Ungodly Hour (series Masterlist)

Ungodly Hour (series masterlist)

That time you - a broke college student - were willing to do just about anything for a hulu account after your brother kicks you off of his - (and Jungkook would do anything to have you)

warning: smut, simp jungkook, tsundere reader, oral sex (m & f ), 69, car sex, semi-public sex, dirty talking, swallowing, jungkook is thirsty, reader is somewhat slutty but with reason, unprotected sex, riding, creampie, facesitting, jimin & mc are friendemies, face riding, degradation, jungkook being bullied by his friends, sub reader, dom/possessive jk, feelings being expressed, jealous jk & reader, ass slapping, sexting, spitting, competence kink, cum swallowing, tit fucking, kissing, "public indecency",

This Meeting Should've Been an Email

JP: this meeting should’ve been an email

YN: it should have been an email between the two of them

YN: i don’t even know what we’re doing here

JP: i'm online shopping

YN: 😂

YN: maybe i'll do the same

YN: spend all the money they don’t pay me

JP: atta girl!

You were trying to keep your face neutral, pretending you were listening to the discussion at hand, paying attention so that, if they directed a question to you, you’d be able to answer. Working from home was preferable to working in the office in a thousand different ways, but you did hate sitting on camera in a meeting that didn’t require you. Acting had never been your strong suit. You bit your lip, then rolled both into your mouth to stop yourself smiling.

JP: what do you think of this?

Jimin sent a link to a shirt so expensive, your mouth gaped without permission. Black and sheer, blousy with fewer buttons than sleeves. It was certainly something, but you weren’t sure it qualified as clothing—not for that price.

“Oh, I’ve just seen your face—is there something wrong?” your manager asked and you started.

“No, not at all! Sorry!”

You had no lie or excuse to give, so you hoped he wouldn’t probe. He didn’t.

YN: why would you spend so much money on so little fabric?

JP: it’s fucking beautiful, that’s why

YN: more beautiful than rent?

YN: or food?

JP: yes

You drummed your fingers on the desk, willing yourself to do some work, to at least look like you were doing some work.

You had got into the office early, as you liked to do, so had secured your favoured desk, in the back corner, where you could surf the internet (decidedly not working) as much as you liked without anyone able to see your screen.

You had all the right programs open: databases, emails, teams, spreadsheets, and checklists. You just couldn’t bring yourself to do anything with them.

Jimin had told you, first thing this morning, that he wasn’t going to come in today. You didn’t see the point of being there without him. Who would you go on unnecessary walks with, just to get out of working for ten minutes? Who would convince you that walking the further distance to the good coffee shop was definitely worth it, as were the pastries they sold that the closer one didn’t? Who would distract you for 75% of the day, if not Jimin?

No one.

You told yourself to do one task and then you could have a break. You turned back to your monitors and scanned your to-do list. You needed something quick and easy. Then an email came through from your manager. The subject alone made your stomach drop: Team changes!! The second exclamation mark wasn’t right at all.

“Hi all,

I’ve got some good news and bad news.

Bad news: Jimin is leaving us!

Good news: he’s got a great new position as a manager just down the road!

We’ll have to have some discussions around resourcing in Ops and I’ll of course feed that back to you and we’ll arrange how we’ll cover Jimin’s tasks in the interim. I know he’ll have a lot to train you guys on before his last day, but we’re such a great team, I know we’ll manage! It’ll be a great loss, for sure, and we’ll all be sad to see him go, but I hope you can be happy for him, too.

See you in the meeting at 2.

Hugh”

Anger simmered in your gut before you could be sad. The passive aggression of ‘I know he’ll have a lot to train you guys on’ and the fact that Jimin hadn’t told you. That you knew it would be months before anyone was hired in Jimin’s place and that you would be expected to pick up all the slack, for no credit and no extra pay. That he hadn’t told you.

YN: you’re LEAVING?!?!?!!???!!?!?!?!

JP: yep!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: cannot believe you made me find out from HUGH

JP: 😇😇😇

YN: you’re not allowed to leave me here

JP: you should quit too!!!!

You left that one on read and decided to knuckle down to work. You had a lot to do, you decided, and it couldn’t be put off any longer.

You felt weirder than you had expected to. Unsettled for the rest of the day. Not really able to focus, but your mind wasn’t busy—there was nothing in it. You couldn’t fill it with numbers or comms or monitoring. Couldn’t fill it with office gossip (there wasn’t any). You took yourself on a walk, for fresh air, hoping the breeze would blow away the cobwebs, but that didn’t work either.

* * *

“Hi, Jimin!” Chloe called from across the office when Jimin entered, only in his second week of work.

“Hi!” he called back, walking away from your bank of desks and towards the ones at the other end of the room.

You rolled your eyes. Pretty boys were the popular ones. Go figure. You had known he would ingratiate himself with that little group the moment you had met: there was something almost simpering about the way he behaved when introduced around the office. As if it was some sort of one-man parade in which he was the star. Arrogant, you decided. Arrogant with no reason to be.

He had a dance background (even less relevant than your history degree) so it wasn’t as if he had any experience in this field. It was his first office job since graduating; he had graduated at the same time as you and had spent a year working in retail before landing this job. So he didn’t even necessarily have technical or communication skills. He just had a pretty face. And a dancer’s body.

You couldn’t work out how he became everybody’s best friend within five minutes. Even less when you started hearing people calling across the office for him to help with this problem and that.

“Jimin, can you show me how to do a purchase order again?”

“Jimin, what supplier did you use for your banner?”

“Jimin-”

“Jimin!”

You knew you knew just as much as he did, if not more. You’d been here longer. You just weren’t as... all that. Didn’t have the sparkle or the smirk. Fine, you weren’t glamorous but this job wasn’t supposed to be about style. You got the work done and you did it without fanfare because you weren’t desperate for attention and praise.

Unlike some people.

“Guess who got the promotion,” you said on the phone to your best friend.

“Oh my god, is it you?! Did you get it?!?!?!?!!?”

“Nope.”

You ended the word with a hard pop and said no more. Wendy was quiet on the other end for a second.

“You didn’t?”

“Nope.”

“Then who did?”

“I’ll give you one fucking guess.”

“Not Jimin.”

“Of course it was Jimin!”

You had been all but assured the next open spot that came up. It was virtually guaranteed! Until Jimin swanned in and swiped it from within your claws.

“No fucking way.”

“Way.”

You got the promotion after that but it wasn’t a sweet victory. Forever, you would have to live with the fact that Jimin was promoted ahead of you. Even though he had less experience and had worked there less time. Even though all the managers encouraged you to apply. It left a permanently bitter taste in your mouth.

Then they had a shuffle of staff.

And you ended up on a project team with him.

JP: I’ve finished all the documents for this submission; please let me know what you think!

You’d have liked to tell him to go fuck himself. You’d have liked to open those documents and tear them to shreds, cover them in red tracked changes, and make him look like a fucking moron.

But you couldn’t do that because they were good. Perfect, in fact. You wouldn’t have changed a thing.

YN: look good to me.

You always gave him a passive-aggressive full-stop. You couldn’t be out and out rude to him, both because it was unprofessional but also because he didn’t deserve it. He was good at this job, it turned out. Didn’t have a head for data, but didn’t need one because his talents elsewhere were just as valuable.

You had begrudgingly traded some tasks with him when your team was first set-up (you gave him the worst ones, the ones you liked the least because you might have been forced to share but they hadn’t specified what) and you were too proud to admit that he was actually better at them. He had a much better eye for visuals; his external comms samples were always flashier and prettier and neater and more engaging than yours had been.

He had suggested a slightly different tracking method for your monitoring and you had had to pretend to have wifi troubles and leave the meeting to seethe for a minute.

He brought in snacks to the office when you had meetings scheduled and had the gall to remember that you didn’t really like chocolate.

He covered for you when you were ill without complaint and without any mistakes.

He started sitting next to you in the office so that you could talk about the project more easily.

He started sending you gifs and memes.

He started making cute, little jokes over private message when you were in meetings together.

You started, somehow, somewhen, you didn’t know why, growing fond of Jimin Park.

And now look where you were.

You were hurt that he didn’t tell you first. You were surprised. You were more than just work friends now, weren’t you? You had each other’s personal numbers! You spent time together outside of work (sometimes)! Didn’t that deserve a little confidence? He couldn’t have even mentioned that he was looking for work elsewhere?

“I haven’t forgiven you, you know,” you told him as he arrived at the office, taking the desk next to yours as he now always did.

“For what?”

“For leaving! And for not telling me!”

He laughed and, ordinarily, you’d have laughed at yourself along with him, but you didn’t feel like it today. You didn’t want to be laughed at. You wanted him to take your feelings seriously. You wanted him to apologise. You wanted him to not leave.

You spoke about it reasonably often, his leaving, his new job. How excited he was. How nervous. How weird it would be to not see each other every day.

You didn’t speak about how sad you really were that he was going. You didn’t speak about the sting of betrayal you still felt but didn’t want to investigate. You didn’t speak about how his quitting really, truly made you want to quit, too, even though you liked this job, even though you were (had been) happy there.

* * *

It came around all too quickly. Jimin’s last day. The office was packed because everyone wanted to see him off. Of course they did. Everyone loved Jimin.

Including you.

“For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good feeeeelloowwwwwwww! Which nobody can deny!”

No one had expected the unit director to be the life of the party and it was providing an excellent diversion from the sinking pit in your stomach. With every drink, the end drew nearer.

It wasn’t as if you wouldn’t see Jimin ever again, but you wouldn’t see him as often. He would make new work friends. You would be replaced. There felt something so final about it all, this evening stretching as long and taut as you could make it.

So taut it might snap.

You were the last two in the pub. You used to sneak out early together after work drinks; head back to your place or his and eat chips in front of something you both talked over; took yourself to your exclusive club-house for two where you could gossip about the evening and who got too drunk and who was making eyes at whom.

But you didn’t want to leave tonight and Jimin was hosting so he couldn’t leave until the last guest did.

Or until the pub kicked you out after last call.

A bell rang.

“Last call!”

Fuck.

“Think that’s time, baby!” Jimin cried, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “My last day at work is officially over!”

You whined, too drunk to stop yourself. You knew you’d had one too many. Two too many. Perhaps the whole bottle of wine too many. But you had to keep drinking if you were staying at the pub, and you wanted to keep drinking so you’d stop feeling so weird and sad about this. You looked up at Jimin and he smiled back down at you.

God, he was pretty.

“Don’t go,” you said, lips pouting so hard they barely let the words out.

Jimin laughed again.

“Back to my place, then? Your favourite chippy is on the way!”

“Absolutely!”

The relief that washed over you was almost strong enough to knock you over. There was still a little more time.

You squabbled at the chip shop. You could hardly remember why even as you were stepping out of it. It had turned the night just a touch sour. You didn’t want that. But you’d take that over the ending of it.

“What do you want to watch?” Jimin asked as you flopped, heavily onto his sofa, box of chips in hand.

You shrugged.

“Any genre you particularly fancy?”

“I literally don’t care,” you replied sharply.

You felt more than saw the look on Jimin’s face and chose to ignore it. He came to sit next to you on the sofa and you felt a little suffocated. He was too close. You could smell him. His shampoo? His laundry detergent? You’d never quite been able to pin down just exactly what it was that made him smell so nice; the opportunities you’d had to get that close to him just hadn’t been enough.

“Why do you smell so good?” you asked, though it sounded like an accusation.

Jimin laughed.

“I smell like a brewery and fryer oil!”

“No, you don’t! You always smell good!”

You were starting to hear it, how drunk you sounded, which, on the plus side, meant you were just starting to sober up.

“Thank you,” he replied, a little more tight-lipped than he might normally have been.

The conversation, if you could call it that, ended there. You watched the drama he had put on in silence, munching chips, and sipping water, and not talking. You were drunk and tired and had already said too many things you hadn’t meant to. You didn’t know about Jimin.

You watched one episode and then another and then another and just as Jimin’s TV was asking if you were still even there, Jimin turned it off.

“I’m calling it,” he said with a wide yawn. “I’m fucking tired.”

That was your cue to leave. You were also tired. Heavy with alcohol and lack of sleep. Blood viscous like molasses. You didn’t want to go.

“I don’t want to go.”

Jimin blinked. His lips twitched and you knew he was laughing at you. This was not the script the two of you usually followed. Then he shrugged, allowing the smirk to cover his mouth.

“Ok, then, stay.”

“I don’t want you to go. Don’t leave.”

He chuckled.

“Why would I leave? I live here!”

“Work!” you cried, stumbling as you put a tingling, dead foot on the ground, coming to a stand. “Don’t leave work!”

He groaned your name in a way you hadn’t heard before and it made your stomach flop.

“Don’t keep saying that. It’s too late; I’m going!”

“Don’t.”

“You going to miss me that badly?”

You just looked at him. Couldn’t bring yourself to confirm it. Yes. Yes, you were. Yes, you would. Yes, you missed him already. Missed him so much you wanted to pull him closer. Wanted to tangle your fingers in his hair. Wanted to-

Fuck.

You started, taking a small step back.

You wanted him.

To kiss him. To touch him. To see him. To know him. Not to be his work friend. Not to be his friend. To be his. His.

It hit you like a ton of bricks and you didn’t know if you wanted to cry or throw up. Maybe both. You weren’t sure how much of it was down to the alcohol and how much to the emotional slap in the face you’d just given yourself.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Jimin said, his eyes wide and cute, his smile a little rueful. “So much.”

You felt something. Something charged. The hairs on your neck pricked.

“How much?” you asked, voice escaping you in a whisper.

“So much that it makes me not want to go.”

You felt your eyes drawn to his, had no choice but to look him in his sweet face, his dark, swirling eyes glinting in the low lamplight. You couldn’t tear them away. Couldn’t move. Felt suspended in this second that stretched and stretched and stretched until it couldn’t stretch anymore.

“Ji-”

His name wasn’t out of your mouth before his lips were on it. Soft. Plush. Sweet with wine. His tongue swiped at your lower lip and you were eager to let him in, to taste him, to satisfy the hunger that had reared its ugly head, jaw gaping, teeth dripping, that must have been lying in wait, biding its time, hiding itself even from you.

There was no denying it now.

You didn’t talk as Jimin pulled you closer. Didn’t speak as he pulled your tucked-in T-shirt from the waistband of your jeans to slip his hands underneath. Didn’t make a sound when his fingers deftly picked at the clasp of your bra, instantly springing free, to allow his hands beneath that, too.

Could only just stop yourself moaning when his lips met the sensitive skin on your neck at the same moment as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t make a sound. The silence was so loud and you didn’t want to disturb it, even though what he was doing to you felt so good. Felt so unreal. You didn’t want the noise to puncture it, this bubble, this fantasy, this something that was happening that had been so unexpected even though it, now, felt like it had been a long time coming.

Then Jimin moaned. Removed his lips from your skin and opened his mouth, letting sound spill from it freely, almost wantonly, as he pulled you even closer. Close enough to feel him against you which set your knees trembling.

He looked at you, a little hesitation in his eyes, the hem of your top in his hands. You still couldn’t speak, just nodded, put your hands over his and pulled upwards. Watched in stunned silence when he unbuttoned his own shirt, let it fall to the floor.

It occurred to you then that you had never seen this Jimin before. Not just the kissing and the erection and the arousal pooling in your underwear. You hadn’t even seen him topless. Had never seen the fine trail of hair that dipped beneath his waistband. Had never known he had a tattoo across his ribs.

Never mind.

You’d have scoffed if you’d had half a mind about you. Never mind.

You were minding all this very, very much.

You reached out to touch him, pressing the pads of your fingers to his chest lightly, testing to make sure he was real. He was. Soft and smooth and rippling with goosebumps under your fingers.

“Fuck,” you whispered, finally finding your voice.

“Yes, let’s,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You laughed, then laughed some more, shocked at your own surprise.

Fuck!

Fuck!!

Jimin’s mouth was on yours again, more urgent this time. His hands, too, flying over your body, gripping here, pinching there, slipping inside your jeans, flicking the button open and dragging down the zip. You retaliated, pushing his undone trousers to the floor, pushing your hand into his boxers, encircling his hot, hard cock with your fingers. The wobbly whine that trembled out of him made your core clench.

“Jimin,” you said, breathlessly, calling his attention to your face.

He held your gaze there for a second, a second or two or three—his hand groping at your backside, yours around his shaft—and then you didn’t need to say anymore. He was grabbing at your jeans and your underwear, pushing them down your legs, pushing you onto the sofa, kissing at your face and your jaw and your neck, all the way down, to your breasts to your navel to the crease of your hips and further.

You couldn’t have been silent, even if you’d still wanted to be. The wet muscle of his tongue laved over you, all over you, exploring, familiarising, teasing until you were grabbing at his hair, nails scraping his scalp.

“Jimin!”

You wanted to shout, to demand, but you only gasped, only whined, your breath taken from you as his lips closed around your clit. Still, it seemed he’d got the message.

You writhed beneath him as he sucked, as his fingers slipped easily inside you, curling against you insistently while his tongue flicked over your swollen bud, as his lips sucked, as you bucked and twisted and spasmed beneath him. You could have said it was too much, this was too much, but it was Jimin, and suddenly ‘too much’ seemed impossible. You’d have died under him. You’d have let him go forever. As long as he liked. Though you were twitching and squirming and your legs clamped around his head, he didn’t stop. Didn’t stop until you were screaming from one orgasm to another, gushing over his hand, being lapped up into his mouth. Until you were seeing stars. Until your breath barely came in, went panting out in sharp staccato gasps. Until he pulled back, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, mouth wet and shiny, and sat back on his heels.

“Fuck,” he said and his voice was tight, hoarse, sounded strained.

Strained like his boxers, still covering him if only barely. He palmed at them, eyelids fluttering, head tipping back.

“Fuck,” he said again as he brought his face back down to you, as he scattered kisses across your torso. “I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long.”

The words didn’t register, didn’t hit, because his lips were still moving against you, his hands brushing up your sides and over your breasts, cupping them up to his mouth so he could lick over your pebbled nipples, suck them into his mouth one at a time. You were dazed.

But not done.

“Jimin, please.”

“Please what?” he returned, teeth grazing lightly over the shell of your ear, breath hot and wet against your shivering skin.

“Please fuck me. Please.”

He grinned, the glitter in his eyes turning wicked.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long, too.”

He abandoned you, briefly, supine on the sofa, as he at last shucked off his underwear and fumbled in his wallet for the condom that was closest to hand.

He knelt back over you and you felt him at your entrance, one hand holding him there and the other pulling at your thigh, positioning you where he wanted you, how he wanted you.

He could have you however. As long as he had you.

“Ready?” he asked, as if he had to. As if you weren’t already tipping your hips trying to capture him, as if your walls weren’t fluttering already, as if you hadn’t made a great mess of his sofa cushions.

“Yes.”

You groaned in unison as he slowly pushed into you. You hadn’t expected him to feel this big, stretching you as you squeezed him, as he continued to push until he was fully seated, settled inside you, all the way in.

He lowered himself onto his elbows, nudged your nose with his, kissed you. Slow and deep, his body unmoving. You wondered what was stopping him, tilted your hips a little, wrapped your legs around him, clenched tight until he shuddered with a gasped laugh.

“If you don’t want me to come like, immediately, you’re going to have to stop that.”

You laughed back, in disbelief, still not really experiencing this as the Real Deal, still convinced this might be a dream. That Jimin was fucking you—was not fucking you right now because he needed a second to gather himself, a second to keep it together so he could fuck you.

You relaxed yourself as much as you could, stroked his hair, flicked his earlobe with your tongue and bit down lightly on the soft flesh. Let your mouth explore where it could reach.

“Jimin,” you whined, when he still hadn’t moved. “Please.”

He didn’t reply; his face was tucked into your neck and you could feel his heavy breathing there. You were two seconds from begging again when he finally moved. He dragged backwards, slowly, and shot forward, fast and hard. Then he did it again. And again. His hips moved fluidly; his arms caged you in securely; his lips sucked soft against your skin.

He had worried it would be quick, but you were sure time was slowing down. It was stretching itself over this moment so that it lasted forever, so that each time Jimin slammed his hips against yours, it took an age; every kiss lasted an hour; every gasp became a long, drawn-out sigh. This wasn’t quick; it was eternal. It was elemental.

It brought you into your body in a way that made you feel more than human. That made you feel animal. That made you feel pure and unshackled and unburdened. That made you feel free. Free because all you had to pursue was pleasure. All you had to concern yourself with was your body and his and the way they came together. There was no time, no loss, no rush, no ending, nothing to spoil the sanctity of this coupling.

It wasn’t always like this. You’d been around the block enough to know that this could have ended differently. On another night, you might have been lying on someone else’s sofa, waiting for it to end because you were simply bored now, because they had been all talk and no trousers, because they weren’t doing it right and you couldn’t be bothered to correct them.

Jimin didn’t need correcting. He was, as ever, a fucking overachiever. His girth pushed against your g-spot with every thrust and his length made each drag deep and lasting. You wondered if there was anything he couldn’t do.

Then he pushed himself up onto one hand and used his free hand to push low on your abdomen as he continued to piston against you. The gasp it stole from you was choked and you felt your legs twitch, tighten, pull close as the rest of your body collapsed inward, too. He reached his thumb down, pressed it against your clit and let the snap of his hips move you, just slightly, just enough that it was teasing again, that you could feel him in a way that suddenly was not quite enough. Was maddening.

“Jimin,” you keened, sweat dripping down your spine as your back arched from the sofa.

“Say it again.”

“Jimin.”

“Again.”

“Fuck, Jimin.”

He growled, deep in his throat, and your hips jerked as he pressed his thumb harder against you, swirled it in circles, rough and quick until you were coming again, gasping, squirming, clawing at his arms, your back threatening to snap in two. He kept his teeth clenched as he fucked you through it, as he pushed through the tight spasms of your cunt, as he fought to last until the end, until your body flopped, spent and lead-heavy into the cushions.

Only then did he let go, did he give a final few thrusts, did he moan loud and long as he came.

He flopped beside you on the sofa and you lay there, breathing heavily in a silence that felt light. You felt his lips press at your clavicle, his fingers then tracing the same spot. Then his lips again.

“What?” you asked.

“You’ve got a little mole here,” he murmured, still directing most of his attention towards it. “I haven’t noticed before... I like it.”

You hummed, satisfied, heart secretly thrilling. You let him kiss you, back and across the straight line of collar bone, flicking his tongue over your mole. What dedicated attention you hadn’t had for such a long time.

You could feel your eyelids droop, felt as though maybe you should clear some things up before you passed out; you weren’t sure you’d make it that far. Then Jimin spoke, cutting through that drunken, post-coital haze.

“Never shit where you eat.”

“What?”

He looked at you.

“Never shit where you eat. I don’t fuck coworkers.”

Reality came crashing in on you like a tsunami.

You were coworkers. No, you had been coworkers. You weren’t anymore, because Jimin was leaving. Had left. Had worked his last day, celebrated in the pub, and then fucked you into the sofa. Had fucked his former coworker. You.

“So you’re saying, all this time...?”

He shrugged.

“Not necessarily all this time. But yeah... You?”

You shrugged back.

“Literally wasn’t aware of it until tonight. Until you were trying to get me to leave.”

He laughed breathlessly.

“I wasn’t trying to get you to leave. I was trying to get you into bed.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job, did you?”

He laughed again, full-throated this time.

“We fucked, didn’t we?”

“On the sofa.”

He swatted your arm playfully.

“Technicality. I still say it counts.”

“That’s the sort of carelessness and lack of attention to detail that’ll get you fired, y’know?”

“Oh, you’re firing me?”

“Perhaps I am.”

“Wow, fired on my first day. My parents will be so disappointed in me.”

“First day?”

You looked up at Jimin, heart racing wildly. None of this had been expected; none of this was sinking in. Did a first day necessarily imply a second? A third? More?

“First of many... If you want.”

You did want. You nodded.

“Great,” he said softly, gently pressing his lips to yours. “We’ll have a meeting in the morning to discuss my probation.”

“A meeting? Nah, this could be an email.”

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jmscaffeine

11 months ago

Watermelon Sugar | JJK (M)

☼ Summary: When your friends outvote you for your annual summer trip, you end up stuck at a beachside town. To make it worse, there’s an irritating local surfer boy that won’t leave you alone… that is until you see him shirtless and in the water - then you don’t want him to leave you alone and your unexpected summer romance begins.

☼ Pairing: Surfer!Jungkook x Female!Reader

☼ Genre: Fluff, smut, a dollop of brief angst, strangers to lovers au, summer romance au?, age gap au (Jungkook is 21 and y/n is 27-29)

☼ Rating: 18+ (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED)

☼ Words: 14.4k

☼ Warnings: Profanity, mention of alcohol, y/n almost drowns, a classic misunderstanding, dirty talk, exhibitionism, handjob, oral (f receiving), face riding, protected sex, sub!jk, dom!reader

☼ Note: Here’s my fic for the Blue Crush collab! Thank you to @jamaisjoons for this gorgeous banner!! And thank you so much to my amazing, fantastic, magical beta @bangtanhome! Moon always saves my ass when I need someone’s big brain to read over my fics. Ily moon 🥺💙 Also! It’s still September 1st in the U.S. so I managed to post this in time for Jungkook’s birthday! 🙌🏽 I wrote more than half of this fic when I wasn’t sober, so enjoy!! 💜

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1K notes View Post

jmscaffeine

1 year ago

love

69 notes View Post

jmscaffeine

1 year ago

cherry flavored - pjm | m

“ i can be your sugar when you’re fiendin’ for that sweet spot. put me in your mouth, baby, and eat it ‘til your teeth rot “ - cherry , doja cat

♡ summary- when a secret admirer begins to leave messages and treats on your desk at work, your mind runs wild with 'who-dun-it’s. you’ll stop at nothing to determine the identity.

♡ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

♡ pairing- park jimin x reader

♡ word count- 10.7k

♡ genre- fluff, smut, comedy

♡ warnings- mutual pining, idiots to lovers, friends to lovers, secret admirer au, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (u know not to do this), cum play, dirty talk, praise kink, jimin overuses sweet little phrases a lot, slight daddy kink, orgasm denial, the most praise of all time, jimin being a tease, strip tease, fingering, masturbation, voyeurism, the Council of Ladies being smart, oc being dumb, nurturing, cum eating, no coherent passage of time because i made valentines day a friday instead of sunday this year DEAL WITH IT I CREATE TIME. ITS A CONSTRUCT, man i think thats it

♡ a/n- hello its here! so grateful for you all being patient as I struggled to get this written AND work AND go to school lolol. im so happy its up and im excited for you all to read this. ngl the smut really fucked me up (in a good way LMAO) so i can’t wait to hear ur thots. thank you to @xjoonchildx @ladyartemesia @untaemedqueen for their incredible cameos and for being my hype. thank you to @hobi-gif and @kimtaehyunq for their incredible beta and editing skills. i love you all so much!

this has been a collab for Be My Bangtanvine with @kimtaehyunq @ughseoks @jinned @baepsaesbae @joontopia @feliix