#Bts army

[1leliysworld]

I think I might have a thing for his hands 😵‍💫

[urmingirl]

Almost there 💜

We will wait for you 💜

[a-namjoon-a-day]

happy saturday ♡

[inksystem]

ship your idols.

if you don't ship them, all their hard work on ship bait will go to waste. if you support them, then appreciate the blood, sweat, and tears that go into playing these characters for your enjoyment!

and while i'm at it. finding them sexy is not a bad thing. they work hard in the gym and in dance studios IN ORDER TO LOOK SEXY and sell albums and merch and concert tickets. it's literally their job. it's not dirty or wrong to be sexually attracted to people whose job is to ATTRACT you by being cute and appealing and SEXY so you spend your money on them.

obviously acting shippy and sexual TOWARDS THEM DIRECTLY (fancalls, comments, concert signs) is crossing the line.

you can think of it like they're flirtier disneyland face characters, and if you wouldn't say something to an actor playing, idk, flynn ryder or rapunzel, you shouldn't say it to bangchan straykids or jungkook bts. when you really think about it, they are playing characters based on themselves. that's what a public persona is. they might be meaningful and personal to the idol, and incorporate aspects of their true self, but we as fans will never know the real, full person. we can just enjoy and engage with the persona appropriately.

and to those who argue that shipping and "sexualizing" isn't engaging with these public personas appropriately:

fandom is *not* directed towards the idols.

it is the domain of fans. thus the name. idols could see it if they went looking for it, but then they would be looking for it specifically... and hopefully would know what they were in for. so for things like fic, fanart, edits, etcetera, PLEASE stop this ridiculous puritanical shit.

[lyra-143]

5 Days!!!!

6 Days ~ jimin airport

Master post

[littlegochu]

"just friends" part 6 │ jjk 18+

"no feelings. no promises. just a night that didn’t end when it should’ve."

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: friends with benefits, cold male lead, cold female lead

rating: 18+, smut

synopsis: we weren’t close. just mutuals. he was mia’s boyfriend’s friend — always quiet, always there, always looking like he didn’t care about anything. then we hooked up once. and then again. now it’s late-night texts, locked doors, and pretending not to look at each other during group hangouts. no feelings. no rules. just whatever this is. and yeah, maybe i’m in too deep — but if he is too, he’s not saying it either.

-

“Here.”

He just drops a hoodie in my lap like it means nothing.

I’m on the porch steps, tugging the edges of my towel tighter around me with my teeth clenched so they don’t chatter. I thought I could thug it out.

I blink. “What?”

He’s already halfway across the porch. “Put it on.”

No eye contact. No teasing smirk. Just that tone — quiet, offhanded, like he couldn’t not do it.

I stare after him.

Then I look down.

The hoodie’s massive. Black and soft and warm from his hands. It smells like clean laundry and his cologne — not the overpowering kind, but the faint stuff that lingers in his clothes, on his neck, on the passenger seat of his car. It smells like skin and sun and something a little bitter, like leather left too long in the heat.

And God, it smells like him.

I hesitate for one second. Then I pull it on.

The sleeves drown my hands. The hem hits mid-thigh. The scent wraps around me before the warmth even settles.

About ten minutes later, I’m still there, curled up on the porch, arms around my knees, sleeves falling past my fingers like I’m trying to hide. My skin’s dry now, finally, but I haven’t moved. Haven’t even bothered to change out of my swimsuit. The hoodie’s clinging to me in the best way — warm against the cool air, heavy against my spine, like armor I didn’t ask for but desperately need.

The porch is quieter now. The buzz of voices has drifted toward the backyard, laughter spilling out in waves. Someone’s playing music through a speaker that keeps cutting in and out. I catch snippets of Leon yelling about seasoning and Jimin pretending to be the grill master. It's background noise. Faint. Fuzzy.

Then I see him.

Jungkook walks around the side of the cottage, emerging from the yard like he was never really gone. There’s a paper plate in his hand — balanced one-handed, perfectly casual — like this isn’t weird at all. Like he does this for people all the time.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just walks up, stops beside me, and gently sets the plate down on the wooden step without meeting my eyes.

Corn. Potato salad. A toasted bun with a burger inside — medium, no onions.

I look up. But he’s already halfway back across the porch, steps quiet, posture unreadable.

No glance. No smirk. No “I got this for you.”

Nothing.

He disappears into the house like it was nothing.

Like that wasn’t the most deliberate thing he’s ever done.

I blink at the plate. Then at the empty space where he stood. Then back at the plate again.

The hoodie sleeves slip forward as I move, brushing against my knuckles as I reach for the food. My fingers hover for a second — just long enough to wonder if this is a trap — then I pull the plate into my lap like it might vanish if I wait too long.

I didn’t ask for this.

Didn’t tell anyone I was hungry.

And that? That messes me up.

Because this isn’t big. It’s not dramatic. It’s quiet. Thoughtful. And somehow, it’s so much worse than if he’d said something sweet out loud.

This kind of care — the quiet kind, the real kind — it breaks rules. Breaks our rules. It’s not “just friends.” It’s not “we don’t do feelings.” It’s a soft, unspoken confession in the form of condiments.

Mira steps onto the porch with her hair in a messy knot and a drink in hand. She spots the plate immediately and slows, brows lifting.

“He did that for you?” she asks, incredulous.

I shrug one shoulder. It’s the most I can do without my voice cracking.

She lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Thought he didn’t care.”

I don’t answer.

She walks past me, but her gaze lingers for another beat, like she’s filing it away for later. Like this just confirmed something she already suspected.

I shift the plate onto my thighs and stab at a piece of corn with the flimsy plastic fork. It wobbles. I take a bite anyway. Chew slowly.

It’s stupid good.

Warm. Fresh. Way better than I expected.

And that only makes it worse.

Because this is the kind of thing someone does when they see you. Really see you.

And I’m not sure I know what to do with that.

I’m still chewing when Mira mumbles under her breath, half to herself, “Men like that are dangerous.”

No shit.

-

Later, the others are still outside — Mira curled in a camp chair, one leg over the other, nursing a can of cider while Leon and Jimin argue over whose meat is more “perfectly charred.” Their voices carry in waves, floating up from the backyard in bursts of swearing and laughter. The scent of grilled steak clings to the open air.

I slip inside, nudging the screen door shut behind me, and let the hush of the house wrap around me like a blanket. The temperature’s a little warmer in here, sun pooling across the hardwood in slow-moving gold.

Mira’s cousin’s daughter, two years old at most, sits smack in the middle of the rug, surrounded by a battlefield of toys: stuffed animals, plastic spoons, a lopsided tea set, and one very unfortunate doll that’s missing both a shoe and its head.

She sees me immediately.

Her whole body perks up, spoon clutched in one chubby hand.

“Pay?” she says, eyes wide, already grinning.

I blink. “Uh… sure.”

Before I can even get both knees down, she’s patting the rug with both palms, bouncing in place like she just won a prize. I drop beside her cross-legged, adjusting the hem of Jungkook’s hoodie down over my thighs. She immediately shoves a cracked teacup into my hand like she’s been expecting me for hours.

She lifts the empty teapot with great effort — both hands, tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth as she tilts it with full concentration.

I bring the cup to my lips. “Mmm! Yummy!”

She lights up, letting out a happy little squeak. Then grabs a pink saucer and places a squishy plastic cookie onto my palm with the seriousness of a Michelin-star chef.

I gasp and clutch my chest. “Oh no. That’s too good.”

She collapses in giggles. Tiny, hiccupy, squealing ones. When I dramatically fall backward and sprawl on the floor, she shrieks in delight and crawls over to pour me more.

“’Again!,” she insists, jabbing the air with the empty pot.

“You’re really strict,” I mumble, sitting back up. “Do all your guests get bossed around this much?”

She nods so hard her curls bounce. “Mhm.”

She hands me another cookie. I pretend to nibble it, chewing dramatically. She watches every move like it’s high-stakes performance art.

And then it happens.

That slow, creeping awareness.

Like a shift in gravity. Like a current in the air.

I look up.

Jungkook is standing in the doorway.

Hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows. Hair slightly tousled, like he’s towel-dried it and gave up halfway. Barefoot. Shoulders broad, hands loose at his sides. He doesn’t move.

He just… watches.

His gaze flicks from the toddler nestled against my leg to the cup I’m still holding to my face — and then finally lands on me.

Something in my chest tightens instantly.

Not because I’m embarrassed. Not exactly.

But because he looks… softer. Caught. Like he just stumbled into something he wasn’t supposed to see and can’t quite tear himself away from.

The light from the window casts gold along the side of his jaw, catching in the curve of his mouth, the shadows of his collarbone.

His expression isn’t amused. Or smug. Or anything I expect.

He looks like he’s seeing me differently.

Like he didn’t realize I had this in me. Like maybe he never let himself imagine it.

I glance down, flustered. The girl presses a spoon into my hand like it’s urgent business.

When I risk looking up again — he’s still there.

Still staring.

And then, slowly, he steps forward.

His movements are quiet, careful. Like he’s not sure he’s invited. But still — he comes. Walks across the room and lowers himself to the rug beside us, crouching low so he’s at eye level with the chaos.

The little girl freezes.

She looks at him like he just walked out of a cartoon. Blinks once. Then holds out a bent plastic spoon with cautious approval.

“Play,” she says.

He takes it without hesitation.

He doesn’t look at me. Not yet. Just glances down at the nearest stuffed animal — a panda with an eye missing — and gently sets it upright between us.

“What’s his name?” he murmurs.

She shrugs. Then points to a rabbit. “Hop.’”

“Hop,” he repeats, voice low and soft.

She hands him a tiny cup. “Hot,” she says solemnly.

He nods, expression serious. “Very hot.”

Then he pretends to sip, frowning dramatically. “Too hot!”

She dissolves into laughter again, feet kicking the rug.

I can’t stop smiling. My cheeks hurt.

I try not to look at him, but I do — sideways, quick.

He’s sitting with one leg folded under the other, his long fingers wrapped awkwardly around a doll-sized teacup. His head is tilted slightly, hoodie bunching against the curve of his neck, and there's something in the way he holds himself — relaxed but attentive. Open, but like he's trying not to be.

He smells like fabric softener and smoke from the grill. A little like the lake. A little like me. My chest tightens again.

He turns his head, catches me looking.

“What?” he murmurs, just above the little girl’s giggles.

I swallow. “Nothing.”

But everything about this is something.

The little girl presses a pink crayon into my lap. Then one into Jungkook’s hand. She’s clearly assigning us roles. He takes it seriously. Doesn’t flinch. Just accepts it, starts drawing crooked spirals on a paper plate like it’s a mission.

Ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass like that. Quiet. Strange. Safe.

At one point, our knees touch. Not fully — just the edges. But he doesn’t move. And neither do I.

When the girl finally toddles off toward the bookshelf, distracted by something shiny, I look over at him.

He’s still holding the spoon.

He looks back at me, expression unreadable.

Then he sets the spoon down on the rug like it’s delicate. Gets up slowly, dusts off his hands on his shorts, and walks out without saying a word.

But the scent of him stays behind. And the warmth where his knee pressed against mine. And the image of him — barefoot, hoodie sleeves falling past his wrists, pretending to sip invisible tea just to make a little girl laugh.

And the silence he leaves behind?

It settles in my chest like gravity. Heavy. Lingering.

Impossible to ignore.

part 7 here

authors note: part 6 is finally here! I'm not really proud of this part but i think it was meant to be a filler episode, part 7 will pick up dw! lmk some opinions and ideas, requests are open anonymously as well!

[now-or-then]

🥳 💜🎉

[btssoul7]

Jin 💜

[waaana]

Jin *and* jhope (bts) !★

[rpwprpwprpwprw]

jeon jungkook fanfics that should be turned into a movie or a book! 🎬 (jungkook masterlist).

Thank you authors for your infinite imagination and creativity! My days are better because of you <3

Get him back by @inthelow (f!producer/writer reader x idol!jungkook) ongoing

Still don’t know my name by @dollfaceksj (jungkook x reader) completed

Kinktober D14- thigh job/ humping by @redcherrykook (jungkook x reader) completed

Play pretend by @frmisnow (best friend!jk x reader) •fake dating, friends with benefits, friends to lovers completed• part 1 part 2 part 3 completed

If i told you by @gukyi (jungkook x reader) •friends to lovers!au, college!au/ fluff, comedy, angst completed

Boy with luv by @hannieehaee (barista!reader, sub-ish!jk) completed

Can i keep you? by @mikrokcsmos (ghostjk! x reader) completed

Habits (Stay High) by @girlygguk (student plug!jk x rich girl!reader) ongoing

Teach me How to love by @kookooluvr (professor!jungkook, professor!reader) • fwb!au, co-workers!au • ongoing

Bed Chem by @muniimyg (frenemie! jk x reader) • uni au, frenemies • completed

Between the ride and the roses by @focusonkayjay (biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader) • enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn • ongoing

Calling It Now by @newmittens (jungkook x reader) • Friends to Lovers; Grad School AU • completed

Bad things by @girlygguk (jock fuckboy!jk x nerdy fuckgirl!reader) • f2l, fwb au, university au • ongoing

One night stand by @buryhny (ceo!jk x graphic designer! reader) • enemies to lovers, CEO au, pregnancy trope, slowburn • ongoing

First Sightings by @kookiestiddies (jungkook x reader) • Enemies With Potential • ongoing

Total loser by @frmisnow (rockstarjk! x reader) completed

NEED TO KNOW by @hannieehaee (virgin!jungkook, f2l!jungkook, loser!jk, sub!jk x reader) • college au • completed

Unspoken by @armpirate ( Boyfriend's friend!jk, Soldier!jk x reader) completed

[stlllle]

Things I HATE in K-pop:

(both from the industry and the fans, bc everyone’s annoying sometimes. Let me know if you'd like me to add anything else.)

1. Thinking EVERYTHING is about BTS

2. Thinking someone is less of a fan just because they don’t own a thousand things about the idol/group

3. Judging or belittling an idol just because of their appearance

4. Attacking other fandoms for no reason

5. The absurd hate idols get just because they’re dating someone — like??? they’re not dating YOU

6. Thinking idols are saints who can never make mistakes

7. Defending idols like they’re little kids when they’re actually grown adults

8. Acting like you own an idol or a group

9. Defending an idol even when they’re CLEARLY wrong just because they’re famous or attractive

10. Getting mad just because the idol interacts with someone of the opposite sex

11. When one idol clearly gets WAY more attention than the rest of the group

12. The hypersexualization of idols in general 🤢

13. Aegyo

14. Minsung

15. Talking about Banhchan's nose

16. Jay Park

[wwwifey19-ot7-mollz]

God, can he be anymore beautiful though? Like come on man, enough already!! My heartue!!

world wide handsome cr. jung-koook

happy birthday, Sara! @moon-covey ♡

[justarkive]

THE JEONS | smut drabble

Sensitive 🔞

summary: a collection of chaotic family drabbles. thats it.

contents: family!au, non.idol jungkook, girl!dad jk, fluff, angst, sensitive topics sometimes, smut!

• chapter warnings: smut!! very explicit smut, unprotected sex, cuddle fucking, cnc undertones A BIT, jk licks his cum off ur tits, he cums on ur tits + inside, cock + nipple play/stimulation for basically the whole thing lol. multiple orgasms, reader cums from just that. breastfeeding kink (jk is obsessed). overstimulation, dirty talk!! a lot!!, light teasing + soft dom jk kinda, mentions of pregnancy, uhh pregnant!oc kink LMFAO. possessive jk. a lot of praise + some vry light degradation (but it’s hot). jk being so obsessed w ur tits it’s insane. experimentation bc he didn’t even know u could cum like that. he’s just in awe. lots of teasing but also lots of love!!!!! he basically praises u. oh and jk lowk has a breeding kink ngl, m!masturbation. idk kissing uhh thats it i think.

• a/n: rlly wanted this pairing to havw some hot but fluffy smut!! not much family fluff except for the first part ig but its super brief. its just like super smutty and fluffy!

• taglist: @jenniebyrubies @lovingkoalaface @iamstilljk @elinaki92 @rpwprpwprpwprw @mafersame @parkinglot-nights @reallygenerouskoala @mimi1097 @aznstoner @jungshaking @pinkpunkdynamite (cmnt to be added)

masterlist , series masterlist

It’s late when Jungkook finally slips into bed beside you, the soft creak of the mattress barely cutting through the quiet hum of the baby monitor.

Hana is fast asleep, and you know he just spent the last half hour making sure of it, murmuring to her softly until her tiny fingers went slack around his.

But now, he’s here, warm and solid in front of you, pressing a lazy kiss to the nape of your neck before his hands wander lower, over the soft curve of your stomach, the stretch marks from the life you carried he always traces like scripture.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, voice deep, reverent, as his fingers find your breast and flick lazily at your nipple.

You twitch at the stimulation, a small gasp escaping before you can stop it. They’re still sensitive, more so after nursing, and Jungkook knows it—knows and loves it. His breath fans against your ear, lips curving as he teases, “Missed these. Missed tasting you.”

Your face heats instantly. “Jungkook—”

“What?” He laughs, dipping lower to mouth at your neck, his fingers still toying with you. “Just saying. You gonna stop me, baby?”

You don’t, and he knows you won’t. Because despite the embarrassment, despite the way his filthy words always make your face burn, you trust him. Completely.

Jungkook takes his time. Pulling over your nightie and murmuring assurances against every bit of skin exposed.

His mouth is warm, wet, and torturously slow, dragging over the stiff peak of your nipple as his fingers work the other one, rolling and pinching just enough to make your toes curl. The combination is dizzying—so much stimulation, so much attention, and it’s doing something to you.

You don’t even realize you’re moving at first.

But suddenly, you are.

Hips shifting, chest pushing forward, chasing his tongue every time he pulls back, your hands buried in his hair, keeping him close because you don’t want him to stop.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, breath hitching as he sucks harder, the pressure of his lips sending sparks straight between your legs. You can’t help it—you roll your chest again, desperate for friction, pressing your nipple firmly against his lips as you gasp.

And then—he stops.

Pulls away just slightly, just enough for his breath to ghost over your damp skin, for his lips to hover but not touch, for his hands to rest still against your ribs instead of moving.

You make a noise of protest, but he only grins.

“Use me, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, coaxing.

You freeze, body going tight beneath him, face burning.

“W-What?”

Jungkook tilts his head, one brow raising, his gaze molten as he watches you. “You wanna grind on my mouth, don’t you?” he says, teasing, licking his lips. “So do it.”

Your stomach clenches, something white-hot pooling deep inside you at the way he’s looking at you—so openly eager, so completely wrecked already.

Hesitantly, you move.

Rocking forward again, feeling the heat of his mouth just barely brushing against your nipple. His lips part slightly, his tongue peeking out, and—

“Oh, fuck.”

A shaky moan spills from your lips as you press against him, the sensation sending a new, dangerous type of pleasure straight to your core. Jungkook groans, like he can feel it too, his hands gripping your hips but not guiding you—just holding, just letting you take what you need.

“That’s it,” he whispers, voice strained. “Fuck, that’s it, baby.”

And then—you feel it.

The unmistakable rhythm of his hand, the slick, wet sounds between his own legs, the way his breath stutters as he strokes himself while you move.

Your eyes flutter open, dazed, and Jungkook is watching you—watching you with a hunger that makes you tremble, his other hand gripping your waist, like he’s trying not to lose it completely.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, heat flooding your body, every nerve alight at the realization.

His jaw clenches.

“You feel so good,” he groans, hips bucking slightly into his own hand. His tongue flicks over your nipple again, his eyes locked on yours. “You’re making me so fucking hard.”

Your thighs tighten, body shivering.

This is new. This is different.

It’s desperate.

It’s you learning him, him learning you—how far you can go, how much you can take, how much he can give.

And the way he’s watching you, the way he’s losing himself just from you grinding against his mouth—

It makes you want to give him everything.

Jungkook is panting.

His lips are slick, swollen from where he’s been sucking at your skin, his pupils blown wide as he watches the way your chest rises and falls—your nipples still glistening, still stiff, still aching for more.

And then, suddenly—

He moves.

Pushes himself up, his hands gripping your waist as he flips you onto your back in one smooth motion, pressing you into the sheets before you can even catch your breath. “Jungkook—”

He doesn’t answer.

Just kneels between your legs, his cock flushed and leaking, his chest heaving, and you swear you’ve never seen him this wrecked before.

“I need to—” His voice breaks off, rough and unsteady, his hands sliding up your torso, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples again—watching, studying, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Fuck, I need—.”

Your stomach tightens.

The realization makes your breath hitch, heat pooling low in your belly, and you barely have time to react before he grips himself—his cock heavy in his hand, the tip swollen and glistening, and then—

“Oh!”

He presses it against your nipple.

A sharp gasp escapes you, your back arching off the bed as the slick warmth of his tip drags over the sensitive bud, rubbing, circling, teasing.

“Fuuck—”

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he groans, watching your reaction, his other hand palming at your breast, tweaking your other nipple in time with the slow, deliberate glide of his cock. “Shit, you like this?”

You whimper.

Because, yes.

Yes, you do.

It’s messy, new and filthy and you should be embarrassed, but all you can feel is the sharp, electric pleasure zipping down your spine—the way your thighs clench, the way your stomach tightens, the way your body throbs with every slow pass of his cock over your aching nipple.

Jungkook groans again, deeper this time, his fingers twitching against your skin, his hips pressing forward as he starts moving faster, more desperate.

“Fucking hell,” he chokes out, his breath ragged, his gaze locked onto you. “You’re—shit, you’re so pretty like this, baby. You gonna come for me?”

You don’t know how to answer.

Because you don’t know how you’re this close already.

But the stimulation is too much, the friction too perfect, your body too wound up from everything before, and when he grips your breast tighter, when his cock drags over your nipple just right—

Your world tilts.

You cry out, pleasure slamming into you, white-hot and all-consuming, your entire body trembling beneath him. Your walls flutter, your stomach tensing, your nipples aching as you come undone from nothing but his touch, his mouth, his cock against your chest.

And that—

That is what undoes him.

Jungkook curses, head tilting back, his body shuddering as his hips jerk forward—his cock pulsing, spilling over your nipples as he moans, as he watches you, as he loses himself completely in the sight of you coming just from this.

Silence follows.

Just the sound of your heavy breathing, the faint tremor in your limbs, the lingering heat between you both.

Then—

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook exhales, staring down at you, his chest rising and falling, his fingers twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Baby—”

You’re barely able to focus, your mind still hazy, your skin still tingling—but when you meet his gaze, you see it.

Shock.

Awe.

Desperation.

Something in his throat bobs, his voice coming out rough, wrecked.

“Did you—” He swallows, his hand sliding over your stomach, your ribs, like he needs to feel you to believe it. “You came from that?”

Your face burns.

But you nod.

And Jungkook groans, gripping your hips, leaning down to kiss you like he’s starving, like he can’t fucking believe what just happened.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You’re still trying to catch your breath.

Everything feels too warm, your skin still tingling, the ghost of your orgasm still pulsing through your limbs. But Jungkook— Jungkook is staring.

You can feel it, the weight of his gaze, even as you try to focus on the rise and fall of your chest. And when you finally manage to meet his eyes, he’s already smirking.

“You came,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, his fingers ghosting over your ribs. “From just this.”

You swallow.

Heat rushes up your spine, embarrassment bubbling in your chest, but Jungkook only grins, tilting his head as his palm slides higher—his thumb swiping lazily over your oversensitive nipple, making you twitch.

“Shut up,” you mumble.

But he just laughs.

“I mean, baby,” he hums, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, his expression downright sinful, “I knew you were sensitive, but this—”

His other hand moves—his cock, still soft, still resting against your thigh, shifting slightly at the movement.

“—this is fuckin’ insane.”

You groan, reaching up to shove at his shoulder, but Jungkook only chuckles again, catching your wrist and kissing your palm, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

And then—

Something changes.

His eyes darken.

His fingers twitch.

And before you can process it, before you can ask—

His head dips.

Your breath stutters.

Because Jungkook—

Jungkook licks. Soft. Deliberate.

His tongue drags over your nipple, slow and purposeful, collecting the remnants of his own release—and your entire body locks up.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, your throat suddenly dry, your stomach tightening, your skin burning as you watch him, as you feel him—

But he only hums.

Does it again.

And when he finally pulls back, when he tilts his head up to meet your wide eyes, there’s something unreadable in his expression—something dark, something knowing.

“Trust me,” he murmurs.

And then— He leans in.

Feeds it to you.

You don’t even hesitate.

Your lips part instinctively, your breath hitching as his thumb coaxes your chin up, as he presses his mouth to yours, as you taste him—warm, salty.

Your stomach flips. Because it’s not just filthy. It’s Jungkook. And when he finally pulls back, when he licks into your mouth one last time, when he watches you with those dark, desperate eyes—

You realize something. You’re turned on again.

Jungkook watches you. Eyes flickering over your face, your parted lips, your dazed expression. He can see it, the need building in your chest, the way you’re still trying to catch your breath but already wanting more.

And then— You whine. A soft, needy little sound, high in your throat, breath hitching as you shift, pressing closer.

Jungkook’s brows twitch, his fingers flexing against your ribs.

“What, baby?” he murmurs, voice low, coaxing, stroking gentle circles against your skin. “Tell me.”

You blink up at him, swallowing hard, “Want more.”

His expression darkens. “Yeah?”

Your stomach flips. Because he’s already moving.

Hand sliding down, fingers wrapping loosely around his soft cock, stroking himself to hardness again—his eyes never leaving yours, his touch slow, teasing.

“You want more,” he repeats, rasping, amused, his lips brushing against your temple, your cheek, as he shifts, pulling your leg over his waist. “Like this, baby?”

He slides in. It’s slow, lazy, his cock still thick and warm and just barely hard enough, but your body welcomes him immediately—soft, wet, aching, molding to him like you were made for it.

And Jungkook—

Jungkook moans.

His hands clutch at you, arms locking around your waist, pulling you into him completely—his chest flush against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

Cuddle-fucking.

It’s the only way to describe it.

Your leg thrown over his hip, bodies tangled, faces pressed so close together that you can feel every sound he makes. His hands wander, palms smoothing over your back, your sides—

And then—

Your nipples.

Because now that he’s found this out, now that he knows— He can’t not touch you there.

He rolls one between his fingers, his other hand curling against your breast, and you gasp—

And Jungkook groans.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so sensitive,” he pants, rutting into you, his voice wrecked, strained, breath shaky as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. “Can’t stop touching you—need to touch you.”

And you let him. Because you trust him.

Because it’s him.

Because as overwhelming as it is—his touch, his voice, his desperate, slow thrusts—you want it. You need it.

And when his lips find yours, when his tongue slides into your mouth, when his hips stutter and he whispers, “Let me take care of you, baby,”

You don’t hesitate. You let him lead. Because you know he will.

Jungkook doesn’t waste any time. His cock is still slick from his precum, hardening more as he slides deeper, pressing close. His lips are at your ear, murmuring filth, each word sending a new wave of heat down your spine.

“Still so fucking tight,” he groans as he pushes in, stretching you slow. “Shit—you’re made for me, baby.”

You whimper, fingers digging into his shoulders as he starts to move, the slow rock of his hips melting you into the mattress. His hands never stray far from your chest, thumbs still circling your sensitive peaks, still teasing as if he knows you can’t handle much more.

But you let him lead. You always do.

“Taking me so well,” he praises, kissing your jaw, your throat, the space between your breasts where his cum had been just moments ago. “Know you can give me another one. Know I just have to get you open for me.”

Your breath stutters as he angles deeper, his cock pressing right where you need him most. He’s relentless, thrusting in deep, grinding his hips into yours as if he can’t get close enough. The pleasure builds fast, hot, overwhelming, and when his fingers find your nipple again, rubbing, tweaking, pinching—

“Jungkook,” you gasp, back arching, hands scrambling at his shoulders. “I—”

“I know, baby,” he groans, voice tight, desperate. “Come with me, yeah? Give me one more.”

You do. You can’t hold back, not when he’s coaxing you through it, his words nothing but praise as your body clenches around him, as your release crashes into you so hard your vision whites out. Jungkook follows right after, hips snapping deep as he spills inside you with a wrecked moan, burying his face in your neck as he grinds through it.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but heavy breathing, your bodies still locked together, sweat-damp and trembling. He’s still inside you, still pulsing, his hands lazily kneading at your waist as he comes down.

Then—

“Shit, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Just—one more.”

Your breath catches. “…What?”

“Wanna come inside again.” He grins against your skin, hands splaying over your stomach, thumbs stroking the soft skin there. “Think you’d look so pretty carrying my baby again.”

Your heart stutters. Your body is still trembling from your orgasm, mind barely catching up, but the way he says it—like it’s a fact, like it’s inevitable—has you gaping at him.

“Jungkook—”

He just smirks, kissing your cheek before rolling his hips again, still half-hard inside you.

“Think we should start trying soon, don’t you?”

Jungkook groans as he shifts, sitting up and grabbing the backs of your knees, pushing them up—higher, deeper—until you’re spread open beneath him, helpless to the way he presses into you. His cock slides deeper, the new angle making you cry out, hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked, hips snapping forward in hard, relentless thrusts. “Missed—missed fucking you while you had Hana inside you.”

You whimper, overwhelmed by the way he’s looking at you, like he can see it—like he’s imagining it all over again. His eyes are dark, focused entirely on the way your body takes him, the way your tits bounce with every snap of his hips.

“You looked so pretty carrying my baby,” he murmurs, leaning down, pressing his forehead to yours as he grinds deep. “So full—so fucking beautiful.”

Your face burns, body trembling beneath him, and yet the way he’s talking—the pure adoration in his voice—has heat pooling low in your belly, has you clenching around him so tight he groans.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back.

He moans at that, dropping to his elbows, pressing you further into the bed as he pounds into you. “Wanna make you all big again, baby,” he breathes, licking into your mouth, swallowing your soft, broken cries. “Wanna fill you up—fuck, wanna see you carrying again, see your pretty tits get all full for me.”

Your breath stutters, hands clutching at his shoulders, overwhelmed by his desperation, by the raw, aching need laced in every word.

“These tits, baby—” He groans, dipping his head to latch onto one, sucking, flicking his tongue over your sensitive nipple. “So fucking perfect when you’re pregnant—” He moans as you tighten around him, sucking harder, like he’s already imagining it. “Wanna see them leak again—wanna drink from you, baby—”

You whimper, body arching, everything too much, too hot, too overwhelming. And then he presses in deep, hips stuttering, and you feel it—the way he spills inside you, his cock twitching, voice breaking on a desperate moan of your name.

For a long moment, he just breathes against your skin, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, his body still trembling against yours. Then he leans up, eyes soft, cheeks flushed, voice a little shy despite everything.

“Think we should try again, baby,” he murmurs, hands still tracing over your stomach. “Wanna see you like that again.”

And the worst part?

You’re actually considering it.

[jinatmidnight]

Jin Echo Concept Photo II

[littlegochu]

could you plz do a personal trainer taehyung one shot (considering he’s all buffed out rn). imagine he’s your gym crush and you finally get around to asking for pointers and there’s juicy tension

gym crush │ kth 18+

pairing: kim taehyung x reader

genre: gym crush au, fluff, strangers to flirty friends, slice of life

rating: 18+ (explicit content — sexual themes)

synopsis: kim taehyung—known for his silence, his sculpted arms, and the fact that no one���s ever gotten close enough to say more than two words to him.

until me.

i wasn’t trying to get his attention. i was trying not to drop my weights or accidentally pass out mid-squat. but for some reason, he noticed me. corrected my form. watched me like he meant to.

now we train together. he doesn’t talk much. doesn’t flirt. doesn’t even smile unless he’s mid-set and i say something sarcastic. but he’s close. too close. and every glance feels like it means something i’m not ready to admit.

they say he doesn’t get attached. but his hands linger. his eyes stay.

-

set 1: the myth

every girl on campus has a kim taehyung story.

not like real stories. not like “i hooked up with him” or “we matched on tinder.” more like “i saw him bench press 180 with one hand.” or “he looked at me once in the mirror and i haven’t known peace since.”

he’s quiet. never with a group. never at parties. he’s in third-year psych like me, but i’ve never seen him in class. only ever here—shirtless in the weight room, hair pushed back with a bandana, jawline sharp enough to make you rethink every decision you've ever made.

girls flirt with him. he never flirts back. guys nod at him. he never nods back. he’s polite, but distant. beautiful, but untouchable. the kind of boy who could ruin you with a glance and walk away without ever noticing.

i don’t stare. not really. just... occasionally. softly. from a safe distance.

because everyone stares. but he’s never stared back. not until today.

set 2: eyes

i’m squatting in front of the mirror. deep into my fourth rep, knees burning, headphones loud enough to drown out my inner monologue.

and i feel it.

the burn? yes. but also him.

i glance up.

he’s looking straight at me. arms crossed. leaning against the cable machine like he’s sculpted out of shadow and sunlight. his mouth is set. eyes dark. completely unreadable.

i falter.

he doesn’t look away.

i blink. look back down. try to pretend my heart isn’t sprinting faster than my max on the treadmill.

when i sneak another look up—he’s gone.

set 3: "you done w that machine?"

“you done using the machine?”

i look up. he’s standing right there. taller than i remember. realer. sweat still clinging to the edges of his collarbones like it lives there on purpose.

my brain flatlines for a second. he’s talking to me.

i blink once. maybe twice. “uh—yeah. yeah, sorry. go ahead.”

he doesn’t move. doesn’t sit down. just lets his gaze sweep over the machine, then back to me. “you train here often?”

i blink again. was that a line?

“…sometimes,” i say slowly. “you?”

his mouth twitches like it wants to smile, but he doesn’t let it. “haven’t seen you before.”

my heart stumbles. “i come at different times.”

he nods. “maybe that’s why.”

i shift to the side, still unsure if this is small talk or some kind of interrogation. he’s just standing there. not using the machine. not looking away.

and then he adds, voice low, “your form was good.”

i laugh, mostly out of nerves. “what, you check everyone's form or just mine?”

he shrugs, but his eyes stay on me. “just yours.”

my lungs give out for a second. and before i can even think of a comeback— he walks off.

set 4: tension

he doesn’t speak to me again. not right away. but he’s near.

too near.

next to me at the squat rack. behind me during rows. his sets always line up with mine now, like we orbit the same routine.

i catch him watching me in the mirror once. not for long. just long enough to notice. and when i look back—he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t pretend.

he just keeps watching.

set 5: the touch

it’s small. innocent, probably.

i drop my towel. reach to grab it. his hand gets there first.

he holds it out to me, gaze steady.

i mutter, “thanks.”

our fingers brush when i take it. not on purpose. not quite accidental either. his hand is warm. bigger than i thought. veins sharp against his wrist.

he watches me too closely as i wrap the towel over my shoulder.

"careful," he says, like it's an afterthought. but his voice is low. almost amused.

“for what?”

he lifts a brow. “getting used to me.”

and then—again—he walks away.

set 6: the offer

“train with me.”

i don’t turn right away. i need to breathe. he doesn’t sound like he’s joking. he never sounds like he’s joking.

when i glance over, he’s already setting up weights beside mine. like it’s not a question. like he already knows i’ll say yes.

“why?”

“you don’t talk too much.” he shrugs. “i like that.”

i snort. “so this is...a compliment?”

his mouth quirks. not a smile, but close. “don’t get cocky.”

i shake my head. laugh quietly to myself.

but when he hands me a heavier dumbbell than usual, i take it. no questions. no hesitation.

because of course i do. it’s him.

set 7: sweat

“lower,” he says quietly, voice right behind me.

i’m already sweating. not from the bar on my back—but because i can feel him. his hands hovering near my waist. not touching. not quite. but there.

his voice is low. his breath hits the back of my neck every time i exhale. i drop into the squat, eyes forward, jaw tight.

“don’t rush the rep,” he murmurs. “feel the bottom. hold it. then drive.”

it’s a normal cue. basic. but when he says it, it feels like something else entirely.

feel the bottom. hold it. drive.

my fingers tighten on the bar.

i push up. steady. not smooth.

“good,” he says, and i hear the smirk behind the word.

i rack the bar. turn around. he’s too close.

his eyes flicker across my face like he’s checking for something. i don’t know what. but it makes me stand up straighter.

“you okay?” he asks, voice still quiet. almost like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear us.

i nod. “just hot.”

he looks me over—slow. his eyes trail from the sweat clinging to my collarbone down to my waistband, where my tank top has started riding up slightly, exposing the faint line of my hip.

his tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

“yeah,” he says, but it’s not really an answer. just something to fill the silence.

next, we do hip thrusts.

my mistake.

i set the barbell over my hips, settling back on the bench.

he stands behind me. like usual. spotting. watching.

but there’s nothing normal about the way he’s looking at me now. his eyes are lower. darker. waiting.

“go heavier,” he says.

i shoot him a look. “you sure?”

he nods once. “you can handle it.”

i hate how that sentence makes my stomach turn.

i load the weight. start the first rep. my hips rise, slow, steady. the metal bar presses tight against me. my breathing gets shallow.

“keep your knees out,” he murmurs.

i adjust, legs trembling slightly.

“slower at the top,” he says. “don’t rush the squeeze.”

i swear to god, he’s doing this on purpose.

i grind through another rep, jaw locked. his eyes don’t leave my hips.

the bar moves. my body rises. his voice stays calm. smooth.

“you’re shaking,” he notes.

“i’m fine.”

“didn’t say you weren’t.”

our eyes meet.

i don’t blink. neither does he. his gaze drops again—barely noticeable. but enough.

the bar hits the floor. my set’s done. but i feel like i just ran a mile with his hand pressed low on my back.

last are deadlifts.

we load the bar together. his fingers brush mine on the last plate. i pretend i don’t notice. he pretends he didn’t mean to.

but we both know.

i line up. feet grounded. hands set.

he crouches beside me, one arm resting on his knee. his head tips slightly, eyes dragging over the length of my spine.

“don’t look up when you pull,” he says. “keep your neck neutral.”

i nod, swallowing hard.

his eyes don’t move. he stays low as i wrap my fingers around the bar. my body lifts—slow. steady.

his gaze trails up, following the pull.

when i lock out at the top, he says nothing. just stares. mouth parted.

“what?” i ask, breathless.

“nothing,” he says. voice rough now. unsteady. “just… you’re strong.”

my heart stumbles.

“you’ve said that before.”

“yeah,” he murmurs, standing up slowly. “but i mean it more now.”

he’s looking at me like he wants to say something else. but doesn’t.

and i’m standing there, heart racing, sweat sticking to my skin in all the wrong places, still holding onto the bar like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

we don’t say anything else.

but it’s loud. so loud between us.

set 8: the ride

“you walking?” he asks, voice low like always.

i’m standing by the water fountain, drenched in sweat, hoodie half-zipped, the hem of my tank top clinging to my skin. my legs feel like they’ve been rung out. my brain’s even worse.

i glance at him. taehyung’s already holding his keys.

“bus,” i say.

he doesn’t like that.

his brow twitches. “alone?”

i nod once.

he stares at me for a beat too long, then tilts his head and murmurs, “i’ll drive you.”

not a question. not even an offer. more like a decision he’s already made.

i should say no. i don’t.

“…yeah. okay.”

-

his car is clean. black leather. smells like cedar and something else—his cologne, maybe. sharp and familiar from how many times he’s spotted me from behind, breath brushing my neck.

he drives with one hand on the wheel. the other rests casually on the console between us, fingers relaxed, dangerous, close.

the silence isn’t awkward. it’s worse. it’s thick.

he doesn’t turn on the music. doesn’t ask where i live. he already knows.

we hit a red light.

i glance at him. he’s leaning back, eyes on the intersection ahead like it’s done something wrong.

“you always this helpful?” i ask, my voice thinner than i meant it to be.

he doesn’t look over.

“only for you.”

my stomach tightens.

“why me?” i ask, softer.

that gets his attention.

he glances sideways, then drags his eyes back to the road.

“you don’t talk just to talk,” he says. “you actually work for your reps. you look at me like you’re not scared.”

“you get close a lot,” i say under my breath.

“you don’t stop me.”

we pull into my building. he doesn’t park. just idles under the streetlight, thumb tapping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him from saying something reckless.

my seatbelt clicks free. my hand is already on the door.

“wait.”

i pause. his voice is quiet, but not soft. it lands in the space between my ribs and stays there.

i turn to him.

he’s already looking at me.

and for once, he’s not unreadable.

there’s something in his eyes i’ve never seen before. something raw. tight. like the leash he keeps everything on has been fraying this whole time, and i’m the last thread.

“don’t go in yet.”

my pulse skips. i don’t ask why. i just nod.

he doesn’t move at first. doesn’t reach for me. just stares, jaw tense, like he’s trying to decide if touching me now will ruin whatever careful thing we’ve built.

so i reach first.

my hand slides over his. his breath catches.

his fingers wrap around mine, slow, deliberate.

“i wasn’t planning this,” he says quietly.

“i know.”

his other hand lifts—to my thigh, not far from the hem of my shorts. his thumb presses lightly into my skin. not teasing. not demanding. just there.

“you want me to stop?”

my voice barely comes out. “no.”

he leans in.

not fast. not messy. his lips brush mine like he’s waiting for permission—like he wants to be sure this is something we both walk into, not fall.

i close the distance.

his mouth parts. and then it’s heat. tongue. the sigh that leaves him when i climb across the console into his lap like it’s always been mine.

his hands slide up my thighs, slow and steady.

not greedy. not possessive. hungry.

i straddle him fully. my knees wedge on either side of his hips. he lets out a breath against my mouth like he’s been holding it all night.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you feel so good already.”

i kiss him harder. his hands move under my hoodie, palms dragging along my waist, my ribs. he pushes it up, and i lift my arms to help.

he leans back and looks at me—really looks. i’m in my sports bra. flushed. breathing too hard.

he exhales like he’s looking at something he’s not sure he deserves to touch.

“pretty,” he murmurs. “fuck.”

he lifts the hem of the bra and slides it up. i let him. his eyes darken when i’m bare in front of him, nipples tight from the cold and the attention and the way he’s looking at me like he’s ready to kneel for a taste.

he doesn’t go straight for it. instead, he cups one breast with his hand, thumbing over the center until i shiver.

“look at you,” he murmurs. “you’ve been letting me spot you in this. teasing me.”

“i wasn’t—”

he presses his lips to my chest, right over my heartbeat. then higher. then around my nipple, mouth slow and open and warm.

my head falls back. “taehyung—”

he groans into my skin.

“say my name like that again and i won’t last.”

his hand moves down my back, finds the curve of my ass and grabs it—not hard, just enough to pull me against the thick pressure straining beneath me.

“fuck—” i gasp.

he smiles against my chest.

“that’s right. feel what you do to me.”

i grind once—instinctive, desperate. he sucks in a sharp breath, hands digging in harder.

“god, i’ve been patient,” he mutters. “every time you bent over in front of me, every time you looked at me like you didn’t know what you were doing.”

i meet his eyes. “maybe i did.”

his laugh is low. ragged.

“then you’re mean.”

“you like that.”

his eyes narrow. “too much.”

he grabs the waistband of my shorts and tugs them down my thighs. i lift myself to help, watching his face the whole time. he looks dazed. starved.

“you’re so wet already,” he says, voice rough. “fuck.”

his fingers slide between my thighs and pause at my center.

“can i?”

i nod. “please.”

and when he finally touches me—skin to skin—i feel his whole body jolt beneath me.

his fingers slide through the slickness, slow at first, then with more purpose, more pressure, more intent.

he’s breathing heavy now, jaw clenched, thumb brushing my clit with every pass.

“you’re perfect like this,” he whispers. “so responsive. so fucking soft.”

i moan when he adds a finger. then another.

his lips crush against mine as he fucks me slow and deep with his hand, until i’m trembling in his lap, forehead pressed to his.

i’m close. and he knows it.

“come for me,” he says. “i’ve got you.”

my nails dig into his shoulders. my body shakes. and when it happens, it crashes through me hard enough that i forget where i am. his name slips out of my mouth like a prayer.

he holds me through it, kisses me like he means it.

and when i start to settle, chest heaving, sweat cooling on my skin— he leans in, presses our foreheads together again, and says, barely audible:

“i don’t want this to end here.”

i nod, voice gone. “it won’t.”

he lifts me, shifts his seat back. unzips his sweats, pulls himself free—and i see how much he’s been holding back.

i sink down slowly.

he doesn’t rush. doesn’t push.

he just holds me, hands on my hips, forehead still against mine, letting me take him inch by inch until i’m full—aching. trembling.

“look at me,” he whispers.

i do.

his eyes are blown wide. desperate. soft.

“you feel like heaven,” he says. “and i’m not letting this be a one-time thing.”

“good,” i manage to whisper, right before he thrusts.

and then there’s no more talking. just skin, sweat, rhythm. just two people in the dark, holding onto something that feels like everything.

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