Seven Days A Week | Jjk (m)

seven days a week | jjk (m)

>> pairing jungkook x fem!reader

>> genre/au's friends with benefits | college AU | smut | crack

>> summary jeon jungkook has always had crazy ideas, but wanting to fuck you every day of the week was the last thing you expected.

>> word count 2.2k

>> warnings they're so domestic and cute | petnames like baby and pretty girl | finger sucking | fingering | spitting kink | jungkook spits in reader's mouth | missionary | unprotected sex! (do not do this lol) | aftercareee <3

>> author's note aaaaand we're back. hopefully i get sunday written quickly ehhee <3 enjoyyy!!

masterlist for seven days a week

The soft pad of a finger stirs you awake until you realize Jungkook has softly trailed his fingers on the apple of your cheek, while watching you sleep soundly. 

“Hey.” He says the first thing when you squint both eyes. You’ve never seen Jungkook like this before,  morning hair and puffy eyes paired with a smile that screams a million words. 

It’s your first morning together. Usually Jungkook leaves you after sex, both of you returning to your usual routines. For you it consists of homework, maybe even an afternoon nap if time allows it. Jungkook normally hangs out with Namjoon at home, even though all those times he’s been with you, he’d wished to wake up to your morning state. 

Now he finally has, which explains how the smile dares to vanish even though you’re fully awake. 

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, therefore you clear your throat while you stretch. You’ve been sleeping in one of Jungkook’s t-shirts that he kindly offered when you stepped into the shower. His smell accompanied you all night, while his heartbeat was the last thing you 

heard before snoozing off completely. 

Jungkook pulls you close to him, nuzzling his nose in the nape of your neck, causing a tickle. You try your best not to laugh, hands landing on his naked chest to push him away but he doesn’t budge. 

“You’re tickling me!” You gasp, trying to escape the ticklish feeling reaching under your skin. Jungkook finally pulls away, settling on just holding you against him. He softly sighs, running his hand under his t-shirt and tracing circles on your exposed back. The sensation sends a swarm of butterflies to your stomach. 

All of this is new, which is also the reason behind you not knowing what to say or do. Many things were revealed yesterday and you also, fuck, squirted for the first time. Jungkook’s reaction was still fresh in your memory, especially his facial expression. You were quite embarrassed, unaware you were even able to do such a thing in the first place. 

Trying to grow from the embarrassment, you let yourself enjoy Jungkook in your arms first thing in the morning. It’s something you’re excited to get used to. His skin feels warmer this morning, due to the sun skimming through the windows and plastering itself on his bare skin. 

Just as you’re about to doze off again, Jungkook speaks up. “Hey, stay right here. Okay?” You’re surprised he’s suddenly determined to get out of bed, but you don’t ask, nodding along. 

Jungkook quickly disappears from the room, shutting the door behind him and that’s when you take a moment to notice each detail around you. The colors and small decorations keep you entertained while Jungkook makes a lot of noise in the kitchen. You don’t want to ask questions, but you’re very curious to know what he’s planning. 

You have zero sense of time, explaining why you’re surprised Jungkook is walking back towards his room. Your mouth drops at the sight, him carrying a platter with freshly made eggs and toasted bread paired with juice and tea. Your heart melts at the sight, his cheeks puffy from his bunny grin and how he seems so excited to give you breakfast in bed. 

“You didn’t.” You mutter, still processing the awfully sweet surprise. 

“Hope you’re hungry.” He walks closer to you, while you scoot yourself upwards to accept the food easily. Once the platter lands on the bed, Jungkook pecks you on the forehead mumbling a soft good morning. 

He joins you under the covers, helping you with the tea, as you bite down on the eggs. Your cheeks are full and prominent by all the food you easily swallow down, while Jungkook swoons in silence. 

Neither of you have any plans today, resulting in no rush to start the day. Jungkook never wants to leave this bed, his whole self fully enjoying his dream come true, waking up to you. 

As you finish his homemade meal, you go back to embracing each other under the warm covers. Jungkook kisses you all over, causing your whole face to heat up. 

“So cute.” He coos, pecking his lips wherever they can reach while your cheeks are squished by his hands. Your eyes are closed, smile wide as you try to ignore how much you enjoy Jungkook calling you cute out of all people. You wouldn’t have allowed it if you didn’t like Jeon Jungkook. 

“Thank you for the breakfast in bed.” You manage to say when he’s paused to just look at you. 

“Anything for my girl—“ Jungkook stops, realizing he’s spoken his thoughts out loud. Your brows raise at the unexpected but honest comment. Jungkook has gone quiet, burying his face in his pillow to avoid your eyes on him. 

“So I’m your girl..?” You tease, nudging your face on his shoulder, trying to get him to come out of his handmade cave. 

“Shut up!” He groans, voice muffled due to the pillow. 

“Jeon.” You call for him, gaining zero reaction. Therefore, you decide to leave a small but gentle kiss on his jawline. “Baby.” You whisper, Jungkook’s ears moving by hearing the new pet name coming from you. 

It’s not something you usually do, but the thought of calling Jungkook other things makes you all excited. 

Slowly, Jungkook turns his face, half of it squished down on the soft white covers. “Call me that again.” 

“No.” You respond with all seriousness, waiting for Jungkook’s smile to drop and the moment it does, you crack one yourself. “I was joking, baby.” 

“Gosh, I hate you.” He pushes you away from him, laughs erupting in the room. 

“Oh yeah? That’s not what you told me yesterday.” You tease again, enjoying the irritation that seeps through Jungkook over your small antics. 

“Keep it going and I’ll kick you out.” 

You gasp in offense. “You wouldn’t dare!” 

Jungkook doesn’t respond, tackling you so he hovers above you, pining both of your hands above your head. “Apologize.” 

You keep quiet, Jungkook looking hopeful while he awaits the magic words. Instead, you poke out your tongue to him, smiling as he rolls his eyes. 

“You’re impossible.” He leans down, trailing his lips above yours but daring to touch them. 

The atmosphere suddenly changes around you, Jungkook’s eyes trailing down to your lips, while your mouth slightly drops at the intimate position you’re both in. There’s a certain doubt circulating between the air. Is this leading somewhere or not?

All doubts are answered when Jungkook decides to let his lips move against yours. They’re soft and warm, his tongue wet as it nibbles your bottom lip. You’re quick to give in, opening a bit wider and inviting it as your head moves upwards, craving more of Jungkook. He still has both of your hands pinned upwards, enjoying how you’re lying beneath him. 

There is yet to be a clarity of where exactly this is going, yet you move against Jungkook, lips and tongue all tangled. He sighs against your mouth, retrieving one of his hands to hold your jaw. His thumb begins to trace your bottom lip, before he bites it softly and stops. Both of your mouths are slightly parted, slick as well and Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to run his thumb on both your lips, sighing when he feels the edges.

With no warning, you lean forward, pucking your lips around his thumb and letting it enter your mouth. Jungkook raises an eyebrow in question, but watches you carefully. 

As you suck on his finger, Jungkook’s brows furrow, imagining how they would look wrapped around his cock instead. Maybe that is what you’re implying, with the way your tongue probs at the finger teasingly, eyes locked to his and lips slick with spit. 

Jungkook retracts his thumb, eyes following the movement of his hand that reaches further down to your core. With a quick look to your pleading gaze, he moves it under the waistband of your underwear and finally touches your clit. The first touch causes you to gasp, the common feeling of electricity seeping through your veins. 

He toys with it for a while, mixing between flicking and rubbing it in circles. You let yourself enjoy the gentle touches, spreading your legs even further than before to give easier access. 

“Like how I touch you, baby?” He asks with a teasing tone, keeping his gaze on your twist of expressions as he changes his pace every so often. The ministrations cause you to grow wetter, Jungkook’s fingers fiddling between your lips and feeling the wet sensation that he’s caused. Fuck. He loves making you this wet. 

“Jungkook—“ The veins of your neck start to strain, voice losing its touch as the immersed feeling grows hotter and closer in the room. 

“Want you to come.” Jungkook nibbles on your earlobe, nose nuzzling on your cheek as he finally slides his fingers inside of you. The minute they’re fully inside, you clench around them and Jungkook groans. 

“Yeah that’s it. Come on, pretty girl.” 

Pretty girl. 

Jungkook loves talking you through it but the nickname causes you to buck your hips against his hand, searching for the feeling, wanting to please him and finish as he wishes. 

His fingers begin to move inside of you, twisting and turning until he finds that sweet spot and begins to rub it, while his thumb never slows down on your clit. Jungkook kisses your neck, his tongue running on your exposed skin, loving the feeling of your veins popping out against it. 

The moans grow wilder, your body tensing as it seeks its final push. 

“Jungkook.” You breathe out, bringing your free hand to grab ahold of the nape of his neck. Jungkook stills, moving his face to yours. 

“You okay?” 

“Mhm.” You bite your lip, eyes hooded. Jungkook is about to continue but you stop him. 

“Want you to spit in my mouth.” You almost beg. 

Jungkook curses under his breath. “Open your mouth for me.” You’re not that surprised that he’s into it, but you’re grateful because it’s never something you’ve openly spoken about. Therefore you quickly comply, opening your mouth a bit wider and closing your eyes. 

For a second nothing happens, and then you feel it land in your mouth. Jungkook moans due to you swallowing it so eagerly, before moving upwards and kissing him roughly again. 

While your mouths move at an eager pace, Jungkook returns to touching you. He grows hotter from every reaction of your body and the sounds you so helplessly let out. 

The grip on Jungkook’s neck tightens as your body stills, tensing for a split second until it loosens. Jungkook can feel you come undone all over him, the constant clenching continuing despite his fingers not moving anymore. 

“That’s it baby.” Jungkook praises you, pecking your cheek as he slowly removes his fingers from inside of you. 

Even though you just came, you already miss the feeling of being full. 

Without saying it out loud, your hand moves on its own, pulling the waistband of Jungkook’s boxers with neediness. 

“Fuck me. Please.” Your eyelids are half open, a sign you might be a bit exhausted, but you need more.

Jungkook doesn’t waste another minute, pulling them down to free his cock. His tip is leaking, a sign he’s completely worked up. He pushes your underwear to the side to get better access. 

You press down on his lower back, wanting him inside immediately and Jungkook begins to chuckle before it dies down the minute he feels your warm heat wrapping around him tightly. 

“F—Fuck.” Jungkook stutters, always completely overwhelmed by how you make him feel. He doesn’t even think he can last that long with you watch him this way. Your whole expression is so pleased and greedy, pushing him more so he fully settles. 

“So good.” You mumble under your breath while Jungkook’s hips move on their own accord. He almost lets his tip slip out before he pushes it back in, watching your eyebrows furrow and mouth agape when he does so. 

Gosh. He could watch you like this for hours.

Instead of Jungkook having his second hand wrapped around your wrist, he moves it to interlace your fingers. The hold is firm and strong, your fingers almost going numb. 

Jungkook leans his forehead against yours, gaze downwards to watch how his cock disappears inside of you. The sight gets him so worked up, causing him to groan and moan against your lips. You’re no better yourself, gasping and voice almost restraint due to all the pleasure overcoming the both of you. 

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Jungkook finishes, his cock sooner enough twitching inside of you. He keeps himself buried while riding out his high. 

“Shit.” He breathes out, stunned by how quick this was but he doesn’t have any excuse. You just drive him absolutely crazy. 

As you’ve both regained your strength, Jungkook pulls out and strolls to the bathroom to fish after a warm cloth. 

You’re still laying in his t-shirt, legs spread and body warm all over when he comes back. He gently rubs your sensitive area, cleaning you up with ease as he leaves small kisses on your inner thighs. 

The sudden aftercare is new, but you’re loving every minute of it. 

“A spitting kink, that’s new.” He comments in his annoying tone to nag you but you simply shrug it off. 

“Shut up, you love it.” 

He doesn’t respond, the answer hanging heavy in the bedroom. 

Then, sooner or later Jungkook joins you in bed and cuddles himself against you. Your body leans naturally against his and before you both know it, a sudden snooze washes over you both. 

taglist for this series;

@royallyjjk @fandems @lukeys-giggle @junniesoleilkth @katie-tibo @effielumiere @babigriin @cocopuffsilove @exactlygreatcoffee @shameless-army @frieschan @fairy-jaykay @thvhoe @taebangtanbabe @parkjammys @bloopkook @canyon-lwt @borahaexoxo @iffyleafy @kookswifesblog @astralmono @skzthinker @joonblogz @evajeonsworld @justanotherkpopstanlol @younhakim29 @needausernamepl @rinkud @jungkookie94 @revluvexo-ls @jiminswh0re @kimsharon-2430 @chimmisbae @jjkluvcloudsworld @laylasbunbunny @queen-in-the-shadows @moonstar127 @ediary2 @whatfandomnow @jimmeojimin @ikpopwriting @burnahtsw @jkslaugh97 @hopeworldjimin @hoseokteardrop @justaprettywriter @gummymintae

[if your tag doesn't work, that means i'm unable to tag you :(((]

© jjkeverlast 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.]

Lights Masterlist

❀ Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Producer! F. reader

❀ Summary: Meeting Jungkook was a chance of fate. A moment frozen in time, eyes meeting across a room full of lights. The more the two of you advance in your career, the more lost in the lights you become. What if you never find your way back?  

❀ Word Count: 583 and counting

❀ Genre: Heavy angst, Idolverse, strangers to lovers, eventual smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Series Warnings: Eventual sexual content, explicit language, substance abuse, toxic relationships, manipulation, drama, and heavy angst, depictions of depression and anxiety. This series will explore concepts of the ‘darker’ side of being famous and being in the music industry. It is not an essay on the culture of idols nor does this attempt to draw some sort of conclusion or comparisons to the real music industry or life of idols. This is just something that was inspired by my re-watch of Gossip Girl and listening to The Weeknd and wanting to write about a toxic relationship between fame and self. 

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. This series in no way attempts to paint a realistic depiction of idols, or the industry, or draw comparisons. None of the scenes or elements in this series in any way reflect how I perceive the music industry and do not represent any opinions as a whole. This is not intellectual commentary, it is just straight-up fiction. 

| Masterlist | Ask | Lights Playlist | Tag Lists

▷ e p i s o d e   z e r o  . . . p l a y   n o w 

▷ e p i s o d e o n e . . . p l a y n o w

II n e x t e p i s o d e . . . l o a d i n g

knock for me | jjk

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; jeon jungkook, the man you’re hooking up with on a daily basis and conveniently is your neighbor, happens to bring news with him one day – one you’d never expect unless you see it with your own eyes

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dilf!jungkook x reader, (mentions of jimin x reader)

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, fluff, smut, neighbors au, enemies to lovers (?) 

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, angst: jk is a mess in this one.. don’t get mad at him :(, mentions of adoption, thoughts of abandonment, mentions of sex, “friends” with benefits; they’re not exclusive, protected sex

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k+ m.list | ☕️

Jungkook is freaking exhausted.

So exhausted that he wants to fall back into his bed and wake up to realize, all of this has been a dream and it’s just a prank his mind put on him. However, reality is tough and hits him like a ton of bricks, the little extra weight in his right hand is the perfect proof of it.

As if it wasn’t enough, he hoped he wouldn’t have to face anyone – at least not today but the universe is really coming at him in this mockingly sunny, nice and warm weather. Couldn’t it be one of those old neighbors though? He would be much more welcome for it to be one of those old hags that gossip around. Does it have to be you of all people?

It’s too late for him to turn around and quickly disappear, it’s not possible and with the little extra attention he has to put somewhere else, even more impossible.

Czytaj dalej

meet me at the bar (ksj)

You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x AFAB!Reader Type: One Shot | Fluff w/ Smut | 18+ — Minors DNI Word Count: 7.5k AU: Law school, study-buddies, best friends to lovers, highly educated idiots in love CW: Bad jokes, Latin, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), Seokjinnie hits is from the back. A/N: My inaugural Seokjin smut is dedicated to my donsaeng-in-law (see what I did there?) @yoongiphoria, who is now embarking on this stupid, stupid gatekeeping journey IRL. Best of luck, my lil love. I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the war! MJ FIGHTING ~ Big ups to my other lil love, M, for beta reading 💕 Also: This is written based on my experience in the American legal (educational) system. I was, frankly, too lazy to study up on South Korean law for a fanfic, lol. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

You are not spiraling.

You are a paragon of health and wellness, you tell yourself as you gulp down a mug of coffee that is still far too hot, like you’ll die without it. 

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it —  your third cup in fewer hours. As far as you can tell, though, it’s a win-win situation: You’ll either generate enough anxious energy to finalize your property law flashcards, or you’ll drop dead before you have to review them.

And you won’t have to take that exam…

And you won’t have to pay off your student debt…

Besides, you figure, the stomach ulcer you’re likely inflicting on yourself will be infinitely less painful than dragging your under-caffeinated corpse through yet another day of studying. Another eight, consecutive hours spent forcing forgotten subjects back into your maxed-out brain. 

It’s worth it, you repeat to yourself, though this gauntlet has turned out to be a full-time job that steals, rather than pays. You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. From your first day of preschool, that’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

Stumbling through that eighteenth lap around the track, you kept going because — well, being a student all was all you’d ever been. That’s your toxic trait, you’ve since discovered. Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your decision to take the Law School Admission Test — or the HellSAT, as you’ve come to call it — might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis. But you didn’t stop there. No, you took that score and ran with it. Slapped it onto every application as a desperate plea for acceptance. 

When you received your admission letter, you were a bright-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a bachelor’s degree and a vaguely defined dream.

Call it naïveté or call it gravitas, there wasn’t a doubt in your smooth little brain that law school was the logical next step to take. That being intelligent and hard-working made you well-equipped for the challenge that came with pursuing a Juris Doctor. After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

Within the first hour of your orientation, you — a professional student — had already learned something new: You were a masochist and, frankly, somewhat of an idiot.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone. 

Sitting — dissociating, more like — at a nearby table was a lanky boy you’d first noticed on your tour of the law building. His glassy-eyed stare was aimed somewhere in the middle-distance, and even though his slightly agape mouth said nothing, it communicated everything. He was the only other person in that atrium who looked the way you felt: scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse. A can crushed under the boot of self-doubt.

It was the first time you and your wobbly knees went running in his direction, but it wouldn’t be the last.

He was so deep in a daze at that moment that he didn’t notice the way you threw yourself into the open chair next to him, didn’t look up at the scrape of wooden legs against the granite floor beneath them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you announced your presence with words, however. 

It was less of an introduction — the way people in a society tend to greet each other for the first time, ever — and more of a twister. Words whipped through the air at a dangerously high velocity, no syllable ending before you started on the next. Just one breath, a few consonants, and a pair of dark eyebrows shooting up to cower behind his bangs. 

“Was — was that Korean?” He asked when you finally ran out of wind. 

Judging by the way his wide eyes softened, you knew he wasn’t making fun of you. You’d simply scrambled his brain so thoroughly that you’d transcended the known limits of language.

More of a question than an answer, you peeped, “I think so. Maybe?” You wavered with a sigh. “I’m no longer confident that I know any of the things I thought I knew, though. So, um, don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t catch enough of whatever that was,” he gestured vaguely, “To even attempt to quote you.”

Within seconds and without knowing, he’d disarmed the bomb ticking away in your gut. He must’ve sensed it, too, because his face lit up so completely that you had to look away. One glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the sun hadn’t reappeared at that time of night. 

That rush of warmth you felt then  — that absolutely insane brightness — was powered exclusively by the grin taking up the entirety of his face. If that megawatt smile alone hadn’t rerouted your oncoming anxiety attack, the distinct, squeaking laugh that erupted out of his chest would’ve done the job. 

You doubled over, either under the weight of your own giggling or with the relief you felt in finding someone equally lost. Eyes swimming with mirth, you wiped wetness from your cheekbone and snorted, “Was that a windshield wiper?”  

“No, that was embarrassing.” 

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks went some dizzy shade of pink. 

He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with one hand and held the other out to shake yours, “And I’m Kim Seokjin.”

Now, when the door of your apartment flies open without warning, it’s that same savior standing on your threshold. That designation may be melodramatic, but if that brown paper bag contains what you suspect it does, it’s deserved.

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches, flops down on the couch that stretches along the opposite side of your coffee table. From where you sit on the floor — hunched over your notes like a hobgoblin — you reach out your expectant arms and make grabby hands in the space between you.

You see mischief flash in his eyes, but only for a second. In the next, he’s pretending like he doesn’t see you; doesn’t hear your petulant little whines. He extends long legs out over the cushions, clutches the bag to his chest, and lets his head roll back to rest on the couch’s arm.

“Wanna know what I did today instead of practice essays?” He asks, eyes unfocused on the ceiling above.

All you actually want is whatever that smell is. You can’t stop staring at the bag of food in his hands. If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

He doesn’t wait for your response. “The math.”

“Huh?” 

You frown; and as you do, you reluctantly shift your gaze from Seokjin’s hands to his face. He isn’t looking your way, but you can tell he’s grimacing based solely on the way his jaw twitches. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ground his teeth to dust over the past three years, given how often he makes that face.

In an attempt to ease the tension in his posture, you snort, “Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

He cracks an unwilling smile. A tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. Without turning his head, he extends his arm out in your direction. In the split second it takes for yours to spring forward like a snake, that blessed bag dangles; the scent of sausage, egg, and cheese wafts through the air and restores your will to live. Clutching your prize, halfway to feral, you tear into it without hesitation.

As you bite off more than you can chew, Seokjin prepares his rant with a sigh, “So, consider this.”

“Mmphf,” you advise through a mouthful of greasy bliss.

“Bar exam prep takes eight weeks, right? If we’re only counting business days, that’s forty — forty days, for a minimum of eight hours each.”

He becomes more restless, the more he talks. Heated, he sits bolt upright and turns wild-eyed to you.

Oh, he’s gone full-tilt insane.

“Three-hundred-and-twenty hours, then. And if you think about that in terms of our clerk wages —” He slaps his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. “— at 2,625 won per hour —” 

Then, he points to you, as if the increasing volume of his voice wasn’t already holding you hostage. “— we’ve sacrificed nearly two million won in income, just by studying for this fucking test.”

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered while Seokjin took the path of most resistance. After clearing your throat, your interjection overlaps with his next point: 

“Seokjinnie, why didn’t you just double our monthly —”

“That’s after we paid ninety million in tuition, hundreds of thousands on study materials and registration fees —”

You cut him off, “Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?” 

He freezes, caught fully off-guard. Shocked eyes widen like you’re the ridiculous one. “Of course not!”

He waves you off like his thoughtful gesture is no big deal. Then, like he’s tired himself out, he sinks back onto your couch. From his back, he grumbles with crossed arms, “‘M just sayin’ that I’m tired of this shit.”

You can’t help but giggle at the pathetic pout working down the corners of his mouth. “Felt,” you agree, though it feels a little bit like a lie.

Truth be told, you feel more awake now than you did ten minutes ago, and you can’t attribute it to the coffee — not when the evidence so clearly indicates otherwise. 

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself. You’ve made the following findings of fact:

Whenever he pops up, Seokjin brings your mood up with him. Even now, as he marinates in anguish on your couch, his presence gives you a reason not to beat yourself unconscious with the four-kilogram prep book that sits beside you on the rug. Makes you hate your circumstances a little less, if only because you share them with him.

And, for a rapidly deflating balloon, you have to concede that Seokjin looks stunning this morning. 

Unlike you and your day-three hair, he somehow had the energy to wash his. The mid-sections of some strands are still damp; the parts that aren’t frame his face in fluffy waves. His shampoo is something fruity mixed with something crisp — grapefruit and mint, maybe? — and it floods your senses, causing question marks to replace any coherent thoughts you might otherwise have. You’d be lying again if you said you didn’t want to find out for sure how soft those tresses really are.

The verdict? 

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty. 

If being down this bad for your best friend isn’t a criminal offense, it should be.

You shake your head to clear it. To smother the flame licking up the inside of your belly, you grab the certified mood killer off the coffee table and hold it up in front of you. Surely, the cure for a sexual tension headache is an eight-centimeter stack of  color-coded, neon index cards covered in information you shouldn’t need to memorize in the first place.

“Exam’s in one week,” you say with a shiver.

Seokjin rolls onto his side to look forlornly at you. You are not looking at his bare hip bone, which appears where the hem of his shirt shifts from the waistband of his joggers. Nope.  

You continue the search for the point you’re trying to make. “I can barely spell mortgage, let alone explain what the fuck to do with one.”

“Don’t think I know what land even is at this point,” he sighs. Dejected, he lets his arm go limp. It spills off the edge of the cushion and dangles until his knuckles brush against the rug. “What is this property you speak of?”

Biting back a grin is impossible, so you press your lips together instead. Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this.

You look down for a moment to shuffle up the cards you spent the better part of two days preparing. As you stare down at the staggering amount of knowledge you might be tested on, you can feel the crease returning between your eyebrows. Your grimace is back, too, like a reflex. 

If you make it through this experience without premature wrinkles, you’ll be shocked.

There’s shifting on the couch ahead, but you don’t look up until Seokjin breezes, “From this angle, it almost looks like you’re smiling.”

His arm is no longer dangling off the edge of the couch. His entire upper body is. Knees now hinged over the backrest for balance, he’s upside-down and smirking impishly at you.

He has to know you’re in love with him, right? How could he expect you not to be?

You clear your throat and arch a single eyebrow as a challenge. “What is the rule against perpetuities, Seokjinnie?”

Like you, he can recite it in full at a machine-gun rate of fire. It’s been beaten so far into your heads that you might utter it on your deathbeds, with your last gasping breaths.

“No interest in land is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than twenty-one years after some life in being at the creation of the interest,” he responds with a smug smile. “Easy.”

It’s your turn to smirk. 

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”

Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?”

“Absolutely not. Next question!”

Having had the same day, every day, for seven weeks straight, Seokjin is struggling. He’s spent hundreds of hours on the same routine, feeling beaten down and burnt out, all the while. It goes like this:

Every morning, he wakes up and goes for a run in a feeble attempt to feel something other than dread. After that, he eats a lackluster breakfast, and then he promptly chains himself to his desk. When he finally gives himself permission to get up again, it’s dark out; and he’s too brain dead to check the hundred or so notifications that amassed on his phone during his fugue state.

Scratch that. There’s one person he responds to, no matter what. As far as everyone else is concerned, though, he’s a ghost.

Today is the first day out of the last fifty-five where Seokjin doesn’t feel like his brain is being hydraulically pressed. For the first time in too long, he fell into an old routine; one he’s missed. It started with a shower — and honestly, that was overdue — then, he swung by the café he’s frequented over the past three years. There, he made his usual order.

One iced americano, and one sausage-egg-and-cheese croissant with extra hot sauce.

Before he walked back up the block, he downed the former, but he didn’t touch the latter. The latter wasn’t for him, anyways. None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

The subsequent hours looked semi-similar to the three-hundred-and-twenty he’s already devoted to studying. Well, sort of. To be clear, the subject matter still sucks, and he’s still angry that he has to touch it at all, but he isn’t waiting for the sweet release of death in the same way he has been all summer. 

This might have something to do with the fact that, for the first time in nearly sixty days, he’s not on his own. 

More than that, he’s with you.

Having switched away from covenants, easements, and servitudes, he feels a slightly less stupid. Contract law is a little more straightforward and a little less caked in colonialism. Unfortunately, after six hours of burning all his brain cells on shit like liens, Seokjin has begun his descent into madness. 

The worms are digging in, he can’t focus, and neither of you can stop — fucking — laughing.

“I’ll give you a hint,” you giggle, shifting in your spot on the neighboring cushion. You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless. “It’s a latin term.”

He snorts so loudly that you do a double-take, just to make sure it wasn’t a sneeze. You both stare at one another for a beat, then comes the eruption.

“It’s all latin!” He roars. 

To muffle the way he’s wheezing, Seokjin slaps his hands over his face. It’s already tear-stained from his abject failure to keep his shit together. At least he can attempt to hide how red he knows it is.

Your laugh comes straight from your belly. You double over completely when his comes out in squeaks, hand reaching out to squeeze his forearm. It used to bother him, the sound he made when he truly loses it, but it doesn’t any more. 

How could it, when it makes you cling to him like that?

Wiping at your cheeks, you take a deep breath, then sigh, “Does it help if I give you the translation?”

He doubts it because you just pinched your bottom lip between your teeth, and now, his mind is blank. 

Really, it’s a fucking miracle he graduated at all with you around. You and that face you make when you concentrate have always made it impossible for him to do so. It’s why he wasn’t paying attention in class when this shit was taught in the first place, he realizes now. 

To cool himself down, Seokjin grabs the Camelbak bottle off the coffee table, realizes too late it’s yours and not his — oh, well — and shoves the straw into his mouth. He nods once, firmly, and sucks in as much water as he can. 

It all sprays back out of his mouth when you say:

“Naked promise.”

He had always wondered what his life would look like if it ever flashed before his eyes. Now, he knows. It’s not a montage of his finest moments, the most recent of which would not have made the cut. All he sees is you, wide-eyed, glancing between him and the wet spot that’s now soaking through your sweatshirt.

You press your lips together, probably to keep from laughing in his face. It’s a valiant effort on your part and a kind gesture, but honestly, he doesn’t deserve it. His fingers twitch as he clutches the bottle, wanting nothing more than to dump the remaining water on his face. He embarrasses himself more often than not, but this stings his cheeks like a sunburn.

“I am —” he raises his hands, flustered, “So sorry. I don’t remember waking up in a sitcom this morning, but I, uhhh, clearly did.”

When you stand up, you’re grinning. And not in that scary way you do when you’re about to retaliate for some prank he’s pulled. No, that look on your face is genuine amusement. 

Thank god.

You shrug as you cross your arms over your torso and grip the hem of your sweatshirt with both hands. “All good, Seokjinnie,” you laugh. “This needed to be washed, anyway. You see that coffee stain?”

No. 

No, he does not see that coffee stain because the tank top underneath your sweatshirt is clinging to the wet spot as you tug the top layer up your stomach. He feels bad for staring — really, he does — but fuck, your skin looks soft. Like, so soft that he has to grip his water bottle to keep a grip on himself.

Eventually, your tank top separates from your sweatshirt. It falls back down to where it belongs, to Seokjin’s dismay, and the sweatshirt keeps going. 

“Nudum pactum,” you remind him as you pull the drenched hoodie over your head. Playfully, you toss it at him. It smacks against his chest, splays out over his lap. 

Once more with feeling: thank god. 

You sink back down beside him on the couch, and he can’t help but notice that you’re the tiniest bit closer than you were before. It’s innocent, just your bare knee bumping his shin as you re-cross your legs. Still, it leaves his tingling through the fabric of his joggers when you don’t move away.

The silence surges as it settles, crinkling like static in his ears. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask him again: “What’s it mean?”

Uhhhh.

“It means —”

Unfortunately for him, the water he just forcibly ejected from his mouth didn’t help him. His throat is dry now, and he sounds strangled, he’s sure. The way you’re watching him so intently doesn’t help one fucking bit, either.

Are you doing that on purpose?

You nudge him physically this time, knuckles connecting gently and playfully with his leg. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering against the wall of his chest in all of this quiet. You might, he figures, especially when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Instinctively, his eyes flick down to the length of your neck. Without a curtain of hair in the way, it’s even more exposed skin that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with. Making matters worse for him, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. His breath catches when he tears his gaze away, back up, and sees the way you’re looking at him now.

You are absolutely — without a goddamn doubt — doing this on purpose.

If that’s the game you want to play, Seokjin can play it, too. He turns away from you to set the bottle back down on the coaster he took it from. As he does, he finally answers your question — the nonchalance he’s faking even sounds convincing.

“It’s an unenforceable promise,” he replies casually. “One with insufficient consideration.”

He rights himself in his seat, stretches a bit further backwards until he’s resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. You hide it well, but there’s a hint of a pout on your lips when you clock the newfound distance. 

Check, he smirks to himself, your move.

A flash of pink slips out. Your tongue wetting those lips before you prompt him more quietly than before, “And consideration is…?”

He slips up, makes the mistake of noticing the rise and fall of your chest as you take measured breaths. So, he sees, you’re buzzing with anticipation, too. He wonders if it’s him that’s having that effect on you, or the circumstances. 

For all he knows, it could be pent up steam that you need to release. Stress weighing down your body that you want to get off.

Fuck, he wants to get you off.

He swallows thickly. “Can’t get something for nothing. There has to be an exchange, otherwise it’s meaningless.”

You say nothing, so he keeps talking.

“Quid pro quo, essentially,” Seokjin adds. He chuckles slightly when he realizes. “See? Told you. It’s all fucking latin.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at his joke, but you don’t make a sound. The hand that previously pushed against his leg inches closer, just barely. It’s such a small shift that you don’t seem to realize that you’re moving it. 

Maybe you feel that pull, too; the one he’s been fighting since you barged into his life without warning. 

Maybe the consideration has been there from the start; a promise for a promise. I’ll jump if you do. Because it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Since orientation.

Pulling all-nighters in the library, developing matching caffeine dependencies, getting sick too often from the strain of it all. 

You and him.

Laughing quietly in the back of lectures, cold sweats through cold calls, bitching about unpaid internships while you spend indisposable income at the bar down the block without acknowledging the irony.

There are only two real differences between this night and that first one, he notes.

Now, Seokjin isn’t questioning every decision he’s ever made that led him to this point. He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around.

You cut through the silence with a sigh that’s barely more than an exhale, so breathy that your voice dissipates as soon as it hits the air.

“Seokjin.”

He could probably hear a pin if you dropped one — can hear everything you don’t say. It’s all packed tight inside that utterance of his name like gunpowder, locked and loaded. 

So, who shoots first?

You shift again. Now, when you speak, it’s deliberate and in a language he can parse.

“Tell me you want me, too.”

Bang!

His body answers for him, pushes off from where he leans until he can get his knees underneath him. He’s waited three years to kiss you, but he can delay gratification for the brief time it takes to overtake you. Pinned with his palms bearing weight on either side of your head, you wind up caged in and breathless beneath him. His right knee occupies the space between your spread thighs.

Again, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far with you around.

He hums, beyond pleased with the position he finds himself in. “Maybe. Tell me if I got the answer right.”

“Oh my god.” You toss your head back to the extent that you can, which admittedly isn’t far. Your frustration rolls off you in waves, heat palpable. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Sounds admissible to me,” he teases further. He flexed an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an exception to the prohibition of hearsay evidence? Speaks to motive, I think.”

Seokjin has no idea why he’s riling himself up like this. If he could shut up — just this once — he could be kissing you by now. You seem to be aware of that fact, too, because you grip his shirt so desperately, one right move might tear it.

You huff out a laugh despite the circumstances,  “This friendship is over, by the way, in case that’s not clear.”

That tiny smile on your face spreads to his. Not over, he knows, just modified. Amplified, finally. Knowing that, he continues to push his luck. 

“Can I make one more joke?”

“So over!” You emphasize with a wail.

He takes a second to center himself before hitting you with award-winning drama, sincerity dipped in the kind of humor he never misses out on with you: 

“You have adversely possessed my heart.”

Your jaw drops at how stupid that line was, but you reign it in just in time for his lips to crash into yours. 

It almost knocks the wind out of him, the way the pieces fall with force into place. They slot together easily, just like you do. With fingers clinging, the weight of his body molding overtop of yours. 

You kiss him until he forgets what life tasted like without your tongue licking into him, your little moans melting in his mouth — until you break apart, gasping for air. Panting, you ask, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting on you?” 

He doesn’t, no, not at all. Thankfully, you take his stunned silence for what it’s worth. After relinquishing your grip on his shirt, you bring your hands up to cup his face gently in your palms. 

With you touching him like this, he has no option but to stare down at you. Bit redundant, he thinks, since his focus has always been locked right here, right on you, by choice. Given that, it’s a little funny that he managed to miss every signal you’ve apparently sent him. But really, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him to hear that he’s even dumber than he thought.

You kiss him slowly this time, briefly, before nipping affectionately at his bottom lip. It drives him exactly as crazy as you want it to; makes his cock twitch inside his joggers, makes his brain foggy with a potent combination of fondness and filth.

Do you have any idea how many times he’s thought about this? He’s genuinely wondering because even he doesn’t know. He’s lost count of all the times he’s watched you nibble on your own lip and wished it was his instead. A million or more, if he has to guess.

Seeming to sense the way you've scrambled his brain, you nudge the tip of his nose with yours and giggle.

Seokjin can’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Thought of a good one,” you answer. Your smirk does his head in. The contrasting, goofy wiggle of your eyebrows squeezes his heart. “Better than yours, I think.”

He kisses you quick and hums, “Oh?”

You nod. 

The suspense is killing him. So is the way your clothed cunt grinds ever so slightly against his thigh. 

Fuck. 

He wants you, he wants you, he wants you. 

“You gonna make me come, Seokjin, or do I have to wait for you to file a subpoena?”

You may have to seek a refund for the prep course you paid for. 

For as long as you can remember, you’ve learned best through application. You could read the same chapter, over and over, and not absorb a word. The same was true with lectures, even more so when they’re pre-recorded rambles by the weirdest adjunct professors known to man. Sure, you may eventually memorize concepts this way, but they don’t sink in deeply enough to stay. You can’t use them in any way that helps you.

To no one’s surprise, no part of your civil procedure lecture sticks until it falls into your lap. 

Strike that. 

Until Seokjin loses his balance in trying to take his pants off, and falls onto your floor with a yelp.

A moment or two passes while you stare at each other in shock, but that dissolves quickly. And so do both of you, right into another fit of laughter that makes your shoulders shake. Then, you jump to your feet and hold your hands out to him.

Seokjin accepts them, though he doesn’t rely on them at all when he stands back up. He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Venue change?”

“I think —” You hum and kiss the column of his throat. He swallows hard enough that you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. So sensitive.  “This is what they call forum non conveniens.”

He’s having none of that, and you don’t necessarily blame him. As it turns out, the shoe isn’t terribly comfortable when it’s on the other foot.

You’re lifted without warning, bent over his shoulder, and hauled off in the direction of your bedroom before you can even squeak in protest. You drop like a bag of dirt — albeit a beloved bag of dirt — onto your mattress once he reaches it; his lips are on yours to swallow the gasp before it can leave your mouth.

As eager as his mouth are his hands, roaming down the curve of your waist and over your hips. With fistfuls of the pajama shorts you hadn’t bothered to change out of, his head dips down under your jaw. The warmth of his breath is quickly replaced by that of his tongue, flicking a short, languid line along your neck.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he breathes. A shiver shoots straight down your spine and you keen, head crashing gracelessly back against the pillows. “Just like this.”

And he means it — you can feel how true it is with him settled between your spread legs. He presses his hips forward to meet your clothed cunt, cock teasing you through four goddamn layers’ worth of fabric.

His lips flutter against your earlobe just seconds before his teeth graze your flesh. He continues, voice vibrating through his chest to yours, “All the time.”

You outright whimper when he grinds against you a second time. Halfway to crazy, you knot your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his back in a silent plea for friction. So hungry for him that it aches.

“Seokjin, need — oh, god.” 

You lose your train of thought the second his hand slides into the gap between your bodies. Long fingers slip below the waistband of your shorts and panties, too. He doesn’t stop there. Not with fingertips whispering over the mound of your cunt, not until he finds you wet and wanting.

So wet that you can hear it when the pad of his index finger runs along your slit.

His mouth curves against your neck, prompting you to shift your head on the pillow. You tilt your neck just enough to meet his eyes. 

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you, how your body reacts to him. From the looks of it, that discovery is flipping his whole damn world upside down.

For once, Seokjin doesn’t crack a joke and neither do you. It’s quiet, save for your tiny gasping breaths and the ripple of his fingertip swirling over your clit. Even the moan building in your chest gets the memo. It disappears somewhere in your throat when — fucking finally — that middle finger penetrates you.

And god, he sounds so wrecked when he finally speaks. 

“Tried to imagine it a thousand times, you know,” he murmurs. 

You clench around his finger as it curls upwards, shiver when he starts to stroke the sensitive spot along your front wall. His thumb picks up where his middle finger left off, pressing against your clit in a way that makes you mewl.

Seokjin only stops talking to kiss you deep and leave you dizzy. It’s too brief. If asked, you’d never be able to quantify what amount of time is enough, but you know that wasn’t, so you pout.

Ignoring your little whines, he continues with a hum, “How perfect you’d feel, if I ever got this lucky.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You laugh as you say it, but you’re dead serious: “If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Marry me, why don’t you? Beautiful bastard.

“Threat or promise?” 

He adds a second finger; and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore. No, the strangled sound you make while you grind against his palm isn’t funny at all, but you can’t care about that now. Your focus is stuck on remembering how to breathe. In, out. On the stars blinking behind your eyelids when they give up and flutter shut.

He works you open for him like he’s already attuned, like it’s the fiftieth time he’s finger-fucked you and not the very first. And, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing how little time it takes for him to pull you apart at the seams.

No one has ever made you cum with such little effort. You’re scared to learn what it’s like when he tries.

You catch the triumphant gleam in his eye in the split second before you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He’s earned it, you suppose, so you’ll let him relish the personal record he’s managed to set on his first time out. You might even let him brag about it, so long as he continues to make you tremble like this.

“Shit,” he chuckles low near your ear. 

If he sounds muffled, it’s because you’re still waiting for your system to reboot. He knows this, knows how fucking sensitive you are, and slides his fingers out of you as slowly as possible. Still, those aftershocks throttle you; the unintentional stimulation makes you jolt.

“Yes,” you nod helplessly, squeezing your eyes and jaw shut simultaneously. “Shit is right. Perfect analysis, no notes.”

A chaste kiss is placed on your temple. It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. Within a split second, he’s revived you. Eyes now open again, you exhume your face from where you buried it and blink up at him. Warm brown eyes light up when you reappear.

He’s so fucking beautiful that you almost want to avert your eyes. Key word: almost. You’ll drink in the sight of him until you drown, you think.

Seokjin looks concerned. With a shy smile, he checks in: “You okay? We can stop right now if you’re not.”

You don’t know who they are, but you know that they don’t make them like him anymore. Which is a fucking bummer for the rest of the world — just not for you. This one is all yours.

“You quitting on me, Kim?” You let your knee fall inwards to nudge his side, and you pretend not to notice how boneless you still feel. “Didn’t wait all this time to tap out early, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. His warm palm massages the outside of your thigh affectionately, if only for a moment. Then, he pats his fingertips against the same spot. “Shorts off, champ.”

You follow his instructions and move to shimmy out of them, but not before snorting, “Champ?”

“Fine. Old sport?” He offers with a shit-eating grin. Your shirt smacks him in the face once you peel it off and chuck it at him. He pouts. “Hey!”

“Thanks, I hate it.” 

He tugs his shirt over his head, launches it over his shoulder without looking. Your unabashed stare immediately clocks the slight hint of his abdominal muscles. Lean, but not sharply contoured in a way that looks painful to touch. Soft. Perfect, even.

What lab were you engineered in?

“For someone with so many opinions, you don’t offer many suggestions.” He shoots you a pointed look while he unties the knot at his waistband drawstring. “What’s your proposal?”

You’d love to bite back at him. Really, you would, but he pulls his boxers down alongside his joggers, and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window. All that’s left is I want you, I want you, I want you.

Automatically, you reach out with a tentative hand, craving nothing more than to feel his velvet length in your hand. To your surprise, he stops you. He catches your hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“Rain check, baby,” Seokjin smiles against your skin. There it is. That’s the one. “Need to fuck you, posthaste, or I’ll simply pass away.”

You open your mouth to comment; he breezes right past you. He points to the mattress, then to the wall to your left. “On your side, love.”

That works, too.

“Face away from me.”

Never in your life have you moved so fast, all but throwing yourself down where he told you to. As you land with a slight bounce, you mouth to yourself, Posthaste? Nerd.

A second slips by, then Seokjin slips into the space behind you. His lips tickle the back of your neck when he kisses the base of it, causing you to gasp yet again. Maybe that’s just how you breathe when he’s around — like you don’t know how.

His hand drifts down the length of your side, passing over the doughy flesh of your ass. He gives it a squeeze for good measure — because of course he does — but he doesn’t linger, not now.

That hand continues until you feel his fingertips scratch affectionately at the back of your right thigh. He doesn’t need to ask; you lift your leg, allowing your knee to hinge overtop of his hand. Now that his hands are occupied, you offer yours to assist. 

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your fingers around his length. And fuck, there’s so much of it. Part of you wants to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going to fit all of it, but you’re not a quitter, so you keep your mouth shut. 

Seokjin shivers under your touch, breath catching in his throat so blatantly that you can hear it right behind your ear. 

“Hmmm,” you tease, squeezing the crown gently as you circle your wrist. “Does that work for you, champ?”

His forehead drops against your shoulder. The groan you force out of him is twice as long as necessary, followed by an unwilling laugh. “You’re right, okay? You’re fucking right. It’s awful. Just so fucking bad.”

Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum waiting for you there. You’re relentless. “Sure you don’t like old sport better? Huh, buddy?”

“Baby,” he warns. There isn’t much heat to it, but it burns white hot in your core anyway.

The stretch of his cock does, too, when you finally stop fucking with him and start letting him fuck you. The breath he holds as he enters you slowly is let out in a shuddered groan when he bottoms out. Perfectly full and fully incapable of teasing him further, you simply melt back against his chest.

He’s careful to start, testing the waters and refusing to push you too far, too fast. You want more, though, you always have. Greedy, you rock your hips back against him to force him deeper into your weeping hole. He takes the hint, fingertips pressing bruises into the underside of your knee as he picks up his pace — and you’re far too blissed to care.

He pistons into you eagerly, deliberate. His hips clap against the flesh of your ass, but the sting of it all can’t compete with the way he splits you open. Makes you reach back to cling to any part of him you can get your hands on, claim whatever you find for keeps. Buried to the hilt, and somehow,  he’s still not close enough.

You’re close, if your fluttering walls have anything to say about it. You’re babbling, too, so lost in pleasure that you can only repeat — over and over — how fucking perfect he is. How perfect for you he is.

Seokjin peppers kisses down the curve of your shoulder as he thrusts. It’s the only real indication you have that he’s at a loss for words, too; that he’s compensating for the quiet. He kisses you with an open mouth, teeth grazing the space he finds, leaves a mess on your sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts. You mewl. “Can’t stop thinking about —”

“Just like that, please.”

“— how many times I could’ve —”

You wail, “Shit, Seokjin, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

The staccato strokes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses the back of your neck again, and not when he murmurs directly in your ear, “— had you like this, if I’d said something years ago.”

Please, please, please. 

It’s all you can say, again and again, as if he isn’t already giving you everything you want before you even ask for it. Responding to every movement you make, fucking into you with precision so that each vein of his cock brings friction where you crave it. Fucking you through your orgasm when it catches you in a riptide and sends you reeling.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is soothing despite the recklessness of his thrusts. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

You’re still gushing when he snaps his hips forward and stills, cock twitching as he lets himself go inside of you. Still trembling when his head droops forward to nuzzle against your shoulder blade, and when you feel his breathing begin to slow in tandem with yours.

Once he pulls himself out of you, a few moments pass in fucked-out silence. It’s comfortable, if you ignore the mess between your thighs — and you do, for now. Your brain is too busy to waste time on that.

You’re exhausted and bordering on delirious when you say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true:

“I might love you, probably.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t move either, which makes you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with his face smushed into your bare back. But you feel the tiniest exhale through his nose; the kind of laugh you get from him when he’s too tired to be any louder.

His reply is muffled, lips still pressed against your skin, but you hear it perfectly. For the record, he probably loves you, too.

final a/n: i have a follow-up drabble planned for these two! stay tuned 🥰

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you ever read a fanfic and just sit back and think…someone wrote something THIS good… and then just….published it on the internet….for free…..

Lights | Episode 0 | jjk (m)

❀ Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Producer! F. reader

❀ Summary: Meeting Jungkook was a chance of fate. A moment frozen in time, eyes meeting across a room full of lights. The more the two of you advance in your career, the more lost in the lights you become. What if you never find your way back?

❀ Word Count: 583

❀ Genre: Heavy angst, Idolverse, strangers to lovers, eventual smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Nothing really in this chapter, vague references to being a kid growing up in a competitive environment, reader being a little poetic about her childhood.

❀ Published: September 28, 2023

❀ A/N: Hola, in honor of 3D I decided to post the prologue of this thing I have been working on while on hiatus as a cool project to inspire myself to write again. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I am writing this story as though it were sort of a ... famous person tells all. 98% of the story will be in the present tense and we read it as if it's happening, with small interludes of present-day where reader is reflecting on her life in an interview with Namjoon. I have no idea if I will stick with it, so please be patient and let me write this at whatever pace works best for me. And remember - there are going to be very dark parts of this series, and Jungkook and reader both are going to have very ugly moments. If that’s not your cup of tea and you do not like to see characters epically fail and sometimes reveal the ugly parts of themselves, this fic is not for you. 

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. This series in no way attempts to paint a realistic depiction of idols, or the industry, or draw comparisons. None of the scenes or elements in this series in any way reflect how I perceive the music industry and do not represent any opinions as a whole. This is not intellectual commentary, it is just straight-up fiction. 

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“In omnia paratus. Ready for anything,” you scoff, shaking your head. “Seems like a pretty big ideal for a teenager. You have to understand, we all felt that way. A bunch of kids working for the same dream, ready to push, shove, claw our way to it.” 

Namjoon adjusts his glasses and nods. His long legs are crossed at the ankle as he leans back in his seat, the perfect picture of poise. His glasses are low on his nose and he’s dressed in a warm cardigan today to fight off the chill of Autumn. 

“Was it really competitive?” he prompts, fingers laced together. “What was that like?”

“It’s hard to say. I viewed it through the lens of a kid at the time. I guess to me it would have felt like a game - be better than everyone else, get a reward.”

“And now, through the lens of an adult.”

You heave a sigh and blow out air. You're in the comfort of your home up in the hills, a fireplace crackling to your left. The production crew thankfully didn’t fuss with your living room too much. It was perfect the way it was, muted tones and lived in, not some minimal, sterile space like Seokjin might have or the maximalist terror of Taehyung’s estate. 

“Now,” you venture, slowly stringing the words together. “I think it was where I learned to take no prisoners and to do whatever I had to do to win. Being that close to your dream, and meeting the legends you want to imitate while living in constant fear it might be taken away… it creates a feral desire in you. Feeds the monster inside the kid that has just started to wake up.”

“Would you say that’s where the hardship began?”

You shake your head. “Not the kind that we’re here to talk about. It wasn’t like - I wasn’t a child star, you know? I was still relatively normal. It was school and working on dancing and singing and all of these things because I wanted to produce music and it was hard, but it wasn’t… It wasn't cruel. It wasn’t dark.” 

“When would you say is when it first really started to turn for you?” Namjoon asks, leaning forward a bit. “The first moment you can remember that you might have taken that first step towards everything.”

“In omnia paratus,” you murmur again. You think about that night, gaze unfocused. You no longer see Namjoon, but rather a shock of shaggy, black hair, doe eyes filled with promise, and an arm full of tattoos. “Ready for anything but Jungkook, apparently.” 

Namjoon raises his brows. “So the night you met Jungkook?”

“In nihil paratus. I was ready for nothing, least of all the likes of fucking Jeon. That was the first night my management ever asked me to do something extreme. So I did.” 

“Tell me about that night, then.” 

You remember it so well. You’re not sure how out of all the memories, this one seems so preserved. Crystal clear and sharp at the edges. You remember the tight, white shirt Jungkook was wearing, tucked into dark jeans paired with boots. His tattoos were stark against his shirt and his hair was wavy, a little damp with sweat. 

Jungkook had looked at you from across the event floor, an ocean swimming with swaying bodies and flashing lights, cryogenic fog hanging in the air. You’d just walked in, careful not to trip in your stilettos as you walked down the steps. Nervous. Near cracking under pressure.

And then you looked up, right at those round, dark eyes. 

In nihil paratus. You were ready for nothing.