In The Frosty Air | A Jjk Drabble

pov : husband!jungkook deems it okay to unbutton his shirt like this in front of your virgin eyes

Mono by RM (2018)

(Lyric Translations x)

Available on my shop

Date in a Box

Words: 9.7k Genre: Fluff. So much fluff. 

Read more at Service Series

He called and you came running.

Knock Knock.

The door swings open; a boy dressed in a white shirt, blue jeans and timberlands greets you with frightened doe-eyes. “Are you-”

“Yes I am.” You push your way in, not having enough time to slip off your shoes politely. You take one quick scan of his apartment. “How much time do we have?”

“She’s coming in five minutes.” He says in alarm, scrambling to look at the clock.

Keep reading

happy birthday namjoon!

leader, rapper, namjoooning, dimples. there’s so many ways to show who he is as a person.as an idol he’s down-to-earth, kind, and thoughtful.as kim namjoon, he’s a nature lover and can be shy.no matter what you are thinking about, he’s forever our boy who is an amazing person.i purple you!

In Your Time

Pairing: shy jungkook x reader

Genre: established relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Summary: You and Jungkook want to take your relationship to the next level, but it turns out Jungkook is not as ready as he thinks he is.

Warnings: jungkook is a virgin, mentions of smut, insecurity, self-deprecation, jungkook goes through it a little bit

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: thank you @kookingtae for beta reading and helping me edit this <3

Keep reading

Good day

Thank you so much. I hope you have a good day as well 🌹

I have read so many fanfics here and on many other platforms. Most of the fics are romantic and revolve around love. When I read this fic, I start to believe that someday this love will come to me and fill my heart to the brim. But here I am. 20 years almost 21 years old. A forever single. I didn't have a proper crush (BTS not included, of course) let alone any boyfriend in my entire life. I am like the most single person in my whole city. *Sigh* When I will get the love I think I so much deserve 😔

Stay. [JJK angst + fluff ]

Pairing: idol husband!Jungkook x wife!reader

Genre/Rating: NC17 due to heavy themes on mental health. Hurt/comfort fic.

Wordcount: 2.9

Summary: “Till death do us part” Your husband JK will do everything in his power to help you see how much he needs you to stay. 😍🥰😩😢😭 angst and fluff. Depression. Recovery.

Tags/Warnings: Depression. Recovery. Mentions of suicide. Tiny mention of religious theme.. 😢 Soft, happy ending 🥰

a/n: This is a commission from the lovely Mina @bangtanmademedoit for the ARMY for AAPI fundraiser! Please consider donating or checking out the Army Advocates resources! Mina, I hope this is not too angsty. 😛

Thanks to @augustbutwinter and @jin-fizz for betareading

Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxPj3GAYYZ0

The air on the rooftop is chilly. It’s cold up here. Quiet too, as it should be at 3am. Another sleepless night for you. The doctor adjusted your meds again and it’s making it hard for you to fall asleep.

Antidepressants are such temperamental things.

It’s nice to be alone for a while. You came to check out what the roof looked like. Wanted to see if it’s really scary looking down the edge of a sixty-storey building. Would you be afraid or just numb? Fearless or finally relieved that you’ve seen it and know what to expect?

Just a few more steps and you’ll find out.

But first, you look up into the heavens with nothing between you and the big, black sky. There are no stars tonight; there haven’t been any for a long time in Seoul. Funny how the bright city lights make the sky look so much darker. Like a bolt of deep velvet, its expanse is breathtaking and dangerous, able to envelope you and swallow you whole in a moment. Naively, you look for a star anyway, faintly hoping for a sign among the smoky red clouds to just stay for a little longer.

The sky stays dark and silent. No angel. No flash of lightning. Nothing.

You take another slow, measured step. A few more and you’re near the edge. It’s not like you’re going to do anything. No, not tonight, you think. You’re here to see what it’s like. Just to see. Only to see.

“Y/N.” His voice, that famous one which carries the weight of the first line of so many songs, the one amplified to reach thousands, recorded to reach millions, comes clearly to you, just for you and only you tonight.

You turn to face him. He’s in his dressing robe and slippers, floofy hair mussed from sleep. His beautiful doe-eyes though, are wide and alert. “Whatchu doing up, baby?” he asks quietly. Like he has just gotten up and found you pottering about in the living room.

“Can’t sleep. Just wanted to be alone. Wanted to see what it’s like up here,” you whisper, eyes darting to him and then back to the edge that’s just a few more steps away from your own slippered feet. It had taken you so long to work up the nerve to climb those thirty-four steps in the roof-access stairwell from the penthouse to this roof. You’re finally here, and you don’t want to go back. Not yet.

Jungkook senses your hesitation and seizes the moment to speak. “Stay, baby. Don’t go there without me.”

“Okay, Kook. I’ll wait.”

He walks calmly to you, careful not to startle you, careful to hold your gaze, careful not to overwhelm you with all the things he wants to remind you of. Things like how much he loves you. Or how much your students adore you. Or how much joy and light and love you bring to his little heart that has only grown bigger and bigger to absorb all the goodness you are to him.

He’s relieved when he’s finally next to you and his arm can secure you in his embrace. How he wishes he can secure your heart and mind too, make sure none of the bad stuff can reach you.

If he could, he would put on a full fucking suit of armor and fend off those treacherous thoughts, thoughts dark and deep that sneak in after breakfast, ambush you before lunch, corner you at dinner, lure you in the middle of the night.

If he could, he would go into the ring with just his bare hands and fight with his last breath to shield you from the despair he has seen swallow you and spit you out and swallow you again and again.

If he could.

But Jeon Jungkook knows the battle is not his. It’s yours. And so he arms you. Arms you with his love. His attention. His tenderness. His time. His presence.

Except, he fell asleep tonight and you had slipped away. Something woke him— an unspeakable urgency to get to you. Maybe it was… god? He doesn’t know. But he’s here now and just in time.

“What do you want to do now, baby?” he asks, just like how he did at the carnival for your first date together. It was the mother of all first dates, filled with salty pop-corn and sweet cotton candy, with good rollercoasters and bad photo-booth pics that revealed too much love in the eyes of two people on a first date.

“I-I just want to see what it's like. To stand at the edge.”

“Okay. We can do that.” His heart is pounding. He thinks back to his wedding vows, how he has sworn to have and to hold you, cherish you and love you in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. Till death do us part. He’s not going to let you go if he can help it.

With one hand around your waist, the other holding your hand, he shuffles with you to the half a foot away from the edge.

“C-can I look down?” you ask. You’re half scared yourself, not terribly good with heights since you were a kid. Coming up here alone was a bad idea, you realize.

“I’ll hold you okay? We’ll both look.” He helps you lean forward, while bringing his dominant foot back to stabilize you both.

It’s dizzying. Little roads and little cars and little street lights twinkling in the downward distance.

“Do you want to sit here or go back in?” he asks.

“Let’s sit here. Just for a while. Please?”

“Sure, baby.” He eases you back a foot or two away from the edge, and then helps you sit down carefully, making sure he has your waist in a firm grip, bringing you in the curve of his arm. As you lean against each other, the silence brings up the old question again.

“Why do you always come for me, Kook?”

Because you matter.

Because I love you.

Because every beat of your heart is every beat of mine.

“Because,” he says, using that line again, the legendary one his father used on his mom a lifetime ago, “I'm kind of into you if you haven’t noticed by now.” It's the same line he used on you when he proposed.

“Just kind of?” You know the routine. It was how his mom had replied.

“Just the tiniest bit.” He smiles.

Which, of course, is not true. Because his devotion confounds you.

On your bad days, he doesn’t tell you to snap out of it, doesn’t belittle your pain.

On your bad days, he goes into the darkened room and lies beside you, bringing that clean laundry smell with him that reminds you of your grandmother’s house.

On your bad days, he holds you, whispers to you little jokes and stories from his childhood.

He’s so good to you. Too good for you, if you’re honest.

“I’m sorry, I’m such a mess,” you say quietly.

“Hey, I’m a mess too. Look at my hair.” He ruffles it up a bit more to make it look messier than it really is. “We’ll be a mess together. Mr. and Mrs. Mess.”

“You know what I mean,” you sigh. He has accompanied you to countless doctors’ visits for meds, driven you himself to your appointments for psychotherapy, fed you soup, fetched you water, brushed and braided your hair when you could barely get out of bed.

It’s funny how good he is at all those complicated braids. French? Dutch? Waterfall braids? He’s an expert now. After doing up your hair, he’ll get a handheld mirror and show you off to the mirror, a husband proud to introduce his gorgeous wife. He’ll call you princess, call you beautiful, call you his. Then, pouting his lips, he’ll take a silly selca with you, coax a smile from you and maybe even earn the sound of your tinkly-bell laugh.

“I do know what you mean,” he murmurs into your hair, its weight and texture he already knows so well. “I’m lucky to have you. Bong Bong is too. No one loves us like you do. We don’t deserve you.”

Bong Bong. A perfect name for the yellow lab you brought home together from the animal shelter when you got married three years ago. The poor puppy was rail thin and skittish in your arms, but over a period of six months of constant, watchful care, he grew sleek and strong, confident and playful. No one loves Bong Bong like you do.

But Jungkook. Jungkook had a string of girlfriends before you. You wonder whether they had loved him like you do. Or if you love him like they did. Whether any of them or all of them combined would be as much of a burden to him as you are right now.

“Kook. Do you regret this?” You point to the wedding band hanging around your neck in a thin gold chain. It doesn’t fit around your finger anymore. You’ve had too many of those days where food brought neither comfort nor pleasure.

“Never. Never, ever.” It’s said without a moment’s hesitation, said with a certainty backed by all the gold in the world. He twines his fingers with yours and lets you feel the hard wedding band that he has never, ever taken off since it went on. “You?” he asks, all quiet and serious.

“Sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I’m too much. That I’m holding you back. That you’re better off--”

“With you.” He plants a kiss on the top of your head like a period to a statement which needs no further elaboration. “I’m better off with you.”

He remembers the first day he met you. You were subbing for his regular guitar teacher who called in sick. When you walked into the practice studio, Jungkook forgot his own name, who he was and where he’s been. All he could remember was the way your fingers strummed against the strings, the way you smelled, the way your eyelids fluttered open and close as you pulled music from mere wood and metal.

He knew he was a goner. Knew he’d have to marry you. Knew he’d want to play music and make love and live life with you for all of his days and all of his nights.

When you’d asked him which song he was working on, he couldn’t answer. He was lost in his own world, thinking of how to ask you out without seeming desperate, or weird, or superstar-ish. How to do it sincerely, but casually; to appear interested, but not too invested so that your rejection might not sting as much because surely, surely someone as beautiful and soft and sweet as you must already be taken.

Only when you asked him for the third time did he answer shyly that he was learning how to play You’re Beautiful by James Blunt.

“You’re a romantic one, aren’t you?” you’d chided gently, quickly pulling a poker face while you wondered who he plays that song for.

“Always,” was his reply, the tip of his ears blushing as he gave you a bashful, sideways grin. “What about you? What do you like to play?” he’d asked so as to drown out the loud pounding inside his chest he knew you could hear, wishing so much that the soundproof studio could wrap around his heart instead.

“Eric Clapton. Tears From Heaven.”

He knew that one and tried it with your help, your gentle fingers guiding his across the guitar frets. He’d shuddered inwardly at the first feel of your soft skin on his hand against the hard steel of the strings. Your touch on his fingers burned deeper than the dark ink tattooed there, seeped right through his skin, into his blood, into his very heart.

Would you know my name

If I saw you in heaven?

Would it be the same

If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong

And carry on

'Cause I know I don't belong

Here in heaven

It was after the song, both of you barely breathing from the weight of the moment, when he met your gaze and impulsively asked if he could kiss you. You hid your yearning with a laugh, and replied you don’t usually take kisses as payment for the first lesson.

“Then we need more lessons,” he said.

So of course there were more lessons, followed by payments of every kind, in every way, given everywhere. Payments that made you gasp, and hitch a breath. Payments at sunsets and sunrises, by the beach and on his bed.

He loves to overpay you, loves to lavish you with all that he has and all that he is, which explains why he’s here, next to you, ungodly hour be damned as he tenderly strokes your hair in what has been your worst episode of depression.

“Thank you, darling,” he says stroking the sides of your arm, his nose lodging gently in that little curve of your temple. He loves to breathe you into his very soul, chase every molecule of your scent, every second he can get.

“For what, Kook?” you ask, staring down at the ocean of city lights spread before you.

“For taking your meds. Making it to all your therapy appointments. For choosing to stay even when it’s hard." He pauses, thinking about how strong you’ve been even though you feel weak. "For fighting everyday. Fighting for us, for you.”

From all the way up here on the edge of this tall, tall building, to all the way down in the depths of your heart, a flood of gratitude fills you. Jungkook affirms your fight. He knows.

You say nothing, a squeeze of your hand back on his is all you can muster as the tears you’ve been holding in finally slip down your face.

“I love you so damn much.” His voice is cracking a little, but he pushes on, determined to convince you of what’s true and sure. “You ground me, you know? You keep me safe from me. Make me good. Make me better.”

You know his tendency to push himself, how he always takes on a lot more than the rest of the members, always willing himself to go faster, go harder, go higher until he burns out like the candle on the cake that doesn’t quite make it to the end of Happy Birthday to You.

You know how easily he gets drunk, no, not on soju, but on work, how he inebriates himself with fatigue, drowns himself in success, addicted to the myth of the golden maknae. For Jeon Jungkook, just one more was never enough. Not until you came along.

You know him. And yet you chose him. And this, Jungkook thinks, this makes him the luckiest man in the world.

“I need you here. Need you to remind me that there’s more to life than that craziness. So don’t fucking say you’re holding me back. You keep me safe, okay?” His eyes are all bleary and red now, face crumpling with emotion. “Don’t — don’t leave me, baby.”

You reach across to him and press yourself into him. Nothing moves you more than when he lays his heart bare before you. “Oh Kook. Kook.” You want to say it, feel it at the tip of your tongue, yearn with heart and soul to swear to him you’re not going to leave him this soon, this way.

But… but you just can’t quite say it yet.

He’s crying now. His tears are dripping down to the side of your cheek, merging with your own tears, reminding you that he’s here to stay. Your pain is his sorrow; your joy, his triumph. Teardrop by teardrop, the truth slowly sinks into you: Jungkook’s the strong tower you can always run to. He’s your refuge, your hiding place. There’s no need to go anywhere else.

You’re not sure how long you hold him and he holds you. All you know is that you’re so very glad to be in his arms, to be his girl.

He starts singing that familiar tune, the one that knotted his heart to yours from the very beginning.

Would you know my name

If I saw you in heaven?

Would it be the same

If I saw you in heaven?

And somehow, you find the strength within to sing with him—

I must be strong

And carry on

'Cause I know I don't belong

Here in heaven

With the darkness above, the lights below, and him around you, you listen to the last, mellow notes of your voice harmonized with his. It sounds like something you’d want to keep hearing.

Wordlessly, he leads you up and brings your body flushed against his, envelopes you in his big, strong arms, swaying to an invisible rhythm that only you and he are familiar with, the dance that’s just for the two of you.

“You know you belong here, right?” he asks, arms tightening around you.

You pull yourself closer to him, drawn to his warmth, to the goodness and steadfastness of this man.

You’re sure of your answer now.

“I know, Kook. I know I belong here.”

It’s true. You belong here and you’re going to stay.

~END~

Strong tower / refuge /hiding place imagery taken from Psalms and Proverbs, Holy Bible.

If you need help, please reach out to the nearest Samaritans hotline in your area. You’ll find someone who will listen. Hugs.

More from my masterlist here

Posted on April 14, 2021 by sahmfanficbts. All Rights Reserved © 2021 @sahmfanficbts. Please do not translate, post or upload this content on to any platform including YouTube without permission. This is a work of fiction.

Wishing for you; 01 | jjk

➝ Pairing: jungkook x f.reader

➝ Genre: smut, fluff, angst, established relationship, slice of life, domestic

➝ Word count: 12k

➝ Warnings: strong language, sexual content, mentions of infertility, pregnancy talk, penetrative sex, fingering, mild dirty talk

➝ Summary: you and your husband decide to finally start trying for a baby. It should be easy enough, you thought. But it turns out getting pregnant is a lot harder than you expected.

A/N: I just wanted to write something fluffy and it turned into this…which will consist of two parts. also this is my first time writing smut so please be kind asfhkk. I didn’t have time to edit this so pls ignore any little mistakes, I’ll edit it as soon as I can. anyway, let me know what you think :)

| 01 | 02 |

“Think it worked?” he asks, still a little breathless.

“I don’t know,” you smile, meeting his gaze, “maybe.”

He pulls you closer into his side, embracing you in a warm hug. “I think so. How hard can it be?”

How hard can it be?

You simply close your eyes as you rest your head comfortably on his bare chest, drifting off into sleep. Silently praying for what your heart longs for the most.

Keep reading

Take My Hands Now (Part 1)

pairing: Jungkook x reader

word count: 2,760

genre: drama, angst

summary: You were born with a condition that allowed you to feel the pain someone else was going through when you touched them. Jungkook, on the other hand, looked like he could not be any less bothered with other people’s feelings and was a well known playboy of the school. One night, at a party, while he attempted to turn you into his toy for the night, he grabbed your hand and pain crashed through you, making you wonder whether behind the facade of this pleasure seeker, he could also be hiding something. 

warnings: references to being bullied

comments: loosely based on an article I read recently about a disease called mirror touch synesthesia, where one can feel the pain of another person by looking at them. have not proofread… 

Keep reading