pleasure and overstimulation, but he loves to come with your pussy squeezing him. “Yeah,” you pant. A kiss, slow and deep, as he pushes back in. 

Your legs are wrapped so tightly around his waist he can barely pull all the way back out. All you can do is hold on as he takes what he wants from you. 

“Shit, shit,” Yoongi groans, hips stuttering. He’s close. “Love you, pretty girl, so fucking good to me,” his voice low and raspy and warm right next to your ear. “Do I make you feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to get out and you can feel his cock throb inside you, rubbing your g-spot and it’s enough. Your vision goes white and you see stars as your entire body tenses up and you tremble all over when it suddenly releases. “Yoongi!”

“Fuuuck,” he grunts. “Squeeze me just like that,” and he’s coming too. 

You lay there, panting under Yoongi as he softens inside you. The sweat makes you stick together where you’re touching, and anywhere outside your bed it would make you push him away. But you’re content to lie under him, soft, laboured breaths puffing next to your ear. 

“Should’ve used a condom,” you say hoarsely. There’s going to be a mess when he pulls out, you can already feel it. 

“Fucking raw used to be so hot,” he sighs, kissing your cheek. “Now it’s a chore.”

Your snort turns into a gasp as he pulls out. Reaching for his discarded shirt, he cleans up as much of his come as he can. You watch him, eyes zeroed in on the mess, licking his lips. 

“Reel it in.” You boop his nose and he scrunches it. “I really cannot go another round. You’re gonna have to drag me to the bathroom.” 

————— xxx —————

And he kind of does. On a good day, he could definitely carry you. But after three weeks of touring and a semi-vigorous round of sex, he hitches you onto his back in some semblance of a piggyback. You actually could probably walk, but you know the mood Yoongi’s in. 

He lets you pee, then comes to clean you up the rest of the way. Both of you wrapped in fluffy robes, he washes the sweat and tears off your face gently, brushes through your hair with his fingers. Puts up with your halfhearted whining about expensive skincare as he pats it carefully back onto your face. 

By the time you’ve dragged yourselves back to bed, the California King large enough that you don’t worry about the mess you’ve made on the other side, all the tension has drained from his body. The frantic energy of performing in a foreign country alone for the first time, melted away. 

He’s soft and sleepy when he hitches your leg over his hip, pulls your head onto his chest. “Thank you,” he mumbles. You don’t have to ask him what he means. 

You laugh softly. “Silly,” you say, drifting off.

lost in the lights, m | pjm

pairing(s): jimin x reader

summary: Sometimes it is better to feel alive. Park Jimin doesn't want to be in love. He just wants to feel like he is in love, in the dream instead of at a loss. It's going to be a good night.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; complex emotions of two not-lovers having sex; smut (fem reader, slight D/s, choking, handjob, edging, dirty talk, m-receiving oral, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - friends-with-benefits; Jimin's POV

yup, inspired by 'like crazy' by jimin

--

A longing sigh.

“I wish someone would fall in love with me.”

A bored response.

“Lots of people will fall in love with you. If you let them.”

He turned his head. Her fingers encircled his jaw, not yet touching. Hard gaze, but honest.

“You won’t fall in love with me.”

One of her eyebrows raised.

“Is that really on me?”

It wasn’t. He sighed again, not so longing this time. Dreamy, falling.

“You touch me like you’re in love with me.”

Her fingertips hovered, then finally settled, stroking his hair down to his ear. He shivered, closing his eyes. Pretending a little.

“You must love someone very much,” he murmured, feeling her thumb graze over his lower lip, sending shivers all over his body. “When you touch me, you probably imagine I’m them.” He didn’t mind. He was glad for it. The feeling was real, even if the source wasn’t him.

“I don’t love anyone, Jimin,” she replied flatly, continuing to touch him like she loved him. Her other hand was on his shoulder now, caressing.

Park Jimin opened his eyes a little.

It didn’t matter much, in this low light and room covered in shadows.

He looked up at her, and she looked back, unafraid, close to his face already. The memory of her familiar kiss lingered on his lips even though it hadn’t happened yet. Tonight, anyway. She stopped, letting him have the moment. She knew how to read him. Was it only him or lots of people? Jimin liked to pretend it was just him, even though the answer was probably the opposite.

She whispered gently, warm breath on his lips.

“No one will fall in love with you as long as you’re in my bed.”

He didn’t bother to hide his emotions. He wasn’t good at it, and he didn’t want to.

“That’s okay,” he whispered back and he meant it.

There was a little bit of pity in her gaze, some I-don’t-care, and a pensiveness he had been trying to avoid. She was astute. But, then again, he didn’t come here to hide. He came to be discovered.

And to be numb.

“Someone out there is dying to love you,” she murmured, dancing kisses on the edges of his lips, making his breath hitch and his body tremble. “But you don’t want to love them, do you?”

Not right now, no.

He wondered if she was being truthful about what she said before, because her kiss was a whirlwind of tension and lust, so instant that he felt it all over. Inside, in sudden boiling blood. Outside, all over his skin in a wave of goosebumps, his hand twitching and reaching up, gripping her hip and his lids fluttering, roughly thrust into a dream that felt real.

So real.

It helped that she was unbuttoning his shirt with fervor, dragging a nail down his sternum, making him moan at the prickling sensation. This kind of thing was delicate. If it was half-hearted, it felt dishonest. Dirty. Unfulfilling. But it never was when it was with her. She understood. She accepted, him and his flaws. That was a strange feeling. He almost hoped that she would fall in love with him, but he knew that she wouldn’t because there was no chance of him feeling the same way.

He would have, a long time ago, if he could.

She deserved it, putting up with him all the time and taking away his loneliness.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. Pulled his head back roughly, and then it was hot tongue on his throat, dripping saliva. Possessive. Pressing her lips to his pulse and he felt his heart beating, thud-thud-thud, his body aching for more, lips and teeth andthen it was hands gripping his waist, fingernails digging into his back.

Moving up.

She traced his spine, outlining his moon tattoos.

Didn’t have to look.

Memorized the details of his body.

That touched him somehow. Almost made him cry as she kissed his chest, the tears stinging the edges of his vision, but he pushed them away, letting himself feel the touches instead. Soft. Delicate. Insistent, with unmistakable power, and he lost himself in it, in the flashes of light behind his closed eyelids, his own shaking gasps ringing in his ears.

She chuckled darkly, amused at his submissiveness.

“Ah, so it’s like that tonight?”

She could read him so well.

He wondered why she kept giving this to him. She didn’t have to. Could pretend to be a shitty lay and he would never come back. She didn’t have to sink her nails into his shoulder blades and leave lines of pain, causing him to groan wantonly and then cut off his air in deep, hungry kisses, tongue invading his mouth, pinning his torso to hers, hard nipples rubbing against his chest that was still tingling from her kisses. She didn’t have to, but she did, and he wondered why.

She gave it to him, this spotlight, and let him thrive.

Jimin found it as mysterious as it was beautiful.

He loved this noncommittal light, and he felt he should be ashamed about it, but he wasn’t, especially when she rocked her clothed mound into his erection, soft thighs squeezing him. Maybe this was all he could handle. Maybe he wasn’t ready for the real thing. Maybe the last time he loved had burned him harder than he thought.

Maybe he just wanted to feel the feeling of what it was like to be loved.

The roughness softened, her sweet breath drifting into his throat. A fingertip tracing the crescent moon at the nape of his neck, other hand on his cheek. Lips-to-lips, lust drunk.

It wasn’t him, but it felt like it was him when she touched him.

He clutched her sheets, whimpering, and her eyes opened with his, just a little, letting their gazes connect. No lies here. He melted in the heat within those dark orbs, shadowed by lashes.

She must love someone very much.

Or did.

She broke the kiss.

The moment hovered, weighing down the seconds.

“Jimin, you’re beautiful.”

He felt his cheeks warm, and she smirked, amused at his reaction. Wasn’t so much the words as it was the way she said it. Genuine and with desire. Why couldn’t this be like every other time where he was delusional and loved someone just because they cared about him? Why couldn’t he mistake sex for love and spin himself a fairytale with rose-tinted glasses? Life truly was cruel and unfair for showing him love he couldn’t have and making him aware that he didn’t reciprocate.

Emotions on ice.

The corner of her lips ticked higher.

Her head tilted, her lovely hair cascading over her shoulder.

“Stay with me,” she breathed, pushing him down on the bed.

He inhaled sharply as her hand wrapped around his neck and the other slid under the elastic waistband, fingertips gliding across taut skin, moaning as her grip tightened simultaneously. So calm below, slow strokes and restricted by his boxer briefs. Piercing above, choking him while she watched his face with a small, fond smile, as if she wasn’t cruelly edging him while making him lightheaded.

It was unbearable so he yanked his underwear down, cheeks burning, then whining as her hand fully gripped his hard length, rubbing her thumb at the base of the leaking head, smearing pre-cum as she jacked him off.

Didn’t even look down.

Kept watching his face as his back arched, hips bucking, his breathless moans stinging the ceiling.

He asked her once to date him. She flat-out rejected him. To his surprise, he hadn’t been disappointed. Or, rather, he was disappointed that he wasn’t disappointed. She had elaborated without him asking. I’m not an idiot. You have no intention of loving me. You just want to be in love. And she wasn’t wrong. He knew. She knew that he knew. She had smiled at him, in that knowing way of hers, and he admitted that he just didn’t want to be alone.

Okay.

Almost. So close, building up the tension in tight, encompassing strokes, on the edge of true orgasm, and he was begging between thin breath, strong fingertips pressing into the sides of his neck, lightheadedness taking away his eloquence, pleas melding with moans. Couldn’t cum unless it was faster. Steady, thrumming pleasure mixing with the high of erotic asphyxiation but not enough. She tilted her head, indicating that she heard, but still smiling so tenderly, torturing him with kindness and he pressed the crown of his head to the pillows, half-insane from this edging.

You won’t be alone when you’re with me.

“You wanna cum?” she purred, sugary sweet. “All over your legs? How dirty. But you want me to see how dirty you are, don’t you, Jimin?”

Just a little faster, just a little bit more force, and he was losing it, in her words and in his head, heat pooling, core tightening, gasping, couldn’t talk, couldn’t cry out, holding his breath, choking out please, please, I c-can’t.

Her smile became a little smirk, eyes glittering like lights.

“Yeah, you can. Here, I’ll even let you.”

High so high, fuck, she was so good, why was she so good at handjobs, his eyes rolling back, wildfire racing in his veins, delicious friction burning him alive, his lips parting, somewhere between a gurgle and a moan, mind blank, vision flashing white like cameras going off all around him, and he was there, white-hot, knuckles straining from gripping the sheets, hips buckling and feeling his release in waves, hot strings splattering onto the inside of his thighs, dripping down her hand and onto his balls, probably pooling onto the sheets, the strong, heavy scent of cum piercing his inhale, gasping as she let him go.

The rush.

Thundering, immediate, alarming, sending another wave of electric ecstasy that punched the air out of his lungs. He moaned, weak and lightheaded, body collapsing onto the mattress as the tension snapped, sweat breaking out, his hair all over his face. Lines of black clouding his hazy vision, and then he felt it, wet tongue on skin, trickling pleasure stinging his veins.

He looked down.

She was staring at him, grinning, licking the cum off his tense, hard thighs. Graceful hands poised on his hips. Framing them like art. One of them had wet knuckles. Clean of his orgasm, glossy with remaining saliva.

Her name slipping from his lips.

She circled her tongue around his semi-hard cock, quirking an eyebrow.

“P… Please…”

He lost himself in the lights in her eyes.

So bright and so warm.

She smiled and it made his heart flutter, but not in the right way.

“Let me have a taste.”

She swallowed him and the bad feelings disappeared, flattened by hot and heavy lust that suddenly blanketed over it all. Wet, tight, all around, powerful tongue curling along the length and he swelled at the touch, along for the ride and the high, gasping as her grip on him tightened, hands holding down his hips, soft lips gliding against hardness, and it was hard to remember what the ache in his heart was about, just couldn’t remember amongst all this dreamlike bliss, delicious pressure around the base of the swollen, twitching head of his throbbing cock, so good, feels so g-good, was that him, it sounded so far away and so needy, looking down and those glimmering eyes smiled at him in the low light, the head hitting the back of her throat.

He saw stars, moaning as he clawed at the sheets.

Her hand slid up, running her nails along his tense abs, causing him to squirm and whine, intoxicated by the juxtaposition of sensation. Pain alighting the pleasure, lost in her eyes, out of his mind, blindly following this pace. Again and again filling that tight, wet hole, her throat constricting him, and there was a kind of desperation in the lights within her eyes, a want so strong it bled into him, that carnal craving needing to be satisfied.

Her eyes slipped closed, focused on getting him off.

He closed his eyes too.

Dreaming.

He could feel it.

Almost.

And then it spilled out with a choked groan, his eyes snapping open and his hips involuntarily thrusting up, shooting streams of thick cum down that tight throat. She pressed her lips to the base, swallowing sharply, glaring at him, but all he could do was whimper and flinch, sensitivity rippling through the high and amplifying it, oh fuck, the masochistic shame inflaming his core.

She grabbed his hips and shoved them back down, sucking hard.

He couldn’t say out loud how fucking good it felt, but his wet, lewd moan was enough, his hand finding the back of her head and pushing it down, torturing himself more. That tongue obliged, wrapping around him, rubbing the oversensitive head into the roof of her mouth, just like that, y-yes, don’t stop, p-please, sparks flitting up his bones, this ride reaching new heights, wanting it, needing it, craving it like crazy.

The moment suspended.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Her hand on his hip.

Fingertips resting on his lower ribs, her body between his open legs.

Falling.

He

almost

believed.

Her hand flexed, ready to rise, nearly shattering it all.

His free hand shot down and pinned her touch to him, forcing them to stay in this dream.

Those hands embraced him.

He didn’t tell anyone about these nights. No one would understand. They would tell him he was foolish, that it was pointless, that he needed to be saved, but he didn’t want to be saved, there was a point, and if he was a fool then he was a happy fool, slipping into sweet bliss while others in his position were devoured by their tears. Wasting time. No, not him.

She cradled his head with her graceful fingers and kissed him, deeply, forcing him to taste himself.

He did so greedily.

No one understood.

Those hands crowned his jaw, turning him into royalty, appointed by passion.

She understood.

Those eyes full of stars even in the shadows of their faces and Jimin lost himself in the lights.

He understood that she knew love at such a deep level that even he, not the intended recipient, was moved. It made him jealous and appreciative at the same time. Hungry, too, wanting to feel it more, more.

His hands framed her back, staring into her eyes as they kissed, hazy and drunk on a feeling.

She smiled into his lips.

“You’re not alone when you’re with me.”

No, he wasn’t but he wasn’t all there either.

He smiled back.

“Tonight’s a good night.”

Before their bodies joined, he reached down, dipping his fingers into the viscous honey. Tasting it. Moaned despite himself, closing his eyes, the sweet-sour taste spreading over his tongue. The condom wrapper fell from his hand, torn open and empty now. Thighs against his chest, sinking his fingers into the softness, sinking in. Whispering curses under his breath, fuck, so tight but so slick, easy but feeling the pulse of those slick walls as clearly as he felt his own heartbeat. Gasping. She chuckled but he ignored it, running his fingers up and down her legs. Memorizing the shape, the feel, the realness of it all.

Tension in those muscles.

“Jimin.”

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

She was smiling at him, so fondly, and pushing her breasts together, squeezing her hard nipples between her fingers.

He sucked in a breath.

“Stop.”

He didn’t want her to stop, not really, but his cock was throbbing dangerously and her pussy was clenching around him, hugging all around. A warm wet sleeve, complete with a borderline aggravating smirk.

“Make me.”

This was part of the dream too.

He gritted his teeth and leaned down, palms flat on the mattress.

“I will,” he breathed, airy and sharp.

Normally he would be a little kinder, a little more forgiving, but here he was not his normal self. Here he was unafraid and strong and driven by desire, hard, rough, putting all of his power into it. He watched the pleasure ripple over her features, lashes fluttering, needing a beat to catch her breath. Still stubbornly toying with her breasts and creating those teasing mewls, driving him a little more insane, so he kept it steady. Deliberate, strong thrusts, ruthless in the slowness. Building it. Her hands slipped, reaching back to clutch the pillows. Not playing anymore, just lost in the rhythm with him, hips matching hips, and he hit deeper, crotch sticky with sweetness. Bodies vibrating from the sensations, not just smacking hips but also in roaring blood, in airless lungs, in flashing lights under closed eyelids, nerves electric, muscles tense, moans melding. Rise and fall, rise and fall.

The high nearing.

Faster, chasing it together.

Sex clinging to their skin, and he could smell it, pungent and heady.

He had to bite his lip to hold back. Grind his molars and make it last, had to make the last forever, prolonging this beat between bodies, delaying the end, spinning, so good, breathless, wispy purr, that’s it, give it to me, give me your all, and he was losing this battle, wet, tight, hot, his head falling back.

Couldn’t take it anymore.

Exhale.

All at once, a rush and a crash, thrusting deeply and having the breath knocked out of his lungs, succumbing to the swarm of pleasure with every twitch and jerk, spilling into the condom, reckless, but he was relived to hear her breathing catch and feel the spasms close in around him. Hips rocking, thin moan under him, and Jimin opened his eyes to her back arched, fistfuls of pillows between white knuckles, head pushed back so far that all he could see was a mess of hair and an open mouth.

His name drifting out, like smoke swirling around him in a dimly lit nightclub.

He closed his eyes.

“Jimin…”

He almost believed that maybe he could let someone fall in love with him, if only to hear his name said out loud like that, with such fondness. Maybe. A dream almost real.

Almost.

Maybe he just needed to hear it one more time.

ah. alone again. what’s the point?

--

masterpost

(in which . . .) the first collection of my drabbles feat. my beloved muse jungkook! ★

[ second collection | main masterlist | spotify playlist | kofi ]

© onlyswan / i do not allow reposting, translating, or modifying any of my works in any platforms. please do not claim them as yours.

—

> “i have created my own worst enemy.” “jungkook, it’s a plushie.”

> “you can lean on me. you can always lean on me.”

> in which jungkook gives you a concussion

> in which one of jungkook’s love language is biting

> in which you have so much love but not so much time

> in which jungkook wants to live forever with you and you love his pretty hair

> in which jungkook likes cooking late at night

> in which you come home drunk and jungkook is confused the entire time

> in which you can’t sleep and jungkook reminisces

> in which you’re jungkook's lip balm fairy and you love his dimples

> in which you’ve found comfort in laying on top of jungkook and you just . . . won’t let go

> in which you and jungkook visit your hometown and a typhoon welcomes you

> in which you and jungkook eat breakfast (in?)front of the fridge

> in which you and jungkook go on an amusement park date

> in which you wake up in the middle of the night without jungkook by your side

> in which jungkook loses you in the grocery store

> in which you and jungkook are just two young souls deeply in love

> in which it’s your turn to take care of jungkook

> in which it’s pouring outside and jungkook is craving s’mores

> in which your feet are hurting but jungkook’s little joys in life are top priority

> in which jungkook is a breath of fresh air and bam loves you

> in which jungkook is team not okay for the perilla leaf debate

> in which it’s jungkook’s turn to steal your clothes

> in which you get your period and jungkook just wants to be with you

> in which you entertain yourself with jungkook’s hair and make a dream come true

> in which jungkook loves much harder than orpheus

> in which you say i love you to jungkook for the first time

> in which you and jungkook splurge on in the seom

> in which you come home tipsy and jungkook is upset

> in which jungkook wants to see you smile

> in which you always come home to jungkook

> in which you and jungkook go on a spontaneous drive

> in which jungkook doesn’t understand you sometimes

> in which you and jungkook get your hands full . . . literally

> in which jungkook loves you, and he wants you both to eat well

> in which jungkook loves doing nothing with you

> in which you really don’t get want to get upset at jungkook, but you are

> in which jungkook kisses you for the first time

> in which jungkook comes home drunk but bam can’t speak

> in which nightmares are made of terrors but jungkook is an evening star

> in which jungkook stumbles with his new pair of eyes

> in which cruel fate leads you and jungkook to bright places

> in which jungkook says i love you for the first time

> in which jungkook doesn’t mind you waking him up— he just wishes it’s not when he’s in the middle of a good dream

> in which christmas is upon us and jungkook just wants to say that he loves you

> in which jungkook won’t tell you what’s wrong and you get emotional motion sickness

Taehyung being the most relatable person – for @jung-koook ♡♡♡

Ammi jaan I am in love and in horny pain ... *Passes out*

DREAM GIRL 💭 kim namjoon.

pair. writer! namjoon x f. reader | genre. age gap romance, obsession, love at first sight, angst | warnings. corruption kink, profanity, slight stalker behavior, daddy kink, pet names, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, power imbalance, just filthy sex tbh | word count. 3.7k

synopsis. “tell me pretty baby, have you ever been fucked up against a wall?” or namjoon is completely enamored by your angelic innocence, and absolutely has to claim you.

Kim Namjoon spent most of his time reading.

His most recent binge had been Murakami books, the woman through a man’s point of view, and while fascinating—it lacked depth. Intensity. This author clearly understood the peculiar sex very little, was entirely focused on his love for them, and their reaction to it. If it was Namjoon, he’d let them lead the narrative, while he’d step back and observe.

Women were to be observed, understood, before approached. This is how he found you, a perfect little angel in your white dress, sipping coffee outside his neighborhood’s café, softly talking to a grey, stray cat, your hand extended out for it, your fingers delicate in their calling. You stopped him dead on his tracks. He could do nothing but stare.

You looked so peaceful in your oblivion, your hair up and away from your face, a book propped on your knees. Namjoon’s feet moved without his knowledge, his mind replaying one thing—I have to see your face, your beautiful features, I need to meet you, sweetheart. Shamefully, his cock stirred in his pants, alerting him of his improper intentions. No matter. He couldn’t control his response to you, didn’t want to.

Walking in the coffeehouse, he leaned against the tall counter, head lazily falling into his open palm, gaze following your every move. Ordering his usual drink, he gathered the courage to approach you. You seemed to like this cat, so, perhaps an animal lover, and you most certainly were a reader—it was a start, an opening for him.

Clouds were beginning to gather, September coming to an end, but you paid no mind to them, your eyes scanning the pages of whatever you were reading. His writer brain was romanticizing your entire existence, was picturing you under him, in his arms, consumed, defiled, claimed. A pretty little thing dancing in the rain, running towards him, laughing, the outline of your breasts visible for anyone to see.

Henry Miller would’ve been one jealous fucker if he’d ever known you were out there, years ahead of him, a muse for the taking. Namjoon thanked every fucking God known for putting you in his way. Bukowski would be having a field day fantasizing about your honey dripping thighs and sweet pussy. You are every writer’s dream, sweetheart, and do you even realize?

“Beautiful choice,” he comments on the book in your lap, coming to stand over you, desperately trying not to lose it over your angel features.

You jump, startled, and look up to witness the most breathtaking man you’ve ever come across in your life, smiling down at you. You smile back without meaning to, your back straightening, your shoe clad feet touching the pavement.

“Anaïs is for the bold,” you retort, voice light, motioning for him to sit in the empty chair opposite you.

He’s massive, with strong arms and long legs. He thanks you softly and takes the seat, paper cup in hand, eyes piercing through you in an identifiable way. You shiver—blame it on the chilly day.

“Are you bold, then?” He asks cryptically, leaning into you. You feel exposed, but intrigued. So incredibly intrigued.

You falter in giving him your answer. You don’t even know his name. You don’t think it matters. “I—I try, I think.”

He smirks, and pulls away, taking with him his amber scent and magnetism. You miss it as soon as it’s gone. You reason with yourself, try to find an explanation for your thought’s reaction—your body’s.

“I’m Namjoon, sweetheart. What should I call you?” His voice was velvet; deep, and manly. It radiated through you.

Closing the book, you instead chose to hold your coffee cup between your hands, a distraction from the intense man pinning you down with those dark eyes. His black leather jacket accentuated his big shoulders, the buzz cut on the top of his head making him appear meaner than he actually was. Namjoon was older, you could tell. It scared you, but in the way rollercoasters make you nervous, or in the way thunder cracked in the night, somewhere far away, miles and miles from you. Bark with no bite.

“(Y/N),” you reply, licking your dry lips.

He follows the movement. “Pretty—(Y/N),” he tries it in his mouth, the sound sinful, inviting. “It’s beautiful.”

He sees your cheeks flush crimson, your head dropping to hide. Namjoon is an intuitive person, a risk-taking man. His fingers reach out, his index lifting your face to look at him. Your breathing has changed, you’re not accustomed to flirting, much less compliments from strangers, it’s all there for him to see. His innocent baby. He’d take his time with you. You deserved nothing less—he’d give you the fucking world, if you so wished.

“Are you a lover of books?” You ask, wanting to break the incantation, disperse the intensity of the moment.

His hand drops, the touch that lit a fire inside of you burning still, bright and strong heading lower, in between your legs, gone in an instant. You mourned for it, yearned for his hand to come back, touch you somewhere else. Your thoughts were shameless, your deepest desires but a breath away.

“You could say that,” he sips from his cup, calm and collected, legs crossed, studying you. “I’m a writer.”

“No way!” You exclaim, your cute reaction eliciting a laugh out of him. How adorable, he thinks, watching your nose scrunch up, your small, fuckable mouth curving in a smile that knocks the wind out of him.

“What about you, angel?”

“I’m a sophomore in college. Literature.”

Of course you are, his smart girl. He needs you to know, before he proceeds. He needs you to vocally say it’s okay for him to court you, to make you his. He won’t lay another finger on you until you do so.

“Sweetheart, you understand the age gap between us, don’t you?”

The part you dreaded. The truth. “Yes,” you say loud enough for just him to hear.

Namjoon leaves his now cold drink on the table, leans forward, forearms resting on top of his knees, fingers lacing together, a serious expression on his flawless face. Is this how it happens, you think? One day, out of the blue, no warning, no signs? Love, plainly in sight, asking you to accept it? You can’t say no. You don’t want to say no, knowing the difficulties, the struggles that entails.

“One word of yours and I’m out of your life. You’re holding the reigns,” he explains, but his eyes are terrified of you rejecting this, of scorning him, of sending him away after he’s found you, an oasis after a long dry desert.

He wants to love you madly. He wants to fuck you senseless, and ruin you for any other man. Most of all, he wants you to want the same things. Eight years isn’t a lot, but it’s a lifetime apart.

“You—you like me?” Your lips fall open, your chest deflates.

Oh, sweetheart, you might not be ready for what I feel for you, what I’m planning to do to you—it’s beyond words. Beyond reason.

“As soon as I saw you. I’m not a talkative person, (Y/N), I don’t walk up to just any girl.” There go those eyes again, haunting your soul, turning you inside out.

You blink, surprised at his honesty, at the bluntness of his words. In your twenty years on this earth, you’ve never been more sure of anything. This man will show you things you’ve never seen before, take you to places you’ve only dreamed of. He’s experienced, he’s an all rounded person.

He’s handsome. His mouth begs to be kissed.

“I like you too,” you admit, but refuse to meet his gaze.

He can’t have that. His fingers shoot out again, gently bringing your face level to his. Rain droplets release themselves from the puffy clouds. You don’t react to any of it, hypnotized under him, under his irresistible touch.

“It will be more than that. I need to know if you’ll be able to handle it, pretty girl. I’m not going to be your high school boyfriend.”

“I understand.” Your thighs clench together, your breathing erratic.

Namjoon notices, of course he does. “Are you a virgin, baby?”

Your eyelashes flutter, the red painting your cheeks turning a shade darker, your skin hot under his palm. He’s closer than ever, this broad man asking if he can take care of you. You’re endeared. Your heart is weak.

“I’m—no. A boy in my senior year,” you reply, embarrassed. Excited.

His eyes flash, something dark stirring in them, before it’s gone instantly. Jealousy. But, why? You couldn’t have possibly known, and even then…the danger. The forbidden. No, that couldn’t have been it.

Why hadn’t you waited? Who dared touched you before him? His muse, his perfect girl. Thoughts that had no place being voiced out loud, in fear of sounding insane. He would never admit to them.

“Then tell me pretty baby, have you ever been fucked up against a wall?”

His lips were but a breath away. You wanted to give in so badly, anything he wanted, you’d become pudding in his hands, melt away if that meant you’d be with him, if that meant he’d take you with him everywhere. His question. You stayed silent.

“Use your words, (Y/N). I’m not doing anything without your consent.”

You were so wet. So incredibly wet. If only he knew the influence his words had on you… He only had to reach a hand under your dress, touch your core. Then he’d realize just how inexperienced you truly were.

“Never,” you whisper.

You exchanged breaths, your eyes falling shut in the thought of his lips on yours, and it almost happened, the ghost of them faintly pressing, a gentle caress, before he pulls away completely, his hand finding yours, pulling you up with him.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea what you just did to me,” an arm wrapping around your waist, bringing you closer, your head at level with his chest, a man, standing before you, asking to have you.

“I should wait, I should take you out and make sure you’re fed, take care of you, every fucking inch of you, before I even begin to think—do you want this?” His voice is vibrating, filled with his desire, breath now tickling your ear, a whisper between lovers.

You just met Namjoon. You don’t know anything about him, nothing but your attraction to him. Your body’s reaction. So what if this was a bad decision? He didn’t look like a bad guy. Anais Nin wasn’t second guessing herself when she fell into an affair with Henry Miller. It just happened, their souls spoke to each other clearly. Could this be what was happening?

You wanted him inside you. You wanted what he offered, every bit of it. Yes, yes, yes.

“Take me with you, Namjoon.”

Together you run, belongings forgotten; the rain had turned from a faint whispering to a thundering roar in a split second, and it didn’t take long for the both of you to get completely drenched in it, tasting sky water, your small hand in his bigger one, holding tight, fingers intertwining.

He only had to look back once. Your dress was see-through, he could see your white undergarments, the silk of your panties, the cups of your bra. Namjoon growled, a guttural noise boiling from his throat. Immediately, he pulled you in between two buildings, a narrow alleyway leading to apartments’ fire escapes unraveling in the length of it.

Leading you under a small shed, he made sure you were against the wall, covered, while he let his arms rest above your head, your bodies touching. He looked down at you, his breathing labored, and he saw the skin glistening, the fabric sticking on every curve, those pink lips open, fast breaths exhaled.

He kisses you, then. Takes your lips as his own, traps you in his embrace. You taste like cold rain, but when his tongue slips past, there’s hints of coffee with milk. Namjoon smiles against your mouth, hands getting lost in your hair, steadying themselves at the nape of your neck, cupping your jaw, your chin—you fit right into him, so small, so precious. He’s going to love corrupting you, tainting you.

“Has anyone ever touched you…here?” His fingers bunch your dress up, dip under it, over your slick. You gasp—he marvels at your expression.

“No? Baby talk to me, use your pretty mouth,” he kisses you again, his digits moving over your panties. You’re moving with them, rubbing against them, it’s all wet wet wet—

“No one.” Your nails dig into his jacket. He sighs dreamily; you’re a vision for him. An angel send.

“Did that boy not know how to please you, baby? He just shoved his fucking dick in you carelessly?” His voice grew rough, anger rippling through him. “You deserve so much better than that, sweetheart. You deserve to be loved, to be caressed…”

With one hand slipping inside your panties, fingers curling, entering you slowly, the other one ran up and down your thigh, gripping at your waist, snaking its way to the small of your back, and back down. You couldn’t focus on anything but the pumping movements inside you, the long digits bringing you pleasure, making your cunt ache, clench around them.

Namjoon was hiding you from view with his entire body. This was only for him to see, but it also served as a test. To see how far you were willing to go with him.

“You’re doing so well, my sweet girl. So tight, so wet for me… I want to taste you, baby, I want to inhale you. Will you let me?”

Your moans were music to his ears. They started as low pants, your hand blocking most of them, your cheeks that familiar pink shade. He saw it happen, as his fingers curled a specific way, the way your legs fell open wider, the way your voice turned a pitch higher than before, unable to hold back, helpless against your pleasure. Namjoon was rock hard, stifled in his pants.

But that would come shortly. First, he needed to show you—what he can do. What you could have every single day, everywhere, as soon as you spoke the words. He’d cater to your every need, be whatever you wanted him to be. As long as he could have you, take you, own you.

A smack on your ass. Your eyes shot open, staring wide at him. He lifted you up at once, arm under those plump cheeks, his fingers still fucking your cunt vigorously. You yelped, held onto his shoulders in fear of falling, but quickly grew overwhelmed, your volume rising. Fuck him, you’re so fucking hot.

“Tell Daddy, my sweet girl—will you let me have a taste of your cunt?”

“Oh, please,” you whined, your head falling in the crook of his neck, your thoughts a jumbled mess. “Please.”

He needn’t be told twice. With your feet planted firmly on the ground again, he removed his hand from your panties, kneeling down in front of you, rain sipping through him, as he lifted your dress up. Namjoon looked up at you through his eyelashes, before he ripped that silk right off you, diving right into your slick.

Divine. He’s had a lot of sex, has tasted a lot of women, but none could ever compare to you, to your sweet fucking cunt. It was pure Heaven. And the way your back curved against the wall, pushing his head into you, his tongue swiping your wetness, sucking your clit—it was enough to make you cum. He slurped all of it up, fingers finding their way again into your warm hole. He’d blow, he fucking swears. Your beautiful voice moaning out his name, wet all over, a Goddess for him, as he laps your intoxicating juices. He drinks you up, he makes it his life’s mission.

“Fucking tell me, sweetheart, has anyone ever had a lick of this pussy? You know it belongs to me now, don’t you?”

You nod your head, losing your mind. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’re convulsing this hard. His baby.

“Words.”

“Yes, daddy, yes! Please,” you sob, “please…fuck me, please…”

He locks you in place, his hands on your ass, determined to make you cum with his tongue, before his cock is anywhere near you. His impatient girl, so lost in feeling, such a slut for him, for what he’s giving you. He’s never had such a perfect woman.

When he started working both his fingers and mouth again, this time aggressively, his only motive was to get that pussy to drench him, to have your cum dripping from his chin. And it did just that when his thumb flicked over your clit relentlessly, tongue moving just underneath, three fingers deep. Your nails dug into his scalp, your entire body convulsing. He rubbed his stubby jaw on your lips, inhaling deeply. Your scent, uniquely yours—he now knew how you smelled. Truly. He would never be able to let you go.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re killing me. Ready for me? Ready to give me another one?” He muttered, hands on your breasts, dropping kisses on your neck, before unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants. “I love the way you cum. I can’t wait to have you on my bed, have my way with you. You’ll let me, yes baby? You’ll let Daddy defile you, pretty thing?”

You looked down at his girth, swallowing thickly. Namjoon chuckled darkly, allowing you to see what would enter you. He pumped himself a couple times, his other hand rubbing your pussy, making sure you were wet enough for him. You just looked so fucking innocent, all fucked out. He attacked your mouth once again, biting down on your lip.

“Do you taste yourself? My delicious fucking girl.”

He enters you slowly, brows furrowed, savoring the tightness. Once he bottoms out, he stills in you, letting you get used to him, his will made of iron. Your fingers wrap around his biceps as you take a deep breath through the sting of his cock.

“Are you okay, baby?” He asks, worried.

“Yes,” you reply at once. “Go on.”

He hikes your thigh up and around his torso, as he lifts you up. You wrap around him and that’s fucking it—he loses it. His cock brutally starts pistoling into you, holding you tight against him. You meet his thrusts halfway, before it becomes too much for you to handle, instead becoming his personal little fuck doll to pound senseless. And he does. His moves are exact; sharp, and precise. He’s hitting everything inside you, the position as well as the thickness of his cock filling you up to the brim, until all you can think is him him him, inside your cunt, fucking you dumb.

“Call me by my name, sweetheart,” he pants in your ear, bouncing you on his dick.

“Namjoon,” you weakly moan, your breaths coming short, on the brink of passing out.

“My name,” he repeats harshly, ramming into you once, twice—

You throw your head back in ecstasy. “Daddy! Fuck, don’t stop! Keep fucking me please, please, I’m so fucking close daddy, please!”

“That’s my fucking angel.”

He does just that, until he can feel you spasming, until you’re screaming, begging, crying, coming on his cock, his desperate whore, getting fucked so good, isn’t she, bounce on my fucking dick, baby, ride it out, that’s right, milk me, fucking own me, my sweet fucking baby, you’re so beautiful, so fucking hot, give me a kiss—

“Where do you want me, baby? Tell Daddy, fuck you’re clenching me so goddamn hard right now, sweetheart, please.”

“Inside, please inside, I want your cum inside of me, please,” you beg, and he almost fucking chokes on his spit.

His thrusts are fast, hard and sloppy now, bruising your pussy, chasing after his own release, his mouth filthy—you want me inside this fucking cunt, don’t you my perfect fucking baby, my little slut, you’re gonna let daddy paint your walls white, won’t you, squeeze me dry, baby, fuck, come on, clench those tight fucking walls, goddamn you, I want to die in this pussy, please baby—

His arms tighten around you as he comes, and you let him; you let him calm down, for his breathing to even out, as he slips out of you, and carefully unwraps your legs from his hips, planting kisses on your shoulders, water dripping from his hair. The thunderstorm still hasn’t passed, raging on beyond the shelter of this shed.

“I’ve never experienced anything like this,” you confess as he fixes your hair, your dress, adjusts the straps, gives you his jacket to make up for the lack of underwear, and even though it’s several sizes too big on you—he cares.

It wasn’t just a lie to have a quickie with you. He took his time to explore your body, to study what makes you tick, what sends you over the edge. You didn’t even know his last name, but he knew his way around your pussy the best, better than you it felt like.

His eyes are fond, staring down in adoration. “I want to make you feel good for as long as you let me, sweetheart. I’m not here to hurt you.”

You hug him, then, your arms not quite reaching all around him. But it’s enough for him. More than enough. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you so easily. You’re the most adorable thing he’s ever witnessed. He wants to hide you away, put you in his pocket and carry you everywhere.

“What’s your last name?” You ask innocently, head still buried in his chest.

He barks a laugh out, squeezing you in him, the vibration of it radiating through you. “Should’ve mentioned it, huh? It’s Kim, angel. Kim Namjoon.”

“Kim Namjoon,” you try it. It sounds…wholesome. “Hi, Kim Namjoon.”

“Hello, baby.”

The two of you stood there for a long time, waiting the storm out in each other’s arms. Namjoon couldn’t stop smiling, didn’t want to, never wanted to, ever again.

You couldn’t stop staring at him—he felt like the sun peeking after the gray of the clouds. Warm, important.

I am ruined .

need you here | knj

pairing; namjoon x f. reader

kiss type; ‘i missed you’ kisses

posted; july 30th, 2021

— part of drabble series ‘seven kisses’ | series masterlist

It has been a while since you saw him last. It has been torture almost, being away from him for so long. The worst part is that he’s been busy as well, so you barely had time for FaceTiming each other or talk on the phone. There would only be time for a text once in a while here and there, short replies of ‘i’m good, did you sleep well?’ and ‘not really, i miss you’.

Now, as you make your way through tons of people, dragging your suitcase along and carrying a heavy purse on your shoulder, you’re desperately trying to spot him within the crowd. It’s impossible to see anything with the way fans are crowding the airport. Being an idol, with an idol boyfriend, makes it difficult to get around an airport. You still don’t understand how the fans always know where to be and when.

“____!”

Your name is being called, a familiar voice sending a tingle through your body. It feels like forever since you heard it last.

With wide and bewildered eyes, you push through, hoping he’ll be standing on the other side once you’ve fought your way through the fans. The harsh flashes of cameras are blinding you but you really don’t care, you just need to see him, hug him… kiss him.

Before you know it, you spot him not too far away. He’s making his way to you, a warm smile on his face. You don’t register the small ‘hi’ falling from his lips as he grabs your suitcase in one hand and your hand in his other. It’s messy, chaotic in most ways, and quick as he guides you through the airport and towards a secured area, closed off for fans and reporters.

Once inside and the doors closed, you watch with heavy breathing as he puts your stuff in the corner of the room. When he turns back around, his soft and warm features falter as he takes in your teary eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, coming up to you and cupping your face, doing his best at wiping the tears away, “what’s wrong?”

You shake your head as you wrap your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. You feel his arms slide around your body, engulfing you in a tight embrace. He’s pressing soft kisses to your temple, waiting for you to calm down. After a good few minutes, just crying in his safe arms, you pull away to look up at him. The smile he gives you is almost enough to make a new round of tears appear.

“I really missed you,” you tell him, bottom lip quivering because you just can’t seem to hold your tears back. This reunion has been a long time coming and the feelings of missing him and loving him hits you all at once as he stands before you. “Like so fucking much.”

Namjoon doesn’t say much except for a soft “I know, baby,” before leaning down, pressing his lips to yours in a long awaited kiss. It fills your body with comfort, a feeling of being safe and back home as he holds you tightly against him. His kisses are soft yet you can tell he’s been waiting for this just as long as you, probably counting down the days until he’d be able to kiss you again and hold you close.

“God, I’m so happy to see you again,” he mumbles as he pulls away and buries his face in the crook of your neck, plump lips leaving small and soft kisses on the skin of it. You close your eyes, enjoying his tight hold and silently wishing he won’t let go for a long, long time.

Joonie losing mind over puppy is me losing mind over him 😂😌

the pure joy on joonie’s face when he finally held the puppy 🥺 for @namchyoon ♡ (trans. cr. @taee)

No thoughts head empty (only jungkook)🥲🥰.

Rarely I come across fics which are like clear , streaming flow of emotions yet which are built in their own twisted tendrils of situations and complex characters. @ahundredtimesover is a proven great writer but for some reason I keep coming back to this story. Read the last part today and I seriously don't know how the two distinct loses of love were incorporated so beautifully in here. Suffices to say I cried 🥲🥲. Love you bestie , pls keep writing ❤️💜❤️💜❤️

The Love After (Series Masterlist) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader, ex!Yoongi x Reader

Genre/Tags: werewolf au; beta!jungkook x human!reader; angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, smut

Series Warnings: minor character death, grief and loss, depression, thoughts of one’s own death, animal attack, descriptions of wounds and injuries, heart attack, talk of death, almost fire, use of sex to cope, marking, sexual content (first times; fingering, breast play, oral (f receiving), handjob, unprotected sex) (18+)

Word count: 63,220 (main story)

Status: Completed

Mini-Series summary: Every werewolf has a fate, interpreted by Amma and guided by the Moon. In this world, there are 2 Supreme Fates fully determined by Her - serve in the Wolf Warrior Clan or find your True Mate. You and Jungkook have neither. You both lost the loves of your lives to live out their Supreme Fates and it’s why you both hold resentment towards the mating system. Until the Ceremony happens and you and Jungkook are fated to each other, connected only by heartbreak, pain, and the long lost belief that you could ever love again.

Main story

Part 01 (wc: 21.4)

Part 02 (wc: 16.3k)

Part 03 (wc: 25.5k)

Drabbles

01: You gotta hold on for me, please || Jungkook finds you in danger

02: I know you’re stronger now but maybe a little warning next time? || You go through your first transformation

03: You’re gonna be a mom || Jungkook comes home to a surprise

04: You’re making more noise than she is and you’re not even the one giving birth || You and Jungkook welcome the little ones

05: My fingers are tucked underneath their chins and they won’t let go || You and Jungkook savor your daughters’ first year

together, every step of the way

seven.

Yeah I'm not able to form words yet. Stream Proof 💜💜💜

THE END OF CHAPTER 1

happy 9 years bangtan, thank you for always taking care of us through your words, actions and music ♡ / insp 

Minimonimo 🥺🥺

minimoni; that sort of gravity. for @jimimon ♡

we’re so proud of you and we’ll support all 7 of you always ♡

When I say I aspire to be Kim Taehyung , I mean this level of confidence, unbotheredness and zero fucks given out of pockets.

Only self love , care for people who care about you and suave all the way .

TaeTae on Vlive ♡

bonus: 

tumblr user, drinking a bottle of uncontaminated water in post apocalyptic america: i love this?? this is so pure omg

Fuck me Line 🥵🥵🥵🥵

220416 - Permission To Dance

🤣🤣😌😌👌👌💜💜🥰🥰

BANGTAN: INSIDE JOKES EDITION happy nine years ♡ 130613 · 220613

💜💜💜🥰🥰🥰😘😘😘

“namjoon hyung isn’t the type of person who is very affectionate, who ask for things like “let me hug you” so when he said that on stage, I was very touched and moved.” — jungkook “jungkook-ah if you are watching this, hyung believes in you and I always have a hug ready for you.” — namjoon

Dear lord let me survive 🥵🥵🥵🥵

double attack

This is the most incredible story I have come across 🥺🥺💜💜

the train of lost souls

↳ fantasy au

◇ pairing: jungkook | reader, hoseok | reader ◇ genre: angst and tiny bits of fluff ◇ word count: 13.610 ◇ warnings: mentions of past death  ◇ author’s note: I promise it’s not tragic, though it might seem like it at first. pls believe in me! :)) on another note, let’s just pretend they are all the same age here, since I planned the story that way~

The moment you step inside the train, you are given two options.

You can choose to live, to be given a second and a last chance in life, in exchange for your memories and your previous existence. You can choose to be alive again, but it can only be an entirely new life. Everyone you’ve ever crossed paths with would forget your name. All the pain and the love you knew, all the ups and downs that made you hurt and made you smile — all of it, completely gone.

Or you can choose to move on, to give your life away while keeping your memories until the end of time. To step out of the world of the living and to embrace a new kind of loneliness, but with the warmth of your past always safe between your cold hands.

You are dead, but it’s up to you to do something about it.

The choice is solely yours.

Keep reading

Baby cow aafhdjhfhkff

hate when men have big beautiful brown eyes like a baby cow . shut the fuck up

My ovaries are soft sire 💀💜

jungkook cutely telling us a secret 🥺 (trans. cr. tteokminnie)

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

I heard pic requests Mindy and I bring you...

While You're Sleeping

warnings: heavy angst, reader unleashes some insecurities to Jimin while he's sleeping, mentions of divorced parents and anxiety

wc: 1.6K

pic requests are CLOSED.

There's something different about his skin in the morning time. It's softer, more sensitive, and all around pretty. When you trace over his back, between his spine, you can feel him breathing beneath your fingers and it's as if nothing matters anymore but the oxygen entering his lungs. As long as he's breathing next to you, everything is okay.

Last night rummages through your mind like an old movie, scenes of cuddling on the couch and laughing at your favorite comedian on the television. Jimin's arms wrapped around you tightly, your body striving to be closer to him if by any means possible. It feels as though you've known him for a million years. He's an angel with the dust of the stars in his eyes. He's someone you don't mind being stuck inside with for days on end, and that's saying something.

For the first time you gave yourself to him completely. You discovered a new way to express love and it only furthers your desire to find more ways.

You know this life doesn't last forever, but right now it kinda feels like it might. You want it to. Despite the laziness in your eyes, you keep them locked on his messy hair as your fingers run through it lovingly.

You love him. Or course you do, how could you not? His tattoos and tired eyes, gentle hums and kisses across your skin. Not loving him would be a crime too horrible to even imagine.

"Baby?" you whisper through the early morning rays gently kissing his cheeks and the warmth from his side of the bed, "you're asleep, right?"

Because you really can't have him awake for these next few moments, not to hear what you're about to say. Not yet anyway. Jimin can sleep through just about anything, you just hope he's sleeping through this.

As much as you love him, you feel so guilty. Jimin is the type of guy who loves with everything he has, everything he possibly can. He gives his all to his lover and he's given his all to you. But you're not that way, not naturally.

"I think I'm almost ready," you confess to his absent ears and unknowing unconscious, "almost ready to say it. Although, I'm...I'm nervous now that it's time to verbally express it. If I was more of a romantic, I would say something like I knew from the moment I saw you. But, baby, that just isn't me."

It's hard measuring up to the hopeless romantic Park Jimin is. Being his partner means being constantly showered in uninhibited affection. Affection you don't feel worthy of receiving, not if this relationship is supposed to be an equal give and take.

"When we met," you continue to whisper, pressing yourself to his back, feeling the gentle way he breathes and it helps calm you a bit, "I was terrified. Because you were so kind and adorable and funny and I wasn't. I was scared. Scared I would embarrass myself or say something stupid and offend you. Fuck I still am, to be honest."

He shifts in his sleep, pausing your words for a moment while he readjusts and you feel him pull your arm over his waist and into his chest. He cuddles it like a teddy bear, never once waking but still treasuring you close to his heart like he said he would.

You sigh. Even his unconscious state is romantic. Does he not see how difficult he makes things for you when he does stuff like this? Who in this goddamn ruined world is this genuinely sweet and attentive? Even when they sleep?

You're lying here, practically naked next to him and he's the one who's so damn perfectly warm and soft. You're just cold. It hurts a little bit.

"Can I tell you a secret?" you ask, but of course he doesn't answer. "Remember when you said you were so proud you could make my heart race so easily? That pounding in my chest...that's fear. I'm anxious that I'm gonna mess something up, say something wrong, do something stupid and...god, I can't even imagine it. What if I lose you?"

Life without Jimin is unimaginable now that you've spent so much time with him. He is your solid center, the cornerstone for everything else standing up straight, the main thing that keeps blood pumping through your veins. Maybe you should consider just how much you depend on him but that's just the way things happened. And you don't hate it. As much as it pains you to be without him, being with him feels so worth it.

The idea of losing him...it kills you inside. Your emotional instability can't handle the idea of that kind of reality, not after it's experienced what it's like to be affirmed by the most incredibly supportive and encouraging man you've ever met.

Life changed when you fell in love with him, but you've never had the guts to say it to his face. Telling his sleeping state is the closest you've gotten to being completely vulnerable in front of him.

"I'm sorry, I'm rambling but I need to work through this stuff and you're the one I always go to. Baby, you're the one I talk to about everything, so when the topic is you, who should I go to?" You sigh and try to cut your ramblings to the end. "Okay here's my point. You asked me earlier, where I see our relationship going. And I so appreciate how hard you tried not to push it and to make it easy for me. You tried so fucking hard to sound casual, but baby, I could hear it in your voice, I could see it in your eyes, what you wanted me to say."

It was obvious to you. He's said it already several times and you've avoided saying it back for weeks. Not because it isn't true, but because as soon as you say it all this pretending to be cool about things, all this casual cuddling on the couch, and making out when you're bored, and waking up in the same bed. It all means something special. And you're not special like Jimin is special.

"If you asked me a year ago if I would be in bed with a guy even half as amazing as you are..." you slowly slide your leg over his hip and wrap yourself around his cuddly frame like a koala, "...I'd laugh. Never in the million years did I think I would let someone this close. But now I can't stand the thought of not being this close. You know what happened to my mom and dad." They're problems aren't your problems and their mistakes aren't your mistakes, but you still feel the need to bring them up. "In the end, their 'love' wasn't enough to keep lust from driving them apart. The thought of seeing you cry the way my dad cried, I just...I don't want that."

The thought of letting someone past the stern exterior you built was horrifying to say the least. Truly the most insanely terrifying thing you've done up to this day was allowing your friend, Jimin, to penetrate that barrier and make you feel like more than just a bag of bones on a floating rock in space waiting for the end of her lifespan to hurry up and count down the days.

The things that boy did for you and your appreciation for the universe are unbelievable and you will never be able to repay him. But he doesn't want gratitude or compensation, and maybe that's the hardest part. Knowing that nothing you do will ever be able to pay back for the sheer joy you get from seeing his precious eye smile, his pinky finger, his pout when he sleeps.

You sneak a kiss to his neck and taste the skin there for the first time since the sun woke up. "Thanks for breaking my walls, baby. I know how much you hate it when I talk bad about myself, how you say it makes your blood boil. You say I deserve the best, but darling, you're the best and there's no way in hell I deserve you."

Peaking over his shoulder, you double check his eyes are still softly shut before leaning in close to his ear and parting your lips.

Not everything needs to change, but what does need to adjust is your perception of things and you know that. Jimin isn't perfect, although most days he feels that way to you. But he tries to be and his perfectionism makes for some hard emotional times. There needs to be a little more confidence and little less stubbornness from both of you.

"I love you." Fuck you really said it. "That's what all this comes down to. I fucking love you, Park Jimin."

"Really?"

You startle, rolling away but he's quick to flip over and drag you back to his side of the bed by your hips. You're pressed into his body, trapped by his legs intertwining with yours and his palms holding your waist.

"You were awake?"

Jimin smiles sleepily at you and nods. He heard all that? Everything?

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Sounded like you needed me to be asleep. So I let you talk it out with yourself first. But when I heard you say that," he sighs and leans his forehead against yours, "I can't sleep through a confession like that. Not when I'm desperately in love with you too."

The tears in your eyes are solely from being startled and you will not argue about it!

His lips find you in a deep kiss, one that secures all your anxieties and fears about him hearing your little speech. And in that split moment, things are okay.

"I've got you," he whispers against your lips, lulling you into himself easily and soothingly until you can't remember where you end and he begins, and honestly you don't want to. "Let's go back to sleep."

::

Ooooooooooooofffffffff I just love this feeling. Spectacular series , read it in one go and I crave more somehow 💜💜💜💜🥺🥺🥺🥺.

four seven eight

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 12k

glimpse: you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you.

alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

[ part one + intermission + part two + intermission 02 + finale ]

[ major angst (pls take a break when necessary!!), no cheating happens here btw, some rlly cute moments i swear, jk’s a cold lover, emotional constipation + breakdowns, allusions to anxiety + anxiety attacks, self-deprication n loathing, miscommunication, based on the moral dilemma of whether or not it’s okay to be friends with ur ex, eventual redemption in the next parts :) ]

notes: it’s finally out and i can’t wait for you to read!! this piece is my baby, the rightful successor to heartburn <3 i’m aware that the last time i wrote a mini-series it was rlly heavy, but please trust me when i say that this would be lighter <3

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :) | series masterlist

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