Champagne, Chandeliers, And Thigh High Slits (M) - KTH

Champagne, Chandeliers, and Thigh High Slits (M) - KTH

Based on my Drabbles Game!!!

Summary: Taehyung loves expensive things. Taehyung loves expensive things on you even more. But his undeniable favourite thing is corrupting you, filthily and wholly. Based on the anonymous drabble requests:

     #9 “here, lemme clean you up”

     #13 “there? you want it there?”

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Marriage and Babies

Warnings: Unprotected sex, Mentions of conception, Fingering, Anal Play (m. receiving), Alcohol consumption, Licking, Dry Humping, Taehyung worshipping his wife, Taehyung worshipping babies

Taehyung had voiced his concern about the slit in your dress. A concern over how many eyes other than his would ogle the sensitive part of your leg he wish he had left a mark on last night. A little more concern about the fact that among the tuxedos and floor length gowns, the chandeliers and the champagne, among his prestigious colleagues - all of whom thought highly of him, for that matter - that his own black slacks didn’t have the sufficient protection for how his dick was god-forbiddingly hard. And he had an impressive length to say the least. 

But maybe, in hindsight, he enjoyed it. Fuck, no, he knew he enjoyed it or he wouldn’t have gone commando tonight. He wouldn’t be standing on the covered side of you, because maybe, just maybe, he wanted these fuckers to ogle. You’re a temptress, but there’s only one person who’s taking the dress off you tonight and that constant reminder leaves him shuffling in his seat and rearranging. 

“Who’s that?” You had that alluring kind of silk in your voice. But it was natural, a natural soft spoken way to you that was like a siren call and no matter the situation, the place, the time, the appropriateness, he’d drop all there is in that moment to hear you out. A temptress indeed. 

“Who’s who, babe?” He follows the direction you nod, expensive table arrangements marring his view, but not enough that the red hair of the woman opposite the both of you isn’t visible. 

“The woman next to Kang, red hair, black dress.” He watches the way you eye her. But it’s easy to be distracted by you. The other woman’s red hair does nothing to rival how red looks on your lips. Your sinful lips. His eyes could trace all day the way they smile, his lips could feel all day the way they move, his dick could stay hard all day the way they work over him in the privacy of each other’s company. 

“She’s stunning.” And he’s lost. Stunningly lost in you as all the ricochets of golden light fall onto you and your form and your hair and your chest. 

“Mmm, yeah, stunning.” But he doesn’t mean it in the way of his bosses girlfriend with the red hair. He means it in the way of his own wife, the subject of all his compliments and all his adoration. You know that enough that when you look at him there is no zeal to your expression, no jealousy contorting your brow, just an equally unspoken trust. That and love. 

“I probably should’ve worn black. I feel spoilt by the way I’m being looked at.” 

His eyes flit to the gleam of your breasts.

“Gold suits you and they know it.”

“And you?” A hand unconsciously finds yours under the table, fingers dangling through one anothers, “Do you know it?”

He almost laughs under his breath at the notion you had no effect on him, but his eyes cast down fast to that slit once again, honey skin trailing just underneath the gold that hides your modesty. The higher his eyes go, the more they drink you in, the harder his grip becomes in your hand. His fingers don’t play anymore, because they have a destination, dragging your palm in and over the black of his trousers and onto his boner. He’d moan if you weren’t looking so damn pleased with yourself. 

“Of course I know it.”

“How much?” 

“Y/N-”

“This much?” You’re hands are no longer delicate. They’re firm, they’re bold and they wrap around his shape with ease because of the way he skipped his underwear tonight. He doesn’t know whether it was the best idea he’s ever had or whether he’s going to cum in three seconds and lose business with the regulars he rented tuxes from.

Taehyung finds himself devoid from the reality of where he is. There’s little hope of his catching up on pleasantries with those around the table anyways, not when they all knew he was here for you and you only. To show you off, to dress you up, to have you defile him in front of his coworkers. It’s what he wanted and it’s where is now, groaning and fluttering his eyelids. 

“Refill ma’am?” Your hand quickly slots away and finds purchase in his palm again. Innocent. Less explicit kind of territory. 

The waiter stands guarded behind you, bottle, half full and brandished in one hand whilst the other nestles behind his back. Taehyung never understood shit like this. Just slouch, pour her champagne and fuck off. He understands it even less when you’re nod ensues the man to place a bold hand on the back of your chair, to lean over you with little discrepancy and allow his eyes to drift further into your cleavage than even Taehyung himself has seen tonight. 

And then he fucks it.

“Shit- I me- ma’am I’m so sorry,” he’s frantic, retracting his hands and his eyes and dares to grab your napkin as if he’s going to pat down your thigh as an apology. 

“It’s ok-”

He knows you won’t fend the waiter off himself, so he speaks up.

“Mate, it’s good, we got this.”

Taehyung wasn’t a dick, in fact he prided himself on his patience and his ability to keep anger at bay. So, he won’t have a fit for the waiter with both eyes for his wife and hands incapable of pouring champagne correctly. Maybe he’ll even thank him, when he gets to lick it off you later.

“Sir, I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, we’re good.” It’s Taehyung’s way of saying fuck off, and he knows you’re thankful for not making any more of a scene, because you hate confrontation. You’re too kind to the world and he loves that. 

He might just love even more, though, the fact that from thigh to ankle, you’re wet with spilt liquid. Tanned skin gleaming from where the champagne fell. 

“I guess someone didn’t like the gold.” You pat yourself, napkin soaking up what isn’t in you glass, but smiling all the same. 

“Baby,” Taehyung deadpans, “I think he liked the gold a little too much.”

He watches you’re attempted salvage job, but the dress is silk, expesive and made of silk and the marks beginning to spread through the material don’t seem to be recovering. 

“Well shit, I’m gonna run to the bathroom, see if I can do something about this.”

But Taehyung is up before you, pulling the napkin out of your hands and taking one hand for himself. You’d expect him to excuse you from the table but the conversations are clearly more exciting than your spectacle with the way no one passes you a look of curiosity. It’s enough to garner you following him, a little urgent, but it makes you smile unabashed. 

Rich had never been your thing, but Taehyung said rich suited you. The attention it sought for, the way it brought hierarchy, you hated it. Except, your husband loves how it looks on you. Specifically, the way your curves adorn gold Dior, under the expensive lights of a bathroom and with the even more expensive glimmer of a diamond on your finger. 

He presses a kiss to it, the cold of the band next to the heat of your finger. 

“Tae.” 

His tongue purchases on it’s underside now, striping up it with his tongue, and fuck, you taste of champagne and his cologne. 

“Tae.”

“Here,” he sits you on the marble counter, trusting in the expensiveness of the venue to make this place clean. You’re dress is the next thing lifted, the slit allowing an opportunity for his coarse fingers to run trails between your thighs. “Lemme clean you up.”

You’re in a bathroom, with a perfectly good and working sink to your left, towels on a rail in the corner, but your husband never had a way of making things easy. His methods were a little more… adventurous.

So he’s careful, but strong with his tongue, and you’re soft but fucking delicious in his mouth. 

“Taee,” it makes him harder when you say it like that. So he continues his job, tasting your skin in all it’s wet glory and letting his hands draft into yours on the counter. He wants to take it slow and drain you of your ability to hold back your pleading, but he’s wanted you since the taxi journey here, and he fears he’s gonna be the one begging if he doesn’t get your pussy soon. 

“Where d’you want me baby?”

“There,” you’re quick to move you’re entwined hands to between you legs, moulding his fingers in a way he knows you want them deep and you want them there quick. So he pulls the thin fabric aside, silk also, gold also, and he really wants to moan to you about your golden pussy. But you moan for him instead. 

“There? You want it there?” He’s still on his haunches, under you as though he’s worshipping, and fuck, he might just be, with the way you’ve let you hair down from its up-do and the shoulder of your dress slip south. He plays with your entrance, whilst mapping your body with his eyes, gauging your reaction even though he knows exactly where and how you like it. 

“Mmm,” but he stands to kiss you when you bite your lip. 

Your knees meets his crotch and it’s enough to have him pull away his index from it’s circling and plunge two fingers inside you. And you’re warm and ready. But not ready enough to stop the moan. 

“Tell me you like it.” Faster and harder, but you bite your lip again. 

“Fuck.”

“You like it when I fuck you with my fingers?” 

He’s answered by a clunk when you’re head hits the mirror behind you, your hand now the only thing stopping you from your screams of guilt. Taehyung won’t have it, though. He won’t have you bite into your soft palm and he won’t have your moans muffled. Not when he feels like he could cum himself as he angles his hips to your outstretched leg. 

He now congratulates himself on the lack of boxers, because fuck he’s hard, and fuck is friction good. 

Taehyung, since meeting you has taught himself to be harsh with words, mumbling in his sexed state all the pure dirt he could, because he could never be harsh on your body. Sometimes you’d use it to your advantage and have you way with him, rough, unadultered, so he was yours entirely. But sometimes you just liked the way he was slow with you. Finding every place in your body that had your head thrown back like it was now, your body moving on it’s own because you want more, more and so much fucking more. And in these moments when he strings your body like a harp, all he wants is for you to tell him you love him. Call you both soft, but Taehyung has a way of turning filthy moan into a serenading song. 

So he pleads.

“Tell me, baby. I need it” 

Without much thought, your palm is released from it’s vice in your mouth and it finds the back of his neck, so confessions can be whispered or whimpered closer.

“Fuck, I love it Tae. So good, so fucking good.”

“Yeah?”

His thumb finds your clit and it’s not shy in the pressure it exerts. Neither are his fingers. Neither is his stare. Because he no longer seeks out the approval for his actions in your eyes, but watches, hungry, ravenous, at the way your pussy eats his fingers, attached and wet. So fucking wet.  

The sight is enough to make a man expire. And whilst the trousers he adorns are cheap, they still have to be handed back to the rental. So, no, he’s not cumming in his pants tonight. 

“Taee,” your whine is breathy but high and pleading enough he’s fast in undoing his zipper and faster at finding his length, especially without the barrier of another layer of clothing. He’ll pat himself on the back later for sure, but right now, his wife is still writhing, on the brink and pussy in full view along with the taste of champagne. 

“I’ve got you, Y/N, fuck,” hard and desperate, and it’s clear from him tone of voice. But he also can’t feign his love for your lips on his when you pull him in. It’s not rough, but it’s not gentle. It’s soft yet loaded. It’s memory muscle and tongue intertwined with tongue, because he loves your lips and knows how to savour them. 

“I’m so hard, baby, please.” 

You shuffle forwards as an invitation, heels wrapped to his thighs and he feels you wet against his tip now. But he doesn’t enter because your hand meets his abdomen, a soft demand that causes him to wait, despite the pulsing. 

“Tae.”

“Mmm,” your lips are touching, breathing together, so close from him being inside you that his tongue swipes your lip subconsciously.

“I did something yesterday.” 

It’s enough of a loaded statement to garner the tensing of his abs. 

“Okayy?”

“You’ve been speaking about something recently and it had me thinking.” You sound breathy and nervous, and he mirrors the sentiment of that, because he hates when you’re scared. “You just have to know before we do this... in case.”

“You’re being cryptic.”

Yet you smile, and maybe Taehyung should be at ease but he’s not.

“Tae?”

“Mmm,” he repeats.

“I had the doctor take out my IUD. I didn’t want it anymore when we spoke to your mum about it the other day.” He stays tense, shell shocked, and wants to speak up but the mouth runs dry at the most inappropriate times. “Baby, is this what you want?”

And he scoffs, maybe laughs, maybe he’s crying, he’s not sure but he’s so far in your embrace and in your words that he nods. 

“I’m not ovulating, and it might take some time, but I wanted to give it a go and-”

“Oh my god, I want this so bad.” He kisses you once, then again, and then keeps doing it until he pushes inside of you. It’s relieving to his biology but it’s 2 years of marriage, love, companionship, friendship, and waiting, mostly waiting, that has him moaning once he’s inside you. It’s a courtship, a proposal, a wedding, it’s the living together, talking about getting a dog, getting a dog, talking about babies, and now… fuck... trying for babies. 

It’s the only thing he’s ever wanted on parallel to you. 

So he kisses you again. 

“Holy shit do I love you.”

You laugh and moan and laugh and moan again. He’s lodged far in you, struggling to find a rhythm from the way you tighten at each gleeful exhale. 

“Baby, please relax, so I don’t cum straight away. Please.” 

It’s hard to, though. Relax, that is. The prospect of the future paints over the lustful feeling of sex, and brings a nervous excitement, something that makes you smile and then moan and then smile and then moan. 

“Y/N, fuck, hold up a little for me.” 

But you don’t let him pull out to slow his movements down, the angle allowing your hands to reach his buttocks, push him into you, your hips an angle that you can cant up into him and you lips around his so you can moan and he can moan together. 

“Tae.”

“Mmm. Fuck.”

You gasp. “There.”

“There?” 

He hits it again, so you repeat yourself over and over. And then one of your thumbs finds his rim, it’s raw and dry and painful, but nothing is going to detach him from your movements. He finds pleasure it instead, becoming the one calling out to you.

“Fuck Y/N, keep going. I have to cum. I need to cum.”

“There?” His own words spoken back to him, but he confirms with a moan, a cry, even, and a piston to his hips like he has never had before. 

“Tae, I’ll cum.”

You’re pulsing around him, and you’re also deep inside him behind, his own thrusts helping in the way of your finger sinking beneath the rimmed skin. And it’s all at once that it builds, hard enough for him to choke and have his neck fall limp on your shoulder. 

“Urghh- baby please- I- fuck.” 

“Cum hard for me.”

It’s the words, the implications of the words, and the feeling of you cumming around him that sets every fibre of his body on the hottest fire he’s ever experienced. 

“Don’t stop.” But it’s him telling you. Telling you not to stop cumming because he wants you in an equal and better euphoria to him. 

“Ahh,” he still fights through thrusts.

“I’m still cumming, fuckkk.” 

He’s quaking, knees tired and teeth close to drawing blood on your shoulder. It scares him he almost hurt you so once his balls are empty his teeth release and make way for his lips, soothing on the burn of your skin. 

The reality of earth falls quick and hard around both of you, and there’s no such thing as post orgasm when all Tae can think about is his cum. In you. Deep. And without a barrier. 

“Y/N, what the fuck.”

“I know, I’ve never cum so hard.”

“You’re serious that you could be pregnant. Right now. Like right now, right now.”

Your eyes gleam, a little embarrassed but mostly trying to find the sentiment behind his reaction. You know this is what he wants, wholeheartedly, and fully, but it’s still a scary thought that children in a marriage can spell rejection. 

“Yeh. The doctor said a low chance, but it’s still a chance.”

He’s still inside you, and still a little hard at that. But he squeals, unadulteredly squeals and embraces you. 

“Don’t care. I’ll fuck you now, later, tomorrow morning, tomorrow afternoon,” his eyes glint with salty water and you’re smiling too much that yours do too, “imma get you pregnant and we’ll come back next Christmas, with a better dress, that’s even shinier, so every can see you, and our baby, and oh my fuck! Do you know how happy you make me?”

You let him monologue, find his inner happiness in his scenario, because maybe it won’t be a scenario at all. Maybe he’s yours. But just, now, in the shared sense of the word.

Omg 4:30 am was a perfect mix of funny & fluff that my heart was just 🥰🥰 Is there going to be a continuation of it because if so sign me up!

Ya know what, I love you and Jungkook enough that I might just keep this going. A whole Kook with babies thing because I’ll never get enough of it. Standby bubs x

4:30am

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

Word count: 1k

Pure fluff

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

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

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

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

“Top dr-”

“And WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY LUCKY BOXERS!”

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

And on the note of your other child,

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

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

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

“I’m sorry baby, hurts?”

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

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

“You’re still swearing you fucking mongrel.”

“Oi!”

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

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

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

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

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

“M’kay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. That sounds nice.

7:58pm

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

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

Word Count: 2k

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

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You’re completely fucking neck deep.

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

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

Nah. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, shit, you miss him.

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

“Yes, Mai.”

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

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

“Yes Mai?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do we have here!” 

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

“Uncle Kook!”

“Sannie!” He throws San over one shoulder.

“Uncle Kookkkk!”

And pushes a fist out to the other. 

“Mai my bro, how we chillin.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’ve they been? Rough work again?”

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

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

“Jungkook!”

“What, they’re really alri-”

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

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

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

“Boner, I’m not ev-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mai.”

“Yes uncle Kook.”

“Tell auntie Y/N she’s nasty.” 

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

“Auntie Y/N.”

“Yes Mai.”

“You’re nasty.”

...Fuck.

500 followers babyyyy

I’m about to embark upon my longest fic yet. I’ve had it planned and in the locker for weeks and am only just getting a chance to start it. Be prepared for like a 30k beast. I’m scared