. Babies,

— 🩶. babies,

i’m so happy jin is home. i feel like a part of me has returned to me and i feel whole. i had such a bad day yesterday, spent it crying, didn’t write much, even though i wanted to escape to hobi. i had ended at the beginning of a smut scene and i didn’t really feel like writing about that.

which makes me think that maybe i should’ve written a short fluff. i’m severely inspired by pookie rn, @frmisnow, and i could write a consoling, short drabble for her first, then me. i miss writing those kinds of fics. my fluff masterlist is empty, i need to change that.

an idea is cooking up in me already. i’ll try to write today, so that berries part 4 can be perfect for you all.

i love you. sending kisses.

mwah.

luna

WELCOME BACK JIN 💜

but like what was mr. artist thinking when he sent that? what is he plotting???? what does it meaaannn??? like this series makes me so fucking curious i’m always ending up with questions in mind that’ll keep me up at night

“MR. ARTIST” SJDNSJS YOU CAN’T EVEN SAY HIS NAME IM DYINGNFNF FNF

your questions will be answered in the next part bby i got you 🫶🏻

if you have any more, let me know. so i don’t forget anything once i start writing the next part

✧˖ ?! — TEACH ME HOW TO SMOKE (& SEX)! (NSFW)

summary. when you accepted going on a trip with a friends' friends group, you certaintly hadn't expected your first time smoking with a hot guy & you certaintly didn't expect to fuck him either

notes. and this is how our lovely iltly couple first met!! also my first smut work in a while, what do we think? i hope you enjoy reading, sending much love .ᐟᯓ★

warnings/includes. jungkook x non specified! reader, his flirting skills consist of teaching you how to smoke?, reader & jungkook lowkey mrs. whistledowns here (they LOVE their gossip omfg), rough & tender fucking

you did not know what you were thinking back when you agreed on going on mimi's little yearly friend group vacay trip- it didn't even make sense that you said 'yes'! mimi was a total bitch who only talked to you to make you give in a good word about her to your father (who she was weirdly attracted to) and all her friends were nothing better then cocky and reminded you of typical mean girls in those cliche highschool movies.

so tonight when mimi was scrapping together everyone to go out to the main bar of the resort to celebrate the last day of the trip, you had to find some what of an excuse to stay behind so the second you saw one of mimi's guy friends' smoke peacefully on the side walk, you excused yourself to smoke one as well- urging the others to walk ahead.

truth was you were no smoker and you certaintly weren't good at socialising either, more akwardly then not, standing next to the guy who was now beginning to chuckle at the sheer look on your face.

"why did you pretend to be a smoker?" he asked non chalantly, holding out one cigarette to you as you grabbed it rather unsurerly. his smile only widened at your mannerism, taking the cigarette out of your hands to correctly place it between your index and mittle finger. the contact of his hands on yours almost feeling longer then necessary, "hm?" he hummed almost like he was reminding you that he just asked you a question that you had completely forgotten about.

"is it to much if i say that i don't like her?" you asked, the cigarette that he was currently lightning up growing to feel almost heavy in your hands. to admit, you were unsure of what he would respond or if he would even tell mimi- i mean it was clear that the both of you weren't best friends but if she found out you full on hated her it would most certaintly resolve in an awkward 10 hour flight tommorow.

but all he did was continue grinning, shrugging in the process, "no, not at all," once the cig was light up, he wrapped his hands around yours once again, helping you bring it to your mouth- the step feeling unnecessary and even intimate when you considered how he was looking at your lips during it, whispering tiny instructions, "inhale, not to much at once"

"what's your name?" you manage to squezze out, trying to avoid a cough from coming out as a soft "jungkook" followed.

you would lie if you said you hadn't seen his face multiple times during the trip, dare to say even actively seeked it out at times but one thing you had noticed in between all of those times, was mimi always somewhere around him. hand around his waist, asking him to rub suncream on her back, head resting on his shoulders and on and on so that one question rose up as you took another puff slowly getting used to the repeated motion, "are you two a couple?"

jungkook was currently stubbing out his cig, beginning to loudly laugh the second the words left your mouth, the sound of his laughter so contagious that you began chuckling too just out of sheer response.

"me and mimi?" he asked after regaining himself, noticing you finshing of the cig, taking it out of your hand to stub it out himself while answering, "no, i hate that she's always somewhere on me, i don't really like being touched by..." trailing off till meeting your eyes once again, god- when did you notice he had a lip piercing? "i don't know, when i don't feel like it, it feels invasive"

you had not listened to the last part of his statement, nodding along hoping it fitted to whatever he had said. you were glad that they were in fact not together even if you had distain towards mimi, you would find it weird to find her man to be so sexy.

"why are you looking at me like that?" jungkook asked, his very own eyes similarly wandering to your lips, you paused momentarily, chosing to be honest "i was just curious about your piercing"

half truth. you were mostly curious about him as a whole, have you ever met a person you want to know everything about? who just seems so intresting and full of secrets that's how jungkook felt like.

automatically he bit his lip, playing with the little metal on his lip almost like he was reminded that it was even there in the first place, "mmh, i got it like a few months ago" he took a a breath of the fresh air which smelled like salt, signalising that you were close to the main front beach, "it suits you" you mumbeled in response, looking at him once more.

"would it be to much if i asked if i could kiss you?" his eyes half lidded, leaning just a tiny bit forward but still asking, "i mean could i?"

and oh god- how much he liked the little slutty look on your face. your eyes half lidded, starring at his lips like they were the water in the desert, starring at him like he was some sort of greek god, moreover how happy was he when a little 'yeah' came from your direction.

what had gotten into him? jungkook wasn't usually the type of guy who kissed the first girl who gave him even just a bit of attention, like the air that he desperately needs to breathe- yet there he was hungrily devouring your lips like he hadn't made out with anybody in years.

when you both had to seperate to breathe, jungkook's forehead rested against yours, eyes searching yours, filled with a mix of longing and uncertainty.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his voice barely audible, the words only for you and nobody else, "I shouldn't have—" before he could finish, you silenced him with another kiss, this one slower and more tender as he groaned, his own hands instantly wandering to your ass as if that kiss of yours had reassured him that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you if not more.

you did not know how often jungkook had fucked you and so differently too- tenderly whispering sweet nothings on how he had been wanting to do this ever since he saw you at the airport on day 1, yours and his hand tightly intertwined as he fucked you in a way that could only be described as: loved, tangled in between the sheets.

or roughly where he groaned how much of a slut you were to agree to even go into the hotel suite of the very first guy that offered you a cig, completely ignoring your desperate little whines into the mattress.

but it didn't matter how, whenever you both finished, he took his time to look at you, check in with you, softly aksing if he was to rough or if you were well if you needed a break, a shower, water or really anything at all.

and when you got tired, your eyes slowly shutting off, you could still feel his gentle touch- fingers wandering over your back, one mole to another, tracing tiny little patterns till stopping to hug your body to fall asleep himself.

while you certaintly didn't know what the future had to offer, you were sure that you did not want to lose whoever jungkook was.

ICHOR | jjk

pairing: idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: after a bad day at work, you lose a sense of yourself and jungkook leads you right back to her.

warnings: crying, capitalism, death metaphors, sadness, jungkook is sweaty and is wearing that nike shirt he wore in his working out live, has fluffy hair!

note: hiii, bubbas, so this is fluff fic is partly for @frmisnow bc she inspired me to write this & i also want to make her feel better with this sacchariny-sweet jungkook, partly for me bc i genuinely wrote in detail about what i went through at work these past two days. and, also, for all you guys because i made you go through reading about such evil jungkook in my last berries fic. i hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think. here's to a bit of happiness in our lives *cheers with an imaginary glass of imaginary pink, glittery, strong, fairy alcohol*. <3

You used to be a goddess, the ichor in your veins carried the color of roses, glinted with flecks of gold that would radiate your skin from beneath, make any heads turn, especially the one you loved the most. Customers at work smiled upon seeing your cordial aura, close-knit even though they were mere strangers, preferred to go to you amidst the flock of your other colleagues around. They would become radiated just the same, joy so terribly evident on their faces as their smile would grow. They would frown upon seeing the state of you at this current moment—curled up on your bed while the heat of the beginning of the summer clings to your near bareness, coming through your wide opened windows, the white, translucent curtains billowing up and down in their strange, but magnolious dance. 

You’re not Aphrodite. You’re not Euphrosyne, the goddess of joy and mirth, either. 

You’re the slain fawn at their feet—for their very own feast and for the feast of those aforementioned customers, who stand behind the dryly bloodied cause of your death. 

Work was hell, to say the least. 

You always thought death was a kind embrace, not a tight clasp of doom around the nape of your neck, your mental strain and disquietude the half moon marks that ever so slowly deepen. You mimic the movement on the hem of the linen shirt you wore for the day, one that you were too drowsy to take off when you arrived at home, having only a slight wisp of an energy to rid yourself of the uncomfortable tightness of your jeans and crawl onto your bed, knees to chest, on your side. You bunch up the fabric in your fist, wrinkling it, but you hardly vanquish the cuts that your anxiety slashes on your skin. You thought it would alleviate you of your tenseness, but as it seems—it only worsened it. 

You don’t even have tears to shed. Wept them all out in your manager’s office while she harshly, yet calmly reprimanded you for your mistake and the gravity of the fact that you almost lost your precious job, that you can’t imagine living without, washed over you and pained you like a splash of salty water in your eyes. Wept them all out when you breathed in the crooked, paralyzed expression of disappointment in her face—and that’s the sole thing that emptied out your system of that ichor, wiped out your reputation of being a good, reliable employee that everybody liked. 

Now the next unfolding of your days spent at work shall be filled with silent judgements and secretive gossip, the big talk of the entire building—something that will hang by the strands of your hair for every head to turn to until something else comes along. Another topic, another fuck-up. That’s the face of modern capitalism, the absurdity of day-to-day normalcy its features, and you’re so sick, so repulsed to be staring at it every single day of your life that you yearn to not be anymore. 

Death has flattened over you, but has not finished its job. It was Dante who described the process of hell in his Divine Comedy and you hate him for the rotten pulchritude of his mind because you find yourself to be standing in the middle of inferno with no guide—no Virgil, no Beatrice—to hold your hand and lead you through this scalding maze. You’re all alone, your mistake carving the branches of the trees burning down in your hell over your burdened, heavy heart that has been longing for the company of another ever since you walked out of your manager’s office. 

Your face screws as another agonized emotion rises in you. You can’t stand your aloneness, can’t stand your burden—and before you realize what you’re doing, your fingers have already tapped on your boyfriend’s name in your history of calls. The screen of your phone is cool against the fever of your cheek and you rub your face harder against your duvet, staining the strawberry pattern with the particular tinge of your makeup, which must have been the color of your ichor. 

You wince, the rings prolonging in your ear, your impatience running thin. 

Then, your heart drops once you hear the broken whisper of your Beatrice, faintly, barely, which causes your heart to spread its longing. Damn iPhones and their bad service. 

“Jungkook?” you call out, nonsense coming through the other end—and you repeat his name until his voice smooths out, relief sinking in like a stone in a pond. 

It turns out you were exchanging each other’s names and the intimacy of it curls the smallest of smiles on your mouth. You miss him; you need him. 

“When are you coming home?” you ask, wishing to descend into the emitting waves of the call, slide through them until you spring to wherever he is, no matter how tired you are—you’re willing to cross the distance. 

You hear him turn on his blinker and your heart almost does it for you. 

“I’m driving home right now. I’ll be there in ten,” he says and your relief expands in your chest, taking a small weight off of your heart. You place your palm against it. 

“Okay.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Why do you sound so sad?” 

Your mouth curls downwards. “Something happened at work.” 

An inhale of breath. “Screw that, baby. I’ll be there in five, okay?” 

A whimper. “Okay, drive safe.” 

And your Beatrice didn’t lie to you. Soon, you hear the banging of the front door closing, the tossing of his keys and the prodding open of your shared bedroom door. The hastened footsteps, hefty on the floating floor, the squeak of the mattress as his knee dips on it and the glide of his hand up your thigh. All before you use the last of your strength to focus your swimming vision on him. 

Hearing him alone helped you take a step further in your inferno. 

And then you can smell him. The scent of sweat clinging to his favorite ivory Nike shirt, interlaced with his natural, poetic scent, creating something divine that blesses you with the strength to place your palm on top of his hand. Your coworkers hugged you earlier, clasped your hands in theirs in reassurement and more than welcome it, you absolutely despised it. Lingered in their affection only because you thought you should let yourself be consoled, for you know they care about you. But his touch… that’s not something you sense your body to want to run away from. On the contrary, it seems to be something that it’s missing. 

You can’t part the stream of your new tears with your other hand. 

You spill, completely. 

Jungkook coos, squeezing the bare flesh of your thigh as turns you onto your back and nudges himself between them, plopping his body on top of yours. And then, he’s kissing the place your undone shirt made for him, trailing his lips up your neck, where he stays, where he conjures a garden of fluttering gardenias, their tender petals tickling you. 

“What did they do to my princess?” he murmurs against your skin, his words muffled but heard clearly by your ears. You sob, your chest shuddering in violent staccatos against his, unable to settle, unable to speak. Jungkook lifts his small head and frowns, his thumb swiping your tears away while the rest of his four fingers cradle your cheek. You lean into the balmy safety of the realm of his palm, gaze fixed on the wrinkle between his brows, mouth letting out puffs of soft, gentle exhales. He kisses your chin, the corner of your mouth, the wetness of your other cheek—buries his nose into it, right beside yours, inhaling you, giving you fresh air to breathe in. “Don’t cry. I’m gonna decapitate them.” 

The whisper, the hand that parted the stream. You whimper and he steals the traces of your despondency, pecking the new, smooth surface, planting roses to bloom, its roots bestowing you with the ability of speech. 

Two sentences, two miles further in the inferno. Your burnt down trees are lost in the far distance, swallowed by the fire, yet the forest shows every sign of growing anew the longer Jungkook’s heart beats against your breast. 

He’s so benevolently patient with you, not rushing you with your explanation. It all the more drives you to disclose it to him—and you open your mouth to speak, your fingers following suit, helping you with your words as you drag them through the soft mop of his fluffy hair. 

“I made a mistake yesterday while closing up,” you croak out, licking your lips. Jungkook lifts himself onto his elbows, clutching your shoulders, keeping the close proximity intact. His warm grip is a stability you lean on, one you appreciate with every broken shard in you. “I did it five minutes earlier and somebody came in. I sent them away and they filed a complaint against me. They wrote an email to my manager and I… I almost lost my job.”

The wrinkle between his brows deepens and you thumb it, wishing it away. You don’t want to mar his beautiful face because of your foolishness; you want it to remain that soft ball of light that he always is, but then you realize you’re asking for the impossible. His mouth flattens, pity flashes across his round eyes, which helps you perceive that if he didn’t react like this, he wouldn’t love you—and his love is the air you breathe; his love is the ointment you need for your sadness. 

As if he heard you, he kisses you delicately and you sail—skip the purgatory and land in paradiso, a meadow of wildflowers overlooking a cliff that opens the restfulness of the sea, scattered with windswept petals of those lost blossoms, coloring the surface with pinks, whites and the greens of their leaves. 

“Did your manager yell at you?” Jungkook questions, his lips lifted a millimeter above yours, his thumbs fondling the fabric of your shirt upon your shoulders. 

“No, but she was very strict with me. Told me not to cry—”

His breath wafts over your face when he looks into your eyes, displeased. “She made you cry?” 

You cried because through her words you comprehended the gravity of your mistake and its repercussions, not because she deliberately used them to open the dam of your emotions. It’s precisely why she told you not to cry, giving you a hint of her perpetually nonexistent compassion. And you tell him. 

“No, she didn’t. She was very professional with me and made me realize what I did after I apologized. I cried because I was so scared of losing my job, of disappointing her and shit like that.” 

Jungkook purses his lips, shaking his head, curly strands rippling like the tremor of leaves. “She should’ve dropped it after you apologized. Five minutes is nothing, baby. You did nothing to deserve to be treated like that.” 

Your chest heaves, his love and reassurement sifting sand into your bloodstream, the color of ichor. “I know but… you know,” you trail off, indicating the realm of respect all peers must have for the management that you don’t really want to venture into, not when Jungkook had to deal with it as well in his music company. But unlike you, he broke out of its clutches. It cost him tears, frustration and weight loss, but now he’s a free bird of paradise. You don’t wish to make him remember his cage. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah, baby, I know, which is why I’m telling you that you didn’t deserve that.” 

Your chin quivers, the negative thoughts that wore you down in his absence returning at full speed. “It affects my mental health when I’m bad at my job.” 

Brows rounding upwards, his eyes flick to your chin, a glossy wetness coating them. He pecks it before he gazes into your irises. “But you’re not bad at your job. You just closed a few minutes earlier. You’re amazing at your job. You make people happy. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he says, meaning every word with the way he presses each one into your pupils. You feel its magnetism and you take it. “And I’m proud of you. Every day. You work so hard. Come home tired every day. Deal with people who aren’t always nice to you with kindness that I envy. I’m proud of you, you hear me? You didn’t make a mistake. You did good.”

And there it is, the stampede of your bloodstream—Jungkook has seeped the entirety of the sand until he emptied out his hand and your ichor charges forward, its light like a bud flaring open beneath your skin. And you're floating on that sea in paradiso, your braid adorned with the wet petals that swims back and forth to his arm that holds your body steady upon the surface, the names of the Greek goddesses lining every perimeter, sinking within. 

You’ve become them, all over again. 

“Thank you, Ggukie,” you whisper, running your hand through the front bangs of his hair, gripping them. It’s as if you’re holding the petals. “I needed to hear that.” 

He pouts, touched by the love name. “I know. You need to rest now after such an emotionally exhausting day. No more tears, okay?” 

You nod, feeling whole, feeling like you can face tomorrow with more courage. “Okay.” 

You pout, mimicking him, asking for a kiss and he gives it to you in that same delicate manner, plunging the entirety of the summer’s heat, molded by his hands, into you, making it bearable for you. 

Looks at you for a long time, after. Smiling. 

“You know, I didn’t take a shower after the gym for you,” he says, quirking a smile on your face.

You’re intimately acknowledged with the reason why, yet still you ask: “Why’s that?” 

He reciprocates the smile. “I thought you’d help me wash up. My muscles are sore and all. I lifted the double amount of your body weight.” 

You bite your lip. You’re willing to wash every inch of him with your utmost care. You deem he deserves it for enlivening you, but you’d much rather stay here, inhaling that dizzying scent of him. 

“I’ll do that, but let’s stay here for a little while.” 

Jungkook nods, kissing your jaw before he finds a comfortable place on your bosom, listening to the rush of your ichor, the sun rays upon the sea of that paradiso, inching you closer and closer to God. Augments the ending of that Divine Comedy. 

Doesn’t lead you to the final installment of death, but pushes you to life full of that brisk wind, the humming of the sea and the song of swaying wildflowers. 

Holds your hand. 

Doesn’t let go. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

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when you’re on your period you’re like am I just on my period or am I feeling all the loneliness and pain I’ve been feeling since i turned 12