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pr1nce-jm · 20 days ago

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𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 — 𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢

— based this off of a dream i had the other day; idol!yoongi x best friend!reader — yoongi is seeking some feedback for his new track and the only person he trusts for quality control, is you.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 1,389

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — fluff! almost friends to lovers, yoongi is sweet, affection, physical touch, words of affirmation

it wasn't unusual to just exist in yoongi's presence whilst he worked on music. he'd sit at his computer, slouched in his chair headphones lazily draped over his ears, fingers tapping at the keys on his keyboard as he endlessly looped the same section of music over and over again.

he would do this for hours while you entertained yourself; either catching up with emails or as much as you hated to admit it, probably doom scrolling on social media. your conversations over the span of a couple of hours usually consisted of you calling out his name, followed by a distant but acknowledging grumble, you asking him a question which he would answer with another disengaged exhale.

today, however, he seemed particularly irritated. not easily discernible; but you could tell by the way he shifted in his seat, the abnormal number of frustrated exhales, and the moment he suddenly thrust himself back and cursed under his breath, pressing his head into his hands. it was difficult to fight off the urge to ask "are you okay?" which was threatening to escape your lips, as you knew he'd just glance at you nonchalantly and utter a succinct, blasé "yes."

you were reclining on a couch not too far away from his setup. his long, dark hair was neatly swept back by his headphones, except for a few odd strands which draped over his forehead, occasionally sticking to thin veil of sweat beginning to coat his skin. his eyes just wandered the screen intently, although there was a tired glaze over them.

"can you do me a favor?" he asked softly, casually, turning his head toward you. you blinked. that had to be his daily word count used up all in one go.

his eyes were soft, mouth slightly ajar with a subtly curve to his lips. you didn't know why he was smiling, especially when he looked so frustrated just moments ago. maybe it was the way you looked: lazily sprawled out on the couch, limbs wrapped around a blanket, sleepily scrolling through your phone.

"hmm?" you murmured softly, unaware of how tired you had become. though grateful for the break in silence as you were probably only moments away from unconsciously dropping your phone from your hand and falling asleep.

there was a slight chuckle in his voice. "can you give this a listen?" he asked softly, a faint rasp coloring his words; likely from hours of silence, and maybe the fact that he hadn't taken a sip of water in just as long.

yoongi removed the headphones from his head, shaking his hair back into place as he did, lightly grasping them in his hand. he blinked at you again, letting out a gentle exhale that bordered on a laugh, eyes crinkling when he noticed you hadn't even budged.

being a night owl, it didn't bother him that it was creeping into the early hours. the sun had set long ago. you, on the other hand, had gotten far too comfortable on his couch and were only just managing to stave off sleep.

"come here, bring your blanket." he mumbled, his eyes still crinkled with amusement, the corners of his lips pressing into his cheeks in a tender smile. yoongi continued to watch you fight your way into an upright position, his attention unwavering.

if you hadn't of been so tired, the way he was staring at you so intently would have made your hands sweat, but you were too focused on standing up; which you eventually did, slowly pottering over to his side as he slid the headphones over your ears, gently adjusting your hair with his slender fingers so they didn't get in the way.

"why are you asking me? i'm not a producer," you sleepily quipped, adjusting the blanket that you had draped over your shoulders. "why don't you send it to pdogg or something."

"no, you're not," he stated softly. yoongi gently placed his hands to your waist and guided you to sit on his knee, pressing his chin onto your shoulder as he leaned forward, hovering the mouse over the play button, "but your input is important to me. you don't have to understand music to know if it sounds good."

you could've sworn you could feel your cheeks flush with heat, either that or you were getting too warm from the blanket.

he pressed play, and the silence of the room combined with the almost audible pounding of your own heart was swiftly replaced with bass.

sleepily, you found yourself subconsciously leaning back into the warmth of yoongi. he didn't pull away or resist. one hand rested gently on the side of your thigh, whilst the other affectionately hooked around your waist, holding you comfortably on his knee.

the song had so many elements that screamed yoongi, while still feeling fresh and different. it was the kind of track you'd listen to with headphones on, back against the mattress, eyes closed.

it was so immersive, you had almost forgot how close yoongi was, until you felt his warm breath on the side of your neck, his chin resting comfortably on your shoulder as he cocked his head ever so slightly to the side.

eventually, the song came to a stop. he used the hand that had been softly resting on your thigh to pull back of the cup of the earphones from the ear closest to him. "well? what did you think?" he uttered softly, a hint of apprehension in his tone.

"yoongi - i, i mean, it's just incredible-" you started, before feeling a short gust of warm air on your neck as he softly exhaled in a laugh. he eventually pulled away, reclining back in his seat, and the immediate loss of closeness and warmth left you feeling a little hollow.

"you don't need to be sarcastic," he mumbled, though you could hear the smile in his voice.

"i'm not. friend to friend," you said, almost tasting the bitterness of the word friend on your tongue, knowing how giddy and anxious you felt around him at times. "this song is beautiful. i, i have nothing else to say. it's perfect."

you turned to look at him, feeling a little uneasy under his intense, affectionate stare. "that snippet at the end - the rain and the laughter," you started, "is that from when-"

"we were at hangang park," you both said at the same time, laughing softly.

yoongi's hand unconsciously made itself comfortable on your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly grazing back and forth. "even though i told you to bring an umbrella. you were so soaked. i mean, we both were..." he spoke fondly, stumbling on his words slightly as if he was just now remembering that he got wet too; like you were the only one who really mattered in that moment.

"i didn't realise you still had that video. that was a while ago." you chuckled, reminiscing on yoongi almost keeling over belly-laughing as you were absolutely sodden, sat on a picnic blanket trying to shield yourself from the rain in between laughter. he had his phone out recording you as the heavens opened from above and a torrential downpour assaulted you both. yoongi, however, was under the luxury of an umbrella 'this is what happens when you don't listen to my advice.' he said between ragged giggly breaths.

with perfect comedic timing, the wind swept the canopy of the umbrella inside out and he lost his grip, it rolled down the grassy bank and hurled itself into a nearby bush. and this was the point of the video you heard overlapped on the song; you laughing at the wind taking revenge for you, and yoongi laughing at the absurdity of it all. you both laughed until it hurt, absolutely soaked through, cold, damp and filled with a euphoric sense of happiness.

"you always notice the little things," he murmured, brushing astray strand of hair from your face. his voice quiet, almost reluctant before he added with a subdued smirk. "maybe that's why i keep you around."

you smiled, feeling your heart flutter but saying nothing, letting the moment hang between you for a beat.

"what's the song called?" you queried, smile lingering on your lips as the memory remained in the forefront of your mind.

"only you."

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sleepiestoken · 1 month ago

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i've just pulled out some interesting quotes from the metal hammer article for myself and anyone else interested. anything bolded for emphasis by me.

George Lever [Sleep Token producer 2016-2021]: The starting point was removing this idea of the music you listen to being related to the person making it. By being anonymous, the listener is forced to relate to what they're actually hearing.

James Monteith [Tesseract guitarist/publicist at Hold Tight PR]: I was approached by Tom Quigley, who was a scene regular and ran a few blogs at the time. He said he was working with this new band, would we maybe be interested in doing their press? We ended up talking for an hour, and he rolled out the whole concept, the imagery and everything about it... other than the music.

George: The lore/narrative was pretty loose still, but it definitely existed.

James: There was nothing specific as such, more this idea of creating an occult vibe and feeling, led by this prophet-like character who leads a religion.

George: A lot of the first EP was actually us trying stuff out. We recorded the drums on a whim at Monnow Valley Studio in Wales. I introduced him to one of my friends, who actually still drums in them now.

James: We always got requests [for interviews], but the band said from the start they were anonymous and wouldn't do them. It helped create more curiosity because nobody could get access to them.

Matt Benton [Metal Hammer writer]: You can't do an introductory piece without an interview. We managed to get an agreement for an email interview with Metal Hammer. Even then, the band knew they didn't want a voice.

Matt: It's one of only a few interviews they've ever done. It's something I'm glad exists, because it's like getting the Word Of God.

George: I had freedom to offer interpretations of what I was hearing. It was a very fortunate combination of personalities and ideals. There was never any, 'We're going to take over the world' -type chat. It was more, 'Do we like this? Let's do more of that.'

Nathan Barley Phillips [co-founder of Basick Records]: Trying to keep some sense of anonymity was a real mission. Particularly getting them to and from the stage [at Great Escape festival 2018] without anyone seeing who they were.

George: We did Sundowning in three months - we went from demo to final master being released in just 12 weeks. We didn't have days off; we'd do seven in the morning until seven, eight or even nine at night every day for three months. We were in each other's pockets; we'd go to the gym together, swim, do the sauna... All this stuff to recover from being sat down all the time. There was a lot of time to spend holistically being friends making this record. We didn't know how to make this thing, but we had a confidence that we'd get there in the end. That's my favourite three-month period of my life.

George: We started making [TPWBYT] and the first day was when lockdowns began. Tomb... was tough for all of us emotionally. There were lifestyle pressures as a result of the lockdown that made it not very conducive to making art that is supposed to be welcoming. A lot of those songs are, in one way or another, about love, love being lost or remorse, they are compassionate tales that are designed to bring the listener towards the artist. It's hard to do that when it feels like the world is going to end.

Matt: I've got friends in merchandising and they say Sleep Token shift more merch than any other UK heavy band - more than even Iron Maiden.

Nathan: Bands like Ghost and Sleep Token aren't successful because they wear masks. They're successful because they write great music. Masks don't mean anything if the music isn't any good.

Matt: I'll be interested to see, when the first official TV movie of the band gets made, the difference between the reality of what happened and the story that gets told. In a way, the myth becomes reality.

#sleep token #george lever #sleep token vessel #metal hammer #i wanted these quotes on my blog so hope this is interesting for others too!#i loooove a tidbit!#some v cool insights in here #biggest takeaways...#george introduced ves and ii??? CRYING #vessel was originally just known as Him #the sundowning bts is so special to me.. they became besties <3 #we have george to thanks for vessel's abs i guess?#also tv movie hello?? OKAY #lots of other bits in here too but mostly just like how they went from small shows to big ones #also doesnt sound.. at least to me.. that the anonymity is going away anytime soon. good for them #im sure the full article will float around soon #let me know if you still want me to upload the full thing #i can prob scan it at work or smth #*

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dreamersparacosm · 2 months ago

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𐙚₊˚⊹ flustered!jk and cheeky!reader 𐙚₊˚⊹

warnings ; jk losing his marbles, reader is a menace to society, oral (male recieving), car/public sex, jk is big af, he’s also a head pusher oop

prompt ; in which he takes you up on your offer.

part one!

Jungkook has had better days.

He’s had better weeks, actually. Ones where his brain wasn’t halting every neuron firing each time someone said your name. Ones where he could focus on normal things, like work and video games and whatever ramen packet was closest to expiration, without flashing back to you in his car, looking like a problem and sounding like a promise.

God.

It’s been exactly six days, and you’re still living rent-free in his head like you own the place, feet up on the furniture, eating snacks in his subconscious like it’s a sleepover. It’s not even sexy anymore, it’s embarrassing. He’s replayed that moment so many times it’s starting to feel like trauma. His brain shortens it into TikTok-length flashbacks like some deranged highlight reel.

And now it’s Friday night again. Another weekend. Another group outing. And he knows you’ll be there, laughing too loud, leaning too close to other guys, dressed like sin in some crop top. He thinks he’s doing himself a massive favor by telling the boys he’s too tired to go out, that he’s better off staying home so not to ruin the mood. Yet, somehow he knows his peace will be disturbed.

Despite all of his better judgment, despite the five pep talks he’s given himself today, despite Googling “how to stop thinking about someone you can’t bone for moral reasons,” he’s caving.

All because you’re texting him again. One simple message.

You: can you give me a ride home :( <3

That’s it. That’s his villain origin story.

He shouldn’t say yes. He should say you can Uber. He should say he’s busy. He should say he’s out of town, in a coma, legally dead. But instead, he just texts back.

Jungkook : on my way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:��ﾟ☆

You slide into the passenger seat like you own it. Like you belong there. (Which you do — the man broke traffic laws to get to you.)

Your top, if it can even be called that, is doing absolutely no work. It’s sheer, shimmery, strapless, and defies the laws of physics and fabric. Your skin is warm from the bar, and you smell like perfume and trouble and something fruity with a hint of Casamigos. You’re tipsy, giggly, legs crossed like a Bond girl, and your hand lands on his shoulder like it’s nothing.

“Hi, driver,” you sing-song, smiling at him as if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. “Miss me?”

He almost drives into a parked car.

You click your seatbelt with a soft snap and stretch, lifting your arms over your head in a way that should be illegal. Your shirt rides up an inch. His sanity drops ten.

“Where to?” he asks, voice already tight.

“Wherever you wanna take me,” you hum, then glance sideways at him. “As long as there’s room for me to get on my knees.”

He actually chokes. Like physically this time. Coughs. Slams a hand against the wheel. Regains composure only to lose it again.

You grin like the Cheshire Cat.

He starts driving, but barely. His eyes are glued to the road with soldier-like discipline, hands clenched at ten and two, just like last time. Except this time he’s thinking about your mouth. And your legs. And that last damn thing you said.

Every five seconds you keep touching him. A hand on his thigh, fingers tracing his bicep. At one point you lean forward to grab a sip of his water bottle from the cupholder and your boobs brush his arm and he lets out a sound like a dying animal.

He’s going to hell. You’re sending him there personally.

“You’re quiet,” you pout, turning to face him. “Are you nervous again, Jungkookie?”

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, adjusting the air-conditioning and absolutely not touching anything else.

“Why not?” you ask, tilting your head. “You don’t like it when I’m cute?”

“You’re never just cute,” he snaps, then freezes, realizes what he just said.

Your grin stretches slow and dangerous. “Oh?”

He exhales hard through his nose. His fingers twitch. That’s enough. Fucking enough.

He pulls over. Hard turn, sharp brake, slams the car into park like he’s punishing it. The air goes silent except for the faint hum of the engine and both of your breathing.

“You want to keep playing this game?” he asks, voice low and rough. “Fine. But you better be ready to lose.”

You blink, startled by the shift. “What..”

“You think I haven’t been thinking about it?” he interrupts. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’ve been doing every time you get in this car looking like that?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, then lower. It makes your skin erupt in heat.

“You have been nervous,” You whisper, a little breathless.

“I’ve been trying not to crash the car,” he says sharply. “Because all I do is imagine what would happen if I just pulled over. And now I have.”

Your heart’s going feral in your chest. Your thighs press together. You stare at him, stunned into silence for once in your life.

“Well,” you finally murmur, licking your lips. “Better make sure my seatbelt is on.”

He leans closer, eyes glued to yours.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re gonna need it.”

Ay, ay captain. You do double-check to make sure your seatbelt is on.

Mostly because Jungkook is staring at you like a man on the edge and if this goes where you think it’s going, you’d like your insurance to cover it.

He hasn’t moved yet. Just sitting there, parked in the dark near some empty lot, one hand still on the steering wheel like it’s his emotional support item. He licks his lips, exhales deeply within his chest. And you can see the exact moment he loses the fight with himself.

His hand drops from the wheel. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“I’m…” he clears his throat. “I’m saying okay.”

..Okay what? Okay you can shut up now? Okay let’s never speak of this again? Okay go ahead and ruin my life with your mouth?

You lean in slightly, your voice low and wicked. “You want me to suck you off, Jungkook?”

He nods slowly . You swear he passes away in real time when you unclick your seatbelt.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, palms up like he’s calling a timeout. “Hold on. Are we… this is really happening?”

You smile all mischievously. “Unless you want me to stop?”

He stares at you, mouth slightly open. “No! I mean… yes. I mean, wait. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Just— God, I sound like a virgin.”

“You kinda do,” you whisper, sliding closer to the drivers seat.

“I’m not, by the way,” he says quickly, then winces. “Not that it matters. I mean, it does. But not like that. I’ve just never.. not in a car—”

You press your finger gently to his lips. “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

And then your hand slides up his thigh.

Somewhere, above the clouds, there is a higher power that has been praying on his come-up, he swears.

He makes a noise. An animal dying in the zoo kind of noise. His head thunks lightly against the headrest and he closes his eyes like he’s making peace with God.

Jungkook is already half hard and you haven’t even done anything yet. You watch his chest rise and fall like he’s sprinted a mile, and you swear you can see the moment his brain physically leaves his body.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, fingers brushing higher. “Told you.”

“I’m trying so hard not to die right now,” he says, voice ragged.

You giggle, leaning over the console to kiss his jaw, slow and deliberate. “Poor baby.”

He swallows like it’s painful. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

“And I hate it.”

“No, you don’t,” You smile against his skin.

His hands hover awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do with them; should he touch you? Is that allowed? Is this a trap? Will he be smited? You reach over and gently guide one of his hands to the back of your neck.

“There,” you whisper. “See? Not so hard.”

He mutters under his breath, “Speak for yourself.”

You burst out laughing, and he groans, closing his eyes tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, half-laughing, half-dying. “I’m trying to be smooth. But you.. God, you’re just—”

“I’m what?”

He looks at you, eyes wild. “You’re.. you. You know? Just.. every guy in our friend group wants to fuck you. ”

“Is that a compliment?” You bat your lashes at him.

“It is. It is a huge compliment. Please continue.”

He should be arrested. No, seriously. Somebody should call the police. He should be handcuffed and tossed directly into horny jail because there is no way what you’re doing right now is allowed under the laws of God or man.

Your hand is still on his thigh, lingering dangerously close to his button. Your mouth — your actual, real-life mouth — is somewhere in the vicinity of his zipper. And Jungkook is trying so hard to play it cool but his brain is firing blank slides like a broken projector.

He grips the seat. The wheel. Himself. The back of your neck like you told him to.

You’re too calm. Too confident. Like you’ve done this before. Like you know exactly what kind of damage you’re about to inflict on his very mortal soul (which is rude, honestly.)

You drag the zipper down slow. Partly for dramatic effect. Mostly because your hands are suddenly shaky (not that you’d ever admit that out loud.)

You’ve been teasing him for far too long, riding the high of his nervous little stares and fumbling responses like it’s your favorite roller coaster. And up until now? You were untouchable, confident, the seductress in the passenger seat of his car.

You drag his jeans down, take a look at his black Calvin Klein boxers that you’re a little surprised he owns. You finally get your hand past the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down painfully slow.

You pause.

Gulp.

Because, um. That’s a lot.

Not in a humble, oh he’s hard kind of way. No. You mean that is a full-blown situation. A legitimate problem. Something you should’ve been briefed on ahead of time with a PowerPoint and maybe a warning label.

You glance up at him.

He’s already flushed and pink-lipped, panting like he just ran laps. Doesn’t even realize you’ve frozen mid-mission. Poor guy probably thinks you’re being seductive. He’s looking down at you with the dazed trust of a man who has no idea you’ve just had a spiritual crisis.

The driver’s console presses up against your boobs a little more as you wiggle closer to him, taking his length in your hand. It’s big. He’s big. Why is he not more smug about this? Why is he always so shy when he’s walking around with a whole weapon under there?

You feel a full-on identity shift coming. Like you might start paying for his gas. Or offering to make him soup. Like this might change the entire dynamic, and you’re suddenly the one nervously blinking up at him.

You look back down at his cock in your hand, observing the way every vein curves, the way his pink tip is wet with precum. It’s curved slightly, and is thick enough that you’re starting to question if it’ll even fit in your mouth.

Your fingertips give him one long stroke and he shudders, which makes your stomach flip. Okay, this is fine. You’re strong. You do Pilates. You’ve read Harry Styles fanfiction.

You steady yourself, take a breath, and blink again. One last internal scream for good measure. Then you smile up at him, all soft lips and fake confidence, and whisper, “You’re lucky I like a challenge.”

You watch the words hit him like a punch to the gut. His whole body tightens; shoulders, thighs, jaw, everything. He stares down at you like you just offered him his first taste of oxygen after being underwater for weeks.

He reaches out, slow but sure, and gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail with one trembling hand. His fingers flex at the base of your neck, and the move is so unexpectedly possessive that it sends heat curling low in your stomach.

His other hand drops to his thigh, clenched in a fist. His breathing’s all wrong, shallow and desperate. He bites his lip ring so hard you swear it might split skin, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“Then take your time,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t say anything to that. You just lower your mouth and give him one single, kitten-soft lick from the base of his cock to tip, your eyes locked on his the entire time. No pressure, no rhythm. Just a soft, teasing taste. His skin is slightly salty with a tinge of sweetness, also some familiar soap you’ve smelled on him before.

His hips jerk violently, a sharp moan escaping his mouth before he can even try to swallow it. His grip in your hair tightens like a reflex with a choked, “F-fuck—”

You inhale once, deep and steady, and then slide your mouth over him in one slow, devastating stroke, past your lips and over your tongue. Until your nose brushes against his pubic bone and your throat stretches to accommodate every inch.

Jungkook lets out a deep, desperate groan that vibrates from somewhere low in his chest liike he wasn’t ready. Like he thought he knew what this would be and now he’s realizing, Oh no. Oh no, no, no, I was wrong. I’m in danger.

You don’t really give him time to recover. You set a rhythm until the obscene sound of gagging fills up the car, mingling with his panting and the slick noises of your mouth.

His hips jerk like they want to move but don’t dare. He’s panting your name between gasps, muttering nonsense, sentences with no real structure. “Oh my fuck — so good, I can’t —“

You hollow your cheeks just slightly. The effect is instant and he lets out this helpless whimper, one hand gripping the headrest behind him like he’s trying not to ascend, other one knotted in your hair.

You come up for air for one brief second, spit stringing between your lips and his cock, and before he can even look at you, you’re going right back down even faster this time.

His voice pitches. “Wait, wait, slow down, I’m—”

You don’t. Because you like the way his voice sounds right now, shaky and too high, like you’ve rewired every synapse in his body. You like how big he is, how heavy in your mouth. You also like the fact that he’s so obviously been thinking about this for as long as you have.

Your mascara’s already smudging, eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with tears, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

He’s still unraveling above you and every single moan you wring out of him feels like a prize. His hand is fisted in your hair still, this time tighter, bolder, and he’s using it to push your head down even further.

Your throat’s raw, your lungs are burning, your jaw aches and none of it matters. Because you’ve got both hands working the rest of him, twisting and stroking whatever your mouth can’t reach, and every time you swirl your tongue over his tip, he lets out a new sound that makes you wetter.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop, fuck,” He begs.

And you don’t. Of course you don’t. Because you’re evil. Beautiful and focused and slightly too good at this, and now he’s seconds from becoming a cautionary tale on Reddit.

You hum around him, the vibrations dizzying his brain. “I’m gonna crash the car without even moving it if you do that again, I swear,” He moans out.

Okay. So. You’re currently giving a blowjob in the front seat of Jungkook’s sad little car, and he’s moaning like it’s the rapture.

Cool, cool, cool.

You didn’t plan this, exactly. You were just trying to be hot and flirty and maybe mess with his head a little and now here you are.

His breaths are so shaky you think he’ll need an inhaler. He’s whispering please like you’ve got divine powers, which, honestly, right now? You do.

You pop your mouth off his cock for one second, glance up, and whisper, “You still breathing, Jungkookie?”

He looks down at you like he’s in love.

Another tear slips down your cheek from the sheer force of how you’re swallowing his cock whole. You used to doodle his name in your diary. Now you’re deepthroating him in a car like it’s your full-time job. What is wrong with you (Everything. And you don’t care.)

You used to wonder what he was like underneath all that quiet nervousness. Well. Now you know. He’s like this. Loud, sweaty, so responsive, and squirming under your touch like he’s never felt anything like this in his life.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god, you’re — shit, you’re perfect,” he gasps, eyes wide, voice cracking on every other word. “I can’t, baby, you’re gonna make me — fuck — cum.”

Baby? That’s new. That, you can work with.

You moan around him just to be cruel, and the reaction is instant: his thighs jerk, his head falls back, and he wails, hips twitching like his body’s trying to chase the high before it’s even hit. “I’m so fucking close, shit.”

You’re faring no better. You’re crying and choking and gagging and soaked between the legs and still going because the way he sounds when he falls apart? It’s addicting.

You circle your tongue once more around his tip, drag your hand faster up the base, and glance up through your wet lashes, eyes locking with his just long enough to see the moment he snaps. “Baby, I’m gonna cum, yesyesyesyes.”

His whole body seizes, abs tightening, lips parted around a strangled moan. He doesn’t even say your name, just gasps it, offers it up like a sacrifice. Warm and overwhelming, spilling past your tongue in slow pulses, you swallow his entire load. It doesn’t taste bad at all, it’s salty and warm and oddly satisfying. Tastes a little like success.

You sit up, all dainty and slow, like you didn’t just dismantle a grown man in a semi-legal parking lot. You stretch like you’re easing out of a yoga pose, then swipe your fingers across your bottom lip to wipe away the last trace of his cum. You look like you just got out of a Sephora, not off his cock.

Poor Jungkook is catatonic.He’s melted into the seat, completely slack, one hand limp against the window and the other cradling his own thigh like he needs emotional support. His chest is rising like he just ran a marathon and lost by a landslide. His dark hair is messily strewn over his eyes.

Because you’re heartless and delightful, you twist toward him and ask all cutesy: “Sooo… how long do you think it’ll take to get to my place from here?”

His head lolls in your direction. “What?”

You blink innocently. “You are still driving me home, right?”

“I-I can’t even feel my legs.”

“Not my problem,” you sing, clicking your seatbelt on again. “You said months ago I could ask you for a ride whenever, remember? That’s a verbal contract.”

He’s staring at you like you just kicked a puppy and then kissed it on the nose. “You’re… evil.”

You grin. “Flattered.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t believe I let you do that.”

“You didn’t let me,” you hum. “I begged you until you cracked.”

He groans again, louder this time. The sound vibrates through the car pathetically. His head drops against the steering wheel with a dull thud and stays there.

You glance out the windshield,“Anyway, if you take the expressway, I think we can make it to mine in like… fifteen minutes?”

“You’re insane,” He tuts against the steering wheel.

“True. But I’m also your ride-or-die now, apparently.”

He lifts his head with effort. Looks at you with the wide, shellshocked eyes of a man who knows he’ll never recover from this.

You smile at him sweetly, reaching over to squeeze his thigh again. He flinches at the comtact.

You bite your lip. “Still sensitive?”

“Don’t touch me,” he pleads, voice high and fragile.

You giggle like the monster you are. “Alright, alright,” you say, settling back in your seat as any law-abiding citizen. “Let’s go. Home sweet home.”

He starts the car with shaking hands. And as he pulls back onto the road, vision blurry, soul permanently altered he swears to himself he will never respond to your texts past midnight again.

(But he will.)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

note ; ok…. so this is no longer a blurb, i fear. i feel like this needs a title now but i also have no desire bc then it’ll be a thing. and i cannot have it be a thing bc i have 2039339 wip’s. but also them. jk spiraling over this blowjob, the friend group going crazy over it.. why is it giving toxic situationship with you not ready to commit and him being a mess? literally remove the pen from my hand. anyways this is all your guys’ fault (and also mine bc this is inspired by how my ex from 4 years ago and i started dating)

masterlist + request

#when i go to prison.. make sure its life no parole #this is diabolical work on my part #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts #bts army #bts jungkook #bts x reader #jjk #jjk x reader

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